I love the 80s. I used to watch the A-Team face a seemingly impossible situation, then everything worked out at the end. I always loved to see “the plan” come together.
The challenges in my life aren’t quite as straightforward as B.A. and Mad Dog faced. Many times my problems don’t come from “bad guys”, they come from inside me.
I am prone to believe that nobody cares about me. It’s not true, but knowledge alone doesn’t break its hold over me. Events become twisted in my mind and from my perspective, people don’t reach out to me because they don’t think I am worth the effort.
The reality is that I have great friends and family. I love them dearly and they feel the same way.
But there are times when I feel like I am always the one who has to reach out, always the one who has to initiate contact. I wish people cared about me enough to set aside their busy lives and come find me. My faith in God remains unshaken, but I feel alone and disconnected from the world.
When I pray for help, God strengthens me and I start the e-mails, text messages, and phone calls. Digital connection isn’t enough, though. Face-to-face time is the remedy.
During one of these episodes, I texted Bob to see if he was available to hang out over the upcoming weekend. He is one of my best friends and for whatever the reason, we hadn’t shared any time in the past three months.
Bob came to my house this past Saturday morning. It was beautiful outside, so we sat on lawn chairs chatting while we enjoyed coffee and bacon like we have many other times. This time, he brought experimental, air-fried bacon. I give it five stars.
I had something in particular I wanted to talk to him about. Bob’s house is next to a sober-living home. It is a regular-looking house that I only knew served in this capacity because he told me. It provides a safe environment to about a dozen men who are recovering from addiction.
A friend from my men’s group has a son who just graduated from a remarkable, faith-based rehabilitation program after thirteen months. Although I have not met his son, I heard that he had gotten a job and would be transitioning into a sober-living home. As God would have it, this particular home was the one next door to Bob’s, so I wanted to share the connection with him.
After our initial conversation catching up with each other, I brought him up to speed on my friend (who he had not met) and his son, Evan. I told Bob that Evan would become his new neighbor within the week and since Evan was looking to surround himself with godly people, that I hoped they could meet.
Bob said that would be great. He said that Evan was one of the “special ones” and he would be glad to see him again.
I told Bob that Evan wasn’t living there yet so he wouldn’t have met him before.
“Oh, no”, Bob said. “Remember two Christmases ago when I told you the story about the guy who helped me hang Christmas lights?”
I told him that I remembered.
“That was Evan. His mom came by as we were finishing up and I met her, too.”
I told Bob that it was very unlikely that we were talking about the same person. Evan is a common name, after all. Then Bob pulled out his iPhone and opened a picture.
“Is this him?”
Of course, it was him. I should have never doubted. Bob doesn’t believe in coincidence. Everything is by design. He’s right about a lot more things than just bacon.
I was happy as we finished our conversation. I was uplifted by time with a good friend but had received a revelation even more important to me.
Everybody in my morning’s story was interconnected with God and each other in ways we weren’t aware of. When I prayed for connection, God showed me that my life was overflowing with connections that I wasn’t even aware of.
A world full of such intricate, intimate connections requires a lot of planning. The planning wasn’t focused on the accomplishment of a task, though. It was focused on people.
We are God’s plan, and his plan is coming together.
Ever since God created Eve to fulfill something missing in Adam’s life (Genesis 2:20), he has been growing our number, trying to join us in spirit and in love. He is at the center, but we are connected around him in a giant, interwoven network. We need him, but we aren’t fully complete without each other.
He has been planning community.
So when I am sad, he gives me neighbors. That strengthens my connection with Him, but also binds my heart to his other children like a family ought to be. What a great plan.
To all of my friends that I haven’t connected with recently, I am sorry. I am trying to find ways to value you more than the busyness of my day. You are more important to me than any of the chores on my list, but I forget that sometimes. You are more precious to me than the extra hours that I work, but I forget that, too.
You are God’s plan for my life. If you become impatient waiting for me to reach out, please call me. I’ll drop whatever. You are worth it.
This past weekend was the opening for Avengers: Endgame. I drove from Dallas to Austin to watch it with my son, James. It was everything I hoped for.
In spectacular fashion, Marvel completed a franchise of twenty-two films spanning eleven years. They did a fantastic job weaving together characters, closing out storylines, all while pulling on your heartstrings.
James faithfully watched each movie with me. We went to the theater nineteen times and watched from home three times.
