Hans Solo, Mary and Martha

I am and always will be a man.  Nothing will ever change that fact.  For most of my life, I have identified with male characters in novels and movies.  I typically read male authors of fiction, not that there are not terrific female authors, but I find myself more compelled by the types of books written by men.  Growing up, my heroes were always men: Batman, Superman, Hans Solo, Hannibal Smith, Michael Knight.

I have never had anything against women.  I am a teacher, so the vast majority of my co-workers are women.  I have a deep respect from them and have learned from them.  Before teaching, I held various jobs and a large number of my supervisors were women.  My mom is a woman, and I love her dearly.  I have a sister who's a woman, and I married my wife, also a woman.  I have two daughters, not women, but one day will be.

For the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to be like a woman.  Now before you start unfollowing me on Twitter or unfriending me on Facebook, please see the first two sentences.  Let me 'splain.

Last year, I started a slow and deliberate journey through the gospels.  Time and again I was struck by the incredible strength and courage of the women found in these four books.  Not that there are not great examples elsewhere, but it seems that not enough is said about these women.  I had always focused on the 12 male disciples, but these female disciples get their fair share of ink, too.  I am ashamed to admit that I had overlooked them and their role in advancing the gospel message.

The one Mary broke with culture and sat at the feet of Jesus in a room that was supposed to be for men.  One woman anointed Jesus' head with very expensive perfume.  Mary poured a year's wages onto Jesus' feet and wiped it with her hair.

How about the faith of the woman who knew all she needed was to touch his garment?

Jesus' mom stood by him at the cross when the vast majority of his disciples had fled and went into hiding.

Mary and Mary went to the tomb to take care of Jesus' body. Jesus appeared to them first.  Why not a man when, at the time, a man's testimony was all that counted?  They were the first to be given instruction to spread the gospel.


Nothing could hold back the love these women felt for their Savior.  They were neither ashamed nor afraid to do want needed to be done to honor their Lord.  We can learn a lot from their boldness and humility.  I know I did!

Happy Mother's Day to my mom!  Thank you for showing me the love, patience and grace of Christ.  
Happy Mother's Day to my wife!  Thank you for sticking with me, and holding my feet to the fire to become a better father, husband and friend.

Doubt

I have become overwhelmed with the concept of doubt lately.  I can't tell you why, only that it's something that God has laid on my heart.  Doubt can be paralyzing.  Sometimes we feel that maybe something is wrong with our faith if we doubt.  That if we have doubts God can't use us.  That's just stinkin' thinkin'!

In Exodus 3, we have the story of Moses and the burning bush.  Here Moses has some serious doubts about his abilities.  He asking God, more than once, if there isn't someone better.  Does God toss him aside and go look for someone else?  Does God even get angry?  The answer to both of these questions, of course, is no.

In Judges 6, the Lord wants to use Gideon to deliver the Israelites from the Midianites.  Gideon not only doubts that he is up to the task, but that it's the Lord talking to him.  He ask for several signs, which the Lord provides. No lightning strike, no belittling, no yelling.

In John 20, Thomas doubted and was given proof.  In Matthew 28, the eleven remaining disciples went to Galilee to see the risen Jesus, but Scripture tells us that even then some doubted.

The thing I keep seeing?  In not one of the cases does doubt disqualify.  God still expected them to carry out what He had planned.  He helped them move past their doubts into belief.  Belief in Him and belief in what He could do through them.  It didn't seem to diminish their effectiveness either.  Moses did lead the people out of Egypt and Gideon defeated a vast army with only 300.

I also see a patience in God that is incomprehensible.  How many times does He have to prove Himself?  Gideon asked for no less than three signs.  The disciples had been with Jesus through most of his ministry on Earth, and still they doubted.  I get impatient with my children if I have to ask them to do something more than once or they aren't doing fast enough.  God knows we are weak, but He refuses to accept it.  Instead, He works on us so we don't accept it either!

When doubt is present, we have two choices.  Run from what we are called to do, or run to the One has called us to do it.

Has doubt ever paralyzed you to the point of inaction?

A Boy and His King

This is the tale of two boys who grew up in the same village in the shadows of the same castle ruled by the same king.  The two boys had different mothers, different friends, and a different way of looking at their same king.

