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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Are you making an impact?

Maybe it’s the new year, but I’ve been thinking about the impact of the things I’m doing. Mostly I just roll along (pun intended), but occasionally it’s good to stop and ask if what I do makes any difference.

It seems that so much of the culture is about appearances, what happens on the surface. Online that means more Twitter followers and Facebook friends, more web site visits and blog subscriptions—so much of our effort goes toward bigger networks. I’m “connected” in some way to a lot of people.

Readers is one of my keywords for 2011. Broadly stated, the goal is to connect with people in more helpful ways. But it’s awfully easy to mislead myself, to pretend that bigger numbers means I’m making progress.

I’m grateful for the growing list of subscribers. I like knowing that more of you are here, but I hope it’s more than that. I hope this circle is about more than just surface interactions.

This weekend our pastor talked about being together, about listening and really hearing on a deeper level. It’s part of our design, and it doesn’t happen in big groups.

For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them. Matthew 18:20

I want my connections to have roots. How does that happen online? It happens when we let people know they’re being heard, when we connect to one person at a time.

When I read my Facebook and Twitter feeds I try to leave evidence. I want people to know their thoughts matter to me. I try to make a few comments and click the “like” buttons when something’s funny or poignant or insightful. I retweet and share stuff I think will be interesting or useful to others.

I always appreciate it when you take a moment to click “like,” make a comment, retweet, or share something you like with your own network. Of course the extra exposure helps, but it’s really a way to say, “I hear what you’re saying and it touched me in some way.”

These online tools give us the chance to let people know we’re here, that they’re heard, that their thoughts and ideas make a difference. They don’t replace face-to-face interactions, they supplement them.

Your feedback touches me. It helps me know that what I’m doing has roots, that it’s not just on the surface, that I’m making some sort of impact. Thanks.

How can you use your online connections to make deeper connections?

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Why are you doing whatever you’re doing?

Last week we shared a small house for a short time with a lot of relatives. One interesting dynamic was repeated a number of times. An adult entered a room, saw a kid immersed in some activity, and asked, “What are you doing?”

The question carried varying degrees of emotion, often depending on whether the kid was playing quietly or dismantling Grandma’s Christmas village. But I heard it frequently and I noticed something: on the surface, it’s a really stupid question.

The activity was perfectly obvious. The kid was breaking ornaments or building a Lego village or reading or pulling the dog’s tail. Why ask what are you doing when it’s happening right in front of you?

I realized that “what are you doing?” really meant something deeper that depended on context. Some examples of the real meaning:

• Tell me about the story you’re reading.
• Why are you eating ANOTHER piece of your sister’s candy?
• How will that machine work when you’re finished?
• WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU SCATTER THE TINY PIECES OF YOUR NEW TOY ALL OVER THE HOUSE?????

As I sat in the corner tapping away on my laptop I thought about my three key words for 2011:

• Readers
• Workshop
• Ride

I know (sort of) what they mean, but I realized that the more important question is WHY?

READERS

This keyword reminds me that I want to connect with more readers in more ways. I want to grow the circle, figure out new ways to interact with you, and get you more connected with each other. I have some ideas on how (more later) but the real question is why?

Gratitude. I appreciate your willingness to listen. You help me sort out my thoughts and deepen my relationship with Jesus. You challenge my conclusions and encourage me when I wonder if it matters. I appreciate all you do for me. My primary reason for focusing on readers in 2011 is a desire to pass along a small portion of the blessing I receive from you.

I’ve never met most of you in person, but I feel like I “know” you as if we’d shared a lunch or two. Hopefully that will happen if you can get me invited to speak or do a workshop in your community. I am sincerely grateful for our circle.

Relationship. I think of my writing and speaking in terms of relationship. I believe that’s the purpose for which God created us, the main way we bear God’s image. In my current ebook I make the argument that life as God intends is a relationship.

We learn, grow, and thrive when we’re connected to God, others, and ourselves in deep, meaningful ways. I want to make this circle a place where those connections happen.

Have you noticed the post-it reminders at the end of the articles? I hope they’ll encourage you to leave comments. Your thoughts transform the site from monologue to dialogue. They give other readers a different perspective and help them know that others share their questions and struggles.

