On Becoming Truer

“The Lord descended to the top of Mount Sinai and called Moses up to the top of the mountain.” – Exodus 19:20

I like high places. I’m scared of them. And I like them.

When I was a boy, if I saw a tree, I’d want to climb it. In college, I found a way up to the top of at least half the buildings on campus. If there is a rock, a cliff, or a mountain…yep, I want to get to the top.

And by the word “top", I mean “up”… as in, I want to get as high up as is possible for me. I don’t mean it in the sense that I have to be the best as compared to the people around me. While I’ve got some competitiveness in me, and I like to be good at stuff, I’ve not really needed to be the best. For this I’m grateful.

Spiritually, I can’t think of a time that I haven’t longed to be with God. I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t, in some way, climbing to the highest place in order to get some glimpse of Him.

I’ve come to accept this as a calling. A calling from God to meet Him. It has been the adventure of my life – Confusing, glorious, disturbing, and romantic. It’s unlike anything I can think of. It provides some of the oddest paradoxes:

• It can have me in the deepest relationships possible with people and still lonely.
• It sometimes has me running to people to meet God, and other times from people to meet God.
• Successful spiritual encounters, as such, are fleeting. But so are failures and setbacks.
• He can be far and close at the same time.

In all of my climbing, I have learned one profoundly useful truth:

The highest height that I can reach with all of my strength, will, determination, and might in order to meet God would still require a much longer journey of descent from God Himself if I would meet with Him.

There is something both frustrating and comforting in this. I’m glad to say that the frustrating part is fading away, and only the comfort will remain.

As I continue in the “mountain climbing” of a three-week sabbatical given to me by my loving church, I gladly exert all my heart, soul, mind and strength in an ascent for just the chance that He will descend and meet me at the top.

And for all of you, my fellow journeyers who are making the trip, who have belief enough to engage in the great Christian adventure, you inspire and fuel me in mine, and I look forward to our seasonal meetings along the way.

“Wise priorities, when they lift useful things over useless things, change your life. But when they lift better things over useful things, you change the world.” – Yours Truly

“Seek first the Kingdom and everything else that matters will be given to you as well.” – Jesus Christ 

I want to cry tonight. I’m not sure why.

Usually, when I want to cry, it is because I’m wondering if I’m doing what I should be doing.

Am I? Am I doing what I should be doing?

These days, when I ask that question, it is at least four questions:

1. What is it that I am doing that is wrong?

2. What is it that I am doing that needs to stop because I could be doing something better?

3. What is it that I am not doing that I should be because it is right?

4. What is it that I am not doing that I should be doing because it is better?

As for the first question, my current thoughts go to my eating habits. I don’t eat a lot, but I don’t eat well. Burgers and fries are an almost daily occurance for me. And while I have cut way back from the case-a-day intake of Dr. Pepper from my twenties (not joking), I still have days when I drink more of it than I do water. This is wrong. Not black-and-white wrong, unfortunately. But I think I’m going to need to make it so for me to do anything about it. Additionally, I’ve lately been wondering about how much TV I watch. I use it to chill out, unwind, usually late at night to end my day. Again, nothing "wrong" with it, unless it’s eating at you and possibly taking the place of things much more productive for the Kingdom I serve, and maybe more effective in chilling out and unwinding (vs. numbing out by losing myself in a fictional drama).

To answer the second question, I have to tell you my thoughts concerning the fourth question. Lately I’ve been prompted to think about my "ministry focus" in the world.

Some background: I have long been convinced to use Jesus Christ as my personal role model for how to do ministry on his behalf…and his ministry is explainable through the various relationships he maintained with actual people.

• He preached to 1000s
• He trained 72
• He mentored 12
• He poured himself into 3.

You might even say he had one "favorite" in Peter (unless you are John, then you’d say it was John – see Jn 13:23; 20:2; 21:7; 21:20).

So Jesus had various levels of intimacy and relationships, and they each served different, and strategic, purposes:

• Jesus spent time winning loads of people to be interested in the "life" he was offering.
• From among them, he invested in building some of them up in the living and maintaining of that "life."
• And fewer still, but from among those, he equipped some to deliver that "life" to others.

