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We were deep within the wild, winding around the sides of a mountain with tall trees above, boulders alongside the path and enclaves and drop offs at every turn. My hiking partner claimed to know his way around this particular spot, pointing at the blazes which clearly marked the various trails. He was supremely confident that he could walk us in and back out of the seemingly endless supply of nature.
It wasn’t long before we were lost. My fearless guide was momentarily confused when he discovered we were not headed the right direction, which didn’t make me feel all that great. After turning in circles and a few false starts, he let out a slight sigh of relief and pointed again at a blaze on a tree just ahead of us. Somehow, we’d missed one of the markers and accidentally began trekking down a different trail. We were halfway down by the time we realized it. The only way to get back to where we wanted to go was to backtrack until we were back to the point where the trails split. The bad news is that we had to retrace our steps, and we lost some time. The good news is that there were clear markers to follow, and we had little trouble course correcting safely.
What a powerful analogy for dealing with a painful past, a problematic present and an uncertain future.
In Jeremiah 31:21 it says “Set up signposts, make landmarks, set your heart toward the highway, the way in which you went.” God was telling his people to clearly mark the path they took as they were led into captivity, because the way to freedom would require them to return the very way they came. Breadcrumbs, like Hansel and Gretel. Blazes, like the ones marking trees on wooded mountain trails.
Our past can be littered with regrets, failures, mistakes, transgressions, betrayals. At some point, we stepped off the path, or wandered onto a completely separate path that leads far away from what God had for us. We wake up one day, open our eyes and we realize we’ve lost our way. And we wonder how in the world we will find our way back. It’s one step at a time. And it requires us to retrace our steps. And unfortunately, it requires us to use the things that create the most pain, shame and embarrassment as landmarks and guideposts. The only way out is through. To recover from a past we’d rather forget, we must first backtrack, passing by each major misstep to gain understanding, find closure and connect more dots to our story. Our freedom requires us to rediscover the journey that led us to captivity in the first place.
With every step, we move closer to the path we were supposed to take, the path that leads forward. It can feel like we’ve been condemned to wander this regretful road for the remainder of our existence, but it’s a temporary setback in the end. If we engage it, one day we will take the next step and feel a change in the ground beneath our feet. There will be a new blaze on the tree in front of us. A different color that signifies we are no longer retracing. A signal that we are stepping out of the past and into the future that God has waiting for us. And with the understanding of where we came from, we will be better equipped to stay on this path, appreciate it and make the absolute most out of it.
Wherever you are will absolutely lead to where you want to be. Just turn around, start backtracking and let God handle the rest.
Today’s post will be a little shorter than usual. Just getting right to the point with this one.
Over the last year, I’ve learned a lot about myself. My past. My future. My present. How to live life. How to trust God. How to make sense of things that don’t make sense. How to be present. Along the way, I’ve picked up some effective ways to help me zero in on what I’m feeling and more importantly, help me say or do the next right thing. This doesn’t mean I always say or do the next right thing. But with every passing day, I get better at that.
Here are the three small phrases that are currently making a big difference in my life, and I think if you try them out, you’ll see they will make a big difference in yours as well.
- But Why… Whatever you are thinking or feeling, whatever emotion is rising up within you, it is the product of an unmet need and/or an unhealed wound. Usually, there are layers upon layers that we have to peel back before we get to the bottom of it. When you catch yourself overreacting to a situation or feeling something that is unsettling, or being tempted to do something that isn’t good for you, pause for a second and ask, But why?” Try to uncover what’s driving your bad mood, your craving, your unhealthy response or your negative thoughts.
- So That… This is a powerful one. Everything happening in your life right now is under the specific instruction of a power higher than yourself. Ask what God has for you in this current situation. Whatever the trial, obstacle, adversity or suffering you find yourself in, there is a “so that” to it. I heard this phrase for the first time while attending my local church several months ago. Liked it so much, I stole it and have been using it ever since to remind me that even when I don’t understand what God is doing, there is a point to it. A bigger picture. I just have to be patient enough to let Him work.
