Tag Archives: Trust

Honoring Your Parents

Last week I went to my home state of Kentucky to visit my parents for a few days. It’s been awhile since I ‘ve been there and I was really excited to be going again. With great anticipation I thought of seeing my parents. My brothers and sisters of which there are not a few. Eating fresh, juicy, crisp red watermelons in the fields, still cool from the night before.

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“Helping my brothers harvest those watermelons!”

I went. I did so many things. Played with my younger siblings. Washed dishes with my sisters (much to their embarrassment), grilled some great food, got up everyday at the crack of daybreak to harvest summer squash, and in a few days I was so stiff and sore I could hardly move. But it was amazing.

And Sunday came. I went with them to church. Tradition dictates that guys my age must all madly scramble to sit on the back row. I am not sure why. I am not always known to do exactly what everyone else does and this particular time was no different. I decided to sit beside my dad on the front row. So there I was, in my charcoal/pepper trousers that I had picked up in London with a lightly plaid shirt that screamed bloody murder in the middle of somber, subdued solid colors, sharing the old German hymnbook with my dad, slowly chanting a 17th century tune that sounded more like shrieks and moans from the purgatory hinterlands  than a joyful noise.  But that’s okay. As I was sitting there my thoughts went back to how I used to do anything possible to avoid spending time with my dad. How it has changed so much. How today I chose to sit beside him, breaking all cultural norms, because I admire and respect him. How I felt from him that he was proud to have his worldly-wise son sitting on the front row with him.

My thoughts went back to ten years ago when I was debating about leaving the Amish culture. Would it be worth losing everything I ever knew for a life of uncertainty? My good friend Amos was very much on the same journey that I was. He felt God calling him into something different. We had many hours of late night talks. Talks of what we think God might have for us. Dreams of what we want to do.

But time went on. Eventually we had to make a choice.  There was endless pressure from our parents to just give up; do what everyone else does; just join the church. And I tried. I actually gave up and decided I would just join the church. But I couldn’t do it. In a powerful move of redemption God showed me I must leave. Read that story of My Ever Restless Heart.here.

I moved ahead with my plans. My parents were heartbroken. So was I. If you are not a calloused person… well then, it’s really hard to break the hearts and shatter the dreams of your parent. It’s rough. It makes a person feel so small and so mean.We aren’t made to feel small and mean either.

I left. Amos did not. I betrayed the trust my parents placed in me. They grieved. The community sent them sympathy cards. They were forced to accept several years of intensive counselling from foggy minded bishops for their failure in raising a son. Amos was patted on the back. He was a hero. He was well liked. He stood on the end of the broad way and looked down the road longingly. But he turned around. They said it was bravery. I said it was cowardice.

But the THING is, Amos betrayed himself when he turned around. I embraced myself when I left. Amos turned his back on what he knew in his heart was good for what he his mind told him is good. I turned my back on what my mind told me was good to follow what my heart knew was good. And the problem is that both Amos and I have to live with ourselves the rest of our lives. And we must love ourselves. For if I don’t love myself I can never love another person from the heart. I have not done nearly everything right. But I followed God then, and I follow God now to the best of my knowledge. It has set me free. Amos is still frustrated with his choice which has led him to hate himself. And you just can’t love yourself, your surroundings, the people around you or anything, for that matter when you despise yourself. Don’t try it. Just believe me.

Now to our parents. My choice in honoring God and myself has allowed me to reach forward and rebuild the relationship with my parents. Amos’ choice of honoring his parents over God has left him feeling like his parents robbed him of something. And they did. They demanded his integrity and his soul. He gave it to them. He still holds that against them. He cannot forgive them for this.Even though he was briefly celebrated for his wise choice he developed a deep dislike for his parents and moved out. Because I am free, I reach out to my parents. I enjoy spending time with them. My dad and I are better friends than we have ever been.

The Bible says that if we lose our family for Jesus’ sake it will be restored to us a hundred fold. I feel like I am seeing this today. Amos is not. I hear when  family gatherings are created he tries to be busy elsewhere, unless he just can’t get out of it then he will show up for a bit.

My good and wise friend Leroy said, ”I believe that the highest honor I can bring to my dad is to live my life in such a way that when I stand in front of the judgement seat of God and my dad is in the background watching, he will tap his neighbor and say,’That’s my son. Did you know that? That’s my son!’

