On Becoming Truer

I’ve had a powerfully intense few weeks. I’m an intensity junky of sorts, so it’s been good, but it has taken it’s toll. A toll I’m glad to pay, but a payment to be paid nonetheless. I commonly experience myself as someone who notices he is weary in spirit way too late. But my kid’s love shook me to awareness early this time in a beautiful and creative way.

As I started home from work, I grabbed my phone and there was a missed call from my wife’s cell phone. It was this lengthy message from my youngest son, Jakin, who is age 6 (read it as if it is one sentence with the cutest little boy voice you can imagine).

“Dad – I just wanted to tell you that I wanted to give you a kiss when you get home, and hug, and I want, um…to tell you…um…because you work good cuz, um, I love you cuz, um, you do good stuff and I love you too much and I want you someday to take to…um…I actually don’t want to go to Chicago for our trip, I want to actually go to where Callie, um, went to and do everything Callie did and I wanna ask, uh, to stay at the same room in the hotel, and, um, if we can, and I want to, um, and someday I want us to go the beach and see some penguins and, uh, I just love you and mom loves you to…when you get home, give her a hug and a kiss…bye.”

I smiled and laughed out loud and played it several more times as I drove home. “I love you too much,” just kept ringing in my head and calming my soul. It was cool.

On the homefront, my wife Carrie has been a trooper with some major pain in her lower back. So when I got home, I took my oldest son Shade to soccer practice, picked up my daughter from gymnastics, then with her back to Shade’s practice till it was over, then home to feed ‘em, bath ‘em, do homework, and get ‘em to bed before my men’s group that meets in my basement starts at 8:30.

While Carrie was coaching me on what to do for lunch prep for the next morning, I saw my daughter Callie (age 7) quietly and intently drawing or writing something on the couch. A while back, she made both me and her mom “mailboxes” out of paper and hung them next to our respective sides of the bed. As I was busily hurrying about, she disappeared and reappeared and informed me, “Daaaad –deeee…check your maaaaail booox.” I smiled with a polite “Okay” as I dashed by and gave her a pat. But after I put them to bed, I remembered, and pulled this out.

Of course, I love all the hugs and kisses from my daughter, always, but what really captured my attention was her 3-stage representation of my “growing up”. She identified me as a “kid”, then advancing to “basketball player”, and finally to “precher”. While I wonder why she chose these particular images to mark my progression, the most affirming thing to me was what she drew to represent “precher”! It wasn’t me standing behind a pulpit talking. It wasn’t my nose in a book (or The Book) studying, and it wasn’t even me with another person shepherding, all of which would’ve been okay and accurate of some of the things she sees me doing. Instead, it seems her image of a “precher” is a strong, intense-but-smiling, determined sort of character who is ready for some sort of action. I tell you what, if this is anything close to what I am being seen as by my kids as they observe me as “a preacher”, then I’m just plain thrilled. Admittedly, some of this comes from my past & current judgments of preachers, oftentimes unfair and false (and yes, it’s not lost on me the divine comedy that God made me one), but still…it was nice, since it is so important to me to not be a “typical preacher” (let the reader understand) that my daughter represented me as a preacher in an atypical way. It just felt great.

Finally, 8:30 rolls around, kids are tucked in, and about 8 of my buddies from the Basement Boys start showing up. Shade (age 9), has a routine of asking me if my buddy Heath is going to come to group, and if he is, then to send him by his room on the way down the hall for him to say hey, because my son loves him. But in the event Heath doesn’t come, he usually names another guy from my group to send in, as a backup. Last week it was Shane, but this week, he told me to send in Chris.

Chris happened to have “the floor” last night, which means, it was his turn to sit in the “hot seat” and initiate the raw and real, hopefully transformational conversation that we all gather in the basement for. So as we all declared it time to descend, and void of Heath’s presence, I mentioned to Chris to make a quick stop in Shade’s room to say hi.

After a few minutes, Chris comes bounding down to the basement where the rest of us are just visiting amongst ourselves awaiting his arrival in the hot seat that we left empty for him. He busts out with a big smile, and then says, “Let me tell you what Mashburn’s son just said.”

Chris said that after he visited with him, he told Shade that he probably needed to go because he was going to talk down in the basement, and added that he was a little nervous. Shade told him, ‘Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about it. You’ll do good. I’ve done it before. I’ve talked in front of the whole church. You want me to tell you what to do?”

“Sure,” I imagine Chris saying in a very Chris-inviting way.

“Just pretend, while your saying what you need to say, that all the people aren’t even there.”

Here’s the cool part.

Shade added, “Except my dad.”

Chris was beaming in the basement, for me I think, as he said that it was exactly the way he would want his son to talk about him! He said that it was said in a manner that communicated, “No need to pretend my dad’s not there. You’ll want him there.”

Wow.

It wasn’t until this morning that I put together this trifecta of child-delivered, massively-meaningful, attitude-changing, energy-fueling, uncontrollable-smile-producing, peace-giving, not-common-at-all daddy affirmations all happened yesterday, densely packed into a mere 3 hour block of time.

