One Big Question: seeking God

Adam posting:

“Then tell me what you love.”

“The absolute simplicity. That’s what I love. When you’re climbing your mind is clear and free from all confusions. You have focus. And suddenly the light becomes sharper, the sounds are richer and you’re filled with the deep, powerful presence of life.”

-Seven Years in Tibet

The big question this week is regarding each person’s favorite spot or favorite activity to seek God. My favorite activity is prayer. My favorite spot is at another person’s side. For me, nothing draws me closer to the presence of God than to pray fervently for a hurting friend.

I love writing. And I feel a deep sense of satisfaction after working with words. But, when I pray I understand the simplicity of our lives. I feel good and evil. I see the battle for a man’s soul taking place, and I am involved in the struggle. And that gives me a sense of purpose and fulfillment unlike anything else in the world.

Speak of the Devil

Came across this movie trailer today.  After yesterday’s post, it was too apropos to pass up.  I love a great documentary.  Thinking I won’t miss this one.

Three Things

bobby posting:

Three Things

1 / We’re getting ONE BIG QUESTION going again this week.  Had planned on starting it again today.  But One Big News story just hit.  That leads me to this…

2 / I went to bed early last night.  My wife was having a few of her girl friends over and I didn’t want to intrude, so I went to the back bedroom, read a little and fell asleep to the sound of rain outside my window.  It was sweet and relaxing and provided some much needed rest.  When I woke up this morning, I realized the world had changed overnight.  Something significant happened.  What was significant to me, though, was how I found out.

We’ve been getting the newspaper at the house the past few days because of some promotional offer the Arkansas Democrate Gazette is rolling out.  They tried it once before on us, but we didn’t bite.  I have to admit, though, it’s nice to eat my bowl of cereal with the paper in front of me.  The computer’s just never felt the same.  But we’re certainly not forking over big cash for that little joy.

As I grabbed the paper, I reached immediately for the sports section.  What I found facing me on the front page of the news section, though, was too big to miss.  A giant headline I’ll probably never forget sat staring right at me:

“U.S. kills bin Laden”

I can’t remember the last time I got the news, especially any sort of incredibly newsworthy news, from print media.  While working through journalism school in college, I was face to face, over and over, with the fear that print was dead.  We were presented with “new media”.  Educated in web content and prepared for social networking.  Print was already seen as a thing of the past.  Slowly crawling towards it’s inevitable fate.  One sad dinosaur.  Yet it was print that brought me the news of the day, today.

I remember watching the news when September 11th happened.  I remember watching the news when Barack Obama won the presidency.  I remember watching the news when Sadaam Hussein was found.

In the future I’ll remember heading over to CNN.com for the major events of the day.  But for now, I’ll remember picking up the paper when I learned bin Laden was killed.  Maybe it was just coincidence.  But picking up the paper, reading that enormous and straightforward headline, seemed to be the most appropriate and sober way to receive this grave news.  And this news has certainly been filled with gravity, whether you’re feeling it or not.  Which gets us to number three…

3 / I read page one of the paper with a strange solemnity.  I felt no deep excitement.  Certainly no joy.  Just a sorrow that I couldn’t quite place.  Perhaps it led me to think about all the pain this man had caused.  I’m still not quite sure.  But then I turned over the paper to page two.  A picture of Americans celebrating bin Laden’s death met me.  Whatever I’d felt stirring before became magnified immediately.  This did not feel like a reason to celebrate.  This didn’t seem to be a time to dance in the streets.  This was certainly not a time for other countries to look at us with smiles on our faces as a man was killed.  Even a man as filled with hate and evil as this man.

All day long, I realized I was not alone in my opinion.  One of the beauties of our country is that we get a chance to say what we want, however we want to say it.  I’m thankful for several different voices today that said something different.  That rose up in a way I couldn’t have expected.  If you’re interested in hearing a few of those, I’ve linked to them below.  Peace.

– –

From the newsier side of things:

The Huffington Post / “Celebrating a Death” 

From the spiritual side of things:

Shaun Groves / “What is this faith?” 

From the sports side of things:

Jeff MacGregor / “Endgame:  The Arithmetic of Payback”

– –

And we’ll see you next time with the answer to this ONE BIG QUESTION:

Where is your favorite spot,

what is your favorite activity to seek God?

