Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's off to camp I go...

Monday morning I leave for camp. This is a new experience for me. This year I'm speaking and I've never done that at a camp before. I'm excited because I really don't have to focus on anything except connecting with the kids and sharing what I think God wants me to share. I'm looking forward to it as a real recharge time. I don't have a lot (any) real requirements of me other than to speak and lead or help with a breakout time. What I require of myself is to figure out where these kids are at, and hopefully help build a bridge from where they are to where God is.

The theme is "Outside the Box: God is everywhere" and the camp verse is Romans 1:20. The more I go, and especially lately, this is what it all comes down to. When I feel far from God or just disconnected, it's because there are spaces in my life that I haven't let Him into. At some point there was a moment that I didn't invite Him to come change, and I missed Him.

I have spiritual ADD.

The thing is, what an amazing trait of God... that He would let Himself be missed. God is more humble than I am. There's something to ponder. So I feel like I'm going to camp this year on top of my game. When I was a youth worker, the weeks leading up to camp were so hectic, that I was frazzled when I got there. This year, I feel like God's been revealing Himself, I'm starting to see Him in places and ways I never have before. Despite having a new little boy, I feel rested and refreshed. I honestly think it's a credit to the whole Isaiah 40:30-31 thing.

So when you read this, when you think of me this week, pray that God will use me. Pray that I don't get in the way of myself, and pray that in some way, something that comes out of my mouth connects with these kids.

Thanks God for this opportunity.

What did you expect?

Jesus and John the Baptist. First cousins, united in mission, purpose, and calling. One was the forerunner. One was the One. In the end, John fell headless into eternity. Jesus hung, died, and woke. In our college gathering, we've been looking at John the Baptist: Barbarian. Shamelessly pilfered from Erwin McManus, it's the clearest picture of what my heart beats for me... and for this amazing group of potential radicals that gather on Monday evenings.

One particular story I love, and am disturbed by. John asks Jesus, "Are you the One?" Jesus response is, "you go tell John all that you see here. Also tell him that those who don't lose faith because of what I do will be blessed." Translated: I'm not coming to get you John. This is your path, and you must walk it. Of course from outside of history, knowing that Jesus was on a death march of His own makes it a bit easier almost to read some understanding, maybe even pity in Jesus' voice. At the very least, a knowing familial sadness that things aren't working out like John wanted them to.

Then Jesus turns around to the masses and does something beautiful. In a rhetorically stunning teaching/barrage of questions, Jesus eulogizes John with pride (good pride), compassion, excitement, and clarification of exactly who and what John is and was. "Among tohse born of women, there has not arisen anyone greater than John. Not Moses or David or Isaiah or Jeremiah. Just John.

But Jesus frames the conversation with the question... "What did you go out to the desert to see?"

That' s the question I think we all have to come to with Jesus. What, exactly, did we go running after. I think I knew when I started. My "experience" was dramatic and, in my context, Road to Damascus-ish. In the moment of my beginning, Jesus made no other promise or claim except that He was the Way. It was enough.

Along the way, though, I picked up on things and added things to the point where I can get disappointed with this Rescuer. I'm like the people of "this generation"

"It is like children sitting in the market places, who call out ot hte other children and say,

'We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;

we sang a dirge and you did not mourn...'"

Jesus doesn't dance. He won't be deterred from what He's doing. He only gives me the option of following and being a part. The question of what I went out to see is worth sitting with for awhile. If I get that question wrong, the implications are far reaching. The reality is that the revolution of grace marches on. In my quiet nights, when I remember well, I know what I went out to see. It's only in the cloudy moments of disillusionment, when Jesus doesn't dance for me that I lose my perspective.

I love that I follow a man who isn't swayed by my whimpers and moans. I love that I follow a man who doesn't let me stay too long in my pissing and moaning, but continually calls me forward. With an amount of grace that I can't begin to imagine... He calls me forward.

What did you expect?

Uncivilized

Last night in our college gathering, we wrestled with the idea that Jesus didn't die to make us nice people. Not that He doesn't care how we treat others (quite the contrary actually) but that Christ's death was more about rescuing us from ourselves and infusing our lives with meaning and purpose than it was about making us good American citizens.

My challenge was to look for ways to show people that God loves them, and to do it anonymously. Our gathering is called Underground because our goal isn't to build a huge gathering with lots of people talking about what God could do... it's to be a group of people who are living in hope of the promise that God's Kingdom will endure and to give our hearts and our lives to build that.

I hope to see lots of comments and posts on here of how these amazing, called out students find God in the ordinary moments of life. My prayer is that God will burst out of the boxes and confines that we've built for Him, and explode into our every moments. Here's to life lived on purpose, with passion and conviction. Here's to our very big God.

Knowing & Doing: Making sense of life, death, and consequences. Or not

So is the experience the only thing that matters?

I would say... yes and no. I believe that most recently in history, experience was sacrificed on the altar of reason. We don't need to necessarily experience it, it's enough to just believe it. I've got the right info in my head, so if it doesn't always show up in my life, that's alright... because I believe right.

But what happens when we make reason (or belief) the most important thing (more important than experience) is that whoever shouts the loudest, talks best, or is most convincing, can alter reality. When we base everything on what we "think," then we're in trouble, because I think differently today than I did yesterday. So simple "belief in", or "reasoning to" something can't be supreme.

But, if we make our experience our God, that leads to the worst kind of irresponsible pleasure-seeking-at-any-cost. If experience is most important, then whatever feels the best, IS the best. If my boss pisses me off, then I'm outta here. Unfortunately my wife and family are the victim because they're the ones who live in the house my job pays for. So simply chasing around what feels best can't be supreme either. What's the deelio?

Like I said earlier, I'm a big fan of experience, but what I'm a big fan of is "QUALITY" experience. I'm a big fan of making an educated step toward the very best experience possible. For me, that means choosing the thing that will yield the best possible results for the most possible people for the longest possible time. I used to follow Phish around the country. I had a blast. At the same time I was failing out of college. It was a trade off. At the time, I traded the "experience" of school for the "experience" of Phish. The problem was I didn't take into consideration the quality of my life as a result of each decision.

