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.

Heroes

I was introduced to the writing of C.S. Lewis when I was a junior in college. His work has since profoundly influenced my faith in Christ, perhaps more so than anyone else.

Mere Christianity captured my mind and invited me to think reasonably about what I believe. The Chronicles of Narnia captured my heart and drew me to a deeper love for Christ. The Weight of Glory compelled me to consider the responsibility I have to others in encouraging their spiritual maturity. The Screwtape Letters unveiled the subtly and horror of spiritual warfare. A Grief Observed taught me to pray raw and honest prayers to a God who can handle my brokenness and even my anger and disappointment at a broken world.

Lewis is, undoubtedly, one of my heroes in the faith.

I never got to meet Lewis. He passed away decades before I was born.

But, I got to meet another hero of mine while I was in England last month.

You've probably never heard of him.

His name is Walter Hooper.

Hooper was Lewis’s secretary the last year of his life.

The publishing company that put out Lewis’ books was planning to pull them from print, as was, at the time, common practice when an author passed away. Hooper, a native of North Carolina, resolved to stay in England and dedicated himself to keeping the legacy of Lewis alive. He fought to keep Lewis’ writing in print and he succeeded. He also compiled and published thousands of letters written by Lewis.

It’s not a stretch to suggest that if we didn’t have Hooper, we wouldn’t have Lewis. That is, he would not be as widely known, read, or regarded as he is today.

It’s tempting to envy how God has gifted another. It’s tempting to become discontent in how God has gifted us. It’s tempting to succumb to the notion that those who receive recognition and acclamation for their influence, like Lewis, are the ones who are really making a difference in the world.

But, we need those able to stand on the stage and those able to build the stage.

For the Christian community to function as it was intended, we need everyone pursuing a unified purpose by way of their distinct giftedness. We are not to compete with one another, but complement one another.

Lewis used his gifts, and Hooper used his. God is still using Lewis to change hearts and minds. God used Hooper to make such change possible.

That’s why Walter Hooper is also, though for different reasons, my hero and why it was such an honor to meet him. I owe him a debt of gratitude for humbly using his gifts so that another could use theirs.

Lessons from Aidan (Part Three)

I’ve talked about a remarkable man I met named Aidan Mackey a couple of times now.

On my last night at Oxford, Aidan stood up after dinner and asked if he could say a couple of parting words.

The first thing he said was, “People often think that because I speak with an English accent I know more about any given subject than they do. They are wrong.”

You can read more about that here.

The second thing he said was, “People often think that younger people have nothing to offer older people. They are wrong. I get at least as much, if not more, out of conversations with those younger than myself, than they get from me.”

He joked that this was to his advantage given that, at ninety-six, almost everyone is younger than he.

To be honest, I only half-believed him. At thirty-one, I felt I had little to offer a man as wise and as godly as Aidan. That, once again, speaks to his humility.

But, I know he’s right.

The older I get, the more I realize I have to learn.

I can learn a lot from those older than me. I have learned a lot from those older than me.

But, I can also learn a lot from those younger. I have learned a lot from those younger than me.

I have – or could have – learned from almost anyone I’ve encountered, not despite our differences, but because of them.

The problem is that I don’t often stop to listen. The problem is that I can be distracted or even defensive. The problem is that I can be so arrogant that – consciously or not – I don’t believe that someone different from me has anything to teach me.

I want to slow down. I want to pay attention. I want to be open to learning.

Lessons from Aidan (Part Two)

I met Aidan Mackey in England a couple weeks back. He has long been considered the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton. I was in Oxford for a course on C.S. Lewis and Chesterton had an enormous impact on Lewis, so Aidan joined us for a number of meals.

Aidan stood up on our last evening together and asked if he could share just a couple of parting thoughts.

“People often think that because I speak with an English accent I know more about any given subject than they do. They are wrong.”

We all chuckled because, well, he was speaking to a group of Americans.

But, what Aidan said was true.

We are all so easily be taken by people that sound intelligent.

I assume that if they speak with a sophisticated accent or use big words or have a string of letters behind their name, they must know what they’re talking about.

I even do this with people who simply sound confident.

I assume that if they speak with such great conviction, they must have really given their position the thought and consideration it deserves. They obviously must know what they’re talking about.

But, is that really the litmus test for truth?  Of course not.

It can’t be.

Aidan is intelligent. But, all the more so because he knows that there is more to intelligence and more to truth – than just sounding intelligent. There is more to truth than just claiming something, wanting something, even willing something to be true.

The measure of truth is the Author of truth.

The wise – like Aidan – know that.

We shouldn’t assume that people who sound intelligent are. Or those who speak confidently are right. We shouldn’t assume that every truth claim is truthful.

Let’s, instead, be wise. Let’s submit, first and foremost, to the Author of truth and the Source of all wisdom. Let’s measure the truth, first and foremost, against Him.

Lessons from Aidan (Part One)

I had the distinct honor of meeting Aidan Mackey in England a few weeks ago when I was in England. I had never heard of him before, but I learned quickly that he is regarded as the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton.

Aidan did not claim such an honor for himself. He was adamant that he was neither a scholar nor an academic in the proper sense. But, he was, after all, president of the G.K. Chesterton Study Centre and if the British Library entrusts you with eight boxes of the renowned Chesterton’s personal belongings, you’re a scholar – proper or not.

Aidan served in the British Air Force during World War II. He said he was stationed in Africa because it was where they believed he would do the least damage. After the war he spent most of his career as a teacher and headmaster. He had seven daughters and speaks of them with warmth and pride and delightful British humor. He told us that when a young man asked his blessing for his daughter’s hand in marriage, Aidan said, “I would love to give my daughter to you in marriage, but I need to know that you can provide for a family. After all, there are nine of us.”

When we asked how he came to be the foremost scholar on G.K. Chesterton, he, again, denied it and gave the humblest answer I could have imagined.

“There have been many unfair things that have happened in my life.” he said, “Mostly to my benefit.”

Aidan takes no credit whatever.

He isn’t suffering from low self-esteem. He’s embracing self-forgetfulness.

When I think about the unfair things in my life, I focus on things that have not been to my benefit.  I’m happy to take personal credit for those things that were to my benefit.

But, the credit for success is not mine to take.

Every good thing I have has been given to me by God.

I can decide what I do with what I’ve been given, but I can’t take credit for the good things I’ve been given.

I could use a little more self-forgetfulness.

I could do to express gratitude for the graciously unfair things that God brought into my life.

I could learn and live the humility of Aidan.