Greece, Day 13: Bend Until I Break

Your willingness to adapt to your surroundings, and
be adaptable to the continual changes you face
is and always will be of value in life.

This is particularly true when you are placed in moments of
increased needs,
limited resources, and
an all-encompassing lack of time.

You plan,
you plan the day,
you plan the day the night before,
and again that morning,
and again when you receive the unplanned text,
and again when you answer the critical yet unwelcome phone call,
and again when you find yourself short,
short on cash,
or drivers,
or vehicles,
or the wisdom to intelligently act,
or patience.

You begin to wonder what the purpose of all of this planning,
of your failed attempts to comprehend the tasks before you,
knowing that the simple becomes ridiculously complex,
that which should take but a moment finds a way to take a day.
like tying your shoes with gloves on.

And for one who prides himself on efficiency and decisiveness,
regardless of my stubborn unwillingness to go down, get tired, be outworked or outmatched,
I can be bent until I break.

These few days have been unusually hard. I have faced one too many challenges, and somewhere along the way lost
my patience,
my flexibility,
my adaptability.

And in the fog, I countered this with
frustration,
pride,
self-importance, and
judgments toward others.

I get a lot of accolades for this work. People compliment and pat my back. It can puff me up and cause me to lose the reason I am here, the connection between who God made me to be and how that is borne out in my work.

But in a bit of brilliant irony, God humbles me from my heights, lets me fail in my person while succeeding in my actions, such that people may be served by God through me, while I am left beating my chest in supplication for requested forgiveness. Wicked smart.

A bruised reed he will not break,
and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out,
till he has brought justice through to victory.
In his name the nations will put their hope.

Greece, Day 1: Moving Closer to Pigeon Forge

I am 17 years old, a senior in high school, venturing with a group of church friends to a youth conference in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee for a proper dose of Bible teaching, slushy skiing, and flirting. Which of these most sincerely motivated our attendance, I am not sure we know ourselves.
It is the last night there, the night where the musicians play "Just as I am" until every kid within 3 counties is pouring their hearts out to God and country and their nearest friend, I am there, praying, listening, and being called by God for His service.

Embedded in my cautious appraisal of this situation is a sincere heart and clear memory of God asking me to do for Him what he asked. What exactly that was, I couldn't say. A vision, hazy yet certain.

One year later, I declare “Civil Engineering”.
Four years later, I venture beyond our borders to discover the world I will one day save.
Two years later, I am a father, a future daddy of four, and completely out of control of my own destiny. I seek, pray, and search for opportunities to go with God somewhere, anywhere, to do something, anything.
And He is quiet. He certainly seems quiet.
Often I think of that night in Pigeon Forge, battling between one of the most real moments of my life, and the tumult of not doing what I am made to do, be what I want to be.
I love my wife.
I love my kids.
I struggle to prove that my longing for the breath of God in the grittier portions of His creation does not represent my feelings for her and the kids,
that I am not running away from them or the crazy-love life we have.
Many years later, the door begins to open.
A chance decision to escape for a weekend, see a friend, sit in the back of a conference and mind my own business, and I am asked to come to a desperate place with insurmountable challenges and use the most unlikely skills to help design a residential subdivision through the middle of a property so desperately unsuitable that the entire overpopulated community had avoided it for two hundred years of city sprawl.
4 months later, and I am there again, gaining clarity, sitting on the roof of an unfinished hospital on Ash Wednesday, the soot of Jesus' sacrifice marking my forehead, staring over a sea of desolation,
praying
and journaling
and listening.
And He continues His conversation.
He picks up where He left off 16 years before.
The beginnings of clarity.
One month later I am accidentally honest with a near stranger and find myself on a ledge, facing a decision, fear in my gullet.
Do I follow His voice? How do I know? How can I be sure?
And she walks to me, my faithful wife, while I am weeding and planting and generally wasting time in the garden. She walks up to me: "be the person I married."
And I do.
We do; she and I and God and a little bit of clarity, in a decision that brings me closer to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.
Four years later, the journey to Pigeon Forge takes me the island of Lesvos, Aegean Sea.

Eat, Drink and Be Merry

My first experience with Communion (eating bread and drinking something 'grape-like' for the purpose of connecting with Jesus) was Spring Break 7th grade, at a camp I was invited to by a neighbor. My mom and I purchased my first bible at K-mart and off I went to Alabama to learn about God hang out with my friends.

I remember 3 things from that week: 

• snipe hunting, 
• rock slide in the creek, and 
• Communion.

Sitting in the back of the room, surrounded by teens and their leaders, the Preacher made it thoroughly clear that Communion was for the born-again Christian only, a very distinct and important litmus test. 

Only one boy in the room of 100+ kids dared to withhold from Communion that night, and he certainly wasn't me. I was completely unsure of what or who a Christian was, but was more weighed down at being singled out by not participating. In what is supposed to be one of the very few sacraments of the faith, I began my journey by lying to God and everyone within reach of my faith, or lack thereof.

This introduction (as well as my eternal struggle with grace) has had me approach Communion with dread, spending years to overcome the sin-hyperbole associated with standing before God. Of course we are to be pitied when before our Creator, embarrassed before our Forgiver, shy before the One who knows who we are. But not shamed to the point of avoidance, cowering in fear of retribution, of being placed where we deserve. The teachings of Jesus make this clear.

I respectfully disagree with that Preacher, and regret the leaders of our faith who build false doors to God, restitching the torn veil. It does no one any good in their faith or daily life to hinder their access to Jesus. In the context of youth camp, knowing the emotional challenges of each of us there, the Kingdom of God is not advanced by creating an atmosphere where an obviously large portion of the kids lie before each other and God to save face.

We will never be worthy of partaking in his flesh and blood, whether we are in or out of the faith. We accept Communion as a gift, not a remuneration for our efforts. We all begin this journey on the outside, and need to be welcomed in. I continue the struggle of feeling on the outside of God's grace. The redress for these times is to scandalously accept grace in the face of my own failures.

Communion is a remembrance of Jesus and His works, not a test of our bloodline or worthiness. 

Drink up, and fill your belly.