By choosing Phish, I was choosing to extend my college career. I was choosing to take out more student loans. In effect, I was choosing to saddle my lovely wife with $60,000 in debt before I even met her. Now I'm grateful for the Phish shows I saw. Honestly, I wouldn't trade them for anything. I learned a lot from my experiences there. But the reality is that my experiences cost me something that I desperately wish I COULD get back. I'll be wishing I could get those loans back for the next 10 years or so. Again, the best for the most people for the longest time.

What happens when you consciously decide what experiences you are going to subject yourself to is that you take as much control of your life as a person can have. If you rush headlong into whatever experience pops up, or whatever feels best now, then you're a victim of whatever consequences those decisions throw your way. But if you choose wisely, you still will have consequences for your decisions, but they become badges of honor, because you decided what, when, where, and how.

It's easy to see that we've killed "Experience." Equally sad would be to kill "Knowledge," in the same way. Better would be to Learn to make the "Knowledge" and "Experience" work together. Grab both. You choose. Life is coming one way or the other. You can choose where you go.

Yin ~ Yang. Carpe Diem.

Here's to you Jimi Hendrix

I've really wanted to start writing lately. I think I'd like to write the story of my time on the road (I couldn't call it On The Road though, that name's already been taken). You learn so much during times like that, when your whole life centers around something like a band and being at a place... it's very experience-centered, which is cool. I think experience is highly underrated, and should be sought out far more than it currently is.

I think what makes that time in my life so cool is that it was probably the very first time that I stopped just thinking about experiencing things and started to take steps to do it. There's a difference between "knowing about" experiences and "being experienced."
Jimi Hendrix had an album... Are You Experienced? The idea is that we've all got some knowledge of things that happen in other places or at other times, but we're not all experienced.

I'm an all or nothing type of guy. Literally years before I went and saw Phish for the first time, I thought, read, talked about them, I collected their music and on and on and on... I could have told you 1000 things that you didn't know that would have made you think I was a raving maniac... but I wasn't experienced.

Then I went to Austin in 1999, and Houston, and Big Cypress, Alpine Valley and on and on and on... I was experienced. All the knowing and the knowledge in the world couldn't have given me what I only got from being there first hand.

So maybe I'll call my book What Jimi Hendrix Taught Me About Life except that it will have very little to do with Jimi Hendrix... actually nothing at all.

Note to self... work on the title.

No rest for the weary

Metaphor is deep. Metaphor conveys meaning in layers, so cursory glances reveal truth and extensive meditation reveal still more truth. Sometimes, though, metaphor frustrates and creates longing because the reality (rather than simple knowledge) of the intended meaning is elusive.

One of my favorite passages in the bible centers around David. I love stories about David. He seems tangible to me. I love his passion and his on-again-off-again excitement/enthusiasm/belief/reliance on God. I love that the ageless God told Samuel that he was going to anoint a man after His own heart while David was still a boy. I love that David surrounded himself with a ragged group of outcasts who became his mighty men of valor -warriors of the highest skill and magnitude. I love that David was the kind of guy who the down and out were drawn to and followed. I love that David was courageous enough to step into the ring with giants, and humble enough to be dissuaded from killing a man by a contrite woman's offering. I'm encouraged by Old Testament typology, because David gives me a handle to wrestle with the humanity of Christ. Not in his egregious sins, but in his loyalty, his passion, his heart...

One day David was contemplating how he could serve the Lord. The young king David filled his days with dreams of how he could do something for this God who had set him apart and called him out.

"I know," effuses our boyish monarch, "I'll build him a house!!" For the Lord of heaven had chosen to dwell in a tent. The creator of stars and galaxies, the dreamer-maker of Leviathan and the majestic cedars of Lebanon had condescended to live among His people in a purple tent so that He could be near them and hear them when they cried in the night. The guileless David, innocent and pure before God, somehow understood that such a great majesty deserved a home, a true, beautiful, elaborate home. An edifice that would speak of the grandeur and glory of the God who was among His chosen ones. But alas, David could not be that man. For he was a man who had spilled blood. A home and a temple for the God of the ages couldn't be built by a man with destruction in His past. (aside: this bothered me for awhile. Especially as a young man, David did God's bidding. He killed the enemies of God at God's behest. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that God would somehow hold this against David. As we find out, God makes it up to him.)

Through a trusted friend and God listener, God passes the word on to David, "I have been with you wherever you have gone, and I have destroyed all your enemies. Now I will make your name famous throughout the earth..." God honored David.

David responds in what seems like the only appropriate way, glorious in its authentic simplicity. Samuel simply notes that "David sat before the Lord..."

In light of what God was doing, in the presence of God's denial of David's dream and implantation of one far greater, David sat. He took a posture of rest and adulation.

I've never really understood the idea of resting in the Lord. I don't know how to rest and move at the same time. I don't know how to be on a mission, and hide in the shadow of His wings, yet I'm confronted with just that charge. My constant tendency is to be on the go, figuring that I'll get what I need as long as I'm heading the right direction... so sitting before the Lord is a luxury that I haven't often enough afforded myself.

But with a new baby who doesn't sleep much... I'm captured by this metaphor of rest. I have dreams for my little man. I dream that he will someday be like Samuel when the scripture says, "The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground." There's not much that I can do to further that purpose right now. Jackson's still more at the puke on my hand as I burp him phase. But in the morning hours, when my heart hurts with the lack of sleep... I find myself being drawn to the stories of people sitting before the Lord.

I'd like to sit with the rest metaphor for awhile. I need to spend a little bit of time in the shadow of the wings of the Almighty.

"Resting in your presence, is all I really long for... and I, want to be more like you."

- Rita Springer, "Resting"

Surprising Surprises

Alright, I have to admit... when I started this whole "surprise me" bit, I expected something totally different than what I'm getting. I expected every sunset to be a tapestry of pastels where the houses and development would disappear and the horizon would be clear and beautiful into infinity. I expected the blue jays to whistle amazing grace outside my window and be random $100 checks in my mailbox every other day just because God is so cool and sweet and wants to bless me... SURPRISE!!

Boy, am I stupid sometimes.

