Hopeless Ramblings

Do you have the time
To listen to me whine
About nothing and everything
All at once
I am one of those
Melodramatic fools
Neurotic to the bone
No doubt about it
-"Basket Case" by Green Day

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
--Proverbs 13:12

I am not Job.

I was not a man worthy of praise for my uprightness. I certainly wouldn't draw the attention of Satan for my ability to avoid sin. I've not lost everything and everyone I love in a flash. I'm not covered in sores. My wife is not telling me to curse God and die- actually, she is a glimmer of hope in my life.

But those glimmers of hope are few and far between lately. I don't face Job-like catastrophes just yet. My job is on the line, my kids got sick and the medicine is ridiculously expensive, my computer crashed and we lost all important documents and pictures of the last two years, and the tendinitis in my elbow is getting pretty painful.

These things seem small to you, no doubt. But they don't to me. They are piling up, and despite my hopes and prayers- there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

I guess I should also point out that in the midst of all this, I've been looking for God. I've been asking Him for help, for direction, for light- but all that happens is one more thing to weigh me down.

I don't want you to quote me scripture, or give me some platitude about how "things will turn out." I don't know that I can believe that. Things have always turned out before- but that is no guarantee now. Things didn't turn out for John the Baptist when he was arrested and put before Herod. Why do we assume that "things will turn out" when many of the people of the Bible ended up on the total opposite of "OK?"

So, what if I lose my job and there isn't another one to fill its place? What if, on the limited budget that creates, we can't pay bills, or the car breaks down or some major illness hits? What if the way out I've been praying for never comes?

How can I have faith when it seems God is silent?

I remember once in college, shortly after my Dad passed away, I was at a small group leaders meeting with twenty or so other college students. Something was said and I responded to it. One of the other leaders, Michael- who I had always seen as a great example of faith and conviction and desire for God- looked at me and said, "You have such faith."

What happened?

I served in churches where "Christians" ate each other alive at the drop of the hat. I've seen fervent prayer for healing or rescue go seemingly unanswered. I've watched as truly faithful people struggle while others seem to have it easy with seemingly little dependence on faith. I've seen hollow believers ascend to leadership because of who they knew, while those whose hearts are true wallow in the depths of anonymity.

Through all of that, I've had faith. It has been tested, it has been tried, it has ebbed and flowed- as it is even now.

And I recognize that faith is not a constant- sometimes we have it and sometimes we don't. Right now, my faith is low. Perhaps next week it will rise, perhaps after lunch, perhaps not for a long while. My faith is low, because my hope it exhausted.

Just last week, I came across a quote from Hurley on the show Lost:

Look, I don't know about you, but things have really sucked for me lately, and I could really use a victory. So let's get one, dude! Let's get this car started. Let's look death in the face and say: 'Whatever, man!'"

I'm between the first and second sentences there right now. I need a victory. I need God to show up. I need my faith and what little hope I have to be validated.

See, it would be easy for me to take what I'm feeling and say, "Forget you, God- you've left me and don't seem to care. Your expectations and rules are too much for me, so I'm gone." Believe me, this is tempting.

But I can't.

And I can't really explain why I can't. Perhaps it's in the fact that I know God is real. And if I know and believe that God is real, then I must recognize what He said and has done in the past for me and all people is real.

Perhaps it's the fact that I don't know how to not trust in God, that's all I've ever known.

Or maybe, it's the fact that if I let go of the hope I have in God, then I really have nothing left to hope in.

And if that's the case, then the hope I now have is that I am right where God wants me: lowly and contrite, broken and malleable. Available to Him. Useful to Him.

Wholly His.

And it is there that I will get to the second sentence in Hurley's quote- that I will look death, or failure, or unemployment, or stagnation in the face and say "Whatever, man!"

And He will be the only victory I want or need.

The Hike

Sometimes, a road seems so long that you grow weary, and you wonder why you ever set out on it in the first place. You question whether your commitment to the path is really worth the effort. Sure, you enjoy the scenery, and you get a good workout from the hike, but those 'rewards' seem small compared to the fact that you've been walking for a while and no big milestones have been passed yet. So, you stop, sit, and flirt with the notion of giving up.

