Category: God stuff

Depths of my heart

Sometimes, when I look into my heart, I see darkness.

Even today, knowing Christ, that is what I see. It’s true that I’m a new creation, but it doesn’t take much for me to fall into old thought patterns, belief patterns, and even sin patterns.

Because, at the innermost depths of my heart, I am not a good person. At least, that’s what I hear whispered in my ear every now and then. Seems mostly like when I think things are going pretty well.

But is that really true?

Am I a bad person?

What does God say about that? I know that when I made my decision for Christ I “put off the old man.” And was made a “new creation.” And even before that, I believed that God made me. Didn’t I? And isn’t it true?

So if God made me, and if I am a new creation, then if I think I am a bad person, isn’t that like saying God made me bad? And does God make bad people?

I think that maybe God makes people good, and for whatever their reasons are, people make bad decisions about their lives–I know I did, for a very long time.

So that being said, and with the knowledge that I’ve “put off the old man,” why is it so easy to remember the old man, the one with the heart of stone?

The one with darkness and ugliness at his depths.

Hard question to answer, but I think basically, because it’s hard to totally surrender to God. It’s easy to remember the old me–and to feel like him.

But

because I know Jesus is there, there really isn’t any darkness. In Him there is no darkness at all.

I am in Him.

And there is no darkness–even if it feels that way every once in a while.

I think of the Chris Tomlin song “Indescribable,” and the lyric that sums up Christ’s love for us, his beloved Children.

For me.

“You see the depths of my heart, and you love me the same.”

He loves us the same, even if when we look at ourselves we see darkness. He loves us the same, even if when we look at ourselves, we see ugliness.

He loves us the same.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.

Identity Crisis

There’s a scene in the movie “The Breakfast Club” where the character Brian, played by Anthony Michael Hall, is trying to begin writing the paper assigned by the study hall “teacher.” He’s thinking, and talking to himself a little, and ultimately ends up sticking his pencil eraser up his nose while asking himself “who are you?”

Who are you?

I think this question is at the root of a great many problems. People talk all the time about having identity crises, and I think they’re absolutely right—it can be a crisis. It’s a little hard to lead your life—any life—if you don’t know who you are.

And here’s another question. What if you can’t be the person you think you are? What if something is holding you back, whether it be work, or inhibition, or simply life in all its complicated madness?

What then?

How can a person really answer that question? You can give your name, but are the two or three words on your driver’s license who you really are? Aren’t they just words?

Who are we, then? And who do we think we are?

I think much of our self-identification stems from our natural affinities, our giftings, or our jobs. I’m a carpenter, or a cook, or a plumber, or a writer, or a singer. And I think one of the most commonly asked questions in social situations where people don’t know each other well is “What do you do?” in reference to a person’s job.

Is that how we’re defined? By how we make money? Where we spend 8+ hours of our time every day?

I’m a fry cook. Or a lawyer. Or a concierge. Or a pastor. Or stay-at-home mom. Or brother, sister, husband, or wife.

How can that be all there is?

Is that who I am? My name is Tom, and I’m an Engineering Technician EG2B, brother four times, and husband of Jennifer, father of David and John.

Something is lost here.

Who am I?

What is my primary identity? Do I even have one?

Is it any of those things I just mentioned? If it is, I think we’re missing a very big step.

I know that when I was at my absolute worst, before I knew Jesus, it would be a very fair statement to say I had no idea at all who I was. I went through several jobs trying to find one that suited me. I had several relationships where I barely scratched the surface of who the people were I was involved with, and I learned to medicate myself heavily with both food and alcohol because it made it so I didn’t have to think about who I was, or who I wasn’t.

But after the night I met Jesus, things became new, and different, and a little strange. I thought about Him (or tried to) before I did most things, or made big decisions.

Why?

Because, when I invited Him to be the Lord of my life, I became new. Born again, as they say.
I was a son, His son. Child of a father that loved me above all else. Child of a father that died a horrible death, for me.

My identity became Him.

I, Tom, the Engineering Technician EG2B, am a child of God.

That’s my identity, that’s who I am. That’s who I became when Jesus entered my life and my heart.
I think about that now, and it makes a lot of my past transgressions clearer, or at least what I felt to be the reasons behind them. It’s a lot easier to sin when you have no center, no compass. When all you have to define your reason for being is a vague sense of moral relativism.

And lately, the struggle has been one of time. I know who I am, and I think I know who I’m supposed to be.

But there’s no time.

There’s work, and church, and kids, and not much time for anything else. Right? Life gets so busy.

And even now, when I sin (which happens all too frequently), the reason for it is that for the moment, I’ve forgotten who I am, and who my father is. My father on earth is Melvin L Wilkins. But my father in an eternal sense is Jesus, and none other.

But sometimes I still forget. The difference now, though, is that I’m aware of the opportunity to repent. To turn away from my sin and toward Jesus. I just have to make time to do it. I have to dig deeply into the time I do have, and I have to set my priorities.

If I want to be the example to my kids and my wife I know I should be, I have to take care of some things before I can take care of them. I need to put on my armor every day. And study, and pray, and seek wisdom.

Only then can I be the father, and husband, and friend that God has in mind for me to be.

Because like it or not, my kids will look to me to see who they should be. And I don’t want them to see simply Tom.

I was born in San Diego, but in a very real sense, I was also born on a dock over a small, very calm tributary of the Colorado River. Or reborn, I suppose.

That’s actually at the root of one of my most profound experiences during my time with CVCF Healing Prayer, which I have never mentioned to anyone save the three others who were there, not even my wife until now.

I remember struggling to hear from Jesus during my prayer session, and finally, literally, asking Jesus if it would have been better had I not even been born. I was, after all, an accident. After that, I closed my eyes and fell on my face, weeping.

