Articles & Posts
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
In Defense of the Thank-You Note
This isn’t a vulnerable blog. It’s an encouragement. Okay, maybe it’s an exhortation. Still… I just received the most lovely thank-you note in the mail. It made my heart so happy. I gave a gift, but they gave an even better one back to me. Thank-you notes do that. After our wedding, 33 years ago (!), it took us three months to write all our thank-you notes. It seemed like they took F O R E V E R. My hand began to cramp. How amazing that we had so many to write! How incredible to be so blessed. When we got married, we had nothing, and today, we are still using hand towels, table cloths, serving dishes, vases, plates, the waffle iron, the ironing board (yes, my mom gave us an ironing board), and other bounty we were given to help establish our home. Writing thank-you notes has not been my strong suit, however. I’m trying to write them promptly so I don’t forget, but I confess, sometimes they are written pretty late. But hopefully, they’re written. Better late than never, right? I write them because I was taught to and because I want to be polite. And also because (thank you, Jesus!) I am growing in gratitude. Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts really struck a chord with many people. The posture of being thankful is a soul-opening one. To see your life with a grateful heart opens up the possibility of a deeper connection with our good God and, dare I say it, the possibility to receive even more goodness from his generous hand! Being thankful takes our gaze off of what is wrong with us, our circumstances, and our world and places it on what is right. Ultimately, it turns our gaze to the Giver of all good gifts, who tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 to give thanks in all things! “God loves a cheerful giver!” 2 Corinthians 9:10 He also loves a thankful receiver. Colossians 3:15 So what’s the deal with thank-you notes? They seem to have gone the way of rotary phones, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s not progress. It’s a regression that we really need to stop. There is something beautiful about receiving a hand-written note in the mail with a real life stamp on it, isn’t there? But even a phone call or an email (the last choice) expressing your appreciation for a thoughtful (or even a strange) gift is important. You were thought of. You were planned on. You were given a gift. It cost them something. For heaven’s sake, say thank you. Manners matter. Their hearts matter. Okay, I’m an exhorter and I’m hoping to exhort here. Get out your pens. Get out your note cards or pick some up at the grocery store. Take the time. Express your gratitude. You’ll be glad you did, and the person on the other side will be truly blessed. Sing with a grateful heart. Write with one too. Exhorting done.
Stasi 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
Status - I'm Tired
When I hop on Facebook, which I confess, I haven’t been doing as faithfully as I want to be, it always asks me my “Status” and 90% of the time, I want to write “I’m tired.” But that isn’t very cheery or encouraging so I let that pass and dig down into what is more deeply true. “I’m loved.” I am loved. But I’m tired. Physically. Emotionally. And yes that bleeds into spiritually. How ‘bout you? I was just with a woman who experiences her life as the strongest and smartest person in her world. She can outthink anyone. She can mentally outmaneuver and brilliantly dance with her words. She holds things together in her demanding position at work and in her relationships. And she’s exhausted. Keeping all those balls in the air with no permission to be weak, to let down or to lean into someone else’s strength takes a toll on a gal. Her story isn’t mine. I’m neither the strongest nor the brightest in my world. In fact, I currently feel like the weakest. This never ending leg and glut injury has my heart discouraged. Deeply. Additionally, I have been having a number of tests over the past 4 months for a health issue that had my imagination running amuck. Yesterday, I got a clean bill of health. I didn’t even know how much I had been carrying. My times with God haven’t involved long times in the Word or even much worship but instead an adult coloring book. I color away while meditating on one scripture. Very soothing. I recommend it if you can make the space to sit still for more than a moment. Sitting still for more than a moment is also something I recommend. At the beginning of each year, John and I pray and ask Jesus what his “word” or scripture is over our lives for the whole year. In that past, it’s been “Intimacy” (yay!) or “Follow” (yes!). Sometimes it takes me more than a month to hear anything. Last night he answered. The word is “Fresh”. Fresh. Oh my. I need fresh. It feels like the opposite of tired. Just hearing his word and intention over my life breathes new hope into the places that have become weary. I am so grateful. So, wherever you are at, and I mean WHEREVER you are at…I want to encourage you to ask your Father for his intention, his word over this next season over your life. And then wait. Keep asking until you hear. And when you do hear (and you will), WRITE IT DOWN. Put it on your mirror. Write it at the beginning of your journal. Dive into the word and explore it in scripture. Camp in it. I’m sure going to. Because “tired” is not what Jesus has for me. I’m not running from it or pretending I’m not feeling it but I am saying YES to God. I desire the fresh wind of life that God has for me. And I want it for you too.
