Craig's Blog

Father of the Bride

I’d forgotten how sentimental the movie “Father of The Bride” is. Together, our staff took a long lunch to watch the film and encourage our colleague Brad Beck, who will be “giving away” his daughter Brianne this weekend. Somewhere near the middle of the movie a transition took place; I was no longer watching a comedy starring Steve Martin, I was caught up in the memories, remembering, reliving and savoring the season, ceremony and celebration of my two daughter’s weddings. The movie ended and I swam home to linger in my journals, giving my heart permission to enjoy the life I live and the family encircling me. I'd like to share a few of my journal entries from the past over the next week on "Daughters, Fathering, Weddings, Grandchildren and Such". A journal entry from August 12, 2007 It began in tears… of joy. It ended in tears of grief. Within three hours of landing in Los Angeles I was sitting in an upscale lounge in the Mon Amie Bridal Salon. Meagan, in another room, was putting on the wedding dress she chose for her wedding and hoped I would love at my first viewing. It was interesting, a bit odd and the perfect set up - I’m in a waiting room while, in a separate room, privately, the bride-to-be is dressed while standing on a platform in a room of mirrors, complementary lighting, soft background music and a Mon Amie seamstress/associate present to assist (and insure that absolutely no photos are taken… until you have bought the dress). Readied the associate invites Lori and me into the “viewing” room to see our daughter in The Dress. All that unfolded is a little foggy. What I do know is that I lost my breath seeing Megs. I could not speak... not a word. I circled her wearing a smile and my heart on my sleeve. She asked me 2-3 times, “Dad, do you like it… what do you think?” She knew the answer but had to ask. Initially I could only look her in the eyes and nod approvingly… I felt like I was snorkeling… sucking air and viewing the world through a veil of water, or tears in my case. In a moment the words came, “Honey, you are the most beautiful woman in the world and the dress has nothing to do with it”. And it didn’t. The dress was merely an extension of all the speechless qualities I love about my daughter: alive, passionate, beautiful, feminine and funky, stunning and simple, trendy-unique-different, warm and unpretentious. I want the aisle I walk her down to be so very, very long. - Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

The Issue Isn't Our Desire, It's Our Timing.

We were created for unimaginable levels of pleasure… isn’t that what Eden held? Therefore, of course we legitimately long for all the pleasure we can squeeze out of life… that’s part of being, at the core, an Image Bearer. And there is no condemnation or shame in wanting our lives to be free of the hassles, discomfort and suffering that commonly jumps out and upon us in this life. The issue isn’t our desire, it is our timing. How much of what will fully be ours in heaven is available now? Yes we were made for Eden and it will be ours again… fully in the future! Until then we mustn’t be naïve to the realities of the world and fall victim to a spirit that demands all the pleasures of heaven we were designed for, now. - Craig McConnell (John and I have a conversation on this theme in this week’s podcast, “Worldview 4 Part 4) http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/john-eldredge-ransomed-heart/id260843816?mt=2

Craig McConnell

Hitting The Wall

I remember Bill Sayers and I running the Redondo Beach Village Runner Fourth of July 5K. It’s a route set on the bluffs above the ocean run by a festive mob of Los Angelinos. The holiday enthusiasm of the crowd causes most to underestimate the deceptively steep and daunting final 2.5 kilometers. Bill and I ran with youthful vigor, thinking, as most do, “it’s only a 5K… we can trot this backwards with both arms tied behind our back, wearing Elvis suits while balancing seven plates on our heads.” How often we underestimate what we’re facing. We were fine until we hit the infamous “I” Avenue “Wall” and were passed by a coterie of pregnant women pushing strollers. Wounded masculine pride is an untapped energy source. With a glance Bill and I knew we had to ‘KICK’ the last 150 yards to pass the fleet-footed stroller team and re-establish our high finish in the Over 55-heavyweight-happy-go-lucky-good-guys–who-love-God-and-have-two-kids-and-hot-wives Division. So we kicked like mules with a bad rash; like war horses snorting under the strain of battle we went deep into overdrive and sprinted a solid 100 yards… 50 yards short of the finish. There was no glide time, drafting or coasting. We were blowing oil, throwing rods, overheating… We came up short and limped across the finish line sucking air, totally spent like a couple of vanquished weekend warriors. This cancer season has some similarities to that story. I’m running a race but keep misjudging where the finish line is. I thought the finish line was my last infusion of chemo. Nope. How often we underestimate what we’re facing. I sprinted and came up short. Apparently there’s a season of recovery, healing and finding a new normal I wasn't aware of. It’s pretty gruesome to realize how hard we can be upon ourselves with our demands for recovery, healing, performance and normalcy following the traumas, wounds and battles we endure. I’m pretty certain we can expect more from ourselves than Christ does. I thought I was running a standard 5K but I’ve already covered 10K’s and am still moving forward. This is a race I’ll finish and by the grace and strength of God I’ll hoist a tall cold one and echo Timothy’s words, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." What mile-marker are you at? - Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

