4:32AM: I was startled from my blissful slumber to the tiny little voice of our four-year-old son standing next to our bed.  He was soaking wet, the victim of a failed attempt to get him sleeping through the night diaper-free.  Some nights he crosses that finish line.  This night, not so much.

I sent him to our bathroom, instructed him to remove the wet pajamas, and then headed off through the dark to his bedroom to retrieve some dry ones.  Just a few groggy moments later, I returned to find a skinny, soaked, and completely naked little boy shivering miserably on the freezing tile of the bathroom floor. It was pitiful.

I quickly dressed him, gathered him in my arms, and returned us both to the down-comforted warmth of my bed. Snuggled firmly between my wife, me, and our 4 pound Yorkie named Buzz, we all slowly drifted back to sleep.  All was right with the world again.

But I can’t forget the heartbreaking image I returned to find in our cold, dark bathroom that night.  It reminded me of…me.

“You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’ And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. So I advise you to buy gold from me—gold that has been purified by fire. Then you will be rich. Also buy white garments from me so you will not be shamed by your nakedness, and ointment for your eyes so you will be able to see.” (Rev. 3:17-18 NLT)

We’re good at trying to clothe ourselves. We’re tough.  Rich.  Smart.  Religious.  Self-confident.  Educated.  Put together.  Relationally savvy.  Pick your preferred brand of “clothing.”

But all too often these are  just facades we manufacture to mask our need for Someone bigger than us to enter the garment-making business.  Underneath it all, we’re just as pitiful as my shivering, naked, four year old son standing on a cold tile floor in the middle of the night, waiting for Daddy to return with dry pajamas.

I wonder what God is waiting to do if we just admit it?

http://www.beyondtherisk.com

It was communist leader Karl Marx that said “religion is the opiate of the masses.“  That quote used to stir such animosity in my American-Midwestern-Evangelical belief-structure.  But honestly, I believe he was right.  Before you unsubscribe, let me at least try to explain.

In the interest of that transparency and vulnerability that my buddy Nathan and I so often wax eloquence about, we’re coming off an unbelievably crappy week (yeah mom, I said crappy…thought about using stronger words, but I’ve already opened by agreeing with a Karl Marx quote.  I thought that was enough potential controversy for one post).  Let me see if I can quickly recount the circumstances for you and then at least attempt to make a coherent point:

TUESDAY: I have a brain MRI in attempt to explain the “abnormal” findings of an EEG.  I recently started having strange, foggy, forgetful episodes (my wife says I’m just using the diagnosis as an excuse for manly irresponsibility, but I do have a real doctor’s note) and have been diagnosed with a “risk for complex, partial and secondarily generalized seizures” (hey, why go half way?).  The good news: the MRI showed no tumor (and a functioning brain…ba dum dum).  The bad news: anti-seizure medication for the foreseeable future.

WEDNESDAY: My beautiful wife of 14 years has a biopsy on her thyroid gland.  Not atypical for the Midwest, she has developed multiple nodules that had to be tested for malignancy.  Twenty-five needle sticks to the neck later, we find the growths are benign (thank you God) but the test takes it’s toll (she wants to have a word with all you doctors who told her the procedure is a “piece of cake.” You should be nervous.  Yes, I’m serious).

THURSDAY: My four-year-old son Austin heads to the eye specialist for a follow up on his infant-diagnosis of optic nerve hypoplasia, an incurable underdevelopment of the optic nerves that in extreme cases can result in blindness and brain defects.  He’s fortunate in that his symptoms are mild, but this day begins long-term patch therapy and a trip to Target Optical for his first pair of glasses (he just wants to be cool like his dad).

FRIDAY: Our two year old Boston Terrier, Disney, runs across the street in front of my in-law’s house like she’s done a million times before.  Unfortunately, her timing for this innocent adventure intersects with a traveling mini-van.  Two hours later, her little body succumbs to post-surgical internal bleeding.

We’ve definitely had easier weeks, and I’m well aware that many of you have had much harder.  But I noticed something interesting in the hours and days that followed our emotional roller-coaster of experiences.  I wanted an explanation, to understand, to make sense of the events that had transpired.  I had lost control, and I wanted it back.

