My Resume is Bad, But it Doesn't Have to Stay That Way

Below is a sermon on Psalm 86 I created and delivered this month as part of my Biblical Exposition course. If it interests you:

When I speak at an English Teachers Conference, I usually begin with a little background information about myself to gain credibility with the audience. I want them to trust me with what I’m saying, so essentially I give them my resume: a couple of Masters Degrees, National Board Certification, experience in wide range of schools, settings, and classrooms, etc. That doesn’t necessarily qualify me to know what I’m talking about, but it certainly increases the odds in the minds of many in the audience.

This sermon, however, is not about effective writing strategies about literature. Instead the topic is prayer. The “resume” for my prayer life looks a little something like this:

Doesn’t necessarily induce confidence, does it? I have existed in my faith journey under a cloud of mystery regarding prayer. I have occasionally prayed big, but more often faltered in the size of my faith. I have had prayer strategies, only to let them die. I’ve read constantly about prayer, trying to get a handle on what’s real, what’s superstition, and why the God of the universe needs me to tell him what to do; and I’ve accumulated files and files of notes from these texts, all of them filling my head but not necessarily my heart. I have been humbled by answered prayer, but often lacked the will to ask. And I feel like a failure, every time I crawl back. Every time I sit at my keyboard and notice that the last date in my file is weeks, or months ago, my spirit drops. No, my resume, my best efforts, in no way make me an expert in this field.

However, we do have the book of Psalms, and David, to show us examples of prayer. It is there we look today to find direction and purpose for our prayers.

READ PSALM 86

For people like me who struggle with prayer, Psalm 86 provides an excellent starting place and model to follow. We can confidently pray as David prayed.

First, if we are to pray as David prayed, we must properly establish God’s position and our reason for praying to Him alone. David spends a lot of time in this prayer telling God who God is. This isn’t for God. God isn’t suffering an identity crisis and needs to David to snap him back to reality. No, David establishes who God is in his prayer to remind himself who He is praying to.

And who is he praying to? First of all, he is praying to the Sovereign God of the universe. He is praying to the One who is in control.

• “There is none like you among the gods, O Lord / nor are there any works like yours.”
• “All the nations you have made shall come / and worship before you, O Lord.”
• “For you are great and do wondrous things; / you alone are God.”

Obviously, you say. Of course. But it’s not so obvious. Or at least our actions don’t say that it is. For most of us, we daily attempt to wrestle control away from God, or at least assume the weight and responsibility for that control. We behave as if the well-being of the universe hangs in the balance of every choice, every word, every action, and every minute of our day. For most of us, we need this reminder.

Second, he is praying to a loving God. This Sovereign God over all, the one who spoke the stars and planets into being, who controls the wind and waves with a breath, the orchestrator of this beautiful redemptive history that we get to take part of, loves David, loves me, and loves you individually.

• “For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving, / abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.
• “In the day of my trouble I call upon you, / for you answer me.”
• “For great is your steadfast love toward me; / you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.”
• “But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, / slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.”

What is interesting about these beautiful exclamations of the love of God for David is the repetition of the word “for.” In this case, “for” means “because.” “For” is answering the question of “why?” Why am I praying? Why am I relying on God? Why am I on my knees first and acting 2nd? What’s the point? Isn’t this a hopeless situation? God isn’t asking these questions. David is. Again, this aspect of the prayer, while it brings great glory to God, also serves the purpose of getting David’s heart right. We often need that reminder as well.

Third, David spends time establishing God’s track record. This loving God has always been loving. He’s been steadfast in his care for David. David’s personal story and the storyline of the Bible is account after account after account of God’s faithfulness.

• “In the day of my trouble I call upon you, / for you answer me.”
• “For you are great and do wondrous things; / you alone are God.”

The Bible abounds with commands to retell events to future generations or to have celebrations or festivals traditions in order to remember God’s goodness over the course of all history. The Passover feast. “This do in remembrance of me.” God has answered David’s cries in the past. God has answered his people’s cries in the past. In David’s prayer, the identity of the one who is being prayed to is clear. And so is the worthiness of the act.

I encourage you, like David, to speak of who God is and what he’s done for you.

A second dominant aspect of this prayer is David establishing his own position in this relationship. Again, this is not necessarily for God. God didn’t forget David. God has the hairs on David’s head numbered. God knit together David. God knows the depths of the evils and sin in David’s heart, because he sent his son to die and put the weight of those sins on him. Once again, it is David who needs reminded of where he stands.

And where does David stand in the presence of this Sovereign, loving, faithful God? Lowly and desperate. Helpless. In need of what only God can provide.

• “for I am poor and needy.” (v. 1)
• “for to you do I cry all the day.” (v. 3)
• “for to you, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.” (4)
• “In the day of my trouble I call upon you. . .” (7)
• “O God, insolent men have risen up against me; / a band of ruthless men seeks my life, / and they do not set you before them.”

This is a perpetual state. David needs God. He is the crier. David, this great slayer of Goliath, this powerful king, this man after God’s own heart, is a beggar. He is the petitioner. He is the one lacking, the one who cannot overcome on his own. And so are you and I.

When my girls are scared of something, I ask them this question, “Whose job is it to protect you?” It’s mine. When students have a problem or a question, I want them to come to me. I have had former players come to me seeking advice about a range of issues. When something is wrong, people come to me. I fix it. Recognizing my own helplessness does not come naturally to me. It feels weak. It flies against the spirit of success, of overcoming, of the American Dream. I need desperately to put myself in this place through prayer; because if I don’t, I fear that I will continue to delude myself into false confidence that I surely have no right to. And I suspect some of you are in the exact same boat.

Paul Miller, in his book The Praying Life, has this to say: “If you are not praying, then you are quietly confident that time, money, and talent are all you need in life.” What do your prayers, or lack thereof, say about what you believe about yourself and your life?

If we are to pray as David prayed, we must come face to face with the truth that many of us try to ignore: God is God, and we are not.

Now we can get to “asking for stuff.” It’s a subject that’s often puzzled me. What is “prayer-worthy”? Should I pray for success in my career? Should I pray for health? Should I pray for comfort or protection? Should I pray for this person to like me, or that person to notice me? Shouldn’t I just say, “Thy will be done” and be over with it?

Here’s what David does: his requests center on furthering what he’s already established in this prayer: God is God.

First, David makes a request that shows God has the power, not David:

• “Incline your ear, O LORD, and answer me”
• “Preserve my life. . . / save your servant, who trusts in you - you are my God.
• “be gracious to me, O Lord”

It can be easy to read this and on first glance see David as some sort of petulant child demanding attention. Listen to me! Answer me! Be good to me! It’s like mornings at the Dykstra household with our children. But that’s what it’s supposed to look like - children coming to their Father persistently.

“Which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:7-11)

David also comes to God asking for what only he can provide. David’s requests show that God alone is the source of all good things.

