Changed within

Room in the Kingdom

2012-02-01T21:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes church and churchy people make me want to scream. I feel like an outsider among my own people. From being with a few individuals or crowds of thousands of evangelical Christians, I can feel that I’m simply the only one in the room that is hearing what’s just beneath the surface – cultural, religious, denominational, political undertones and sometimes even sexist, racist, and anti-poor undertones. At one such recent event, I heard a famous lady prophet rail against homosexuals and those who defend them all in the name of our God who so loved the world. She shouted that America should model our government after Israel. (Israel, by the way, in its current state is a secular state that has universal healthcare). Then, she railed against secularism and universal health care. She shouted how the church should be about love, then she announced raising up 500,000 intercessors to pray against our President so we can “take our country back.”

I wanted to absolutely scream. I wanted to yank the microphone out of her hands and. . . well, scratch that. Anyway, this lady, who loves and serves the same Jesus that I do, said such ludicrous things that I was embarrassed to be present. I was literally praying to God that my face not be caught on camera and later be shown on youtube being in this crowd listening to this shrieking woman. I was embarrassed and ashamed for myself, for her, and for the thousands of people in this church building applauding wildly as she spoke and “prophesied.” I realize that I’m in charge of my own thoughts and attitudes, but this woman made it difficult for me not to speak in tongues and I’m talking redneck tongues not the heavenly kind. Not only did I not agree with her, I thought she was horribly out of line on so many levels and I did NOT believe that she was getting her information from God, which would be the indication since she considers herself a prophet.

I actually had a few moments before I walked out in protest where I said to God in my mind, “I am so ready to be done with this whole movement, I am sick of these people.” Now, there’s no way I’ll ever be done with God. He’s my Rock. I could not live, would not want to live without Jesus, but once again the lyrics to the country songs, “Me and Jesus got our own thing going” and “I don’t believe that Heaven waits for only those who congregate” called to me in my desire to just do my own thing.

Then, God spoke. I was complaining and sharing my list of reasons for wanting to walk away from evangelicalism including the speaker who was violating my ears as well as a growing list of other offenders – Lou Engle for rallying support for an anti-gay bill in Uganda with the death penalty being one of the consequences for the “guilty”, for Pat Robertson saying that it’s okay to divorce a spouse with Alzheimers, for the pastor in Florida hosting a Koran burning, for that old preacher-man in California telling of how the Lord told him the world was going to end last year, for my Conservative friends who demonized Bill Clinton for his affairs now turning a blind eye towards Newt’s infidelities, for my Republican friends who criticize Obama’s version of Christianity if they recognize it all now defending Mitt Romney’s Mormonism, for the Texas televangelist referring to the Catholic Church as the Great Whore, for the same televangelists claiming that largely black New Orleans deserved Katrina going on to express sympathy for largely white Joplin during the tornadoes there, for preachers, pastors, and the media for making the word evangelical synonymous with Conservative politics.

I felt surely I had made a good case to God for why I no longer wanted to be an evangelical Christian. I believe in an Ever-Present, Living God, who yet speaks. I believe that I know my Father’s voice. There are many times when I feel like God lays something on my heart or that His Spirit impresses something on mine. Here’s what I heard:

I did not call you to be a Christian, I called you to follow Christ. I did not call you to be an evangelical, I called you to share the Good News. I did not call you to follow any Christian man or woman, but to love them whether you agree with them or not.

I felt the Spirit lovingly challenge me, How can you hate Lou Engle when he is my child, your brother? How can you criticize him for his involvement with something you see as hateful, then turn and hate him? Why spend time criticizing the man in Florida for burning a Koran when you haven’t handed someone a Bible in years? Pray for these men and for yourself. Why speculate on whether Pat Robertson is right or wrong when you have friends that need encouragement in their relationships and yours could use some work? Why choose to be identified with just evangelical Christians which is a manmade term, when I speak of one church and Kingdom? Why be exclusive when I am all-inclusive? Why allow the loud-mouths who get the microphone and media attention to run you away from the Kingdom? Why turn your attention towards them when you’re called to be seeking first the Kingdom of God?

I was momentarily humbled, but not finished, so I tried again. I was pitiful in my whining before the Lord, hinting that He should be merciful with me, that He should excuse me from being associated with certain Jesus followers who in my opinion are mean-spirited morons. God wouldn’t have it, not even after I stated my case so clearly. I cherry-picked evangelicals of note whom I deemed as racists. I hand-selected televangelists who I’ve decided are money hungry and greedy. I reminded God of the Moral Majority getting started because middle class black families were sending their children to private Christian Schools in the South and the U.S. Supreme Court said the schools had to allow this much to the chagrin of the “Christian” segregationists. God still wouldn’t budge.

I shared with God my version of Christianity and was even nice and patient enough to explain to Him how much superior my version was to that of many of my peers on opposite sides of the proverbial church aisle. They preach a health and wealth prosperity Gospel, while I count more verses calling us to love and serve the poor. They preach a traditional, conservative way of life, while I honor diversity. They preach good stewardship of finances, when I like the verse about the rich young ruler being told to go sell all that he has and follow Him (as long as I’m not the rich young ruler).

I went on and on about how all in the name of Christianity our country stole this land from the Native Americans, more or less killed them off, and then went on to enslave another race of people for generations and continue to benefit from their labor. All of this while many of the slave owners considered themselves devout Christians. I reminded God of how many of the descendants of these slave owners continue many of the same tactics all these years later. I even reminded God that the Southern Baptist Convention didn’t officially apologize for their role in slavery until 1995, and that they didn’t support the Civil Rights Movement in its day either.

I tried to get God to see that the liberals in the It Gets Better commercials/ads show more love without mentioning Him than the preachers and pastors making Adam and Steve jokes. I reminded God of MLK’s words that 11:00 on Sunday is still the most segregated hour in Christian America. I urged God to consider the millions of dollars that have been spent on Pro-Life causes by Christians who do not adopt or foster homeless children, nor support programs that provide housing and healthcare for destitute women, infants, and children. I even pointed out to God that these same Pro-Life people are often very pro-death penalty and pro-war. Surely, this would make God take it easy on me.

I reminded God of Ann Coulter’s quote about His Creation, “God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees. God said, 'Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It's yours.” I pleaded with God to remember all of the Christians who laugh in the face of the science that God created and say global warming isn’t real and the ones who believe that the gifts from God that are our air and water can be compromised in the name of profit for a few at the top.

In essence, having made my case, I sat back, crossed my arms, felt smug, and waited on God. His response to my asking Him to save me from his followers? He reminded me of the Greatest Command as stated in Matthew 22:36-39:
36 “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Man, that second one gets me every time! Love God, check. Love others, d’oh! However, it can be asked – this stings! – that if we do not love others, do we truly love God? God does not call us to agree with what is disagreeable to us. God does not call us to be ‘yes’ men or women to everything the preachers or politicians say regardless of whether they claim to be Christian or not. It’s pretty simple – love God, love others (all others).

In all its splendid nonsense the modern church has in many cases divided itself along lines of doctrine, theology, class, race, ethnicity, politics, denominations, etc. However, the collective Kingdom of God is diverse. Galatians 3:28, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” God has called us to love Him, love others, share His Good News, be a representative (to re-present Him). It really isn’t that hard until we start looking at what divides us, then it’s crazy hard – insurmountable! Despite what the media and certain political or religious leaders may suggest, God is trying to get people in the Kingdom, not push them out. But, if you listen, He’ll likely remind you as He did me that “There’s room in the Kingdom for you.”

Disclaimers: I clearly and admittedly have cultural and political biases. I have Conservative friends who challenge me on the regular and whom I challenge every chance I get. When we do this in a respectful manner, it’s edifying – iron sharpening iron. I just like to be a reminder that there are other voices and faces within Christianity other than the dominant ones and that it is healthy for the church that this is so, and that there is room in the Kingdom for diversity.

The Grudge Report: A Dispatch from the Desert

2011-12-20T23:46:00.000-08:00

A word of caution: Don’t ask God to mature into the fullness of the person that He intends for you to be unless you are convinced in yourself of your sincerity. Chances are that if you’re bold enough (or dumb, or drunk, or high enough) to ask Him to do such that in that moment you think you can handle it. However, I wasn’t drunk or high in any substance- or chemical-induced way when I asked God to grow me up, but I was flying my Jesus kite way up high in the third heaven of God’s cosmos.

Anyone who has had very many God-talks with me has heard of my two-plus year honeymoon with God. It wasn’t that all my circumstances were great – not at all. My parents went from middle-aged to ancient and between the two of them developed innumerous unheard of and ridiculous diagnoses. My brother all but died, and I had just in adulthood started liking that guy! I was on a transatlantic cruise and could not get to him for a week - agony. I’ve had to watch my sister-in-law go through more trials than any one white woman I know and my precious nieces and nephew struggle to make sense of the senseless. I’ve had to watch my brother literally be trapped inside of his own body, though I thank God and good doctors for his progress. The business I started with my two best friends went from zero to ninety to out of business (we didn’t go under so much as we just didn’t care to keep it alive, but it was not the success story of our times to be sure). I experienced the “one who got away” and was humiliated, embarrassed, and felt certain that God had placed a “do not date” sign on my forehead visible to everyone but me. Yes, all of this crap (and more where that came from) was going on. However, I was sustained by my relationship with God. None of it mattered because I was experiencing the manifestation of God and His promises in my life. I was as happy as if I had good sense, as my older Ozarks relatives say.

Then, it was as if Elvis had left the building. I had been living day to day walking with Christ and living in the Spirit and learning what it meant to be a child of God. In his loving nature and in knowing what was best for me and in answering that bold prayerful request of Him maturing me, He allowed His presence to be hidden for me. I say for, not from, because he did not hide Himself away from me. He hid Himself for me to find. Being a good Democrat with a career in social work and counseling, I am so familiar with hand-outs that it’s not even funny. But as the politicians say, those clever devils, we don’t need a hand-out, but a hand up. This is what God has been doing in me. He took the training wheels off and said, Go ride and I’ll watch.

Like any normal child, I hesitated until He encouraged to the point that I believed momentarily in my ability. I accepted the challenge and when I did He stepped aside to watch. I rode for a minute all proud of myself – look Dad, no Hands – and then I wobbled and steadied and hit pesky speed bumps and did everything in my power to correct this ride and ultimately failed. I fell off and got scratched up and pissed off. I pouted, whined, asked God nicely to fix this. Didn’t work. I changed my approach. I pouted, whined, and demanded (in Jesus’ Name – LOL) that He fix this. Didn’t work. I became cold, indifferent, calloused, hurt and developed one hell of a grudge. Yes, I have had a grudge against God. Yes, I hear and see in my own words before me how utterly ridiculous and fruitless this is and sounds, but it is exactly what happened.

You might ask, So how’s that working out for you? Fair question. I believe in spiritual seasons and I’ve just been in the Winter of my soul. Spring is coming, the ice is melting and hope is in sight. A wise man told me, So God placed you in the desert and you’ve fought Him because you missed Autumn, but until being in the desert is your choice you cannot escape it. God has made it clear to me that I was in a desert, a dry spell. This sucks so horribly because I had just been in a prolonged harvest time and was as happy as Mother Teresa on Resurrection Day only to get hurled into the Lion’s Den blind-folded, wearing a Lady Gaga carnivore outfit without my pocket KJV. I was so mad at God for (my perception) Him abandoning me.

A telltale sign of me not being in a good spiritual place is my usage of the F-bomb. In a good place, it goes from rare to occasional and then either a slip or a good-natured joke or I allow myself to drop one in a quote in my beloved story-telling (that way I get to blame the actual offense of the dreaded word on the one I’m quoting while I simply repeat it in the name of humor), but when I’m in a bad place it’s effing this and effing that all over the place like Heather Hill in a room full of obese women with shape-up Sketchers and baggy shirts being naysayers to her manic inspirational talks. I let the proverbial hammer down and (F-)bombs away. And it feels good, real good. Out of the mouth, the heart speaks. I won’t rattle on about cursing and cussing and tell you what to say or not, if you can read this you can figure it out. A middle school I work at just de-criminalized that word and suddenly 6th graders aren’t as apt to say it. And critics say our schools aren’t working! Silly Republicans, your tax dollars are too being well spent.

My bad, excuse the foray into politics and my foul mouth, but allow me to present it as evidence that I have been in a low-down, dirty-rotten funk. Now, in my head, I knew from the start that holding a grudge against God was probably not the best or wisest use of my time. But, my heart was hurt and wounded and what’s a child to do? So, Spirit-filled, love-the-Lord me made a big long mental list of all the things that had not gone my way. The list grew and grew and I could no longer control it. It controlled me. I could not keep up with all the ways in which I felt God had let me down. Before long I felt pretty justified with my list and crossed my arms and let God know that if He cared to make it right with me, I would re-join Him on our journey together.

