I couldn’t get over the message He was sending my friend. How we can totally suck at life…as we do most days….but that He sends us love messages through His word, His people, songs, books, and His creation. We are never not loved even when we feel unloved. And isn’t that what we all want…love. How powerful that four letter word is, in all our lives.

This four letter word is the reason girls date guy after guy after guy (if you are a dude insert girl) trying fill the void, even though it hurts. It’s the reason a man stands up in front of 100+ people in an uncomfortable tuxedo and completely out of his element. It’s the reason we cry when we watch our parents pull out of the dorm parking lot even though the day before we couldn’t wait to get as far away from them as possible. It’s the reason a woman carries a few extra pounds for nine months, puking for the first few, being completely out of control emotional for the next few, and having killer back pains for the rest.

It’s the reason God sent his only son to be the Savior of the world, of our souls, even though we completely suck at life.

How He Loves Us
By the David Crowder Band
He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh how He loves us,
How He loves us all

Yeah, He loves us,
Oh! how He loves us,

Well, thanks for reading!

ok, fine, I’ll explain a little more. I’ve already shot any credibility I had anyway.

This whole concept of “doing life together” is supposed to be the fantastic thing where we can be “transparent” (yes, I’m using quotation marks to signal Christianese words) and be “iron sharpening iron”. It’s supposed to be something that brings people together and creates “community”. It’s intended to “build each other up” and give us someone to “come alongside us” (ok, I’m sorry, I’ll stop).
And those are all great things.
But.

But, I have seen Christians destroy each other with a viciousness that belies anything to do with Christ.
I have gone to church with people for the last 30+ years with people who only showed my their Sunday face. People that I know had things going on inside that never saw the light of (Sun)day.
I’ve seen Christians betray each other.
I’ve seen Christians “correct” each other by incorrectly using Scripture or redefining what “speaking the truth in love” or “grace” mean
I’ve seen Christians set themselves above others in word and deed and leave broken people in their wake instead of carrying them in their arms.

I’ve even been that Christian at times.

And so, I’m gun shy. I don’t trust people who share my faith.
If I were playing basketball with a bunch of guys or talking at the office, I wouldn’t think about it. Most of the time, those people don’t hide anything…they are who they are. Take it or leave it.
But, we (as Christians) have built this house where we all stand behind our pieces of smoked glass. You can see us…sort of…but it’s kind of hazy. We are afraid of being looked down on. We are afraid of not measuring up. Measuring up to what? To the perception of what being a Christian is. That we are somehow supposed to be perfect. That we have it all together. That when we were seized by the power of a great affection, we somehow became superhuman. That all of the tentacles of sin in our lives had been chopped off and we couldn’t be touched again by them.
What a load of crap.
We have turned the second greatest commandment (love your neighbor as yourself) into a game where we hide from each other and only show our face with the make-up on. Turns out we are painted like a whore.

And that is why I am afraid. Because even when I think of something like this small group, I can feel the pressure building up inside of me to play the game…to be what I think they think I should be.
Turns out that I am afraid to be a disappointment. That other people will see the disappointment that I am.

Christ is not disappointed in me…in you. He knows that we fail. But, His love doesn’t give up on us. He hasn’t written me off in 35 years of mistakes.

If we are His, as we claim to be, could we try to live that way? That we care about each other and help each other just because?

Yeah, just because.

Not the most profound statement. Because who doesn’t, right? But this wee sentence has come after a good amount of thinking, praying, journaling. And it sort of sums up a lot of the stuff that’s been swirling around my head for some time.

I want to be loved well.

You say it. With gusto. Not like some thing you’re pining after, that you just don’t feel like you can get due to current circumstances and blah blah blah fine print mumbo jumbo. Say it from the gut. A declaration.

I. Want. To. Be. Loved. Well.

Are you being loved well? By family, by friends, by co-workers? How do you define it?

You know this, but take a minute to actually read it. Let it sink in. In light of your relationships.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails… (1Co 13:4-8)

If this is love, love defined by God Himself, why then do we put up with so much crap? So much less than the standard we know to be True.

I don’t know. We’re human. Very human. We’re messed up. We mess others up. Others mess us up. We don’t always love well. We aren’t always loved well. We don’t communicate well. We hurt each other. We take a lot of crap. A lot. Crap from friends, crap from family, crap at work. Crap from people who know us the best and love us the most. And that’s the crap that really hurts. That adds up in ways we don’t even understand. For me I think it’s chipped away at my self-worth for years. Made me think I somehow don’t deserve better. I’m guessing I’m not the only one.

