i digress.

shoulder

I live in a two-story house. My wife and I live on the first floor and our kids live on the second. You know the one thing nearly all two-story houses have in common? Stairs. You’re still tracking with me, right? In fact, stairs are essential to the two-story house, as they provide access to the second floor, where your kids live. As a general rule, stairs are pretty non-negotiable for the two-level house, unless of course you’re incredibly lazy and installed an elevator for access to the second floor. Or perhaps you have some sort of physical limitation, and that’s why you installed an elevator, in which case - I apologize for what I said before about you being lazy.

The problem with stairs is that there are so many of them. Each one seems so small and easy to traverse, but when stacked on top of each other, it’s sort-of what I imagine climbing an indoor, carpeted mountain would be like. And climbing tiny indoor mountains is tough, especially with a 9-month-old kid strapped across your chest.

You wouldn’t think kids could pick up so much weight in only 9 months. I have two 9-month-old kids who weigh 20 pounds, each. And all they eat is milk. It’s not like we’re taking them out to nice dinners at the Olive Garden every night like those fancy people with elevators. If they keep this pace up, by the time they are my age they will each weigh 700 pounds. I literally just punched those numbers in on a calculator. And don’t get me wrong, 700 pounds is great if their dream is to have their own show on TLC someday, but as far as general health goes, they may need to slow things down a touch.

As the father of these giant babies, I’m tasked with climbing the stairs each night and putting them to bed. Before I became a father, I had this idea in my head that bedtime was going to be a magical time. I imagined smiles and endearing looks, and butterflies playing just outside the window. As it turns out, it’s more like World War II, with stairs. Okay, I may be exaggerating a little, there have been a few endearing looks.

So between the reality that has become bedtime and the fact that I am forced to traverse an indoor mountain to make it up to where they live, 8:00pm hasn’t exactly been my favorite time of the day over the past few months.  That is until the other night, when everything changed.

A few nights ago as I was carrying my daughter up the stairs, something completely unexpected happened. We were about half-way up the mountain at the time, and for some reason my daughter, who has never sat still for more than 5 consecutive seconds, decided to lay her head down on my shoulder. Her entire body weight now rested on my chest. And I know it doesn’t exactly make sense, but she’s never felt lighter than she did at that moment, and I’m not sure I have either. 5 seconds passed, then 10 seconds, then 30, and it became apparent that she was at rest, that on my shoulder was exactly where she wanted to be. As I reached the top of the stairs and made my way into her room, I didn’t feel like laying her down. I’m not sure how long I stood there holding her but I didn’t want that moment to end. It was almost like I could feel how much she trusted me, enough to put her whole weight on my chest.

As I finally laid her in her crib and headed back down the stairs, I had gained a new attitude towards bedtime. Now I look forward to 8:00pm all day, hoping that she’ll lay her head back down on my shoulder. And I also think I gained a new attitude towards surrender.

People talk a lot about God being our father. And I believe this is true. People also talk a lot about surrender, about how we should lay down our lives and surrender our whole selves to Him. And I believe this is true as well, and the best way to live. But to be honest, I’ve always struggled with putting it into action. But that night at bedtime, I think maybe I caught a glimpse that can help me, and maybe you too.

See, God’s a father, just like me. He’s obviously a lot better than I am at it, but I can’t help but think He feels the same kinds of feelings that I feel towards my kids – even if it’s on a grander scale. What I mean is, I think all God’s looking for is for us to lay our heads down on his shoulder. I think His one desire is to feel our whole body weight resting on his chest. And when we do, I can’t help but think He feels the same emotions I felt standing in my daughter’s room that night. I can’t help but think He doesn’t want to put us down.

It helps me to think that every day, there’s no pressure for me to be perfect for a father with unrealistic expectations. Because the truth is, I have a father that just wants me to rest on Him, a Father who waits and hopes all day that He’ll feel my surrender, my whole body weight resting on Him. It makes me think that maybe I don’t have to try so hard, or be so restless anymore. Life is better when we’re supported. And we’ll never feel lighter than when we lay our head on his shoulder.

seek

The thing about having kids is they constantly grow older. Mine are 7-months-old now. It’s pretty hard to believe that they’re so mature now, and polite. They’ve changed so much since the hospital. They couldn’t do anything back then. But now, since growing older, they’re doing things – mature baby things. Things like rolling over and not puking so much. They’re eating baby food with spoons, and they yell when they get mad now. They like to watch movies too, ones with classical music and random objects that move across the screen. They smile and laugh and scratch each other in the face. It’s adorable.

