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.