I didn’t know it at the time, but now looking backward, and looking inward, I’m pretty sure it was a little gift of fuel to propel me forward that came from upward.

I instantly thought about blogging about them, sharing the experience with all of you, when I quickly realized how extremely self-exalting it is for me to record and publish just how great I’m coming across to my kids.

So I decided not to.

I did share it with my close friend Doyle, and somewhere in the midst of the thrill and joy of it all, I changed my mind. I had to record it, and share it, not because I think I’m “all that”, but because of the sheer depth at which my children’s honest and spontaneous affirmations of me as a dad satisfies and affirms my soul.

May I never short change my short time with my kids. And may their gracious perceptions of me become true as I am becoming truer.

And may the same be so for all you.

“Wake up, wake up, break out in song!” – Judges 5:12

I have two documents sitting on my desk that have blessed me profoundly today.

The first one is written by my 7 year old daughter, Callie. Well, dictated by her. She came running in one day with a sense of urgency asking for pen and paper. She wrote “God is the perfect name!” on the top, put a column of hearts down the side, and then decided she writes too slow to record the song trying to burst out of her heart. She threw the pen and paper in my hands and said, “Hurry, dad, write this down!”

She started with the chorus:

God is the perfect name for the Lord,

God is the perfect name for the Lord.

Jesus is the perfect name for the Lord,

Jesus is the perfect name for the Lord.

Love is the perfect name for the Lord,

Love is the perfect name for the Lord.

Then she had four short verses:

Love brings peace, peace brings love.

If you put them both together, you have Christ in your heart.

Faith brings joy, joy brings faith.

If you put them both together, you have Christ in your heart.

Love brings hope, hope brings love.

If you put them both together, you have Christ in your heart.

It ends triumphantly…

Jesus and God are good for each other!

Jesus and God are the best! (to be sung with arms thrust up into the air!)

She instructed me to take it to my friend Doyle, the worship leader at our church, in order for him to learn it and sing it with our church family.

Amazing.

The second one is from a friend of mine that I am “especially fond of” (he who has read “The Shack”, let him have ears to hear). He, among about 80 others of us, went on a retreat this past weekend on a Ranch south of Amarillo. While there, we examined our personal “story” thus far in our lives, were challenged to give those to God, and let Christ merge with our story from here on out, co-authoring it together.

After laying his story at the foot of the cross, he went into some private space and wrote these resolutions as guides for the rest of his life:

I will stop “doing” church and be Christ to the world.

I will pray unrelenting for those who are lost in my life.

I will be a part of the salvation of my lost family members.

I will spend my time doing the will of God in the world.

I will make a mark on the world around me.

I will get to know more of Christ through the Bible.

I will stop using business as an excuse not to do his work.

I will stop blaming my family for what Satan did.

I will stop using my past as a crutch.

People will see the difference in me.

I’m allowing this paper that Callie wrote move me to worship and reflection (that will actually and practically change the state of my heart), and I’m allowing this paper written by my buddy to move me to resolution and action (that will actually and practically change how you see me live and behave).

May God send you a song and resolution as well.

I just arrived in my office after an action-packed breakfast at McDonald’s with my youngest son and best buddy, Jakin, who turns 6-years-old today.

Jakin Major Mashburn is the funnest, smiliest, most amazing (not-so-) little boy.

Jakin has a habit of getting up out of bed “one last time” pretty much every night in order to “just say one more thing!” If we can get over ourselves wanting him to get back in bed and go to sleep, it is always hilarious.

Once, as his mom started rebuking him back to his room as his head poked slowly around the corner, he retorted with “I just have one more question!” His mom conceded, asking what it was. Relieved, he stepped into the room and busted out, in all seriousness, with “How can dragons fly when they have those small little wings and big huge giant bodies?” I could see all over his face that he was in his bed really losing sleep over this impossible dilemma.

Another time I heard a little shuffling in the hallway. I let out with one my standard “Go back to bed!” shout outs for whichever one of my little hoodlums it may be, which is usually followed by some quick little retreating footsteps and a door quietly closing. But out darted Jakin announcing that he HAD to tell me “One of my favorite things!” I agreed, and he excitedly proceeded to hold up his hand and announce, “On your hand, you have 4 fingers. But when you add your 1 thumb, its like you have five, but you don’t, because you only have 4 fingers, then you have 1 thumb,” and then looked at me, satisfied that he had cleared that up so excellently for me. I said, “Is that it?” “Yep,” he said, as he turned with certainty and bounded to bed.

Another time it was a question: “Is Beansborough a real state?”

I have no explanation. But it got us both in one of those rare-but-priceless places where you really need to, but you can’t stop laughing. You know, the kind that comes out causing pain and tears you are laughing so hard. Almost like your body is taking what only deserves a small chuckle and using it as an opportunity to hold in weeks of repressed laughter to finally purge itself.

Jakin is capable of creating that often.