Oh, that God! He is absolutely relentless. . . and persistent. . . and patient. One of the first words that I ever got from God that was not canned or given to me by someone else was a repeated, “I wasn’t mad at you. I wasn’t mad at you.” Apparently, pre Spirit-filled me, the religious check-list me, had believed that God was and had been mad at me because I could not check off all of the things on my to-do list. I screwed up most of the Thou Shalt Not’s and made a mockery of a good number of the 10. I was as busy trying to please Him as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest and could not keep up with His demands. What a Task-Master a religious god is. It was a religious spirt, though, not God, and when I became filled with His Spirit all of that nonsense melted away.

I grew and grew in God thanks to His incredible patience, mercy, grace, understanding and most of all His love. I grew in Him to a point where I was able to have enough child-like faith in the heat of moment to say, Yes, God, I want more of You. I want to go to the next level, the next season with You. Yes, even if that means the training wheels come off. I’m ready, Jesus, to stop looking at your hands to see what you may give me and am ready to look into your face and see my destiny. This was my prayer and thinking at the end of my spiritual Autumn. My prayer in agreement with God led me into my own desert and winter. I blamed Him and felt justified in doing so, but He loved me enough to let me fail – to fail forward. To fail my way back to Him, but the true Child of God never fails as our Father will re-give that test and grade on the curve until we get it! That religious spirit of me wanting to produce good works and to perform for Him sneaked back in, but the eternal loving God of the Universe has more or less said I could not care less what you can do in your own power, I would just like to hang out with you. You’re my kid, we’re friends, I love you. He wants that kind of intimacy. We want to earn it; He wants to give it!

Do you remember when Jesus got baptized? I always struggle with this sinless man getting baptized and Old Baptist John must have been like, Have you completely lost your mind, I’m not worthy to wash your donkey or shine your sandals much less baptize you! Well, it turns out Jesus knew what he was up to. He had all this stuff in the Old Testament to fulfill, something about in his role as priest – High Priest – he had to be baptized to appease whoever wrote Deuteronomy, I suppose. The Old Testament prophets had written kindles full of this stuff predicting this event and Jesus played it out perfectly like He had known the whole time or something. Another reason that Jesus was baptized (remember that at this point he had shed his deity and was totally real people like me and you) was to receive the fullness of the Spirit.

"And the Holy Spirit descended in bodily form, as a dove upon him(Jesus, the Son); and a voice (God the Father) came from heaven: Thou art my beloved Son; in thee I am well pleased." Luke 3:22. Now, if that’s not a lesson in the Trinity, I don’t know what is. Parentheses mine.

Just after Jesus was baptized and received the fullness of the Spirit, God told him that he loved him and that He was real proud of him. Next thing you know, Jesus was in the wilderness where he was not all buddy-buddy with God, but rather he was having to depend on what God had taught him previously (he still knew his word and remembered God’s promises) and was learning to live by the Spirit. And in that desert time, here comes Satan taunting and tempting him. Here’s Jesus as a very real man, having had nothing to eat for a long time, and probably little to drink and not a whole lot of sleep or comfort and he had to face the Devil. Satan is an old slickster, he was literally offering Jesus the world. This was make or break time. He didn’t get to watch GodTube or his favorite televangelist and get a fresh word, he wasn’t devouring the latest Christian pop-psychology self-help books, he wasn’t doing double back-flips in a store-front charismatic church getting his praise on in the safe confines of a church building. He was alone and in the desert and faced with pure evil. Having been Spirit-filled in a way-cool manner, he now had to learn to live and walk and depend on the Spirit.

The same is true for us as Believers. My interpretation of God’s word is that when Jesus walked as a man on this earth, he was no more equipped than we are to face sin, Satan, and adversity. The Holy Spirit was his Source. Jesus defeated Satan via the Spirit in Him and we are to do the same. When Jesus went back to be with the Father, He more or less said, Hey, Y’all, no sweat, I know you’ll miss me, but I’m a send this Other Dude who is Way Cool and He’ll be like your own Counselor, Guide, and Way-Maker. Scripture says that even with all the cool stuff Jesus did, we should do even greater things (John 14: 12 – 14). This is way too bold and cool and awesome for the very weak collective church to accept so in its brilliance (read scaredy pants) the church has dumbed this way down to the point that we explain it away and I believe miss God’s point. It sounds too good to be true, too radical to accept. So centuries of theologians with the help of Satan have watered this down and explained it away to the point where we read the word of God and dismiss it in its entirety. I challenge my friends and readers to seek what Jesus meant when he said we’d do greater things. I tried watered-down, religious Jesus and he was a drag, but when I started believing what he actually said as opposed to the old white beards’ interpretation of his words for me, I got changed within.

Remember this, despite what Christian self-help, which all too often is pop-psychology with a sprinkle of Jesus and a dash of Holy Spirit, tells you. . .it is not all about name it and claim it. His is not a health and wealth get rich quick Gospel (though, I do think he wants our health and finances blessed). You don’t always get your victory right now in this moment. Sometimes, often I think, it’s a process, a journey, a season. Dry spells suck, but this is when real, lasting growth occurs. Desert and wilderness experiences are part of our walk with God. There is much purpose and great power in these times. Remember to embrace it when you can – it’s your desert experience, own it! - and accept grace when you can’ because it’s okay to be weak. The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you if you have accepted it. Jesus experienced the desert place and Satan was a real jerk, but the Holy Spirit empowered Jesus to his Victory.

The world, and especially our American culture, will lead us to believe that we are to be rugged individualists. If you try and strive and work hard enough, you will be rewarded is the message. In the natural, there is some truth to this. There are plenty of stories of people in ours and every culture working hard and getting rewarded. This is by no means unique to America or Christianity. However, God values our weakness because in it He makes us strong. A desert place is hell to pass through, but when you leave it you will have been broken down to the point that you can grow stronger than before to learn new lessons, new truths, and enjoy new experiences that but for that desert you could not have experienced. Don’t long for where you’ve been, you can never go back there. Lean forward, fail if you have to. We have been promised the same Helper that led Jesus out of his wilderness experience. We are called to do greater things than he. The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you!

For Brianna

2011-05-26T21:33:00.000-07:00

It’s an age-old question, but one that has resurfaced for me just this week: Why do bad things happen to good people? We seem to have this internal notion that things should go our way. Bad things should happen to other people in other places that likely deserve it. However, any of us who have lived any kind of normal life in the real world realize that good people endure hardships at the same pace or even greater than the people we deem “bad”. In an otherwise normal childhood, I saw plenty of suffering experienced by some of the best people in the world – at least in my little corner of the world. It’s not a new theme in my life to see good people suffer, but a recent tragedy by an old acquaintance once again has me looking to Heaven and asking, “Why?”.

In my freshman year of college in Paragould, Arkansas (of all places), I became instant friends with a couple of sophomores at a college who weirdly took pride in being “the only two-year Church of Christ school in the nation”. Mike and Josh were musicians who played guitar and sang Country and Southern Rock in local dives from the Ozarks to the Delta. Taking college classes that were scarcely more demanding than our rural high schools had been, there was plenty of time for other things – work and play.

Mike and Josh along with friend Chuck delivered pizzas for a local joint, so naturally I joined them and soon learned all the streets of Paragould and memorized the addresses of the good tippers (and the bad ones for that matter). Mike and Josh used the same charm that made them popular on campus to our advantage so that we could get away with having fun (having fun = breaking rules) at work. The restaurant gave free meals to local cops, so we could speed all over town without so much as looking in our rearview mirrors.

At this pizza joint was another driver named Brianna. She was from rural, Podunk northeast Arkansas who unlike the guys and me actually had this job as a primary source of income. Not that any of the four of us who soon transitioned from the dorm to our own apartment had it made. None of us had parents who were sending us hundred dollar bills on a weekly basis, but all of us had the assurance that if we made decent grades and promised the loan companies their money back that we’d be okay. Brianna on the other hand was only a year or two older than us, but instead of spending her money on cell phones (this is back when they were optional), nice clothing, road-trips, and concerts she spent her money for bills – rent, medical bills, helping take care of her ill mother and her younger school-aged siblings.

Brianna didn’t dress or act like a college-aged girl, but rather like someone from another time and place. Her car was never clean, dusty and dirty from the rural Crowley's Ridge rural roads, and I never remember her dressing up or even fixing her hair. Three of the four of us guys were Christian college boys, but we were still boys in our late teens. Old enough to know better, but still too young to care was our unspoken mantra. We kind of had this frenemy relationship with Brianna. We were still immature enough to make fun of or pick on people like Brianna who were different and such easy targets, yet good enough guys to befriend people who weren’t like us. Bad boys trying to be good, or perhaps good guys trying to be bad. Anyway, thus began our year of working with Brianna. We’d pick on her until she would scream at us and cuss us out. She played by the rules and respected the policies, a real fire-marshall type from elementary school by personality. This was a job she needed, while we did as we pleased because we were college kids who were only passing through and if fired could have cared less or would have glorified it as a badge of honor.

We would accuse her not pulling her weight and instead of learning to ignore us she would deliver a dissertation on how she had actually done her job correctly while we had fubar-ed it. When it was her turn to take orders on the company phone, we would prank call her from our cell phones making up sexually perverse names and addresses. I can still see her storm out of the back door and scold us with her backwoods, country phrases. We would howl with laughter and our managers would pretend to get on to us, but enjoyed the show as much as we did. We weren’t always asses to her, though. We would hang out with her and even had her over to our apartment for barbecues. In our mischief we immaturely saw it as a win-win, she gets friends out of the deal and we take a little self-satisfaction out of being good guys, but we also did it for the entertainment. Brianna was very serious and talked like a philosopher – a rural philosopher, that is. We would engage her in what she thought was going to be a “deep” conversation, only for one of us to lead this to ask her about her love life. Her favorite insult was to call one of us a pig. “You boys are pigs – swine! You dis-gust me!” We’d just fall out laughing knowing that we had set her up. I can still hear the cadence of her voice and how she would storm off hurling insults over her shoulder at us only later to apologize because she felt guilty for using that kind of language, though we certainly warranted it. If the Lord held that against her, then it's hopeless for the rest of us. I'm sure we deserved it, but doubt that we should have enjoyed it so much.

One by one the four of us moved from college to career – counselor, teacher, physical therapist, and coach – while Brianna kept delivering pizzas in what looked like the world’s third oldest car. Brianna took a night class here or there and worked for years towards a degree that we more or less just drove past a university that tossed a diploma through our truck windows as we cruised by. Well, remembering plenty of all-nighters and loans that might be paid off by the time I’m dead or Jesus returns, it wasn’t quite as easy as the drive-by I suggested, but in comparison to all of the obstacles that Brianna faced, none of which she brought upon herself, it’s probably a fitting comparison.

Looking back, the person I was freshman year and the summer that followed is hardly recognizable. I thought then that those guys would be my best friends for life, that we would continue to live near each other and continue with our mild mischief-making and having the time of our lives. Life had different plans. I talk to them irregularly and see them even less and then only on random occasions. Gradually, my friends and I dare say theirs, too, became a different kind of friend depending upon lifestyle and career. I think back to that year occasionally and mostly fondly, but it seems like the distant past when I didn’t have a clue who I was or what I wanted out of this life. If I say I only occasionally think of the guys, it’s safe to say that I haven’t really thought of Brianna since my last day in Paragould in Summer ’99.

Last week I received a facebook message from another girl from the pizza place that other than facebook I haven’t seen or heard from since the Paragould pizza days. The message was something along the lines of: Just thought you would want to know that after a very long battle with cancer, Brianna died. It turns out that she bravely fought breast cancer for six years. I was flushed with guilt. Guilt for teasing her mercilessly. Guilt for being healthy while this girl who already had a difficult, hopeless life got cancer. Guilt for never having talked to her sincerely about the things that mattered in life. I remembered that she was a Christian and I found peace in that. I wondered how many fellow-Christians she had known who had looked down upon her for not looking right, not dressing right, not being from the right family. I wondered how many health and wealth preachers had shamed her for her fate in life. I became judgmental thinking of the preachers who scream health and wealth but wouldn't voluntarily spend a tax dollar for a poor soul like Brianna to have actual health insurance that might have saved her young life! I bet like the rest of us from this evangelical stronghold that she had tried the health and wealth/name it and claim it approach, but while putting herself through school and being a primary-caregiver and breadwinner for her sick mother and her younger siblings, she probably didn’t have the time, energy, or funds to do the latest televangelist’s 7 steps to a better life. Brianna’s was not a rags-to-riches-Jesus-wants-you-to-be-healthy-and-drive-a-beemer story. Hers was an “all my life I’ve had to fight” kind of story . . . and just like that she got cancer and died. Why? This news and all it stirred up in me really brought me down. I’m so glad I got the rest of the story and with it a little hope.

I found out later that her last wish was to meet Dolly Parton and through some organization this dream came true a week to the date before she died. I am not making this up or stealing this from Designing Women or the Southern Gothic playbook, but this is God’s honest truth. Surrounded by friends and family and on some good pain meds and practically escorted to the Pearly Gates by earth-angel Dolly Parton, Brianna left this world of pain, sorrow, heartache, cancer, hypocrites, poverty, and other ills and entered Paradise. It strikes me as odd and strangely very fitting that this poor girl from Nowhere, Arkansas who fought and fought to be the person the rest of us wanted her to be is now completely sorrow-free, safe in the arms of Jesus while the rest of us who never quite accepted her are still down here trying to be people that we are not, rats in a maze, rabbits chasing dangling carrots. My, how the tables have turned. God bless, you, Brianna! How beautiful Heaven must be! Welcome Home, you beautiful person! Welcome home.