Stasi Eldredge
Thwarted.
It’s getting close to the New Year and so it’s as good a time as ever to look back, take stock, sit with Jesus and together with him, ask where he’d like you to grow, to focus or to challenge yourself in this next season of your life. My desires for this past year were deep: to grow in knowing the heart of my Father, as I never have known it before and to become stronger. In every way. Here’s the encouraging thing…I believe those desires flowed straight from his heart. I still do. That’s the thing about asking him what he wants for you and asking what it is that you really desire. The two meet. And knowing it’s his desire as well as your own brings the fuel to press on when the exuberance of the beginning wears off. If you have been keeping along with this little sporadic blog of mine then you would have noticed that God has been coming for me. He’s answered my prayer to know him as Father more deeply than I could have imagined and my journey of wonder and amazement continues. Physically, I’ve been on the mission to reclaim lost ground in my strength and health. And I have been getting stronger. Measurably. One of the joys of becoming more physically fit has been sharing the experience with my husband. Working out together. “Running” together has become our new normal and we love it. Well, we did love it until a little more than two months ago. That’s when I asked my body to do more than it was ready to do and I hurt my lower back. I hurt it badly, which affected my piriformis (big butt muscle under the glute), which pressed against the sciatic nerve, which stopped me in my tracks. It’s been pain and hobbling and an inability to lift my leg an inch off the floor for a long time, and the prognosis is at best that I’m halfway to recovery. Maybe two more months. Maybe four. And then the slow process of regaining strength begins. Again. I’ve been thwarted. It happens. It’s a bummer. I’m not complaining. Okay, yes I am, but come on, it hurts! (So MANY of you know what I’m talking about!) But it has made me more aware of all the people around me shuffling or using canes or needing the mechanical cart at the grocery store. It’s made me think of and pray for all those I know and those I don’t who live with constant pain. It makes me remember the years that I suffered with deep depression and lived under a heavy cloak of despair slogging my way through to Life. It makes me wonder how I pressed on through that and how marvelously God has come for me. It also has made me realize that I had become insensitive to the massive amounts of humanity surrounding me that are hurting and suffering daily. I’m not sure how I forgot. The mercy thing that’s coming from my experience is a good thing. The awareness of some people’s impatience with my slowness is a sad revelation. But my own occasional battles with discouragement have, well, discouraged me. Don’t you hate it when things surface in your heart that you didn’t know were there? Of course I’d get discouraged. Of course pain brings me to tears sometimes. So where is the mercy for myself? How can I be gentle with others when internally I berate myself? My husband once found me lying on the floor crying over the pain and my failure to live well in it and adamantly, forcefully even, caught my heart saying that my interpretation was untrue. That I’m handling it amazingly well. It’s just that inside I don’t feel that way. I’m aware of my impatience. My irritation. I’m feeling like I’m not handling it well at all and that I’m a weakling. Anybody relate? I’m so grateful that earlier in the year God came for me and revealed his overwhelming, all encompassing, always-been-there-and-not-going-anywhere love for me—for all of us—in new and life changing ways, for it has buoyed me in the midst of my injury. I have not questioned his goodness or his love for me. But the very day I said that out loud turned out to be the very first day I did. DANG IT. I’ve been thwarted. Did he thwart me? I don’t think so. I think injuries happen in this world. I met a woman who was suffering from the same injury as mine and she got it while transferring the laundry from the washer to the dryer. Sheesh. I don’t believe God caused it, but man oh man is he using it. I hate asking for help and I need to and it’s humbling but also teaching me. (How’s that for a sentence?) I’m being stretched into the uncomfortable but oh so necessary realm of receiving. I liked believing that I am capable. I don’t like not being able to stand for long enough periods of time to make dinner or clean up after it or shop in the grocery store or put away the laundry. Walking to the mailbox is out of my realm for the moment. And yes, I’m doing physical therapy and pool therapy and stretching and everything I can to hasten the healing. I even got a steroid shot. And you bet I’m praying. I’m blessing my body and consecrating it to God and asking for healing. So I’m not asking for advice here or even sympathy. I just want to speak the truth even when it’s not pretty and say, I’m sorry for forgetting. I want to grow at being merciful to myself so that I can be merciful to others. I want to get better. I want to walk around the block. I don’t like things being stolen. I hate being thwarted. But at one time or another, no, at many times and many more, we all are. We ALL are. And then what? It’s the “then what?” that matters. My hope for this New Year includes that what is surfacing in my heart that isn’t very pretty be like dross bubbling to the surface and removed. Let me be more deeply cleansed. Let God use it to make me more like the woman we both want me to be. Let it change me in good, softening, and holy ways. Let me get better. Let me not forget. So, thwarting be damned. But let his glory be increased. And if it hurries up, well then, so much the better. In the meantime…mercy, friends.