When an article strikes a chord with you, please take a minute and express what you’re thinking. You may never know when your words might touch someone else in a special way.

Sharing. This is an extension of relationships. Social media offers the opportunity to pass interesting ideas along. This helps me, and I appreciate that, but hopefully others benefit as well.

So if you see something you think others will appreciate, take a minute and pass it along on Facebook or Twitter. Include a personal comment and encourage your friends and followers to join the discussion. We’ll all benefit, learn, and grow.

And who knows when something you pass along will help, encourage, or inspire someone?

Hit the “share” button on Facebook and add a comment. Retweet on Twitter. Let’s make this a place where we connect, share, and grow together.

Is there anything you’re doing without really knowing why you’re doing it? Any changes you need to consider?

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Next Year Is Nearly Here

How Will We Leave Our Mark?

How To Expand Your Circle

Happy Monday. I hope you enjoyed your weekend and survived the inevitable avalanche of advertising. Shopping and holiday traditions got me thinking about my word-of-the-week…

TRADITION

This is a season of traditions. Organizations, communities, families—all sorts of groups create traditional responses to the holiday.

Traditions serve varied purposes. They invoke warm (and sometimes painful) memories, bring people together, and give special meaning to particular days and events.

I’m thinking of some random reminders for myself about holiday traditions.

1. Don’t impose my traditions on others.
2. Don’t follow a tradition just because it’s always been there.
3. Don’t reject a tradition just because it’s always been there.
4. Sometimes my participation enriches or serves someone else. It’s not all about me.
5. Consider the meaning behind a tradition.
6. Traditions sometimes need to evolve.
7. Some traditions impose hidden hardships.
8. Give others permission to back away, opt out, or change roles.
9. It’s okay if observing a tradition involves work and sacrifice.
10. It’s not okay if observing a tradition (perfectly) increases stress and anxiety.

Most important: useful traditions aren’t about objects, actions, or results. They’re about building and enriching relationships with God, others, and myself.

Your thoughts? What do you need to remember to make your holiday traditions meaningful?

Please leave a comment.

This week’s been about SIMPLE. We’ve looked at these topics if you want to catch up:

• Eyes On The Prize
• How To Stop Bullying
• Become Like Children
• Simple

What’s simpler than a boy and his dog?

This video captures a big part of what I’m trying to say. The dog looks and behaves very much like Monte, and this is how I feel when I’m with him.

Note: The video pops up a note that it can only be viewed directly on YouTube. Sorry for the inconvenience–it’s worth the extra step.

If you can’t see the video, click here to view the video on my site.

Another note about simple:

Last Saturday I wrote a bit about blogs. If you’re thinking that you can’t possibly follow one more site without losing your mind, you might consider using an RSS reader. It’s easy to set up, and you get the content in a single place that’s simple to manage.

Michael Hyatt explains the process of starting a reader from the ground up. I encourage you to check it out. If you’re interested in leadership, I’d also encourage you to make Michael’s blog your second subscription—right after Bouncing Back.

What are your keys for building—or destroying—your relationships?

I ran across a list the other day, one psychologist’s list of relationship killers. No groundbreaking information, but it got me thinking about my relationship with Jesus.

It’s clear that relationship is God’s primary intention. Jesus’ central mission was to restore open, transparent interactions with God, others, and self. So this simple list prompted me to wonder what attitudes or self-talk might be getting in the way.

I’m convinced that whenever I feel distant from Him, I’m the one who moved. So here’s a list of five ways I might damage my ability to maintain a close, authentic relationship with God.

CRITICIZING

I spend a lot of time and effort telling God what He’s doing wrong. I don’t use those words, of course. Instead I say something like, “If I were God, I’d …” The implication’s clear—He’s getting it wrong. If only He’d do it my way…

Maybe I’d do better to say, “God, I don’t get it. From my perspective, this doesn’t make sense. But I want to trust that You know best—please help me to trust that you’re working for good in all circumstances.”