I am more convinced than ever that the best way we can possibly honor our parents is to whole-heartedly follow God’s path for our lives. Whether that is with them or somewhere else is for each individual to hear from God.

How could this happen? Because God is gracious. Because my parents truly are good people. And yes, because of the choices I made. I pondered this on my 12 hour drive home. I was overcome with thankfulness. I shed some tears and whispered, “You are good.”

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Killing Marie’s Dreams

I want to tell you the story of Marie. It’s been burning on my heart for a few weeks now. Sometimes it just makes me so mad. And in other moments just sad. You see, there are some things I hate with a passion. I hate when people are taken advantage of. I hate when innocent young lives have their hopes and dreams stolen for no reason.

I met Marie for the first time when she was 6 years old and I was 13. She had huge, sparkling, brown eyes that twinkled with mirth and abandon from the pure joy of being alive and chasing yellow winged butterflies through pungent green alfalfa fields. From  innocence. From being loved.

Time went on as it usually does. About 15 years later Marie’s eyes are dead, mirthless and chilling. She moves slowly even though she is still young. She is the spitting image of a walking dead person. It just kills me. Let me tell you why. But first I want you to know that this story is 100% true.  I scrambled some details to hide her identity.

It was a hot muggy August day in southern Kentucky. The Amish community was abuzz. A new family was moving in . The Ephraim Yoder family had been part of an Amish community in a northern state, but Ephraim  felt like his family would benefit from a more traditional lifestyle and so they moved to Kentucky. Several moving trucks brought the family and their belongings. Neighbors got together and unloaded the severe looking utensils, furniture and machinery they brought along, while other men unloaded draft horses, cows, and crates of chickens. The did not need to unload the kids though. And the second oldest daughter Marie lost no time in getting acquainted with her new neighbors and farm.

That was it. Ephraim Yoders were officially part of the community. Ephraim was stalwart. He was traditional. He was well liked. He knew dutch better than anyone else. The bishop loved him. He had lots of kids and they fitted in well. Except for Marie. She got into so much trouble. The poor school teacher had his hands too full. Marie did not run with the bad crowd. She was the bad crowd. She was the ringleader of clean mischief and youthful fun. Her somber-faced teacher plucked out most of the wispy golden beard he had managed to accumulate in sheer perplexity.

Then Marie was old enough to go to the singings and start running around. When the other girls her age were baptized into the church at the age of 17 and 18 she couldn’t make herself follow suit. In her heart she harbored a secret dream of leaving this life style and seeing the world. She dreamed of something greater but she guarded this dream carefully.

Year after year her concerned parent begged and wept, pleading with her to join the church. Older, self-righteous cousins and friends scorned her, chided her, and humiliated her in futile attempts to make her join the church. The bishop, the preachers, the deacons and their wives all had to take their turns in an attempt to break this strong-willed young woman. But they couldn’t.

After four years of pressure, four years of brain washing, four years of mental torture, four years of being told she is hell bound, she finally broke down. She agreed to attend the instruction class, after which she would be baptized into the church. Week after week she was forced to sit with other scared young people while the revered bishops repeated meaningless jargon in a language none of them understood. But Marie’s time had not yet come. Her mischievousness had not escaped the bitter memory of church members and as tradition dictates, members are allowed to give a dissenting vote towards receiving any candidates for church membership. In a back-handed manner, a sniveling member gave a dissenting vote. Marie was devastated. She had sacrificed everything she ever dreamed or hoped of to appease the Amish community, which promptly rejected her.

Marie was down for a while. She had a really hard time engaging her neighbors and community members because she felt like they betrayed her. She was quiet. Her eyes had begun to lose some of their light. But a quiet confidence stole back into her heart. God began speaking to her and loving on her. She began to feel like a person again. In her heart she resolved to run from this group of people and start a new life somewhere else. From a friend of a friend she obtained the phone number of a Mennonite lady far away and in the dead of night she stole away to an unoccupied building and made a desperate phone call. Yes, the Mennonite lady said. Just come. We will take care of you, even though we don’t know you.

