courage

what story do i want to tell? every decision i make tells a story.

• i knew i needed to leave, so i left
• i knew i needed to stay, so i stayed
• i knew i needed to ask for help, so i asked for help
• i knew i needed to submit to the authorities even though i thought they were wrong, so i submitted

these are the stories i want to tell.

thank you, Andy Stanley.

life. death. life.

while coming to the end of a section about his uncle's death in Donald Miller's book, "A Million Miles...," i found myself sincerely wanting more. please. continue talking about death.

what in the world? may be your swift reply. here's the deal.

almost two years ago, i started losing ppl close to me. first a co-worker, then (the next day) a grandmother (not blood but the kind you grow up with and hold dear in that way) and then last year, about a month apart, a prayer partner and then a former dormitory dean. the only death i was "ready" for was my grandmother's. we visited her the Christmas before, knowing that we may not see her alive again. she was old, had lived a good, long life. it was "okay" for her to go. but not the others. especially not the first.

he was young, could have been my brother. i don't know what it's like to lose a child but to lose someone younger than you is quite unreal. and to lose someone so close to God...downright cruel. my prayer partner was also so close to God. every prayer was bathed in the knowledge, the unshaken faith that God will make it alright, somehow. she wasn't afraid to wrestle, to beg for clarity. she knew God could take it. and my dean. in addition to being close to God, she saw the best in ppl, gave me the most wonderfully ridiculous recommendation to a future supervisor. and she was also unafraid to speak truth, to correct error in love. she did that for me. she did that for so many.

car crash. natural causes. car crash. heart attack. that's how they died. but how they lived was extraordinary and far more exciting. and as Miller spoke of his uncle, a man like my four ppl who should have been able to bless the world for so much longer, i wanted more of his life, more of his history. it was as if hearing about him helped me re-experience the lives of those i've loved and lost. even his funeral had my full attention. no, Miller's way with words hasn't simply manipulated my thinking. no. he is a great storyteller but, more than that, he's speaking truth. death sucks. but the power of life is how it's lived, not how it ends.

and so, in what i've affectionately named a season of death, i look out my office window at the bush that bloomed too early this spring due to abnormally warm temps, the bush that was in full bloom the day Matthew died. it now looks pathetic, very few pink flowers left. but when it was fully alive, ah! such a beautiful gift.

i desire such life. God-breathed. full. complete though temporally restricted. enough. and far beyond now b/c it's lived with God.

may these become charted waters. 

post easter

having not grown up with any easter traditions, no easter egg hunts or easter church dresses, i can't say that i have the same level of "fun" anticipation that i've seen in others when it comes to the day that just passed. and i don't readily remember big church celebrations either, no sunrise services or friday evening communions. it's part of my adventist history, one that hasn't seemed to always know what to do with easter. yet i found myself in church on saturday (the day i usually go) wondering what'd i'd preach on if i were tasked with an easter sermon. and today, on this post easter monday, i have an idea i'd like to share with you.

"Give us Barabbas!", from The Bible and its Story Taught by One Thousand Picture Lessons, 1910

begging for Barabbas.

that would be the title. i'd use one of the gospels, probably Luke since that's where i've been lately. i'd begin with the scene where pilot is questioning the ppl. this man is innocent. what do you want me to do with him? and they respond with crucify him, give us Barabbas. 


and then i'd lay out the following...

it's seemingly ridiculous that they'd want to convict an innocent man, but we do it all the time.
it's seemingly ridiculous that they'd want to kill an innocent man, but we do it all the time.
it's seemingly ridiculous that they'd want a known thief & killer freed, but we do it all the time.
it's seemingly ridiculous that they'd want the known thief & killer in exchange for the innocent man...

and yes, we do that all the time...

how so? you ask. well, for the sake of time (of which i currently have little), i'll keep this simple but not simplistic: i looked in the mirror this morning and saw Barabbas. if you were honest this morning, you probably saw him, too. unless, of course, you've achieved enoch status. and if so, up you go.

but if not, you struggle to put your self aside and embrace Jesus. you beg for your own will, your own way. you see who you've been yet your pride prevents you from surrendering so that you can be changed. and in the end, you're trading an innocent savior for a convicted fellon, a fellon who could actually receive new life in Christ but...but instead you beg and beg for Barabbas. yes, we beg for the son instead of the Son!

Barabbas = son of a father
Jesus = Son of the Father

which one do we want?

sure, we could look at other example of how this plays out--our justice systems, our political spheres. but that's out there, an easier space to analyze. the place that truly needs attention is in here. inside you. inside me.

our celebration of the death and resurrection of our Lord & Savior is a great opportunity to remember what happens when we put ourselves first and Christ second--he dies. the story continues, however. in Christ's resurrection, we have an opportunity to remember what happens when we surrender--we, too, experience new life with him.

will we continue begging for the son of a father this morning or will we surrender and experience new life in Christ, our resurrected and soon-coming Lord & Savior, the Son of THE Father?!

okay, that is all. wish i had time to flesh this out, really bring it home. perhaps next year.

till then, enjoy uncharted waters. they are for the healing...