Limitations

Today is "Cycle Six, Day Ten" which in Chemotherapy parlance means that the first day of my sixth and final cycle of Chemo was ten days ago. Internally some demonstrative part of me is screaming, “Are you Florence Kling DeWolf-Harding me? I’ve peaked and valley-ed a thousand times, at least forty days have passed?!!?” This cycle involved a notch or two increase in my experience of "Chemo Brain" (crippled short term memory, seemingly no ability to focus or multi-task, general foggy thinking/feeling). So, having finished the blessed poison I was anxious and a bit premature in my efforts to read through the last eight months of journal entries to draw out all the redemptive lessons, experiences, ups & downs and draft a "Shit Howdy" personal story. It would be something to point to as a tangible "it was all worth it" trophy that helps make a little more sense of the hell I just went through. Evidence that "I'm back… a contributor, a participant, a value or needed/appreciated "producer". It would’ve been an honest and vulnerable inspiration, a vehicle for God to call His people to fuller consecration and deeper worship. I can’t do it. It can’t be done. I’m fried. It is hard being weak, limited… on the bench… non-productive, beached (or is it “Shipwrecked”?). So, this morning Lori reads out of one of her favorite Devotionals: “Thank Me for the conditions that are requiring you to be still. Do not spoil these quiet hours by wishing them away, waiting impatiently to be active again. Some of the greatest works in My kingdom have been done from sick beds and… Instead of resenting the limitations of a weakened body, search for My way in the midst of these very circumstances. Limitations can be liberating when your strongest desire is living close to Me. Quietness and trust enhance your awareness of My Presence with you. Do not despise these simple ways of serving Me. Although you feel cut off from the activity of the world, your quiet trust makes a powerful statement in spiritual realms. My Strength and Power show themselves most effective in weakness.”* I HAVE tasted a bit of this, yet still resist the thought that His grace and Power are best seen in/through my weaknesses (2 Corinthians 9). - Craig McConnell * Lori’s devotional is “Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace in His Presence”, by Sarah Young).

Craig McConnell

Feather Tuffed

Do you know that feeling of returning home after being away for a while? Perhaps you’ve been out of town on vacation, visiting the in-laws, stuck on a desert island or had your head in the sand and you walk back into you house just as you left it three, eight, seventeen or one-hundred-seventy-five days ago and you exhale and, for better or worse, you’re home! The plants need watering but the big easy chair beckons, you should unpack the car but you sort through the mail, your bed feels more comfortable then ever, there’s no food in the fridge but the cookies are still in the cupboard… you can kick off the shoes and relax… you’re home and it feels great! That’s how I began to feel today. Reentry, a retaking possession of my “health”, “wellness”, sanity, senses, heart… I felt like I was… back home. This chemo treatment was tough - I know, I know, each of them are tough and each one of them is tougher than the other; it’s true! It’s horribly true. I still feel like damaged goods but I’m home. In the same way you can tell I’ve been camping by the fact that I smell like smoke, am wearing a torn plaid flannel shirt and a faded Cabela’s Camo hat; you can tell I just had a rough ride with chemo by the fatigue, stomach doing gymnastics, aches, foggy brain and a 1,000 yard stare. But there’s also a smile on my face and a gratefulness that: I survived! God is good… so good, so very good. (Yes! There were times He didn’t seem near, or share my desire for relief of discomfort/pain/distress, yet, when I had no faith or strength He was there!) I have family and friends who’ve covered me with prayer, grace, love, patience, support, kindness, mercy and life-words for month after month My Medical Team, Chemo and God are viciously annihilating cancer cells throughout my body. I think I’m a different man now than I was seven months ago. A party is planned when my final Eleanor-Roosevelt-cheese caking-feather-tuffed chemical romance is completed. Thank you for your prayers and support!

Craig McConnell

Let Go of The Rope!

Back Story: A friend sent me this video link of a few surfers and a “wave” off the shore of Teahupoʻo, a village on the south-west coast of the island of Tahiti, French Polynesia, southern Pacific Ocean. Thoughts: For so many reasons I love this. I’ve ridden that wave. Don’t you want a piece of this? Let go of the rope! http://video.mpora.com/watch/5Pgs2slxu/

Craig McConnell

Christianity 101

Early in my Christian walk I fell into a subset of believers viewed by other believers as depreciating the call to an obedient submission to the Lordship of Christ by our “over emphasis” on the grace of God. They may have been right, I knew so little but believed it passionately. Now, I hope I wouldn’t take sides in a false dichotomy. The definition of grace I grew up on was “unmerited favor”. That’s pretty short and simple. I imagine all my training, experience and insight could add a little color and texture to that definition but I’m not sure I’d really improve it. Unmerited favor. Unmerited favor. Unmerited favor from God, for others and from others is something I’m experiencing in ways that make me wonder whether I’m rollicking in grace for the first time or is it another deeper cut “thingie” where something you know you now really know. (Oh Lord, forgive me for all those passionate sermons on things that I knew so very little about.) I never imagined being in a place/season where I have so little to offer others and am so needy of them. In need of things I resist receiving, I haven’t earned, don’t deserve, can’t live without and may not be able to repay. Grace. Unmerited, compassionate, free flowing, heart felt favor… from God, from others and for others. I’m on the front end of all of this and it feels like “Christianity 101” but its not the first time I’ve repeated a course before. Grace. (Tell me about the grace you’ve experienced.)

Craig McConnell

Round two...

