Jon Acuff's Blog, page 106

Free book giveaway for introverts!

Not going to lie, when I posted about introverts last Thursday, I was not expecting 1,000 comments.

In fact, I was actually a little concerned that no one would pipe up about the most awkward things that happen at church for introverts.

I was wrong. Very wrong.

Fortunately, there are people a lot smarter than me who recognize how important it is to engage in the introverts and extroverts conversation at church. People like Adam McHugh. I met him last year at Catalyst and he wrote a book called “Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture.” After he saw the post on SCL he emailed me and asked if he could give a few copies away. I said, “Free stuff for the SCL readers? Yes!”

So, Adam is going to give 5 copies of his book away. To enter, just comment on this post by midnight pacific time Friday, April 27. Adam will pick 5 winners at random and send you a copy of his book. If you want to skip the whole contest process and pick up a copy, here’s where to do that.

Thanks for the free books Adam!

Introverts, extroverts, comment away!

Is God boring?

Last summer I got stung four times by jellyfish while visiting Tybee Island. If you don’t follow me on Twitter than you probably missed that fascinating series of tweets that mostly involved me saying stuff like “Got stung by a jelly fish again today! Why does this keep happening?”

Looking back on it a year later it’s pretty obvious why it kept happening. I was in the ocean. Where jellyfish live. And I have amazing skin. Pores most people kill for. Just completely irresistible to most forms of marine life. The bigger question is, “Why am I not constantly getting stung by jellyfish, even when I’m not in the ocean? What is keeping them away from me in the grocery store or when I’m playing jai lai?”

Once I had chopped some wood and wrestled a bear so I could forget the pain of the stings, two activities I regularly do to offset the lack of manliness my unbelievable skin generates, I forgot all about the jellyfish.

Until the aquarium.

I saw a trio of jellyfish floating in the water and the first thought I had was one I was not expecting,

“The world didn’t have to be beautiful.”

Have you ever thought about that?

Jellyfish didn’t need to look like canopied dreams, flying underwater with a grace that shames ballet dancers.

Sunsets didn’t have to look like paint sets exploded against the wall, slowly falling down the horizon.

The tide on this planet didn’t need to dance with the pull of a glowing sphere thousands of miles away.

God didn’t have to make the world beautiful.

He could have designed sunsets like we designed light switches. On, off. He could have been utilitarian. Function meets function with form nowhere to be found. Instead, the deeper we explore the planet, the more we see the creativity he’s whimsically hidden on every inch.

Fish that provide their own light. Slugs that are neon and fireworked. Hundreds of species of butterflies migrating thousands of miles on wings that are gossamer thin. He’s playful in his design, curious and colorful in ways we can barely scratch the surface of.

Though we often paint God in two colors, “gray” and “angry,” the more I see the world, the harder it is for me to think he’s vanilla.

Question:

Have you ever seen something in nature that made you see the creativity of God?

When worship songs go blank.

Say what you will about hymnals, they never went blank in the middle of a song. In between verses you never looked down and realized there were suddenly no words on the page. But that happens to worship songs sometimes.

Equipment fails. A coffee is spilled in the soundbooth. A volunteer didn’t load all the slides. The worship leader went too fast with the song and got ahead of the person controlling the words. Any number of things can happen, but the result is always the same.

You look up to belt out the next verse of “Blessed Be Your Name” and you’ve got nothing. The screen is blank. There are no words. This has happened to me a number of times at church over the years and these are only 4 possible things you can do in the audience:

1.Watermelon.

Oldest trick in the book. When you don’t know the words to a song, you simply mouth, “Watermelon,” over and over again. Why this word is the accepted fake out word, instead of say, “Honey Dew Melon,” is beyond me, but it’s true. You need a go to lip synch word? Watermelon time.

2. Stop singing.

Sit this verse out. That’s what happened the last time I was at church and the words went blank. 98% of the crowd stopped singing and just kind of stared at the worship leader in the same way people stared at me when I walked in to my friend Jake’s surprise party and his wife Tara yelled out, “That’s the guy that ruined the surprise party.” Probably not my favorite entrance I’ve ever made into a room.

3. Close your eyes.

It’s not that you don’t know the words of the song, not at all. You’re just so deep in worship you can’t even open your eyes. Lot of people are going to add some outstretched arms to this move, but not me. Pretending to be lost in worship is dicey business. Be careful about this option.

4. Go up to the soundbooth and tell them there’s a mistake.

If there’s one thing sound guys/girls love is when people point out a billboard sized mistake. Maybe you’re the only one who noticed it. Just say, “I’m not sure if you saw or not, but we’re all trying to worship baby Jesus right now and you’re kind of shotblocking that moment. Could you not do that please? Can we have the third verse?” That should go over well.

What do I do when the words go blank during a worship song? I say a small prayer. It goes something like this, “God, will you please remind me to write about this situation on Stuff Christians Like? I’m worshipping and don’t want to snap out of that to pick up my moleskine and scribble this idea down. Will you please hold it and give it back to me when I’m flying on a plane and in writing mode? Thanks!”