And what I saw was the river where I’d met Jesus that first time. I saw the man that had been myself kneeling, crying in the same way I was crying during the prayer session.

Then I felt a comforting hand on the back of my neck. A strong hand—the hand of a carpenter. And heard a voice speak into my heart “this is where you were born. And I meant you to be here.”

So here I am today.

Who am I? My name is Tom, and I am a child of my Abba.

That’s my primary identity. Before husband, or father, or brother, or anything else.

And I submit that if you’re a follower of Jesus and you don’t yet know what your primary identity is, you will never reach the fulfillment in Christ that can be reached once you do.

So ask yourself once more, who am I? And if you feel lost, or set apart from who you feel you are supposed to be, what will you do to find that person again?

Revolution Project

This weekend Jenny and her parents and I are doing a chapel service at Crossroads Mission–as a smaller part of a larger outreach that FCC is doing. Jenny, Ken and Linda will be doing a few worship songs, and I’ll be doing a little bit of speaking. We’ll have volunteers serving at the mission all day, from morning to night. Cleaning, serving food, serving people. Also, we’ll be having a BBQ/picnic thing at Ranchsomething Elementary school, and serving the surrounding community a free lunch, with some fun things for the kids to do as well. Lastly, we’ll be doing some work for Amberly’s place, which is a battered and abused women’s shelter. Below is a narrative representation of what I’ll be speaking about. Pray it goes well!

I realized something when I was getting prepared for this. It was ten years ago this month that I began my relationship with Jesus, after a lifetime of struggling and wrestling with doubt, and despair, and addiction to all sorts of things. It wasn’t something I had in mind, but God knew better than I what the perfect timing was, and that’s when things started—March of 2000. I was on a trip to Padres spring training in Peoria, and what happened was that, as CS Lewis says, “I gave in and admitted that God was God.” And I asked Him to come to my rescue, because He was the only one that could.

First, a little about me.

I’m from San Diego, my name is Tom, and I’m an addict (hi, Tom!). I wasn’t born that way—it seems to me that addicts come in pieces, and it takes a lifetime to put them together—like one of those horrible pieces of furniture from IKEA. I had a great deal of trauma in my childhood, from abuse, to neglect, to a two year period where three people close to me died in quick succession. My addictions began as comfort, and morphed into self-medication. And as with most people with addictive personalities, if it wasn’t one thing, it most definitely was another. By the time I was an adult, I would do almost anything to meet my needs, or what I thought my needs were at the time.

My addictions were many. Early on, I became addicted to food, and I obviously am still fighting that battle today. And for a while—both before the internet and after—I developed a problem with lust, and pornography. The former led me to the latter, and the latter ended up giving me a completely distorted outlook on women, sex, and relationships. I thank God every day for that particular deliverance.

Then I became a binge alcoholic, and I was good at it. Alcohol was great—it was cheap, it was easy to get, and when I indulged, I could forget about the person I was and become someone else. This was especially great, because the person I was sucked—I knew it, and God had to know it, too.

Addiction was not my only sin, though. Not even close. I worked at a couple of restaurants when I was younger, and I stole both food and money from my employers on several occasions. My rationale was simple: life had been hard, and gotten harder. I deserved it. I was hungry, or I needed gas, or some thing, and I would do what was necessary to get it.

I was also clever, and I used that cleverness given me by God to make fun of all sorts of people—handicapped, overweight, skinny, mentally challenged. Whoever they were, they fell victim to my mean-spirited sense of humor—for my amusement, the amusement of others, and to make myself more popular. I was good at that, too. I was the funny guy that everyone liked, but at night I would go home miserable and alone.

Most of the time, that is. However, when opportunity presented itself, I indulged in several physical relationships with women I had no intention of marrying. It made me feel better at the time, but afterward I felt incredibly empty, and still ended up alone when it was all done.

All of these things were my feeble attempts to fill the voids in my life—to dull pain that I hated to even admit that I felt. To try and find just a little solace. None of them worked for much longer than a brief period, and left me feeling tired, and lonely, and drained afterward.

Eventually, I got to a place where I knew I needed God, or needed something, or I was going to die. Maybe not right away, and maybe not even soon, but the life I was leading was no kind of life at all, and dead was still dead. I’d have a heart attack, or choke on my vomit when I was drunk, or who even knew what.

I knew I needed God, but I had the idea that I could not approach him as I was. I was too dirty, too sullied by the world, too covered in the sin I had chosen to commit to approach God for anything. I was too filthy to be in His presence. This made sense to me because of all the “church people” I had known. It seemed like they had it all together. They wore nice clothes, and lived in nice houses, and they didn’t have any problems that I could see. They talked to Jesus all the time, and they were always happy. At least, that’s what it seemed like.

I wasn’t like that, and it seemed that not only would “church people” not accept me, but neither would Jesus. He couldn’t. I wasn’t one of His people. How could I ever enter his presence the way I was?

Matthew 11: 28-30 says:
28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

The following is part of a longer piece written by Jon Acuff as how he imagined Jesus speaking the truth about the above scripture into his heart:

I am not asking you to complete yourself and then come to me. I am asking you to come to me. Broken and burdened, infested with the most hideous lies about me and my nature. Covered in perpetual sin that you just can’t seem to shake. Because I don’t see that. I see Christ. I see the blood of my son all over you.

His love for us is so powerful, that he allowed His son to pay the price for a debt we owed. Jesus does not simply forgive our sins, he became sin on our behalf, so that we did not have to pay the penalty we so richly deserve. He loves us so much that He wants us to come into his presence exactly as we are, and not as we should be. He longs for us to come and stand in his presence and be loved as children.