Dark Night of the Soul

2011-04-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

Dark Night of the Soul

It was first in the Tennessee wilderness around campfires beside free-flowing streams that I realized that I was a spiritual being. Surely, as a PK and a Christian school grad I knew it on some level, but not really, not in any way that made a difference. I wasn’t even comfortable with the term born-again back then. Too right-wing, too what? Baptist? Fundamental? I wasn’t even comfortable with the term ‘saved’ as that term sounded too much like a church camp kid on a Jesus high one week only to be fornicating and partying it up the next. People in my neck of the woods, literally the woods of northeast Arkansas, threw the term ‘saved’ around like it was something you might pick up down at the Piggly Wiggly. I got: pickles, baloney, and saved. People were always talking about getting saved or someone else getting saved, but rarely did I see a lasting difference. Besides my flock put the emphasis on whether one was baptized, not whether Jesus saved one, but whether one was baptized. Interestingly enough, being baptized and getting saved are both biblical terms, though I’m sure that some 2000 years later we’ve distorted the terms and meanings somewhat even if inadvertently. Asking if one is baptized puts the emphasis on the individual whereas inquiring as to whether one is saved emphasizes the salvation Jesus offers. I gave the Baptists and fundies a hard time above, but the truth is most denominations have baggage in terms of what they teach about salvation. The church/es got in a mell of a hess when they took the salvation that Jesus provided and made it into a religious, doctrinal do-it-our way issue. I say who cares what the old white men say, get a Bible, talk to God, do it the way you feel - Sprinkle, pour, wade in it, wallow/waller in it, or go down to Mud Creek with a preacher with duck-hunting waders, but do it according to your conviction based upon what God has placed upon you - not following section 7, code 1, of denominational handbook 203.

I about took off in a direction there I did not intend to go. All of the above to say that despite being knocked upside the head with the Buckle of the Bible Belt my entire life, I didn’t know beans about spirituality. It took big-city back-to-the-earth hippies with degrees, bare feel, funny accents, wild ideas, and create-your-own spirituality to get me to defend what it was I purported to believe – Christianity. The trouble was mine fell flat. I was in dire need of a spiritual Viagra as I simply could not compete with these Canadian and Yankee hippies and their spirituality.

They spoke of the Great Spirit, the Creator, the Universe, and even God, but they weren’t talking in Sunday School terms. No, there’s was a Jesus-was-a-good-guy-to-look-up-to, but there's-not-just-one-savior kind of spirituality. Uh oh, Hello, Momma done warned me ‘bout these kinds of folk! But these weren’t drug-induced Satanists set out to destroy the Kingdom of God, and America to boot, they were fellow seekers. Now, I reserve the right to believe that they were misguided, but they certainly felt the same about me. That was the beauty of our friendships. They talked to me about their Great Spirit and the Universe and I talked to them about Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Truth is, they believed in their version of god more than I did of mine. I was arguing out of conviction from my mind and my religion, but not my heart or spirit. They showed me that I could talk a good game, but it was evident I didn’t really believe it. They talked passionately, I talked factually.

Thanks to them I became awakened to spirituality even if I didn't follow their lead. I took it to the God I barely knew and presented Him with what I had always thought I knew, and what these folks had said of Him, and asked Him to become real in my life if He was indeed real. Wow, this has been a long journey, that started out with what I have referred to as bipolar spirituality – roller-coaster-like ups and downs. High as a kite, flat as a flitter. A whirlwind tour of the supernatural. Feeling under attack for a season, feeling as if you’re walking hand in hand with God the next. Spiritual whiplash. The highs are so high that you can’t not go back for more, but the lows are worse that the lows before you accepted Jesus causing you to consider dismissing the whole shebang.

Finally a couple of years ago I noticed that the lows just stopped. My six-week to two-month cycles of riding the spiritual waves stopped. Less ebb and more flow. It got to the point that my lows were like other people’s highs. I had a super-saved college friend who's smile and positivity would have put Joel Osteen to shame who said that he didn’t have bad days, that he refused. Nonsense!, I thought. But, low and behold, I stopped having them. Horrible things would happen, family tragedies, personal setbacks, relationships upended, failures, disappointments, but none of it mattered because I had God. Not in any religious, I’m in church every time the doors are open kind of way – I wasn’t in church. No choir, no Sunday School, no nothin’ – just me and a dogged pursuit of God. Turns out that He wasn’t quite the Jerk or Task-Master that the world or the church had presented Him to be. I can go to church and feel guilty as Hell, but spending time with God I feel loved beyond measure. Granted, there have been times when God has been firm with me about a position I’ve taken or an attitude, but this is so minor in comparison to the liberation and encouragement and love that I feel in His presence. Ever been in love? That’s what this relationship with God has been like. When you’re in love, you don’t care if you’re broke or sick or ugly or fat or bald or if the person you love is a felon with misspelled tattoos. Love is love and when you’re in it, nothing else matters. Insert your Hallmark/Kodak moment here because cheesy as it sounds, it fits. God is love.

But what about those times when life sucks, when you can’t make heads or tails out of anything? What about those times when you pray like a black woman and it feels as if your ceiling is made of Teflon? What about when everything and everyone you’ve been praying for gets worse? What about when you wake up and you feel that God is not there anymore? You remember back to the times when you felt like you were the Teacher’s Pet and you know God didn’t leave or forsake you per his Word, but is sure feels like it. . . What about the times when you pick up your Bible and Russian-Roulette it in desperation for a word that is relevant to your life now and you come up with a talking donkey and nothing that applies to 21st Century now? Name it and claim it doesn’t cut it in this mode. Having faith and giving a testimony of what you’re believing God for doesn’t cut it when you’re in this place. Suddenly you remember all the people who died believing they were going to get healed. All the people who got up and shouted in church about what God is doing for them, two months later their name in the paper for a DWI, divorce, bankruptcy. Where is God? The world seems to be falling apart, families falling apart, nations dissolving. Where is God?

The critic comes in with his nonsense talking about you sinned, or it wasn’t real, it was a weakness for you to ever believe in God. Talking about you don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve to be one with God anymore. You just can’t do it. The church folks and the conventional wisdom among the saved is to blame the individual. Isn’t that just like people to blame the victim? People cannot stand to have the God that they have placed in their little minds to be criticized or questioned. It rocks their world and shakes their foundations and they run screaming and crying to religion and self-help books with 7 simple steps. It's like pulling teeth to get people to cut the religious crap and have some real-talk about God and life. I don't know where we get this image of Jesus-followers being mealy-mouthed, baby-talking, G-rated do-gooders. I once knew a jaded preacher who said that if he was ever in serious trouble, not to send for the church folks but to call his buddies down at the pool hall or bar because they could at least talk sense and be real.

I admit that I feel shocked having come down off the mountaintop with God. I’m just like, where did You go? The enemy would love nothing more for me to think that it was psychology, that I was so weak that I needed to believe in a God who wasn’t there so I created an idol. Nonsense! What I’ve experienced in the supernatural, spiritually, has been more real to me than anything on this earth. That’s just it, where did it go? This isn’t a why do bad things happen to good people kind of a question, nor is it a struggling-with-my–faith kind of ordeal. It’s pure and simple, God, what’s the deal? Where are you? Have you purposed this or did I screw up? I’m sure I screwed up, but you don’t abandon people for that, do you? The Interstate billboard says you didn’t leave, but I feel like you did. Wisdom says believe not that which you feel, but that which is. Who needs wisdom when you can have relationship, okay kidding, but seriously, let’s get this show back on the road. I miss you. I’m sorry I was seeking you for the answers more than I was seeking you for you. I feel like you didn’t allow this time because you were mad or upset, but because you’ve been testing my faith and allowing me to take steps on my own. I know you’re here, but I miss your presence. I miss your voice. I miss walking with you in the garden in the cool of the day.

The Gospel According to Country Music Revisited: My Apologies to David Allan Coe

2011-02-12T11:02:00.000-08:00

After my Gospel According to Country Music bit, I thought I had written the perfect Country and Gospel blogpost. But, a friend of mine wrote me back and told me that I had NOT written the perfect Country and Gospel post because I hadn’t said anything about Momma, or trains, or trucks, or prison, or gettin’ drunk. So, I sat down and wrote a Part II to this post and I felt obliged to include it on this blog, and it goes like this here:

Despite what most of us have been taught all our lives, Jesus was and is not a stuffy, churchy, religious deacon-type driving a Cadillac and wearing a suit following all the rules and living quietly and fading demurely into the proverbial sunset. Not even close, He made it apparent that he preferred hanging out and serving the “least of these” including those whom Country Music lovers would easily recognize: thieves, sluts, liars, not to mention the lowest of the low, those tax collectors. Of course, Jesus didn’t want these folks to stay in their sinful conditions, but it’s pretty clear as I read the Scriptures that He preferred the Bible-era Bubbas and the Bethlehem rednecks gettin’ drunk as opposed to the super-religious stuffed-suits of Jerusalem.

It has been said that if a Country Music singer makes it to Nashville, they will likely already know Jesus but if they don’t they better learn in a hurry. The big wig music execs could probably care less with their business motto of “show me the money”, but the fans, the audience wouldn’t cotton to kindly to an unclean heathern or a treacherous vixen a singin’ to ‘em if’n they hadn’t been washed in the blood of the Lamb.

Confederate Railroad will take it from here:

She never cried when Old Yeller died
She wasn't washed in the blood of the Lamb
She never stood up for the Star Spangled Banner
And she wasn't a John Wayne fan

Speaking of Confederate Railroad, they reminded me that Jesus and Momma Will Always Love Me. My friend was right, Country Music just ain’t Country Music without Momma. Merle Haggard’s Momma tried to raise him better, but her pleading he denied. His Momma seemed to know what lay in store, but despite all his Sunday learning, he turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole. Turns out, like Paycheck, he was the Only Hell [His] Momma Ever Raised.

Josh Turner churned out a classic Gospel-inspired Country song with his, Long Black Train, the hauntingly memorable story about temptations and allurements of the world. He encourages the listener to believe that there’s Victory in the Lord (I say) and he warns us that the Devil is driving that long, black train.
Well, this brings us to trucks and trucker songs and of course there’s the classic and my favorite trucker song of all - Convoy. Even C.W. McCall honored Country Music’s Gospel roots, uh sort of, as he sings about the eleven long-haired friends of Jesus in a chartreuse micro-bus.

It can be argued that the premise of the Gospel is that Jesus was human, God in the flesh. I realize that this post and the post before it have been quite theologically thin, but as well as just having fun with my Southern, Country Music, and Christian roots I think it is important that we realize while He was fully God, Jesus was also fully human. From the classier Country tunes of Patsy Cline to the raunchier redneck ballads of David Allan Coe to Charlie Pride’s enduring love song Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’, Country Music, perhaps better than any other genre, best represents the human condition and our need for a Savior.

* The Ryman Auditorium image (The Mother Church of Country Music) is from www.keywest-art.com.

Confessions of an Evangelical

2011-02-06T21:06:00.000-08:00

• I think it’s fine for you to have one, but your Jesus fish decal doesn’t impress me, especially if it’s placed perfectly beside your political bumper sticker of choice. . . As if they are equal?!
• I believe in Creation, but I won’t freak out nor am I threatened if you believe in evolution.
• I believe in being politically and socially active, but I believe the biggest mistake of evangelicals in this generation is relying on our elected officials to do the work of the Kingdom.
• I cringe when I see an American flag draped around a Cross.
• I believe in Global Warming.
• I don’t think of God as being a Caucasian male.
• I love Contemporary Christian Music, but I cannot stomach most Christian radio deejay’s. Try as I may, I cannot find them funny. I can’t even courtesy-laugh.
• I find Christian-themed t-shirts seriously lacking in creativity. You know the ones: HisWay instead of Subway. CreatorAid instead of Gatorade. Jesus (in yellow, orange, and brown) instead of Reese’s. If you see me in one of these, rest assured that I haven’t take my meds or I’ve lost a bet I thought surely I’d win.
• I have heard from God more often in the woods, at the cabin, on the river, in friends’ living rooms, driving down the road, and at Waffle House than I have in church buildings.
• I played Gospel and Christian Music (Hallelujah FM and KLOVE) in my office in a public school in Little Rock and had my counseling clients who were interested reading the Bible, T.D. Jakes, Donald Miller, and others IF they were interested, while I received countless e-mails and complaints from friends about “them liberals” taking God out of school. Meet me at the pole.
• I don’t think Obama is the antichrist, but I can’t tell you why Biden is always smirking that smile.
• I often forget to pray for people who have asked me to, but I find myself praying for people I see in public that I don’t know.
• I confess that I like and support some televangelists, but I don’t believe that you can purchase a miracle with a credit card. And what’s with the pink hair?
• I don’t want Big Gumment to suppress the work of the Church, but if they could just do me one little favor, I’d plead with them to outlaw church marquees.
• I believe that we’ve developed a sin check-list that differs seriously from the Spirit of the Word to fit our cultural and socioeconomic needs and preferences.
• I’m sickened by the fact that the amount that Christians in America spend in a year on ice cream could eradicate hunger in the entire world. Replace ice cream with dog food, boob jobs, Viagra, North Face, create-your-own category. We spend money wildly and selfishly chasing the American dream of instant, self-fulfilling, glamorous gratification while our "neighbor" in our own country and especially the world over are literally starving to death.
• I’m certain that there are things that I do and beliefs that I hold that annoy, irritate, and bother others and I’m also sure that I’ve been pretty tacky and judgmental (mainly in the name of humor) in the above bullet points, but therein lies my point about contemporary evangelicals – we should be more tolerant. I’m not saying change our standards, but it's more important to get people into the Kingdom instead of converting them to our culture and our politics.

