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If my perception of beauty is skewed, how did I get this way and what must be tranformed in my heart?

ch-ch-ch-changes are coming

Time may change me, but I can't trace time.
-- David Bowie

During my graduate studies, I took a 3-day seminar entitled Worship. Bethel assigned one of the oldest faculty members at the school, so I was expecting the obligatory traditional vs. contemporary argument and came prepared to speak my peace. The discussion began on cue, but I grimaced as the tangent veered from characteristics of worship to a more generalized defense of Christian America and the concern for its well-being.

If you grew up an educated evangelical, you are aware that "the United States was founded upon Christian principles" and that the demise of these principles is the greatest threat to our faith. Therefore, we should make every effort to hold our ground against the liberal opposition, because a law void of Christian principles is no law to be served.

[Here I was thinking that a Christ dependent on our law was no Christ worth serving...]

I suggested that becoming the minority would be the best thing to happen to the American church since its institution. For the first time in our nation's history, believers would have the opportunity to teach the difference between common and holy living without the sacramental melting pot to which we've grown accustomed. Like everything else American, the church offers infinite options to suit our lifestyles, time restraints, and standards of comfort. If we are not "called" to greater service (i.e. degree of sacrifice) then we can reap the benefits of our faith without change.

So let's not fancy the language as we stand up for Christian principles -- most are not as concerned with their fellow American choosing hell as they are with the threat of a less comfortable or entertaining life. All I'm saying is that our physical doom and gloom lacks kingdom perspective.

I may offer the impression that I enjoy change because I don't mind reestablishing myself in new locations or social circles. That impression would be inaccurate; as with any man, complacency is the easier road to navigate. To deliver a message of reformation, I must batter the flesh that resists movement. When I take my eyes off Christ, I succumb to the fears common to us all.

This much is true: little difference will be noticed as the calendar is replaced this evening. We can all look back one, five, or ten years and begrudge the changes that have affected our comfort. We can also choose to follow the Spirit in 2012 and concern ourselves less with maintaining our current position. This world will fail you, whether you cling to it or not. Politicians will continue to make choices that represent America's godlessness, and the people will continue to seek more darkness -- this is what faithless people have always done.

However, our call is not to legislate, but to redeem. When we turn the hearts of people by living as light, this will be reflected upon our communities. Where His Spirit is present, justice and truth will be upheld without our protective measures.

But seek first his kingdom and righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matt. 6:33-34)

the mall

As a toddler and preschooler, there was a given: being taken to the mall provided infinite opportunities for my bottom to be swatted. I nagged, tugged, and dragged my feet. I told my mommy 217 times (on average) that I was bored. I crawled under the circular clothing racks, because my imagination viewed them as forts and not as practical devices for practical adults. My older brother acted like an angel in front of my parents to make me look that much worse, only to prod me like a cattle when he knew they weren't looking.

Unavoidably, during that period between 11:30 and 1:00 on Sunday afternoon, my dad would utter those dreaded words: "Just wait until you get home."

I knew what it meant, and he never bluffed. He never forgot. I would sit quietly in the back seat for the next 30 minutes (what felt like 5 hours) knowing what was coming to me. This was what the mall meant to me.

Shortly after I received my first set of wheels, I grew stupid -- I began liking the mall. The mall became associated with spending my own money, unsupervised tom foolery, and meeting rival-school girls that didn't know I was a complete tool. It felt like anything was possible at the mall.

Some seven years later, I stopped cold turkey. I remember my 23-year-old self shopping with my work buddies and taking my girlfriend out for dinner...and then it ceased -- all of it -- seemingly out of nowhere.

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Our therapist at work has resigned for a better opportunity. With all the uncertainty in residential care, our kids are having to part with one more caring person in their lives. As a going away gift, the therapist decided to meet all seven at the mall to Build-A-Bear.

Lucky me...

My mind immediately did its thing as we entered the crowded parking lot: "Don't these people have anything better to do? Who returns items two days after Christmas? I thought the economy was bad and people didn't have money to spend. How are we going to find a place to park a 12-passenger van while the girls maintain their patience?"

[It occurred to me later in the evening that these people didn't have anything better to do and may not have been spending money. It was slushy and cold outside, and an indoor Indiana mall is the closest thing to a winter park.]

As we entered the mall, I immediately identified my insecurity; I found this ironic, since I had visited the mall to run from my insecurities as a teenager. Mall couples walked the aisles two by two. Younger teenage couples held hands. Young married couples led their perfect toddler children. I'm not a huge fan of winter, but I adore winter attire. Everyone looked beautiful and happy, and I was feeling ghastly.

We made our way to the Build-A-Bear workshop, and I tried to fake a smile as the girls picked out their bears. We stood in a long line, and the girls were surprisingly calm about it, so I had some time to peer around the store. I caught my co-worker's eye and whispered an impulsive thought:

"I want a penguin."