Round 2 of the 6 Round Event begins tomorrow here at my local hospital/cancer center. The drugs I took over the course of four days last month at MD Anderson will be given Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I started to write a lengthy update of what's going on but lost energy. Hopefully our website will be further along and I can post/send out more info later in the week/weekend. Here's a summary: Symptoms. Fatigue, on various "lower levels" is pretty consistent. I lost 15 lbs. on first treatment and gained 6 back the last 10 days. I'm a little muddled in my ability to prioritize things (it's an interesting twist, everything looks like a "10" in importance; going to the hardware store to get 2 replacement 60 watt bulbs for an unoccupied guest bedroom feels just as important as calling the insurance company to argue the legitimate need of 1 (one) $40,000.00 drug. At times I catch myself staring at my "To Do List" frozen in a funky paralysis). I'd love your prayers for the side effects of chemo. My next two treatments, this month and next, will be locally. The local center has an entirely different spirit/feel. It's darker, less hope, grim… The patients seem… Resigned… To cancer, to suffering… To death(?). I hope I'm wrong, nonetheless, I'm a little anxious about the heebie-jeebies that may come my way. I'd love your prayers for a wall of protection against the spiritual forces of darkness that would love to overrun my heart. Though Lori and my friends have been incredibly supportive I often feel very alone. It's not a loneliness that the presence of others resolves. It's the byproduct of fear. Every time the waves hit God rescues me… The timing is, at times, not what I would choose; thus, fear and "aloneness" seems to linger longer than my strength to battle. I'd love your prayers for my wife and family, this is harder on them than they know. My ultimate prayer is for life; the life of God way beyond my ability to manage, govern, control or resist; the life of God in my mortal body. Thank you! I will update you as soon as I can.

Craig McConnell

Friends Who Pray

This evening ends “Day Nine” of my chemo-journey. Here’s what I want to say to each of you, “Thank you, your prayers made a difference.” At this moment those few words capture what I believe to be true of your prayers for me over this past week. Yet, as I write those particular words I realize how overused and cliché they can sound. “Your prayers make a difference” can sound like the religiously canned illusory response effective shtick that drafty “spiritual” professionals commonly use. I ought to know I’ve been a trained, tried and true spiritual-director/pastor/Pharisee. My four days of Chemo this last week were brutal, discomforting, painful and filled with a sobering awareness of my helplessness in spades. At the same time God came in heroic ways for me. I was acutely aware of his presence, goodness, love, comfort and sovereign strength. I saw circumstances unfold in my favor and that reflected his heart, physical reactions that were relatively “mild”, and his provision of people, words, grace, beauty, joy and hope. On top of all this, he gave me eyes to see how ALL of this was connected to and influenced by your prayers. This week I ached, groaned and worshipped. Feeling good enough now to write, I wanted to give my heart voice to the gratitude I feel. In doing so I found myself using, what, to some, is a platitude, that I have ingenuously parroted in the past. For that I now repent. Thank you, your prayers made a difference. A week ago Sunday was “Day One” minus one. (In my treatment plan “Day One” is the first day of a twenty-eight day cycle, with the first three or four days involving an IV infusion of Chemo) Having just taken a taxi to M. D. Anderson/Jesse Jones Rotary House I’m rolling our luggage across the threshold/doorway into the building when I’m swiftly T-boned by a wave of emotion. I can’t immediately name it, but its deep, good, powerful and a complete surprise… “Ahh… its God!” He doesn’t speak; I’m simply overwhelmed by his presence. And it lingers. An hour later, Lori and I are enjoying a Reuben Sandwich on marbled rye and a Chipotle Salad with a couple tall frosted glasses of Houston Municipal water with a wedge of lemon when mid-bite I’m staggered to tears again as God shows up. Immediately I’m multi-tasking, trying to swallow, compose myself and interpret what God’s up to. Lori wonders out loud the very words I’m trying to spit out, “Safe, are you feeling safe?” Yes, that’s the word, “Safe”. I’m engulfed by safety, sheltered in some unassailable strong hold! And then, in His presence at that lunch table in Rice Village, he began to unpack the word “Safe” for me. “I am your fortress, your hiding place, a rock, your salvation, and your refuge. You are cherished, free from harm, impervious to assault, out of harm’s way, hidden, shielded… under my care and guard.” "Rest, lay your sword down… this battle is mine.” This wasn’t a pre-chemo catharsis, an expression of powerful positive thinking, a breakdown or me “bucking up”. This was My God bringing into my entire being all that he promises us. This was the Word. The Living Word, God being God! And a zillon passages came to mind; here are but two: The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life,  and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever. - Psalm 23 Because he loves me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation." - Psalm 91:14-16 I wasn’t to fight, I didn’t need to. I was to rest in safety, to be still and know he is God. He is a Warrior and he had me tucked away in his fortress 979 miles from the front. Thank you, your prayers made a difference. Days Three & Four. By all standards, statistically and anecdotally my oncology nurses assured me I was experiencing relatively mild side effects compared to 70% of the patients receiving the same treatment. I totally believe them… I walked the halls and saw suffering on an exponentially higher scale than my current one. Thank you, your prayers made a difference. My big-hearted Jesus loving, Mama comforting, compassionate, joy-bearing soul sister nurses were God to me! There were other nurses I could’ve had, but didn’t. I was surrounded with life-givers. (I cried saying goodbye to them Friday). Thank you, your prayers made a difference. Fatigue is the most disheartening and challenging side effect I’m experiencing from the Chemo. There are times this world changing apostle of joy who’s liberating captives and prisoners around the world has wondered, "How I can possibly move the 12 foot span between my bed and the restroom?" I have been close to total helplessness. Safe but helpless.Preparing to leave Houston I feared all that was required of me to get back home. Check out of the hotel; get to the airport, through security, to the gate, the plane, to the car and home. At the same time,God was there… in “it”, over “it”, all over “it”. I knew, really, really knew in places far deeper than my fear that God would come for me in anyway I really needed. No horse pucky, he came! I had strength, endurance and an “I’m on top of the world” attitude all the way home. It was God! I was strong in him. Thank you, your prayers made a difference. Days Five & Six. These were the most agonizing days so far. God had ushered me back to the front and with validating words told me to pick up my sword and join him in the battle. (The breaks from the front are not yet unending.) I could find no comfort. TV and music were no distraction, I couldn’t read, sleep, sit, stand or walk. The icing on the cake was opening a delightfully demonic inspired letter that had been sent over night from my insurance company informing me they had reversed their decision and would not cover any of my cancer treatment expenses at M. D. Anderson!?@#*!. We fight, we resist and at times we’re withered from the battles our lives bring but we never war alone. I was not alone in the trenches… somehow I knew that, and that was all I needed to know. I have tasted sweet victories this week, other victories are yet to come, but victory is certain. Thank you, your prayers made a difference. Days Seven & Eight. For brevity’s sake I will be uncharacteristically short. I feel great! Not 100%, but great! I don’t think my journey is really much different than yours. My best advice: love God, live free and fight viciously every foe trying to take your life. Thank you, your prayers made a difference. -Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