Stasi Eldredge
What Makes A Fierce Warrior?
What makes a fierce warrior? Recently, I found myself taking a day to do nothing but watch college football. (I cannot remember ever doing that other than on a New Year’s Day.) The season was in its last two weeks of regular schedules, with conference playoffs to determine who were the “chosen” four teams to advance and play for the title of college football national champion. There were a couple of games I watched from beginning to end, and others I followed while channel surfing during commercial breaks. All of these teams were playing with a great purpose: to display their worthiness to be selected as one of the “chosen” four teams for the national championship playoff. The first game I watched was the Ohio State/Michigan game. Though I’m not a proclaimed fan of any team I watched that day, I was particularly intrigued with Ohio State. I had recently watched an interview with their head coach Urban Meyer who was asked how he’d won the national championship the previous year. Ohio State amazed everyone with how well they played as the fourth seed of the “chosen” four for the 2014 season. He quoted G.K. Chesterton: “The greatness of the warrior is not defined by hating what is in front of him but rather loving what is behind him.” Coach Meyer went on to say that he formed small communities on his team based on their positions (linemen, defensive backs, quarterbacks, linebackers, etc.) and from that, these guys became bands of brothers who deeply loved one another in the context of their mission to play out a winning season. The power of that love motivated them to play at an amazing level that led to their national championship. In other words, it was the love these guys had for one another that proved so powerful in their mission. Next, I watched the Oklahoma/Oklahoma State game that determined the Big 12 Champion, in which the Oklahoma Sooners handily overpowered the OSU Cowboys by five touchdowns. I saw a similar thing in the post-game interview with the Sooner quarterback. They asked him what it was that caused them to play at such a high level of intensity and fierceness. His reply was, “We [his team] just love one another and there is nothing we wouldn’t do for one another.” Later that day, I watched the incredible Stanford/Notre Dame game where Stanford, behind by one point, with less than a minute to play, drove down the field and kicked a 45-yard field goal with time expiring to win the game. This was one of the best games of the year. The most valuable player was interviewed following the game and asked, “How did you do it?” His reply was, “I’ve never been closer to a group of guys as I am these men. We are really really close and we love one another.” Now let’s go to a larger story… As our country has been at war for almost 25 years, beginning when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait in 1990, we have paid a very high price in many categories, including the thousands of lives lost and tens of thousands traumatically injured both physically and psychologically (PTSD). What I find fascinating is that the line of volunteers who choose to serve our country in the face of these risks is almost endless. It says much about the character of men and women who have carried this burden for our country now for two and a half decades. Their motives for joining are varied—wanting to be part of something larger than themselves, fighting against evil in the world, protecting our freedom threatened by jihad, and many more. We owe much to these who have chosen to fight in defense of our freedoms and our way of life. As in any war, there are many told and untold stories of heroism and valor of those who have both died and survived in the course of war. What is it that causes one to risk their life in war? Sebastian Juenger, a war correspondent assigned to the U.S. Army in the remote mountains of Afghanistan, wrote of this experience in his book War. His assignment was with our troops in one the most dangerous locations that suffered the highest casualties in the long war in Afghanistan. Juenger was amazed at how courageous these men were day after day in prolonged firefights. He stated his observation like this: “Courage is love...in war neither can exist without the other.” There it is again! What made these men so courageous was their love for one another in the context of their mission, which echoes John 15:13. “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” The depth of that love, “Greater love has no one than this,” explains why so many of those men would volunteer again and again for such dangerous assignments: it is the depth of that love for one another. And it is why such men who have experienced this depth of love sometimes find it difficult to assimilate back into everyday life. So, it is love that is such a key part of the heart of a warrior. At our last Wild at Heart Boot Camp debrief here in Colorado just last month, one of the men