Have you ever gotten a phone call that you just don’t know what to do with? No clue how to process. What to say? What to write? If it’s even OK to try and express anything at all?

Two short days ago, a colleague, co-laborer, and dear personal friend lost his life. As the new day was dawning, a woman walked into his church, pulled out a gun, and stole him away. From his wife and two year old daughter. From the community of Christ-followers that he heroically led. From all of us. He was 29 years old.

Heart attack and died.

Cancer and died.

Car accident and died.

Death is always tragic, but at least my brain can process those scenarios.

I don’t have a place for this one. It doesn’t fit. Doesn’t compute. I just don’t get it. And that insatiable need to explain can easily turn tragedy into triteness. These are the moments that birth cheap cliches.

Human beings are meaning machines. We need purpose. To know “why?” But I find, in times like these, my drive to understand is often a self-protection mechanism to dodge the pain.

On days like these, perhaps the most God-honoring response is just to grieve. Reflect. Remember. Weep. Feel it all. Fully.

Death will always feel foreign to us. Offensive. It wasn’t a part of God’s original design–a disastrous byproduct of man’s sin and rebellion. When we grieve, we acknowledge the imperfection of our current struggle and longing for the day when God will finally complete the restoration of His Creation. With that focus, grief itself can almost become an expression of worship.

Jaman my friend, I miss you already. Your wisdom. Your sense of humor. Your way of cutting through the bull and forcing the us to see the point. Knowing you changed me, and for that I am grateful.

Today we grieve. Not without sadness, but not without hope.

See you again buddy. But not soon enough.

Why is it so hard to be honest? The truth is freeing. Being known and loved as we really are is one of the deepest longings of our soul. But it’s also, by far, the most difficult to embrace.

Three months ago we sold our house. I shared the bulk of this gut-wrenching process as we Pepto-Bismol-ed our way through each terrifying day. We were gearing for an epic life change, but in the end we decided to buy a house just up the road from where we’ve always lived. Why?

1. Our families are close by.
2. Our kids’ school is just up the road.
3. We like it here.

It’s really that simple. But when a group of my peers asked me about the decision last month, my instinctive reaction was almost comical.

1. We want to house missionaries and homeless people in our new basement.
2. We felt sorry for the owner who needed a quick buyer to help him avoid bankruptcy.
3. God commanded us to.

I never actually said any of those things, but I sure wanted to. I wanted to add some spiritual or moral “umph” to what really ended up being a rather mundane and practical decision. But I feared my true motivation wouldn’t be good enough for some of you, and my pride was longing for some inspirational story of epic sacrifice, so my insecurity and sin began to manufacture some “spice.”

What if we owned our why’s? The real ones.

Look, our motivations are screwy. Selfish. They beg for tension and challenge. But God’s mercy and grace collides with who we really are, not who we project ourselves to be. I think avoiding our true motives trades the opportunity for real transformation for a self-serving imposter.

And here’s another kicker – mundane and practical isn’t necessarily wrong. Your motivation might not be unholy, it might just be boring. Be careful about your desire to make everything appear epic. That might be pride. (Hand up. Guilty). The question is, “are you obedient?” Not “will your story have people talking?”

Contend for honesty. Even if your motives are questionable. Even if your why makes you seem more normal than your ego can stand. Own it.

Do you agree? Is there a “why” you’re refusing to own?

Today’s blog is a Mother’s Day guest post (well, actually I stole it from her website so I guess it’s more of a hijacked post) from someone very special to me–my mom. Not only does this post introduce you to some of my cherished family legacy, it also introduces you to my mom’s writing. She needs to post more often (you might help nudge her in that direction), but what she has written is well worth your time. Enjoy.

Her door was shut as I ran through the kitchen yelling “MOM?”  Those familiar sounds stopped me in my tracks.  She was at it again.  Muffled pleas to the Father.  Tears of intercession.  I heard my name.  Mom was praying.  The lady who lived what she taught.  The lady Dad said had that direct line to heaven!  She was pouring out her heart to God…for me.

To have a mom who was fanatical about prayer may have embarrassed me back then!  But the work Mom did on her knees has shaped the course of my life.

“When God finds a mother who will pray,

He has someone through whom He can work.

Praying mothers have wielded more power for good

than will ever be known this side of eternity.”

My mom wasn’t a scholar.  In fact, she never finished high school.  But she read God’s Word like her life depended on it.  Mom believed that the Lord and His Word would fill in the gaps where she and Dad might fail.  God had called them to the task of parenting. He would provide what they needed. And Mom had that direct line!

MY MOTHER, HELGA

Don’t let prayer overwhelm you.  It’s just talking to God about your concerns.  Don’t make it too hard or live under a constant guilt trip that you’re not measuring up.  Begin today.  It’s never too late and you can do it anywhere.  Instead of wringing your hands in despair, lift them to God in prayer.

“Pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord.

Lift up your hands to Him for the lives of your children.”

–Lamentations 2:19

Prayer will make a difference in your child’s life, so pray about everything.  Ask God for specifics. A tender heart. Iron-sharpening friends. That perfect teacher.  Wise choices. Better grades.  Whatever your concern, pray it. I remember asking God for my children to get caught when doing wrong.  (We want things nipped in the bud before it’s too late, don’t we?).

