Sometimes I feel like I'm being fed a lie.
I’m surrounded by voices telling me that my God is safe. "Read this book and you will find your purpose. Do as we say and you will have the life you deserve. Follow these three steps to discover joy. Do more, serve more, give more." If I follow their recipe, I will have the perfect meal. The hunger of my soul will be satisfied.
We hear these things from all sides. We’re surrounded north, west, east, and south. And so we stay in the box and color inside the lines. Our God becomes more machine then man. Put in the right stuff and out comes our desired result. The colors of life fade and everything turns black and white and lifeless. We stare into our future and discover boredom that comes with predictability.
A mysterious faith becomes controlled religion. Burning passion cools into unanswered questions.
Some men plod along. Some are happy with a “safe” God. Others feel a desperate longing for something different. Some turn away and pursue the excitement of the forbidden tree. They bite into what God said not to eat. They choose the excitement of sin instead of sterile religion. Their leaders watch from a distance and try to pull them back in. “Come back to us. Come back to our world of safe gods and two dimensional beliefs.”
But we feel a burning desire in our hearts that religion can't explain. A voice whispers of something better, something more. It dares us to dream of a world that isn’t flat. Could life be more then a two dimensional game with a list of rules to declare the winners and the losers? The voice tells of a world that is round and ripe for exploration. It speaks of a mysterious land waiting just over the horizon, a place far away and undiscovered. The voice whispers and awakens both my deepest desires and my deepest fears.
I dream of a land full of God’s mystery. A land that God never meant to be safe. And for a moment I stand frozen with indecisiveness, torn between the exhilaration of the adventure and fear of the unknown.
Yet I know in the depth of my heart that I must choose. I could shrink back into the safety of the crowd and reshackle myself to the drudgery of rules and regulations. Or I can step forward and begin my journey. “We’re waiting for you” whispers the voice. I can see their three ships anchored in the harbor, bouncing with the tide, straining against the ropes with a desire to cast away towards the open sea. Father, Son, and Spirit are ready to carry me across unchartered waters to begin the exploration of a new life, a new adventure.
And so I listen to my heart. I allow myself to acknowledge a desperate longing - to live in the freedom that my Father promises. I close my eyes and imagine myself on deck, the salty mist covering me; the smell of the sea in my nose; the roll of the waves under my feet. I open my eyes and scan the horizon and see nothing but water. Clear blue water. White caps on the waves. I stare at an empty horizon, but one pregnant with the possibilities of a life to come. A life full of danger and mystery and beauty and God's wonderful love.
And so I turn and take one last look at the crowd. Their whisper of safety is no longer enough. I take my first step.
A new life waits.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Sometimes "No"
I had to say “no” today.
Our 14 year old daughter wanted to go this morning with a friend to a carnival that a small town outside Charlotte hosts every fall. The problem is that it’s chilly and raining. I had to remind my daughter that she just got over a cold and if she went, would end up wet, miserable, and wishing she could come home. All she was thinking about was the fun she’d have.
To her credit, she took “no” well. There were no tears or argumentative words. But she was disappointed and a bit angry. She didn’t quite understand. She didn’t have her father’s perspective.
Ironically, there are times when I’m just like her.
I make big plans for my life only to hear God tell me “no.” I don’t understand, get angry, and pout. But I don’t have God’s perspective. I don’t have His vision. I forget that I should trust Him with all things. I want to go out and play but God stops me at the door because it’s cold and raining and He knows better then I what’s good or bad for me.
I need to learn to trust Him more. And to listen a little better. That’s hard for a pig headed guy like me. I want what I want, when I want it. I want absolute control.
But sometimes God has to say “no” because it's what's best for me...
Our 14 year old daughter wanted to go this morning with a friend to a carnival that a small town outside Charlotte hosts every fall. The problem is that it’s chilly and raining. I had to remind my daughter that she just got over a cold and if she went, would end up wet, miserable, and wishing she could come home. All she was thinking about was the fun she’d have.
To her credit, she took “no” well. There were no tears or argumentative words. But she was disappointed and a bit angry. She didn’t quite understand. She didn’t have her father’s perspective.
Ironically, there are times when I’m just like her.