Acedia. Me. And You. Part Two

bobby posting:

While jogging a few weeks ago, I took a turn down a street I normally pass by.  This is nothing new for me.  I like to try and get a little lost while running.  It keeps the exercise fresh.  Kinda like role playing.  I’m kidding.  Maybe.

I also like to look at houses while I’m out there.  Jogging.  I’m perpetually on the search for our dream house.  You know…

– flat driveway for Father of the Bride late night basketball games

– large backyard for soccer, football, wiffle ball…and for our dog to run around plenty.

– somewhere outside, front or back, that looks like a great sweet-tea sipping spot

– enough room for a family of 5-6 folks and students that come over in troves at all hours of the day.

And that’s about it.  Nothing huge.  Nothing fancy.  Just about right.

Well, on this day, on this route, I found it.  I jogged right by our dream house.  And I fell for it.  Hard.  So much so that I spent the rest of the run figuring out how in the world my family could be in that house one day.  And that led me away from ministry.  Quickly.  For two reasons:

1 / The money I make on a full-time youth ministry salary would never be enough to get me in that house.

2 / The imagination I have for God to bless and provide and wow and take care of us beyond our wildest dreams would never be enough to get me in that house.

So I thought of all the other things I’m gifted and talented in.  Professions that pay well.  Really well.  And I found my mind drifting.  I found myself wandering.  I was looking to find myself at a new desk somewhere.  Picking up a sweet paycheck.  Saving up for a down payment on a house.  I was searching in my mind for all these things…

Instead, I found something else.

Acedia.  And I was face to face with the little monster.

– –

So here I am.  A few weeks later.  Still sitting at my old desk.  Wondering about wandering.  And marinating in this question:  am I person number one or person number two?  Do I have no regrets or do I wish I could change things? Am I content with the way my life has played out or am I yearning for a do-over?  Do I want to keep moving forward or push to fall backward?

Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove writes in the Stability book I mentioned yesterday something incredibly profound and powerful.  Especially if it’s true.

Maybe the single most important thing we can do if we want to grow spiritually is to stay in the place where we are.

Man, that sentence nailed me.  Instead of letting my mind run while I’m running, I’m going to really give that last sentence a try.  Let it soak into my life.  Dig roots filled with stability.  Fight off acedia.  Pro-actively.  Even when it’s just a little seed.  Especially when it’s just a little seed.

And who knows, maybe years from now, I’ll be writing to you from this same old desk.  But in a brand new house.  Exhausted from a long night of driveway basketball with my kids.  Sipping on sweet tea.  Filled with gratitude.  Maybe as much as I have right now.

Because even now, especially now, I’m incredibly grateful for this desk.  For my house.  For my son.  For even just teaching him the word “ball”…much less playing ball yet.  And most of all, for my wife’s sweet tea.

Acedia. Me. And You.

bobby posting:

The way I see it, there are two different types of people in this world.

How many times have you heard that?  And it’s always two different, different types of people.  Are the people who are half-full the same as the people who prefer their Pop-Tarts un-toasted?  What about the people who never text and drive and the people who really don’t care for dessert?  Same folks?  Makes my head spin.

That being said, I have another set of two different types of people in the world:

1 / People who have no regrets.  Who are content with the way their life has played out.  Who learned from their struggles and hardships and are all the better for it.  Who keep moving forward.

2 / People who desperately want to change things.  Who want to hit the reset button.  Who have played it all out and are crying for a “do-over”.   Who hated learning the hard way and yearn for a new innocence.  Who long to go backward.

– –

I’m several pages into a new book, The Wisdom of Stability, and it has me thinking about returning to my roots.  I left Arkansas in 2002, primarily for college.  But the secondary reason, to see the world, was not too secondary.  I knew since I was a little kid that I wanted to experience life away from home.  When it came time, I didn’t even apply to a single in-state school.  Nothing within even 5 hours of home.  I was ready to go.

But in 2008, after years away, home came calling once again.  And home I came.  And home is certainly where my heart is.  Even if I find my heart wandering every now and then.