Other hikers walk by, coming from some other trails, and tell you the hike is worth it. You appreciate their kind words, but they haven't been walking with you, they don't know what you've been through. There are other hikers, ones who have been following you, but they'e been quiet, watching you and seeing what you do. Some have been with you from the start, they are tired, too. Others have been picked up along the way, and have a little more pep to them. It is one of them, or a chorus of them that speaks up, and says what you've needed to hear, but never knew it:

"You have made my hike a little better."
"You've made me feel like I belong to this hiking tour like no other hiking tour ever has."

"I feel closer to the summit than I ever have before, and couldn't have done it without you."

"You've changed the way I view hiking."

Your heart stirs, the weariness fades a bit, and the path no longer looks so daunting. You will carry on, buoyed by the encouragement of the people following you.

For a while now, I've been tired. I've seen God doing small things in the ministry He's called me to, but for whatever reason, it hasn't seemed good enough. At least, not good enough to impassion me. It's been a yo-yo of spirituality for me for the last few years, and I'm pretty sure the up and down isn't done yet. But just a few days ago, I'd had enough. I wasn't hearing encouragement from God- it seemed- and the bright spots I'd even recently spotted were seeming dim. So I told God- "I need something. I need to know what I've pursued with the Gate matters, that it's worth something. That I matter."

That hit me Thanksgiving night, and I sat down, and threw a pity party. I was ready to stop the hike. I was consumed with anxieties and fears about church, job, life, and everything. I was angry at God, and didn't know why. So I called Him out.

Then, Sunday night. We had our last night of Storytellers, a series we'd been doing at church where we invited the folks that make up our church the chance to share their story, or a message they felt God had laid on their heart. The other two nights had been great, Maddie had taught a great message about letting God take away your anxieties and fears. Evan shared about how God had used the Gate to lead him closer to God than he'd been, and Bethany shared about how God has His hand in things in ways that can surprise- and save- us. Last night, Amy shared about how God led us to realize how little we are in control, but that it's a good thing. Andy shared how one person can make a difference, even if it seems small at the time, to change things in a big way. And Sara closed us out with a message of hope that God can heal our brokenness.

I still didn't fully have the theme God was teaching me yet. I'm slow like that.

This morning, I felt the need to listen to Mumford & Sons. I clicked on their first album on Grooveshark and let it play. While the music played, I was chatting with Daniel, who encouraged me unexpectedly with a sledgehammer of hope- God was using me. There was a difference being made through me, despite my fears, anxieties and failings as a follower of Christ.

Then, the lyrics to the Mumford & Sons pierced my heart:

"So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears"

And

"So make your siren's call

And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it's meant to be"

God cares. And what I've learned is that we need to listen to Him, and we need to listen to the words of others when they encourage. We need to offer it freely as well. Sometimes when we don't 'hear God,' the door that opens to that comes from listening to those hiking with us. As pastors, we need to let those in our care share what God is doing in their lives- you'll be surprised how often it's more than you think. And people need to tell their leaders when they have made a difference in their lives. Pastors need to encourage their flock- and not just from the pulpit (or bar floor).

I don't think we realize how often we all need a kind word from someone else. After all, God's kindness is what leads us to repentance. Makes sense that His followers acting out that aspect of His character would have a similar result.

This morning, a combination of the words from Storytellers ringing in my ears, an encouraging Facebook chat, and Mumford & Sons brought me to tears- and closer to God. So, I put my pack back on, stood to my feet, and resumed my hike. My hope and prayer is that I lead well those who go along with me. That when they grow weary, I give hope, and when I falter again, they again lift me up.
The journey is long, but it is worth it. But only if we go together.

Seeing the Dark, or How to Keep Stress from Eating You

There have been times when I will wake up in the middle of the night, and the dark is so deep that I get disoriented. I forget where the lamp by my bedside is, where the door is, which way is which. Having lost all sense of direction, a slight sense of panic will briefly arise and I'll kind of flail about trying to find my bearings (and possibly hitting my wife) in an effort to regain control of my faculties. These incidents last maybe ten or fifteen seconds, but they seem like an eternity. Finally, my eyes will adjust, my sensibilities return, my wife asks, "What'd you do that for?" and normalcy and sleep soon return.