• He is the source of all joy
• “Gladden the soul of your servant” (v. 4)
• He is the source of all wisdom
• “Teach me your way, O LORD / that I may walk in your truth” (v. 11)
• He is the source of real strength
• “Turn to me and be gracious to me; give your strength to your servant” (v. 16)

David recognizes that if he wants joy, wisdom, and strength (and he should), there is only one place to get them. He doesn't request possessions or situations or relationships that he thinks will bring these to him; he goes straight to the source.

Finally, David makes a request that ultimately brings glory to God:

• “Show me a sign of your favor / that those who hate me may see and be put to shame /  because you, LORD, have helped me and comforted me.”

• “Teach me your way, O LORD, / that I may walk in your truth / unite my heart to fear your name. I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, / and I will glorify your name forever.”

David’s end game is not personal glory, personal comfort, or personal success. He wants what he wants so that he can walk more faithfully, view God with more awe and respect, and walk with a heart full of gratitude and praise. Whatever you ask of God, if you are asking for these reasons, your prayer is God-honoring and heart-changing. You are in a position to receive answered prayer.

Are you unsure of how to pray? Of what to pray? Of why to pray? Then follow David’s example. This week, one day at a time, speak to God of how good and mighty and powerful He is. Speak of what he’s done for you. Describe your needs. Put your circumstances in perspective. Exalt God. Fill your prayer with those thoughts, and your heart will be filled with them as well.

A favorite author of mine, Oswald Chambers, wrote this in the early 20th Century about prayer:

Prayer is the battle, and it makes no difference where you are. However God may engineer your circumstances, your duty is to pray. . . Wherever God has placed you and whatever your circumstances, you should pray, continually offering up prayers to Him. . . Yet we refuse to pray unless it thrills or excites us, which is the most intense form of spiritual selfishness.

There is nothing thrilling about a laboring person’s work, but it is the laboring person who makes the ideas of the genius possible. And it is the laboring saint who makes the ideas of his Master possible. When you labor at prayer, from God’s perspective there are always results.

Perhaps your prayer resume looks a lot like mine. That’s okay. It’s just not okay for your resume to end there. The battle that Chambers writes about must continue. When we are most disappointed with ourselves and our prayer, we are most ready to humble ourselves as David did. Pray. Use David’s example. There will be results.

A Response to Pain

It has been a week of pain. I hurt, and I know that others that I care deeply about do as well. My pain is physical, as the fractured clavicle reminds me with every bounce of my step, swing of my arm, or turn in bed. Emotionally I battle as well, battle the pain of losing, of failing, of knowing that I am not going where I thought I was going to go. I have watched pain in those close to me, pain that is not mine to share, but pain that is real and tearful and permanent.

This has been a week of pain. Perhaps it has been for you as well.

But it is impossible to ignore the intoxicating aroma of the freshly cut lilacs in my kitchen and the full batch of fruit cups, the annual true sign of summer goodness, my wife is preparing for my delight. And I know that my world is good.

Risk Anyway

When you speak plans or desires out loud, you risk the result of failure. Risk anyway.

I've always been an advocate for having something on the line that you care about. It's one of the reasons I like coaching, and it's also a theme I teach students through literature. Life is better lived when you care about something enough that you have something to lose, when you have to walk around with that proverbial pit in your stomach because you've put in time, effort, and love to something and you want it to work out. Risking enough to feel that way about a person, a job, a performance, etc. can be taxing and hurtful when it doesn't go the way you want it to. You put yourself out there for significant loss. But you do that because there's so much to gain as well; and playing to win is so much more rewarding than sitting on the sidelines, surviving, merely getting by each day long enough to go to bed, wake up, and get through the next one.

I realized another reason this week that caring and risking big is a better way to live.

For the most part I've avoided the topic on this blog, but I'm currently chasing a position that I want. I've known for about 4 months that there would be a week sometime in the spring where I'd find out if I was going to get what I wanted. This is that week. I've got something I want, something I've put thousands of hours into, something that will hurt if I lose.

This week I've walked around exhausted, tossing and turning through sleepless nights, mass-consuming coffee and jostling that pit in the corner of my stomach, working hard not to vomit. I've put myself in as good of a position as possible, but the risk is very real. Maybe tomorrow, maybe a couple of days after, the verdict will be returned.

Wednesday was interview day, and I wrestled my nerves and my desire and my fatigue all day. But it was a good day, regardless of the news I get. It was a good day because through this experience, through having something on the line that mattered, I got a good picture of the people in my life who are for me. Scattered throughout the week were notes and emails and quick conversations of encouragement, well-wishes, and prayers. Those messages will not affect the final outcome, but they will affect what happens after the outcome.

After the outcome, whatever it may be, I know I've still got that support. I know I'll have those people in my life, and I'll know that the next big thing that I chase, the next goal or challenge that really matters and that I risk time and energy and emotion into, they'll be there for that too. I might not have received that reminder without the angst of the chase.

Risk big, and you'll find out who's with you. And find out what the important people in your life are risking today too; they'll want to know you're with them now, in the process, before the verdict is ever returned.

Disaster Plan

Yesterday there was a chance of severe weather across Iowa, including thunderstorms and tornadoes. Early in the day the teachers here at school received an email regarding our plan in case the severe weather hit. As should be the case, a plan had been developed for such an emergency, and we were prepared as well as possible to protect our students and staff from harm in the event of catastrophe.

We have plans in place for bomb scares, armed intruders, abductors, blizzards, fights, fires, and stubborn trains that delay students' arrival to school. For almost every disaster that can be conceived, we have something written down and in place. When all hell breaks loose, we'll see how solid those plans are. Regardless, they exist, and we know what we hope to do when the worst of the worst happens.

I'm being to realize that we each need an emotional catastrophe plan in place as well. Frankly, it is the emotional catastrophes that are much more likely to occur than the natural, physical ones. Which is likelier: a death of someone close to you, or an F5 tornado? Despair and frustration in relationships, or fire? An unexpected change in your occupational status, or a bomb at your office? Both could happen, but why would we be better prepared for the least likely scenarios than we are for those that are certain to occur?

David offers such a plan in Psalm 57. Hiding from king Saul in a cave, fearing for his life, feeling betrayed and doubtful and helpless, David knows what to do: "Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed" (v.1). The plan wasn't murky; David knew what to do in the worst of scenarios. Our plan yesterday was to go to our new FEMA room/storm shelter. David had a shelter all ready for his heart, a place to hole up until the disaster passes.

Once David finds the shelter, the next steps in his plan are clear as well. "I cry out to God Most High," he writes. "My heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music. . . I will praise you, O Lord, among the nations." Regardless how difficult it may be to follow this plan when the unexpected has attacked him, David knows that this plan gives him the best chance to navigate the unexpected calamity.

Having this clear plan in place allows us not to avoid emotional pain and despair, but to manage it. Rather than spinning wildly out of control until one day we hopefully arise from the internal ashes, rather than hitting rock bottom before we seek a way out, instead we give ourselves a chance to minimize the damage. The hurt will still hurt. But the medicine will be available. The damage will be minimized. The salve for our souls will begin the healing process sooner. And if our plan is like David's, in it all we will see God while we hurt, not after.

