entered in to the joy

But as for me, I shall sing of Your strength; Yes, I shall joyfully sing of Your lovingkindness in the morning, for You have been my stronghold and a refuge in the day of my distress. O my strength, I will sing praises to You; For God is my stronghold, the God who shows me lovingkindness.
                                                                                          -Psalm 59:16-17

All day today, my heart has been heavy with sorrow.

All day today, my heart has been full of joy.

For the same reason.

This morning, sweet Becky Lynn "lost her battle with cancer." That's what I read on Facebook.

But did she lose?

I say she won.

I know that might sound ridiculous, but can we really say she lost?

I don't want to pretend that I was Becky's closest friend, or that I walked with her through every step of this arduous journey that she has now completed. I didn't. Many did, and I think they would say the same thing. Becky Lynn did not lose.

There will be a funeral Monday that to many will suggest otherwise.

But to those who know Jesus, as Becky did, we know the truth.

I know I'm not the only one who has stories like this, but even while in the thick of her treatments and travels and weakness and sickness, Becky Lynn rarely spoke of her cancer. She always wanted to know how I was doing, what was going on in my life, about my pending move to Colorado.

I remember when she first found out she had cancer. It was already stage 4, which obviously is not promising. I remember her attitude. She basically was Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.


I know he will heal me, and even if doesn't...that's OK, because He knows what He's doing.


She's healed now.


I don't understand why God does some of the things He does.


I don't think any of us will ever grasp how far and how powerfully Becky Lynn spread the gospel through the past several months solely by her full trust in Christ through this. I'm going to tell you right now, I would have handled it poorly.


I think of the parable of the talents in the gospel of Matthew when I think about Becky's now-ended struggle. In Matthew, Jesus tells a story of a master who entrusted a handful of his servants with various responsibilities (in the story, these were financial responsibilities). Two of the servants used what they were entrusted to increase the value of what they had been given.


Becky, to me, represents those two servants. She took what she was given (in her story, it was cancer), and she brought back to Jesus an indescribable wealth of faithfulness. This also might seem like a ridiculous thing to say, but it isn't: Becky was a good steward of her cancer.


She used it to further the gospel of Jesus, who many will say should have healed her.


She had faith in her King, who many will say left her alone in her greatest time of need.


I don't believe that. I believe that she was running purely on his strength. I believe she had her eyes focused solely on the One who was leading her down this strange path. It doesn't make sense to all of us, why a God who is good would lead his sweet child down a road filled with pain. Why a young daughter is now left without her mother (but I know her family, she's in good hands).


It doesn't have to make sense to us. Jesus never promised us an easy life. In fact, and I've said this before, he nearly guaranteed the opposite to those who follow Him truly and closely.


Becky's life on earth was not easy.


But Becky's life on earth has now concluded. And we can say she "lost" her battle with cancer.


But we can never say she failed a test of faithfulness.


To the servants in the story that Jesus told in Matthew's gospel, the master said to those who had been good stewards:


Well done, good and faithful servant! You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.

There are countless people who loved Becky dearly. There is an infinitely larger number of people that Becky loved deeply and richly. Appropriately, there will be much grieving. There will be many painful tears that are shed on behalf of her and her sweet daughter. Jesus wept when his friend died, and we will do the same.


But her struggle has ended. Her pain has concluded.


In so many ways that I know I would have failed miserably, Becky Lynn - with the strength of her Savior - triumphed gloriously.


And today, with a new body that is cancer-free, she is in the presence of her King.


I have no doubt that she heard the same sweet words: Well done, good and faithful servant.

And with no doubt, Becky Lynn has entered into the joy of her master.


And like Andrea said to me this morning, I would bet the Hallelujah chorus never sounded sweeter.

coffee talk

I like Panera Bread.

The music isn't as loud or nearly as terrible as it is at Starbucks.

The breakfast is good, and typically I can get a few things done while sipping back some hazelnut coffee and siphoning wi-fi.

I can pretty well be left alone.

This morning, while trying to catch up on my daily caffeine quota, I overheard two elderly ladies talking from the across the room. When I first noticed it, I tuned it out like I tend to do most things.

I continued working on employment applications and that brochure I have to get finished for Jim.

Before I noticed it, I was staring at my yellow coffee mug...listening to their conversation. I was captivated by their stories of old: jobs their parents wouldn't let them have when supermarkets were new, jobs they did get to have that they hated, and boy troubles.

