Articles & Posts
Those Sneaky Agreements
So, Stasi and I have been writing a book together for the past many months. (It’s on marriage). Through the holidays I was pretty much chained to the computer, trying to get it done by January 15. I took Christmas Eve and day off, and New Years day (which is my son Blaine’s birthday), but the rest of the time it was write, write, write. I felt like I barely saw the holidays. Now, I love writing. Of all the things I do, I enjoy it the most and I think it might be where I shine best. But I noticed that my heart was getting heavy when I woke up in the morning; I found my energy to write had slipped away. I was sitting at my desk, feeling blah. But instead of just muscling through the malaise, forcing myself to write, I stopped and asked God, “Lord, have I made some agreements here about this book?” Bam. Right away I could sense the Spirit revealing some things to me. “That dam# book” was one of them; not said in malice or cursing, but more in the spirit of resigantion, “Well, I’ve got to get back to that dam# book.” Another agreement was, “I don’t really enjoy this.” A third was, “I don’t really like the subject of marriage; I wish I was writing on something else.” NONE of these were true. But they had snuck in, over time, and I had very subtly made an agreement with them. Sneaky. Very sneaky. Knowing how damaging agreements can be, knowing how they pin our hearts down and give the enemy a place to work in our lives, I stopped and broke them. Each of them. Out loud. “I do like this; I love writing. I do care about marriage; I reject that agreement” and so on. The effect was almost instantaneous. In but a few moments, my heart was light, I was looking fortward to the day, my inspiration for writing returned. Take agreements seriously, dear friends. Ask God to reveal to you the ones you’ve been making. Sometimes the “revealing” will come when you make the agreement again, you catch yourself saying it out loud and you realize, “Wow – that’s an agreement.” Sometimes it’s something that plays “in your head,” in your thought life. Sometimes the Lord will speak to you what it is, or show you the topic you’ve got to look at. However it comes, he will show you. Then, break them. It’ll do you a great good. We finished the book, by the way. On time, even.
John Eldredge
Slurring Speech
I’m standing alongside Manhattan Beach Blvd. December 23rd waving greetoriously* to sore seated commuters in holiday traffic who are hoping they’ll make it through the intersection during the next green light… to hope again at the next intersection. I’m waving, smiling, doing a holiday jig and blowing kisses while the drivers are either, with fixed glaze avoiding all eye contact with me, looking past me with laser-beam dismissal or waving with ear-to-ear grins joyously. Have I mentioned yet I was in a classy, far out five star Santa outfit?** The responsive-warm-ones hailed me with cheer, some yelling out, “I always knew you existed… I love you Santa…. Merry Christmas!” Horns were honked. Little children froze in their car seats and shyly covered their mouths when mom pointed me out to them. Women gawked. Grown men:dock workers, military satellite intelligence officers… phone book distributors, accountants, and two geeky plumbers ALL gave me their version of the beefy nod and wave-with-hands-gripping-the-steering-wheel. There I was… anonymous… in a Santa outfit… getting the same response a rock star, Obama, General MacArthur, or a superhero would. I’ll admit it, I was soaking it in. Loving it, milking it, working it. After gigging rush hour traffic, Lori (Mrs. Claus AKA “Santa’s Helper”) and I head to a friend’s home to make a surprise appearance at her Christmas party. For the sake of brevity I’m leaving out the in-route stories of dropping into my daughter’s Pilates Studio for a photo-op working out (as best I could with a pillow cummerbund); running into a Vietnamese Nail Salon to give the shy staff hugs and offer up a robust “Ho, ho, ho!” in my distinctive pirate accent; and hanging out of the car window like my Lab Retriever wishing everyone the very merriest of seasons. I pop into our friend’s party, spread a little cheer, hand out a few gifts and pose for pictures with every woman in the place. Everyone loves me, I’m Santa… I’m digging it. The next stop is a set up/staged appearance for our two granddaughters: Jacqueline (3 ½) and Annie (2). The plan was for Lori to ring a few “reindeer” bells near the house which would flush the kids out onto the lawn with the anticipation of maybe seeing Santa in the neighborhood. From the front yard they would see “Santa” moseying down the street. The plan was that, in the dark, they wouldn’t recognize that it was me/grandpa/”Aboo”*** in a costume, and I would greet them by name with a heartfelt “Ho, ho, ho!” (minus the pirate accent), promise them some gifts, squeeze in a “Jesus is the reason for the season” and then graciously move on to tend to my reindeer and head to New Zealand. So… as planned I’m five houses down the street approaching my granddaughters who are huddled together on the sidewalk whispering to Mrs. Claus, Mom, Dad, their Auntie and friends/family (similar to watching wildlife move about from the edge of a meadow at dusk). I’m about a house away and I see my older granddaughter leap into her mother’s arms… she’s scared to death! It strikes me that with my Santa boots, Santa wig, Santa hat and Santa shoulder pads I’m probably 6’8”. I’m Hulk Hogan or Keith Richards in red velvet, a monster with a fake beard and a fuzzy hat about to pounce on her. My buccaneer “Ho, ho, ho” didn’t help! She buries her head in the crook of her mom’s neck crying, “I don’t ever want to see Santa again… I don’t like Santa”. So much for my super star status! Meanwhile, the younger one, Annie, runs up to me… front and center, two feet away, and beneath red curls her full-moon eyes are gazing up at me in total wonderment. By the time I looked down and noticed her she’s in full stride, boldly standing there in exhilarated-run-together sentences with fast-forward age appropriate slurring of speech she gushes out, “Santa, Santa, Santa, I love you... you’re awesome Santa, Santa, I love you, love you, love you” and somewhere in all of this I heard the word “Tink” mentioned. I knew she was referring to Tinkerbelle, for she had been talking of nothing else for 64 days. She wanted Tinkerbelle! Tinkerbelle anything: sweat shirt, doll, coloring book, ring tone, dress, DVD, shoes … anything “Tink”. Standing in the presence of Santa, her young heart free to express itself safely, she gushed searching for and finding every word she had that could speak of her adoration… and desire. It was desire… yet her marveling reverence was predominating. It was a moment she wasn’t going to miss and I didn’t want to end. Annie was putting it all out there. It was innocent, it was sweet, and it was as pure as anything in this life… the perfect meritage of love and longing. I said goodbye, they all headed indoors, I headed up the street looking for a sleigh. Alone I started weeping. So in love, so very, very happy and longing/aching for my first moment in His presence in exhilarated-run-together sentences with fast-forward age appropriate slurring of speech… – Craig McConnell * So… is it really a crime to create new words? ** While I was in Australia with the Wild at Heart Team Lori and her girlfriend Leah spent a snowy week designing and sewing the certifiably authentic Santa outfit. We’re talking a work of beauty… the whole enchilada… lined coat, white gloves, fur topped boots et cetera. ***When my daughter was expecting our first grandchild I got the harebrain idea that the kids ought to call me “Captain”. I thought it would be respectful, fun… Craig…unique. The best laid plans of mice and men… So, Jacqueline was born and a few months later she decided I ought to be called “Aboo”… it stuck.