In the midst of the panic, it's not just my senses that are scrambled, its my thinking. All the things that give me comfort or security are still right where they once were, but I am unable to recognize them, or even see them as they are. The reason?

I can only see the dark.

Crazy, right? I mean, the dark isn't an object you can see, it's more of a concept. It's not really even a color. But in those moments of...whatever that is, it becomes almost tangible, almost alive, and it can be terrifying.

Now, before you write me off as a big baby who is afraid of the dark, remember this is for like fifteen seconds. I actually love the dark, and like walking in it- on my terms, which these cases are most definitely not.

Also, I'm seeing these episodes as a metaphor for some current things I'm dealing with, and probably so are a lot of others.

When a kid is afraid of the dark, what they are really afraid of is what is IN the dark that will come out and get them. The dark is a cover for truly nefarious things. As an adult we don't believe in monsters, but we do believe there are bad things in the dark- things we can't see at the moment, but we know are there.

Like stress.

Bills we know are coming. That conversation that we know we must have. Obligations that need to be met. Responsibilities to be undertaken. Consequences that are going to fall. Then, sometimes these inevitables are eclipsed by the true terrors- possibilities.

Let's face it, good possibilities rarely keep us up at night, but the possibility, the fear that tomorrow you get fired, or someone you love gets hurt, or a tornado could hit- these spring your eyes wide open.

And they are irrational.

The problem I've had lately is that these stressors- real and imagined- have become the dark. THEY are what I see, and no amount of flailing about trying to find my comforts and safeties has worked. Because I see the problem, and not the solution.

In the last few weeks, I think I've wanted to see the problem more than the solution. It makes no sense, but by wallowing in the problems I see ( and being incapacitated by them) feels easier than trying to see the solutions. Maybe it's anxiety or a mental thing, or maybe it's a spiritual one. Or both.

Two things have happened in the last 24 hours that have begun to clear the dark for me, and hopefully it can for you if you've been 'seeing the dark.'

1) Last night, our church had Restoration, a our communion service made up of lots of music, low lights, and stories of thankfulness shared by people. One person, Ashley, spoke of the need for us to just talk about how much we love Jesus, and how good He is to us more often. Usually, I write that kind of talk off as "Sunshine and Rainbows" talk, but not the way Ashley put it. There was a truth to it- a truth because she meant it, felt it, experienced it and knew it. She was not reciting some mantra the church taught her, she was speaking out of the overflow of what God was doing in her heart. By the way, that's called worship. So, thanks Ashley for sharing that we need to see God instead of the problems, if you'll forgive my paraphrasing and co-opting there.

2) Spurred on by that seed planted last night, I turned the I-pod on to "How He Loves," Crowder's radio version. I turned to that song mostly because God usually speaks louder when I listen to that song over others. Not sure why, other than it is one of the more heartfelt worship songs I've ever heard. In the midst of an always moving song, there is the lyric:

When all of a sudden
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
And I realise just how beautiful You are
And how great Your affections are for me

I recognized my problem was that I was all too aware of my 'afflictions.' They were the dark I could see, all that I could see. As if to accentuate the point, around the time this lyric went by, the sun broke through an overcast morning sky to shine on my face, startling me. See, God talks louder when you listen to the David Crowder Band.

That's the key to getting this. You either see your problems (your dark) or you see His affections for you. You cannot SEE them both. I'm not saying feeling loved by God makes your problems go away- it doesn't. But it so eclipses them that they are gone from pressing hard on your mind. You are not trapped by them, not in a panic over them.

For me, it is a choice I have to make constantly- do I see the dark, or do I see the glory and affection of God? Generally, if I want to feel in control, I try to see the dark. Which is ironic, because when I see the dark, I am in no way anywhere near the vicinity of in control.

But if I want peace? I let the dark be eclipsed by God's glory. I look at the love He has shown me, and trust in that.