I couldn't stop listening.

Granted, I tried not to - eavesdropping at Panera Bread is not exactly a normal activity. It's kind of creepy, even.

I pretended to be looking at my laptop, but I wasn't. I was listening to stories of days gone by, adventures planned for the week, and headaches in the night.

They spoke of their children and grandchildren.

Annoyances at the grocery store.

The snow in the backyard.

It was almost like watching a movie. A conversation so natural and mesmerizing, it almost seemed scripted.

I was waiting on the great cinematic finale to this conversation. I wondered what great axioms of knowledge would be bestowed on me.

There wasn't one.

One of them got up, went to the restroom, then they left.

And that was that.

And here I sit, sipping coffee from my yellow mug with a sad, Spanish guitar soundtrack. Fitting. My old friends that I never met are now gone.

Best conversation I've had in months.

what's new?

Well, if those who are “experts” in the study of Mayan culture and calendars are right, this may well be the year the world sees its end. I’m not sure about all of that, but my world is certainly going to be different.

The ushering in of 2012 represents a boatload of change for me.

Prior to leaving, a few of the people close to me remarked that it was amazing that I could just pick up, move away, and start all over – not knowing anyone or much of anything about the place I’m going.

I’m hardly the first. People do it all the time.

It’s not the first time for me, either.

I think it’s my fourth.

It’s never easy to leave the ones I love and the places I’m comfortable. These things don’t always play out like I imagine them – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.

My 31 years have been littered with missed opportunities and goofy decisions, with failures of all kinds against backdrops of both arrogance and insecurity. I’ve been seduced by the enemy into believing that the forbidden fruit in my hands was indeed too good to pass up. Those are the moments that didn’t quite measure up to the heroic man of God I aspire to be.

My 31 years have also been painted, in majestic fashion, by the hand of a God who loves me.

That statement alone gives my rational side a migraine. God had no reason to love me, yet that doesn’t stop Him.

I think about my mom’s two little dogs – rescue dogs – who love the one that loves them. They still pee on the carpet sometimes, but they are loved all the same.

I was rescued. Adopted. Because a God who had no reason to love me or look my direction chose to pick me up and hold me.

Yeah, I still pee on the carpet and chew on the furniture, but I am loved all the same - and I love the one who loves me. Even when he has to swat me.

I’ve been allowed to take part in so many ministry opportunities and to have conversations and relationships that I could never deserve, expect, or arrange. I look back at situations in life and chuckle, because I could be real proud of some of the good things I’ve done, but I know inside that they had nothing to do with me. It was just a matter of doing what was laid in front of me to do.

In all of my failing, I  have learned the danger of judgment. I’ve been on both edges of that sword. I’ve wielded the wounding blade of arrogant legalism, and I’ve been run through by it.

Grace is so much the better option.

I guess Jesus knew what He was doing.

I’ve said this before recently, but it’s so true for all of us on either side.

God’s mercies are new daily. I want yours to be. Why shouldn’t mine be?

Jesus said every day is a new commitment. A fresh start. Shouldn’t I give you the same benefit? I certainly want you to give me a new chance.

Human nature, though, is a crazy thing.

I justify all day long a thousand reasons to hold a grudge.

I could give you a million reasons to keep to keep talking about me when I’m not around. Lord knows I could fuel THAT fire forever.

For those of you who know me personally, you know that I’m not the world’s most humble person, so it might come as a surprise to you that the mere fact that I have been called to Colorado to continue serving Christ is deeply humbling to me at my core – especially given the timing.

My pride (and common sense) tell me that I simply don’t deserve to be used anymore.

My Redeemer tells me that He’s not only not done with me yet, He’s just getting started.

It’s all crazy to me.

Grace is a weird, offensive, counter-intuitive anomaly to the way my little brain works.

Like Moses or Jeremiah, I could argue with God all day long about why I’m not qualified.

Been there, done that.

No more.

The sun rises every day and the risen Son gives me new life every day.

The metamorphosis of the passing landscape on the trip here is indicative of the changing landscape of life from start to finish.

I’m beyond thrilled about what lies ahead of me, and I am reflective – with varying conclusions – on the days that lie behind me. I’m going to side with Paul on leaving the past where it belongs.

Minute by minute, you and I are given fresh opportunities to be faithful and, as a result, pleasing to God.

When I woke up this morning, I had a new perspective.