It’s also interesting that God doesn’t criticize. That may be a foreign notion to folks who’ve been taught to view God as a cosmic critic, but I think He’s much more interested in pointing the right direction than highlighting my errors. Certainly His word shows me when I’ve made a mistake, but God’s always about encouraging me to follow the correct path.

Because of mercy and grace, His focus is on future success rather than past failure.

The antidote to criticism is encouragement.  Rather than enumerating “wrongs,” God continually invites me to follow Jesus toward what’s right.

COMPLAINING

On the night before His horrible death, Jesus talked to His Father honestly about His fear. He clearly stated His desire to avoid the horrors He faced.

Jesus didn’t complain about a clearly unjust fate, and He didn’t expect God to meet His demands. But He also didn’t hesitate to tell God exactly what He wanted.

Maybe I’d experience a closer relationship to Jesus if I followed His example. Instead of complaining about perceived injustice and unfairness, perhaps I ought to tell God my desires in an attitude of trust and acceptance.

The antidote to complaining is asking directly for what I want without any sense of entitlement.

DEFENDING

I defend myself when I feel attacked. So if I become defensive toward God, I make Him the adversary—not a really good plan.

God never attacks. I DO have an enemy who seeks my destruction, and defensiveness places that enemy between me and God.

When I’m open and honest about my failures, I adopt an attitude of faith that places God between me and my true enemy.

That’s a better arrangement.

The antidote to defensiveness is listening to feedback and acknowledging my failures.

WITHDRAWING

God never moves, never changes, never pulls away. But when I listen to the enemy’s lies and believe that I’ll never be good enough, I tend to withdraw into feelings of guilt and shame.

Whenever I try to hide from God, I hear His quiet voice calling, “Rich, where are you?”

It’s silly, because He knows right where I am. He’s just waiting patiently for me to come home.

The antidote to withdrawal is entering through the always-open door of God’s love.

BLAMING

Blaming means deflecting responsibility for my choices. It’s an avoidance reaction to fear, and it reinforces an attitude of weakness.

I may blame God for the unwanted consequences of my actions; I may blame Him for the consequences of evil in a fallen world. In either case I’m lying to myself, attempting to make whatever I don’t like “God’s fault.” Blaming tries to make God the bad guy.

He’s not.

The antidote to blaming is responsibility, or response-ability. It’s exercising my personal power to choose and then facing the consequences of my choices.

These harmful attitudes deny the very core of what I know to be true about God:

• His very essence is agape—unconditional, sacrificial love.
• Everything He created is good.
• He works for good in all circumstances.
• He paid the price of His Son to restore me to relationship with Him.

I guess I should work a little harder on the antidotes.

Do any of these get in the way of a close relationship with God for you? Can you identify other attitudes that cause feelings of separation?

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I’d Really Like To (Excuses Part 1)

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently with a young man who’s on a difficult journey. He wants everyone to learn from his experiences.

Everyone.

He’s doing his best to be vulnerable and transparent. He’s not looking for attention—I believe he genuinely wants to help.

I’ve been talking about “Stories Worth Telling,” advancing the idea that we all have worthwhile stories to share. My friend desperately wants to share the lessons he’s learned, but it’s not working. He’s alienating listeners and isolating himself from potential sources of encouragement.

So what’s the problem?

He’s missing an important element of sharing—he needs to …

GET PERMISSION

In this context, permission means more than “Is it okay if I tell you my story?” It means investing the time and effort to create a relationship.

It’s one of Steven Covey’s Seven Habits Of Highly Effective People: Seek first to understand, then to be understood. I’ve learned, often the hard way, that I can’t impose my story on others. In fact, I’ve pretty much adopted a personal policy that I don’t talk about my injury unless someone asks. And even then, I often respond with some sort of clarifying question to be sure I understand the request.

In my classroom, I didn’t begin the year by telling new students about my injury. I learned that the issue would eventually arise in the course of our interaction. When they asked, I figured they were ready to listen.

Teachers talk about something called a “teachable moment,” a circumstance in which the stage is set for an important lesson. Great teachers work hard to create such situations, and they also learn to recognize them when they appear without prior notice. Such moments are priceless and fleeting; they must be seized, but they can’t be rushed.

