God, I think of how much good i could do for you if I could just be a bigger man.

If i could make each look with my eyes purposeful and disciplined. 

If i could be strong enough to get up early to pray. 

if i could be the most generous and peaceful and joyfilled face at the party. 

if I could be completely pure with the girls I date and and protect their hearts better than anyone before. 

If I could differentiate myself from others by always drinking coke instead of beer and giving the biggest tip.

if i could be the best worker at my job, being honest and on time, not reading personal emails at work. 

if i could be the best listener that make people walk away thinking, wow, there’s something different about him. 

]If i could leave every place more beautiful than when i came. . .

oh, if i could only not suck so much.  Lord what would be more beautiful would be if in every situation you humbled ME, and somehow that showed people how cool YOU are in the process.

November 22nd, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I picked Cork up as a hitchhiker.  He’s about 60 and his teeth are almost rotted out.  He had recently been asked to leave his last church so I started to bring him to mine.  He was asked to leave my church when he wouldn’t stop sending phone messages to random telephone numbers, inviting them to our church.  Plus he kept going to the young adult class and hitting on the girls.

He introduced me to my dear friend Bonnie.  She is 65 years old.  She frantically throws out stories like shrapnel grenades.  She talks almost incoherrently about her absent son named Soul-star, about making mischeif in the military, and how as a child she was unnamed and adopted by a mafia house that made her smuggle guns.  She totes heavy oxygen bottles around which gets her out of breath, and she rarely stops to breathe because she’s talking.

It was quite a scene when they came to church with me.  One sunday i remember walking out of church to my car.  Cork sauntered, singing, with his head back squinting into the sky. Sugar-saturated coffee splashed over his styrofoam cup.  Bonnie followed, rolling her bag of oxygen bottles down curbs and wheezing as she told a story about her neighbor putting witchcraft curses on her, trying to speak over Cork’s singing. 

They got into my car.  “Cork, please be careful with the coffee.” 

Cork yelled at Bonnie for giving a hand job to their mutual friend the other day. Then the conversation went to politics.  I stayed quiet.  Several times i looked back and saw the coffee splashing onto the front of Cork’s stained shirt.  I cringed. 

I finally dropped Cork off and then went to drop off Bonnie.  I helped her carry her oxygen up the stairs and she fumbled with her ball of keys for five minutes trying to unlock her door, the whole time telling me something about how the people upstairs kept flooding her apartment, and how the cockroaches were eating all of her parakeet’s bird food. 

Finally she opened her door and turned to me. “Thank you for taking me to church Ross.  I love you.  You remind me of my son.”  I stopped her before she could go into another story about her son.  But it didn’t work.  As she kept on talking I looked at the goopy white globs forming at the corners of her mouth.  Maybe it was her meds.  Maybe it was mouth bugars.  maybe that’s just what happens when you don’t have time to swallow or lick your lips. 

I stopped her again, “Bonnie!  Be quiet!  I have to go now!”

“Ok, Ok.  Keep praying for me.  I need it.  You remind me of my son so much.  He used to be in theater and was going to be an eagle scout until-”

“Bonnie, i gotta go.”

“Ok, ok.  Wait.” 

I watched her round, palid face and those festering white balls of slime in the corners of her mouth lean in towards me.  She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.  I cringed and hugged her back. 

As i drove away that day, I wiped my cheek as i examined my back seat for coffee stains and I realized, it’s awfully hard to truly love somebody without getting dirty.

November 22nd, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I get frustrated when I read that we must hate our family or we cannot be Jesus’ disciple (Lk 14:26).  I start to doubt Jesus when he says, ask for anything and I’ll give it to you (Jn 14:14).  I get peeved when Jesus says more will be given to those who have, and for those who have nothing even that will be taken away (Lk 19:26).  Was Christ a fanatical rebuplican when it came to karma taxes? 

I doubt he was democrat or republican.  but on my best days I believe he was God.  And the fact that i don’t understand why he says certain things should not peeve me, but instead should show me the levels of intimacy i have yet to grow to with him when I will someday understand the whys.

November 17th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

oops

My brilliant friend, Cliff proposed an idea to me the other day.  It was that God learns.  he said something like: God created man and then seems to have learned that it was not good for him to be alone. It seems true that God learns.  He created the universe and saw that it was good (as if he didn’t already know it would be).  and when man screwed it all up God said, oops, I better flood ‘em and try again.  A little bit of trial and error going on.  It sure seems like God learns.

How is that possible if God is outside of time and can flip to any page in history and read it like a book- that he wrote, no less.  How can he be limited inside the story that he wrote to learn from what happens in it? 

Another friend, Naomi (who’s very clever with words) broke down this word for me: CON-descend.  God descended “with” us. 

What if in the condescending, God veilded a part of his own wisdom from himself.  And he did it for the purpose of living in real relationship with us.  what sort of relationship would it be if my dad knew and wrote out every event in my life before it happened?  i think it would be like trying to have a relationship with a book, fighting to unstick the next heavy page. 

So i don’t deny that our God knows all things including the future long before it happens, but maybe for the sake of a relationship with his children, he can set the completely divine aspect of his character aside to be in real relationship with us.  And he wanted to do it so much, that he stayed in character even while we shoved nails and spears into him and shoved him into the ground.  but then is when the divine kicked back in.  he hopped back up and winked at us and said, “it’s been a pleasure condescending with you, but now hop aboard if you’d like and come share in the divine with me.”

November 11th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments (3)

We sing that we ”glorify” God.  We pray that God will help us “glorify” him with our lives.  This is a super churchy word that belongs in prayer and worship.  but how does it appear in my life?

Imagine a woman who spoke of her husband as the love of her life, and her hero.  Imagine your coworker acting so eager to complete an assignment for his boss because he is such a good boss.  Imagine teaching a kid who tells you he will not cheat on a test because his daddy taught him up right.  what does that make you think about his father.

If we saw someone at a party go up to the lonely zitty kid in the corner to befriend him, wouldn’t we say, “that was pretty cool.”  And would we think a little differently about Christ if we found out he was a Christian.

And what if a friend of yours said she dated this guy who said on their first date that he wouldn’t sleep with her because he believed sex should only come when love and a promise accompanies it?  Would it make you think someone is actually listening to a God who he respects?

And what if when you asked the happiest person you know why they are so happy they draw close and whisper in your ear, “Because I have been given abundant life.”

So, sometimes i think i make god look very uncool by being the stiff at the party that doesn’t drink and talks condescendingly to those that do.  and I make god look uncool by blatantly walking away from a crude conversation at school.  I make god look very uncool by purposely steering clear of the homosexual at work. 

