John's Blog
Easter
Easter is already in the rearview mirror, but I thought it might be good to give a little more reflection to all that Jesus won for us through the Cross. Good Friday comes and goes so quickly, we don’t have the opportunity to reflect on all the Cross provides for us each new day. We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him. Now that we are set right with God by means of this sacrificial death, the consummate blood sacrifice, there is no longer a question of being at odds with God in any way. (Romans 5:7-11, The Message) As the church has understood for more than 2,000 years, the Cross was not merely Jesus “entering into our suffering.” It was a sacrifice of incredible proportion, made necessary because of our sin. This is so important for us to name, because in our age the concept of sin has almost completely disappeared and what has replaced it are words like “brokenness” and “woundedness.” Just the other day a good man, a true disciple, was telling me a story of some egregious evil committed against him. In the next moment, he said, “They were just acting out of their brokenness.” This is the common spin, and it is partly true. But what is missing is the forthright naming of sin. If brokenness is all that we needed help with, Jesus certainly wouldn’t have had to go to the Cross. Now—you know we spend a good bit of time healing human brokenness here at Wild at Heart. All the more reason for us to give some reflection to the fact that Jesus went to the Cross for our sins, or we will lose our gratitude for it. And there is so much more. Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: “Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.” (Galatians 3:13) Here again we have the clear view of Atonement—Jesus is judged so we wouldn’t be. But another dynamic is being described here. The Cross breaks the power of all curses. This too is so important to name at this time when so much envy, hatred judgment and cursing is taking place in social arenas. When someone judges you, when they pronounce words of hatred or judgment against you, those words have real effect. Both Testaments take blessing and cursing very seriously. “Life and death are in the power of the tongue” (Prov 18:21). So it is a great relief to bring the power of the Cross against those words and judgments spoken against us. Witchcraft is also on the rise in this pagan culture; many curses are being pronounced on Christians from the dark side. How wonderful that our God has provided the solution: we are able to bring the Cross of Christ against all curses and cancel them in Jesus name. Can you feel your appreciation of the Cross deepening as we name these things? Paul explains later in Galatians, through the Cross of Christ we are crucified to the world and the world to us: May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. (6:14) The Greek word used here for “world” includes the entire human family. The Cross of Christ changes every human relationship. In a world where so many relationships are unhealthy, where people try and control us or exert unholy authority over us, where people often attach their needs and longings to us, the Cross is our rescue. It is so helpful to pray the Cross of Christ into every relationship so that only what is holy and good can pass between us. And of course the Cross is what sets us free not only from the penalty of sin but from the very power of it: We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer? Or don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?...In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. (Romans 5:2-3,11) Anyone trying to live a whole and holy life knows the grief that comes—regularly—when we cannot seem to live beyond our sin and addictions. You must understand: the unholy trinity Scripture names as the world, our flesh, and the evil one conspire to undermine your character. In that swirling mess, it can feel like you want to (fill in the blank…yell at your kids, look at porn, envy your friend’s success, indulge bitterness, etc.) but what we must, must cling to is that we have died with Christ in the Cross; sin no longer has to rule over us. We have a choice! Which brings us to my last observation: the Cross was not only then, it is now. Every day. We do have a choice to make, and the essential choice we face every day is whether we will let the “self” life reign in us, or will Christ reign in us? By the “self” life I simply mean that part of us that wants to reign as lord of our lives. The first issue is never sin; it is what we do with our internal, natural inclination to play lord of our life. All the hatred and envy you see in social media—that is the “offended self” lashing out. When Jesus invites us to take up our Cross daily, he is not saying we have to crucify our every hope and desire. He is saying we must choose not to let “self” reign—neither in our internal nor external world. Christ is Lord of both. Alas—there is so much more to say but we are out of space. For more on the power of the Cross let me recommend: my book Free to Live, the “Daily Prayer,” the “Prayer for Breaking Curses,” and our audio resource on Soul Ties. You can find them on our app or website. Much love, John Download the April Newsletter Here
John Eldredge
March 2017 Newsletter
Over the years we have been sharing the joys of discovering lost treasures together. What a life-changing experience it has been to uncover the personality of Jesus! Or how about learning that we can hear his voice, and all the blessings that come to us as we actually walk with him? And what absolute relief is ours as we explore the healing available to us through Christ? In the spirit of recovering lost treasure, I want to point out this month something that has baffled me for some time: Whatever happened to the promise of reward? “I tell you the truth: at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne…everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.” (Matthew 19:28) Jesus was responding to a question Peter asked when he declared these bold promises: “We’ve given up everything to follow you. What will we get?” (19:27). Christ is neither alarmed nor offended by the question. He doesn’t tell Peter that service is enough, nor that virtue is its own reward. He quickly replies with the proclamation of the Great Renewal, and then—as though that were not enough (!)—goes on to assure the boys that they will be handsomely rewarded in the coming kingdom. It is a mindset almost entirely lost to our age. Who even talks about reward anymore? Who anticipates it? Expects it? Honestly, I have never had one private conversation with any follower of Christ who spoke of their hope of being handsomely rewarded. This isn’t good; it is a sign of our total bankruptcy. Reward is central to a kingdom mindset… “Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.” (Matthew 5:12) “For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.” (Matthew 16:27) So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. (Hebrews 10:35) By faith Moses…chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward. (Hebrews 11:24-26) “Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done.” (Revelation 22:12) Reward, reward, reward—it fills the pages of both Testaments. Saint Paul expected to be rewarded for his service to Christ, as have the saints down through the ages. Patrick, that mighty missionary to the Irish prayed daily, “In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward…So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.” It is our barren age that is out of sync with the tradition. C.S. Lewis wrote, If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us. “The unblushing promises of reward,” stopped me in my tracks the first time I read it. I’ve never heard a contemporary Christian use it. Unblushing means boldfaced, unashamed; it means brazen, outlandish and unapologetic. Did you know the promises of reward offered to you in Scripture are bold, unashamed, and brazen? God seems to be of the opinion that no one should be expected to sustain the rigors of the Christian life without very robust and concrete hopes of being brazenly rewarded for it. Are you looking forward to your reward??? That pastor who serves a rather small, petty and thankless congregation for forty years, the man who works late hours visiting the sick and comforting the brokenhearted, the servant who is grossly underpaid and regularly berated by his own flock—what does he have to look forward to? Shouldn’t his reception into the kingdom be like that of a great Prince returning to his Father’s country, with lavish reward? Indeed, he will. Will not his kindness be rewarded? It will. Will not his longsuffering be rewarded? It will. In fact, every noble deed of his largely hidden faithfulness, every unsung and even misunderstood action of love will be individually and specifically rewarded (Matthew 25:35-36, Matthew 10:41-42). And so he shall be a rich nobleman in the kingdom of God. What about the believer who struggled under mental illness all her life, largely alone and almost completely misunderstood, clinging to her faith like a drowning woman clings to a rock while a broken mind tormented her daily? Should she not step into the kingdom like the Queen of an entire country? Indeed, she will. She will probably be granted a position dispensing wisdom and insight that heals the hearts and minds of her countrymen. O yes, rewards will be given out in the kingdom with great honor and ceremony. One of our great joys will be to witness it happen. When you think of all the stories of the saints through the ages, and all the beautiful, heroic, painful, utterly sacrificial choices made by those saints, the suffering, the persecution—how long will we enjoy hearing those stories that ought to be rewarded told, and then watching breathless as our King meets the specific situation with perfect generosity? The thought of it fills me with happiness even now. I have friends and loved ones for whom I want a front row seat to witness this very moment. Begin to allow your imaginations to go in the direction of reward. Your heart will thank you for it. Download the Newsletter
John Eldredge
February 2017 Newsletter
First, a big thank you from the team here at Wild at Heart. I reached out at the end of last year to ask for your support, and I wanted to tell you the result: We made our end-of-the-year budget, right on target, with a few dollars to spare! God is so playfully faithful to us, and you are so faithful too. I didn’t want to move on into the new year without saying thank you, so very much! Thank you. It’s already February. 2017 is off and running like a downhill skier on Red Bull. I want to share a series of encounters I had to get us into the topic of this letter... First, a friend shared with me how much he was enjoying a podcast by a thoughtful NPR commentator, and the nuggets of insight were impressive. A few hours later a different friend mentioned how much they were getting out of another podcast. I thought to myself, I’d better subscribe to those; they sound really good and I feel like I’m not keeping up with the trends. That afternoon, Stasi said something about some world news event she had just read about, and I thought, Wow—I am not keeping up on global happenings. I’d better do more of that, too. During a meeting the next day, someone makes a reference to a well-known ministry when everyone else at the table nods like they knew the story, and I’m wondering, Wow—I have no idea what is going on in the church world; I need to keep up. Meanwhile during the same meeting everyone was checking their cell phones for messages, updates, and news. That evening I finally listened to our own podcast—the one Stasi and Cherie Snyder did on trauma (I’m three weeks late)—and I found myself thinking, Gadzooks—I am not taking care of the unattended trauma in my soul and its lingering effects. Meanwhile, I am getting ready for another set of upcoming meetings with some leaders, and I feel I ought to be far more prepared with some keen insights on the age, the prophetic, how God is moving in the world, and how we therefore ought to be strategizing. The cumulative effect of all this—and I am describing a fairly benign and ordinary week—was to have a large part of me feeling woefully ill-informed, and grossly out of touch with all sorts of important matters. Shame was not far behind, followed by that scrambling we do to “get back on top of things.” Another part of me—a deeper, quieter part—meanwhile was pushing back, wondering, How in creation do these people have a life with God and care for their souls in the midst of this barrage of media input, global information, social analysis, prophetic teaching, ministry news, and not to mention minute-by-minute updates from their hundreds of Facebook friends? How does any human being care for their soul in a frenzied moment like ours? The simple, honest truth is...they don’t. It is beyond all practical possibilities. However, the ongoing deluge of intriguing facts and commentary, scandal and crisis, genuinely important guidance, combined with the latest insider news from across the globe, and our friends’ personal lives, gives the soul a medicated