She shook her head in affirmation and approached the therapist with our plan. If the two of us felt out of place as middle-aged singles in a museum of couples, we could briefly identify with the children. I sat next to our girls on the floor as I inserted the penguin's heart and pledged to love him. I filled out Petey's birth certificate and browsed the overpriced clothing that would suit him. All that was missing was the circular rack in which we would play.

I woke up this morning and discovered Petey in the box, wondering what drove me to spend $17 on a stuffed penguin for myself. Perhaps I'm passing through another stage of grief: Petey representing everything in life that I feel I've missed. What I feel is emotionally underdeveloped; I don't understand how a 33-year-old is supposed to feel and act. I've spent my entire adulthood working with young people, and the longer I'm at it, the more I feel like I'm wasting away. Young people do not keep me young: they only force me to acknowledge the distance between myself and a more appealing version.

Sorry, I didn't plan on being mopey in this post -- it sort of happened. I think I'll stay away from the mall.

my favorite Christmas verse

It is tradition in our household for me to read Luke 2:1-20 before we exchange gifts with one another. Such a familiar passage can easily become robbed of its power, as the circumstances of Christ's birth have become so accepted that we lose the wonder of "being there." Roughly ten years ago, I was drawn to this verse while reciting the narrative:

But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart. (Luke 2:19)

In the midst of Luke's typical play-by-play is this rare account of human emotion. It's like Luke is describing hundreds of mind-blowing events, and the woman in the middle can do little more than soak it up like a sponge. It must have hit her like a brick. After enduring every trial common to a woman giving birth, Mary finally had the chance to acknowledge, "Wowzers...that really just happened."

Can you imagine? Just a kid by modern description? Yesterday, Mary was a participant in a promise, but today there are angels, witnesses, and curious bystanders holding Mary's child as the center of attention. Is it possible to be more humbled and proud in the same moment? Mary's "treasuring" is in reality a protecting or guarding. It's taking note of the events around her and allowing "all these things" to solidify the truth of the Promise. The Greek term translated "pondering" literally means "to throw together." Mary captured the individual events in her heart and constructed the greater meaning: this son of hers was worthy of creation's praise.

I read that verse and I think of the greatest God moments in my own life, where even as a participant I feel like an open-jawed spectator. That's how magnificent He is. That's how blessed we are to be instruments of His glory.

#3 -- a love distorted

I was first introduced to Gary Chapman's Five Love Languages during an evangelism training session in college. I didn't give it much thought -- why would I need to explore how I love? Most of Chapman's material deals with our interactions with others; when we understand our own needs and the way in which we communicate love to others, we can eliminate the misunderstandings that occur when we do not receive exactly how we would give. Or we can learn to give in other ways if this is how our loved ones better receive.

Supposedly. The misunderstanding has not ceased.

For those not familiar with the terminology, Chapman identifies the following "love languages," arguing that most will enjoy each to some degree, but speak primarily through one:

• words of affirmation
• quality time
• receiving gifts
• acts of service
• physical touch

I still enjoy physical touch, and I faintly remember being a touchy, feely child (I know, right?), but my family sort of beat it out of me. Words of affirmation are nice, but compliments usually travel as far as the end of the sentence. I'm fairly independent; I acknowledge that I don't appreciate acts of service like I should. Gift-giving? I have a few amazing gift-giving friends, so I've had to muster enthusiasm at receiving more things. In fact, the gifts I adore are those that my loved ones made with their own hands, and I don't think it has anything to do with the gift-giving. It has much more to do with...

Time. Sweet, sweet time. I give it, I crave it, and there's never enough of it. It can be spent spiritually, socially, playfully, lazily, or affectionately, and if it is spent with me or spent for you, I'm on top of the world. I was the youth pastor that attended every volleyball game, Christmas concert, musical, speech, and graduation party. I preferred visiting a 7th grade lunch table to preaching a powerful sermon.

I enjoy spending hours of my time writing thoughtful or challenging comments for y'all bloggers. I'm regularly willing to drive hours to see someone, if I could presume that they wanted to see me. I once "wasted" gas to drive to central Illinois for a 12-minute cross country meet, because I knew it would mean something to the runner. For those that understand, offering my time can be a powerful and loving ministry.

But not always. One of my core students (whom I consequently visited the most) allegedly left our ministry because I didn't affirm her enough verbally: a strength of my predecessor. She missed the heart that I was trying to offer, and I missed what she needed to feel loved.

What does this have to do with guarding my heart?

Like that student, I expect others to be cognizant of the "signs" they reveal when they neglect my love language. 99% of the time, when my friends cancel plans, answer the phone mid-conversation, or God forbid...go to bed, they have perfectly legitimate reasons for doing so. Yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I consider the remote possibility that they don't like me as much. I'm much too proud to say something about it, so everything is cool until the next time my time is cut short. It builds and builds until I believe that they've chosen to allocate their time in more valuable assets than me.