Instead, could i be the most fun and most selfless at a party, because I have been given grace and abundant life.  And could i make fun of my chosen abstinence to make people laugh when they share crude humor with me.  and would it not be the coolest thing to treat the homosexual with more respect and more friendship and more understanding than even your other work associates.  And when he says, “Why are you so nice to me?  You know i’m gay, right?  Aren’t you a religious guy?”  I could make my God look so cool when I say, “Hey man, who am I to judge?  My God is graceful and he loves you and me so well.”

November 10th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments (2)

My friend tells me how his mom has an undiagnosed disease that makes her blow up at family reunions or get in cars and drive until she gets lost.  She will throw things at her family members and scream terrible things.  She whispers to herself all day and is draining to be around.  My friend lowers his head and says, “sometimes i just wish God would take her home.”

My friend thinks she is this way because she has been raped several times, been cheated on by more than one husband, and was abused when she was young. 

What makes this suffering even more unfair is that it was her sacrificial love that ruined her.  She decided to take a prolonged vacation from work (the only thing that kept her sane) to nurse her dying mother and when she finally went back to work they had eliminated her position.  That is what my friend thinks ultimately broke her.

My friend says that she used to be sharp, strong willed, loving with a completely sacrificial love and she was beautiful.  My friend says, “the sad thing is that I know that if I were in her place, she would dedicate her life to helping me through it.”

So why all this suffering for a person that just doesn’t deserve it?  God, why don’t you take your daughter home and relieve her of this pain?  it’s gotta be better up there.

My friend says that there are times when he gets to walk with his mother in the park and she begins to smile again and starts to light up.  My friend’s step-dad sounds like an amazing man.  he has stayed by his wife’s side through all of this.  He is patient and completely loves her, even still.  He takes her shopping and cleans the house.  These are beautiful things in my eyes, like diamonds.

What if suffering is like flowers of the fields and acts of love are like gems.  Suffering is temporary, it can only last as long as a lifetime.  But what if every loving deed is seen by God and all of his hosts and is remembered forever.  the longer my friend’s mother lives the more times God gets the opportunity to say, “that is my son walking with his mother.  And there is her husband still holding her tight at night.   They are loving her even when it’s hard.  That makes me so proud. They are forging something beautiful.”

I bet it is better up there, but what if it’s better up there partly because of what we do down here?  Every time my friend walks with his mother and shares her burdens with her, or her husband makes dinner and eats at her side, maybe a beautiful stone is placed in heaven to remember it.  Like old testament characters were commanded to build stone altars to remember different times God had saved them or taught them something.  Maybe the beautiful deeds of my friend and his step-dad are the stones that accumulate in heaven in some way, and are the stones with which god builds his city.  And maybe every day we will walk not on streets of Gold, but streets made of something much more beautiful.  In each stone Christ is partially reflected- reminding us from where we drew our strength to love.  And all the streets and walls and thrones are forever reminding us of the beautiful ore mined from a difficult era.  

So, why suffering?  I don’t know.  But I do know that it is the pain and effort to find and extricate precious stones that makes them so valuable.  If love was not difficult, the deeds might be commonplace and worthless like the piles of pennies gathering dust in my car.  But taken from deep within a mountain of dirt and then carefully, masterly cut, the glimmer of these diamonds is the glimmer in the eye of our savior who came and suffered through hell for us.

November 4th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

He is my CEO.  He is my father.  He is my husband.  He is my commander in chief.  He is my author.  He is the archetype from which i was modeled.  He is my hero and I realized that Jesus, the one anointed as the world’s savior is the superhero that i always hoped was real.

October 27th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

band names are some of the keenest indicators of trends in modern culture.  “Deathcab for Cutie” “Blink 182″ ”The strokes”.  they are often adroitly poetic phrases from social commentaries introduced with prodigious timing again into common language.  But I sometimes see a certain dichotomy in the names of christian bands and secular ones. 

The names of christian bands are rarely as creative and smart as secular names but they have a purpose.  “Jars of Clay” “Tree 63″ “Third Day” “Casting Crowns”. 

I could not find the meaning of Blink, or of 182, and I’m guessing it was cool because it was unique and random (initiating the wave of number named bands), but the 63 of Tree refers to Psalm 63 which talks about praise during hard times- giving glory to a purpose larger than ourselves. 

I think the name “Deathcab for Cutie” is hilarious.  It was taken from a title of a parody song in 1967, who got the phrase from a pulp fiction magazine who got it from a book discussing british pop culture.  The name is a keenly distilled term of historical british culture whose revival was ingeniously timed.  But a comment on culture is just funny and clever.  We like it a lot, because it’s creative and trend-making but that does no good beyond making myself look better by putting myself at the crest of that wave.

Jars of Clay comes from 2 Corinthians 4 which talks about the treasure of the gospel being hidden in insignificant vessels such as people.  Casting crowns also points to God instead of themselves.  In Revalations 24 elders cast their crowns before their king, continuously glorifying him and his purposes forever.  Though christian band names are rarely as innovative and clever, they choose to name and sing their songs for an ultimate purpose outside themselves, instead of only make a social commentary, or share a slice of life. 

There are so many brilliant creative people in music and film and literature, who make the most poignant, accurate comments on the human condition and on life, but to what use are we if our talents are pointed at ourselves and others in society? It’s cyclical reasoning.  It’s planar travel.  It’s a support group at an AA meeting or a dated poetry reading.  It’s fun and can fill up our lives with joy, but beyond ourselves and our finite societies it has minimal purpose.

October 27th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

A friend went into McDonalds the other day and ordered two cheeseburgers for $2.12.  He brought his tray to our table and realized they accidentally also gave him a medium fry. 

He went back and gave them the fries, knowing they would probably have to throw them away. 

I asked him why he did it when all those fries would go to waste.  He responded, “it’s not about results; It’s about character.”

The speed limit along I-135 is posted at 60.  I used to set my cruise control at about 69 because i believe i won’t get stopped.  But am I driving to get to the next place as fast as I can do it without getting caught?  Or am I driving, and doing everything else in my life under gaze of God that holds me to a higher law?  If he says obey my government and my government says 60…

A while ago I met a man in line at a soup kitchen where I was volunteering.  I mentioned I led a Bible study and he said he wanted to go.  So I started bringing him and it made people uncomfortable.  Most of them eventually stopped coming.  The results of my decision to bring him had dwindled the numbers of my Bible study.  Had I made the right decision? IS it all about numbers?