on the team was sharing about our team time together on mission during Saturday night at boot camp. I am paraphrasing as I share what he said: “After doing a decade and a half of boot camps together as a team, for tens of thousands of men here in Colorado and all over the world, we have found a deep love for one another that is hard to describe.” What drives this love so deep is that we as a team have fought side by side for the hearts of tens of thousands of men on the battlefields of our boot camps. The rescue of men out of spiritual darkness into redemption and restoration is an intense battle between darkness and light. It is fraught with demonic spirits of darkness that have bound these men in prisons of bondage. Freeing these men opens us up to intense warfare as we enter these battles together; however, our team also becomes more deeply bonded in love with one another as fellow warriors. This is the same kind of love I described above with the football analogy, as well as the men fighting together in Afghanistan. What makes our battle unique and the story so significant at boot camps is the eternal spiritual consequence of the men rescued. By facing the consequences together of rescuing the hearts of men in this great spiritual battle, a deep bond of love has been created and continues to grow and deepen within our team. What makes a fierce warrior? LOVE.
Bart Hansen
The Illusion of the Perfect
Scrooge was haunted by the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Future and it led to his redemption. I am haunted by the illusion of the Perfect Christmas. May it lead to mine. How many cookies must I bake for my home to feel as sweet as a Bavarian Bakery? How many rooms must I decorate with sprigs of evergreen and boughs of holly before a chorus of Fa La La La La’s lighten every heart? How do I think of, select, and wrap the perfect gift that conveys, “I see you. You matter. I’ve been paying attention”? How many twinkle lights will fill my home with the Light I am after? And how do I ward off the feeling that I am failing miserably to do any of this? I don’t know. You would think that after all these years I would have given up but I haven’t. My longing to convey love is not diminished though the number of cookies I bake is. The number of rooms I decorate has lessened dramatically but my desire to recapture something of the holiness of Christmas this side of Paradise and make room for the tangible Presence of God has only increased. How about you? Here’s an idea. Let’s take the pressure off. Pressure kills. It kills relationships. It kills joy. It kills our ability to enjoy the partial that we are given to relish. It’ll kill our Christmas celebrations. Pressure even numbs our awareness of the glory of Emmanuel – Christ with us. Pressure takes us out. And we want to be present – to offer the gift of our presence to those around us is actually the greatest gift we can give them. The loved ones in our lives don’t want a marvelous gift from a harried and pressured giver. They want us. They want our love given with a free hand that is an alluring fragrance of our Jesus. Holidays – Holy Days - are not given to us to rise to the mandate of perfection but to rest and remember – to enjoy the gifts our holy God has given to us by his free hand and to receive his gifts with humbled awe and gratefulness. We can’t wrap enough presents to respond in this way, we can only ask for the grace to wrap our hearts around this truth. God wants our hearts open and ready. He invites us to live from a place of trust and rest, not a place of pressure and demand. We can demand so much of ourselves, can’t we? So let’s just get it out in the open. No one’s Christmas is going to be perfect. But perfection IS COMING. On that day our longings and desires will be met with a filling that is currently incomprehensible. Our Christmas on this side will not be perfect but it can be holy. It can be glorious. It can be good. I’m being invited to lay down the illusion that I can pull this thing off. Instead of that pressure, I’m being invited to rest in the love of God and remember that he alone is perfect and he loves perfectly. This babe in a manger, this Lamb of God, this Lion of Judah, this God of angel armies, this Savior of the World has come. He is coming. He is coming again. And when he comes in all his glory, every dream will come true for the richest among us and the poorest. For the most healthy and the most infirm. For the most seemingly blessed and the most horrifically oppressed. Jesus is coming again. Justice is coming. Love has already won and on that final and first day of Ultimate Triumph no illusion will shadow our hearts. And so we wait eagerly as we hope earnestly. Remember and rest. The Way, the Truth and the Life reign supreme. We welcome you, Jesus. Into the depths of who we are. Into our celebrations. Into our Christmas day and into all our days. Into our hearts, our homes and our world. Oh come, oh come Emmanuel.