New day.

New commitment.

New mercies.

Happy new year, everyone.

What’s new with you?

the silence after

I like to watch movies. As aforementioned elsewhere on this blog, Netflix has been a huge time-waste of mine that I thoroughly enjoy.

I and a good friend of mine routinely would watch movies and critique (and criticize) the plot development of many of the films we watched. Sometimes, there are inexplicable gaps in plot sequencing. Other times, filmmakers include far too much minutia, as if his/her audience is absolutely incapable of arriving at certain conclusions on their own.

Every so often, though, in a movie (or TV show, book, or magazine article), there are scenes or lines that completely capture my attention and send me into a mental rabbit chase.

Since I was a child, I've had a very vivid imagination - so these mental digressions are not all that rare. I'll envision in my head and play out what might be taking place between two minor characters or "finish" a scene in my head that isn't on the screen.

Recently, during a Christmas season sermon out of Luke 1, I had a similar experience. The pastor was delivering riveting sermon about Mary's early encounter with the angel.

After a good deal of justifiable vexation at the task before her and after she suggested to the angel that perhaps she wasn't the one that was cut out for all of this, she finally says these beautiful words (my paraphrase):

"Behold, the Lord's servant, may it come to pass as you have said."*

She humbly accepted what she had been chosen to do and was now being called to carry out. Her response is one of submission to God's will, despite her being perplexed - and no doubt apprehensive.

But these details and the rest of the sermon were lost on me because of the final phrase of Luke 1:38:

And then the angel departed from her.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about those words.

I wonder what myriad thoughts were racing through Mary's mind in those moments.

Did that just happen?

Was that a dream?

Wait, you want me to do...what?

Have you ever had an experience like that? No, not where an angel of the Lord appears to you and announces to you that you, as a virgin, are going to carry the flesh and blood Son of God.

But have you ever heard the voice of the Lord so doubtlessly and clearly?

Had one of those moments where everything fell into place, and even if it didn't exactly make a ton of sense - or any sense - you were going to submit to the Lord and be obedient to that which He had called you?

And then, in the silence after, wondered...

Did I make that up?

Could this be real?

Why me?

I can't do that.

There's no telling what all was screaming through Mary's mind in those moments after her encounter with Gabriel.

I know for me, it's usually the same lot of questions. The same lot of poorly-constructed justifications to disregard what I had only moments, seconds before had heard so crisply and doubtlessly.

I wish I could tell you that I bucked up in all those situations, shook off the doubt, and painted a picture of perfect trust and obedience.

I wonder if Jesus had his moments of the same kind of mental war, like when He was in Gethsemane.

I wonder if the disciples ever looked at Jesus, like when he told him to feed the multitudes and think, How's that, now?

I wonder if Paul, while swimming away from the shipwreck or getting beaten again in some prison by some magistrate trying to shut him up and thought, That really was you on that road to Damascus, right Lord?

Moses argued with God about his qualification.

Jeremiah, too.

We aren't alone when we hear God and, moments later, try to pretend we didn't.

God calls us to hard tasks.

Trust Him.

Then, like Nike said all those years: Just do it.

Trusting Him fully, even when what He's asking seems absurd, is the only way to respond correctly.

Our human reasoning, feeble and selfish as it is, will lead us down a thousand different roads that wind up in one place: disobedience.

You want to see God work? Obey in the calling He has on your life, whatever that is - whether it be a specific task or a lifelong career, a single conversation or a lifetime of change.

The author of Hebrews said it this way, "And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him."

A million different voices creep into the silence after a genuine encounter with God, and they all come from one place.

"Resist the devil, therefore, and he will flee from you."


Father, give us the guts to trust You and trust Your word that this is true. Give us the guts to, in real faith in You (not manufactured 'faith' that we stamp on selfish decisions), be bold and courageous when we are afraid and when we doubt. Heal the place inside of me that turns everywhere else but to You in those moments. Do great things in me, because I know that I am unworthy of the slightest bit of Your attention, but because of your exceeding love, I am called a friend of You and a son and that I am more than a conqueror. Please give me the guts to hang onto those words and to trust in Your unfathomably deep power. Amen.

mind numbing

I've been a professing Christian since I was eight years old. I knew very little about Jesus at that time, I had very little doctrinal training, I hadn't even read very much of the Bible.