What if our father’s goal is to make us the brightest, most blameless, noble creatures we can be. What if every decision leaves an eternal mark on our souls?   Is a medium fry that we did not earn, worth the little greasy smudge it leaves on our integrity forever, when it could have been an opportunity to refine the gold of which we’re made instead?  What sort of invisible law does this show people we live by?  What better exercise and test of faith and character could our great Mentor give us than one that seems to have no profitable results for us on this earth?

October 26th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments (2)

god, take away my pain, or give it purpose.

October 24th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

A 10 yr old boy was baptised on sunday.  The pastor said, “do you believe that Jesus is Lord, and that he died for the remission of your sins?” The boy, under the hot lights nodded.  Poor guy.  I doubt he’s ever been told what a lord is- except that Jesus is it.  And the word ‘remission’- I don’t even think I know exactly what it means.

What would be a modern day metaphor to help us understand these words?

A couple years ago I began working for a company that provides a product.  The product is a self-help book and tape seminar called “Zoey”.  The president of the company, Mr. Lord is an elusive man of incomparable business genius.  He drops into meetings briefly, puts in his two cents, and it changes the whole direction of the discussion.  His name is all over the business journals, somehow sprinkled into every section.  he seems to have his fingers in all industries and has a mysteriously large social network.  but no one can put a finger on exactly where he is at a certain time.  And about the time they put a label on him as entrepreneur, or CEO, or psychologist, he breaks the mold with some new statement or innovation.  And even if you google the guy- you’ll never find a picture of him. 

Part of the success of his company (300 million in sales and 4.5 million employees worldwide in just 10 years) is that he cares very much for his employees.  He believes in his product so much that he requires each of his employees to study and apply his techniques because it will make them happy and strong and productive.  Basically the Zoey seminars teach people to do what is right, to help others, and to send constant emails or texts to Mr. Lord’s personal inbox.  Nobody knows how he has set up the system to answer each message, whether with a automated computer program or if he outsources it to india, but he somehow gives what seems to be a personal answer to each message.  Sometimes he mobilizes others in the company to help you accomplish what you asked for in the message.  I’ve heard that sometimes he just drops by and sets the thing in your lap, winks and leaves.

I was the manager of the record keeping department.  This involved managing the security of tons of personal information.  One day two years ago I was working late.  It was dark and everybody had left hours before.  I came upon a computer folder under Mr. Lord’s personal profile.  I saw that it was restricted to only Mr. Lord himself but I was almost certain I knew which password he would have used.  The title of the folder was:

"the_secret_of_zoey"

I knew I shouldn’t do it, but i thought, who would ever know.  I opened it and saw.  I suddenly knew what it was that made Mr. Lord and his business so great.  And i was suddenly ashamed I had betrayed him.

But now it was too late.  The next day i called in sick.  I spent the whole morning thinking about it and by lunch time I had made up my mind.  I called both of the main newspapers in town and told them that I had found the secret to Mr. Lord’s success.  Immediately I became as big as Mr. Lord.  Everybody wanted to know me. 

But it quickly turned sour.  The newspapers scoured my past and brought up all my junk, trying to prove (I think) that I didn’t deserve to hold the secret.  I was summoned to court by all sorts of other companies on any possible charge that could be brought against me.  they thought they could sue or convict the secret out of me.  They unburied everything from when i used company money to get porn on my hotel TV, to when I broke the speed limit driving the company vehicle.  they sued me for every newspaper or penny I had picked off the ground and they dug up the smallest hints of racism and sexual harrassment from when I was a kid!  If i knew this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have…

they really just wanted me because of my secret.  they knew it was their key to power and money. 

I was held in protective custody in a small cell with a sink and a toilet and a bed, but even the guards to my cell wanted to get it from me.  It was hell. 

then a new bit of news broke.  There was a man who claimed that he was Mr. Lord’s son and he said that it was actually his fault that Mr. Lord’s folder had been breached.  But not only that, he said he would take any punishment that was coming my way, because he didn’t want me to leave his father’s company over this.   Even after the terrible thing that I had done to his father, he still wanted me as an employee!

but the most ironic thing of all was that John Lord Jr. was my very own administrative assistant, my paper pusher!- a nerdy little guy that usually smelled kind of grubby!  I had no idea he was related to Mr. Lord! but he had the birth certs to prove it! 

He agreed to go to court and he quickly pleaded guilty for my crime along with every other crime that had surfaced that anybody in the whole company had committed!  He said he had known about them all and that it was his fault that he had never let his father know! 

They worked the system and sued him and his father’s company for all that it was worth… and they brought it down. 

I, however, was set free.

One day I was walking and thinking.  i found myself in the neighborhood of the old Zoey enterprises.  There were a few lights on.  I walked in and to my surprise many of the people still were at their desks working.  The company had filed bankruptcy, because of me, and because of all the other ridiculously minute crimes each person always commits in any company.  but these people were still working, and they seemed happy!  They were not rushed.  They were not arguing.  But all seemed to have the same goal in mind.  what was that goal?

I sat down at my old desk and turned on my computer.  I turned around while i waited for it.  I looked down the hall and listened to the voices.  What did they know, that made them sound so… so content?

I clicked on Outlook and pulled up my email.  I had a few emails from the company HR announcing the bankruptcy and some of the procedures.  Then a new email came in with its little jingle. 

It was from Mr. Lord. I opened it and it said.  “ross, come into my office, please.”

I replied back with shaking fingers.  “Yes, sir.  Right away.  I’m sorry, Mr. Lord but I do not think I know where is your office?”

“All of this is my office.  i am in sitting in the cubicle next to you.”

i felt like i should take off my shoes or drop to my knees.  I do not deserve to be in his building.  I must beg this man for forgiveness and pray that he will not take out his anger on me.  He could turn everyone in this whole city against me.  This man controls my 401K.  he knows what i did, he could get me arrested.  He could get security to drag me out of the building.  Maybe i should just get up and leave before he can get his hands on me.

I slowly stood up.  My heart was pounding.  I had never been so afraid of seeing someone before. 

“Ross.” 

I turned towards the voice.  a man in the cubicle next to me stood up and slowly folded his arms and rested them on the cubicle wall.  he was a balding man with glasses. Thin.  He had a smile on his face. 

“Mr. Lord!” I gasped. somehow i knew it was him.  I was shaking and instantly sweating.

“Would you like to continue working for me?”

“what?!”  He looked serious. “Well, i don’t think i could, Mr. Lord.”  I stood up and started to plead my defense.  but I stopped.  He wasn’t here to scold me.  ”The truth is, Mr. Lord.  I haven’t even finished watching the tapes and i really just skimmed the books.  I don’t do the right thing, as you know.  I only usually help the people that will help me back.  I can’t remember the last email i sent to you-”

“That’s ok, Ross.  Would you like to try again?”

