But it’s just a joke…

Around the dinner table at our home the other evening, an epidemic of silly knock-knock jokes broke out. Pretty much everyone in the family joined in.

We told classic ones like:

Knock-knock

Who’s there?

Boo

Boo who?

Aww, why are you so sad?

*laughter*

Then, there were several like this:

Knock-knock

Who’s there?

Keys

Keys who?

Keys ice cream.

*awkward silence*

*laughter*

It was so much fun watching the look of joy spread across our children’s faces when they realized they’d successfully make everyone around the table laugh. Most of the jokes didn’t even make sense. They didn’t have to. We were just having a great time as a family. In fact, I can’t wait until it happens again.

But, during that very same joke session, as I was rolling through my mental rolodex of childhood jokes, I began recalling all sorts I heard growing up that were so ugly, embarrassing, and humiliating.

Some of you may not have gone through the primary school joking phase, but I did.

And at times the jokes I participated in quite were cruel. And the majority of them were with the kids in my church youth group.

We had “put down jokes”, where the idea was to make yourself look awesome by verbally obliterating someone else. (Usually the weakest kid in the group.)

We had the typical “your mom” jokes, where you basically see how many horrible things you could say about someone else’s mother. (Usually the mother of the weakest kid in the group.)

We had “you’re so fat” jokes and “you’re so poor” jokes and “you’re so ugly” jokes. (Usually about the weakest kid in the group.)

In fact, this particular phase just happened to hit when I was a chubby, pre-pubescent, thick-glasses wearing preacher’s kid who would have given anything for people to stop thinking I was my mother when I answered the phone.

I was an easy target. So, to make myself less of a target, I began to practice the art of words.

No matter what they said to me or about me, I’d come back with something far more humiliating. I’d collect everyone’s payments of high fives, then that night at home I’d cry at how hurt I was, and how much I hated my stupid body…my stupid hair…my stupid glasses…my stupid life…

On the surface, everything seemed so innocent. “They’re just jokes!” we’d say.

But when you really break it down, here are the ingredients of a joke:

Words.

Intentions.

Results.

If the results aren’t what you wanted, you keep trying until you get there.

As I get older, somewhere inside I’ve begun to realize that what I claimed were
jokes weren’t actually jokes at all. Reality is, I was trying to hurt someone else with my words. To elevate myself. To keep them from making fun of me. And then I’d find a way to justify what I said.

The same happens today, doesn’t it?

…In arguments with our spouses…

…In how men speak publicly about women…(sometimes I wonder if some men realize there’s more to a woman than her “ass” or “tits”…or lack thereof)…

…In how we discuss leaders…their families…their decisions…

There’s seems to have been a spike in public flippancy with words recently.

Personalities making jokes about a public figure’s handicapped child. (This really pisses me off.)

Just a few days ago, a hugely popular conservative radio host called young woman a “slut” and “prostitute” because of her political views.

Prominent pastors are frequently making unwise statements on live television or from their widely visible pulpits, which their faithful then repeat as gospel.

News flash: it’s not now, and never will be gospel. The gospel looks like Jesus, and using words that destroy never looks like Jesus.

In Matthew 12, Jesus gives us quite the sobering thought when it comes to our words: “I tell you, on the day of judgement people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.”

Woah.

I love the gift of words. Language is beautiful and life-giving. But it’s also very easily used as a murder weapon.

When I was a little boy, we used to sing a song that said, “Be careful little mouth what you say…”

This needs to be wallpapered in every corner of our hearts and minds.

This isn’t about whether you cuss or not. This isn’t about whether you should make strong points or not.

This is about making sure that before a phrase is released from our mouths, that we know for sure our words will bring peace, life, and healing.

—–

“Words realize nothing, verify nothing to you, unless you have suffered in your own person the thing which the words try to describe.” // Mark Twain

Pay Attention

“Can I put those items at the front counter while you finish shopping, sir?”