                While all of this is undeniably cute, and endlessly entertaining, it doesn’t really compare to the new thing they’ve started recently. At some point in the last couple of weeks, they figured out who I am. They know me now – they know I’m their dad. They’ve always acted like they knew their mom, because of the whole pregnancy/stomach connection thing. But now they’re realizing that I’m more than just a random guy who wears the same shirt every day and occasionally yells at the TV.  When I come home from work and greet them in my high pitched baby voice, they recognize me. They know my face and my voice. You can tell from their reaction. There’s this joy that fills them, joy that usually results in a giant smile and lots of unexplainable body movements. They kick their legs and arms and let out a tiny baby laugh. It kills me. It melts my heart like those ‘He went to Jared’ commercials.

                I think the main reason they’re so happy to see me is they know I love them. And life is better when you’re loved.

                To be honest, I’ve always struggled with the concept of God’s love. It’s just that there are times when it doesn’t really feel like that’s true. In fact, it feels just the opposite. It feels like He’s upset, and He has a right to be I’m sure. I’ve often thought that life would be a lot easier if God would show His face. Things would make more sense if He came home from work and bent down to see us. If He would just show His face, or look in our direction, maybe we could feel loved, maybe we could feel like He’s there.

                But what I’m finding is, experiencing His love has nothing to do with the direction of His gaze, and everything to do with the direction of mine. The truth is, He’s never stopped looking at us or looking for us, hoping that we would glance in His direction. And the reason His eyes never leave us is because He knows that if we’d just look, our lives would never be the same. But we won’t turn our heads. We keep chasing our own directions.

                The crazy thing is, all that stuff we’ve been searching for is in the other direction. All the peace, the joy, the contentment we’ve worked so hard to find is in His gaze. He’s the cure for all that ails us and He’s waiting for us. His eyes have never left us. All we have to do is look back, to seek Him out, to seek His face. Life is better when you’re loved.

                “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart” Jeremiah 29:13

made to run

My parents live out in the country. Not like on a farm or anything. Actually, it’s a neighborhood, but it’s pretty far from everything, especially Sonic. To me, this constitutes living in the country. I’m not sure I could live so far from Sonic, life without Watermelon Cream Slushes is just surviving, really.

We usually drive out there on Sundays, to my parent’s house in the country. We pass lots of country things along the way. Things like cows, and fences, and horses running in grassy areas. There are some barns too, the further you get from “town”. Within a couple of minutes of their house, there’s this small neighborhood. It’s kind of out of place in the country, and if you saw it you would agree. It’s full of small, white houses, built close together and close to the road. There’s a small hotel too, which I’m pretty sure is haunted. I try not to look in that direction at night.

The other day as we drove through this out-of-place, arguably haunted neighborhood, I noticed something. In the backyard of a small, white house, just past the 4-way stop, stood a horse.  Now, this backyard wasn’t a large field by any means. In fact, it was too small for a dog, let alone a giant horse. The horse stared at me as I drove by, silently calling for help with its giant horse eyes. It looked trapped and bored, like the people in traffic.

For the first time in my life, I felt bad for a horse. If I’m being honest, on most days I’m pretty jealous of horses. But not this day. He should be running around in a field somewhere, I thought. He should be eating apples and doing all the other things that horses to do in groups. He certainly shouldn’t be all alone in a backyard that a claustrophobic Yorkie would bark at.

I wanted to open the gate for him, I wanted to let him out. But I didn’t. For two reasons mainly: 1. I imagined the penalties for horse-knapping are pretty severe these days, and 2. It was much warmer in my car. But he was so out of place. He was where he didn’t belong and it showed. Because the thing is, horses are made to run.  

