I Got Your Back

Part of the traditional American Dream is for parents to want their children to be better off than they were. Many people work hard to provide opportunities for their children that they never had so that the children can live better than they did. I partly subscribe to this goal.

I have no dreams or wishes for my daughters concerning money. I have no hopes that they will end up “better off” than I am financially. It is inconsequential to me. Frankly, part of me hopes that they will face some sort of financial hardship in their lives, a time when money is tight and they must make choices about how to use scarce resources and learn that their joy has very little to do with their bank account. If they end up with a great deal of money, I simply pray that they understand that to whom much has been given, much is to be expected.

I do wish for them to be better than me, however. Not with money, but with people. The other night on our drive home, I was speaking with Elise, my 3 year old, about the phrase, “I got your back.” I said it to her, and she wanted to know what that meant. I explained to her about it being a promise to be there for someone else, to care greatly about their happiness, to support them in tough times and celebrate with them in good times. I explained to her that as a family, it’s important for us to have each others’ backs. We spoke about how her younger sister, Leah, would especially need her to have her back. This is what family’s do.

Pretty much immediately I realized that I was perhaps the world’s worst person to be teaching this to her. I did not have my sisters’ backs while we were growing up. Oh, I played with them and interacted with them at appropriate times. I don’t think I was mean. I was just, well, absent. Self-absorbed may be a better word. Or perhaps jackass. I lived in my own world. I worked hard to achieve my own personal goals, and I focused solely on those goals. I had no idea what was important to my sisters when they were younger. I couldn’t celebrate the good times and support them in the bad because I really had no idea about any of their times, good or bad. I had goals, and I was reaching for them. I had nobody’s back but my own.

Now, there’s little I can do in support of them other than prayer. One is married, the other five states away. We’re adults - they probably don’t need much from me. I “have their backs” now, but how much can I really do?

In this way I want my children to end up “better off” than their father. I want them to know they can count on each other from years of practice, not hope that they’ll find support in adulthood. I want them motivated and focused on success in their youth, just not so much on self.

Elise and I talked about Libya last night. And Japan. She enjoys looking through the pictures of my Time Magazine. She’s worried about that mean king in Libya and the people he’s hurting and all the smoke in those pictures. She’s concerned about the people without homes in Japan. She’s learning the world is bigger than her immediate desires. In this way, with a global perspective and familial pride, her and her sister will be better than me.

A Change of Perspective

Today is the 15th, so I'm halfway through my "pray big" month as detailed in my last post. This organized, purposeful approach towards coming to God with requests that require mountains of faith has altered the way I see the world in merely two weeks of work.

One way is with people. I have a list of nonbelievers whom I love and are important in my life that I've made part of this month long prayer journey. I seek their conversion desperately, not as someone looking for people he likes to join his team (I'm not the Miami Heat, and this isn't spiritual free agency), but as someone who wants to see their joy explode exponentially and their eternal fate to be secure. I love them, and I want great life for them.

Praying for them has changed how I see them and how I think about them. Most of the time, like most people I would guess, I see others in relation to their effect on me. It sounds terrible, but I think this is fairly universally true. My friends are my friends because they have something to offer me. This person shares my love of basketball, this person entertains me, this person is great to drink a beer with, this person makes my day more enjoyable, or this person treats my daughters well. Sure, I absolutely want to serve these people as well and be a person of value to them; but I think of them first in terms of how they affect my life. (I hope this is natural - otherwise I risk losing several friends with this blog post.)

Praying for them changes that. It makes me forget about me and see them the way God sees them. They are people of great intellect, passion, and ability; and they have so much to offer as a follower of Christ. More importantly, Christ has so much to offer to them.

I hope my prayer has as big of an impact on those I'm praying for as it does on me. I have become free to see greatness in their future, not great ways they can improve my life. In the end I believe that will make the joy of all of us greater.

March's Mission

In my step-by-step, month-by-month list of personal improvements for the year, I've decided March is the month to tackle my goal of "praying big."

Realistically, I should probably simplify the goal this month from "pray big" to just "pray." That would be a huge step in the right direction. My life isn't devoid of prayer - I pray with my family at the table and before bed - it's just lacking focused prayer. This may be, in my mind, my greatest spiritual weakness. Prayer has been a years long struggle for me as I've attempted to understand it. Fellow Christians ask me to pray for certain problems in their lives, and I want to ask them, "Are you sure? Do you know how bad I am at this?" And as I rail against the idea of not living out one's beliefs, in the back of my head I know that I'm talking about me and my lack of prayer.