– –

In my book today, I came across a word I didn’t know.  Acedia.  Uh-SEE-dee-uh.  I love words.  Especially new ones.  And when I find one I’m not familiar with, I search for the meaning.  And for meaning beyond meaning.  I found some great writing by none other than Kathleen Norris (I strongly recommend it) that really made the word come alive to me.  Like an arrow piercing somewhere deeper within.  I had just shared this thought and idea of restlessness the day before with Taido.  But this word, acedia, not only clarified my current state, it magnified it.  This was no easy demon to dismiss.  Norris writes:

The early Christian monks regarded acedia as one of the worst of the eight “bad thoughts” that afflicted them. It was ranked with pride and anger, as all three have the potential to lead people into deep despair. Acedia in particular could shake the very foundations of monastic life: once a monk succumbed to the notion that his efforts at daily prayer and contemplation were futile, life loomed like a prison sentence, day after day of nothingness. In a similar way, acedia can make a once-treasured marriage or vocation seem oppressive and meaningless.

Nothing in my life seems oppressive and meaningless.  And I mean that.  But I can certainly see how seeds could be planted.  Quickly and deeply.  I’ll share those thoughts with you tomorrow.  How walking down one path for a while can cause you to look over your shoulder.  To wonder if you took the wrong turn.  To forget to even look at the road you’ve chosen.  In all of its goodness.  In all of its possibility.

Maybe you’ve been there before.  Maybe seeds are being planted in you right now.  Maybe you’re further down than I can imagine.  Either way, I’m hoping a little digging will uproot any growth that’s already found soil.

What You Say…What They Hear: Part Two

bobby posting:

A couple months back I wrote about the restaurant my mom opened in Northwest Arkansas.  Since then, the little business has drawn in folks from all over and even picked up several “regulars”.  It’s been a great, growing time for my Mom.  Learning how to run a small business.  Finding out how to manage a restaurant.  Seeing how to pick up new customers and keep them coming back.  Over and over and over again, Mom has made me nothing but proud.  She’s stretching herself and succeeding and it’s incredible to watch.  It’s made me see her as something other than just my Mom.  And I think every child needs that experience at least once in their life.  It’s humbling.  And beautiful.

And if that were the only thing I had my eye on in this new outfit, life would be great.  Grand, even.  But there’s more to the story.  And that’s where things get hard.  And messy.

– –

This business venture involves family.  Extended family.  And the day to day existence of all these bodies and personalities has been difficult.  Demanding.  And draining.  One of the most trying things my immediate family has ever been through.  And if you know us, or even just know my story a bit, that says a lot.

In all of it, I’ve pushed my Mom to be filled with love and hope.  Compassion and understanding.  To turn her cheek.  To extend a hand.  I’ve watched her try over and over and over again, and again, my Mom has made me proud.  But then something else will happen.  Some other impossible circumstance, and again, the temptation to fight back will arise.  I have tried to communicate truth to my mother.  I have spoken Jesus’ words in Luke 6:  to love when loving’s not easy, to not judge, to be a tree that bears good fruit.

“It’s not as easy as it sounds, ” she’ll say.

“I’m not perfect,” she’ll respond.

And then the dagger…”And I’m not like you.”

– –

I gave my life to Christ in 8th grade and ever since I’ve been on a journey to live this faith out as authentically as I possibly could.  I have failed and failed and failed again.  And yet, sometimes, the only thing my family can see is this “perfect, righteous, Christian” boy.  Whether I’m trying to put on airs or not, it’s nearly always seen that way.  I’ve tried to extend love.  And grace.  But what is communicated over and over again is judgment.  Disappointment.  And shame.

– –

While praying about the whole situation with one of my best friends yesterday, I zoned out for a bit.  I could no longer hear the words he was saying.  All I could listen to was an apology.  By me.  To my Mom.  And I gotta admit, I was confused.

What did I need to apologize for?  What had I done wrong?  Where I had made a mistake?  But I couldn’t shake the feeling.  And because I knew that none of it came from my own head or my own heart, I knew God was up to something.

So I listened.  To what He was saying.  And I heard.

And, thankfully, I obeyed.

I left my friend’s office, went next door to mine, shut the door, and called my Mom.

“What are you up to?”, I asked.

