Craig's Blog

Cheetos

I was asked by a friend to speak to his seminary class on Desire & Addiction. Knowing a bit about both I agreed. After hearing that the class is one hour and fifty minutes long I recklessly do a cannonball into the pool of diminishment. I don’t have an hour and 50 minutes in me!?*$ What am I going to talk about? I mean really… How am I going to get out of this without being exposed as The Man With Nothing to Say? * I’ll break them into discussion groups, or have them take a 45 minute time of silent reflection alone with God. I’ll talk r e a l l y s l o w… show several film clips… read the book of Leviticus together, ask them a zillion questions. End early!!! My prep time for the class becomes a rendezvous with God as I muse over my story of desire and addiction, of my looking in all the wrong places for that which God lavishly offers. He’s smiling, we’re communing and my yearning/craving of intimacy Him surfaces. I’m drawn to Psalm 73:25… Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. Ahhh… I could scream I want that so bad… to only and simply; truly and purely desire God at the most crucial governing level of my being. Oh God may it be so! Lord, come, overwhelm me and make me that man… I desire you alone, nothing more, nothing less… I long for you to be my all. So aware of His presence I’m basking in grace as I read old journal entries and ponder my story of wandering… of unfaithfulness… of spiritual adultery… of turning to other lovers. There are my affairs with drugs as a fine young Bohemian, my soirees as a redirected young Christian with endorphins (from running) and wild adventures (with all prerequisite gear). Then, a few years later, as a reverend pastor my serial liaisons with sports talk, alphabetizing my wife’s spice cabinet;** the mistress of theological astuteness, the applause of others and books (what an office I had… rich dark floor-to-ceiling bookshelves surrounding me accented by warm hued lighting… over-stuffed chairs, the mahogany desk… it all said, “come in… relax, let’s talk, I can help… I really am somebody… somebody godly”). More recently my third rate romances have been indiscriminate unprotected tangos with food. It’s pretty easy for me to minimize my idolatry… or addictions as merely a few bad habits. No big deal, in time they’ll simply fall away. And besides, it’s not like I’m a pre-civilized pagan who makes a stick of wood his God! Half of the wood he burns in the fire; Over it he prepares his meal, He roasts his meat and eats his fill. From the rest he makes a god, his idol; He bows down to it and worships He prays to it and says, “Save me; you are my god.” – Isaiah 44:16-17 Now that’s ridiculous! And yet, as I mock the foolishness of another’s addictions I’m the one gobbling down a bag of Cheetos after a difficult conversation with my wife (or while: balancing the checkbook, anticipating an upcoming confrontation/decision, or awaiting the pathology report on that funky looking mole they removed, or thinking about my daughter’s school work or…). Cheetos! I’m actually choosing a wad of fluorescent artificial orange enriched corn meal, vegetable oil, whey, salt, cheddar cheese, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, maltodextrin, disodium phosphate, artificial flavor, monosodium glutmate, lactic acid, citric acid over the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? Over the God of all comfort, strength, hope, peace and joy? Over the One who says come… trade in all your sorrows and burdens, worries, doubts, losses and concerns? Now that’s ridiculous! I find myself grieving my idolatry and addictions, expressing again to God my sorrow in choosing innumerable hussies over Him… my heart was repentant. 18 hours later I’m waxing eloquently on desire and addiction to a class of about 30. It’s going phenomenally well. As I’m speaking I realize I have a lot to say about this topic… that whole diminishment thingamajigger that shadows me is exposed once again! I’m sharing my story of desires and addictions and offer one of my favorite quotes on the issue: Ecstasy and delight are essential to the believers soul and they promote sanctification. We were not meant to live without spiritual exhilaration, and the Christian who goes for a long time without the experience of heart-warming will soon find himself tempted to have his emotions satisfied from earthly things and not, as he ought, from the Spirit of God. The soul is so constituted that it craves fulfillment from things outside itself and will embrace earthly joys for satisfaction when it cannot reach spiritual ones . . . The believer is in spiritual danger if he allows himself to go for any length of time without tasting the love of Christ and savoring the felt comforts of a Savior’s presence. When Christ ceases to fill the heart with satisfaction, our souls will go in silent search of other lovers . . .” - Maruice Roberts That’s it! (Read it again). Designed by God for so very much we appropriately desire much. We’re pursuing the ecstasy… the delight… the life we are fashioned for… and we’ll either find it or die trying; thus we turn to chunks of wood, extra crunchy Cheetos, the pleasure of endorphins or pornography, shopping or success, our spouse or kids, morality, indulgence or control. Our idolatry/addictions are the misdirected/sinful/foolish pursuits that expose our deep and profound need for God… that hasn’t yet been satisfied fully.*** The class is going great! I’m clear; I’m “on”… God is present… I’m blessed – flying free, soaring in the updraft of God’s Spirit and all I understand of the topic. The only bummer was, surprisingly, I had too much to say. I still had an hour of sagely insight with 5 minutes of class time left. That threw me off kilter. The last 5 minutes was not a clean ending… a rather bumpy, turbulent landing lacking the hallmark closing illustration, point of personal application and appeal to action. It was cut and paste on the fly. I hit the ground hard, blew a tire, bent my prop and slid for a while. The prof and a few people were gracious with their words to me at the end of the runway. Driving home I kept thinking about my crappy finish. YES I shimmered for 1 hour and 45 minutes… God was there for me and them… it was great!!! Thank you Christ!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you! At the same time and gaining volume that thingamajigger was rasping, Yuck, if only I had said this, or that… used the story of the cookies in Minneapolis, shared my insights about Jeremiah 2, why didn’t I think of that or this … Dang I left my best stuff out of the talk altogether!!! I cannot shake the feeling that I stunk the place up in those last 5 minutes ruining everything I has said to that point. Always intertwined with shame/disappointment is desire… and so mine rose, I long to bring the life and truth of God to others… to disrupt, open eyes and ears to Christ, to introduce men and women to the God who is and always has been pursuing them… to lead people into the richness of all God offers us… to know and enjoy Him forever. I want that! I’m ping-ponging between genuine elation over God’s goodness in using me and the self reproach of not finishing strong. After holding up traffic on the interstate as I pokey along for about 30 miles I exit off the freeway. I’m in some sort of conscious-yet-sedated state lingering between desire and disappointment. I pull up to a Sonic Burger, drive through and order a shake and onion rings. In that moment I’m unaware there’s a God, the angels seem mute, whatever holiness I possess is impotent, I have no conscience… I’m on a mission… kill the pain supplement the joy. Ten minutes and half an order of onion rings later I’m alert, regaining consciousness, flying down the interstate at 80 with congealed grease all over my finger tips and a vanilla mustache. I’m back! And before guilt/condemnation/shame can chime in God shows up! He’s smirking… like a parent who, while disapproving of their child’s behavior is holding back the laughter for fear the child would understand the grin and chuckles as an approval of the misbehavior. Oh, He’s disappointed that I, like Judah, would turn to other lovers, my unfaithfulness… my adultery concern Him. AND yet through the smiling eyes there is grace; an intimate understanding of my heart/desires; forgiveness; and the same invitation I gave the class. An invitation into the love of Christ; the savoring of the felt comforts of the Savior’s presence; a heart satisfied, delighted and at rest in the love of The Father. The last 5 minutes of the drive were the best 5. – Craig McConnell * “Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.” – George Eliot ** The dilemna was: where do you place Black Pepper? Under “Black” or under “Pepper”? *** I cannot recommend John Eldredge’s book Desire and Gerald May’s book Addiction and Grace more highly on these thoughts. Both are incredible books offering insight, grace and hope!