Contrary to what every one always said, Marie was a respectable girl. Unlike some young people she could not bring herself to disappear unexpectedly. She informed her parents of her plans, and when they saw that they could not change the mind of their strong-willed stubborn daughter they hitched the horse to the carriage and made a flying trip to the bishop’s house. Weeping uncontrollably at the prospect of the eternal demise of his daughter, Ephraim explained the predicament. His 21-year-old daughter has determined to run away, and in a hushed voice racked with sobs he said, ” and we think she will.”

The community rallied in support of faithful Ephraim. Marie was locked in a house and was not left alone for one second. Beginning immediately, older members from the community sat with her from the crack of dawn to past dark, remonstrating, chiding, shouting, scolding, scoffing, belittling, telling her of the awful wrath of God she will incur if she leaves. Telling her she will burn in hell forever. Telling her she is killing her parents. Reminding her that rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft and therefore she is a witch. A servant of Satan. Marie just laughed. But the tyranny and the dastard verbal abuse continued. The second day, the third day, and by the fourth day she was desperately tired. A thousand demonic voices shrieked in her head and each one said something slightly different.

The fifth day dawned bright and clear. Promptly at the 7:00 AM preacher Moses and his wide Martha showed up and began the day by tearing apart this beautiful girl. After several hours they were relieved when another older couple took over. Towards evening Marie was in agony. Her head was spinning. She had no idea what was true and what was a lie. All the things she had believed seemed so distant. She wasn’t even sure that God existed anymore. All she knew was darkness. Complete, utter, hopeless, bone chilling darkess. After 5 days of being locked in a house and having each thought and feeling shredded, she caved. What ever you want, she finally said.

The community was relieved. Yet another person was saved. They lost no time baptizing her into the church so that the thought of deserting may ever be far from her.

But it’s not good. The light in Marie’s eyes just died. And it’s the saddest thing in the world. There is no life. There is no hope. There are no dreams. I believe that the cruelest thing you can do to a person is to steal their dreams. And this Amish community ,in a systematic approach, dismantled and buried her dreams one agonizing detail at a time while she watched in horror-stricken silence, too dead to even mourn the loss.

I will stop there. There really isn’t more to say. But please, would you whisper a prayer for Marie? A prayer that she may find life? And not just her. For the many Maries that are hopelessly stuck in this culture. If you know a Marie, tell her something nice. Make her feel valued. Let her know there is life, there is hope, there is reason to dream.Thank you.

***I should add, that while this is a true story, there are many Amish communities that will not operate in this manner. And even within this particular community there are many good people.***

When You Just Can’t Go On

We have so much emphasis on being strong. And it’s something I pursue passionately. I intend to pursue it the rest of my life. I have chosen to be intentional with strength to myself and those who God placed in my life in any facet. Sometimes strength is saying “I am weak.”

Recently I came to a place where I had been fighting so many hard battles on different fronts that I was completely exhausted. (I still am, for that matter.) I felt like I had been on the battle field, dealt a mortal wound and was just laying there under the hot sun with shelling still ringing in my ears, waiting to expire. A very kind friend took the time to talk to me, and it changed my life.

He asked whether I had the energy to pursue God, and I said I didn’t. I was so exhausted that I literally didn’t have the energy or even the desire to pursue God. And I feel like that was the first time this has happened to me. Certainly the first time I verbalized it. I didn’t really know what it meant either. How to proceed from this point. Does this mean that I am no longer a follower of God? He advised me to ask God to pursue me. So I did.

And here is what happened. I just told God that I was so tired I didn’t have the strength or energy to pursue him. If this relationship is going to work, He would have to pursue me or give me strength to pursue him. And He did. Almost immediately I noticed a calming of battle forces, a soothing healing to the heart and in the weeks since then just a deep euphoric feeling of  being carried in the arms of God while I heal and prepare to face life and the enemy again-head on.

I am profoundly grateful for a God that cares so deeply. I mean, obviously He does with the story of redemption, but this was an entirely new field of care for me. On the very heels of this experience I have had the privilege of going deep into the remote Arctic circle and camping  under the midnight sun. To see some of the most stunning and imaginative pieces of God’s creation. It has restored the feeling of love and sonship to a new level.

I put this story out there because I want everyone to know that if you ever get to the point of being worn out, don’t despair. Just be honest with God, tell him where you are at. I think we under estimate what honesty with God will do. Let’s be real, He knows it already anyway. He will meet you there and carry you if you allow him to.

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“The midnight sun on the Norwegian border.”