Here’s my favorite to date: the kids are all down, it’s quiet, and I was in my bedroom which is down a long hallway from Jakin’s. I was lying on my bed quietly watching TV when in came Jakin dragging his lifeless lower body, presumably all the way from his room, with his arms. As he slowly pulled his comatose legs around the door frame, he announced, “Dad. I got somethin to tell ya. My legs don’t work.” I looked at him knowingly. I said, “Well, Jakin, your in luck. Your supposed to be in bed sleeping. And you don’t need your legs for that. Right?”

“Right. Okay,” he said, and he pulled himself all they way back down the hall and into bed (he seemed to have made a miraculous recovery by the morning, by the way).

Jakin’s first name comes from a midnight wake-up call I felt like I got from God one night. I drug myself to my prayer room and did one of those open-the-Bible-and-read things. I opened to an obscure passage in 1 Kings 7 where it describes the (boring) details of Solomon  constructing his palace and stuff around the Temple. I thought, “surely this is not what you woke me up to read, God!” I persevered through really interesting (not!) records of some of dimensions of some of the bronze-works that Solomon had commissioned. And then, right in the middle of this, a strange thing…the scripture pauses right after mentioning these 2 pillars made for either side of the porch of Solomon, and takes the time to give these pillars names. One was named Boaz (which means “God’s strength” I think), the other was named Jakin. I looked it up, because all my wife and I had discussed was we might want a “J” name (dunno why). It means “God establishes.”

Jakin’s middle name, Major, was the maiden name of my wife’s sweet Nana, who had just passed away when we found this name. Major means “greatness”.

So when this cool kid was born we named him “God Establishes Greatness”.

So, Happy Birthday, Jakin Strongman (one of his many identities…check out the video here, if you have Facebook, and watch the video “Greatest Fight on Earth” to see why)! I love you and am so proud to be a front-row witness of the greatness that God is so firmly estbablishing in you!

I love you, buddy.

My buddy Chris, and excellent writer, friend, care-giver, and follower of Christ has a couple of blogs that I think you would enjoy, particularly if you fall into the category of people he is addressing.

He got a nick-name in college, Fajita, that stuck.

Fajita will stick on you, too (not the food, but his love and wisdom).

Enjoy.

http://smart-single-parents.blogspot.com/

http://smartstepfamilies.blogspot.com/

"No one can serve two masters." – Jesus

"The most productive people and groups of people, who have any kind of mission, are those who jettison their weightiest cargo." – Your Truly, inspired by Honore de Balzac

I may be in the worst shape of my life because of this shoulder injury I took in a BMX race. Because of it, I haven’t been able to hike, wrestle kids, play softball or basketball, run, swim, lift or anything else that might bounce or jiggle my screwed up shoulder (and I mean that literally, my shoulder has a screw in it). The doctor has only released me to ride a stationary bike, so I’ve been going across the street to the Town Club, doing that, desperate to be in shape. But yesterday I decided to make a "big move" to the Stair Master, a bit tougher workout for sure, but still safe for the shoulder. It felt good.

But that’s not why I’m telling you this.

I’m telling you this because the Stair Master is right next to the balcony that looks down over the gym. And down in the gym, I saw something happening that I see happening in a lot of churches, if not most. For sure it is happening in the one I’m blessed to be a part of. And for sure it is happening inside of me.

There was a volleyball game going on. Four students on each team. And there was a half-court basketball game going on. Four more students on each team.

The problem is, there’s not room for both to be going on, at least the way they are designed to. Because the courts overlap.

That’s not to say they weren’t trying. They were trying to each enjoy the game they were playing. They were trying to be kind and respectful of each other. They were trying to stay out of each other’s way without compromising the quality of their chosen game. But, alas, they were trying to do so in the same space.

Needless to say, eventually…and repetitively…they got in each other’s way. A guy drove the lane, then zipped the ball out to the top of the key which is well into the center of the volleyball court, and just as he was taking his wide open shot…bam!…the volleyball whizzes into the back of his arms. A guy spikes the ball that get’s blocked, so his teammate rushes aggressively to the back corner of the court to keep the ball in play and…smack!…right into a basketball defender’s legs as he jumps to make a block.

It wasn’t working. They all knew it. But no one was addressing it. No one was trying to get agreement on what sport to play. No one wanted to offend anyone else. No one addressed it. They just kept on playing their half-games as if everything would just work out. Oh, you could see some sarcastic looks among the volleyball players to each other, and hear some disgruntled murmurings from the basketball players among themselves, but they weren’t addressing each other. And neither was able to do their thing well.

They kept playing, but it was so maddening for both, that I wondered if one group would finally either blow up in frustration, or just quit because it wasn’t worth the battle anymore.

For you church folks…sound familiar?

Watching the growing tension, I found myself eager for some Town Club authority to come in and expose this dilemma for them. No, not expose it, they all knew it was there. Address it. Forthrightly and openly, with a conscientious mind for a solution. I wanted for someone to discern some options for these guys that would allow one of the games to be played well. I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t disappoint at least some of the folks, but I could think of plenty of things that would acknowledge the problem and then invite everyone to be a part of the solution…even if it called for some of them to sacrifice doing things "their way".

Again…sound familiar?