A Second Opinion

When cancer intrudes into your life it comes with a boatload of baggage. Some of it you’d expect: anxiety, an in-your-face mortality smack, physical symptoms, warring hell’s vermin, lifestyle changes and a profound desire to live and love as you never have. Some of the luggage catches you off guard. Shame for example, “Why am I so ashamed of myself, my life, my health, and every choice I’ve made in life?” Then there are the waves of confusion; hopelessness and despair that you thought your long storied walk with God would insulate you from. It didn’t for me. Another piece of cancer’s luggage is the “unknown”. The “unknowns” about your specific cancer’s “personality”, the staging of your disease, the multiple treatment options and ultimately your prognosis. All too soon your cancer seems to metastasize to your marriage, children, finances, plans for Christmas, career and interest in UCLA Basketball. Hoping a “Second” opinion from the best cancer center in the world, M.D. Anderson, would bring greater clarity, rid us of the unknowns and calm our troubled souls; Lori and I flew to Houston earlier this summer. How do you describe the experience of God coming for you through a hundred different people over the course of three days? That was our experience! In ways it was a rescue. We were anchored again, reoriented, saved, “found” and now rooted in some borderless circle of God’s grace and presence I came to this research center expecting scientists to view me as a specimen from which to draw blood, poke, prod and take tissue from; brainy nerds focused on numbers, levels, and statistical categories more than me… my heart… my life. We stayed at the Jesse H. Jones Rotary House, a Marriott “Ronald MacDonald” like hotel that is attached by sky-bridges to MDA. Given that the hotel is limited to cancer patients we feared it would be a horrifying combination of a convalescent hospital and battlefield surgical recovery room, with the walking dead moving through the halls. We’d been told it wasn’t that; I’m not sure we believed the reports. Our fears were totally unsubstantiated. Every, and I literally mean “every” person we interacted with, on any level, was Christ to us. From the hotel Staff, the other patients/guests (some who looked like they’d been on the battlefield), the MDA team, the shuttle drivers, bartender, food service, housekeeping… In a hundred different ways and encounters God came for us. We sat with those suffering greatly and found Jesus in their words, stories, prayers and example. We cried and found hope. The weak spoke of strength. Death’s curse and threats seemed strangely silenced. One day I had a couple of hours free and was excited to spend it walking the halls and sitting in the lobbies so I could simply be with Jesus. My friend John Moorhead shared a quote of Dallas Willard with me, “Where there’s Goodness, God is there”. We lived and breathed, swam in, drank in and were covered by Goodness… by God. This next week I begin a new part of the journey. I’ll be in an “Infusion” room with a few fellow sojourners for my first chemotherapy cycle… four days of cancer killing kick ass drugs through an IV. I’ll be chillin’ in a brown Barcalounger, covered by a blanket with an igloo packed with snacks nearby. Lori will be on one side of me, Jesus on the other as we pass the hours watchingPlanes, Trains and Automobiles, just sitting and talking about “stuff”, listening to my “Worship A” playlist, napping or flipping through the out dated People magazines laying around. I’m so glad I’m not going through this alone. There’s still a lot of unknowns and tears, but at this moment, full of hope and strength I can say, “I’m good, God is good, I’m alive and free… and cancer sucks!” - Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