Do you love yourself enough to do something about it? Do you love others enough to call them out if they’re not loving you well? If love is patient and love is kind and giving and forgiving, and their love is true, shouldn’t they respond well to the call?

I’m a people pleaser. I hate that about me. I can be stubborn, don’t get me wrong. And I can be super selfish. But more often than not, for the people I love I put my wants and desires on the back burner. I’m pretty easy going so most of the time it doesn’t really bother me. Hek, I don’t even notice. I want everyone to be happy. To have a good time. Especially the people I love. That makes me happy. Truly. And I’ll sacrifice whatever to make that happen because when they’re happy, I’m good. And when they’re unhappy, I’m immediately on alert and want to make it better. No matter the cost.

Noble? Nope. My standard operating procedure and therefore easy? Yes. What that can lead to? I don’t know…being some doormat. Confusing “service” with lameness. Getting walked on, feeling manipulated, overlooked, disrespected. Keep on turning that cheek. Think you get the idea. I’m not saying this happens all the time and I’m not trying to pull the victim card here. I’ve got some amazing friends and I am capable of standing up for myself. I think I’m just noticing it more lately because of something I heard.

“What you put up with determines how you’re treated.” I’ve been challenged by this lately. Some trite statement I heard at a communications seminar I went to for work.

The context for the statement was the workplace, but my mind went immediately to friendships I’ve had over the years. If you think about family though, it’s there big time—the crap you put up with from your kids determines how they’ll treat you. Your kids aren’t necessarily malicious, but they know what they can get away with. All of us push the envelope, we test the waters, we manipulate to see how far we can go. Maybe some of us more than others enjoy the game. Who didn’t love to heckle the substitute teacher? Regardless though, it begs the question: How do you want to be treated?

I want to be treated with respect. Is it earned? Is it commanded? Is it demanded? Maybe some combination of the three. I think I try to earn it until I’m banging my head against the wall, so maybe I need a better portfolio mix. But yes, I want to be honored. I want to be consulted. I want to be shown that I’m worthy of follow through. So the logical thought progression is… maybe I need to put up with less crap. Stand up for myself. Communicate better. Be cognizant about why I’m doing what I’m doing. Revisit my threshold for “offense” and not let everything slide because: well, they didn’t really mean it; I can just swallow that; I don’t want to confront her about that; he was just upset. Because I’m not always capable of just “brushing it off.” I internalize too much.

Jesus turned over tables. I think maybe I can worry a little bit less about what someone will think if I break my standard operating procedure. This sounds so odd to me but maybe I need to practice letting others be unhappy. And know that that’s okay sometimes. Even when I love them and want to make it better. That’s not always my job. My responsibility. I can’t always help; maybe it’s silly and presumptuous to even think I can. And sometimes my “helping” is actually a disservice to them and to me. That’s when I need to step back and stand firm. Understand where my boundaries are and what my non-negotiables are. That’s harder than I always think. It requires courage and strength. And trust in God that even if there’s loss along the way, I’m still going to me and I’m going to be okay.

Love is risk. I saw Eat Pray Love recently and Julia Roberts’ character’s biggest risk in love is that she loses herself so completely that she becomes unrecognizable to herself. That worries me. In putting everyone first maybe I lose myself sometimes.

But, if God made us who we are and poured so much into us as individuals, He won’t let us get lost. We have a job to do. Each of us. Regardless of whom we’re married to or who our friends are. We cannot lose sight of our mission. And I think if I focus more on His mission and who God is creating me to be and what makes me happy (in addition to others), and less on my boundary lines and who I’m not supposed to be or how I shouldn’t let people treat me, I think I’ll be more who He wants me to be. And at the end of the day, that’s all I want. To be the me He made me. To love Him well. To love others well. And to be loved well.

Anyone have any thoughts on this?

I didn’t grow up a Christian. I didn’t grow up in a Christian home. I never went to church. The only prayer I knew I learned at funerals as a kid—the Our Father. No one in my family is saved.

The last part…that sits on me like a house. It has for ten years. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why. Why me. Why not them. I’ve mostly learned that’s the wrong question, but it still rears its ugly head from time to time no matter how many times I think I’ve surrendered it.