Craig McConnell

A Bowl of Chili

It’s Tuesday evening and I’m spent after a full day chasing my tail… accomplishing zero-zip-nada-nothing. I’m living life large on 3 cylinders futzing around the house hoping that by the time I plop my haggard soul into bed I will have, in some way, made a contribution to the Kingdom or at least to the general state of affairs in my domain (I reorganize my junk drawer, open the bills clipping them smartly to their envelopes and stacking them alphabetically, make a note to buy some AAA batteries, straighten up the bathroom sink…update my Facebook status and feed the dog.) Mercifully Lori says dinner’s ready and I sit down to a hefty bowl of comfort food, i.e. chili topped with jack cheese, red onion, cilantro and sour cream. I’m taking my first bite as she updates me on our daughter’s weekend relational conflict with a friend saying, “You ought to read the follow-up letter she wrote to Audrey” (her out-of-sorts friend). I pull up my email and begin to read her letter. I didn’t/couldn’t take another bite of chili for 30 minutes. The tears were familiar… pouring down their historic route. They were similar to the tears I shed welcoming my daughters into this world, akin to those saying “goodbye” when they each left for school in Europe, very much like my tears dancing with them at their weddings (as well as saying “good night” the night before the wedding, and the night before that…). They were very familiar… and very new. Catching me by surprise God showed up and began to touch, speak, move, stir… comfort and heal. I was overwhelmed with tears, the tears of a happy man… the tears of a blessed man, a man who could have died and gone to heaven that very moment. Meagan’s letter in word, spirit, texture and affect blew me away. Her handling of, and speaking to her friend’s heart and soul was kind, forgiving, full of understanding, courageous, strong, inviting and authentic. Her world view, love of God, maturity and pursuit of her friend jumped out to me. She is the person I hope to be someday. Is there a day a father doesn’t bear some weight, a burden we’ve grown so accustomed to we hardly notice it… a question about our children’s journey and who they’re becoming and how they’ll “turn out”? It lies just beneath the waterline of consciousness surfacing from time to time. Added to this acclimatized strain we carry is another question inseparable from the former… it’s a notch deeper perhaps and it’s all about us. “How am I doing as a father? Am I screwing her up… do I have what it takes… is all this effort ‘working’… will she be everything I have hoped and prayed… is God at work?” We are often and deeply afraid of what we’ve done, are doing and will do as a parent. She’s too young to get her ears pierced… right? Is Barbie a corrupting model of femininity/beauty? What do I do about the influence her “friends” are having on her? Why am I so easily infuriated? What about the music she loves, movies she watches, clothes she wears… egads! Did the time I let her cry in her crib when everything in me said to go in and comfort her wound her… or was it that fit of anger when she came home late… yikes! How about the church youth group… it’s dead! Will she know and love God intimately or be merely compliantly religious. I think I blew it with the Beverly Hills 9012487 parties… and the NKOTB concert. Was my discipline too strict or lenient? I should have emphasized school more… the guy she’s dating is a flake!#$@? Oh God… dear God come for her… come for me! I have worried and wondered… paced the floor, pounded the ground, cried out to God, beat myself up as as a father and doubted God’s clear-strong-whispered words over the years… “Craig, your daughters… they’re mine, I’ve got them, we’re tight, we’re good. Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid, don’t panic… trust me… love Me, love them.” And until this letter I doubted God and his words to me. No longer. Seeing my daughter through her letter made it all very clear. My every concern about how she might “turn out” was dismissed, every worry stilled, the questions settled. He said, “Craig, you are a good father… look at your girls”. I was happily sobered and embarrassed that I had ever doubted him and his work in her and through me. I could not nor is it possible to be prouder of my girls at this stage of their lives. They quite simply are beautiful in everyway. As for me as a dad… God could not, nor is it possible for him to be prouder of me. I’m his, he’s mine, we’re tight, we’re good. What a bowl of chili! – Craig