* Please add your confessions or challenge me on mine. Would love to hear from you.

It Wasn't God Who Made Honky-Tonk Angels: The Gospel According to Country Music

2011-01-20T21:21:00.000-08:00

In the rural South of my childhood, social gatherings of near 'bout every stripe from candidate speakin's to buryin's were accompanied by music - Country Music. This is perhaps due to the collective Scots-Irish heritage of our community, and in fact much of the rural upland South from Appalachia to the Ozarks. Anyone who's ever gone to a concert down at the VFW or a sangin' on the court square or listened to the band down at the volunteer fire department's fish-fry fund-raiser has certainly heard a little Gospel in their Country. A true Country concert isn't complete without at least one obligatory shout-out to God often in the form of the Southern Baptist National Anthem, also known as Amazing Grace.

To one lacking an understanding of the culture of rural America, especially the rural upland South, it would likely be confusing to hear performers go from singing, and sounding like she meant every word of it, Stand By Your Man as Tammy Wynette did only to turn around and belt out D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Poor little J-O-E.

And of course ya cain't have a true conversation about Country Music without talkin-bout Hank Williams, though it's purty easy to have a conversation about the Gospel and never think twice about ol' Hank. However, this is Country Music where outlaws like Hank have always played by their own rules if by any at all. Hank could sing "Your Cheatin' Heart" and "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" without missing a beat.

Then, to stir it up are two of my favorites: Bobby Bare's Drop Kick Me Jesus (Through the Goal Post of Life). . . straight through the heart of them righteous uprights and Jeannie C. Riley's come-to-Jesus meeting when she wore her mini-skirt into the room of the Harper Valley PTA after it had been reported that she had been a-drinkin' and runnin' 'round with men and goin' wild.

Perhaps as obligatory to mention as Hank Williams in any conversation about Country Music would be the Carter Family and the famous Man in Black who joined them. The Carter Family's Will the Circle Be Unbroken is perhaps one of the most classic Country Music songs of all time and is lyrically both haunting and hopeful.

Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by Lord, by and by,
There's a better home a-waitin'
In the sky Lord, in the sky.

Whoever invented Country Music must have had Johnny Cash in mind as his paradoxical life could have come straight out of the Old Testament, King James Version of course and thank you very much. Anyone who has read about him, heard his songs, or has seen the movie knows that Cash knew as well as anyone that there are two kingdoms in this old world. Johnny knew the Devil on a first-name basis, but along came Billy Graham and June Carter and he started to Walk the Line.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

From Tammy Wynette's troubled love-life to Riley and Bare's firing back at the ever-present self-righteous among us to Johnny Cash's decades long struggle with addictions, Country Music, like the Gospel, is about life. Country Music is nothing if not honest. Sure you'll hear some honky-tonk-badonkadonk and plenty of songs about tractors and even about how beer is good and God is great and people are crazy, but you listen long enough and you'll feel like you heard the 20th Century Version of David's Psalms set to twin fiddles and steel guitars accompanied by some good ol' Southern country twang.

Like Brooks and Dunn, I Believe. . .that When I Get Where I'm Going. . . I'll Thank God for Unanswered Prayers. . .

Bless Your Heart and Y'all Come Back Now, Ya Hear?

Singularity of Focus

2010-11-29T18:29:00.000-08:00

Sometimes God gives us a phrase, a word, a riddle, a verse, a song, or some other little nugget that we are not sure what to do with. We feel that it’s from God, it gets stuck in our psyche or spirit, but try as we may we cannot make any sense of it. For the past several weeks the three words “singularity of focus” have been reverberating in my mind to the point of annoyance and distraction. I thought it might be from God, but then again thought if it was that I wish He would help me make heads or tails of it or remove it from my consciousness.

I wondered if I had read this phrase somewhere recently and that it just stuck with me. I wondered what possible meanings it could have for me. I thought of the events in my life in light of these three words and came up with a multitude of possible meanings, but I felt certain that while these solutions were possible that they were not actually what God intended. I would convince myself that it meant to doggedly focus on paperwork, or seminary papers and study, or self-development, or health and fitness (that’d be more miracle than focus). I would reason that it meant that whatever I do that I am to do with all my heart, and while that sounded great, I knew it was not quite the meaning God intended.

Despite school assignments and work obligations and a new book referral from a friend, I found myself reading a classic - Watchman Nee’s Spiritual Authority. This is the kind of work that elicits inner-wrestling of the mind and soul. At once I would agree but not like his inferences. You know a book is good if you find yourself in an inner quarrel or questioning what you believe or what the author believes, basically if it forces you to think or challenge your beliefs. This is such a book by such an author.

His premise appears to be that God is the Source and all authority comes from Him. Pretty basic stuff. . .so far, so good, but then he goes off and implies that our reasoning, our thoughts, our feelings, and our beliefs if not directed by God are sin. At this point, my mind began doing the very things Nee was warning against. I began reasoning with God about how it was He that had given me a mind to reason, to think, to believe and now this super-spiritually-credentialed-tested-in-the-fire dude was telling me to stop. But, God, what about my thoughts and feelings that I intend to bring honor to you? What about the reasoning I employ when counseling a client? What about the things that I do – good works – in your name? What about the personal, cultural, meaningful beliefs and opinions that I hold dear as part of my identity? What if to the Nth degree. . . but there is no reasoning with God.

Singularity of focus. What? You again? What’s with this singularity of focus? But, before I could completely get these questions before God, I already knew . . . and this time I knew for sure. It goes back to the very familiar verse in Matthew (6:33). Seek ye first the kingdom of God. But, why didn’t God just say that instead of this singularity of focus business? I would have tuned Him out. I have heard “seek ye first” my entire life. Powerful as the inspired word of God, it had become routine to me. God sneaked it to me through a back-alley of mind causing me to wonder if it was a stray word, intriguing and familiar to my ears yet uncertain in meaning. But, why did it take me weeks to get it? Again, if it had been an instantaneous spiritual zinger, it would have been over as soon as it had been received. I would have likely given it an, “Oh, that’s nice, Seek ye first again” and dismissed it in search of something more current, more relevant to my present situation/s.

As much as I would have loved an obscure verse from deep within a forgotten Old Testament passage, I got Matthew 6:33. Again. Apparently, there is still something that I am not getting. “Seek first God’s kingdom and what God wants. Then all your other needs will be met as well,” Matt 6:33 (New Century Version). The subtitle starting in verse 25 is “Don’t Worry.” Don’t worry about what you’re going to eat, drink, or wear (i.e. finances, job, provision, plans, etc). Lilies of the field, birds of the air, etc. The immediate verses preceding the actual “seek ye first” text are dealing with distractions of focus. Seemingly relevant, important distractions, I might add. Verse 32 stung me like never before, too - “The people who don’t know God keep trying to get these things. . .” So, if I am still trying to get these things, wouldn’t the implication be that I don’t know God? Obviously, I know God well enough to have received my salvation and to be in relationship with Him, but if I am continuing to stress over details then there is a part of me that has not experienced God’s complete truth.

I think I may hang out here in spiritual kindergarten for a bit.

Plenty of Jesus to Go Around

2010-11-24T21:18:00.000-08:00

I cannot remember a time when I did not consider myself a Christian, but only within the past several years have I had a relationship with God. Religion and relationship are no equal. I was religious long before I was spiritual, at least I thought more in terms of religiosity than in terms of spirituality.

I believe we are spiritual beings, but that most of us do not routinely recognize the spirit within. We recognize our feelings and emotions on varying levels, but the human spirit has long been neglected in our American culture. As much as it looks and seems as if I'm about to rip off a blog about spiritual formation, I am not. I am simply setting the stage to say that we are spiritual beings who have spiritual longings for a Higher Power and that we will seek until we are fulfilled, be it in substances, addictions, world religions, academia, sports, human relationships, video games, culture, media, Lady Gaga, what-have-you. . . we will seek to fill the spiritual void. We are designed to need God and will allow someone or something be god of us.

When I began to take Jesus seriously and devote my life to Him, I was scared to death of what that might mean. I could not find nary a denomination whose doctrine I agreed with completely. I found precious few Christians who shared my world-view. Church, religion, and Christian sub-culture were huge spiritual-buzz kills to me. Here I was with a new, passionate devotion to Jesus . . . but I was all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Christian counsel on the subject was lacking: "Suck it up, just choose a denomination that best suits you"; "You're gonna have to forfeit your progressive political views if you're an evangelical"; "You don't have to agree with everything they say"; "You're going to have to overlook a few things"; "Well, just keep quiet and don't broadcast your views."

My interpretation of the above was: You best fit in. The rules and culture are already in place. Keep your mouth shut when you don't agree. Sign on the dotted line.

Uh, no. I'm in love with Jesus - the Way, the Truth, the Life. I am not in love with Christian sub-culture or denominational by-laws. In an age of pedophile priests, church cover-ups, gazillionaire pop-celebrity preachers with private jets, and denominations who have just recently under much pressure officially apologized for their role in slavery, I am not going to be pressured into signing anyone's dotted line nor drink their kool-aid (or grape juice, depending on church tradition - ha).

I know Christians today who think that if you don't belong to their particular church, that you're condemned. I know Christians today who think you have to vote Conservative to be right with God. I know Christians today who have a blanket negative outlook on poor people regardless of their situation. I know Christians today who push for all Believers to home-school. I know Christians today who are racist, sexist, and just plain mean.

There are broad social movements within Christian sub-culture that presents Christianity as an Us-vs-Them. Us=Saved, righteous, conservative, better Vs. Them=Lost, worldly, secular, liberal.

Let me be clear: I am not trying to convert anyone to my way of thinking. If you feel compelled to vote straight-ticket R, then I think that is absolutely what you should do (just preferably the day after the election). If you feel compelled to home-school, then go for it. If you choose to align yourself socially with a certain movement, then have at it. Seriously, I think that we should do as we feel led or as we discern best for ourselves and our families, but what about everyone else?

Several preacher friends and Christian counselor friends of like mind have shared with me recent studies, statistics of what the word 'evangelical' means in today's culture. Most Americans associate this word with politics. What?! You can't tell me that the church that Jesus died for has become. . . Fill in your own blanks, but have we let a social movement and a political party become the mouthpiece for Jesus. Isn't that our calling?

What's burdens me the most is what about those on the outside? What about someone who would love Jesus, but they can't see Him in us because we have secluded ourselves in million-dollar sanctuaries, home-schools and private schools, elite social circles with people that look just like us, and are predominantly represented by one political party. I'm picturing an SUV with a Jesus fish and just the right bumper sticker at a country club church in the 'nice' part of town. . .

Just consider that you are on the outside and you have a lifelong deep hunger for more and you might just be receptive to accepting Jesus Christ, but His followers have said hateful things about homosexuals and your daughter is gay. What if they've left your school district in droves and built a beautiful school out by the country club where you could never afford to send your children. What if the Christian neighbor kid berated your child for watching Harry Potter? What if evangelical lady at the office opines loudly and vehemently about abortion and you had one as a teenager? What if (right or wrong) you respect the President of the United States, but all your Christian friends say horrible, hateful, mean things about him that you've never been able to get them to substantiate?

Again, I think we should all believe as we are led and act accordingly. I'm not asking anyone to think like me, vote like me, church like me, pray like me, but can we as Christians give some thought to others outside of evangelical Christianity? We have a world at our fingertips that would absolutely love Jesus if they were to ever recognize Him or see Him in us, but I fear that too often they see elitists, they see conservatives, they see separatists, they see social clubs, but not the Christ-in-us!

We are called, commanded actually, to love God and love others. Nowhere are we told to convert to a particular denomination, movement, political orientation, but we are called to love. There are hurting, spiritually wounded people in our sphere of influence who desperately need a Savior, but we're offering them politics, subculture, divisive opinions, and a lot of nonsense. It's clear that the vast majority of evangelical Christians are aligned with a general movement. I don't necessarily disagree with them on many issues nor do I think they're wrong on these issues, but while evangelicals have done a superb job of rallying the saved to be united, they have done a crappy job of presenting themselves and their message of the GOOD NEWS to others. Kudos for some organizational skills and taking over a political party and positioning them to do legislatively what the church is called to do relationally, BUT what about the others? The world gets a big dose of how right we think we are, how saved we think we are, but do they get any sense that we represent a Savior that died for them and wants to fulfill their deepest needs in this life and eternally?