- And Then… I use this when faced with choices and decisions. What is the likely outcome, consequences, etc. to choosing path a over path b. If you are in pain and wanting to medicate in any way to avoid it, you must know that the pain will still be there waiting on you when you’re done, and you’ll also have the consequence of your medicine of choice (which depending on the individual ranges from alcohol to drugs to pornography to binge eating to shopping to gambling to burning hours on social media). If you respond to your current situation out of an unstable emotional state, you will damage the relationship or the scenario even further. Sometimes just being able to see the potential fallout from an unhealthy decision is enough to help you make a healthy one instead.
All three of these phrases are a part of my daily vocabulary now. I’m doing my best to be present in my decision making, in my daily actions, in my relationships, in each and every hour I’ve been blessed with from above. Too often, we go through live in reaction mode, with no real perspective on what is happening to us, why it’s happening and what will happen next. Practice these three phrases for a week, each and every time you get the opportunity, and I bet you feel better equipped to deal with your life in a positive way.
I recently watched a television special on ESPN featuring the story of Southern Methodist University and its football team’s infamous journey from rising national powerhouse to being wiped off the map by the NCAA’s death penalty in 1985. For all the non-sports fans out there, SMU cheated in 100 different ways to build a winning football team, and after several rebukes by the NCAA, its program was effectively destroyed by the harshest punishment in NCAA history. The program is only now showing signs of life, more than 30 years later.
Many of the people who created the cheating culture and conducted the majority of illegal and unethical behavior were long gone by the time the NCAA brought down the hammer. The head coach who was there when the ship finally sank wasn’t the one who set course for the iceberg. He just couldn’t steer the ship clear in time. That fate had been set in motion and could not be avoided.
This is a great example of the long tail of sin. The echoes that mistakes can make in times to come. The consequence, sometimes delayed, of regrets, wounds and weakness.
It can seem unfair, when the echoes come. When you think you’ve seen the worst of it. So relieved to have it behind you, whatever “it” is, and to be starting over. But the consequences aren’t always immediate. Sometimes, your mistakes set into motion a series of other painful events that are yet to unfold in your life. The tendency, at least for me, is to then ask God what in the world He thinks He’s doing. Why is He continuing to punish you for the mistakes you made? Why is some of that punishment delayed? Why now? Why isn’t He restoring instead of destroying? Why is He hurting (you and others) instead of healing? Why is He not choosing to create a happy ending here? We expect that once we’ve repented, once we’ve made amends, once we’ve given it all up to God, it’s time for the miracle, the redemption. That is all true. But if the ship has been directed at an iceberg, God makes no promises that you won’t still hit it.
“Your affliction is incurable. Your wound is severe.”
That’s a quote from Jeremiah 30:12-18. This passage says that you’ll be bound up, have nothing to heal you, be forgotten by your lover, all because of the multitude of your iniquities and the increase of your sin. And then, it asks a hurtful question.
“Why do you cry about your affliction?” As if it should be assumed that this is happening.
At the end of the passage, after explaining that you are receiving grave consequences because of your sin, it says God will “restore health to you and heal you of your wounds.” Those incurable, self-inflicted, devastating wounds. God’s plan is perfect, even though it can be painful.
Another passage, Malachi 2:13-15, says, “You cover the alter of the Lord with tears, with weeping and crying; so He does not regard the offering anymore, nor receive it with goodwill from your hands.” As you read along, it continues, “Yet you say ‘For what reason?'” The passage answers the question, stating that the Lord has been witness to your transgression.
Alexander MacLaren is one of my favorite commentators on scripture. In his examination of these verses, he says:
“Every sin draws after it evil consequences which work themselves out” in your life. “The miseries which follow our sins are self-inflicted, and for the most part automatic.”
In other words, you will reap what you sow. I guess that cliché is true after all. He continues, “If we understand the connection between sin and suffering, and the fact that the sorrows which are but the echoes of preceding sins have all a distinctively moral and restorative purpose, we are prepared rightly to estimate how tenderly the God who warns us against our sins by what men call threatenings, loves us while He speaks.”
And just like the previous scripture in Jeremiah, there remains a promise for redemption.
“No sin can stay our reception of a multitude of good gifts,” said MacLaren.