“But… aren’t you mad at me?  I ruined your whole company!”

“No you didn’t ruin it. Look, people are still here.  You, of all people should know that this company couldn’t die.  Don’t you remember the secret of Zoey?”

I hadn’t thought about the actual secret since this all had started.  I just had thought about the fate the secret would give me.  Now I thought back to it.  It was a simple line.  and now it made sense.  I recited, “My company is in the business of making it’s employees prosper.”

“Yep,” Mr. Lord said.  “And it’s because i just like you guys so damn much.”

“But what about your son? He’s in jail.”

“He’ll still inherit my company when he gets out.  He asked me to invite you back.  He must like you.”  Mr. Lord winked.  “Anyways, jail is where he wants to be right now.  He’s just like me. He’s always looking for new employees.  He’s pitching the Zoey plan to the people in jail.  He likes people as much as I do.  Ok, so you’re welcome to stay if you’d like.  I can’t really pay you, but my true employees aren’t doing it for the money.  they just know that if they work for me, I’ll do what I know will make them wise and mature and happy.”  Mr. Lord winked and totally intruded on my personal bubble by giving me a huge bear hug.  As if I were his son.  He turned to leave and the last thing he said was, “Don’t forget about your email. I’d like to hear from you a lot more.”

My Lord is my boss.  He is my CEO.  He is big and important, a lot smarter than me.  He wants the best for me.  And he likes to hear from me, a lot. 

As for remission of sins?  I still don’t know what that means but I think it has something to do with a nerdy little guy that quietly moves around my office.  He catches my mistakes, and covers for me, and smells kind of grubby. 

October 21st, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

Ok, lets do an experiment.  Let’s decide which of these people are good enough to go to heaven?

Reggie is 22 years old in Los Angeles.  His broken family is deeply entrenched in gangs and drugs.  Before he was 10 he had tried cocaine and his brothers were already getting him to steal as initiation for a gang.  When he was 13 he saw one of his brothers get shot and Reggie decided to get out of gangs.  Reggie is the only one in his family that graduated high school.  He is the only one who has a steady wife- even though they fight a lot.  They had a baby before they were married, and they still do a bit of marijuana sometimes because it eases the pain. They live on welfare because that is all they ever knew, but when he looks around him, he is happy that he pulled himself out of the mess his brothers got into.

Trevor is also 22 years old.  He grew up in upper middle class Colorado.  He was involved in youthgroup and graduated in national honor society.  He went to college for engineering and got a job in the military afterwards.  He has started listening to heavy metal music, and he can’t quite shake the smoking habit he picked up in the military.  He gets to church about every other week, when he wakes up in time.  He sleeps around a little bit, even though he knows he shouldn’t, but he thinks, “I’m still a pretty good kid.”

Gerry is 55 years old and lives by himself.  He is a pastor of a small church.  His 25 person congregation is made up of republican couples all above age 30.  He sees laziness and sexual immorality of the younger generations as the impending doom of the nation.  He preaches that they are hopeless and it would do them some good to get some discipline beat into them.  He preaches to stay away from them, lest they drag him and his congregation down with them.

I asked Reggie, ”Who are some people that you don’t think should go to heaven?”

He replied, ”Well, I seen summa my brothers’ friends screw deir lives up and hurt other people so much, I hates to say it, but I wouldn’t want summa dem to be in heaven wit us. They’s some bad dudes.” 

“Trevor, where do you draw the line?  Who do you think should go to heaven?”

“Gosh, there are some jacked up people out ther that just bring our society down.  They just sit on their porch all day or watch tv and argue and throw lamps and stuff at each other, stealing to support their drug habit. I’m afraid to say it but heaven just isn’t supposed to be a ghetto.”

“Gerry? who can you think of that you don’t think should go to heaven?”

“Well, the younger generation is in danger, for sure.  Take almost any kid raised up in the school system these days with their earphones, and cel phones and baggy pants preaching atheism and evolution. They don’t listen.  They don’t respect their elders. Total loss of discipline.  I can’t stand being in the same room as some of them, much more to be in a holy place like heaven with them running around like little devils.”

When is someone good enough to go to heaven?  The key question here is, “where do we draw the line?”  Don’t we draw the line just below ourself, because we think “I’m a pretty good guy and God is love so he wouldn’t send me to hell, right?”

But think about this: we don’t want to have to spend eternity with people worse than us.  I couldn’t stand to be in heaven with child molestors but my pornography isn’t so bad.  Keep those gang bangers out but let my prejudiced little butt in. So if the line is drawn just below the person who decides, how good is the one who decides?  The kicker is, the one who does decide, is perfect. 

This is why nobody can say, “as long as I’m a good person, I’ll go to heaven.”  There’s always someone better who has a higher standard of what is good and they wouldn’t want us to be there with them.  So if that’s the rule, then none of us will be there.  But the rule is different.  The rule maker says, “You’ll never be as good as me on your own, but if you try to obey me, you can come with me for now and I’ll overlook your crap- and I’ll help you become perfect in time.  But there is one thing i can’t stand.  Don’t ever say you don’t want a certain person to come to heaven with us, because I love that person too and if there’s one thing i won’t stand, it’s hearing someone judge someone else.  Unless of course, you want me to start judging.”

October 10th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

A man named Lars was arrested on a bogus charge.  They confined him in a dungeon prison, where the stone walls leaked and rats stole his dinner.  He believed that another man was imprisoned in the cell next to him through the stone wall, but he never knew for sure because the guards had said they would punish anyone who communicated or spoke.

Lars paid the price for talking to the wall, trusting that someone was on the other side listening.  They whipped him until they realized that wouldn’t stop him so they were satisfied with laughing at him.  They knew what Lars knew not- there was not even a cell next to his, nor another prisoner to speak to.

What crazier thing can you think of than a man speaking to a wall with no one behind it?  Especially when there seems to be no response in return. 

Is this what happens in Prayer?  Are we speaking into the sky and words dissapear like air from a leaking tire?  What if there is no one to hear them?  What do people think about us?

Faith.  Prayer into an empty sky requires faith.  Maybe this is why we are required to do it- to exercise our faith with every word.  To prove our faith to the one listening, if there is anyone there.  Why else would we do such an absurd thing.

There were times when Lars doubted anybody was listening to him but he told himself, “either someone is there, or someone is not there.  That’s the only way I’ll ever make a difference in this cell- if I can help someone else.”  So he decided to believe someone was hearing his quiet voice.  He spoke encouragement to his potential commrade.  he spoke of his family that he missed.  He sang songs from his childhood, from the good days.

