Category: thinking and stuff

Images

I saw an image today that captivated me. Carlos Whittaker had a great post the other day referencing a picture from the People of the Second Chance website. Go read it.

Ok. If you haven’t looked at it or read the blog, it shows a kind of scruffy young man in his mid twenties looking into a mirror and carving “f—up” into his neck.

A shocking image without question. In his article, Whittaker talks a little bit about his past. He says he’s had moments where he looked in the mirror and saw that exact image.

I know what he means.

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That image is how I look right now, this very minute. Yet I am not defined by it. You might look at it and think it tells you something about who I am, and that is only partially true.

I look at that picture–or in a mirror for that matter–and I sometimes see the same thing the scruffy young man did. Like Whittaker, I have thought that word

F—up

and much worse about myself over the course of my life. It is only through the intercession of Christ that I know differently. His truth supersedes any lie I might believe about who I am based on how I perceive myself or how others perceive me.

I am not defined by the things I’ve done or that have been done to me.

I am defined by the life, death, and resurrection of a first century Nazarane carpenter.

So when I look in the mirror and see

F—up

Loser

Idiot

Douchebag

Or something worse, the truth is that over those images is the face of Jesus.

His image is greater than any mask we might wear for a time.

His truth is greater than any lie, greater than any label. So before I pass judgement on myself or anyone else, I need to consider the actions of Jesus, taken on my behalf.

And on the behalf of whomever I might consider passing judgement.

Sad and Confused

All I know about Syria right now is what I read in the papers and see on the news, but it seems clear there’s atrocity going on. I don’t know who’s to blame. The government says the rebels are, and the rebels say the same of the government.

Regardless, people are being slaughtered every day.

Now, I wonder what the world is going to do. I wonder what the US is going to do?

There’s been countless images of piles of bodies for months now, and at least from a layman’s point of view, it seems everyone including the US is just watching. Perhaps sending advisors.

I wonder how long it will take for the world to get tired of piles of bodies? It makes me think about wars, and rumors of wars.

Maybe the end is drawing near. I don’t know.

I do know that every time I see a dead child with a bullet hole in his/her face it makes me want to do something.

Right now all I can do is pray.

Pray for a resolution to the violence.

Pray for wisdom for my country’s leadership, and the leadership of other countries contemplating assistance to Syria in some capacity.

Pray for peace in a place that seldom sees it.

Pray for understanding on my own part. I just don’t understand this little regard for human life.

All I know is something has to happen, and quickly. This is not a war-this is wanton murder.

On Penn State, and Protecting Your Camp

I read an article on CNN this morning that was talking about the utter failure of Penn State to protect children from Jerry Sandusky when they were well aware of his fondness for raping young boys.

Apparently, the image of the school and its storied football program was much more important than the physical harm, sexual abuse, and irreversible psychological damage done to a series of boys over something like a decade.

This is so hard to get my mind around. These men knew what Sandusky had done and could potentially still do. And they did nothing. Marine and blogger “America’s Sgt Major” wrote a great piece back in 2011 just as the story was becoming nationally prominent.

Let me be as clear as I am able. As a believer, I am well aware of the measure of forgiveness dealt to me, and I am grateful for it. As a man who is a father, and is not a pedophile, I think of it like this:

If I was camping with my family and a bear was threatening the camp, I would take appropriate measures to ensure the safety of my family. If a member of my family was somehow hurt, then typically the bear would be captured and possibly destroyed.

Or you could consider what would happen to a dog that bit ten people.

Either way, the animal would no longer be a threat. The men at Penn State had a chance to prevent a lot of pain and they pissed it away out of self-preservation.

I know that as a follower of Christ I should forgive Sandusky and pray for him, that he might repent of his many sins.

I struggle with that. Some things–as a man and father–are difficult if not impossible to forgive.

Now, thankfully, Jerry Sandusky is reaping what he has sown. He is no longer a threat. And he will likely be a marked man wherever he is incarcerated.

Now I find myself thinking not that I hope he turns to Christ, but that he meets a very special friend in prison that will show him what it feels like to be a victim.

I know it’s wrong to feel that way, but I am a human being. I think of the DC Talk song “In The Light.”

