Clarifying your Calling in No Easy Steps

I lay spread eagle on my bed, 3 fans blowing hot air on me, dripping slowly into my warm African foam bed. Even the “cold” shower water was hot from the sizzling Ghanaian sun. I had nothing to do in the heat of the day but try to rest and stay hydrated. So I lay there, as if in a trance thinking about my life, and what the heck I’m doing with it.

I thought about this last year of my life since I returned from Ethiopia last March to a hospitalized asthmatic son and one simple mandate from the Holy Spirit: stay put.

I did stay and I worked hard on a lot of personal issues that make staying put so hard for me. But I’ll admit I was never peaceful about it. I felt every day that the thing that gave me so much purpose (my work in Africa) had been pulled out from under me and nothing could ever replace it.

I tried. Oh I tried to find something else to fill that void, to renew a sense of purpose and vision in my life. I tried to start and do so many things that year. But everything I tried hoping to scratch that itch fizzled almost immediately. I just had to stay put and feel the discomfort, just as I now lay on my bed embracing 106 degrees of discomfort. And somewhere in that squirming, purposeless discomfort, I grew up a little.

I thought about the fact that now I’m BACK in Africa and I’m getting hit with a realization: I’m no actually very good at this. I mean, I’m pretty good at traversing new cultures and eating exotic food in beautiful temperate mountains with English speakers who love me and share my faith in Jesus. But this?? Sweating in a flat scrubby bush-land eating food I really don’t like (sorry Ghana), sharing God’s love with Muslims (NOT my gift) whose language I can’t speak and who have a reputation for kidnapping outsiders? It’s risky. But more so, I often feel uncertain, sometimes bored, and OFTEN lonely.

It got me thinking... maybe this whole thing is simply rooted in my need to be liked and validated. Maybe I only like Africa when Africa likes me. Am I only in this for the exotic adventures in beautiful places with friendly people?

But then I thought about my 13-year-old self sitting at my friend Steve’s kitchen table tracing lines across the 5 or 6 West African countries where then felt strangely called to, and I now work ... I was certain then (for no obvious reason) that God was calling me to this part of the world and up until today that certainty has never left me.

Laying there, I took a rough inventory of all the commitments, involvements, dreams, passions, and ideas I have. It’s a LONG list. With every one of them, I said, “Boy it would be great to ____________! ....Until it wasn’t great anymore. Then I’d probably quit.” Boy it would be great to have a music career. Until it wasn’t great anymore. Then I’d be out of there. Boy it’d be great to own a hobby farm. Until it wasn’t great anymore. Boy it’d be great to start a coffee shop, be in an intentional community, plant a church... until, until, until.

But when I thought of my involvement in this sweaty scrubby bushland among Ghana’s nomadic cattle folk, my self-absorbed caveats evaporated. I thought to myself, “wow I’m so not cut of for this. And it might get a lot worse in years to come. And in spite of that, and even if it gets harder, I know I’ll keep coming back for more.” Not because I’m the faithful steady type (I’m not). And not because it’s all I know how to do (it’s not). And not because it makes the most objective sense for me (it doesn’t).

I’ll keep coming back because this is where I’m supposed to be. I just know it is deep down. Because more than any other area of my life, God has been most obviously involved in leading me in this area, in roundabout ways to this strange place and this foreign people. This is where I’m supposed to be. Not because it’s fulfilling, but just because its where I’m supposed to be.

It’s been very clarifying for me to think about the things I’m essentially committed to not because it feels good or because I’ll feel guilt if I don’t do it but because I know deep down it’s what I’m supposed to do. I may not always get to do those things in the ways I imagine, but it’s very centering to have them at the front of my mind when I’m chasing down passions and making major life decisions.

