It’s one of the secrets of everything that motivates you – in fact, your deep, abiding happiness depends on it. Yet it’s so hidden, so behind-the-scenes, that if I were to ask you to list your strongest longings, I’m almost certain this wouldn’t make the list.
But it’s there. It’s powerful. And your response to it may well be the difference between addicted and sober.
What are you going to do with the resurrection of Jesus?
Let’s assume for a minute that you actually believe it. That three days after He was crucified, He actually rose from the dead and ascended into heaven.
Now what?
I guess you and I have to decide where to file that. We can be part of the 380. Or we can be part of the 120. [click to continue…]
In the previous post I introduced you to The Law of the Nail. A corollary to the Law of the Hammer (“If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail”), the Law of the Nail says,
If you are a nail, and especially if you’ve been pounded a time or two, everything (and everybody) looks like a hammer.
That’s even true when you’re a light bulb, not a hammer. Just watch the video:
Everybody gets banged up by people or by life sooner or later. But sometimes we are faced with situations in which we must work with, lead, or love people who, in nail terminology, are really bent up.
Because you are on the same planet, much less in the same building or room, they don’t trust you. Doesn’t matter whether you have earned their mistrust or not. They perceive, speak, and reason through their woundedness. And as far as they’re concerned, you’re just another hammer, waiting for your chance to pound away at them.
So what do you do with these people? Make their fears come true? Write them off? Get offended? Ignore them?
I’d like to suggest that you have an opportunity to both get the job done (whatever “the job” is) and be an instrument of healing. Here are some ideas: [click to continue…]
In the last post I shared some ideas based on the experience of a prophet in the Bible named Elijah about what to do when we try to draw from familiar sources of support, provision (income), encouragement, or direction – only to find that they simply aren’t there anymore. In the two days since then, I have talked to
a man who needed counsel and didn’t have a pastor,
a missionary who has seen a significant decrease in support,
a former lay leader in churches who is struggling to find a church home,
a pastor whose congregation is struggling both financially and in attendance,
a student whose marriage engagement has broken off,
a church member in another city whose pastor was terminated, then abruptly died.
What they all have in common – in the language of Elijah’s experience, their “brooks have dried up.”
I fully expect that nearly half the conversations I have tomorrow will be in the same vein.
It was that time again. Time to plan the annual Men’s Rafting Trip in Colorado. I had taken a group of fifty men a year earlier and discovered how some guys get the nickname “Bob” when they go rafting.
That’s all I want to say about that.
Now as I pulled out the file, I came across the list of men who had gone with me. What a difference 12 months had made! I was amazed at the profound changes so many of them had witnessed.
Three had been fired from their work.
One had quit his job and was unemployed for four months.
One man endured an extended season of severe depression.
Another had faced a dangerous autoimmune disease and was out of work for several weeks.
One man’s career was at a dead end.
Three others lost their businesses.
One left for another state with no job in sight.
Put in Biblical language, “their brooks had dried up.” That is, they looked to a means by which God had provided for them in the past – health, strength, job, career – only to discover that the resource was no longer available.
Little did I know as I scanned that list that I, too, would soon face a drought of my own. Up until that time my ministry was fairly evenly split between an itinerant ministry and a part-time pastoral staff position. Within a matter of weeks, my traveling ministry had dwindled to two continuous months of inactivity. Then the church where I had served for four years terminated me, along with a number of other staff members, because of budgetary restraints.
Wisdom asks questions about consequences when all I want to do is enjoy myself. What’s wrong with a little fun, know what I mean? Wisdom uses words like “safe,” “abstinence” and “consequences.” Now THAT’ll get your blood pumping. Zzzzzzz. Look, all I want to do is have a little pleasure in my life. I know there’s more to life than feeling good. But I can control myself. [click to continue…]
Maybe it’s because I majored in history in college. Maybe it’s because I’m an explorer at heart (not always a good thing). Maybe it’s because I’m a typical man who hates to ask for directions, or maybe it’s because I often wind up in places I didn’t intend to go. But regardless of the reason, one of the most common questions I ask myself is, “How’d I wind up here?
That’s a pretty handy thing if you want to stay out of the bad neighborhoods, the dead ends, or the “I told you so’s” in the future.
But wouldn’t it be more helpful to have a bit of a roadmap ahead of time? Maybe to get some directions that apply to whatever path I or you think we’re on? [click to continue…]
This is about asking yourself a simple, but profound question about choices and consequences and serving. Choose well, you’ll live well. Choose poorly, and you will serve the consequences of those choices.
Moses understood that. Just before his death, he called an assembly of Israelis and reframed all the things that God had taught him. We call it, “Deuteronomy.” Here’s what Moses had to say as he was wrapping things up:
This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land (Deuteronomy 30:19-20, NIV).
There’s one example of the diagnostic question: Am I choosing life or death? It’s a powerful question about the path we are on. A friend of mine has started using this to frame his everyday decisions – what he eats, his business decisions, his family relationships.
“If only he can see how good I am,” Jake says to himself as he waits among the cast of thousands. “Surely he will see what Mama and my cousins all see… and maybe, just maybe I could just be the next…”
Whoa, Dawg. That’s a little pitchy for me.
On the banks of a river called Jabbock, a man watches the last of his family disappear on the other side, just as the sun begins to set. On that side of the river, judgment day awaits. For more than 20 years, Jacob has lived a charmed – and charming – life. He married the woman of his dreams, has a dozen sons and a daughter, and is a biz whiz like, well, nobody’s business.
But the time has come to face down some ghosts from his past, and demons in his soul. Jacob must face the twin he betrayed tomorrow. But tonight, he has an appointment to meet with God. And to face himself in the process.
Simon says: Absolutely dreadful.
This kind of encounter allows for no distractions of any type. [click to continue…]
Inside you lurks a deep desire. 
“If only he can see how good I am,” Jake says to himself as he waits among the cast of thousands. “Surely he will see what Mama and my cousins all see… and maybe, just maybe I could just be the next…”