feeling of awareness, connection, and meaning. Really, it’s the new Tower of Babel—the immediate access to every form of “knowledge” and “groundbreaking” information right there on our phones, every waking moment. It confuses the soul into a state of artificial meaning and purpose, all the while preventing genuine soul care and life with God. Life with God...period. Who has time to read a book? Plant a garden? Let me say it again, because it is so counter to the social air we breathe: What has become the normal daily consumption of input is numbing the soul with artificial meaning and purpose while in fact the soul grows thinner and thinner through neglect, forced by the very madness that passes for a progressive life. I am not scolding; I am tossing a lifeline. The first draft of this letter went on to try and tell you how to care for your soul and have a genuine life with God—not to mention with your friends and loved ones—by giving you little tiny things you could squeeze into such a life. After twenty-four hours, I realized I was simply allowing the madness to go on ruling our lives. I was capitulating and then trying to work around it. And that is neither kind, nor loving. What I am going to say to you is that sincere followers of Jesus in every age have faced very difficult decisions—usually at that point of tension where their life with and for God ran them straight against the prevailing cultural ethos. The new Tower of Babel is ours. We have always been “strangers and aliens” in the world, insofar as our values seemed so strange and bizarre to those around us. We are now faced with a series of decisions that are going to make us look like freaks to the world. Choices like turning off Facebook every other day (or perhaps completely), never bringing our smart phones to any meal, conversation or Bible study, and cutting off our media intake so we can practice stillness every day. If we offer anything of value to you here at Wild at Heart, we offer care for the soul. And so for the sake of sanity and mercy I am going to ask a few questions... What are you going to do this year to save your soul from the madness that passes as “normal life?” How will you cultivate a life of beauty, goodness, and depth of soul? How will you send your roots deep down into the soil of God? The good news is, we actually have a choice. Unlike persecution, the things currently assaulting us are things we can choose not to participate in. What needs to go away in 2017 so that you can take your life back? Download the Newsletter
John Eldredge
Restoring Hope
“We could sure use some hope right now.” I was chatting with a friend last week about the things going on in our lives and in the world, when she said this. We weren’t talking about major loss, or suffering—just the way everyone seems to be facing some hard thing or another. There was a pause in the conversation, and my friend—normally a very buoyant woman—said, “We could sure use some hope right now.” We sure could. Hope is one of the Three Great Treasures of the human heart: “Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love” (1 Cor 13:13). A life without faith has no meaning; a life without love simply isn’t worth living; but a life without hope is a dark cavern from which you never escape. These things aren’t simply “virtues.” Faith, hope and love are mighty forces. And hope is the cornerstone; the fate of the other two depend upon hope’s resilience: ... we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love you have for all God’s people —the faith and love that spring from hope... (Col 1:3-5) Isn’t that surprising—both our faith and our love “spring from” or “result from” our hope. But of course. Hopelessness makes it impossible to care. Without hope faith is just a doctrine gathering dust on our shelves. The highest things that make a heart worth having and a life worth living—they rise or fall upon the condition of our hope. Which makes hope the mightiest force of all (love is the noblest; hope is the linchpin.) It would be good to pause and ask yourself, How is my hope these days? The answer may be startling to you. Because it is such a very precious thing, you want to be careful with your hope. So much of the disheartening and devastation that the soul endures comes from misplaced hopes. Hope is one of your heart’s greatest treasures; it is a dangerous thing to let your hope go wandering. Now, Christianity was supposed to be the triumphant entry of an astonishing hope breaking into the world. A hope above and beyond all former hopes. An untouchable, resilient hope. But I’ll be honest—far too often what gets presented as the “hope” of Christianity feels more like a bait-and-switch. “We understand that you will eventually lose everything you love; that you have already lost so much. Everything you love and hold dear, every precious memory and place is going to be annihilated, but you get to go to this New Place Up Above!” Like a game show, where you don’t win the car and the European vacation, but you do get the luggage and the kitchen knives. This is the hope that is “the anchor of the soul” (Hebrews 6:19)??? The world doesn’t believe it. And we must understand why. When you consider all the heartbreak contained in one children’s hospital, one refugee camp, one war-torn city in one day—then multiply that by the factor of the entire human race, times history...It would take a pretty wild, astonishing, and breathtaking hope to “overcome” the agony and trauma of this world. Enter Jesus and his “gospel.” The way he chooses to describe the wonderful news of the kingdom of God is absolutely stunning: I tell you the truth: at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne...everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. (Matthew 19:28) At the renewal of all things?! The coming kingdom means the renewal of all things? That’s how Jesus understood it; that’s how he described it. “The re-creation of the world,” “when the world is made new” (The Message, NLT). A promise so breathtaking, so shocking and beautiful I’m stunned that few people even know of it. Oh yes – we’ve heard quite a bit about “heaven.” But Jesus is clearly not talking about heaven—he’s talking about the recreation of the earth we love. We have been looking for the Renewal all our lives. It has been calling to us through every precious memory and every moment of beauty and goodness. It is the promise whispered in every sunrise. Every flower. Every wonderful day of vacation; the birth of a child; the recovery of your health. The secret to your unhappiness, the secret to your being and the answer to the agony of the earth are one and the same: we are longing for the kingdom of God. We are aching for the restoration of all things. That is the only hope strong enough, brilliant enough, glorious enough to overcome the heartache of this world. “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure” (Hebrews 6:19). The renewal of all things is the most beautiful, hopeful, glorious promise ever made in any story, religion, philosophy or fairy tale. And it is real. And it is yours. Our job is to “grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It’s an unbreakable spiritual lifeline” (Hebrews 6:18 The Message). Grab hard, hold tight friends. PS- We are now accepting applications for the May 2017 Become Good Soil Intensives in Colorado and Australia. Find out more here.
John Eldredge
Soul Care
September 2016 Dear Friends, Thank you for all your loving care this past month - your kind notes, posts, and emails surrounding Craig’s passing have been such a gift to us. Thank you for your prayers as well; we feel upheld. Lori feels upheld, too. I thought a few words on soul care would be timely this month - not just because of our story, but because every time I get a chance to have an honest conversation with someone, I'm reminded that there are very few people whose life is a houseboat in paradise right now. It is a time to practice soul care, and so I have been asking Jesus what that looks like for me. One of the things that accompanies grief is anger – not so much anger at God, but anger at death, anger at suffering, anger at the “wrongness” of the world groaning for the restoration of all things. So a few weeks back I walked into the woods with a box of shells and a Remington 870, and began blasting away with abandon at tree stumps and fallen logs. I felt a keen need to blow things to smithereens, and a twelve-gauge at close quarters certainly does the trick. The explosive concussion of the blasts, flying fragments of wood and clouds of dust made me very happy. I was practicing soul care. Now, let me put your hearts at ease - I am well. Our team is well. Anger is part of the grief process and you’ve got to do something with it. I realize that I am in a heightened state of sensitivity, in this season of grief, but I am finding it revealing for that very reason. I can tell immediately what helps and what hurts my soul, what draws it towards restoration and what simply wears it down even more. It is very enlightening. Even though I usually enjoy vegging out over international soccer or some nature show, I can’t do TV. Isn’t that fascinating? It simply does not feel nourishing. At this moment the person sitting next to me on this flight I’m on is watching Gladiator. Normally, I love that movie, and I watch over their shoulder. The scene right now is the big coliseum battle, but every time I look over, while part of me is drawn in to the fight, the deeper part of my soul cringes; it is not helpful right now. It makes me wonder what I normally subject myself to. There is research that indicates simply watching traumatic events does damage to the soul - and if you consume any TV or movies at all, you have seen thousands of traumatic events. I also needed to give up stimulants for a bit. Caffeine, sugar, nicotine - all those things we use to prop up our daily happiness over time burn out the soul. Because the soul can’t always be “on.” I was in one of those gas station quick marts the other day, and I was shocked at the entire cooler devoted to “energy drinks.” It used to just be Red Bull and a few others; now there are dozens and dozens. They take up more space than water. We are forcing our souls into a perpetual state of anxiety, and that is super damaging. But I did take up comfort food. BLT’s in particular. Yes - I’m completely aware what I’m doing; I am medicating. But sometimes you need a little comfort food. Notice the Psalmist says, “My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods” (Psalm 63:5). (I don’t have an eating disorder; food is not on my list of possible addictions. If it is on yours, choose something kinder as your comfort.) But of course, there is a huge difference between relief and restoration; much of what provided me relief in the past is not helping my restoration. The state of grief is giving me fresh perspective on what actually helps my soul grow strong, and what doesn’t. Allow me to share my current personal observations, as a way of stimulating your own reflection… Helpful: Generous amounts of sunshine. Gardens, the woods - everything living and green. Long walks. Lonesome country roads. Swimming. Beauty. Music. Water. Friendly dogs (I’ve never understood it when someone says to me, “Yeah - we’re not really dog people.” That’s like saying, “Yeah - we’re not really joy people”). Chocolate. Kindness. Compassion. Not expecting myself to produce the same level of work I normally accomplish in a day. Yard work. Building a fence. Unhelpful: Grocery stores. Malls. Television. Traffic. Draining people wanting to talk to me (friends and family are at this moment wondering which category they fall into. It’s quite simple - draining people are those who live out of touch with their own soul, and thus mine). Airports. The news - especially politics. Social media. Your typical dose of movie violence. Now - which cluster of the things I've just named make up most of your weekly life? Do you begin to see how essential soul care is? “Soul care” is not a category for most people. They don’t plan their week around it. Maybe it feels unnecessary; maybe it feels indulgent. It certainly wasn’t a category for me for too many years. But my friends, the harsh reality is this: life is probably going to get worse on this planet before it gets better; all signs indicate it is getting worse at an alarming rate. “If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets by the Jordan?” (Jeremiah 12:5). In other words, if you think this is hard, wait till the dog squat really hits the fan. We are going to want our souls strong and ready for the days ahead, not weary and weak. We are going to need our souls strong. So we must practice soul care. I, for one, am trying to make room for it as part of my “routine.” It really is helping. Hope these thoughts are helpful. And thank you again for all your love and prayers! We really do need them! Love, John and the Wild at Heart Team PS If you would still like to honor Craig with a donation to the McConnell Memorial Fund, you can do so in the envelope provided, or online at ransomedheart.com/Craig. Those funds will be used to carry forward the boot camps around the world that Craig so loved.