Do you have anything like that in your life? Try making a list of all the things you LOVE and are passionate about and dream of doing some day. Then try to imagine yourself getting to do those things and it being far more painful and far less fulfilling than you ever imagined. Would you stick with it? Why or why not? And for how long? Is there anything in your life that maybe doesn’t make as much “sense” that you would wake up and do every day no matter what just because? Is there something beyond your fulfillment and enjoyment and gratification that drives you forward each day? Where did those things come from? Are they from childhood vows or childhood wounds (maybe not so healthy)? Or are they driven by a deeper hunger, a strange certainty, an “I’ve-just-gotta”, a mysterious calling?  Maybe it’s a relationship, a task, or an inner commitment.  

I have that “just do it” feeling about my marriage, my parenting, one or two friendships, and my commitment to seeing the extraordinary presence of Jesus break into my ordinary life.  I’m not saying they are unshakeable, just that they are pretty core to what makes me “tick” even when I’m all “ticked out”. They are a few of the most anchoring things within me that make me trudge along even when doing so defies reason.

So what about you? What makes you tick for no apparent reason?

New Leaves on a Harsh and Tedious Stretch

“Alright God. Now what?” I prayed this morning. I had just finished a disappointing phone call, which effectively put an end to a month of work and planning on an exciting new project.

I’ve had lots of those this year: “Now whats”. Fits and starts. Sudden ends to exciting new dreams. And when those grand possibilities crumble, what’s left is the everyday plodding; the stuff I just wake up and do because it needs to get done. Yes, I’m growing. And yes, I’m tired of it. Been there?

But today God answered me in a funny way: Now we turn over a new leaf.

“A new leaf huh?” I shrugged, bemused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” God always teases me with these cryptic little Hallmark phrases. But what’s really funny is when at some later moment, these little taglines come into focus with shocking clarity and truth.

The reply came (as it often does) as a disembodied scripture reference: Isaiah 43:19. (I don’t have this stuff memorized by the way. Just following the breadcrumbs.) Here’s what it says...

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” –Isaiah 43:19

Ok wow... Cool huh? I still don’t know what it all means. But for one thing, I think it means that God promises to be a surprising source of life and refreshment in those long arid stretches. I think it means that we can (and should) find comfort and delight in His very tangible and personal presence with us.

Anyway, I’ve been having this uncharacteristic anxiety lately. For various reasons not worth mentioning, I’ve ditched my morning quiet time (which had been such a grounding time of connecting with my Father). These days, I check my smartphone dozens of times a day. I worry about money. I worry about my job. I worry about my health. Even as I type this, I take a break to check on our finances and boom. Worry. We are such fickle creatures aren’t we?

But even while I struggle to focus on this present moment and God’s Spirit living in me during this harsh and tedious stretch, I can sense that things are changing. He is indeed doing New Things.

For one, I booked a ticket to Ghana yesterday.  On March 25, just over a year from the time God told me (back in that camp shower at an Ethiopian retreat center) to take a break from travel, I’m going back to Africa. I’ll be traversing Northern Ghana with an amazing posse of young leaders, teaching on our discipleship approach at a 3-day conference, and trekking through the hot African bush to visit Muslim nomadic tribesmen in their grass-domed houses. I’m hoping it will help me get my bearings on the work we do through Love Nomads Coffee as well as deepen my relationships with these amazing young leaders who are doing discipleship in some really innovative ways.

I’ve also felt a fresh push of inspiration in the work I do with WDA’s international ministry. We’ve been redesigning our whole curriculum and training approach, making quiet shifts away from an event-based conference model toward a relational team-based coaching model. It doesn’t sound like a big deal when I say that. But most days, it feels like a great collective sedition toward something more wholesome, something we all want but can’t put our finger on, something both organic and intentional.