Acuff continues:

Come stand in it filthy and let me cleanse you. Come stand in it broken and let me heal you.
Come stand in it drunk on doubt and fear and let me renew a spirit of confidence and trust in you.
Just come stand in it.
Come stand in it covered with lies and misconceptions about who I am and who you are and let me reveal the truth.

And the truth is this:

Romans 8: 38-39 says: For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

We cannot be separated from God’s love—and all we need do to receive this love is ask for it, and accept it when it comes. That’s actually a really hard thing to do—at least it was for me. It’s hard to get out of our heads that we really don’t deserve grace, and salvation, and life. It’s hard to accept love when all we deserve is condemnation. But love is exactly what we get when we come to Jesus, and surrender our will for our lives to His.

John 6:37 says: “All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away.”

Whoever comes to me I will never drive away. That sounds pretty good to me—especially after a lifetime of feeling like I deserved nothing more than to be driven out. And really, I do deserve to be exiled from the presence of God. We all do.

But because of Jesus, because He died on my behalf—on our behalves—and because our names are written in His book, it doesn’t have to be that way. Because of Jesus, we have hope in our lives, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Despair is a powerfully heavy thing to carry, especially by yourself. Hope lightens the load. And hope is available to everyone.

Jeremiah 29:11-13 says “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

He’ll listen to our prayers—He does listen to our prayers. But we have to seek Him. And the thought of hope and a future when it seemed all was lost—incredible. That’s such an amazing gift, and it’s free.

Life has been good to me over the past ten years—it really has. I remember standing and looking over the river the night I met Jesus—one minute I was holding a couple of coolers and looking forward to a baseball game the next day. The next minute, I just literally fell to my knees and admitted my life was not working as it was. I needed help. I needed a savior.

It did start off slow, though, and I had to continually remind myself that God was in control, and His timing was always perfect. And there are still struggles, even this week. Some battles are fought over and over again, and I don’t always win them. I heard it said once that without the valleys in life, we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the peaks as much. I think that’s so true. And though I give God the glory for every victory in my life, I also now know that He is with me in every defeat, as well. And He waits with me for the next battle.

There was a movie a while back with Al Pacino and Michelle Pfeiffer called “Frankie & Johnny,” and in one of the final scenes, Johnny (Al Pacino’s character) is consoling Frankie, and he says “I can’t make the bad go away. But when it comes again, I’ll be there.”

So when I struggle (not if, but when), or when there’s trouble, I try to always remind myself that Jesus might not take it away, and might not deliver me from it. But He will see me through it. And when it comes, He’ll be there.

Why pray at all?

I’ve been spending a fair amount of time lately thinking about prayer. I think with no small amount of conviction that I don’t devote enough time to this most important of activities. I think about the fact that now it will become more and more important as time passes, as we will hopefully soon be beginning a prayer ministry at FCC—an intercessory prayer ministry. I’m excited about it, and excited to be part of it. But I’ve been wondering.

What will it be like? Will other people want to do it, too? What, exactly, will we pray about? When the time comes, will God give me and others the right words? I don’t want to be a Pharisee, standing on the corner and praying at the top of my lungs so everyone can see how Holy I am. I have a lot of questions, and am looking forward to finding out the answers. But the main thing I wonder about is how, personally, will I do at it? I also ask myself if I even know how to pray effectively. Am I fit for such leadership? And what will the others involved in the ministry think of my involvement?

I realize that much of this is my own issues coming up and snapping at my heels, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a certain sense of inadequacy from time to time. Probably I’m not alone in this. Once you come out of your prayer closet, you subject yourself not necessarily to the judgment of others, but at least to their scrutiny. And while I realize intellectually that it doesn’t matter at all to God what other people think of me (and that it shouldn’t matter to me, either) and my eloquence or lack of eloquence at prayer, some part of me still worries about it, and does not want to be subject to any opportunity for ridicule. I worry about….well, clamming up when the time comes. I worry about sounding like a tool when I do finally open my mouth.

In the introduction to his book of prayers/poems, Poet Ted Loder says “We are never restricted to repeating the prayers of our tradition, however beautiful and helpful. Nor are there “right” prayers and “wrong” prayers, or “right” ways of praying, or “right” words with which to pray…”

He goes on in his poem, “How Shall I Pray”

How shall I pray?
Are tears prayers, Lord?
Are screams prayers,
or groans
or sighs
or curses?
Can trembling hands be lifted to you,
or clenched fists
or the cold sweat that trickles down my back
or the cramps that knot my stomach?
Will you accept my prayers, Lord.
my real prayers,
rooted in the muck and mud and rock of my life,
and not just my pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged
bouquet of words?
Will you accept me, Lord,
as I really am,
messed up mixture of glory and grime?

I think that’s really what it’s all about. Will God accept us and our prayers? Will the people we worship with do the same? What do you say so God really hears you? I think we have to simply ask Jesus. Why not? The disciples did.

“Lord, teach us to pray…” Luke 18:1

And I think, no I believe, that the important thing is the asking; the dialogue with Jesus, even if it seems one sided. As it so often will. But much can also come from the silences of God.

So I began to flip through the word, looking for references to prayer. I was thinking of using my concordance, but I wanted to actually turn the pages myself, you know? And I suppose it’s pretty ridiculous to say it, but the first thing I discovered is that there’s a lot of prayer in the Bible. It’s kind of intimidating, actually. I won’t list everything I found here, obviously. We’d be here until the cows came home.

One thing I learned pretty much at the beginning is that it will take a lifetime to learn everything I want or need to know about prayer. And that’s OK. I suppose in a way, that’s the idea; taking a lifetime to draw nearer to Him. Often not getting any answers until the end, when you stand before God and go right or left.