I make big plans for my life only to hear God tell me “no.” I don’t understand, get angry, and pout. But I don’t have God’s perspective. I don’t have His vision. I forget that I should trust Him with all things. I want to go out and play but God stops me at the door because it’s cold and raining and He knows better then I what’s good or bad for me.
I need to learn to trust Him more. And to listen a little better. That’s hard for a pig headed guy like me. I want what I want, when I want it. I want absolute control.
But sometimes God has to say “no” because it's what's best for me...
Monday, September 22, 2008
Loving Fathers or Older Brothers?
There is something that separates Christians one from another. Are you a loving Father or an older brother?
In Luke 15, Jesus tells three stories about things that are lost but then found. And in each story, there is a celebration in the end. In the third story, the prodigal son repents and decides to go back home. He's met on the road by his father, who'd been waiting and watching for him. His dad expresses his deep, forgiving love for him, and rejoices that his lost son has come back.
There's a third character in the story - an older brother who becomes angry when he discovers what's going on. He's disgusted with his brother, frustrated with his dad's excitement, and jealous that a party is being thrown for this prodigal son.
Can you imagine how the story would have turned out if there wasn't a loving dad to meet the prodigal on the road? The way this lost son was received made all the difference.
As a Christian, we live in a lost and fallen world, and we should be reaching out to those who don’t share our faith. We should surround ourselves, not just with Christian friends, but with neighbors and coworkers and others who don’t know Jesus. If we are doing this like Christ commanded, we will find ourselves face-to-face with people who are struggling with their past, and grieving over mistakes they’ve made.
We also should remember that prodigals won’t always be outside our church walls. This lost person might be sitting in the seat next to you. He might be a Christian friend who finds himself caught up in sinful behavior.
When you read the stories of Jesus, you find that he was always reaching out to the broken and downtrodden. He ate with sinners, prostitutes, tax collectors, and all the others hated by the religious community of the day. Jesus didn’t reject them. He didn’t squash them with righteous anger. Jesus loved them. He touched them. He healed them. He forgave them. He befriended them.
He gave up his life for them.
I grew up in church, but yet there was a period in my life when I was that lost son. I was the prodigal, running as far away from God as I could. I thought I knew better then my Father in Heaven what made life enjoyable. But when I reached bottom (you always will) and came to my senses, I realized that I needed to turn around and find my way home.
On my journey back, I came face-to-face with “older brothers.” There was no celebration, only condemnation. There was no forgiveness, just frustration. There was no “welcome home.” Fortunately for me, I also met “loving fathers” who rejoiced with me and who accepted me and who helped me. While the “older brothers” wanted me to crumble, the “loving fathers” put their arms around me and helped me stand.
And so I ask, which are you? When a stranger, or a friend, or even a fellow believer repents of their sin and has turned back towards home, which character in the story will you portray? Are you angry with them for having left in the first place? Or have you been scanning the horizon, searching for the sight of them, hoping that they would show up? When you see them on the road, will you turn back to your fields in scorn, or will you drop everything and run to them and cover them with your cloak?
Are you ready to rejoice? Are you ready to love?
In Luke 15, Jesus tells three stories about things that are lost but then found. And in each story, there is a celebration in the end. In the third story, the prodigal son repents and decides to go back home. He's met on the road by his father, who'd been waiting and watching for him. His dad expresses his deep, forgiving love for him, and rejoices that his lost son has come back.
There's a third character in the story - an older brother who becomes angry when he discovers what's going on. He's disgusted with his brother, frustrated with his dad's excitement, and jealous that a party is being thrown for this prodigal son.
Can you imagine how the story would have turned out if there wasn't a loving dad to meet the prodigal on the road? The way this lost son was received made all the difference.
As a Christian, we live in a lost and fallen world, and we should be reaching out to those who don’t share our faith. We should surround ourselves, not just with Christian friends, but with neighbors and coworkers and others who don’t know Jesus. If we are doing this like Christ commanded, we will find ourselves face-to-face with people who are struggling with their past, and grieving over mistakes they’ve made.
We also should remember that prodigals won’t always be outside our church walls. This lost person might be sitting in the seat next to you. He might be a Christian friend who finds himself caught up in sinful behavior.
When you read the stories of Jesus, you find that he was always reaching out to the broken and downtrodden. He ate with sinners, prostitutes, tax collectors, and all the others hated by the religious community of the day. Jesus didn’t reject them. He didn’t squash them with righteous anger. Jesus loved them. He touched them. He healed them. He forgave them. He befriended them.