I think a lot of us are in places we don’t belong, giving our lives to things we weren’t made for. And it shows. It shows on our faces, and in our eyes. It shows in our boredom and in our apathy. It shows in traffic. We were made to run but we’ve resigned our lives over to building fences for ourselves, content to watch the cars pass by.

But the difference between us and that horse is opposable thumbs that we have a choice. We can open the gate, even climb over it if we really want to. It’s up to us.

It’s easy to feel trapped. It’s easy to feel like there’s no way we could change now. There’s no way we can change our scenery, and we don’t deserve freedom and bigger fields any way. Plus, it’s much warmer in our car. But the truth is, we weren’t meant to be caged. The fenced-in area we’ve spent our lives constructing isn’t real life. Life begins on the other side of the gate. We were made to run.

running

               Sometimes I run at night. Before I say anything else, you should know that I’m not a runner. I don’t have the right technique, or shoes, or enough tight, brightly-colored articles of clothing. I don’t even have a stopwatch, or a GPS chip in my shoe, which seem to be important for tracking things like time and distance. I’m pretty sure my breathing is all wrong too, which may explain why I get tired so quickly. That has to be it.

                There aren’t many streetlights in my neighborhood, which is where I run, mainly because it’s so close to my house. It’s like running in complete darkness. In fact, it’s so dark that I can’t even see my inadequate running shoes, or my wrist that doesn’t include a stopwatch. My baggy, dark clothing is probably flapping in the wind, but I wouldn’t know, because it’s so dark.

                It’s kind of tough to see where you’re going in the dark. And it’s a little scary too. If I had my choice, I’d take the light over the darkness.

                There’s this one street in my neighborhood that’s not like the rest of the streets. What I mean is, it’s not dark. For some reason the street lights are plentiful on this street, and the bulbs never burn out. I’ve always assumed that the guy who’s in charge of the street lights lives on that street, or maybe Trace Adkins is still waiting for his girlfriend to come back. Either way, it’s a welcome sight on my frightening night runs. When I round the corner onto this street, I feel different. Suddenly, I can see my steps, I can see what’s ahead of me. And I’m not really scared anymore, because of the light.

                I’m not sure I would truly appreciate the street with all the lights if I hadn’t started my run in darkness. I don’t think the lights would seem as bright as they do now. I’m not sure I’d feel as safe as I feel, or look forward to rounding the corner and seeing my way again. It’s just that sometimes we need the darkness to truly appreciate the light.

                I read a quote the other day from Leonard Cohen that said, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” I think that’s true. It made me think about running in the dark, and how much I love that one street with all the lights. And it also made me think about my story, about some of the darkness I’ve run through. I thought about some of the decisions I’ve made, people I’ve hurt, and moments I wish I could have back.

                It’s easy to feel things like shame and guilt when we remember our darker days. And when we feel those types of emotions, we usually just try to forget about all that stuff, not bring it up, or stuff it down a little deeper. But what I’m learning is, cracks are okay. Living our lives with a can of spackle, desperately trying to hide what we don’t want God or other people to see robs us of the light that will satisfy us. What we’re trying to cover up only keeps us in the darkness longer. So maybe it’s time that we turn the corner. Maybe it’s time we stopped trying to be someone that we aren’t and let the light shine through all the holes and cracks that led us to where we are today. Out of the darkness, on a new street, a street with plenty of lights.

tow truck

I saw a car getting towed today. Somehow I ended up behind the tow truck, which was driving 15 miles an hour in a 35 zone. The car was turned around, facing me, with its rear tires up on the tow truck and no one inside. It was parked in a lot that it shouldn’t have been parked in. I’m pretty sure it was a Ford.

            At first I was a little angry with the driver of the tow truck, because he was going so slow. And what kind of job is that anyway, taking people’s cars from them? He should be ashamed of himself, I thought. I didn’t know the owner of the car, but for some reason I felt sorry for them. I pictured the expression on their face, when they walked out and realized the tow truck man had come by, laughing and puffing his cigarettes as he pulled out in front of other people and made them late for work.

