Do you ever feel like your relationship with Jesus is just sort of drifting along?

Simply put, drift is the decision you make when you don’t decide (Gretchen Rubin). It’s what happens when you ignore Lessons From The Jar.

Ever driven a long stretch of straight, deserted road? Attention fades, and suddenly you’re not focused on choosing your course. But the car doesn’t stop moving. Other forces take over, and you move gradually off course. You’re drifting.

Mostly the results of drifting aren’t positive.

Someone chooses

We forget, maybe because it’s so obvious, that someone chooses where we spend our time and energy. If we don’t consciously decide, others are happy to do it for us. We face a spiritual enemy who relishes the opportunity to encourage even a small bit of drift.

I’ve been thinking about the difference between trying and training. Maybe the danger of drift is another reason to focus on training.

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. 1 Corinthians 9:24-25

Training is intensely purposeful. Every detail matters, every activity is carefully scripted, catalogued, measured, and analyzed. When discipline fades, even for a moment, you’re drifting.

An example of drift

Becky’s been struggling with an issue at work that’s become all-consuming. In eternal terms it’s an insignificant speck, but that’s not how it seems at the moment. We’ve talked a lot about how the enemy is using events to divert our focus. It’s so tempting to allow others to decide what’s important, how we need to react. We’ve both become discouraged, frustrated, and angry with people we don’t even know!

We’re not making disciplined choices about our thoughts and responses. Others, people who may not seek our best interests, gladly fill the void. We’re drifting into places we don’t want to go. By not deciding, we’re deciding.

Here’s the Bible’s antidote to this deadly emotional drift.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

I’m learning that following Jesus doesn’t happen by accident or osmosis. Drifting along on the winds of the world, letting myself go with the flow, takes me on a romantic-sounding path to isolation.

Like that car on the deserted road, people and events move forward. They’ll carry me along if I choose to allow it. I’ll end up somewhere, and I’ll live with the consequences of my decision to avoid deciding.

Following Him requires will, intentionality, and disciplined training.

The cool thing is that I’m training for a life of authentic freedom, mercy, grace, and infinite love.

That’s worth a little sweat, huh?

What’s an area in which you’re drifting? What can you do to be more intentional about your course?

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Lessons From The Jar

Happy Monday! I’ve been pondering the issue of impact, and it occurred to me that I ought to turn the question around and ask, “Who’s impacting me?” That question prompts today’s word-of-the-week…

INPUT

We’re immersed in input. It’s a 24/7/365 world in which more voices than ever compete for our ears and eyeballs and attention. That’s not news.

With endless choices, we make a lot of decisions about who gets our attention. Some are deliberate, many are passive. Either way we’re subject to an endless stream of input that impacts us in obvious and subtle ways.

Computer programmers use an acronym—GIGO: garbage in, garbage out. It’s true for computers, and it’s certainly true for us.

Here’s Jesus’ version of GIGO:

Each tree is recognized by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thornbushes, or grapes from briers. A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. Luke 6:44-45

Since the heart (kardia) is my essence, my fruit reflects what I choose to place there. Whole-hearted living (good output) requires a heart filled with love (good input).

My input, the stuff I choose to read and listen to, fills my heart with connection-building joy, forgiveness, and gratitude, or with divisive judgment and hatred.

Who’s filling my heart? How much of my input is garbage?

Some observations:

Discernment is more essential than ever. I need to choose intentionally and consciously the voices I allow to fill my heart.

Clear core values must guide my choices. When conflicting ideas appear, I need to know the ultimate indicators of True North. For me those are Agape, Courage, and Grace & Truth. I stand (so to speak) on those above political positions, national rhetoric, and any other allegiances.

Too many choices means I can get too narrow. One can spend the entire day reading and listening without encountering a single contrary idea. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

A wrong idea, repeated frequently and loudly, is still a wrong idea. Lies re-labeled as truth are still lies.

I welcome opposing views, but I filter their impact through discernment based on core values.

Input is data, not information. We need to carefully choose and be aware of who’s interpreting the data. Danger lurks when we grant a single voice too much access, especially if that voice has an agenda. And ALL voices have agendas.

It’s easy to lose the value of humor. Occasionally we need to chuckle at the stuff that seems so important but really has little eternal significance. We need the perspective to take ourselves and our ideology a bit less seriously, to know what really matters and what doesn’t matter so much.

What are your inputs? Are they too narrow or too broad? Are they filling your heart with love?

Happy Saturday!

