Yellow-haired monkeys in the yard

What am I leading people to? Am I leading people into programs at the expense of relationship? I wonder.

Some programs are cool. I like the ones that invite me in as a participant. I'm not too crazy about the ones that invite me in to sit on my butt and watch. I get antsy.

I confess that if you tell me the Next Big Thing is coming to town and I can go listen to him for several hours, I'm probably going to try to think of something else to do. It's weird. I'll read the Next Big Thing's book and I might even watch his sweet new high def DVD but I don't really get jazzed to go somewhere to sit around. Unless I can go with you.

You can tell me you scored some free tickets to the Patriots game and I'll be pumped about going with you. But give me one ticket so I can go alone? I'm going to skip the live experience and fall asleep on my couch while I watch it on TV. World series alone? Nah. With you? Definitely!

I like some alone time to recharge but too much alone time and I get lonely fast. I like the word "with." I had some alone time in Phoenix a couple weeks ago. I wandered around a little and snapped some pictures but I would have rather been with my wife or with my kids or with my family.

Invite me to live life with you and I'm pumped. Invite me to hear the Next Big Thing tell me how to live? Not so much. I think there are programs that promote crowds of individuals coming alone, listening alone and then leaving alone. You listen. I talk. You leave.

I think Jesus is about "with." As a leader I want to lead people, or walk with people, to discover life with Jesus.

If it were up to me, I'd vote for skipping the Next Big Thing Ministries program to hang out with you and the people you love. We can grill some sausage, snack on fresh watermelon and share life hanging out with Jesus. Let's let the yellow-haired monkeys laugh and run under the hose while we break bread together.

I wish I could recognize His hands

(written 8/17/09)
I tried feeding some sparrows today. In the midday Phoenix heat of 106 degrees, I sat at a downtown outdoor table eating a Cold Stone Creamery waffle cone. A nearby sparrow caught my eye. He had his beak open and was panting to cool himself. I snapped off a tiny piece of my waffle cone and tossed it in his direction. He quickly hopped over and scooped it up and flew into a nearby tree.

It was maybe 5 seconds later when he returned with three friends all carefully eyeing me with beaks open for panting. They were maybe 8 feet away from me. I wondered how their friend had communicated with them to bring them my way. If it had been me I probably would have tried to keep my relationship a secret. Having received such a small crumb, I doubt I would immediately invite friends to join me in a second attempt.

I broke off a few more pieces and tossed them toward the sparrows. Cautiously, they hopped forward to get their morsels. They kept a nervous eye on me the whole time. I felt a strange sort of compassion for them. They all looked so hot with beaks open panting continuously. I tossed some more crumbs their way but only 5 feet from me. I wanted them to come closer.

Their stress level went up. Some hopped back and forth not daring to come so close to me. Finally one of them risked it and hopped closer for another crumb. When he made his move the others followed. I wanted to bring them even closer. I wanted them to eat at my table. Maybe even eat from my hand.

I could not get them to come closer than maybe 4 feet away. I spent 30 minutes trying. I fed them time after time hoping to build their trust but they just would not come closer. Their lack of trust was frustrating. Why wouldn’t they trust me? Hadn’t I proved myself faithful? Why couldn’t they sense that my only goal was to develop a relationship with them and feed them?
Experience must have taught them to be cautious. Maybe they had learned that you don’t get anything free. Maybe they figured I was trying to lure them in and trap them. Maybe they trusted before and got hurt.

I think that’s how some of us approach God. I’ve been hurt by men flinging tasty crumbs and claiming to represent God. Now, I flit about nervously getting close enough to eat the crumbs while wondering if they come with strings attached.

My desire is jump confidently into the hands of my God to eat without worry. I just wish I was better at recognizing His hands.

Over light with two pieces of wheat toast

I have breakfast with my friend Stan most Wednesday mornings at Kathy and Dave’s diner. I normally get a bowl of oatmeal and a grilled muffin while Stan orders two eggs “over light” and wheat toast. We’re an odd pair, Stan and I. Stan is a tall weathered veteran of World War II and the Korean War. He walks with a cane and has wirey white eyebrows and hairs growing from his ears. I, by contrast, have fought no wars and am 40 years younger. Random hairs have just started sprouting … it’s a new and disturbing facet of my life.

We sit at the same table every week. Kathy knows our orders before we give them. In fact, Stan just laughs and smiles at her with a shrug and says, “the usual.” Stan bows his head every week and thanks the Lord for our food and our time together. He never asks me to pray. With me being a professional prayer, a pastor, I love that Stan just prays and that he always prays for me.

For two years I listened to Stan tell me about his precious Carol and the life they built together. For two years I had no answer when he would ask me why the Lord would not just take his wife home. Every day Stan would arrive at the nursing at 3 pm to feed his bride. With a tear in his eye he would tell me, “she doesn’t even know who I am.” Still, he went. The staff at the nursing home told him that Carol would refuse to eat anything until Stan arrived. Somehow she knew.

Carol finally went to be with Jesus just a few months ago. When Stan and I had breakfast the week after her funeral, he had a noticeable joy about him. When I asked him how he was he looked me straight in the eye with a smile that surprised me. “The next time I see Carol, she’ll know who I am.”

Indeed she will … and she’ll know how he likes his eggs – over light with two pieces of wheat toast.

My Daily Bread is a bit moldy

I've heard my share of plugs for the latest "devotional." I've heard speakers tell me that true followers of Jesus spend an hour in prayer every day. Some have said, "if you are not spending quality time in the Word every day, you cannot be growing." Still others have said things like, "the secret to my marriage is that we pray together every day." Most of them have just left me feeling guilty, inadequate or a bit off in my faith life.

I've had times when each of those things were part of my routine. I've had times when none of them were present. Christians like to call stretches of time "seasons." So, I've had seasons.

To be honest, when I hear a speaker tell me about his "daily, personal, quiet time" I wonder if he's telling the truth. I think, "Man, is anyone really like that?" Because I'm not, I assume no one is.

Saturday morning, while preparing for speaking Sunday morning, I put my earbuds in and hit the road on my hybrid bike. It was sunny and maybe 75 degrees. As I rode, God refreshed my soul. Sometimes I sang along, sometimes I prayed and sometimes I just took in the scenery rolling by. The stress I felt was swallowed up in an exercise adrenaline rush. It was a sweet quiet time despite not fitting into any of the formulas.

Some of my best quiet times of connecting with God have come on my bike or during a walk with camera gear on my back. I've had times I've listened to Scripture readings on my iPOD, times when I allow my mind to drift here and there and times of simple prayer. At other times I have been silent and refreshed.

I'm all for "My Daily Bread" and other devotional materials. They just don't work for me. I'm finally learning, in this relationship with Jesus, that that's okay with Him.