Ghosts

stpauls

 

I was feeling burdened about some issues, so I stepped inside one of my favorite places on earth, St. Paul’s Espiscopal Church, a very old church building located in the heart of downtown Franklin. Being in that place always brings me peace and I can be still and silent and just be.

I pulled out one of the kneelers and got on my knees and unburdened myself before God. I let it all go. I don’t know if it will work out like I want it to or not, but I do know that I felt a peace about it for the first time in a while. Then I simply listened.

It may have been the creaky floorboards settling, but to my romanticized imagination, it sounded like echos of past worshippers. Ghosts of people who came to this place and found their own peace.

I felt that I was not alone. Not because of ghosts, but because I knew that God was there with me.

I know now that I have to let my situation go. I can’t fix it. As much as I try to “help” God out, I would only make things worse. So I have to back off and let God do what only God can do. It’s completely in his hands now.

I don’t know how long I knelt there, listening to the noises around me. I left my phone in my pocket the whole time.

I love the fact that God didn’t wait until I got my act together to come to me. He found me, broken as I was, and is loving me to wholeness. Even though I sometimes still live out of fear and doubt, he never once has abandoned me. In those times I felt most alone, he was closest of all.

That’s what I love about God. Every other religion is about how to get to God, but Christianity (not the religion, but the relationship with Jesus Christ) is about how God came to us and found us before we even thought about looking for him.

I’m so glad he found me.

 

When You Feel Like Giving Up

I’ve felt like giving up sometimes. And by that I don’t mean I felt a desire to end my life. I just didn’t feel like trying anymore. At the time, I felt like I didn’t matter and nothing I did made any difference. Like the world would be better off without me.

But those thoughts were lies. I know that now. I’ve learned not to trust every feeling I have. I’ve come to realize that not every thought in my head deserves attention, because what I think isn’t always true. The Bible calls it “taking every thought captive.”

God is always true. He never lies. I know now I can always trust him, especially in the times when I can’t trust my own thoughts and feelings.

It’s easy to let fear or anger or doubt or depression skew your reality. It’s easy to give into those fears and the bondage that comes with them. But that’s no way to live.

It’s much harder to say, “I need help.” It’s much harder to say, “I can’t do this on my own. I’ve tried and tried and failed and now I need help.”

Sometimes faith and prayer are enough. I know personally that sometimes it takes medication and counseling. It’s not weakness to need pills to help you think normally. It’s because you and I and everybody else live in a fallen world and have brokenness because of sin entering the world.

Just remember that God’s in control. He’s bigger than any problem you’re facing. As a pastor I once heard said, what seems impossible to you and me isn’t even remotely difficult for God. And he’s waiting for you to ask him for help.

There’s a whole lot I don’t know. But one of the few things I do know is that God is truly close to the broken-hearted and crushed in spirit. He knows where you are and what you’re going through. And he will get you through it.

That’s what I know.

 

Me Too

I think that sometimes the most powerful words you can ever say or hear from a friend are, “Me too.”

It means that you’re not alone in your struggle. In your fear. In your doubt.

It means that at least one person knows what you’re going through and you’re not the freakish weirdo out of the whole human race who has your particular issue.

It means that two are more of you are gathered together and that’s where God really shows up.

When I heard a speaker say that he fears when people find out what he’s really like, they will abandon him, I said in my heart, “Me too.” He had named my fear almost verbatim the way I would have named it.

That was comforting. To know that a well-known speaker has the same fear I do was good to know, but that another human being shares that phobia meant the world to me.

So remember you’re not alone in your struggle. You are not a freak of nature. Others are walking the same road that you are, even though you may feel like the only one.

There’s a website called nomorevoices.com where you can name what the voices are telling you. The only response will be, “Me too.”

So remember when you’re in the depth of your struggles that you are not alone. Others are in the same place you are.

And most of all, God knows.

 

It’s Time To Play “Name That Fear”

I have an image in my mind of that old TV game show where the contestants were constantly yelling, “Big bucks! Big bucks! No whammies!”

It’s time for me to name one of my fears, that big ol’ ugly whammy that has always gotten to me– the fear of abandonment.

I’m putting this out there so that 1) it will lose its power over me and 2) so that you can be brave enough to name your own fear and diminish its power over you. So here goes.

My fear is the fear of abandonment. I’m afraid that you will get to know me and then decide that I’m not worth the effort, that I’m really too messed up for you to deal with, and you will go away.

I go through long stretches where I am good and that fear isn’t a problem. But then someone won’t respond to a text or will stop commenting on and liking my facebook posts and that old fear creeps up. That voice says, “See? They’ve given up on you” or “They’re gradually pulling away from you and pretty soon won’t have anything to do with you.”

