Your Boring Story

We know the story. Even those who have little or no Christian background know the story of the Prodigal Son. We know about the younger son leaving and going to the far country. We know about the desire to eat the slop they were feeding the pigs. We know about the return home, the rehearsed confession, the anticipated humiliation, and giving up of the position his birth gave him. We know about the father sitting on the porch and seeing the son while he was still a long way off. We know about the fatted calf and the party and the joy. That which was dead is now alive; that which was lost is now found.

It is one of the most popular stories in the Bible. It is likely one of the most popular stories in all of literature.

And it is an important story. No matter how far you have strayed; no matter how egregious your behavior; no matter how hateful your words and actions have been, you can always come home. We need to remember this. We need to proclaim this. We need people to remind us how they have come home and how they have overcome.

But it just feels like something is missing…

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There are many opportunities to hear powerful testimonies of people who have lost everything and found it again. People who were born into horrible circumstances only to overcome. People who have undergone miraculous transformations.

And those stories are important. We need to hear them. There are people who are hurting, broken, and lonely. In the midst of despair, it is valuable to hear that you are not alone.

I have been given the opportunity to share my testimony in several settings. It is an honor to be able to do so. I am grateful that I can share where I have been and where my journey currently has me and where it is taking me.

I am also grateful for those other stories I get to hear when others share. It is a gift of grace to be present when someone is willing to open up and be vulnerable and provide us a glimpse into their lives.

But what about those people whose stories are, for lack of a better term, boring? What about those people who never had a journey “to the far country?”

Sometimes, I wonder if we celebrate the story of the modern day prodigals (which is good) so much that we discredit the story of the modern day older brother (which is not so good).

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I have read and heard and preached on and listened to sermons about the Parable of the Prodigal Son millions of times. (Or some number close to that.)

So I never expected to hear something different in the story when I read it out loud last week. A small phrase that I never caught before. A few simple words that changed the meaning in a profound way.

I never realized before that after the party started—you know, the party with the fatted calf for the younger brother who came back home—the father went out to the older brother.

This may not seem like much, but it hit me as I read it this time: the younger son was not the only one the father noticed. The younger son was not the only one the father was waiting for. The younger son was not the only one the father ran out to in order to extend grace and mercy. The younger son was not the only one the father wanted to celebrate.

The father went to the older brother. The brother who had stayed at home. The boring brother.

Leaving home, squandering our money in alcohol and sex, landing flat on our backs at rock bottom, and only then coming to our senses is not a prerequisite to be loved by God.

It is also not a prerequisite to having a great story, a great confession.

The older brother stayed. When the father must have felt abandoned, the older brother was there. When the work load increased, the older brother increased his effort. When the father faced the shame that would have come with a child abandoning the family, the older brother worked to restore the family honor.

The older brother is not a bad person. He is not the antagonist (though he is sometimes seen as such). The older brother devoted his life to serving and honoring his father.

And because he was never in need of radical grace, he did not know what to do when he saw his father extend it. And when he struggled with the acceptance of his younger brother, the father then extended radical grace to the older brother.

No matter how boring you may think your story is, you are still the recipient of the amazing gift of grace from God.

And your story is still important. We need to know that there is redemption for those of us who have struggled with addiction, loss, imprisonment, and oppression. But we also need to know there is redemption for those who have never wandered away.

You may think your story is boring. But it is not. Your story is valuable. Your story needs to be heard.

Your story will be a blessing. So share it.

 

*Picture is of the painting The Prodigal Son Returns by Soichi Watanabe

I Can’t…

This post was originally shared back in 2012. While some things are not the same (I have since graduated), these thoughts still ring true. I want to write more about what I experienced last week, but right now all I can do is share these thoughts again; thoughts that were re-emphasized as I realized more and more the truth of how much I can’t. But just maybe we can.

So here’s the deal:  I can’t do this on my own.  What is “this”?  Simply put:  everything.

I am a husband.  I have failed many times in my relationship.  Yet my spouse continues forgiving and loving me.  (To be fair, my wife will say the same is true of her, but this isn’t her blog post).  I desire to become a better husband every day.  To that end, I have parents who have shown me what it means to love your spouse for more than 50 years.  We attended pre-marital counseling 15+ years ago with a therapist who ended up being my clinical supervisor this past summer.  I have many men and women who have been willing to listen to me and pray for me and offer me kind, gentle words of encouragement.  Many people have helped shape me into the husband I am today.

I am a father.  It is my goal to:  a. be the greatest father ever in the history of the world, and b. never make any mistakes.  So far, I have not succeeded with either of those.  In order to learn how to be a good father, I can look to my parents, my siblings, my aunts and uncles, my grandmother, my cousins, and so many friends (not to mention my wife!).  I have learned so many lessons from people who were willing to talk to me when they could see me struggling with my children.  I have sought counsel from so many people who have raised and are still raising their own children.  I have shared with other parents who have (for some strange reason) come to me seeking guidance and support.