But then, I’m weird.

Question:

What do you do when there’s an error on the worship music lyrics?

Road trip wedding vows.

A few weeks ago my family and I drove to Tampa, Florida.

I don’t know if you’ve looked at a map in a while, maybe a topographical gem or one of those ones that used to be on big rollers in elementary schools, but that’s a long drive.

It’s more than 700 miles.

And we did it during Spring Break, which meant that at 5:15AM in the morning when we were at the Monteagle rest stop, there was a line in the bathroom. I expected a ghost town but there was a line, mostly populated by people from Michigan and Indiana. I’m almost positive those two states were completely empty that week because they were all on the road with us.

Before we dragged our 6 year old and 8 year old out of bed at 4AM to get started. Before we fired up some Ducktales and Rescue Rangers DVDs in the backseat for our kids, a whoo woo! Before we even came up with our snack strategy, my wife and I do something every time we travel long distance:

We renew our road trip wedding vows.

Prior to any trip of substantial girth, my wife and I look at each other in the eye, put on a little Babyface and say some form of the following:

“We’re about to spend 13-solid hours in a car together with two children under the age of 8. We’re about to battle 18-wheelers, mountains and Michiganers as we barrel down a long, relentless highway. We’re about to get behind an ocean of slowly moving RVs as snowbirds leave Florida with their winter tan plumage. And no matter what happens. I love you. Nothing on this journey will change that. No vomiting child in south Georgia. No rest stop bathroom grossness. No GPS directions that attempt to steer us into the ocean. With God and Google Maps as my witness, I love you.”

And then we get in the car.

If you’re not married, print this post out and keep it in your purse or wallet. You might need it some day.

If you’re married, have you and your spouse ever renewed your road trip wedding vows?

Believing the Elders are Bond. James Bond.

(It’s guest post Friday!  Here’s one from Julie Rhodes, who blogs at Wet Behind The Ears. If you want to write a guest post for SCL, here’s how!)

Believing the Elders are Bond. James Bond.

Unless your church is the renegade Clint Eastwood of churches, it probably has elders. If you don’t think you have elders, you probably do, but they have chosen to keep their existence a secret until the appointed time. If you are aware there are elders in your church, I dare you to name one of them. Go ahead. Try.

A few weeks ago, all the elders at my church were up on stage for a forum with ministry leaders and volunteers. It was the first time most of us had ever seen them together. This was like discovering the man behind the curtain, except they all had proportionate eyebrows.

One of them stood out: The Chairman.

I had heard lore of The Chairman. For the past 8 years he has served in some capacity on the elder board, yet I have never met him nor seen him. He is a phantom, an idea, a legend. This was huge to see him so exposed, so out in front.

And then he spoke, and that’s when something even bigger became apparent.

At first, it was like hearing a sweet song you know but cannot name, a song which takes shape into something more recognizable, but is still below awareness until it finally crystallizes: by jove, this fellow is British!

Yes, that is, in fact, a genuine British dialect. He even crosses his legs at the knee. What? What’s that he said? He’s a tennis pro at a golf club? Well, one thing is for certain: this is no mere mortal.

It took me a moment to collect my thoughts. Are all chairmen British? Is this a rule in nondenominational Bible churches in Texas with coffee shops? Or is my brain misfiring?

But no. It is confirmed later by several sources, including the Holy Spirit that The Chairman is, and always has been, a transplant from England. Jolly good!

Then I start wondering other things.

Things like: is his Aston Martin parked in the circle drive next to the nursery check-in? Is he packing a small but lethal weapon that has been modified for Gospel-spreading work? Perhaps his sensible shoes and casual Dockers are Velcro pullaways that reveal an expensive tuxedo in which he can exegete difficult Bible passages. Maybe he has throwing stars stored in the lesser-read books of his Bible, like Nahum.

I don’t think elders mean to be international men of mystery. They probably go to their day job like everybody else, drive home, eat a little Hamburger Helper (without adding salt), then drive up to church for a four-hour meeting every other week like it’s no big thang.

Or do they?

Or do they emerge from their forest mansions in the dead of night? With freshly shaven jaws? Which begs the question, is your senior pastor really Judy Dench?

The world may never know. All it really needs to know is Jesus Saves. And the elders will ensure that happens using any means available but not limited to: pen bombs, card tricks, fast boats, tiny weaponry and devastating personal charm.

Can you name the elders at your church?

(For more great stuff from Julie, check out her blog at Wet Behind The Ears.)

SCLQ – Introverts

Last Monday I wrote a post about a worship leader asking a crowd I was in to “hug someone.” (If you haven’t read “Worship Leader Simon Says“, well, I hate to overuse the word ‘life-changing,’ but …)

The most popular comment on the post was something I would have never expected:

“Aaaaaand…. all the introverts run away.”