Lars, did not realize that there was NO cell next to his own.  But what no one else realized was that it was instead the backside of the captain’s quarters that shared walls with Lars.  And each day as Lars poured out his heart the Captain paused in his writing and bookkeeping and listened.  It didn’t take the Captain long, when hearing Lars’ voice and stories, to realize that Lars was a friend from his childhood.  And when Lars sang the old songs of their neighborhood, when things were good, it brought the Captain almost to tears in reminiscence.  It was the captain Lars was ministering to.

At first the captain did not respond at all because he wanted to see how far Lars would go.  but when he saw that Lars would not stop beliving that someone heard him, even with the ridicule he received, he knew Lars could not have commited the crime they accused him of.  Eventually the captain developed a system of tapping on the walls to communicate. 

Lars heard the tapping and at first thought it was just the dripping of water or a chain hanging against a wall, but he decided to listen.  It took faith and practice but he eventually began to understand the code that the Captain was sending him. 

After 2 years in the jail, Lars’ ears had become keen to the language that others thought was just a “swinging chain” or “drips of water”.  And the night came when the message was tapped through the walls, “You have proven yourself to me with your good faith.  Tonight, I will help you escape, Lars.”

And that is one reason why we pray.  Though sometimes we wait through long years of silence we choose to talk into the sky and have faith anyways.  And this faith is what ministers to our Captain. It is this act of faith that shows him our love.  It also shows him that we want him to exist so badly and that the hope in our savior is worth all the effort. 

And we choose to have faith because there is only everything to be gained- people can only be helped by it.  There is nothing to lose, except for people to think we’re a little bit crazy.

October 9th, 2008 | Category: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Why pray for something to happen if God already has a better plan?  After all, he knows better than I.  Yet God still says, pray for what you want to happen and pray with confidence, lest we become as weak as a wave blown by the wind.

Once there was a father with three children.  The oldest, Dan saw his two younger brothers fighting all too often.  At first he waited for his dad to do something about it. (see prayer as a copout) His father DID know a good way to solve the problem but he was such a good father that he also saw an opportunity for Dan to grow and learn something through this situation.  So he waited. 

Finally, Dan pleaded to his father, “Dad, please do something about all this arguing!”

Because his father knew that Dan would be a father himself someday he asked, “What would you have me do, Dan?”  And Dan thought and thought and asked his dad to make each of this brothers do something nice for each other and see how it made them feel.

This may not have been the same decision the father would have made but the father knew that it was a good decision and would have a good outcome too.  And Dan would learn better and better in time.  But Dan’s father was very proud when he saw that his son was growing up to be a wise, noble man, after his own image.

Maybe this is why God asks us to pray for things- because he is teaching us to think like Him.  “What would you do if you were a wise, caring, spirit like me.   Good, now lets get to making you into one.”

October 8th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type, stories | Leave a comment

I wish I could change some of the things I do but it’s so hard.  I wish I could stop lusting.  I wish I could get up when my alarm goes off.  I wish I could believe in God better.

I think four balls are tied together and tug each other around inside us.  The balls are my EMOTIONS, my WILL, my MIND, and my ACTIONS.  To help myself do those things that are so difficult to make myself do, I can start pulling on one or some of these balls and the others tend to follow.

click for animation

For example, sometimes i really struggle with having faith.  Sometimes I just don’t feel like believing (my EMOTIONS).  Sometimes I have just decided that God probably doesn’t exist (exercising my power of WILL).  Often times I think there are reasons that god doesn’t exist (my MIND).   And then other times I just stop acting like I believe (ACTIONS). 

I think that when you move any of the four balls in the right direction they will pull the rest along with it.   If I start ACTING like I believe by dropping my knees to my bedside, bowing my head and praying with all my might each night for a week, then I think that my WILL will eventually come along side and start to decide to believe as well.  And my MIND will begin to find reasons why God exists and if i really tug hard with my actions i’ll even start to enjoy it.  

Or I can go through the intellectual proof first if that has the strongest horsepower.  Or maybe I recall how much I enjoy being in God’s love and let that seduce me back.  And sometimes when we feel no reasoning will pull us out, and we can’t really remember the last time we enjoyed believing, and even when we can’t keep our body from disobeying, we just turn our eyes to the sky and say, I am totally spent and all i have left is my ability to choose to believe.  I believe. I believe.  Lord help me, I believe.

Mark 12:30- and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength.

October 8th, 2008 | Category: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A very powerful construction supervisor hired his brother to work for him as a manager.  His brother had MS and was curled up in his wheel chair, but he was very smart and could do the job very well.

One day the handicapped brother was trying to give instructions, through his slow, slurred speech to some new employees.  These employees didn’t believe he was a manager and they just laughed and made fun of him.  The handicapped brother knew his brother’s will to finish the insulation on the first floor starting in the far corner, but these new employees thought there was a much better way of doing it and mocked his idea and laughed at him. 

Finally the handicapped brother squirmed and pulled out his walkie talkie and radioed this message.  “The new guys don’t believe that your instructions are the best way to do it.  They need a sign.”

Fifteen minutes later a new team of insulators pulled up in a van and relieved the other team of their duties. 

Elijah was a man just like us.  he prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the land for 3.5 years.  Again he prayed and the heavens gave rain…  James 5:17.

Prayer can be like the walkie talkie call.  God can show his will and show His power to the world by answering a righteous man’s prayer.

October 8th, 2008 | Category: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

 

A fractal is a pattern that is made up of little versions of the same pattern.  Look at a tree- a trunk has branches coming off of it.  Step closer and a branch looks just like it because it has a bunch of twigs that come off of it.  Look at one of those twigs, it has a bunch of other twigs that come off of it.  The same pattern exists the closer you look at the tree. 

October 3rd, 2008 | Category: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

I think that for the 8 hours you are at work each day, your company owns you. You agree do what the CEO says, because he pays your livelihood.  That’s the deal. 

I looked around my set of cubicles today at work.  The other three workers in my section were working on their portfolio, designing a t-shirt and designing a car for school.  None of them were working!  They were using the company computers during company hours, to pursue their own goals!

But they can continue doing those things because no one can see their computer screens except each other.  They think that as long as they meet their deadlines, and work at least as much as their coworkers do, then at least they won’t get fired.  

But I wondered, what if the company’s computer tech was monitoring everything we were doing and reported that to the president of the company each day.  Would I change my habits?  What if every webpage I visit and every forward I read was shown on the big screen at the next company-wide meeting.  Would anyone object to me deserving to be fired (apart from knowing that they do the same thing)? 

