Listening...

I’ve got nothing to say today. My blog was started with the intent to let you into the not-so-typical mind of a minster. The fact of the matter is, most ministers will be the first to admit that we’re normal people. We struggle. We fail. We doubt. We’re in the spotlight often, and so when you hear of a pastor or minister failing, it’s normally a huge fall or a publically humiliating situation. I’ve heard of ministers having affairs, embezzling money, getting caught in inappropriate relationships that aren’t actual affairs. I’ve even heard of pastors who decided everything they believed wasn’t true and walked away from God entirely. Just because you don’t hear of any of the ministers you know personally or that you follow falling from Grace, don’t think they don’t fail. That’s a mistake that puts unnecessary stress and strain on your ministers and minister friends. It’s unfair because when (not if) they disappoint you, if you’ve set them up on some above-average-people pedestal you’ll be shaken at their lack of super-human ability.

Let me tell you why it’s been so long since I’ve written anything. I’ve had nothing to say. I’ve wanted to only write when God shows me something super-amazing as opposed to just letting you know the little things that go on. That’s going to change. For one thing, I’ve not spent the time with Christ that I’ve wanted to. No, it’s not about doing stuff so God likes me, but in relationship I want to spend time with him, instead of running from him. That’s a huge change from my relationship prior to his change in my heart several months ago. I used to hide from him for weeks on end. Now, I’m allowing business to keep me from him, not a lack of desire. I desire God. I can’t tell you how awesome it is to be able to write that and it not be some sentimental gush. It’s finally truth. If it shocks you to think that I’ve had doubts about God or that I have never truly wanted him until now, and I’ve been a minister for 2+ years, then you’ve set me up on a pedestal. I struggle. I doubt. I worry. Boy, do I worry. Man, do I ever worry. In fact, I’ll take up that topic again soon. I just wanted to let you know I’m still here, God still speaks, and now I’m listening.

The airing of the Fears

About a week and a half ago, a thought came across my mind that requires absolute honesty. I think we have all dealt this this thought, but few of us have taken the time to entertain it, chew on it, and mull it over because it scares us to death! The thought is this; somewhere, in the back of our minds, we are fearful that if God wouldn't spare his own son, why would he spare me? Jesus was perfect and yet he was brutally tortured and murdered. I am far from perfect, much less decent, on my own accord, and deserve far worse. why would this loving God not spare his own son, yet would love me?

See, we are far beyond thankful for Jesus' sacrifice and the relationship it brings. But somewhere in my mind, (a dark recess, no doubt; one I refuse to allow myself to think on) I fear that if this great, almighty, "loving" God would sacrifice his one and only son (even if it was for my sake, in redemption of our relationship) he wouldn't waste any time in sacrificing me for any slight reason. I'm not talking about a physical killing-off, as it were, merely a tossing-to-the-trash-heap-like-a-high-school-romance king of thing. It's silly, I know, but a genuine fear from the deep cavities of a mind warped by fear and sin. But, if Jesus were to get rid of me out of anger, spite or mistrust, it would fly in the face of his own sacrifice to win me back in the first place. Why would God go to such great lengths to restore our relationship only to destroy me or abandon me? But somewhere inside of me is a scared little boy hoping he's good enough to still be allowed to hang around.

I'm painfully aware of the fact that I have a strong personality. I'm an encyclopedia of ridiculous and unnecessary facts, and I love to talk with anyone and everyone. I know I can seem overbearing, and I worry all the time that I'm getting on people's nerves. I've had friendships for long periods of time, only to find out they found it agonizing to be around me at all. I'm sure we've all felt that way at least once. I know it's also happened for me (and I'm probably not alone) that I've done something or experienced something that was amazing to me or that I'm very proud of only to discover that others find it mediocre at best, and, at worst, stupid. I've known those that no matter what story, experience or creation you bring to the table, theirs is better. Living in that muck from day to day is tiring, frustrating and discouraging. Pretty soon, you're afraid of being yourself; gun-shy of being confident in your abilities. People mistake your pride in the talents God has given you for arrogance, and now you're afraid to share what God has put in you.