He gave up his life for them.
I grew up in church, but yet there was a period in my life when I was that lost son. I was the prodigal, running as far away from God as I could. I thought I knew better then my Father in Heaven what made life enjoyable. But when I reached bottom (you always will) and came to my senses, I realized that I needed to turn around and find my way home.
On my journey back, I came face-to-face with “older brothers.” There was no celebration, only condemnation. There was no forgiveness, just frustration. There was no “welcome home.” Fortunately for me, I also met “loving fathers” who rejoiced with me and who accepted me and who helped me. While the “older brothers” wanted me to crumble, the “loving fathers” put their arms around me and helped me stand.
And so I ask, which are you? When a stranger, or a friend, or even a fellow believer repents of their sin and has turned back towards home, which character in the story will you portray? Are you angry with them for having left in the first place? Or have you been scanning the horizon, searching for the sight of them, hoping that they would show up? When you see them on the road, will you turn back to your fields in scorn, or will you drop everything and run to them and cover them with your cloak?
Are you ready to rejoice? Are you ready to love?
Friday, September 19, 2008
Choosing to Believe
There are certain passages of scripture that really get in my head. “Don’t be afraid. Just believe.” (Mark 5:36) is one. Jesus speaks words of love and hope to a grieving father. Those simple words comfort me when I find myself in what seems to be an impossible situation. There are also passages that frighten me like 2 Samuel 12. What precedes the chapter is the story of David and Bathsheba. We all know what happens. King David sees Bathsheba bathing and is smitten by her beauty. David sleeps with her, gets her pregnant, and then to cover up his sin, has her husband Uriah, a faithful man in his army, killed.
The Lord is displeased and sends Nathan the prophet to rebuke David. He tells David a story about a wealthy man with a great number of sheep and cattle who steals and kills the only lamb of a poor man to feed guests. Nathan uses the parable to illustrate how horrible David has acted. David is the rich king with many wives, but decides to take the only wife of one of his most faithful servants.
For whatever reason, David doesn’t catch on to Nathan’s warning. David becomes furious by the actions of the rich man, but he doesn’t see the parallel to his own life. Maybe he was so ashamed of his behavior that he was wearing a mask of self-righteousness. Maybe David was so deep into his sin that his sense of morality had gotten completely screwed up. Maybe his heart had become callous.
Regardless of the reason, Nathan had heard enough. He looks David in the eye and says,
“You… are... that… man!”
King David had everything a man could want. He had riches and power and glory. He had beautiful wives and servants who waited on him night and day. But it still wasn’t enough. Something inside him wanted more. David saw Bathsheba and he took her and wickedly covered his tracks.
He was “that man.”
He’s the man who turned his back on his wife for the pursuit of cheap sex.
He’s the man who pours his heart and soul into his job without any concern for the effect his absence is having on his family.
He’s the man who puts fame and glory ahead of meaningful relationships.
He’s the man who builds up a mountain of wealth and chooses to not help those in need.
I have a fear of being that man. I know how easily it could happen. Life is hard and can hurt. Relationships with people, meaningful relationships that are real, take time and much effort. Having a rich life and reaching out to those around us is risky, requires a lot of sacrifice, and is at times painful. We give more then we get. Circumstances around us don’t go our way and we feel defeated. Our company passes us over for a promotion. Our spouse doesn’t seem to be as invested in our marriage as we are. Our friends don’t call.
We feel like we fall short, and our insecurities and internal defenses scream for relief. “Life,” we tell ourselves, “has failed me.”
And so we run to the easy fix. We run to the things that will medicate our pain. We buy the lie of pornography and hear the pages whisper, “I want you…” We lose ourselves in our alcohol or our drugs but wake up hung-over and sick. The other woman makes you feel better, but only for a moment. We work night and day to become the top salesman in our company, but our boss asks for more. We buy the fast new car or the latest expensive gadget, but the buzz quickly wears off and boredom creeps back in.
We make choices that we know are wrong, while all along, our hearts are crying out for something meaningful. None of our phony fixes heal our broken souls. Long ago we were separated from our Father, and our hearts hurt with a burning desire to be reunited. None of the things we run to relieve us of the pain caused by separation. We lay our heads down at night, and with the world quiet and still, feel the horrible distance between us and God.