Craig McConnell

Surprise

Given the economic times and all it is stirring up in my heart I went rummaging through my journals looking for battles fought, lessons learned and God’s hand in previous times. This is a journal excerpt from July 8,9, 2007 My daughter Meagan, her fiance at the time: Jared (now her husband), Lori and I are out for a gosh-it’s-great-to-be-family-and ”Hey let’s go out for a Sunday Morning brunch”-together time. An exhausted, worn, sad eyed woman appearing to be 78 years old comes to our table to take our order. She does, she leaves. Meagan vocalizes what I’m thinking, “I feel so sorry for her… she’s old and she has to work here!?” My version adds a little more personal color, “That’s me at her age… a financial failure working on a bait barge, or in a shabby donut shop, vacuuming cars at an all night car wash in Hurricane Utah, or sitting on an intersection corner with a sign “Will Give Spiritual Direction 4 Food”… I’m so doomed” Pause. Jared shifts in his seat and speaks up, “Ahh… I have a different take on her. She’s where she’s at because of decisions she’s made. I feel bad for her, but I don’t feel sorry for her… she’s reaped what she’s sowed. She didn’t live/plan well.” Meagan and Jared do a little back and forth tit-for-tat clarifying what they each meant and didn’t mean regarding the woman’s plight. Their conversation is background noise to the torment un-tethered in my soul… “You reap what you sow!” Eegads… that’s how my future son-in-law feels? What will he say about me in 25 years? I was kinda, sorta hoping that he would be my security net… put me up, feed me… cover my ass for 75 years of irresponsible impulsive recklessness guided as a free spirit living in the moment. All of these thoughts fermenting with a demonic choir in the background, “You reap what you sow, you reap what you sow.” I pick up the bill and put it on my max-ed out credit card. All that day and the next I cannot mute the chorus, shake the anxiety nor find any solace from God. It’s as if every foul dark spirit of condemnation, shame, un-belief, failure and diminishment west of Hurricane has been summoned to bring a tambourine, juice harp and drum and join the band. “You reap what you sow!” You’ve had those days haven’t you? Something within surfaces and is then seized upon, exploited and colors your every moment. You can’t shake it…. you’re warring/praying to no apparent avail. This was that day for me. It was horrible. Every song on the radio sang it, a plane carrying a banner over the beach stated it, it was posted on the sides of buses, on bill boards, bumper stickers… it was on the back of cereal boxes, heck even Oprah confirmed it saying it, “YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!” By days end I have no future, no hope… no faith (it would seem). I’ve sowed poorly financially and I’ll reap hell on this earth. I’m the bug you watch swirling around in the toilet helplessly caught in the flow of life’s cold realities… until he disappears. I thank God Lori is so very much my helpmate in times such as these. She knows me, my story… she knows God and is so often his mercy, grace and tenderness to me. She offers her life to me though her listening, her strong courageous words, being there, and calling me out and up to be the man I truly am. That evening she offered all to me… she loved me well in every way… and after the loving, tout de suite God shows up! * The timing was a little odd, actually intrusive, like having a Jehovah’s Witness or a salesman knock on the door as you’ve just settled into a great book on an engulfing couch… but it is God and I answer the door. Speaking to the suffocating weight of “You reap what you sow”, in powerful, defiant, words He says , That’s malarkey! ** From somewhere I began to argue that it’s an unflinching universal moral/life principle that HE (God) set up… that it’s true, it’s for the sake of order… it contributes to a good work ethic… it is just and promotes all that’s good and right… it cannot relent, there are no exemptions… I have no hope!! To which he responds repeating himself for affect in a forceful passionate voice bringing me both clarity and joy…, “Craig… NO! I love you, care for you, want to father you with grace, mercy, kindness… I will provide…” And then day breaks and it’s all very clear for me…The principle of reaping what you sow by itself apart from any and every other reality of life is an impersonal law (like gravity). Being a impersonal principle/law doesn’t mean that it’s not true, but if taken as the highest, sine qua, the central governing truth of all creation and life in an exclusionary way. i.e. excluding God, it’s an inescapable sentence upon a persons life. A petri dish for condemnation, shame and the paralysis of self-loathing. God begins to sooth my heart and bring clarity and a new round of deeper dependence upon Him confirming that “Reaping what you sow” alone leaves no room for healing, no grace, no wiggle room, and zero hint of an opportunity for redemption or God’s mercy and intervention. There’s no sense of a father’s heart and compassion… for his extravagant provision. It doesn’t take into account that, for some of us our financial failures aren't so much a volitional act of defiance, lack of self control/discipline, or materialism as it is an indicator of, symptom of deep woundedness, fatherlessness, brokenness. All very really issues that explain the failure and sins that mark our lives. Did the prodigal reap what he sowed without mercy and redemption? Did the laborer who worked for merely an hour reap what he sowed (Matthew 20)? It was the ongoing comfort of God as my father towards my own financial failures, my poor sowing, failure, brokenness and woundedness. I fell into a deep sleep with a big smile on my face. – Craig * I’m astonished at God’s timing and how he chooses to surprise us. For a number of reasons I KNEW it was God, for one, in moments like this it’s not my custom to ponder the deeper unresolved questions of my soul. ** I’m substituting words here… his words were aggressive, stern and surprising as he stood opposed to the agreement I was making to a principle twisted against a fathering God and my trust in him.

Craig McConnell

Southern Hemisphere

de·lete /d?'lit/ [di-leet] –verb (used with object), to strike out or remove (something written or printed); cancel; erase; expunge; to destroy. Spent an hour writing out a pretty vulnerable story for this blog. I was in the zone; writing; thinking; laughing; listening to a great Classic Rock play list; enjoying God and the blustery fall afternoon. I paused to decide on a word choice… “euphoric” or “exuberant” when my playlist hit Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd (if you’re wondering, the long version… a classic!)… well, I zoned out unknowingly playing my keyboard like a piano. At some point, probably during the crescendo guitar solo, I hit the right combination of keys and … “puff”. I deleted my blog. “NO”!!! (You certainly know the feeling… right?) Immediately I prayed; asking God to save all my labor; bound the thief; and moved into a listening mode as I tried everything to retrieve a sure source of blessing/encouragement for every reader. Nada. Gone. Kaputz. Is this how a nuclear war starts… some night crew stiff starts rockin to a tune, inadvertently hits a button or two and the southern hemisphere is deleted? Agitated I headed to the kitchen for some relief. A handful of M&M’s. Pondered the sovereignty of God, spiritual warfare and the principle of reaping and sowing… wondering if God was in this. Heading back to my office God spoke. Sensing his presence, smile and laughter I heard him say, “Give it [my blog topic] some more thought…” . That’s all I needed. So I sat back down at my desk, cranked Free Bird again, and scribbled out these few thoughts. – Craig