This resulted in the multiplication of leaders who were called and enabled by Christ (through his Spirit) to change the world by going around and creating relational environments (churches) that would result in the winning, building, and equipping of others in various places and contexts.

Okay, so all that to say this: I think I have let my equipping focus slip and go stagnant.

• I have learned that if I invest in relationships with people who are "lost" and need the message of Christ, then I will have relationships with those who are lost and interested in the message of Christ, more than I could ever possibly handle, and they will bring their friends to me.
• And if I invest in relationships with people who are "saved" and need to mature or maintain their faith in living the life of Christ in the storms of life, then I will have relationships with those who need to mature or maintain their faith in living the life of Christ…again, too many for any man to maintain.
• Likewise, I have learned that if I invest in equipping workers for Christ, those ready to give their lives to the work of the Kingdom, ready and eager for training, coaching, and mentoring, then I will have relationships with workers, and I will train, coach, and mentor those who will win and build up others…and they will bring their friends to me.

With this observable life experience of mine, it sort of just becomes a matter of math (not really, of course, but he who has an ear, let him hear).

This gets hard, because then I have to face the second question. ‘Cuz see, the good things that I am doing right now, that may be hindering my doing these better things, are just that…good things. In my ministry focus, do I have to give up my relationships with the Basement Boys (my men’s small group…with is primarily "winning")? Or preaching and teaching to my church family (which is primarily "building")? Maybe (and hopefully) not. Perhaps I just need to take action on my answer to question #1, and then get busy on my answer to question #4. Perhaps. But honestly, I’ve done this kind of work many times, probably not. 

As for the third question, I am always thinking first in terms of my family. I have nice, leather bound journals that I have begun for each of my 3 kids…intended to be periodic letters from their dad…that sit mostly neglected. I feel like the demands of parenthood drive my decisions more than my values. I love giving my wife my full presence to her heart, her needs, her desires, her dreams…but we feel blessed when we successfully protect our weekly date night each Thursday to eat together and watch a movie. My mom and dad each live far away, aging, and I and my kids are missing it and all the value that entails. Secondly, I think about my opportunities to encourage and just "be there" more for my church family. I’m not the stereotypical preacher in many ways, not the least of which being that all my focus on natural relationships steals from my church family some of the good things that they may have the right to expect from thier "preacher". As it currently is, I only have 2 formal teaching outputs a week (Sun AM preaching, Wed PM teaching), I don’t attend all the events held by our church, and I can’t be counted on to make it by the hospitals for everyone on the prayer list. I don’t spend as much creative energy on the preaching/teaching times as I could if I moved those tasks up on the priority list like most preachers I know do. I want to do my best work influencing the staff and elders in their conforming into the image of Christ, helping them express the values of Christ (above) in their personal and ministry lives, but even that gets swallowed up in the "it’s always easier to do nothin’ than somethin" category. I have the greatest family, and the greatest church family, that anyone on this earth has the right to ask for from God Almighty, and I just want to be dog-gone sure I’m fulfilling my duty to them all, you know?

And underneath all of these worthy questions is my one desire that permeates, defines, directs, and usurps them all. My desire to be one with God.

To have actual God-contact.

To engage with Him.

To hear from Him.

To be with Him.

To love Him.

To visit with Him.

To speak to Him.

To be heard by Him.

To live with Him.

To become like Him.

To be healed…

To be instructed…

To be disciplined…

To be filled…by Him.

Oneness with God. That’s why I ask this question that becomes four that becomes one.

I want it. Above all else.

I would give up all things…the things I value most…just to have Him.

I need not even speak of my material possessions, my status socially or professionally, my accomplishments in this world, my gifts and talents and personality that I have come to depend on to make it in this life. These I value…but they don’t hold a candle to what I value most.

I would give up all the worthy, God-honoring, Christ-exalting, Kingdom-advancing work in the world…that I have done, or will ever do…to just have Him.

I would walk away from my wife, and each one of my kids…to just have Him.

Maybe there are nights when I wouldn’t say this. For sure there are days when I don’t live this.

But tonight, I feel like crying. And I don’t know why. But I think it is my longing for Him. Just Him. Above all else.

I love you all.

