Don't Regret Your London

I’ll be honest with you.

I was one of those college students that couldn’t commit to a major. I was interested in so many subjects. I started off studying audio production, but it was too technical. I switched to photography but realized it would be hard to make a living as a photographer. So, I switched to exercise and nutrition, but it was a lot of science and I don’t have a scientific mind. I went through three degrees in two years.

Then, junior year, I had an opportunity to study in Colorado Springs at the Focus on the Family Leadership Institute. Though Focus is still doing incredible things, the Leadership Institute shut down a couple years ago. I still dream of being a part of its resurrection.

But that’s not the point.

The point is while I was studying in Colorado, I felt God calling me into ministry. I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew was that God was calling me to give my life to serving His people.

I went back home and decided to pursue a degree in psychology. I thought maybe God was calling me to be a counselor. I took one counseling course and realized I was NOT wired to be a counselor but with three semesters left was already barely going to graduate on time. So, I finished my psychology degree and resolved to figure it out upon graduation.

I honestly didn’t know what to do. I was serving in the youth ministry at the church I was attending and really fell in love with this crew of middle school girls.

Do you remember middle school? It is ROUGH. It’s that awkward period between being a child and a teenager and, man, it’s just a confusing time. I loved those girls because I remembered what it was like to be them. I thought maybe God was calling me into student ministry.

Then, the summer before my senior year, I went to a leadership conference all on my own. I knew no one. I was staying in a hotel by myself. I was just there to listen and learn.

But there was this group attending the conference – and they noticed I was sitting alone. They invited me to sit with them, hung out with me during the breaks, and took me to dinner (and even paid for me) every night. They were so kind and quickly felt like friends.

They asked me about where I felt God was calling me. I told them what I’d been thinking. It turns out they were from London (I’d already gathered that from their accent) and they were looking for a student ministry leader. They offered me the role on the spot. They’d pay to move me to London and I could start whenever I wanted.

I said no.

I had another year left to finish my degree and didn’t feel qualified to accept the position they were offering. And, to be honest, I was afraid to move so far away. I was twenty-one and still felt so young.

I’m really grateful for where I am and what I’m doing. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m near family. I get to hang out with my nieces and nephews every week. I love my friends. I love my church. I love what I do and I love how I spend my days.

But I’ve thought about that offer at least once a month for the last fifteen years.

I wonder what it would have been like to just take it – to say yes to that adventure.

I don’t regret the life I’ve had.

But I wonder. And I kind of wish I’d taken the leap.

Most choices aren’t irreversible. If it’s not the right fit, you can change course.

But there are opportunities that come once in a lifetime. If you take them and it’s not right, you can opt out. But if you don’t take them, you can’t get them back.

I don’t know what opportunities you have. You may not feel qualified. You may be scared. You may feel like once you take it there’s no turning back.

That’s usually not the case.

I love the life I have. I am so grateful for the entire journey.

But I wish I’d gone to London. I wish I’d gone on that adventure.

Don’t regret your London.

Enjoy the Ride

We were all supposed to arrive in Nairobi on the same flight. But, we got separated in the Paris airport. I waited a couple of minutes, but as we were already in danger of missing our flight, I ran, Home Alone style, to the gate and trusted they’d meet me there.

I got to the gate just in time for the final boarding call. There was no sign of my companions. I boarded at the instance of the ticketing agent who warned me that the doors were about to close.

Maybe they were already on the plane. Maybe they beat me there. Maybe a kind airport employee had picked them up on one of the little luggage carts and taken a shortcut to get them to the gate on time.

I searched the plane. They were nowhere to be found.

I heard the door slam and the flight attendants instruct all passengers to take their seats.

I was off to Kenya.

Alone.

When I arrived in Nairobi, I found out that none of my bags had been checked to my plane. I did manage to contact my companions, who had gotten on another flight scheduled to arrive the next morning. When everyone finally got in, only four of our twelve bags – most of which were filled with donations for the ministry we’re visiting – had made it. We still don’t have the other eight, nor are we entirely certain where they are.