Craig McConnell

Shotgun

Somewhere in the friendly skies between Denver and Sacramento I’m trounced/ambushed by an internal hysteria over not being prepared for retirement. Now “retirement” whatever that is, is still a ways out there… and I’ve got my retirement funds secure and growing with Lehman Brothers… whoops! None-the-less I’m overcome with this out-of-the-blue horror about the future. Specifically my future! And I’m genuinely frightened! Standing in the long line awaiting my intermediate sized rental car I’m praying against whatever is responsible for the burning rod in the core of my body emitting this anxiety/fear while trying to listen to God for whatever he wants to say in all of this… It feels like I’m only shadow boxing with dread and I’m hearing nothin from God… all I’m getting is high decibel static. Shuffling down the line of impatient customers toward me is a Churchill like jowled man who looks 83 wearing a floppy safari hat. With foggy eyes that never quite make contact with anyone this worn image bearer works the line offering maps of the local area… for… what, 8 hours a day? He looks miserable… I’m miserable as a new round of apprehension, accusations and sulfuric voices fill my head. I should have saved more… earlier, been more aggressive, less aggressive… shouldn’t have but that on the credit card… or that, or that… I should have been more frugal like my brother… should have bought gold/silver… should have, should have, should have…My fate is sealed to misery, that’s me at 83…misery, misery!!! (Now there is a bit of truth to all of this. Looking back I now know a lot more than I did as a younger less fathered man. There ARE a lot of things I should have done. This is what gives the Accuser a foothold of “credibility” that can destroy you (versus redeem/rescue you). I get my paper work and hop on the shuttle to the parking lot to pick up my upgraded mid-sized car. The shuttle driver is another dinosaur… I’m thinking about 96 years old!!! AHHH!! Everywhere there are old men with faded gazes exerting what little energy/life they have left to make minimum wage doing menial jobs because they BLEW IT… like me!!! There I am 25 years from now trekking to Wal-Mart to welcome people as they enter. I’m now in my rental beginning the hour and a half drive to my folk’s house. As I’m driving through the streets of Sacramento its as if everyone under 79 has been raptured … there are no children playing in the park, no young lovers walking hand in hand, not a single baby stroller, bicycle, teen-ager or skateboard. Everyone looks withered and stooped… the only ones walking the streets are those with a new layer of wrinkles and lost memories and friends. Gentle old folk with oversized purses or wearing felt hats, there are blublockers, old Buicks… canes and faded old shoes. Please note: I admire and honor my elders. I’ve always loved hearing their stories and conversing about life, history and the lessons they’ve learned. For years I went to a local convalescent hospital to simply read, hold a hand, listen… I cried and laughed and loved it. Ultimately what’s happening here has nothing to do with the elderly it’s some funky mix of warfare and God… battling for something deep within my soul. This really isn’t ageism! Internally I’m in knots… worried, frightened and unable to shake some shaming voice that barks out at me, “You’re a failure… you’ll never have enough savings/retirement/pension funds… NEVER, EVER EVER…slob!” (The “Slob” felt like piling on!). What on earth does my future hold? And then I notice The Ancient One sitting beside me… (riding shotgun!). He warmly invites me into a conversation and communion… which kind of surprises me… I thought we were communing, conversing… heck I’ve been battling all this fear, shame, accusation… and he interrupts me, “NO, you tend not to come to me with your fears…” Silence. I’m a little stunned. What!? His voice is fatherly and inviting and… strong, as he stays with the issue for about 60 miles on highway 50. When frightened you run from me not to me… you’re afraid of me. Your unfathered heart is crushed under the shame and self loathing you bear. You go it alone instead of bringing your fears to me. Come to me. Bring your fear to me. Rest, come on, let me father you. This all felt both foreign and simple. Can it be that easy? In this mix of the two of us communing I begin to see a number of things more clearly. I realize at times like this I’ve mistaken the feelings/assault of anxiety/terror/dread/shame/condemnation as the voice of God... that all the self-loathing internal hate speech is God’s evaluation of me; thus I’ve run from him rather than toward him. I’m amazed that this is true of me… and that I’ve gone so long without seeing it! Wow! I see how I mishandle my anxieties… Like a young boy I stick my head under a pillow (hiding, avoidance, paralysis, passivity, “taken out”) or I start organizing…. I rearrange my outside world hoping my inside world will follow. You wouldn’t believe how many books, magazines, seminars I’ve consumed hoping for a change that’s unreachable apart from God. Apart from God. I’m silenced… and he says, Let me father you, I will care and provide… walk with me. And all the passages of scripture about me being more important to him than sparrows and wild flowers and that I need not worry about what I shall eat or wear flood my heart. The anxiety attack, all the fear, contempt and shame lifts. I’m loved. I want to live differently! Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all you who remain of the house of Israel, you whom I have upheld since you were conceived, and have carried since your birth. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. - Isaiah 46:3-4