Allow me to take the analogy a step further. This gym is in a health club. Presumably, you come to this gym to get exercise in order to improve your health. While you can play basketball or volleyball in it(or dodge ball, or chase, or roller hockey), it’s not made primarily for basketball or volleyball. It is made for exercise. Both the volleyball and basketball players could’ve gotten exercise by joining the other group in their sport. But they weren’t there for exercise, and even if initially they were, they ended up making it about playing their desired sport, and didn’t mind sabotaging the effectiveness of the other group’s game (and exercise) to get it.

You following me here?

Let me take it further. A younger group of folks came in looking to play something as well. They saw what was being communicated non-verbally by the group(s) in the gym, and didn’t give a second thought to picking up a basketball and starting another game on a side basketball court that overlapped BOTH the other groups. There was no mistaking it, it was downright imposing and rude.

But what could the ones in there first say? "Can you kids not see that you are interrupting our game?" Nope. They couldn’t. It would have made them accountable to explain either (a) why they weren’t confronting the other group as well, or (b) admit they were doing the same thing.

So…they all just kept running into each other, ruining each other’s games, unable to really enjoy it, and not any of them doing any of it well.

I can’t resist…let me take it a little further. When I finished my stair-climbing, I took a cool-down walk around the small running track, which took me to the other side of the gym. From there, I could see the other sideline, hidden from my Stair Master view. There, I saw a 3 on 3 soccer game trying to be played between the wall of the gym and the volleyball court line! It was pitiful. Determined…and I respect that…but pitiful. An interrupting and interrupted game as much as the other 3.

But that’s not the worst of it. There were at least a dozen kids down there sitting and standing along the wall. They were watching it all…some looking like they wished they were playing something, some looking intimidated by the chaos, some apologizing for getting in the way of the soccer game, some looking like they didn’t want to be there but their mom or dad is working out and they can’t leave, and (this one’s my favorite) some laughing at the collisions and passive-aggressive conflicts taking place out on the floor. And in the few seconds I watched, a few kids stepped in the doors, looked around, and shaking their heads walked right out. They wanted nothing to do with what was going on in there…partly because there was no way to imagine where or what they could join in with.

Now…if a manager from the Town Club did enter the scene with a mind to figure out how to improve what was happening, what would you imagine he should do? What questions would he need to ask? And of whom would he ask them? Who get’s the priority here? Is it based on who was there first? On what sport can involve the most people? A democratic vote?

Is it based on what the manager comes in and dictates? On what he likes best? On who he likes best in the room?

Is it based on who’s family contributes the most to the Town Club financially? On who gets the most upset? On who has the strongest will out there? On keeping as many people happy as possible so they won’t leave the Town Club?

If I’ve done a good job making it seem like a hard situation…then I’ve accurately described why I think what I saw happening on that gym floor is happening in a lot of churches.

I doubt the Town Club would solve it this way…but I think churches need their God-fearing, prayerfully discerning, Christ-focused, disciple-making leaders to come to conviction from God on that one thing that they should do well…and then invite everyone who wants to be associated with them into that particular game.

At our particular church, one game being played is the game of "making disciples of Jesus Christ through relationships". And another game being played is "let’s base our worship practices on the 1st Century church’s worship practices".

Both games are being played, and both are trying to be respectful of the other, but they are overlapping and occupying the same space. They are each determined, and I respect that, but on occasion, it is pitiful. That’s not to say we aren’t trying. We are trying to each enjoy the game we are playing. We are trying to be kind and respectful of each other. We are trying to stay out of each other’s way without compromising the quality of our chosen game.

But, alas, we are trying to do so in the same space. Needless to say, eventually…and repetitively…we get in each other’s way. One group has a class about legalism, trying to address the other. The other has a small group discussion about how far we’ve departed from the Bible’s clear teaching, trying to address the other. But a lot of this amounts to sarcastic looks and disgruntled murmurings among each group, rather than healthy dialogue between each group.

Now…let me be clear…I think both groups are motivated, at least initially, by love. And if it was just about these two groups, and no one else, I might be fine with a church just doing the best they can in this situation. Give each group the freedom to play their game, and deal with the emotions and relationships between them only when they and their values bump into each other in an offensive way. I’m not sure I would, but I might.

However, it’s those doggone kids sitting on the side of the gym that puts me over the top with zeal for some kind of decision to be made about which game will be played in this gym, followed by a bold and practical application of it. It’s the people of the world, watching us. Some of them are just wishing they could be a part of something. Some of them are intimidated by all the chaos. Some of them wish they weren’t here, but their parents or spouse or kids make them come. Some (these are my least favorite) are just laughing at all the collisions and passive-aggressive conflicts going on between us.

It’s those people out there in the world, the one’s Jesus said he came to seek and save, the one’s he said God loves so much he sent him to die for them, the one’s he said he came to give life to the full to, the ones he said would know him because of our unity around loving them, the one’s that look at us and then walk off shaking their heads because they can’t determine what or how they might fit into this with us.