A Mother Multiplied

My mother put in her time.

She raised me and did everything for me that a mother should.

She demanded much, especially when I didn't want her to. She wouldn't let me go in late to school after a late night, even when I thought missing study hall wasn't that big of a deal. Mediocrity in academics wasn't okay. Nor was it in church and Sunday school attendance.

She baked and she cooked, and she did both well. Some manner of bar or cookie was readily available, especially during my teenage years when I grabbed two or three at a time. Cupcakes were a plus. Or homemade donuts on Saturday mornings. Banana cream pie on special occasions.

She traveled many highways over central Iowa to watch all manner of athletic endeavors, even when I was bad. She cheered and supported and gave me space to lick my wounds in peace or exuberantly relive triumphs.

She worried like crazy. About school, about driving, about college, about my wallet, about who I was with and what I was doing - all of it, both during the times she mentioned it and the times she didn't. My guess is she offered many little prayers when I left the house and many sighs of relief when I came back.

She wrote notes. Notes of instruction on days when she left before I was out of bed, or notes of encouragement and love in lunches or snacks, or Bible verses in my mail at college. Even and especially when she could not be there, she made her voice known.

My mother put in her time and could easily just call it good. She took care of her kids. She continues to support her kids. Isn't that enough?

Not for mom. No, my mother has done this and continues to do this not only for me, but for the people important to me as well. She has multiplied the good she has to offer, multiplied the mothering, amassing a sea of goodwill and blessings connected to her efforts.

When I coached youth flag football while I was in college, she was there, driving 2 hours on a Saturday morning to cheer on the boys and give them post-game encouragement and treats. And she's there now, in the stands in many a CIML gym on Tuesday and Friday nights, supporting and feeding a group of boys who are not her blood but who she has claimed as her own.

My friends on the coaching staff get fed too - all manner of baked goods or bakery delicacies to feed our disappointment or celebration all the way home. They get encouraged. They get prayed for too.

A couple of my friends swear by her cupcakes and swear at me if I visit without them. Then there are the "kling-ons," the marshmallowey Corn Chex and Reese's Pieces conglomeration of good, that my roommate in college greedily devoured. No visit from Mom was an empty visit for friends.

For those important to me, they find an ally in Mom - whether it be from help or hugs, verbal or written support, food or folly. And she's got worry to offer them too.

Being a mother of three has never been enough. The good she has offered me has been extended unwaveringly to all those around me. And while they may be thinking about their own mother this weekend, my guess is they think about mine on quite a few other days and smile.

A Weekend of First Drafts

I hope parenting is like writing.

It feels like it is. I started Anne Lamott's book on writing, Bird by Bird, this weekend. After the first couple of chapters, a couple of clear messages about writing stand out. In it is a Vonnegut quote: "When I write, I feel like an armless legless man with a crayon in his mouth." Yep, that sounds like parenting.

More specifically to the point, though, is Lamott making it clear that you've got to write a ton, write every day, write when you don't feel like it, and write about stuff you never think will lead you to anywhere. And most of it might not. But a small percentage will be gold, or at least the beginning of something that glitters and leads you to where you never thought about going but you discovered was treasure-filled all along. "You are desperate to communicate, to edify or entertain, to preserve moments of grace or joy or transcedence, to make real or imagined events come alive. But you cannot will this to happen," writes Lamott. "It is a matter of persistence and faith and hard work. So you might as well just go ahead and get started."

I hope parenting works like this. Just keep doing it and hope that a small percentage of what you're doing will be good, that without planning on it or seeing it coming, you got exactly what you were aiming for, despite pages and pages of ridiculous and silly failed writing attempts.

I hope that by going back out there every day to parent, even after every "first draft" for the past 2 weeks has been complete and utter garbage and I can't imagine ever getting it right again, there might be some solid writing in there somewhere. Like Friday afternoon. We just went on a walk. It was accidental, routine, just another warmup writing exercise in this extended metaphor. But it was good. We left with energy and gusto. Running and banter and sunshine. I seamlessly calmed one child down after she fell and drew blood (and dutifully placed a band-aid on the now pride-producing war wound), I got them to daintily dodge all the mud puddles but did allow them to enjoy the dog dancing in the ones he encountered. We held hands and they told stories and I talked to them about Jesus. If they read any of the books of their childhood, I hope it's one with walks like these.

But for every time I get it right, every time the writing comes easily and the figurative language dances effortlessly on the page, there are ten times I get it wrong. One child flashed the entire soccer field, much the same way she's flashed the entire church. Fights and battles and lying and endless piles of just stuff, everywhere, oh the stuff, the stuff that I repeatedly tell them to put away and swear that I won't let be the source of one more fight, one more fit, that stuff gets tripped on or stepped on or kicked or broken, and the writing is terrible.

And the bad writing goes for page after page after page, and I'll feel like I'll never get it right again. And Lamott says about that, "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. . . Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived." And if parenting is like writing, then I'm given some grace to drop the perfectionism bit and just try. Just write. Write anything, with good intentions and with passion.

"Now, who knows if any of this is usable material? There's no way to tell until you've got it all down, and then there might just be one sentence or one character or one theme that you end up using. But you get it all down. You just write."

And in that writing, you get one daughter who walks the length of the entire lawn, row by meticulous row, pushing her bubble mower next to her father's precision-cut Yardman lawn eater, just to "help out" like she did shoveling compost all afternoon. Or you get the other daughter who has decided that writing and journaling with me should be a big part of our summer plans. Or the two of them in my lap, giggling like crazy while reading Shel Silverstein poetry together, but only after the Bible-reading because they've reminded me that we need to read that first, always first, so we don't run out of time.

If parenting is like writing, then I hope they never go back and read all of the drafts I've had to discard. I hope they leave those pages out, all the awkward prose and meddling metaphors and cluttered paragraphs that I pieced together in search of perfection. And I hope there's enough of the good that they can piece it together and find a book. Or perhaps a solid chapter. A chapter where they can see into the heart of the author.

I hope you were able to follow this little comparison tonight as I cobbled my way to meaning. If not, don't worry. It's just one of many drafts I intend to write.

A Dual-Threat Approach

In my biblical exposition course, we've reached a point now where we are formally delivering sermons in a lab-type setting to our other group members in order to get feedback and take another step forward. Wednesday night will be my first go around. I've got the rough draft of the sermon typed up, so I thought I'd post it here since this class is one of the biggest reasons I've been completely unable to write with any sense of regularity in the past several weeks. It's over Colossians 1:15-23. The sermon, minus a lead and a few personal stories I'll include while speaking, is included below. Feedback is welcome. 

A Dual-Threat Approach

Paul uses a combination of fact and personal experience in his letter to the Colossians. Writing to a small church who was being led astray by distractions and deception, Paul sought to re-focus them on what really matters.