Craig McConnell

Hoops

I think God jumps out of the bushes that line the path we’re on startling us with His presence/words or with an invitation into something deeper. It could be a deeper repentance, or intimacy… another healing touch… it may be an invitation to laughter or joy… perhaps volitional strength… the point is He surprises us at times! I chuckle as I think of Him lurking about in the most common affairs of my day… at times He even seems playful as He leaps out of a passage of Scripture I’ve read a gazillion times before giving me some new never-seen insight into my life or His person/work. Last evening I’m in a conversation with Sam about his upcoming week one moment and in the next it’s no longer Sam talking about something he’s doing on Saturday, it’s the ever-present Ventriloquist speaking to me about something I’m doing in five months and how He (God) wants to bring more healing/closure to a deep wound of mine through that event (Sam no doubt wondering why I was weeping). Sometimes He hops out of a movie I’m watching or from the music I’m listening to in ways the lyricist never ever intended. He’s with us in the moment between the market and home. He’s speaking through the plumber’s story, the sunset, the smiling child, the homeless guy on the corner, your friend’s kindness as well as those troubling souls within your life’s orbit. A couple of days ago I’m yapping with a buddy and his innocuous observation about another man sends me into an evening of confession, repentance, breaking of agreements and crying out to God for transformation. God is most certainly with us! A quick story: I was attending a conference session wherein the President of the organization, a true and good man, formerly a seminary professor vulnerably shares that much of his Christian life has been lived from the perspective that He was to cram his head with as much knowledge and understanding as possible and through that God would sanctify/mature him. He reflected that it contributed little to his personal relationship with God. He continues telling the audience that he attended our Boot Camp and during one of our “Times of Silence with God” he, operating from a perspective of “Yes, God speaks… but not really… and certainly not to me”, finds a quiet place perched upon a rock to listen for anything God may have to say to him. He spent 10 minutes in token respectful silence and concludes… “I knew it!” God didn’t speak… no real surprise to him, He never has. So he, Clive, does what any good Hoosier would do… wanders down to the basketball court to shoot some hoops through the rest of the time with God. He continues the story saying that he made 10 shots in a row – which is unusual enough that his sharp mind goes analytical over what it is that he’s doing that would explain his success. “Is it the angle of my elbow?” “The snap of my wrist or the squaring up of my shoulders?”…”Maybe it’s my follow through!” Then he misses the next 10 shots as he’s dissecting his form. And … surprise… God shows up on the basketball court saying, “Clive, you’re trying so hard, you’re so analytical… I want your heart!” Stunned and still, God begins to speak deeply to the governing assumptions of his life inviting him into something very new… and wanted (Living from the heart intimately with God). Clive asks God, “Okay… do you want me to go back to my rock?” (To finish out the “Time Alone With God”) and God answers, “No, continue to shoot hoops – but from your heart!” See it? Surprise! Oh how he longs for a personal conversational relationship with us! And so, He is ever-present and always lurking about jumping at any and every opportunity to invite us into “more”. I wonder when, where and how He will jump out and into our lives today? – Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

Company of Men

These last two Mondays several of us (guys from the Wild at Heart Team) were up at Bart’s ranch with a couple of groups of men. There’s something about being in the company of men… we were skeet shooting , some of us enjoying a good cigar others passing, and all of us at some point putting into words the defining desires of our hearts and the hurdles we face: marriages, finances, parenting, career issues, questions about the goodness of God and spiritual warfare. Stories of God working were awesome. Each man a good man with a huge heart… our allies and friends. Wounded, glorious, broken, alive, true, generous… I am astonished by the company of men that surround us and share this mission with us. We couldn’t do this alone. The mythic nature of a man’s calling simply cannot be accomplished alone. And yet “alone” is what so many/most men feel. Oh God raise up companies of men! – Craig

Craig McConnell

The Taxi

Lori and I fly into LA ostensibly for me to officiate the wedding of one of my daughter’s friends. The wedding is on the beach where we lived prior to God’s calling us to Colorado (“on the beach”… how “cool” is that!?). Friday night the rehearsal on the sand goes well. Yeah the marine layer moves in a little early… and the on shore breeze is brisk… but hey it’ll be great manana. (Note, while I tend to over plan for every contingency I still view myself as an optimist). Following the rehearsal dinner fare I’m caught flat footed by the affection the two families express toward one another… I feel like a voyeur peeping in on the intimacy of others. I wonder why love surprises me… am I a cynic? A little back story, lately I’ve been picturing, The Apostle John in extreme old age at Ephesus being carried into the congregation in the arms of his disciples unable to say anything except “little children, love one another”. At last, wearied that he always spoke the same words, they asked: “Master, why do you always say this?” “Because”, he replied, “it is the Lord’s command, and if this only is done, it is enough”.* As every broken, disappointing, sinful, foolish, evil and wacky person in my orbit scrolls across my mind I find the simplicity of the command to love God and others deeply disrupting and profoundly descriptive of my deepest desire. It is astonishing that in the presence of love I doubt it, run from it or am startled by it. The nature of these relationships unfolding in heartfelt tested words of appreciation and gratitude, a slide show and music speaks to the life I want so very much to live. I leave the dinner with a hunger to be the apostle John muttering over and over “Oh my friends, love one another… it is enough to love” from some deep true place. The next day, Saturday, is the wedding and despite my unfailing optimism the marine layer blows in at hurricane category 4 strength.And so the wedding crowd of 100 is blown into a tight circle of family and friends. Prior to the bride’s entry the one girl who everyone’s eyes were upon was the one wearing the full length Alaska parka with fur lined hood… (A contingency option I did not consider). We were huddled like penguins on the sand as Claire and Doug’s magic moment unfolds. Forsaking all others I choose you to love and cherish forever and always no matter the circumstances (richer or poorer, better or worse, joy or sorrow, sickness or health…) till death do we part I will be there for you. They are so in love… so good for one another… so young… and beneath my pastoral smile is a smug/arrogant posture, Ahh… it has taken Lori and me thirty-three years to reach that level of blissful raging agape self sacrifice!!!! So with a weekend filled with wedding festivities, all-too-brief visits with our kids and a visit to our favorite taco joint we’re ready to face whatever United Airlines throws at us and return to Colorado. Up rolls the taxi we called for the eleven mile scamper up to LAX, the cabbie bounds out of the Chevy, flicks his cigarette butt in our friends rose garden and with a few hand motions and heavily accented broken English-grunts motions for us to get in… and so we do. Now let me quickly insert that I’ve ridden many a taxi in the renowned cities of the world and survived! A taxi ride is a taxi ride… you go to Mac Donald's for cheap burgers, Home Depot for chain saws and taxi rides for near death experiences… right? So we peel out of the driveway taking the first turn on two wheels! He’s breaking every speed law, dodging parked cars, cutting off slow pokes and alternating between “G” force accelerations and crash test braking (which includes some front end clanking and sharp veering to the right). About three blocks into the ride we can smell some combination of his cologne, hot brakes and radiator fluid. Somewhere between running a red light and nearly hitting an odd looking Dodger fan on single blade skates pushing a refrigerator across the pedestrian zone I’m getting a little annoyed at my wife…. Lori. She’s got a death grip on the back of his seat… she’s hyper-ventilating, gasping… she’s in some kind of a panic-funk and for some reason giving me the stink eye. She’s stressing … a bit over dramatic and I’m thinking “Hey… pull it together woman… it’s an E ticket, what do you expect” We get to the airport and she’s not speaking to me. What’s with that? So in true “husbands love your wife as Christ loves the church” fashion I feign ignorance and compassion asking, “What’s wrong with you?” To which she responds with “stink eye” times ten… saying so much more than the words spoken convey, I don’t want to talk about it”. After a calming glass of wine and a long eighteen minutes she begins to cry and with shaking voice share with me how she’s never been more terrified for her life and that I totally missed/abandoned/failed her. And I did. I missed/abandoned/failed her. Totally. I could have/should have done something… I wish I had done something, anything. I did nothing. That’s not the man I want to be. Little children love one another. Till death do we part I will be there for you. I’m a much better lover now than I was ten years ago but there’s still a little more ground to cover before I’m a finished model of blissful raging agape self sacrifice. – Craig McConnell * Commentator/expositor John Stott in his commentary on The Epistles of John cites Jerome’s re-telling of this story of ‘blessed John the evangelist’.