The Vicious Circle of Life

I want to tell you a story. It’s about Moses and Samuel and Peter and Enos. These four men all lived in a thriving Amish community in western Ohio. It is a very tight knit community where everyone loves everyone. Indeed, it is like a great big family. It is truly beautiful.

But look past the story. Do you see how it is when we all look to each other for affirmation? Do you see the emptiness of following our peers? Have you noticed how we all wait on the next step in life to make us happy? Have you ever thought that those whose example we follow may not be who we think they are? My challenge to each of you is, stop it. Be yourself. Find happiness and contentment now, because time certainly won’t bring it. It is my experience and belief that this can be found in an incredibly deep way in the Creator. Yes, I chose to put this story in the setting of an Amish community. But it happens everywhere. Do these things really happen? Yes, they can and they do. Emma is my classmate.

“Please note that while this is a subject that lays very closely to my heart many of these words are entirely satirical. If you do not know what this word means you may check the dictionary before commenting.”

Moses is 18. He is in the prime of his life. The muscles on his arms…well they look more like stovepipes, you know? Everybody loves him. Especially the girls. Sometimes on Sunday afternoons they will gather in corners giggling and arguing about who they think Moses likes. Of course, they get it all wrong. He is at the point in life where he has to decide if he wants to stay Amish or not. His dad Aaron, thinks he should. But Moses really does wonder how it would feel to drive a big diesel truck. Moses knows full well that if he leaves the Amish he will wind up in hell and that would positively be a bad thing, but lately he has begun doubting whether God is really that strict. It would be an awful shame to not have a bit of fun if you could squeak by with it. He looks at his neighbor Samuel. He can tell that Samuel is truly happy and loves being Amish. Samuel is obviously contented. Moses often thinks that if he got married like Samuel he would feel like a real man. He would feel like he fit in. A sense of belonging. Fulfillment.  And Peter. Moses just lives in awe of preacher Peter. Such a good man. He just makes you want to be Amish. And when he looks at Enos the bishop he feels the deepest reverence. Enos has fearlessly led this community of Amish along the proven and safe road of tradition for decades. Moses thinks Enos will have a special place in heaven.

Samuel is 28. When he was 22 he got married to the only girl he ever loved. Her name is Bertha and she wears round, wire-rimmed glasses. They have 4 cute little children. But he feels empty. He is not sure why. He felt that way when he was Moses’ age but he assumed that if he got married and settled down he would be fulfilled. He thinks maybe once he gets his own dairy farm he will be happier. Especially when Eli and Henner are old enough to help. So life goes on, as Samuel waits to become happy.

Peter is almost 50. He has worked hard all his life and is very successful. He has about a hundred acres of Buckeye soil and most of it he uses to grow grain and hay to feed to his thriving Black Angus herd. The cows are incredible. Their black hair shines like ebony. People say Peter polishes them but they know it’s not true. You can’t catch and polish over 200 beef cows every day. His wife Magdalena is sweet and portly and known clear over to the Indiana line for making the best meatloaf in the state, not to mention her shoo-fly pie tastes as good as what those Lancaster folks make. They have 9 children, the two oldest married, and they have three little cute-as-a-button grand-children. Peter was ordained as a minister five years ago. It’s widely whispered among the men that he will likely be the new bishop once old bishop Enos dies. But deep down Peter just feels so empty. He is a third cousin once removed to Moses and lives a quarter of a mile away as the crow flies. He admires Moses. He often hears Moses sing those sacred old German songs at the top of his lungs when they are both in the back 40. He feels like Moses has a depth and a grip on life that he himself doesn’t have. Samuel also lives in Peter’s church district and Bertha is Magdalena’s niece. Even Samuel, Peter just thinks he is so solid. After all, not once has Samuel had to make a church confession for breaking the rules. Peter’s face still turns red when he remembers all the confessions he had to make in his younger years. Excessive phone use. Hiring taxi drivers when it wasn’t necessary and he thought no one would find out. Trimming his beard. There was that time he drove an English neighbor’s truck. As the now deceased bishop Amos had told him, ”Be sure your sin will find you out.”  And when Peter looks at Enos, he is truly impressed. What a man. What a legacy. That man is obviously walking in the ways of the Lord and is perfectly contented. Peter is the preacher so he must lead by example and it wouldn’t do to show his doubts.  But there are times when he is preaching that the feeling of hypocrisy makes his throat so dry he almost chokes. Maybe it is old age that brings contentment. So Peter pulls down his hat, eats more meatloaf and re-doubles his effort.