Of course, in the midst of this journey has been the best surprise I can imagine. My son Jackson came, and my life is different forever. But that's the segue to the greater surprise... I'm not really that different at all. In fact, where ever I go, there I am. That's what sucks about the surprise.

The greatest surprise for me so far (I'm calling this day 4, but mostly because for the previous 10 days I've been totally oblivious to everything but the baby. I'm holding to the theological position that my 30 day surprise me experiment doesn't have to be 30 literal days. Maybe 30 epochs. You understand I'm sure) has been how graciously and relentlesly God pursues this holiness thing. Today I'm surprised that it's not just the physical holiness of doing all the right things, but emotional spiritual holiness as well.

A great indication of how this is borne out is through this new college gathering that's starting to gain a head of steam. Monday we had our first gathering of the summer at a coffee house. There were 16 students there and I was amazed at their hunger. I borrowed heavily from Kyle Lakes telling of the story of Cornelius and Peter. My point (different from Kyle's) was that both Cornelius and Peter were doing the things that they did (Cornelius was being the devout gentile, Peter was being the kosher Jew) but the hilight of the story was God's infusion and reworking of those things. Cornelius' piety wasn't important and Peter's diet wasn't important, what was important was the way God infused himself into those things and reworked them. My challenge to them to step back and evaluate their "things" and when the last time God infused Himself into those things. If they've been infusion-less for a little while, perhaps (probably) the problem isn't with God.

The surprise came in the hours since. I've got this gnawing sense that I'm heading the right direction, but that I'm trying to lead these kids to a place I haven't gone. It's been easy to talk about paradigms and experiments and radical God-lives. I've also been blessed with a certain amount of charisma, so I can make those discussions exciting and challenging and people may leave ready to take on the world.

But how many of my own faulty, outdated, even archaic God-ideas are gathering dust unchallenged on the shelves of my brain. Truth be told, my theology is too much theory. I need a God-infusion too. The sense that I get is that God won't "let" me be the carrier of this message if I'm not fully immersed in it.

So I'm realizing that surprises require more of me that I expected. God wants to show up in my life, but He doesn't want to show up and leave things as they are. Surprisingly enough, these dawnings in my brain are the most exciting spiritual musings I've had in a long time. These are God-infused moments for me. The implications are exciting. As I walk through these ideas with these amazingly passionate, talented, enthusiastic kids... it's truly a journey together. God's given me a chance to truly be a part of a community of people who are walking with me... right along side of me. That's surprising in its comfort.

Thank you for not just being a God of appeasement. Thank you for not glossing over the uncomfortable things. I need a lot of help, because some of the stuff that's surfacing is hard to look at. There are things that I can't imagine you would want any part of. That's scary because I think that if you don't want those things, then you won't want the package they come in. Help me be honest with you, and give you the things that even I don't want. Let me not miss your call to holiness, just because I'd rather think about your grace & mercy.

What can I say?

I love language. It excites me to think of new ways to say old things and I love it when old ways of saying things are the most clear, concise... the best. So there aren't many times when words elude me. Occasionally there are times when I say it does, but then I typically follow it up with explanations and... well, words.

This time is different. Every time I hold my son, something happens to me and my brain just shuts off. There aren't words, there aren't evaluations, there aren't even thoughts, there is just him. This little miracle. And even as I read that (he's a miracle) it sounds so trite and overused, which makes me wonder (in the state I'm in) if that might be one of those old sayings that is most concise and clear.

So I won't try and tell you how I've felt. What I do want to do is put down some of the ways this whole experience has started to impact my faith. There was a lot of really ugly stuff that came out in the process of my little man being born. I questioned things like why we should pray if the most urgent prayers of the day and moment (in the midst of a grueling 37 hour labor and a very long sleepless night) go unanswered. I wondered what I was supposed to do when what seemed like a hopeless situation truly did get worse, and I didn't have any of the "peace that passes understanding" that was supposed to abide when I'm not anxious and I ask God.

I didn't get answers to those questions. There was a moment - at about 3:57 in the morning after 9 hours of sleep in the last 4 days when the baby is not crying but screaming like his ass was on fire - when I felt like God was enjoying my misery. I thought of God as the cosmic drill seargent, only caring about how He can whip me into shape and make me a good soldier.

He never answered those questions for me. He didn't swoop down and wrap me in His cosmic arms and quote Jeremiah 29:11 into my ear and tell me that all things were going to be beautiful. He continually put me into situations where my son was crying, screaming, peeing, yelling, eating, and doing every single one of the things that I desperately didn't want him to do at the time. And I had to be there to hold him, clean him, feed him, comfort him, console him, and try to get him to sleep. And with bleary eyes in my mother-in-law's house (we're staying for awhile to get adjusted to being parents) I just held this little spastic person who will grow up to make choices and somehow, for better or worse, leave his mark on the world. I love him so much... the speechless kind of love that even now brings tears to my eyes... The kind of love that doesn't make rational sense and makes me not want to make sense ever again... the kind of love that finds me in a hospital room pleading with God not to let me make any mistakes with someone so wonderful and pure. I love this kid absolutely more than I ever knew I could feel or do anything. Up to this point in my life, Jackson David is the sum total of all the good that's come from me.

And at this very moment I am nothing more to him than a diaper changer. I am a bottle holding, binky replacing, blanket wrapping, butt wiping force of nature that is more blurry shape than anything else. He has no way to comprehend that I love him. He doesn't even have a way to comprehend anything but whether or not he's in a messy diaper. I want him to look at me and know, "my dad loves me and he'd do anything for me." But he doesn't think that. No where near that and he won't for many many many years to come. When I have to change his diaper and he screams bloody murder because he's cold... all he wants is to be covered up, and he knows I'm the blurry guy whose not letting him be warm.

So I realized that I want God to be my problem solving, crisis ending dream guy who swoops in and saves the day. When one of those things happens, I shout of his love. But when they don't, I question. The reality seems to be, God's up there with his hand under my chin, trying to burp this convulsing little heap of a man whose barely a week old on the eternal calendar. I can't comprehend that kind of thing. But every once in awhile I get a glimpse of it.