But there is good news...
God came back to walk with us in the garden. Jesus left home and came in search of his beloved. He took all of our failings and shed his blood to restore the life that we had thrown away. If we let him, he will satisfy the unquenchable thirst we have for life, real life, and for love. He is calling out and pleading with us to turn away from our phony gods and our cheap substitutes that will destroy us. “I have come that you may have life and have it to the full…”
And so I will cling to Christ. I will continue to fight to turn away from that which would only bring me more grief and more despair. I will do all I can to keep my eyes and my thoughts on my savior and my friend. I will open up my heart and let him breathe his gift of life into my soul.
It feels too good to be true. I don’t feel like I deserve it. My past experiences with religion are hard to forget and I hear the whisper that “I’m not good enough.” But I will keep fighting against the lie. I will follow the narrow path.
Jesus came to my rescue... and I will choose to believe.
The Lord is displeased and sends Nathan the prophet to rebuke David. He tells David a story about a wealthy man with a great number of sheep and cattle who steals and kills the only lamb of a poor man to feed guests. Nathan uses the parable to illustrate how horrible David has acted. David is the rich king with many wives, but decides to take the only wife of one of his most faithful servants.
For whatever reason, David doesn’t catch on to Nathan’s warning. David becomes furious by the actions of the rich man, but he doesn’t see the parallel to his own life. Maybe he was so ashamed of his behavior that he was wearing a mask of self-righteousness. Maybe David was so deep into his sin that his sense of morality had gotten completely screwed up. Maybe his heart had become callous.
Regardless of the reason, Nathan had heard enough. He looks David in the eye and says,
“You… are... that… man!”
King David had everything a man could want. He had riches and power and glory. He had beautiful wives and servants who waited on him night and day. But it still wasn’t enough. Something inside him wanted more. David saw Bathsheba and he took her and wickedly covered his tracks.
He was “that man.”
He’s the man who turned his back on his wife for the pursuit of cheap sex.
He’s the man who pours his heart and soul into his job without any concern for the effect his absence is having on his family.
He’s the man who puts fame and glory ahead of meaningful relationships.
He’s the man who builds up a mountain of wealth and chooses to not help those in need.
I have a fear of being that man. I know how easily it could happen. Life is hard and can hurt. Relationships with people, meaningful relationships that are real, take time and much effort. Having a rich life and reaching out to those around us is risky, requires a lot of sacrifice, and is at times painful. We give more then we get. Circumstances around us don’t go our way and we feel defeated. Our company passes us over for a promotion. Our spouse doesn’t seem to be as invested in our marriage as we are. Our friends don’t call.
We feel like we fall short, and our insecurities and internal defenses scream for relief. “Life,” we tell ourselves, “has failed me.”
And so we run to the easy fix. We run to the things that will medicate our pain. We buy the lie of pornography and hear the pages whisper, “I want you…” We lose ourselves in our alcohol or our drugs but wake up hung-over and sick. The other woman makes you feel better, but only for a moment. We work night and day to become the top salesman in our company, but our boss asks for more. We buy the fast new car or the latest expensive gadget, but the buzz quickly wears off and boredom creeps back in.
We make choices that we know are wrong, while all along, our hearts are crying out for something meaningful. None of our phony fixes heal our broken souls. Long ago we were separated from our Father, and our hearts hurt with a burning desire to be reunited. None of the things we run to relieve us of the pain caused by separation. We lay our heads down at night, and with the world quiet and still, feel the horrible distance between us and God.
But there is good news...
God came back to walk with us in the garden. Jesus left home and came in search of his beloved. He took all of our failings and shed his blood to restore the life that we had thrown away. If we let him, he will satisfy the unquenchable thirst we have for life, real life, and for love. He is calling out and pleading with us to turn away from our phony gods and our cheap substitutes that will destroy us. “I have come that you may have life and have it to the full…”
And so I will cling to Christ. I will continue to fight to turn away from that which would only bring me more grief and more despair. I will do all I can to keep my eyes and my thoughts on my savior and my friend. I will open up my heart and let him breathe his gift of life into my soul.
It feels too good to be true. I don’t feel like I deserve it. My past experiences with religion are hard to forget and I hear the whisper that “I’m not good enough.” But I will keep fighting against the lie. I will follow the narrow path.