Before you feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of prayer, remember that you have an Arsenal. God’s Word is described as a Sword that penetrates.  A Fire that consumes.  And a Hammer that breaks down stubborn resistance.  Use the Arsenal of Scripture. I encourage you to find a verse in the Bible that relates to the concerns you have for your child. Underline it. Date it. Claim it. Write your child’s name by it.  And begin to pray those words out loud in faith.

Think of the impact your prayers will have on your sons and daughters!  What security you will provide them, as the mom has her own direct line to heaven!

You can catch all my mom’s posts at KingdomMom.com along with some great Bible Studies she has written. It’s OK, I’ll share her with you. Seriously, go ahead and check it out.

Last year my sister in-law did something crazy (no, no….she married my brother 4 years ago).

She and her dad jumped out of an airplane. On purpose.

I’ve always wanted to skydive (theoretically), but the story that unfolded from the skies just outside of Houston, Texas gives me great pause. Britney’s dad, while plummeting to the earth at 125mph, encountered your worst possible skydiving fear.

His chute got tangled and didn’t completely open.

Thankfully, his tandem partner–the expert strapped to his back–was able to pull out a knife, cut away the worthless chute, and deploy the emergency backup just in time to bring them in for a safe (albeit somewhat harder than normal) landing. Best they figure, 30 seconds later and this story would have had a whole different ending (and point).

Free falls like this are why most people will only daydream of jumping from 10,000 feet. They’re also why most of us choose to stay locked up in assumptions about ourselves and God that simply aren’t true. The fear of the free fall outweighs the misery of the lies we’ve chosen to desperately cling to.

I’m unlovable.

I’m unqualified.

I’m the only one that struggles.

I can’t change.

God hates me.

I have to do it alone.

This is just the way I am.

I’m unforgivable.

We all claim to want freedom, but the responsibility that comes with it is often more than we can handle. It’s easier to be a victim than to embrace the identity God designed for us before the foundations of the earth were laid.

Trust me, I know.

Life can wound us (for some the trauma is horribly deep). Wounds are painful. So we fabricate stories, make vows, and construct an impenetrable fortress to protect ourselves from the hurt and shame. It’s natural. Understandable even. But these self-protections are lies that keep us enslaved. Unchecked, they become idols that we worship. Imposters of the one true God and false projections of our real identity.

Jesus offers liberty. Forgiveness. Hope. Life. But we have to let go of the lies. Repent. Risk the free-fall. And trust that in Christ, we have a tandem expert that ensures a safe landing. On free ground. In the truth–of who we are and Who He is.

You just have to find the courage to let go.

We’re talking about this for the next two months at City Community Church. You can hear my co-pastor Nathan LaGrange open the series by clicking here. You can also catch each week’s message on the CityCom mobile app, or even check in with us live online each Sunday at 11AM by clicking this link. Come free-fall with us.

What lies do you need to let go of? Start the conversation.

I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m a church rat. Contrary to popular rumors my mom did not give birth to me in the baptismal tank, but I pretty much grew up around the church. Developed my social circles there. “Found myself” amongst the pews and hymnals.

And as surprising as this may be to some of you–I’m grateful for that. I don’t remember one day when I wouldn’t have considered myself a sincere follower of Christ (even during the MTV rebellion of ’89).

I remember praying the magic salvation prayer for the first time in my bedroom when I was about 5 years old.

And then again at church on a Sunday morning (or seven….seventeen….ok, seventy).

And at church camp (every July from 1986 through the first Bush administration).

And those were good moments. Beautiful moments. Of decision. Of conviction. When my soul responded to a prick of the Holy Spirit and my heart surrendered to the voice of the Master.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past three (ok, nearly four) decades, it’s that transformation is a journey. A process. It may start with a momentary decision, but it’s all about movement and motion.

Last week I wrote a post defending church people, outlining our imperfections, admitting our humanity, and asking for a little grace (that we often forget to give). Not surprisingly, I got some push-back. But not from church haters. From church people.

“If the church is full of flawed human beings, how and when do the broken people get healed? If we’re just the same as everybody else, then what’s the point?” A valid question. If Jesus really is who we say He is, when do we get “better?” When does the change come?

My answer: It’s an ongoing journey of discovery, repentance, healing, & grace. Jesus isn’t a momentary magic elixir, He’s an active pursuit.

My adventure started with a simple bedroom prayer over 30 (some) years ago. Since then, it’s had numerous twists and turns and countless highs and lows. The most recent leg has been scary. Painful. Gut-wrenching. About 36 months long. And it’s not quite over yet.

I’ve outlined quite a bit of it here on the blog. I’ve been a meticulous people pleaser. I determined my value by how others perceived me. It’s rooted in some old wounds of rejection, and vehemently protected by lies about who I am and how God perceives me.

Three years ago, a few good books, some challenging sermons, and a dear friend helped shine light on those lies and the idols they had fashioned in my life.

Discovery.

Then over time, with the help of strong community, I began to acknowledge and ask forgiveness for embracing those deceptions. Not just a one-time prayer, but an ongoing recognition of when I was falling back into old habits and patterns, asking Jesus to do what only He can do to help me combat it.

Repentance.

As recently as this week (over 3 years later!), I’ve begun to notice different responses to my old sinful triggers. I’m stronger. Bolder. I know Who gives me value. I don’t own things that aren’t mine to own. I’ve changed.

Healing.

And the journey continues. New legs. New adventures. New discoveries. More repentance. Unending forgiveness. Renewed healing. Ongoing transformation. A journey of grace–that’s how we change.

How have you seen transformation happen in your life?