“At Lowe’s.  Buying stuff to plant flowers outside the restaurant.”

“Well Mom, this may not be the best time for this, while you’re at Lowe’s and all, but I feel like I need to apologize to you.”

And I did.  For the next few minutes, I expressed to her that I’ve been trying to communicate truth to her.  Love and grace and hope and yearning.  For something more.  Something greater.  But I said that I felt like maybe that’s not quite what was being heard.  That, while I thought I was speaking one thing to her, another thing was actually being heard.

“I feel like you’ve felt judged by me.  That you think I’m ashamed.  That I’m not on your side,” I said.

“That’s exactly how I felt,” she replied.

And the dagger struck again.

Part of me wanted to defend myself.  To let her know that I had never tried to express any of those thoughts or ideas.  But part of Him rested on me.  A large hand.  On my shoulder.  And I felt peace in being misunderstood.  And even good about apologizing for it.  I knew something good would come out of the apology and that the need to clarify anything up was just my flesh yearning to feel good and righteous and innocent.

I surrendered, with a little water in the corners of my eyes.  And restoration and reconciliation began to come forth.  Seeds planted like flowers from Lowe’s.

“I’m proud of you, Mom.  I hope you know that.  I hope I’m communicating that to you.  Right here, right now,” I said.

“Thank you, Bobby.  That means a lot.  A whole, whole lot,” she responded.

– –

As I said yesterday, I’m beginning to really learn, through my big old hard-headed head, that there is a vast difference between what you say and what they hear.  Two different worlds.

I’m also learning, though, that sometimes you need to have your ear to the ground.  To listen.  To really hear what they heard.  And every now and then, even when your heart and your head are fighting you tooth and nail to resist, you need to go back.  And say it again.  Maybe in an apology.  Maybe with a new clarity.  Maybe using a new voice.

But say it.  Over and over and over again.  Until you’re really heard.  The true you.  The truth in you.

With lots and lots and lots of love.

What You Say…What They Hear

bobby posting:

One of the gifts of leading students on a regular basis is that I get to speak truth to them.  I don’t have to wait for convenient moments or hard situations.  I just get to go right in and shed light as much as can at all times.  That said, it has been a great challenge for me to control my tongue and watch what I say and not always try to just be funny and filled with wit.  I have to filter my thoughts and ideas and words more than normal and only speak what I really believe.  Why?  Because these students may latch on to one little thing I just sort of threw out on a whim and didn’t really mean.  It happens all the time.  I’m beginning to really learn, though, through my big old hard-headed head, that there is a vast difference between what you say and what others hear.

– –

A month or so ago, I was teaching to our middle school students on a Sunday morning.  We were talking about movies and media and the influence they can have on our daily lives.  I grabbed a sponge and dipped it in a bowl of water.  I explained to them that we are like that sponge, and whether we realize it or not, whatever we put in us will come right out.

I pulled the sponge out of the water and, of course, water came right on out.  Dripping everywhere.  I said this is what it’s like right after we’ve experienced a movie or song or book.  In the immediacy of the moment-after, we let that water fall everywhere.  As an 8th grade boy watching Varsity Blues, I spent the next day or two dropping F-bombs like somebody would take away the ones I didn’t use.  I met my quota pretty quickly.  The sponge was flowing.  But over time, the sponge settled.  It just sat there.  Holding water.  Holding F-bombs or whatever else we dipped it into.

Until we’re squeezed.

And then I pressed hard on the sponge again.  Water came crashing.  When we’re squeezed in life, whatever we put in will come out.  So those Varsity Blues F-bombs found their way back out, even beyond the aftermath of the movie.  When we’re pressed, the truer version of ourselves comes out clearly.  Whether we want it to or not.

In saying all this, I told students to guard their hearts and minds.  That maybe they need to even flee from immorality.  To potentially walk out of or away from a movie.  To turn off a song.  To put that magazine down.

Now, that’s what I said.  That may not have been what was heard.