Jesus came to my rescue... and I will choose to believe.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Sometimes at night...
I first heard this song in a coliseum filled with 9,000 people. The musician introduced it at the end as one of his new songs that would be released on an upcoming album. And then he sang alone to the crowd – just him and his guitar. As the chords and words echoed around the building, I felt something rising up inside of me, a love and passion that burst forth. By the last chorus, all nine thousand of us were standing and worshipping together, hands raised high. It was an amazing moment.
A few months later, I got the CD and played it again, but this time to a small group of friends on a journey together. We were the band of eight meeting on Tuesday nights for fifteen straight weeks, all sharing from deep in our hearts and struggling through life’s messiness. The room was quiet when the song ended, the glory and love of God overwhelming our hearts. There is no shame. God takes it away…
I was running today and the song randomly came up on my ipod. I feel to my knees and let God’s love cover me. It got a bit overplayed on Christian radio, but it’s the best song I’ve ever heard….
Play it here...
A few months later, I got the CD and played it again, but this time to a small group of friends on a journey together. We were the band of eight meeting on Tuesday nights for fifteen straight weeks, all sharing from deep in our hearts and struggling through life’s messiness. The room was quiet when the song ended, the glory and love of God overwhelming our hearts. There is no shame. God takes it away…
I was running today and the song randomly came up on my ipod. I feel to my knees and let God’s love cover me. It got a bit overplayed on Christian radio, but it’s the best song I’ve ever heard….
Play it here...
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Passing the Torch
Today is a day of thought and reflection.
I arrived at work just after 9:00 a.m. on September 11, 2001. I had dropped my two oldest kids off at school, and when I got to work, our staff was gathered around the TV in the break room. I stepped in out of curiosity, and was immediately immersed in the story of the horrible news coming from New York. I remember the glassy eyed stares we all shared and our feeling of disbelief as we watched something so devastating actually happening in our country.
Over the next few days, my family was glued to the news reports. Marybeth seemed to take the news especially hard; the horror of loss and death created a desire in her to gather her children and hold and comfort them. I remember the anger I felt; a righteous anger that burned inside my chest, an anger that burned for justice.
Today, seven years later, that day stands frozen in my mind. The image of the planes right before they struck. The collapse of the towers. Images of people falling, choosing that over the horrors of flames. President Bush speaking at the site, bullhorn in hand, and fireman by his side. A lonely widow whose husband rushed the cockpit. A nation covered in dust and crying tears of unspeakable fears.
But our story didn’t end there. We became a nation who faught back and rebuilt. The torch of freedom that our grandfathers and fathers carried through their generation was passed to their sons and grandsons. September 11th became our “day in infamy,” a moment in time that defined and solidified our beliefs in “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” September 11th became our generation's defining moment, and we will never forget.
There’s another reason why today is so emotional to me. My dad, who has struggled for years with heart problems, had to go in for a “simple” heart operation. (How “simple” can any heart surgery really be?)
My father has always been a source of strength, always available to help when needed most. The doctors say he has a weak heart, but they don’t know the man who took care of his children and always answered his phone when we called needing help. They don’t know the man whose heart has always been bigger then life, giving and serving and sacrificing for everyone in his life.
I’ve talked to my step mom and things are going well. My dad is in a room and recuperating and I expect nothing less then to get to spend many more years with him. But as I stop and think about my dad and his life, I realize that another torch is being passed. My father has taught me well. I have learned to love and to sacrifice. I have been shown how to serve, how to live courageously, and how to give and give and give and give.
There are defining moments for all of us; for our nation, for our churches, for our families, and for our men. One generation pauses in their journey, looks back over their shoulder, and whispers,
“It is your time…”
I arrived at work just after 9:00 a.m. on September 11, 2001. I had dropped my two oldest kids off at school, and when I got to work, our staff was gathered around the TV in the break room. I stepped in out of curiosity, and was immediately immersed in the story of the horrible news coming from New York. I remember the glassy eyed stares we all shared and our feeling of disbelief as we watched something so devastating actually happening in our country.
Over the next few days, my family was glued to the news reports. Marybeth seemed to take the news especially hard; the horror of loss and death created a desire in her to gather her children and hold and comfort them. I remember the anger I felt; a righteous anger that burned inside my chest, an anger that burned for justice.