"Let us make man in our image, in our likeness.” – God, to Himself, in Genesis 1, speaking about mankind

 “When you eat of the forbidden tree, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God.” – Satan, to mankind, in Genesis 3

“The freedom that Christ came to give comes to those who stop trying so hard to be what God already made them.” – Yours Truly

“Only let us live up to what we have already attained.” – Philippians 3:16

I sat with a wonderfully energetic, powerful, fully present, lover of people yesterday who was explaining to me how overwhelmed, tired, unsure, ashamed, doubtful and diminished she was.

The circumstances of her life humbled me. She is dealing with a lot. The spot she sits in is full of trouble. As with us all, they are partly the tragic result of some self-defeating decisions she has made, and partly the result of some injustices that people around her have inflicted.

She afforded me the pleasure of sifting through it all with her. And as we tried to isolate a few of the various tributaries that are feeding the furious waterfall that is beating down on her, we identified a few things:

1. She is struggling to trust God. – And it’s so understandable. Why is she trying so hard to be devoted to God and being “cursed” while others don’t seem to have a care in the world for God and are so “blessed” and carefree?

2. She is overwhelmed by guilt. – She humbly admits mistakes, one in particular screams loudly at her, and she is sure she deserves whatever consequences she gets.

3. She has spiritual questions that can’t be answered with certainty. – You know how frustrating this is. Why did God make us in the first place? Why did He give us the opportunity to choose badly? Why does,n’t He answer my believing prayers every time?

4. She is exhausted from her striving. – In her words, she’s trying to be “mom-of-the-year", “teacher-of-the-year”, “wife-of-the-year,” and “Christian of the year” all without letting anyone down, and all of it in the midst of impossible demands, emotional drains, unfair circumstances, fights to make amends, uncooperative people, and weighty decisions to make.

How many of us are or have been here? Finally admitting these heart-disturbing conditions is always the first step to overcoming them, and sharing them with another, and ultimately with God, is the next. And the healing that comes (not without a fight, of course) becomes the source of a very new peace, joy, and life to the full.

All of them, but number 4 in particular, reminded me of a concept that concerns her identity…her true one, her perceived true one, and finally the one that she was presenting to the world.

I called it “the three circles.”

The first, outer circle is the identity we work very hard to present to the world “out there” (and in a way, to ourselves in the mirror). It is how we wish to be viewed, but we know it’s not true. We present ourselves as smart, strong, competent, capable, secure, gifted, determined, loving, forgiving, happy, passionate, unstoppable, invulnerable, responsible, dependable, worthy, desirable human beings. Oh, we all do it differently through different means, but we do it. It is exhausting, spirit-killing work…but we must do it because we know just underneath it is the horrible truth of…

The second circle is what we perceive as our true identity. We are stupid, weak, incompetent, incapable, insecure, average, lazy, hateful, spiteful, judgmental, depressed, vulnerable, irresponsible, unworthy, undesirable wretches. We know it is true because we have the mistakes, cruelties, sins, and the opinions of a host of others to prove it. This “true me” is found just underneath the mask of the first circle, and it is so devastating to face up to or consider, that even though the upkeep of the total pretense is stealing our life, we keep doing it. Why? To admit it feels like relational, marital, personal, and/or professional  suicide. So we “kill ourselves” fighting for our lives.

A few people (more and more all the time, in my opinion) get so sick and tired of this game that they will finally hear, somewhere and in some form, the message of Christ. And suddenly, they dare to hope. Even though it is a dream beyond dreams, this fake life isn’t cutting it and they will either have “more” or they will die seeing if it exists.

Those are the people, once they are serious about having life to the full, once they are willing to put the claims of Jesus Christ to the test, those are the people who finally shed the first circle and face all of the consequences of the dreaded second one. They stop pretending. They risk it all, and they expose their (perceived, mind you) true self. The horrifying, ugly, unacceptable, dirty, and sin-scarred self.

And when they do, they will be shocked when they survive it. This would be enough, mind you, enough to go on having realized that their mistakes do not kill them…their hiding them, denying them, and masking them does! It is a liberating, life-giving truth.