So the idea is to seek him with all your heart, and then the hours, minutes and seconds are filled with the knowledge, the absolute certainty that He is at the end of the last mile, and waiting for you with open arms and a “well done, good and faithful servant.” But for that to happen–for that to have even a chance of happening, you have to start talking to him. It’s like that old saying, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

Or in this case, a single prayer. Take these words, given to the disciples by Jesus in Matthew 6:

9 Pray like this:
Our Father in heaven,
may your name be kept holy.
10 May your Kingdom come soon.
May your will be done on earth,
as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today the food we need,
12 and forgive us our sins,
as we have forgiven those who sin against us.
13 And don’t let us yield to temptation,
but rescue us from the evil one.

If I may indulge in a sports metaphor for a moment, it’s like running downfield with a football clutched in your arms and every enemy jersey on the field is running toward you at top speed. You know the end zone is there, even though you can’t see it through the forest of linebackers and safeties. But since you know it’s there, you struggle to find a path through the defense, and you end up twisting and turning, and yes, getting hit on your way there. And along the way, you find blockers to thrust the enemy aside; and you can sometimes open up your own “hole” in the same manner.

But how do you do that? How do you open up a hole in the enemy’s line and give yourself an opening to run downfield?

Well, one way is through practicing the spiritual disciplines and personal intercession–that is, personal prayer. You block for yourself, in a sense. I could extend the metaphor even further, but I probably ought to stop myself before I start losing people (if there are any out there reading this in the first place). I think maybe the easiest way to explain it is that it seems to me you aren’t going to get any help unless you ask for it. And ask for it. And ask for it some more, sometimes. Jesus will not force himself on anyone. We have all the freedom in the world, and what it really amounts to is that we can either ask for a life preserver or drown.

It’s just funny. Everyone has a different idea about prayer, even those who don’t do it. I imagine quite a few people think of it as a way for people who believe in something that doesn’t exist to find solace, and try to make sense out of the senseless. To make themselves feel better. Which I think is precisely the point (making sense out of the senseless)—but maybe that’s just me. And yes, I think prayer–and faith, for that matter–does make you feel better. That’s the point. It’s easy to go around feeling crappy.

Something else I noticed is that it wasn’t until I really started studying up that I realized I was remarkably deficient in that very department—that is, I had not spent nearly enough time praying, and…studying up. My discipleship was inconsistent at best, and occasionally non-existent. So I looked up “prayer” in the back of my bible and began to read (intercession is a helpful search as well).

One thing that caught my eye right away was John 14:13. “And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father.”

It seems obvious that God isn’t talking about asking for a pony or a new bike. I don’t believe the Holy Spirit will intercede for Christmas presents. So what’s he talking about then? Why should we ask him for anything?

Look at the text. “So that the son may bring glory to the father.” (emphasis added)

Oswald Chambers says:
Think of the last thing you prayed about—were you devoted to
Your desire or to God? Determined to get some gift of the
Spirit or to get at God? “Your Heavenly Father knoweth what
Things ye have need of before ye ask Him.” The point of asking
Is that you may get to know God better. “Delight thyself also in
The Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.”
Keep praying in order to get a perfect understanding of God Himself.

For me, the point is that when I truly began to know God, and know about Him, when I began to recognize Him as Lord at first thought instead of second, the desires of my heart began to change. That was one of the things so wonderful about Christ for me: the clarity he brings, if I ask him for it—if, when at prayer, I seek discernment, or wisdom. Though I know God wants me to bring all to Him, there comes a point when you realize just because you can ask God for a pony or new bike doesn’t mean you should. Prayer becomes more of a conduit for edification and enlightenment rather than simply a litany of wants, though it is that, too. But the wants will change with Christ.

Take Job 42:10. “After Job had prayed for his friends, the Lord made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had before.”

Let me just say that I don’t expect God to make me prosperous, though I recognize that he certainly could. I guess it’s just that maybe when you get to a point where prayer is more about intercession than want, isn’t that more along the lines of what he wants us to seek in prayer? Also, note what the verse says—“after Job had prayed for his friends…” Job did not just start hurling petitions at God. He prayed for his friends, and then he was blessed. Prayer is not something to be self-centered about–it’s something that changes us from the inside out, and when we put other’s needs before our own (as the scriptures command), Jesus will meet our needs as well.

And I think of Jesus’ intercession in Gethsemane, praying so fervently his sweat fell around him like blood (Luke 21:44), and it occurs to me that maybe that’s the type of urgency that should be sought in prayer, at least once in a while.

How often have I done that? How often has anyone? I realize, of course, that prayer isn’t always about desperate entreaties. But intercession calls for something more than just thanking God and asking for a blessing, at least it seems that way to me. I mean, yes, take everything to Him. Just don’t make prayer merely about hurling petitions. Because in the lifting up of others, don’t we lift ourselves as well? And are we not drawn nearer to Him in the process (James 4:10)?

I want to draw nearer to the Lord, any way I can. I want him to draw nearer to me. I want Him to bless my family and friends, to lift them up, and to lift me up as well. I want Him to protect those I love from the enemy and his inevitable attacks. I want Him to protect me, too.

(sidebar–if you want a really great pictures of the war going on in the spiritual realms on our behalf, check out Frank Peretti’s This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness)

Then I found another Oswald Chambers entry:

“We are too much given to thinking of the Cross as something we have to get through; we get through it only in order to get into it. The Cross stands for one thing only for us – a complete and entire and absolute identification with the Lord Jesus Christ, and there is nothing in which this identification is realized more than in prayer.

‘Your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask Him.’

Then why ask? The idea of prayer is not in order to get answers from God; prayer is perfect and complete oneness with God. If we pray because we want answers, we will get huffed with God. The answers come every time, but not always in the way we expect, and our spiritual huff shows a refusal to identify ourselves with Our Lord in prayer. We are not here to prove God answers prayer; we are here to be living monuments of God’s grace.