            I wondered where that car was going, with no one inside. I figured it had to be a pretty horrible place, since the car was turned backwards, kind of like how people in the movies wear blind folds before they’re taken out back and killed. As I turned into work, the truck kept going, towards downtown. That meant one thing: impound lot. Nothing good happens downtown.

            The impound lot is a scary place. It’s full of rusted doors and flat tires, and people who only accept cash. Essentially, it’s prison for cars, except there’s no food or weightlifting equipment. I knew the Ford that stared me down for 3 miles wouldn’t last long in prison. It was an awkward shade of blue, the kind of shade of blue that no one likes, especially not the gangs in car prison.

            And then I began to think about my story. I began to wonder how so many of us end up in the impound lot. How do we end up in the places that we don’t want to be? Places we never dreamed we would go. Places full of rust and decay and chain link fences too tall to climb. I think it has a lot to do with our driving.

            I’m sure the owner of that Ford was pretty angry when they realized their car was gone. He or she probably yelled and shouted and blamed the government. Maybe they said something like, “It’s not fair! I was only here for two minutes!” or made derogatory comments towards the tow trucking industry. But when you think about it, the only one to blame is the driver. The person at fault is the one behind the wheel, the one who parked where they didn’t belong. There were signs all over the parking lot, after all.

            But it’s easier to blame other people than to blame ourselves. It’s even easier to blame God. It’s easy to start to view God as a tow truck driver, smoking cigarettes and yelling “I told you so” out the window. But I’m starting to realize that our journey into these places we don’t want to go, these prisons that we can’t seem get out of, begins with our own bad driving habits. See, when we’re in control of the wheel, we tend to ignore certain signs. We ignore warnings that say we shouldn’t go here, or park there. And before long, we create these ruts, these paths that our tires can’t get out of. We keep driving, stopping by the places that we’ve always stopped by, parking in lots where we don’t belong. And after we’ve been in the wrong spots for long enough, we look up and see all the fences and barbed wire, and wonder how we’ll ever get out.

            The good news is, God’s not a tow truck driver. He’s not an “I told you so” kind of God, and I highly doubt He smokes cigarettes. Even though we were behind the wheel and ignored all the signs and warnings, God doesn’t leave us in the impound lot. The truth is this; we serve a God who carries cash. He’s always looking for us, hoping we’ll ask Him to bail us out, to free us from the prisons we’ve created. And that’s all we have to do, just ask. All we have to do is let go of the wheel and let Him take control, let Him take us down a new path, to the places where we belong.

            Whatever prison you’re sitting in, whether it’s a prison of addiction, or fear, or abuse, neglect, whatever…God is waiting to tear down the walls. No matter how bad your driving has been, or what kind of lots you’ve sat in for too long, His dream is freedom for you. But freedom can’t begin until we realize that we’re terrible drivers. We can’t break free from the fences and ruts until we stop blaming everybody else and decide to give up control. Whatever your prison looks like, your bail has already been paid. God carries cash. We are free to go if we really want to.

overpass

So I was driving on the interstate the other day. It was raining. I’m not talking about a light rain, the kind I assume they have in England, this was big, American rain. These were the kind of rain drops that are addicted to fast food and reality shows where people sing. The rain started off slowly, and then gradually picked up in intensity, like the NBA playoffs, or a Phil Collins song. After a few minutes and a few miles, all hell broke loose. It was like that scene in ‘Forrest Gump’ where Lieutenant Dan yells at the storm, only I was in a car, and both of my legs were in-tact. But you get the idea, it was raining…hard.

            Driving on the interstate in a storm is stressful. This is especially true when you’re on the 8^th hour of an 11 hour journey and have 4 month old twins in the back seat. But seemingly oblivious to my situation, the big American rain drops kept falling, faster and faster. My wiper blades struggled to keep up, I imagined they too would be frustrated if wiper blades could feel those types of emotions. Before long, I couldn’t see anything. To be honest, I wasn’t really sure if I was still on the road or driving on Interstate grass. There was no sunshine in sight, no break in the clouds on the horizon. It seemed like the storm would never end.