A former student once told me that old math teachers never die…they just lose count. My students never could equal my sense of humor.

This quick video (thanks to Kit Mulligan for sharing) shows a bit of the beautiful symmetry in mathematics that leads to a not-so-surprising conclusion.

Please consider passing this along via Twitter or Facebook. Thanks.

(If you can’t view the video, please click here.)

Have a great weekend!

Do you think you live whole heartedly?

God must want me thinking about how we connect to each other. Seems like everywhere I look during the past few days I encounter the issue of vulnerability.

Vulnerability—the willingness to permit others to see us as we really are. It’s the key to human connections, and it’s one of the hardest things we do.

Where’s the center?

If I asked you where your soul lives, where your essence resides, I’ll bet nearly everyone would point to the same place. Intellect sits between your ears, but our souls live in our hearts.

The New Testament Greek word for “heart” is kardia, and it means more than the physical organ that pumps blood. It’s the center of life, specifically spiritual life.

If you want to be connected, really, truly, deeply connected—you have to be willing to let others see your heart—your whole heart.

Living whole-heartedly is risky. You have to be willing to let go of who you think you’re supposed to be, drop the masks behind which we hide. You have to be willing to be authentic, to allow others to see who you really are.

Vulnerability requires courage, the courage to be imperfect. You have to believe you’re worthy of being loved, just as you are, just because you are.

Vulnerability is at the core of guilt and fear and shame. But once we understand that, it’s also the place where joy and gratitude and true connection can begin.

Fear

When we give in to the fear, we do a number of self-destructive things to dispel it. We medicate with alcohol and drugs. We blame. We create false perfection and turn mystery into artificial certainty.

But researchers know that it’s not possible to selectively suppress feelings. When we squash fear and guilt, we also banish any possibility of connection and love.

God’s response

God knew all about our fear of vulnerability. He knew that on our own we could never truly live whole heartedly. He knew that we all have an empty spot, a God-shaped hole in our hearts.

He wanted us to experience love and connection, and He knew we’d never get there on our own. So He sent Jesus to fill that hole. He sent agape into the world to live in our hearts.

God gave His only Son so we could know we’re worthy. Jesus risked ridicule and humiliation, the vulnerability, of life as a man. He exposed His heart so we could know it’s okay to expose ours.

Jesus is God’s demonstration that each of us is worthy of love and connection. He came so we could always know we’re connected.

Earlier I said that we can’t selectively banish emotions. Embracing vulnerability means embracing fear, but it’s the only way to open our lives to joy and gratitude and love.

If we want connection—and we all do—we must be willing to be vulnerable.

We have to risk living with our whole heart.

What do you need to release in order to live whole heartedly?

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To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you. Lewis Smedes

Don’t you hate it when faith conflicts with feelings?

If you’re any sort of sports fan you know about Michael Vick. He’s a pro football player who was convicted and sent to prison for financing and participating in a dog fighting operation. The details are literally unspeakable. You can Google him if you wish. I wouldn’t recommend it.

He’s out of prison and playing football again. He served his sentence, apologized, and received a second chance. He’s playing well, and by all accounts has turned his life around.

I hate what he did to dogs. His actions were despicable, horrific, evil—I can’t list enough adjectives to adequately portray my disgust. You can look at the pictures on my site and get a clear indication of how I feel about dogs in general and my dog specifically. Even if you don’t particularly like dogs you have to be sickened by what he did.

I’m glad he was caught and convicted and sent to jail. But now that he’s done with that portion of his life, there’s a big place in my gut that just doesn’t want him to succeed. In fact, I have this almost visceral desire to see him suffer more.

Am I the only person who struggles with this? Have you ever encountered a situation in which you didn’t feel like forgiving?

I listened today as someone publically ripped at Mr. Vick. It’s obvious that many folks feel like I do. They’ll never see him as anything but a vile, repulsive figure. As I listened, I acknowledged something I really don’t like:

I do not feel forgiving toward this guy.

In a few days we’ll celebrate Jesus’ birth. He came so I could be forgiven. All of my mistakes, awful choices, and failures are washed away because of the horrible price He paid.

My selfishness slapped me in the face.

Jesus came so Michael Vick could be forgiven.

I don’t have to approve of what he did. I don’t have to like him, or trust him, or admire him.

But if I’m going to be true to what I believe, I do have to respect him and love him. And yes, I do have to forgive him.

Like Jesus said, it’s easy to love those who love me back and share my values and do nice stuff to dogs. The tough part is loving the unlovable and respecting people when I feel like punching them.