‘I say not that I will pray the Father for you: for the Father Himself loveth you.’ Have you reached such an intimacy with God that the Lord Jesus Christ’s life of prayer is the only explanation of your life of prayer? Has Our Lord’s vicarious life become your vital life? “At that day” you will be so identified with Jesus that there will be no distinction.

When prayer seems to be unanswered, beware of trying to fix the blame on someone else. That is always a snare of Satan. You will find there is a reason which is a deep instruction to you, not to anyone else.”

Which is, I suppose, yet another way of saying God’s ways are not our ways. That’s something that’s pretty stinkin’ hard to remember sometimes, and it should be the easiest thing of all. God became human in the form of Jesus of Nazareth. But He is not, by nature, human. He is other. He is God.

Let me turn country for just a second or two–in the immortal words of Garth Brooks:

Sometimes I thank God,for unanswered prayers.
Remember when you’re talkin’ to the man upstairs,
that just because he doesn’t answer
Doesn’t mean he don’t care…
Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

How true is that? Geez. If God had answered my prayers the way I wanted Him to a couple of years ago, I’d still be in a horrible relationship and drifting farther and farther away from God.

Instead, I have been blessed beyond any expectation or agenda. I am a husband. A father.

And a son.

Decisions and choices

I read an interview with director James Cameron right after Titanic came out where he mentioned that he’d written the entire movie in order to get to the central scene between Jack and Rose on the prow of the ship

“Jack, I’m flying!”

The whole movie more or less hinges on that moment, because the story really isn’t about the sinking. Ostensibly, it’s a love story, and a more modern take on Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet—or at least on the central theme of it. But really, I think, it’s about several people’s decisions, and the consequences those decisions have on their lives.

And let’s look at Romeo & Juliet, since I mentioned it. There’s a scene where Romeo is comforting Mercutio after his diatribe/discourse on Queen Mab

“Peace, good Mercutio. Thou talkst of nothing.”

and after that, he and his friends are talking about going to the party at the Capulet’s. There’ll be food there, and probably some girls. At that point in the story, Romeo is still pining away after Rosalind, and his friends are trying to get him to go to get his mind off things, and possibly even find someone else

“if love be rough with you, be rough with love…”

Romeo considers, and even though he has second thoughts

“my mind misgives some consequence yet hanging in the stars”

he ultimately goes. We all know what happens after that.

Of course, these are both ridiculously over-dramatized examples, but they well illustrate the point that our lives are deeply affected by the decisions we make. In fact, I’ve heard it said that we are the decisions we make. I think what that means is that our lives can be profoundly affected by a single decision, whether good or bad. Lives can change in a second, and in most cases, you don’t get another chance to make the right decision if you make it wrong the first time.

This is something I’ve done badly for most of my life, to disastrous consequences each time.

While of course I can’t speak for everyone, my downfall seems to be that I often act depending on how I’m feeling at that moment, without considering that I might soon feel differently, or without seeking counsel from someone else. I don’t really consider myself and impulsive person, and probably I’m much less impulsive now that I’ve gotten married and grown up a little (I guess you’d have to ask my wife how much—might not be as much as I think. I do still love potty humor), but there was a time not long ago when that wasn’t the case.

There was a catch phrase a while back, and you saw it everywhere—on bumper stickers, ties, signs, t-shirts, etc—WWJD. What would Jesus Do?

What would Jesus do?

That’s the hard part. When I think about that now, I take from it that if you’re a Christian, you need to involve Jesus in your life on more than just Sunday. You need to ask Him what he thinks about whatever you’re planning on doing. Ask him what He would have you do in a given situation. You won’t always receive a pointed direction, but sometimes the lack of a response is all the direction you need.
But this is not as easy as it seems.

Our tendency, one would imagine, is toward self-gratification much of the time, even as Christians. What’s best for me. What do I want to do? That kind of thing.

While I can’t speak for everyone, of course, this type of thinking has really led me to some wretched decisions. In regard to living situations, and credit, money, and also in the few relationships I’ve been involved in, both as a youth and an adult.

I think of one situation in particular, and what makes it worse is that I actually did ask someone what they thought in regard to the situation, and I suppose I even knew what God would want from me. I just didn’t listen. I wanted what I wanted, and who I wanted.

Just before Valentine’s day a little less than six years ago, a girl I was very much interested in, and had been flirting with (it had began lightly, but had developed into something of a more serious nature), thought it would be a good idea to have a Valentine’s day party, and all the single people amongst our group of friends (we all worked together) would attend. She had just become single herself—separated from her husband—and I’m ashamed to say I had a part in that, as well. I knew her marriage was in trouble, and I knew all about the sanctity of marriage in the eyes of God. I didn’t care. I could rationalize my behavior because her husband was a jerk, and I deserved some happiness, damn it. And that February, since I was the only one who had my own apartment, the decision was made to have the party at my place.

This girl wasn’t a Christian, and I knew on several levels that pursuing a relationship of any sort with her would be a colossally bad idea. But she was beautiful, and seemed to like me, and I fell for her. So I decided to pursue her, even though my closest friend (who was a Christian) advised me it was a bad idea, and dangerous to my walk. She was right.

And then there came a point in the evening when it was very late and everyone was leaving. The girl and a couple more friends were still there and I remember them standing by the door and her looking back at me. “You guys go ahead,” she said. “I’m gonna hang around for a while. I’ll talk to you later.”
I didn’t even think about the consequences. I could’ve done a lot of things. I could’ve said I was tired. I could’ve said, “See you later.” I could’ve not had the party at all. But I did none of those things. I just went with the easy choice. And it took years to recover from it. I actually don’t think I fully healed from that situation until I met my wife to be, and discovered what it meant to be in a relationship that was blessed by God.