John Eldredge
We Live Forever
August 2016 Dear Friends, That word – friends – feels so comforting to me right now, as I write you the kind of letter you never want to have to write, but wouldn’t not write for the world. I need to share some words about the passing of our dear friend, colleague, comrade, abbot, Craig McConnell. Most of you know that Craig was in a seven-year battle with cancer. A battle with some highs and terrible lows; a battle he fought valiantly. Many of you prayed earnestly for Craig and Lori over those years, and we are so grateful. Suddenly, back in June, there was a startling turn of events: a CT scan revealed that Craig's leukemia had transformed into an aggressive lymphoma, and barely eight weeks later he ended his pilgrimage here on earth. Craig was at home; he was not in pain; Lori was right there with him, along with his daughter Lindsey and son-in-law Jon. On the first of August, at 6:30am, Craig took his last breath, and exhaled. It had been a still morning; at that moment a wind blew into the house, lifting the curtains, swirling around the room for more than thirty minutes. Holy. So holy. But so very hard now for those who have to say goodbye. It all happened so fast. I hope this isn’t the first you are hearing the news; we have been sharing our journey via social media and on our podcast. I’m truly sorry if you are learning of Craig’s passing for the first time as you read this. Jesus - catch our hearts. There are so many things to say. I want to talk about his life; I want to talk about grief; about the centrality of hope to the Christian faith. Death is such an assault on the soul. Having someone you love, someone you have shared so much life with, suddenly yanked from your life is a violent and disorienting experience. Death is so hostile, so explosive to God's design for us, the soul experiences it as trauma. This wasn’t meant to be. I think that was part of the tears we see in Jesus’ eyes, as he stands at his friend Lazarus’ tomb - This wasn’t meant to be. Our souls were never meant to go through this, so we reel like a ship in high seas. I’m grateful for Jesus’ tears. Even though he knows he is about to raise his friend from the dead, there are tears. That provides space for our hearts to express our tears, too. We know we will see Craig again; we will have him forever. All the playfulness, the kindness, the wisdom, his quirky humor - we will enjoy forever. Craig is our friend, forever. What we are grieving is missing him now, in the meantime. It’s the small things that wreck me. I was in his office the other day, and the little red “you have voice mail” light was blinking on his phone. I thought, That will never get an answer. There is a hole in the world now. A center like no other of memory and hope and knowledge and affection which once inhabited this earth is gone. A perspective on this world unique in this world is gone. The world is emptier. (Lament for a Son) The world is emptier; there is a really big hole in the world now. Craig was such a vast, colorful, rich soul. He loved equally the Rolling Stones and killer worship; on any day you’d find one or the other cranked full-blast in his office. He loved to joke; his humor could have you gasping for air. He would also stop on a dime and listen with compassion and kindness to someone’s life story. He loved sitting on the beach in board shorts and flip-flops with a good autobiography (boy did he love vacation). But he also loved being on mission, loved Boot Camps – especially his one-on-one opportunities fighting for men’s hearts. He loved a good Manhattan and Lori’s gourmet cooking; he also loved a taco truck and Cheetos. He loved the mountains of the high Sierras; he loved the cliffs overlooking the Pacific in Palos Verdes; he loved his back porch in Colorado and he especially loved his favorite chair, early in the morning, with a cup of coffee and the scriptures. He would show up at our Christmas party in a Santa suit; he’d even wear it standing out on Pacific Coast Highway in California, waving to passing motorists. He had a legendary snore; we recorded it echoing off canyon walls on a camping trip (after which he totally denied it could be him). He had a jackalope hanging on his office wall, wearing mardi gras beads. Next to it are volumes and volumes of his vast library on theology, counseling, and leadership. Next to that a bumper sticker that says, “Jesus loves you. Everyone else thinks you’re an ass*@!!.” He loved the true Gospel – loved to teach, loved doing podcasts, writing blogs, speaking at events. Whatever counseling issue you brought to his office, you’d leave with a deeper connection to God. His life was all about Jesus, and the Larger Story. As Craig was making the hard decision to leave treatment down in Houston, and return home for what he knew would be the end, he said, “I don’t want to die fighting cancer; I want to die loving people.” That is vintage Craig McConnell. And he did; he sure did. He loved people, and he loved God, right through the finish line. As I sat with him for the last time, I was able to say, "Craig - you won. In everything that is important, you won." And now he is fighting the Great Battle from heaven’s side. Surely you understand that Craig is not dead; not even close. He’s not in “eternal rest.” Not asleep; not at the everlasting church service in the sky. He is more alive, more himself, and more in partnership with Jesus than ever. Either this is true, or nothing Jesus said was true. I’m not sure what you’ll do with this, but I saw him, just the other night. I was asking Jesus to show me His Kingdom, and suddenly I saw Craig. He was surrounded by a company of people. It was not a party, not his homecoming; that apparently had already taken place (this was about a week after his passing). It was a sober gathering. I saw Craig standing in the middle, and then bow his head. I saw Jesus before him, placing over his head and onto his shoulders some sort of medallion, or reward, or symbol of office. As I was sharing that picture with Alex on our team, before he even knew what I was about to say, Alex heard from God, It was his promotion. The day before I received an email from an ally who knew nothing of this story; the title of the email was “Craig’s promotion.” Craig has joined the Great Cloud of Witnesses who “reign with Christ” from heaven’s side. He has become a general in the Kingdom. Death, of course, tries to present itself as the ultimate reality. It is brutal, and filled with so much mockery. Death wants to make everyone think it is the real end. It feels so final. But it is here that Christianity shines like no other view of reality. For we know that death has been defeated. “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die’” (John 11:25-26). This is the most stunning news in all worlds: Death is defeated. You live forever. Craig believed this with all his heart, and he is experiencing it full-blast now. Mardi gras beads and all. With some of his last cogent words he wanted to share the news of his passing himself, so he dictated a few words to his daughter: “I want to say goodbye, dear friends. I want to thank you for the role you have all played in my life. Til Heaven, Craig" That “til heaven” is everything. Everything. Goodbyes are brutal; I hate goodbyes with all my being. And thanks to Jesus, thanks to all he has won for us, we know that we never actually say goodbye to a brother like Craig. Instead we say, “I’ll see you soon.” And what a difference that makes; it is all the difference in the world. Now I am aware of the ridiculous limitations of a newsletter. I can’t do anything justice here, so let me say that we’ve devoted our four August podcasts to the story, and some beautiful words from Craig’s prior recordings. You might find those meaningful to listen to now. We are also making the video of his memorial service available online. You can find all that at ransomedheart.com. We have established a memorial fund in Craig’s honor, to carry forward the boot camps he so loved around the world. You can make a contribution online or in the envelope provided (please mark your check “McConnell Fund”). Finally, friends – there’s that wonderful word again, friends – we do need your prayers. This was a long, long journey for Lori, their children and grandchildren. They need your prayers. Craig leaves a massive hole at Wild at Heart now, and we need your prayers, too. Thank you so much. All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. (John Donne) I am so deeply looking forward to sharing all those stories, our stories, when our scattered leaves are gathered up again by the Hand that wrote them all. My ache for the Kingdom is greater than ever. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Meanwhile—we advance the Kingdom. We hasten the day. With much love, John
John Eldredge
From Glory to Glory
At 6:30 Monday morning, Craig was completely healed. He is in the Presence of God and seeing Jesus face to face. He has moved from glory to glory. He was at peace, surrounded by his beloved family. We will share more in the days to come.