My Tax Day Tradition

It’s tax time.I chafe paying the amount of taxes I do. I’m not an anarchist imagining “there’s no country… nothing to kill or die for and no religion too.” Nope, I’ve been there, done that! I do believe in giving back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. it’s just that Caesar is more and more of a greedy !*#?%! My grousing isn’t new or partisan. Decades ago, I began a tradition on the eve prior to sending in my Federal Tax check. I’d be fully present and engaged with Lori and our girls. As bedtime approached I’d make the rounds tucking in, tickling, and kissing each “goodnight” with a prayer and the benediction, “sleep with the Angels”. Then I’d hunt down the pint of whiskey buried either in the back of the spice cabinet, under the kitchen sink right next to the fire extinguisher or in the garage stowed in our Earthquake/Riot/Economic-collapse emergency bin. Now, this wasn’t some high-end trendy single malt scotch; it had to be, and continues to be a cantankerous cheap unrepentant low-end bourbon. I’d take the bottle, a glass and my Bible into our living room and park myself on the couch. The room was empty, quiet and dark. The street light in front of our home provided enough light for my passionate reading of 1 Samuel chapter 8. Chapter 8 is the story of God’s people demanding a king to lead them instead of looking to and following God as their King. God’s response to their rejection is a solemn warning... "This is what the king who will reign over you will do: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of his chariots. Some he will assign to be commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and others to plow his ground and reap his harvest, and still others to make weapons of war and equipment for his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his attendants. He will take a tenth of your grain and of your vintage and give it to his officials and attendants. Your menservants and maidservants and the best of your cattle and donkeys he will take for his own use. He will take a tenth of your flocks, and you yourselves will become his slaves. When that day comes, you will cry out for relief…” Okay, every year at this point of the story I'm doing two things: I’m crying out for relief and wondering why? Why? Why did those schmucks choose a king over the King of Kings... the living God!!! And the story continues… ...the people refused to listen to Samuel. "No!" they said. "We want a king over us. Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles." When Samuel heard all that the people said, he repeated it before the LORD. The LORD answered, "Listen to them and give them a king." Here is where, according to tradition, I throw back a shot of my gnarly hooch and begin to rant, deprecate, fuss, protest, wail and yammer against the growing grip of kings… and all they take and all they waste. I growl at the fraud, corruption, pork, injustice, un-intended-consequences and incompetence of it all. I may or may not have another slug, but what always happens as my evening ends is an agitation at the choice the luke-warm, half-hearted posing schmucks of 1 Samuel 8 made! ... And I'm shamed to silence confessing that I too choose some king, leader, expositor or the principles/tips/techniques/guru de rigueur over the sovereign fathering heart of God in the day to day world that is my life. The internal dynamic/temptation of my rejecting of God goes something like this: Hey... this walking with God is messy, mysterious, involves a Larger Story and often focused on internal realities... Right now I''d prefer a smaller story and a few external things to change right now... actually yesterday. I need relief, i need someone to lead me to the promised land as i envision it (and I have a extensive clear picture of how it ought to be), someone to go out before me and guarantee that If I follow him my entire life will be orgasmic bliss... with all my tormenting lions laying down with sheep... gimme someone who'll fight my battles victoriously for me .. or eliminate the battles all together... yeah, I want a chicken in my pot, a clean bill of health, a car that runs, a fat bank account... yeah baby, that's what I want in these chaotic times and circumstances! I want a king... a real life, flesh on flesh king and a new stereo! Promise this and you'll be my king! And somewhere in all of that I turn from the One who gives life to some counterfeit "king" who takes all I have and all I am, leaving me with nothing. Like my ancient forefathers, I'm crying out for relief. Lord save me from my idolatry, forgive my waywardness, and know my heart, for it surely longs to surrender, abide, follow and give to You all that's due. You are my King, the Lord of Lords. I worship you!

Craig McConnell

A Playlist

It’s a cold snowy day here.It’s gloomy. It feels like a ghost town... no one is outside, on the roads or roaming the malls. Everyone has retreated from the storm to their shelter to find warmth, hope and Sabbath. It’s a day that begs for a fire and an overstuffed leather spider web that some would refer to as a chair. I succumb with journal, iPod and tattered Bible sipping in full sagely form cup after cup of a steaming Sumatra rain forest that some would refer to as coffee… and then, later in the day, as the snow accumulates, the sun and temperature drop and an unrepentant wind kicks up, a pint of New Belgium 1554. And then another. Though my iPod is set on “Shuffle” there is absolutely nothing random about the songs playing. The One True and Sovereign God who’s greatest joy is to overwhelm us with His glory and the ecstasy and fullness of His presence is gigging as a DJ stacking the deck with a playlist of songs transporting me back through time celebrating the romance we’ve enjoyed over the years. It’s always stunning when and how God shows up. There are so many different ways, so many odd, unique and familiar venues/elements that become the point of communion with God for us. God meets some on trails, some in books or gardening, in silence, tinkering in a woodshop, bowling, writing poetry or perhaps painting. Music is one of mine. It always has been. God has immediate and easy access to my heart through all kinds of music. One of my pictures of heaven includes an epic sound system with no limits on volume blasting tunes that have us all moving and grooving in some holy passionate wonderful way that celebrates the flat-on-your-face adoration and worship of God. Kind of a sanctified Woodstock without the drugs, rain and meaninglessness… with much, much better music. Kinda. At some point in the “Random” playlist of: “Everything” (by Tim Hughes), “Summer of ‘69” (Bryan Adams) “Flight Over Africa” from the “Out of Africa” soundtrack. Ashley Cleveland’s “Gimme Shelter”. The live version of “I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For” (on the "Rattle & Hum" CD). Our God Reigns” (sung by Tomlin, Charlie Hall, David Crowder & Matt Redman on the “Everything Glorious” CD) I’m hopelessly lost in my desire to live as I’ve never have. God is here! Song after song transports me back to the events/people/themes of my life. For hours, between mugs of Joe and one funky attempt to make nachos the music becomes a link to the long winding road that is my journey. My earliest dreams and aspirations, the wayward years, the raw naked memories of the precipice I stood over screaming out for rescue. The music stirs the innumerable memories of God behind the scenes romancing me, luring me, forever patient and relentless with me in my idolatry, my desperate efforts to change the world, my vanity and tainted "righteousness". I am totally captive to a leather sea anemone that some would refer to as a chair... rocking the neighborhood with unheard decibel levels… in His presence feeling all the appropriate emotions that come from the clear and unarguable recognition of how very, very far I fall short. At the same time I sense His smile over me as we reflect on those times I've lived like a warrior king and then, all too quickly, I relate like a hibernating badger who only engages with the outside world by barking away all disruptors. The music brought to my fireside seat so many of my adventures, births, joys, tears, vows and lingering desires, the laughter and pleasures I've known; my profound brokenness; and the glorious offering my life was intended to be. Paul Simon, Bob Seger, Shawn Mullins and Janis all stirred up stories that are my Story. A life, presently, that’s the best it’s ever been despite the sins, chaos and failures to love and live well is, nonetheless, so very rich with a litany of transcendent moments of intimacies with my Father, my wife, my family… and my friends. I no longer hear the music; all I hear is his invitation to more. I love days like this. "They" say this storm could last another day or two. Amen! - Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

