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Sometimes You Feel Like Fred Astaire, Sometimes You Don’t

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I went swing dancing at Otter Creek Church again. It’s normally one of the highlights of my week. But this time I just wasn’t feeling it.

I can’t explain it any better. Except maybe to say that even the most social of social butterflies occasionally feels like a caterpillar and needs some alone time. Or in my case, alone with the crazy cat time.

Not every day will be your best day ever. Some days will suck. Some days will be stellar. Some will just be kinda meh, neither horrible nor awesome. Just average.

But the truth is that you can still find joy in every day. You can choose joy in every moment and learn to see blessings and God’s gifts everywhere.

Even when your bank account has one of those distressing minus signs in front of the amount, you can live in joy.

Even when you feel unattractive and undesirable to anyone, you can choose joy.

Even when your dreams seem as far away as that full moon in the sky, you can count blessings instead of sheep.

Even if you don’t have a 13-year old feline therapist who has reasonable rates and very flexible office hours, you can find God’s gifts yo you everywhere if you can see with the right kind of eyes.

Me being able to write these blogs every day is a blessing to me. Me having an iPad to write them on is a blessing. Me waking up and experiencing a perfect Autumn day is a blessing.

I have joy because I see how much I am blessed. Even if I never get married or go on another date, if no girl ever finds me desirable in any way, I can say I’ve been way more blessed than I deserve.

My life is good because God is good and my life is now His. Every day I am living my miracle because Eucharisteo (giving thanks in everything with joy) always precedes the miracle.

My miracle is family who love me, friends who stick with me, cool fall breezes that caress me, pumpkin spice lattes that warm my heart. My miracle is life. Being alive to everything God is and has for me.

I love being me, but I love way more becoming who God is transforming me into– the character and image of Jesus.

I love that!image

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

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“Forgiveness is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly. The hard truth is that all people love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day, every hour increasingly. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family.” (Henri Nouwen)

I’ve posted and blogged and mentioned multiple times before how the hardest person to forgive is often yourself. You know yourself too well and you know your own weaknesses because a certain adversary reminds you of them every single day.

I know I’ve blown it with a friend and the friendship won’t ever be the same again. We used to hang out and be good friends but now she won’t even sit on the same side of the room as me and we feel like really good acquaintances.

There are one or two (including that one at Starbucks) who have taken to actively disliking me and nothing I say or do will change that. For me, I have to remember that I can’t be friends with everyone and that it’s not my job to make every single person like me. It’s my job to be the best me possible.

But forgiveness isn’t optional. Not with others and especially not with ourselves. How dare I choose not to forgive myself when God (who incidentally knows me better than I do) has freely forgiven me? And why would I want to live under a cloud of condemnation when I don’t have to?

No one does relationships well. We mistrust each other. We read too much into silences and jests. We say the wrong things and fail to say the right things. Most of us have gotten used to the taste of shoe leather from sticking our feet in our mouths so often.

But real friendship between two believers is the Jesus in me communing with the Jesus in you. It’s practicing forgiveness and grace and blessing, giving these abundantly because we know our desperate need for all of the above.

You are not your past. Or your mistakes. You are not the names you’ve been called or that you’ve called yourself.

You are:

Redeemed

Forgiven

Blessed

Child of God

Beautiful

Beloved

To Die For

The One Your Abba Is Still Very Fond Of

May we speak not hurt but life, not wounds but blessings into each other. May we always look to see the best in ourselves and in others and call out the beautiful and glorious in each other. May we learn to love others and ourselves the way God has always loved us.

Learning to Listen Well

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I love serving at Room in the Inn at my church during the colder months of the year. It helps more than anything to get me out of myself and into a more others-centered mind frame.

Tonight, I went to a dinner where Dr. Ken Corr, Congregational Care Minister at Brentwood Baptist Church, spoke about how to effectively minister to the homeless. One of the takeaways for me was empathetic listening.

Empathetic listening seeks to understand what the person speaking is feeling. It’s where you step into that person’s shoes and hear the story from their side.

It’s not about giving advice or trying to fix their story to make it better. It’s not even about offering to give their story a better outcome. It’s certainly not about formulating your response (as I have so often done) so that you will come across as wiser and kinder than you really are.