I guess my point in all this is mostly just figuring my own stuff out, or trying to. But I think I realize now that even if you don’t know God, it’s always a bad idea to go and do something just because, as the saying goes, “it seems like a good idea at the time.” Trust me. It isn’t.

Think about it, for at least a second or two. Think before you speak, and definitely think before you act. Before you buy that car, or that expensive whatever-it-is. Think. Ask someone close to you that you trust what they think, and at least consider their advice before you do anything. Sometimes cooling off will give you some much needed perspective, and sometimes that’s all you need to keep you from throwing a monkey into your life. I have, as they say, learned the hard way. I’ve made horrible financial decisions, and relationship decisions, even bad educational decisions.

And suffered the consequences. I’m actually still suffering the consequences for many of those choices if you take our present living situation into consideration. Which also means that those bad decisions I made before I even met my wife affected her as well—and my stepson.

If you do know God, then you need to pray about things before you do them, even if it’s only a quick prayer. It’s still a direct line to the most wisdom a person could ever get.

There’s another saying that also applies. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Also true.

Anyway, now I try to do the right thing as much as I can, what is right before God. I think about what things will mean to God before I do them (at least I try to–though it isn’t always easy). It might even be that I consider too much before I act, what Pastor Mike would call the “paralysis of analysis.” But anyway. Now I have people in my life that I can go to with difficult things, people that will hold my impulsive, dumb-ass self accountable. I am fortunate enough to have people in several states that actually care about me enough to try and keep me from jacking up my life any more. I will do my best to listen to them…

Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel

We are inclined to forget the deeply spiritual and supernatural touch of God. If you are able to tell exactly where you were when you received the call of God and can explain all about it, I question whether you have truly been called. The call of God does not come like that; it is much more supernatural. The realization of the call in a person’s life may come like a clap of thunder or it may dawn gradually. But however quickly or slowly this awareness comes, it is always accompanied with an undercurrent of the supernatural— something that is inexpressible and produces a “glow.” At any moment the sudden awareness of this incalculable, supernatural, surprising call that has taken hold of your life may break through— “I chose you . . .” ( John 15:16 ). The call of God has nothing to do with salvation and sanctification. You are not called to preach the gospel because you are sanctified; the call to preach the gospel is infinitely different. Paul describes it as a compulsion that was placed upon him.

If you have ignored, and thereby removed, the great supernatural call of God in your life, take a review of your circumstances. See where you have put your own ideas of service or your particular abilities ahead of the call of God. Paul said, “. . . woe is me if I do not preach the gospel!” He had become aware of the call of God, and his compulsion to “preach the gospel” was so strong that nothing else was any longer even a competitor for his strength.

If a man or woman is called of God, it doesn’t matter how difficult the circumstances may be. God orchestrates every force at work for His purpose in the end. If you will agree with God’s purpose, He will bring not only your conscious level but also all the deeper levels of your life, which you yourself cannot reach, into perfect harmony.

-Oswald Chambers

How Far Would I go?

I remember hearing my pastor in San Diego talk about the deaths of the apostles a while back. He said that except for John, they were all martyred. And since my memory is like swiss cheese, I had to look it up…Google is decidedly awesome…

“The Deaths of the Apostles

Matthew suffered martyrdom in Ethopia, killed by a sword wound.

Mark died in Alexandria, Egypt, dragged by horses through the streets until he was dead.

Luke was hanged in Greece as a result of his tremendous preaching to the lost.

John was boiled in a huge basin of boiling oil during a wave of persecution in Rome. However, he was miraculously delivered from death. John was then sentenced to the mines on the prison island of Patmos where he wrote his prophetic Book of Revelation. The Apostle John was later freed and returned to serve as a bishop in modern Turkey. He died an old man, the only Apostle to die peacefully.

Peter,was crucified upside down on an x-shaped cross, according to Church tradition, because he told his tormentors that he felt unworthy to die the same way that Jesus Christ had died.

James the Just, the leader of the Church in Jerusalem and brother of Jesus, was thrown down more than a hundred feet from the southeast pinnacle of the Temple when he refused to deny his faith in Christ. When they discovered that he survived the fall, his enemies beat James to death with a fuller’s club. This was the same pinnacle where Satan had taken Jesus during the Temptation.

James the Greater, a son of Zebedee, was a fisherman by trade when Jesus called him to a lifetime of ministry. As a strong leader of the Church, James was ultimately beheaded at Jerusalem. The Roman soldier who guarded James watched amazed as James defended his faith at his trial. Later, the officer walked beside James to the place of execution. Overcome by conviction, he declared his new faith to the judge and knelt beside James to accept beheading as a Christian.

Bartholomew, also known as Nathanael, was a missionary to Asia. He witnessed about our Lord in present day Turkey. He was whipped to death for his preaching in Armenia.

Thomas was speared and died on one of his missionary trips to establish the Church in India.

Jude, another brother of Jesus, was killed with arrows after refusing to deny his faith in Christ.

Matthias, the Apostle chosen to replace the traitor Judas Iscariot, was stoned and beheaded.

Barnabas, one of the group of seventy disciples, was stoned to death at Salonica.

Paul was tortured and then beheaded by the evil Emperor Nero at Rome in A.D. 67. Paul endured a lengthy imprisonment which allowed him to write his many epistles to the Churches he had formed throughout the Roman Empire. These letters, which taught many of the foundational doctrines of Christianity, from a large portion of the New Testament.”

It got me wondering. How far would I go to defend my faith? Would I take a sword to the belly rather than deny Jesus? Would I allow myself to be dragged along behind horses until I was battered and scraped to death? Would I suffer any of those fates for my faith?

