Asking for directions…

When we are willing to ask for help, we receive as well as give a blessing.

When we are willing to humbly open our lives to instruction and correction, we create an opportunity for others use their talents and gifts to edify and encourage us.

While on campus for Freed-Hardeman University’s annual Bible Lectureship last year, I stopped outside the Brewer Sports Center to check my schedule for the day’s sessions before heading over to the campus-wide chapel service. Many ministry/missionary booths were on display inside the main gym, and several people were coming and going- hurriedly seeking to make it to their next session.

A middle-aged man I did not know approached me and said, “I am sorry to bother you, brother, but it is my first time here on campus and perhaps you could help me. Do you know where the Loyd Auditorium is?”

I smiled, looked up, and said, “You’re on the right track. That’s it right there,” and pointed to the large building standing directly in front of him. He laughed at himself, thanked me, and walked off toward the prominent building.

Would he have found the auditorium without involving me?

Almost certainly, but he willingly admitted he wasn’t sure and needed help. Because he was willing to acknowledge he was lacking information, he asked for help and avoided unnecessary wandering or confusion. He was on the right path, but he wasn’t sure of his awareness and rather than unnecessarily going further with his uncertainty, he asked for directions.

Spiritually, we can find ourselves wandering with only a vague idea of where we are headed. Sometimes we choose to take the chance that will run into a sign or make it safely just by following the largest crowd. In reality, we have access to the direction of God’s word, a perfect waymaker in Christ, and willing guides in other believers who have traveled the same roads many times and by their experience in the Christian life can help point us on our way. Often the path to the goal is right in front of us if we are willing to follow it and ask for help along the journey.

As we travel forward in the life of faith, we must allow God’s word to guide our steps and never be afraid to admit when we feel lost or confused. We all will have doubts and fears along the journey, but we cannot allow fear, embarrasment, or pride to prevent us from seeking the help we need.

In asking for help, we admit our limitations, and we open a door for others to use their gifts for God’s glory.

In looking to Jesus, we see a perfect path to follow. In leaning on each other and the wisdom of those who have walked this life before us, we receive the blessing of their experience, and they receive the blessing of sharing our fresh enthusiasm as we seek to walk in the way of Jesus.

Caution! Your own thoughts ahead…

Having received a little graduation money recently, I thought it would be good to invest in a new jacket for our ever-changing Tennessee weather. I did a simple online search to see different styles and colors. After briefly looking at a couple of options, I decided to wait until after Christmas before checking local stores or making any actual purchase.

Despite my minimal attention, suddenly new jacket options appeared everywhere. The Internet “knew” I might be in the market for a new jacket, and so advertisements began to appear on my social media, in my email, and in my online shopping offerings. I had not even seen a jacket in-person, much less tried one on or told anyone else of my idea, but my single look brought seemingly unlimited options before my eyes.

A new jacket may be innocent enough, but the same pattern emerges in our own private lives and inward thoughts. You and I are always engaged in an internal dialogue happening within us. Our thoughts are pulling us and pushing us, and unless we seek to guard and guide them, these flights of thought can lead us in directions we do not even fully realize and ultimately would not wish to go.

David encountered this in 2 Samuel 11 when his lingering look at a married neighbor led him, this young woman, his adult children, his kingdom, and his godly influence down a terrible path of death and destruction. The writer of this text, guided by inspiration, carefully notes how there were decisive moments when David could have taken a different road but allowed his spiral to continue- he neglected his duty to be with his army, he refused to look away initially, he did not stop gazing but inquired her identity, he failed to dismiss his passions when his servants warned him, and on and on. Even after the initial sin of adultery, the murder, the cover-up, the late-coming guilt- each should have been a flashing warning sign, but his pride and blindness to his own sin were his downfall. Although David came experience God’s grace and forgiveness, the harm from that seemingly causal walk on his rooftop would haunt his own life and that of his family for generations.

A millennia later, the same Spirit led James to write in his epistle, “Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am tempted by God’; for God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does He Himself tempt anyone. But each one is tempted when he is drawn away by his own desires and enticed. Then, when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, brings forth death.” (James 1:13-15)

The overthrow of our strongly-held beliefs does not happen overnight. The darkness does not need to overwhelm us with the worst of the worst when it comes to temptation; the seeds of doubt, discouragement, and our snares and hang-ups are present in each of us and if we allow them to take root and grow, we all too often find ourselves coping with our pain in unhealthy and unholy ways. The paths that lead to sin are often not striking but subtle, and such temptations prey upon us when we are most worn down and weary.

Each of us will sin and fall short of God’s glory (Rom 3:23), but the off ramps on the highway toward sin are numerous. Ultimately, we cannot blame God or other people or our circumstances for our choices- we must be self-aware enough to see our own weaknesses and humble enough to turn back to God before our sin damages and destroys the very things we hold most dear.

Back to December…

I have never lived in a town of more than a couple of thousand people. 

I like rural life, and while I love to travel to cities and appreciate the conveniences of larger towns, I have chosen to live my life in small, familiar places. 

A little more than a year ago, a major tornado ripped through our little community and left destruction in its wake.

City hall gone.

Fire station gone.

Businesses gone.

Offices gone.

Church buildings gone.

Homes gone.