It’s not an adventure if everything goes as planned.

I’ve had a lot of adventures.

Every adventure – every delayed flight, every lost bag, every obstacle – reminds me that I have far less control over my own life than I believe I do.

What I do have control over is how I respond to those obstacles.

I can complain about the unsympathetic ticketing agent that wouldn’t hold the plane, or I can thank God that we all made is safely to Nairobi.

I can grumble about the incompetent employees that lost our luggage, or I can thank God for providing just enough and recognize that I can get by on a lot less than I think I can.

I can let my frustration get the better of me, or I can enjoy the ride.

Every unpredictable minute of it.

Grayscale

What is Christian maturity?

That’s the question a seminary professor I once had posed to our class.

We sat in silence for a moment before one brave soul raised his hand.

“Maturity is knowing how to navigate the gray,” he said.

That may have been the most profound thing I learned all semester.

What he meant was there are a lot of gray issues in life – issues over which honest, intelligent Christians disagree.

Maturity is learning how to navigate those issues as Jesus would have us navigate them – with wisdom and love and respect.

However, I would make more explicit what I believe my classmate intended to imply in his definition.

Maturity is knowing how to navigate the gray and how to discern the black and white from the gray. Maturity is standing firm on the black and white and embracing freedom in the gray.

We tend, though, to either see the world as entirely black and white or as entirely gray.

The former is dogmatism. The latter is relativism.

Dogmatism, as the lens through which we see the world, leaves no room for honest debate or agreeable disagreement. It assumes than anyone with a dissenting view is ignorant or, perhaps, even malicious. Dogmatism, more often than not, is based on personal opinion, rather than objective truth. For example, there are Christians dogmatic about how they believe God created the universe. The black and white of Scripture is that God created the universe. The how is gray. But, dogmatism is uncomfortable with gray and so tries to convert gray issues into black and white ones.

Relativism, on the other hand, leaves no room for conviction. If everything is gray, then right and wrong is wholly determined by the individual. That simply doesn’t align with reality. It breaks down with the slightest push. For example, if I stole your wallet you would protest that what I did was wrong. But, if you’re a good relativist, you’d have to admit that, though you’d prefer I not steal your wallet, I didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe I believe stealing to be right. It’s all relative. It’s all gray.

Here’s the point.

There is truth. There is right and wrong. There is black and white.

But not everything is black and white. God has given us enormous freedom within the confines of His objective reality.

Christian maturity is learning which is which and living accordingly. Christian maturity is learning how to navigate every issue in such a way that we represent and reflect the heart and character of Christ.

As Augustine once said, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.”

Stars and Legends

Blaze debuted at the Sundance Film Festival a couple weeks ago.

Director Ethan Hawke masterfully tells the story of Blaze Foley, a country singer/songwriter who had a lot of hard breaks, made a lot of poor decisions, and died too young – but wrote beautiful lyrics.

In one scene, Blaze and his wife are riding in the back of a pickup truck, dreaming about the future.

“You’re going to be a star,” she tells him.

“I don’t want to be a star,” he says. “Stars are selfish. Stars shine for themselves. I want to be a legend. Legends are after something bigger than themselves. Legends write and play for others. Legends leave something that lasts.”

Stars and legends both shine.

The difference is for what purpose they shine.

To be seen or so that others can see.

To seek to be served or to seek to serve.

To be self-centered or to be others-centered.

Neither stars nor legends, in the Blaze Foley sense, become such overnight. Each comprises thousands of choices in thousands of mostly mundane moments.

One such moment is before you – and before me.

Let’s make it legendary.

Spiritual Stockholm Syndrome

Four employees were held hostage at Swedish bank in 1973 when a botched bank robbery turned into a six-day standoff between the captors and the police. The incident, now decades past, would have been long forgotten save for an interesting twist.