I am a friend.  There have been so many times I have let my friends down, I sometimes wonder why I still have any.  Yet still they hang around.  During the lowest points of my life, there have been certain friends who were always available, always ready to listen, always ready to stand by me (regardless if they approved of what I was doing or not).  In high school, my friends taught me the importance of learning how to accept people’s differences without compromising my principles.  That lesson is one that was hard for me to learn.  I have learned more and more how to be a friend from those friends who have continued to put up with me.

I am studying to be a therapist.  I am part of a cohort of students that have accepted not only me as their classmate, but my wife and children as part of our Marriage and Family Department family.  When Shawna went to India on a 10-day mission trip, my children and I were fed by my classmates and professors every day.  My children had babysitters when needed.  When we have had parties and get-togethers, my family has been welcome and loved.  I have learned so much from the perspectives, experiences, knowledge, and wisdom of my cohort, the cohort who graduated last year, and the cohort who is just starting in this program.  I have learned a lot about being a therapist from my professors and supervisors who have encouraged and supported me (and put up with me) every step of the way.

I am in recovery.  Every day I wake up sober is because of the love, support, encouragement, butt-kicking, and teaching I have received from more than 75 years of experience of others who have 12-stepped their way to health.  I have a support system that transcends support groups made up of countless family members and friends.

I am a Christian.  Every day, I strive to live a little bit better than I did the day before.  I try to love God and love other people.  I hope that my eyes are open to opportunities to serve, my ears are open to cries for help, and my mouth is closed until absolutely necessary.  I could not even begin to list the people (both believers and non-believers) who have taught me what it means to follow the God, Jesus, and Spirit I believe in.

I can’t do this on my own.  I know because I have tried and failed.  But with you, and you, and you….

Just maybe we can do this thing called life.

A Second Time

For those who have been following my blog, this post will look familiar. For those who are new: this is my story. At least a portion of it. I hope you can read, relate, and then share your story with me. That’s what this blog is all about!

Jonah has been one of my favorite Bible stories for a long time.  Specifically, Jonah 3:1 has been my favorite verse for a long time:  “The word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time.”  When I left Abilene the first time, my family moved to Rochester, NY, so that I could preach for the Lawson Road Church of Christ.  It was great.  I developed great relationships with our congregation as well as the others in the area.  I was able to learn from some great preachers who had been serving God for a long time.  As I was preaching there, I used Jonah a lot.  There is so much to this short book, it continues to amaze me.

From the outset of the book, we see a character who is a spokesperson for God, a man who was used to speak the Word of God to God’s people, and he runs away from it.  God called Jonah; Jonah ran.  What really stands out to me is that Jonah runs; not because of a lack of faith.  Jonah is running from God, not because he doesn’t know what God is going to do, but exactly because he believes God will do what God always does.  Jonah, as any good Israelite, hated the Ninevites.  So being told to go preach against them should be something Jonah would jump at.  But Jonah knows God; he knows what God is capable of.  So Jonah runs away.

But God won’t let him.

All throughout chapter 1, God is acting; He is preparing so many different things for Jonah.  The storm, the fish, God is moving in Jonah’s life even as Jonah is trying to evade God.  And you know something, this is one of the ways that God, sometimes, if we’re honest, can be annoying.  I grew up the youngest of five boys.  The more my brothers didn’t want me around, the more I persisted to be involved in their activities.  The more they tried to get away from me, the more I fought to be around them.  I was relentless.  And so is God.  God wants the Ninevites to hear His Word.  God wants Jonah to proclaim that Word.  And Jonah running away is not going to stop Him.

God does not just pursue Jonah and the Ninevites, either.  The sailors on the ship begin crying out to any and every god they can think of; they have to wake Jonah up to do the same thing.  These pagans are more willing to act in a spiritual manner than the man of God.  So they ask Jonah what he has done, they try to find some way to save him, and then they give in and throw Jonah overboard, and then the sailors worship God.

Up until this point, Jonah knows what God can do, but I think Jonah is starting to think God won’t do it for him.

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Sometimes, life is just unbearable.  There are times when we get to that place we call rock bottom and there is no way we can get any further down.  At least it seems that way.  We think, “Yeah, I know what God can do, and has done, for everybody else, but He’s not going to do it for me.”  And that is where Jonah finds himself.  Isolated, in a dark, damp, smelly place, all alone for three days and three nights.  He has nothing to do but think:  about what he’s done, about running away from God, about failing in his call as a prophet.  And sometime during this three day period, he finally starts to get it.