My coffee roasting hobby has had its twists and turns too. For the first time, I discovered a way to put a bean temperature probe in my handmade drum roaster. It allows me to roast with incredible precision and control... In other words, the coffee tastes better than ever. Plus I feel like a mad scientist. :) Then I signed up for my first SCAA expo in April (basically it’s geekfest for coffee freaks and professionals) and I'm beyond excited to check out the roasting class, the brewer’s cup, the barista championship, and all other iterations of brew snobbery. And I’m still dreaming about opening a café of my own someday. Or a mobile tiny house turned coffee shop? Or???

But whatever the twists and turns, God is going to be there with his quiet Presence and zany sense of humor, doing new and wild things, things that I could never guess. I don’t want to get all wrapped up in the significance (or insignificance) of what I might do tomorrow. Life is too short and I want to enjoy today. I want to enjoy God’s simple goodness right now... in this present moment. So while I wait for whatever God is up to, my prayer is that I would just relax in the assurance of surprising paths in the wilderness, streams in the desert.

Near Drowning and New Desires

Part of being a parent, I suppose, is going through really scary experiences, even near-death experiences with your kids. I suppose many parents have those moments where they feel helpless to protect their children. They realize how fragile life is and they wake up resolved to treasure every moment they have. That’s how I’m waking up this morning.

We have been so blessed as parents with healthy kids, safe environments, and no major injuries in our family... until this year. In March, when I was in Ethiopia, Levi ended up in the hospital for 3 days unable to breathe on his own. After that, I set aside my international travels for the remainder of the year. And it was a good thing, because shortly after that, Debra was in the same hospital with pneumonia. Then I had a meningitis scare (turned out to be a horrible virus)... not to mention the ramping-up of daily crazy as Levi hit the worst stage of potty training, food anxiety, accident-proneness, and hitting/kicking/biting.... and Juniper became a toddler full of curiosity and a loud, opinionated personality of her own.

Friday night, we were swimming with some friends in their pool. There were 7 kids between 4 adults. Juniper had been going back and forth between the moms in the kiddie pool and the dads in the big pool. Her new favorite game is jumping into a parents arms while squishing her eyes shut against the splashing water. The other kids were either independent swimmers or wearing floaties. Every two minutes, my friend Brent would stop our conversation and do a head count. I remember thinking he was being a bit paranoid. After all, we were in the pool, right next to the kids, and keeping our eyes on them at all times.

But things happen fast and nobody heard the splash. It was only when Brent started counting heads that we both saw it: a small pink object flailing in slow motion beneath the surface of the water 10 feet away. At first I thought it was one of the older kids swimming underwater until Brent started lunging towards it. Juniper had apparently crawled on to the top step of the shallow end at the very moment that all 10 pairs of eyes were off her.  Then she must have stepped out just over her head. My heart dropped when Brent pulled Juniper out of the water limp and blue around the lips. I rushed to grab her and for one endless I didn’t know if she was conscious or not. Then she threw up, coughed, and started to cry a weak, terrified cry. Relief, guilt, and fear all rushed in as I held her bent over to clear the water from her lungs and everybody came rushing over wanting to know what happened.

Juniper was breathing rapidly and her heart was pounding. For a moment, nobody knew quite what to do next.. Then in a flurry, an ambulance was called, but being close to the hospital we decided to take her ourselves. Brent and Heidi took our other kids home for a sleepover... and this is the 5^th time in a year they have kept our kids during a medical emergency!

As we pulled out of the subdivision, we passed two blaring ambulances and a firetruck, but we just kept driving, at every stoplight leaning back to make sure our daughter was still alive. She was staring quietly out the window taking quick shallow breaths, but her color had returned.

At the hospital we were seen immediately. An x-ray of her lungs showed that we had been very lucky. But the doctor said he did see a little streaking and wanted us transferred to Scottish Rite just to be safe. Another crisis quickly arose when they told us they would be putting an IV in our 18-month-old’s hand and the driving 45 minutes while Debra rode up front. All I could imagine was as a pair of bullish EMT’s driving on stone-faced while my daughter screamed her way through her second major life trauma that day and her mother sat captive in the front unable to help or comfort her. More panic, a hold out, a thick AMA (“against medical advice”) waiver thrust toward me by a tearful nurse with the threat of an uninsurable hospital bill to follow, another meeting with the drivers, a negotiation, and finally we caved. Then came an IV without anesthetic. This took some time as nurses searched for a vein on Juniper chubby hand, traumatizing both Juniper and her compassionate but helpless mother. But thankfully, the ride itself was calm and Juniper quietly watched cartoons the whole way.