Craig McConnell

The Twerp

A friend, Vern, responded to one of my Blog entries with words that made me pause, sit up straight, look out the window and wonder. I enjoy being caught off guard by the welling up of desire within from some unfolding drama (drama that I may or may not be directly involved in); from the words of others, from beauty or pain. Just yesterday I was on the ground jabbering and teasing the son of one of my colleagues here at Wild at Heart and out of nowhere he says to me, “You’re goofy…”. Surprise! There it was… the final assessment of my entire life…. Through the innocent and sweet playfulness of this 5 year old a tsunami of defining desire and terrible fear overwhelmed me. And though I chuckled and continued “goofing off” with him I was lost in the desire for my life to leave a lasting imprint and the aged fear that it may not! Oh Lord… I so long to be a life-changer, a sage, the Friend of God, the General Douglas MacArthur of an army of warriors, the Michael Phelps of authentic intimate Christianity, a poet/writer, the “real deal”… “goofy” isn’t the epitaph I’m living and dying for! I don't want to be "goofy”! I get up off the floor and gracefully left the little twerp to hide from our company in the woods for a few minutes and to cry out to God for his grace… his validation… his words. He (God, not the twerp) is everywhere setting ambushes, leaping out from behind delightful kids, delayed flights, a song, the sound of crickets, an email from a friend… the disappointments of community. Through all this and more he raises up desire, fears, wounds… all sorts of things and invites us into the healing, comfort and holiness he offers. – Craig

Craig McConnell

The Neighbor's RV

And so after 3 delays the announcement is made that our United flight from Denver to LAX will be delayed another 2 hours! The frustration/anger/rage is palatable in the seating area at the gate… and is stoked with this announcement as the third different reason for the delay is given. The guy sitting next to me goes Krakatoa on the United personnel leaving/fleeing the gate area (what must these dear souls do or kill to survive this on a daily/hourly basis?). It was the perfect storm of body language, a enraged red face with seething eyes, a sailors vocabulary, an exhibit of fine motor skill with his fingers coupled with the projection of an maniacal anger over his father wound, being beat up by a bully in third grade, losing the commission he had banked on, getting shorted on a purchase by the bookstore clerk and a marriage that after 12 years isn’t all he hoped it would be. He erupted. Big time. And in a moment it was over… it was quiet. Everyone went back to reading USA Today, listen to ipods or moving towards the bar. He remained sitting… I’m one seat over taking it all in. 10 minutes later he calls home and I overhear him… fathering his young son… with joy, fully engaged; sensitive, lovingly he listened and spoke as he caught up on his sons day before telling his wife that his arrival home is delayed again. In those moments he was the dad I hope I am. The juxtaposition of the two moments was stark. It’s amazing what lies just beneath the surface of many a good person. Difficult circumstances, delayed flights, uncaring/unaffected people bring it all up. And somewhere in my thoughts I wondered about myself… and who might see something very similar in me. So much that I want to avoid in life God is behind. I don’t like delayed flights, the cost of gas, controlling manipulative people, know-it-alls, budgets, health concerns, the neighbor’s RV parked in front of my house… and yet I know God uses “trials” to offer us life. Life in the deep dark regions of our being. – Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