The captors and captives bonded.

In fact, when one of the hostages spoke with the Swedish Prime Minister on the phone during the standoff, she said she trusted her captives fully, but feared she would die at the hands of the police.

She trusted her captors over her liberators.

The situation was so remarkable that it was dubbed “Stockholm Syndrome.”

It describes the implausible love of a captive for his captor.

It’s absurd.

But, I get it.

Sin is slavery. It takes me captive. It holds me hostage.

Yet, I choose it. I submit to it. I even love it.

The Bible says that we all do.

It’s a spiritual Stockholm Syndrome.

We have a Liberator. He offers us freedom.  He is decidedly on our side.

Let’s call sin what it is – a Captor.

Let’s, instead, trust our Liberator. Let’s love Him. Let’s choose Him.

To do otherwise is absurd.

Hot Pockets

I love stand-up comedy.

Of all my (many) quirks, this is the one my family teases me about most often, probably because I think that because I listen to a lot of comedy I, too, must be hilarious. Apparently, it does not work that way.  But, I digress.

The reason I love stand-up comedy is that it exposes ridiculous human behaviors through the lens of the mundane. We are bizarre creatures and don’t even know it.

The other night, I went to see one of my favorite comedians – Jim Gaffigan. He is known for his bits on food and is best known for his piece on Hot Pockets.

If you’ve never had a Hot Pocket, congratulations. You are in an elite club  that comprises seven other Americans.

Hot Pockets, as described by Gaffigan, are a Pop-Tart crust filled with nasty meat. There is also a vegetarian version for “people who don’t want to eat meat, but still want diarrhea.”

I don’t think anyone is under any illusion that Hot Pockets are healthy. No one thinks they are doing their body any good by consuming a Hot Pocket. Yet, millions are sold every year.

“I’ve never eaten a Hot Pocket and afterwards thought ‘I’m glad I ate that,’” Gaffigan observes.

I listened (and laughed) as he talked about Hot Pockets, and thought about how I have made a lot of choices I know aren’t good for me, exposing me as the ridiculous person I am.

I've chosen to cling to jealousy and watched my gratitude erode.

I've chosen to be dishonest and watched trust deteriorate.

I've chosen selfishness and watched relationships break down.

I've never given into greed, arrogance, impatience, anger, disloyalty, or cowardice, and afterwards thought, "I'm glad I did that."

There's just nothing funny about self-destruction.

I'm going to be more careful about what I let into my heart. There is too much at stake.

Good Over Fast

A couple nights ago, a friend and I met at a local coffee shop to catch up. Our conversation turned to traveling and she began telling me about the time she and her husband spent in Europe. 

She said that they quickly noticed that the Europeans seemed, on the whole, to be more fit that most Americans, even though local businesses would close down in the middle of the day to enjoy a long meal and it wasn’t uncommon for dinner to stretch late into the night. My friends couldn’t understand how these people, who seemed to spend so much of their time eating, managed to stay so lean.

Finally, her husband decided to ask a waitress to explain it to him. Her response was profound.

“You eat food fast,” she said. “We eat good food.”

She’s right, I think.

We often opt for fast over good. We choose convenience over quality. We think more about efficiency than we do enjoyment.

And we are paying a price for those choices. Our health is suffering. Cancer and heart disease are prevalent. More than half of all Americans are on medication – many on more than one.

Certainly, food is not the only factor. That’s not really the point, though.

The point is our tendency for fast over good – a mentality that spills into other parts of our lives.

Particularly, our relationships.

It is often how we approach our friendships, our marriages, our children and even God.

Relationships take work. They take investment. They take time. They are meant to be savored, cherished, enjoyed. When we prioritize convenience over community, we miss out on the goodness of relationships. 

And we pay a price for that choice.

I’m going to choose to prioritize the good - the better. I hope you do too.  Slow down. Savor the people in your life. Take time to enjoy your relationships - including (and especially) with God.