“In my distress I called to the LORD.”  How many times does it take a period of distress for us to finally call out to God?  How much of our difficulty, how much of our despair could we have avoided had we only reached out to God sooner?  But we can’t change any of that, can we?  So all we can do is cry out to God from where we are.  And that is what Jonah does.  He cries out to God in his distress, and he ends with a song of thanksgiving.  Jonah says he will worship God, Jonah will make good on the promises he has made to God.  It took him falling as far down as he could possibly fall, but he finally got it.

And Jonah is easy for us to pick on, isn’t he?  The prophet who ran away and was disobedient and didn’t pray and only called to God when he was in the belly of the whale.  But I wonder if many of us relate to Jonah more than we care to admit.

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So I have always known I was going to be a preacher.  From the time I was very young, I was telling people I was going to preach, just like my Dad.  My whole life, seemingly, was preparation for me to be a preacher.  I used to go everywhere with my Dad:  preacher’s meetings, Christian camp board meetings, Gospel meetings, area-wide sings, hospital visits, nursing home visits.  Every time I had to the opportunity to do something “preacher-y” with my Dad, I did it.  I went to Abilene (TX) Christian University and majored in Bible focusing on pulpit ministry.  I started a Masters of Divinity, and only left early because my wife and I were expecting our first child and I thought I needed to start finding a job.  I have always had a love for the Northeast, so all of my interviews and try-outs were in that region of the country, and the position at Lawson Road in Rochester was absolutely a sign of God working in our lives.

When we got to Rochester, things started off real well.  We developed a lot of relationships with the families who were there.  We were able to connect with a lot of the young families and that brought more energy and life to the church.  There were three great, Godly elders who invested their time in me, helping me to develop as a person and a preacher.  Everything was going great.

Only something wasn’t.  I had begun drinking occasionally, but now the occasions were increasing in number.  I was being smart about it:  only at home, only when the kids were in bed, never in public.  Shawna was working part-time nights at a grocery store, so I would just kind of drink until she came home and then go to bed.  And two things happened:  one, Shawna told me she thought I was drinking too much and that I should stop; and two, life started happening at the church—arguments about what direction the church should take, struggles with people who led by manipulation, frustration with the elders for not stepping up to some of the people who were becoming overbearing. And I had a response to each of those two things.

First, I wanted to prove to Shawna that I was not drinking too much and that I didn’t need to stop.  So I started to hide my drinking from her.  I would make sure I was in bed before she got home or stay up real late until after she had fallen asleep.  I would prove that I could drink as much as I want and still be okay.  Second, I did not want to stand up to the people who were making noise in the church.  I was afraid of confrontation.  I was afraid to stand up and say anything, even something as simple as, “Let’s spend time in prayer to discern God’s will.” I found that the best way to quiet that noise was to drink.  But then I would wake up in the morning and feel guilty, which just created more noise in my head, so I drank even more.

And throughout this whole time, I never once asked God for help.  Because I knew He would help me and I didn’t want Him to.  So my drinking kept increasing.  People were questioning, wondering what was going on.  And finally, I had had enough.  I was ready to quit.  Only, I wasn’t ready to quit drinking.  It was a Wednesday night after Bible class.  I had packed a bag because I was ready to go.  I sat Shawna down and told her everything, all the hurtful things that I wish I could take back.  And instead of leaving with my packed bag, I watched as Shawna got up and left.  She called me later from the friend’s house she went to, and was understandably extremely upset.

But the next morning, she came back.  She came up to our room, woke me up, and said, “If you want to keep your family together, you better get some help.”  So I did.  I went to the elders and told them everything I had told Shawna.  And I broke down weeping.  And these godly men surrounded me with love and mercy and told me they would walk beside me and my family as we all recovered.  I continued preaching because they had faith in me.  I started attending AA meetings.  Shawna and I went to a Christian counselor to work on our marriage.  Once again, things were going well.  Only…

I had about three months of sobriety.  And Shawna went out of town for the weekend on a church retreat.  I still remember having the thought that I could take a drink while she was gone and no one would ever find out.  I also remember thinking that I should tell somebody, Shawna, an elder, my sponsor, only what would people think about me if they knew I wanted to drink?  So I kept it to myself.  And I drank.  And for the next year and few months, I continued falling deeper and deeper into my despair.  Still preaching, still attending AA, still drinking.

Until, finally, one Sunday morning, someone thought they could smell alcohol on me.  So they told the elders.  They had previously asked me to be willing to submit to random urine screens, so they gave me one.  And I failed.  And I was fired.  The only thing I ever wanted to be, the only thing I had any training in, the only thing I could do, was now taken away from me.  I had been swirling for so long, avoiding God, avoiding my support network, avoiding myself, and now I was in the belly of the fish.