            And then it happened. Out of nowhere came a break from the pounding rain, relief from the storm. The overpass. You know what I’m talking about. The overpass is the saving grace of Interstate rain driving. Sure, it’s only a 1-2 second break from the storm, but it’s enough. For a few moments, the wiper blades catch up, the windshield is finally clear, the road is visible again, the storm seems manageable. The overpass doesn’t take away the storm, but it gives us the chance to see again, to re-align ourselves in the direction we should be going.

            I like to plead with God to take away storms in my life. I think this is natural. And sometimes, it even seems like He’s the one throwing the rain drops, like He’s cranking up the intensity because I’ve done something He didn’t like. And these storms we face, they don’t consist of light rain or a gentle mist, they’re full of heavy rain and high winds. Sometimes they seem like hurricanes, the ones that make old people in Florida nervous. After a few weeks or months or years, it seems like the storm will never end. We struggle to keep up, to stay on the right road. With no break in the clouds in sight, giving up seems like a good option.

            But I think we’ve got the wrong idea about storms, and God. These storms we face, they’re a product of a fallen world, a world that doesn’t know how to stop raining. They don’t come from a God who’s mad at us, or who likes to watch us struggle to find the road. From my experience with storms, God’s more like an overpass.

            At the moment of our frustration, when we feel like we can’t face another minute or hour or day, when we can’t see an end in sight, God shows up. And for a moment, there’s a break in the rain, relief from the storm. For a moment, we can see again. We can re-gain perspective, and re-align ourselves on the right road. In these moments, God seems real and the storm seems temporary. Maybe He shows up in an encouraging note from a friend, or maybe in an unexpected check in the mail, a phone call, a gift, an invitation, a whisper that He’s still there.

            I’m not sure why God doesn’t take away storms. I’m sure He could, if He wanted to. But maybe instead of being frustrated with Him, or thinking that He’s the one pounding us with the rain, maybe we should just trust that He knows what’s best for us and that He’s always with us. And when we find ourselves struggling to keep ourselves going in a downpour, maybe we should treasure the moments under the overpass. Maybe we should recognize that those little things that keep us going, they’re from Him. They’re all whispers that He’s still there, that He’s bigger than the storm.

station

Remember when Creed was cool? What’s that? They never were? Oh, well, me neither then.

I actually used to have a slight obsession with Creed, way back in the 90’s, before I had any hair on my legs. Creed was the perfect group for me, back then. They were kind of cool, like a rock band. They wore dark shirts and jeans with holes in them, intentional holes, like the ones in American Eagle. I think one guy even had a leather necklace, probably the drummer.  Creed was the perfect blend of cool for a preacher’s kid. They were just cool enough to listen to, but not ‘too cool’, where I’d have to hide their CDs from my parents, like Nelly. 

I remember riding in the car with my mom, frantically changing radio stations in hopes that I’d hear a powerful, yet rugged ballad from my favorite band. Three of the six channels in my mom’s car were Christian radio stations. And I don’t have any problem with Christian music, but let’s be honest, it’s not Creed. This left me with three viable station options. I toggled tirelessly through these channels, hoping and praying. I was certain God would grant my request if it was a Christian song I was asking for. So when I prayed, I reminded Him that Creed never said any cuss words, and depending upon the series, some of the songs could be used in church.

And then it would happen. For reasons I no longer understand, the DJ would play a Creed song. Quickly, I would turn the volume up until my mom and I agreed on an acceptable decibel level. I’d sit back in my chair, relaxed. Sometimes I’d even recline the chair, if I was in the front seat. For the next 3 to 4 minutes, I was happy. I had found what I was looking for. Everything seemed right with the world. After the song ended, the search would commence once again, and I’d continue to plead with my mom to take me to American Eagle.

Have you ever searched radio stations like that? Hopefully it wasn’t a Creed song you were craving, but surely there was a song you just couldn’t wait to hear. And when you finally found what you were searching for, you turned the volume up, and for a few minutes everything seemed okay.

I think this is what happens when we find what we’re good at. I like to think of it like a radio station, and a Creed song. For most of our lives, we’re searching. We’re frantically pushing buttons, hoping and praying that we’ll find that thing, the thing that resonates with our soul. We change majors and careers, we start businesses and close businesses, we try hobbies and quit hobbies, searching for a passion.