Colossians 1:15-23

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities - all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.

And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifiting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven, and of which I, Paul, became a minister.

In an effort to provide a rudder to a drifting group of believers, Paul uses a dual threat approach. First, he offers them logic. “Let me give you a rundown of what you know to be true about Jesus,” Paul says. “Let’s take a look at the facts.” And he wisely proceeds to recenter their view of the gospel by describing fundamental truths about who and what Christ is. Christ is not just a good idea. He’s not just a good man who spoke well, healed a few people, and offered relevant life advice. No, Christ is much more than that.

First, Christ is the Sovereign God of the Universe. He doesn’t just teach about God; He is God. Paul’s letter tells us that Jesus is the image of God (v. 15), the Creator of all (v. 16), and before all things (v. 17). He is preeminent (v. 18), the head (v. 18), the beginning (v. 18), the dwelling place of God (v. 19), proclaimed in all creation (v. 23).

Secondly, Christ is the Messiah. He is the Savior. He defeated death and sin for us. He is what all of the Old Testament was pointing towards. Paul writes that he is the firstborn from the dead (v. 18), the One who drew all near to Him through death (v. 20). He is the hope of the gospel (v. 23). He is the good news - that we’ve been forgiven, that our insurmountable debt is paid, that we’ve been offered an eternity in the presence of our Holy God.

This is why I do what I do, says Paul in verse 23. I became a minister to teach Christ-crucified.

Through this list of facts, the church at Colosse should clearly see Christ as the source of truth, worthy of all awe and worship. This should appeal to us as well. This knowledge should move us and strike our souls, piercing us with awe and understanding. It should give us pause, forcing us to consider what our actions say about what we believe about Christ. When I go about my day, do my job and interact with my family and my neighbor and strangers, when I’m alone or together, when I’m tired or not, do my actions say that I know Jesus, the Jesus who is Lord over all and my Savior?

Sometimes facts and logic aren’t enough. Often times, in fact. Familiarity can lead to forgetfulness. For many of you, what I just told you is not earth-shattering. You’ve heard this almost weekly in church services. You’ve heard it from your family or from a teacher or mentor. You’ve heard them so many times, that they tragically don’t necessarily jump-start your heart. The church of Colosse knew these facts as well. Paul was reminding them. But he does more than that in this passage. He goes after the heart as well as the mind.

What we see in verses 21 and 22 is Paul telling believers that not only has Christ changed the world and all of eternity, he changed you. This big, sovereign, God of all has taken you and transformed you. Verse 21 provides the before picture: you were alienated, you were hostile, and you were evil. You weren’t pretty good. You weren’t “okay, because I’m not as bad as some other people.” You, steeped in all of your sin, were reprehensible in the site of a holy and perfect God. And you didn’t change it. It wasn’t your hard work or your wisdom that did this. It couldn’t have been. Christ intervened. Christ changed you.

The after picture is there in verse 22 in all of its glory: you are now holy, blameless, and above reproach. You are now in the arms of the God who loves you and wants desperately to collect you back to your rightful place with Him.

If you have experienced conversion, if you have believed in Christ as your Savior, you know this to be true. You know just how different you are because of Christ. And for some of you, when you tell about it, when you talk about what you once were, and then talk about what Jesus is, the tears well up, because words just can’t do justice to what he’s done for you.

Christians - your story is a miracle. These two verses, this change in you, is the gospel. Those of you who have not believed this yet, you have been offered this miracle. This is the good news I have for you today.

So what do we do with this? We prepare.

You are going to face distractions.

Distractions are all around. Lies, too. It’s going to happen. What we need to make sure and do, therefore, is arm ourselves and prepare to combat them. We must know them, recognize them, and protect ourselves from them so that nothing stands in the way of our focus and understanding of the true gospel.

One obvious source of distraction is the way that tough times leak, or sometimes flood, into our lives. Work frustrations, relationship frustrations, money frustrations - they can all scream for our attention and ask us to make more of them than we do of God. All of us a sudden the immediate in our lives trumps our desire to focus on the ultimate. Today’s problems dwarf eternity’s promises. Despite the fact that we know better, that we’ve been commanded time and time again not to, we worry. Then that worry exposes a lack of faith, so then we worry about a lack of faith and about whatever trouble has spilled into our lives.

Another source of distraction, one that is much more sly, is blessings. For absent an ever-present spirit of gratitude, we begin to subtly believe that we are just fine on our own. When we are blessed with comfort, blessed with wealth, blessed with great kids and a great spouse and a great job and a great home to come home to where we are greeted by a great dog, God may become less relevant. We might even fall into that familiar lie: I did this. I earned this. More importantly, I deserve this. Suddenly, without ever realizing anything was wrong, we get to a point where we can no longer hold all things loosely except for Christ-crucified.

This lie is only one of many that we will face daily in our culture. And we are barraged by these lies. Told the lie once or twice, and we’re fully capable of standing up and calling it what it is. But told them repeatedly, everywhere we look, and surrounded by many who believe them and have sold their lives on the premise of their truth, we all of a sudden find ourselves in our own private battle to keep the truth solidly in our minds.

One of these lies is that you are behind. Right now. You are behind on retirement, behind on life accomplishments, behind in the corporate climb, and even behind in your spiritual life. You’ve got to hurry up and learn more, do more, earn more, save more, and be recognized for more, because you are behind. Not only are you behind, your kids are behind. You aren’t doing enough with them. Why don’t you have them involved in more activities? How will they ever compete in this world? They are falling behind their peers athletically, academically, and socially. And it’s all your fault. Hurry up and do something, or they will be left behind.

You are also attacked with lies about your identity. You will be tempted to define yourself by what you do, your marriage status, the accomplishments of your kids, or the size of your house.

And you will be told that you deserve more. No lie will feel quite as good to accept as truth.

What do these lies do to us? Exactly what they are designed to do - get us to believe in false gospels. All of a sudden we begin to believe that the good news of Jesus Christ is not Christ himself. Our hope is in something or someone else. Our hope is in our earthly home. We must ruthlessly and doggedly and passionately take care that we do not lose sight of the fact that Jesus, the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, the head of the church and the creator of great and total and eternal change in us is the gospel.

The good news of Jesus Christ is not a comfortable life. It is not a pain-free life, or even a risk-free life. The gospel is not money or your dream job. It is not a perfect marriage and perfect kids. The gospel is not “Your Best Life Now,” as one prosperity gospel preacher promises. We do not come here to church to learn the Bible and sing praise and meet with each other and pray so that we will get these things. In fact, the gospel should remind us just broken our world is, so broken that it required a Perfect Sacrifice in order to save us. For these other goals are alternative gods, capable of grabbing our attention and praise and hope. They are capable of driving us deeper into a lie.

Instead, we must feed ourselves with a steady diet of logic and emotion, of heart and head, so that we remain Christ-centered. One or the other alone will not sustain us. We will either know much and feel little, or we will be enthusiastically in love with a God that we don’t know.

