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We all have trauma and wounds. We all have disappointments, regrets, sorrows. We all have highly complicated ways our brains have been rewired by our actions and experiences. Yet, we always think everyone else has it all figured out, and that everyone else has it better. That we are the only one who has been left out and left behind. That no one else could possibly understand the unfortunate reality of our life.
I was reading a passage this morning in Acts, Chapter 2. It recounted what happened to the disciples after Jesus had appeared to them following his resurrection. He had promised they would receive power when the Holy Spirit came upon them. They were to wait patiently for that to happen.
In chapter two, it says that suddenly there came a sound from heaven that filled the entire house where they were sitting. Tongues of fire sat upon each of them. They were filled with the Holy Spirit and began speaking other languages. When the sound occurred, it drew the attention of the multitude, and people were amazed at what they saw and heard. “Aren’t all these men who speak in different tongues all Galileans?” they asked each other. “How is it that each of us hears in our own language? ”
Each of us have specific trials and specific afflictions that make us who we are. But even though our struggles are specific, they are not unique. Many others share your struggle, no matter what your struggle happens to be.
In this truth, you can find comfort and a calling.
You can find comfort in the fact that there are people who have walked the road you are on, no matter how dark, rocky and twisty it might be. There are people out there who get you, who understand what you’re going through, who know how your mind works and who speak your language. You just have to find them. That only requires a step of faith on your part to seek out support groups, raise your hand in church or just be bold and authentic with the people already in your life about what you need.
You can also find a calling. You were gifted by God, both your strengths and your weakness, your trophies and your trials. All is to be used for His glory. Because of your story, you have the remarkable ability to speak someone else’s language. Drugs. Divorce. Abuse. Arrest. Failure. Death. Depression. Sickness. Insecurity. Selfishness. Oh my, this is an endless list. The struggles you are enduring, or have overcome, equip you with a context, a vocabulary, an actual language that allows you to communicate with great effectiveness to others who share your struggle. There is nothing more powerful than that.
The people that day were amazed to see men who were speaking their language, despite their appearance and background suggesting that shouldn’t be possible. Trust me, there are people all around you that share your struggle. They might not look like it. They may appear to have their act together. You’d be surprised where the opportunity for comfort, or calling, can surface.
No matter where you are on your journey, seek out those who speak your language. Even if right now you need comfort and can’t see yourself responding to a calling. Just the act of helping you will be enormously helpful to the person who is comforting you. In any event, please do not sit in isolation with any struggle, big or small. Do not feel shamed by any sin. Do not tell yourself the lie that no one gets you or that no one could really understand. They can. And they don’t need a translator. They speak your language. And just as importantly, you speak theirs.
I have an incredibly important decision for you to make today. Are you going to be an orange, or an onion?
To be fair, you probably will need some context to appropriately answer this question. So, let’s start with a brief download on the relevant qualities of, and key differences between, oranges and onions.
An orange has a colorful, durable outer layer. Some find it extremely difficult to fully remove an orange’s peel, leaving some to even proclaim oranges are not worth the trouble it takes to eat one. Onions, on the other hand, have a very thin outer layer that doesn’t really preclude you from seeing what’s likely to be inside. It’s very thin, and peels off nice and easy, offering little resistance as you try to open it up.
Once inside, an orange is pretty straight forward. You’ve got your slices and some strings and a few seeds, maybe. Once you’ve broken through the exterior, you have a full view. Onions are a bit more complicated. You just keep peeling back layer, after layer, after layer. It seems you never get all the way to through an onion. It has so much more depth.
An orange tastes nice and sweet and refreshing. It offends only the most picky of people. It can easily be overpowered in smoothie mixes. While an onion, well, it is a force to be reckoned with. It can bring tears to your eyes, burning little daggers of tears. It has a smell and taste that is bold and not everyone is on board with it.
An orange doesn’t really do much for other foods. It sort of does its own thing. Sure it can have an impact on things such as water, but it’s not a food you would use to bring out the best in other foods. Onions are different. They pull flavor out of the foods they touch. They enhance the aroma and the taste of many dishes.
Spiritually speaking, we all have a choice to make. Are we going to be like the orange, or like the onion?
If you are an orange, you look something like this. You wear masks almost always. You have a tough outer shell that is hard to break through, and even if someone is able to penetrate it, all they will find is sugary sweetness. You’ve buried the rest so deep within yourself that it might as well be undetectable. You don’t offend. You don’t really stand for anything. You avoid conflict. And you don’t really have any kind of big impact on those around you. You just look for people who are content to sit in a bowl of fruit and look pretty, while hoping no one will want to squeeze you.