That kind of social conditioning trains us to believe that God is the same way. He isn't, though. He is, instead, like the mother whose daughter brings her a bouquet of fresh-picked weeds. The mother doesn't scold the child for bringing her worthless, parasitic plants, but puts them in a crystal vase in the picture window or the dinner table, proudly displaying the priceless, beautiful gift. In and of themselves, the weeds are ugly, unwanted things, but the love of a daughter for her mother is expressed, and that's what's important. Only self-centered, spoiled brats care more about the gift than the giver. God doesn't require you to be the best. He doesn't even require you to be your best. (Think on that for a second! He doesn't require you to be your best because your best isn't good enough!) He just wants you. Scars, wounds, limping, bruises, all of you. He loves YOU.

God, I know your son had to die to restore our relationship. I know you didn't send him as punishment or because you were mad at him, but because you loved your creation so much that you'll stop at nothing to get at me, and show me your love.

Dad told me a story of an earthquake halfway around the world. It struck in the middle of the day and among the damage, an elementary school was leveled, trapping children inside. After digging in the area, rescue crews deemed it too unstable and dangerous to continue, but one father kept digging in the rubble with his bare hands, despite the risk. He was told to give up, but he wouldn't quit. After 2 days, he broke through into a chamber in the wreckage where his son and 30 classmates were still alive. The boy beamed at him, shouting, "I told them you'd find me! They said their dads would give up, but I knew you'd save me!" God risked everything by loving us. The fickle, adulterous people we are. He has fallen madly in love with us and will stop at nothing to restore us...

I knew you'd come for me...

Bottle Illustration

A good cup of coffee, a rainy afternoon, my son playing in the floor beside me, my wife asleep on the couch... man, it doesn't get much better than this! It's so peaceful. I know it's been a while since I posted, and God is continuing to work in my life every single day; showing me more and more what his love looks like, and how it applies to my wife. Just a few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend, and analogy about the life I've tried to live came to mind.

I became a Christian at the age of 6. Now, I'm 26 years old, and I've been a Christian for 20 years. I'm still at that age that it's weird for me to be able to say stuff like “20 years ago...” Yeah, I was a kid, but I can still say that... weird. Anyway, I've been a Christian for 20 years, and I've been fighting and clawing for God's love ever since. I've tried everything to clamor above the noise to make sure God noticed how good I am and how much he should love me. Then, a few weeks ago, it happened: God's love broke through. I found some old notebooks that had writings from when I was in high school and early on in college. Every page seemed to be filled with my crying out to God to show me himself. I saw paragraphs like, “I see you working in everybody else's life, why not mine? I feel like you aren't listening to me, or that I'm missing everything. Show me you, God. Show me your love. Teach me how to love you!” In those days, I was more worried with whether God was offended if I didn't capitalize “You” than with the fact that he already loved me.

Anyway, I promised an analogy, didn't I? My son, Liam (don't you just love that name?) is 6 months old. He's eating baby food now, but he still takes a bottle now and then. He's trying to be an independent guy, but doesn't quite have his motor skills down. Sure, he can roll over both ways (and does quite often) and he's trying to figure out the whole crawling thing. But he's really into grabbing and holding stuff. If you pick him up, he likes to touch your face, grab your nose, and poke you in the eye. My dad has a goatee that is about 3 inches long (though it's been more at times, much to the chagrin of my mom) and Liam loves trying to get a hold of that thing. The problem comes when I'm trying to feed him a bottle.