Fortunately for us, we can get both in the Bible. The Bible is filled with facts about who Jesus is. It is also full of emotional responses to those truths. Recently I personally found myself bogged down by an academic approach to the Bible. I was learning a lot, but I felt rigid and stiff in this knowledge. I wasn’t moved by it. The Bible became a puzzle to decode, a text to analyze. Over my 30 minutes to each lunch, I try to read a little bit in my classroom if I’m not eating with someone else. I decided to take the step during lunch to read only from the book of Psalms for a while. Now each day I get a dose of poetry, of passion, of a soul’s response to the goodness of God. And that has made the knowledge even sweeter.

We can speak and listen to each other’s stories about Christ’s work in our lives. Spend time with people who remind you of who Christ is and what He’s done. We can study together and question each other. We can reflect and write and read and pray.

Whatever we do, we must stay Christ-centered, swaying neither to right nor to the left, avoiding distraction and deception. And we can do this, through Christ, with Christ, and for Christ, with a full head and a full heart.
 

Theology of a Leaky Roof

While the immediate threat of blizzards and consecutive weeks of sub-zero temperatures seems to have subsided as we slip into the latter parts of April, I am still tormented by the memory of one especially frustrating episode.

We got a ton of snow this winter. I can handle that. A little here, a little there, it piles up, and all of a sudden we're at 40 inches for the year. It happens. We got a blizzard in March. Okay. Wet snow, ice, more snow, all packed together; so be it. A week or two of negative temperatures to follow? Why not. Spring is around the corner. Beaten down by a nagging string of frigid months, I gritted my teeth, put my head down, shoveled away the frustration, and resolved to take it in stride.

Then I got sent over the emotional top.

First I noticed just the tiniest hint of a water stain on my living room ceiling. It was at night, though, and I had been reading. I hoped it was just shadows on the ceiling, and my hope led me to refuse to investigate any more closely. My fears were realized in full the next day when I came home to find a steady, pulsating drip. An ice damn had formed on my roof, rerouting the snow melt through a leak, through my ceiling tiles, and onto my couch. A few PG-13 words and a bucket later, and the drip stopped. I thought that was the worst of it. Foolish, foolish man. The next day's return from work revealed a soaked wooden floor threatening to warp under the expanding pool and an ink blot patterned water stain on my ceiling tiles for my dog to study during the slow afternoon hours. The next Saturday morning found me on the roof, trusting my footing to ridges in the snow and ice pack, beating the hell out the ice with a hammer.

During this process, on a drive to school one morning, my daughter Elise randomly piped up from the back seat, "Dad, the leaky roof might be a good thing." It was all I could do not to park the car in the ditch, dive into the back seat, and shake some reason into her right then and there. This was during her "advice" period, during which she offered daily guidance on driving, regarding in particular route, speed, and volume of radio. Now she wanted to tell me to be positive about the roof?

Rather than anger, I chose to follow the rabbit down the hole to see where it led. "How's that, Elise?"

"Well, God often turns bad situations into good." Game-set-match: Elise.

She was right. And how was she right? How did she think to say this foundational theological truth in a time when I wanted instead to stew in my own frustration? She knows this because she's spent hours in our living room chair, on my lap or Emily's, reading Bible stories. She knows it because of all the Sunday school classes and AWANA meetings where her teachers volunteered their  time to teach this and many other Biblical lessons to her. She knew just the right thing at just the right time from being around enough stories and people that at the minute she (or I) needed it, she had the truth.

If we want the truth near when we need it most, we need to keep people and stories of our faith near. Wherever you place your faith, whether it be in hard work, your family, God, or all three, immerse yourself in stories that remind you what it's all about and what you believe. And then tell those stories to a friend, or your spouse, or your kids, or your students, and they may just remember them when the roof is caving in.

Ineffable

I traffic in words.

I believe in their power to communicate, inspire, change, and share. As an English teacher, a lecturer, a writer, and a voracious reader, my days are dominated by the quest for picture perfect prose, whether it be mine or those I'm consuming. I know what it is to struggle for just the right adjective as the cursor blinks blinks blinks in impatient condemnation. I've felt the joy of stringing together a precise collection of syllables to vividly and poignantly connect my experience with whoever is on the other side of the screen. And mostly through Steinbeck and C.S. Lewis, I have been pierced by words in such a way that I felt someone was looking inside my soul and telling me what was there all along but I never had seen.

I say that, but this post isn't about the power of words. Instead, it's about their inadequacy in certain situations.

The word that communicates the weakness of words is ineffable.

Ineffable: (adj.) "too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words."
synonyms: indescribable, inexpressible, beyond words

When I hear this word, I think of my daughter Elise. She has been immersed in a loquacious household and saturated with the wit of Fancy Nancy, a children's book series devoted to a character, Nancy, who uses extensive (i.e. fancy) vocabulary to describe her experiences. Whatever Elise is, she is rarely at a loss for words.

Except when she is. Recently there have been times where she's replied to a question of mine with, "I know, but I don't know the words to describe it." She thinks it's because she doesn't know those words yet. I'm beginning to believe it's because the thoughts/emotions she's attempting to express are ineffable.

What could a 6-year old possibly find ineffable? Guilt and fear, mostly. "Elise, why did you try to make your sister feel bad?" I don't know the words to describe it. "What is it about this situation that scares you?" I'm not sure how to say it. I've found myself agreeing with her. I ask these questions, but what do I expect her to say? Who can put into words the pride and competition and evil inside of us all that causes us to act in demeaning ways to other members of humanity? What words would accurately describe the fears I carry around daily in a way that would make other people understand?

There are moments of intense joy for her that she doesn't necessarily have the words for either. She has to draw those rather than describe them, as she did with the "Smile as Big as My Face" picture. Or sometimes she has to express her excitement not in words, but in inexplicable clawing hand motions and weird gutteral sounds that make her look and sound like a foraging animal. Words cannot contain her enthusiasm. It is not bound, in moments like these, by the limits of logical behavior.

Some things in this world, maybe the best of things, are ineffable: how I felt on the walk with Emily the first night we met, Black Canyon in Colorado, Reese's peanut butter cups, the first spring day that it's warm enough to open the windows. I'm sure there are scientific descriptors that might measurably detail aspects of these; none of those descriptors begin to tell the story, though, in a way that will make it real to someone else.

As Elise has shown, the worst of things are ineffable as well: the hate we've all found inside us at one time or another. The pain of betrayal. The disorientation of feeling lost in life, living in a place and time where you perhaps do not belong or don't have a place and not having any idea the way out. Loneliness, or the need for solitude. Regret. We have words for these, but not adequate ones.

It's hard for a writer to admit: "I don't have the words." But maybe that truth highlights the need for writing, for metaphors, for poems and stories that attempt to provide a glimpse of an image that shows, just for a second, the truth that you can't wrap words around. We need good prose precisely because we must attempt to try to share in creative ways the experiences we want to communicate but can't.