Across the creek where Enos lives, times looks like it would go real slow. That’s because Enos goes real slow. He uses a cane these days but he gets around pretty good. He even whacks stray cats with his unvarnished oak cane whenever he gets a chance, never mind he fell in the barnyard last week when he did that. His wife Ella, fussed something awful at him for the way his overcoat looked but he was too embarrassed to say what happened so he made up a story about Harvey, (his son-in-law who took over the farm) having used his jacket to warm up a newly born calf from the muddy field next to the creek. But time goes real fast for Enos. It seems but a moment ago that he was Moses’ age. He still grins at times when he thinks of all the fun he had. He did his share of heroin. Some of the hangovers weren’t that fun. He had been seeing Ella for nearly a year but on the side he kept seeing an old flame Millie, from Holmes County. It was pretty easy to get around and he still misses his 1964 Pontiac GT. It was deep purple and had 325 horse power. It was in 1968 that he was forced to shape up. He had just come back from a night in Holmes County with Millie when Ella told him she was pregnant. Of course he had to sell his car, join the church and get married all in a month or two. He grieved the loss of Millie and the car deeply but he made the best of it. But the worst of it was a week after Ella and him were married, Millie contacted him to say she was pregnant. He told Ella he has to go to Holmes County on business where he was thankfully able to talk her into having an abortion.  He remembers thinking he would feel different when he was married. He would feel good. He would feel mature. He would feel Amish. That didn’t work. So he thought maybe when they have kids.  That didn’t work either.

There is one thing that Enos often wonders about. That would be his secret son Charles. When Enos Junior, their second son was born they hired a maid girl, Emma, from up in Geauga County to help them. Junior was rather sickly and spent weeks in the hospital while Ella faithfully took care of him there. Somehow Enos and Emma really hit it off and spent some nights together. He was glad Ella never caught on. But to his dying day he would never forget Emma’s white, horror-stricken face when she told him she was pregnant. He did his best to talk her into an abortion but she was done listening to him. She left and two weeks later he was relieved to hear that she had run away from home and taken a PanAm flight to London. Enos was blown away and often wondered how she managed that. Ella just couldn’t understand why such a sweet girl would forsake the faith and cried uncontrollably the day they received the news that she was excommunicated and shunned. It seemed like Ella felt they were to blame for Emma’s downfall so she always kept after her family for news. It was Ella that brought back the news that Emma had a son Charles. Later Ella brought the news that Emma got married to an Anglican pastor in London. And many years later that Charles got married, and that he was a professor in some for seminary, whatever that might be. Enos knew that Charles was his son. He wondered what Ella would say. Oh well, no point in telling her now.

After this Enos tried even harder to be a good person. He was so upright and traditional that he won respect far and wide. Becoming a preacher was hard to accept but he saw it as punishment from God to help atone for his sins. He thought it would bring peace and fulfillment. It didn’t. Being ordained a bishop didn’t help either. He loathes himself for it, but doesn’t know what to do. The system obviously works for Moses, and Samuel and Peter, so Enos keeps thinking he just isn’t trying hard enough. Sometimes he wonders if his sins were too great to forgive, but he can’t even say it out loud. But oh, what he wouldn’t give to be 18 again, or to find peace. Sometime when he has nothing else to do, he gets one of his sixty-two grand-sons to drive him over to the cemetery. He looks at the gray concrete markers of his relatives lying under the weeping pines and tries to imagine that he will be there in a few years. That’s when an icy grip clutches his heart so he can hardly breath. He is scared. He feels like he isn’t ready to face God but he just doesn’t know what to do. At night he has fitful dreams. He dreamed he was preaching and saying we are made of dust, when it began to rain. He was horrified to see that the rain completely disintegrated him and reduced him to a pile of fine dust as his hollow soul floated away. On winter days when he sits beside the fireplace sipping his scalding hot, flavorless coffee, and blowing clouds of smoke from his pipe to the white ceiling like Gandalf, he sheds a few tears. Ella thinks it’s because God is touching him. But it’s really just because he is so frustrated with life. He spent his whole life waiting to feel happy and as his steps slow he has this sinking feeling that he will never find it. But he has hope. He always felt like getting to heaven was sort of like shooting a deer when he was hunting. You take a shot. You hit or miss. He hopes that by luck he will hit those pearly gates. Sometimes he thinks of Ella’s second cousin’s nephew Jonas who claims that he knows he will go to heaven. Right up and claimed he met Jesus and talks with him every day. Then he started going to the Baptist church. That’s proof that he doesn’t even know about Jesus. Then Enos prays in German for the lost soul of Jonas. It makes Enos feel a bit better. Enos is a broken old man on the inside, waiting for death. But you would never guess.