Sorrows as echoes of preceding sins. That’s really hard to accept. Especially when you feel like you are no longer the person who set the ship on a collision course with the iceberg in the first place. When a changed heart, and a revived spirit is within you. When you’ve begun to transform your life. When you do the work. You likely expect it’s now time for restoration, hope, reward, joy. Not the beginning of an even more difficult journey.
Sometimes, that is true. And sometimes, the long tail of sin still has to work its way out of the picture. And the tip of that tail is most likely the most painful part of it.
I encourage anyone out there who is trying to change, to rebuild, to make things better, to understand that the echoes won’t last forever. At some point, you’ve hit the iceberg, put the pieces back together, and you start winning again. It may feel like forever. But the consequences will work themselves out in your life. In the midst of the echoes is not the time to give up on your God. Even if you are losing what you dearly love. It’s exactly the time when He’s getting ready to do His most miraculous work. It’s not a convenient process. But you can’t argue with the conclusion. It’s hard. It hurts. I don’t know why things are unfolding as they are for you. I can’t even begin to answer that question for myself at the moment. But I want to see how the story ends. God tells great stories.
I posted this picture on my Facebook page earlier this week. Here’s the story behind it and what it means to me.
Several months ago, I attended a weekend retreat with a group of men. We processed a lot of emotions, feelings, past traumas and basically just worked really hard to get a better handle on our fears, wounds, resentments and character defects. It was a pretty intense two days, and there were many deep conversations, inward reflections and buckets of tears.
I left that weekend with a better appreciation for who I am as a man, a clearer view of how my past has shaped me (for better and for worse) and what I need to specifically work on as I stepped forward with my life. I also brought home a souvenir from all my tears. A stye in my right eye.
At first, I just ignored it and assumed it would subside over time. It did not. I went to a couple of eye doctors, who gave me instructions for healing it, including taking medications and applying a warm compress. I tried both, but neither made a difference. So, I ignored it some more. Then, I went to an ophthalmologist for a closer look. He advised me to follow up with their surgical specialist to see about removing it. I scheduled an appointment. Rescheduled it. Cancelled it again. Scheduled it a third time. Finally, I went.
After a long wait, the doctor finally called me back and explained the procedure. They would deaden the eyelid with a cream and then a big needle. Then they would pry it open with a clamp, lacerate it, scrape out all the stuff inside the stye and then cauterize it back together. And I’d be as good as new. Risks would include infection or possibly damaged vision (although that was very rare). She asked me if I wanted to continue with the procedure.
I paused and seriously contemplated saying no thanks, I’m good, have a nice day. But I proceeded. I sat in the room forever waiting on the doctor to come back and actually perform the surgery. I almost left the room twice. I was filled with dread. I hate things near my eyes. I hate needles. I hate any kind of medical procedure. I hated everything about this. But I stayed. And waited. And finally, the doctor was working on me.
At the end of the visit, I was in pain, bandaged up, looking like I lost a fight in a big way. But the stye was removed. And in a few days, I’ll be, hopefully, good as new.
This is so symbolic of my journey in recent months. There have been many moments where I had to choose to subject myself to extreme discomfort and pain to make positive steps in my life and to care for myself. I’ve had to do many challenging and hard things that previously I avoided at all costs. I had to purge myself of fears and hurts that I had resigned to live with and deal with forever. Things that, like my stye, weren’t incredibly easy to notice, at least not if you weren’t looking closely. But they were there nonetheless, having an impact.
If you’re trying to decide whether to deal with a problem in your life, whether it’s a stye, a sin or a sickness, let me share these 4 truths with you:
- It won’t go away. You aren’t going to wake up one day and be rid of it. You aren’t going to wait it out. It’s not going to just give up and leave you alone.
- It will only get worse. Sure, there’s a minimal chance that my stye would have shrunk over time, but it was far more likely to get bigger. Most of our problems are like that. They only get stronger and more hellish the longer we let them fester.
- It will hurt. When you decide to deal with it, you can bank on the fact that it won’t be pleasant. There will be pain and suffering. It will sting. You will ache.