So I sit in my mother-in-laws bedroom typing away. My little man is covered up in a receiving blanket in this little baby papasan chair trying to sleep as dad pecks away. My prayer is that someday he'll have the ability to understand why I have done the sometimes crazy things I do... because I love him.

God still does things I don't like. But I guess that's his prerogative. I wasn't given the option of running the universe. More than anything it bothers me that I'm still so immature in my faith. It bothers me that I still so easily equate physical comfort and well being with God's blessing (especially in light of reading the blog about the trip to Africa). But it helps me to think of Him up there, desperately wanting me to get it. Desperately wanting me to see that there's love wrapped everywhere. The problem isn't with His presentation. The problem is with my perception.

God, more times than not I don't get it. I hate that feeling when I rant and rave and toss accusations at you, and then come back a day later sheepishly having to admit that you were right all along and you knew what you were doing. Thank you for knowing what you are doing. Forgive me for those times when I speak foolishly. Thank you for my son. Thank you for letting me see you in Him. God, there aren't words. In the days and weeks and years to come, may I find more moments where words aren't enough to convey what I want to say to you. Thank you for your grace. Take care of this little guy. Take care of his baby too.

Holy... Crap

May 28, 2006... my wife gave birth to Jackson David Powers. He was 7lbs. 8 oz, 19 1/2 inches long and beautiful as a little baby can be. Dont' get me wrong, he was still wrinkly and goopy and all of that but still... no matter what happens, this little man will carry on my name. It's unbelievable. I'll let my wife tell the story and show the pictures here. Suffice it to say... like the Crowder song says... "I need words..." It's an unbelievable thing. Not only that, but literally as Natalie and I are in the delivery room wating for the little guy to make an appearance, I get word that my sister in law's (brother's wife) water broke. Her doctor told her to wait until we (Nat and I) were done and then to come on in. Carson Reed Powers (cousin to Jackson David Powers) was born across town 14 hours later. That's something pretty amazing.

Now, since that beautiful moment I think I've slept for a total of 7 hours. Not to mention that my wife was in labor for 37 hours. You heard it right... 37 hours with contractions no longer that 15 minutes apart... many time 2 and 3. She's my new hero. So... suffice it to say with the sleep deprivation and this amazingly wonderful giddy new man that lives in my house, I'm bound to have a thing or two to say... but not now. Not enough time. It's feeding time. God bless you all. I pray that for you, today is a treasure such as you've never found before. Thank you God!

Recapturing the Useful -or- I thought the Lotus was a car

I can cover my day 2 surprise experience in a few words... I forgot about it most of the day. It broke my heart to get in my car at the end of the day and go... Holy crap, I forgot about the surprise. There was more to it than that, but I want to talk about something else. That's the beauty of it being my blog. I'm the boss of it, and I can do what I want.

Matt Singleton made mention of yesterday's comment about me being a buddhist, and he commented on how much of the practice and even philosophy of eastern mystics can be useful for Christians. When I first started following God, for the 3 to 4 years prior to that I had been a practicing buddhist. It all started with a book (The Tao of Pooh) and led to a much deeper and fuller practice of Taoism, Buddhism, Zen, and a whole smattering of them all (eastern folks generally seem much less interested in categorizing which practice you fall into. They all inform and relate to one another anyway). So for several years I would sit and meditate. They call it "practice," but the word is different from the way we might expect it to be. For the buddhist, practice is just being or sitting. I don't know that they'd be so interested in "practice makes perfect." They would even say that if you're thinking about progressing, or getting there, you're missing the point all together. The point isn't to get there. The point is always to be here. As soon as you truly learn to be here, then you will have gotten there. It can all sound very confusing, but the reality of it is that a GREAT DEAL of my experience of faith with Christ finds parallels in eastern practices and faiths. Read the Tao te Ching and tell me which parts of it don't sound like they could be teachings of Christ (disclaimer for those who need one... the reason I eventually got away from buddhism etc is because I felt and experienced that the primary premise is faulty. Their goal is to strip away all desires so that what's inherently good in me can come out. My frustration came because as long and as much as I tried, there weren't many things that were truly good or noble. Call it depravity or whatever, I just found myself ACTING better or more calm and centered, but the same old things were raging in me. See Romans 7 for a better explanation). So the allure for me to eastern philosophy was how RIGHT most of it sounded. Ultimately however, I found that buddhism and it's most noble family of traditions fell short. For me it didn't go far enough.

So, when I started following Christ, all of a sudden I've got a problem... what do I do with the last 3 years of my life? What about all those moments that were real? What about all the things that I had read and practiced and experienced that were true and real? There were times when I would sit and meditate that lifted me. There were times that I got it. Did I now have to dismiss all of those things and call them all bad and start all over? I couldn't do that. The same way that I left the Church in the first place... because I didn't see enough of the stuff they were talking about, I couldn't with integrity dismiss the things that seemed real.

That's where one of the teachings of Rob Bell hit me square in the face. He said, "All truth is God's truth, no matter where you find it." It was like a light went on in my head. Of course there are large and freeing portions of truth in buddhism. Truth is truth, no matter where it may hide. When I wrestled with that and came to terms with it, I was so relieved to find that I didn't have to hide or cover up my past experiences. On the contrary, they became something beautiful and formative and rich that God used to woo me back to Himself. I regularly say (and several people in my church family aren't quite sure what to make of it) that my years as a buddhist have made me a much better Christian.

To take the practice of meditation by itself... it's something that the scripture all but pleads with us to do... and every time I even say the word in Christian contexts, it demands explanation. People want me to assure them that we're not becoming buddhist or new age. But my time as a buddhist gave me practice with just sitting and paying attention to what I'm thinking. Buddhist meditation taught me that just because a thought pops into my head doesn't mean it has to come out of my mouth... if I "watch" a thought long enough, don't label it or call it my own, just watch it... eventually it will pass away and another one will come. You want to see the fruit of the spirit called self-control? Sit down for one hour (self-control in and of itself) and every time a thought passes into your head, refuse to label or even identify it. Just watch it. Don't act on it or even claim it as your own. Then watch how your ideas about ideas change over time. You're free from being a slave to the things in your head! It's amazing.