This only serves to confirm my suspicion
That I’m still a man in need of a savior

Lo Siento

I read today that Paula Deen was not going to have her contract renewed on the Food Network because she used the N word in the past.

Really?

Having read some remarks from Deen on the matter, it seems the word was uttered many moons ago. Given her age and where she was from, it would probably have been unusual not to use that word from time to time.

I don’t know what the context of her usage was–nothing I read mentioned it. Only that she’s had quite a few miles on her odometer since it happened. She’s already offered what seems to be a very sincere apology–for a sin of the past.

It got me thinking–who hasn’t said something hateful in the past. I’ve used the F word for homosexuals in the past. I don’t think I’ve said the dreaded N word very much at all, except to repeat something someone else said.

What I’ve been thinking about is what gives me or anyone else the right to cast the first stone in regard to Paula Deen? Who hasn’t said something of that nature in some context at some time?

Sure, it’s offensive. And it would have been whenever it was she said it, too. I say let the past be the past, unless you can look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never said anything hateful.

And how sensitive are you if you’re offended by something someone said long ago enough that you’ll fire them for it? That demanding an apology thing? Cracker, please.

Soon it will be at the point where if I say habanero salsa is too darn hot and burns on the way out, then habanero growers will demand I apologize for calling their peppers hot, and my posterior will demand an apology for eating the darn salsa in the first place.

Enough about my posterior.

My point is that we are all entitled to our opinions, and provided they are not deliberately hurtful or slanderous, then I believe the constitution grants me the right to voice them without some over-sensitive drama queen demanding an apology.

No offense to drama, queens, or sensitive people. Just saying.

So if I want to say something like most of the liberal people I know are pompous, self-righteous, condescending toolbags when talking about politics I should be able to say it without calling some radio show to say my remarks were taken out of context and I didn’t mean to offend liberals or toolbags.

People need to get over being so thin-skinned. Because the truth is, when people offer that sort of “apology,” what they’re really saying is “Hi! You’re an a-hole, and I was right the first time.”

It’s like when you make your kids say “sorry,” and then hug it out. Everyone knows statements made under duress aren’t legally binding.

So we have freedom of speech, but we can’t speak our minds for fear of offending someone and having to apologize.

Let me close by saying I didn’t mean it that way if I offended you during the writing of this diatribe. Let’s hug it out.

Me of Little Faith

I used to think Christians had to be perfect.

I think that hindered my coming to faith more than any other thing. For most of my life, I thought a person had to have this perfect life to know Jesus.

You had to be blissfully happy all the time.

You would never doubt God, or His will for your life.

You wouldn’t have marriage, family, or friendship troubles.

Even after coming to know Jesus, I would sometimes feel like I was posing, because there were times when I still felt down, or sad. There were times when it seemed God’s will for my life was not perfect at all, and that he might have even “had it in for me” in some way.

I never really had much luck in my relationships, either, until meeting my wife. Either before or after coming to belief.

And the truth of it all is that sometimes I still doubt God, even though my life is better now than it’s ever been.

I have an amazing family, and a wife that loves me in spite of all my stupid baggage.

I doubt when I see what the world has become, and the terrible things that happen in it—things that would break even the strongest heart.

I doubt sometimes. I am not perfect, and certainly not a perfect Christian.

But.

I feel like if I didn’t doubt, if I didn’t question things from time to time, then I would be little more than a God automaton, wandering around praising the Lord in a monotone and handing out tracts at gas stations.

And here is the crux of it:

My doubts led me to thinking, and praying, and asking questions.

Asking, thinking and praying led me to scripture.

Scripture led me to truth.

Truth led me to Jesus, who was waiting for me.

And He is bigger than my doubts. He can and will handle my questions, and fears. He may not always give me the answer I want, and sometimes I’m still afraid, but that’s OK.

It’s OK because He is there with me, and always has been. And always will be.

What I want to say here is that I make no claim to having all the answers to your questions. I may not be able to assuage your doubt regarding God, and His will for your life.

What I want to tell you is don’t abandon your faith because of struggle, or because you doubt that a loving God exists.

Wrestle with God—Jacob did.

Ask Him questions. Ask your pastor, if you have one.