All gone in a moment.

As deep as the scars of the physical destruction have been, the damage has not all been visible- a breaking took place that has both divided and bonded our community in ways we cannot yet fully understand and may never fully know.

I have been reading Wendell Berry’s fiction as a treat to myself following the end of grad school, and in A Place on Earth, he describes the valley that flooded outside his fictional community of Port William, Kentucky- how the local landmarks were rearranged and erased and how nothing was ever the same- except that it was all still exactly the same.

Small places- maybe all places- are like that. 

Always both foreign and familiar.

Never seeming to change, yet never staying quite the same.

I took a drive to pray, to reflect, to give thanks, and to allow myself to feel the weight that this year especially has brought.

To discern what needs to be remembered and what is better forgotten.

To pause and pray at church graveyards and cemeteries.

To consider what has passed on and what remains behind.

I love the holiday season and the hope of a new and better year ahead, but it was a lovely day to be quiet and still before we leave the old behind and stretch forth to embrace the new.

I am grateful for this life, this pace, and this place.

And the December sunset over Sharon was not a bad nightcap- even if it did happen at 4:45 PM.

Coffeeshops & redeeming the time…

For Jarrod Bailey

At times, I overhear some pretty intense conversations in coffeeshops.

Some are romantic, some are financial, and, of course, some are religious.

With each passing year, I realize more and more that now in my late thirties, I am just starting to truly learn to listen with less judgment and more grace. At times, I hear echoes of my own old bravado and the absolute certainty so present in younger voices- a boldness that I now recognize so often hides pain, shame, and fear.

We tend to get louder when our own arguments start to cave in around us.

Assurance seldom shouts.

Now when I hear arguments I might have tried to win 20 years ago or may have rolled my eyes at ten years ago, I just seek to listen and try not to interfere too much with the process of growth in others.

My faith is central to me, but life is teaching me- mostly through its trials and my own errors- that presence and patience and the passage of time often prove far more essential to lasting clarity than my knee-jerk sharing of self-pious platitudes or one-size-fits-all certainties. Growth and maturity almost always seem to take time, experience, and some good old-fashioned failure.

I can’t endure that process for anyone else.

Neither can you.

At this point in my life, it’s becoming less and less about winning arguments or calling out every perceived act of arrogance or error, and it’s becoming more and more about showing up faithfully, listening patiently, and loving fully.

It’s that simple and it’s that hard- and, as a friend of mine would say, it’s amazing and it’s awesome.

I can do it, and you can too.

There’s always a seat at the table, and the coffee’s always on.

Time marches on…

Earlier this month, I graduated with my Master’s degree in ministry after beginning my undergraduate studies 20 years ago. As I approach the last full year of my thirties and with time’s gathering to glory of more and more family and friends in recent years, it seems like a good moment to reflect as the calendar page turns yet again. This photo fell out of an aging album a few weeks ago during Thanksgiving festivities, and in looking at my younger self, it seemed like a story come full circle.

I am sure this shot was taken at a Vacation Bible School decades ago (probably around 1990 or so), and my first thought was that Mrs. Johnnie Bell Webb would have been at her post passing out Kool-aid and cookies in the fellowship hall. Paper plates overflowing with her signature saltines and peanut butter would be stuffed into our mouths as we bolted from crafts to playground and back again.

Mrs. Johnnie Bell passed away a few weeks ago, but I realize more and more that she was one in a long lineage of unsung heroes who form the mortar that holds the church tight and together without being singled out for praise.

I have been blessed to be able to spend my life sharing Jesus with others for many years now, and I am grateful for each opportunity, but I know too well that much of the Christian influence in my own life came from those faithful believers who showed up after work to glue popsicle sticks, who spent their Saturdays draining baptisteries, and who cooked countless casseroles to feed the grieving and the lonely.

The church is a body with many parts, yet we who stand week to week on platforms and in the pulpits often get a disproportionate amount of the praise. More than ever, I am coming to see that the quiet, committed disciples who show up and do whatever is needed are among the church’s greatest strengths. 

In Christ’s kingdom, there is no greater honor than to be, as He was, the servant of all.

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Come to this table…

Growing up, I did a lot of homework and ate a lot of meals around this old library table that had been saved before the demolition of the old Alamo High School building and served as my grandparents’ dining table for as long as I can remember.

I was in Alamo bright and early recently to visit my aging grandparents, and while they napped, I even managed to squeeze in a little early morning , last minute grad school work at the familiar table.

Come to this table. You are welcome at this table. You are loved at this table.

Things often really do come full circle. 

No matter how far I have wandered or how often I have strayed, I knew this place existed.

A place of care.

A place of love.

A place of acceptance.

Reflecting during this holiday season, I am ever thankful for my family members who have loved and encouraged me all throughout my life. They taught me to love learning, to respect others, to do what was right, and to take responsibility when I failed to do so. They taught me that we are so much more than our greatest successes or our biggest mistakes.

Any good I have accomplished in my years of Christian ministry springs from the two constants of God’s grace and their love- often times experienced right here at this very table.

I am truly blessed.

I pray that my own life is always experienced as a place of love, welcome, and encouragement for others.

May our communities, our congregations, and our homes ever be places where love is felt and all are welcomed.