Since he loves to grab onto things, and now he's able to recognize the bottle, knowing exactly what it is from across the room, he's overanxious to get the formula in his mouth. He knows that he's hungry and that what's in that bottle is going to satisfy his hunger. What he fails to recognize is that, because he's unable to take care of himself, I'm the one who's able to satisfy the craving and the need he has. All he has to do is sit back, relax, and drink. Instead, he's crying, he's fighting against me and he's trying to grab the bottle himself. Now, if he had a little bit more control over his motor skills, I'd let him help me, but right now, his “help” is a hindrance. Instead of his reaching for the bottle helping me guide it to his mouth, he's pushing it away and getting more and more frustrated because his hunger isn't being abated. He may get upset with me and cry and in his tiny little mind blame me for his misfortune, but in reality, I'm the only constant in this situation. What I end up having to do is allow him to hold on to my hand, while I feed him. I have to remain constant while he thrashes around until he comes to what I'm offering him.

I know I don't have to spell it all out for you, and I won't insult your intelligence, but God's patience is immensely greater than mine. He offers himself as our anchor to hold onto, and he forever remains constant. God never changes, (unlike humanity) so his love is always the same. When we discover a new facet of his love, he didn't change, we just discovered more of his personality. If i'll stop fighting to help God, he will be able to do so much more in me. Wow. I can relax, rest assured, and enjoy him. See? I told you it's a peaceful afternoon...

He Loves

Getting started this morning is incredibly difficult. I can't explain it, but there's something going on in this heart of mine, but it refuses to jump from my heart and my brain to the screen. God is dealing with me, and it's as if I'm running from his heart. Two days ago, I woke up early. I couldn't sleep, so I got up and began to read. I'm reading through a book called He Loves Me by Wayne Jacobsen. It's really opening my eyes to some truths I've run from for so long.

I have grown up in a fantastic home. Mom was a stay-at-home mom who was involved in the lives of my sister and I, though she didn't suffocate us. My sister got into basketball, singing, and softball, while I was involved in piano, saxophone, singing, basketball, softball and soccer. Truth be told, music is the only thing that stuck with both of us, as I am a worship leader in a totally rockin' church in Southeast Tennessee, and she's involved in the music at her church in Kentucky. Dad was greatly involved in our lives, too. In fact, I consider him one of my best friends. There were never any major issues that came up in my childhood. Sure, my sister and I had a rough go at life with each other; both of us being strong-willed kids who played with a ridiculous intensity in everything we did, whether using our imaginations or playing sports.

However it happened, we grew up in each other's shadows, the siblings we were. She was older, but I was better at school. She was better at leadership and being the center of attention. Both of us felt we had to perform the best in everything we did, or it wasn't worth doing it. Mom and Dad never made us feel that we had to perform to be accepted, but somehow, that's the way I grew up. Mom suffered from anxiety and fear, and passed that onto me. She didn't do it on purpose, because anxiety has a way of hiding in the recesses of rationality and lodging itself into your psyche in such a way that it feels normal, and you don't realize it's actually a parasite that gnaws at your sanity. I was looking through a thesaurus on a better way to describe it, and I think a perfect word is "disquietude." In my last post, I talked about the beauty of the word "rest." Anxiety is the bubbling under the surface that makes that rest impossible, and I believe it's because of that under-the-surface boil that I've always felt I have to please God by my performance.

It's a blessing and a curse to be a musician. It's even more of a blessing and curse to be one in a church. I have the immense joy of leading people in worship through music every single week. I get to scream my heart out to God and invite people to join with me, as we become real, honest people in his presence. The dreaded thin line is that it can't become a performance based on talent. It's not an opportunity for me to show God how good I am, or how sincere I am, or how in love with him I am. No words I can say to him will make that reality real. It's all in the heart. Sometimes, I think we're trying our best to hide our hearts away from God, so our actions will speak for themselves. We don't want to come to a point where we're vulnerable, open, and honest. We feel naked standing in front of a roomfull of scrutinizing analysts, feeling as though we're going to be laughed at, picked apart and embarassed by every single flaw. God isn't that way at all. We spend our entire lives either cowering form the sky, afraid of some stray bolt of lightening to torch us where we stand for our sins, or we spend our entire lives jumping up and down calling out to God, "Did you see me? Did you see what I did? Will you love me now?"