These movies have been an integral part of our father/son relationship. We went faithfully while he was in elementary-, middle-, and high-school and his freshman year of college. Various quotes have become part of our regular expression. I have unwrapped Marvel t-shirts most Christmases. We have talked about what is coming next and argued about our favorite characters.
As Endgame drew to its finale, I admit to tearing up. My emotion came not only from watching how the characters’ decisions unfolded but also because of the parallels to my life. Watching them deal with their problems has encouraged me to reach for the stars.
When Tony Stark was discovering Iron Man, I was discovering my own strengths that had laid hidden for years. As Thor struggled with the passing of his loved ones, I mourned my own losses. At the same time that Steve Rogers transformed into Captain America, I was stepping into my own destiny. While Bruce Banner confronted his inner demons, I have also faced mine. Like Peter Parker was mentored, I have been raising up the next generation.
To me, these movies are more than just entertainment. I believe that superheroes are real and have used these characters and their stories to help James find that spark inside himself.
There are people in the world who have exceptional abilities, but it isn’t their physical strength that matters most. Heroes are special because they hold onto hope. They believe that one person can make a difference and are willing to sacrifice everything for someone they do not know.
The world needs heroes.
Each superhero has an origin story. Some event or person inspired them to use what they have been given to help others. Once they were committed, they disciplined themselves mentally and physically for the task ahead. They learned the code.
Seek justice. Love mercy. Focus through the pain. Never give up. Forgive yourself when you fail.
During adventure, victory, and tragedy, I have tried to honor the code and be an example for my children. I have lifted them onto my shoulders, then waited for them to take flight. After twenty-two Marvel movies and as many years as a father, I am satisfied that I’ve given my best.
When the screen faded to black and credits started to scroll across the screen, I knew that an era had ended. Evil had threatened and heroes had risen. Their stories had been told and come to a close. They are now larger than the battles they won. They have become symbols of hope to a world that needs it.
I was thirty-something and when I took an eight-year-old boy to see Iron Man. Walking out of Endgame, I followed a nineteen-year-old man who is ready to make his own mark on the world.
My work is not finished, but his story is just getting started. This has been his origin story. His destiny lies ahead.
Fight the good fight, son, and know that I will always believe in you. Now go. The world needs you.
This weekend I finished another one of my “I wonder if I could _______” workouts. It doesn’t have a name. It took a full three-day weekend to recover from it though. That’s kind of how they go.
I like to set high goals just to see if I can achieve them. Recent examples are:
Workout #1: 3-mile run, 3 times in one day, with temperatures over 100°F, each run faster than previous
Workout #2: 500 ab wheel extensions from kneeling position
Workout #3 (this past weekend): 5-mile run, 200 chin-ups, 400 push-ups, and 600 squats in any sequence
They are weird, random ideas born out of workouts intended to push my limits. They require weeks or even months to prepare. The fatigue during the workouts and the sore muscles that follow are intense, both during training and on the big day.
It may be surprising, but staying in shape is not my primary motivation.
These workouts help me to find peace. The mechanical repetition sweeps away inner turmoil. My mind relaxes and my thoughts run free. God frequently uses that time to speak to me. During this special prayer time, typical distractions lack the power to break through.
When the stresses of life wear me down, I am drawn to my workouts. As my effort increases, my mind clears and the strange “I wonder if I could _______” ideas formulate. The goals keep me engaged as God slowly unties the knots in my soul.
The workout that I just completed took a lot of focus and a lot of time. God knew that when he gave me the idea. He knew there was a lot of untying to be done.
Maybe workouts aren’t your thing. What does give you peace and allow you to spend time alone with him? Do you knit scarves, go fishing, read books, do yardwork, or bake desserts?
Creating the right environment for a conversation is important. God gives each of us a passion as part of our design, something that encourages us to relax and open up. It helps set our mood to talk with him so that we enjoy our time together, the way a father and his child should.
Too often, I approach prayer as if it is serious work that is best performed in a comfortable chair with eyes closed and hands folded while I ask God to work miracles and give me answers. Sometimes that is best. But not always.
When I need to hear his voice, my first reaction is to grab my running shoes. It’s like going to visit him.