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Craig McConnell
The Christmas Letter
This is the 2008 McConnell Christmas Letter I’m writing this Thanksgiving Weekend in the South Bay. We’ve been with our daughters, son-in-laws, granddaughters and friends enjoying ourselves and one another. Awaiting our flight to LA in the Colorado Springs airport we heard our first Christmas Carol of the season and naturally a stocking full of memories took center stage… Our girls were little, the colored lights on the tree bigger… the cavalcade of brightly wrapped presents unending… candles, wreaths. Grandma’s etched glass candy dish of M&M’s… the smell of the turkey and/or roast and au jus filling the house (and neighborhood). Telling the Story of Christmas, humming and singing carols, laughter… and of course the pressure of choosing the right gifts and the desire to give more than we ever could. We remembered and wept over Christmas’ past and crackling fires encircled by family no longer with us... there’s nog and the never-eaten fruitcake… watching A Wonderful Life… and of course the Christmas Eve dash to get to church on time, assemble the bikes/etc. and purchase the always-forgotten AAA batteries. And then we pondered Christmas’ yet to come… how big will this family be, what will this generation’s celebrations include/look like? Where will they be? What memories have we yet to create… and what traditions will our children and grandchildren write up in their Christmas letter? Somewhere in all of this we wondered what we’ve pondered for several Christmas’ now… have we yet understood and experienced Christmas fully? Might there be more significance to this holiday than we’ve grasped? As much as we anticipate, enjoy and celebrate the coming of God amongst us and the Story of His invading this world to rescue and offer the life we have all yearned for… hoped for and now may embrace I’m not sure we see clearly all that Christmas means/brings/holds. It’s still a bit opaque. Foggy. The music, lights, tree and all the magic moments speak of something beyond them. They are the elements of a sacrament. They are not it… but they speak of it. All this to say… we welcome Christmas! More than ever we’re listening, awaiting, watching with arms and hearts wide open for all God has for us in this season. And we hope His best for you! May He come in a hundred different ways for you: may you find Him next to you in a long line at Best Buy; jumping out of a holiday newsletter/card or a bowl of punch; saddling up next to you as you sing “O Holy Night”; or perhaps late at night as you sit quietly gazing at a tree all aglow lost in your own memories. May you know His love and your place in His heart, may His rescue and life be yours! Our picture is a family shot taken at Jared and Meagan’s (our second daughter) April wedding in Palm Desert. The newlyweds entre into married life has been notable, indeed, exceptional. Delightfully in love they’re enjoying their little nook/apartment at the beach. They’re both working hard as a Pilates instructor in Manhattan Beach (Meagan) and in advertising for Luxury, Life & Style Magazine in Hermosa Beach (Jared). Their smiles bring a from-the-bottom-of-your toes-to-the-tippy-top-of-your-head smiles to every stinking person they know. Lindsey (our first daughter) is standing with her husband Vladimir…. I mean Jon (he really took one for the team in this family picture). They’re living in a very large story in Redlands, CA, where they are birthing a church. We’re amazed at all that’s required of both of them in this massively opposed undertaking… and how very, very well they are living up to it. Lindsey is a stunning young woman/bride/mom and Vladimir… I mean Jon, is a man/husband/father/pastor who has what it takes. The entire family could not be prouder of them! Together they are raising our two youngest angels: Jacqueline Ruby (4 in Feb) and Annie Marie (turned 2 in Sept.). It’s very tempting at this point in the letter to include 67 photos of each with page upon page of stories of the joy they bring us all! Lori and I continue to live in this huge Story we’ve fallen into. We’re caught up and into something we never could have constructed ourselves… it found us, lured us… and here we are in Colorado lost in a mission with a tribe of gloriously gifted apostles, prophets, teachers, brave hearts, knuckleheads and a guy from Pittsburgh. And though we ache for so much we do not have we have tasted a joy that is full, inexpressible and full of glory. Come again Lord Jesus! May this be a merry season for us all! – Craig & Lori McConnell
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Craig McConnell
A Christmas Devotion
One my all time favorite Christmas carols is “O Holy Night.” I look forward to the soloist singing it at church on Christmas eve. I was thinking about it again this year, and discovered the most stunning and disruptive line… O holy night! The stars are brightly shining, It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'Til He appear'd and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Fall on your knees! O, hear the angels' voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born; O night divine, O night, O night Divine. The line that absolutely stops me is this: “And the soul felt it’s worth.” I don’t know that this happens a great deal at Christmastime actually. You hear a Christmas carol, you see a manger scene in someone’s yard, your attention is turned for a moment to the nativity of Jesus – does it naturally follow in that moment that your soul feels it’s worth? And why not? I think we celebrate Christmas in a vacuum. We do our best to turn our attention to Jesus. We meditate on his coming, the circumstances, the gift. But I think we forget what his coming was for. Christmas is a rescue. God coming to rescue us. It is an act of humility, love and sacrifice unparalleled in the history of the world. But the act does not take place in a vacuum. The act is not primarily to show the greatness of God. It does show his greatness. But the act has a fierce intention to it, the whole drama is fiercely intentional, and the object of this act is you and me; the purpose is our rescue and restoration, to bring us back to God. Why have we lost sight of that? I think in part it’s because of a doctrine we’ve embraced – call it the doctrine of “the worthlessness of the rescued shows the surpassing greatness of the rescuer.” It is a very popular doctrine. I think it got in under the belief that in order to promote the glory of God we must give no quarter to any idea that human beings have intrinsic worth. Thus the popular phrase, “I’m just a sinner, saved by grace.” Or, “It’s not about you; it’s about Jesus.” The doctrine is deeply ingrained in the church, and deeply damaging to our relationship with God. Because it is untrue. You ask a father to show you pictures of his children. “They are profoundly unworthy,” he says to you. “That is what makes me such a great Father. I love such worthless creatures in order to prove what an awesome Father I am.” What would we think of such a man? What would you think of a person who said to their children, “You are lucky to be here. You ought to thank me because I even care about such a worthless creature as you.” Wouldn’t we call that child abuse? (Even now we bristle at the analogy, because of how deep the doctrine has been ingrained in us. But isn’t it true – wouldn’t you call that kind of parenting abusive?). Of course we are to worship God. Of course he is worthy to be worshipped. But something has slipped into the Church that is deeply and profoundly damaging, both to our view of God and our relationship with him. Consider a simple daily kind of rescue. Your car battery is dead; you need a jump. But it’s late at night, and snowing. You call a friend, hating to bother them but in need of help. They jump out of bed and race to your aid. Doesn’t it help you to realize how much you matter to them? Doesn’t it deepen the friendship? And wouldn’t it be death to the relationship if they said to you, “You don’t deserve this. I do this to demonstrate my goodness.” Would you want to call them a second time? Does the relationship even have a future? Or take the simple words, “I love you.” Doesn’t it do something to your soul to hear those words? You begin to realize how much you matter to the one who spoke them in love. And what would happen if they went on to explain, “It’s nothing in you that makes me love you. It’s my goodness that causes me to love. In fact, your utter unworthiness of my love only proves how good I am for loving you. Keep that in mind.” “But…but…we sinned. We fell. We didn’t deserve God to come and rescue us.” That is true. But it does not follow that we are worthless, and that it is our utter worthlessness that makes him worthy of praise. The child who turns their back on the family, runs away, winds up in jail doesn’t deserve to be bailed out. But love doesn’t think in terms of deserve or not deserve. Love thinks in terms of precious value – you matter too much for me to leave you there. The lost child matters still to their parents. Matters very much. They may be in a sorry condition, but they have tremendous value and worth. And when they are bailed out the child knows that they matter. They know they are prized. I think Jesus was speaking directly into this distortion about the heart of God, this doctrine of worthlesness when he told the parable of the prodigal son. The son has a speech about his unworthiness. “Father, I have sinned. I am not worthy to be called your son.” He says it twice. The father pays no attention to the speech at all. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. He says, “Kill the fatted calf! We must celebrate! My son who was dead is alive!” Something profound takes place in the soul of a person when they know they matter; when they know they are prized. It changes them. All questions of tit-for-tat are swept away; there is no longer any room for fear in the relationship. They know they are loved, and it evokes love in return. Someone who is recued has a deep and profound gratitude to the rescuer. “You would do this for me?” But if their rescuer said, “I did not do this for you; I did this for me. I did it to prove my greatness. In fact, your complete unworthiness to be rescued is part of my plan to show my greatness.” Could you imagine the relationship having any sort of future? Christmas is the most stunning rescue story of all time. Under cover of night, in Bethlehem, in a world held captive by the dark prince, God comes to earth as a human being, a little boy. He invades the human race in order to rescue the human race. Satan is furious, he lashes out desperately to try and stop the invasion. The angels go to war. But God cannot be stopped. He will ransom and restore his beloved. The beauty of the act cannot be adequately expressed. And what are we to think of the ones God would go to such lengths to rescue, and at such a price? How precious they must be. They must be worth a great deal to him. Inestimable worth. And that is why the soul felt its worth. At least, that ought to be the effect of Christmas upon us. When a great King rescues his beloved, we all know she is precious to him. And we see his greatness. We also see her worth. If that great King were to rescue a potato, we would not think him great at all; we would find it bizarre. So away with this doctrine of “the worthlessness of the rescued shows the surpassing greatness of the rescuer.” That is not how Jesus saw it. That is not the language of love at all. This nativity had an object in mind. That object is you and me. I think this will help us to celebrate Christmas for what it is – as a daring rescue. Not in a vacuum. In the context of love. I think it will allow us to be stunned at the way God goes about things. To fall in love again with his amazing heart. And to allow ourselves to experience some deep shift in our soul, as we come to feel our worth. We must really matter. We look at the manger. We see the angels, the wise men. We see the little boy. And then we boldy sing, “and the soul felt it’s worth.”