So, that's the long way of saying that if we ignore the things from other parts of the world, or the things that other traditions can teach us, we're missing it. Truth isn't a commodity. Truth is a person, and He's the one that I want to follow, no matter where He goes. I'm grateful for my years as a buddhist. I learned a lot, I grew a lot, and I still try to employ much of what I discovered along that path. I'm also grateful for the chance to remember that today. That's a good surprise. Thanks God. Thanks Matt.

Day 1: The surprise is INSIDE you

It seems that there will be parallel surprises as I go through this... the surprise experiment as it's lived out in my life, but also the surprise that comes from realizations reading the book as I walk through this experiment. I'm reading the story for the day I'm living, which is one day ahead of the story I'm blogging... clear as mud.

My story yesterday is surprising in its "unsurprising-ness," so to speak. As I lay my little head down to sleep last night, I realized how capable I am of paying attention and taking note of my thoughts, feelings, attitudes, and moods in the moment as they arise. Around lunch time, we got word that one of the guys who plays guitar on our worship team may have lung cancer. This guy is an amazing ball of energy and life. He used to be part of the touring band with Hank Jr. and a whole slew of other guys who you'd be really impressed to hear. Needless to say he lived a hard, fast, life, and within the last two years let God find him. This guy (Greg) is a true example of the power of Christ in a life. The guy has walked away from nearly every vice you can imagine a hard-livin professional musician can have (not just the drinking and drugging, but all the attendant emotional/psychological baggage as well). He just recently got married and started his new life over again with a passionate faith. Then... BOOOM. The big C-word.

Immediately I heard the infamous question that doesnt' have an answer "Why?" I heard him ask the same question. How can it be that only now, in light of the amazing changes in his life, he gets this prognosis? It's a tough question, and it's one that I don't have an answer for. It reminded me of a Phillip Yancey book (Disappointment with God) where Yancey asks, "The question becomes not, 'is God good,' but 'what good is He?'" That's a powerful question to ask. In terms of this experiment though, I was surprised to notice how quickly I noticed the question rising. It took me back to my old Buddhist days when the whole idea was to "notice the thoughts that come into your head, don't claim them, judge them, grab them, or hold them, just notice them."

The shocking/disturbing thing about that realization is that if I can see them welling up and see them rising in me... then I have the ability to curb them and not act on the ones that I don't like. That doesn't make me feel very good, because there were a few emotions yesterday that I don't like the way they came out. If I can see them rising, and I choose not to curb them... that's a surprising thing with surprising implications.

Surprisingly enough (pun probably intended) I woke this morning with a good feeling about a lot of what showed up yesterday. Ordinarily I wouldn't have felt so good about such a lack of self-control and evidence of such inner-yuck, but I really have a feeling that seeing that stuff may be the greatest surprise of all. It's a powerful thing to come to terms with your own depravity. Fortunately I know that at the point of my greatest depravity, I find Christ's grace most sweet.

I was going to write about what I got from the book, but it would take too much space and probably would be anti-climactic. Suffice it to say for now that God surprises will show up in surprising places. I did like what Esau said (to paraphrase), "in the cosmic game of hide-and-seek, what if it's not God whose hiding, but us?"

So we begin from here. Surprise me, God.

Surprise me. Day 0

My lovely wife... she's sweeter than I have any right to be involved with. She told me last week that she got me a present. I'm horribly impatient, so I kept badgering her about what it was, but she's a vault. So yesterday I show up at work and there's a padded envelope in my inbox. Inside are 2 books. Dave Crowder's Praise Habit, and Terry Esau's Surprise Me. That's one of the differences between she and me. She's thoughtful, and realizes not only that the quickest way to my heart is through a book, but she knows that Amazon.com has the keys to my heart on file in my wishlist.

So today I started Surprise Me. I'm going to do the experiment. It couldn't come at a better time for me. Academically I'm convinced of the truth, but evidence of the gi-normous chasm between my brain and my heart, the reality of my life right now indicates that God is less interested in surprise, and more interested in mindless rote and endless fatigue. This book and this experiment seem like a good way to challenge that assumption.

So I begin. Today is day 1... entry zero. Tomorrow, entry 1, will chronicle today's events. I like it that way, it gives me time to reflect and hopefully take it all in. Like Esau (the author, not Jacob's brother), I come in with a bit of a timid heart. As it is right now, the unproven promises of God are easy enough to put out there. I've never PROVEN them false, so surely they must be true. What if at the end of 30 days I have no new insights, no new stories to tell, and absolutely nothing God-wise to speak of? Well, the encouragement then is that I will have atleast proven that God doesn't want to be involved in my life, and I can get on with the business of life in light of that truth.

But I'm at the point where I have to do something. I am not the kind of guy who can go through the motions very well. I only have 2 speeds -- 100 miles/minute to the left, or 100 miles/minute to the right. I don't have stop and I don't have slow. Not that there aren't times of slowing down and meditating, but the point is that I am a horrible company man. I don't just listen to music, I put my education and my future in jeopardy so I can follow Phish around the country for a year... you get the idea.

So I'm at that point in my faith where I feel like I've truly swung on a lot of the ropes that "lead to God" and I don't want to be on a rope anymore. I want God. I don't put any of the blame on Him. I'm a realist enough to know that I haven't tried God and found Him wanting, I haven't nearly tried enough.

So that's where this experiment comes in. Not that it's my attempt to find where God is. On the contrary, I'm just wanting to open my eyes to see what He tells me is true (see Romans 1:20). I just had a conversation with a guy whose been on a really tough road lately. A lot... the vast majority even... of it is of his own doing. Bad situations brought on by a succession of bad choices, but I look at him now, and people have reached out and helped. He doesn't really see it, but it's there none the less. I don't see God that way too many times. I feel like God's looking for a chance to squash me... rather than seeing how God continually reaches out to people, even when they don't pretend to make so much as a nod in His direction.

So here goes. Surprise me, God.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-- Robert Frost

Hurry up and wait

So I guess there's really something to that whole "due date" thing that the doctor tells you. I guess the whole "full term gestational period" crap that you read about has some bearing in reality. Well let me just tell you... nobody asked me!!