Stasi Eldredge
Crashing In
It was to a dark world that Jesus came. Light came into the darkness. And as you know, where there is no light, darkness reigns. Last week there was a shooting in Colorado Springs staged at the Planned Parenthood close to our home. Nine people were injured, three were killed. The funeral for the fallen police officer was yesterday. Over 150 police cars in procession with people lining the street was a holy and sobering sight. I didn’t know any of the people hurt or killed but those who did know them are just one step away from me. Several friends of mine knew and loved these people. Their children go to school together. One man’s wife led my friend to Christ. You get the idea. A few weeks back there was another shooting in Colorado Springs. It took place one block from my son’s house. Paris. Beirut. Syria. Russia. Washington. North Carolina. Texas. Southern California. Next door. The list goes on. Killing. Shooting. Maiming. Even if you don’t read or watch the news, you can’t get away from it. I needed to update this blog because as I wrote it an hour later the deadliest shooting in the United States since the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting that shook and shocked our nation to its core took place. I told my husband not that a shooting took place but that another shooting took place. I am praying for all those people and families involved even as a manhunt is taking place in Redlands where dear friends of ours live. And you know the end of that story. Still questions rise. “WHY?” The answer is, because of evil. I cry out like you cry out, “Jesus!!! Help. Come. Help. Come. Intervene!” These are troubling times to say the very least. Light came not into the light but into the Darkness. And it is very dark. Evil seems to have its way no matter what plans are in place to keep it in check. I’m not saying anything new. This world is a dark place. Evil has come crashing in all over the world. Civilians slaughtered. It is getting worse AND there is nothing new under the sun. But light has come crashing in, too. Jesus has come crashing in. He “snuck into the enemy’s camp disguised as a babe.” The Ancient of Days bested the enemy and defeated him at the cross. He is victorious. He has won. Light shines into the darkness and the darkness is vanquished. And yet. And yet here we are living in the in between times. We find ourselves in the already and the not yet. Francis Schaeffer wrote, “How Shall We Then Live?” and it remains a good question. Perhaps it is the most important question. How then shall we live? Cowering in fear or living in victory knowing that nothing and no one can separate us from the love of God. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38, 39) We live knowing that this is not our home. We live fighting for justice, being a voice for the voiceless. We live with the battle cry that Jesus has come, has come for you and we stand ready to give an account for the hope that resides in us. We have a hope that defies fear. We have a hope that defies cruelty and suffering. We have a hope that is victorious over all darkness. Because we have the Light of the world. And he has and is coming and would love to come again today – crashing in. Even so, come Lord Jesus.
Stasi Eldredge
Where there are No Oxen, the Manger is Clean.
That’s what John used to say to me when I despaired over the disaster our home became after the whirlwind of our children passed through. Not a very flattering comparison but one I understood. And he just said it again because I had the luxurious gift of having my children home for Thanksgiving. Baby, this manger isn’t clean. How many glasses does one person need to drink out of in a day? Apparently it’s a minimum of three. Three times eight = twenty-four glasses spread out over the kitchen counter, the living room and mysterious places around the house. And that’s just before lunch. This place is littered with stacks of books and cozy blankets strewn haphazardly around. There are pillows missing. Empty bags of chips. Empty bottles of Ginger Brew. The two children who live in Spokane left this morning and I am discovering the remnants of their visit everywhere. This manger is not clean. I am so very glad. It was a little different, this Thanksgiving. I injured my glut a few weeks ago and I’m hobbling around using a cane, which helps some. But I move slowly. And it’s kind of hard to focus. That said, no dish came out unscathed this year. Ooops! I forgot to add the broth! Oh, dang it, cinnamon was supposed to go in that! The turkey is filling the house with smoke! WHY? Yikes, I just dropped a mug and it broke into 100 pieces. “Let’s play a game!” comes the cry from the other room while a daughter in law is cleaning up my mess. I’ll admit it. I like to be on top of my game. And I’m so not. I kept telling myself that it was more important that I be present to my family than that the food was perfect. A perfectly prepared Thanksgiving dinner where the main preparer is taken out by exhaustion and the illusion of perfection is not what we gathered for. So I gave up on perfection early on and reminded myself that the food wasn’t the point. Being together and loving one another was the point. The prayer, “Love”. “Help me to love.” “Oh Father, you who are perfect love, please fill me with your love and love through me” was one I uttered often. And he answered. There was joy, laughter and the sharing of stories from the past year for which we were grateful. Love reigned and provided a rich background of feasting and the meal was, shall we say, the cherry on top. It was, as I most longed for, a taste of the feast to come. And I am so very thankful. I am now surrounded by quiet and a whirlwind manger of mess that soon will be, like my children, gone. And I’ll take it.