The frustrating thing is, it seems like most of our lives consists of just pushing buttons. Rarely do we find that one station, the one that compels us to turn up the volume. Sometimes there are small glimpses of a passion, but they are fleeting and usually not practical enough to pursue. So eventually, we stop pushing buttons. After enough frustration, we decide to settle on a station that doesn’t really fit us and turn the volume to a level that won’t annoy us too much.

But what I’m learning is, we can’t really live with the radio turned off. Settling for stuff that doesn’t fit us isn’t really living, it’s just surviving, hoping we’ll be comfortable and not too annoyed. I think the solution to finding what we’re good at is to keep pushing buttons. Keep searching, keep listening, volunteer somewhere, take those classes you’ve been thinking about, put some paint on the empty canvas. And when we find those little glimpses, the ones that make our hearts beat a little quicker, we should turn up the volume and pursue it. See, the stuff we’re good at, our talents and passions, are gifts from God. And how we use those things are our gifts back to Him. Living a life with the volume down is living below our potential, it’s not what we were made for. So keep searching, keep pushing buttons, and when you find it, blast it out.

-    “Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.”

Steve Jobs

comb-over

I will be bald one day. I’ve known this my entire life, which means I’ve had many years to decide which bald man strategy I will use when my time comes. The way I see it, I have three choices.

            The first choice is to fight. Available weapons include Rogaine, hair replacement, or top hats. Rogaine is a viable option, since my wife is in the hair industry. She says she gets discounts on it, and she keeps mentioning it. I guess it is slightly embarrassing to have a bald husband when you’re in “the industry”. But from what I’ve heard, Rogaine is patchy and inconsistent, like my beard, and no one wants a beard for hair. Another weapon at my disposal is surgery to replace all the hair I will have lost. Surgery sounds expensive though, and I can’t swim as well as those guys in the commercials. And let’s be honest, I can’t pull off a top hat.

            My second option is to shave my head. I like this option because it gives me back some control of the situation. When people see my shiny head, they won’t really know that I lost my hair, they’ll just see a shiny head. For all they know, I could just be a guy with hair who chooses to shave his head, like a professional wrestler. The maintenance is appealing as well, not having to use shampoo or LA Gel anymore. I think I could get used to that. My only hesitation is I’m not confident in the shape/condition of my scalp. I’ve seen baby pictures, but that was a long time ago. I guess one day I’ll find out if my scalp is attractive or not. I guess we’ll all find out.

            The last option is just pure denial, an attempt to hang on as long as you can and hope its not windy outside. It’s the comb-over. See, when people go bald, they don’t lose everything. The sides are still alive, and in many cases, are flourishing. So if you’ve got all this thriving, vibrant hair next to your ears, why not utilize it? Why not grow it out to 12 inches and throw it over the top? Surely people won’t notice. They’ll just assume that your hair grows in an odd fashion, horizontally instead of vertically. Don’t worry, I’ve already crossed this option off the list. It’s a futile attempt at covering the baldness. It may seem effective to the user, but to everyone else, your head looks like the helmets that the Cincinnati Bengals wear.

            I imagine it takes a lot of effort to utilize the comb over as a bald man strategy. There’s a lot of planning and combing involved, I would think. And depending upon the weather, lots of products. For instance, if it’s windy or rainy, you may have to use more gel, or even hairspray. Or if it’s sunny outside, you’d probably want to think about sunscreen before combing over, to avoid the inevitable stripes of sunburn on the top of your head. And you’d have to be constantly worried about the hair on top falling off. I’d imagine this strategy involves multiple trips to the bathroom to make sure the 12 inches of extra hair is still up top, and not hanging down over your right ear.

            I’ve been thinking a lot about hiding lately, and covering up. Naturally, this made me think about the comb over. We’ve all got stuff we want to cover up right? I mean, if we were being honest, there are some things that people shouldn’t see about us, things that people don’t need to know. And so we start to strategize about the best ways to hide. Maybe we’ll just act like everything’s fine, or tell more lies, or grow the right side of our hair out to 12 inches. Whatever it takes, we’ll do it. No matter how much time and energy, money or compromise, it’s worth it. Because if anyone saw us without the comb over, we couldn’t survive.