Meanwhile, the onions among us are very different. If you are an onion, your outer shell is transparent and thin, as if you are inviting people to see through and into you. The more someone gets to know you, the more layers they peel through and the more truth they see. You are a story with many chapters, and you don’t mind sharing every single one of them. You are powerful and bold, and way too honest for many people. You sometimes find that you have made someone uncomfortable because you refuse to be an orange like they are. On the other hand, you also positively impact many others and infuse their life with new hope and passion. You make them better, just because you share a small piece of yourself with them.
I’ve been an orange a lot longer than I’ve been an onion. And let me tell you. Being either is painful in this life. But only one has the potential to deliver you and to reveal God’s promises to you. I’ll let you guess which one that is.
*Writer’s note. Of course this metaphor is flawed, like most metaphors. Please don’t get hung up on any slight inaccuracies to the physical characteristics of onions and oranges. If you do, I commend you on your knowledge of round foods, but I am sad because you missed the entire point of this blog post. 🙂
Restless. Agitated. Anxious. That’s me lately.
None of my usual distractions are working. I’m not thriving in any of the areas or activities that usually affirm me and help me feel like I’m okay, that my life is okay, that it’s all okay. All of the ways I self-medicate, they are all just a bit off kilter. Just enough to leave me with an unsatisfied pang and a highly sensitive mindset. All the things that define me are a little less definitive.
It’s like my skin has been peeled. I’m a giant, exposed nerve. Everything is affecting me faster and more intensely than it should. I’m dangerously close to flipping the switch to off and retreating to the dark where the bright lights won’t strain my eyes and the chaos won’t pierce my ears.
I just wrote about patient endurance. How funny! Here I am feeling like I’ve lost all momentum. I’m tired. I’m half-defeated. I feel like I’ve regressed, that I’m still so much of the man I thought I’d left behind. That I’m so close to falling back into the same numbness and blindness that used to define me. And that just feeds my frustration. I’m not really enduring very well. And I’m surely not being patient about it.
This is when and where I must take/make a stand. This is where I choose between two paths. One leads back from where I came. The other marches forward. Again.
I was talking with a man from New York the other day who had just planted grapevines to test his wine-making skills. According to this aspiring vintner, you actually cut off the grapes that grow the first two years so that you can build a strong, deep root system. Finally, in year three, you’ll get the kind of harvest you need to make a large barrel of potentially drinkable vino. Feels kind of like my story. There have been a few times when it seemed I was actually bearing some fruit, only for it to get cut off and removed. Like the grapes, maybe I needed to go through a few growth cycles that were focused not on fruit but on roots.
God is all about long-term success. He doesn’t want us to be flashes in the pan. 15 minutes of fame. Short-lived. He doesn’t want us to be satisfied with a first year harvest that produces a little fruit, at the sacrifice of a much larger, sustained harvest later.
I’m still wrestling with God. Still clinging to things that make me feel good, safe, wanted, successful. Things that don’t require a whole lot of faith. Immature fruit that doesn’t require deep roots. The danger in that is that it makes it really hard to keep the light switch on. It doesn’t require, or even allow, me to grow in Him.
I’m hoping to overcome this agitation soon. It’s clouding my vision and making it more difficult to clearly hear from God. It’s stunting my growth. One by one, I’m prying my fingers loose of the distractions, the substitutes, the cheap imitations. Trying to keep my focus on roots and not worry as much about fruits, at least for now. That will come with age, just like fine wine.
I can’t tell you how much time I’ve wasted on that website the past two weeks. Watching Charlie Sheen rapidly decompose before my very eyes has been sad but fascinating for whatever reason.
Coupling his story with some recently discovered scripture, I have a new take on sin.
I’ve always thought of sin in terms of darkness, back alleys, deserted corners. Deep down in a hole. Somewhere in the underbelly. Something you wallow in. But then I read a few chapters in Jeremiah, and I came across several references to the phrase “desolate heights.” It made me pause and think about what desolate heights really meant. Our debauchery on display, high upon a hill in plain view? Another way of saying it’s lonely at the top? The juxtaposition of these two seemingly opposite words was painfully poetic.
Sin can look like success. You can be falling fast but look like you’re climbing. Celebrities show us this truth on a daily basis. Famous, rich, accomplished, by all accounts they have reached the top of the mountain. And then you watch Charlie Sheen declare himself a “winner” as he shares what’s left of his scrambled egg brain with a national broadcast audience.
We get lost within idolatry and materialism. Power and Greed. Self-importance. Self-indulgence. Self-righteousness. Self-medication. As the old adage goes, we climb the ladder but don’t realize we have it propped against the wrong wall. We might find “success” along the way, but it can come at a price.