John Eldredge
Important News on Craig McConnell
Friends and Allies of Wild at Heart, I have some hard news I need to share with you... Most of you know that our dear Craig McConnell has been in a seven-year fight with cancer. So many of you have been praying earnestly for Craig and Lori over these years, and we are all so very grateful. Suddenly, over the past 6-8 weeks, there has been a startling turn of events. Craig's leukemia transformed into an aggressive lymphoma, and Craig is now in hospice as he nears the end of his pilgrimage here on earth. He wanted to share the news himself, so he dictated a few words to his daughter: "Wow, things can change so fast. So fast it strikes you as wrong, unfair. I was a hair away from remission. Then a rather routine CT scan rang our bell. Now I am fighting stage 5 Richters Transformation of CLL. I want to say goodbye, dear friends. I want to thank you for the role you have all played in my life. Til Heaven, Craig" I know, I know - we are reeling too. It all happened so fast. And yes - every route towards healing has been pursued. But there is a time, dear friends, for every saint to take the sacred passage into the full Kingdom. This is not defeat; for the Christian, death is a mighty victory because we know that we do not EVER die. But at some point in life we do leave our frail bodies and step into the fullness of the presence of God. Every person takes this journey. "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die" (Eccl 3:1-2). Even Jesus took this journey. And now, Craig's time is drawing near. Hospice is always an unpredictable stage, he may have days or weeks left. He has fought a valiant fight. As Stasi and I sat with Craig and Lori yesterday I was able to say, "Craig - you won. In everything that is important, you won." He has loved God and people so stunningly well, through it all. He has championed the faith. He is about to finish his race now. There is so much more to say and I know we will devote some podcasts and more to you on this story. For now I need to alert you to a couple of things... Please do not reach out to Craig and Lori at this time. They are surrounded by their children and grandchildren, and by a community of intimate friends. Further contact will be a burden and I know you wouldn't want to increase the burden. I also need to let you know that after hours of prayer and deliberation, we hear Jesus counseling us to cancel the August Boot Camp and the October Captivating events. This has been a long and heartbreaking journey for our team, which is like a small family. We need to be honest about the cost to us, and what the next few months will be like as we grieve Craig's passing. We will contact those registered for the events immediately; please wait for our email giving you further instructions on how you can carry your registration forward to the next event. Meanwhile, I know I can call upon your prayers - for Craig, and Lori. For their children and grandchildren; for our team as we navigate these deep waters. We do need your loving prayers. I wrote this article a few days after receiving Craig's news; I think it will help your hearts in this as it is helping ours. I will be back to you with more as this story unfolds. For now, we remember that, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints" (Ps 116:15). In Love, reeling, but held by Jesus so closely, and rejoicing that death has lost its sting, John and the Wild at Heart team
John Eldredge
Spirit of the Age
July 2016 Dear Friends, This may be one of the most important letters I’ve written you. I want to deepen our understanding about something I wrote you last month—how Hatred has become the new “spirit of the age.” I wrote that before the police shootings in July. The mounting racial tensions in this country are symptoms of a much deeper reality. We need to grasp what is taking place in our world, so we know how to live and how to respond. In the Beatitudes Jesus warns against murderous rage and consuming lust. I don’t think that was by accident; I don’t think he randomly chose two vices from the litany of human sin. The more you understand the essence of human nature and human conflict, you understand what Jesus was pointing to. Human beings are ravenous. A famished craving for life haunts every person. We crave fullness; it is our design. We were created for unceasing happiness, and joy, and life. But ever since we lost Eden, we have never known a day of total fullness. We are never filled in any lasting way. Human beings are like cut flowers—we appear to be well, but we are cut off from the Vine. And we are ravenous. Until we return to God and actually abide in him, until we experience God as our daily source of life, we are desperate creatures, lustful creatures. We look to a marriage (or the hope of marriage), a child, our work, some food or drink or adventure, the next dinner out, the new car—anything to touch the ache inside us. We are ravenous beings. That is why Jesus warned about consuming lust. Then, the world does not cooperate. Far from it—the world gets in the way of our ravenous ache. It constantly thwarts us. People don’t treat us as we long to be treated; we can’t find the happiness we crave. Our boss is harsh, so we sabotage him. Our spouse withholds sex, so we indulge online. The ravening won’t be stopped. But boy o boy—when somebody stands in the way of our desperate hunger, they feel the fury of our rage. We are ready to kill. People shoot each other over traffic incidents. Parents abuse a baby who keeps them up at night. We shred one another in social media over political disagreements. That is why Jesus warned about murderous rage. This is the human condition: ravenous, and ready to kill anything that gets in our way. Now, enter two more dynamics. The first is the hour in which we are living. These are the last hours of the age, and Scripture describes them with startling clarity: …in the last days there will be very difficult times. For people will love only themselves and their money. They will be boastful and proud, scoffing at God, disobedient to their parents, and ungrateful. They will consider nothing sacred. They will be unloving and unforgiving; they will slander others and have no self-control. They will be cruel and hate what is good. (2 Tim 3:1-3). Sin will be rampant everywhere, and the love of many will grow cold. (Matt 24:12) Human beings lose their capacity to love when their own souls are parched, tormented, and thwarted. When sins rages, when cruelty, selfishness and hatred rule the day—yes love is hard to cultivate. Yes it “grows cold”—even in the best of us. Enter dynamic number two: the spirits of the age. Here comes the Perfect Storm. Spirits of Hatred, Violation and Violence have been released on the earth here in these last days. Paris, Brussels, Orlando, Dallas—how much more proof do we need? Hatred, Violation and Violence are sweeping the earth—and they find massive opportunity in humanity’s current condition. Someone (remember they are ravenous) feels violated; the spirit of Violation jumps all over it, and inflames it like gasoline on fire. Hatred joins in (like sharks smelling blood in the water); they feel hatred—they want to retaliate with a murderous rage. Thus Violence. Friends, this will shed so much light on so many things for you. Not just "out there" in the world; it is so close to home, too. I am finding that normal relational tensions are open doors for this darkness; this "violation" followed by "hatred" jumps on every opportunity. It can be triggered by an unkind email or Facebook post or remark. Even just driving. Simple irritation becomes an open door to suddenly feel a whole lot more than just irritation. Never before has Love been more important to cling to, to pray, to invoke. You are going to need to be vigilant—no little grievances, no offense, no revenge, no open door to any of this. Now I understand why Jesus keeps bringing us back to love, to pray love, to enforce love. Forgiveness, mercy, overlooking offenses, breaking any agreement with violation, hatred or violence. So often these days, as I ask him what to pray, he responds with, "Love." "Jesus, we love you. We really do love you. We turn our hearts towards you in love. Jesus - we receive your love. We take refuge in your love. We make our deepest and total agreement with your love. We receive your love. We take refuge in your love. We make our deepest and total agreement with your love. And Jesus - we dedicate our lives and our kingdoms to your love. We devote our kingdoms to the love of God. We command that the love of God fills our kingdoms, in every way. May the mighty love of God flow like a river over and through our lives. Love like an ocean around us. We bring the love of God against all violation, violence and hatred. We bring the love of God against all envy, jealousy and judgment. We bring the love of God against all cursing. We choose love. We align ourselves with love. And we command the love of God through our lives, our homes, our kingdoms. In the mighty name of Jesus Christ our Lord.” Amen! Just stay with that kind of praying. It will really, really help! God is love, and as we call down love we call down the heart of God himself, and we call down the power of his kingdom. Offered in LOVE, John
John Eldredge
The Prophecy All Around You
“I’m having a crisis of imagination,” my wife said to me just the other day. “About heaven.” It’s been a tough year for our family and those near us. A tragic suicide, followed by the loss of our first grandson. Eight months of chronic pain—the kind only narcotics give you any relief from—ends in a total hip replacement for Stasi. Having lunch with some dear allies, they tell us their nine-year-old boy is going blind. And then a friend calls us a few weeks ago to say her body is shutting down and she has months to live. I could go on; we’ve just been around too much loss, and when you do, you grow weary of this hurting world and wonder if the next chapter is really going to make it all worth it. Thus the comment about heaven. And it made me sad, because there is such thievery behind that confession. We have been robbed. Our imaginations are victims of identity theft, and we are left utterly broke. Look at the evidence: What are you fantasizing about? For me, it’s a stream in a canyon that takes massive effort to get to so nobody ever fishes it and I haven’t been there for two years and can’t wait to get there this month with a fly rod and no curfew. I’m fantasizing about a road trip through the west. The evening float we do on the Snake River. Heck—I’m fantasizing about the cinnamon twist from the French bakery and the coffee ice cream I know is in the freezer. It’s human nature to daydream. And you? What are you fantasizing about these summer days? Very few people are fantasizing about heaven. And I get it. C.S. Lewis said you can only hope for what you desire, and frankly, most of our images of “heaven” just aren’t that desirable, so it doesn’t fill our souls with hope. I’m glad Stasi named it as a crisis of imagination because that is exactly what it is—not a crisis of doctrine, not even of belief, but of imagination. We can’t conceive of it, so we simply don’t think about it. Vague ideas do not awaken fantasies. The schoolboy does not dream of his wedding night, but the young groom, having relished it, is already dreaming about tomorrow night. After Stasi confessed the crisis, I simply replied, “Think of the Tetons.” Her face lit up like a young girl who wakes and remembers it is her birthday. I was referring to Grand Teton National Park in the northwest corner of Wyoming, a place where the Rocky Mountain West does some of its best showing off. It also happens to be our favorite family place, filled with summertime joy and adventure. Alpine hikes among cathedral peaks in order to rock jump into cold, clear lakes. Huckleberry picking with black bears. Watching moose and grizzly and bison and bull elk in their happy sanctuary. Canoeing the Snake River at dusk, when mist begins to fill the meadows and wildlife comes out to drink, slipping along silently on the river surrounded by virgin forests and you feel you have stepped into The Last of The Mohicans. For us, it is a magical place. And that’s the key—imagination needs a magical place. “Think of the Tetons,” I said, and suddenly her face looked 10 years younger, and I went on, “There you go—that’s the Kingdom.” Now—is this just wishful thinking? Am I just offering a kind of vapid comfort, a sweet and syrupy all-dogs-go-to-heaven kind of theology? Buckle your seatbelts. One