I don’t even remember the issue we were talking about—it had something to do with Christianity—but I do remember my friend’s response. “Gosh, I'm not really sure," he said. And I thought it a humble and gracious posture to take.

Only, it's been five years now. And he's still saying, "I'm not really sure." He has landed in that place. Now I see what happened. He has chosen doubt—a posture very attractive and honored in our day.

Doubt is “in.”

Listen to how people (especially young adults) talk. “I don’t really know…I’m just sort of wrestling with things right now…you know, I’m not really sure….” And if, in the rare case, someone actually says what they believe, they quickly add, “But that’s just the way I see it.”

As if confidence is a bad quality to have. Certainty is suspect these days.  

For one, it doesn’t seem “real,” or “authentic.” It’s human to doubt. So it seems more human to express doubt than certainty. We end up embracing doubt because it feels “true.”

But there is also guilt by association. Dogmatic people—people certain they know what’s what—have done a lot of damage. Particularly dogmatic religious people. Good people don’t want anything to do with that, and so—by a leap of logic—they don’t want to be seen as having strong convictions. Certainty is not something they want to be associated with.

I’m thinking of this quote by Alan Bloom; referring to a fundamental assumption the postmodern makes, he says,

“The true believer is the real danger. The study of history and of culture teaches that all the world was mad in the past; men always thought they were right, and that led to wars, persecutions, slavery, xenophobia, racism, and chauvinism. The point is not to correct the mistakes and really be right; rather, it is not to think you are right at all.”

And so Doubt, masquerading as humility, has become a virtue. A prerequisite for respect. People of strong conviction are suspect.

Now, I appreciate the desire for humility and the fear of being dogmatic.

But let us remember that conviction is not the enemy. As Chesterton said, "An open mind is really a mark of foolishness, like an open mouth. The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid."

Enter Jesus, who is always so wonderfully counter-cultural. He knows humility. But doubt (this will be a great surprise to many people) is not something Jesus holds in high esteem. “Stop doubting and believe” (John 20:27). Hmm.

I think we've stumbled onto another vital expression of not letting ourselves be corrupted by the world (James 1:27). We breathe this cultural air; we take in its assumptions. So let us remember this truth:

Doubt is not a virtue. Doubt is not humility. Doubt is doubt. Jesus understands doubt, and he wants us to get past it, not embrace it, for heaven's sake.

If you’re looking for some incredible insight into how to raise a daughter, then you’ll want to listen to this interview that Stasi Eldredge did with BetterParenting.com about her book, Captivating.  In this interview you’ll discover the three needs and desires of a woman’s heart, and what your role as a mother or father is in helping shape your daughters heart so that she grows up to be a healthy, beatufil, strong woman, instead of another wounded soul.

So grab yourself something to drink, get comfortable and think of the 30 minute interview with Stasi Eldredge as one of the biggest investments you can make in your daughter, because it just might change her life.  Click here to listen.

Maybe hormones aren’t as bad as I think they are.  Maybe they are my friend.  I would like to declare a truce, better still, I’d like to make nice.  To that end…a little note of appreciation to estrogen, testosterone, and progesterone.  The likes of which make me crazy.  Sometimes.  But maybe I  need to be thankful.  No, really.

 

Men, you can read this if you want but this baby is for women.  Yay women.  Go women! 

 

I have been getting my period for over forty years now.  WHAT?!?  Forty years.  Geez am I old.  Anyway, I have been getting my period since I was eleven years old.  So then why am I so surprised when it comes?  I have a killer headache for a day or two before the onset of my period.  Certain places are tender.  I want red meat.  Preferably with cheese.  Chocolate in large quantities would be good too.  I have feelings…emotions…and then woa!  OH!  Well, that explains a lot.  Who knew?  Well, for one, my husband knew…

 

When I am near or around, say close to menstruating, the world in general and my world in particular is a dark place.  I have no friends, no joy and no hope.  These symptoms I have come to recognize at least as passing.  I make no huge decisions during these hours.  It would be best if I did not come over to your house to your prayer meeting, sales meeting, party, whatever during these hours.  I have learned this.  But there also is some truth that surfaces in my heart when my hormones are raging.

 

All of my feelings are not false.  They are intensified. (This is the making nice, appreciating, hormones-aren’t-so-horrible part.)    The injustices of the world beg attention, my attention.  I am moved to act.  This is when I write the editor or my Compassion child.  Writing the oh so belated thank you notes happens now, too. 