I never made eye-contact, but the retail worker stretched her hands toward the pile of glass bowls I was balancing in my arms.

“Thanks, that would be great,” I said, still concentrating on her hands.

Her hands.

They were gentle and middle-aged, slightly weathered but well cared for.

As I transferred the bowls from my arms to her hands, I noticed there was an untanned circle of skin around her left ring finger. As if an actual band of precious metal representing a long-standing relationship or marriage had once occupied that space, but no longer.

She headed in the direction of the front counter and I continued scouring the shelves for bargains. That was the end of our short, no eye-contact interaction.

After we checked out, and as my wife strolled into another store, I opted to stroll our special-needs son, Jude, around outside the doorway as he let us know in no uncertain vocal terms he was quite bored of our shopping habits.

I pushed his stroller back and forth in wider and wider paths until we began passing back and forth in front of the store where I bought the bowls.

And there she was. The kind woman who had helped me only moments ago. Standing in the shop doorway.

Weeping.

Another woman around the same age had pulled her into a tight embrace and was trying very hard to help bring comfort.

“It’s going to be ok,” She was saying, “You won’t be alone, I am here for you…divorce isn’t the end…”

Woah. I didn’t see that coming at all.

Mostly because I wasn’t looking.

I wasn’t paying attention.

I was so busy eyeballing the sales, I completely missed an incredibly broken person standing right next to me.

Our hands touched, but I never even looked at her.

All day long she served customers who had absolutely no idea that as she smiled at them, her heart lay broken inside her.

A line from the film Crash that came out several years ago that’s always stuck with me sums up this moment powerfully:

“It’s the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you…We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”

In scripture, Jesus invites us to walk two miles when we’re asked to walk one…

to give our coat also when we’re asked for our shirt…

to bless…

to pray for…

to love…

And all those things specifically for people who appear as our enemies!

So, if that’s how we give our lives away to our enemies (which is a whole different topic for another day), then how much more so should we give care to the broken and indifferent?

We must learn to pay attention.

To our spouses and children and close friends (they should be the most obvious).

But to the server having a terrible day at the restaurant where we’re eating…

The clerk behind the counter with a bad attitude…

The smelly guy who cuts in front of us at the grocery store…

Create your own list.

Make eye contact.

Be merciful.

Give grace.

Offer second chances.

Speak life and healing.

Pay attention. (A command I give my children all the time, but one that I need more than they do.)

Generosity (in any form) is never wasted.

—–

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”  // J.R.R. Tolkien // Lord of the Rings

One of the most important things we don’t have

The whole Chambers Village crew!

I’m not exactly sure how it happened.

Perhaps it was gradual…like slowly bringing water to boil.

All I know is that one day, we realized we were different.

Really different.

Strange even.

Weird.

Not normal.

When my wife, Jordana was expecting our twins a couple years ago, we were teetering on the possibility of early labor, and I remember telling our family doctor and his wife (who are friends of ours) that sometimes I wish we could just fit into a category…even for a little while. They told me later they couldn’t believe those words had come out of my mouth.

Maybe you understand what I’m talking about.

Somehow, our family doesn’t ever seem to fit…no matter where we go or what we do.

In fact, at times the judgement of people who don’t like the how/what/why/where’s of our life is so brutal, it can throw us off for weeks. (These experiences literally drain the life out of everything.) Afterwards people usually try to explain that they “mean well”, but to us it simply comes across as “mean”.

I don’t share that for your pity, this is the life we’re called to. We don’t know how to do anything else. We recognize how nuts we must look, but abandoning this would be abandoning who we were created to be.

Don’t get me wrong, in the midst of the journey we’ve screwed up a lot…skinned our knees and busted our noses along the roads of this life many times. This isn’t about us needing to be held higher than anyone else…there are moments when we’ve barely figured out the next step before it’s time to go.

But, one thing I’m 100% certain of heading into 2012 is this: we need community.