John Eldredge
Christmas Cards
Stasi corralled me yesterday into helping her with the Christmas cards. In our home, as in every marriage, we have a necessary division of labor. I hang the lights. Christmas cards are Stasi’s domain. But, I was home yesterday, resting from our mission to Australia, and so I jumped in. Lick, stuff. Lick, stuff. A line in the card (“Let heaven and nature sing”) got me singing the whole song, which I haven’t sung for quite awhile. I guess, a year, now that I think about it. Anyhow, my favorite line in Joy To The World goes like this: “He comes to make his blessings flow, Far as the curse is found…” This might be one of the most beautiful, hopeful thoughts in all the world. It reminded me of the truth of the Gospel, and the Kingdom of God – that Jesus fully intends restoration in every aspect of our lives, and of this world. I had just been watching the night before a very hard film on war children in northern Uganda (War Dance – a very good movie) and it left me deeply burdened for all the heart broken in the world. Then God speaks through a Christmas card. It reminded me that whatever else Christmas might be, it is a celebration that God’s Kingdom has come, and will prevail. His love, his life, his power to heal and restore. Far as the curse is found. Which is pretty dang far.
John Eldredge
Mute
Once again I’m struck by my inability to express in words something I’ve seen, felt, touched or heard. On a 747 at 47,000 feet, somewhere over the rainbow between Los Angeles and Sydney Australia, I’m hoping to describe a few men’s experience of the Boot Camp we just finished. I know it’s easy to be cynical reading glowing reports from the field of lives changed, dramatic conversions and profound miraculous works of God. In years past I’ve been on “Missions” that barely resemble the written accounts/reports following them. Read enough of them and you wonder, who doesn’t make those claims as their “come on” for fund raising, validation or ego stroking… Heck I’ll admit it...I will, at times, use a little hyperbole here and there… adding a little “color”, but in this case I’m really trying to be true/accurate. In my initial attempt to write out some of the stories shared with me my words seemed abridged, deficient…”off”. My word pictures seem like a chalk drawing on a sidewalk… or like my 4 year old granddaughter’s crayon portrait of the family – though beautiful in expressing her heart, and a memory to frame for the office or file in the grand children’s artwork 2008 banker’s box, it doesn’t really resemble the family…. I’m not that thin, Lori is much cuter and our Labrador Retriever, Sonoma, is a dog with 4 legs not a spider with seven… Men cried grasping for their own unreachable words to describe what God did for/in/with them. Smiles unseen for decades surfaced/returned; hearts lost were now found, ears heard God for the first time - Imagine a 70 year old man for the first time facing the defining wound of his life… and hearing his Heavenly Father say, “Good on you son, I am proud of you” (an Aussie phrase). A band of prodigals found their way home, a clique of Pharisees delivered. Gratefulness and appreciation for our coming and offering was almost to the point of embarrassment. So many used the phrase “for the first time” as a preface to their story of the weekend. Hearts hard softened, young boys posing as older man grew up in some unseen region of their soul… the wolf hidden as a sheep was exposed, horrifically godless systemic agreements with the Liar exposed and expunged…. faith birthed/renewed. For many hope returned (for themselves, their marriages or families), for others some important/timely/foundational questions – prerequisites for a walk with God were faced honestly… (it’s at this point I fall asleep for a 5 hour segment of the 13 hour flight whispering to God, “How do I say all this… what words can capture your majesty among us?). Waking… sort of, I coincidentally… sort of, come across a thought of Augustine as he ends an attempt to describe the inexplicable virtues and supremacy of God by saying… What can a man say about you my God, my life, my holy joy? Woe to him that that does not speak, and the mute are the most eloquent. While I had to try and find the words to describe all God did, I’m more eloquent in my stunned holy silence. In His presence I am mute. - Craig McConnell
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Craig McConnell
It's About God!