On my left shoulder sat the skeptic wondering “where has God gone?”  Didn’t He see what we were going through?  Didn’t He know what sacrifices we were making for Him?  How could He allow us to face such difficult circumstances?  Doesn’t He care?  How can a loving God…?  You know what I’m saying.  You’ve asked it yourself (yeah, I know).

But on my right shoulder was the whispering religious zealot.  “You’re doing such a great work for God that the Devil must be on the attack.”  Or just the opposite, “what unknown evil have you stumbled into that is causing God to punish you in this way?”  Here, have a trite quote or an easy answer to dull your pain.  God is good all the time.  Where God guides, God provides. And I bet you can think of dozens of other “knicknack sayings” aimed at eliminating the tension, deadening the pain, and avoiding the heartache that just far too often comes from living in a broken, fallen, messy, sinful world.

The reality?  We want to explain God. If I do A, He does B.  If I say this, He’ll do that.  If I…then He.  We want control, to be in charge.  Go ahead, admit it.  It’s cathartic.  But we really don’t want to serve a God like that.  A God we have figured out.  A God we can throw in our briefcase, in the diaper bag, with the golf clubs in the trunk of the car and just pull Him out when it’s raining, when we don’t understand, when we need to rub the lamp and get our three wishes.

Sometimes God is a mystery.  And we live in the constant tension of despising our lack of control and celebrating that there is a God who is willing to take it. He never said we’d always understand, but He promised to never make us walk through the heartache alone.

I don’t want a belief system – a philosophy – that gives me easy answers I can frame and hang on the mantle, an opiate created to dull my pain.  I need a Savior willing to embody my suffering, to redeem it, to shape me deeply through this far-too-often unexplainable journey, and to both weep and celebrate with me all along the way.

So far, this week’s been pretty uneventful.  I’m OK with that, too.

Had to share a little video we put together promoting the City Community Church website.  We actually used a home video of my 3-year old son, Austin.  And he really did come up with this song totally on his own, which made using it even funnier (well, at least for me).  Forgive the editing.  Just a novice (me) experimenting with (and jealously envying) my buddy’s MAC.

My 3 year old son has learned how to unbuckle his seat belt.  It’s a new talent he’s learning to use regularly as we’re driving at high speeds around the city of Indianapolis.  I’m convinced he does it simply to see his two thirty-something parents lose their minds.  We think all the stern yelling is effective…but I’m beginning to think he just finds it funny.

“Let’s watch mommy and daddy lose their minds…” click.
(insert devious 3 year old laughter here)

Tonight I tried something different.  Instead of yelling at him, I squatted down at eye level (after I parked the car) and spent 30 seconds explaining to him why it’s a bad idea for him to unbuckle his belt while we’re out driving.  “Not only will you get hurt if we have to stop the car fast or get in an accident, but the police will arrest mommy and daddy and take them to jail if they catch us driving while you’re out of your seatbelt.”

Now reasoning with a three year old isn’t always the best course of action, but tonight I think he might have actually gotten it (although I question whether seeing mommy and daddy cuffed and stuffed in the back of a patrol car might be enticing to him).  And in the process I realized how often my expectations, not only of my 3 year old son but of others in general, can often outpace my willingness to educate.

Recently retired Colts head coach, Tony Dungy, was known for his amazing ability to keep his cool in the toughest of situations.  By his own admission when he was younger, he used to be a hot-head.  But coming from a family of teachers, Dungy learned over time to squelch his frustration with his now famous reputation of being an educator.  I want to be more like that.  I’ve got a long ways to go.

Most of the time, our internal anger and frustration with others comes from expectations we have of them that go unmet.  But if we’re really honest with ourselves, how many times have we placed that expectation without ever educating on the issue in the first place?   We erupt in anger but never take the time to explain the “why.”

Before you give me the father of the year award for my efforts with the seatbelt earlier this evening, I’m ashamed to say tonight was much more the exception than the rule.  Educating takes patience, kindness, self-control…and love (I heard a rumor somewhere that those are supposed to be the outflows of Christ living in me).  But it’s much easier to erupt in frustration than to have the patience and heart of a teacher.  Unfortunately the Bible is clear:

“There are a lot of people around who can’t wait to tell you what you’ve done wrong, but there aren’t many fathers willing to take the time and effort to help you grow up.” (1 Cor. 4:15 MSG)

Ouch.  I’ve got some work to do.  How about you?