Just kidding... sort of. Nat and I are both ready for the little guy to make an appearance. All you real parents at home are chuckling, thinking, "sure ya are." What I mean is that I'm ready for my wife not to be pregnant any more. It sucks for her. She hurts, everything she eats causes issues... it's just not a good thing. But the due date is Saturday, and the doctor felt pretty confident that this week would be the week.

But it's got me thinking about the whole process. I used to wonder why we can't just have a 6 week gestational period... like cats, or giraffes or something. But nearing the end of our prescribed 40 weeks has once again revealed that God knows more than I do and I should trust Him when He sets up the universe. Here's the beauty of the process as I've come to understand it...

1. From day of discovery to end of morning sickness - this period, lasting anywhere from 3 weeks to 3 full months, hits home the reality that life will never ever again be the same. It's almost like shock treatment for the parents to be. It works on the mother because she asks, "Why is my body revolting?" That which she's trusted and slaved over is now presenting itself as her arch enemy. For the guy, it works because there's not a damn thing we can do about it. It is what it is. By the end of the 3 months (which ended as quickly as it started) we both knew that we were on a collision course with forever, and we were going to be changed people in the process.
2. From end of morning sickness to about 20 weeks (roughly 6 or 7 weeks) - this is the period where you realize that life has changed, and you're still not completly certain that the morning sickness is gone for good. It's like this tentative waiting stage. But she's starting to feel better, therefore the man feels better because order has been restored to the home. By this time for the guy, it's not really a baby yet, it's just a little bean on the sonogram that tore up your life for 3 months. This phase is so important because it forces me to come to terms with the fact that I'm really beginning to love something that I can't see and that has to this point brought no tangible gain to my life. It's the beginning of the self-less dynamic of father hood.
3. Week 20 Sonogram - It's a boy. I could my baby's junk, and from this moment forward, I began the process of understanding that it's not just a baby... it's my son.
4. Week 20 through week 38 - This period of decreasing blissfulness begins with unadulterated joy and high hopes and ends roughly where morning sickness left off. Along the way are the milestones of feeling the baby move, watching the belly grow, watching momma grow into and then out of maternity clothes, setting up the nursery, registering, having showers. For me, there was a dawning awareness that my wife was an intimate part in the most amzing thing in the history of the universe. Inside the body of my wife, God was knitting. Every day that realization took on new and different shapes. There's still no conception of the realities and responsibilities of fatherhood, it's just the wonder of seeing a baby being made.
5. Week 38 through delivery - This final stage is so important primarily because it gets the mother to the place where she says, "I don't care how bad labor hurts... I want this freaking thing out of me!!" My response has been of course to nurture my wife lovingly and lavishly, but also I start to connect with the reality that this little man is going to live in my house and need me to help him become a man. But with the lack of sleep and poor momma ready to pop... whatever it takes to make momma happy... let's get it on.

So here I am. Ready for that little man to come. I have no idea what I'm going to do when he gets here, but I know that every morning I wake up without a kid... I'm bummed. And so is mom. Even the process of trying to write down the process is baffling. There truly are no words to convey what it's been. The excitement, pain, and fear all at the same time. That's the process of being a Father for me. I wonder how similar God's experience was in the beginning?

Stream of unconsciousness

It's been too long since I've posted...

It's an amazing day in San Antonio. After yesterday's 96 degrees and 96% humidity, today's 85 with 14% humidity is just perfect.

The college gathering rolls on... we're actually taking a few weeks off in hope that Natalie will throw the pup (I don't think that's the official medical word for it, but it gets the point across. I love you baby). We'll reconvene again on June 7. We're going to have it at a place called "The Daily Grind" coffee bar. It's a good place to meet, it's got a mellow feel and there are beverages and goodies to munch on, good overstuffed couches, tables, and space to spread out and talk if needs be. I'm excited, mostly because it's an ambience that we don't have to put a lot of time and energy into right now. Also having it away from the church will hopefully give us some opportunities to hang out with some folks who are outside of the church.

It looks like we're going to call ourselves "Underground." The idea is that I don't want to be known for our media campaigns and advertising schemes. I don't want to be the next hot thing that all the Church kids in San Antonio come to be a part of. I want to be a place that comes together to learn and challenge each other to be different and make a difference.

On another note... I'm having a freaking baby. Well, not so much me as Natalie, but the end result will be that in very few days a little baby man is coming to live at my house for 18+ years. Boy, talk about drama. Raising a man who loves God and serves humanity is a tall order for a guy who mostly remembers to put on clean shorts and comb his hair and usually doesn't remember to shave. It's all a part of the divine sense of humor.

Started reading The DaVinci Code. Holy Crap. I can't put it down. Seriously, Dan Brown is the man. I think everyone should read it. Christians especially. Put down Joel Osteen, pick up the DaVinci Code, and together take a big, long, well deserves sigh. There. That's all better isn't it? It probably won't go down as one of the classic's. I mean it's not Pride & Prejudice, but it certainly moves quick and keeps you coming back for more.

As I wind down, I'm nodding acknowledgement to the yin-yang in my life. There are seasons of great mental activity where I can think and reason and be sharp. Then there are seasons like this, where it's all quiet in my head... and that's a good thing.

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD. Lamentations 3:22-26

Part 2 - Trust Talk: disintegration of the misunderstanding gene

So we all bring these biases to the table, and they're like our blood type or DNA configuration. We're vaguely aware of them, but we don't really know where they came from or even the stuff of which they are made (other than nucleotides... of course... I think).

Last night I sat down with my loved one and tried to pick apart the thickett of biases that cause me to be what I am, her to be what she is, and both to make wrong assumptions about the other. Fortunately she affords more grace than I could think of asking for, and she lets me brood and think out loud before anything makes any sense to anyone.

First I should clarify that if my approach at disintegrating the misunderstanding gene(biases) focuses on any "other" out there, my attempts are misguided and futile at best. I have control over exactly one set of misunderstanding genes (biases) and that is plenty. My hope in deconstructing these misunderstandings is to better know how I represent to the world (for a great insight and instance of the misunderstanding gene, check out this guest post on Matt Singleton's blog).