I am in Australia with the Wild at Heart team about to begin our four day Boot Camp. A good part of the day is spent preparing my heart and words for the sessions I lead. I often suffer from a spiritual amnesia: forgetting much about God... his faithfulness to me through the years... his heart for me... who I am and all that he's called me to be and to offer to others; and so I peruse my journals for stories and truth. This particular journal entry jumped out. I've recognized and felt that the presence of God trumps our giftedness, skill, wisdom and best efforts to minister and/or speak for him. I can't count the times I've said, "You could be speaking on world geography and if God shows up people will be blessed, healed, saved... transformed." This weekend exposed that I really haven't believed that to be true. In seminary I had a class on preaching that involved ten of us preaching at/to one another for a couple of semesters. We’d evaluate, react and encourage one another’s content, style and organization. At the end of the term the prof gave each of us our final evaluation verbally in front of the class. A classmate, Anthony, was not an articulate or engaging speaker. He knew his material; was genuine; soft-spoken had a string bean stature and obese insecurities. The prof told him that he was actually, in the larger scheme of things, in a good place as a young preacher adding, “Whereas Craig has natural skills and abilities that will make him a good communicator he will be prone to rely on his own abilities and not God. You Anthony, have no margin. You’re not a natural communicator and the absence of those gifts leaves/parks/rivets you in a place of on-going dependence upon God. And Anthony, that’s the best place to be as a preacher.” Looking back I realize I took my professors remarks regarding me as a form of validation. His comments lit the path to a validation I was starving for. I was talented. I am good at something! A man with a doctorate… a seminary prof thinks I’m a natural!! Eureka! What was offered to me as a warning, as sagely counsel, I took as direction/an invitation to life. Life apart from God. I was young, naïve. Foolish. My appraisal of Anthony was that he wouldn’t make it as a teacher/preacher… I couldn’t see God matching his against-all-odds work through Moses, Gideon and David in Anthony. So, Friday night I’m speaking on “The Centrality of the Heart” and “The Masculine Heart” to a group of 200 reserved Presbyterian men. It was a less-than-stellar session. A film clip I planned to use was botched by the tech guy, I slogged through a point or two, lacked energy, was slurring my speech… it was definitely not a home run, it was a sliding double. As is common for me after a muddled/unhinged session like that I was growling. At God. Why isn’t this easier? I’m putting myself out there for you… dealing with the deeper issues of my heart; battling the warfare; refining, tinkering, editing my sessions constantly; praying, consecrating myself and all I have to you… and it seems like it’s always a one star result.* I’ve got intercessors praying for heavens sake! Though I’d love to see signs and wonders I’m not expecting that… it just seems like there ought to be more… and it ought not to be so hard. I mean really!?!%$#? How many willing vessels do you have out there working their fool-ass/buns off to bring the transforming power and truth of the Gospel to others? At myself. I’m such a smuck! Why can’t I do this? What is it about me that makes this so hard? It seems to come much easier for others with less talent, less mature, less self-aware and readily available. My God, watch the parade of whackos on some of the "Christian" television programming… they seem to have some sway with God... What’s wrong with me? I may not be a sea gull, but I feel like an auk, tern or sandpiper.** I will never realize my deepest dreams and desires for my life. (Believe me this is the condensed version). There’s a silence. My growling stops and God pops out of nowhere. In a medley of God’s voice and some older-true-self voice saying… How astonishingly self absorbed I am! I finish my session and I immediately go to, “How did I do…? Did I deliver God on a silver platter? Are they stunned into repentance and yearning for God? How’d I do? How’d I do? How’d I do?” Silence. And then the voice that was disruptive, convicting, hopeful and liberating… The vital question/issue really isn’t how I did… it’s more along the lines of “did God show up for the men?” And in a twinkling of an eye a whole lot of stuff becomes clear. I’ve been in an eddy concerned about my performance… subconsciously replaying, reviewing; critiquing my points; illustrations, pace, my connection to the audience and their engagement; evaluating, re-evaluating, no audience reaction or response is insignificant… everything is data to adjust, edit and craft the session that will bring the kingdom of God to everyone graced to be under my tutelage. The truth is I never really viewed myself as more than a journeyman communicator and I realize I have no margins. I need God to show up… I haven’t learned what ongoing dependence upon God looks like. I can talk about world geography and if God shows up people will be healed, saved, transformed… I can talk about the Centrality of the Heart with everything I’ve got and if God isn’t in it I might as well have been talking about geography. Christianity 101. At some core level I’ve been more focused/passionate about… committed to my being anointed/blessed than I have been on God showing up for the men. How incredibly self absorbed I am! I’ve considered myself as indispensable… necessary to the process of their transformation and, as a result bore the weight that “I must come through”… Lives depend upon it. I depend upon it! I remember Anthony. I am Anthony. In that moment, as is often the case when God exposes and then invites, some reorientation takes place. I abandoned my agreement/connection/rooted-ness on my consuming self-absorption, my priestly indispensability. And somewhere in my Christianity 101-adolescent self I enjoyed myself, God and speaking to a group of wild eyed Presbyterian men more than I have in a while. Craig McConnell * Using the Michelin awards guide of one to three stars to indicate quality. ** I'll have to write about the significance of the reference to being a "sea gull" at another time. In brief my dad, in anger, referred to me as a "sea gull... all you're good for is sitting, squawking and shitting". Needless to say it was a wounding label that I have nothing to offer.
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Craig McConnell
Remain in Me
In just a few days our team is heading out to Australia for a Wild at Heart Boot Camp. Last year was a phenomenal event, with tremendous breathrough for men. We felt God leading us to come back for another go. It is the launching of a movement. This year we know we are on the enemy’s radar. The last four nights have been rough, broken sleep, nightmares, having to pray for long periods of time. One of the things God is teaching me through these front-line missions advancing the Kingdom is how to stay in Christ. “Remain in me,” Jesus says in John 15, the implication being we can not remain in him; we wander off. If God has to implore us to stay in him, then he knows it is quite possible not to. How do we wander off? I think one chief means is speculation. We let our thoughts run out ahead of us. “What’s this going to be like? How tough will the battle be? How am I going to handle the 14 hour flight?” Stuff like that. Some of it might just be eager anticipation; some of it is apprehension. But whatever the form, speculation is not a good thing. It moves me out of Christ in this very moment. He is not leading my speculations. I am. Or my fear is. I forget the source of the quote, but I read long ago that a coward faces his battles twice – once in his apprehensions and fears as he anticipates them, the other when he must face the battle itself. It is a very draining thing spiritually. And so I am learning to face my battles once. I’m not going to think about the 14 hour flight, the 6 hour time change, the jet lag, the battles. I am going to stay with God today, and what today is about.
John Eldredge
Cheetos
I was asked by a friend to speak to his seminary class on Desire & Addiction. Knowing a bit about both I agreed. After hearing that the class is one hour and fifty minutes long I recklessly do a cannonball into the pool of diminishment. I don’t have an hour and 50 minutes in me!?*$ What am I going to talk about? I mean really… How am I going to get out of this without being exposed as The Man With Nothing to Say? * I’ll break them into discussion groups, or have them take a 45 minute time of silent reflection alone with God. I’ll talk r e a l l y s l o w… show several film clips… read the book of Leviticus together, ask them a zillion questions. End early!!! My prep time for the class becomes a rendezvous with God as I muse over my story of desire and addiction, of my looking in all the wrong places for that which God lavishly offers. He’s smiling, we’re communing and my yearning/craving of intimacy Him surfaces. I’m drawn to Psalm 73:25… Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. Ahhh… I could scream I want that so bad… to only and simply; truly and purely desire God at the most crucial governing level of my being. Oh God may it be so! Lord, come, overwhelm me and make me that man… I desire you alone, nothing more, nothing less… I long for you to be my all. So aware of His presence I’m basking in grace as I read old journal entries and ponder my story of wandering… of unfaithfulness… of spiritual adultery… of turning to other lovers. There are my affairs with drugs as a fine young Bohemian, my soirees as a redirected young Christian with endorphins (from running) and wild adventures (with all prerequisite gear). Then, a few years later, as a reverend pastor my serial liaisons with sports talk, alphabetizing my wife’s spice cabinet;** the mistress of theological astuteness, the applause of others and books (what an office I had… rich dark floor-to-ceiling bookshelves surrounding me accented by warm hued lighting… over-stuffed chairs, the mahogany desk… it all said, “come in… relax, let’s talk, I can help… I really am somebody… somebody godly”). More recently my third rate romances have been indiscriminate unprotected tangos with food. It’s pretty easy for me to minimize my idolatry… or addictions as merely a few bad habits. No big deal, in time they’ll simply fall away. And besides, it’s not like I’m a pre-civilized pagan who makes a stick of wood his God! Half of the wood he burns in the fire; Over it he prepares his meal, He roasts his meat and eats his fill. From the rest he makes a god, his idol; He bows down to it and worships He prays to it and says, “Save me; you are my god.” – Isaiah 44:16-17 Now that’s ridiculous! And yet, as I mock the foolishness of another’s addictions I’m the one gobbling down a bag of Cheetos after a difficult conversation with my wife (or while: balancing the checkbook, anticipating an upcoming confrontation/decision, or awaiting the pathology report on that funky looking mole they removed, or thinking about my daughter’s school work or…). Cheetos! I’m actually choosing a wad of fluorescent artificial orange enriched corn meal, vegetable oil, whey, salt, cheddar cheese, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, maltodextrin, disodium phosphate, artificial flavor, monosodium glutmate, lactic acid, citric acid over the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? Over the God of all comfort, strength, hope, peace and joy? Over the One who says come… trade in all your sorrows and burdens, worries, doubts, losses and concerns? Now that’s ridiculous! I find myself grieving my idolatry and addictions, expressing again to God my sorrow in choosing innumerable hussies over Him… my heart was repentant. 