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.

Today is my city’s Luck-y day.

(Look, the next 12-15 years are going to be filled with bad Luck puns – see there’s another one right there – I’m not missing out).

With the first pick in the 2012 NFL draft, the Indianapolis Colts will choose Andrew Luck, quarterback out of Stanford University. The most highly touted QB prospect in a generation, and soon to be heir to one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play professional football.

I know he’s uber calm, GQ cool (especially now that he’s shaved that neck beard), a great interview, and comes off like he was manufactured in a lab for this moment. But you’ve got to think (assuming he’s actually human) there are little beads of sweat testing the durability of his Degree underarm deodorant.

Come on, he’s replacing Peyton freakin’ Manning!

The comparisons must be terrifying, even though no one on planet earth could be more tangibly qualified to fill the role. The whole world is watching.

You’re not going #1 in the NFL draft (trust me, I checked), but I bet you’re living with some fearful comparisons and questionable qualifications in your own life, too. Wondering if you’re good enough. If you can fill the shoes. If you’ve got what it takes.

If you’re qualified.

At your job. As a leader. As a mentor. With your family.

I do.

My dad is the Peyton Manning of fathers. Not perfect (you remember that pick 6 in the ’09 SuperBowl, right?), but he’ll hoist his own version of the Lombardi Trophy when all is said and done (and don’t worry dad, not all is close to being said or done).

He’s a true patriarch. A loving anchor. Our go-to. Decisive. Courageous. A problem solver. A resource broker. A man who inspires confidence and comfort even when he may not be feeling it inside himself.

A lot of people fear becoming their father. I fear I’ll never be qualified to become mine.

Yesterday, my friend Danny shared a powerful and encouraging passage with me on this very subject (which I think also qualifies as the longest run-on sentence in Scripture, but stick with me), and maybe it will encourage you, too.

“We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding THAT THE SPIRIT GIVES, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, WHO HAS QUALIFIED YOU to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.”

–Colossians 1:9-12 NIV (emphasis mine)

Here’s the great news: YOU’RE NOT QUALIFIED!

At least not by your own gifts and abilities. Your talent, wit, wisdom, decisiveness, resourcefulness–your ability to read defenses or throw a ball 80 yards in the air.

The Father has qualified you! If you can find the courage and humility to lean into Him today. That’s some pretty amazing news no matter who’s shoes you have to fill.

QUESTION:
Let’s be honest now. Do you ever feel unqualified?

Some people make me uncomfortable. They say hard things. Offensive things. Their very presence makes me bristle. Raises my blood pressure. Makes me flat out angry.

And it’s good.

They’re called prophets. A term we don’t hear thrown around much in pop culture today (unless they’re referencing some crazy in a sheltered compound with a chalice of red kool-aid and 300 blank-eyed followers). But I believe the prophetic gift is still alive (Ephesians 4:11), and at times the brokenness and deception in our lives will be violently accosted by very difficult truth. Painful truth. Prophetic truth.

The Old Testament prophets were nut jobs. Often outcasts. Recluses. They’d marry prostitutes or walk around naked to visually illustrate the sins of God’s people. Their call was to repent. They weren’t easy to ignore, but they were pretty easy to marginalize.

I undoubtedly face the same impulse when encountering a prophetic voice today. They like to point at things in me that I don’t want you to see. That I really don’t even want to see myself. I prefer to move them to the crazy line and get on with my life.

But there’s another kind of voice that can sound strikingly similar. That also leaves you bristling, irritated, and maybe even a little PO’d (for a whole other reason).

The cynic.

Haters. Full of self-righteous condescension, a sharp tongue, caustic wit, and an uncanny ability to make you feel like a pile of dog crap. And here’s the difficult thing about The Prophet and The Cynic…

…sometimes it’s really hard to tell the difference between the two.

I’m a pastor, so I live and breathe in “church world.” Admittedly, this can become it’s own subculture of competing philosophies and debate. The tension between prophet and cynic is one I wrestle with every day (at times even in my own soul).

The Western Church could use a good kick in the pants. A cold bucket of wake-up reality check. We’ve bought into some idolatrous (and perhaps even dangerous) lies. At times, we’ve even misrepresented the Gospel. We need the prophetic voices to radically and urgently point us back towards the truth.

But some of you so-called prophets need a gut-check of your own. You’re not oracles, you’re just haters – finding visceral satisfaction in expressing your animosity towards things that may have hurt you, that make you envious, or that simply don’t line up with your own personal preferences.