One bright summer day, the two boys met in the field between the castle and the village.  As boys typically do, they became fast friends and began running around sword fighting and dreaming of what it would be like to be a knight, and this is when their friendship almost fell apart.

Being a knight meant protecting the king and advancing his kingdom.  For one boy, Thadeus, this was no problem.  He loved the king.  For the other boy, Sheamus, this was a real problem because he could not stand the king.

So, as boys do, they began to have the mother-said conversation.

"My mother said he was mean and heartless."

"Mother told me he was generous and caring."

"My mother said he would kill you if you do anything wrong at all."

"Mother said he was gentle and gracious."

"My mother said he is never around when the village really needs him."

"Mother said that he is always here and wants nothing but the best for us."

Sheamus huffs and asks Thadeus, "Well, what do you know?"

"Well, Sheamus, I know the king.  I've met him in person.  He was really nice to me.  I've actually eaten at his table and slept in his castle.  He loves me like my mom and dad love me."

"You...you know the king?  How did you meet him?  Weren't you scared?"

Thadeus looked at the ground for a moment thinking how to answer this question.  He was a little scared, but not for the reasons Sheamus meant.  And scared really wasn't the right word.  He was in awe of the king because he was, after all, the king, and he knew kings held great power.  He wanted his new friend to know the king the way he did.  He didn't like that someone would think this wonderful man to be heartless and cruel.

Thadeus answered, "I was a little nervous because I wanted to please him.  My mom and dad had always said such wonderful things about him, and I wanted him to know how much we loved him, how much we appreciated all that he has done for us."

"Ok, but HOW did you get to go into his castle?  We are just small, poor peasants who mean nothing to him.  Why would he have people like us eat his wonderful food?"

"We asked.  He wants us to ask him to join him at his table.  He prepares food and drink enough for the whole village in the hopes that we will all come and eat with him.  And he doesn't look at us like peasants.  He told us that we are like sons and daughters to him and will inherit his kingdom.  All his riches are ours, too.  You just have to ask."

Sheamus was completely stumped.  This did not sound at all like the king his mother and father had told him about.  He wanted to know this king.  He wanted to be around this king.  He would gladly and proudly serve this king as a knight of the realm.  More than anything, he wanted his parents to hear this news.

Stories don't always have happy endings.  Sheamus' parents never did believe the stories he told them, but his heart was set on knowing the king the way Thadeus did.  He finally did, and it was better than he could have ever imagined.

Are we letting wrong perceptions of God keep others from His table?

Walls, Toilet Paper and Sanctuary

For the last couple of years God has laid on my heart the need for the church, or people of the church, to be more vulnerable.  I've been a more than a little concerned about the average church-goer's need to appear that everything is in perfect order.  Marriage is perfect.  Finances are perfect.  Job is perfect.  Even the kids are perfect.

Oh, and did I mention my walk with Christ could not be any better.  I wake up and hear angels singing.  He answers every prayer and speaks to me in every quiet time.  I sing praise songs all day and pray when I'm not singing.  God and I are tight!

The unchurched and dechurched come in, see this, and feel they can't possibly measure up.  This has become a passion of mine.  To see church goers become real and honest.  I think if we can lose this air of having it all together, we can become more relatable.  Church people mess up, too, and I think it's time we stop sweeping our messes under the rug.

So, in the spirit of honesty and confession, I slipped up a couple weeks ago.  You see, I used to have a real anger issue.  I came to realize that it was a direct result of unconfessed sin in my life.  I have since repented of this sin and have sought to draw nearer to God, and as a result, the anger has largely subsided.  Well, I got angry the other day...really angry.  So angry I did something that I haven't done in years... I punched  a wall.  You know the worse part...the straw that sent me over was dropping a roll of toilet paper into the toilet.  Are you kidding me?

I'm not proud of this at all.  In fact, I am quite ashamed, and the shame hit me faster than the pain from hitting the wall.  My hand swelled up and, in fact, two weeks after the incident, is still causing me some trouble.  I thought I was past this.  I thought I had things under control.  I am better than what I was, but it became apparent that night that I still have work to do.