Will you become like Enos?

God, Myself, and the Train

  As with so many of my journeys, I think the thing I crave most is finding God in a deeper way. It’s not like I don’t know God. He has become so incredibly special and close to me. But I find him like never before when I travel. I read a blog written by one of my best friends who was writing about finding God. He compared it to winning the heart of his girl, “Just like when I wanted to have a relationship with her, I didn’t ask other people about her. I didn’t read books about her.  I talked with her! Why would I do that with God? Why not just talk to Him?”
 This has put me on a journey. It has put my mind on a journey. I have been practicing this truth in a society that tells me the opposite. Society cannot bear unpredictability. It can not handle wildness. We have tamed everything and made it predictable. We become Christians at 16. We get married at 21. We have kids.  We don’t do anything risky. We don’t smoke. We don’t drink. We don’t dance. But what about our hearts? Are they as clean as our lungs and liver? Is there room for the blessed Father in there? Are they free and happy or sad and dying? Then we get older and we wonder where life went. I would like to propose that we think outside the box. What if God is wild? What if life is meant to be unpredictable? Would we be okay with that?
 I have taken this golden nugget of truth from my friend. I have been seeking God. At this time [for the time being] I have resolved not to read another book about how to get to know God. Not another book on how to build a relationship with God. I have found God. Him and I have a relationship. And we talk. We both talk. Admittedly I do more. [Haha.] But just hanging out with God and talking with Him as brought me ten thousand times closer than any book I may have read titled “10 steps to finding God.”
 And it’s been good. I wouldn’t trade these experiences for anything. I think back to the first time I met God. Behind the chicken house in southern Kentucky next to a putrid drainage ditch. (My brother and I renamed it Little Chicken River because we wanted adventure.) Then I ignored God. For many years. Besides, I didn’t know what to do with this experience. Then seven years later when my life was spiraling out of control He came again. He met me in a powerful, life-changing way that set me free and gave me courage.
 I left everything. Only to get sucked up in another system. To find healing from this, God led me on a long journey through Europe. I couldn’t say why I was going and I thought I was crazy going for a whole month. My comfort was that I had enough money to by a ticket back anytime I wanted. Instead the day I came back was the worst of them all. I wanted to cry. And I learned to know myself. I found myself. I discovered that God is big and wild. Unprogrammed. And He wants to be discovered. It was a month of hurts and fears draining from me and being replaced by confidence. By knowledge of being the beloved son of God. I vividly remember the profound moment that God met me on a smoky local train lost in central Bosnia in the middle of the night. I was standing beside the open window as we chugged along. It was a brilliantly clear night with stars sparkling so brightly I didn’t know what to do. And God touched my heart. I had found so much healing and this was like a final touch. It brought tears to my eyes. It was like a giant hug from God.
 Over the years I have traveled here and there again. I have taken about 70 plane rides in the last 20 months. But I prefer train when ever possible. Because I find time to relax, unwind, and hear from God. To talk to him. It’s like our special place. I have so many good memories of train rides across places like China and Australia.
 And that is why I chose to take the train from northern Norway to southern Germany. Yeah, its over 2000 miles and it takes 3 days and 2 [miserable] nights. But God comes and talks to me every day. It’s a hallowed spot. Yesterday it was mostly me talking to Him. Asking so many questions. And today it was Him talking to me. He said,”I know you have questions. You want answers. But you need to trust. Life is meant to be mystery. It is meant to be wild. If it weren’t you wouldn’t need Me. Because you have chosen to live from the heart. And we are going to share the adventure and the journey of life you are on.”  And my heart was so full I didn’t know what to do. Except, whisper thank-you as warm, salty tears pushed at my eyelids. And I knew as never before who I am.
 Now isn’t that pretty cool? God wants to share our lives. I have come to believe that he wants to be deeply involved and personally share in our adventures. He wants to be right beside us in whatever we are doing or pursuing.
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Discover what makes you come alive and go give that to the world. The world needs people who are alive.”
    You know how the first thing we all do when we wake up is to reach for our smart phones? You know how broadly we smile when there is an email waiting from that dear friend who is 6 hours ahead of us. Do you know how much God would like it and how broadly He would smile if we woke up and talked to him before leaving the covers? Not to mention before we even touch that smart phone.
 I also believe that many times we neglect to realize that God has created us uniquely. Those desires he placed in us may be something He wants us to explore, to follow through with.
  Honestly, I feel very vulnerable sharing this. But I have to. Because then you expect be to keep living this. It creates accountability. And perhaps there is a soul who is wondering how to connect in a deeper way with God. Please don’t read a book. Just go sit beside a river for a weekend by yourself. God desperately wants to connect with you. And He will. If you are willing. There is no prescribed way. But if we truly seek Him we  will find him!