But I will not diminish the goal. I said I needed to start praying big, so that's exactly what I'm going to do. I don't need to baby-step this one with some sort of gradual nicotine-patch approach to my prayer life. I've already baby-stepped this one enough: despite the fact that I realize how big of a weakness this is for me, I've left it until now because I knew it just wouldn't be a successful attempt during basketball season. I basically admitted to myself that I wouldn't make time, so I should just wait until March. So here I am, with no where else to hide and no more excuses to use.

I made a list the other night of big prayer items in my life. Miracles, basically. I've got broken relationships, lost souls, hopeless scenarios, and pie in the sky dreams written on that list. I'm carrying the list with me so that as more come to me I can write them down. I've committed to praying through the list this month. My goal is to pray every day about a couple of items on the list. I've already missed one day this month because I fell asleep on the couch at 9:15, but I hope that's an anomaly.

I don't know what I'll achieve through this journey. I did acquire unexpected gains from January and February's focused efforts, though, so I'm curious what will happen in March. If nothing else, I'll certainly be praying again.

Velvet-Covered Brick

I love Donald Miller's writing, own most of his books, and I regularly follow his blog. He's witty, honest, and not afraid to gore some sacred cows of the Christian faith. Having said that, Miller is definitely not Christ, and his books are not Gospel. I don't often take issue with statements regarding religion that he makes, but a recent post on his blog was a bit dangerous in my mind. A couple of troublesome statements:

• "We are taught there are only two sides to an issue. This is, of course, absurd."
• "The truth is not so black and white."

In a sense, I agree, in that it is important to understand viewpoints other than one's own and that there are indeed some complicated issues in this world. However, sometimes truth is this simple. Sometimes it is black and white, right vs. wrong. I don't think Miller is a wishy-washy Christian based on this post; however, I do think his eagerness for his audience to embrace these ideas provides freedom for them to not have to find truth in the world. Perhaps, it provides them freedom to never have to accept others speaking the truth to them in love, either.

I've heard this idea of speaking the truth in love to others called a "velvet-covered brick." Sometimes the people you love in life screw up, go down a difficult path, make inadvertent mistakes, etc. Sometimes you're the person headed off the deep end. Situations like this call for a velvet-covered brick. Love is telling people what they need to hear, not what they want to hear.

We seem to be heading further and further into a culture, especially in religious circles, that fear the truth in love. Miller sees Christians becoming too judgmental, too "black and white" on some issues; I see a trend towards less and less conviction in the name of inclusion.

I'm not calling for exclusion: if I was, I would lose most of my friends. Very few of my friends share my worldview. But I am calling for honesty and for a lack of fear in speaking truth.

I began reading Kevin DeYoung's blog this week, and I found something today that speaks to this issue:

"If there is no way to be simultaneously bold and humble; if there is no way to be a gentle, caring person while still speaking in clear tones about hurtful error; if there is no way to correct those who oppose sound doctrine without being a moral monster; if there’s no way to love truth and grace at the same time, then there’s no way to be a biblical Christian. Judgmentalism is a sin and Calvinists can be jerks. But not every judgment is sinful and not every truth is cruel just because Reformed people teach it."

I'm with him on that. Sometimes truth can be that simple.

A Matter of Convenience

So this one might rock the boat a little bit. . .

I was made proud by my church recently. I was surprised to hear from an engaged friend of mine that she wasn't getting married in our church (both her and her husband-to-be attend regularly). Then she told me why: our church won't marry couples who are living together, membership or no membership.

A few around us heard the conversation and were appalled. They couldn't believe that the church would be so judgmental, so exclusionary; and they were more shocked that her and her fiance were still willing to step foot into that church. While I believe many were waiting for me to join in the chorus of boos, in my head I was thinking, Good for our church. My mouth took the middle ground and said nothing.

Before I get too far into this, this isn't a blog post that is an indictment on couples living together before they're married. I don't have the energy or the words for that kind of post. I've told anyone who has asked that I think it's a bad idea, and I'd counsel anyone against it if my opinion were sought. It usually isn't, and I rarely comment. This isn't about that. This is about sticking to convictions, even when it's not convenient.

I'm proud of our church in this regard because it is taking a principled stand based on its theology. They believe it's wrong to live and sleep together before marriage, they believe they are supported by the only Book they hold sacred, and they're sticking to that. It would be way more convenient for them to let it slide, to not ask the question, to marry all who ask, especially members. That would be popular and easy. But they don't. They don't want to hear about how much rent money is being saved or the fact that it's the 21st Century or that it's now the way of the world. Convenience doesn't rule their stance on this. I don't see a lot of this in churches today - most prefer to offer suggested "guidelines" than make their members uncomfortable.