I was saved in college. Senior year. I was 20, almost 21. An “African-American worship service” on campus. An altar call. I met and gave my life to a Jesus I didn’t know. It flipped my world upside down and backwards and inside out.

It was traumatic actually. Maybe that sounds overly dramatic, but I promise you it was.
Dictionary.com, ready? “Trauma = a powerful shock that may have long-lasting effects.”
Check. Make that eternal effects.

Fast forward: I work at a major Christian organization, the majority of my friends are Christian, I go to a Christian church, I’m in a bible study. A veritable Christian bubble. And I wonder why I feel dizzy.

But back to college…I questioned everything I was, everything I was striving for, everything I dreamed of, my thoughts, desires, where I went and what I did, who my friends were, how I perceived others, what my motivations were, who I wanted to be, how I wanted to live my life. The list is endless. I cried my eyes out for things I didn’t even understand. For months on end.

I know I’m not the first, certainly not the last, to get saved later in life. But I’ve never met anyone who shares this massive life upheaval. This rupture. I’ve always wanted to share it, to be understood on that level. Because 20 years of life “BC” is a long time. Those were ridiculously formative years too. I’m still feeling the aftershocks. All these years later. And apparently I still need to talk about it. Because no one does, but I still feel it.

I think that’s why I fell in love with C.S. Lewis. He gets it. He’s struggled through this messy conversion. He’s written about it and picked it apart. I’m not sure why this longing exists to befriend someone who has experienced this very thing—it almost feels like a compulsion to find my biological parents as if I had been adopted (which is an odd analogy to make since I don’t have a clue what that feels like!)

I imagine it’s been so particularly poignant of late because this last year has been another upheaval. Upheavals typically mean old stuff comes back up.

I moved last Summer (‘09) from New York/Washington, DC to Colorado Springs. New job, didn’t know a soul. It’s been over a year now, but shoot, it’s been a ginormous adjustment on so many levels. I ignore that fact and go about my day-to-day business and reprimand myself for feeling messy so often. But when I stop and glance quickly it’s a lot. City to mountains. Cosmopolitan to suburban. Diverse to homogenous. Grad school to new career. Longtime friends to brand-spanking new. Secular to Christian. And the year-mark passed and I guess it’s reflection time in my brain.

On the whole it has been amazing. I’m not the same person I was a year ago, two years ago. And I’ve met amazing, loving and lovable friends. God has provided for me and showed me a TON.
But yes, I’m processing the latest upheaval. That’s why I’m still blabbing about “conversion” 10 years later. Because it still floors me that I can feel “this small” (hand gesture thumb to index finger) if we’re talking about a first kiss in a group of Christians and I get the look of utter disdain because mine was in 8th grade, while others haven’t had their first. Why do I still feel the judgment from other Christians like a knife? Yeah I was young, but guess what? That was NORMAL! I want to scream at the top of my lungs. No one ever told me not to kiss boys. No one told me my body was a temple. No one told me to “save myself.” No one preached anything at all. Nothing. Obviously I made mistakes. Obviously I did things I shouldn’t have. I can’t take that back. I’m forgiven though, just like you are. Don’t make mine shabby. Don’t make me feel 2nd class.

That’s what I didn’t say last night. Or many other nights. I suck it down and chalk it up, unfairly I know, to their “Christian bubble” upbringing. This makes me just as tolerant and accepting as I accuse them of being. And now I find myself in the very bubble I just ranted about. It chafes.

A quote from Girl Meets God. Long but it says things I can’t articluate.
“This is one of the things that happens when you convert…One of the things that happens is, you feel family-less, even if your own family doesn’t cast you out, and you lean on your friends and your classmates and all the people in your new religious world more than you should. Your roommates, and their parents, and their friends, you gobble up their lives, adopting and being adopted and fitting yourself in just so. You need a family and you love them like a family and you make them love you back just that way, and they do. And so, should you convert again, you lose all sorts of things: not just your library and your vocabulary and your prayers, but also your family, all the people who made you their own and who you made yours. It’s a good reason to only convert once, if you can help it. Because it is more than just your religion that you lose.”

