Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Life offers us tough choices. No one in his right mind would turn down the opportunity to be with God in heaven. No pain. No sorrow. No needs. But to some degree many of us thrive on conflict, even chaos.

Some people however (and at times I'm one) wish for an end to their problems. In such moments, finding an exit from this world doesn't seem like a bad idea. Let's face reality. There are times when life overwhelms us. Problems pile up. Stress exceeds our limits. We're running as hard and fast as we can, way past redline, and our engine is about to blow up. We simply wouldn't mind if Jesus returned.

Then there are the times of suffering that can cause a human spirit to become weak. Whether the battle is with physical ailments, catastrophic illness, emotional distress, or some other malady, we can reach a point when we are ready to quit.

But maybe the most prevalent problem is the slow daily grind. Not one big disaster or even several medium-sized struggles, but the tiny nuisances that annoy us until we focus on nothing but the negatives in almost every area of life. In such times there seems to be no relief in sight. And we grow weary.

We don't know everything that may have been on the apostle Paul's mind when he wrote to the Philippians, but we can be certain, he faced some problems. And yet, he didn't look at the negative. In fact, he seemed to have some difficulty making up his mind.

“Hard choice! The desire to break camp here and be with Christ is powerful. Some days I can think of nothing better. But most days, because of what you are going through, I am sure that it's better for me to stick it out here.” (Philippians 1:23-24, The Message)

Now think about how that made the Philippians feel. At first glance, most people suppose he’s saying that because of them he had to stay. He couldn’t go to heaven. And surely no one would disagree that being in heaven would be preferable. But read that again.

“But most days, because of what you are going through, I am sure that it's better for me to stick it out here” (emphasis added).

Could Paul have been saying he’d be better off on Earth than in heaven? “I’d rather be in heaven, but you need me. I know that. And that’s why if it were my choice, it would be a tough call. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I love Jesus, but I love you almost as much as I love him.”

To some that would be a stretch. I’m certain many theologians would pick apart my rendering. I have no doubt that others who love The Law and tend to enjoy little of the God’s grace would say I have no idea what I’m talking about. But they’d be missing the point. Entirely.

Sure, life is tough. Some days are worse than others. And there are seasons when many of us would check out of this world if we had the option. But overall, life is good. Almost as good as heaven. And Paul seems to suggest this. “Let’s see. Be with Jesus or be with you. Tough choice.” How would that make you feel? Hopefully encouraged, no matter what your circumstances.

If you’re tempted to believe otherwise, make a list and check it twice and see if God’s been naughty or nice to you.

I think taking an inventory of our blessings is a great way to end one year and begin another. It helps put our lives and circumstances in proper perspective. And it helps us focus on the positive, rather than the negative, for a fresh start.

Now, I’m not going to miss 2009. It wasn’t the best year of my life. But, I have a wife who still loves me in spite of my flaws. My soon-to-be teenaged daughter still thinks I’m okay, not her arch-nemesis. I have meaningful work. A house. A car. My bills are paid. I have more friends than I can count. I get to encourage other people. And those are just a few of my favorite things.

I'll have all eternity in heaven with God. I'm in hurry to get there. Besides, he’s here with me.

A Gift Worth Receiving

During the Christmas season we often hear messages that ask us to consider what gift God wants. Popular questions include, "If you were one of the magi, what would you give Jesus?" and "What does God want for Christmas?"

That's a worthwhile topic to consider. And the answers are rather standard. He wants your heart. "I'll give him what he wants most—me." Of course those responses reveal that he hasn't had you or your heart. Therefore giving him both would be both appropriate and good.

I'm not diminishing the need for us to surrender ourselves to God. It's certain he wants all of us, and all of each of us—heart, mind, soul, and strength. But I wonder if there's another question we should consider.

What does God want to give us?

He is after all a giver. John 3:16 tells us that because he loved so much more than we can fathom, he gave. We also know that he doesn't change. So if he gave then, he gives now. If he gave Christ that first Christmas, what will he give us this year? A few of my favorite things come to mind.

• Hope
• Peace
• Joy
• Love
• Mercy
• Grace

And perhaps he will give some of us the desire of our hearts. That is, he may place his desire in our hearts. And when he does we may find a contentment that we've never had. That would be a gift worth receiving.

A Gift Worth Giving

What can or should we expect from God? What does he expect from us?