So, what was I going to tell everyone?  It was obvious I had done something to my hand as it was twice it's normal size, but to tell people I had punched a wall out of anger was not something I wanted to do.  I know.  I'll lie.  I'll tell them I smashed it in a door or had something fall on it.  Nobody can know the truth because they will think less of me.

And then God reminds me of what He has been trying to teach me.  Wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity to let people know I am not perfect and still have my struggles?  What about all the prayer support I would missing out on if I don't share?

So...the very next evening I had praise team practice, and before the practice, we have a time of devotion and sharing.  The time came for prayer request and, shedding all my pride, I shared my story.  What I found was not judgment, but love.  What I found was not scorn and ridicule, but encouragement and support.  In fact, someone in the group opened up about a similar problem.

Now I know that a small group is supposed to be a safe environment, but shouldn't the church be also.  I miss the days when we used to call our worship center a sanctuary.  I love that word and all it implies.  I hear that word and think safety and comfort.  Maybe it's what we're missing.  Maybe the unchurched or dechurched don't feel safe.  It should be the one place in the world where we can all come as we are, with all of our baggage and mess.  We shouldn't have to leave it at home or check it at the door.  Maybe, just maybe, if church leaders start sharing their struggles, we can be known as a place of security and acceptance and lose our label as cold, judgmental, hypocritical people.

Fog

The last few mornings I have driven to work in some crazy fog.  Visibility in some spots was no more than 100 yards, and in others it was less than that.  I have driven these roads for 8 years now, so I know them pretty well, but there is something about not being able to see where I am going that was more than a little nerve-wracking.

Psalm 119:105 says,"Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path." (NIV)  We have to keep in that lamps are not at all like our high-tech LED flashlights.  I would rather have the LED flashlight, but a candle, which is essentially what a lamp was back then, is better than complete darkness.

Now, here's the thing for me.  A lamp is only gong to light so much of the path.  Just enough for us to take our next few steps. Personally, I'm glad that my path is not completely lit.  I think that if I could see all the things that lie ahead of me, all the grand plans that God has in store for me, I'd never take the next step.  I don't know if I would have the courage needed to proceed.  By showing me just a few steps at a time, I am allowed to exercise the small faith I have.  Exercising my faith allows it to grow, and when I have some rather large steps to make, I can rely on that faith to get me through.

God never promises us an easy ride, but He does promise to guide us through it.  His guiding style is to show us only what we can handle, and even that stretches us, if we allow it.  So, while not being able to see where we are going in this physical world can be disconcerting, it can be oddly comforting in our spiritual journey.

Nearsighted

For as long as I can remember, I've had to wear some type of contraption or device to aid my vision.  At one point, my sight was degrading so rapidly I had to visit the optometrist as often as you do the dentist.  Every time I went I came out with a new prescription.  I am VERY nearsighted.  Without glasses or contacts, I couldn't see the words on my monitor about a foot away.

Like I said, dealing with these vision problems is nothing new.  However, about three years ago, it came to my attention that I had another vision problem.  You see, for many years prior to this there were three men I really looked up.  Each one was successful in their own.  One was a man of integrity beyond reproach.  Another was a man of great faith and service.  The other was a success in business.  I tried to hold myself to the standards I saw in these men and failed.  As a result, what I saw in the mirror was less man and more boy.

I was spiritually nearsighted.  My vision beyond them was blurred.  I love and respect these men deeply, but they are not worthy of the esteem with which I held them.  I set my standards too low.  The mark I should have been aiming for was that of Christ.  It, too, is a mark I will NEVER make this side of heaven, but I'm good with that. I know I will be rewarded for the effort.  It's funny.  When I was failing in what I thought I should be succeeding at, I was miserable.  Now that I'm failing in something I know can never live up to, I've never felt better.

Christ knows we can't be like him.  He was perfect.  I had a pastor that was fond of saying the Christian life was not difficult.  It was impossible.  There's a certain comfort in that thought.  There was only one perfect man to walk this earth, and I'm not him.  My vision is much clearer now than it was three years ago, and, unlike looking at the sun, if I keep looking at the Son, my eyesight can only improve.