The hard part is forgiving someone I don’t feel like forgiving.

I’m reminded that forgiveness isn’t a one-time event. I can’t just say “I forgive” while secretly hoping he blows out a knee.

Forgiveness is a decision followed by a difficult process. I decide to forgive and then I confront my judgmental feelings. I continually remind myself that I forgive because I’ve been forgiven. When I feel like he doesn’t deserve it, I remember that little baby.

I remind myself that I don’t deserve the grace He brought to the world. He gave freely what I could never earn.

I don’t feel like forgiving, but I want to do it anyway. I guess that’s where I begin.

That’s my Christmas wish.

Do you fight this kind of internal battle? How do you get past it?

Please leave a comment.

Relentless Grace: now for Amazon Kindle

Need a last-minute gift? If someone you know will find an Amazon Kindle under the tree next week, give them the gift of Relentless Grace as a Kindle ebook. Click here to order.

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Are you willing to surprise someone with unexpected grace?

Our pastor asked that question yesterday. I hate it when a speaker tosses out a nugget like that—I don’t think I heard much of the rest of his message.

Surprised by unexpected grace.

That’s precisely what God did for me. I truly believed I’d wasted the life He gave me, that I’d passed the point of no return. I thought I’d messed up too badly to ever find redemption. I saw myself as an irretrievably lost soul.

My heart couldn’t embrace what my head knew about forgiveness.

Then the injury happened. For a decade I wandered in total darkness, absolutely certain that I was so lost that even God couldn’t find me. Frankly, I wasn’t sure He was even searching.

Possibility, hope, new beginning—those weren’t even intellectual realities any longer. Purpose, meaning, relationship—those died in the ER, and I wished for my useless body to join them.

God surprised me with unexpected grace. Darkness receded. The Light of the world revealed a path marked by unmerited joy and unearned love. Where I perceived only pain and hopelessness, the Light revealed a journey filled with promise and potential.

God proved that life is always about second (and third and fourth and…) chances. He placed people in my path who refused to allow me to quit, who wouldn’t be pushed away no matter how hard I tried. They surprised, and shocked, me by demonstrating unexpected grace.

Ever wonder if you matter?

I’ve experienced how God uses people to be “Jesus in t-shirts and blue jeans.” You are that person on somebody’s path. Might be someone close, a casual acquaintance, or a total stranger. Someone needs you to reflect the Light.

In the forward to Relentless Grace I wrote that the story was God’s, not mine. That sounds like one of those things writers say with almost false humility, but it’s absolutely the truth. I couldn’t have created the story—God surprised me with unexpected, relentless grace. And He did it through people just like you.

(Self-serving aside: if you’re looking for an inspirational gift, we’re having a sale on print and audio versions of Relentless Grace. Details here.)

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds… [Hebrews 10:24]

Enjoy this amazing video, and think about who needs you to be “Jesus in a t-shirt and blue jeans.”

If you can’t see the video, click here.

Who can you surprise today with unexpected grace?

Please leave a comment.

If you’d like a humorous take on this and missed Saturday’s post, you might find a chuckle in How Will We Leave Our Mark?

This is our contribution to the One Word Blog Carnival hosted by Bridget Chumbley. I hope you’ll visit the carnival and check out the other attractions.

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Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger… [Ephesians 4:21(a)]

Do you cling to any traces of bitterness?

Last week I wrote about talking to a younger version of me (Teaching Me). As I re-read my account of learning a scarcity mentality, it felt like I wrote a bit dispassionately. My words seemed somewhat cold and academic; I think I told the story but scrubbed away the raw emotions.

Fact is, I still harbor some bitterness toward my dad. I’m not proud of that, but there it is.

He did what he knew—there was no evil intent on his part. And he’s been gone for more than a year. Why am I still bitter?

Sometimes bitterness is right out in the open. Someone harms me and I want to strike back. I want vengeance. I want to get even.

That sort of acrimony can bury me in hatred, but at least it’s apparent. I see the danger, and I can choose to confront and resolve it.

I think the nastiest form of bitterness sneaks into the dark corners of our hearts. It hides behind old hurts and almost-forgotten struggles and festers within accumulated, unacknowledged slights. This subtle bitterness secretes venom in nearly imperceptible doses until our hearts harden and crack from long-term toxic exposure.

Bitterness also seems to create a cycle like the steps in the picture. The poison engenders more anger and an escalating desire for vengeance, leading to even greater bitterness. It’s an endless death spiral, every downward step leading inevitably to the next.