What comes to mind first for many people is the idea that we should become sinless. While it's true that once we've been born again—once we've accepted God's pardon for both our sins and for being sinners—we should sin less. But it is not true that we can become sinless. Despite Scriptures that at a glance suggest otherwise.

The Bible tells us that we should be like him. That we are new creatures in Christ. That we can do all things through him. But to twist these and other verses to mean that we can achieve perfection means we've fallen into a trap set to snare us.

Our adversary would have us continually focused on ourselves rather than God. He wishes us to view life as a negative, never developing the positive.

Not so with God. Therefore, it may be easier to answer the opposite of those questions. What doesn't God expect?

He doesn't expect perfection, sinlessness. But he does expect holiness. But how does the unholy become holy? How does the unclean become clean? In the same way dishes become useable and useful.

Like dirty cups we become vessels of honor by being washed. And since it is clear that dishes cannot wash themselves, we must allow God to do what only he can do.

Our task, then, is to present ourselves to him continually so that he may cleanse us. And in gratitude we ought to serve him.

Not only during the Christmas season or at Easter or during other High Holy days, but every day, each day, we should give him what we have, what he wants most—ourselves. That is the gift he desires. And if we give him what he wants, he will give us what we need.

Gratitude In the Midst of Blessings

We often overlook our need for gratitude in the midst of blessings. And that’s the problem.

When life is good we tend to forget where blessings come from. When we are healthy we are less aware that God is our healer. When we are wealthy, however we might measure that, we may not remember that God is our provider. At times we suppose ourselves to be wise, and fail to credit the one who gives wisdom without embarrassing us. At times we imagine we can do anything, but don’t rely on the one who said through him we can. When we are young, we often look to the future. When we are old, we tend to gaze at the past. In both seasons, we easily forget that God is with us today. When our lives are blessed we sometimes forget to thank the one from whom all blessings flow.

An old hymn urges each of us to “count your blessings, name them one by one.” I suppose that such an exercise is intended to cause a shift in our focus.

The Apostle John wrote that, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom can be no variation, neither shadow that is cast by turning.”[1] The emphasis is not that we should recite all that God has done for us, but that we ought to remember who God is. We should know that his nature and character never shift. Never vary. Never move. Never change. The image invokes a term from astronomy, the parallax. It pertains to the apparent movement of the stars. We know that stars don’t move; we do. In the same way, we need to be mindful that God doesn’t change. That’s why we can depend on him, even in the best of times.

In those times when our lives, our activities, our pursuits are blessed and we receive so many blessings that our cups overflow, we need to understand why. We’re blessed, not because we won a heavenly lottery, but because God is good. He always has our best interest at heart. He’s not capricious. He loves us. Not because of what we’ve done, but because we are his children.

As such, we receive more than his blessings. He gives us his blessing. Something we should treasure. Something we should never trade for anything. Unlike Esau.

You may remember his story in Genesis 25:29–34. Esau returns famished. Jacob knew he would be. Esau asks for food. Jacob demands a price. Esau sells his birthright for a bowl of beans. One moment he’s ungrateful. The next he’s not blessed.

We have an inheritance. God has given us his blessings and his blessing.

If that doesn’t make us holy, I don’t know what does.

And if that doesn’t make us grateful, I don’t know what will.

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[1] James 1:17 (ASV)

Gratitude In the Midst of Trials

While we may more readily recognize our need for gratitude in the midst of trials, it’s not easy to be grateful in the midst of a storm. Sometimes despite God’s presence we doubt his promises. And we forget his faithfulness.

That tends to make us ungrateful, unthankful, unholy.

How then does holiness relate to thanksgiving? To our giving thanks? Does gratitude sanctify us? Maybe, maybe not. But it seems certain that however it happens, when we are grateful, something changes. At least that’s what happened for the tenth leper.

As Jesus continued on toward Jerusalem, he reached the border between Galilee and Samaria. As he entered a village there, ten lepers stood at a distance, crying out, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" He looked at them and said, "Go show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, their leprosy disappeared. One of them, when he saw that he was healed, came back to Jesus, shouting, "Praise God, I'm healed!" He fell face down on the ground at Jesus' feet, thanking him for what he had done. This man was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, "Didn't I heal ten men? Where are the other nine? Does only this foreigner return to give glory to God?" And Jesus said to the man, "Stand up and go. Your faith has made you well."[1]

Nine were healed, only one was made whole. Nine were clean, only one became holy. And he was a foreigner, but not a stranger.