- It will be worth it. When my eye is fully healed, I’ll be glad to no longer have the stye. It will be a relief. The temporary pain I endured will be a steep discount compared to the price I would have paid to avoid it and keep that puss pocket under my eyelid for the rest of my life.
If you made it this far in the post, you likely have a specific problem that has risen to the top of your mind. A problem you don’t want to deal with. A problem that might even seem like an annoyance at the moment, versus something that is an urgent need. But it’s there, and it’s been there. And it’s been nagging you, gnawing at you, getting bigger. Maybe it’s a tough decision you have to make. A wrong you need to make right. A confession that needs to take place. An act of forgiveness that is extra difficult. A sin you need to surrender. A wound you need to heal. A commitment you should make. Whatever it is, I urge you to take action. Take a step. Lean in! No matter how painful it might be. How scary it might seem. How overwhelmed you might feel. Take action. Take a step. Lean in!
As for me, I can see clearly now; my stye is gone! I hope you can say the same soon.
I am weary with my groaning; all night I make my bed swim; I drench my couch with tears. My eye wastes away because of grief. It grows old because of all my enemies. – Psalm 6:6
That was me. Word for word. I could not have said it better myself, and I was very surprised to stumble upon it this week during quiet time.
Restless through each night. Sleepwalking through each day. Feeling old, tired and defeated by the enemy. Numb. Hopeless. Stuck. That was me.
So what changed?
I got mad. I got even. And then I gave up.
The answer to my plight, as it turns out, was just a few chapters away in Psalm 4:4. It says, “Be angry and don’t sin,” and then, “Put your trust in the Lord.” In my words, that means get mad, get even and then give up.
One point of this passage is that we can’t sit in our shit (pardon my language). We must be moved. One commentary I read on this passage suggested that we need a “vehement commotion of the mind and heart.” We have to shake loose from the slumber. We have to wake up and get mad. We have to want it, badly. We have to feel something, whether it’s anger, grief, fear…we have to get fired up. We have to oppose the carelessness, numbing out and carnal security that comes from filling holes in our lives with idols and self-medication.
So, step one…get mad!
And then step two, positively respond to that emotion. Mediate on it. Calmly and objectively examine it. Get even, as in level-headed. Don’t be carried away by the emotion. Yeah, I have a lot of experience getting step one wrong. And I am equally qualified with not appropriately responding to emotions. But it’s how you get from there to here, or from here to there.
Luckily, there’s a step three to help with steps one and two. Give up. You do this by placing your trust in the Lord. Yeah, I know that sounds so cliche and cheeseballs. So Sunday School. But when you truly hand things over to God, truly surrender them, I’ve learned that good things happen. Crazy good things. Transformational things. You just have to give up!
Going back to the first passage in Psalm 6…that terribly dark picture of my former existence…take a look at how that Psalm ends. It says the Lord has heard me, my prayer, my supplication. He will receive it. He will turn my enemies back from me. That’s the promise.
This is the path I’m on, and let me tell you, it works. Feel what you’re feeling (get mad). Wake yourself up, and actually engage with the emotions that are bubbling up inside you. Appropriately respond to those emotions (get even). Examine where they are coming from, what they mean. Meditate on them. And then, hand them right on over to God (give up) and ask for Him to deliver. He will. He always does.
“You are so much more than the worst thing you’ve ever done.”
— Father Gregory Boyles, Founder of Homeboy Industries
I think we all need to hear that every once in a while. When we fail, when we screw up, when we step out of bounds, outside of God’s will, it can feel as if we’re so dirty we can never be clean again. Most of us have mistakes in our lives that we repeat over and over. So, forget feeling bad about a one time offense. We’re constantly in repentance mode. This time it’s for real!
But no matter what you’ve done, where you are, or how you got there, this is true. In God’s eyes, you (and me) are so much more.
I wrote the following song the other night not really knowing what it was about as it was rattling around in my head. It wasn’t until I had it all scribbled on scraps of paper that it made sense. It was about addiction. Sin. The hamster wheels we find ourselves on, the cycles we can’t break. Like an unhealthy relationship with a person we just can’t quit. No matter how toxic the situation is, we just hang on. The relationship (the sin) is serving a purpose. It’s filling a need. And the deeper we go, the harder it is to pull back out, the more destructive it becomes. It’s a vicious spiral.