I respond to this lie in one of two ways:

1. I flood them with my time, pleading for them to recognize how valuable they are to me.
2. I distance myself, waiting for them to prove their love by dropping their other plans.

It's usually some combination of the two, which only makes me appear bipolar, thus perpetuating the problem and making time spent awkward and miserable.

Great googly moogly...how did I end up like my dad?!? I will now hide in a deep, dark cave.

Guarding my heart means allowing others to love me through other means and offering them the grace to value their time differently. It means loving selflessly, not intentionally flooding people with my time to fish for theirs (and getting upset, because it never works).

If there's one thing that can be consistently said about me, I'm painfully aware of my faults. I'm always looking for God to reveal more and further cleanse my heart. As I fight to guard my heart against the assumptions I've made about you, I would appreciate your grace and prayers. Keep on loving from His overflow and the confusion will dissipate in turn.

UPDATE (12/24): If ever I should consider myself a gift-giver, all I must do is wrap presents to expose the sheer incompetence of the hands God has given me.

#2 -- social network life support

It began innocently enough...

On a particularly lonely Friday evening, I packed my computer and headed to the coffeehouse. Only a handful of people were lounging at Picasso's, so I found a corner table where I could sulk in privacy. I was browsing the profiles of numerous companions back home, when an unsolicited voice appeared from behind:

"Oh, you're on Facebook? We should be friends!"

After two months of working at the shop I managed, this was my first interchange I with our newest employee. She was a pre-med student at the University of Missouri, and I hadn't seen much reason to converse with a kid working limited hours opposite my schedule. All I had gathered was that she wore a little too much eye makeup, she had poor taste in men, and she giggled when she was nervous.

The next weekend, I was finishing my Sunday morning dish shift and spotted her sitting in the house. Making light of our previous conversation, I asked if we had become friends yet. Her eyes betrayed her attempt at a cheery expression, so I sat next to her and asked what was wrong. She had hit her first academic wall and wasn't accustomed to needing help with her studies. This unfamiliarity compounded with homesickness brought her to tears. As her mascara and eyeliner streamed down her face, I noticed a beauty and vulnerability through the eyes of Christ. This girl had a lovely heart, but she didn't know Jesus.

Over the next few weeks, we scheduled regular chats, and I learned the depth of my friend's spiritual captivity. Satan had used family, church, and the lacking integrity of Christian males to turn her away from the Gospel, so while she acknowledged a "light" within me, she resisted accepting Christ by faith. To her, I was a superman detached from her own blemishes rather than a sinner saved by grace. She had constructed for herself a lofty law to keep herself from further trouble, but it was a law all the same.

When she moved to Columbia on a more permanent basis, our entire relationship became built on Facebook statuses and comments; we attempted to schedule the occasional hangout; more often than not, her schooling (and dating relationships) prevented these. When we did get together, it became increasingly apparent that she had shut herself off to my faith, despite the "encouragement" of her responses to my blog posts.

Meanwhile, my fixation with reaping what I had sown was tearing me apart. Satan had convinced me that this could be a transactional relationship -- if I got her "saved," she would feel compelled to let me be a greater part of her life. He already knew that her heart was hardened. The dynamics of our relationship became twisted without verbal communication, leaving our occasional meetings fruitless for her and frustrating for me.

After moving back to Indiana, my friend Deron asked if Facebook could disrupt the natural order of relationships. For years, he concluded that people had allowed relationships to drift in and out of their lives, understanding that moving forward was an appropriate and healthy response to loss. We now live in an environment where letting go is frowned upon, and collecting our friends from the past allows us a false sense of intimacy.

A few weeks later, I deactivated my Facebook profile. I received a couple texts from long-distance friends; most of them were statements of understanding regarding my choice. As I was eating wings with my present friends, my phone buzzed. My former co-worker lamented that I had shut down our only form of communication. I replied that we'd have to work harder to make it work. I never heard from her again.

Our relationship ended the same place it began.

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I'm not promoting the idea that everyone should delete their accounts. In fact, I know believers who are incredibly gifted at networking for the sake of His Kingdom. But if you discover that Facebook has become nothing more than a crude mechanism keeping the heartbeat of a dead friendship alive, it's time to pull the plug. Do it for your heart.

lessons on guarding my heart -- #1

Aloof people are not cute or interesting; they are self-involved and childish. Spending my time chasing aloof people is fruitless, because aloof people want to be chased and are gratified by being chased. And despite how keen they might be on biblical community and worship, it's all a pursuit of affirmation in the end. Sometimes we must realize that despite our need for fleshly comfort, every other human being has not been placed on this planet to accept our situation...to love, yes -- not to accept and affirm.

Therefore, I have this to say for the cool, hipster dudes and the eccentric, artsy gals: I've got a piece of my heart waiting for you. It's yours...whenever you grow tired of playing games and choose to engage someone who loves you. In the meantime, I'll resist the urge to be hurt again.