of the most stunning things Jesus ever said, one of the most absolutely-blow-your-mind revelations that nobody seems to have paid much attention to is this: Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne…everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. (Matthew 19:28-29) Pay very close attention to that first part: “the renewal of all things.” Jesus describes the next chapter of our lives as the restoration of everything we love. A claim so wildly bold and outlandishly hopeful how can we not have this tattooed on every part of our body? A revelation repeated in Acts, and (pardon) Revelation: For [Jesus] must remain in heaven until the time for the final restoration of all things, as God promised long ago through his holy prophets. (Acts 3:21) He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” (Rev. 21:5) The renewal of all things simply means that the earth you love—all your special places and treasured memories—are completely restored and renewed and given back to you. Forever. Eden was our home, and Eden is our destiny. But nobody seems to have heard this or paid much attention to it, because, for one thing, nobody I know is fantasizing about it. When was the last time you eavesdropped on a conversation at Starbucks about the restoration of all things? And for another thing, everybody I talk to still has these sick, wispy views of “heaven,” as a place up there somewhere, where we go to attend the eternal-worship-service-in-the-sky. I don’t even like the word heaven any more because it has been so saturated with religious poisons, leaching in from underground like the water table poisoned by a toxic waste dump. Meanwhile we fantasize about that boat we’d love to get, or the trip to Patagonia, the chocolate éclair or the girl in cubicle next door. Of course we do—we are made for utter happiness. But the restoration of all things—now that would change everything. Which brings me back to imagination, the Tetons, and the message summer is singing to us. God speaks through nature. Can we just start there?—God clearly speaks through nature. Creation is no accident—it is a proclamation. A wild, bold declaration. (This will rescue you from so many things; pay very close attention.) Every day sunrise and sunset remember Eden’s glory and prophesy Eden’s return. So what is summer proclaiming? Allow me a story. Last week I spent two very long days in the hospital with a friend. Hospitals are melancholy places. Don’t get me wrong—they can also be places of immense relief and hope. I think the people that serve there have taken a heroic stand on the side of hope. But let’s be honest—on the user side, no one there is there because they want to be; they are there because something is wrong, usually very wrong. It is a community of the hurting. People don’t play pick-up games of Frisbee in the halls of hospitals. You don’t hear folks loudly cracking jokes. The corridors are filled with hushed tones and a shared sobriety. Apart from the maternity floor, the staff, patients, concerned visitors all agree, This is serious business. Somebody could be dying in that room you just walked by. I’d just spent 48 hours in a hospital room with my dear love and I had slipped into that place where you come to think this is all there is in the world—monitors going off all day long, staff coming in and out with urgency, hushed hallway conversations, the stupor of drug-induced rest, the IV and cold rooms and artificial everything. I left at 5:30 to go grab us some dinner, and as I stepped outside I was literally hit with a wave of the glory of a summer evening. It was wonderfully warm. The cumulus clouds were building towers for their evening show. Meadowlarks across the field were singing and singing. I could smell flowers; the aspens were shimmering. All the wonderful fragrances and feelings of summer. It was like experiencing The Renewal of All Things. Summer is God’s rescue from all the creepy things we’ve been taught about heaven. Summer is the annual pageant on behalf of The Restoration of All Things, all nature practically shouting at us because we are tone deaf. That’s why you love it so much. We pack up the car and head to the lake or the park; we break out the grill and have friends over, laughing late into the starlit evening; we dive into waters and bake in the sun and in this way we get a good, deep drink of the Great Restoration. Drink it in friends. Let it speak. You don’t need a bucket list, because all of it is yours, forever. Very soon. I had lain down under the shadow of a great, ancient beech-tree, that stood on the edge of the field. As I lay, with my eyes closed, I began to listen to the sound of the leaves overhead. At first, they made sweet inarticulate music alone; but, by-and-by, the sound seemed to begin to take shape, and to be gradually molding itself into words; till, at last, I seemed able to distinguish these, half-dissolved in a little ocean of circumfluent tones: "A great good is coming—is coming—is coming to thee…" (George MacDonald, Phantastes)
John Eldredge
Disappointment in Prayer
Dear Friends, “Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up” (Luke 18:1). I find that line immensely encouraging; I’m grateful Scripture precedes the story of the “persistent widow” with that little comment. It’s encouraging because Jesus obviously understands that we all have reasons to give up. Stasi just called me into the living room. “I have disappointing news,” she said. My stomach had that queasy oh no—what next? feeling. I braced myself. We’ve had several rounds of bad news this spring and I just don’t know how much more I can take right now. “The radiologist called and gave me the report.” I sat down and listened. It wasn’t what we were hoping for. It certainly wasn’t the report of healing we had been praying for over the course of the past seven months. My heart sank. “But we prayed.” I know we all have stories like this—stories of disappointment in prayer. We tried, we put our faith in God, but nothing seemed to change. It can be brutal on the heart and on our relationship with God. When prayer doesn’t seem to work, it can really knock the wind out of you. How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? (Psalm 13:1-2) Which brings us back to not giving up. Jesus urged us not to give up. When Stasi gave me the bad news this morning I wanted to go “global”; in my disappointment I wanted to say, “Prayer doesn’t work. I’m done praying about everything.” When the truth is, we have seen stunning answers to prayer over the years, many answers to prayer. No—not all the time. But many times. Yet when my current prayers don’t seem to be working, I forget all the answers I have seen over the years. I have to catch myself and remember what is true. This is exactly what the Psalmist does, just a few lines later: But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me. (13:5-6) He reminds himself, “God does love me; he has been good to me.” This moment may be heartbreaking, but this is not my total experience of God, not even close. I have to anchor myself in what is true: God is good. He cares immensely. He is involved. When disappointment strikes and my prayers seem to be bouncing off the ceiling, I simply must anchor my heart in these truths or I will go down like a sinking ship. The story of the persistent widow is a story about persevering in prayer. Most of the great biblical prayer stories are. How many times did it take Elijah to call down the promised rain? Not once; not twice; eight rounds of all-of-your-heart-soul-mind-and-strength prayer. In Acts 12 James had been seized by Herod and executed. He then arrested Peter and put him in jail and the outcome looked the same. But the story shifts with the phrase, “But the church was praying very earnestly for him” (v. 5). The Greek for “very earnestly” is the same description of the prayers of Jesus in Gethsemane. This is serious prayer. The text also indicates that the church is praying for Peter all night long. And Peter is rescued. In humility I don’t think we can begin to discuss the dilemma of “unanswered prayer” until we have learned to pray like the persistent widow, Elijah, or like the church in Acts 12. “Lord, teach us to pray” (Luke 11:1). The disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray; prayer is something to be learned. I assumed it was more like sneezing—you just sort of did it, and God took care of the rest. A very naive view of prayer. You couldn’t get away with that attitude in your marriage, or career, not as a parent, or in anything you enjoy doing. Everything you value in your life you had to learn. And so it is with prayer; especially with prayer. Prayer is our great secret weapon, friends. It is powerful and effective. James says, “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (5:16). If it is, I humbly accept that it is something I want to be trained in. I understand disappointment in prayer, I really do. I also understand there is nothing my enemy would love more than for me to give up praying. So I return to the Psalms, and let them express my heart: both “How long, O Lord?” and “But I trust in your unfailing love” for you have been good to me. And back to my knees I go. If you haven’t yet picked up your copy of Moving Mountains – my new book on prayer – it might be the most important thing you do this year. Because everything else will be changed by your powerful prayers! In fact, Stasi and I are reading it aloud to each other in the evenings; it is really strengthening us! Love, John PS Don’t miss the one-night-only nationwide premier of our first film – A Story Worth Living – May 19th! Catch the trailer and find your local theater at: astoryfilm.com
John Eldredge
Story
Dear Friends, You take the time to read these letters (thank you) and I take the time to write them because we share common loves and passions. The wild and unpredictable stories of our lives intersect because we love Jesus deeply, and we long to know him as he really is. We yearn to see his beauty and redemption come into the world. We look for like-minded (like-hearted) people who long for more of the real Jesus, more of the richness and availability of his kingdom, and the way it heals lives. Because these treasures matter more to all of us than even our own lives, I think we also share a common frustration. I’m guessing we share a frustration with how Jesus and Christianity are typically portrayed in the postmodern world, and how that sabotages any real opportunity to gain a hearing for the Gospel. How do you approach such a cynical age? When Paul stepped into his mission nearly two thousand years ago, to bring the Gospel to the world at his time, the culture was in many ways primed for exactly what he had to say. For thousands of years men and women honored and assumed the need for sacrifices of various types. They felt the moral fabric of the universe, knew they failed it, and also knew some sort of sacrifice was called for. They were done in every city and byway, every pagan temple. If you read the works of late antiquity, you’ll be shocked by how often and assumed sacrifices were done—before a trip, after a trip, during planting and before harvest and afterwards. Sacrifice was a given in those cultures. So Paul could just step into the scene and jump straight to, Have I got news for you! But in our age? Sacrifice would strike the postmodern world as utterly bizarre, barbaric, cruelty to animals, no doubt some form of injustice. I’m not trying to make a case for sacrifice—I’m pointing out that Paul was working in a very different cultural milieu than we are. Which brings us back to, “How do we present the Gospel to such a cynical age as ours? How do we gain a hearing for Jesus?” That’s why you hear us talk so much about “story.” Story is an acceptable concept in our day. Story is hip; story is in. People want to know the story—about a company, about where their stuff comes from, about their shoes or beer or music. Read any label and the makers will try and “tell you their story.” Whole Foods recently ran an ad campaign on their grocery bags that said, “Every meal has a story.” “Tell me your story” is a perfectly acceptable way to get into a meaningful conversation these days. What we try and do is take people into their heart’s deepest needs by first paying attention to their story, which will inevitably lead to their brokenness, which then begs the question, Who can heal my brokenness? Is there any meaning? And that is what allows us an opportunity to talk about how much Jesus cares for their humanity, how he alone has the ability