Let's pray that despite our politics, worldviews, biases, and beliefs about government that we as Christians can unite and expose the world to Christ - not our culturally skewed, watered-down version of Him. Let's not send any perverted message that you must look like, think like, vote like, dress like US to be saved. John 3:16, "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." For God so loved the white people? No. The conservative people? No. Actually, yes, but EVERYBODY else, too. The world.

The Lord's Prayer models for us that we are to pray that His will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. We are called to love God and others - all others. Social movements come and go. Earthy kingdoms come and go. Jesus is forever. Let's not keep Him to ourselves. There's plenty of Jesus to go around.

Ashland Theological Seminary and Me

2010-11-10T20:20:00.000-08:00

I went to junior high for the girls. I went to high school because they made me. I went to undergrad for the social life. I went to grad school for a pay increase. Now, I'm going to post-grad/seminary because I really want to know what the scholars know and I want to be educated to be an effective Christian Counselor as opposed to just another nice guy with an encouraging Scripture.

I researched doctoral programs and seminaries for years, but without finding one that resonated with me. Liberty and Regency were out because of their associations with, Falwell and Robertson, respectively. If my call was to work with Conservative white Southerners who are already Christians, then both institutions would have been excellent choices and I no doubt would have agreed with much of their theology, even if differing with their application thereof. However, I believe part of my calling is to introduce Jesus to a new generation, i.e. letting Jesus outside of the church and into the streets, the villages, the slums, the ghettos, the prisons - the world. There are plenty of people to serve in the traditional ways.

I submitted numerous applications to seminaries across the country and had phone interviews and e-mail correspondence with admissions representatives from several of these institutions with similar results. While I am a Southern white Christian male, I am not the perfect candidate for most of the programs for which I had applied. Basically, I felt as if I wasn't white enough, Baptist enough, Conservative enough, or Republican enough to be a good fit for most of these institutions. Please don't misunderstand, I have nothing against white people or Baptists - I am after all from Arkansas.

What I do have a problem with is getting the feeling that I'm being interviewed to see what parts of the Christian sub-culture I align with as opposed to the reason I want to attend a theological seminary. I was asked questions such as my position on the sanctity of life and my views about marriage. Remarkably, I believe I answered their questions in a manner that they could easily accept. The problem was that they could not answer mine. Do the writers of the Holy Spirit-inspired Bible choose two issues with which to define an entire religion? Not in my Book, so why must these seminaries? My questions to them were, Why are you not asking me about how I feel about the poor, the disenfranchised, the disabled, the suffering, the victims of heinous crimes, those who don't have clean water or access to education or healthcare, those who are routinely discriminated against, those who are in the child slave trade?

I refuse to base my Christian spirituality on a couple of hot-button cultural issues at the expense of the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I have no desire to re-write or reinterpret the meaning of Scripture on these or any other issues, but I have every desire to receive a Biblically-balanced, theologically sound seminary education.

Enter: Ashland Theological Seminary.

When I discovered ATS, it was one of those times when you just know that you know. I read the curriculum and felt as if it had been written and designed with me in mind. ATS is in Ohio, though, so I thought I had a bit of a problem as there's no conceivable way outside of me seeing and hearing from a burning bush that I feel that I could leave my friends in family in M0-ARK to go to Ohio. But this program was too perfect to not pursue. It turns out that after a few preliminary online classes that I can commute to ATS campus for two weeks per semester and do the remaining doctoral coursework online from home.

I am on a slow trek towards a Doctorate of Ministry in Formational Counseling. The program I am in blends a theological seminary education with spiritual formation counseling techniques. With a doctorate of ministry, I could get credentialed to preach, but my primary call is counseling. Some of the dearest people to me that have helped foster my own spirituality have been well-versed in the Bible and I want to be able to give back some of what I have received. I also place a great deal of confidence in counseling, when administered correctly and appropriately.

The theology of ATS appears not to be too different from that of the other institutions, but my interpretation of their application of it differs greatly. For instance, in my current class, Christian Theology II, I have a female professor leading a diverse group of female and male students of numerous denominations and from various cultural, ethnic, and racial backgrounds - truly representative of the Body of Christ.

ATS was founded by the Brethren Church, but they emphasize cooperation among people of all faiths and the students and faculty are from a range of Protestant denominations or like myself claim no particular denomination. My particular program emphasizes caregiving, spiritual direction, spiritual formation, pastoral care, and Spirit-directed counseling all based upon the redemptive work of Jesus Christ.

I am being taught in such a manner that I am learning what the Orthodox, Catholic, and various Protestant traditions believe (and to some extent what other world religions believe). The truth is taught in love and I am not only allowed, but encouraged to develop my own beliefs based upon my studies. As long as I can back up my beliefs, they are accepted. No particular dogma or creed is taught to the exclusion of others. When the prof has a bias, she states it, but doesn't proselytize or pressure the students into agreeing with her.

Coming to a close in my first course, I'm already experiencing academic work as hard as any I've previously encountered. In any previous period in my education, I would have resented the demands of my time, but this time I am excited to learn and to know at least a part of what the great theologians and scholars have long known. I have long loved God with my heart, but now I am learning to complement that with a love of God with my mind.

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Art for Africa

2010-09-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

Until I actually experience something for myself, it typically doesn't resonate in my mind as real no matter how real I may "know" it to be. I was at the WTC in NYC a month before the attacks, but it was not until I visited Ground Zero several years later that I actually grasped on some level the horrific reality of what had occurred there on that dreadful day - 911.

In undergrad with my semester-abroad peers, I experienced something quite similar when I visited Anne Frank's home in Amsterdam and the concentration camp, Dachau, in southern Germany. I had heard the lessons, read the books and pitied the oppressed for a moment in time. However, when I was in the actual places where a heroic Jewish girl hid in fear for her life and when I actually saw and toured a concentration camp, did it actually compute in my mind on some level what these people had endured - living hell. Gas chambers and furnaces designed for humans. You can't go to these places and not be changed.

This same concept came in to play when I spent three weeks late last fall in Africa. I'd seen the TV footage, the National Geographic magazines, and had heard countless missionaries tell of what was happening in Africa - famine, AIDS, lack of water, infant deaths, illness of every kind. It was all very touching for another moment in time, but then you put the magazine down, flip the channel, offer a quick "bless the missionaries" prayer, listen to the last AMEN and you go about life as normal - your own drama. Family, friends, facebook, food, fun. I'll stop with the F-words before I get myself into trouble with my fellow evangelicals.

My last day of three weeks was spent in Kampala, Uganda. I had high hopes and expectations for this trip to Africa and while the entire journey was rewarding, something seemed missing until the end. I felt that something more was to happen on this trip. It did. Cari Nash, a social work major from Little Rock, had moved to Uganda 10 years prior to work with the orphans of the slums of Kampala. We had Little Rock and social work in common along with our shared love of Christ, but when we met I felt certain that she was one of the primary reasons God led me to Africa. How cool is God that on the last stop of the last day of a jam-packed three-weeks schedule that he led me to Cari Nash and brought my first mission trip full circle.

Cari said nothing to me on that day that I can quote as having changed my life forever. Her school and her ministry wasn't terribly unlike others I had seen in both Ghana and Uganda. I think what struck me most was Cari herself. My friend and distant cousin who was my traveling companion (actually, I was a guest on his yearly mission) had told me that we would meet a girl from the States who had started a school for orphans. Cari Nash was not at all who I had envisioned in my mind.

I was pleased to know that she was from Little Rock, a kind of second home town for me. Her story, much of it told to me by others as she is too humble to disclose anything akin to boastfulness, has continued to mesmerize me. She needed two non-major classes to fulfill her requirements for a bachelor's in social work. She could not wait as she knew she was being called to Africa to the mission field, though as I get it she doesn't consider herself a missionary, but rather simply a child of God choosing to live in Uganda. She's only been home one time in a decade. This is no mission trip, this is her life.

I promised myself, Cari, and God that I would try to help this school - Vision of Destiny - founded by God through his willing and unassuming daughter. I've been to her school. I've met Cari. We've become friends from a distance. My mentor knows her sponsor at Until All Have Heard based in North Little Rock. Cari and her school are the real deal and not once have I heard or noticed her making this about herself. It's been from day one about God and these precious children, many of whom think of her as mom. Rightfully so as many of them live in her home because if not, then they'd be left in the streets. Her mission is educating them, but her reality is also that she is raising many of them as well.

Several months ago as I was praying, I got an idea to do an art contest for Cari's students and especially for those on her waiting list. There are dozens of kids at a time who are waiting to get into Vision of Destiny. In Uganda, two meals a day and an education is valued even by small children. At a young age, they know that this is their chance in life for a big break. These students depend upon sponsors, primarily from the U.S.

I was pleased to know that Cari expects students' parents who are able to regularly volunteer in some way, be it sweeping and cleaning, serving food, carrying supplies, etc. to do so. Many kids have lost parents due to abandonment or AIDS as many of these young kids are "street kids". The kids, too, are asked to help out on the grounds. No one is getting a free ride. Most of these kids are destitute if not plain starving and dying, many from AIDS. This is not inner-city America where money is sometimes spent on Nikes instead of school supplies, this is Africa where only a very few among the elite have any access to currency at all. I saw elderly ladies placing passion fruit in the church collection/offering plates because that was the most valuable thing that they owned. They are making sacrifices to go to school to say the least.

Believe it or not, I'm not blogging this time to preach and not even to beg money of you, though I admit it's beginning to sound like it and given half a chance I might do both.

I'm writing because I need help in order to fulfill my pledge to help this school that has a hold on my heart. An art contest for starters. I'll tell you my plan, but admit that it has holes in it.

Cari has agreed to supply the kids on her waiting list with access to art supplies. I want each child to draw (paint, sketch, whatev) a picture, but I'm wondering age brackets and themes. Any suggestions? Also, for the kids who are already enrolled, I want them to participate, but in order to raise awareness for the need of general funds for the school - supplies, buildings, etc.

I don't know whether to do this on Flickr or some such site or to create a specific site just for this contest. I picture having each child's artwork displayed, then giving the viewer the opportunity to click on that picture and be able to read about the student-artist and be given an opportunity to sponsor that child or make a donation of any size in his/her honor. Voting on the pictures would be free, of course, but then each vote would lead you to a place where you could view information about that particular child with an opportunity to sponsor or donate. The winners of each division would be given a reward.

I don't have the technical know-how to pull this off online. I don't know what's the most fitting as far as a theme for the art contest.

My primary goal is to raise awareness of Vision of Destiny school - vodafrica.org . If even one child might get sponsored as a result, then I'd be pleased and consider this venture successful. Of course, I'm hopeful that multiple kids might get sponsors and that all of them get a kick out of people half way across the globe looking at and voting on their artwork.

Please send me any thoughts or insights or suggestions. I am excited to do this. The school term is starting soon and I would like to do this early this fall. I just keep getting stuck as I try to make it make sense in my mind. I can see the end result, but not the processes that get us there. Help, please!

Check out Cari's blog at www.footstepsthroughlife.blogspot.com and her website at www.vodafrica.org or www.untilallhaveheard.org .

Rob and Shane

2010-08-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

It seems to never fail that when I think I'm doing something for one reason, it ends up being for something totally unrelated and unexpected. Such was the case today. I've dedicated Fridays in August to finish up my CEU's for continued licensure. Today was Ethics: Duty to Warn and Ethics: First, Do No Harm. The classes were held in the MSU alumni services center in downtown Springfield in the artsy-fartsy district. If Springfield has a politically "blue" area, then this is it. Coffee shops, record shops, independent theaters, book stores, street vendors, you get the drill.

So I spent the better half of the morning listening to my fellow social workers, clinicians, and mental health professionals discuss and debate our code of ethics. Throw up in my mouth. It boils down to one professional from the top of our food chain telling us how it is and a room full of therapists who see no black and white and have myriad questions of "what if." How hard is it to remember and accept that you don't touch a client "there," you call for help if they're going to kill you, and it's not okay to date your clients? Ever! Apparently, it's a bit much to take in, though we all have these courses yearly. Inevitably, someone in the group thinks they'll stump the presenter with their impossible scenario, but little do they know that the presenter has a bedside copy of the Code that she meditates upon day and night like a Jesuit on the Holy Word or in Arkansas terms, like a duck on a junebug. Usually, me and one other person could thoroughly care less and think of ways to end it all . . .but Heather wasn't there today.

I had promised myself to walk the block several times for exercise before I chose a place for lunch. As well as needing to increase the endorphins and minimizing the future caloric damage of lunch, I was scanning the places to eat. Anyway, I hadn't rounded block one before I met Rob and Shane.