Wayne Jacobsen says in his book He Loves Me that it's like trying to earn points with someone who is no longer keeping score. He says, "The key to living a productive Christian life is not waking up every day trying to be loved by God, but waking up in the awareness that you are already his beloved." THAT'S IT! Finally, it's not about my performance, my best, my worst, my fears, my calamity, my confidence, my cowering, my anxiety, my courageousness, my good days, my bad days. None of that matters because of these three words: "God Loves You." It's more than just a phrase or slogan that's painted in pastel colors on some children's literature. It's the epic truth that is the purpose of creation from the beginning of time. God is Love. Let that sink into your soul; past your mind, into your heart, and listen to his heart beat your name...

Rest

There's an under appreciated power in certain words and phrases that have been glossed over enough that they pass into cliche. I heard someone once say that cliches are phrases that describe so well that they've been overused. I actually used one in my last (and first) post, and it just so happens to be the one I one to visit today. The phrase is "rest assured."

First off, i want to take that word "rest." It's really been running through my mind for a few months. In preparation for writing today, I was reminded of a little place I found while working in South Carolina. I spent a summer working at North Greenville College in Tigerville, SC which is just outside Greenville, South Carolina. Furman University is just next door from there as well, but between Greenville and Tigerville, there's a tiny place called Traveler's Rest. It's so small, I thought it was like a Bed and Breakfast, but it was a town. All the locals just call it "T.R.," which takes away from the comfort in it. Think about that for a second: Traveler's Rest. The image that comes to my mind is someone a hundred and fifty years ago traveling on horseback. They're road-weary and they need a place to rest a horse, find a warm meal and get some sleep. It just feels like you could wrap yourself up in a name like that.

Another place that rest stood out for me was at the Worship Arts Conference at Campbellsville University, Campbellsville, Kentucky. One of the speakers was Shane Claiborne (http://www.thesimpleway.org/) and whenever he would speak, he wanted to have a time of Q&A interaction with everybody, but before he would, he would say, "Let's rest." And we would be silent for a few minutes, just resting. Not contemplating or thinking up questions, just resting. It was so cool to me. I didn't have to be pressured or worry about my schedule. I could just rest.

That brings me back to the phrase I started with, "rest assured." Isn't assurance something we've all been striving for since we were children? Assurance that our parents would always love each other and love us; assurance that we were safe from monsters in the closet or under the bed; assurance that our tax dollars were doing what we wanted them to do. Obviously, we weren't always assured, but the point is when we are acutally, honestly assured, isn't it such a beautiful feeling? Now, put them together, and not only rest, but rest assured. That is one of the most comforting phrases around, and one of the hardest things to do: Rest assured.

Don't forget the maker of the universe, this great God whom we don't always understand, still loves us, and chooses to have relationship with us. He is still in control, and my friends, in Him, you can rest assured...

First Post

Alright, so it's my first post, and I'll admit it's a little intimidating. I've had the thought of blogging in my head for several weeks now, and as I'm sitting down to write my first one, it's like walking to the end of the high dive for the very first time. You know you're going to enjoy the descent, but the precipice is the scariest moment.

The idea behind this blog is to let you know what goes on not only inside my head but inside ChristWay Community Church. People have this mentality that ministers are perfect and never struggle with anything. I grew up in the church, and I thought that the only thing that pastors and ministers ever struggled with was that they spent 2 1/2 hours in prayer instead of 3. I want you to rest assured that that is not me. I'm a real, down-to-earth guy that struggles every single day. I'm not "there" yet, and I want to let you in on the secret that, as Sanctus Real sings, "I'm not alright, I'm broken inside."

Still with me? Are you ready? Hold your breath, because here we go!