I have a sense that there’s no such thing as a “little” bitterness. One taste of “getting even” leaves us wanting more and still more, and down the steps we go.

Antidote

The encouraging aspect of the steps is that they lead eternally down—or up. I think we get to choose which direction we travel. So if bitterness destroys like poison, what’s the antidote? What’s the secret to stepping upward?

I think the antidote is forgiveness. I need to recognize my dad’s impact (done), acknowledge the pain (done), and then sincerely let go of the resentment (uhhh…apparently not quite done).

I don’t wish to be overly self-critical. Forgiveness isn’t an event as much as a process. As my friend Jeff Lucas says, the critical step is “to be willing to be willing” to forgive. Perhaps that’s the key to turning the cycle around and walking up the steps toward light and freedom.

It’s not about sprinting, or even getting, to the top. It’s about stepping up rather than down.

If my feelings are an accurate barometer, I don’t think I’ve completely forgiven my dad yet. But I am willing to be willing. Hopefully that gets me going up the steps, because I’m tired of trudging downward.

You? Any old resentments hanging out in the shadows? Are you willing to let go, or at least willing to be willing?

Bitterness imprisons life. Love releases it.
Bitterness paralyzes life. Love empowers it.
Bitterness sours life. Love sweetens it.
Bitterness sickens life. Love heals it.
Bitterness blinds life. Love anoints its eyes.
                                                         Harry Emerson Fosdick

I’d tell the younger version of me to choose love and forgiveness, to do his best to walk up the steps. The journey down isn’t all that satisfying.

How about you? Please leave a comment.

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Teaching Me

How To Damage Your Relationship With God

My Child, Your Sins Are Forgiven

Have you ever read a passage of scripture that seemed to smack you right between the eyes?

Last night our small group encountered these verses. As they were read aloud I literally rolled my chair backward and said something profound like, “Huh.”

For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. [2 Corinthians 10:3-5]

I was particularly struck by this sentence: The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world.

I’m not sure I heard most of the remainder of the discussion. I couldn’t get past the thought that God doesn’t want me to fight the world’s battles according to the world’s rules. I’m not sure why that felt so powerful—it’s not exactly a new concept.

I wanted to look a little deeper, so I looked up the same passage in The Message.

The world is unprincipled. It’s dog-eat-dog out there! The world doesn’t fight fair.

No kidding. So how am I supposed to compete in a world with no rules?

But we don’t live or fight our battles that way—never have and never will. The tools of our trade aren’t for marketing or manipulation,

God doesn’t need to be packaged and promoted in some slick direct-mail scheme. No tricks, no gimmicks, no guilt trips, no bait-and-switch tactics. We don’t use violence, threats, coercion, or peer pressure. Those are the world’s tools, not God’s.

but they are for demolishing that entire massively corrupt culture.

The war is spiritual. It’s not about politics and nations and material stuff–it’s much bigger. And I’m not supposed to modify the culture into something just a bit less offensive. I’m not supposed to fit in and trim around the edges.

We use our powerful God-tools for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ.

I can’t just go with the flow. I’m instructed to “capture” my thoughts, emotions, and impulses, not be their prisoner. Jesus is the structure—everything else must conform to Him.

Weapons?

I wondered about the weapons with which we’re supposed to fight, these God-tools capable of smashing philosophies and tearing down barriers. Am I supposed to wear a cape, place a large “J” on my chest and leap tall building in a single bound?

I spent a few moments listing the tools Jesus used to change the world. Indeed, they’re not the world’s weapons.

Jesus deployed an arsenal consisting of:

• Faith
• Hope
• Love
• Prayer
• Spirit
• God’s word

Pretty simple, huh? I wonder if I have the courage to drop the world’s weapons and do life His way.

Two questions: Did I miss anything in my list? Who can you think of who sincerely tried (tries) to use these tools?

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A Reflection Of God

The most unfair thing we could possibly do is to treat everyone exactly the same.

Do you agree?

I want to follow up on yesterday’s story about fairness. I recapped a conversation with a guy who definitely disagreed with the opening quote. John believed that allocating a disproportionate share of resources to those with special needs wasn’t “fair.”

Part of John’s objection dealt with a legitimate public policy question—what’s the proper role of government in this sort of issue? It’s a reasonable topic of debate on which people with the best intentions can disagree. So while I differ with his conclusion, I certainly acknowledge the validity of his question.

I also recognize my personal bias. As a guy in a wheelchair, I clearly have a horse in this particular race. I benefit from the ADA and its public accessibility requirements. I’m certain that affects my perspective.