Look closely at those ten men. They had little for which to be thankful. Homeless. Jobless. With no certain future except death. And then they meet Jesus. He heals them. They go their way. The leprosy, often viewed as a judgment of God against sins, disappears. They’re forgiven.

But only one obeys Jesus. He returns to show himself to the High Priest of Heaven. Because he understands that if a man can heal leprosy, he’s not a man at all. Because only God can forgive sins.

That’s why the former leper did what everyone should do when they realize what God has done for them. He “fell face down on the ground.” Other translations say that he worshipped Jesus.

A Samaritan worshipping a Jew. And the Great Physician marvels. Then he commands. “Stand up.” And commissions. “Go.” And proclaims. “Your faith has made you well.”

Another version translates the Greek word at the end of that sentence as “whole.” It’s one thing to be healed. It’s another to be healthy. Wholly holy. Saved.

Saved from what? The penalty, the power, and the presence of sin.

If that doesn’t make us holy, I don’t know what does.

And if that doesn’t make us grateful, even in the midst of a storm, I don’t know what will.

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[1] Luke 17:11–19 (nlt)

He Sleeps is Storms

In Have a Little Faith, author Mitch Albom relates a story his rabbi once told.

A man seeks employment on a farm. He hands his letter of recommendation to his new employer. It reads simply, “He sleeps in a storm.”

The owner is desperate for help, so he hires the man.

Several weeks pass, and suddenly, in the midst of the night, a powerful storm rips through the valley.

Awakened by the swirling rain and howling wind, the owner leaps out of bed. He calls for his hired hand, but the man is sleeping soundly.

So, he dashes off to the barn. He sees, to his amazement, that the animals are secure with plenty of feed.

He runs out to the field. He sees the bales of wheat have been bound and are wrapped with tarpaulins.

He races to the silo. The doors are latched and the grain is dry.

And then he understands. “He sleeps in a storm.”

We need to understand what the farmer did. We need to know what the disciples learned. And we need to do what Jesus did.

But what did he do? What allows someone to sleep through a storm?

Before the hired hand slept he did everything necessary to prepare. And then he trusted the outcome to someone else. That what Jesus did. He worked. Then he rested. So should we.

Instead of panic, we need peace. Peace that comes from doing all we can, all we should, and then trusting God to do what we can’t—which is prevent storms.

We can’t stop them. They come to everyone’s life. Sooner or later, suddenly a terrible storm will rise. You won’t see it until it’s too late. So prepare now for the inevitable. Protect your family. Shelter your assets. Provide for the future. If you do, you’ll learn what the disciples did.

The storm will cease.

There is nothing to fear.

We can be calm.

He sleeps in storms.

In The Midst of The Storm

Sometimes we go where God leads. Other times God sends us where we don’t want to go.

Some of us go to the unemployment office. Others file bankruptcy. Some of us lose a house. Others lose a child. Some of us go a doctor. Others go to a funeral. Some of us see a counselor. Others see a judge.

Sometimes we climb mountains. Other times we walk through valleys. Some days we stand on solid rock. Other days we sink.

Occasionally, we sink slowly into quicksand that we’ve been wading in for longer than we care to remember. Rarely do we sink after a few steps on the water.

That’s because, unlike the apostle Peter, we rarely get out of the boat. Maybe that’s because in the midst of a storm we’re often anxious. Not comfortable. Not content. Not confident. Nervous. Uncertain and unsettled. Perhaps because we don’t know what will happen next and maybe because we’re afraid of what will.

We know the rest of Peter’s story. It’s our story, too. We call out to God. He answers. We dare to believe. We start to sink. He saves us, again. And then he asks the question we ask ourselves. “Why did you doubt?”

Good question. I don’t know. But I have an idea: we’re human.

He isn’t. And that’s why we should do what the disciples did. They worshipped him. Why? Because he calmed the storm? Yes. But more importantly he calmed them. He gave them peace. His peace. Unfathomable peace. He didn’t just quiet the wind and the waves he silenced their fears.

He does the same for us. And when he does we should remember what the disciples learned.

• The darkness will disappear.
• There is nothing to fear.
• We are not alone.
• God is in the boat.

Buyers' Remorse

If one aspect of your life could be different, what would you change?