 

The hurt I feel at being judged and misunderstood by others goes beyond irritation to sorrow.  A sorrow that I know I share with every other human being.  A sorrow that incites me to pray for others.  During this time of the month, the desire I feel inside as a woman for relational intimacy rises and will not be quenched by anything other than relational intimacy. Not red meat.  Not chocolate.  Not even movie theater popcorn. And this is difficult remember because in these moments I have no friends, no joy, and no hope.  

 

During my cycle, I begin to wonder if I am always so self absorbed.   Or is it merely my awareness that increases?  My hormonal awareness of myself and others.  (But mostly of myself…shoot.)

 

It can become a time of grace.  Really!  It can!  Extending it, offering it and receiving it.

 

I turn to Jesus.  And where did he go by the way?  How far must I cry out for him to hear me?  The faithful friend, the companion, the one who is closer than any other sometimes feels so dang far away.  And then, hoorah, faith kicks in.  Jesus didn’t go anywhere.  Whether my estrogen level is off the charts or dipping below the equator, Jesus is right here!!!   And HE GETS ME.  Perfectly!  All the time!  He understands.  Oh thank God.

 

And he aches too.  For me and with me.  He feels deeply all the time.  ALL THE TIME!  Oh, to be that alive!  I’m not sure I could take it.

 

But I am growing in taking it.   I am alive.  With all the emotional roller coaster experiences and deepening faith that that entails.  And perhaps I am never more keenly alive than when my hormones are raging.  So thank you gang.  Really.  Truce.

 

Today, right now, I look to Jesus.  I ache for him.  And I eagerly cry out for his return.  Come Lord Jesus!  And menopause coming maybe wouldn’t be so bad either.

 

Told you this was for women. 

HEALING, LEARNING AND TRAINING - STORIES FROM BOOT CAMP

by ransomed heart     Nov 17, 2010     comments   

DessertHorizon
 

 

It's a miracle that I came (to Boot Camp) this weekend, really.  On August 8, 2010 I was at the lowest of lows.  I confessed to my beautiful wife that I was headed down the road of an affair with another woman during the past summer.  God's kindness led to my repentance and He saved me from total destruction.  While I never followed through on it, I came close enough and have caused incredible damage to my marriage.

I was looking for validation in all the wrong areas.  I knew the warnings in Proverbs about the adulterous woman, but my choices revealed my need for a strength I didn't possess.  My daily life, though blessed with a beautiful wife and three amazing kids, became a relentless reminder that I didn't measure up.

Earlier that May I met with my Pastor and he spoke a prophetic word over me though we hadn't known each other for more than 10 minutes.  He said, "Josh, I feel like God is telling me that you need to be involved in ministry somehow, someway."  From that point on, Satan unleashed hell on me and the seductive words of another woman hooked me.  Over a period of three months the warfare was so great that I fell and chose to seek validation in another woman, to escape my life and to run for God.

My life was filled with shame, guilt and accusations before and during all of this.  One guy I confessed to, who I barely knew (and initially wanted to fight as he walked through my front door on the day I confessed) directed me towards this weekend and called you guys to get me in this.  He gave me the Four Streams CD's and since then a miraculous transformation has been occurring.  At a time when I, in the worlds eyes, should feel ashamed, condemned and disqualified, I feel just the opposite.  I feel confident, no condemnation and qualified to share God's forgiveness, grace, mercy and overwhelming love.  For the First time in my life I feel equipped as a son of God.  

I feel the ability to silence the enemies lies he would hurl at me.  For the first time since my earthly father suddenly died in my arms to a freak heart disorder, I feel and now see and hear my true heavenly Father speaking to me.  I feel God's calling on my life to be transformed, to lead other wounded men, and to be a man that fights for the sacred things in life.

While I know the days in front of me are going to be a time of healing, learning and training, I also know God has spoken to me that I will use this story one day.  Wild at Heart Ministries hits so close to my core, it calls out my story and I am evidence of the tremendous power God is revealing through this ministry.

- Josh

 

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My son told me recently that at his Christian college a student has chosen to fly Buddhist prayer flags off the dorm balcony.

Perfect. Of course they did. It is a classic picture of the culture at this moment. A self-revealing snapshot.

Too many years ago to count, Alan Bloom came out with a celebrated (and prophetic) book called The Closing of the American Mind. In it, Bloom - a university professor - observed that the last value held by college students in this post modern world is tolerance. A value held passionately. Almost religiously.