– –

This morning at our staff meeting, one of my coworkers who has a middle-school-aged son, came up to me and said she wanted to share something.  Her son had just told her that he felt convicted to turn off a movie that had swearing in it.  Because “Bobby said that if there’s swearing in a movie he turns it off.”  Well, that’s not quite what I said.  And if you’ve ever watched movies with me, you know my filter is pretty wide.  Needless to say, I’ve never turned off a movie because of profanity.  Maybe I’ve looked away deliberately from other things that my flesh really wasn’t interested in looking away from.  But profanity?  Come on.  My wife swears like a sailor.  I’m kidding.  Sort of.

Again, I said one thing.  And another thing was heard.  And because it was helpful for that person to hear, I didn’t feel any need to go back and reconcile the difference.  Ultimately, good was done.  But that’s not always the case.  Sometimes this whole idea can cause trouble.  And hurt.  A lot of it.

– –

Because I love you, and because I’m challenging myself towards brevity, I’ll share the rest with you tomorrow.

In the meantime, have you been misheard?  Was the line fuzzy on your end or theirs?  Are you communicating clearly?  Are people hearing you effectively?

I’m going to shoot it straight with you, I’m not always as clear as I think I am.  You’ll see what I mean.  Hopefully.  I might say one thing.  You might hear another.

3PR: Feel by Matthew Elliott

bobby posting:

It’s time for another 3PR (3paragraph-ish review).  After writing a bit about this book earlier in the week, I thought it was time to really look at Feel:  The Power of Listening to Your Heart. It was written by a guy named Matthew Elliott. A couple quick things:  First, don’t judge a book by it’s subtitle.  Or cover.  Agreed?  Agreed.  Second, don’t confuse this book with this book, though I think that’d be just as deeply enriching…and definitely, strikingly more hilarious.

I found a list on a blog some time ago called 20 Books to Read in Your 20s.  I have no intention of reading every single one.  But for many reasons, this book stood out.  If you read my recent post about hope and feeling and found yourself in similar situations, this might be the book for you.  Let’s take a look.

The Rundown

Just five quick pages into the book, Matthew Elliott writes, “I have come to believe that the true health of our spiritual lives is measured by how we feel.”  How’s that sit with you?  You a little worried?  Thinking he’s putting way too much emphasis on our heart-strings?  I was hoping that wasn’t the case.  I was hoping this book would tell me to ignore what mainstream Christianity has ingrained in me over the past decade:  that we can’t trust our feelings.  That we must obey the facts and put them into motion, that we must not let our emotions guide us in our walk with God.  Instead, Elliott tries to plant a seed in us that he hopes will grow into something powerful and beautiful.

Whether it’s joy:  “It’s about doing anything that will break me out of my emotionally controlled stoicism and help me relearn the joys and art of celebration.”

Or grief:  “I wondered how I’d react if I went to church one Sunday and heard, “If something really bad happens to a friend in the church, you need to be over at their house crying with them.  No, I don’t mean dropping by a card and a casserole for dinner, your Christian duty.  I mean entering into their pain and really crying with them.”

I couldn’t remember ever doing this.  Grieving in that way, for someone else.  Ever.  Elliott’s words worked.  I was pushed to feel.  And feel deeply.

The Writing

Elliott’s not going to win any awards any time soon for crafting literary masterpiece.  At times it feels like thesis-reading.  Other times it feels like his own hope and heart poured onto paper.  But on a pretty regular basis, you’ll find words and thoughts put together in such a way that truth comes crashing and colliding right onto the pages.  It’s those moments that cause you to set down the book and just think for a second.  That’s the real strength here.  Writing with a purpose.  Here’s an example:

We Christians focus so much on duty — fulfilling the list of things we are supposed to do — without honest and genuine heartfelt emotions behind the actions.  We elevate reason and duty above true emotion and compassion.  That leaves us, and those we are trying to love, empty.

The Rundown

I took time reading this book.  I really wanted to work through it and process.  I hoped to engage truth and put it into action.  The book itself is not out-of-this-world brilliant.  But the thoughts and issues raised, and the way they’re addressed, proved incredibly fruitful for my life.  Even now, a couple months later.  It began to reverse old un-Biblical ways of thought that I’d built up as truth in my life for years and years.  Elliott really wants us to “stop holding inside all that God created you to feel.”  After reading the book, I was ready to begin another phase in my life.  A season in which I really began to let go and let God.