It all makes me desire that some Spiritual Authority would come in and expose this dilemma for us. No, not expose it. We all know it is there. Address it. Forthrightly and openly. And with a conscientious mind for a solution. I want for someone to discern some options for us that would allow one of the games to be played well. I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t disappoint at least some of the folks, but I could think of plenty of things that would acknowledge the problem and then invite everyone to be a part of the solution…even if it called for some of them to sacrifice doing things "their way".

I don’t mind confessing to you all that I fall unapologetically on the side of playing the "making disciples of Jesus Christ through relationships" game, for the simple reason that winning the lost to worship a certain way on Sunday mornings won’t save anybody from anything, but teaching them to live like Christ will save anybody in every way they need to be saved.

I know our church is not alone. The games being played may be different, but the dilemma is the same. Anyone have any real, practical, compassionate, effective recommendations or thoughts?

(For some reason, this old post from 4 years ago (right down to the exact week) came to my attention TWICE today…and I’m starting to get suspicious as to why. The first was while I was cleaning out an end table in our living room. While frantically throwing away the stuff that had collected in it, I noticed a printout of one my old emails, and it was this one. I didn’t think much of it, glanced at it quickly, then tucked it away for later, maybe. The second was just a minute ago, after publishing a new piece on my blog, even though I never have done this, I decided to pick a random archive page (found in the lower left column at www.brianmashburn.net). And of all the posts on there, and of all the buttons I could’ve picked, it was this same one. So I said, "Okay, God, okay," and read it expectantly…hmmm, I wonder if the day has come? And if so, what does it mean? Sobering. Intriguing. Challenging. Worthy of my prayer and close listening, and connecting with you, my community. Any thoughts, feedback, probing questions, or contributions are invited and would be most welcome.

I’m ready for a revolution.)

The Day That is Coming…But Not Yet – July 31, 2005

"You remind me of the Apostle Paul." — said to me by my friend, Ben Wall, years ago, as we did ministry together

I have long felt a kinship with Paul of the Bible. I think that anyone who has seriously committed his life and soul to advancing Christ’s Kingdom can find a version of his own story in Paul’s story, but I still like to think that he and I have a special affinity. And while I like to imagine having a powerful, global impact like he, that’s not what I’m talking about.

Remember when Paul (he went by Saul then) used all his zeal and passion to defend "God’s religion" from moving into error by Christians?  I used to do that. Remember when Paul was then interrupted by Jesus and was told to stop what he was doing because he, in fact, was working against God and didn’t know it? I feel like that happened to me. Remember how Paul sat in Damascus, dazed and confused and blinded, waiting for Jesus to tell him what to do? I experienced that.

And remember when Jesus promised and then commissioned Paul personally, "I will rescue you from your own people and from the Gentiles. I am sending you to them to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me." I so totally feel like I have had this experience.

I feel sent, like Paul, to the "gentiles" of our day. No, not "non-Jews", for I am one of them, and indebted to Paul for initiating such a powerful ministry to us. The gentiles of our day, at least in America, are the "non-churched". I don’t really like that word, but haven’t found one I like, and so will trust you know what I mean.

And you know how Paul went first to the Jews in each city he visited to see who would accept the Messiah so that he knew who he could count on in that city to be a church fellowship for these hard to accept gentiles? I feel like I’m supposed to do that, too. The way Paul and his buddy Barny explained themselves to the Jews was, "We had to speak the word of God to you first." (Acts 13:46) And I honestly feel like, too. As a matter of fact, that is a PERFECT description of the season of Paul’s life that I am in right now, right here in Amarillo. The "Jews" in my life (per this analogy) are my friends at the Southwest Church of Christ. Probably the best statement from Paul’s life, that reflects this current priority of mine, is a comment by Luke when he said, "Paul devoted himself exclusively to preaching, testifying to the Jews that Jesus was the Christ." (Acts 18:5)

Up ahead, however, a dramatic decision awaits me. (I am fortunate that I have many brothers and friends and intimate allies that surround me. And I don’t know about Paul, but I need them. They remind me of what matters most when I’m weary. At the first sign of possible discouragement or distraction, they notice and firmly keep my eyes on the Goal.) And sometimes I put my head down to the ground and watch my feet take one step at a time and forget, but God oftentimes forces my head up to look ahead…and when He does, excitement and passion and conviction (and emails like this one) just pop out of me.

Before too terribly long, the day is coming that I will turn resolutely to the "Gentiles" and take the Word of God to them. It will be great because I know there are folks out there who are just waiting to hear about this life-giving message from me, and are ready to embrace it with both arms by letting go of everything else…and that many of my "Jewish" brothers will go out there with me. But it will also be sad because it will mark an end of the current season of life for me, the one where I get to preach Christ to "my own people" first, inviting them from the religious life we were brought up with to the abundant life of a singular focus on Christ’s mission.