Today, seven years later, that day stands frozen in my mind. The image of the planes right before they struck. The collapse of the towers. Images of people falling, choosing that over the horrors of flames. President Bush speaking at the site, bullhorn in hand, and fireman by his side. A lonely widow whose husband rushed the cockpit. A nation covered in dust and crying tears of unspeakable fears.
But our story didn’t end there. We became a nation who faught back and rebuilt. The torch of freedom that our grandfathers and fathers carried through their generation was passed to their sons and grandsons. September 11th became our “day in infamy,” a moment in time that defined and solidified our beliefs in “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” September 11th became our generation's defining moment, and we will never forget.
There’s another reason why today is so emotional to me. My dad, who has struggled for years with heart problems, had to go in for a “simple” heart operation. (How “simple” can any heart surgery really be?)
My father has always been a source of strength, always available to help when needed most. The doctors say he has a weak heart, but they don’t know the man who took care of his children and always answered his phone when we called needing help. They don’t know the man whose heart has always been bigger then life, giving and serving and sacrificing for everyone in his life.
I’ve talked to my step mom and things are going well. My dad is in a room and recuperating and I expect nothing less then to get to spend many more years with him. But as I stop and think about my dad and his life, I realize that another torch is being passed. My father has taught me well. I have learned to love and to sacrifice. I have been shown how to serve, how to live courageously, and how to give and give and give and give.
There are defining moments for all of us; for our nation, for our churches, for our families, and for our men. One generation pauses in their journey, looks back over their shoulder, and whispers,
“It is your time…”
Monday, September 8, 2008
Quote for the Day
"The challenge of statesmanship is to have the vision to dream of a better, safer world and the courage, persistnce and patience to turn that dream into a reality."
- Ronald Reagan, 1985
- Ronald Reagan, 1985
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Quote for the Day
"Great men are the ambassadors of Providence sent to reveal to their fellow men their unknown selves.... A wholesome regard for the memory of the great men of long ago is the best assurance to a people of a continuation of great men to come, who shall still be able to instruct, to lead, and to inspire."
- Calvin Coolidge
A Giant Awakens
I’m as excited about American politics right now as I’ve ever been. After eight years of “It depends on what the meaning of ‘is' is,” and then another eight years of a president who has the state of mind and stage presence of a puppet, last night’s speech by Sarah Palin was electrifying. I don’t often put my political thoughts down on paper, but today I’m going to make an exception and a prediction.
Pulling Ms. Palin into this race to the presidency was one of the smartest political moves I’ve seen in the last 20 years. By having her on the ticket, McCain’s going to win, and win big. And here’s why.
I’m a white, conservative, southern guy whose wife is a stay at home mom. I get fired up when someone talks about gun control. I’m also a Southern Baptist Christian who believes in Heaven and Hell, husband/wife and not husband/husband, and that abortion should be outlawed. Life begins at conception. (And no, I’m not hateful. I also believe in love and grace and forgiveness and selflessness and loving my neighbor as myself.)
I’m supposed to be a dying breed. But what the Democratic party and all the radical left (including the media) are going to learn is that we’re not dead. We’ve just been asleep. And this November, we’re going to come out in droves.
There is suddenly a high profile Republican candidate who fires me up and carries the same beliefs as the party’s base. This candidate believes in fiscal conservatism, smaller government, and energy independence. This candidate delivered the best speech I’ve heard from a Republican since Ronald Reagan. This candidate was able to combine humor and aggressiveness in the perfect mix. And this candidate went for the jugular. It was awesome.
The ironic thing? This candidate is a woman. According to the liberal left, a woman isn’t supposed to be leading the party of the conservative white guys. But you know what you libs don’t get? Us conservative white guys don’t care that she’s a woman. Us conservative white guys moved past that years ago. We believe in equality for all races and gender. We fight for the rights of all people. We have women coworkers who work extremely hard to balance their profession and their family. We admire and respect them. We grew up with friends of different races and cultures and learned early on to value all people.
Women don't scare us. And that ought to scare you, you left winged liberal nutcase.