"Hey, man, anything you could do, anything at all, would really help us out," Shane called out to me. Rob glanced at me and immediately diverted eye-contact, probably not wanting to accept defeat.

These guys looked to be late teens, early 20s. I explained that I didn't carry cash, but if they were hungry that they were welcome to join me for lunch, my treat. They wasted no time accepting and thanked me all over themselves.

Maybe because it's natural. Maybe it's because I'm my mother's son. Maybe it's a spiritual gift. Maybe it's my inner-counselor, but I have this knack of hearing people's life stories. Today was no different. Shane shared his voluntarily and without little forethought. He was definitely the more confident of this twosome.

Shane's story was gut-wrenching and heart-breaking, that is, until I heard Rob's, at which point Shane looked like a trust-fund baby. To be fair, though, both of them had endured crappy childhoods. Divorced parents, single moms. Evil step-dads. Foster care, residential care. Substance abuse, illegal drugs. The streets.

Both swore that marijuana helpe them cope, that they both had been diagnosed with ADHD as kids and pumped full of meds from early childhood. They quit the prescriptions at their first opportunity in favor of cannabis, which they insisted truly calms them down and helps them survive life in the streets. I made no attempt to argue with them. In fact, it's probably healthier for them than Ritalin and the like.

Some of the lunch patrons stared or did a quick double-take, and honestly the b.o. was rough. Lunch conversation ranged from where we were all from, what we wanted out of life, and other things that interested us. I asked where they slept, and they laughed and responded that they didn't worry about that until they were tired. Ditto, eating. Sometimes, they went without both, someitmes they had plenty of both.

Both were apolitical, though Shane was generally in favor of Obama, while Rob was generally in disfavor, but they both explained that what happened in Washington made no difference for them. Neither of them has voted, nor do they plan to start. They're looking for the next meal and trying to decide when to hitch to Oregon because they hear the homeless are treated better there and they want to see the mountains and the ocean and maybe build a treehouse in the woods.

As you can imagine, I was waiting on an opportunity to talk with them about God. For me, it's not about another conversion notch in the belt, but I sat there thinking that this meal will fill them for a few hours and God is pleased with that, but what if no one ever tells them what Jesus did for them. It's not about proselytyzing. I don't care where or if they go to church or if they think like me. I just know the best thing that has ever happened to me was knowing God and I liked these guys who were natural wonderers and I wanted them to have the best thing that I had to offer. Ha.

So what about God, I asked? What do y'all believe? Wow, did I ever get a life lesson at lunch today from a couple of young homeless guys. Shane broke out a Bible from his pack that looked like it had barely survived Katrina and hunted his favorite verses. Rob told me how he'd have been dead years ago if not for God.

These two young men whose lives have been intertwined in public schools, substance abuse treatment centers, boys' homes, foster care, and the streets knew more about Jesus than I was going to be able to tell them over any lunch. They aren't going on overseas mission trips or writing blogs for their middle class friends to read, but they are living in a very real world. A world where church people feed them sometimes while at other times they pretend not to see them. A world where cops wake them up from sleep to run them out of town offering to buy them bus tickets. A world where college kids, their same-age peers, spit on them and tell them to get jobs. A world where no earthly dad has ever told them that they love them. A world where their beds are different every night, that is if you consider the ground to be a bed. A world where some of their meals come from dumpsters.

Yes, yes, why don't they just get jobs? Don't think I didn't wonder the same. They do work. Occasional day-labor jobs, but neither of them have high school diplomas or GEDs. They pick out the dead chickens out of chicken houses for some farmers sometimes, do yard work, but this isn't enough to pay rent in the nastiest of slumlord apartments. Honestly, I'm not certain that they could stay off substances long enough to pass a drug screen to get hired in many places. I'm also not sure that either is emotionally stable enough to hold down a traditional job. If I was their social worker, friend, mentor, whomever, I would definitely encourage them to work, but if I had their past, their issues, and limitations I would have to do some serious mental gymnastics to get to a place where I would be considered employable.

But back to Jesus. One of Shane's favorite verses is also one of mine. II Timothy 1:7, "For God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, love, and a sound mind." Rob says that he tries to follow the Lord's instruction to think like a child because, as he shared, "somebody will usually feed a kid and they might even let a kid take a nap." He went on, "Kids laugh a lot and they don't worry about things to come."

Both explained that they were living their answered prayers. By escaping their pasts of evil step-dads and "the system", they had been granted their answers. Both shared with me the pros and cons of foster care, residential care, and treatment centers. Neither of them had forgotten the case-workers, social workers, and counselors who treated them respectfully. Likewise, both remembered in detail those who had talked down to them, made fun of them, and those whom they could discern just really didn't care.

I could tell you more about Rob and Shane. I could put a political or a religious spin on this. To the liberals, I could say throw more tax money at this as the well-being of some our citizens is at stake. To the conservatives, I could insist the need for more faith-based programs for those most in need. It's so much more than that, though. God can be glorified and young people like these can be helped in any number of ways, but what I believe we all need to remember is that homeless people and all of our disenfranchised citizens are some mommas' babies. I don't for a minute believe these boys' mommas' wanted this outcome. I don't think they are living God's best life for them, but Satan has not managed to kill their dreams. They live in filth, but they have more happiness now than they've ever had. They're each other's best friend and they have hope in God and His people.

I went to Springfield today to get trained in social work ethics, but one walk around the block at lunch taught me more than I've ever learned in a classroom. I opened my mouth to talk to them about God, but when I opened my mind and my ears I learned more about God than I have from all the praying and studying I've done this week. I was challenged to hold tight to my favorite Scripture verses and to have faith like a child.

I couldn't help but notice the paradox as I left the homeless guys who knew Jesus behind and then drove through crucifix skyline and the million dollar sanctuaries as I left town. God, help us all.

30 Minutes with God

2010-07-30T22:20:00.000-07:00

With the wrong mindset and priorities, it can be incredibly difficult to accomplish the most important tasks in life. For months, probably even years if I'd had sense enough to tune in, God had been calling me to a daily time with Him before I finally gave in. With my selfishness, I thought of it as giving in, because in my ignorance I thought my compliance with God's request was doing Him a favor. I'm smiling now at my naivete.

For several months now, I've set aside the first 30 minutes of every weekday for just me and God. This often turns in to more like an hour with God, leaving me wanting that much more, but my work and life schedule dictate otherwise, though I've learned to feel God's presence throughout the day. There would have been a time several years ago that praying for 30 minutes or an hour would have sounded like pure torture, but that was back when I didn't know God. Besides, I've learned that spending time with God doesn't necessarily mean praying, at least not in the traditional manner in which I've always thought of prayer.

In one sense I've been on a spiritual quest my entire life. I think we all are whether or not we realize it, but my pursuit of God and hunger for more of Him began in earnest in 2005. Actually, in about a week it will mark five years of when I first had an encounter with the Holy Spirit. Before this, I was a Christian and no doubt had my salvation based upon the work of Jesus, not me, but I did not have a relationship with God. I had religion and by the age of 25, not very much of that.

Each of these five years has held its share of pain and suffering and hardships, which I have accompanied with my fair share of bitching and moaning and complaining and whining. However, from God's perspective as with any parent's, it must be better to have a child who is acting immaturely than to have a child who has turned completely away. Over these five years, though, God has redeemed me and has done mighty healing within me. Most of this healing has been done between my ears.

Some of the circumstances have only worsened, while there have been numerous breakthroughs. What has changed has been my attitude, my faith, and most especially my relationship with God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. What a difference it has made over these past few years as I have learned to pray according to the Word and according to the Spirit. Though, I still fling up the occasional self-centered, all-about-me prayers, I have learned to pray God's will and to seek His purpose. Looking back, the very things that I used to bemoan, I can now see as opportunities for me to grow spiritually. As the cliche goes, what the devil intended for bad, God used for good.

This brings me back to my 30 minutes with God. There have been dry days that were mind-blowingly boring where I could not feel the presence of God or anything other than my subconscious. I won't bore you with those, though I wouldn't doubt that unbeknownst to me that those may have produced some of the biggest breakthroughs as I've also learned that it's not always about what you feel.

My daily 30 minutes or so with God, have sometimes followed a routine, but have at other times been completely Spirit-led and directed. Skeptics might wonder how I know. I would have wondered the same thing five years ago before I truly believed in the EverPresent, Living God. I don't know how it takes one two and a half decades to accept such simple truths as, "I will never leave you or forsake you."

Recently, in one of my times with God, though I feel as if I'm in an awesome place spiritually with my relationship with Him, He got real with me. I went from praising God one minute, to reminding Him of about a half a dozen "unanswered" prayers with the attitude that I had waited just about long enough! I then went on rattling off things I was worried about: this relationship, these clients, my sore throat, family matters, friends in trouble, finances, and the list went on. And on. Then, I began to get righteous again and turned my dialogue back to Him, starting, "Lord,. . ." But, I was interrupted in prayer by God Himself.

What He said shook me to the core. I've been used to being coddled and loved and reaffirmed by God. I believe He's allowed me much grace, freedom, and mercy. Detox, I've called it. As I prayed, "Lord," he replied, "I'm not your Lord." Chills. Down. My. Spine. And I might've peed a little. He got my attention. I thought, Boy, I've done it this time!

He, then, lovingly shared with me that if He is Lord, then He is first and that I put my life and my faith and my trust in His hands. Yes, in the sense that Iam His and that He is my Savior, then He is Lord. But, not s'much, when I'm choosing worry, negativity, sin, self, and all such nonsense, that is in essence me dwelling or meditating on everything He came to save me from. I was calling out Lord, Lord, but like Peter was looking at my fears and lost sight and faith and began sinking.

Another recent day, I was in a bad mood, which in recent years has been a rare occurance. I'm not trying to play the I'm-so-saved card, yeah I still get annoyed, frustrated, and downright mad, but I don't stay there. As the black folks say, I ain't got time for that. Anyway, on this particular day, I felt eerily depressed as in the pre-Holy Spirit days five years ago. I took it to God and more or less asked, what's the deal? As if He didn't know, I gave Him a rundown of the symptoms. Within minutes, dwelling in His presence and listening to that still-small voice, I was reassured and calmed and remain so now.

After hearing my complaints, God responded, It is not that my great affection for you has changed. No, it has only increased. But, when I, in answer to your many fervent prayers turned up the heat and the pressure, you focused on that and not Me. I am transforming you at your request to be more like my Son. Embrace the fire, but keep your focus on Me. I have sent you a Helper.

Wow. This is totally seek-ye-first stuff. Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you. Wouldn't you know, I had it twisted. I had flipped the script. I took my eyes temporarily off God and sought first "all these things" instead of Him. I was seeking answers, help, solutions, finances, but God said seek Me first, THEN all these things (almost as an afterthought) will be added unto you. God was answering my prayers, but in my little faith I got nervous and scared and started trying to work out the details, but in His love and grace, He spoke to me and redirected my path.

What I thought of as a sacrifice of time that I insisted I did not have, has ended up being the distinguishing mark of my life. Each day starts with God. Long before worldly relationships, broken promises, the media, and all of life's much nonsense starts, I've had at least 30 minutes with the One who created me and has known my spirit since the formation of the earth . . .and it has made all the difference.

Disclaimer: Please know, that this is from the heart and based upon my walk with God. Yours may look different, for better or worse. God continues to humble me and reveal sin and selfishness that permeates my life. This is not me boasting about my goodness. This is me realizing that I'm not so great, not without God.

Breaking Ties

2010-06-29T17:52:00.000-07:00

Breaking ties brings great freedom! As a counselor, I challenge my clients to respectfully question everything and to keep what is good and trash what is not. Live, learn, move on, help others, Praise God.

I would hope that if asked to list favorable attributes of mine, that friends would list loyalty among the top characteristics. Loyalty is certainly something that I look for in any type of relationship. However, old soul that I am, I find myself on a lifelong soul-search. One of the things that I've come to find about myself on my journey is that it's the blind allegiances that have held me back. I am learning that loyalty is admirable, but blind loyalty is stupid.

Growing up and into my formative years, I was blindly loyal to many things because I felt that I was supposed to be. I was certain that my denomination was superior. Ditto, my community, my county, state, and nation . . . and of course my region of the nation.

This allegiance was the same for the political party of which I was affiliated. Also, with friends and family. Even down to the type of music with which I most identified.

I believed that loyalty=good, disloyal=bad. With this narrow, limited mindset I found myself defending some very disturbing nouns - people, places, and things.

In my denominational loyalty, I found myself believing that people outside of it couldn't be saved. I was the elementary school child condemning young Baptists for their piano music.

Being a proud American, I felt that Southerners were the elite. Arkansans were even better. Randolph Countians better yet. Maynard-ians best of the best.

As a proud Democrat, I was excited to defend Civil Rights, the Environment, Health Care, Clinton's Economy, Education, and many other things that I prided Democrats in supporting. I squirmed when attempting to defend other parts of my party's platform, abortion primarily. (Not that I believe the opposition's all talk, no results is superior.) In fact, I would have difficulty defending either party's position on this, but that's another blog, another day.