In the end, as humans, we’ll always have a relationship with sin. It will always be there. We have to find ways to “just be friends” and to stop the love affair with it. And deal with the core issues, before we create deeper scars.
Anyway, hope this makes sense to you. It’s been a while since a song has hit me. I guess this one arrived because I’ve been so consumed by my own hamster wheels lately, and I’ve been on edge, frustrated and distant from God because of it. Not willing to trust Him with my troubles.
Deeper Scars I don’t understand the kind of shape I’m in and why it’s been so long I can’t comprehend why you keep standing in when it all feels so wrong Can you just not pretend that everything is grand you must know it’s falling apart What if this is not a trend but the beginning of the end the start of deeper scars Start over again, you know I would If we could go back to friends, I think we should If we press on from here, I fear we’ll go too far Maybe we should just let go Before we start deeper scars The knife’s broken the skin we keep shoving it in bleeding all the while A bloody, bloody mess still we won’t confess as our sad eyes force the smiles We shake our pretty heads declare that we’re not dead but we are in denial Evidence is this no ignorance is bliss don’t even bother with a trial Start over again, you know I would If we could go back to friends, I think we should If we press on from here, I fear we’ll go too far Maybe we should just let go Before we start deeper scars
As I was standing stage left, in a black t-shirt with big letters, the words death, burial and resurrection scrolling across, I felt incredibly awkward, uncomfortable, unsettled. Several hundred onlookers applauded as the pastor introduced a trio of people taking the plunge in believer’s baptism. A 12-year-old boy, a 7-year old girl and me.
I wanted to do it. But as a 30-something, lifelong “Christian” I felt embarrassed. I wondered what other people were thinking. For some reason, deep inside it was important to me that they knew that I already knew God and was finally declaring my passion to truly follow Him, not that I was just finding salvation. Of course, none of that mattered. What mattered was that Satan had successfully filled my head with ridiculous lies and nonsense and noise, allowing all my familiar insecurities to dominate my attention in a moment when the focus should have been squarely on God.
I wanted to do it. But I tried my best to rationalize my way out of it when the time was drawing near. For almost a week, I debated backing out. Not going through with it. This morning, I stayed in bed as long as I could. Dreading what was to come.
This doesn’t sound like the best way to approach being baptized. It should be a joyous, momentous occasion. For me, this act was about obedience. It was about doing it because it was the right next step for me. I needed to do it. I wanted to do it. I just wasn’t comfortable with the actual act of doing it.
I didn’t want people to think that I had just figured things out. As I discussed earlier, when I was baptized as a child, I had no full appreciation of its significance. Of grace. But was my profession of faith genuine? Was I saved then? I don’t know. Now that I really contemplate it, I really don’t know. As I play back the last several decades of my life and truly, objectively evaluate my historical heart, I really don’t know. But I know this. I am saved in Christ. Did it happen when I was 11? Did it happen just this past week? I really don’t know. But I know that it happened. I know my heart in this moment, my desire for true repentance. The change I’ve been feeling inside. The relationship I now have with God.
My favorite song recently is “Somebody I Used to Know” by Gotye. Such an awesome song. It’s become my anthem for how I feel about myself. With every passing day, I feel like I’m shedding old burdens and chains and that I’m more fully embracing who I am, and who I am to become. Understanding where I came from, who I have been. It’s like the person I was for so much of my life is quickly becoming somebody I used to know. That’s exciting to me.
I still have such a long way to go. So much to figure out.
As I sat in the tub, the pastor about to submerge me in water, I had a fleeting moment of clarity. This act of baptism was not only for me to publicly declare that I will live my life for Jesus. It was also an opportunity to proclaim my faith in allowing God to start anew with me. As I climbed out of that tub, I no longer felt the discomfort, the worry about how people were perceiving me. Whether anyone was judging me, thinking I should have figured this out by now. Whether anyone thought I looked out of place on that stage.