For me to be who I’m called to be as man, non-profit director, husband and father…I need community.

For my marriage to weather dark days and shine as long as we both shall live…we need community.

For Jordana and I to be able to love and parent our children (or villagers as we’ve come to call them) as the precious gifts they are…we need community.

For us to be who we’re called to be as a family…we need community.

So often people throw opinions at us like hunting spears, thinking we’ll receive them like a bouquet of roses, but the challenge for 99% of them is they’re not in community with us.

We might attend church together, or know each other from around town, but if you want to be able to speak into our lives…we need to trust you…know that we are safe with you…that you know our hearts and we know yours.

It’s a two-way street. We’re called to pour ourselves into others the way we need them to pour into us.

Spurring each other on…encouraging each other…

Bearing burdens (none of us will ever run out of burdens to share)…

Rejoicing…mourning…fighting…praying…pressing on…

Together.

A solid community has been a challenge for our family for many years now, and I think it’s partly to do with two reasons:

1. It’s difficult for some to comfortably embrace our family (5 kids…humanitarians…gluten free…special needs child…we’re complicated…)
2. We shy away when people get too close (after you’ve been burned a few times, this becomes a habitual response)

But my heart for 2012 is for us reconnect with community again. We need it like a desert needs water. And so do you…and so do the people around you.

Will you commit with me to seek community for yourself and your family (if you have one?)

Will you commit with me to being community for someone else? I promise there are people near you like us who would give anything to be in community with you.

You may never know the life-restoring impact you’ve had…but my gut feeling is, if you pour yourself into someone else, the life-restoring impact will be unmistakable.

Community is never easy, but it’s a huge part of us becoming who God has designed us to be. So let’s give ourselves to each other and see the life God creates our of our vulnerability.

——

“Community is first of all a quality of the heart. It grows from the spiritual knowledge that we are alive not for ourselves but for one another. Community is the fruit of our capacity to make the interests of others more important than our own. The question, therefore, is not “How can we make community?” but “How can we develop and nurture giving hearts?” // Henri Nouwen

——

How do you live in community? I’d love to read your thoughts…

And a massive THANK YOU to those who walk with us on this crazy journey…

The day I broke the bank

There are many trends from the 1980s that we love and hate.

Leg warmers…Schoolhouse Rock…teased hair…Smurfs…slap bracelets…Jelly shoes…Atari…Trapper Keepers…Cabbage Patch Kids…Teddy Ruxpin…(may the awkward memories wash over you like a flood).

But before I learned how to overuse the word “psyche!” (for you youngsters, today’s equivalent of “psyche” would be “bro”), and somewhere around the age of four, my parents kept approximately a million pennies in a clear-glass Snoopy shaped bank. (It may only have been a hundred pennies…don’t judge me, it’s a memory from when I was four.)

One morning while my mother was occupied with her PBS aerobics workout, I concocted a plan to make some of those pennies mine.

I found my dad’s hammer and went to work.

For any four-year-olds reading this and wanting to learn from my mistakes, the one regret I have is that I forgot how loud glass was when it shattered.

My mother sprinted into the dining room and immediately went into rescue mode.

Then, she noticed something…

“What’s in your hand?” She knelt down next to me.

I just stared at her and clenched my little fist shut as tightly as I could.

“Show mommy what’s in your hand.”

I don’t remember exactly, but I think at that point I said something brilliant, like, “There’s nothing in my hand…I just want to keep it closed.”

She took my arm and slowly peeled back my fingers…and there it was. Blood. I was cut. I was hurt. And I didn’t want anyone to know.

Fortunately, all it took to repair me was a quick trip to the pediatrician, a Scooby-Doo bandaid and a lollipop.

But…

What strikes me as I think back on this is how young we are when we discover how to hide our hurts.

My fear was that I would get into more trouble if my mom found out. I associated my lingering hurt with the consequences of breaking the bank.