For someone to tell you their story is a rare and precious gift. They are inviting you into their private world, letting you in to a place that few people have been allowed. You should value that trust and respect the gift.

But also, the gift of truly listening is equally a special gift to someone. You’re saying to that person, “You are not invisible, because I see you in your struggles and triumphs, joys and pains. You are not alone, because I am a witness to your story and I know where you’ve been and what you’ve been through.”

You earn the right to speak life and blessing into a person’s life by listening to not just their words, but the feelings behind those words. Many times, the person will be unable to understand their own feelings related to their story. You can share what their story made you feel and in that way help them understand their own emotions.

I want to be a better listener. I want to learn to listen to what you have to say, for that is one of the ways God often speaks to me. May we all learn to listen well.

Joy in the Midst of Sadness

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I celebrated with the rest of the family as my niece turned 2. Finally, I can stop counting in months. I was seriously running out of fingers and toes to count on.

I loved seeing the pure unadulterated joy on her face when she saw her presents and the complete love and trust she has for her mommy and daddy and two big brothers. It did my heart good.

But I also remembered Adrian Peterson’s 2-year old son who was allegedly beaten to death by his mother’s boyfriend. My heart hurts and I have questions I can’t answer.

Who does that to a 2-year old? For what possible reason?

I know we live in a broken world filled with broken people. Creation groans for deliverance and for everything to be made right. Too many defenseless and helpless children suffer, too many people go to bed hungry, too many marriages fall apart, and too many die way too young.

Then I remember how this story ends. I cheated and read the last page. It’s about God wiping away every tear from our eyes. It’s about a new Jerusalem, a new heaven and a new earth where lambs lie safely next to lions, where others is no need for sun, moon, or stars because God is there.

I love what the guest pastor said. God didn’t want an only child, so He chose us to be conformed to the image of His Son Jesus and become heirs with Jesus to all the promises of God.

I love this version of Romans 8:29-30: “God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.”

That’s what keeps me going in the midst of so much suffering and sadness. That’s why I can find joy in everything. Because ultimately Love does win.

A Beautiful Moment

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I saw one example of Eucharisteo paying off today.  My mother and  were on the way back from picking up my grandmother from her assisted living apartment. We had Hank Williams playing in the car, hoping my grandmother would recognize the old music.

We got to the song “Hey Good Lookin'”, a song pretty much EVERYBODY has heard of at some point in their lives. My mom started singing and, lo and behold, my grandmother chimed in. I don’t know why that moment blessed me so much, but it did.

Out of all the great things that happened today– seeing my niece Lizzie’s joy in opening her birthday presents, being with family, driving home at night with the windows rolled down– that moment topped them all. In fact, I’d say it has hit the charts with a bullet for one of my favorite moments of 2013.

I guess I love that moment because I was able to slow down to catch that fleeting moment and savor it. I didn’t miss it like I’ve missed so many others because I was too busy looking back in regret or looking ahead with anxiety. I was squarely in that moment and seeing God at work right then and there.

My grandmother is 89 and her memory’s not what it used to be. I know she won’t live forever, as much as the 10-year old part of me thinks otherwise. I know no one I love lives forever. At some point, I will have to say goodbye to everything and everyone I love this side of heaven. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t relish in every moment I’m given. It doesn’t mean that I can’t build memories of moments that will carry me through the grief back to the joy.

I love my friends, whether they’re in my life for 15 minutes, 6 months, 2 years, or a lifetime. I know better than to assume every friend will always be my friend and will always be around. I also know that each person, whether family or friend, has left footprints in my heart and residue of their spirit in my soul, so that I am forever changed, more like Jesus, because of knowing them.

My prayer isn’t that people will look back and remember me as a really swell guy, but that they will look on the times they spent with me and reflect on how much closer to Jesus they are now because of my small part in their lives.

That’s all.

Blog #1,161

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I still write these blogs as reminders to myself of how good God’s been to me. I am so very forgetful and prone to wander, prone to leave the God I love, prone to return to broken cisterns of doubt and fear.