Stasi Eldredge
Blessed Are The Risk Takers
God calls us into risk. Before I began my time at Wild at Heart almost 15 years ago, I was toward the end of my 25-year building career as a home-builder and developer in Southern California. Our rather small company built in multiple sectors of housing, but we had become known for creating well-designed product for the first-time homeowner and low-income renter. Given our experience, I was asked by an association of some 50 city planning directors to come and speak on why building for sale affordable housing in the high priced real estate market of Southern California was so difficult. My opening statement to these government officials, some of whom we had to deal with in order to secure all land and building entitlements for our projects, was, "Blessed are the risk takers for without them there would be no projects." This group of government officials often looked upon builders and developers with skepticism concerning our motives to profit, and lacked the understanding of the risks involved and the exposure taken to derive a profit. I described to them that we builders have to navigate through considerable risks in this marketplace, such as: interest rates, land costs, building costs, financial exposure, risk of being attacked by all kinds of no growth advocacy groups, environmental groups seeking to stop development, and local politics. I explained, that as a builder, there had to be a profit incentive in the face of the risks we encountered. Furthermore, while profit is necessary, it was not our only motive. We were also compelled to build a community that would meet a basic need of humanity and offer dignity, desirability, and affordability. I think of the "Parable of the Talents" in Matthew 25, and the motives of the three servants who were entrusted property of the master. He gave them an opportunity to use their giftedness and enterprising spirit to risk and invest in order to bring gain and profit to the master through their efforts. Two of the three had a trusting and good relationship with the master; however, the third servant did not trust his master. He, instead, was fearful or cynical and not willing to risk. What is God revealing to us as he asks us to risk? I believe he is asking us to love and trust his heart in the opportunities given us that require risk. I often wonder in the parable what would happen if one of the two good and faithful servants had a risk that did not pay off? As I think of our own situations, where we took risks that resulted in substantial monetary loss, (even after much prayer and reflection with God about the opportunity) I realize how God used those situations to teach us and love us into the direction He was leading us toward. It’s an example of Romans 8:28 "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. When I look back on all those risks that did not turn out the way I had hoped, I see that God used those in his love for me as a beloved son to bring such good things and great blessings far beyond the reward I thought I was seeking. Without the relationship with the Father, I can easily become the man full of fear or cynicism, like the servant who was cast into utter darkness. Our Lord is very serious about our taking risks from the place of our loving and personal relationship with Him. So… "Blessed are the risk takers" for without them our world would be lacking much in enterprise, reward, and adventure. God requires we become risk takers with what he entrusts us in the context of being his beloved son or daughter. Down the road, we'll discuss how motives do matter in the risks that we take and how they reveal so much about our hearts and our relationship with God our Father.