I have two parents, miraculously still married. I have an older sister. My parents weren’t around a ton. They worked. I kind of grew myself up. My sister wasn’t all that interested in me. No one much cared what I did day-to-day as long as I pulled in the grades. I pulled them in. Just as my sister had. No one bothered with me. In college too. So the family wasn’t too strong to begin with. But wow, I never felt more family-less than after I converted. And wow, did I try so hard to get adopted by the two Christian friends I had. Just so I could experience what it was like… so I get a glimpse of what it might be like to be raised in a Christian home, so I could see for a split second how a marriage under God looks and how I might want to raise my own family some day. And wow, did I feel like I could no longer connect on the same level with a lot of my friends. Although I gained eternal love and eternity, and could not have been more overwhelmed by grace and the love of God, I lost and I grieved.

And still do I guess. Suppose everyone does in their own ways. But that rupture is part of me. And although it has healed messy, it’s the me God made me. Is making me. I guess that’s all I’m going to say right now.

It’s really a blessing. A cool opportunity that I’d never before dreamed could be at a work place (outside of a church or something). And let’s be honest it could be that hour of prayer you always wish you could “carve out” of your busy life like a turkey sandwich. That hour where you lay it all down for God. Or that time where you gather with your brothers and sisters and lift up together, your hearts. God’s heart. Pressing issues. Community. Fellowship. Prayer.

Lately, I can’t stand it.
I’m that awful.
That much of a snot-face.
Sucking at life.

Bunch of Christians in a cushy air-conditioned room on the clock praying about injustice. In all its vagueness and our ignorance.
And then I have the gall to write about it. Yes, I said gall.

I couldn’t bring myself to go to this prayer time yesterday morning. I knew why. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the cushy room.

I’m not even straight with myself these days. What makes me think I’m worthy of public consumption. And yes, I realize how much is wrong with that statement. But it’s one of those things that you need to take responsibility for your own sin and relationship with God before you’re even able to be truly present in a corporate setting. This is not new. This is not brain surgery. But apparently it’s a lesson I need to re-revisit. Big time.

I went outside instead. Sat on a bench in the sun. Me and God. Snapped my fingers and told Him He needed to be there. Gall.

It was hard to just be. Often it is. I tried to just focus on the big and glorious mountains in front of me. Majestic. Sit and marvel. My eyes kept falling inward. To what’s broken. All the blood rushing. Out of my heart. To fix the hurt. I wanted to see Him. To look out. To see His beauty. To be consumed by love. I only saw the inside of me. Couldn’t hold my gaze up. Kept falling to the floor. The ants. Busy, small, unaware. And again I saw me. Tried to will myself to rejoice. To choose to choose to see the mountains. Lock my eyes on Him. And be.

My pastor has been preaching on the church lately. And he’s like the king of simple truth. He just says stuff like, “You’re not here on Sunday for you. This isn’t about you. This is corporate time. The body. God calls us together as a body to glorify Him and to be present for each other.”

Translation: get your stuff together! Take care of your own stuff. Get in your own 3×3 prayer closet and hash it out with the God of the universe. And by stuff I mean the other four letter word starting with an “s” but I’m far too proper to type it. And come. Be in community. Take communion. Be broken and be present.

So this is another selfish post. A call to myself to get it together. And maybe anyone else who needs a similar knock on the head.

And I’m obsessed lately (and by lately I mean it’s the constant backdrop of this entire last year) with this concept of “home.” What the hek is it anyway? Why does it hurt? I get the whole longing thing. Heaven. And I know that’s right. But it gets so tangled up in immediate unfulfilled desires for love and friendship and companionship and family and my own roof and I don’t know, you might as well throw the dog in there too. Security. A ridiculous unquenchable craving for security. And the eternal assurance thing – you think that might fit the bill? In the world not of the world. Dang all these answers I know are true and completely disjointed from my “reality,” (which currently isn’t coinciding with God’s reality – i.e., THE reality).

There’s a Band of Horses song “On my way back home” that’s on repeat too much lately. But it hit me that we’re all on our way back home. Holy crikey, let’s get there already! I’m so sick of waiting. It’s like the never-ending bus ride. And it’s cliché-ly about the journey…but dude, get me off the bus. Just for a while.

There’s also this short story by Julio Cortázar and it’s about this guy who goes into an aquarium and he’s staring at these fish for so long and then the narration shifts so subtly you don’t even perceive it and the guy finds himself trapped behind the glass getting stared at. Turns into the fish. Feeling trapped in the Christian fish bowl and unfortunately my memory lasts more than one turn around.

Flush.