to restore human lives. In a postmodern era, where no one believes in any sort of Larger Story anymore, you pretty quickly find the thirst in the human heart for a story that makes sense of their story. We can’t escape it; this is what we are made for. So this is the tactic and the heart within our first full-length film, A Story Worth Living. Yep—we made a movie! We went out last summer and filmed a gorgeous and epic documentary about a motorcycle trip through the wild lands of Colorado. In the midst of that story, we talk about how each human life is a story. We bring people into the deep questions of pain and disappointment, and why is there so much beauty in the world if everything is just random and meaningless. Gently—I think brilliantly—we build a case for the Gospel of Jesus in the midst of an exciting and sometimes harrowing adventure. In one sense it is the most “evangelistic” thing we’ve ever done, because the film speaks to believer and skeptic alike. Men and women are giving it great reviews, I think because it is done so well, and because it touches on the story of every human life. And the cool thing is…the secular world loves this film! We are seeing all sorts of favor in totally non-Christian venues over this project. The nationwide premiere is May 19—one night only. We’d love you to come. Even more, we’d love you to grab everyone you know and bring them to your local theaters showing the film. This is an incredible opportunity to introduce people to the Gospel you love—not the wacky religious but the deeply beautiful Jesus and the epic Story he is telling. As we’ve shown the film to the curators of secular film festivals, motorcycle magazines and off-road expos, we are receiving fabulous feedback. This is a film that invites, not offends. Which is a wonderful thing for the Gospel in this postmodern hour. It will open up great conversations. I’m writing to invite you to join us on May 19th, but I’m also writing to invite you to become part of the mission. To seize the opportunity to gain a hearing for the real thing; to help build momentum for a film that could really change people’s perspective on God. Can you help us get the word out? We can send you posters (they are very cool), DVDs of the trailer to show groups; we have lots you can use to tell your world about the film. Come and watch the trailer at astoryfilm.com To help us and become an “ambassador” visit: astoryfilm.com/ambassador For our shared love of Jesus and passion for his mission—let’s make this film something everyone is talking about! Thanks friends. You’re gonna love it!
John Eldredge
Over the Wall
Editor's Note: Last month we ran the first of some profiles we want to share with you of folks out there doing amazing work, some of whom seem to have some wild connection to us. This month’s story began with an email we received last year that started with a photo of a permit caught on a fly in Belize. That got our attention. Do you know how hard it is to catch permit with a fly rod? We have several bad stories. Then we read on in the email: “Sometimes I may not want to thank you. Your books, along with the Spirit, propelled me from a safe corporate career as an engineer to a wild adventure in Guatemala—rescuing broken girls and seeking justice for them. In just a few minutes I will play the defense attorney and ‘cross examine’ a 10-year-old victim of sexual abuse, a girl who just an hour or so ago sat with me at lunch and was just a little girl. Tomorrow I will be her legal guardian in the real trial. Earlier today I was with prosecutors who are taking the declaration of a 12-year-old…and so it goes. We have 60 girls here, and our team is transforming the system in Guatemala as they heal, redeem, and seek justice for these girls.” We forgot all about the permit. And began a dialog with an amazing man doing beautiful and tragic work in Guatemala. And Sons: Let's start with just some data on Oasis—when did you get started? How many girls live there? What kind of help do you have? Corbey Dukes [his real name]: Construction for Oasis was started in 2000 as a general home for girls. The first girls were there in 2005. I came as director in 2009, and we soon after transitioned to a ministry focused on sexually abused girls. Being a victim of sexual crimes is the price of admission to Oasis now, and that has driven us to become a very deep ministry—residential, intense therapy, legal support, and a focused spiritual message. We have a staff of 29 Guatemalans and 11 missionaries from the U.S. and U.K. There are 56 girls in residence, with five babies, seven in independence transition, and 23 in our reunited families, for 91 total. AS: Holy cow. We have spent time in Guatemala and we know how brutal it can be down there. How did you get pulled into this work? What's your story? CD: I distinctly remember sitting in a dead church when I was 12 years old, with the preacher droning on about Matthew 25—the sheep and goats. It occurred to me that to the best of my knowledge no one in that church was particularly concerned with actually feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, etc. So this must all be crap. I checked out on the whole God/church thing. For 21 years I drank, used, chased women with extraordinary gusto—even into my first nine years of marriage. At 33, I had a daughter, and marriage about to end. We attended a Christian marriage conference (I’m still not sure how) and became Christians—saying the prayer and actually having the emotional experience. A couple of job changes later and I have my hand on the brass ring of corporate life when Jesus starts telling me there is more to Him. AS: We can already feel where this is headed. He has a way of radical disruption. CD: I remember having a feeling that is perfectly illustrated in The Fellowship of the Ring—that scene where Gandalf is about to reach down to the floor and pick up the ring. There is a sudden flash of danger and a recognition that “You don't really want that.” So I let it go and went on staff at my church as administrative manager. Then came, “What have I done?!” To go from multi-million dollar budgets, high-pressure projects, and first-class corporate travel to the minutiae of a medium-sized church was BORING. AS: No need to convince us of that. How did Guatemala get into your blood? CD: My pastors asked me to take on leadership of our missions program and I leapt at it, mostly to have something to do. And Jesus destroyed me. Remember that 12-year-old who walked out on God because no one was interested in “the least of these”? Jesus now ruined me with the least of these. In addition to a lot of local stuff, we started short-term trips to Oasis in Guatemala. I became highly invested. I helped former Oasis directors with leadership issues and emotional support. While there with my daughter’s youth team, the director at the time asked to speak with me. I thought I was in trouble because we had absolutely trashed the Oasis girls with games that involved chocolate, water, whipped cream, etc. AS: We zone out for a moment trying to recall a game from our youth ministry days involving chocolate, water and whipped cream… CD: She told me that she wanted to let me know that she was done and was resigning that day. I immediately heard God say, “You are next.” My wife, Janie, and I prayed very hard not to be sent. Guatemala is not the coast of South Carolina and we had a daughter starting her junior year of high school and another in middle school—not ideal ages to move to Guatemala. We kept hoping it was an Abraham-and-Isaac deal and God would pull a more qualified person (someone who at least spoke Spanish) out of the bush. He did not, and six months later we left South Carolina for Guatemala. AS: Now we are silent because we are pretty much blown away by his courage… CD: Once I got here, I found out that in the 16 years the ministry has existed in Guatemala, there have been seven directors; no one lasted more than three years, most far less. It is frankly brutal. AS: Umm…so how long have you been there? CD: Seven years. Just today, I was talking with our social worker about an 11-year-old we just received. It seems every year I think it cannot get worse, and then a girl who has experienced worse comes. I have faith that Jesus will overcome the darkness, but man, it looks like there is absolutely no limit to how far evil will go. Your books are part of the reason Janie and I have been able to not only persevere, but take on ever greater challenges. We have not just hung on but grown. AS: What's changed in your view of Jesus and his Gospel since you got involved in this? CD: Like a lot of people, the Gospel I was presented was based on avoiding hell. Don’t get me wrong—I think not going to hell is a good thing. But I can’t recall a single time I have shared that message with these girls. They have already been there. I share the Gospel Jesus seems to focus on, “The time has come. The kingdom of heaven is near. Repent and believe the Good News.” Change your thinking about yourself, God, and His heart; believe that God cleanses and restores, and live like a citizen of His kingdom. I think the Gospel is about the restoration of the heart now and living as if you believe your heart is being restored, living like a citizen of His kingdom now. AS: Many of our readers are ready to drop it all and go like you did. What counsel would you give them before the "jump”? CD: Just be sure you are ready. In seven years I have seen lots of people come and go in other ministries. You, your wife, and family have to be tight and willing to follow Jesus, together, over the wall. Then read Jeremiah chapter 20 and know that your life will be more like Jeremiah’s prayer than pop Christian radio. “You deceived me, Lord, and I was deceived; you overpowered me and prevailed. I am ridiculed all day long; everyone mocks me” (20:7). That pretty much sums it up. Jesus is leading you into HARDER, not easier, and you will cry out, “WTF?” a lot as you deal with emotional pain, budgets, and living in a place that is not the Mall of America. You will feel He has left you dangling and people are laughing at you for taking His stuff so seriously while they live the Facebook life. AS: Seems like you are speaking out of some pain here. CD: “Whenever I speak, I cry out proclaiming violence and destruction. So the word of the Lord has brought me insult and reproach all day long” (20:8). The majority of people will have a glazed look in their eyes once you move past talking about what the food is like. They don’t want to know what you know. After a few years you will find yourself with your wife alone in the corner of the dinner held in your honor, because you don’t relate to most of the conversations. You realize that you are suffering from PTSD. “But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot” (20:9). AS: We see it. We get it. Preach on. CD: That is my prayer and thought life more often than victory dances. If you feel it is a Jeremiah-sized call, meaning, "I will do it no matter how much I get my butt kicked", then you may be ready. But even then, theory is a lot different from reality. There have been many days—MANY DAYS—when my wife and I have felt that is all there is to the story. Let’s go back to the USA. But then Janie will say, “So how do we pretend we don’t know.” We’ll share a bottle of wine, make love, fall asleep, and head back in the next day. AS: What is bringing you hope? CD: It is not all a bummer. I have a drawer full of notes from the very girls I am here for, encouraging me, “No te rindas.” Don’t give up. I have also been stunned by Jesus, by the courage of little girls and by the bond I have with my wife and daughters. I love my wife more than ever and am in awe of her bravery and trust. I am thrilled every time a girl fist-bumps me before she goes into court, and I love leading this staff, following Jesus over the wall. I understand what it is to have a fire in my bones and I love that. I love trusting that Jesus will rescue me, and if not, then knowing He will say, “Man that was awesome. Crazy, but awesome.” AS: If someone wanted to help, what can they do? CD: Come take me fly-fishing. Short of that, pray for our courage, perseverance, and physical protection. We work to send people to jail, and they don’t like that. We work with severely hurt girls, and they can hurt you out of their pain. We work with a judicial system that can make some bizarre decisions. If someone is moved to help materially, then contact Kids Alive (www.kidsalive.org)—we can host teams and we can use any giftedness or gift.