Context is Everything

My world is full of people I see out of their context. Being myopic sets me up for judging others, withholding love, arrogance… I view them as dorks… I rock. If I understood/saw a person’s context… their glory, I’d be stunned, amazed, humbled and so aware of the diversity of God’s people. Context is everything. Sig Hansen is captain of the Northwestern. He’s a tough SOB in the wheel house of his crab boat a couple of hundred miles NE of Dutch Harbor on the vast and unpredictable Bering sea … he’s taking on 50 foot waves, brutal weather, freezing spray that adds tons of ice to his ship making it dangerously top heavy… he’s top dog of some pretty tough sea-dogs, a few greenhorn slackers… he’s a man’s man. Why was I so startled in the final episode of Discovery Channel’s Deadliest Catch as the crabbing season ends and Sig walks away from his boat on the wharf, on land… and he looks so pedestrian, so normal…actually nerdy… he’s no longer a sea captain commanding the seas… he might as well be former librarian in between jobs filling in at the auto parts store till he finds something more permanent… a mid-west physical education teacher who’s lost his heart and is just passing time till he retires in another fifteen years. His walk, pace, size, his “look” suddenly stands out on shore in ways they didn’t 200 miles off the Siberian Coast in a Winter gale… he’s out of his context and looks so… different, so, not himself… you would never know what he’s capable of / what he does. The professor I idolized as a 25 year old seminarian I bump into at a conference at Pasadena Nazarene twenty years later. I sat in Dr. James Pucssor's (Not his real name) class willing to give my left testicle/thumb/ear-lobe to be like him. His knowledge of the Word of God, the reverent way he turned the pages in his Bible, the patient soft spoken yet authoritative way he responded to the arrogant and foolish challenges we threw at him. He was Jesus Christ slicing and dicing every errant exposition and theology lacking the full backing of Scripture. He was a swordsman. But there on the patio decades later as we chatted he was a relational cripple. He could no more relax and interact with people than I could do an Iron Cross. So out of his context… so capable somewhere else, but here a relational zero. The cowboy at Chicago O’hare who looks so very out of place among the business commuters flying United flight #1694 to Los Angeles. The flight is delayed. His hat, the belt buckle; the way he stands, the wrinkles on his face, the strength of his hands… every stinking thing about this man exudes confidence, manliness. He’s sitting on the floor leaning up against the wall at gate B42. I decide to sit next to him and see if I can stealthily hear a bit of his story. And bingo, we began a conversation… I’m mesmerized. He speaks slowly, an economy of words… nothing fancy, nothing pretentious; he’s in no hurry, unfazed by the frantic anxieties of the commuters surrounding him; his voice is deep, everything about him is understated. It’s the Rock of Gibraltar with a voice. He works on a 10,000 acre cattle ranch in the Dakota’s. He and his blue heeler spend weeks at a time out tending the herd; there’s stories of thunder and lightening, mountain lion, stampedes, weeks seeing no human… dark cold starlit nights. . Whoa… I’m a twelve year old sitting at the feet of a man. I’m in my Nordstrom buttoned-down-collar oxford, wide wale cords… I’ve got my brief case… I’m a pastor in a mega-church who spends most of my 40 weekly hours in meetings word-smithing mission statements… intervening in an argument between two committees about the color of the “Sanctuary” carpet… I know how to organize a garage and put things in labeled zip lock baggies. This guy doesn’t fit in my world nor I in his… but this is the guy I’d want by my side in any crisis. We’d…. he’d survive anything thrown at him… us, without flinching. This is the guy I want to be. But, here, at Gate B42, he’s in my world… in this world he’s looks the dork…and I rock! And you… what’s your context? What’s true about you that others would never know because they haven’t seen you in your context? Look around. Who, not knowing your context views/misunderstands you as a dork when, in your context... you ROCK!!? – Craig McConnell (Journal Entry)

Craig McConnell

Tuesday

Last Wednesday most of the men of Wild at Heart… (sounds like a potential calendar)… went on a night hike up to The Crags above Colorado Springs. It was cloudy and windy. Someone mentioned it probably wasn’t a great idea to be huddled on the top of an exposed Crag with lightening off in the distance… (party pooper)… so we hiked out without enjoying a good cigar together as we had hoped. It was good… it is good to be together as men. Thursday I had a brief telephone conversation with John who was calling from some mountain ridge in the boon docks of N.W. Colorado while on vacation. The wind was howling and so was I. I love that guy! We need friends… I have a few… they’re scattered about the country…I’m smiling just thinking about em. On Friday Morgan organized a work crew of the men at Wild at Heart… (sounds less like a potential calendar)… to clean up, organize and redecorate one of the lower level rooms at our Outpost that has been “neglected”. Morgan, apparently having watched Extreme Make Over: Home Edition was our Ty Pennington…. leading the charge with a flair that could be described as nouveau Pittsburgh. It's a crack up seeing 7 men, all of them leaders, in a 15X15 room bumping into one another; shouting out orders/advice while cleaning, fixing the ceiling, organizing cupboards, hanging pictures, mounting rifles, swords and an array of memoralbila…. it was great! I work with a bunch of knuckle-heads… knuckle-heads with varying levels of aesthetics and taste. I wouldn’t want to work with anyone else. Not even Ty Pennington. On Saturday several of us (men and women, friends and spouses)… went to PJ’s Workout Boot Camp. (As I write this Monday PM…. several are still very sore… can you spell ALEX, SUE, MORGAN?). It was a brutal as PJ tried, in 60 minutes, to turn us into Navy SEALS... he worked us. We were heaving heavy balls, doing push-ups, "explosive" lunges, some-kind-of-full-body-torture-thingie, we were runnin, huffin and a puffin… we were racing, jumping, doing rapid squats, heaving more heavy balls…you get the picture. It was good to suffer together in some shared mission… it’s good to be friends-who-also-work-together… and we thank God for Ibuprofen. Sunday Am… several of us and a few friends had a brunch with Julie J. and her “friend”, AKA Robert. Getting to know Julie, she wanted him to taste a little bit of her community as well. Ahhh… Monkey Bread, quiche, mimosa, fresh fruit, earthy coffee and wonderful conversation and laughs. Lots and lots of laughs. It is good to laugh… laugh with others... and share a meal together. Today… Monday. Kind of an ordinary day… I got an appointment with the Fremont Court mixed up…. it’s tomorrow… I thought it was today… wore my khaki pants and blue Oxford button down collar shirt for nothing… (it was regarding a traffic ticket… okay, okay I was speeding; BUT it was the last hour of a 19 hour drive back from L.A….. and I had to pass a slow moving garbage truck before the passing lane ended… State Patrol wouldn’t give me a break. I should have had my old “clergy” bumper sticker!?#$?). I had another telephone conversation with John… who was once again on some mountain crest that had AT&T coverage... we covered my "Things to Discuss With John Check List" in about 14 minutes. Checking in is good... vacations are good. I missed a conversation with Kevin in Manassas, got caught up on email (what happened to my New Year’s Resolution to answer every email within a week?!#$%&*?!). Had some meetings, enjoyed conversation and an iced Americano with Sue at Starbucks… yapped a bit with Bart in So. CA.; interrupted a meeting Paul was having by cracking a joke that bombed… read a bit of a book someone sent me and encouraged Brad to take a sick day after being thrown from his bike during a lunch time ride. With those scrapes and that 4 inch bump on his forehead he will definetly not be at the Men of Wild at Heart Calendar photo shoot tomorrow… Tuesday. – Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