            I used to be in hiding. My days consisted of tirelessly working at not being seen for who I really was. I had to use lots of products to keep up this image, to make sure the wind wouldn’t expose me.

            The sad part about living a life of covering up is all the lost energy, the lost potential. See, when our days consist of tirelessly working to keep up an image and hide who we really are, all of our thoughts and energy are focused on that goal. All of our God given talents, skills, and dreams are wasted on desperately trying to keep our heads covered. Hiding doesn’t just hurt our right now, it zaps our spirit, and steals our potential.

            I’m finding that there’s not only freedom found in coming out of hiding, but there’s also potential that I’d never realized. When we’re no longer focusing all of our time, energy, and skill on covering up what we don’t want to be seen, we can focus those same abilities on things that matter. Things that interest us, things that stir within us.

            The truth I’m learning is that where our focus is, is where our energy goes, and where our energy goes, is where we’ll end up. So what if we started focusing on stuff that matters. What if we took out the razor and decided we are worthy enough to be seen, that we don’t need to cover up anymore. The God who accepts us and knows about all the stuff we’d rather hide is calling us out of our caves. He’s asking us to focus on Him, to see with His perspective. It’s not just an invitation to freedom, it’s an invitation to become the people He created us to be. Bald but beautiful.

the patriot

Mel Gibson made some great movies before he went off the deep end. Really great movies, ones that I still have on VHS. Maybe that’s why he started acting all crazy, who knows. Perhaps the pressure to make even better movies finally got to him. After all, five Lethal Weapon movies is impressive, it’d be pretty frustrating to try and think of a sixth story-line.

            One of my favorite Mel Gibson movies is ‘The Patriot’. It’s in my all time top five for sure, sandwiched between ‘Willow’ and ‘Jurassic Park’. ‘Jurassic Park’ is number one.  ‘The Patriot’ is a movie about the revolutionary war, told through the eyes of a war hero turned farmer, turned war hero again.

            One particular scene has always caught my attention. It’s towards the end of the movie, the last battle in fact. America is on the brink of winning its freedom thanks to the efforts of Mel Gibson and his friends. As the English begin to advance on their position, prospects of winning the war begin to look bleak. Mel Gibson’s friends are frightened. In fact, they’re so frightened that they decide they should just run away, retreat, to go to a place where they know they’ll be safe.

            But Mel Gibson has other ideas. Like I said, he was once a war hero before he became a farmer, and this is the part in the movie where he must become a war hero again. As his comrades retreat, he grabs an unattended American flag, the old one, with only 13 stars on it. And instead of moving backwards, he takes a step forward, and then begins to run directly towards the opposition, waving the flag and yelling things that war heroes yell. Upon seeing this, the rest of the guys are either inspired by his courage or embarrassed about being so afraid and running away. Either way, they decide to turn around and join him in the fight. Oh, and if you haven’t seen it, America wins.

            I’ve been thinking a lot about that scene lately. I’ve been thinking about freedom and direction and moving backwards. I’ve also been thinking about possible Lethal Weapon 6 story-lines, and frankly, it is quite frustrating.

            I think we all want to be free. And to a certain degree we are free, thanks to Mel. I mean we can vote and wear anything we want, even start a business if that’s what interests us. And while we’re all tremendously grateful for that kind of freedom, I think deep down, we’re all searching for a different kind of freedom. I know I am. We’re looking for a freedom to be ourselves, the kind of freedom that allows us to come out of hiding and live up to all that potential we’ve heard about.

            I used to think of freedom as a journey, and I suppose it is. But it’s not the kind of journey that I imagined, not the kind I wanted. I expected a nice, safe journey with blankets and soothing music. I expected a comfortable journey, with God, who surely wouldn’t let me face anything scary. My experience has been different though. I’m learning that freedom is a fight we must face, an opposition we must run towards.

            See, freedom is just on the other side of the opposition, it’s just beyond the things we’ve been too afraid to face, the things that tie us down.