Those college students grew up, had children of their own, and shaped the culture we have at present. We are so steeped in the tolerance=compassion=human rights=all faiths have goodness to them=the important thing is to be sincere mindset now that a Christian student flying Buddhist prayer flags is met with this sort of reaction: "It's kinda cool." "It's not big deal." "It's a symbol of tolerance." "It's a way of standing with the oppressed Tibetan people."

It is, in fact, very naive.

The flags contain prayers (mantras) and symbols to gods other than Jesus Christ. They are, in fact, an invitation for demons to come and take roost. By your permission.

But doesn't my saying so seem just a little...too obsessive? I mean, c'mon. Lighten up. As proof that we are so accustomed to the laid-back paganism of our times, notice than on the whole we are more uncomfortable with someone saying, "umm...that's demonic" than we are with a Christian student flying Buddhist prayer flags at a Christian college. 

It would be a very uncomfortable community exercise to ask, what does James 1:27 mean for this culture right now? "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world" (1:27). We are really, really big on the social justice part right now. That is super cool. Very "in." But we are unsure if we want to deal with the second half of the passage. That part is not so cool at the moment.

So, the prayer flags summon away.

FREEDOM

by ransomed heart     Nov 10, 2010     comments   

Nov10
 

 

In September I completed facilitating a Wild at Heart Boot Camp (used the DVDs) at a Federal prison at Ft. Dix in New Jersey. I had 15 guys in the class, 12 of them were Christian, one guy is Jewish, one Native American (practices their spiritual beliefs) and one Asatru (also called Odonists – they believe in the Viking gods.)


I could write page after page about the experience, about what happened. Best to just leave it at – God showed up, guys got healed, love was shared, lives were changed. Of all of the guys who lives were changed, it may actually be mine that was changed the most. I highly recommend facilitating the program, the experience takes your understanding of the material, and potential application of the material to a whole new level.
 


When I asked the guys for feedback at the end of the program, the most significant response I got was – “This book seems like it was written just for us.” When you consider where they are, when you consider that they are not only prisoners physically but also prisoners spiritually and emotionally, and you realize the freedom and hope they got from the program, then you truly understand what that comment means. They were all very thankful to John for writing Wild at Heart and thankful for the Boot Camp program.

- Stan

 

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As a very young boy I was given the name “Little Craig” to distinguish me from the other “Craig” that lived across the street. Since he was two years older he was accurately called “Big Craig”. At such an early stage in life it was fitting; however, a couple of years later “Big Craig” the

son of a horse racing jockey seemed to have the name I should have had. I hated being called “Little Craig” as I towered over “Big” Craig… Thank God he moved to “The Little Apple” when I was in Third Grade.

In Junior High and High School my buds and I would spend every weekend or break we could patroling a teenage wasteland. We scrounged the local beach communities surfing and losing brain cells while living off gathered Coke bottles and 25 cent burritos at Taco Bell. I’m pretty fair of skin. I fried myself in the Southern California Sun and was named by a couple of my “good” friends “Tomato”… for obvious reasons.

I hated that name. It always felt like a put down on a physical attribute I couldn’t change.

In seminary I wanted the name “Doctor All-Wise-Theologian-Life-Changing-Verse-by-Verse-Bible Expositor”. Sometimes we never get the name we desired and later we’re glad that’s the case.

Presently my corner of the world includes a “Goose”; “Senator” (a spiffy and sagely legal negotiator); and a “Rose” (a name God gave a woman in our community.  There’s “Little Buster” (a name bestowed upon Morgan by “Big Buster”), I know a great cook some refer to as “Stewie” (a reference to Martha Stewart whom they say she cooks like).There’s a couple of “Ass Clowns”… so named in an online post by a critic. Ahhh… I almost forgot “Stink Eye” (I probably shouldn’t tell that story here!) There’s Kurt who’s been going by Pablo for 27 years (he flunked Spanish in 8th grade), “Jimbo” (His name is Jim… he battles with his weight and is also referred to as “Jumbo" by some).