The answer, of course, is “I don’t know.” Because I don’t. I’d like to say I would, but the truth is, there’s no way to tell unless something like that actually happens to me. I think of people like Cassie Bernall, hiding out in the library at Columbine, and when confronted by the killers, answered “Yes” to the killers when they asked if she believed in God. They shot her in the face at point blank range.

People say they probably would have killed her anyway, and that may even be true. But she didn’t know that.

My old pastor at Calvary Baptist once told me words to the effect that he hoped for the chance to be a martyr someday. So he would go on mission trips to places that gave him the best chance for that to happen. That seemed like some kind of crazy at the time, but now I wonder. Is it a bad thing to want the chance to pay the ultimate price for your faith?

Jesus did it for us.

No answers today, but the little gears in my head are turning. Just coming off a very long night of driving a truck around in the dark, following dogs. Just take a moment to think about what your faith means to you, and what you would do for Jesus.

How far would you go?

I feel like a goat sometimes

I have to admit something right now.

There are some people out there (and some of them might even know who they are) I just don’t like very much. I would not go so far as to say I hate anyone, but there are definitely people that really chap my hide. It’s probably like that for anyone—maybe even for everyone.

I never believed that Will Rogers crap for a second. He never met a man he didn’t like? Try driving in California traffic, Will. Or wait behind a snowbird at a green light for five minutes while they try and figure out which pedal is the accelerator.

Maybe there’s a person like that in your life.

Maybe the guy in the next cubicle is a really obnoxious, really profane fellow, and you’re tired of hearing him talk about his weekend activities in a voice loud enough to make sure everyone knows what a pimp he is. Or maybe your boss keeps skipping you for a promotion, and never recognizes what you bring to the table, and the office.

Or it could be something a little different. Maybe it’s not so much thinking that you don’t like someone, but the person in question just pushes your buttons in exactly the right (or wrong) way. Like the person who knocks on your door selling God in a convenient, pamphlet sized package to be read later, when you have the time. Or the homeless man that follows you down the street, begging for change, or food, or the shirt off your back.

It could be a million things, a ton of different scenarios. You know? People just suck sometimes. They’re rude, and annoying, and just need to go away.

Just because that might actually be true from time to time doesn’t change the fact that if I am the person I say I am, and if I’m really trying to be the person I want to be—the person God wants me to be, I have to behave differently.

I remember four or five years ago, a few friends and I went clubbing in downtown San Diego. We’d parked at Horton Plaza, and when we were done doing our thing, we would walk back to the car. On this particular occasion, it was January the 1st or 2nd, and it was pretty cold. I had on this leather jacket my roommate had given me, and on the way back to the parking structure, we saw a couple of homeless guys sleeping along the wall to this one building that looked like it was probably offices during the day. We had to step around them to pass, and as we did, I felt a very strong call from God to give one of the men my jacket. God was even specific about which one—but I didn’t do it. I was cold. I even remember thinking something like “that dirty bastard should just get a freaking job—then he wouldn’t need to be crashing in doorways.”

I don’t think I wore that jacket again after that night, and eventually it found its way to the trunk of my car. Back in 2007, another friend from church was going downtown around Christmas to hand out jackets, sweaters, and blankets to homeless people. I just so happened to have mine in the trunk of my car, and I immediately went out and got it for her to take. Of course, it’s almost impossible it got to the same person, but still…it should have the first time.

Anyway, I’m back from that tangent. Let me begin another. The other night, I was thinking of the following verse after a conversation with my wife and my older son (It made me think not just about how poorly I have treated people that got my large size panties in a bunch, but also about how I have been one of the “least of these” at several points in my life, and I was shown more grace from others than I have ever given):

40″The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ –Matt 25:40 (in my NIV, the chapter heading mentions “The Sheep and The Goats.”)

And here’s the other thing that occurred to me. No matter how annoying someone is, no matter how much they piss me off, or inconvenience me, no matter how much I dislike them—even if for what seems like a really good reason

Jesus still died for that person, just as much as he died for me. And he also loves them, just like he loves me. So I can longer treat people the way most of the world would tell me to, or how I feel they should be treated.

Dang. The “golden rule” sucks sometimes.

I’ll leave you with another few verses, from Isaiah.

3 He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
Like one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
4 Surely he took up our infirmities
and carried our sorrows,
yet we considered him stricken by God,
smitten by him, and afflicted.
5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

All Things New

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17

I’ve read second Corinthians lots of times–next to Romans, I probably read it the most out of everything in the New Testament after the synoptics. It’s a beautiful book, and teaches volumes about healing. And every time I read it, I have to stop and think about the above passage for a good long while. The thing is, aware of my salvation as I am, most days I don’t feel like a new creation. Most days I feel all crudded up by life, and by my own inclination to sin.

For me, part of becoming a Christian–maybe even the largest part–was being made aware of my sin. Prior to that awareness, I thought I was golden because I was a pretty good guy. I was nice to old people and animals. I should be good, shouldn’t I? Nothing to worry about?

At the first church I attended I heard the testimony of a young man who’d been to Bosnia during the war there. He told of riding through a town in a Humvee and shooting at what he thought was a sniper. His shot was true, and he’d killed the person, only to find out it was a youth, with no gun. He’d been punishing himself for what he felt was murder ever since, even though the Army held him blameless. He put his body through all manner of badness before he surrendered his heart to God.

Another man told about how he’d stolen from his children to get money for drugs. He’d sold their toys for a few small rocks. He hadn’t come to Christ until he’d literally lost everything and had been living in a park. He’d then done nearly everything imaginable to get drug money, including burglary, robbery, and assault. He’d stopped short of killing, but not by much.