Then I realized that this is a good analogy for the kingdom of God.

We do just enough to go to heaven. We look around at each other and say, I go to church more than the majority of people, and I help people when I can.  I don’t kill or rape people.  And we continue to do what we want to do on the time God has given us. But we are always on the clock.  We gave our life to him.  He owns us 24 hours of the day. 

And we sold ourselves out to him because we believe that his company’s mission is to ultimately love and mature his employees.(and also because he decides the fate of the world)

But what if God’s got a sweet iMac on the network that shows him what we do all the time?  Although God has given me every breath I breathe, how many hours out of my day do I pray, read the Bible, help others, or even just choose not to sin? 

Oops, my boss just walked by.  I gotta sign off.

September 30th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments (1)

There once were two brothers.  The older was a quiet, generous and wise man named Able.  He had many talents and many friends.  His younger brother was a disgruntled shrubbish man named Sam.  Sam was usually spying one jealous eye on his brother’s girlfriends and possessions instead of seeking out his own place in the world.  Despite his brother’s subversiveness Able loved Sam as brothers should.

At a young age their father died and because the will had not been updated since Sam had been born, all of the money and assets went to Able.  Able always offered to help Sam in any way but Sam was too prideful to receive charity.

At one point Able had a girlfriend that Sam particularly liked.  She was elegant and kind and Able liked her very much.  But she was gullible and when the Sam saw the opportunity he told the girl about all of his brother’s flaws and selfish intentions with her, which were twisted half-truths.  But it was eventually enough for Sam to win the girlfriend away from Able to be his own. 

The scandal and the lies spread and spoiled and polarized Able’s friends.  Half of them now despised their formerly kind, wise, generous friend.

One day Able came upon his brother with the girlfriend in the park.  Sam, sensing a showdown sent his girlfriend to the car and stood up before his elder sibling.

Able smiled sadly and said, “How are you?”

     “Never as good as you, brother, but getting closer.”

     Able shook his head sadly and looked back to his brother with love and sorrow in his eyes, “She IS a good girlfriend, isn’t she?”

     “Oh, yes,” Sam replied, “She’s the hottest.  All my friends wish they were with her.  Every bit as good as you said she was.”

     “So you’re happy?”

     Sam twisted his head and shot a skeptical eye at him.  He assumed that all people were as devious as himself.  “Well, I can say I have what I want now at least.”

     “Do you have everything that you NEED?  How is your job going? Have you been able to pay the rent?”

     “Not really.  Things aren’t as easy for me as they are for you.  My job is a little bit rocky.”

     The older reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stack of twenties and started to count them.  “How much are you short?”

     “You know I can’t pay you back.”

     “That’s ok.  Here- just take it all.  I hope that’s enough.” He held them out to Sam. A few intense moments and gazes passed between them but Sam took the money. 

     Able looked off toward the car.  “I miss her, you know.  But if anyone can have her, I’m glad it is you, my brother.”

     “You aren’t going to get her back by your manipulations, you know.  I know you too well.”

     “You do?” He looked sadly at his younger brother.  He wished Sam understood the forgiveness and love he felt for him.  “Sam, if you want anything that I have, just ask. My money, my car.  I’m sure all my friends would be cool if you wanted to hang out with us.”

The younger glared at him skeptically, and then looked back at his beautiful girlfriend in the car.  He realized his brother deserved everything that he had, and even deserved the girlfriend that Sam had taken from him.  That’s when Sam got scared that he might lose the small amount he had to Able and he walked away. 

“Have a nice life,” Sam said.

Their next encounter, months later was through a window in a prison. 

     “I didn’t know who else to call.” Sam said with his head down.

     “I’m really glad you called me.”

     “What were you going to use this money for?” Sam asked, ”It’s a lot of money.”

     Able replied, “Hmmm.  I was about to put a down payment on a new house.”

     Sam looked up.  “Can you still get the house?”

     “Probably not.  But it’s ok.  Do you have a place to stay? Why don’t you come and stay with me at my old house.” 

     So Able bailed Sam out and gave him the master bedroom for as long as he wanted to stay.  Even this “old” house was beautiful.

     When Sam had seen the beautiful house and as he looked out the back window over the beautiful LA cityscape all that he could say was, “You even have a pool.  I’ve always wanted a pool.”

But after seeing all the beautiful things that his brother owned he realized he had never had anything he really wanted.  Jealousy took over him again and he decided to steal away with the most expensive things.  He took the keys to his brother’s pickup and during the night quietly loaded up the Stereo, and TVs and anything he could trade for good money. 

He left a note with his big brother that said, I see you still have much more than I ever will so I feel it is my right to even the score.  I don’t even have a house but with these things and the money I found in your safe I may be able to start a home of my own, like I’ve always wanted. 

Sam escaped cleanly and bought a small hacienda in the desert near New Mexico.  He was secluded there and felt safe from being found and safe from theives.  But one day he answered a knock on his door.  There was a very official looking man who asked his name. 

     Sam replied, “Why?”

     “Because, sir,” he looked at Sam like it was obvious, “we have a delivery for you.” 

They backed up to the house and several men installed the hot tub that had come directly from Able’s house.  The note that came with the delivery said.  “Dear Sam.  I want you to have what you’ve always wanted. You can have anything that I have. I want to bring you into our father’s will if you’ll just receive it.  We share the same blood.”

I’m thinking that maybe the gist of this story is replayed and represented every time we take communion, but on a much grander scale.  Jesus gives himself for us to take.  And when we take and don’t give back, he continues to say, go ahead keep crushing my body and drinking my blood.  I want you to have everything that I have.  I want you to be in my father’s will.

Mat 26:26-28  And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and brake it; and he gave to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.  And he took a cup, and gave thanks, and gave to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many unto remission of sins.

The part that just kills me- just breaks my heart- is that he asks us to kill him, over and over every sunday!  Go ahead, chew me up good and keep chrushing me until I’m broken enough to eat.  Sip the blood from me.  I can bear the pain.  I have an infinite reservoir to draw from.  I am God.  But you are the only thing that I really want.  You are the only thing worth possessing.  You are my love and the reason I came and lived was for you. 

But then is when the strangest thing happens.  This is how the rules of our God trump all others.  By dying, by bleeding, by losing all of himself to us, he takes root inside of us.  His body goes to work rebuilding ours.  And his blood thins and spreads and contaminates every bit of our own with himself.  By giving all of himself to us we become one with him in a sense.  When I kill him we both live, and live more abundantly. 

this is how marriage is supposed to work.  Each sacrifices entirely for the other and in the process both become one, and stronger together than they were apart. (see is He a he or a she)

And I do kill him over and over, but not just on Sunday!  That is just the symbol of what I do to him.  Every time I make a joke about a coworker behind his back, or I suppose even when I pirate software, or fantasize about a girl on the bus, they help put the splinters in Jesus’ back and help to stub his toes as he walked up calvary.  Each one adds to the weight he had to lift as he pushed himself up on his feet cleaved to the cross to take a breath. 