While in college I worked at a kids camp named “Indian Village” for a summer. The Staff each had an “Indian” name. I was “Smoking Buffalo” (because of clouds of buffalo colored emissions the food delivery truck I drove spewed).  A young Gal I worked closely with had not yet been tagged with a name…. so one day she asked a group of 6th grade boys what her Indian name should be, they huddled, looked at her, huddled again an began laughing; breaking from the circle they bestowed upon her the name that stuck all summer… and ever since, “Moose Lips” (38 years later she’s a well adjusted grandmother who'll turn her head in a crowded mall to someone yelling out "Hey Moose Lips!"). I consider as friends a “Poet” putting heart and beauty into words in Oregon, a “Sasquatch” who’s changing lives in Pennsylvania, a “Prophet-Sage” from Palo “Alto and... when it comes to names, my personal favorite is a rat-sized mangy haired terrier mutt with bug eyes, a smoker’s bark and bluff charge named “Killer”. 

Everyone has been given a name or two. Some fit, some don’t; some names we bear are desired others embarrassing… sometimes crippling. Often our names become the script of our life. What names have you been given?

When my first grand daughter was born the family counseled together to inquire about the name I wanted to go by as her grandfather. I decided I’d go by the name “Captain”, and so it was settled, Jacqueline Ruby would be the first of a quiver full of grandchildren to love, honor and respect me with the name “Captain”.

There are names we desire and there are the names we’re given.

My habit around Jacqueline Ruby was to surprise her by popping out from around a corner or from behind a couch with an engaging fatherly “Ah… Boo!” She’d laugh and with smiling eyes beg me to do it again and again. So, the story goes that while my forever and wonderful first born daughter is wiping the Gerber’s Mixed Vegetables and Chicken Liver food off Jacqueline’s chin as she sits in her High Chair, Jac points to my picture prominently centered on the fridge door and declares “Aboo!!”

“Captain” may be the name someone else goes by but in the McConnell Clan I’m thrilled to be known as, and respond to “Aboo”. 

Now, let me add, though others make the connection, Jac had no knowledge of the character from Disney’s Jungle Book named “Aboo” who was a thin haired middle aged warrior-monkey with droopy eyes, odd sense of humor with a smoker’s laugh and a bluff charge also known as “Craig”. 

God too has a name for us. What do you go by?

- Craig McConnell

 

 

HOPE

by ransomed heart     Nov 03, 2010     comments   

Sn-prayer
 

 

Thank you doesn't say enough - but thank you - for revealing our true story, true heart, true place, for helping set me free from so many agreements.  For bringing me back through my former wound - for the hope we have for true, real profound healing and victory through Christ, through our Heavenly Father.

That reality is indescribable.  Your ministry is so truly unique - from the first day of reading Wild at Heart, through the Boot Camp retreat, you have spoken to the freeing and restoring of my heart.  Your ministry has struck me as "this must be true, I knew there was so much more" to life - just as first hearing and accepting the Gospel spoke to me in 1983.

You have eternal gratitude.  Oh that I can bring this message to my lost Christian brothers!

Thank you, again, because what price can I put on this Freedom?  What other words can I use?

 

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Suffering

Chautauqua - Brothers at table

(Three brothers and Dad)

I met John three months after his best friend Brent Curtis (and co-author of his first book, The Sacred Romance) had died.  It was a tragic and unexpected death, as Brent fell 80 feet in a climbing accident during their inaugural Wild at Heart event.  (You can read more on that in John’s stunning book, Desire, which was written in the thin place after Brent’s death.)

John described to me what life was like in those months after Brent’s death.  He told me that ultimately in the suffering after Brent’s death, he was lead to a simple choice.

He needed to choose God or understanding, but he couldn’t have both. 

John chose God.  From that choice came Wild at Heart and a revolution of men and women all around the globe being transformed, alive and set free.

As a close friend, I empathized with John and yet, honestly, there was something about the story I couldn’t really “know” personally. I had never suffered.

That was thirteen years ago.  Life is different now.

I suffered through my wife’s severe illness. Fourth of July marked three years from the anniversary of the beginning of her restoration.  I’ll never forget checking her into a hospital…five miles away from the church where we had our first kiss on our wedding day… three miles from the hotel where we made love for the first time.  And suddenly, our life was seemingly unraveling.  We were on the brink of tragedy; all that we held dear to our heart overnight had become sand running between our fingers.

I am suffering now through my youngest brother’s battle with brain cancer.  It was a diagnosis out of nowhere.  No warning.  He’s in the prime of his life at 29.  He just celebrated his first wedding anniversary with a remarkable woman.  One day he felt numbness, had a seizure and before we knew it he was rushed into emergency surgery to remove a major brain tumor.  I spent the days after the surgery by his side, in the Neuro ICU, pleading with God to save his life.  He made it through the surgery in tact, but with a diagnoses of advanced and aggressive brain cancer.  Radiation, chemotherapy and clinical treatments begin next week.  God willing, we’re going to beat this thing (You can read more about Lance’s story at IWouldRatherBeFlyfishing.com).