But in a few moments that changed my life, my dad explained to me that I needed Jesus. He also explained to me what Jesus had done so that I could have what I desperately needed.

In many ways, my little eight-year-old mind grasped it.

In other ways, it very much didn't. But on that day in 1988, my life started. My journey with Christ began.

Now, at 31, I sometimes scoff at the "decisions" of small children to come to Christ.

They don't get it, I think to myself. Sometimes I say it out loud.

My lack of grasp is mind-numbing. I find myself in the shoes of the disciples in Mark 10, who were trying to prevent the children from getting to Jesus. Apparently, they thought Jesus had better things to do.

Maybe they thought he should be teaching systematic theology or attending a finance meeting.

Jesus, however, thought otherwise. He became "indignant" with his disciples (those who were supposed to know him best, mind you) and said to them, "Let the children come! ...the Kingdom belongs to such as these."

What?

The kingdom?

THE kingdom.

To children.

And "such as these."

Skip to Matthew 18. My 31-year-old self is told that my 8-year-old self who longed for company with Jesus might have had it more right.

Then Jesus drops one of those ultra-heavy nuggets that probably screeched all goings-on to a complete standstill.

Get this. Matthew records Jesus as saying "but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a millstone tied around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea."

Whoa.

Millstones are heavy.

Jesus was heavy.

Don't mess with children. They get it. You don't. Be like them.

In today's day and age, I think about the news and scandals that are all over, most currently in the world of sports.

I think about child molesters and sex offenders - predators of helpless children.

I wonder what Jesus would say to them.

I really do.

I know what I'd say. I know what most of you would say.
And do.

We'd happily help tie the millstone.

Would Jesus?

Keep in mind, Jesus wasn't calling for the death penalty here. He said death would be better for those that caused little ones to stumble.

Better than what?

The guilt? The divine judgement on the other side?

Yes, I know Jesus was not talking about sex offenders here, but he did feel very strongly about the spiritual safety of these children.

I wonder if he felt as strongly about their physical welfare. I can only imagine he did. Most people, whether they believe in Jesus or not, seem to agree.

You don't do that. It's not OK.

It's sick.

It's evil.

And in our minds, it deserves punishment.

Maybe in God's mind, too.

And we can make a thousand well-constructed arguments to support that assumption. And so we all start picking up our stones.

And warming up our pitching arm.

Ready or not...

But wait...

Remember that lady in John that all the religious guys threw in the dirt in front of Jesus and started calling for death because of her sin?

Remember what Jesus said to them?

He didn't argue with them that she deserved death according to the law. He just didn't.

In fact, he seemed to agree.

His response was simply, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."

He didn't say, "...the one who has never committed this particular sin."

He said he who is without sin.

Oh.

Maybe I should set my rock back down and think just a minute.

Turns out, I don't qualify. Romans 3:23 indicts me, as does a cursory review of life.

But... I've never done that.

I mean, that's sick.

Guess what?

Jesus came for the sick.

I was sick once. You were, too. Maybe we still are.

Jesus came for us, not because we were healthy, but so that we could be.

The legal system will punish Jerry Sandusky if he is found guilty. Dodd, too. Fine. I'm not here to argue penal codes and the American justice system.

In fact, those that commit these acts should be punished legally and will one day have to answer to God Almighty. Who they won't have to answer to: you and me.

I am not turning a blind eye to lives ravaged by abuse. We, Christians, must reach out to them, too. And take them in and be the channels of healing and love and recovery. They are precious children and, left alone, may be lives essentially ruined.

What I am talking about is how we as Christians portray the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Child molestation is not ok. It IS sick. It IS evil. But Christ is bigger than sin and sickness and evil.

His death on the cross and his resurrection ended that battle forever.

How do we partake?

We know that we were wretched sinners and that we needed Christ's sacrifice to bear the brunt of God's wrath. The millstone around the neck. We give ourselves in total humility knowing we could never, ever, ever make atonement for our own sins.

When I treat a child as if their conversion doesn't count but mine does because I'm somehow more educated than them, I lose the heart of the gospel.

When I treat Jerry Sandusky (or anybody else) as though I need Christ ONE IOTA less than he does, I lose the heart of the gospel.

But when any of us, in childlike faith and dependence, fall at the feet of Jesus and give ourselves totally to Him as a response to his sweet offer of otherwise-totally-unavailable redemption, I am nearer a complete understanding than that of a thousand scholars.

Mind numbing.