I write about grace so much because I love it so much, and I love it so much because I’ve needed it and found it at just the right times. Left to myself, I can very clingy and needy, very co-dependent, and self-absorbed. I am an approval-addict. An affirmation junkie.

But that grace of God found me. And it did not leave me where it found me. I found that Jesus’ amazing love for me makes me loveable. I discovered that it’s more than okay for me to be myself. It’s the best form of worship I can offer. Just me loving being me. Me refusing to be conformed to what everybody else says I should be, to what the media tells me I need to be to matter.

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I will never stop telling the story of how Eucharisteo forged my miracle, how a lifestyle of joy and gratitude and thanksgiving opened my eyes to manifold blessings and allowed me to open closed fists to receive more of God’s riches.

I am blessed. Even if I never have a six-figure salary. Even if I am ever more the friend and never the love interest, the guy girls want to marry. Even if I never get another blessing or another visible reminder of God’s presence.

Here’s to 1,000 more posts to remind forgetful me of how good my life is and how great God is. Here’s to all of you who keep encouraging me, challenging me, and blessing me in ways I will never be able to repay.

Thank you.

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Friends, Frothy Monkey, and Franklin

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A lady I work with remarked that the only good cats were dead ones. Obviously, she’s not a fan of cats. Lord, forgive them for they know not what they’re missin’.

I had another great night in downtown Franklin. I had a spectacular roast beef and provolone sandwich at my very favorite place to eat on Earth, which as you should know by now is McCreary’s Irish Pub. Seeing as I chose to eat at the optimal senior citizen dining time of 4:30 pm, I got prime seating on the patio on a picturesque Autumn afternoon.

Later, I ran into one of my favorite friends who always makes my heart happy when I see her and never fails to encourage me and make me smile. She and her dad were headed over to Sweet CeCe’s for some fro-yo (that is frozen yogurt for the novices out there). I recommended the pumpkin pie flavor, which is exceedingly delightful.

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I had a sweet potato pie latte at Frothy Monkey and sat on the patio while I sipped my little cup of heaven and reveled in just how very blessed I am. If I counted all my blessings, I’d easily surpass the 1,500 I came up with in my Things I Love series. I’d lose count before I ran out of blessings.

I got treated to an organ concert at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. Well, it was more like the organ dude practicing and me showing up at the right time. I prayed a bit, sat still and silent for a bit, and just tried to be in the moment. A girl sat directly across from me, deep in prayer. I still don’t know who she was or what burdens she carried, but I did my best to intercede for her and agree with her in prayer for whatever she was asking from God. It felt like genuine New Testament Church.

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I had ol’ Hank Williams (Sr., not Jr.) providing the soundtrack to my ride home. With the windows down and the volume cranked up. It was magical.

Now I’m sitting here typing this on my iPad while my cat reposes in my lap. To many people’s great and lasting disappointment, she’s not dead. Only very sleepy. Probably dreaming of tuna again.

 

Update on Showing Up

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I showed up this morning at 5:05 am. I read my daily portion of Scripture, which today was from Isaiah, Sirach (or Ben Sira), and Hebrews. And in case you’re wondering what Sirach is–it’s one of the apocryphal (or deuterocanonical) books found in some Catholic Bibles.

I tried to not pray a script. I just sat there and was still and silent. I fell asleep. I guess getting that comfortable and that still that early in the morning puts me to sleep. So I’m not as super-spiritual as you may have thought I was.

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I ran across this from Isaiah 56:

“And foreigners who join themselves to the Lord, to minister to him, To love the name of the Lord, to become his servants— All who keep the sabbath without profaning it and hold fast to my covenant, Them I will bring to my holy mountain and make them joyful in my house of prayer; Their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be acceptable on my altar, For my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. (Isaiah 56:6, 7 NABRE)”

That’s me. A foreigner. A Gentile.

The last part of the verse is what Jesus quoted when he drove out the moneychangers, people who took advantage of people coming to offer sacrifices in the temple. He got so mad be because these sellers were putting up artificial barriers between people and God and keeping them from worshipping.