In order to make sure we could still pay the bills, I took a job working overnights stocking grocery shelves.  It was a mindless job, and that was exactly what I needed at that time.  Go to work, put product on shelves, go home.  But while doing that, I couldn’t stop beating myself up.  I couldn’t stop telling myself how much of a failure I was.  I had a lot to time to tell myself how terrible I had become and everything that my family was experiencing was all my fault and it would never get better again.

And then one day, driving home from work, I heard these words on the radio:  “Oh what I do to have, the kind of strength it takes to stand before a giant, with just a sling and a stone.  Surrounded by the sound of a thousand warriors, shaking in their armor, wishing they’d have had the strength to stand.  And the giant’s calling out my name and he laughs at me.  Reminding me of all the times, I’ve tried before and failed.  The giant keeps on telling me, time and time again, boy, you never win, you never win.  But the voice of truth tells me a different story, the voice of truth says do not be afraid, the voice of truth says this is for my glory, out of all the voices calling out to me, I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.”

I had to pull over because I could not see through the tears streaming down my face.  Yes, I had messed up, yes I was in the midst of great distress, but now I could sing a song of thanksgiving, because God had not given up on me. All because the word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time.

There is a lot more to come. I hope you will join me for the journey. I hope you will be willing to share your stories with me. Let’s journey together!

Another Shooting: God, Forgive Us

Another shooting. Another tragedy. Several more victims. Several more families left torn apart. And still we argue.

God, forgive us.

Forgive us for being so consumed with violence.

Forgive us for failing to mourn with victims’ families because we are too busy arguing for our freedom.

Forgive us for sensationalizing and celebritizing people who commit heinous acts.

Forgive us for diverting necessary resources from those who struggle with their mental health.

Forgive us for proclaiming the Gospel of Fox News and not the Gospel of Christ.

Forgive us for treating the NRA as the Messiah.

Forgive us for thinking our political party is more important than the preservation of life.

Forgive us for thinking we can and should kill in the most creative ways possible.

Forgive us for prioritizing convenience over safety.

Forgive us for using tragedy as an excuse to continue insulting our President.

Forgive us for yelling at each other instead of crying with the victims.

Forgive us for thinking our identities lie with an elephant or a donkey instead of with the Lamb.

Open Letter of Apology to Teenagers

I shared this last year after a weekend retreat with the male high school students. I learned a lot that weekend. Mostly, I learned that we as adults are not doing a good job of listening to our kids. Let’s make a commitment to listen. And change.

Dear teenagers,

On behalf of adults everywhere, I want to apologize.

We have made your lives too busy. We remember our high school experience and the experiences of all of our friends and family members. And we want you to live all of it. We want you to be involved in sports, theater, afterschool programs, volunteer projects, church groups, and get certified in CPR. We have pushed and pushed and pushed until your schedules are way too full. We have made you feel like failures when you cannot keep up. We have encouraged you to choose activities over your spiritual life. We think your commitment to your sports team is more important than your commitment to your spiritual development.

We have made you so busy, you are not sleeping well and you are not eating well. We encourage you to eat quickly so you microwave a dinner or grab a value meal from a fast food restaurant. If you eat at all. You are tired and unhealthy and we push you even harder. We are pushing too hard and we are sorry.

We are also sorry that we have cared more about test scores and college admission than we have about education. We have grown up and become teachers and administrators. We have looked for more bottom line results to show that we are doing an effective job. We have been emphasizing the importance of getting high scores on achievement tests, SATs, and ACTs. We have failed to realize how stressed out you are about taking these tests.

We are in the position of voting people in, campaigning for what is important, and being involved in your education. We have become lazy and done little more than complain. And as we have stood by you have been falling deeper and deeper into your anxiety. We are sorry.

We are sorry that we have underestimated you. You are intelligent, caring, and passionate for justice in the world. But we treat you like you are little more than wound up balls of hormones. Yes, you are struggling with temptation and yes, you are struggling with physical, mental, and emotional development. But you also know that you want people to be treated fairly. You want people to be treated with respect and equality.

You may face the temptation to look at pornography, but deep down you know how terrible it is for people, especially women, to be degraded that way. And you feel you cannot talk to us about it because we have hidden all of our struggles from you. We pretend we have it all together and we hold you to such unimaginably high expectations that we have left no space for you to feel like you can ask for help.

You have been fighting and fighting and fighting to do the right things, but we have not supported you the way we should have. Now, you are self-harming, using drugs, and being medicated for anxiety or depression in astronomical numbers.

And it is our fault.

We are sorry. We want to start listening. We want to start helping. So please keep talking. Please talk to us even when it seems like we aren’t listening. Because we probably aren’t. But we need to. So talk to us until we listen.

Tell us how tired you are. Tell us how committed you are to fighting for justice. Tell us how much you thirst for knowledge. Tell us how much you want to explore and question spirituality.

Tell us what we need to hear.

Tell us until we listen.

Because listening is the best way we can show you we are sorry.

Signed,

Adults