The way Paul said it, when it came upon him, was…"We had to speak the word of God to you first. Since you reject it and do not consider yourselves worthy of eternal life, we now turn to the Gentiles. For this is what the Lord has commanded us." (Acts 13:47)

The way Luke continued his commentary about this was…"Paul devoted himself exclusively to preaching, testifying to the Jews that Jesus was the Christ. But when the Jews opposed Paul and became abusive, he shook out his clothes in protest and said to them, "Your blood be on your own heads! I am clear of my responsibility. From now on I will go to the Gentiles." (Acts 18:5-6)

I am currently preaching to the Southwest Church of Christ, explaining and declaring to them the kingdom of God and trying to convince them about Jesus from the law of Moses and from the Prophets and from the Gospels and from the Letters (see Paul’s version of this in Acts 28:23-25). And it is awesome. I have joined many among these people who have been doing this for years before I got here, most notably the elders and ministers that I get to work with, and there are dozens more.

So for now, I am full of joy as I pursue this season of life and calling, patiently watching to see who else has already and will continue to join us in discovering the "more and more" available to us in Christ. But I also enjoy lifting my head, looking forward, and seeing that the time is coming (the day and hour I don’t know) that my heart’s desire to see new life flow into the hearts of those outside our Southwest walls, because of the people inside of our walls. It will be a time in my life where I feel I will have been faithful to God’s commission to me…to go to "the Gentiles" and share with them our lives and this great news.

Then, I hope and pray, what happened in Paul’s life will happen in mine…"When the Gentiles heard this, they were glad and honored the word of the Lord; and all who were appointed for eternal life believed. The word of the Lord spread through the whole region." (Acts 13:48-50)

Deirdre Lefever: You thought he was here so you could fix him? It didn’t occur to you that it might be the other way around?
Russ Duritz: …Not until recently, no.

— Bruce Willis, in the Disney movie The Kid, after his 8-year-old self showed up mysteriously when he was 40.

I stood outside a courtroom yesterday holding a weeping boy who had just finished sitting inside it where the sins of his dad had caught up with him. He listened as his dad plead guilty to the charges against him, because he was, and threw himself at the mercy of the court concerning punishment. He listened as the the prosecuting attorney put up witness after witness outlining the crimes, a punishment in and of itself to this son-of-the-accused, and he listened as the judge pronounced the multi-year sentencing of his dad. And then he watched as his dad turned and looked at him and the rest of his family, full of shame and regret, sadness and fear, and then he watched as the bailiff marched him off to prison.

And then he began sobbing…the only sound that he could add to the tears were the words, "I want my daddy. I want my daddy."

His daddy is my friend. I met him 3 years ago. He’d started coming to my basement every Tuesday night with a group of guys who meet there to make friends, brothers, and allies out of each other by taking the mask off, being fully known, and helping each other, whatever it takes, to become better men. Men who live better lives. The best possible one is the one we are all after, and since Jesus Christ says that’s why he came…to give us that (Jn 10:10)…well, we’re giving it, and him, a try.

This guy comes from a life of darkest dark. But he and I and a group of others bared our souls. We bared our hearts. And we began the exciting, but slow ascent up towards light. This guy is a good guy. But many of the sections of the ascent were steep and slippery, impossible to navigate alone without brothers, let alone without God, and he tried foolishly several times to go it alone and slipped back. We were always there to catch him, and pick him up, and challenge him back to his feet. One of those times, however, landed him, yesterday, in prison.

I and another brother from the Basement Boys were there as character witnesses. My buddy’s attorney asked me a bunch of questions to show that there was a group of good guys "out there" that love, trust, and are committed to him so that the judge might give him probation. And that is why I thought I was there. And I was. And I did. (My proudest moment came when the prosecuting attorney asked me about my kids, and asked if a man were to try to give my son some drugs, would I want the man responsible to be punished. I answered, "I would want him to be changed.") I was there for that. But I was there for another reason, too.

I was there to embrace his son. I was there to get the chest of my shirt wet with some of his tears. And not for him.

I mean, sure, it was for him. But not strictly for him. It was also for me.

See, some people wouldn’t have a clue what to say to him right then. I’m often in situations like that…where I’m with people dealing with dilemma’s that all I can give is my presence and my prayers. And I’ve learned that that is enough for people. Actually, that is a lot. Actually, that is love of the greatest sort. But this time, the words came flooding to me, and not because of some mysterious and enlivening Holy Spirit intervention (which I have experienced) where you end up saying, "I don’t know where those words came from!" (which I have said). Nope. This time, I knew what to say, and I knew where the words came from.

While I held him, I put my mouth next to his ear and said, "Son, I’ve stood right here where you are standing. I sat in a courtroom where the sins of my dad had caught up with him. I listened as my dad plead guilty to the charges against him, because he was, and threw himself at the mercy of the court concerning punishment. I listened as the judge pronounced the multi-year sentencing of my dad, and then watched as the bailiff marched him off to prison.”

At this point, I pulled back and had him look me in the eye as I continued, "…and I made it. I didn’t lose my dad, even though on that day it felt like I had. I didn’t. And he wasn’t gone as long as they said he would be. Which was great. And while there were hard days while he was gone, this day, the one you are in right here, the feeling you are feeling right now, was the hardest. So let’s you and I make it through this day, and then the worst day will be over, and you’ll know that you can make it."