I noticed that Jesus never called it a House of Preaching or a House of Worship. It’s a House of Prayer. So why do we do so little praying there? Why is prayer always a preliminary to other activities instead of the main thing?

I don’t pray because I don’t think I need to. I forget that prayer isn’t primarily relaying information to God. It’s not about informing God about something He was previously unaware of. Prayer is about me seeing through God’s eyes. Prayer is about me acknowledging deep down that I desperately need God at every moment if I’m to have a chance of survival.

I can’t pray and stay the same. I can’t pray and stay where I am. I can’t pray and not have my heart line up a little more with God’s heart, see more with His eyes, and be a little more like Jesus.

I’m setting my alarm for 5:00 am tomorrow. I’m hoping that if I keep showing up, I will start to see God showing up in my life more.

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Making Mondays Good Again

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At first, it may have seemed like a typical Monday. First, I locked my keys in my car at Starbucks. I knew the moment my hand went to shut the door that I had messed up. Sure enough, there were my keys, still in the ignition.

Then, after my trusty sidekick and savior of the day a.k.a. Mom brought my spare keys, I went to start the car. Nothing. Other than a very annoying clicking sound. I was beginning to get annoyed myself.

I had AAA, so I got them to send a wrecker who was able to jump start my car and get me running. I ended up needing a new battery.

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Sounds like I should write off this Monday as yet another in a long line of bad days. Right? As Lee Corso says, “Not so fast, my friend.”

I woke up this morning, a privilege many didn’t get. I breathed in and out fresh air out of my lungs, felt my heart pumping life through my limbs, and got to experience the gift of another day of living.

There’s still not a moment where I’m not sustained and held together by the grace of God. There’s never a second where I’m out of God’s sight or not in His heart.

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I know I have so many people rooting for me on both sides of Heaven. I know I have saints lifting up holy hands in intercession for me. I know Jesus never ceases praying for me and His Holy Spirit never stops translating my sighs and groans into petitions and praises.

I’m good. I’m more than good. I’m blessed.

If God never did one more thing for me, if He showed me my empty box of blessings because I had used them all up, I would be good. I would still have enough reasons to give thanks and be grateful for the rest of my life.

Eternity will be too short for me to express my thankfulness to God for who He’s been to me and how He’s proved Himself faithful over and over. I’ll never get tired of finding new ways to say “Thank you!” to the King of the Universe who is also my Abba Father.

I’d say that makes even Mondays blessed.

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Cruise-liner Christianity?

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I have another confession. I’ve spent way too much of my life seeking out comfort and convenience. I’ve avoided any possibility of suffering and some places because they were “less than safe.”

I know I’m not alone. So many go to their comfortable, air-conditioned churches and then to comfortable, air-conditioned restaurants and then on to comfortable, air-conditioned lives. We want to feel good and look good, but I think God is calling us more to do good and be good.

So many will use rain as an excuse for staying away from worship services. But the same will sit in the rain for hours at a Titans or Vols game.

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I’ve used just about every excuse to not pick up my Bible and actually read it. I’ll tell myself I’m too tired to pray. I will say that I can’t afford to tithe this week, but I’ll start back next week.

Jesus promised us there would be suffering. But He also promised that the reward at the other side would be more than worth it. Like when a mother forgets her delivery pains when she holds her newborn baby in her arms.

The problem with Cruise-line Christianity isn’t so much that it’s disobedience (which it is), but that you miss so many blessings and rewards and joys that only come with taking that narrow path, the road less travelled, the trail marked with suffering.

I don’t mean to intentionally seek out suffering. Just not to seek first and foremost to avoid it. I do mean saying YES to Jesus, whatever Jesus asks of you and wherever He calls you to go, whether it’s next door or across the world or even to the unsafe part of time.

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For me, it might mean getting up earlier in the morning and making time for God. Maybe it means going without Starbucks for a whole week. Egads.

All I know is that I want God more than I want to stay comfortable and safe and vaguely dissatisfied. I don’t want to get to the end of my life and wonder what I could have done for God if I’d only been more trusting and more faithful. I want to find out now.

I’ll keep you posted on how the whole waking up earlier thing goes. But for now, it means waking up at 5:30 instead of 6 am. Yikes.