We go the way of a backsliding Israel in Jeremiah 3:6, who went “up on every mountain and under every green tree, and there played the harlot.”
When we reach our desolate heights, we are fully engaged in our sin. We are up to our eyeballs with it. And we are on display, high upon a hill for everyone to see. It’s ironic that in some cases you can reach your lowest low from the highest place around.
It is very easy for us to get caught up in satisfying self, or to be overwhelmed by sin, to climb all the way to the top of the mountain only to arrive at an empty, barren wasteland, miles away from God and what He wants for us. On a desolate height. But when you find yourself high on that hill, on that desolate height, what do you do?
I suggest you jump. Leap and plunge right back into faith, trusting God will catch you. That’s what I try to do. I throw myself toward God and His mercy. I try to get grounded again as quickly as possible. I try to change my attitude by changing my altitude. It is indeed lonely at the top. And I have no desire to “live the sheen dream” at all.
I have an enemy. I’ve been going through an awful time with it. Absolutely terrible. I won’t go into specifics, but let’s just sum it up this way. It’s awful. My stomach has been tied in knots. I’ve been stressed beyond belief. And I’ve let this person torture me.
After several days of anxiety, I finally prayed for God to just take it, have His way with it. That helped a bit. But there was still a lot of hurt and anger and worry. Last night, I tried a different approach. I prayed for her. It was suddenly obvious to me that the treatment I was receiving was not just a response to things I may or may have not done. I realized she must have a deep wound. That she has unresolved issues. That she is hurting and just not reacting positively to it. That despite the harsh, threatening exterior, she’s just another fragile, broken vessel. I prayed that she would find peace and that she would be enlightened. I prayed that this situation could just be put behind us. I prayed for her healing.
In Matthew 5:44, it says very clearly to, “love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you.” This passage goes on to say that if you only love those who love you, then you really aren’t accomplishing much. It’s pretty easy to love those who love us.
I had a moment of compassion and clarity. It lasted about 8 hours. Today was filled with resentment and rage. Frustration. I’m anxious to draw to a resolution. And I most certainly did not love my enemy today. But I’m praying again for her tonight. And I’m praying for a continued compassion within me. I’m striving to love more than those who love me. It’s a tall mountain to climb. But I’m climbing.
Legend has it that once there a business school case study on Waffle House, where a professor asked his class to come up with the answer to this question. What is the single, most important reason the popular breakfast chain is so successful? Responses from students ranged from specific menu items to positioning of the restaurants in prime locations. The winning response? Big windows.
Here’s the theory: The large windows across the front of every Waffle House provide a clear view of what’s going on inside. This transparency draws people in because they see something that is appealing to them. They see the genuine experience other diners are having. There is no opportunity for false advertising or deception. They can relate and connect with the diners inside. I can smell the coffee right now!
The innkeeper from my writing retreat told me this story over breakfast last Sunday. I haven’t been able to find evidence of the study online just yet, so I can’t say for sure I have the facts right. But that’s not mission critical for this post, I don’t think. 
We are called to be genuine and transparent. Being real, open and vulnerable brings us closer to worshiping and closer to witnessing than anything else can. It can help us get closer to God and experience closer community with those around us. And, it can be a powerful way to connect with those who are seeking God.
The next time you drive by a Waffle House, or settle in for a nice hot breakfast, ask yourself: How big are my windows?
It was another typical Sunday morning. Best of intentions to find a new church home. Lots of reasons why it wasn’t a good day to start the hunt. Both of our kids were getting over illnesses, and it didn’t feel exactly right to unleash them on an entire children’s ministry.
After a lengthy debate, my wife and I decided to go and settle in with the boys on the back row of Rolling Hills Community Church. We hoped we could at least make it through half the service. We worried we might be a disruptive force.
I was feeling overly compelled to attend the service, to the point where I was pacing and getting anxious at the prospect of us not making the trip. As it turns out, God had quite a bit to share with me this morning, which explains the ants in my pants.
I’ve been writing and praying a lot about momentum lately, as I prepare for the weekend writing retreat that is supposed to kick my book into high gear. And wouldn’t you know it, today’s sermon was the grand finale of a series titled MOMENTUM. I suppose that was just God’s way of saying, “Welcome back to my house!”
I heard God’s voice throughout the entire message. Loud. Clear. Direct. It literally could not have been a more timely and tailored discussion for me. The focus was on sharing momentum with the world around you. The pastor talked about not keeping the momentum you’ve built all to yourself but opening it up to others and being a spark, an agent of change.