With all of these loyalties, I had become someone I was not. I was a member of the Frozen Chosen Church who felt superior in my religion. I was an American who felt superior to those of other countries and a Southerner who was certain that I was better than the expletive Yankees. I was an Arkansan bragging about the Clintons, Johnny Cash, John Grisham, Sam Walton, General Wesley Clark, and depending upon my mood, I even claimed Mike Huckabee. With my musical loyalties, I even had to embarrassingly claim "Achy Breaky Heart" because it was within the genre that I was loyal to. I took up for family members and friends even when their actions were indefensible.

Make no mistake, I love what was good and right about all of the above. I learned much in my home church and my family's longtime denominational allegiance. I consider it a foundation, one that I've elected to build upon. I am so proud to be an American and the grandson of two WWII vets, though I don't find it unpatriotic to voice a concern about an action that our beloved country has taken (HELLO: Trail of Tears, Slavery!!). I love my native South for what I find so right about it, yet I despise parts of our history especially in the areas where it continues to needlessly repeat itself. Arkansas will always be my home and my beloved Northeast Arkansas will always have a hold on me. However, I refuse to buy into the inferiority complex that seems to grip the region. I won't be limited by geography. My last name and my upbringing will not dictate how I vote, how I church, or how I think.

Even with my music, I've allowed myself to have better taste. If and when country music is good, I love it, but I'm alright with saying that "beer is good, God is great, people are crazy" is pretty lyrically ridiculous.

Breaking ties has brought such freedom! I've discarded most of the aforementioned loyalties in search of absolute truth as opposed to the relative truth that I had settled for. In so doing, I've been able to focus on what I'm meant and designed to focus on and waste much less time in defending the indefensible.

The first of the Ten Commandments says (commands), ". . thou shalt have no other gods before Me." I notice that 'gods' is not capitalized, for there is One. In the Commandments, when we are told to have no other gods before Him, this isn't referring to other deities. Obviously, the Spirit who inspired the Bible would not acknowledge any such other god as real. However, as humans we do allow other things to rule us. I'm not saying this as an us/the church versus them/the world comparison. Rather, I am challenging myself and other Jesus-followers.

How can we identify as Christian when we are so plagued with other allegiances, be they political, familial, governmental, patriotic, religious, societal, cultural, economical? I hear people claim a position that is political or cultural in nature and refer to their stance as Christian and maybe they pepper a fitting (or often misapplied) Scripture verse to defend it, but the bulk of their defense smacks of very unChristlike rhetoric. Politicians of all stripes are guilty. Guilty, too, are the pastors and church leaders who claim to offer salvation or enlightenment through themselves or their church denomination, especially if your tithe envelope is overflowing! Ever notice how many politicians and pastors are driven my power and money? Neither are wrong unless it's the primary focus.

People and institutions are highly capable of manipulating us into right-seeming allegiances that should be reserved only for our Creator. How often have I found myself agreeing with much of what a Christian person or institution has said for the same to be upset with me or disappointed in me if there is an area where I don't agree with them. They reason if we say and believe that 'thus and so' is true and you believe it, then you should also agree with 'thus and so' position. Any person or institution that is not God will willingly or unwillingly lead you in a direction that is wrong. It is okay to agree with much of what a person or institution says or believes without drinking their kool-aid to the last theoretical drop.

My point is this: If we are blindly loyal to our religion, our politics, our culture and other seemingly important areas of our life, then we miss God. We are to have no other gods before Him. It's a command.

Can we really claim Jesus as LORD if we answer first to our religious or political biases? If in any way your response is "yes," then I pray that it's only secondary.

Prayin' Like a Black Woman

2010-05-22T20:51:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth "Mama Boot" Johnson can sure put a stompin' on the devil's head when she's of a mind to. And let me tell you, she's been of a mind to ever since I've known her, starting back in the Summer of 2004 in a Fort Smith, Arkansas government housing complex. White flight had done happened long ago and she was livin' in the straigh-up 'hood.

Mama Boot and I became instant friends the day we met. Deon, her grandson and one of my best friends from my college days in Fayetteville, had predicted that this would happen. He knew that we were kindred spirits and he was happy to introduce us. He knew that she and I both loved us some Bill Clinton and we both loved Mexican food, and why didn't I just make the trip with him down to the 'Smith to meet this beloved woman who raised him?

Mama Boot didn't live alone, she informed me. She lived with God. Confined to a wheelchair and afflicted by numerous unheard of ailments and conditions, she endured much pain, discomfort, and loss of ability. Life in this complex was by no means glamorous. The noisy, gossipy neighbors were a welcome presence in contrast to the swindlers and ne'er-do-wells who all too often wind up in these places. This was my judgment, not hers. I saw thugs and drug-dealers; she knew first names and family histories.

The first time we hung out I got lovingly scolded, as only a black woman can do, for not washing my hands, and I got prayed for. Ms. Feisty set me straight in matters of hygiene and spirituality. (She later laughingly confessed that white folks not washing their hands was a stereotype she had that thanks to people like myself she has never been able to kick.)

The prayer, though, wasn't the standard rub-a-dub-dub-thanks-for-the-grub prayer. It was a bless-my-new-friend-James,-Oh-Dear-Lord,-and-bring-him-closer-to-You-because-I-sense-that-he-hungers-for-more-than-just-food kind of prayer. She interceded for me on the spot, calling gifts and provision down from Heaven, things that I didn't even know existed and things that I definitely did not know I needed. She peppered her prayer with in Jesus' Name and by the Blood of Jesus and talked to her Creator as if they were the best of friends.

At this time, I had not yet met nor did I even really believe in the actuality of the Holy Spirit. Intellectually, I did. In my heart, not really. I chalked Mama Boot's prayers up as those of a well-meaning, emotional black woman's. Emotionalism, Pentecostalism, and African-American culture was how I processed this, though she had managed to hit some nerves during her prayer.

We all scrubbed our hands down until they were red-raw and ingested some delicious Mexican take-out from an authentic little hole in the wall joint down the way. We talked politics, current events, education and God. She started many of her sentences with, "Me and God." Anything from, "Me and God watched us some T.D. Jakes this morning. . ." to "Me and God just been sittin' here waiting on our quesadillas." And if anything went well, though much in her daily life did not, she praised God for it. Attitude of gratitude personified.

Mama Boot would say things like, "I know you're saved, and you're a good boy, but Lord-a-Mercy I cain't wait 'til God gets a-holt of you, child." I knew that I was at a crossroads with God, either wanting more of Him or to be done with Him. How, though, did she know this? Because I didn't wash my hands? Had I said something? No, from one with "eyes to see" it was, as she said, all over me.

My first blog post detailed what I refer to as my first Holy Spirit experience. Of course, Mama Boot, was one of the first people that I told about this amazing, life-changing encounter. She reminded me just recently of something I had excitedly said that she still laughs about. I had forgotten it until she reminded me, then I knew it was me. "I thought the Holy Spirit was just for black folks and Pentecostals," I had blurted among the other details of my experience. Since I reasoned that the Holy Spirit (being under His influence) was basically just people getting all hyped-up for God, I had dismissed people's being under the influence of the Holy Spirit as being emotional, charismatic, excitable church folks. Truthfully, I thought they were putting on.

Mama Boot was not putting on and she was not the least bit surprised of my Holy Spirit encounter. She was excited. She got happy. She let out a shout. But she was not surprised. She told me of how she knew that I was anointed and set aside to do great things for God. She said that she knew that I didn't know it and that I couldn't grasp it, but that she had seen it all over me. From my new vantage point of seeing everything spiritually, I knew she was telling me the truth, but when she first met me, I would have no doubt insisted that this was sincere, yet senseless church-talk.

I considered then, but I know now that Mama Boot's prayers were the precursor to my Holy Spirit experience, which has changed the course of my entire life and existence.

God used a woman who had endured a lifetime of mistreatment by people of my race to pray for my well-being and livelihood. God used a woman who had been denied an education to encourage and pray me through mine. God used a woman who cleaned white people's houses for a living to pray for my financial well-being. God used a woman who was riddled with medical diagnoses to pray for mine and my family members' health.

The irony of our differences was immediately apparent, but has continued to speak volumes to me about the integrity of Mama Boot, but especially of who God is and how He operates. He intends for us - His kids, His Body, His Church - to get along despite our perceived differences.

Mama Boot has endured numerous surgeries and personal trials in the six years that I've known her. She has legally been pronounced dead several times, only to be brought back to life. She's had times when she cannot walk, cannot talk, cannot take care of personal matters. There have been times when I've hung up the phone or walked out of her room at the nursing home, that I felt certain would be the last.

Mama Boot is an absolute pleasure to hang out with. She's got no Master's of Divinity degree and she's never taken a theology course in her life, but she's got God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. She doesn't talk about paradigms. She doesn't speak Christianese. She doesn't get distracted with denominationalism. She's not a part of Christian sub-culture. She just spends all day every day with God.

Lying flat of her back, she prays for those who are much less sick. Dependent upon the good will of others, she prays for financial success for her friends and family. By all definitions an invalid, she brings joy and sunshine to the techs, aides, nurses, and other residents of the nursing home where she lives. One of our prayers is for God to anoint her handshake, her hugs, her eye-contact, and her presence. God answers those prayers.

Every day that she finds herself still alive is a day spent praying her kids and grandkids, friends and relatives into the arms and Kingdom of God. Lying in a hospital bed, she sees visions that lead her to pray for her family's protection as the end times near. Before surgeries, she's seen angels in her room.

Mama Boot still prays for me on a regular basis and it was a relief to know that while I was on a recent short-term mission trip to Ghana and Uganda that she was praying for me. Missionaries and church folks who are in need of money say things like, If you can't give, just pray. It's a nice gesture, but the money is what is desired. The same was largely true with my attempts at fund-raising. I would think, You ain't gonna have nothin' to pray for if I don't get my white behind across that water. However, I can honestly say that Mama Boot's prayers were worth more to me than if she had been able to pay for the whole trip. Because, you see, she talks to the very God that I went to Africa to serve. They're tight. She knows how to get a word on up there. And if ol' no-shoulders thought he was gonna try something, then I can guar-an-tee (all 3 syllables)that he got a good old-fashioned butt-whoopin' Mama Boot style, gettin' sent back to Hell where he belongs . . and not without a proper tongue-lashing!

Nowadays, it's me who's praying for her. One operation after another. I guess one can only out-live the doctors' you-have-x-number-of-months left until you just start to disbelieve them. It's more than that, though. If God tells her she's gonna live and not die, she don't pay no mind to what the man in the white jacket says because with her, it's "Me and God."

Several years ago, noticing how my prayers had grown from religious-mechanical to spiritual-relational, she laughingly observed, "Boy, you're prayin' like a black woman."

In 1958, Mama Boot was the first African American to graduate from Van Buren High School. She would have much preferred to stay in her "colored" school, but she wanted to set an example for her younger siblings, to pave the way for them to be able to attend the school of their choice. She was the only African American in her graduating class.

Mama Boot is known locally in Ft. Smith and Van Buren for having practically raised many of the residents, white and black, including a former Ft. Smith mayor. She worked in many well-to-do white folks' homes and her housework often included a major role in child-rearing.

Mama Boot was a founder of the Ft. Smith Boy's Club and volunteered hundreds of hours of her time over many years.

Mama Boot was denied entry into West-Ark College (now UAFS) and still has the numerous rejection slips with the bogus explanations of why she could not attend. Her grandson Deon graduated from there two generations later with a 4.0.

Mama Boot's son Arnold is an educator and a school administrator who applied tirelessly in Western Arkansas school districts, only for those jobs to go to more "qualified" applicants. He moved to Delaware and has won numerous awards for his service to education, such as the coveted Administrator of the Year state-wide award.

Mama Boot was mentored by Little Rock Civil Rights Leader, Daisy Gatson Bates, who also mentored the Little Rock Nine. She worked in the Bates' printing press and contributed to their newspaper.

Mama Boot's children and grandchildren serve in the fields of the armed services, education, nursing, and mental health. Many are musically inclined. Her proudest accomplishment is that all of her children and grandchildren are living for and serving the Lord.

Exposed and Redeemed

2010-05-19T23:16:00.000-07:00

For quite some time now God has been calling me to set aside a special time each day for Him. Well, human/Adam-ite, that I am, I heard God calling me. I even listened, then I decided that I knew best. I am after all, me. I should know what's best for me, right?

My rationalization made so much sense to me. I spend lots of time talking to God each day. After all these years of being His kid, I've even learned to listen to Him. I talk to God on the road, in the shower, before bed, and whenever I have a spare moment. I really am in relationship with my Creator and I talk to Him. I thought that I would just continue to spend ample time with God and that gesture and effort should suffice.

Our Father is such a Gentleman. He heard my excuses and rationalizations and my reasoning, yet he continued to gently in that still-small voice, call me to set aside a special time just for us. I was praying recently and really asking God to reveal some things to me, asking for clarification, and direction. I was complaining that things weren't going the way I expected and planned. What's up?