That’s how story-sharing works. You need to be ready when the opportunity arises, but you can’t force it before its natural time. And the very best, most helpful, stories are shared in relationship.

That’s how God designed us. Jesus didn’t grab random people off the street and demand that they listen. He gathered a group of friends, spent time with them, and let them know how much He loved them. He taught in the context of their everyday struggles and questions.

I want to work like Him. I want to listen, understand, and share when it’s appropriate. I want it to be about the audience and what they need.

It’s not MY story anyway. It’s not about me.

I wonder how many times I’ll remind myself of that lesson before I truly learn it.

Are you ever tempted to push your story into a setting that’s not quite ready to hear it?

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Hope: Stories Worth Telling Part 2

My Pain’s Worse Than Yours

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A Million Miles

I believe your story might be your greatest gift.

We all live in stories. God reveals Himself through stories. Your particular story incorporates a unique combination of experiences and relationships. It’s a gift, and the highest use for any gift is to enjoy it and share it in service to others.

This is #2 in a series called “Stories Worth Telling” that’s looking at some principles to consider. Last time I suggested Tell The Truth. Today I’m encouraging us all to…

ASK WHY

Why are you telling your story?

I’m thinking that there are a few reasons. Among them:

• To ask for help.
• To seek attention or approval.
• To offer hope.

HELP

For a long time I told the story of my injury in a desperate search for relief. From a very dark, lonely place I reached out for anyone who might make sense of senselessness. I imagined that somehow, if I told it enough times, completely irrational circumstances might assume some sort of logical organization.

When you’re hurting and lost, it’s good to share, to express the pain and disappointment and hopelessness. A counselor named Pete encouraged me to write in a journal, and the process really helped me to find a way out of the darkness.

I learned that telling my story—to the right people—helped. I honestly cannot retrace the precise process. I only know that, through time and tears, the darkness subsided and light gradually appeared where I’d been certain it could never shine again.

The journal slowly revealed subtle patterns I’d missed in the swirling chaos of grief. Telling my story allowed me to take an honest look at my choices, to gain perspective, to view myself as a character in a play of which I was the author. As I learned that I could write better scenes, a tale of pain and loss pointed the way to growth and possibility.

Please don’t misunderstand—I am NOT thankful for the injury or the pain. I don’t believe God intended or caused them. They were evil, but God used them for good.

I discovered that my story was an incredible gift—to myself. God used the twisted horror of my injury to show me a new life of possibility. He invited me to hope.

ATTENTION

Sometimes our stories become a competition, a way to see who can cast themselves as most pitiful or most heroic. Sadly, I’ve been guilty of screaming, “Look at me! Feel sorry for me! None of this is my fault!”

Or, even worse, “You should admire me for enduring the most horrible life ever!”

Okay, maybe I’ve never been quite that blatant about it. But I’ve certainly worked hard at times to gain sympathy or to somehow justify bad behavior because of the unfairness of my situation. (My Pain’s Worse Than Yours)

Everyone endures pain, grief, and injustice. Life isn’t a contest to see who can be most pathetic.

Attention, pity, admiration—they’re all rationalizations, weaknesses, signs that I’m wasting the gift of my story.

HOPE

Every story can be a source of hope and encouragement, because that’s how God works. He uses ordinary events to reveal extraordinary possibilities.

And there’s the subtle twist—as soon as I forget that God’s at work and pretend that somehow I’ve done something remarkable, the process falls apart. I fall into promoting ME and MY accomplishments. I do it all the time.

Relentless Grace is a story of hope, but it’s not my story. As the subtitle explains, it’s God’s Invitation To Give Hope Another Chance. That’s what I learned through those long nights writing in the journal. As difficult as it is to admit, …

It’s not about me.

My story, and yours, are gifts. We can open them, look past the exterior wrapping of temporary pleasure and struggle, and savor the opportunities inside. We can learn from them, and we can share them with others.

Every story contains the possibility of deep, intimate relationships with self, others, and God. That’s the purpose for which we were created, and that’s why it’s important to share our stories.

