I am directionally challenged. When God knit me together in my mother’s womb, he left out the Google Maps app. Until recently, I was embarrassed to admit it. My dad is flawless with directions (unless they require power tools), but the gene pool seemed to dry up somewhere after red hair and freckles. Need proof?

A few months ago, my wife and I were driving from Chicago back to Indy. Thanks to the little blue dot on my iPhone screen, I’d safely negotiated my way through downtown traffic and was nearing the interstate when my worst driving fear became reality:

The road split.

One choice led due south–back to the promised land. The other went to Milwaukee. (No offense Wisconsin, but not even the Bucks want to play there).

I was heading west, so surely the left lane was the right choice (right? I mean, correct?). Blinker on. I didn’t make any friends as I slowly merged through the aggressive Chicago-land traffic (those people always seem to know where they’re going and you’re always in the way), but I hit that left lane with flare and confidence…

…only to watch it dip sharply under the lane to the right, bank north, and land us on the road to cheese-town.

This is why I hate driving in unknown areas! It’s dangerous. People honk at me. I look stupid in front of my wife. And despite all the logic and tools at my disposal, I seem to make the wrong call anyway.

Unfortunately, this mindset isn’t limited to navigating city streets. I hate being incorrect. I disdain feeling stupid. I run from the disapproval (honking horns) of others. And I despise–I mean vehemently–the regret that comes from mistakenly heading in the wrong direction.

But living a life that matters might be less about negotiating the traffic itself, and more about confronting the emotions that keep us from making decisions in the first place.

We want to make an impact, but we fear looking stupid.

We want our voice to be heard, but we feel shame when others disagree.

We want freedom, but we’re terrified of regret.

Decisiveness is the currency of courage. Perfectionism is the weight of cowardice. There’s usually a turnaround exit a few miles up the road, so let’s make a few decisions today while we’re waiting for the GPS to catch up.

What’s one decision you’ve been putting off because the emotions of potential mistakes are too much to negotiate?

I was unpacking my bag on the bench when I caught two guys walk into the locker room out of the corner of my eye. There are three identical, contiguous locker bays at my gym–the other two were completely empty–yet this duo chose to pile their bags up next to mine and squeeze (just closely enough to make it awkward) into the same locker space I was occupying.

Alright. Relax. No big deal.

But when a fourth guy walked in, assessed the situation, completely ignored the other two empty locker bays, and proceeded to lean impatiently against the wall until I was finished, I had a sudden, involuntary flashback.

This is the same guy that used to attend my church when I was a kid! He and his wife would insist on the same seat each Sunday and go all wrath of God if your cheeks dared imprint on “their” cushion.

Wait a second. Maybe this isn’t a religious, “church-people” issue after all. Could it possibly just be a human issue?

I know you get a lot more attention when you rip on your own. Democrats who bash Obama. Republicans who light up Newt Gingrich. Pastors who criticize the church. That moves the needle. Makes people look. I’ve been known to do it myself (and sometimes it’s absolutely necessary).

But today I want to do something that may be a bit unpopular…

…come to the defense of church people.

(I know, I know….where’s he gonna go next? Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Lindsay Lohan?)

Look, I admit, we’re quirky, hypocritical, naive, simplistic, condescending, annoying, unforgiving, myopic, rote, and graceless (at far too many times). And I’m guessing what probably irritates you the most is when we act like we’re better than you. Like we’ve got it all figured out. Like we’ve solved all the mysteries and our bathrooms don’t need air freshener. Nobody likes to feel “less than” (I’ll put myself at the top of that list).

You hate when we “church folk” seem to forget that we’re broken, fallen human beings.

So please, please, please do me a favor: don’t you forget it either.

We’re sheep following the Good Shepherd. Sometimes we wander. Sometimes we take our eyes off the Master. Sometimes we break a leg or fall in a ditch. Sometimes we make Jesus look real bad. We’re the sheep (not the brightest of animals), not the Shepherd.

That’s the beauty of the Gospel. Because of Jesus, God always welcomes us back.

Our issues aren’t “church people” issues. They’re human issues. That’s why I love this tweet from the pastor of the LA Dream Center, Matthew Barnett:

“The church is not a social club of fake perfection, it’s a place where broken people fall in love with a perfect God.”

We “church people” will do our best not to forget that, but do us a huge favor and please remember it, too.

What’s your “church pew?”

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?