If you feel like you’re in that place, where you’re struggling to release and receive, where you’re holding on and holding in, where you’re desperate to really live out the full spectrum of emotions God has given you, then give the book a try.  For the rest of you, all you well-adjusted happy human beings, go read something depressing instead.

Kidding.  Sort of.

Three Things No One Tells You About Parenthood

bobby posting:

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was just a happy husband with a pretty, pregnant wife.  The months were zipping by and the clock to parenthood was ticking like a time-bomb.  I was both desperate for help and sick and tired of the help I was getting.   I even wrote a post here on Via about wanting real advice from real Dad’s…and I wrote a post over at the Harrisonian about just being ready for everything to finally happen already.  Man, how time changes.

Truth be told, I’m a ridiculously happy and grateful father and husband.  I have an incredible child and a remarkable wife who has over the past year or more has transformed seamlessly and effortless into an unbelievable mother.  All that being said, there’s still a few things I’m a little miffed about.  Like these three things that no one told me about.  I guess some things you just have to learn on your own, though.  Maybe that’s just me.  I’ve been told before that my head is rather hard.  And big.  But that’s a whole other post…

– –

Three Things No One Tells You About Parenthood

1 / Tongue Twisters

I’m good with words.  Have been as long as I can remember.  But I’m even better at talking.  My parents could tell you that.  I remember my step-father asking me at a young age if I just liked to hear myself talk.  I think I spent about five minutes responding to him just to hear myself talk.  I thought it was funny.  Not sure he received it as well.

But somewhere along the line of being a Dad myself and trying to teach my son words here and there, I’ve found a real inability to finish sentences completely.  Whether it’s at home with the boy or around my friends, my brain shuts off.

Let me make it concrete for you.  I’m approaching my friend, Jacob, the other day.  As I’m about to say hi, I can’t decide whether or not to say “bro” or “bud”.  So what comes out?  “What’s up brud?”  Brud?  Are you kidding me?  Let’s just say spellcheck here on the blog isn’t too thrilled with my word choice there.  A little red line’s telling me I made a mistake.  Those little red lines are showing up more and more.  And I can’t do anything about it.  My brain’s freezing.

That’s not the first example.  It won’t be the last.  Can I blame it on the boy?  Of course.  Come on…I was great before.   You know it’s true.  If you disagree, call me.  We’ll talk.  Or I’ll talk.  You’ll enjoy listening.  I promise.

2 / Crazy People

When your child’s sleeping peacefully in the backseat of the car and you just have to run inside the video store real quickly to drop off your movie, I’m talking a 1-minute drop off here, you realize the line that separates you from the crazy parents that end up on the evening news is really much smaller than you are comfortable with.  I’m talking paper-thin.  Razor-thin.  Beyond tempting.  More so than I ever want to admit.  Wake up a sleeping baby?  Forget it.  We’ll just return the movie another time.  Even if it leads to a late fee.

The same goes for yard work outside while the boy’s napping inside.  Can I just leave a window cracked to hear him if he wakes up?  See…look at me.  Asking questions that may get me on the evening news.  I’m telling you, it’s tempting.

3 / Wet Diapers

Okay, I was fully aware and prepared for dirty diapers.  I had built up the horrid stench so much in my head that the first bad diaper I faced was far better than anything my nightmares could have produced.  Reality struck, and it didn’t stink nearly as bad as I thought.  In fact, give me a dirty diaper any day of the week.  Really.

But a wet diaper?  Wait.  Let me clarify.  Not just any wet diaper.  Not just a drop here or there.  I’m talking a slept-great-all-the-way-thru-the-night-diaper that’s carrying about four pounds of urine in it.  Soggy bottoms.  A diaper so wet and heavy that just looking at it causes the gag reflex.  Now you want me to hold this thing?  As it flops in your hands and squishes and slides, you realize that this is rock bottom.  Dignity out the window.  Not that there was much left as it is.  I’m telling you, the wet ones…the really, really, really wet ones…are way worse than anything else.  And no one tells you that.  Just soaked.  Just wrong.

– –

Well there you go.  That’s my list.  So far…

Any parents out there wanna add to it?  I’m all ears.  Would love for you to step up and tell me I have no idea what’s to come.  Because I want to know.  I don’t want to find out.  The hard way.  Again!