Delve into scripture with a disciple’s heart. Psalms in particular are filled with laments, and crying out to God with unimaginable pain.

And pray.

MC Hammer may have been one of the cheesiest rappers of all time, but I think he had it right when he said “you’ve got to pray just to make it today.”

It’s true that we live in a fallen world, and faith is sometimes hard to come by.

So when I read about writers and speakers like Rob Bell who call people into a dialogue about things that may be controversial, I think maybe it’s a good thing. It sheds lights on subjects probably lots of people think about but don’t have the rocks to mention.

Because I believe everyone has doubts, and questions.

I think writers like Bell cause people to seek answers to those questions, and once again, I believe that’s a good thing.

I will say, though, that no writer, or pastor, or speaker can lay claim to knowing the mind of God other than how it is described in scripture, and when such men and women start putting words into the mouth of the almighty they will most likely run into a buzz saw of trouble.

I don’t know what Mr Bell says about Heaven or Hell in his new book, because I haven’t read it. I probably will read it, but with the foreknowledge that he is but a man trying to stir thought in people, and hopefully get them nearer to God. And he did stir people up—not just with this new book coming out.

In my opinion, if this or any book draws people to look into the bible, and seek knowledge about God, then it’s a good thing, because I don’t believe God’s truth can be denied when earnestly sought.

It wasn’t for me.

And if not automatically branding Bell and others like him as heretics (as so many in the blogosphere have) makes me one, too, then I guess I’ll just have to live with the label.

The only one who can make that distinction is God himself.

And that ain’t me.

The Unbuildable Bridge

Just thought of a picture, but maybe it’s really a little more than that.

A great country is divided into basically two sections, separated by a vast canyon. There are many smaller offshoots and fissures, but for the purposes of my illustration, we’re going to focus on what appears to be the two main sections.

Now, because the country is so divided, it actually ends up being much less great than it could. The differences in the two sides are many, but so are the similarities. So what eventually happens is that the people living in each divided half of the great country end up staring at each other over the vast canyon. Both sides know the country was not so divided once, but they can’t remember how to get back to that way of thinking, and living. They can’t remember how to pull the two sides back together.

Sometimes they shout epithets at each other, and always they’re thinking that each side knows a better way—the only way—to actually bring the two halves of the great country back together.

Eventually, one side or the other decides the best thing to do is build a bridge across the vast canyon. The bridge will be made of ropes, and it will be built by flinging ropes across the span, tying them off on either side, and then attaching boards for people to walk across, piece by piece. Eventually, they think, they will be able to not only meet in the middle, but also travel back in forth.

There’s a problem, though. Because the bridge is made of rope, there’s some swaying involved when you step out onto it. While it would probably be best to just step out and start building, step after step after step, it never happens.

People are afraid.

And instead of walking toward each other, building as they go, they cling to their own side of the canyon, and return to their epithet-shouting ways. They know what they need, and they even have a rudimentary idea of how to do it. So they throw their ropes, and instead of catching them on the other side and tying them off, they simply let the ropes slide through their fingers.

So the bridge remains unbuilt, and a canyon that could be crossed is instead returned to the status of obstacle. Common ground is forgotten. Similarities are not mentioned.

And compromise is not even considered…

Certainly a crudely drawn metaphor, but you get the point, don’t you?

I’m no politician, and no great thinker.

But as someone on the outside, it seems to me this partisan-ship we’re so concerned with is slowly killing the country.

There will always be struggles–that is one thing we can all be certain of. But instead of facing the struggles with a united front, we are more concerned with making people afraid and telling the country who is to blame for their fears.

And I wonder whatever happened to the principles this country was founded upon.

You can remove words from pledges, and even stop saying the pledges altogether. You can tell children and adults what they can and cannot say in schools and places of business.

But that doesn’t change the fact that there were and are certain principles the men who breathed this country into life took to heart that are no longer given so much as lip service because the “powers that be” are more concerned with offending someone than saying what needs to be said, and in many cases doing what needs to be done.

And that saddens me, because I believe this country–that powerful country I spoke about earlier–really is the greatest country on earth.

And I think that compromise, politically or otherwise, does not have to be something that’s feared.