Where you live? What you do? Who you spend your life with? Some of us would turn back the hands of time if we could. Some of us would right past wrongs that we committed. Others would execute justice for wrongs committed against them. Many would change where they live or the jobs they work. Others might even change who they chose as their partners. Most of us would change something.

The truth is we are often dissatisfied with our choices in life. Yet we live with those decisions because doing so is easier than the struggle to change our present and so affect our future.

We suffer from what is sometimes referred to as buyers' remorse. After we buy a car and discover its flaws, we see another automobile and wish we'd bought that one instead. The same can be true with almost anything. We dine out, my wife gets chicken, I get steak; she wants steak. (I never want chicken instead of steak.) I vacation at the beach, I loathe coming home to live in the desert. I see a film that was a good book, but is a waste of good nap time, and I wish I'd spent my money to buy a CD.

It doesn't matter what the scenario, we often regret our decisions, but only after they've cost us more than the amount we paid. And most of the time the amount of our remorse is directly and exponentially proportional to the value of what we lost.

In such circumstances, we always make another choice: suffer or change.

I've decided that I don't want to suffer. I have no desire to allow others to determine what I think or how I live. In the process I've made a few observations about my responsibilities.

1. I'm often concerned with things I can't change.

2. I am responsible only for what I can change.

3. I should do what only I can do.

4. I should not do what someone else should do.

I also discovered an axiom: Don't ask God what to do, do what he asks you to do.

I realized that I've spent too much time fretting over knowing God's will and too little doing his will. I understand that if I'm going to change, I can't afford buyers' remorse.

What We Really Want

My friend John reminded me what I know but sometimes forget. And he answered the questions on my mind. Why don't you get what you want? And, what do you want?

He suggested that what I said I want isn't what I really want. In response to the question asked of me in a dream—"Why don't you get what you want?"—I said I wanted to be a teacher known for my compassion. John doubted that to be the truth.

"What you want is what we wanted years ago. Significance." He's right. When we were younger men we dreamed of position and prestige and power. But what we wanted was what most people want. Acceptance. Appreciation. Approval. Applause.

Little has changed with time. We want our lives to count. We want what we do to make a difference. We want who we are to matter. And we want to leave a legacy.

At age 58, that desire drives me. I know time is running out. I often say, "Time is finite and so am I," although I'm not fond of the fact that both are true.

I have even less affection for the notion that only now am I beginning to understand what I want and why. But I do understand now more than ever why I want what I want. And why you most likely want the same thing. Because we tend to want what we think we don't deserve.

It's less about thinking we can't have what we want and more about believing that we shouldn't want the best for ourselves. That to do so is selfish. That we don't deserve good things in life. After all, we know who we are and what we've done. And even when we don't want to admit our failures, much less confess our sins, we often doubt that we deserve as much as we are given.

Maybe that explains why the Hound of Heaven pursues us relentlessly to give us both God's blessing and his blessings. Because as Mitch Albom points out in Have a Little Faith, "Man likes to run from God." But as Adam discovered in the Garden of Eden, we can run, but we can't hide. And when we try, God usually asks another question, "Do you know where you are?"

More often that not I must admit, "I don't have a clue," which is usually followed by, "Please help me." And he does.

I've been fortunate. When I ran, God pursued. When I hid, God searched. When I was lost, God found me. And I'm comforted by the truth. What he has done, he will do—as long and as often as necessary.

Dreams & Desires

In a dream God asked me, “Why don’t you get what you want?”

Regardless of whether a person believes in God or dreams, that’s a question worth answering. And I’ll do that on my next post. But for the moment, consider another question. Is it okay to do what we want?

In the film The Rookie, starring Dennis Quaid, a baseball coach gets a shot at living his dream, playing Major League Baseball. But he’s no longer a young man. And he’s not single. With a wife and children, he has responsibilities. And a question.

He wants to know what you and I want to know. Can we pursue our dreams or do our desires have to yield to our responsibilities? Quaid’s character, Jimmy Morris, turns for help to his father, played by Brian Cox. Jim Morris, Sr. listens, but already knows what he’s going to say. He tells his son what his father told him. “It’s okay to do what you want to do until it’s time to do what you have to do.” (Or something like that.)

But I have another question. What if what you’re supposed to do is what you want to do and what you want to do is what you’re supposed to do?