Scottish Rite is a great hospital, but nurses, doctors, admission, billing, and any other number of employees poked, prodded, and asked the same questions 5 times until 4AM when we all collapsed from sheer exhaustion and slept for 5 hours. The next day, things looked better. A social worker making his rounds was less antagonistic than we feared and the doctor gave us a clean bill of health. After lunch, we were released, bedraggled and still in shock, but grateful. So grateful.

When we came home another shock awaited us. In the flurry of the last couple days, we had forgotten about Annabel’s two bunnies, who now lay in their cage cold, dead, and dehydrated. I was sick and actually cried a little as I walked their little corpses back into the woods behind our house. It was just one more reminder that life is fragile and one inattentive move can take it away forever. It was only my friend’s hyper-vigilant head count that saved my daughters life and it was our neglect (understandable though it may be) that killed the rabbits. “This can never happen again,” I thought to myself.

One positive side of the whole experience (besides a resolve to be more vigilant) was a much stronger bond with my daughter and with my whole family in general. People talk about meeting their child for the first time as a life-changing experience. They talk about a love they never knew they had flooding in to their hearts and sustaining them as parents throughout their children’s lives. That’s not my experience. When I first met my kids, my feelings were awe, adoration, tenderness, and pride. But love has crept in slowly over the course of dozens of sleepless nights, toxic diapers, temper tantrums, tender snuggles, and moments I almost lost them. As I’m stretched beyond myself as a parent into those powerless spaces, my adoration of my kids turns into real compassion (literally translated, “suffering with”), real love.

In my last post, I talked about reading the lectionary as a helpful spiritual practice. It does a good job shepherding me through scripture in a slow, methodical way and enriches my spiritual life in ways that don’t require me to have a monastic life, lots of emotional energy, or theological profundity. Well yesterday after the whole hospital experience, I plopped down to read that day’s lectionary reading. It took me to an interesting passage: David grieves the death of his son, Absalom.

In the story, Absalom attempts a coup against his father and raises an army to fight and dethrone him. Though it was the ultimate betrayal, David’s fatherly heart moved him to order the commander of his army, “be gentle for my sake with the young man Absalom.” Probably seen by his troops as a sign of the king’s weakness, 10 young men disregard the order, surround Absalom (whom they find defenseless and alone in the forest) and kill him in cold blood. So the battle was won but David weeps bitterly over the loss of his son. Though 10 young men saw only a betrayal and the need to right a wrong, the king saw the loss of a son and cried out “Oh Absalom. Absalom, my son. If only I had died instead of you!” 

I’ve got great kids and none of them are trying to overthrow me (though some days I may dispute that) but David’s love is striking. 10 years ago, the story was compelling, but maybe a bit confusing to me. Today I’m a step closer to getting it. Life is precious, a tremendous gift that is so easily taken away. And so much stronger than a life of vision and impact and legacy is a life full of love for family and friends, even strangers and enemies. Love makes you vulnerable. Love opens you to pain. Love makes you look fragile and foolish. And given the choice between the fragile old king (the prodigal’s father) and the strong young men... Let’s just say my existential taste buds are changing.

            

Toddler Terrorists in Light of the Atonement

It’s an uncharacteristically quiet moment in our home. The kids are sleeping or watching movies. I can hear the clock ticking across the room. I just finished a cup of my home-roasted organic Sumatran coffee (pour over per the usual these days) and the caffeine is now kicking in. Bliss.