Internally, I’ve been wrestling with this very issue. Ok, great, so I’ve decided that I will write this book. That I will actually finish this book. I have tried not to think too much about what happens next, because it will almost surely require that I get uncomfortable and stretch myself. When I do catch myself thinking about next steps, I just start second guessing whether I’m writing something that will actually make a difference at all. Will it only be something that I can say I’ve done? That seems shallow, hallow, almost pointless. I want to be a spark. An agent of change.
As the sermon started, we had managed to occupy most of the back row, sprawled out with an impressive collection of diversionary tactics – crayons, iphone, blackberry, chocolate. The kiddos were shockingly well-behaved, thank you Angry Birds and Brick Breaker, which allowed me to focus as God continued to nudge me. With almost every statement, question, insight the pastor shared, God would break a piece off and hand it to me. Among the deliveries were the following:
Helping others get going. Pushing them through inertia. Restarting them. How do we become that kind of person?
Are you reaching out?
Time to stand up. Get off the sidelines.
Be faithful. Be steadfast.
Don’t be distracted.
Live His will.
Any idea what obedience could mean?
What it could lead to?
How do you share?
What is God calling you to do?
And finally, the big one.
ARE YOU READY?
At this point, I felt God so strongly the building could have rumbled, and I would not have been surprised. I’ve written several posts in the past about feeling that God wanted me to be patient, that I wasn’t ready yet. Now, suddenly, it wasn’t a statement any longer. It was a question. Are you ready? Even the way the pastor delivered the question felt like a direct message intended only for me. I got chills.
I said yes beneath my breath and gulped. I’m ready. For what? Great question. I’ll tell you when I know. But for now, I’m ready. I have my momentum for the weekend. God is speaking to me. I’m ready.
Belief is such a mysterious process. We get so deeply rooted with our own and so closed off to the beliefs of others. We demand definitive proof and logic from others, but will battle to the grave for truths we hold sacred with absolutely no back up or rational evidence. Or even a well-constructed reasoning for why we believe it.
I’ve caught myself recently on the verge of prejudice when encountering beliefs that were different from my own. It makes me pause, because I’m pretty sure I don’t have it all figured out. That none of us do. And, I don’t want to close myself off from fresh thinking and outside perspectives. That’s what growth is all about. Being able to examine and reflect and consider other points of view help you better define your own. To grow deeper roots.
I also think it is important to keep in context what it is like for others who encounter us as Christians. We are many times too quick to question their belief systems and wonder in amazement how they could believe some of the things they believe. And even more so, how they could not believe in the God we love and follow. But just stop for a second and imagine what it must be like for people who didn’t grow up like me, in a church home, in a church community, on the buckle of the Bible Belt with messages of God and Jesus in surround sound. Here’s a good example. This quote comes from Roger, an extraterrestrial from an unnamed world who regularly makes appearances on the animated shows 
American Dad and Family Guy.
“I love your religion for the crazy! Virgin birth. Water into wine. It’s like Harry Potter, but it causes genocide and bad folk music” – Roger
I don’t recall the specific episode or even which show the quote was from, but that’s really not all that necessary for the point I’m making. The quote is funny and sad at the same time. Belief is a stretch. There are days when I have a hard time truly believing, despite being a card-carrying member of the Lifetime Christian Club. So, yes, when you lay out the storyline, it must be incredibly difficult for someone experiencing it for the first time to immediately accept.
So, my point is two-fold. First, know what you believe but be open and understanding of belief systems that are foreign or even contradictory to your own. And secondly, always remember that your beliefs will seem less of a stretch to you than they will to others, simply because you’ve already examined, accepted and processed them for yourself. Roger that?
Earlier this year, an acquaintance of mine was battling financial and family troubles and needed a place to stay for a while. I hardly knew him at the time but felt compelled to invite him into our home. I felt like God was leading me to do that, so I obeyed.
Yesterday, he moved out after staying with us for several months. Longer than he or I had anticipated. He was a gracious guest, and we hardly knew he was even living here. So, it really wasn’t an inconvenience.
While it feels good to help someone, this experience has really brought home how hard it is to give freely. You might remember my discussion on the concept of “giving freely” from an earlier post. It was step four on how to be a radical Christian. http://tinyurl.com/4q66caw
I felt God calling me to help this man. And I did it with an obedient heart. But I didn’t give freely, at least not at first. There was a part of me that expected we would develop a close friendship. But as I just mentioned, he made himself so scarce (I’m assuming so he wouldn’t impose on our family) that we maybe had 5 real conversations the entire time he lived here. I honestly don’t know him much better than I did when I opened the door to my home.
