Reminders of our Dependence

This week, while fighting a terrible virus, I wrestled with the meaning of it all.  One night I wrote in my journal:

I don’t understand why we have to be sick. I suppose it’s one more thing we can chalk up to the Fall. Thanks Adam…thanks a lot! 

Sometimes I wonder if sickness isn’t much unlike a forest fire. A forest becomes overrun and rundown with dead trees and undergrowth.  In many ways, flourishing, but at the same time, choking itself out.

The fire comes through to start things over. The soil is enriched, the air is cleared, and new life begins. In fact, without the fiery conflagration, many of the plants and trees would be unable to reproduce. Pine cones and nuts litter the forest floor…rotting…until heat and pressure cause them to bear their life-giving seeds. And the cycle begins again.

And within our fleshly shells, a never-ending game of balance plays on day by day. When sickness assaults us, our system goes into survival mode. Our symptoms are simply our own body’s response to perceived imbalance. And when the war is done being waged, we stand stronger for the next battle. Once again, heat and pressure bring new life.

Perhaps of even more signficance is the fact that if there was no fire, no earthquake, no disaster: Creation would be without its groaning (Romans 8:20-22); even forgetting its fallen nature.

And so man, in the frailty of sickness is reminded of his death. Of his mortality. And therefore, his utter need for God.

What has independence gotten us? Sickness. Sorrow. Pain. Evil. And ultimately…DEATH.

Not that our loving Father causes us sickness to teach us a lesson. No, that is a result of the Fall. Yet, our Father, in His perfect wisdom and sovereignty, birthes good and truth out of every situation.

So the next time you awaken with a sore throat and stuffy nose, remember your mortality. Remember your humanity. Remember your absolute dependence on the Giver of all Life. May your own weakness drive you into the arms of the only One strong enough to sustain you. May you find rest and healing in his perfect Love.

Life as a Lamb

You know, there’s a reason why we are repeatedly referred to as sheep in the Bible…  Sometimes we just have to realize that we, as the little, feeble lambs that we are, don’t have the perspective that our Shepherd has.  We go around on our stubby little legs watching for wolves…trying to make it on our own…always looking for greener pastures… We can only see what’s right in front of us—that obstacle, that problem, that dilemma.  Nothing else matters…. It’s all about us… Until we’re broken… Yes, broken.  

 When a little lamb would wander off from the flock, the shepherd would take his staff, or crook, and break one of the legs of the little fellow.  This wasn’t out of anger, or sadistic humor, but purely out of love.  You see, if that little lamb didn’t learn his lesson then that wandering from the flock would only bring pain, he would learn it later at the jaws of some wild predator.

It is when we’re broken—a leg gets twisted, a hoof is split, or a painful lesson is learned—that the Good Shepherd picks us up and puts us on his shoulders.  He carries us when we can’t carry ourselves… And then we see everything differently.  Suddenly, we’re seeing from his perspective; the pastures on the other side, the other lambs frolicking, the revitalizing water flowing.  There’s no way we could see this larger picture on our own, in our stunted, pea-brained worldview.  Only on the shoulders of our Shepherd does everything come into focus.

Don’t be afraid of being broken.  Stop trying to make sense of this bleak world in your own human understanding.  God sees the whole picture.  Start trusting in him and seeing yourself, your problems, and your world through His eyes.  Only then will you begin to understand…

Know that he is in control and his ways are best.  I’ll leave you with this well known verse:  “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’“  Most people stop here, but the following verses are perhaps the most important… and my challenge to you today…

“12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” (Jer 29:11-13, NIV)

Filling Your Leadership Gaps

Ministry worth doing is worth doing together.

 I sat down with a group of amazing people tonight.  These are my teammates.

If anything, I’m simply a player-coach, on the same playing field as every one of them.  In fact, many of them have done ministry even longer than I have.  They see my blind spots and rather than exploiting them, they cover them.  They’ve got my back and I sense that they know I’ve got theirs. When things didn’t go as planned at a recent midweek service, they were right there to bring it together.  Unfortunately,  I often get so focused on what I envision, that my peripherals are clouded and I don’t see those around me waiting to jump in.

I had to do a few things tonight that are almost always hard for a leader.  1) Apologize, 2) Ask for them to help me understand what went wrong, and 3) Recognize that their ideas were superior to mine. I was taking notes as some of them explained how we could have better handled the situation.  We’re still a pretty new team, so I had to give them the permission to help me make those adjustments on the fly.  Next time a dilemma arises, we’ll have the tools and communication to meet it head on.

All I know is that I walked away thanking God for the people he’s put around me.  Not one of us is perfect (least of all me), but I’m glad for it.  We get to do ministry together in a way that compliments each other’s weaknesses and fills in the gaps.

Tonight was realigning. Tonight was refreshing.

What are the ways you fill your gaps? 

What does “team” mean to you?

When Life Gives You Manure…

I recently heard a story that goes something like this:

There once was a little bird that was flying south for the winter and got caught in a snowstorm.  As snow landed on his tiny wings, it melted slightly, then quickly froze, causing the bird to fall to the ground.  As he sat helpless and shivering, encased in ice, the bird thought to himself (to be spoken in a little bird voice), This is the end.

To make matters worse, a cow wandered toward the freezing bird and—wouldn’t you know it?—deposited a stinking pile of manure on top of the bird. (I know this is gross, but there is a point to it.  Hang with me).

The bird panicked, horrified at the thought that he was going to freeze to death, covered in manure.

But slowly, the warmth of the manure caused the bird to thaw out.  He fluttered his newly freed wings and began to chirp with joy!

“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!” he sang.

That’s when a cat, drawn by the chirping, ran over, dug out the bird…and ate him.

Maybe you’re reading this and you want to shout at me, “Dude! You’re just weird!”  I understand (but God made me this way).

Or maybe you were reading along and you wanted to shout, “Yeah! That’s exactly what my life feels like.  Just when things start to get better, the bottom drops out or stuff falls on my head.  My life is just one disaster after another.”

I understand, and I hate when life feels that way.  But God promises that He is at work in all things.  Even the bad things.  And if we will trust Him during the dark times, He can bring blessings out of the pain.

Do you believe me?

Well, back to that dearly departed bird.  You see, this story of courage and calamity teaches three very important lessons.  Hope you didn’t miss them:

1.       Not everyone who drops manure on you is your enemy.

2.      Not everyone who digs you out of manure is your friend.

3.      When you are in manure, keep your mouth shut.

Allow God to give you eyes to see His purpose in your experiences—all of them!  It is there if you look closely enough.  And when you see it, you’ll find your experiences pointing the way to God’s plan for your future.  His will for your life is driven by an unconditional, passionate, never-ending LOVE for you.

 

*From Craig Groeschel’s book, Chazown. p. 69-70.