He told me so clearly that He is a God of order, of systems, of laws, of principles, of organization. He shared with me that He understood that I am detoxing from a legalistic background of rigid rules and moral, godless checklists. He said that He had gladly smothered me in freedom and grace so that I could build relationship with Him and be free from religious rules. In effect, He was transitioning me from knowing God, but denying the power therein to knowing God and embracing Him in relationship. He's now teaching me that structure and routine and organization can be used to my benefit in Him as long as they are in the context of His love for me and my love for Him. Jesus is Lord; religion is not.

Finally, I consented and I set aside the first 30 minutes of my day for just me and God. No phone calls, no Facebook, no texting. Just me and God, uninterrupted. So many things have happened so quickly, thanks to this small step of obedience that was offered to me months if not years ago. Most of what He's placed upon my heart is not bloggable, nor that interesting if you're not me. We all have our things with God that should remain between us and God. Other things are for sharing.

Much of my prayer time with God in these special, set-aside times have been me praying that God will make me more Christlike and expose sin and self that is in my life. Wow, sometimes God answers prayers in the most annoying ways (only half joking).

I had an appointment today to get an oil change and a couple of minor maintenance things done on my truck. I needed an oil change, a bulb changed that illuminates my a/c settings, and my silencer pads on my shocks need oiled/lubricated as frequent cabin trips on gravel roads have made the truck squeaky. Simple enough.

I'm paged to the front to pay. They charge me for the oil change, tell me it'll be 700 bucks to replace the bulb because they'll have to replace the whole panel, and that they couldn't figure out what was squeaking so they didn't fix it. I got pissy and told them that they had pushed a $2500 warranty policy on me that they have never honored, but they would quickly offer to fix something that wasn't covered. They couldn't find record of my warranty, so I walk out in the pouring rain to get my copy out of the glove box. It expired at 75,000 miles, which I hit 2 days ago and have now gone over. Their sincere apologies, my foot. I got all Susan Seawel on them and told them in no uncertain terms in front of their other customers how disappointed and cheated I felt that they've given me the run-around every time I've come in and now that I'm over the mileage limit, they can't do anything. I didn't cuss them like I would have liked to and I wasn't even that out of line except for the fact that I let it bother me so badly.

I drive to see my next client at school. This little boy is such a brat. Crybaby, manipulator, pouter, whiner, blame-shifter. Oppositional Defiant out the wazzoo. Today wasn't the day for me to be backtalked and manipulated. I went 'round and 'round with a 3rd grader, meeting him on his level and he met his match in arguing senselessly. I stepped out of counselor role and into step-parent role. No worries, I didn't do anything bad, I just wasn't an effective counselor. I was more like a probation officer for a kid who's not (yet) on probation.

I got in the truck and immediately asked God what was up with me. I'm not usually like this. I've been crabby all day. What's the deal? I feel like I'm being EXPOSED. As soon as I prayed the word 'exposed' I felt it all over my body. If it was a movie, it would have been played in slow-motion with a deep "Exposed, exposed, exposed" echoing throughout the cinema.

Oh my God. This was an answer to prayer. I was being exposed. My selfishness had been exposed just as I had asked God to do. I was still confused, so I asked God just what exactly he was exposing. He said, you believe that you are your provider, that's why you got mad about that $2500. I AM your Provider. He said, you believe that you are your defender, that's why you got mad when they wouldn't listen or take you seriously. I AM your Defender. He continued, you believe that you are in control, that's why the little child's disobedience went all over you. I AM Sovereign; I AM in Control.

He had me to confess my selfishness, repent, and declare that He is my Provider, my Defender, and that He is Sovereign and has control of my life.

Needless to say, enduring some minor frustrations to get such an awesome, instant answer to prayer was totally worth it. I really felt as if I've grown up a lot today. It's refreshing knowing who He is and who I am in Him.

Confessions of a hypocrite: My journey to forgiveness

2010-03-31T21:58:00.000-07:00

It has been said that what we most hate about others is what we subconsciously hate most about ourselves. I find myself agreeing with a lot of the things that are said about truth, but the thing that comes to the forefront of my mind at the moment is: the truth hurts.

For years, while identifying myself almost in a partisan or cultural sense as a Christian, I criticized religious leaders or politicians that claimed the title of Christian. I was critical to the point of being judgmental and even hateful.

On some level I knew that I, too, was a hypocrite, but therein lied the problem. I couldn't bring myself to self-forgiveness, therefore had little motivation to forgive others. I attended church regularly and at the private Christian university I attended, daily chapel attendance was mandatory.

Church and chapel services allowed me prime opportunities to judge others. It was as if I was keeping score of the guys that I knew, or more aptly had heard, of being involved in activities that once again I judged inappropriate or (ooooh) sinful. It was usually guys around my age whom I believed to be doing something as sinful as (wow, gasp!) drinking alcohol or sharing leave-room-for-Jesus intimate moments with their girlfriends.

Consequently, no matter how awesome a devotional or how profound a speech a peer of mine might lead or make, in the constitution that had formed with me, I didn't have to take or heed their advice if I had any inkling that they had recently bumped uglies, consumed alcohol, or had engaged in any of the other indefensibles on my self-righteous checklist.

These rules that I held for others didn't necessarily apply to me because I wasn't up flaunting my Christianity behind a pulpit or on a chapel stage nor claiming to be a leader. So in my narrow, rigid mindset very few were eligible to be in leadership over me or to even offer guidance. I was cynical, sarcastic, and religious.

Part of what I despised about these hypocrites was exactly what I saw in myself. . . and what I couldn't seem to rid myself of no matter how much effort or prayer. I would set goals, try, pray, whine, pout, cry, and complain. Then, I'd give up for a season and try again. Repeat ad nauseum.

Life and God were really getting on my nerves. I never seriously flirted with suicide or atheism because there was much about life that I enjoyed and I did believe in God. I just felt that life often sucked and that God dangled the proverbial carrot in front of me teasing me with hope of a better life. I'd chase that darn carrot, getting ever-so-close to arriving . . . and it felt as if God would up the ante. I'd reach a goal, hit a religious milestone, get excited, and then it was as if God changed the rules. . . setting me up for failure. I'd get pouty and quit, trading in real prayers for the CYA-variety.

Spiritually, the above was the story of my life all of my growing-up years through my early-twenties. Some time in college, I began dissociating from the faith of my parents and of several generations of ancestors on both sides of my family. This filled me with hope and guilt, freedom and bondage, and numerous other paradoxes. I no longer believed much of what I had been taught so I abandoned it, but didn't know how to replace it. There was a giant freedom in the area of leaving something that I didn't believe, yet an equally large void where religion once had been.

There were some pesky Baptists and some hopped-up Charismatic influences in my life who talked of a relationship with Jesus and the Holy Spirit, respectively. How on earth does someone have a relationship with Jesus is what I wanted to know. Awesome marketing, for sure. Slick pew-filling slogan, but not too realistic I reasoned. As far as the Holy Spirit, was He really even real? C'mon, seriously? I kind of chalked the Holy Spirit up as a reason for well-meaning, and perhaps emotional, black folks and Pentecostals to get all riled up and have a pew-jumping good time. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

However, desperate as I was, I attempted a non-church-attending relationship with Jesus. Detox! I could no longer tolerate church, but had an unquenchable thirst for something more. In terms of my judgement, I had totally exhausted the church that I had grown up in as well as other churches that I had already refuted or shot down. Name a denomination and I could tell you my problem with, not only their theology, but also their leadership.

In spite of myself, I began to start to really like Jesus. I got in His Word and talked His ears off in conversational prayer, though at that point I talked way more than I listened. This man-God was really cool. Some of that stuff He was doing in the New Testament was way cool. The woman at the well would have never had a chance in the churches or chapels of my previous religious days, but Jesus really took a liking to her. In fact, he hung out with folks like that . . . thieves, sluts, liars. It was the religious church folks and political types that he rebuked. . . and I loved it when he did stuff like that. Some 2000 years later, I was cheering Jesus on from the sidelines. I started to really love and admire Jesus. More importantly, I started to really feel His love for me.

Some of the sarcasm and cynicism started to melt. However, I'd get cranky when confronted with my own junk - hypocrisy and being judgmental. I was justified and had good reason for my thoughts, thank-You-very-much.

Prior to accepting Jesus as my Lord and Savior, I was aware of roughly 1/3 of the Trinity. . . and that's a liberal estimate. I only knew the KJV Old Testament God who seemed to run around setting people up for failure. . . and turning them into salt? What in the world was that all about? Really? I desperately wanted to please Him and hoped to be good enough to get to Heaven some day, not because harp-music and angels were my cup of tea, but Hell! Good Lord, I was never one for extreme stench or heat. . . and teeth gnashing, who came up with that? I didn't have good teeth, but I darn sure didn't want them gnashed! I sure hoped I was good enough to get to Heaven, if only to escape Hell.

Jesus, though, had become my Lord and I was realizing that it was more of what He had already done for me on the Cross than it was about what I was to do. This helped immensely and allowed me to take some deep breaths and relax a bit and just chill. Though not as urgent or as intense, I still felt guilt for not being in church and for things in my past and present. I hated that I was beginning to love Jesus, yetcould still be so cranky about life and still had the same hang-ups and struggles. Shouldn't Jesus have done something about this by now? However, I had accepted Jesus even if I didn't understand Him. I was now operating with 2/3 of the Trinity.

I had made friends with some people who were very spiritual, but not Christian, and privately I really admired their outlooks on a lot of things. They were so calm and mellow and open and accepting. They weren't cranky, religious Christians with rules and checklists. They weren't judgmental. They were spiritual - influenced by Buddha and the Great Spirit and maybe some mushrooms and marijuana for good measure, of course. I was a preacher's kid from Arkansas and this should not have appealed, but it had tremendous appeal. I didn't want to run around and eat vegetables and wear Birkenstocks, but I did want to be carefree and love others regardless. These sandal-shod, flower-loving, tree-hugging hippies got me thinking in spiritual terms. I thank God for them.

Obviously, I knew that God the Father must be spiritual, but He didn't seem spiritual. Jesus, the Son, seemed like a man and therefore not a spirit. I started wondering about the role of the Holy Spirit, but wasn't He lyrical at best and dead with the last apostles at worst? I had heard a lot of nonsense about the Holy Spirit and didn't know what to believe about Him, but secretly I started appealing to Him to help me out of messes that I'd get myself into or for Him to prove to me that He was real. When He would reveal or prove Himself, I would reason that it was my effort or explain it as simple psychology, but my mind was at least partially open to His existence, but I absolutely did not want to get all blow-dried televangelist creepy if He was real. I just wanted to know, then use the knowledge to my own advantage. . . like to get A's on tests or to have the ability to have really clever conversations and appear deep and spiritual . . . because chicks might just dig that. My own little cosmic bellhop is kind of what I had pictured in my mind.

Through a series of events, mostly painful, tragic, faith-testing life events, I was coming to the end of the road with God, Jesus, and Christian spirituality. I kept failing and I wasn't feeling anything. Relationships weren't working. I was mildly successful in career and education, but nothing much really mattered. Life was flat, dull, blah. . . and showed little sign of getting better. God should really do something, I thought, because this sucks. Nothing is working out and, frankly, I'm hopeless and bored.

Enters the Holy Spirit. He used a wise man and two friends of mine to ever-so-gently confront me. Hungry and desperate for more of God, I cooperated. Somehow this wise old, gray man knew all the right questions to ask me. In mere moments, I was confessing fears, worries, sins, anxieties, many of which I had forgotten about or hadn't realized that I was still holding onto. I couldn't believe how this kind, old man knew all of this stuff. . . and I darn sure couldn't believe that I was telling him the truth. Twenty-five years worth of filth just spewed forth from me accompanied by that many years' worth of grief-stricken tears. I confessed, I repented; and it was real. I was truly convicted. No longer was it a save-my-butt prayer, but a full-fledged Oh-My-God-I'm-so-sorry-please-forgive-me prayer of repentance. It was as if the world were being lifted from my shoulders and fears were evaporating as if into thin air. I had an incredible moment, the defining moment of my life that I now refer to as my first Holy-Spirit-experience. I had an encounter that 20 minutes prior, I would have denied even being possible.

The Holy Spirit, 3/3 now, came in and revealed Himself. God -Father, Son, and Spirit - came full circle. Now, that I had the Holy Spirit in my life and was allowing Him to live within me, God the Father and God the Son made much more sense to me and became even more real to me. Though, now the Holy Spirit was showing the Father to me not as some Old Testament Control Freak, but as a Loving, Doting Father and He showed Jesus to me as not just a Friend, Playmate, or Confidant but truly as my Lord, my Savior, my Redeemer.

My personality and sense of humor still contain bits of sarcasm and cynicism simply because I find amusement in their qualities, but I am not held in their grips and I don't wallow in negativity. I've long since forgiven those college boys, my old peers, who were either doing the same sinful things as me, or doing things that I desired but didn't have the wherewithal or confidence to make happen. I've even forgiven myself for being such a self-righteous, judgemental jerk.

The truth really doesn't hurt so much anymore. It set me free.