Shel silverstien’s children’s book, The Giving Tree just kills me in the same way because the tree is so happy to give the boy her apples and to let him cut down her branches to make a boat and her trunk for his house.  The tree just wants to make the boy happy.  But she is only really happy when the boy comes back as an old, old man having used up everything that she had given him, and decides to just be with her.  To sit on her barren stump because she was the only one that was always there for him.

And I think that is what Jesus’ whole hope is.  The hope that in the end, when he has given all to us, and we have pandered all the gifts he has given us, when we have no other friends to bail us out of jail and no other resources left that will bring us happiness, we will remember that really, he was the only one that never left us out to dry.  And he is hoping that we will return to him and be content to just be with him, and rest in his will for all of eternity.

September 29th, 2008 | Category: stories | Leave a comment

I went to a friend’s house but he was not home.  A stray dog came up to me.  Both of his ears were cut open and gooey with infection.  He seemed so friendly and helpless and I yearned to help him.  But I didn’t want to touch him.  

As I drove away asking God to please help that sick, poor dog, I heard a simple reply.  “Why don’t YOU help that poor dog?”

Do I sometimes use prayer as a copout?  I pray for them instead of bucking up to help them myself!  Take one freakin half hour out of your day, Ross to talk to that annoying kid that you pray for when you see others blowing him off. 

Use your faculties.  He made us for a purpose.  And he made us smart or creative or athletic or funny for those same purpose! Our purpose is to serve him.  We can bring that beautiful kingdom to our earth as we shine on others with our words and deeds.  Tutor someone who’s struggling in school.  Bake cookies just to surprise your neighbor.  Start a good deeds club at school, and use all your cleverness, connections, or math prowess, and perseverence to overcome the obstacles and make it happen!

I have a list of people for whom I pray.  I have another list of people in my cel phone.  Almost everyone from the first list is in the second.  Maybe the next time I’m going for a walk and I remember sad little Timmy and his crutches, I should say a prayer for him.  But then I should actually call him.  I may not be able to heal his body, but I can be part of God’s solution to heal his heart.  

September 27th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments (1)

We say that God is omniscient, God is love, God is all powerful.  We label him with ideal concepts like these but God is also very real and now.  He is real and now like the mole on my face or the certain scratch on the face of your watch.

C.S Lewis says that the strangeness of our religion was one of the main arguments for it.  He says that Christianity has that queer quality about it that things have when they are actually real.  Just like we would think that all the sizes of planets and dimensions of their orbits would adhere to some obvious pattern, but the reality of this universe is that they don’t. 

Reality is always one step beyond what we can guess.  Try predicting what will happen even in your own life.  We may be able to say God is love, but we cannot say he will heal my dying aunt.

That’s one reason we prize master story tellers, because the plot surprises us. 

We know the next book by our favorite author will be good.  We know it will be suspense or fantasy, but what makes it worth reading is all the details inside.  We know that God is good, omnipotent and all those idealic ideas, but we must remember he has specific details just like a book or your 8 1/2 year old curly haired son or the chex floating in your cereal this morning.  And those details are what will be sitting beside you as you say your prayers tomorrow, for example, on your way to work.

September 24th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I’m starting to see spiritual struggles as much less ideal.  I imagine that God has a certain number of angels that carry out His will and they can each only be in one place at one time.  Though they may be more powerful and intelligent than us, and don’t suffer from doubt or insecurities of their worth, I bet they have spiritual vulnerabilities and psychological scars from difficult histories.  I would bet some of them are hard headed, annoying, hard to work with, and they make mistakes like we do.  (reminds me of the angels in Dogma)

In fact see what is said in Job 4:18, ”Behold, he put no trust in his servants; and his angels he charged with folly:” 

On top of that I assume my own psychoses and my ancestral curses and the rules of spiritual battle make answering my prayers, and other actions in the spiritual world much more complicated. 

Also I think God has to find ways to help us while working around the free will he promised to us and others. 

When we pray a request it is like a 911 call.  The phone call has to connect.  The best, available unit must be assigned.  Then they have to fight their way through obstacles and delays and have to find you.  But it’s even more complicated because this is all happening in a war zone.  They have to figure out how to penetrate enemy lines and where to go where they will receive the least amount of assault. They must get inside and diagnose the source of the problem.  Then they must strategize a plan and execute your request- that is if they ever get there.   

In Daniel 10, a glorified being (maybe Angel, maybe Jesus) says he has come to answer Daniel’s prayers but that “the prince of the Persian kingdom resisted me 21 days. Then Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help…”  So it sounds like the good angel (or Jesus) had to really struggle to get free from powerful princes of the counterforce.  

So the next time it seems like no one’s fighting your battles in life, give ‘em a break, and thank God for them and continue to pray to strengthen them.  But we must remember that we just can’t get angry at God because it isn’t happening fast enough.  Wars have ebbs and flows and are rarely won in a day. 

September 22nd, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Comments (2)

A friend is teaching me to play the drums.  It is incredibly hard to triangulate my elbow and wrist and fingers to hit the drum in the exact spot every single beat on the exact millisecond it is called for.  And to do this over and over for a whole song!

Sometimes I try to distill the Bible down to a list of exactly spelled out rules.  I can drink as long as I could still pass a breathalyzer.  Maybe I can masturbate but I better not imagine actually boning someone while I’m doing it.  Can I break the speed limit as long as the rest of traffic is going faster too?  It just seems so hard and just so, mathematical and passionless.

I remember my high school prom.  I barely danced because I was afraid I would do it wrong.  How am I supposed to move my awkward body?  Do I step on every other beat or every fourth one?  What moves are masculine moves?  Why is no one else snapping?  What are other people thinking when they see me? 

Only after many years and lots of practice have I learned how to really dance.  It happens when I’m not afraid to look a little goofy.  It happens when I’m not afraid to move my feet and arms and hips wrong.  It happens a little bit by watching others who do it well.  But the key of what really brings the dance out of me is when I know the song and I love the song, and enjoy the song, and I really get into it.  It’s when I let the song move me.

