instigator should be a legal term

Today, I did something I avoided the first time around.

The mere look of it's grandeur and height freaked me out enough the first time I saw it. The sign half lit, half falling off the building that seemed to climb the sky for days. Just as I remembered from seeing it years ago. I tried to erase this memory.

Today, heavy, grey clouds gathered around behind it as though they were orbiting around the eye of a storm that was instigating rebellion. Raindrops began to sprinkle, just as the forecast we chose to ignore said might happen. I knew we'd need to seek cover soon, before we were stuck in the middle of a bustling crowd with no awning left to seek shelter. I stared at the mass I had once avoided, and facing my fear, I knew this was where we would go. And I said the words I never thought I'd say.

"Let's go ride the Hollywood Tower of Terror."

I used to think of myself of somewhat of a risk taker. Someone who went against the grain, most times on purpose, and then some without my knowledge, only coming to the forefront after I had angered people or made an unfashionable statement. But I've noted a routine that comes with these seemingly devised moves.

I have to risk on impulse.

I have to risk when I'm feeling a certain rush of adrenaline, or a particular fear of self-paralyzation, or I won't risk at all.

I don't like heights, or rainstorms, or fake haunted things. I prefer Taylor Swift songs and cookie dough ice cream. I have no great experience from my past that would justify my random fears that someone has intricately crafted into an amusement park ride that brings in a lot of cash. Tall building. Eerie noises. Fake bell hops. A haunted elevator. I just don't like it, okay?

But for some reason today, that creepy fear of death that follows me like Louie Giglio's dark cloud pushed me to decide that I would not only address this fear of this silly ride that people come from all over to strap into, but I'd initiate our meeting. I would be the instigator.

I'm not saying it became my favorite ride in the park. In fact, I'll probably never ride the thing again. Though as I stepped back onto the wet pavement after the rain had stopped and after the dreadful ride was over, I felt a sense of relief. Not some sort of temporary adrenal high, but simple relief. Relief to have my feet on solid ground, of course. But more than that, relief that today, fear didn't own me. Fear didn't dictate my day. And I confess, some days it does.

Today, I felt bigger than the 13 story building that hovered behind me.

And I can't help but wonder, if this is what it feels like to initiate contact with my fears of an amusement park ride, what will happen when I muster the courage to instigate them with the callings of the Kingdom on the way I live my life?

What will happen when I face head on the reasons why my feet are still when they should be running towards the captives?

I wonder what will happen if you do the same.

And maybe if we do, we could have coffee someday and talk about it. I hope that someday is soon, we have more to talk about than we thought we would.

Paterno and the Pew

It must be said, that how we would treat Paterno and Sandusky if they walked through the doors of our churches on Sunday directly reflects the status of our hearts and what we really believe about the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

That doesn't mean what happened is okay, or even that they should get to keep their jobs. It means we don't make disciples by kicking people out of our Country Club Kingdom.

My sin is as great as theirs. The world is in a broken state of emergency.

Children were exploited. And that should give me great sorrow.

Not the fact a football coach lost his job.

make redemptive use of your time.

I always have this nagging fear that I'm going to die.

I know that sounds a little dramatic, but have you met me?

I have an anxiety disorder, and as a result, have certain trigger fears and can spin me into a panic over situations that are unrealistic or highly unlikely.

I'll give you an example.

Recently my husband brought home a dozen, hot pink roses for me. They smelled sweeter than fresh honeysuckle, and I couldn't wait to see them fulfill their purpose - blooming fully as they were created to do, and radiate His creativity and glory. The next morning when I got ready to leave for work, I spent my last few minutes staring at these flowers. I changed the water in the vase, arranged each one just so, and inhaled their sweet fragrance.

I know they always say to stop and smell the flowers, but I confess, this was a bit excessive. And it was all because I was convinced I wasn't going to make it home from work. That this was the day it would all be over for me.

I think this fear also planted roots in an event that happened my junior year of college. To make a longer story not so long, a genuine, God-fearing girl who I grew in faith alongside during middle and high school lost a brief, and unforeseen battle with cancer.

She was 19 years old.

Lauren was beautiful, talented, and genuine. And I knew if someone like her could die in such unpredictable and painful circumstances, that my life could be that short, too. Certainly, if someone as full of life and as generous and loving as Lauren could go young, my life could be that short, too.

As unrealistic as my fear was the day after I tarried over the roses, the reality is that we're all going to die. The people few will remember, and the people no one will forget. None of us are exempt. Maybe you never had a Lauren in your life, but this entire generation got a glimpse of this with the passing of Steve Jobs. Innovative, wealthy, brilliant, well-known. Even his body was temporary. Just like mine. Just like yours.

I think there exists a middle ground between fearing death to the point where we are paralyzed and no longer live, and wasting our lives believing we are untouchable.

I think this middle ground is where we live like we believe that life is short and eternity is long, and not the other way around. This middle ground is where we trust that nobody goes early. Nobody slips through God's hands. Every single one of us goes right on time.