So, with those disclaimers, I believe John is wrong when he equates fairness with treating everyone the same.

Rules.

“Treat everyone exactly alike” is a rule. It’s easy, no thinking or wisdom or discernment required. As long as I follow the rule, I’m off the hook.

Rules and laws always sound good. Most of them begin with good intentions. We see a problem, so we make a rule or pass a law including an appropriate penalty. Problem solved.

Except that the problem’s rarely solved. Most rules spawn cottage industries devoted to stretching boundaries, discovering loopholes, or avoiding detection. NASCAR auto racing drivers have a saying: “If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying.”

So we create more rules, ramp up enforcement, and impose stiffer fines and tougher sentences. We build more jails and open more courts. And we get more loopholes, more sophisticated evasion tactics.

I’m not a fan of Pollyanna. Society needs laws and law enforcement. I get that. But I know this for certain:

No significant moral problem will ever be solved with rules.

We can scream at each other, demonize each other, and try to force compliance with penalties and sanctions. We can reduce important issues to political slogans and compromise principles to elect those who endorse our particular slogan. We can attack and marginalize those with whom we disagree. And then we can watch as the rhetoric becomes increasingly divisive and hostile.

None of these will ever solve the important issues we face. Substance abuse, sexuality, human trafficking, violence—none of these can be addressed with more rules, because they’re heart issues.

Elections and laws cannot change hearts.

WDJD? (What Did Jesus Do?)

Jesus ignored a brutal, repressive occupation force. Rome imposed oppressive taxes and indiscriminately tortured, imprisoned, and murdered. It seems that Jesus was oblivious to the suffering of His own people. Did He simply not care?

I believe He cared more deeply than we can possibly imagine. I also believe He understood that issues of spirit and heart can only be truly addressed at the spirit and heart level. He knew that the answers to our real problems rest in simple, profound, eternal principles that cannot be reduced to a list of rules.

Jesus tells me to love everyone, unconditionally. Simple to say, awfully difficult to do—I’d prefer something more concrete. Exactly what do I have to do? What are the minimum standards? Tell me the requirements.

And that’s precisely what He refuses to do. I want a list; He offers a relationship. I want the rules; He gives me Himself.

Jesus expressed compassion and forgiveness toward law breakers. He reserved His anger for the law makers. He served and sacrificed Himself for those who had no answers, and condemned the “brood of vipers” who burdened others with layers of regulations.

John and I talked later about his concept of fairness. I told him I appreciated being able to access his facility, but I was sorry that he was compelled to accommodate me. I said it would feel a lot better if the accommodations were a gift freely given.

We had a nice conversation. He was gracious and kind, but I don’t think he changed his views much. I understand.

Laws and rules and threats of punishment may force minimal, grudging conformity, but they also foster resentment and harden hearts.

I don’t think coerced compliance is what Jesus had in mind.

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… Jesus really meant what He said?

Condemn: to declare to be reprehensible, wrong, or evil…to judge unfit for use or consumption.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus … [Romans 8:1]

What if that were true?

I know—it’s a complex theological statement. But what if it were as simple as “follow Jesus” = “no condemnation”?

What if every follower of Jesus stopped judging others as “reprehensible, wrong, or evil”? Even “those people”—you know, the ones who are, well, “unfit”?

What if

We refused to make—or forward, or approve—snarky political comments?

          We didn’t support causes or people that marginalize or diminish any individual or group?

Our Twitter and Facebook posts were conspicuous for their lack of condemnation?

          We greeted people and behaviors that offend us with love and acceptance?

We were known for the causes Jesus advanced—peace, agape, hope, mercy, grace?

          God’s kingdom mattered more than governments or countries or flags?

We were identified by the things in which we believe instead of the things with which we disagree?

          Others saw that we follow Jesus without being angry about it?

We stopped trying to win battles He never asked us to fight?

          We took The Great Commission as a standard by which to measure our own actions?

We loved evil into irrelevance (sort of like Jesus did) instead of trying to beat it into submission?

What if

I stopped the most disabling kind of condemnation—the “self” kind?

# # #

The Pharisees confronted Jesus with a woman caught in adultery. When they asked what should be done, He replied,

“If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”

At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she said.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.” [John 8:7b-11]

What if He was serious?

What’s a “what if” you would add to this list?

This is our contribution to the One Word Blog Carnival hosted by Bridget Chumbley. I hope you’ll visit the carnival and check out the other attractions.

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