At first, that disappointed me. And I had to stop placing myself in the middle of what was supposed to be a selfless act. I had to reach a point where I expected absolutely nothing in return. To be content with the act of giving and not to place a personal agenda on it. This is harder said than done, as many of you out there can surely confirm.
To truly give without expectation is tremendously difficult. At least for me. On top of the expected friendship, deep down somewhere I was probably also seeking affirmation and approval from others who saw the “good work” I was doing. I’ve talked about my need for validation several times, so this should come as no surprise.
It’s uncommon for us not to have our own agendas, no matter how pure our intentions are on the surface. Deep down, there’s probably some quid pro quo we’re after, something we’ll receive in return. I don’t want to discourage anyone out there from being charitable or doing good. I do suggest that when you are giving, try to become aware of what you might be looking for in return. If you can recognize it and then release it, you can truly “give freely” as we’re called to do. Otherwise, the danger is that the act of giving can create drama, hurt feelings and other negative consequences that are completely unnecessary.
As for me, my house guest has moved on to start a new chapter in his life. And in the end, I was able to give freely. It wasn’t easy, but one by one, I dismissed my internal agendas and allowed myself to give with no expectations: from my guest, my friends or even God. It feels much better that way, and I’m looking forward to putting it into practice more often.
Sorry for the radio silence the last several days. I’m mostly apologizing to myself for the writing drought. But if you’re out there reading, I’ll apologize to you as well. I still keep fighting for the daily post. Lately seems like weekly is a tall order. I at least have a good excuse this time. I just got back from an extended weekend in Mississippi, where believe it or not, there are still places the Internet can’t reach. Or cable. Or pizza delivery. But I digress.
We visited my family, gathered for father’s day with the whole crew and also celebrated my grandfather’s 80th birthday. More than 200 people crammed into a mid-sized fellowship hall to wish him well and share his special day. Most of them were close to 80 themselves (or past it). In other words, the club was jumping. I kept looking for the DJ in the corner spinning records. Sending a shout out to G-Daddy.
All joking aside, it was a really nice party. It was great to see how many people cared enough to spend part of their Saturday honoring my grandfather. As part of the festivities, everyone was asked to write down a memory they had of him and place it in a wooden box for him to read later. It was a neat idea. I’m still working on mine and will send it to him in the next couple of days. I thought it would be worth sharing some of it with you as well.
My greatest memory of my grandfather is actually a string of occasions. At every point in my life, when someone would discover this man was my grandfather, they immediately would say, “Oh, your grandfather is a great man. He’s a truly great man.” It didn’t matter who it was on the other end of the conversation, it was universal accolades of greatness. Every time.
My grandfather is a man of God, a good Samaritan, a tireless supporter of the church, his family, his friends, his neighbors and his community. He is a gentle man with strong hands and an enormous heart. He is hard-working. He is honest. He is kind. He doesn’t have a selfish or self-serving bone in his body. He’s lived his entire life with others in mind, with service to God in mind. And I can’t recall one moment where I have witnessed anything to the contrary. I can’t recall one person who didn’t think the world of him, who doesn’t still think the world of him. His legacy, his witness, the impact his life has had on anyone who knows him is obvious.
I would love to say that he is at the top of the list of people who have most significantly shaped me and influenced me, but sadly I can’t. It’s not for lack of effort on his part. It’s from lack of insight on mine. If I had internalized and applied 1/20 of the way he lives his life, I would be so much better off in my walk, in the way I treat others, in life in general. He is a treasure I haven’t fully spent, a gift I haven’t fully received. And as we sang Happy Birthday to him for the 80th time, I realized that I have been remiss in not soaking up every character trait and piece of wisdom from him that I possibly can.
My grandfather walks as closely to God as any man I know. Seems if I’m so interested in doing the same, I’d pay more attention to his success and how he has sustained it. Even through serving our country overseas on the heels of World War II, losing parents and multiple siblings in a variety of ways and standing by my grandmother through a bout with cancer, his resolve has not wavered.
Age hasn’t overly kind, although he maintains good health given the breadth and depth of his life experiences. And even though you have to speak REALLY LOUDLY to him these days to carry on a conversation, you can still see and hear what has made and continues to make this man great.
My favorite thing about my grandfather is that he is still a bawler, a playa, a mack daddy, a catch if you will. At his party, the groove that it was, he had two women laying claim to him should anything happen to my grandmother. One was a spry, baby-faced 60-year-old shawty. Go G-Daddy! It’s your birthday!
So, here’s to the great man who is my grandfather. Thank you for the memories.
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