Chest-less-rats-for-men

We took a week to vacation with our friends and family over the Fourth in So. Cal. On Sunday Lori and I attended the church my son-in-law is planting in Redlands. As it happens he’s teaching on one of my Top 10 Most Disruptive Things Christ Said/Did… Christ says: You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven…If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. - Matthew 5 My first reaction is along the lines of, “Love your enemies!” Yeah, right… It’s hard enough loving my wife who I do profoundly love and who loves me like no other”. Are you serious? It’s so easy to dismiss this passage! And yet I cannot for God is very present. My second reaction: xxxxxxxxxxxxxx!?#%*&?!xxxxxxx!?#%*&?!xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Okay… all of that to say I’ve written a paragraph… a lengthy paragraph giving my second reaction but can’t include it. God won’t let me. It may be my best writing…it’s a sharp/terse detailed paragraph describing a couple of low life weasels that I consider enemies. Using names, dates and collaborating witnesses I lay out their offenses against both me and the God who judges the living and the dead righteously (I mean, after all is said and done… it’s their offense against God that most offends me.) Well, in any case… God won’t let me include that paragraph… He simply, kindly yet firmly and continually redirects my focus from these chest-less-rats-for-men… these wolves posing as sheep who’s misbehavior have done harm to me and my family (and many others) to this conditional-loving-no-better-than-a-pagan nice guy. God points out that I’m more concerned with their failures to live well than mine…while He seems more concerned with my failures than theirs. It’s so disrupting that I’m apparently the center of his attention and NOT them… does he not know the full story?! Quite honestly if it’s an enemy worth his salt one feels pretty justified in being smug, judging, hating, bad mouthing, avoiding and pondering all the “upsides” to retaliation. I do. Yet God will not let me go there… he is speaking to something within me… he’s calling out some true part of me. This passage can’t be set aside as a description of life in a distant and other-worldly millennium! It’s descriptive of a life in the here-and-now transformed by the full work of Christ… the Gospel! Might it actually be possible to live holy… loving lives? Can we genuinely in some form or fashion love our enemies? To live free from the control others misbehavior/sin/hatred/meanness seems to have upon us? So much of my life is shaped by the formula: I love those who love me; I hate those who hate me. Love me and I’ll love you, hate me and I’ll hate you. How you live your life has greater influence over me than God. There’s another way to live and it is really, really, really possible… and I want to live that life. I’d love for my enemies to change; God ‘s insisting that I do. Love means to love that which is unlovable, or it is no virtue at all. - G.K. Chesterton

Craig McConnell

Julie M.

She has a laugh, a distinctive laugh… it’s disarming and inviting… it has “Welcome, relax, life is good” woven in and out of it. Julie Musilli has a way about her… a presence…it’s delightful, warm, easing… winsome… she is a “called alongside one”… she’s all there and all that is there is good. Her Outpost office has been a center, the meeting place, the gathering place for Staff. In her cozy office is a well placed overstuffed chair that beckons you “Come, sit, share, rest… it’s safe here”. Particularly but not exclusively for the women, it’s there that we find some soulful oxygen, a nourishment of kindness and care, for solace, counsel… even strength. Julie listens, listens well and offers words… if needed courageous words of clarity. Julie is relationally intuitive… insightfull, fully engage… her curiosity/questions are always gentle in exposing the deeper/core issues beneath our perplexities. She brings hope. In so many ways Julie is full of life, actually she’s overflowing with life. Julie is with child and will birth Josiah in early August; and so she leaves Wild at Heart to mother a boy as many an older boy wishes he had been. Julie is a good mother… a life giver. Josiah is blessed. We have been. We are so very happy for her in our loss of her. (Picture is of Julie and her husband PJ)

Craig McConnell

Beans The Birthday Dog

My granddaughter named her lab puppy “Beans The Birthday Dog”. Not “Ranger” nor “Blue”, “Buddy”, “Max” or “Spot”… apparently “Wrangler” didn’t cross her mind nor “Fido”. I was told the abbreviated “Beans” was not acceptable… it’s Beans The Birthday Dog. And it fits perfectly. I of all people should now the importance of a name.– Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell

29

Today my first born daughter turns 29… it was only a moment ago I held her for the first time promising her an unconditional-uninterrupted life of love that as a 27 year old father I knew nothing of. I pledged her a strength I didn’t yet have, a wisdom I would have 29 years later and my full engagement in her every season of growth. I would not spare the rod. I would seize every teachable moment and grow her God’s way. This little gift would be celebrated, know the fear of the Lord, and be fathered in her unique and special gifting. I would always be there for her… I repeat, always there for her. I meant every single word, and I fell short of each. Every parent, no matter how godly and loving, falls short and in some way wounds their child. For a variety of reasons it’s inevitable. Was it the night I didn’t get up to comfort her… letting her cry herself asleep? Was it my dismissal of her pain when she scraped her knee for the first time? Or my kinda- just- beneath- the- surface seething that oozed out during the teens years? Maybe it was grounding her for lying only to find out that she hadn’t. I’ll bet it was my impatience teaching her how to drive a stick shift… or some other moment I’m entirely unaware of? I am a pretty good father. I wish I had been the father I am now back when the girls were little. Guess how I became the father I am now. God used my children to grow me up… to father me… to sculpt me a little more into His image. I think God uses parenting to change/parent us more than he uses us to nurture our children (and in saying that I don’t for a moment want to minimize the affect/importance of our parenting upon our kids). At age 27 I couldn’t be the parent I am at 55. I’m not the father at 55 I will be at 70. That’s the way it is. Seriously, God primarily used my kids to get to so many of the governing issues and abiding sins of my life. Unfortunately in that less-sanctified state I fell short as a dad and no doubt wounded my girls. AND God has shown up for all of us. I worship my gracious God who has both forgiven me and redeemed the oh so many failings… I love my daughters and now their daughters fully aware of the life my words, “you are beautiful… you fill my heart with sheer joy” bring them. And in moments together snuggling on the couch or sitting around enjoying a cup of coffee together or in aisle 7 looking for an iron at Target I tell stories of those difficult seasons, I share my story and I let them into the grief I have over my sin and the impact it must have had on them. And I leave the door open for them to raise with me anything I might have done/said that lingers… and we talk, snuggle, finish the coffee and pay for the iron. They know my love… and it covers a multitude of sins. And in all of this they, as parents, see all that awaits them… the unconditional-uninterrupted of love of their Heavenly Father. – Craig McConnell

Craig McConnell