Yesterday was insane. Levi peed on the couch, got a time out, came back, and peed on the couch again. He smashed a mason jar on the stone outside and then smashed a lightbulb on the screen porch. He bit, scratched, and pushed. He dragged the garden hose inside and decided to give our bedroom a bath. He dumped a full canister of cake sprinkles on the floor. He ripped off all his clothes and ran naked down the driveway. It was a rough day, even for him. And he only represents half of our toddler population: Juniper is developing her own special brand of “domestic terrorism”, though she usually manages to be destructive in a slightly more adorable way.

In the midst of it all, quiet moments like this are rare and treasured, though usually it’s all I can do to just close my eyes and let a thousand scattered thoughts lope haphazardly across my brain... oh the things I ought to do... the things which may never get done.

Before this crazy descended, I used to take some time each morning to read a bit of scripture, journal, and pray. It was incredibly grounding and I often felt God’s presence and direction in those moments. But lately when I get the opportunity, my self-directed bible-readings feel dry. And worse, when I put pen to paper to express my thoughts, what comes out is wearisome and sometimes toxic. In some ways, I’m sick of my own voice, my own thoughts, my own faltering attempts at profundity. Spiritual, emotional, and intellectual originality is highly overrated for me right now.

So I’ve been looking for new ways to relate to God that don’t rely so heavily on my mood, my insight, or the wells of my personal depth. My mentor suggested a life rhythm that has helped him in similar seasons: the Lectionary.

Used in more liturgical churches, the Revised Common Lectionary provides really small chunks of the Old and New Testament for churches to focus on each week. It’s basically a long-term bible-reading plan with bite-sized passages meant to be savored, not just consumed. The passages go together thematically and the beauty of it is, I don’t get to pick them. So I gave it a shot this morning... and I think I love it.

Here’s a snippet from that encouraged me today from Jeremiah 23...

I will raise up a righteous descendant
    from King David’s line.
He will be a King who rules with wisdom.
    He will do what is just and right throughout the land.
And this will be his name:
    ‘The Lord Is Our Righteousness.’
In that day Judah will be saved,
    and Israel will live in safety.

Just skimming the surface here... I see this passage as a big fat neon finger pointing right to Jesus. The main reason I say that is the identifier, “The Lord is our Righteousness”. I’m not saying that Old Testament theologians wouldn’t identify God himself as the ultimate source of human righteousness, but if anything distinguished the life and mission of Jesus, it was stripping down the rabbinic formulations of human righteousness through rule-keeping (how do YOU respond when someone says to you, “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect”?) and a promotion of righteousness (“right-ness” with God and others) through identification with the perfect righteousness of Christ... a way made possible through his death and resurrection. Hundreds of years before Christ was born, Jeremiah caught a glimpse of him and said, “the trademark quality of this king is that through him we will see that God himself is our righteousness, and NOT our busy rule-keeping.”

For me the whole idea of righteousness in Jesus is both refreshing and desperately needed right now. Because in a really stressed and needy season (living closely with other stressed and needy people), my track record for making “good Christian” decisions, having a “good Christian” attitude, and doing all the things “good Christians” are supposed to do... well let’s just say I won’t graduate top of my class. In fact most days I feel like I’m flunking “Righteousness 101”. I’m not flagellating myself here. Just ask my wife! I am often bitter, judgmental, lazy, passive-aggressive, and downright mean.

But while I keenly feel the need to take appropriate responsibility for my own behavior and make healthier choices, a very anchoring thought is that nothing I do good or bad has any bearing on the righteousness I have before God. His total love and acceptance toward me is secure... because when he looks at me, what he sees is Christ... his perfectly righteous son. That’s what Jesus is about: relieving the impossible standard of “being good enough” and giving himself to become goodness on our behalf, so that we can access the limitless grace and acceptance of God.

“It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption” (1 Cor 1:30)

I'll take some of that please.