            But moving forward is tough. Grabbing the flag and running in the direction of guns and other scary stuff isn’t as glorious as Mel Gibson made it seem at the theater. It’s hard work, every day. It’s a decision, every day.

            Some days I think maybe Mel Gibson’s friends had it right. Sometimes it seems like retreating is the better option, that maybe freedom is found away from the scary stuff, where I’m comfortable. Some days I yearn to go back, I crave the comfort that I’ve known so well. But with each step I take back, the less freedom I feel. The burden that was lifted starts to feel heavy again.

            So I’ve decided that I don’t want to go back anymore. I’ve decided that no matter how appealing the comfort sounds, or how safe it seems back there, moving forward is a better option. A life out of the shadows is more promising.

            The cool thing about God is, He wants us to be free. In fact, He created us to be free. And if we’ll let Him, He’ll help us move forward. With His help, every day we can pick up the flag and run a new direction. We can run towards the opposition, in the direction of all the things that hold us back, yelling things that war heroes yell. Freedom is on the other side.

memory

I may be losing my mind. See, like you, every day I’m getting older. And every day I lose another little section of my mind. My short term memory has taken the biggest hit, if you don’t count the receding hairline. Lately I’ve been forgetting things, lots of things. Things like my car keys or my wallet, or pants. And as it turns out, pants are important, especially if your goal is to avoid arrest.

            Sometimes I’ll look in the pantry for a specific food that I was really excited about. But once I open the door and see all of the choices, I can’t remember what it was I was craving. In fact, I’m not even sure why I opened the door at all. So I usually settle for an Oatmeal Cream Pie.

            Other times I’ll call someone and realize that I have no idea who I called or why I called them. This usually happens right around the time they answer the phone. Then I’ll say something like, “Hey man…just seeing if you wanted to grab lunch sometime”, and then my Grandma will say, “Drew, it’s 3 am and I’m not a man…but I would love to fix you lunch…we have leftovers.”

            It’s not an overstatement to say that I’m slightly concerned about my mental lapses. See, in my family we have a tradition – when you get old, you go crazy. The family tree is full of memory loss and generally crazy behavior, a path I see myself going down, like on those commercials about retirement with the green line. Perhaps I should take some sort of action. Maybe I should start filling out crossword puzzles, or turn off the TV and read a book. Maybe I should fight for my mind, for my memory. Because if I don’t, it’s only a matter of time before I’m heavily medicated and in a recliner, reciting lines from Jurassic Park to myself.

            Memories are complicated. The mind is complex. What we do is solely based on what we think and believe and remember.

            I used to have trouble with my mind and with my memories. It’s a battle I’m still fighting, but now from a better position, with more help behind me. And I think there are lots of other people fighting this battle too. Fear is a funny thing. Once it’s in your thoughts, well, it’s hard to think about anything else. It’s hard not to ponder the worst case scenarios, or wonder what other people are thinking about you. It’s easy to miss opportunities with all this fear in our heads, to pass up chances we know we should take. So, we have to fight, right? I mean we can’t just keep settling for Oatmeal Cream Pies. We can’t just rock back and forth in a recliner wishing we were Jeff Goldbloom.

            In the Bible, Jesus told us not to fear a lot of times. Maybe more than any other command, I’m not sure, I didn’t go to Bible College. He said we should fight for our minds. And what I’ve learned is, the best way to fight is to remember. See, fear is like aging, it slowly erases our memories. We start to forget things, things like what’s been done for us, who is with us, and what He says about us. It’s not that we don’t know the truth, it’s just that we can’t remember, because our focus is elsewhere.

            I’m discovering that the fight for our minds begins with remembering. It starts with recalling the facts. When we remember who is with us, we begin to feel like we can face anything. When we remember what He says and thinks about us, we’re more secure, and the things that other people say and think aren’t so important anymore. When we remember what’s been done for us, we’re grateful, we say things like “thank you” instead of “why?”. See, the battle for our mind is really just a re-building process. It’s a process we can choose. When we choose to remember the truth about us, we can win, we can do anything, we can open the door and finally realize what it was we were craving so badly.