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

His dad gone, I drove him and his dad’s truck to his house for the family. We talked some more, like deeply unified, mutually understanding brothers, 30-years removed. In that short drive home, we slipped between practical questions, somber silence, and boisterous laughter with the ease that comes from common traumatic experiences.

I guess I was there for him.

Sure, I was there for him.

Sure I was.

Sure.

Suuuure I was.

For him.

Right.

“I am just like you before God; I too have been taken from clay.” – Job, to his friends, wanting them to see they are the same

“I plead with you, brothers, become like me, for I became like you.” – Paul, to his friends, wanting them to walk the path he did, so they could have life to the full

“A person changes when that person develops a desire to change.” – Your Truly

"I tell you the truth, unless you change… you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” – Jesus

“The only thing that stays the same is that things change.” – Jim Sheppard

I want people to change. I want it badly. I want the wounded to heal, the frantic to have peace, the lazy to find purpose, the sad to get joy, the angry to forgive, the hurtful to be loving, the depressed to have hope. If I am going to expend energy, this is what I want to expend energy doing. Changing people…starting with myself (which will never end) and then offering it through every single relationship I have or will ever have (which will also never end).

This has been true for as long as I can remember. And in my adult life, as I look back, it is pretty much consistently what I have done.

As consistent as this has been outwardly, I can also see by looking back that the motivation behind that work inwardly has changed.

In the past, my motivations to help others change was really self-serving. They included:

• My need to believe that substantial change was possible.
• My desire to “be effective” as a helper of people.
• My need to prove that my motives were pure (to others, yes, but really to myself).
• My need to “be” for someone else what I felt I never “had” for myself.
• My desire to be “a good leader”.

Looking over that list, all of them could go under the heading of one profound work…my own healing. With only subtle (and often overlapping) differences, I have thus far in my life engaged in the work of helping people change for my own healing.

I’m happy to report, at the age of 41, that I feel like I’ve progressed in this area, and would describe myself as “healed and healing”. One of the litmus tests that signals to me that this profound milestone has happened comes in the form of the feeling that, while I want people to change, I no longer need others to change.

For example:

• I don’t need others to change to believe that change is possible anymore.
• I don’t need others to change to prove I’m an “effective” helper of people anymore.
• I don’t need to help others change to prove my motives are pure anymore.

With this glorious change in my inner being comes a problem that I was surprised by and am now currently wrestling through. You see, one of the benefits of having my own need to heal as my motivation to help others change is the fuel and passion it gives me to do so. Said another way, without “needing” others to change, the fuel that runs me as a “helping people change” machine is gone.

To sum up: the outward work that I have always done (“helping others change”) is what I want to continue to do. But without my own self-serving needs (“my need to heal”) fueling that work, I’m in need of something new…a new fuel.

It has taken me some time, deep contemplation, and time with Christ and my fellow Christ-following community, but I have figured out what the new fuel, if I am to find the motivation to continue helping people change, needs to be. And I’m a bit ashamed of what I found it to be.

Love.

I need to learn to love.

If love can be (partially) described as “kindly helping others become more like Christ for their good,” then what I have been doing is “kindly helping others become more like Christ for my own healing.”

So…today, I need to repent for my lack of love.

I expect this to be the most profound and all-consuming repentance of my life. It will call for my most focused effort, my most determined commitment, and a diligence, persistence, and depth that, thus far, I have never had to access. I’m bracing myself for this one to by my last one…not that I will not have countless other faults to address and course-corrections to make…but that this one will be the wind that drives all the rest. This one, I think, will explain me. This one, finally, this one, will kill me.

Don’t feel sorry for me, friends. I am elated. The shame that I am coming to grips with concerning what a beginner I am at this love thing is equaled by my excitement to begin the journey.

I am currently re-reading the story of Jesus, eager to witness him being motivated by this newest understanding of what love is! I am moving ever closer, if at a snails pace, towards my life-long goal of becoming more like Christ, which is more like God…Who is Love.

“Whoever loses his life for me will find it.” – Jesus

"Success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue naturally, and it only does so as the unintended but allowed, if not chosen, side effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself." – Viktor Frankl

"You have to let it happen by not caring about it all that much, and certainly not nearly as much as the greater cause to which you have become a willing slave." Viktor Frankl

"I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your ability and knowledge. Then you will live to see success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think about it." – Viktor Frankl

"His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’" – Jesus Christ

I had a BMX race accident a few weeks ago, and shoulder surgery shortly after, and now, in the midst of a long recovery have been cursed/blessed with an incapacity to do my normal routine.

Cursed, obviously, because it is frustrating to be incapable.

Blessed, because it is usually through forced change that we do any changing. And since changing is my both my life and my message to the world, I am being blessed. I’ve had a lot more time to appreciate and evaluate the normal routine that I’m so committed to.

Using Viktor’s powerful words above, I am asking:

Am I "successful"?

Am I happy?

Am I personally dedicated to a cause greater than myself?

Am I caring more for the cause I serve than my success & happiness?

Am I listening to what my conscience commands?

Am I carrying that out to the best of my ability and knowledge?