But what’s more, they will also find out (by using the same newfound sense of honesty and integrity that dismantled the outer circle) that their perception of the second circle as their true identity is equally unfounded. With the help of a fellowship of people who have committed to the same dramatic opting-out of the life-as-usual-game, and with the enlightenment of God Himself, they will joyfully find out that there is a truer truth.

They will find, down there past the pain, the third circle. The final and immovable truth about their identity. And what they will find is that they are quite naturally everything good that they were striving so hard to be.

In the opening poem of the Bible…God explains that He made mankind like God…in His own image. It then goes on to explain that Satan told mankind that to be like God, they merely needed to reach out and get it themselves. Do you see it?  He promised something to man that man already was. Did man want to be “like God”? Absolutely! Did man need to strive in order to be so? Absolutely not! Brilliantly evil, this serpent was.

We’re still doing this today. We are all striving to be what it is that we already are. How silly would it be for my son Jakin to work really, really, really hard, for the rest of his life, to be a Mashburn? How insanely unproductive would it be for my daughter Callie to look at how much of a Mashburn her little brother Jakin is, and then work and wish to be half the Mashburn that he is. How needlessly tiring it would be for my son Shade to think he need to strive at all to find his identity as a Mashburn.

When I told her of her strength, her glow, her obvious love and powerful presence… she laughed, thinking she had me fooled. She thinks that the best my observation can be is an affirmation that she has done a good job keeping up the facade.

It is her that is fooled. I have been, too. You probably have too.

Another friend, one who was gracious enough to process this with me back in our twenties gave me a gift once, putting to words this concept of the Three Circles. It pretty much sums it up…and still sits framed on a shelf in my office.

So to my old friend Chris, and to my new friend yesterday, and to all of you my friends who are also gracious enough to process this life with me (and if you read all this, then you really are doing so!)…I want you all to know the truth. Read them slowly…maybe just one a day. Let their truth take over.

You are priceless. (Matt 10:31)

You are strong. (2 Cor 12:9-10)

You are forgiven. (Eph 1:7-8)

You are redeemed. (Gal 3:13-14)

You are worthy. (2 Thess 1:5)

You are  dearly loved. (Col 3:12)

You are God’s masterpiece. (Eph 2:10)

You are God’s dwelling place. (1 Cor 3:16)

You are God’s image. (Gen 1:26-27)

You are God’s child. (Rom 8:15)

“Only let us live up to what we have already attained.” – Philippians 3:16

When I was in Junior High, there was this guy named Kenneth. I didn’t know him very well. Suffice it to say that in the social economy of my junior high school, Kenneth didn’t quite measure up to my status. I wasn’t all that high on the totem pole myself, but I was higher than Kenneth. We weren’t friends. We weren’t enemies. We just…weren’t. I’m not even sure why I knew his name.

One Sunday morning, I was sitting in the second story room of the old building at the church I grew up at with all of my youth group buddies in a Bible class.  There were about 40 of us or so sitting along the walls of this odd-shaped room in chairs around the pool table, the foosball, and the Intellivision. The teacher had begun when a visitor kid opened the door, which made a distinct and loud “ka-thung” noise, making it impossible to show up late without everyone staring.

He came in looking at his feet, feeling awkward already, probably cursing his mom for deciding it was good idea to “try to find a church” for her little family. She was downstairs, no doubt, anonymously sliding into a back row chair of an adult Bible study that was in a real classroom where that would be possible…while he was stuck as the momentary center-of-attention for a bunch of strangers.

What could he do? Shutting the noisy door behind him, he lifted his brow just enough to scan the walls for the unlikely familiar face. Hoping to God, I’m sure, for at least a friendly one.

His eyes bounced around the room quickly at everyone elses…until they hit mine, which were staring back at him like he was some interesting zoo animal. That’s when I realized it was Kenneth.

Pause right here. How do I describe all that transpired in that moment? Our eyes had already met, so I couldn’t act like I didn’t notice him. My heart was immature, so I wouldn’t act like I recognized him and was glad he was there. On the contrary, for some reason I felt a sense of invasion. I didn’t say it out loud, but my emotional memory tells me that I was thinking something to the effect, “Who do you think you are? This is my turf. My home. My group. You’re from my other world, and just barely, at that.”