Only after many years have I learned how to really love Jesus.  And that’s what it is- not following rules but doing what I know makes my lover happy.  It happens when I don’t obsess over the rules.  It happens when I’m not afraid to do something that might look shameful.  It happens when I let a Godly friend or something I’ve seen inspire me.  But what really gets me excited about it is when I hear the small voice inside of me singing the plan it has for me.  The plan to eat with a sad homeless man at the soup kitchen, to get to know the quiet couple sitting in the back of church, going to watch a high schooler’s wrestling tournament, or choosing to notice every bright morning and sparkle of dew, and unique personality, and scents of fresh bread and be so incredibly gracious for it all.   That is when the music truly gets ahold of me. That beautiful song is what moves me to action and that action of loving my lord in so many creative, impassioned ways is my silly little dance to him.

September 21st, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

I’ve learned that it is not me that gets me to heaven.  I can’t seem to stop sinning.  It is only Jesus who was righteous enough to earn it for all the rest of us. 

If I cannot be good enough to make it into heaven on my own, then why am I given tests and temptations every day?  I think Jesus, after paying the impossible price, lets me toss my nickels into the pot just to be a part of the cause.  He says, only I was good enough to buy your salvation but I want you to do your best to try.

It is like my father bailing me out of jail for $100,000 and he lets me give him the $5 in my pocket as if it really helps.  But he doesn’t just ask us to empty our pockets.  He asks for all of the assets to our name.  And this is not because my anemic bank account or my car makes him any richer, but because God knows I will be happier when I give him everything I own and live in his house with Him.

So when that temptation comes i should choose to do the good thing, not because it will get me into heaven, but because I’ll start to look like the one who got me in.

September 19th, 2008 | Tags: Jesus salvation sin | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

If the battle of the world is like a soccer game, Christians are going to get totally rocked like 12-1.  They are stronger than us in all the areas that score points in this world.  But if we’re obeying the rules of our coach, something bigger should happen in the eyes of those who watch us play.

Zidane, the French soccer player who head butted his Italian opponent in the 2006 World Cup has proven he’s tough.  Such power issued like a big bald gavel in the most influential courts of this world.  Yet what do even his own people think of him now?

I’m ashamed of my team when they win by cheap slidetackles and faking falls.  Did they make any posters of Maradonna punching the ball into the goal with his hand, when he won the World Cup?

In Pixar’s movie Cars, the heated final race is skewed when the leader turns around to push his more-deserving third ranked rival (who had broken down) across the line before himself.  The goal had been to win a race but when he came in last the fans had been changed on the inside.  They were not crowding around the winner after the race.  Was there a bigger contest at stake?

What is our goal? To win the games of this world, or live by the rules of a higher standard as we play?  What motivated you today?  Getting that plush office and all it’s respect that comes with it?  Getting a hot girlfriend?  People?  Seeing the foster child sleeping peacefully in your extra room?  Holding your 18 year old daughter as she cries on you because she had no one else to tell that someone took her virginity last weekend. 

Aslan had lost the battle.  He gave himself up to be killed by the white witch and she poked his heart through with her dagger.  But there was a deeper magic at work.  And not only did he defeat death, he rescued the captive Edmond with it.  Isn’t that how it works?  Only a man dying for me, in my place has the power to grasp my decaying heart, and pull it up out of the dirt with him. 

Someone actually died for me?  And now he’s back, fighting for me?  Gosh, who is he?  What do I say to him?  I need to wash up, get my act together- I’m so dirty.  No, he says.  There’s no time.  I will wash you. Just follow me.  

When we were in Bolivia, we met a shoe shiner who called himself Freddy Kruger.  He told us that his wife had been cheating on him with his brother for four years and even his mother had kept it from him. On top of that, an American girl on our team had comforted him and held him out of good intentions, but he fell in love with her.  She had to tell him they had no future.  Another dose of pain that tore apart his already broken heart.  Freddy’s main battle now was with alcohol.  Some nights Freddy would wander the streets late into the night, crying his tears onto the pavement and sucking on a bottle.

One night at 2am after we had been praying hard for Freddy he called us.  Two of our team went down to meet him in the main plaza. He was drunk of course and we brought him back to our house and sat with him and listened to him pour out his heart until the sun rose.  He told us stories of the good days before his step dad started beating him, when he and his brother would hunt pumas in the jungle.  He sobered up at our house and left that day.  We thought we had maybe gotten a stronghold in the battle for his heart.  He even called to apologize later that day.  We thought we had won a battle that could rescue our friend from alcohol.  We prayed and fasted harder than we had before and we had faith that God would continue to set Freddy free.   Was this the turning point in the battle?

The next night was the shoe shiner Bible study and we had a full house, including a drunk Freddy Kruger.  Drunker than I’ve ever seen a person before.  All of our efforts for naught.  He interrupted us with questions of why God had forsaken him and left him in such a pit.  We did our best to answer but he grinded his teeth and contorted his face and would not stop interruptin.  I slipped in beside him and put my arm on his back and whispered truth and love to him.  That now was not the time for his flood of emotions but that I would not leave his side.  I also prayed over him. 

Our battle had been lost once again.  The shoe shiners had seen us trying to help him and here he was drunk again, spoiling our one sacred hour of Bible study.  If there were spirits fighting against us for Freddy’s heart, they would be laughing at our shamefaced failure.  They had scored all the points.  Game over time to go home. 

But we had played by that different set of rules that night.  Our coach tells us that there is a deeper magic at work behind the game.  Maybe as those other boys saw how we would never stop loving Freddy, in his worst hour they saw a glimpse of those other rules, of the higher magic at work.

Two years later I was in Bolivia again for a week and I was told that many of the shoe shiners had just recently pledged their trust to Jesus.  I was told we had probably been a large part of why they did it.  We had lost the battles.  The fans had gone home, but had gone home changed.  The power of a sacrificial love had perhaps taken root and incubated in their hearts. 

And the higher magic cares not to win the battles, in fact the higher magic prides itself on losing if the higher rules were better demonstrated by the loss.  The higher magic despite losing every battle, can still win the war.  For our coach is not in the market for points or fame, he wages his war for the prize of men’s hearts.

September 6th, 2008 | Category: essays- the unboring type | Leave a comment

God has qualities of both men and women.  He is strong and also tender.  He is the pursuer but he is also the most beautiful one worth pursuing.  He created man and woman, so why would he be limited to be either one of the two?

In the Bible, God created one man named Adam and then took a chunk out of him and made it into a woman.  Named aptly because she came from the womb of man.  I wonder if when God made that first human, Adam, he made him very much like himself with both masculine and feminine qualities.  I don’t imagine this first person being an emasculated man that squeals like a girl, or a butch woman bullying her peers around.  I picture this creature as a strong, and tender creature.  A st