Instead, my mom picked me up out of the huge mess I had made and carried me to the place where I could get help and healing.

Today…all over this world…are people sitting in the middle of messes with clenched fists. Hoping no one (especially God) asks them to open their hands and show their cuts.

Reality is, the mess can’t be cleaned up as long as we’re still in it, and our hurts can’t be healed if no one knows about them. Hiding only makes it worse. Time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds…especially the ones we won’t let go of.

Jesus came for the broken. He came for the sick. The stained. The mess-makers.

Maybe you’re one of those people.

Maybe you know one of those people.

Either way, it’s time for rescue to begin.

There isn’t more punishment waiting for you as a result of your hurts…but there is hope.

And hope starts with opening your hand.

———————————

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, for the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted and to proclaim that captives will be released and prisoners will be freed. // Isaiah 61

———————————

If you’re struggling with hurt today…please email me…I’d love to encourage you!

One time I got dumped on my birthday…

One time I got dumped on my birthday.

Underneath a starry sky.

I went outside with her to what I was hoping was a special “present” (wink, wink), but instead she beat the crap out of my heart and left it bloodied and bruised by the curb.

Ok, that was a little melodramatic. Sorry…I’ve just always wondered what it would be like to be Emo.

She even used the “God told me to” line. Which of course left me wondering if my whole life I had actually been following a false god, because I thought our relationship had been getting a Heavenly thumbs-up for Level 3. (I have no idea what Level 3 is, but I do know it’s not the same as 3rd base). But then I figured that she must be a one who was mistaken because I was a PK (pastor’s kid), and PK’s are NEVER on the wrong side of an issue. (Right, guys?)

Anywho.

It hurt.

I mean, who actually enjoys getting dumped?

The next day, I began the spin with what were and always will be two of the WORST. LINES. EVER.

“It was mutual” (it wasn’t), and “We’re just gonna be GREAT friends.” (ha!)

I thought my life was over.

But, fortunately, I was still in high-school, so within weeks I was back on the market.

From our earliest memories we learn how to walk away. We even learn how to use walking away as a scare tactic to get people to do what we want.

As a child, how many times did you yell, “I’m not your friend anymore!” when another 4-year-old got all up in your all-these-toys-are-mine zone?

I’m not sure what percentage of the time it worked, but I do know we learned it early.

How often in the middle of a heated moment with a close friend, the person you’re dating or your spouse have either of you stopped everything and said: “Look…this is a really difficult moment/season for us, but I just want you to know I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m staying, and we are going to fix this.”?

I’d wager not very often. Those lines are an exception. The rule is: “If you don’t get your life together…I’m leaving. I’m outta here.”

In fact, for the first four years of my marriage, I can’t remember one time where I verbally said to my wife, “I don’t care how hard this is, I’m not going anywhere.”

I never had any plans of leaving, but I simply didn’t make a point of reminding her that I was staying. And I found a million things to distract my heart from actually being around when it was time to deal the things that mattered.

I was physically there, but also somewhere else.

Why?

Because my eyes were on the storms…the circumstances…the imperfections…(and it was much easier to make a big deal about hers than my own).

The only reason Peter began to sink in the lake as he walked to Jesus was because He took his eyes off where they were supposed to be.

In our relationships, we resort to fear tactics because we think it will shock the other person into doing something.

Instead, it only gives our mind permission to form a terrible definition of love that says: They will love me only as long as I don’t mess this up.

That’s an impossible way to live.

Our lives were meant to emulate a love that decimates fear.

Our relationships were meant to be a neon billboard screaming to the world of how to stay, not how to leave.

Our homes were designed to be a safe place to run TO and not AWAY from when the squeeze of life begins.

But in order for that to happen, we must take our cues from the right source.

“Such love has no fear, because perfect love expels all fear. If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not fully experienced [God's] perfect love. We love each other because he loved us first.” // 1 John 4:18-19

Love > Fear.

Who needs you to remind them that you’re staying today?