I am guilty of seeing only what is in front of me and not what is ahead. I not only see, but tend to focus on the here and now, and sometimes the next year. And it's usually in those times that I am comfortable. Wayward. Even lost.

Complacency is a dangerous place to camp.

It is when I look full in His wonderful face, that I merely taste a morsel of the Kingdom. That little something that says we were made for more than this.

And I don't know what that looks like for you. Perhaps it means changing careers or schools. Perhaps it means staying exactly where you are, even if you want to leave. Or maybe the most dangerous thing you can do right now is clothe your mind with that of Christ, and send every thought through the filter that says you were made by God, for God. The filter that says you and I were made on purpose for dangerous things that are worth spending our short time that we call life on. That He loves you and died to bring you freedom. That you cannot out-sin His grace and mercy.

As I sit and write this, I get that weird fear creeping up that says maybe I'm writing this because God is preparing me to die.

And even if that train wreck of a thought process were to prove true, and one day it will, I do not believe that God prepares us for death.

I believe that He prepares us for life, and life everlasting.

i am the wayward son.

Today, I got a swift kick in the soul.

It's no secret that in the past year, I've felt hurt and even angry with people who I thought were supposed to shepherd and disciple me. People I thought I could live in Biblical community alongside. People I trusted. It was these same people I later felt wounded and almost betrayed by. As though none of it was ever sincere. And that deeply hurt.

I've carried around this bitterness for quite some time and tried to use it as fuel to "do" ministry better. I used it as a constant reminder to do right by people, act justly, and worship with a genuine heart and attitude. I tried to focus on the simple ways I could carry out programming youth ministry without lights and fog machines, hoping for something organic to happen.

But here's the thing.

I can't transform sinful bitterness into beauty. And that's exactly what I've been carrying around. Sinful, selfish bitterness that in the end, profits nothing. And no one. And certainly, not the Kingdom I claim to desire most.

I don't have the capabilities or the right intentions to transform my sin, or anyones sin for that matter, into beauty. How does one white knuckle a situation they've become embittered toward and genuinely and sincerely use that for Glory? They don't. I know because I've tried. I know because my intentions weren't that of Glory, but of proving to people they were wrong about what they've done and said. I don't have the power to redeem that situation just like I don't have the power to redeem your soul.

And the truth of the matter is, I'm sure I hurt them, too. Perhaps in different ways, but I guarantee it happened. You know why?

Because I'm a sinner. I am a sinner.

And I need the grace I haven't been giving from the same people I've refused to give it to. And mostly, I need it from the God I've sinned against, because in my bitterness and resentment, I haven't been sinning against them. I've been sinning against a gracious God who knows that people, all people, are sinners. We say the wrong thing and do the wrong thing and act in selfishness. We've all done it. And we'll do it again.

And it's my turn to ask forgiveness. Because ultimately, I'd hope we are on the same side. And that is the side of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, who came redeem all past, present, and future sins. Mine and theirs and yours. He is redeeming everything. All of it. Even me. Even you.

So what brought all this to bubble to the surface you might wonder?

I was listening to a Matt Chandler sermon in the car today, and I've listened to a particular piece of it over and over and over again. I swear God gave those words to Matt to enable the Spirit to speak to me in a way I couldn't deny. And as I kept listening to it on repeat, God pressed into me and pressed into me and pressed into me until His grace and push for repentance was so overwhelming, that it brought me to my knees. I realized I've been the wayward son, and it's time to come home. I pray if you find yourself having spoken or thought these things like I have, that this apology will be enough, you'll come home, too.


"Let me appeal to you. I don't want to make light of what happened to you in the past that you use to justify your rebellion against God. But I do want to push you in one area. You know what got lost in all of that, 'they're hypocrites'? You know what gets lost in all of that, 'they hurt people'? You know what get's lost in all of that, 'they're in it for money, they're in it for power'? You know what gets lost in all of that? Your short comings. Your hypocrisy. Your power play. Your love for this world.

And so if you would bear the same judgement on your own heart that you judged on the church, you'd find yourself just as lacking if not more. And then as a pastor let me just say this for what happened to you if it was around the church and it was sinful,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. There are imperfect, broken men and women, i'm one of them, leading the Bride of Christ. Part of that is the glory of God that He could use idiots like us. We make mistakes, we say the wrong thing at the wrong time - as much as we study, as much as we pray, as much as we try to. There are wolves out there. There are those who are in pulpits, who are about money, about power. who are about taking advantage of. The Bible tells us everything from weak-willed women to ignorant men. So if this is a legitimate wound, I'm sorry.

But here's the good news of the Gospel.

Jesus will by his cross forgive them like He has you, or He will rightly and justly judge them. So take the anger out of your heart. Vengeance is the Lord's. You've pledged allegiance to Christ and you've pledged allegiance to the world. You'll be miserable both places. Come home. Don't you know Luke 15? Don't you know the story of the prodigal? The father runs and throws the robe and throws the ring and celebrates what?. That the wayward son came home. Quit running. Don't let your life blow up to the point where there is serious collateral damage around your surrender to the Lord. Come home."

--From Matt Chandler's sermon, "Putting It All Together", The Village Church