The problem is that many times we think it’s not okay to do what we want to do. We believe that we must do God’s will or what our fathers or mothers want or what a spouse expects or what we think we should do because we have children or elderly parents or some other responsibility.

I’m not suggesting that we shirk our duties. But I am asking whether or not we have free will.

If we do, then when we pursue our dreams, we aren’t necessarily being selfish. In fact, we may be doing what we were created to do, what we are gifted and talented to do. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

So give yourself permission to dream. Remember it’s okay to desire something for yourself. And then pursue those dreams. If you catch one, you may discover joy you’ve never imagined.

By the way, the film is based on the true story of Jim Morris. If you want to watch a clip that tells part of the rest of the story, click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlRCXhRoYcg and, “Remember who you are.”

The Rest of My Life

I making some changes for the rest of my life.

First, I’m erecting boundaries. Think of them as fences with limited access and signs posted: no trespassing. And I’m learning that fences not only keep things out they keep things in. And both keep me safe. I’m discovering that it’s okay to say no. I’m practicing not saying yes to every opportunity that presents itself. And in order to do what I want I’m granting permission to others and myself, but with certain restrictions. For example, I try not to check my voice mail and email after certain times, and I do so less frequently than I used to do.

Second, I’m evaluating my priorities, again. But with the understanding that I need to do so regularly not haphazardly . Maybe monthly and quarterly I’ll review where I’m headed and adjust my course as needed. Then at least once or twice a year I’ll assess my progress. But each day I want to remember what’s important so I don’t waste time doing what seems urgent.

Third, I’m learning to rest. I don’t mean take a day off here and there, now and then. I mean I’m asking God to teach me how to rest. I need him to help me keep a Sabbath. He created us to do that, and I realize that when I disobey, I suffer. My mind becomes taxed with tasks. My body grows weaker. I don’t sleep well. I don’t eat right. And I make more bad choices, more often. My spirit grows faint, and like the deer that’s been fleeing a predator, I run until I’m exhausted. I run for my life, all the while panting for peace, and being chased by chaos.

I know these new practices must become disciplines long before they will be habits. I realize that change won’t come quickly or easily. But I understand that if I fail to make different choices, nonetheless my life will change—and both others and I will suffer.

But, if I make these changes, I’ll enjoy the rest of my life.

A Fresh Start

It's not easy to rest. Many of us fill our plates with more activity than we can accomplish well. And too often our cups overflow because we keep pouring more and more into them. Our TO DO lists seem to never quite get completed. And so we carry over from one day to the next what we didn't get done the day before.

Consequently, we tend to carry an ever-increasing load of projects and responsibilities. Worse still, we continue to add to our burdens with ever-decreasing hopes of achieving our goals. Sooner or later, much of our time is consumed with juggling what is urgent, while we drop what is essential and vital.

If we're going to manage our lives, our time, and our energy effectively, we must do two things:

1. Eliminate what is insignificant.

2. Elevate what is important.

That may not be new to some people, but many of us need to be reminded of those truths. We need to remember that we must maintain our balance. We do that by setting boundaries, sticking to our priorities, and resting before we are exhausted.

When we make rest a priority, we'll have the energy we need to accomplish what God wants us to do, rather than struggling to do what we think we must do. And we'll have the strength to say no when we are tempted to say yes and add one more item to our too-busy schedules. That will give us a fresh start—every day.

In the Greek

Sometimes words in the Bible don't mean what they did when they were written. We don't understand them. They're not relevant. Sometimes, because our world is so different from life in the first century A.D., we miss a deeper, richer meaning.

Baptism is such a word. For most of us, baptism means getting wet one way or another, at one time or another, as an act of our faith. But not many people associate the word with some of the origins and customs of that day.

The Greek noun, baptisma, conveys a process rather than a single act. Although the root word means "to dip," the concept is one of immersion, submersion, and emergence. In Bible times the verb form, baptizo, often signified the dyeing of cloth.

That action creates bonds at the molecular level as the color permeates the fibers. The noun describes the afflictions and judgments that Jesus voluntarily endured on the cross when he "became sin." The verb indicates the relationship between a servant and master. The one who voluntarily surrenders becomes so closely bound to the other as to be identified with that person as his son or daughter.

Therefore, the act of being baptized results in a transformation that begins where no one can see and continues until we look nothing like we once did.

Baptism doesn't save us, but through the process God surely rescues us from ourselves.