What this writer wants to explain is that the ineffable is for me some of the greatest evidence for God. The fact that beauty and joy and comfort exist that we can't wrap coherent words around, that we can't seem to classify or compartmentalize, that were clearly made for us as a mere taste for what's in store for us, begs the question of what? Or perhaps Who? We did not create this joy or this beauty or this companionship; it was created for us. The unspeakable horrors communicate the same message to me. Problems so big, pain so great, hurt so complex that we find language and solutions inadequate means that the solution is bigger than us. We cannot solve the puzzles of a fallen world. The answer is elsewhere, and it is the great longing inside of us.

How then do we share the ineffable in our lives? We share by sharing the experience. Hold the hand of the person you love and gape in awe at the inexpressible. Hand a friend some peanut butter cups. Sit on your patio when spring stirs your soul, and do so with your friends, a grill, and several stories. Take someone to your favorite place and let the place speak for itself.

And what of the evil? Of the pain and loneliness and frustration and loss? How do we share that? We don't. We share the one Comfort, the one Solution, the one Constant in the midst of all of it, and we tell stories that help to describe all the ineffable qualities of this Savior. It's all we can do. In situations like these, as much as we wish otherwise, words just won't get the job done.

A Tribute to the Atheists in My Life

Al Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, recently accepted an invitation to speak at Brigham Young University. For the non-theologically inclined, that's a big deal. Mohler's fundamental and unwavering belief system stands in stark contrast to the tenets of Mormonism, the rock on which BYU stands. It's staggering. They invited him? He accepted?

Yes, and yes. And in the process, Mohler's introduction to his audience offer great wisdom for us all:

The presence of the president of The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary behind the podium at Brigham Young University requires some explanation. I come as an evangelical Christian, committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and to the trinitarian beliefs of the historic Christian faith. I come as one who does not share your theology and who has long been involved in urgent discussions about the distinctions between the faith of the Latter Day Saints and the faith of the historic Christian church. I come as who I am, and your leaders invited me to come knowing who I am. I have come knowing who you are and what you believe and my presence here does not mean that the distance between our beliefs has been reduced. It does mean, however, that we now know something that we did not know before. We need to talk. We can and must take the risk of responsible, respectful, and honest conversation. We owe this to each other, and we owe this to the faiths we represent. And we had better talk with candor and urgency, for the times demand it.

My presence here is indicative of one of the strangest and most ironic truths of all - that the people who can have the most important and the most honest conversations are those who hold the deepest beliefs and who hold those beliefs with candor and engage one another with the most substantial discussion of the issues that are of most crucial importance to us. And thus the president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary is thankful to be among you at Brigham Young University. You are a university that stands, as all great universities stand, for the importance of ideas and the honor of seeking after the truth. I come to honor the importance of ideas and the centrality of the search for truth with you.

Responsible, respectful, honest conversation. Candor. We owe this, says Mohler.

When is the last time you thought that you owed something to those with whom you most vehemently disagree about that which you hold most dear? Yet here is Mohler, calling not only for respect, but demanding conversation of us to those around us. With candor and truth and humility, we must not only state our opinion but also ask theirs. What if Republicans and Democrats operated under this assumption? Student peer groups? Communities in conflict? Families feuding? Hawkeye and Cyclone fans? Or, more importantly and more to Mohler's point, what about those of us with vastly differing worldviews and faiths (or lack thereof)?

I have been blessed with many atheists in my life. I've often joked that I've had more good friends who were atheists over the course of my life than I have who are Christian. At this point I no longer believe that's true, but the numbers haven't been as far off as some might assume regarding someone who writes a blog from a Christ-centered worldview. I say that it's been a blessing because most of them have fleshed out Mohler's advice: with candor and enthusiasm we've discussed our respective positions, and I've rarely felt like they were trying to win. Rather, they listened, they rebutted, they questioned, and they shared. And we continue life with a respect for each other. Though we are slow to budge one way or another from our stances, we have not been hesitant to discuss. Despite the fact that I think they are robbing themselves of the joy of the Almighty and will end up in eternal damnation (unless they find Christ), and they think I am wasting my life on a fairy tale, we are friends. And we can talk about that wide gulf in the difference of our opinions.

Perhaps I've just been blessed to find the right atheists. There are plenty irrational and disrespectful God-loathing mouthpieces neither listening, sharing, or filling the air with honesty. And unfortunately there are many who claim Christ who are unable to do this as well. But it begs the question: what if?

If BYU can listen to Mohler, and he can accept their invitation, then why not us? Avoid God and politics at the supper table? No, thank you. I'll take a side of both.

Dangerous Desire

I want something, and it's killing me.

Not literally killing me, of course. It's more like a slow decay. But the intermittent drip-drip of this potential poison that my desire invites demands that I wake up, take notice, and tread carefully.

And what I want isn't bad. Professionally, there's a position I seek. It's good and right and true to want to use God-given abilities in a way that impacts more people. My work should do that. I want to do that.

But when you want something, especially regarding your career, you end up doing a lot of self-talk in your head trying convince yourself and the future people you imagine listening to your earnest pleas that you are in fact the most worthy person for the position. You tell yourself all you've done to earn it, all your qualifications, all the reasons that there's no one on the earth more suited to have what you want than you. You become convincing and all the more convinced of your own worthiness, detail by minute detail. You think about this while lying in bed at night, or while on a walk, or while driving, or while daydreaming at lunch. You don't mean to, but it just keeps coming up: you are awesome, you deserve this thing that you've decided that you want, and you can't wait to convince decision-makers of the blessing that is you. At least that's how I do it.

Confidence is key. I should be confident. If I wasn't, I shouldn't want what I'm chasing. But I've got to be careful. Too much self-praise, self-focus, and self-assurance will rot my soul. I'll drive myself crazy building myself up. And a focus on my own worthiness will slide slowly into reasons why my competitors are not. Pride will turn competitive, and competition will build pride. Suddenly confidence becomes arrogance. Wanting this position for joy turns into wanting to win out of spite.

It's a delicate balance.

I also have to be okay with not getting what I want. Disappointed perhaps, but certainly not crushed. In a solid article that I came upon today, Jared Wilson challenges his readers to clearly see their place in the world:

You know, it's possible that God's plan for us is littleness. His plan for us may be personal failure. It's possible that when another door closes, it's not because he plans to open a window but because he plans to have the building fall down on you. The question we must ask ourselves is this: Will Christ be enough?

Will He? Or will a prolonged focus on self and a consistent desire for a position in this world make me less than willing to be satisfied in all situations? Am I still okay with believing in the sovereignty of God if his sovereign will for me isn't climbing personal mountaintops? I shudder to hear the answers, as long as I maintain this internal dialogue of my own brilliance.

Desire is good. I will not quit chasing this position. But I will recognize the potential pitfalls of this desire, work hard to stay grounded, and put myself in a position daily to be reminded that I am not God. If you see me in the next few weeks and I appear deep in thought, feel free to remind me of that yourself.