In Luke 5:16, we learn that Jesus frequently withdrew to lonely places and prayed. I used to assume that he would find a spot where he wouldn’t be interrupted and prayed for a long time on his hands and knees. When I read closer, a “lonely spot” sounds more like he went for a walk on a quiet path, admiring the star-filled sky while his thoughts became clear.
Perhaps Jesus’ soul was refreshed while he strolled with his Father and enjoyed the beauty of creation. After all, God did that very thing with Adam in Genesis 3:8. That seems like a great way to talk and regain focus.
The first step to obedience is to align your heart with his. That means shaking off the worries of the world and looking at life the way he does. Relaxing with him while you do something you love is a perfect way to discover his heart.
Sometimes I focus so much on doing the right thing that I forget to dedicate the time to stay connected. It doesn’t take long until my stress builds and my heart strays. Then God invites me to join him.
That means doing push-ups until I can’t count them anymore.
My workout this past weekend required completing 30 sets of various exercises. To keep track of my sets, I used a deck of cards. I counted out 30 cards and flipped one over as I completed each set. It’s a special deck of cards that Kim made for me. Each card has a reason she loves me written on the back. With each set, I read the message and was strengthened. I am loved. God helped me to receive that.
It was one of my favorite workouts.
God, please continue to invite me to share time with you. Call me to the passions you created in me that foster intimacy for our time together. Let our conversation be like a father and his son that leaves me refreshed and makes my heart yearn for the same things as you do.
The morning’s first light crept into the room, but couldn’t penetrate the darkness that engulfed John.
He realized that he hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t eaten either. He didn’t care.
Could the Passover dinner really have been just a few nights ago? It seemed like a lifetime. Everyone had been celebrating; the euphoria of their entry into the city was still fresh on their minds. They had eaten together, sang songs and Jesus blessed them. It was incredible.
What came next seemed impossible. Jesus had been executed. Judas hanged himself. Nobody knew where Thomas was or if he was alive. The other terrified disciples didn’t know who they could trust and were silently planning desperate escapes from the city.
“How did it come to this?” he thought to himself.
John reflected back to the time just after the Passover dinner when they were praying in the Garden. He recalled the dancing torch lights coming toward them and his shock at realizing they illuminated a mob armed with swords and clubs. The torches showed that all exits were blocked and the mob canvassed the area, demanding to know which person was Jesus.
What happened next was a blur. The soldiers arrested Jesus. He was only guilty of healing people and teaching them about the kingdom of heaven. For that crime, he was arrested and held for trial. Any chance of justice disappeared as a vast conspiracy unfolded that enveloped one of their inner circle, the Jewish high council, the governor, and even King Herod.
Almost immediately, Jesus was convicted, sentenced and beaten in front of the same people who had just celebrated his entry into the city. The disciples scattered into hiding, afraid for their lives. Hours later, he was dead. Gone. John’s mind ached with the searing memory of Jesus looking directly at him with a bruised face and his broken, bloody body, hanging above a city street as a warning to others.
John couldn’t remember anything after that point. He had gone into shock. When the sun rose the next morning, he was inside this room with several of his friends. He still didn’t know how he got here.
In the early dawn, the magnitude of his situation fell on him. The conspirators would immediately move to erase any chance of a rebellion. He and the other disciples were a loose end. It would be a miracle if they survived the week.
Jesus’ dying request to him was to care for his mom. John sighed and thought “I can’t even take care of myself.”
Saturday day and night had passed in silent despair. Marked for death, he couldn’t stay in Jerusalem. If he could escape the city, where could he go without being identified? Thousands had seen him with Jesus. He would have to leave the country if he wanted anonymity. With no money or friendly harbor awaiting him, any attempt seemed futile.
Over three days, it was as if the light of hope had disappeared from the earth. John’s heart had turned cold, buried in a grave inside his chest.
He spoke to himself. “Is this all there is?”
Suddenly, Mary burst through the door and screamed “He’s gone! He’s gone! His grave is empty!”
John was running past her before she could get out of the doorway. As his feet flew through the empty streets, his mind raced even faster.
If the grave was empty, something wasn’t going as planned. He had heard about the soldiers stationed at the grave to ensure that Jesus’ corpse wasn’t moved. If he was gone, something was happening. He had to know what it was.
He had seen something flash in Mary’s eyes. Confusion, but behind it, a glimmer. What was it?
John rounded the last corner and stopped in his tracks. The soldiers were all gone. The grave was wide open, the giant stone that had sealed it was pushed aside. He could see inside. It was empty.