What Do You Go By?

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

Craig McConnell

Burglarized

Lori, our two daughters (who were 8 and 11 at the time) and I were out mid-day doing something… Cheer leading practice? Shopping for wardrobe updating deals at GAP? Picking up NKOTB’s new CD? A little time on the beach? I don’t recall. Returning home I scrape a hub cap pulling the mini-van up to the front of our house and notice that our front door is open. Huh??? As I walk up the front walkway and then up to the front porch I'm suspicious, nervous and very confused. Something is wrong. There are moments when some event that is so outside our experience of life confronts us and freezes our brain’s processing ability. Zzzzzit... errrkit... buzz... shiiiii ...clunk… you have to reboot at break neck speed… What is this? Pillows by the front door… overturned chair… it wasn’t like that when we left was it? NO! Huh... what? I pause at the front of the door with a confused look that’s turning into one of shock-fear-rage… our home has been ransacked? Burglarized? I gasp in disbelief, shock… Why? When…. Are they still inside? I ask Lori to go in to check things out while I stay with the kids. I'm kidding!!! I walk in telling the family to stay curbside… I grab the first thing that’ll serve as a weapon; it happens to be a ruler sitting on a stand by the door… the house is trashed. I now know what the word violated means but I can’t come close to describing it. We call the police and take a first pass at damage assessment. All dresser drawers have been dumped, closets emptied, the floor is covered. The Stereo is gone. Lori’s jewelry is gone. It’s only a moment later that the weight of the loss hits Lori. She weeps deeply over her mother’s heirloom jewelry being stole… to the despoiling pillaging snake it’s a few quick bucks, to Lori it’s something of her mother she can still touch, it’s generations of memories taken forever. Vile marauders from hell! A bunch of stuff is gone. The final insult was that the creeps even took my 8 year old daughter’s pink piggy bank! (A small satisfaction came knowing that upon breaking open her porky bank the punk ass thief would only find some change and an I.O.U for most of the cash… I’d robbed it about a week earlier! Hey… there wasn’t an ATM close by!) A full inventory of all that’s been lost from any violation, robbery or otherwise takes much longer than you realize. We reported to our insurance company all we could materially identify but then a week later Lori says, “Honey, grab the camera as were walking out the door to go to a picnic”. I go to the closet where we keep the camera. It’s gone. Oh, they stole that too! A month later we’re having company over and are trying to find a silver platter… we’re looking everywhere accusing each other of not putting it where it belonged after its last use… Ahhh… the slim took that too. The police said the intruder was only in our home a few minutes but for a long, long season it seemed as if they were still there. Often it seemed like there were a dozen sleazy red beady eyes looking through the windows or from around a corner snickering at our loss, our pain and our fear. It was as if these pirating rodents were mocking the security and peace we once enjoyed as a family; celebrating their intrusion into our minds and setting into motion an anxiety every single time we return to our home. “Is it safe… is someone inside… have we been crapped on again? Are they prowling about, scheming to rob us of everything they haven’t already… or to steal all we’ve acquired since… our new stereo, camera… a silver tray or another night’s sleep?” I've often thought back on this trauma. It was horrible. And I realize it wasn't the first time nor the last. A lot got stolen from my childhood and youth through various wounds. Things like "family", innocence, identity, security, fathering, a whole lot of brain cells (circa 1967-1972)… so very much. I remember a poker game… several good friends sitting around playing poker having a beer and then something is said/implied… unintentionally it strikes a wound, a deep wound…assumptions and agreements are made. Those good friends haven’t played poker together in 6 years. Something got stolen. What's been stolen from you over the years? Recent accounts I've heard: A 12 year marriage. The husband’s wound and script for life leads him to the conclusion: “She’s too much work!” and his every attempt to love be strong, be present seems to have only failed. So, to preserve the “peace” he gives up the battle and messiness and goes passive, doesn’t care, and finds another lover on the internet or on a business trip. Something was lost, something stolen. A colleague at work who became a friend in all kinds of missions and mischief… leaves. The transition is hard but the commitment is to stay in touch… there’s too much history to walk away from. Something happens and he burns all his bridges. Every single one. Something prized, something special is stolen or lost. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. - John 10:10 The thief will take everything he can from you! The good news is that he can be stopped. He must be. And there is a life, that no matter what else gets taken, cannot be stolen from us. Ever. No way! - Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