All that, back in that room, caused me to just look away. He had just allowed a glimmer of hope and recognition to ignite his face when he saw mine. The ends of his lips had just begun their journey upward to break the face open with a smile when I interrupted it by turning away. My insecurity in who I was, and my lack of understanding in what our group was supposed to represent as Christ followers, led me to deliver a pretty vicious message to the unsuspecting Kenneth: “I don’t claim you. I don’t want you. You are not welcome.”

That’s when Kenneth just looked down. He looked down and did his best to sit in the closest seat, blend into sheetrock, and be invisible.

It was brutal. Unnoticeable to anyone but us. But brutal.

This story with Kenneth isn’t over, it picks up a few days later back at school. But before I tell you that, let me tell you why I’m telling you.

I told this story a few weeks ago in a sermon I preached to my church family. I never like recounting this story, but have several times over the years to address what we are supposed to be to the world by showing what it isn’t. About 5 days after I shared this, while putting him to bed, my eight-year-old son started asking me a bunch of questions about that story (yes, he was listening).

He asked why I treated Kenneth that way. He asked what about Kenneth made me not like him. He asked what he had done to me to deserve it. He asked what happened to Kenneth in the rest of class? After class? Did the teacher talk to him? Did any of your friends?

I regularly ask my kids when I’m putting them to bed if they have any questions for me about anything at all. I’ve promised that I will always answer, and answer with the truth. So I was doing my best, diligently trying to answer his questions, and quite engrossed in doing so…when he interrupted me with one more. One that got to the heart of the matter…

“Dad, are you about to cry?” he asked as I shared.

“Well, Shade….no…I think I’m okay,” I replied.

Then he shook the earth. He said, “Because I am.”

I stopped cold to take in what my son was experiencing, having heard this story about his dad. His dad who speaks of love, coaches love, tries to love…especially the hurting, the lonely, and the outcast. His dad. Hurting someone. So brutally. What’s he supposed to do with that?

I took a deep breath. I turned my head on the pillow and looked at Shade, and sure enough a tear was welling up in the eye that I could see as he stared at the ceiling.

“Shade,” I said, “will you forgive me for treating Kenneth that way? I am so sorry.”

It would be beautiful if the story ended right here and he just said “yes,” and then threw our arms around each other, prayed, and went to bed with satisfied spiritual smiles on our faces. But that’s not what happened.

Instead of forgiving me effortlessly, he looked back at me, maybe a little hopeful about my reconnecting to my remorse, but mostly needing to stay in his own…that I have caused.

He said, “I don’t like making people look down.”

I agreed. I still don’t know if he was reflecting or preaching.

“Yes, dad, but can you find Kenneth? Do you know where he lives? Call him! Tell him you’re sorry! Make sure he’s okay!”

With sadness, I told him that I didn’t know where he lived, or even where he went to high school. I don’t even know his last name.

Then, sounding half-desperate, have authoritative, he exclaimed, “Find out!”

I told him I would try.

And I have. I’ve dug out my old Spring Woods Junior High annual and scanned every single picture of every student in the whole school. No Kenneth. I told him, but Shade and I are still working this out together. What can I do? 

I’m proud of his sense of (in)justice. His determination that love should “find out!” His belief that love can. I don’t want to disappoint. This part is still playing out…

But back at school, in PE class, I walked into the gym on some kind of “free day”. There were a bunch of guys already in the gym throwing the football around, actively engaged with some sort of game that made it awkward for me to just jump in and participate. So I sort of made my way to a gym wall, wishing I was out there in the action. I scanned the crowd of guys out there, I’m sure with a look of hope and anticipation, hoping one of them would see me and say, “C’mon, Brian!”

A guy did see me…it was Kenneth. The tables were now overtly turned. The shoe was firmly on the other foot.

He saw me alright, and my desire to join in. He had the ball in his hands when our eyes met. I looked down. He motioned to the other guys to hold on as he started running my way.

“Payback time,” I remember thinking. Shuddering, really. He didn’t just look away like I did in this, his moment of retribution. He was coming over armed with his upper-hand to really make me pay. I deserved it and I knew it. I was brutal.

I saw his feet planted in front of me, and when I looked up, I saw a huge smile and the offer of the football.