John Eldredge
Cutting the Cord: Cell Phone Addiction
I feel I need to begin this article with some sort of confession, like in a recovery meeting. “Hi. My name’s John.” [The small group responds, “Hi John.”] “And I’m a user.” [Group leader says, “This is a safe place, John. Tell us your story.”] Shifting a little uneasily in my chair, I continue: “Well…I need it first thing in the morning. Every morning. I need it right before I go to bed. I have to get a fix even when I’m out to dinner with my wife. Or on vacation. I feel agitated and uncertain when I can’t find it. When it looks like I’m about to run out, I get panicky and look for some place to plug in, if you know what I mean.” [Group responds, “We understand.”] Last month I was basically in paradise. My wife and I had slipped away from Colorado’s January snowstorms to the North Shore of Kauai. It is, without question, the most gorgeous of the Hawaiian Islands, maybe one of the most beautiful places on earth. Volcanic cliffs covered with lush tropical forest spill right down to the water’s edge. Hibiscus blossoms fall onto the peaceful rivers that wind their way through the jungle. This isn’t your tourist Hawaii. Apart from Princeville, the North Shore is way laid back, and after you cross a couple one-lane bridges, you feel you really could be on the edge of Eden. Anini Beach is one of our favorite spots—far from the crowds, east of the Princeville scene, along a quiet neighborhood street that still has rural pasture and horses, if you can believe it. There is a reef about a hundred yards out which creates a massive protected lagoon where you can swim, snorkel, spearfish, SUP, hang out with the sea turtles. It is an utterly peaceful and enchanting place, made even more magical this year by huge winter surf which created 25-foot waves thundering out on the reef. Sitting on the quiet beach there, with no one to our right or left for more than 200 yards of pristine white sand, it was so luscious I kind of expected Adam and Eve to go strolling by. Now—you’d think this would be enough to delight and enchant any soul, but as I took a stroll myself, I passed a guy sitting under a banyan tree… watching videos on his iPhone. Wow. You’re s’n me. You can’t unplug from your technology even in a place like Kauai? Now, to be fair, I bet this is what happened: He had his phone with him—because everybody always has their phone with them—and somebody texted him a funny YouTube video, and he couldn’t resist the urge, and that was that. He was glued to a little artificial screen watching some stupid cat sit on a toilet when all around him was beauty beyond description, the very beauty his soul needed. And I saw myself in him. Because I, too, had brought my phone with me to Anini, and I, too, responded when the little “chirp” alerted me to an incoming text. (We always have our excuses; every addict does. I was “keeping myself available to my children.”) The thing is, I’ve seen this all over the world. Fly fishing along a stunning stretch of water in Patagonia, and some dude has a rod in his right hand—line and fly out on the water—and in his left his cell glued to his ear, chatting away. I’ve seen people checking their email at the National Gallery of Art in London. And of course there are the users who can’t even turn it off at the movies. I’ve climbed a ridge to check my phone while hunting; I’ve kept it on the table out to dinner with my wife, “just in case.” Neo was never so totally and completely plugged into and hopelessly dependent on the Matrix. But our umbilical cord is a lightning cable. You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about our attachment to our smartphones—an attachment that goes way, way beyond “necessary tool” or “helpful device.” Do you have the courage to read on? Knowing that denial is one of the stages of addiction, let me ask a couple questions: When your little Chime, Glass, or Swoosh alerts you to an incoming text, do you easily ignore it and go on with the conversation you are having, or reading what you are reading, or enjoying the back seat view as you drive through the desert? I’m serious—when that thing vibrates in your pocket, do you regularly ignore it? Or do you automatically reach to see? Can you shut your phone off when you get home in the evening and not turn it on again until morning? When you first get up in the morning, do you allow yourself a leisurely coffee and bagel before you look at your phone? Or is your phone the very first thing you look at every morning? Yeah—me too. And I hate cell phones. Which only shows how powerful the attachment is. What blows my mind is how totally normal this has become. I’ve got a friend who decided to break with his addiction; he now turns his phone off over the weekend. I text him, and he doesn’t reply until Sunday night or Monday morning. And what’s fascinating to watch is my irritation. Like, C’mon, dude—you know the protocol. Everybody agrees to be totally available, anywhere, anytime, 24-7. It’s what we do. What does it say that you look like some sort of nut job when you turn your phone off?! The early Desert Fathers fled civilization for their monastic outposts because they knew the “world” was corrupting their souls—in an age when everyone walked to work, there was no artificial light to extend the daytime late into the night, there was no internet, Wi-Fi, TV, Facebook, Youtube, no technology whatsoever. No smartphones. What have we become accustomed to? What have we become dependent on? And what is it doing to our souls? What does the constant barrage of the trivial, the urgent, the mediocre, the traumatic, the heartbreaking, the buffoonery do to us when it comes in an unending stream—unfiltered, unexplained, unproven, unexpected, and most of it unworthy—yet we pay attention on demand? The brother of Jesus was trying to offer some very simple guidelines to a true life with God when, among other things, he said, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world” (James 1:27). That unpolluted part—that’s what worries me, when 81 percent of smartphone users keep their phone on at all times, even in bed (I’ll bet the number is much higher for Millennials, probably around 98 percent), and when we check our phones somewhere between 46 and 150 times a day. The idea of forming a spiritual life is to create space in your day for God—to intentionally put yourself in a space that allows you to draw upon and experience the healing power of the life of God filling you. Over the ages, serious followers of Jesus have used stillness and quiet, worship, fasting, prayer, beautiful places, and a number of “exercises” to purposefully drink deeply of the presence of God. And to untangle their souls from the world. No one will care for your soul if you don’t. So here are a couple steps I am taking: I’m turning my phone off around 8:00 p.m. I’m choosing not to turn it back on first thing in the morning—not till I’ve had some time to pray. I’m putting it on silent mode during dinner and ignoring the buzz if it does vibrate. (Get this—it just buzzed while I was finishing this article, and my eyes started to glance over. Good God.) Last Saturday night Stasi and I went out on a date, and we left our phones at home. When it chirps or vibrates I’m not instantly responding like Pavlov’s dog; I’m deliberately making it wait until I am ready. In these small ways I am making my phone a tool again, something that serves me, instead of the other way around. Gang—it’s time to cut the lightning umbilical cord.