Bart Hansen
Distraction
I have so much to do this Saturday morning, afternoon…day. It’s time to play catch up. The laundry is almost finished. Okay, there’s a pile on the couch, but hey, they’re clean, they don’t count. I’m close. It’s the pile of bills on the kitchen table that’s the mountain I need to conquer. It is calling me. I do feel a sort of victory that I have placed them so centrally. I cannot ignore them. There they are, challenging me. Soon, yes, really soon, I am going heed their insistent and vital call. Electricity is, after all, a nice thing to keep going. So of course, I’m making a collage. It makes perfect sense. I’m flipping through magazines and the multitude of catalogs, searching for perfect motivational, truth-telling quotes and words for myself, because I think that is what I need. Heat? Come on. I need Mod Podge, scissors, and a thick piece of paper. And eureka! I’ve just learned how cool it looks to carefully tear around the words rather than simply cut them in a straight line! An artistic discovery has been made. Valiantly I press on. I am choosing to play rather than work. Inside. Where it’s warm. Because of the heat. Oh, how easily I get distracted. I do know what’s important. I know what my priorities ought to be. That’s why I’m writing this little blog instead of first praying the Daily Prayer. (Cue chagrined emoticon.) Practice what you preach, sister. (Hey, maybe there’s a way to put that on my collage! Whoops, I digress. ) I’m going to pause. I need Jesus more than I need self-expression and certainly more than I need the vast array of alternatives parading through my mind. I’ll be back later. I need to center my heart in the Truth. - - - I’m back. I’ve paid the bills. Now that I’ve discovered online banking, it didn’t even take that long. It’s the literal use of a knife to slit the top, pull them out, discover what they say, make the various piles, and figure out which ones need attention now and which ones can wait that threatens to overwhelm me. Thank you notes can do me in, too. Responding to emails. Exercising. Taking the dogs for their needed walk. Making the bed. Dusting. Vacuuming. Attending to the piles that spring up everywhere. Brushing my teeth. Oy. Collage time. What is it with me? Meyers Briggs helps to explain my bent, but my personality is not my destiny. I have the mind of Christ and so do you. I have the Holy Spirit as my Guide and my Strength and my Intimate Friend. It’s simply the choice to attend to what really matters that I so often find difficult. The choice to be responsible. The choice to care for my soul. The choice to press into Jesus. The choice to stop what I’m doing and simply BE with Jesus in quiet, in prayer, in worship. To walk with Him through the requirements of life—the bill paying and cleaning up and tending to the gift of this life that He has given me. To choose to be thankful that I can pay the bills and have heat and when it’s appropriate, take the time to be creative! Oh, Father, come and guide me this day into all the good gifts that you have for me (which include the satisfied feeling of ruling my God given domain). Rein in my wandering soul. Rein me in, oh, faithful God. Rein me in to the here-and-now and in the practical expressions of living a life of faith, hope, and love. Grow me up to choose to mature in You and not give way to distractions that keep me from pressing into Your vast, good heart. Reign in me. Oh, I just received a text. Better look! NO! I’ll wait. I need more of Jesus. In order to live and love and be the woman I need to be this day, I need extended time with my God. He’s my life and I need to catch up with Him.
Stasi Eldredge
It's Raining.
There are people who love autumn, people whose favorite season is the fall. There are people who begin to decorate for Christmas at the first whiff of coolness in the air. There are people who dream of winter and cocoa by a fire and snuggling up under a blanket to read. Okay, yes. That part's sounding really pretty good, but I AM A SUMMER GIRL. Summer. Summer. Summer. Summer. SUMMER! I kind of leave summer – or rather, it leaves me – kicking and pouting. Sometimes crying. Sometimes not believing that good is still coming. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to trust God, but I’m growing. Trust is growing in me. It’s not so much the summer that I love as the expressions of God’s beauty displayed in it. And God is in the autumn,too. He’s in the winter, the spring, and the summer to come. Rhythms of his grace surround me and precede me. There is beauty all around if I will but open the eyes of my heart to welcome it. One of my favorite memories took place during a time away on a personal retreat near Buena Vista, Colorado. It was…autumn. (Surprise!) I had gone for a walk in the woods following a path along a stream. The aspens had turned their glorious golden hue and in the slight breeze were shedding their flower-like leaves. The path was strewn with gold as I softly padded along. “Well, if the streets in heaven are gold like THIS, then that will be beautiful!” Sometimes I surprise myself. My unconscious thoughts emerge in the most unexpected of times. I realized that I had pictured the streets of gold in heaven as solid and hard, cold and undesirable. But this gold – this living, moving exhibition – was filled with splendor. Surely our divinely gorgeous and creative God will outdo himself beyond my best but limited imagination! I sat down on a fallen tree and soaked it in. I was surrounded by glory. All my senses were taking in the wondrous works of our God. The fragrant earth. The rippling stream. The gentle cool breeze. The feel of the wood beneath me. I could practically taste the pungent season. I talked with God. I listened to his still, small voice. And I didn’t want to leave. But eventually, my time ran out and sadly, I had to get up and return. I saw that I could take a different path back, one that was new to me. It curved in the distance and I could not see what was coming. “Just like your life.” God whispered. Yes, I thought, just like my life. “There is beauty ahead, Stasi. But you will never see it, never experience it, if you choose to stay where you are.” Big sigh. I chose the new path. My eyes were open and expectant for the fresh gifts that my God had for me. Correction: that he HAS for me. For he holds the future. He precedes us. And because he does, a great good is coming because he is there. So fall is here and it’s raining. And I welcome both it and all the good that is ahead! “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, Anodos'; and so over and over again.” ~ George MacDonald, Phantastes