“You wanna play a game of catch?” he asked, with a kindness and accent of some sort that I’ll never forget.

I was astonished. I couldn’t believe my ears. I had so clearly communicated rejection to this guy. So clearly begrudged him. So clearly denied him when it was in my power to offer friendship and belonging.

And he returned it with love. In a powerful, only-in-junior-high sort of way, Kenneth was offering Christ to me.

I made him say it again, even though I had heard him clearly, by saying, “What?” I just couldn’t believe my ears. I wanted to hear it again.

And he said it again. Tehn I took the ball, and a place on the floor, among brothers-for-a-moment, all because of Kenneth.

I’m happy to say that my life is now made up, almost exclusively, of finding “Kenneth’s” and not ever again, ever, with my beloved son as my witness, ever, with God helping me, never, ever…making them look down.

Now I know the joy that Kenneth felt back then. The joy of giving life away.

I’m sorry, Kenneth. Forgive me.

There was a man. He liked rocks. He was walking. He saw a big rock. He sat on it and he picked a few pieces. The rock started to roll. He jumped off.

“I am sad,” said the man.

“What is wrong?” said another man.

“I made a rock mad,” said the man.

“Too bad,” said the other man, “Will you be ok?”

“Yes,” said the man.

“Have fun!” said the other man, and they played together, so the sad man was happy again and they found another rock. This time he did not pick pieces off the rock.

They lived happily ever after.

– A story written by my young son Shade, who’s birthday is today

This past Sunday morning I spoke in front of a large crowd of Christ followers. I spoke of the heart’s desires…life, light, love…and where they each cross with eternity.

Simply put, I spoke of Heaven.

This was part 4 of 6 teachings based on the book Epic by John Eldridge, which is his summary of the “Story of God” found in the Bible.

My son Shade wrote the little story above and gave it to his mother and me a couple of weeks ago, out of the blue, and for no particular reason. When I saw the words, “They lived happily ever after,” I asked him if I could read his story on the week that I would speak on the “happily ever after” found in Scripture…Heaven.

He said yes.

So this past Sunday morning, as my friend Doyle led our church in lively song about Heaven, I sat next to my son with my little Bible in hand, and his little story-page tucked in it. Shade saw it.

“Is today the day you’re reading my story?” Shade asked. I told him it was.

He said that was cool, and then sat for a while as we sang, with a somewhat distant look. After a few minutes, he grabbed my Bible and pulled the story-page out. He looked up at me and boldly said, “I wanna read it to ‘em.”

I’m sad to report that the words “Are you sure? In front of everyone?” leapt out of my mouth before I realized how discouraging they sounded. As unintentional as it was, I was highlighting the fear in his idea more than the courage.

“Yes,” he said, with a tone and downcast eyes that betrayed that my words had shaken him. I tried to recover with the excitement that I was really feeling about the idea…

Pause. A few days ago as I was reading something, Shade came to me with seriousness in his eyes. “Dad?” he said to me, “I think I’m supposed to tell stories to people. How can I get started doing that?”

He already had some ideas: “Mom’s about to start teaching Callie’s class, maybe I could help her if she needed it. I could tell some stories, you know, from my life and stuff that would teach the kids about how to treat people. Or I could tell that story about you and Kenneth* (*I’m working on a post with that one) that you told.” I couldn’t have been more excited. When he saw my approval, he added, “Maybe I can help you sometimes when you’re tellin’ stories at church.” I told him that would be a great idea.

Little did I know that in that pew this past Sunday morning, without any help from me, mind you, he was seeing an opportunity tucked in the pages of my Bible. His young heart was putting this moment together with what he had already identified as something he is “supposed” to do…and all on his own he reached for it. That little bit of silence between his noticing that I was using his story and his asking to be the one to tell it contained that all-too-familiar struggle of the heart between fear and courage. And isn’t that the struggle that always comes when the opportunity of doing what we feel called to do presents itself?

Back in the church pew, now, Shade’s whole demeanor had changed because of what he had volunteered for. “How long?” he kept asking, nervously. As a preacher, I know the anxiety of which he speaks. And since I was in my own little weekly anxious world, I was little more help to him than to say, “In a minute! Shhh!”