It Is Well With My Soul

Its been about 140 years since Horatio Spafford penned the words to this old and much-loved hymn. For years it’s been a favorite song of mine. Do we know what this guy went through? He was financially ruined in 1871 by the Great Chicago Fire. Several years later him and his wife and four daughters decided to take a trip to Europe. Last minute he had to stay back and the ship sank. He lost his four daughters. Then they had another son and he died at the age of four. Their Presbyterian church regarded their tragedy as divine punishment. Horatio was a nineteenth century Job.

The other Sunday in church the worship leader picked this song. I connect deeply with it. It is one of those songs that brings the presence of God into my deepest soul. With arms outstretched and foot tapping to the beat I was singing “Whatever my lot, you have taught me to say, It is well,it is well with my soul.” At the most emotional moment a voice whispered to me. It was a voice unpleasant and dark. A voice condemning. A voice that I do not listen to. The voice of darkness. The voice sneered and said,”So you say. What if you actually had trouble in your life? What if you lost a loved one? What if your fondest dreams were crushed?”

It put me on a search as I explored my feelings and faith. Yes, I am enjoying life. The last few years have been an exceptional springtime of the soul. I have been happy. But my thoughts went back a bit further to those days of confusion and hurt. When there was not springtime in my soul. When it seemed like the very sun was setting in my soul.

When I was 21 years old I had to decide if I wanted to live in the comfort and happiness of my family and friends, or whether I would boldly follow God into the unknown. Into a world and culture I knew nothing about. It was a hard decision but I answered the call of God. I was deeply hurt at losing my family.But still I said, “It is well with my soul.”  Then God provided countless dear friends from all over the world that became like family. Just to show me that he cared. As if that weren’t enough, he restored the relationship with my family to a better place than I could have ever imagined.

Unfortunately I am no stranger to death either. A good friend of mine, Aaron, was shot multiple times and beaten beyond recognition. We had been friends for a long time. I thought he would always be in my life. But he wasn’t. Another friend was killed instantly in an accident. You just can’t get used to it. But each time I said,”It is well with my soul.”

But the time that it was really hard to say was when I lost my friend Daniel. You know how sometimes [they are rare] you meet a friend who just gets you? That was Daniel. He knew so much about me but just accepted me. We were best friends. And then one day he was gone. Never again would I see his smiling face, hear his bubbly, contagious laugh or sarcastic remarks. That was the end. And that was hard. I admit I questioned God for months. “Why,” I demanded to know.

But God didn’t say why. Instead he said,”The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Jason, can you bless my name? Still?”  Before I even answered he piled another question on the list. “My grace is enough Jason. Do you believe this? Do you? Come on, say it if you do!”

Sometimes it took me most of the day to say it. But every day for months God asked me these questions. And every day I struggled through them.  Every day, by the end of the day I would pause before God and say,”The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed  be your name. And yes God, your grace is enough.”  It is well with my soul.

So yes, I might be enjoying life. I don’t need a miserable existence and deep hurts to say it is well with my soul. In my deepest moments of need God showed me His grace was enough and he helped me to say it is well with my soul. And I know the same God who helped me valiantly at that moment will help me next time and I shall say “it is well with my soul.”

Voice of darkness go. You are not welcome here.