My Pastor said that God constrains Himself to the prayers of His people. While I could struggle with the theological soundness of the statement, the spirit it of it I feel is true. Pray! Ask not, receive not. Be persistent in prayer. Dream big. So what in my life have I just grown so weary of asking for? Same things I’ve asked for, for the last 10 years. Still waiting. Same things I’ve given up on. And taken back up. Still waiting. Same things I carry around with me—my bags. Waiting. I’ll take the hopeful expectation…the holy anticipation. Where’s that bus? I’ll take one ticket for that one. No bags.

I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:10-11

The story changed.

One of the very last times I was able to have a conversation with my dad he told me to take care of my family. Love my family…a possible foreshadowing? Maybe.

2010…I still work for corporate America, I have yet to make any more movies outside of our first movie about roller skating. I’ve only been able to produce one CD and record a few demos.

And I’m waking up at 3am to take care of a crying baby.

My title. Single dad.

I envy Logan’s mother because she has the innate nurturing skills. It’s not that easy for me. Most nights I’m convinced that Logan wakes up crying because he knows that in the morning I’m going to mismatch his clothes or forget to put his formula in the diaper bag leaving him nothing to eat or a change of clothes after he blows out of his diaper.

Going from never holding a baby to being responsibility for the well being of one is scary. But I’m figuring it out. I can change diapers, get his food ready, give him baths, dress him somewhat fashionably, get him from place to place in one piece, and even make him laugh from time to time.

My story changed but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

But it brings challenges. Raising a kid is not easy. I was always looking forward to it, but I was looking forward to doing it with another person. Now I’m figuring it out by myself. Slowly, but surely. Each day brings a new lesson.

And not only am I learning how to raise and care for another human being but I’m learning how to love someone who isn’t interested. Who doesn’t necessarily want my love.

Logan’s mom is in the picture and our relationship has never been on solid ground. A baby after only a few months of knowing each other and never being in a committed relationship added with two people who are not willing to change is a recipe for disaster.

Trying to maneuver and navigate through a relationship with a girl, the mother of your child, when you have nothing to stand on makes for a pretty interesting story. Most days I want to give up. There are so many obstacles…different beliefs, past relationships, a life we used to live, lack of communication, and sometimes just a resentment towards each other that infects our relationship. The bitterness runs through our veins and we have a hard time getting on the same page.

It’s two things I’ve never wanted. Raising a child on my own. Loving someone that is hard to love.

But the result is going to be good. In the 8 months I’ve had my son I’ve learned more about what true love is and how that is shown, not just to Logan, but to his mother.

The last words from a man on his deathbed are probably important. Take care of your family. Love your family.

That’s it. That’s my new story.
Taking what I have and making it a family. Treading through the rough seas. Loving regardless of the obstacles or the feelings or what is in the past.

Forgiveness. Reconciliation. Love.

Living a better story.
Overcoming what looks like a hopeless situation, a difficult situation, a tiring situation…to create a better story. Something someone might want to hear about someday.

Learn more about living a better story…

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

Frustrated at a 2-year old…for not understanding…nawesome…

And it was one of those few times where I actually saw how ridiculous I was being. So, I sat in her rocking chair with her and held her to help her settle down.

And God brought to my mind (again) what He has been trying to get me to understand recently. (oddly, He isn’t frustrated with me…even though I don’t seem to understand.)

Once again, tonight, I was reacting. Because that is what I do. I react. In fact that is all that I do. I spend all of my time reacting. To people. To situations. To words spoken. To things I read. To music. To what I see.

And I think that’s a problem.

When I react, I am letting something have power over me. I am choosing to let whoever or whatever force me to do something.
When I look at Jesus’s life, I don’t see that. He was always in control. Yes, because He was the Son of God, but also because He knew what He was here for, He knew that only one thing mattered. Love.

Reacting is the vehicle we use to try and justify ourselves, to regain standing that we feel like we have lost or to assert the power that we wish we had. It’s self-serving, self-preservation.
Love is not about us.

