We’ve added a fourth child! OK, it’s just for a few weeks, but she’s already bossing me around like she’s one of my real kids.

Last Thursday, the second leg of our Safe Families adventure began as we welcomed a two-year-old beauty into our home. She’s dubbed Mandy “mommy.” And me? Well, she calls me “Big Doggy,” a rapper alias I utilized back in the 80′s.

Her real mom is making some huge strides in her life, but needed a few weeks to straighten out some logistical issues for her young family. Safe Families stepped in to temporarily place the kids in loving homes while they assist her through that process.

It’s not foster care. We don’t have custody. We’re not adopting. We’re just sharing our ridiculously blessed family with another family in need. Like extended relatives they don’t currently have.

It’s a wonderfully-messy thing.

And you can do it, too.

Click here for official info. Or better yet, email me and I can share more of our personal story.

I used to work with a guy that drove us all crazy. Erratic behavior. Irrational emotions. Insecure decision making. A Michael Scott character (with little laughter ensuing).

The longer it went on, the less forgiving we all became. Minor issues became game changers. Before words could even form on his lips, eyes would roll, cynicism would ooze, and the buzzing of irreverent text messages would begin.

His lack of self awareness was brutal, and our ignorance of the underlying pain that was fueling it turned us cold, slowly building an impenetrable wall between us. Had we truly understood, I have no doubt we would have rallied to his aid. Instead, we just avoided him in the hallway.

That’s why vulnerability is so important.

When we find the courage to share our broken places, our weaknesses can actually become magnetic. A force that draws us together, rather than a barrier that keeps us apart. We rally around genuine humility, and scripture also tells us God’s grace resides there. (Proverbs 3:34)

We have to sacrifice power and control to gain love and acceptance. And that’s not without risk. Not all endings are storybook.

But I can promise you this…

Spouse.

Co-workers.

Friendships.

Family.

Neighbors.

Unacknowledged, unshared weaknesses will isolate and irritate. Vulnerability provides opportunity for our brokenness to become a glue that binds us together.

It’s July, but I can still smell them.

Swedish meatballs.

Every Christmas Eve my mom buries the already overcrowded dining room table in an obscene pile of them. Her mom’s recipe. My grandmother Helga (yep…Helga) was the only one of her siblings not born on Swedish soil, and every 24th of December we celebrate our family with a not so subtle reminder of our heritage. And my grandma.

(Cooper Family Trivia: We’re Swedish. This is why my first name ends with a “k”).

A beautiful tradition. A tradition that grounds us. Reminds us. That brings us together.

My life is full of these rich expressions, yet the word tradition still summons bad vibes for me. Probably because of my history in the church (and as a music pastor). Tradition became a battleground of personal preference. A barrier to creativity. A breeding ground for bad theology.

The enemy.

So in much the same way that worship has morphed into a musical genre, “traditional” became synonymous with the early morning hymn-sing we moved to the church annex.

I’m not so sure tradition is the problem. Lack of meaning, forgotten purpose, and just plain selfishness are the real issues.

The Old Testament is full of tradition. Yearly feasts, cultural celebrations, monuments of remembrance, designed and implemented by God Himself. But by Jesus time, corrupt spiritual leaders had manipulated them into religious rules, political posturing, and a means of controlling people.

Life. Meaning. Purpose.

Abused. Emptied. Hijacked.

If we’ve seen it abused, we’re prone to kill it. It’s easier to flip off the light switch than to step into the tension. But the truth is almost always found there.

Tradition can become a cemetery of empty ritual, or it can overflow with richness and meaning. A chip for brokering power, or a portal to deep awe and reverence. A strengthening from the past, or a selfish refusal to embrace the future. Oppressive and evil, or a pathway to the foot of the cross.

Tradition can help us find God, or it can become our god. What is it to you?

My son is a master negotiator. A natural at age six. I’m 100% convinced he could’ve ended the NFL labor negotiations back in May. He makes William Shatner look like an amateur.

Last night, he came at me full force with his verbal ninjitsu.

He wanted to sleep in our room.

As any parent knows, this is not an unprecedented request, and occasionally we oblige with a sleeping bag on the floor by our bed. But without fail, like some David Blaine illusion, he inevitably appears between my wife and I before morning.

Last night I needed some sleep. Real sleep. And I just wasn’t up for a 2AM roundhouse to the schnoz (when Austin sleeps, his ninjitsu isn’t only verbal).

Sorry kid. No slumber party tonight. We bought you a bed for a reason. Go use it.

He wasn’t buying. So after three rounds of failed negotiations and a near government shutdown, I had to bring the big guns. “Get out. Go to your room. I don’t want to see you again tonight.”

As he stomped angrily into the blackness of our upstairs hallway, a wave of guilt engulfed me like a cat 5 hurricane. Everything in me wanted to rush to his room. To make sure he was OK. To offer to lay next to his bed (playing Words with Friends) until he fell asleep.

I didn’t want him to be mad at me. I didn’t want him to be upset. I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. After all, that’s love. Right?

Or was it really something much, much different? In that moment, my concern wasn’t really for Austin. It was all about me.

Did I handle that right?

Am I damaging his psyche?

Should I resolve the tension?

Am I a good father?

More often than I’d like to admit, my decisions as a dad, as a pastor, as a leader, are less about my love for those I’m responsible for, and more about protecting a fragile ego. Conflict doesn’t just challenge my stance on a certain situation, it can creep into the core of my identity. How I see myself.

We can’t truly love others when the unspoken motive is really protecting self.

Luckily, I’ve begun to recognize this. To identify it. To call it out. To repent of it. To allow Jesus access to those broken places.

And as I get healthier, I’m becoming more and more able to healthily lead others. To be a pastor. A husband. A daddy. To love well, because it’s actually about them and not just about me.

Does your obsession with self ever mask itself as caring for others?

Is there one person you dread running into at the grocery store? That awkward encounter that takes your heart to anaerobic levels? A broken relationship that’s unresolved with no signs of untangling? Even worse, are you related to them?

How do you live with unresolved tension?

I met a buddy this week who asked me that exact question. He’s upside down with a brother-in-law at no fault of his own. The guy just doesn’t like him. Never has. (Something about stealing his little sister).

But as my friend has continually tried to humbly and Biblically step into the difficult dialog, things have gone from bad to worse. Rescheduled conversations have turned into avoided conversations. What do you do when the other party finds it less painful to live in the unresolved awkwardness?

“If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.” -Romans 12:18

There are a couple of things I’m no longer interested in. The first is paying $17.99 for a new CD, but a close second is fake conflict resolution. I don’t think we honor God when we slap on a faux smile, bluff a few “I’m sorry’s,” and dodge the difficult issues.

Tension is inevitable. And sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes we’re too quick to seek a resolution to the very tool God may be using to bring about real change. Real repentance.

I’m not talking about stubbornly holding a grudge.

I’m not talking about refusing to forgive.

I’m talking about what to do when you’ve willingly stepped into the tension and the other person just isn’t interested in joining you there. Sometimes we have to learn to pray there. To wait there. To live there.

What do you think? How do you live with unresolved tension? As much as it is in your power, are you living at peace with all men?