And to add Christ’s even more potent summary of all of those:

Am I being faithful in the few things (that lead to the influence of many things), and thereby sharing in the happiness of Christ?

Are you?

I sat with a wonderful man today, a man full of passion and dreams, longing and loneliness, ideals and honesty, woundedness and love. And as he spoke, these already flared up questions screamed for my full attention.

This is important stuff for me to constantly stay in. It makes people uncomfortable sometimes, though I’m unsure why.

I think some people who identify me as their "preacher" are uncomfortable with any sign of uncertainty from their "preacher".

I think some people who identify me as a mentor are uncomfortable with me not having an answer for everything.

I think some people who look at the outward circumstances of my life (beautiful family, secure and meaningful job, etc) are uncomfortable with my constant pushing and questioning because I should merely be grateful for what I got (which I certainly am).

But it’s important stuff for me to constantly stay in. And I invite you all, in this small way, down into the depths of my soul as witnesses, for what it is worth. Thanks, in advance, for listening.

So, without tying a pretty little bow around this piece, let me just answer the questions.

I am successful at loving people, serving people’s hearts, and creating atmospheres where people are either invited, inspired, or allowed to do revolutionize their own lives. I am not successful at coaching, training, and mentoring other’s to do so with regularity and consistency.

I am happy with the circumstances that I am within.

I am personally dedicated to a cause greater than myself. Most of my life, I have cared more for that cause (which, by the way, is helping people, through relationships, to live life to the full…that is, to become more like Christ) than being successful in that cause. More recently, I’m fearful that my focus has shifted to my success in doing so.

I think my conscience commanded my actions with brilliant clarity when I was needing healing from past wounds. I think I’m struggling to hear what my conscience commands of me in the absence of such desperation. In other words, motivation is easier to come by for me when I am trying to "fix something in the world". When I have come to an acceptance of things the way they are, it is harder to summon motivation and decipher what it is I need to do. Love is my motivation (even for this message), but what specifically to do and how to do it is elusive to me. I don’t like it (but trust that it is doing it’s work on me as God has appointed it).

Because of that last paragraph, unless I am doing this work that you are witnessing now, and doing it communally, I have to say that I have not been carrying out my work to the best of my ability and knowledge. It’s just so much easier to do a good job than it is to challenge the status quo…both personally, and in the systems, structures and organisms within which each of us live.

This is my daily choice. Hourly, really. No…every minute.

When I have been, and when I am, a "good and faithful servant" to my calling in every minute (‘the few things’), caring only for that faithfulness, that is when I see the unstoppable impact for good that my life is and can be. And when I do that, my friends…wow…when I do THAT… am I ever happy. Am I ever.

And faithfulness is dying in every moment. From indulging my desire for ease of life, success-in-the-eye-of-men, ego-stroking behavior and thoughts and instead giving myself over to love, sacrifice, honesty, status-quo destroying truth-telling, relationships, contemplative prayer, and heart-enlivening activism.

Pray for me to live my best possible life. 

I spent 24 hours with my youngest son Jakin this last week. We rented a Cow Cabin down in the floor of the Palo Duro Canyon. We hiked, climbed, played cards, played follow the leader, waded a half mile down a creek, rode horses, ate, saw spiders, hawks, cardinals, wild turkey’s, jackrabbits, giant beetles, deer, and most importantly, each other. We had an all around super time.

I spent 24 hours with my oldest son Shade this last week. We rented a hotel room at the local Drury here in town. We swam, went to a movie, went geocaching (treasure hunting), played cards, hung out at the skate park with our BMX bikes, stayed up way too late, ate, swam some more, made a few friends at the hotel, and most importantly, were with each other. It was awesome.

I spent 24 hours with my daughter Callie this last week. We stayed in the Drury as well. We went shopping, bought something pink, laughed, swam, hugged, held hands, saw a movie, played tons of cards, swam some more, ate, packed together, went to church, and most importantly, enjoyed each other. I finished our "day" telling her that my heart was full of joy because of being with her for so long. It was.

Another incredible thing about my experience with each kid was that while I was enjoying concentrated time with each one, I found myself missing the other two profoundly, along with my wife.

And it wasn’t just me. They each look forward to this annual "day with dad" each year, but while I was just starting with one son, he said, "Dad, I think I just want to go home and be with the family." And my other son, after a few hours together, wondered aloud, "I wonder what mom is doing with the other kids?" And then my daughter, as we were headed down to the pool lit up as she said, "Let’s call mom and the boys to come join us!"

Family.

We all got back together today. It was a great reunion of fighting, bickering, playing, sharing, arguing, laughing, accusing, accepting, forgiving, complaining, and…well…family.

I do a day with each child every year during my 3 week sabbatical from my regular routine. Each year, while I love the time alone with God, the time away from the office, the rest from my regular duties, I find myself thinking about and missing all of the people that I live with in it.

I miss my family.

I’ve got one more week. Then it will be a great reunion of…well…family.

I love you all for the role you play in my life. Please know that I am always eager to find how to better play my role within it and with you.

May our Father make it so.