18 hours later I’m waxing eloquently on desire and addiction to a class of about 30. It’s going phenomenally well. As I’m speaking I realize I have a lot to say about this topic… that whole diminishment thingamajigger that shadows me is exposed once again! I’m sharing my story of desires and addictions and offer one of my favorite quotes on the issue: Ecstasy and delight are essential to the believers soul and they promote sanctification. We were not meant to live without spiritual exhilaration, and the Christian who goes for a long time without the experience of heart-warming will soon find himself tempted to have his emotions satisfied from earthly things and not, as he ought, from the Spirit of God. The soul is so constituted that it craves fulfillment from things outside itself and will embrace earthly joys for satisfaction when it cannot reach spiritual ones . . . The believer is in spiritual danger if he allows himself to go for any length of time without tasting the love of Christ and savoring the felt comforts of a Savior’s presence. When Christ ceases to fill the heart with satisfaction, our souls will go in silent search of other lovers . . .” - Maruice Roberts That’s it! (Read it again). Designed by God for so very much we appropriately desire much. We’re pursuing the ecstasy… the delight… the life we are fashioned for… and we’ll either find it or die trying; thus we turn to chunks of wood, extra crunchy Cheetos, the pleasure of endorphins or pornography, shopping or success, our spouse or kids, morality, indulgence or control. Our idolatry/addictions are the misdirected/sinful/foolish pursuits that expose our deep and profound need for God… that hasn’t yet been satisfied fully.*** The class is going great! I’m clear; I’m “on”… God is present… I’m blessed – flying free, soaring in the updraft of God’s Spirit and all I understand of the topic. The only bummer was, surprisingly, I had too much to say. I still had an hour of sagely insight with 5 minutes of class time left. That threw me off kilter. The last 5 minutes was not a clean ending… a rather bumpy, turbulent landing lacking the hallmark closing illustration, point of personal application and appeal to action. It was cut and paste on the fly. I hit the ground hard, blew a tire, bent my prop and slid for a while. The prof and a few people were gracious with their words to me at the end of the runway. Driving home I kept thinking about my crappy finish. YES I shimmered for 1 hour and 45 minutes… God was there for me and them… it was great!!! Thank you Christ!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you! At the same time and gaining volume that thingamajigger was rasping, Yuck, if only I had said this, or that… used the story of the cookies in Minneapolis, shared my insights about Jeremiah 2, why didn’t I think of that or this … Dang I left my best stuff out of the talk altogether!!! I cannot shake the feeling that I stunk the place up in those last 5 minutes ruining everything I has said to that point. Always intertwined with shame/disappointment is desire… and so mine rose, I long to bring the life and truth of God to others… to disrupt, open eyes and ears to Christ, to introduce men and women to the God who is and always has been pursuing them… to lead people into the richness of all God offers us… to know and enjoy Him forever. I want that! I’m ping-ponging between genuine elation over God’s goodness in using me and the self reproach of not finishing strong. After holding up traffic on the interstate as I pokey along for about 30 miles I exit off the freeway. I’m in some sort of conscious-yet-sedated state lingering between desire and disappointment. I pull up to a Sonic Burger, drive through and order a shake and onion rings. In that moment I’m unaware there’s a God, the angels seem mute, whatever holiness I possess is impotent, I have no conscience… I’m on a mission… kill the pain supplement the joy. Ten minutes and half an order of onion rings later I’m alert, regaining consciousness, flying down the interstate at 80 with congealed grease all over my finger tips and a vanilla mustache. I’m back! And before guilt/condemnation/shame can chime in God shows up! He’s smirking… like a parent who, while disapproving of their child’s behavior is holding back the laughter for fear the child would understand the grin and chuckles as an approval of the misbehavior. Oh, He’s disappointed that I, like Judah, would turn to other lovers, my unfaithfulness… my adultery concern Him. AND yet through the smiling eyes there is grace; an intimate understanding of my heart/desires; forgiveness; and the same invitation I gave the class. An invitation into the love of Christ; the savoring of the felt comforts of the Savior’s presence; a heart satisfied, delighted and at rest in the love of The Father. The last 5 minutes of the drive were the best 5. – Craig McConnell * “Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.” – George Eliot ** The dilemna was: where do you place Black Pepper? Under “Black” or under “Pepper”? *** I cannot recommend John Eldredge’s book Desire and Gerald May’s book Addiction and Grace more highly on these thoughts. Both are incredible books offering insight, grace and hope!
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Craig McConnell
A Bowl of Chili
It’s Tuesday evening and I’m spent after a full day chasing my tail… accomplishing zero-zip-nada-nothing. I’m living life large on 3 cylinders futzing around the house hoping that by the time I plop my haggard soul into bed I will have, in some way, made a contribution to the Kingdom or at least to the general state of affairs in my domain (I reorganize my junk drawer, open the bills clipping them smartly to their envelopes and stacking them alphabetically, make a note to buy some AAA batteries, straighten up the bathroom sink…update my Facebook status and feed the dog.) Mercifully Lori says dinner’s ready and I sit down to a hefty bowl of comfort food, i.e. chili topped with jack cheese, red onion, cilantro and sour cream. I’m taking my first bite as she updates me on our daughter’s weekend relational conflict with a friend saying, “You ought to read the follow-up letter she wrote to Audrey” (her out-of-sorts friend). I pull up my email and begin to read her letter. I didn’t/couldn’t take another bite of chili for 30 minutes. The tears were familiar… pouring down their historic route. They were similar to the tears I shed welcoming my daughters into this world, akin to those saying “goodbye” when they each left for school in Europe, very much like my tears dancing with them at their weddings (as well as saying “good night” the night before the wedding, and the night before that…). They were very familiar… and very new. Catching me by surprise God showed up and began to touch, speak, move, stir… comfort and heal. I was overwhelmed with tears, the tears of a happy man… the tears of a blessed man, a man who could have died and gone to heaven that very moment. Meagan’s letter in word, spirit, texture and affect blew me away. Her handling of, and speaking to her friend’s heart and soul was kind, forgiving, full of understanding, courageous, strong, inviting and authentic. Her world view, love of God, maturity and pursuit of her friend jumped out to me. She is the person I hope to be someday. Is there a day a father doesn’t bear some weight, a burden we’ve grown so accustomed to we hardly notice it… a question about our children’s journey and who they’re becoming and how they’ll “turn out”? It lies just beneath the waterline of consciousness surfacing from time to time. Added to this acclimatized strain we carry is another question inseparable from the former… it’s a notch deeper perhaps and it’s all about us. “How am I doing as a father? Am I screwing her up… do I have what it takes… is all this effort ‘working’… will she be everything I have hoped and prayed… is God at work?” We are often and deeply afraid of what we’ve done, are doing and will do as a parent. She’s too young to get her ears pierced… right? Is Barbie a corrupting model of femininity/beauty? What do I do about the influence her “friends” are having on her? Why am I so easily infuriated? What about the music she loves, movies she watches, clothes she wears… egads! Did the time I let her cry in her crib when everything in me said to go in and comfort her wound her… or was it that fit of anger when she came home late… yikes! How about the church youth group… it’s dead! Will she know and love God intimately or be merely compliantly religious. I think I blew it with the Beverly Hills 9012487 parties… and the NKOTB concert. Was my discipline too strict or lenient? I should have emphasized school more… the guy she’s dating is a flake!#$@? Oh God… dear God come for her… come for me! I have worried and wondered… paced the floor, pounded the ground, cried out to God, beat myself up as as a father and doubted God’s clear-strong-whispered words over the years… “Craig, your daughters… they’re mine, I’ve got them, we’re tight, we’re good. Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid, don’t panic… trust me… love Me, love them.” And until this letter I doubted God and his words to me. No longer. Seeing my daughter through her letter made it all very clear. My every concern about how she might “turn out” was dismissed, every worry stilled, the questions settled. He said, “Craig, you are a good father… look at your girls”. I was happily sobered and embarrassed that I had ever doubted him and his work in her and through me. I could not nor is it possible to be prouder of my girls at this stage of their lives. They quite simply are beautiful in everyway. As for me as a dad… God could not, nor is it possible for him to be prouder of me. I’m his, he’s mine, we’re tight, we’re good. What a bowl of chili! – Craig
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Craig McConnell
Kingdoms
Well, it’s Wednesday. Folks are either elated or really ticked, for all sorts of reasons. How sad to see this country so deeply divided. How sad to see the Church so deeply divided. We were having a ministry fast day (something we try and do the first Wednesday of every month) and as we were worshiping, I sensed Jesus turning my thoughts toward his Kingdom. It was good to be reminded that there are two sorts of Kingdoms in this world. There are the governments of man, which at their very best are a disappointment (and they are most often far from their very best). And there is the Kingdom of God, which is so utterly good and right and beautiful you fall in love with it whenever you get even a glimpse. We are told to care about the kingdoms of this world. They can do some good and a great deal of damage. We must pray for the king. But we are urged to give our hearts to the Kingdom of God. To throw ourselves into its advance. I found the reminder helpful.