This bridge can be built, if we are willing to do the work.

Sons…

I’ve been a parent for slightly over two years now, if you count the time before I got married as “parenting” time. In my mind, it does count, because I felt very soon after meeting my wife that she was going to be “it” for me. I knew she had a son, and that if I was going to be with her, that son would become as much my child as if I had been there at the “beginning.”

Becoming Dad to a boy that’s already had a good deal of the man he will become instilled in him has not been easy. His grandpa has been a tremendous and amazing influence on him, and my wife has taught him all she knows how to teach about being a good boy, and how to love people the way God loves them.
So when I entered the picture, it was a little bit like hitting the ground running. I feel like I really stepped in it much of the time with him, because I find myself speaking out of my own upbringing more often than not, and Lord knows there were a few issues there.

Even with that, though, we moved along in our relationship, and now I love that kid like I raised him from ground zero. But I guess in a sense, I did.

Our ground zero began when I fell in love with his mother, and realized I wanted to spend all the time I had left with her.

And then David had to break in a dad that had never been one before, which was (and remains) quite difficult for the both of us at times. So I’m learning as I go, and he’s learning as he goes. And I find myself feeling like he’s getting the short end of the stick a lot of the time. But I am also so thankful that he came into my life, and that I get a chance to know him, and to be his dad.

Now, John is here. I was here from the beginning with him. And when I saw him come out of my wife and enter the world, it was like nothing else I’d ever experienced. I just remember thanking God over and over again for bringing him into my life, and for getting my wife safely through the birth.

The past month, with all of us finally together in our home has been incredible, and such a blessing, even with all the difficulty, and all the “getting used to things” Jenny, David, John and I have all had to do.
There have been some moments of late when I consider the…responsibility I now have and it intimidates the heck out of me. I need to lead this family. I, who has not led anything, needs to lead a family.
My sons will look to me for so much, and not just to put a roof over their head. They will look to me to see how a man relates to his wife, and his children. They’ll want to know how he responds to blessings, and trials, and how he worships the God he professes to know. They’ll want to know a man’s attitude toward his work, and his church.

So even when I feel like burying my head somewhere well out of view of the world, I have to be transparent enough that they can see I’ve gone through some of the same stuff they have, and can hopefully offer them some small amount of wisdom.

And then I wonder what on earth I can do? I’m just a man. Not a pastor, not a teacher. At this point, not even a college graduate?

So what can I do?

I can love their mother with all I have, and let them see.

I can love them, each as individuals, and let them see.

I can love people, and let them see.

And above all else, I can love God—love Him with all my heart, soul, and mind, and let them see.

I think I have to start with that, and hope they do not judge me later on for the father I haven’t been. Rather, that they love me for the dad I am.

Because I love my sons so much that I end up just staring at them sometimes, wondering why I’ve been blessed, when there are so many wonderful and worthy people that have not been. I think about what the next couple of weeks hold, too, and I am amazed. This Saturday night, I get to baptize David. And soon after that, we’ll do a dedication of John. Our whole immediate family will get up there, and declare openly what God means to us, and to our family. Hopefully, John will one day choose to be baptized himself.

And you know, I can really get into the sentimentality of a couple of those sappy rock songs about parenthood now, too. Like “Heaven,” by Live. “With Arms Wide Open,” by Creed. Of course, both songs have become clichés by now. I didn’t understand and accept why until I was a parent. Until God made me a dad.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Now go look up those songs…

Nightmare in the trunk

Had this awful dream last night. Had to get up and write it down before I forgot. There’s probably some significance to it, but it’s beyond me to figure it out. At least, not at 5am with my eyes still half closed from sleep, Anyway, I kept waking up from it and looking at the clock. And every time I would go back to sleep after a few minutes, and there would be the same dream again. I was driving around with a body in the trunk of my car. I knew only a couple things about it in the dream. One was that I didn’t kill it. The other was that I had to get rid of it–it was my responsibility. I didn’t know what condition it was in, or how it had gotten that way. Or who had killed it, for that matter. But it was in my car, and it had to go.