Last night my wonderfully insightful wife led me to realize that an almost otherworldly trust is the key to making an honest attempt at understanding or even seeing my biases. Since my blindspots are by definition spots (place) that are blind (unable to be seen) I need someone else who can see to point them out to me.

For instance, when my wife and I are talking and she brings up something that a) bores me, b) frustrates/angers me, c) goes over my head... my first reaction may be to roll my eyes. This eye roll may be completely and totally without intention and even without me knowing it. The eye roll is caused by my reaction... either a defense mechanism against inferiority or pride about my time, or whatever. My reaction comes from a (possibly, possibly not) subconscious bias toward what my wife is saying. She, responding to the manifestation of my misunderstanding gene, manifests her own... "Why are you rolling your eyes at me?!?" she says tersely.

Stop camera.

Enter trust. My response SHOULD be, "this person that I love and trust is sensing something. I trust that she's not trying to hurt me or simply trying to win, so which of my blindspots is she seeing." Because of trust, we can begin the process of taking this whole thing apart and finding out why I responded the way I did. Through this gentle, but intentional process, future misunderstandings can hopefully be avoided and misunderstanding gene is one step closer to extinction.

The implications for me with my wife are one thing... but I think about the implications in my life otherwise. One of my biases is to be cynical and critical. I tend to see the world too many times through sideways glances. But what if I trusted that God was big enough to use anyone who crossed my path to sharpen me... like muslims, or buddhists, or mean people, or liberals? What if my 1st response was ALWAYS a response of trust... not in them, but in God?

This is hard to even process because I know that there are people out there who will try to use, manipulate, take advantage of, and otherwise destroy me and mine (that's what John 10:10 says). But it's in the face of those objections things like Matthew 5 begin to stand out. What if I find God more in those situations where I've been abused than I ever would without it? What if my understanding of God is stunted because I've never trusted God enough to do the right thing, or the BEST thing even if I might be taken advantage of in the process?

Father, I'm grateful that you can redeem even mistrust and misunderstanding. Help me to trust you in a way that doesn't make sense to anyone but you. Father, help me to be one of the reckless ones, who believes that everyone's voice can lead to beautiful things in your hands. Help me to listen more, speak less, and always seek to understand first. Thanks God.

Part 1 - remisunderstaning

(note: I didn't intend to do a multi-part post... it just sorta happened that way. And since Matt did it, I might as well too...)

Does it ever seem like you have the same conversations with someone over and over again? It's not like you intend to do it, but when you're talking with someone and a certain topic comes up, the conversation always seems to turn out the same way. There are these little built in filters and biases that seem to come up again and again, no matter how hard we try and no matter how hard we wish they wouldn't, and no matter how much we promise and swear that we'll be different next time... we never are.

This becomes especially important to me as I get closer to the birth of my first child. Part of God's covenant promises to His people is that the sins will be visited on generation after generation, in the same way that blessings will be visited. I'm not one to see God keeping a score card and promising to visit His wrath on innocent children because of the schmucks that we are, but I'm starting to see that these filters become part of the DNA that we pass on to the future generations.

There's a poverty mentality, there's an entitlement mentality, there's a victim mentality, there's a "gotta get mine" mentality, and seemingly innocent and otherwise wise and gracious people seem to show up with these blind spots that color their whole lives. How do we go about addressing things that are as deep, personal, and seemingly unchosen as our blod type?

The implications for this are everywhere... I think of the things I picked up from my parents that are now vital parts of who I am. I'm an incurable Astro's fan, for instance (it's not as bad as being a Cubs fan). I didn't choose it, but I also can't un-choose it without great cost and sacrifice.

In the great game of getting along and moving forward, these biases and unconscious tendencies make communication difficult. I will unwittingly pass along my ideas of who God is and what He wants from me to those I talk to. It's not so clear cut as what I say, it's as much about how I say it. I think understanding the reasons that we misunderstand, or even understanding THAT we misunderstand is a step in a direction. But it's a daunting task, calling for the greatest humility and grace, to sit at the proverbial table with others who we feel need to hear our message but who may not even be able to hear what we have to say in the way that we want to say it.

Belonging Preceeds Believing

Before Jesus indoctrinated... He invited. Before He gave his disciples the sermon on the mount, He went to a party with them. Before He sent them out to heal the sick, cast out demons and raise the dead, He paired them up. Jesus made sure that no one in His new Kingdom would be alone.

This morning I was teaching a class at church, and 2 sets of parents talked about their 20 something children walking away from the faith. I resonated with them, because when I was 20 something, I walked away too. The general idea for the class was Solomon's hopelessness in Ecclesiastes 1 and Christ's gift of hope from Matthew 20.

The parents cried as they read Ecclesiastes, because they said that it sounded just like what their kids would say. I encouraged them to take heart that the scripture was validating their experience, and encouraged them to keep reading the story, because even Solomon finds a better answer under the sun.

But we ended early and I had a chance to talk pretty pointedly with these parents and one of the elders in our church who happened to hang around. This is really exciting for me, because I truly believe that the emerging church/postmodern mindset isn't just a fabrication, but it's a reality that will inreasingly be borne out in the generations to come. Today I had the chance to represent these postmoderm minded kids to their thoroughly modern parents, and I may not have ever felt as blessed to be used by God.

I wrote on the white board the phrase, "Belonging preceeds Believing." I asked them to take the phrase apart and see what they thought. Each of the people in the class was a mature believer who had been in the church for their whole lives. The elder has raised 3 of the most amazing children I've ever known, and is one of the most humble, godly people I know.

My skin tingled as I watched lightbulbs come on in these people. This was their kids, this was where they were. It didn't take long to piece together the puzzle of pretty sharp, observant kids standing back and watching their friends become overchurched. As kids who were thinkers, they realized that the message they were hearing wasn't being fleshed out. They felt, and feel, that the problem was with the message... so they got rid of it in search of something better. Rather than dismissing the belonging, they dismissed the belief.