Shortly before time for me to head up to the microphone, Shade grabbed my Bible again. He folded up his story-paper and put it back into the pages and set the closed Book down next to me. I leaned over to him, “Have you changed your mind?”

“I really want to do it, but I’m afraid. You just do it,” Shade said. This time, his head-hanging was betraying the decision not to do it. He wanted to.

We were in the final approach. Doyle was worshipping through the song that also served as my cue. I knew that I was just about to need to go, but I finally tuned in completely to my boy’s heart, and helped him delay the decision.

“Okay, buddy. Listen. I’m going to speak a little bit, and then pray. Right after I pray, I’m planning on reading your story. When I finish praying, as I’m introducing your story, I’ll look at you. If you shake your head no, I’ll read it. But if you nod yes, I’ll call you up. Okay?”

He seemed relieved to have a little more time to decide (aren’t we all?). But also relieved that there was a deadline, a time when he had to decide, and his dilemma would be over, one way or the other, and in the past (we often need that too, don’t we?).

I added that he can be proud either way…that he is telling a story be it through his written or spoken words (That was my way of saying, “Be at peace, son. You are free. And you are already victorious. And I’m already proud of you”). I then did for him what he and all my kids do for me every week…I prayed in his ear for him and his “sermon”.

So, I got up there, made some introductory remarks, and then bowed to pray.

I can only imagine what was going on in my son’s head down there on that pew as I prayed. He knew that I would look at him right when it was over…that it would be decision time…the moment of truth.

I wonder how loudly the fear was speaking? You don’t have to do this, Shade. You already wrote the story. It’s enough for you to have it read by him. Just say no and the fear and nervousness is gone. No one will ever know the difference.

I wonder how loudly the courage was speaking? You don’t have to do this, Shade, you get to. You already have identified a sense of desire for telling stories. You’ve already asked the really good question of how to go about getting started on that. Here it is before you. Right here. Right now. Don’t be afraid. Just say yes. Walk into it.

I raised my head from the prayer, unfolded the notebook paper, and spoke the words “My son wrote a story…” as I looked over to my left to see the nodding head of my courageous son.

And with a secret, fatherly pride in my heart, I gladly continued my sentence with, “…a story that he is going to come up and read for you.”

Afterwards, I went on making the points I wanted to make that related to the lesson, but I might as well have went on home. This was enough for me today. More than enough. A taste, methinks, of the very subject I was speaking of…Heaven.

The church family, loving family that they are to me and my family, applauded my son as he finished and sat down. I love them for that. For doing out loud what I was doing inside. Thanks to all of you who are reading this…for that.

At lunch, I spoke to my wife across the table within earshot of Shade. “Hey Babe, wasn’t that awesome how Shade read his story this morning?”

“It was way awesome. And it was such a great story. I’m so proud of him for being so brave,” she responded.

“Through the dark mountains,” Shade interrupted.

He had my undivided attention. “‘Through the dark mountains’?” I asked. “What do you mean by ‘through the dark mountains’?”

You and I both know what he meant. He used his words, but he went on to explain the “dark mountains” of fear. The dark mountains beyond which are our truest heart’s desires…life, light, and love. They are the dark mountains that all must go through if they intend faithfulness to a calling. They are the dark mountains that are only conquered by walking courageously into your fears…like Shade did that morning. And I might add that it is a particularly special sort of courage at work when you have the option not to go, but go still.

As it turns out, Shade had read a story at school that had captured this simple, but deep, quandary common to us all. He had an image and a vocabulary with which to explain the feelings he was feeling, the battle he was inwardly fighting, and the opposition that stood between him and the life that his heart is longing for.

And this past Sunday morning, he went walked into them. The result? Yes, there was applause, affirmation, encouragement, approval, and even usefulness. And those are all great rewards when we go through the dark mountains, but beyond all that is the even sweeter satisfaction of knowing there is life on the other side of them. I’m not speaking of survival here. Mere survival is available on this side of the dark mountains. But life…life to the full…life that brings joy and satisfaction and adventure…that is only available for those precious few who go through.

Through the Dark Mountains.

Happy Birthday, Buddy!

“A daughter is a gift of love.” – Author Unknown