I kept finding places where I thought I could dump it, get rid of it, but I was never able to–not sure why. I would be about to, and then something would happen, and I’d have to keep driving. It freaked me the heck out–still freaking me out. I used to have this super morbid streak when I was a teen, and the funny thing about that is that lately I’ve sort of felt that way again. Not sure if this has anything to do with that.

Possible solutions. Prayer, of course. Ask God why I’d dream something like that. We talked about dreams a little in HP training last night, too. How God can use them, Interesting. Maybe there’s some kind of lie hidden within that dream. Don’t know.

Or maybe the body in the trunk is a metaphor for something I’m supposed to unburden myself of–something I need to remove from my life. I don’t know what that would be. A secret? I don’t think I have any. Or at least, I don’t remember if I do. What lie could be attached to a body in the trunk? Or something in the trunk.

Maybe it wasn’t actually a body, and maybe the lie (if there is one) is that there’s no place I can get rid of it. I need to think about it. And pray.

Of course, it could have just been a dream, too.

70 times 7

A really good friend of mine is going through some difficulty right now with a few family members of the man she’s going to marry–one in particular. Her fiance has gone through his share of difficulty, and with God’s help, has emerged on the other side of it. He is a changed person, and that is not only due to Jesus, but also to his relationship with my friend. I believe that God, through their relationship, has grown both of them tremendously.

But this person(s) in my friend’s fiance’s family has chosen not to see that, but rather to condemn. This person was mean, and condescending, and holier-than-thou in a very Pharasiac (or Pharisitic–I don’t know) sort of way. I wonder, if Jesus were to materialize in the deep south, while this nice person was sipping a sweet tea on their porch, would they condemn him for eating with tax collectors and sinners?

Just look at what God has done in both of their lives. LOOK AT IT!! Look at Grace. Grace does not condemn. It saves, it blesses, it heals. And I believe that while scripture can be twisted to support any point of view, that is not why God gave it to us. It’s there to edify us, to teach us, and like Grace, to bless us. I’m sure if I tried hard enough, I could find a few verses to justify sticking grapes up my nose during worship on a Sunday morning. BUT THAT DOESN”T MEAN I SHOULD, or that it’s how God meant those verses to be interpreted.

Wait, did I just say interpreted? I did.

The reaction of this person reminds me of the fundamentalist movement of the 1980’s, which was almost exclusively condemnatory. And what it did was turn many, many people away from God, myself included. I think if you want people to find God, or turn to him in any sort of real way, you have to show them his love. That’s what saves us. Not anger, not hate, not condemnation for someone a person may not even really know, or a situation they aren’t even a part of.

Jesus did not come to condemn people, but to save them. Love them. Father them.

My first response to my friend’s situation was anger, lots and lots of anger. It felt justified. Feels justified, and maybe, probably is. That feeling of anger was probably reflected in my first couple of paragraphs.

But when I think about it, my condemning this unknown family member is much the same as what they did. I know this person is speaking out of their own brokenness. But that does not make it any easier for my friend. I spoke to her briefly and she said something that’s very true.

The hurt hurt, or words to that effect. Because this person was hurt themself in some way, their instinct (and pain) causes them to lash out. They may not even realize they’re doing it. But that doesn’t make it right.

Man, forgiveness is tough. It really is. It sounds like the person who lashed out and hurt my friend (I imagine her fiance as well), has a heart lacking forgiveness. This person needs to find it, and soon. That’s the key, of course.

I heard Miles McPherson say something in a sermon not long ago that just occurred to me. He said it in regard to dealing with people that he did not necessarily agree with, or have some sort of problem with, or even dislike. What he did in dealing with them was simply to remind himself that no matter how he saw the person, that person was someone Christ died for.

So when I think about this person, I need to remind myself of that very thing. Yeah, I’m angry on my friend’s behalf, and it upsets me that this person passes out judgement like a prize. In God’s name, no less. So what I’m going to try and do (no promises), is to forgive. And pray. Pray God shines his light into her heart, and heals it. Helps her to see the truth of things–His truth, not hers.

Forgiveness, man. That’s a bitch. I guess I needed to process a little. I’m going to go ahead and post this without editing out anything. It was what I thought, and think. I guess take it for what it is.

More to pray about, anyway.