John Eldredge
Politics
There is so much swirling around the coming elections. I don’t want to add a bit to the emotional roller coaster. So here is a thought that might help us as we make some pretty important decisions: There is a sort of “moral equivalency” that has crept into our thinking. We’ve come to believe that one issue is just as weighty as another. Or that one set of issues balances out another. That we are free therefore to pick and choose according to those things which “matter to us.” But as believers, we know that some moral questions are far weightier than others. For example, issues of life and death are far more significant than economic reforms we might like to see. Jesus speaks about “the weightier matters of the law” (Matt 23:23). Some things are more important than others. The Scripture does not teach a level moral playing field where all issues are the same. Let’s not give way to the cynicism that says, “There aren’t any real differences.” Let’s also not give way to a naivete that ignores weightier issues because we like other promises being made. I’ll be honest: I’m not thrilled about all my options when I step into the ballot booth this year. But I have to keep in mind there are simply some non-negotiable issues, and on those I can’t turn a blind eye.
John Eldredge
When Time Flies By
Where have the past few weeks gone? I’m trying to pause, and assess. Take stock. Where did all my time go? What have I been doing? I have to pull out my calendar to even remember. Oh, that’s right. The first of this month we had a Wild at Heart Boot Camp. Four really incredible days. And utterly exhausting. It takes days to recover. This time almost a week, because the warfare hit hard towards the end, and even more so afterwards. That’s right, now I remember. But three days after the retreat was Stasi and my 25th. A wonderful time, but still there’s the pressure and emotional investment in making it a wonderful time. We went down to Santa Fe for a couple nights. Then a friend’s wedding. Then back to the book, and writing. My son Sam breaks down in his 68 VW we rebuilt, but he’s several states away and I spend a day and a night trying to get him back to college. This past weekend it was take Luke rifle hunting. No wonder I’m tired. Sometimes it’s helpful just to pause and ask, “What have I been doing?’ I mean, any one of these events isn’t all that demanding in and of itself, but good grief, the accumulation is practically ridiculous. At least I don’t feel so guilty for not wanting to jump into the pile on my desk today.
John Eldredge
Surprise
Given the economic times and all it is stirring up in my heart I went rummaging through my journals looking for battles fought, lessons learned and God’s hand in previous times. This is a journal excerpt from July 8,9, 2007 My daughter Meagan, her fiance at the time: Jared (now her husband), Lori and I are out for a gosh-it’s-great-to-be-family-and ”Hey let’s go out for a Sunday Morning brunch”-together time. An exhausted, worn, sad eyed woman appearing to be 78 years old comes to our table to take our order. She does, she leaves. Meagan vocalizes what I’m thinking, “I feel so sorry for her… she’s old and she has to work here!?” My version adds a little more personal color, “That’s me at her age… a financial failure working on a bait barge, or in a shabby donut shop, vacuuming cars at an all night car wash in Hurricane Utah, or sitting on an intersection corner with a sign “Will Give Spiritual Direction 4 Food”… I’m so doomed” Pause. Jared shifts in his seat and speaks up, “Ahh… I have a different take on her. She’s where she’s at because of decisions she’s made. I feel bad for her, but I don’t feel sorry for her… she’s reaped what she’s sowed. She didn’t live/plan well.” Meagan and Jared do a little back and forth tit-for-tat clarifying what they each meant and didn’t mean regarding the woman’s plight. Their conversation is background noise to the torment un-tethered in my soul… “You reap what you sow!” Eegads… that’s how my future son-in-law feels? What will he say about me in 25 years? I was kinda, sorta hoping that he would be my security net… put me up, feed me… cover my ass for 75 years of irresponsible impulsive recklessness guided as a free spirit living in the moment. All of these thoughts fermenting with a demonic choir in the background, “You reap what you sow, you reap what you sow.” I pick up the bill and put it on my max-ed out credit card. All that day and the next I cannot mute the chorus, shake the anxiety nor find any solace from God. It’s as if every foul dark spirit of condemnation, shame, un-belief, failure and diminishment west of Hurricane has been summoned to bring a tambourine, juice harp and drum and join the band. “You reap what you sow!” You’ve had those days haven’t you? Something within surfaces and is then seized upon, exploited and colors your every moment. You can’t shake it…. you’re warring/praying to no apparent avail. This was that day for me. It was horrible. Every song on the radio sang it, a plane carrying a banner over the beach stated it, it was posted on the sides of buses, on bill boards, bumper stickers… it was on the back of cereal boxes, heck even Oprah confirmed it saying it, “YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!” By days end I have no future, no hope… no faith (it would seem). I’ve sowed poorly financially and I’ll reap hell on this earth. I’m the bug you watch swirling around in the toilet helplessly caught in the flow of life’s cold realities… until he disappears. I thank God Lori is so very much my helpmate in times such as these. She knows me, my story… she knows God and is so often his mercy, grace and tenderness to me. She offers her life to me though her listening, her strong courageous words, being there, and calling me out and up to be the man I truly am. That evening she offered all to me… she loved me well in every way… and after the loving, tout de suite God shows up! * The timing was a little odd, actually intrusive, like having a Jehovah’s Witness or a salesman knock on the door as you’ve just settled into a great book on an engulfing couch… but it is God and I answer the door. Speaking to the suffocating weight of “You reap what you sow”, in powerful, defiant, words He says , That’s malarkey! ** From somewhere I began to argue that it’s an unflinching universal moral/life principle that HE (God) set up… that it’s true, it’s for the sake of order… it contributes to a good work ethic… it is just and promotes all that’s good and right… it cannot relent, there are no exemptions… I have no hope!! To which he responds repeating himself for affect in a forceful passionate voice bringing me both clarity and joy…, “Craig… NO! I love you, care for you, want to father you with grace, mercy, kindness… I will provide…” And then day breaks and it’s all very clear for me…The principle of reaping what you sow by itself apart from any and every other reality of life is an impersonal law (like gravity). Being a impersonal principle/law doesn’t mean that it’s not true, but if taken as the highest, sine qua, the central governing truth of all creation and life in an exclusionary way. i.e. excluding God, it’s an inescapable sentence upon a persons life. A petri dish for condemnation, shame and the paralysis of self-loathing. God begins to sooth my heart and bring clarity and a new round of deeper dependence upon Him confirming that “Reaping what you sow” alone leaves no room for healing, no grace, no wiggle room, and zero hint of an opportunity for redemption or God’s mercy and intervention. There’s no sense of a father’s heart and compassion… for his extravagant provision. It doesn’t take into account that, for some of us our financial failures aren't so much a volitional act of defiance, lack of self control/discipline, or materialism as it is an indicator of, symptom of deep woundedness, fatherlessness, brokenness. All very really issues that explain the failure and sins that mark our lives. Did the prodigal reap what he sowed without mercy and redemption? Did the laborer who worked for merely an hour reap what he sowed (Matthew 20)? It was the ongoing comfort of God as my father towards my own financial failures, my poor sowing, failure, brokenness and woundedness. I fell into a deep sleep with a big smile on my face. – Craig * I’m astonished at God’s timing and how he chooses to surprise us. For a number of reasons I KNEW it was God, for one, in moments like this it’s not my custom to ponder the deeper unresolved questions of my soul. ** I’m substituting words here… his words were aggressive, stern and surprising as he stood opposed to the agreement I was making to a principle twisted against a fathering God and my trust in him.