Suffering is brutal.  Suffering is lonely.  Suffering is the most sacred space of the human experience.  If you have suffered, you know what I’m talking about.  As I risk putting words to suffering; something in me feels more appropriate by just taking my shoes off and falling on my face.  This is holy ground.

The thirties is the decade where suffering is introduced into most men’s stories in some form or another.  Or more accurately, the thirties is the decade of the masculine journey by which we are ready to walk through suffering redemptively, allowing it to transform us rather than destroy us. St. Augustine once said, “The difference is not in what people suffer; but in the way they suffer.  In the same fire, gold glows and straw smokes.”

A friend reminded me this morning of a quote from the great explorer and survivor Ernest Shackleton, as he spoke of the great suffering they encountered in their near fatal South Pole expedition:

“We had pierced the veneer of outside things.  We had suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down yet grasped at glory, grown bigger in the bigness of the whole.  We had seen God in His splendor, heard the text that nature renders.  We had reached the naked soul of man.”

Suffering is inevitable.  It is part of the human experience that finds each of us as we live east of Eden.

The choice is simple.

God or understanding?

It is a very healthy assumption that you cannot always have both.  Let this decade be a decade where you become clear and committed about which you are choosing.

(Brother Lance and bride, Francine. Pre diagnosis and post surgery)

For more on this story, you can find some nourishment in these blogs:

And We Will See You Again

Asking God

Good Friday

(Lance and his bride Francine; Lance after his surgery)

Footnote:  My ship was taking on water.  Thank God I’ve fought for friendship over the years and now have a few close brothers that can intuit in me when I’m going down.  My buddy Aaron rescued me this morning.  Forced me to get outside to enjoy a sunrise together.  Some stolen time among the rocky mountains before we had to go about our day.  He brewed up some of our infamous “Shackleton Tea” over a camp stove in the back of his truck; a ritual we use to conclude our outdoor adventures.  He let me vent and cry and question.  He prayed for me when I couldn’t pray for myself and reminded me I’m not alone.  Suffering doesn’t makes sense, but it’s holy ground when we don’t do it alone. Aaron, there is indeed a strange wealth found when suffering strips us naked.  Our friendship has made me a wealthy man.  Cheers to you, a man, a friend, who is living this decade of the thirties in a way that causes me to both take my shoes off and also jump and shout and cheer you on with every last breath in me…

wordpress url: 
http://www.becomegoodsoil.com/suffering/

I had a remarkable and unexpected opportunity this last weekend.

I'd gone back to southern California to visit my aging parents. My dad is in a nursing home know and it was good to see him. My mom needed some help around their old house as well, and I was glad to be able to fix some things for her. But the unexpected gift came as I drove around the neighborhoods in which I grew up.

I found myself praying through my past. The loneliness of my junior high years. The rebellion of my high school days. As I drove around I would remember a person or an event, and simply invite Jesus into it. It was extraordinarily redemptive. It felt like Jesus and I were walking back through all sorts of things from the past, and as we did I could feel the emotion or the old way of looking at things, and I could invite Christ into it to make it his own.

I think God actually does this more often than we know. He'll bring up something that will trigger a memory - we might have a dream, or visit an old haunt of ours, we might see an old friend or sometimes all it takes is just a certain smell like cut grass or a donut shop and bam, we are back in some period of our life. In those moments, invite Jesus into it, into that period in your life. And linger there for a bit, allowing his Spirit to show you what to pray.

I found myself asking his forgiveness for the sins of my youth (Psalm 25:7) and the cleansing of that felt very important for my life and freedom now, in the present. (So many of these things retain a kind of hold on us, decades later.) At other moments I found myself inviting Jesus into an old relationship and what I found there was his love re-writing my past, coming into it. But most of all, I found myself expressing gratitude for how he has truly saved me. The contrast of my life from then till now was stunning to me. Change and sanctification take place so gradually that we often don't see how far we've come until we look back.

It is a powerful thing to redeem the past, bring it under the rule of Jesus and invite him to fill it. I think this is why he will bring it up in the present through some reminder of days gone by. When he does, invite Jesus into it, give it to him, let him heal or affirm or cleanse or redeem or return to you some gift of life he gave but you lost over time..