Tell your story in a way that encourages yourself and others to see the hope of love and authentic intimacy.

How about you? Do you struggle with finding and telling a story of hope?

Today we’re adding our voice 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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A Million Miles

Does theology matter?

Short answer—yes, of course theology matters.

Do I believe that some elements of Christian theology are black-and-white, right-or-wrong? Yes, I do, though I imagine we might disagree on some of them. (What’s Your Theology?)

That said, I’m wondering how many folks encounter Jesus by reading a theology book. My guess would be “not many.”

I’ve been mentally de-briefing my retreat experience, considering the experiences that made what feels like a lasting impact. None of them involved debates about the fine points of theology.

I felt impacted by two elements: stories and relationships. Interesting that God chose to reveal Himself through those same elements, since the Bible is primarily a collection of stories about real people and real relationships. Maybe that’s how He wants us to talk to others about Him.

A few guys at the retreat weren’t sure about the whole “God thing.” They had a lot of questions, and I sat on the outskirts of a few of those conversations. Very little discussion centered on theology—it was mostly about stories and relationships.

What about end times and Satan and hell? Where was the discussion of Calvinist versus Arminian views on predestination? Shouldn’t they have at least enumerated the Ten Commandments to ensure that there was a clear understanding of sin and its horrible consequences?

None of that happened. Instead, men shared transparently about failures and struggles and their simple, life-changing relationships with Jesus and His followers. There were tears and prayers and sometimes just the silence of mountain nights.

I looked in my Bible for the place where Jesus says, “Therefore go and teach the details of your theology, debating into submission those who disagree with you.”

But, alas, I could find no such instruction. Instead, I encountered Jesus’ last words to His friends:

Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” [Matthew 28:18-20]

I’m pretty sure we won’t make many disciples through theological debate. Whenever people find Jesus, I suspect we’ll find stories and relationships and tears and prayers and maybe silence.

# # # # #

This is kind of a cynical throw-in, but I thought it was funny. I received an email advertisement the other day—I’m sure they meant well, but am I the only one who finds this headline a little odd?

Get Your Questions About the Afterlife Answered – At 30% OFF!

Personally, I have many questions about the afterlife, as well as a lot of other thorny issues. I’d happily pay full price for definitive answers.

Or maybe I’ll trust that God will provide the real answers—for free.

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Theology Or Story?

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Does It Really Matter?

Welcome to another Monday—for many folks in the U.S. it’s a day off; if that’s you, I hope you’re enjoying some relaxation. Monday’s word-of-the-week day, and this week’s word is a strange one …

JAZZ

I don’t know much about jazz except that I usually like it, especially live. I’m thinking that our lives might be a little richer if they were a little more like jazz.

Jazz music is sort of unscripted. Each song has a basic melody and sometimes words, but the performance is spontaneous. Real jazz isn’t rehearsed like a lot of other music—it’s more of a live interaction between the musicians. They practice and develop their individual skills, but the music happens when they play off one another.

Jazz is like life—you never quite know what you’re going to get until it happens, and when something magical occurs you’re not exactly sure why. And when you try to repeat the magic and turn it into a formula, something’s missing. I think that’s why the best jazz is live.

I think we tend to approach life like a symphony. We want every note rehearsed and predictable, each person to play their part precisely according to the score. So we plan and practice and scheme, but it never quite happens like we expect.

Jazz is self-expression. Two players might perform the same song with the same instrument, but each will produce something unique because part of themselves gets expressed.

I once heard an aspiring pianist lament that she could play the notes, but somehow she could never make the music. That’s how jazz seems to me—many of the songs are simple, and most any musician can play the notes. Great jazz seems to happen when special folks collaborate to turn the notes into music. And they really can’t explain the process, because it’s something that comes from their souls.

Maybe we could learn something from jazz. What if we stopped looking for the right answers and trying to make it happen according to a pre-arranged script? What if we listened carefully to others and added to their contribution, let what’s happening right now tell us what should happen next? What if we didn’t try to reduce relationships to formulas and programs?

As I’m writing this, it occurs to me that God might just care more about the music than the notes.

Does this make sense to you? How could you make your life a bit more like jazz?