In Everything Belongs, Richard Rohr writes that we, “must always be ready to see anew…to be vulnerable, to say to your soul, ‘I don’t know anything.'”
That’s what I was able to say to God and all those in attendance today. I don’t know anything. I don’t have it figured out. I had it all wrong, for so long. But I’m ready to start again.
There’s a lot going on right now. Personally. Professionally. Spiritually. It’s easy to get distracted, or overwhelmed, and retreat back to a simpler, safer path, instead of continuing to press and lean in to what I’m hearing from God.
I’ve found a few really effective ways for me to keep perspective and stay in the moment. To not get led astray by all of the competing priorities and noise around me. To keep me focused on the work at hand.
The first thing I’ve done to keep myself focused is to find a consistent time to be with God. It’s not easy for me to sit still. It’s not easy for me to turn my mind off and hear from God without letting all my thoughts and worries get in the way. For a while, I used a daily commute to work as captive time to spend with God. Lately, I’ve been a daily dip in the tub. It’s not the most manly thing in the world, but in my warm bath with Bible or other book in hand, I’ve been able to be still and hear from God. And He has graciously rewarded my diligence by granting countless insights and connecting numerous dots for me.
The second thing I’ve done to keep myself focused is weeding my flowerbed. Also not very high on the manly man scale, right?
I used to absolutely despise anything related to working in the yard. Cutting grass. Planting stuff. Yuck. We have a large flowerbed that borders our back patio. I built it, and since that moment, it’s been the bane of my existence. Twice, weeds have overtaken it to an extent that forced us to hire professional assistance to get it back under control. As the warm weather once again summoned those insanely persistent demons from below, I begrudgingly spent an hour crouched beneath the bright sun, wrestling with the weeds, my hands gnarled and shredded, my lower back aching. About halfway through the process, I started to notice all the obvious parallels to my spiritual walk. How these weeds represent my sin, my wounds, my struggles.
These include the fact that if I don’t consistently tend my spiritual garden, the weeds will overtake it. The longer I put it off, the tougher they are to pull, the more damage they can do. Even if things look okay on the surface, they are waiting just below the surface. They are still there, lingering. If I don’t actively combat them, they will suffocate growth. They will create a tangled mess.
Since then, I’ve tended this flowerbed several times. And I’ve started looking forward to it. As I work, I visualize the struggles I have in my spiritual walk as these sinewy little green creatures. With each pesky weed that I uproot from the mulch, with every shrub I free from the clutches of these attackers, I meditate on how I can achieve the same thing spiritually. It’s been really hard on my hands and my back, but it’s been powerful for me in my relationship with God. Another opportunity for me to stay in tune with the fight I’m supposed to be fighting.
So there you have it. The keys to my spiritual focus lately are flowerbeds and bathtubs. My man card is in serious danger of being revoked right about now.
There’s a fascinating medical reality facing many of us today called TOFI. Thin on the outside, fat on the inside. Scans have revealed that many people who have normal body weight are “carrying around hidden layers of fat. Stored up around vital organs, they can put outwardly healthy people at risk.” If that isn’t the perfect metaphor for many modern day Christians, I don’t know what is!
How many of us are walking around, looking all thin and healthy, while harboring affliction?
It reminds me of the passage from Matthew 23:25-26 – “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you cleanse the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of extortion and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee, first cleanse the inside of the cup and dish, that the outside of them may be clean also.”
Continuing in verse 27, Jesus describes them as whitewashed tombs. Beautiful on the outside but housing dead men’s bones and all uncleanliness.
The most obvious truth here is that in our hypocrisy we create stumbling blocks for others who are outwardly in pain. We create and maintain the illusion that we are a-ok, that we’ve got our stuff together. This creates a horribly unsafe and unwelcoming environment.
But our hypocrisy also damages us as well. We walk around in denial. We look fine. Others tell us we’re “righteous” or that we’ve got it all together. While on the inside, we are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanliness.” We’re obese in our own sin, placing our spiritual health in jeopardy.
I encourage you, as I’m encouraging myself. Stop the hypocrisy and step into the light. Let people in. Be transparent. Be real. Be healed.
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