He stooped to the ground and touched the linen wraps that had fallen off of Jesus. A whirlwind of unanswered questions swirled in his mind.
Where could Jesus’ body have gone? Who did it? How did they get past all the armed soldiers?
He inhaled deeply. Air that should smell like death burst with a sweet aroma. Although it was barely daylight, everything glowed like the sun itself. His muscles should have been tired but felt stronger than ever before. He could feel warmth flowing through his entire body. It was radiating from the tomb, inviting him in.
Voices whispered in his ear that it was time to leave, that he should run away before being recognized. They told him that it was no longer safe here.
He realized that he could no longer stand still, waiting for answers. He made his decision and stepped forward into the empty tomb.
His fears melted away in an instant. His dead heart began beating again. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the truth.
He wanted to tell everyone what he knew.
HOPE IS ALIVE!
This Easter season, if you are looking for answers or feel something pulling on your heart, I hope you will make the same decision as John. Step forward. Seek truth. Find life. If you don’t already have plans to attend a church service, I invite you to join me. Leave a comment below (please include your name) or text me at (214) 206-6490. You are always welcome at any of the services with my church family. For details, go to https://valleycreek.org/easter/ If you from an area other than Dallas, ask anyone you know who attends church if you can join them. It will be the highlight of their week. May love be your guide. Happy Easter.
The statistics tell the story of the age we live in.
The median length of time a person:
Owns a home – 9 years.
Attends a church – 7 years.
Works for a company – 4 years.
I am a 12-year guy, whether I am walking down my street, worshipping at church, or sitting in a meeting at work. It doesn’t seem like so much time has passed until I look at all the new faces around me.
These statistics aren’t too surprising. We live in an age that is perfecting instant gratification. With little more than a thought, you can change your circumstances.
If your home, church, or employer no longer meets your needs, then you can accept any of dozens of digital invitations. Once you have made your selection, just hit your reset button.
More and more of my friends are deciding that a new start would be refreshing. They are leaving their pasts behind. The boredom of routine or an ongoing frustration that is magnified by a personal hurt can be enough to spur them into action. They want a better life, and the button promises it. New beginnings, new people.
But is it an improvement or a nuclear option?
A good friend of mine at work recently determined that he wasn’t part of the “inner circle” and quit to pursue a new job with a new company. He chose to walk away from the many friendships he had built. In the end, they weren’t enough to prevent him from pursuing something new. He hit his reset button.
A family just left our church to join another one in the same town. We met a decade ago and helped raise each other’s kids. Churches aren’t a perfect haven from conflict though. Eventually, I guess they had enough. They have pressed their reset button and are starting over too.
I had hoped to share my future days with the now-former-coworker and recently-departed-church-family. I imagined we would always be together, pursuing new adventures while we offered each other a sympathetic heart and ear. Their absence leaves a void not just in me but in all the lives they routinely touched. They are still inside my phone, but mostly outside of my life. I miss them.
I accept responsibility for the times that I was the source of their frustration. I also accept responsibility for the times that I didn’t do enough when they were struggling. I’m not giving up on either of them yet though. I will try to find a way to let them know how much they are loved and missed. Maybe there is a way to undo a part of the reset.
As my 12-year streak extends, I am placing more value on the people who have been in my life for a long time. We may have seen the worst of each other’s brokenness, but we have also seen the special spark Jesus designed into each other. My new friendships don’t offer that.
In Sunday School, we used to sing “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold.” If you are already one of my friends, then you are as valuable as gold to me, and one of the most special things in my life.
I will try to become better at telling you how important you are to me and even work on showing you more often. I can’t always prevent the hurt, but maybe I can be the encouragement that arrives when you need it most. I pray that the voice of hope will be stronger than the allure of the reset button.
If the button is calling out to you today, please tell me. Or just stop by. Let’s work on building a bright future together.
They are smart, talented people who are blessed by God with many gifts. Instead of rising to the full potential the world hopes for them, they remain in the background, unnoticed by the masses, and living unremarkable lives.
The underachievers are hidden in plain view. They are your neighbors; they work with you; they ring up your groceries at the store. You may even be one of them.
Some of them have been underachieving their whole, adult lives. Others renounced their pursuit of recognition and forfeited the rewards that come with high accomplishment so that they could pursue something different.
