A Narrator,
The Imagined Voice of the Holy Spirit,
King David,
and Bob Dylan
(Note: If you’re reading this via email or RSS feed, this post is best read from the site by clicking on the title above. And now… on with the drama…) [click to continue…]
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(Here’s a parable that didn’t quite make it to the Bible. It’s a follow-up to the story of the Prodigal Son. In case you missed that first episode, you can find it by clicking here.)
When last we heard from the Prodigal Son, his loving father, and his older brother, Dad was appealing to the older sibling to come join the party.
“All that I have is yours,” he was saying – which was technically true, since the younger brat had wasted all of his part of the inheritance.
By and by, life settled down. The older brother continued to do well, and was admired by all for his performance. The younger son got with the program – for the most part. Occasionally his friends and family could see some of those old streaks of self-will-run-riot in him. But for the most part, he lived in great gratitude for his father’s forgiveness and restoration. [click to continue…]
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I have to admit, I thought Joseph Jacobson was joking when he handed me his business card. “Forgiveness Laboratories,” it said boldly. The card identified Joe as the Director of Research.
“Okay, I gotta ask…” I started.
“You want to know what a forgiveness laboratory is,” Joe anticipated.
“I’ll bet you hear that a lot.”
“Sure do,” Joe said with a smile. “Why don’t you come by the lab for a visit sometime?”
So here I was, introducing myself to Gracie, the receptionist (yeah, I caught the irony in her name).
“I’m here to see Joe,” I started. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“We forgive you,” Gracie replied with a wry smile. “I know… bad joke, but it comes with the territory. Actually Joe is finishing up a couple of interviews and asked me to show you around.”
Gracie got up from her desk and shook my hand. It was then that I first noticed that this charming, poised single mom was wearing a white lab coat. [click to continue…]
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“I feel like a man with three dollars in my pocket. Maybe a quart in my tank. And what astounds me is how quickly I think about spending what little I have. I get a little bit back in my soul and I start thinking about advancing the Kingdom. People that need my help. I get a little bit of God back in my tank and I start thinking about who I need to pray for. Lord have mercy” (John Eldridge)
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Hi, I’m Andy, and I’m a fumaholic.
(All: “Hi Andy!”)
I’m really glad to be here tonight to share my experience, strength and hope with you. The First Step says that “we admitted we were powerless over our fumaholism, and that our lives had become unmanageable.” So tonight I thought I would share how my life got to that place.
I’d like to start with a couple of confessions… that is okay in a place like this, isn’t it?
(Room erupts with raucous laughter) [click to continue…]
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Jon Acuff recently shared the story of a coworker named Brian who had witnessed the death of a man in the gym a day before. Apparently he had a heart attack, and nobody could help, except to vainly call 911. Now a day later, the coworker was filled with regret and what-if scenarios.
Twenty years ago, James’ life took a detour through some moral quicksand. And though he can tell you in glowing terms today about the grace of God that lifted him out of the “miry clay” and “set his feet upon a rock,” sometimes the past comes blowing back in his face like a cold rain. Even though he lives today as a forgiven man, at times he still finds himself on the Highway of Regret.
I can certainly relate to both of those scenarios – helpless situations and careless choices. But the regrets that nag me the most have to do with unfinished business. [click to continue…]
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News flash! As a culture, we don’t wait well.
That’s why, in the previous post, I mentioned that it’s easy to get into trouble when we’re in those waiting seasons. (In theory, of course… not that I have ever actually gotten so impatient that somebody in a uniform decided it was time to have a little chat… but I’m sure you know somebody like that.)
One of the problems we have with waiting is that we don’t know how. We think of waiting as the kind of thing you do in a bureaucrat’s line or a doctor’s office (now you know why they call them “patients”).
In the Bible, James offers a different idea. And when I read this during a particularly hard waiting season, it really got my attention:
“The farmer waits for the precious produce of the soil, being patient about it, until it gets the early and late rains. You too be patient; strengthen your hearts…” (James 5:7-8).
I happen to live in the middle of the largest contiguous cotton-growing region in the world. My neighbors know a thing or two about waiting on a harvest. Their livelihood depends on it. And believe me, you won’t find a busier bunch. [click to continue…]
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If I were to tell you that I can show you a completely foolproof plan to make extraordinary gains in every dimension of your life, would you be interested in learning more?