Or maybe I’m at a social event and a friend isn’t as friendly as usual and I wonder if I’ve done or said something to offend them. I fantasize in my mind how they’re really angry with me and are just waiting for the right moment to tell me where I can go and what I can do with myself (putting it nicely). I’ve actually played out those scenarios to the point where I’ve thought a friendship was over when it wasn’t even close to being over.

Sometimes you can recognize a lie and believe it anyway because it’s familiar. It’s all you’ve known and lived with your whole life. But when you name it and where it came from, it loses its power over you.

So, I name that fear of abandonment from the pit of hell and I claim the blood of Jesus over it right now. I receive my status as the beloved of God, chosen by Jesus.

Now if I could just hit some of those big bucks. . .

In Everything Give Thanks

Four little words say it all. In everything give thanks.

Notice it doesn’t say to give thanks FOR everything, but IN everything.

When you’re not sure if you will ever find another job, give thanks.

When you see loved ones getting older and weaker and more frail, give thanks.

When you wonder if the dreams God put in your heart will ever come to fruition and you’re hanging on by the most slender of threads, give thanks.

When you want to stomp and rage and cuss like a sailor at the way that person treated you, give thanks.

Give thanks that God is the same through it all. Give thanks that he has not forgotten you. Give thanks that he’s working through your pain and problems. Give thanks that God has been, is, and will always be God.

Give thanks that God works all things together for good. Give thanks that he will complete the good work he started in you. Give thanks that everything will be fine in the end, and if everything’s not fine, it’s not the end (borrowed from a really good movie).

In other words, in everything give thanks.

 

The Healing Process

I went back to Historic Downtown Franklin today for the first time since being hit by the car. I walked over to the spot where it happened, or at least where I’m fairly positive it happened, since the event has grown fuzzy in my mind.

I’m still nervous about crossing the street, even at a crosswalk where I have the walk sign. I hope that never fully goes away, so I will always be extra cautious and never get careless again in the same way that caused me to step out in front of a car.

I ate at my favorite place, McCreary’s Irish Pub, and saw a movie at my favorite venue, the Franklin Theatre. I’m glad that my return trip brought way more memories of good times rather than that one bad night.

I wish my pinky finger would heal faster. It’s still swollen and I still can’t bend it at the lower joint. But healing takes time.

I think we do healing an injustice when we rush it. Or at least I do. I feel like I should be over it already and moved on, so I don’t really give myself time to get well. I get frustrated when the same old fears rear their ugly heads when I thought I was over all that, then I realize that I’m better, but not whole yet.

It’s okay to still be broken as long as you know you’re moving toward wholeness. It’s okay to admit that you got overwhelmed by fears and anxieties because you remember when those dominated your life from waking up to lying down at night.

If a broken bone doesn’t heal right, it sometimes has to be re-broken and set again so it can heal properly. I pray for all of us that we allow time for God’s healing to soak in and really get to all the deep dark broken places in us that need his light. May we remember that we are all works in progress and will be until Jesus comes back.

 

 

A Bittersweet Christmas

bud

It’s been a bittersweet 2012 Christmas.

I’ve loved being with family and seeing my 14-month old niece getting the hang of walking and just starting to say her first words. Seeing my nephews’ faces light up with all their Christmas presents has been fun, too.

But today I’ve also been thinking a lot about my granddaddy who took his life 30 years ago tonight. It was Christmas Day 1982 when he decided that life wasn’t worth living anymore.

I still remember where I was when I found out about his suicide. I remember my pastor at the time coming over to tell me and how my 10-year old brain couldn’t process the news, so I went back to my room to watch the football game on my little black-and-white TV. I still don’t think I’ve completely processed it yet.

I have trouble remembering what he looked like, especially when he smiled, or what his laugh sounded like. I do know that I still miss him and I have so many things I’d like to tell him.

I’d tell him that he missed out on a lot. Like my sister and I growing up. Her getting married and having children. All of us getting older and closer together as a family. And most of all, how we’ve found God to be a comfort and a refuge.

I’d tell him that we all loved him so much. That we still love him so much, even 30 years after he left us. I’d tell him that there’s nothing so bad that family can’t help, and especially God’s love can’t get you through.

I’d say that I understand now a little better why he did what he did. I’m glad that he’s found peace at last in the arms of Jesus and has no more fears or worries or self-doubts.

I have something that belonged to him– an old tube radio from the 50’s that still works. It’s nice to be able to turn it on and think that I’m listening to the same radio that he kept on his workbench all those years. It makes me smile and remember him in happier times.