I'm shocked by how much I see convenience rule the morality of the teenagers I see on a daily basis. They believe stealing is wrong, unless it's only a little bit and it's from someone richer than them. They believe lying is wrong, unless it will help them get out of trouble or pass a test. They believe in following rules, except when those rules infringe on their opinion of what the rules should be. I have so many students who would label themselves as "good kids" (as would their parents) who I see try to justify "little" indiscretions with illogical arguments regarding their own comfort.

I'm saddened to see the same in adults. Those professing no strong convictions or no allegiance to God have little to worry about. But if you say you believe something, you can't just believe it when it's convenient. You can't in one breath say that "God is love" and in the other cut down your spouse out of frustration. You can't say that you owe everything you have to God and then not tithe. And you can't say you believe in Jesus Christ and then ignore all the words of his that don't fit your lifestyle. People love to say, "Well, I just can't believe that a loving God would _____________." And they insert into that blank their version of a comfortable lifestyle. This is no faith at all. This is a creation of a God of convenience.

There are examples in my own life. One that really bugs me is not what I did, but what I haven't done. I've been asked several times how I ended up in Nebraska for two years out of college. Most of the time, out of convenience, my answer has gone somewhere along the lines of it being a good job with a good boss and a chance to be a head coach right away. These were benefits for sure, but I usually completely leave out the part about the day where I absolutely to the core of my soul knew that God told me I had to go. I like to tell myself I leave this part out because it might make the listener uncomfortable. A more accurate answer is that it might make me uncomfortable. I believe that sharing about God is essential, yet I've bowed out of easy opportunities like this out of convenience, out of my own weakness for comfort.

This post came out a little stronger, perhaps, than others have. Read no pride into these words - this sermon is as essential for me as anyone else. But I've grown so weary of the criticism hurled at the few still willing to take principled stands (even if they're ones with which I disagree); and I'm beaten down by a pluralistic, make-God-in-my-own-image culture. I had to say something.

Antidote for Cranky

I came across an interesting blog today from the Desiring God website that provides great insight for fighting crankiness. That strategy is simple, yet it seems so effective: praise.

One quote in particular stood out to me: "When our mouths are empty of praise for others, it is probably because our hearts are full of love for self." I have speculated in blog posts this month that a focus on self and the unmet expectations that arise from a focus only on self leads to a majority of the anger and frustration and joy-killing attitude we experience. It stands to reason, then, that if I am focused on praising others, I will lose some of my self-centeredness.

If I think about it, I don't think I've ever been in a bad mood when praising someone/something. Whether it's Fazoli's breadsticks, inspiring man-to-man defense, a talented musician, or a great teacher I've encountered, whenever I lavish praise on them I become immediately happy. And that joy has very little to do with me. It's simply an expression of gratitude for the good things in life that God has provided. To praise is to be thankful; to be thankful is to be content.

Some criticize a God who asks to be praised. How foolish. To recognize and celebrate the goodness of God is to bask in great joy. It's impossible to complain when embracing beauty.

Battling a Father

God as "Father" is a powerful metaphor, one repeated often in Scripture. I believe it has proved effective for so many Christians because of the comfort they receive from knowing they have a perfect, loving father-figure who also just happens to be omniscient. One can walk around with confidence when possessing that kind of knowledge.

Lately I've approached my views on that relationship in a different way. Instead of the focus on this relationship coming from the perspective of the "child," I've come to appreciate the power of seeing this from the perspective of the father.

My focus on maintaining peace and joy regardless of circumstances this month, along with my exploration of the causes behind me losing these qualities, has led me to this view. Over the first half of this month, I've noticed that my misbehaving children are the most frequent trigger to me flipping out. On my last post I wrote that the true cause of anger is entitlement and unmet expectations, and that's the case here as well. It's just that this is lived out most frequently in my children, especially Elise at bedtime.

Elise, my 3 1/2 year old, is brilliantly wonderful and fantastic and unbelievably cute most of the time. And sometimes she's a demon. She's become a "battler" as of late. I don't handle this well. I like control too much, especially in my own home. Basically, she's got too much of her daddy in her.

I was venting about our recent battles to a friend who also has kids, and we both concluded that the best way to feel clueless is to be a parent. You try and fail, try and fail, and sometimes you never get it right. You strategize and use common sense, and it often rarely works. It's so frustrating: I'm working hard for her good, to make her life better, and she wants to do it her own way. That's when I thought about God.

This whole "God the Father" thing is perfect. This is exactly what God has to be going through on a second by second basis in all of our lives. If I am the kid, I am certainly no better than Elise. How often, I wonder, does God try and try and try to work for my good, only to be thwarted by my own stubbornness? How often do I throw my own little tantrum about something stupid just because I'm tired, need rest, and need to trust my Father?

I love thinking about the Almighty as my father. But I can't forget about the fact that that makes me the kid, the source of his righteous frustration. Keeping that in mind should make me a better father and child.