A woman had been a prostitute for nearly ten years, also a slave to drugs, and had come to Jesus in a detox center.

A man had beaten his 2 year old daughter, and had lost his family because of it. The child had recovered, but his marriage hadn’t. This man found Christ through the love and witness of the church’s pastor.

There were countless stories like this, and I didn’t feel like I could relate to any of them. Still, they made me feel better about myself because I never did anything even remotely like that stuff. I acknowledged my need for a savior, but felt that I had lots of time (and much less work to do to get one) because I was a good and decent guy. God would not condemn someone who was nice, now would he?

For years I thought along those lines….years.

But when I had that experience at the river, when I became aware that I had in fact been (and remained) a sinner, when I asked Jesus to take that burden from me, I was still aware of the person I had been before, even though I wasn’t entirely him anymore.

So even though I knew in my head that I was made new, I did not necessarily feel that way. I still don’t. How can I be new when I feel so old? How can I be clean when it takes steel wool to scrub off my sin?

Here’s the thing I’ve been trying to think about, and remember.

6You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. 8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5: 6-8

So even before I knew him, while I was still wallowing in my filth, while I consoled myself with huge quantities of food, or alcohol, or empty relationships, God loved me just as much in that state of disgrace as he does now in a state of grace, having been forgiven.

Before I existed, He died for me. He could have simply pardoned me, like a governor sparing a convict on death row. He didn’t do that. He assumed the punishment for my guilt, and paid it himself. He walked the green mile for me. And whether I like it or not, whether I accept it or not, I am a new creation.

The old has gone, the new has come.

I was listening to this Brennan Manning sermon the other day, and he had a really good point. He said that until we can accept acceptance, we aren’t really a believer. I think part of my problem is that very thing: it’s hard for me to be accepted. I would convince myself that either my friends did not really accept me as I was, or if they did, once they found out the real me, they would bail like everyone else did. I thought the same thing about Jenny, even after we’d shared our hearts with one another. I just could not get past those feelings for the longest time.

It was much the same with God. I have always had difficulty accepting His acceptance, and His love. No, I don’t deserve it.

The wages of sin is death.

I have it anyway–I have his acceptance. And even if I had not ever seen Him as he desires to be seen, and accepted Him as abba, I would still have his love.

8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

He died for us.

He died for us.

He died for me.

I am not worthy of Him, nor would anything I could do on earth make me worthier.

Yet I am loved, and because of Jesus, have a place in his kingdom.

Imagine that.

Anyway, I plan to work on being a new creation….and trying to see myself the way God sees me. It’s a continuing mission, and it will never end.

I think of a pearl, lying in a freshly opened oyster, or whatever mollusk pearls come from. All crudded up with sediment, and filth, and layers of built up….junk.

Jesus removes the impure jewel from its shell, resplendent in its rough beauty, dripping with water, tendrils of slime leading back to the shell. He holds it in his hand, ignoring the slime, and layer by layer, peels away the filth, grime, and sediment, until the thing in his hand is no longer rough, but shining.

A pearl of great price.

Indescribable

“You see had the depths of my heart and You love me the same”

From “Indescribable,” by Chris Tomlin

I’ve heard that song lots of times, and always thought it was a really good worship song, but I never really gave much thought to it beyond that. Then I heard it this weekend at church, and that one line cut right through to the centre of me.

I just can’t think of (and certainly could not write) a sentence that describes Grace better than that does.

There were times in my life where I feared the depths of my heart so badly that I could not bear to think of them. I could not stand to think of them because at the core of me, in the place where I everything I believe about myself resides, I had this image of my heart as a withered thing—and so bad that love was not something I was worthy of experiencing. Had I not finally surrendered my heart to Jesus, I believe that it would have atrophied into a clenched fist of stone, and my life would have been every bit as wretched as I expected it to be.

But Jesus sees the depths of my heart and he loves me the same.

I see the limits I put on His ability to love me and it shocks me, it really does. I really believed that I could not be loved by God because I saw myself as dark, withered, and dying on the inside. I always knew that God was real, and that he blessed people, and maybe even loved some of them. Just not me.

It seemed to me that the people that God seemed to favour were always of the same ilk. They were clean people. They loved and loved and loved. They followed the “rules.” They had not done, nor would they do, anything the Bible said or suggested they shouldn’t. They didn’t swear, or drink, or have sex with their boyfriends or girlfriends. They didn’t lie to get what they want. They didn’t lay awake at night thinking about visiting justice upon a person they deemed “bad.” They forgave everything.

I was not cut from the same cloth as people like that. It was true my life had been difficult, but lots of people had difficult lives and didn’t end up like me. My heart was full of acid, not love. I hated, and lied, and sinned.

And the truth I’ve finally gotten to the bottom of over the past few years are expressed perfectly by Chris Tomlin. I had no idea who Jesus was until I knew, really knew, that He saw the depths of my heart and he loved me the same.

He didn’t see a perfect heart. He saw one scarred by sin, and life, and unbelief.

And he loved me the same as if it was beautiful and perfect. I’d always thought of myself and my heart as bad. Once Jesus came to me in the midst of my darkness, I had to face the realization that my heart was good, and that God had made it that way.

It was as if Jesus had spat in dirt at my feet, made clay, and gently applied it to my eyes.

He saw the depths of my heart and he loved me the same. And the problem is that it was never the truth that made my heart wither.

It was the lies.

God showed me truth after truth, once I let him. He still shows me—because some of those lies are time-hardened and strong.

Jesus is stronger.

Maybe you think your heart is withered and dying. Maybe you think your heart is bad.

God does not make bad hearts, and He waters those that are withered. He gives drink to all who are thirsty. He gives truth to those who seek it.

He sees the depths of your heart and he loves you the same.