John Eldredge
Attention to Prayer
And so a new year has begun. And begun with something of a bang, it seems. A dear friend’s daughter is in the hospital. Another friend just got out. Yet another is launching a new mission venture while the son of friends leaves his career to start his own company. I don’t know if it’s the New Year itself or greater movements in the Kingdom, but my goodness—there is so much going on in the lives of the saints. A lot of good things; a lot of trial and testing. Time to give a little attention to prayer. This month we are releasing a new book on prayer, and we are very excited about what it is going to do for you. Prayer is the greatest secret weapon God has given his people. But many dear folks have lost heart over prayer; they haven’t found the breakthrough they were hoping for and they’ve given up on it. I understand; I have my own mixed story when it comes to prayer. I think much of the heartache and confusion can be cleared away with a better understanding of what prayer actually is and how it works… First, prayer is not just asking God to do something and then waiting for him to do it. I know that’s the popular view, but that is not what you see in the major stories of prayer in Scripture. Like the account from 2 Kings 18, where Elijah calls down rain to end a three-year drought. You remember the story—how the old prophet climbs to the top of the mountain, and sets himself to praying, then sends his servant to have a look. Elijah doesn’t just take a quick whack at it; no little, “Jesus, be with us today” prayers. Elijah is determined to see results. He bows, and prays, and then sends his manservant to see if it’s working—is it having any effect? I love his posture, his willingness to give it a go, see what happens, then adjust himself to the results. The servant returns with bad news. This is the point at which most of us give up, but the old prophet sticks at it; he has another go and sends his man to have a second look. Nothing. So, he takes his cloak off, puts his shoulder to the wheel, and gives it yet another try. He’s not letting the evidence discourage him. Six more times he sticks with it. By now the rest of us would have bailed down to Starbucks to commiserate about “the dark night of the soul,” and what to do with “the silence of God.” Not this old Israelite—he’s still up on the mountain, persevering. After eight rounds of prayer—and “rounds” really does feel like the right word by this point; you get the feeling they are like rounds in the ring, full of sweat and grit and a real going at it—after the eighth bell the servant says, “Well . . . there’s a puff of cloud on the horizon, not any bigger than your fist” and that’s all it takes; the storm is on its way. You get the impression that Elijah is partnering with God in the way he prays. Not just asking, but teaming with, joining in, enforcing the plans of God though prayer. It has dramatic results. And speaking of dramatic, what about the really startling report from Acts 12—where James is executed but Peter is freed from prison? Peter’s rescue is clearly connected to the prayers of the young church: “But while Peter was in prison, the church prayed very earnestly for him” (v. 5). James seems to have been seized and executed rather suddenly; the church is not reported to have been praying for him. Were they caught off guard? Then Peter is seized, and the church is reported to be praying earnestly, and his outcome is different. The Greek for “very earnestly” is the word ektenos. It is the very same adjective used to describe the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane. What a noble, and sober, comparison. There in the olive grove at midnight was held the greatest prayer vigil of all time; we can be sure Jesus was praying with every ounce of his being, empowered by the Spirit, eyes fixed on his Father. That is the comparison being given here for the church’s prayers; Eugene Petersen translated the action this way: “the church prayed for him most strenuously” (Acts 12:5 MSG). That is how the church is praying—strenuously—and it produces dramatic results. This is the “Prayer of Intervention;” they are not just asking God and waiting; they are intervening in prayer for Peter, intending to change the outcome of events. Clearly, God does not just zap Peter out of prison. The church has to pray “strenuously” for him; the event goes on into the night. He does not zap the promised rain either—Elijah had to climb to the top of the mountain, and there he prayed rounds of intervening prayer. Intervening prayer often takes time. And it takes repetition, repeatedly intervening and invoking. (Eight rounds for Elijah). These men and women in Acts had spent three years with Jesus learning the ways of the Kingdom (there is a way things work). In the famous “Lord’s prayer” he taught them to invoke the kingdom: “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Mt 6:10). They understood that he had given them his authority: “I have given you authority” (Luke 10:19). The Prayer of Intervention involves a flow of “proclaiming, invoking and enforcing.” They proclaimed, they invoked, they enforced, just as the psalms taught them to do; just as Jesus taught them to do. We do not have to be passive victims of life, waiting until a distant God chooses to do something. We are friends and allies of our intimate God; he has given us power and authority to change the course of events ourselves. Human beings are meant to intervene, to engage, to make a difference. We can move mountains. It’s in our DNA. This feels like it’s going to be a big year. I think God has big plans. I think we are going to see some serious trials, too. So the timing of this book seems really extraordinary; it feels like God’s timing. Moving Mountains comes out February 16th. I think it will help you grow in your prayer life; I think you will begin to see far greater results. That is my prayer for you!
John Eldredge
Beauty Heals
It had been one of Those Days. You know the kind—when everything seems to go sideways from the moment you get out of bed. There is no milk so there is no cereal and you are late so there is no breakfast. You are halfway to work when you realize you forgot your phone and who can live without their phone these days so you are late to work because you went back and got your phone and now you are behind on everything and people are tweaked at you. You can’t answer that urgent email because you are waiting for an answer yourself but the person who has it took the morning off for a “doctor’s appointment” (bullshit, you think; they are out for a ride). On it goes. You look forward to lunch as your first chance to come up for air but the line at your favorite taco place is out the door and though you should have stayed you are already well on your way to totally fried so you leave in frustration which only makes you skip lunch which justifies your use of chocolate and caffeine to see you through the afternoon but that completely takes your legs out from under you and all you end up accomplishing is making the list of all the things you need to do which overwhelms you. By the time you get home you are seriously fried. I was seriously fried—deep in a vat of anger and frustration and self-indulging cynicism and fatigue. A dangerous place to be. The next move could be rescue, or the KO punch. After a cold dinner I went out on the porch and just sat there. I knew I needed rescue and I knew the nearest hope of that was the porch. It was a beautiful Indian summer evening, the kind where the heat of the day has warmed the breezes, but you can also feel the cool from the mountains beginning to trickle down like refreshing streams. The crickets were going at it full bore, as they do when their season is about over, and the sunset was putting on a Western Art show. I could immediately feel the rescue begin to enter my body and soul. Beauty began its gentle work. I let out a few deep sighs—“Spirit sighs,” as a friend calls them, meaning your spirit is breathing in the Spirit of God and you find yourself letting go of all the mess, letting go of everything. They weren’t cynical or defeated sighs, they were “letting it all go” sighs. My body relaxed, which made me realize how tense I had been all day. My heart started coming to the surface, as it often does when I can get away into nature and let beauty have its effect on me. Warm evening, cool breeze, beautiful sky now turning to that deep blue just before dark, crickets making their eternal melodies. That’s when the carnival started. A beer would make this a lot better, went the voice. Or maybe tequila. You oughta go find some cookies. Some agitated place in me started clamoring for relief. Even though the evening was washing over my soul, or maybe because it was allowing my soul to untangle, the carnival of desire started jockeying for my attention. I think there’s still some ice cream in the freezer. It felt like two kingdoms were vying for my soul. The carnival was offering relief. Beauty was offering restoration. They are leagues apart, my brothers. Leagues apart. Relief is momentary; it is checking out, numbing, sedating yourself. Television is relief. Eating a bag of cookies is relief. Tequila is relief. And let’s be honest—relief is what we reach for because it is immediate and it is usually within our grasp. Most of us turn there, when what we really need is restoration. Beauty heals. Beauty restores. Think of sitting on the beach watching the waves roll in at sunset and compare it to turning on the tube and vegging in front of Narcos or Fear the Walking Dead. The experiences could not be farther apart. Remember how you feel sitting by a small brook, listening to its musical little songs, and contrast that to an hour of HALO. Video games offer relief; beauty offers restoration. This is exactly what David was trying to put words to when he wrote that God “makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul” or as another translation has it, “He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength” (Ps 23:2-3). He is speaking of the healing power of beauty and oh, how we need it. The world we live in fries the soul on a daily basis, fries it with a vengeance. (It feels vengeful.) So I stayed on the porch, choosing to ignore the chorus of vendors trying to get me to leave in search of some relief (Your favorite hunting show is on; maybe what you want is wine…). I knew that if I left all I would find was sugar or alcohol and my soul would be no better for it. So I chose to let the evening continue to have its healing effect. The sunset was over. Night was falling and still I sat there. The evening itself was cool now, and an owl was hooting somewhere off in the distance. I could feel my soul settling down even more; the feeling was like “un-wrinkling” or “disentangling” on a soul level, maybe like what your body does in a hot tub. Thank you for this gift of beauty, I said. I receive it into my soul. The carnival tried one last swing for the bleachers. There’s a women’s catalog on the counter in the stack of mail….Very, very clever. This counterfeit is harder to see, because now the offer is beauty. But you and I know when we give our soul over to the beauty of Eve, it never ever ends up healing the ache. Oh, sure—the relief feels almost instantaneous, but it never lasts (relief is not restoration) and it always comes with a shame hangover. But it does prove my point—when we reach there we are trying to heal something in us. We know down deep inside that beauty reaches those places like nothing else, and so the truly helpful thing to do is to stop and ask yourself, What is it I am trying to heal? What is the wound or the ache that I am trying to heal with the beauty of Eve? Then what we do is turn to the true Source of beauty, the maker of all that is beautiful, and we ask for his love to come instead, and bring us restoration. I made it through the last pitch and lingered on the porch just a little longer. Darkness, crickets, coolness, quiet. I felt like I had been through detox. And when I went to bed that night, it was as if the hellish day had never even happened. Restoration. So much better than mere relief.
John Eldredge