McCain’s choice for VP woke us up. A giant was roused. After 20 years of watching from the sidelines, our hearts are suddenly engaged. An anger that’s been simmering under the surface is about to boil over. A Republican politician is on the scene whose passions and beliefs are the same as ours. She spoke to us last night and gave us something to be excited about! We’re going to support the McCain/Palin ticket, vote them into office, and watch over the next four years as they fight to make our country all that we believe it can be.
Pulling Ms. Palin into this race to the presidency was one of the smartest political moves I’ve seen in the last 20 years. By having her on the ticket, McCain’s going to win, and win big. And here’s why.
I’m a white, conservative, southern guy whose wife is a stay at home mom. I get fired up when someone talks about gun control. I’m also a Southern Baptist Christian who believes in Heaven and Hell, husband/wife and not husband/husband, and that abortion should be outlawed. Life begins at conception. (And no, I’m not hateful. I also believe in love and grace and forgiveness and selflessness and loving my neighbor as myself.)
I’m supposed to be a dying breed. But what the Democratic party and all the radical left (including the media) are going to learn is that we’re not dead. We’ve just been asleep. And this November, we’re going to come out in droves.
There is suddenly a high profile Republican candidate who fires me up and carries the same beliefs as the party’s base. This candidate believes in fiscal conservatism, smaller government, and energy independence. This candidate delivered the best speech I’ve heard from a Republican since Ronald Reagan. This candidate was able to combine humor and aggressiveness in the perfect mix. And this candidate went for the jugular. It was awesome.
The ironic thing? This candidate is a woman. According to the liberal left, a woman isn’t supposed to be leading the party of the conservative white guys. But you know what you libs don’t get? Us conservative white guys don’t care that she’s a woman. Us conservative white guys moved past that years ago. We believe in equality for all races and gender. We fight for the rights of all people. We have women coworkers who work extremely hard to balance their profession and their family. We admire and respect them. We grew up with friends of different races and cultures and learned early on to value all people.
Women don't scare us. And that ought to scare you, you left winged liberal nutcase.
McCain’s choice for VP woke us up. A giant was roused. After 20 years of watching from the sidelines, our hearts are suddenly engaged. An anger that’s been simmering under the surface is about to boil over. A Republican politician is on the scene whose passions and beliefs are the same as ours. She spoke to us last night and gave us something to be excited about! We’re going to support the McCain/Palin ticket, vote them into office, and watch over the next four years as they fight to make our country all that we believe it can be.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Bringing the Dead Back to Life
I always struggle with how honest and real to be with other people.
I'm a Southern boy, and while I love the South and all it's history and traditions, us Southern men have a few things we struggle with. I hate asking for help. (I'm working on that.) I keep my problems and my personal struggles to myself (to a fault.) And I grew up going to church and learned early on how to hide behind the Christian "everything's going great!" mask.
But sometimes things are far from great. Sometimes there are significant issues that I cover up and hide from others. I'm guilty of it in everyday life, with my friends, even writing posts for this blog. It's easy when good things are happening and I'm high on life. I'll post about leadership or God's greatness and marvel at my own wisdom. (Pride is a horrible thing.) But then bad times come, and I withdraw into myself. I'm great at hiding my problems from you and others. Things look great on the outside, but inside I'm spinning out of control.
And right now Marybeth and I are struggling. On one hand, our seventeen years together has been beautiful and we have many things to be thankful for. I'm lucky to have married her. But we've also taken tremendous blows to the body, some self inflicted. We both brought significant issues from our past into our relationship that we've had a hard time addressing. We've struggled through serious financial problems. And I'm a hard person to live with, and have made mistakes that have hurt her. There are periods when we can't escape these feelings and we get upset with each other and we fight.
Last Sunday we both felt like something had died. I took the kids to church and sat through the sermon, the first of a series called "The Gospel," and tried to emotionally work my way out of everything I felt. But I couldn't, and sat there hurting and grieving.
In my despair, I prayed, but God didn't come and miraculously heal us. I pleaded, but the Heavens seemed silent. God seemed far, far away. The hope that usually carries me through tough times faded away, and life became dark.
*****************************************************************************
This Sunday, the second week of "The Gospel" series, Pastor taught out of John 11. Lazarus is deathly ill, Jesus never comes, and a good man is buried. The parallel to my life is obvious. Without Jesus, our marriage will die. Without Jesus, healing can't occur. Without Jesus, all hope is lost. And like Lazarus, I lay in my sickbed, hoping and praying and begging him to come. I feel the sickness overwhelming me, pulling me into the grave, shattering my dreams. I lay in my sickbed and stare out my window; the road into town is empty.