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Craig McConnell
Southern Hemisphere
de·lete /d?'lit/ [di-leet] –verb (used with object), to strike out or remove (something written or printed); cancel; erase; expunge; to destroy. Spent an hour writing out a pretty vulnerable story for this blog. I was in the zone; writing; thinking; laughing; listening to a great Classic Rock play list; enjoying God and the blustery fall afternoon. I paused to decide on a word choice… “euphoric” or “exuberant” when my playlist hit Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd (if you’re wondering, the long version… a classic!)… well, I zoned out unknowingly playing my keyboard like a piano. At some point, probably during the crescendo guitar solo, I hit the right combination of keys and … “puff”. I deleted my blog. “NO”!!! (You certainly know the feeling… right?) Immediately I prayed; asking God to save all my labor; bound the thief; and moved into a listening mode as I tried everything to retrieve a sure source of blessing/encouragement for every reader. Nada. Gone. Kaputz. Is this how a nuclear war starts… some night crew stiff starts rockin to a tune, inadvertently hits a button or two and the southern hemisphere is deleted? Agitated I headed to the kitchen for some relief. A handful of M&M’s. Pondered the sovereignty of God, spiritual warfare and the principle of reaping and sowing… wondering if God was in this. Heading back to my office God spoke. Sensing his presence, smile and laughter I heard him say, “Give it [my blog topic] some more thought…” . That’s all I needed. So I sat back down at my desk, cranked Free Bird again, and scribbled out these few thoughts. – Craig
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Craig McConnell
Shotgun
Somewhere in the friendly skies between Denver and Sacramento I’m trounced/ambushed by an internal hysteria over not being prepared for retirement. Now “retirement” whatever that is, is still a ways out there… and I’ve got my retirement funds secure and growing with Lehman Brothers… whoops! None-the-less I’m overcome with this out-of-the-blue horror about the future. Specifically my future! And I’m genuinely frightened! Standing in the long line awaiting my intermediate sized rental car I’m praying against whatever is responsible for the burning rod in the core of my body emitting this anxiety/fear while trying to listen to God for whatever he wants to say in all of this… It feels like I’m only shadow boxing with dread and I’m hearing nothin from God… all I’m getting is high decibel static. Shuffling down the line of impatient customers toward me is a Churchill like jowled man who looks 83 wearing a floppy safari hat. With foggy eyes that never quite make contact with anyone this worn image bearer works the line offering maps of the local area… for… what, 8 hours a day? He looks miserable… I’m miserable as a new round of apprehension, accusations and sulfuric voices fill my head. I should have saved more… earlier, been more aggressive, less aggressive… shouldn’t have but that on the credit card… or that, or that… I should have been more frugal like my brother… should have bought gold/silver… should have, should have, should have…My fate is sealed to misery, that’s me at 83…misery, misery!!! (Now there is a bit of truth to all of this. Looking back I now know a lot more than I did as a younger less fathered man. There ARE a lot of things I should have done. This is what gives the Accuser a foothold of “credibility” that can destroy you (versus redeem/rescue you). I get my paper work and hop on the shuttle to the parking lot to pick up my upgraded mid-sized car. The shuttle driver is another dinosaur… I’m thinking about 96 years old!!! AHHH!! Everywhere there are old men with faded gazes exerting what little energy/life they have left to make minimum wage doing menial jobs because they BLEW IT… like me!!! There I am 25 years from now trekking to Wal-Mart to welcome people as they enter. I’m now in my rental beginning the hour and a half drive to my folk’s house. As I’m driving through the streets of Sacramento its as if everyone under 79 has been raptured … there are no children playing in the park, no young lovers walking hand in hand, not a single baby stroller, bicycle, teen-ager or skateboard. Everyone looks withered and stooped… the only ones walking the streets are those with a new layer of wrinkles and lost memories and friends. Gentle old folk with oversized purses or wearing felt hats, there are blublockers, old Buicks… canes and faded old shoes. Please note: I admire and honor my elders. I’ve always loved hearing their stories and conversing about life, history and the lessons they’ve learned. For years I went to a local convalescent hospital to simply read, hold a hand, listen… I cried and laughed and loved it. Ultimately what’s happening here has nothing to do with the elderly it’s some funky mix of warfare and God… battling for something deep within my soul. This really isn’t ageism! Internally I’m in knots… worried, frightened and unable to shake some shaming voice that barks out at me, “You’re a failure… you’ll never have enough savings/retirement/pension funds… NEVER, EVER EVER…slob!” (The “Slob” felt like piling on!). What on earth does my future hold? And then I notice The Ancient One sitting beside me… (riding shotgun!). He warmly invites me into a conversation and communion… which kind of surprises me… I thought we were communing, conversing… heck I’ve been battling all this fear, shame, accusation… and he interrupts me, “NO, you tend not to come to me with your fears…” Silence. I’m a little stunned. What!? His voice is fatherly and inviting and… strong, as he stays with the issue for about 60 miles on highway 50. When frightened you run from me not to me… you’re afraid of me. Your unfathered heart is crushed under the shame and self loathing you bear. You go it alone instead of bringing your fears to me. Come to me. Bring your fear to me. Rest, come on, let me father you. This all felt both foreign and simple. Can it be that easy? In this mix of the two of us communing I begin to see a number of things more clearly. I realize at times like this I’ve mistaken the feelings/assault of anxiety/terror/dread/shame/condemnation as the voice of God... that all the self-loathing internal hate speech is God’s evaluation of me; thus I’ve run from him rather than toward him. I’m amazed that this is true of me… and that I’ve gone so long without seeing it! Wow! I see how I mishandle my anxieties… Like a young boy I stick my head under a pillow (hiding, avoidance, paralysis, passivity, “taken out”) or I start organizing…. I rearrange my outside world hoping my inside world will follow. You wouldn’t believe how many books, magazines, seminars I’ve consumed hoping for a change that’s unreachable apart from God. Apart from God. I’m silenced… and he says, Let me father you, I will care and provide… walk with me. And all the passages of scripture about me being more important to him than sparrows and wild flowers and that I need not worry about what I shall eat or wear flood my heart. The anxiety attack, all the fear, contempt and shame lifts. I’m loved. I want to live differently! Listen to me, O house of Jacob, all you who remain of the house of Israel, you whom I have upheld since you were conceived, and have carried since your birth. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. - Isaiah 46:3-4
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Craig McConnell
Saying No
I’m finding I have to say “no” a lot these days. And I’m wondering, why is it so hard? I mean, I realize there’s only so much of me to go around. I understand the need for “margin” in my life. And I try to walk with God, ask him where he’s leading as I make decisions. I’ve got a pretty strong sense of what I’m supposed to be about, and that helps me know what I’m not supposed to be about. But even still, I find myself flinching, sometimes freezing inside when I have to come to a decision and the decision is “No.” No, I can’t help you. No, I can’t come. No, I don’t have time to hang out. No, I can’t take this call. Why is it so hard to say no? Is it because I grew up in an alcoholic home, learned to carry unhealthy burdens, felt obligated to take care of others? Is it because I want people to like me, and I’m afraid they’re going to think, “Eldredge is a jerk?” Is it because I fear I’ll miss the will of God, that he is in this or that request and I’m afraid I’ll blow right past something he is in? Its probably D) all of the above. But as I reflect a bit more on the internal workings of this, I think the common thread is that I want to be thought well of. And it makes me realize how crucial it is to get my validation from God. It’s hard to navigate all the needs and demands in a broken world. Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you,” meaning, there is always going to be more need than you can meet. It’s hard to navigate my own motives. The enemy is a constant accuser. There is just no way out of this mess except to place the verdict on my life in God’s hands, and to draw from him the validation or correction on how I’m living. If I have a settled confidence in his opinion, then I’m free to live. If I lose sight of that, o man, it makes a mess of things. “God, how am I doing?” I need to take my bearings here. It’s the only true north.