Turning thirty (several years back) was an incredibly hard and pivotal time in my masculine journey. One interpretation of my life was that: things couldn’t be better. I have a beautiful wife, two remarkable kids, and meaningful work. But the deeper reality revealed disappointment. My life wasn’t where I thought it would be at thirty. I wasn’t all I hoped to be, or thought I should be. It started with a simple question to God. “God, what should a man’s life be about in the thirties? What should mine be about? What are the pitfalls?” No answer came. For two weeks I sought God and only received silence. And then came His response. “Make a list of men you respect and trust. Start with the oldest men you know and work backward. Put the question in front of those men. Go with ears to hear. I will speak to you.” Thus began a remarkable and rich expedition of the heart. At first I began sending out letters and gathering responses. Through letters, phone calls, and conversations over meals, kings and sages began to pour out their heart to me. Why did it surprise me? It had always been there in the Scriptures but I never “saw” it: Where no counsel is, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety. My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding… you will find the knowledge of God…Thus you will walk in the ways of good men. (Proverbs 11:14, 3, 2:20) The ancient proverbs say, “When the student is ready the master will appear.” Little did I know I was coming to the Father as a student, and he responded as a teacher. Just as the sacred scriptures promise, I have begun a journey on a path of life, initiation, restoration and discipleship. Over living out the fruit of these conversations with older men, the blood, sweat and tears materialized into 75 pages of counsel. I feel compelled to share what I’ve learned with other men in their thirties that are after the gold that is available to them, from the Heart of God. Through the wild and supernatural ways of the Father leading, he called my bluff and invited me to lead a retreat designed exclusively for world changing men in their thirties who wanted more. And from that, this blog was born. My hope is to continue to share the treasures I have found, through life giving pieces over time. Below is a piece of counsel brought to me (over a cigar, laughter and tears) by my good friend, mentor and supervisor Craig McConnell. I don’t think there is a man in this world that gives me more shit. But the good news is, he makes up for it every once in a while with a bit of wisdom here and there. And even when all else fails, at least he buys me beers… You can learn much more from him and connect with him through his blog. What I appreciate is that much of what he proposed was framed as sets of paradoxes in stable tension. His suggestion was that the thirties has much to do about acknowledging and living in these tensions. Craig and I have spent many hours of many days unpacking these ideas, living them out in the messy realities of daily life, and most importantly, discovering together the divine truth behind them. I want to share it with you, for your enjoyment, to take to your Father, to ponder over time. Like a great wine these simple words have aged well, getting richer by the year. Thanks Craig for believing in me. Thanks for believing in us… men in their thirties.

