Cultivating It

Kathi and I have been spending the last couple of days talking about safe places of grace – those churches, homes, families and people you long to be with – where it is ok that you can’t bring anything to the table, where you are listened to and not condemned for your unbelief in the gospel to help in that moment of struggle, where agendas don’t exist, where your true identity in Christ is affirmed,  and  laughter and silliness abound – a place where grace pours out on others because it has been poured out on us.

We all long for those places and are continually seeking them out. We look for people who can be that for us, we look for churches and communities where the atmosphere is thick with grace. The problem comes, though, when we can’t find it. What do we do? How do we cultivate that where we are?

It isn’t top-down, grass-roots, or programmatic. It is doing it right here, right now with where God has you. It is rooted in humility and an outpouring of thankfulness to God for the mercy and grace that He shows us. Out of that, grace will begin to seep through our phone conversations, our talks at the dining room table with our spouses, our listening to the teenager struggling with performance, and the single person battling loneliness – all because we have the Gospel at the center of who we are and everything we do.

If we desire safe places of grace in our home, church, work place, communities and friends, we have to begin by being that safe place for others. We look in to others eyes and listen to their hurts. We ask them questions about how their struggle with contentment shows an unbelief in the gospel and then point them to what Christ has already provided for them. We laugh with them. We drink wine together. We watch movies together and then talk about them. We desire to drive beneath the problem presenting itself to what is really going on within their soul. We ask them questions about where they are getting their value and significance. We don’t hold each other accountable – we remind each other that our identity is found in Christ and not in our failures – now go live like who you really are and stop believing the lie.

Psalm 3 contains some powerful imagery; but, as I was reading this morning, verse 3 showed me God in a new way: “But you, O Lord, are…. the lifter of my head.”

• a nurse lifting a patient’s head to give him water and medicine
• a mother gently caressing her child’s chin, lifting their head, speaking assurance into their eyes
• a father lifting his son’s head to speak strength and encouragement to his soul
• a friend lifting another friends head, reminding him of who he is in Christ

These are all pictures of God – our healer, our encourager, our strength, our identity. He is the one who touches and is the one who lifts.

I talk a lot about how pain and trials are just as much God’s blessings as laughter and joy. We tend to equate good things with blessings and trials as something we must endure to finally get to the “good stuff”. What I’m learning, though, is that the “good stuff” is the journey. God’s blessings don’t always come with a pretty red bow. More times than not, they come with a tear, some anger, and a gentle tug from God reminding us of who we are in Him.

I experienced that yesterday.

I was asked to speak for about 5 minutes during our Sunday School class on a topic I love – ministering mercy to the needy and poor and how God’s grace is our pattern for doing so. I knew my topic and was passionate about communicating it to the class. About 15 minutes before I was supposed to speak, though, a crushing feeling of inadequacy and fear overcame me.

I prayed. I popped extra pieces of gum in my mouth. I asked people to pray. I drank some water. I slowed down my breathing. Nothing was working.

As I stepped up to the mic, everything began to fall apart. I stumbled over my words. I looked at every word I was supposed to speak with fear that they wouldn’t come out.  I felt the un-comfortableness of the class and that made me uncomfortable for them. Fears of being judged overwhelmed me even though deep down I knew they weren’t. I started off on the wrong foot, and, as I hard as I tried, I couldn’t communicate what was on my heart. I was an utter mess. Every raw nerve was on display for everyone to see and I felt abandoned by God for allowing it to continue.

I was out of control and I hated every minute of it.

Eventually it all ended and I sat down next to my comforting wife. And that is when the real battle began.

Anger. Tears. Silence. Embarrassment. Out of control. Exposed. Why did those things matter to me? What did those feelings say about what I believed of God? Why was I blaming God for what happened? Why didn’t he help or protect me? I needed affirmation during this dark struggle – why do I need affirmation? God and I worked through those questions all afternoon and all night; and, I am still working through most of them with him right now. In my anguish and feeling of abandonment, He’s showing me himself.

Before, during and after that whole debacle, I had forgotten who I was. Even as I type this, I’m having to remember who I am.

I have the DNA of Christ residing in me and I’m made in his image – not in an image I can control or a situation I can remedy. I’m made in his image. I’m loved and desired by the one who calls himself “I am”. Am I still frustrated that God the Protector didn’t show up? Absolutely. But had he shown himself in that way, I wouldn’t have the privilege of working through these issues with him and knowing him deeper as a result.

That’s the real blessing – God coming along side us and saying “hey, let’s take a look at what happened today and work through that together.” It is him reminding me of who I am in Him, even during what I perceive as my worst moment ever.

As I sat around our fire pit last night with my wife, kids and some great neighbors handing out candy to Dora the Explorer  and various characters from Toy Story,  I was fighting an inner compulsion to share what a great time we were having with all my Twitter and Facebok friends while we were having that great time.

Here’s a sad, but ironic picture: while posting a picture, sending a text or sharing a tweet about great conversations and laughter we are enjoying, I’m only grabbing bits and pieces of continuing conversations, jokes or stories. After “liking” someone else’s fire pit photo, I ask “Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear what Jimmy said.” As I listen to my buddy tell an insightful story about how he grew up, I’m mentally processing about how “blessed” everyone else would be to hear that story and I totally miss what he was actually trying to communicate. While my daughter is roasting marshmallows and letting them fall into the fire pit, I’m thinking “I need to grab a picture of that so I can share it with my friends back home” instead of immersing myself totally in what is happening right before my own eyes and ears and enjoying the look in my daughter’s eyes as she loses yet another marshmallow to a fiery inferno. While packing everything up, I’m thinking about the various blurbs I can share on Facebook  and what a great night we had, rather than reflecting on the smiles of all those kids as we loaded them up with real candy bars and caused their bags to overflow with more candy than the dentist would ever allow.