Joy and Pizza

You've got to get your money's worth. Get the most bang for your buck. Find the best deal. Check the cost-benefit analysis. Mostly, if you're me, you've got to win, beating corporate America at their own pricing game. Put my wife and I together, and it's twice the fun. I was raised where we competed in a weekly game of "guess how much Mom saved in coupons at the grocery story this week"; she grew up in a family that considered crust a wasteful filler in the eternal quest to outwit the pizza buffet. It's why we have 40 rolls of toilet paper in our house right now.

It is in that spirit of maximizing every dollar that a I read a recent NPR article explaining why ordering a bigger pizza always pays off. Apparently geometric principles involving total area of circles determines that one can often double their overall pizza at a mere fraction of the original cost. That article may have changed my life, granting me a new-found confidence in my future pizza purchases, sure of the path to get more pepperoni per penny.

I may overstate the transformational qualities of this information, but it reminds me of a similar principle in chasing overall joy.

Too often, we settle for the small. We are too busy chasing C.S. Lewis' proverbial mud pies. And we do this by assuming that self-focus will bring self-fulfillment. It is my experience that in both my own life and in the lives of those I'm around (both as peers and as students and players), those thinking solely of themselves put a significant cap on their joy. Entitlement creeps in. So does pride. Satisfaction, however, is slow to follow. Rather, self-focus brings on disappointment, frustration, irritability, and the constant feeling of getting screwed over by the universe.

If you want to increase the overall area of your "joy pizza" and move from a small to a medium, seek satisfaction in service and self-sacrifice, not in self-focus. Be a part of something bigger than yourself. A team. A family. A staff. A community. Ask what you can do to make that something better. When it is, your joy will be double. Serve your spouse instead of waiting for them to make you happy. Cook for your neighbors. Shovel snow that isn't yours. Don't keep score. Work hard for the good of others, and receive twice the good in your own life. It's a good deal, and it requires no coupon.

If you want to really get value and move from a medium to a large, do it all for the Source of all Joy. Do it with an eye towards heaven. Sacrifice and serve out of the humility and gratitude of knowing from where your salvation comes. You will then not only have joy, but joy of eternal consequence.

Happy shopping.

What to Expect When I'm Angry With You

In 2013 I made goals about letter writing, book reading, and blog post writing and reported my progress here. It was a rewarding process through which I held myself accountable for doing exactly what I wanted to do but what for years I couldn't seem to consistently follow through on. I reached the end of the year, celebrated success, and charted a new course for this year. I found to be true for me individually what I knew to be true of teams I've coached: you get what you emphasize. Which also means you don't get what you don't emphasize. Finding my prayer life to be suffering, I placed the sole focus for 2014 on making a regular habit of sitting in front of this screen and typing out prayers on as close to a daily basis as possible.

I will periodically write here what I learn from this prayer journey. Today is one such post.

One of the greatest obstacles to my joy, I've found, is anger. More specifically, ill-will or hostility felt towards other individuals turns me bitter, and that feeling seems to run directly opposite to any sense of personal joy. For whatever reason, despite the fact that our anger actively keeps us from happiness, so many of us (myself included) grip as tightly as possible to the negativity we feel towards those who have drawn our ire. In this way, we poison ourselves. We trade peace and optimism for self-righteous victimhood, opportunities to smile for permanent scowls. Our anger does us no good.

In the past two months, I've learned a simple and full-proof way to combat this: I now pray for enemies. I'd love to say it's earth-shattering advice, but it's not. Effective advice rarely is. Rather, it follows simple logic: if I pray for joy and good and blessings and peace for those who have somehow wronged me or made me angry, I find it impossible not to root for them. I'm forced into a choice when I pray for them; I can either wish well for them through answered prayer, or I make a liar of myself to God. 

I've found that whenever I pray for someone like this, my focus turns from how I've been wronged to what good may come for them. I've got to tell you, it's a freeing exchange. To pray for another is to soften your heart regarding them. To soften your heart is to allow for your own joy. Whatever pride we perceive we may lose in letting go of our grudge is a pittance next to the freedom of moving on in joy.

So this month when someone who seems to have made it their personal mission to be my professional enemy took another shot at undermining the work of myself and others, I stayed angry for a bit. But when I got in front of this screen and started praying and realized it was still on my mind, I prayed for him. I was immediately free.

Occasionally I may be unhappy with a player or two. After all, I work with 16-18 year old's - we're not always going to see things they same way. Instead of stewing in frustration about those players, I sit down and pray for their good. Students as well. And parents. And bosses. Sometimes, when they've disobeyed and screamed all day and destroyed the house and physically assaulted me and used markers on every surface other than paper, prayer for my children necessarily softens this father's heart as well, enabling me to effectively love them and keep perspective, even as I work towards their good.

I don't often want to pray for them when I begin. But like a good workout that my body and mind groans against beginning, I always feel refreshed and glad once I'm done.

Where I'm Supposed to Be

I was angry with Isaiah.

It's difficult to express one's anger to an 9th Century B.C.E. prophet and expect any real results, but I was trying. Charged with the task of creating a sermon outline on Isaiah 65 for my Biblical exposition course, I found myself lost, frustrated, and thinking some not-so-biblical expletives to hurl at this prophet for not delineating more clearly his random shifts in speaker, topic, figurative language, lament, and prophecy. It's never good to be a lit guy struggling with literature. I winced at the thought of showing up to my class and telling the group, "Sorry, I've got nothin'." (I had already planned to drop my g's and use more slang in an effort to downplay my status as English teacher.)

At church on Sunday, my pastor asked me before the service how my preparation for the class had been going. I was blunt. "This is the most lost I've been in this class. I've wrestled with it, and I've got no clue what I'm going to do. I'm have no idea how I'll put something together by Wednesday. I just can't do it."

There are many proper responses here (though few helpful ones), and I expected one of the following:

• "I"m sure it will be fine. Don't worry."
• "No one can make sense of it. We're going to go ahead and skip this week's presentations."
• "I'm sorry to hear you struggling. You're a champion for fighting through and making an attempt."

I got none of that, though. His response to me was, "Just know, you're exactly where God wants you. This is where you're supposed to be."

Where I'm supposed to be? Lost? Clueless? Lacking all confidence? Dependent? Crawling out of my skin crazy because I just can't do it on my own?

Exactly. That's exactly where I'm supposed to be. And so are you.

Comfortable, confident, and capable feel good. So do independence and self-reliance. It feels gratifying to be put in a position where we know we can and will come through, that we are perfectly suited for the task at hand. It's refreshing to effortlessly accomplish what is set before us. But those are not times of growth. Those are not times of risk. And those are not where we are supposed to spend the majority of our time. 