Yes, money. Still curious?
Relationships, too. How ‘bout now?
Sure, it works for getting more out of your time, improving your professional life, and deepening your spiritual life.
This one secret, handed down through ancient wisdom, has always – always – marked the difference between winners and wannabes.
Oh, and what if I were to tell you that this guarantee is backed up by God Himself? Meaning, of course, that it works for all time and eternity, too.
I know, I know. If it’s that obvious, and that old, everybody else will know it and be doing it, right?
Not exactly. [click to continue…]
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“I swear, I keep thinking, if somehow I press through, I can get where I want to go. If, of course, it doesn’t kill me or I don’t kill myself in the process.” (from my journal, July 18, 2005)
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“This is warfare,” Robin said.
“It’s God!” I snapped back, dispirited and resigned. “Let’s just go home.”
Well, there you have it. Now you know what we fight about at my house.
It was the day from hell. It started with a hard funeral – a suicide victim – at which I was to speak. My message to the grieving family and friends was to “be still – cease striving – and know that he is God.” It was on a Monday, following a very harried and stressful Sunday, in the middle of a very harried and stressful summer.
But this was the Monday when the scenery was supposed to change. With the help of my office staff, we had scheduled a trip to the mountains to write.
As in, the LifeVesting book.
Here’s a little proverbial advice, for what it’s worth: Beware of trying to change your scenery on Monday. [click to continue…]
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It all started with that 55-mph speed limit. In the mid-1970s, Americans traded in their muscle cars for Toyotas and slowed down.
But a certain segment of the population balked. These people were paid to transport goods to their destinations in a timely manner, and felt that the new speed limits were doing considerable harm to their livelihood. So they started working together to cover each other’s back.
This created a fad that spawned a counterculture, complete with its own lingo, music, and personal identities. Everybody, it seemed, rushed out to get a CB radio.
Once the stuff of rescue workers, hobbyists, and the like, citizens-band radios became standard equipment in many vehicles. Gone were the official call-letters used by the “legal eagles” who actually paid for a license to use the things (KFN 0508, if you even remotely care what ours was). Everybody used a “handle.”
A handle was a nickname you gave yourself so that people could “grab hold” of you by saying something along the lines of, “Break, one-nine. How ‘bout that Blue Goose? You got your ears on”? And you, assuming that was your handle, would reply something like, “Ten-four, good buddy.”
No, children, I’m not making this up.
CBs, for the most part, have gone the way of the 55-mph speed limit, though our trucker friends still use them. But you still have a handle – a unique identity by which you can be “grabbed.” [click to continue…]
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And you will be called priests of the Lord, you will be named ministers of our God.
You will feed on the wealth of nations, and in their riches you will boast.
Instead of their shame my people will receive a double portion,
and instead of disgrace they will rejoice in their inheritance;
and so they will inherit a double portion in their land,
and everlasting joy will be theirs (Isaiah 61:6-7, NIV).
It’s a scary journey, the move from shame to grace. But it’s a journey every growing believer in Christ, every recovering addict, every healing soul must take. The paths are often unfamiliar. Lessons must be un-learned and relearned. You will be forced to face down familiar, but largely unchallenged beliefs.
People who live in the realm of shame live in a world the Brennan Manning describes as “huffing and puffing to impress God.”
It’s a realm of performance. Brownie points or self-condemnation. Self-fixing mixed with wallowing in guilt. Comparing ourselves to others in order to feel superior… or to prove what an absolute joke we are. “You’re nothing,” shame whispers. “And if people really knew you, they would agree.”
As much of a liar as shame is, sometimes it’s more comfortable to return to old patterns of thinking and feeling. It’s embarrassing and uncomfortable to confront the truths of the scandalous grace of God.
“I am a creation of infinite worth?” Ridiculous.
“I am totally forgiven?” What do you mean, “totally?”
“I am completely loved, fully pleasing?” In what universe? What absurd fantasy?
Challenge that! Confess the truth, whether it lines up with your feelings or the twisted logic of shame or not. And most of all, learn to accept the grace of God as it is expressed through the graciousness of others.
The secret is gratitude. When a friend encourages you, when someone offers a gift, when another praises you, receive it with the same graciousness in which it was offered.
Try this for practice: [click to continue…]
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