Craig McConnell

A Park Bench

Over the last several months I hit a bottom, probably not The Bottom, but a true and new bottom for me… an immobilizing of my heart, passion, soul, relationships and spirit. I feared my state. I could share the back story but that’s not the story. This is the story… I’m at my desk on the computer trying to paddle upstream without a paddle and accomplish something that would bring a little relief or validation to my soul when a Staff Member steps in to say something about something and disrupts my "Sisyphean challenge" to accomplish anything that might pass as a contribution to the ministry of Wild at Heart.* I think she was sent by God to pierce the fog of my life and leave behind some sort of a “grace-bomb” with a fuse set to go off two minutes after she exited. She exited and before I could re-enter my striving to be fruitful, I had an unsolicited and seemingly random vision or picture from God. Here it is… I’m sitting on a park bench stretched out like a warped board slouched with my legs extended out in front of me and my head resting on the bench’s back railing. It’s a beautiful park with large grassy areas separated by a walkway slaloming between huge mature shade trees. I’m checked out, not really present staring off straight ahead over the horizon at nothing. Though I’m cognizant of my surroundings there is no conscious thought. I was in that state in which you don’t ever wink or swallow, there’s no measurable brain activity and barely a pulse… you are alive but not present. That’s me! Somehow this old bench is bearing all my weight and the shit-load of all that’s weighing on me. I am certifiably detached from life. It’s mid-day and there’s a warm breeze blowing just enough to rustle the leaves of the Cottonwood that’s shading me. The scene cries summer with the air full of pollen, gnat tornadoes and the musty scent of fresh cut grass. In the background is the sound of sprinklers machine gunning water over a flower bed… chit-chit-chit-chit-chitachitachitchit. Straight ahead, a little to the left, is an old park table with four young women enjoying their Grande coffees and the reunion they’re having. To the right is a young brother and sister on their bikes playing some form of follow the leader where the leader tries to lose the follower (kinda of like the Pastor I worked under at a Southern California Mega-Church). Almost 90 degrees to my left a bunch of pigeons are trying to enforce a clear pecking order while scrambling to eat a handful of feed someone threw out for them. I’m taking this all in but unmoved by any of it. It’s clinical; I’m an observer of life but not a participant in it. As my vision pans right, back from the birds to resume my vigilant dazed and confused gape I notice or sense something peripherally… right next to me. It’s a person. I can’t hide my being startled by this out-of-no-where stranger who’s suddenly sitting eight inches from me on our shared little bench. It’s a man, an older man with weathered but not leathered skin. Actually it’s God. Oh my God, it is God! I don’t know how I knew, but I knew (it’s kinda like living in Los Angeles and passing one of a gazillion Mexican restaurants… you intuitively know that this one serves a great combination plate though you’ve never seen it, been in it or heard of it. You just know!). Now this whole picture/vision seemed to be unfolding in a millisecond and in the next millisecond I notice my bench friend, The One True and Eternal, Just and Holy, Powerful and All Knowing God hasn’t yet said a word or even made eye contact with me. Furthermore, like me, he is slouched and staring straight ahead. And then I notice there’s a tear forming and then falls from the corner of his eye. Huh… he’s very human, common… real. Fully God truly man. One of the things that struck me as odd throughout this picture or vision is that my posture doesn’t change, I don’t sit up straight on the bench or fall on my face… my demeanor and countenance remain the same. Though God is stretched out eight inches from me I am, outwardly unfazed! Equally as unexpected is that he’s un animated, silently slouched on a park bench apparently killing time. If you were to have walked by us and seen us you may have muttered under your breath the commentary, “Get a life!” There we were, the two of us sharing a bench for what felt like hours with nothing said, no eye contact… just sitting and staring off into nowhere. His tear and silence were the most stunning part of the picture. He didn’t say anything?! He was silent and that was okay. That he said nothing said so much. He was just there, next to me… with me... and I was in his presence and... he’s crying. He was silent, but his tears said everything. From his tear I knew that He knows all that I’m facing: the losses and pain; the struggles and terrors; my failures and ache to live and love well. I could tell He knew, and knowing that he knew everything about me, my life and this season… brought a tear to his eye. He’s crying with me, for me, over me. The tear is everything! He didn’t offer affirmation with deeply validating words, “Craig, you have lived so well in this difficult season. Well done my son… you’re so on the right track… I love you! Keep it up”. That he didn’t offer that seemed to say I didn’t need it. Wow! He didn’t call me out either. There was no exposing of another deeply rooted profoundly governing historic and systemic sin that explains my struggle to live and love well from a heart of true adoration and worship of God. That he didn’t go there seemed to say so much. So, so very much. Apparently there was something more important than going over all of that. I cannot explain all this picture/vision of God and I sharing a park bench meant and had for me, but a mere moment in the presence of God felt as if time stood still… It was as if I was in his presence for hours and hours. And in those moments everything lifted. In his presence I was in a zero-gravity-of-the-soul state. The poundage, burden, pressure… the crushing of heart, soul, spirit and desire was lifted. There was no sin; no idolatry or fear; no loss or tears: every desire we have in life-this-side-of-heaven was gone… the longings and groaning for life and all we were created to have were, in his presence satisfied. Nothing lacking, nothing missing, nothing wanted… nothing but pure, full, expansive and deep satisfaction, joy… life itself is what I had in his presence. The whole “My burden is light” thing made sense for the first time ever. With the weight I carry, that you carry, lifted we can breathe, live, laugh, worship, dance, love… In his presence is life, everything changes because you are in His presence. Well, as it always does in the here-and-now the picture, the vision these moments with God transitioned... it ended and I was sitting alone in my broken desk chair like any man whom God has visited. Stunned, surprised, wanting to fall on my face in worship… I spent the next hour and then hours over the next week unpacking the beauty, power, affirmation, hope and life of these moments. Almost immediately I was aware that while nothing had changed with my life everything had changed with life. My cancer hasn’t disappeared, nor the anger a couple dozen people have so powerfully expressed toward me, my pesky neighbor hasn’t moved, the financial issues remain, my internal battle of withdrawing continues, an old friend still prefers being an ex-friend and my freaking car is now acting up. Nothing has changed with difficult circumstances and challenging relationships of my life. But having been on that bench and experiencing all that comes in being in his presence I have been introduced to something very new, though I’ve probably taught it eloquently for years... Being in the presence of God changes everything. Everything! You do not see life the same, in his presence. The very, very real troubles of life look very, very different in his presence. Somehow, in his presence worry, fear, hatred, weakness and pain cannot exist. You see yourself most clearly in his presence. Everything I yearn for in a world that is so violent, parched, deceptive and unforgiving is found in the presence of God. (I have often sought God’s words, voice, counsel, understanding, guidance and validation. Each of those are valid and necessary pursuits to go to God with. What’s new for me, in this season is to simply pursue him and all the other things will be taken care of). I can't tell you where I spend most of my time but it isn't in the presence of God... I can tell you that one moment on a park bench with him is better than a thousand elsewhere. Oh God, extend the times we're together. - Craig McConnell * Note: Some of my best friends have an eye for grammar that I lack. While I may leave them breathless, at times, from my inclination for run-on sentences, I still maintain that a good winding is a legitimate literary style.

Craig McConnell