It's hard to be dependent and uncomfortable. It's humbling. But it keeps the idea firmly in our head that we are not God, the world is not designed for our comfort, and we have mountains of improvement ahead of us. This week I battled more than Isaiah 65. I crashed my truck and have had to rely on my wife and friends for rides. I've been sick all week and have been without a voice 3 of the last 4 days, which makes fathering and teaching rather difficult. I have been anything but independent. But in my dependence I've witnessed the love of my wife, the loyalty of friends, the knowledge of my peers, and the grace of God. And I've come out stronger, better, and more grateful.

Coaches, teachers, pastors and parents are there to guide, to push, and to require of us more than our comfort. They are there to put us where we are supposed to be and don't want to go. Christ-follower or not, life is best lived in a state of dependence, in opportunities that require more of us than we can handle on our own. 

And for those of us with the pleasure of finding our identity in Christ, recognizing our dependence for every every breath, every piece of daily bread, and everything good in this world is a true act of worship.

I Can't See the Volcano, But I Know It's There

The first time my wife and I were in Costa Rica, we experienced the wonder that is Arenal. Staying at an inn approximately two miles from this active volcano, we spent an evening with friends watching lava slither down its side while cannon-like echoes of the flaming boulders filled the night-time air. It was surreal, and it was also quite fortunate. Site of the volcano is usually blocked by cloud cover, especially at night, providing us a rare glimpse of Arenal's true majesty.

When we returned a few years later and stayed at the same bed and breakfast, we were not nearly as lucky. Cursed with cloud cover, we could only attempt to explain to the friends who were with us on this trip what we knew to be true. Our story seemed but a fairy tale. But we knew what we saw. We knew the truth of Arenal, despite the clouds.

I was reminded of this story while reading my children a short piece out of Sally Lloyd-Jones' masterful book, Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing. The book is a collection of short devotional-type reflections on faith and joy and God aimed to be accessible to children. I must admit, they often hit home with me as well. One of the pieces is entitled "Clouds and Mountains and Stars." In it Lloyd-Jones describes how when it's cloudy, you can't see stars. Sometimes you can't even see something as big as a mountain, but that doesn't mean that it ceases to be there. She then drives home her point: "Feelings can be like clouds - they blow in and hide things from us. . . Our feelings come and go. But God stays the same. His promises still are shining."

Feelings don't change facts. What an appropriate message in the midst of a basketball season. Sports are and should be a deeply emotional affair. But that emotion shouldn't hide the truth. In one of the most frustrating evenings of the season, I forgot a lot of truths. I forgot that I had vowed not to run my mouth towards officials, since that's not my job as an assistant. I forgot that bad officiating doesn't make someone any less of a person, or any less of an immortal and immensely important being (as C.S. Lewis would say). I forgot that several hundred eyes were on me, and the words I want them to associate with me include steadfast Christian character. I forgot in my anger that later that night I would go home and still have a great family, a great home, and a great job. Obviously it was a cloudy, cloudy night.

We should feel. We should feel intensely and deeply and be affected by those feelings. Feelings can and should drive us towards and away from all kinds of deeds. Enthusiasm and despair instruct. But they do not change the deep, rock-solid truths in our lives. That's why we need so desperately to remind ourselves of the truth and embed it into our minds when the sun is out. Then anger towards a spouse won't change the truth of their love. Frustration with children won't change the truth of their blessings. The infuriating actions of your boss won't change the truth of your paycheck and the good you do in your work. And the thrill of immediate pleasure won't change the long-term ramifications of your choices.

Gaze upon the volcano. Sit around a table and talk about it. Stand in awe. Share it. Stare some more. The next time you're there you might not be able to see it. But you'll know it's there. And you'll be glad.

Your Work Today Matters, and So Does the Way You Do It

The new year brings with it to blogs like mine posts filled with advice on making your resolutions successful. This is a worthy topic. However, often the goals we have for ourselves involve areas of our personal lives and even of our great passions. It was true of me in my goals of 2013: read books, write blog posts, and write letters. These were (and are) important aspects to me not only being the me I can be, but the me I most desperately want to be. Our resolutions tend to come from such a place.

What is rare to hear or read about, however, is how people intend to approach their job in the coming year. Goals at times involve occupation; however, those goals are typically based on obtaining new positions or climbing some ladder. What I want to take a look at here is an improved mindset for your daily duties, whether they are your passion or not.

Work is a hard thing to figure out; or at the very least, it's proven to be difficult for our culture to balance. On one end, work is what we complain about. We trudge through, survive, grumble about our boss, punch in and punch out, always looking for something better. On the other extreme, work is our identity. It is who we are, defining how others see us and the importance ascribed to us. High school kids are asked "what" they want to be, not "who." College students are told the perfect job, and therefore the perfect life, awaits them and is owed to them upon graduation. We alternatively bow down to this golden calf and curse it's control over our otherwise happy lives.

As always, there is a different way. I just finished reading How Then Shall We Work by Hugh Welchel. Through a study of the history of the views of work both in American culture and in the Christian tradition, Welchel examines how we are called to work. The answers, which should not be surprising, ask for a focus other than the self. The book is worth your time.

I've collected some of the passages I think are best and included them below. Hopefully you find them helpful in your approach this week to your vocation, whether it be part-time or full-time, a dead-end or a dream, with the famous or with your family. Enjoy:

1) The Church’s approach to an intelligent carpenter is usually confined to exhorting him not to be drunk and disorderly on Sundays. What the Church should be telling him is this: that the very first demand that his religion makes up on him is that he should make good tables.

2) From T.M. Moore: “So no matter what your job, or whatever your work might be, God intends that you should devote your labors to something greater than personal interest, economic prosperity, social good, or future beneficence alone. God intends your work to contribute to the restoration of the creation, and the people in it, to raising life on this blue planet to higher states of beauty, goodness, and truth, reflecting the glory of God in our midst.”

3) Because of the curse of sin, our work will be difficult, and we will not feel God’s pleasure all the time or at the level we will enjoy in the world to come. But we should feel satisfaction and joy from doing our best with what God has given us in the place where His providence puts us.

4) Alister McGrath regarding John Calvin: “Work was thus seen as an activity by which Christians could deepen their faith, leading it on to new qualities of commitment to God. Activity within the world, motivated, informed, and sanctioned by Christian faith, was the supreme means by which the believer could demonstrate his or her commitment and thankfulness to God. To do anything for God, and to do it well, was the fundamental hallmark of authentic Christian faith. Diligence and dedication in one’s everyday life are, Calvin thought, a proper response to God.”

5)The Cultural Mandate, according to Richard Pratt: “The Great King has summoned each of us into his throne room. Take this portion of my kingdom, he says, I am making you my steward over your office, your workbench, your kitchen stove. Put your heart into mastering this part of my world. Get it in order unearth its treasures; do all you can with it. Then everyone will see what a glorious King I am. That’s why we get up every morning and go to work. We don’t labor simply to survive, insects do that. Our work is an honor, a privileged commission from our great King. God has given each of us a portion of his kingdom to explore and to develop to its fulness.”