You’re just negative people. Nothing’s good enough for you – ever right or worthy of celebrating. When you’re not bashing mega-churches, worship styles, church structures, or the latest comment made by some well-known spiritual leader, you’re angst turns towards the idiot repairman, the forgetful waitress, your overbearing boss, or the ridiculous common area mowing schedule of your neighborhood association.

You’re not a prophet, you’re just a whiner with verbal acumen. Having a condescending opinion might make you a great ESPN analyst, but it doesn’t qualify you as the voice of God.

How do we know the difference? I fear mistaking prophetic words for the ramblings of a cynic. But I also fear gravitating towards the emotional woo of a hater assuming I’m hearing from God. So here’s a simple thought:

The prophet is motivated by redemption.

The cynic just wants to feel right.

What do you think? How do we discern between the two?

It’s always the pastor’s kids.

When God was dolling out the gene pool, he knew this compliant, follow the rules, don’t rock the boat, “my worst college rebellion was putting dish washer detergent in the campus fountain” guy needed some spice. So He sprinkled a little Austin on my life sandwich (with a divinely playful grin no doubt).

I could start a new blog dedicated to his daily antics. His hilarious (and uncomfortably honest) questions. The notes his teacher sends home from school. My natural reaction is to do what all the “good little kids” do to the mischievous ones.

Tattle on him.

But I haven’t figured out who to tell.

He’s fearless, and a lot of days he takes us to the outer edges of our own parental insecurities. But in the midst of the chaos, there’s one undeniable reality about our 6 year old corporate negotiator to be:

We absolutely love that boy.

And I really sort of admire him, too (even when I want to send him to live with his grandparents). His determination. His persistence. His courage. His “I’m gonna do this until you have the guts to stop me” approach to life. I honestly wish I was more naturally wired that way.

As I was praying for the Aus-man this morning, I felt some divine leading.

Stop praying against his strong-willed tendencies. Stop praying he conforms. Stop praying for timid compliance. Those things might make parenting easier (and the eyes of other parents less judgmental), but they won’t make your son more Christ-like.

Stop praying he weakens.

Start praying for meekness.

Meek isn’t a word we use much today. “LeBron James takes the Bosh pass meekly to the basket for a quick two points!” Or at least one we use 100% accurately. Meek sounds “weak.” But that’s not necessarily true.

Meek can actually be defined as “controlled strength.” It’s a term most used in equestrian circles to describe a stallion that has been broken for battle. He’s not weak. He’s not timid. He’s not afraid.

He will simply utilize his strength in whatever way the Master leads.

If I’m honest, some days I just want Austin to be easier to parent (not the purest motivation for a loving father). God wants him strong, confident, powerful, tested, and ready to embrace the Kingdom life he was destined to live.

Surrendered not compliant.

Passionate not predictable.

Meek not weak.

Criticism is a native language for human beings. We learn to chuck stones straight from the womb. Some of us are more subtle. Some are full on connoisseurs. (Some of us are bloggers). All of us do it.

To each other.

Our politicians.

Our favorite sports teams.

That idiot columnist.

And perhaps most tragically, to ourselves.

As we journey forward in this life, we learn new things. We gain fresh perspective and uncover new understanding. By definition, that process starts to make us unsatisfied with where we’re at.

Critical.

And a healthy dissatisfaction can be the perfect prescription for change. To lose some weight. To be more vulnerable with our spouse. To start saving a few bucks. To enroll in college classes. To quit texting while driving (or flying airplanes).

But if we’re not careful, criticism can trigger shame and spiral us into the abyss of unworthiness and hopelessness. Of self-disdain that holds us captive instead of propelling us forward. Shame swallows grace.

To grow, mature, and transform, there must be periods of gut-wrenching and soul-searching. Where God shines his light into the darkest rooms of our soul. It’s uncomfortable. But that overwhelming sense that something is wrong might just mean something is very right.

Today’s revelation will always make yesterday’s response seem silly, stupid, and maybe even a little embarrassing. That’s normal. What you do with it from there will make all the difference.

Shame=Stagnant.

Repentance=Transformation.

So have a little grace today. For your noisy neighbor. That idiot weaving in and out of traffic. (I’m still asking God if politicians are optional). But maybe most importantly of all, find a little grace for yourself.