Hope Springs Eternal…

bobby posting:

It’s spring here in Arkansas.  Blue sky, green grass spring.  Beautiful.  Spring is renewal.  Awakening.  Coming back to life.  And more than any other spring that I can ever recall, this season is bursting with vitality.  Hope is present and persistent.  It won’t go away.  It keeps chirping like the birds outside my office and growing like the dandelions in my yard.  And it has little to do with plants and animals and weather.  Instead, it has to do with all sorts of folks, from all sorts of walks of life, all beginning to rise up.  To stretch out their limbs and loosen up their joints and walk towards something meaningful.  Something bigger.  Something greater.

I’ve never been a part of something like this.  My wife and I spent a good amount of time in the Southern Baptist churches of eastern Kentucky.  We heard a lot about revivals.  We got fliers for revivals that were taking place in two weeks.  We attended revivals in parking lots and stuffy sanctuaries.  Nothing was ever revived.  Well, except for the pomp and circumstance pumping up the next revival.

But right around me, right now, a revival is taking place.  The best part about it?  I’ve had little to do with it.  These weren’t my plans, my thoughts on how people could and would and should journey back to God.  This was out of my hands and totally in His.

– –

When my Dad died back in 2002, without even realizing, I shut off emotionally.  I wouldn’t, scratch that, couldn’t cry.  I tried.  When an opportunity arose that necessitated tears, I did my best.  But moist eyes was about all I could hope for.  I began to realize this years later.  In fact, it wasn’t until my wife was pregnant with our son that I began to really see that I longed to feel more.  I desperately wanted the impact and weight of life, new life, to deeply affect me.  But I just couldn’t get there.

So I began to pray for God to break down those walls.  To unleash something inside.  I prayed for a flood.  Knowing good and well that God delights in answering those kinds of prayers.  The ones that break us.  The ones that draw us near to Him because we don’t have the fight or will to go anywhere else.

God answered well.

The two months before my son was born, I was an emotional wreck.  Peaks and valleys.  Elation.  Depression.  Deep, lasting joy.  Uncontrollable, reckless crying.  It was a nightmare.  Mostly because God didn’t just help me embrace joy and sorrow.  He helped me find everything in between as well.  Alongside anticipation came anger.  Next to greater faith sat greater frustration.

I hope Abe has no memories of his first few months.  I was still learning how to deal with this sharper, more in-tune version of myself.  I was a bit raw.  And, especially at 3am, I might have not been filled with grace and compassion.  But I was beginning to see a world of feeling again.  A life actually lived and experienced and embraced.  I read a great book that even helped me to walk further down the road.  Slowly but surely, a revival was happening within me.

Renewal.  Awakening.  Coming back to life.

– –

Over the past year, I’ve learned something about myself.  I’m incredibly vulnerable and sensitive to people who are making their way back into a real relationship with Christ.  Their faith has been tested.  They made it through the wilderness.  They’ve seen the world and taken it’s best shot.  But they’re back.  And ready.  For more.

They hang their legs over the boat and wait to feel the water on their toes.  They are surprised to feel ground.  Earth.  What was once shaky is now solid.  They feel courage in their bones and strength in their soul and they begin to stand.  One leg at a time.  One step at a time.  Slowly.  Surely.  They lift their eyes to see a man worth walking to.  A life worth living for.  They fight to keep moving forward.  Motion, even the tip-toeing kind, leads to muscle.  Muscle leads to strength.  Strength leads to security.  Security leads to solidarity.  With Him.

When I sit by these people in church for the first time in 8 years, when I see them lead students with a heart full of hope, when I listen to them in my office as they share about really hearing God speak, when I climb with them up mountains in Colorado, when I pray with them about hardship and healing in their own life, when I listen to them share about the Prodigal Son…I am broken.  Not just eyes moistening broken.  Tears flowing broken.

The tears just slide down effortlessly.  Gracefully.  Without holding them back in any way, they let go, free and sweet.  They fall.

Over and over and over again this Spring, I’ve had the chance to see it.  To feel it.  Renewal.  Awakening.  Coming back to life.  In others.  In me.

Spring bursting with vitality.