In my effort to be social with twenty other people who are not physically with me, I’m emotionally disengaging from the people I’m actually with. How sad is that?

I wonder how more deeply connected I would be with those around me if I viewed my social network spiritually and physically rather than virtually?

My wife Kathi and I attended the TrueFaced Intensive Conference this weekend. It was about grace, sanctification, removing masks, and trusting God and others with who He says we are in Him. It was the most impacting event we have ever attended.

The following is John Lynch, one of the co-authors of TrueFaced and presenters from the conference, on the New Testament Gamble speaking from the perspective of God. I highly recommend the book.

Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, 0 God, I am Thine!

- Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945)

August, 1944

If we learn the discipline of silence as we engage in conversation and think passion as we quietly listen, perhaps we’ll spend less energy figuring out what to do as experts and more energy allowing the powerful life of Christ to surface within us and be released in the words we speak – Larry Crabb, Soul Talk

One early morning this past week, I sat down to read some scripture and found myself bombarded with noise. It was self-induced and I desired it more than quietness.

The noise was comforting. It created a layer between what I was reading and my soul’s desire to listen.

What does comforting noise look like?

• thoughts of what lay in store for today
• worrying over customer projects
• refilling that coffee mug
• checking email while reading or while someone is speaking
• looking up at the lights
• reading a verse and immediately thinking of application or how it might make for a great article
• anticipating the joy of checking something off
• glancing at the clock
• applying my own filter to what I’m reading
• glancing at my calendar while wrapping up a chapter
• coming immediately to God with needs
• following a bunny trail of links
• reading instead of praying
• notification sounds of emails coming in
• the blinking light on a BlackBerry
• twittering or facebooking something you just read
• seeking the companionship of an iPad rather than solitude
• texting while at the red light
• listening in one ear while someone is talking, while also browsing or typing

That kind of noise is comforting because it allows us to interact on our terms, without commitment, applying our own unconscious filter. It allows us to communicate without listening. It keeps us in the safe zone.  It fills our desire to be needed and productive.

We were not made for that, though.

Real communication is found in quietness, when we desire to silence the noise so we can truly hear what the other person is saying. It is a very difficult place to get to and our flesh will fight it. Once we begin to desire silence over noise, though, we’ll finally be on our way to being wherever we are.

I was brushing my teeth this morning when I noticed a lot of old toothpaste splatter on the mirror. “Man, that really needs to get cleaned up.  I need to mention this to the kids or Kathi,” I told myself in a glub sort-of-way.

As I made my way downstairs to the recliner, I suddenly had an amazing thought: I could clean the mirror. Better yet, I could clean the WHOLE bathroom. As proud as I am of that moment, the really sad thing is I had to ask someone where the cleaning supplies were. Shouldn’t I know that?

With bleach in one hand and a scrub brush in the other, I began to knock away at the grime and scum. At war within me, though, was my old sinful heart: don’t worry about that nasty junk in the corner, Kathi can get that. Oh, see that disgusting stuff under the toilet ring, don’t even touch that – nobody knows it is there anyway. Just a good once over is plenty, but for goodness sakes, be sure to really clean your side of the mirror. Don’t forget, the Seminoles are playing in a few minutes, you don’t want to miss that.

Yeah, that was a really great moment. However, recognizing what was really happening within my heart, the Holy Spirit broke through and I began to listen: as hard as it will be, how about trying to do a better job than Kathi would – not to one-up her, but to show her you really love her. See that grime underneath the faucet  handle – get that.  You know that rust stain in the corner of the shower you look at every morning, spend an extra 10 minutes and get rid of it. You know that toilet you sit on everyday, wipe that sucker down.

Yeah, there was a real battle going on, but the Holy Spirit won and I began to clean like mad man.  Rather than doing something half-baked, my desire switched to doing something based in love and a desire to serve. I desired to give excellence and that was nothing but God at work.

Cultivating a servant’s heart begins with looking in the mirror and recognizing the dirtiness for what it really is: sin. Thankfully, it is pure grace that we have the Holy Spirit to it point it out to us and begin the cleaning process. We just need to listen.

The lawn mower and I have always been good friends.

When we’d get together, the lawn mower showed me things I would never seek out on my own: water droplets forming on a leaf, crickets jumping to get out of the way of a ferocious blade, weeds encroaching on a flower bed and the invigorating smell of fresh cut grass. I’d push and he’d show me things.

There were moments, though, I wasn’t interested in seeing what the lawn mower had in store for me.  I needed to listen to the stirrings within my heart, and being alone with the lawn mower was the only place I could do it. I had stuff to workout with God and it was the quietest place I could find.

There were other times, still, that I just needed to slap on my earphones, punch in some Motley Crue and mow. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to observe – I just needed to be.

Isn’t that the great thing about lawn mowers, bicycles, iPads, books and other friends – it doesn’t have to just be about mowing grass or pushing the pedals.

My son is now forming a wonderful friendship with the lawn mower. I wonder what he’s listening to?