Jesus didn’t need to try and prove that He was right. He didn’t give in to His anger, even though He had chance after chance to. His very being was constantly questioned and doubted. He was crucified for declaring who He actually was.
I think you can really see this in the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before His arrest in Matthew 26:46-56

Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour is near, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”
While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived. With him was a large crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests and the elders of the people. Now the betrayer had arranged a signal with them: “The one I kiss is the man; arrest him.” Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kissed him.
Jesus replied, “Friend, do what you came for.”
   Then the men stepped forward, seized Jesus and arrested him. With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear.
“Put your sword back in its place,” Jesus said to him, “for all who draw the sword will die by the sword. Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the Scriptures be fulfilled that say it must happen in this way?”
 At that time Jesus said to the crowd, “Am I leading a rebellion, that you have come out with swords and clubs to capture me? Every day I sat in the temple courts teaching, and you did not arrest me. But this has all taken place that the writings of the prophets might be fulfilled.” Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.

Count how many times He could have reacted there:

1. He could have just left His disciples because they couldn’t stay awake even thought He asked them to
2. He could have run away, hid, etc…when the soldiers were coming, but He chose to go out and meet them.
3. He could have punched Judas for betraying Him
4. He could have Chuck Norris-ed all of those soldiers who seized Him
5. He could have let His disciples fight for Him…but He taught them instead
6. He could have yelled at His disciples for running away…while He chose to stay

Jesus was able to act because He had the better way in mind. Love.
Even staring death in the beak, He kept pushing forward. I can’t even stare at the weeds in my yard without letting it derail my day.

I think that we are called to live intentionally. To seek Him and to seek the good of others.

Intentional living means that I have a purpose, that I know the purpose and that I am actively chasing after it. Which is the opposite of how I live…I guess you could say that I live unintentionally. My life is marked by how I react to the changes of the tide each day. If you watched me you might wonder if I even have a solid rock to hold on to.

What would it look like to stare frustration in the face and meet it with love?
Could harsh words be extinguished?
Could anger be dissolved?
Could bologna actually taste good?
ok, maybe not that last one…but it makes sense that change can happen when we actually decide to do this His way. Because, this is a choice. I can choose to live the way that God has called me to or I can continue to choose the ups and downs of the reaction bull-ride and hope that I can stay on and not get trampled today.

There is nothing that reflects His glory in living a life that is not grounded in the assurance of His love…a life that is lived in the fear of being overlooked or treated unfairly or disappointed.

If I could live (love) intentionally it wouldn’t matter what you did, because my life is meant to reflect Him and His glory…not my own. not my desires. not what I want the day to look like.

Frankly, I’m tired of having each day be manipulated by the attitudes and whims of others and how I respond.

God, I want to change…I want to be about Your love and that’s it

Today Zane spent a couple hours over lunch with my mom and dad so it was just Katana, Xavier and I who went down to the Goodwill store to donate some kitchen items and clothes that didn’t sell on our garage sale last weekend. And I have to tell you, I felt like Phoebe on Friends the time she tried to prove to Joey that you can do a selfless good deed.

Giving away the stuff makes me feel good. I feel good that our house is getting less cluttered. I feel good because someone at Goodwill has a job at the store that is helping make his or her life better. And I pridefully feel good because I don’t take a receipt. It’s never that much stuff and it doesn’t matter really, not worth a lot, but it’s kind of an “I’m bigger than that” feeling in my mind. Ugh. Ughly.

And while I was in the drive through drop-off lane waiting for my turn to donate, I was practically craning my neck to see what the people ahead were giving. (Yes, to my Sidney friends, you can drive up to donate – no carrying heavy bags into the back door of the Salvation Army. And yes, there has been a line every time I’ve gone there.) I coveted half of it and scorned the rest. Who would donate such trash? Ugh. Ughly again.

And my scatter-brained side reared its ugly head again too. I couldn’t find any large bags at the house, and can’t use any of the boxes because Xavier likes them for making trains, so I loaded up some of the stuff into my blue un-favorite laundry basket. When we opened the back of the van, I told the guy I wanted the basket back and he said, “No problem, we’ll just dump the stuff out.” He took the basket and another guy came and took the rest of the stuff. I sort of hollered out something like “You guys have a good day,” got in the van and drove out of the drop-off lane. THEN i realized I didn’t get the basket back! So my dilemma: do I drive around, get back in line, wait for another turn, just to get back a laundry basket I don’t really like? I decided since I just had two kids along – and two, any two, is always easier than all three – I would park the car, go in and look around a bit, and ask a worker for my basket back. Xavier, the boy with a hole in his pocket, was pleased with this arrangement because he wanted to find some junky toy, I mean treasure, to waste, I mean spend, his money, I mean my money on. We left finally with the basket and no treasure.