Jesus waits.
But life with Jesus never ends with sickness and death. The story of Lazarus is the story of how much Jesus loves Marybeth and loves me. (And loves you...) Jesus wept then over a sinful, fallen world. And Jesus still weeps today over our broken relationships and our painful pasts. The story of the death of Lazarus is told so that we'll remember that Jesus always shows up.
Jesus always shows up and brings the dead heart back to life.
I left church yesterday with a renewed hope. Jesus will come. I don't really know how or when, but he will bring life out of death. He always does. He is in the middle of our marriage. He cries for us and speaks to us and calls us by name out of the grave.
And so Marybeth and I will hang in there. We will talk openly and honestly and fight to save something valuable and worth saving. And just as Jesus commanded the men to roll back the gravestone, I will roll back the stone to my heart and expose the deathly stench of my past. I will let Jesus into my grave where my shame and failings lay covered and rotting. I will pray for his touch, for his healing, for his compassion, for his love.
"Jesus... please come..."
I'm a Southern boy, and while I love the South and all it's history and traditions, us Southern men have a few things we struggle with. I hate asking for help. (I'm working on that.) I keep my problems and my personal struggles to myself (to a fault.) And I grew up going to church and learned early on how to hide behind the Christian "everything's going great!" mask.
But sometimes things are far from great. Sometimes there are significant issues that I cover up and hide from others. I'm guilty of it in everyday life, with my friends, even writing posts for this blog. It's easy when good things are happening and I'm high on life. I'll post about leadership or God's greatness and marvel at my own wisdom. (Pride is a horrible thing.) But then bad times come, and I withdraw into myself. I'm great at hiding my problems from you and others. Things look great on the outside, but inside I'm spinning out of control.
And right now Marybeth and I are struggling. On one hand, our seventeen years together has been beautiful and we have many things to be thankful for. I'm lucky to have married her. But we've also taken tremendous blows to the body, some self inflicted. We both brought significant issues from our past into our relationship that we've had a hard time addressing. We've struggled through serious financial problems. And I'm a hard person to live with, and have made mistakes that have hurt her. There are periods when we can't escape these feelings and we get upset with each other and we fight.
Last Sunday we both felt like something had died. I took the kids to church and sat through the sermon, the first of a series called "The Gospel," and tried to emotionally work my way out of everything I felt. But I couldn't, and sat there hurting and grieving.
In my despair, I prayed, but God didn't come and miraculously heal us. I pleaded, but the Heavens seemed silent. God seemed far, far away. The hope that usually carries me through tough times faded away, and life became dark.
*****************************************************************************
This Sunday, the second week of "The Gospel" series, Pastor taught out of John 11. Lazarus is deathly ill, Jesus never comes, and a good man is buried. The parallel to my life is obvious. Without Jesus, our marriage will die. Without Jesus, healing can't occur. Without Jesus, all hope is lost. And like Lazarus, I lay in my sickbed, hoping and praying and begging him to come. I feel the sickness overwhelming me, pulling me into the grave, shattering my dreams. I lay in my sickbed and stare out my window; the road into town is empty.
Jesus waits.
But life with Jesus never ends with sickness and death. The story of Lazarus is the story of how much Jesus loves Marybeth and loves me. (And loves you...) Jesus wept then over a sinful, fallen world. And Jesus still weeps today over our broken relationships and our painful pasts. The story of the death of Lazarus is told so that we'll remember that Jesus always shows up.
Jesus always shows up and brings the dead heart back to life.
I left church yesterday with a renewed hope. Jesus will come. I don't really know how or when, but he will bring life out of death. He always does. He is in the middle of our marriage. He cries for us and speaks to us and calls us by name out of the grave.
And so Marybeth and I will hang in there. We will talk openly and honestly and fight to save something valuable and worth saving. And just as Jesus commanded the men to roll back the gravestone, I will roll back the stone to my heart and expose the deathly stench of my past. I will let Jesus into my grave where my shame and failings lay covered and rotting. I will pray for his touch, for his healing, for his compassion, for his love.
"Jesus... please come..."
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