Stasi 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
I Am A Grateful Man
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving [gratefulness], let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7 Well, it is September and, as you may have noticed, I decided not to blog for the summer. I was looking forward to a summer that I had calendared and planned with great anticipation. As things sometimes go, it didn’t turn out exactly as I had intended. The summer began with a trip to Chicago to officiate the wedding of my nephew and his fiancée. We stayed in the city and went to see the Cubs at Wrigley Field with close friends and family of the bride and groom. It was a great time of celebrating and bringing the gospel to both those we knew and those we did not. As I remember our time in Chicago, I realize how a wedding presents many spiritual opportunities and offers a glimpse of the wedding feast of the restored Kingdom, a picture of which unbelievers are unaware and many Christians have forgotten. I am so grateful to have had that opportunity to share the gospel and experience a taste of the coming Kingdom! Our next anticipated “joy bomb” in the early part of summer was a long-awaited trip to San Francisco, where Tannah and I have been many times in our 35 years of marriage. We had planned to join some friends on a three-day supported bicycle ride up the coast, into Sonoma and finishing through Napa. The first day was a long, hard ride up the coast against the wind, but it ended at a picturesque, seaside boutique hotel where we got to celebrate our beautiful and challenging ride together. I was so grateful for this day as I got to watch Tannah achieve this great accomplishment. At the end of that first day, I got a call from my brother back in Texas, saying our 90-year-old mother was slipping away quickly, and if we wanted to see her lucid, we would need to come immediately. My mother had been doing well in an assisted-living facility near my brothers. We had recently moved her across Texas to this facility for this last brief chapter of her life. She had lived alone for 44 years, working as a self-employed art teacher in the home studio I had built for her when I was 20, shortly after my father died suddenly. We left early the next morning and arrived to hear the last words she spoke, which also included Tannah’s name. After a couple more days, she was gone. It was one of the most holy experiences of my life as so many of our family were gathered around her bed, praying her into the Kingdom. I am so grateful to have been there, as hard as it was at the time. A few years before this time, my mother had asked me to speak at her memorial, requesting that it be a simple graveside service. I smile and shake my head when I remember her words: “Don’t gawk at my body…just throw me in the ground.” She laughed. “And then go have a party.” My mother was a very strong and independent woman, a survivor through her hard work and her dependence on the grace of her Lord to sustain her. She was also a very talented artist who used that giftedness to support herself after being left with my younger brother still to raise after my father died. Memorializing her was an easy opportunity to bring the Gospel as displayed by her decades of faith, but it was difficult for me as my heart was so vested in the fresh loss of my mother. I thought I had prepared myself the last few years for this time, but when your mother is around that long, her sudden absence still draws an ache in the heart. However, I am so, so grateful for the circumstances of her passing and her wanting it just that way. And we did have that party after the graveside memorial. I look forward to that reunion with her one day! What I am most grateful for as I reflect on her passing is the much deeper love for her that I experienced in the last three years. About that long ago, three years, I was seeing a counselor when my relationship with my mother came up. Through the skill of the counselor and some prayer time over his counsel, I discovered I had a soul tie to my mother. It was not of her doing, but is was the mix of her strong personality and my brokenness that left me feeling obligated to her care when that is the last thing she would have wanted and it would have broken her heart if she had known. But, nonetheless, it was a real issue. The reality of this unhealthy attachment surfaced when I realized I had a very short fuse after being around her for a half an hour. I was mystified by that and could never figure it out, but when I took that obligation to Christ and broke that tie in prayer, it was like a light switch turned on and the irritation was suddenly gone. For the last three years, I deeply enjoyed the company of my mother for hours when we were around her. I got to love my mother as never before and as she took her last breaths, I thanked God for those three years! I am so grateful! Again, not the summer I planned, but I am so, so grateful for these experiences and the countless other things the summer brought. What I am learning about gratefulness is that it can be found in both joy and sorrow. More on that to come later….
Bart Hansen