It was amazing to watch these grown men and women wrestle with this. "But where does knowledge fit into this whole equation? It's the Truth that sets us free?" and on and on it went in defense of attacking unbelief with information. They weren't antagonistic at all, not in the least, they just hadn't ever thought about it from this angle. At the end of the discussion, one of the parents named Mark came up to me and said, "you know, I believe what you said about belonging preceeding believing. It just wasn't that way when I was growing up."

I think Mark walked out of the class understanding something about his kid that he didn't understand before. He and I spent a little bit of time talking about what that might mean in his relationship with his kid and how it might all play out. I didn't give him any answers where none were due, but I told him that it worked out in my case.

Today my philosophy took form and became real to someone else. Just by my nature, my tendency will always be to remain in the philosophical and theoretical. I will coast by on autopilot while I think about how to do what I'm doing. But today the stuff that I put into my head and mull over hopefully built a bridge for someone else to cross over to their kid. What a cool thing to see. What a cool thing to be a part of.

The craziest thing... since I've started blogging (lo these seven entries), I've become acutely aware of long spaces between entries. Do I not have anything to say? Am I slowing down mentally? Am I just a sluggard? You know what Proverbs says about sluggards... crap, I'm headed that way!!

But maybe not. Maybe it's all good and I'm just hanging out. We'll never know for sure I guess.

Crosses & Conversations

I read Matthew 10 today and Christ's call to follow seems especially poignant on Good Friday. From calling Peter & John from a fishing boat, to calling the rich young ruler from the trappings of weath, the idea of following takes on a new and special significance in the light of Easter.

So in Matthew 10, Jesus is sending out His disciples. It's a glorious day, can you imagine? When I get 14 seconds of training and experience, I feel like I'm ready to fly the plane. So the 12 must be chomping at the bit, ready to do what they were born and called to do!! Especially after hearing Jesus' opening words...

"... go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you're going, preach that the Kingdom of Heaven is near, it's here, it's at hand! When you need to, heal those that are sick. Raise those that are dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Freely you've received, freely give."

Even the following verses about not taking anything extra don't seem so bad in light of the commissioning service they just received. I can almost hear Peter, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" Jesus goes on to talk about going into towns and leaving a blessing, and wiping the dust off of the feet for any town that won't receive them. James and John, the "Sons of Thunder" must've cast furtive glances, "if I can raise the dead, can you imagine what I'm going to do to a town that won't accept me? I'll do more that wipe the dust..."

In my vulnerable moments, these are the things that I feel like I signed on for. Too many times my prayers are that God would use me for these kinds of things. Lord, if you want to heal the sick, I'm willing to do that. It doesn't sound nearly so transparently self-serving when I'm surrounding it in the highest of prayerful language.

But then the conversation turns a bit, "Behold, I send you out as sheep among the wolves... the men will hand you over to the courts and scourge you in the synagogues. When you go before Kings and governors, don't worry about it, you'll know what to say, but by that time you'll be hated by all because of me. And only those who stick with it to the end will be saved..."

Wait a minute Jesus... this is hard core... then He says the ultimate, "He who loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and he who loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And he who does not walk with me into the gas chamber is not worthy of me..."

The reality of the cost of discipleship hit me this morning. Dietrich Bonhoeffer talks about cheap grace and costly grace. Cheap grace (the grace we give ourselves) is like me after hearing the first part of Jesus' speech... the mock humility willing to bear the burden of greatness. Costly grace on the other hand, is the grace that only comes from taking up the instrument that will put all of our un-God nature to death. That grace cost Christ everything. The scary part is that too many times, the cost of discipleship doesn't hit me. Too many times I'm an "organizational" christian.

The exciting thing for me right now is that I'm not scared away by the call or the cost. It doesn't make sense, because most time when it comes to stuff like this, I'm a snivelling weenie, but there's something in me that realizes the call of Christ to follow is worth it. It doesn't mean I understand it all, or that I understand any of it. But that Spirit in me that cries "Abba" realizes that the call of Christ is more worth it than all of the other stuff that lures me away combined.

Thank you, Lord for Easter. Thank you, Lord that you went to the cross, and thank you Lord that you didn't stay there. The only one who was truly capable of knowing the cost, and you counted it worth it. Father, I don't understand all of it, or even much of it, but I pray that the space in me that realizes you're worth leaving it all for, I pray that space would grow. I pray that space would consume me. Jesus, you amaze me. Thank you for today. Thank you for Sunday. Thank you for you.

Eternal Significance

One of the coolest things for me to sit and think about is the web of relationships that I've had a chance to be a part of. I often sit and think about how cool it is that I know someone who knows someone who knows someone... you know, 6 degrees of separation.

This is especially interesting when I hear or come across something that impacts my life. It's tough to say in a moment which things will truly change my life, but it's not tough to know which things change my day... and changed days always have potential to change my life.

In particular I began listening to a sermon series called "Revangelism." Kyle Lake was a guy who has touched my life, and I never met him. I remember being shocked and stunned upon hearing about his tragic death. I was surprised at how much grief I had over a guy who I never met. Part of my grief stemmed from the understanding of the role he played in the movement of the Church. I'm always fascinated by people who are on the cutting edge of anything.

Most of my heartache, however, came because of my web of relationships. I know a disproportionate (for a guy who hasn't been in college for 6 years and lives in San Antonio)number of peple who go to Baylor and who are and were directly impacted by Kyle's life. It's almost as if I could see the fingerprints all over the people that I loved and respected. Then today, driving in my car with Kyle coming through my iPod talking about Dave in an operating room, I realized that his ministry and legacy continues. Through a life lived on purpose, I am today being challenged to think about the way I engage my culture with the Message.

Technology has allowed Kyle's voice to reach my ears and touch my heart, but I've been moved by the story of St. Francis and the advice of Brother Lawrence. I've been comforted by St. John of the Cross... over and over and over in my life I find my perspective and worldview shaped by voices from the past, both recent and distant.

I'm thankful that certain voices age like wine, and their tales and heart beat through their words and across space. I think nothing less should be the goal for followers of Christ. For those who have been offered a life of abundance, when we grab it, realize it, and begin to live in it... it's the abundance that flows down and trickles into the lives we pass on the way.