My Firstborn

Chance, my firstborn baby (half cocker spaniel, half golden retriever) may have had a stroke this morning. Xavier had earned a free kids’ meal certificate to Chick-fil-a so I picked that up for him before we went to Goodwill (fries for Toon and me). With the long line at the restaurant and all the basket fiasco at Goodwill, we were gone about an hour. When we left, Chance was normal, standing in the kitchen watching us go. When we got home, he was slumpy in a pile on the carpet in the living room and didn’t wag his tail or stand up when I walked toward him. He’s deaf so doesn’t know we’re home until he sees us but he ALWAYS comes to me when he becomes aware. And when I got to him and sat down with him and loved him up, he didn’t respond with his usual excited wiggling and getting up.

So I fretted a while and worried a while and called Brandon a few times at work and finally made an appointment at the vet. They could see him at 5:30. I called my parents’ house, my mom’s cell phone, my dad’s cell phone and finally found them at Wal-Mart. Of course I couldn’t state my request calmly so I bawled out some nonsense about the kids and the vet and Chance and my dad (helpless in the face of my crying) says he’ll be to my house in five minutes. He wasn’t; they were at Wal-mart out in Falcoln and the checkers at Wal-mart are trained to be slow (see my friend Marnie’s blog) so it gave me plenty of time to get hold of myself and get the kids outside doing something instead of freaking out in my overwhelmed scared state.

We saw very kind Dr. Brace at our wonderful animal clinic and she was very thorough and gentle and threw out a few ideas, one of which is that he may have had a stroke. He has a heart murmur, has for at least a couple years now (our old vet was not as thorough, and not at all talkative) but tonight Dr. Brace called it a “significant” heart murmur. Anyhow, since his heart has to work harder to do less than it needs to accomplish, he could have “thrown a clot” and it could have gone to his spinal cord, thus causing his weak legs, inability to stand, unwillingness to move. He doesn’t seem to know where his left leg is. He puts it down in the wrong places, too close to the other leg, it buckles, he shakes.

The doctor drew blood and screened the major organs and they are fine, no sign of a tumor. (huge sigh of relief) She wants to do X-Rays to see if it’s a disc problem in the vertebrae. He got an injection of pain medicine and some pills to take home. We call on Monday to let them know how he is.

Please pray the he is fine by Monday. He is remarkably healthy – arthritis and deafness only so far before today – for his age. He will be 14 in September. I need him. I love him. I am afraid of this.

Coming Soon: I will post about Zane’s wonderful, perfect birthday day last Monday

Theology

Politics

Parenting

Immigration

the list goes on and on… I see it everywhere. The battle between being right and doing right.

I often find myself in the place where my head and heart are arguing. Before I respond to something I waffle as a I wonder what my words or actions will be seen as…not because I wonder if they will show love, but I wonder if they will be viewed by the majority as the “right” thing. Will I be applauded as I fall in line with the others? Will I fly under the radar and not stir things up? Will I nod along with the people yelling the loudest?

Or will I choose to love.

Jesus, when asked, defined the two greatest commandments as 1. Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, mind and strength and 2. To love your neighbor as yourself.
We know that, right?
But then what does He say to the man who asked the question?
He says, “All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”
EVERYTHING flows from these two choices.
We can either ask God to correct our vision or we can simply put on the God glasses when it’s convenient and the audience would approve.
We can funnel everything through Him or we can continue to slap His name on everything that we believe to be right or what our political party endorses.
We can listen to His voice spoken through His Word or we can continue to pretend that Glenn Beck, Bill O’Reilly and whoever else are the “prophets of rightness”.

What holds us to this position of wanting to be right?
Pride, selfishness, defensiveness and lack of correction. We draw our line in the sand and will smack you if you cross that line, no matter what your reasoning is.

Jesus said that “wisdom is proved right by her actions”, not by her words, not by being the loudest voice or the most persistent.
A righteous life is not one that is lived behind banners and campaign speech, but of humility and justice…of doing what is right out of love.

Until we stop building organizations, policy and theology based around our view of what is right we will continue “biting and devouring each other” (Gal. 5:15) because our “rightness” will rub against someone else’s “rightness” starting fires that burn our souls and destroy the work of the cross.

Jesus came that we may have life and have it more abundantly, He came to establish a way for us to follow. Will I let Him lead or will I continue to set my own pace and decide what is best not only for me, but for the world?

Is there a higher moral standard than love?