John Eldredge
Hoops
I think God jumps out of the bushes that line the path we’re on startling us with His presence/words or with an invitation into something deeper. It could be a deeper repentance, or intimacy… another healing touch… it may be an invitation to laughter or joy… perhaps volitional strength… the point is He surprises us at times! I chuckle as I think of Him lurking about in the most common affairs of my day… at times He even seems playful as He leaps out of a passage of Scripture I’ve read a gazillion times before giving me some new never-seen insight into my life or His person/work. Last evening I’m in a conversation with Sam about his upcoming week one moment and in the next it’s no longer Sam talking about something he’s doing on Saturday, it’s the ever-present Ventriloquist speaking to me about something I’m doing in five months and how He (God) wants to bring more healing/closure to a deep wound of mine through that event (Sam no doubt wondering why I was weeping). Sometimes He hops out of a movie I’m watching or from the music I’m listening to in ways the lyricist never ever intended. He’s with us in the moment between the market and home. He’s speaking through the plumber’s story, the sunset, the smiling child, the homeless guy on the corner, your friend’s kindness as well as those troubling souls within your life’s orbit. A couple of days ago I’m yapping with a buddy and his innocuous observation about another man sends me into an evening of confession, repentance, breaking of agreements and crying out to God for transformation. God is most certainly with us! A quick story: I was attending a conference session wherein the President of the organization, a true and good man, formerly a seminary professor vulnerably shares that much of his Christian life has been lived from the perspective that He was to cram his head with as much knowledge and understanding as possible and through that God would sanctify/mature him. He reflected that it contributed little to his personal relationship with God. He continues telling the audience that he attended our Boot Camp and during one of our “Times of Silence with God” he, operating from a perspective of “Yes, God speaks… but not really… and certainly not to me”, finds a quiet place perched upon a rock to listen for anything God may have to say to him. He spent 10 minutes in token respectful silence and concludes… “I knew it!” God didn’t speak… no real surprise to him, He never has. So he, Clive, does what any good Hoosier would do… wanders down to the basketball court to shoot some hoops through the rest of the time with God. He continues the story saying that he made 10 shots in a row – which is unusual enough that his sharp mind goes analytical over what it is that he’s doing that would explain his success. “Is it the angle of my elbow?” “The snap of my wrist or the squaring up of my shoulders?”…”Maybe it’s my follow through!” Then he misses the next 10 shots as he’s dissecting his form. And … surprise… God shows up on the basketball court saying, “Clive, you’re trying so hard, you’re so analytical… I want your heart!” Stunned and still, God begins to speak deeply to the governing assumptions of his life inviting him into something very new… and wanted (Living from the heart intimately with God). Clive asks God, “Okay… do you want me to go back to my rock?” (To finish out the “Time Alone With God”) and God answers, “No, continue to shoot hoops – but from your heart!” See it? Surprise! Oh how he longs for a personal conversational relationship with us! And so, He is ever-present and always lurking about jumping at any and every opportunity to invite us into “more”. I wonder when, where and how He will jump out and into our lives today? – Craig McConnell
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Craig McConnell
Company of Men
These last two Mondays several of us (guys from the Wild at Heart Team) were up at Bart’s ranch with a couple of groups of men. There’s something about being in the company of men… we were skeet shooting , some of us enjoying a good cigar others passing, and all of us at some point putting into words the defining desires of our hearts and the hurdles we face: marriages, finances, parenting, career issues, questions about the goodness of God and spiritual warfare. Stories of God working were awesome. Each man a good man with a huge heart… our allies and friends. Wounded, glorious, broken, alive, true, generous… I am astonished by the company of men that surround us and share this mission with us. We couldn’t do this alone. The mythic nature of a man’s calling simply cannot be accomplished alone. And yet “alone” is what so many/most men feel. Oh God raise up companies of men! – Craig
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Craig McConnell
Its the Little Things
Years ago I was sitting in grad school, listening to a lecture by Larry Crabb talking about real and substantive change in our lives, and how our choices every day reflect what’s truly ruling us. He said he was blasting out the door that morning as he usually did, crashing into his day, blasting, how he made a conscious decision to stop, turn around, go back and get something he forgot. The point was, “I am trying to be aware of what is ruling me as I move through my day, and I’m making small decisions to act against it. That’s how I cooperate with God in my transformation.” I thought…huh. Really? That seems like pretty small potatoes. That’s where change takes place? I’m in grad school for this? Over the years I’ve found it to be profoundly true. We look for the huge, monumental changes – which are so hard to pull off, and pretty rare for most of us, and we miss a thousand small decisions that could change us. This summer, it was flip-flops. I’ve never liked flip-flops, thought they were wimpy. When I did wear sandals in the summer, I’d choose something like Tevas, or Chacos, “adventure sandals” that have straps and buckles, a design that make them ready for action. It reflects a posture, an approach to life. “Always be ready for action.” Flip-flops are like wearing bathrobes. Like going to the market in pajama pants. I’d never be caught dead in a bathrobe. I mean, it’s so friggin wimpy. OK. So part of my awareness and repentance of late has been to see how little I chill-out. Just chill-out. Let down. Relax. I’m always “on.” I despised flip-flops because they were so un-ready for anything. Anyhow, I bought a pair when we went to Hawaii in June, and I’ve worn them throughout the summer. Its a small act. Might even seem silly. But its a way of repenting. “Chill out, John. Give it a rest, for heaven’s sake. You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time.” So, it’s been the summer of the flip-flops. It goes down as a milestone.
John Eldredge