I became an underachiever nine months ago. It happened quietly and nobody really noticed. Even me.
For years, I had led the First Fruits team. Although someone else founded our ministry, I was able to be a part of setting a new direction. Never famous, I was at least widely recognized as the face of our team. God anointed what we did, meaning he authorized us to speak on his behalf while we served him in that area. It was awesome.
Nine months ago, we handed that ministry back to God. The church that most of us attend launched a similar ministry. The needs that God had routinely directed toward us now flow there. He had entrusted us with a task and we had finished it. Sowe released it back to him.
I was a ministry leader one day and underachieving the next.
Now I spend my available time writing this blog, faithful to the new calling on my life. I can log into my Blogger account and see that a relatively small number of people view each post. Every week Facebook asks me to boost my results, hoping that I will seek to become an achiever again.
But that is not the job that God has for me in this season. So the world quietly scrolls past me, not noticing me and my underachievement, but occasionally wondering where I went.
I am a low-ranking underachiever. Kim is much better than I am. But in fairness to me, she’s been practicing longer. For twenty years, she has devoted her full time and attention to raising two children, building a home environment that fosters love, and helping others to pursue their dreams. She could have been a celebrated employee, but chose me, Erin and James instead. Classic underachievement.
She’s nothing, though, compared to her father. Bob spent forty years delivering the U.S. Mail. He quietly walked his route or drove a mail truck, making modest money with great benefits that provided food and shelter for his family and even a college education for his kids. Like most mailmen, he was seldom noticed. His family noticed, though. So did his church, where he was a deacon. He was much loved and is now desperately missed.
People notice the underachievers the least, but then miss them the most when they are gone.
People like Kim and Bob have helped me to recognize my newfound peers. I have been (and still am) both an achiever and an underachiever. One is not inherently right or the other wrong and neither is necessarily better than the other, but underachieving is harder.
Achievers enjoy a constant stream of encouragement and admiration. It is easy for them to reach for greater heights as crowds cheer them on. They are esteemed and rewarded with things that the world envies.
The underachievers busily build the foundation of our families and cities while the world adores the towers and cathedrals.
They pursue their calling quietly. Lacking encouragement from others, they pray a lot, seeking it from the Father who loves them dearly. In the kingdom to come, many of them will become achievers. After a few seasons at the end of the line, they will enjoy an eternity of favor.
They don’t have to wait, though. We can reward them today. They are easy to find, just look behind any achiever, or see who has been silently helping you. They don’t want much, just a “thank you” or acknowledgment of the value of the job they perform.
God loves all his children, and he will make sure the underachievers get their reward. It would please both him and if we would bless them now. While people associated my name with First Fruits’ successes, there were people who served equally faithfully but quietly. I think I’ll start by thanking some of them.
As people continue to ask what is next for me, I am trying to focus less on my next step. Instead, I am trying to see my life through the Father’s eyes and share what I learn. It’s been challenging and I still have a long way to go.
Hopefully, I will gain the patience of a champion underachiever along the way.
My Thank-You List for Today (apologies to those I missed)
Carra Day Carra joined our team during a season of her own crisis. Regardless of how difficult things were for her, she faithfully gave her best. Thank you, Carra, for showing me that seemingly overwhelming needs will be met by a loving Father and that empty hands always have something to give. (Picture of Carra praying over a homeless man at Operation Care) Hank Cates Hank joined our team later than many of the core team but instantly became a key ingredient. On days that were too hot, during tasks that were unfathomably difficult, when we needed it most, Hank’s ready smile and genuine laugh charged the atmosphere. Thank you, Hank, for reminding me that serving is a joy, and friends are meant to be enjoyed. Thank you for being my friend. (Picture as Hank saw the gutters he was asked to hang on a 100° day) Mary Jo Johnson Though she be but little, she is fierce. Nobody works harder than Mary Jo. Across the years, she has always given her very best. Whenever I was ready to give up and cut corners, she encouraged me to find a way and summoned the strength for both of us. Thank you, Mary Jo, for pushing us all to excellence in the details. We wouldn’t have been the same without you.
Steve Hermann Steve was always the most equipped person on our team. He arrived early every workday, always prepared for the task at hand. He was the first person we asked for advice on how to perform a task. Despite that, he served with inspirational modesty. Never seeking attention, he remained in the background. Thank you, Steve, for modeling the nature of humility.