I’m a little more thankful for my family tonight. I hope to hug them more often, be more present in their lives, and tell them I love them as often as possible. You never know when it could be the last time you might have the chance.

Little Victories

Sometimes, we make Christianity an “all or nothing” affair. That means if I don’t completely succeed, I’ve failed. If I don’t completely overcome every temptation and obey the voice of God at every turn, I’ve lost.

But I think that’s not how it works. Most days are three steps forward, two steps back. Most days, you win some and you lose some, but you always learn something from it.

I’ve learned that sometimes you have to be thankful for the little victories. Sometimes, those are the only things that keep you going when the battle seems hopeless and life seems too hard.

I found today that it was okay that someone I wanted to notice me didn’t. A conversation I wanted to happen didn’t and I was more than okay with it. I was fine.

I didn’t try to force something that wasn’t there. I stepped back and trusted God. I count that as a little victory.

It’s when you don’t give into fear. When you don’t let anxiety overwhelm you. When you’re able to take a couple of deep breaths and plow through. You may not look so pretty at the end of the day, but you’re alive and standing. And in my book that counts as a victory.

So here’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Don’t beat yourself up when you’re not at your best or when you mess up yet again. Remember that God really is bigger than the problems you’re facing. Remember his plans for you are still good and still in operation.

Remember all the little victories you’ve experienced over the years. Also remember that the biggest victory of the biggest fight you will ever face is already won. How do I know? Because Jesus has already won it.

 

 

A Tough Question

Usually when I’m thinking of what to write about, it’s not the main topic of the sermon or speech. It’s a side comment or a throwaway statement that catches me off guard. Tonight, it was a question that a guy asked that convicted me in a big way.

If God took away your family, friends, possessions, job, money, and all those other props and crutches you lean on, would you still be able to say, “God, I trust in you for my future” or would your mind immediately start churning away with ideas of how you could manage your own life?

The reason the question broad-sided me so much was the underlying question: who are what are you really trusting in at the end of the day? Where does your hope lie?

I think that for me at times my trust has been in a set routine. I have trusted in the fact that I had a comfortable and familiar set of friends who would always be around. I have trusted in income from a job or the security of employment that I thought was guaranteed.

When your props get knocked out, when friends move away or get married or disappear, you find out how much your trust was really in people and not in God. When out of the blue, you get called into the office at work to be told, “Your position is being eliminated,” you find out how much faith you placed in your career instead of Christ.

I truly believe in my mind that if all God did was save me from my sins and never gave me another blessing or did one more thing for me, that would be more than I deserved. But the way I live sometimes gives the impression that I feel entitled to God’s blessings. It shows that I am worshiping the gifts more than the Giver.

I heard a friend say that sometimes you don’t even have to have perfect trust. Even if you have the weakest kind of faith and say, “God, I trust you in this moment and I give this into your hands,” God will honor that. Like a pastor said, “All God needs is a place to start,” a halting, stammering statement of belief that is mixed with fear and doubt and says, “I believe. Help my unbelief.”

It’s not how strong your faith is, but how strong the object of your faith is. Or to put it this way, it’s not about giant-sized faith, but one that;s the size of a mustard seed placed in a great God who is bigger than your circumstances and problems.

 

 

Lord, I Believe; Help My Unbelief

First of all, you should go to Kairos on Tuesday night if you’ve never been. It’s at 7 pm and it’s in the Connection Center of Brentwood Baptist Church off I-65 exit  71 in Brentwood, TN and it’s awesome. Now that I’ve got my shameless plug out of the way, here’s my takeaway from tonight’s service.

While the scribes and disciples were arguing about who was right and who was wrong, a man was pleading with Jesus to heal his son from a demonic possession. He ended his plea with the words, “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”

How many times have I felt that way? How many times has it seemed that my faith was so small that it barely qualified as belief at all? That I was holding on to a minuscule-sized hope?

I’ve heard that faith always comes with an element of doubt, because if I was 100% certain of something, I wouldn’t need faith. I think that’s true. If I needed perfect faith to get my prayers answered, I might as well stop praying because my faith is always tempered with doubts and fears.

Many times, I need to pray, “Lord, I believe. In whatever way You choose, whether it’s the way I want, show up and have Your way.”

I heard a song tonight that basically said, “Lord, help me to believe what I already know.” Sometimes, I don’t need more knowledge about God or about my circumstances. I need the ability to believe what I already know to be true about God. I need to believe what God has already shown me countless times before.

It doesn’t take great faith in God for change to happen; it just takes faith in a great God. Even if that faith is a minuscule-sized, mustard-seed faith that barely registers a blip on the scale of belief.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.