Whoa, in four years of writing Stuff Christians Like I’ve largely ignored a whole group of people. I’ve never written about being an introvert at church. It wasn’t on purpose, it’s just that most days I’m a ridiculous extrovert. I’m an ENFP in the Myers-Briggs test. (ENFP is easily the most awesomest personality type, just ask an ENFP. We’ll write a musical about it for you.) I’m 100 on the I scale in the DISC profile. And I was an otter on a different personality test. Because I like to float on my back and smash mussels together from the bottom of river beds. Or I’m outgoing.

Meanwhile, there are millions and millions of introverts sitting around me at church. Not all at once. (Imagine how often you’d have to scoot to the middle to accommodate a million people.)

So today, I want to do something simple. I want to write a post titled, “10 most awkward moments Introverts experience at church.”

Only, I’m not an introvert. I could write the post but it wouldn’t be that funny. Instead, I’m throwing you the mic. If you’re an introvert, this is your chance. Write a response to this question in the comments:

“What’s something awkward that happens to introverts at church?”

I’ll pick the 10 funniest next week and give you credit.

Ready? Go.

(I completely see the irony and risk in asking a group of introverts to speak up on a blog, but I still think they will share some awesomeness in the comments.)

New Quitter Conference Dates!

We’re holding another Quitter Conference September 21-22 in Nashville, TN!

Why?

Because I bumped into joy and once you do, you can’t help but share it with other people.

People believed in me and encouraged me to chase my dream. And now I want to do the same for you.

I believe you’ve got something unique you were created to do. Something you were designed for and I want to help you do that. And I want to introduce you to hundreds of other people who are chasing dreams too.

I think there are some smart, simple things you can do to close the gap between where you are right now and where you’re meant to be. Let’s spend Friday night September 21 and all day Saturday, September 22 working together.

Let’s figure out our dreams, face our fears, build support for the adventure ahead and know when it’s time to jump.

You can watch a preview video at QuitterConference.com for more info. But if you don’t have a chance to watch it, just know that I’m excited about the journey you’re on and can’t wait to help you.

The last Quitter Conference sold out. Sign up today to get the lowest rate!

 

The little girl’s tattoo.

My wife and I spent Thanksgiving in Pensacola, Florida a few years ago. Since our kids go to bed awesomely early, 6:30 eastern, we were stuck in the hotel by ourselves at 5:30 central time every night. There are few things as depressing as sitting on a bed for five straight hours in a Sleep Inn hotel room. In addition to suck-your-soul-out fluorescent lights, the room had this potpourri of bad smells. It was part smoke, part cat, part old Hardee’s hamburger and a smidge of feet.

It was admittedly a good time to catch up on conversation with my wife, but after a few straight days of staring at each other, we were both a little stir crazy. One night, I walked down to the BP gas station that was beside the hotel.

Behind the counter at the gas station was a sad woman in her mid-thirties. She looked tired, like maybe life was hard for her a decade sooner than it should have been. Like maybe she didn’t get to be a kid long enough and all that adulthood was starting to catch up on her.

On the outside of her hand was a small greenish gray tattoo of an X. I was curious about what it meant, so I asked her the significance. Here is her response:

“Oh that? That doesn’t mean anything. My mom gave me that one night when she was drunk.”

That was a kind of weird answer, so I asked her how old she was when it happened. She scrunched up her face for a second in concentration and then said, “I think I was 13.”

When I was 13, I was really concerned about my clothes. I was worried that my mom would buy me a Knights of the Round Table shirt instead of Polo. Or that I would have Reeboks instead of Nikes. These were the kinds of things I focused on, because at that age, kids would tease you for the smallest thing.

But what about showing up to school one Monday with a jagged, bloody green X tattooed on your hand? What was that experience like? How would kids react to that? Didn’t it hurt when her mom gave her that? She was drunk, writing on her daughter with a shaky hand and a hot, homemade needle.

I thought about that the rest of the trip and was considering writing about the marks that our parents give us. They’re not all as obvious as that, and many are actually positive, but I realized that was a narrow way to look at it, because it’s not just parents that give us marks. It’s coworkers and spouses and friends and strangers. And when we don’t know they’re there, sometimes they actually stick.

A few years ago, someone asked me to review a memo at work that included some disparaging remarks about my writing ability. There on page 4 was a giant circle, with a big red line through it, that said “Fluff” and a sentence that promised a coworker was going to eliminate my fluff writing. The person that handed me the memo didn’t realize it was about me. They wanted me to focus on a completely different section of the document, but my eye caught some criticism about the company’s writer, and since I was the only writer there, I couldn’t help but read what was written.

As I walked back to my desk, I was crushed. I felt like my complete lack of value had not only been noticed but captured in a memo. In the quietness of my head though, I felt like God popped in and said, “Hey, that memo doesn’t get to define who you are. I do. And I say you are my son.” I was blown away and, instead of spiraling into despair and shame over that memo, I went back to my desk and wrote what was probably the best thing I’ve ever written for that company.

I wish that single event was enough to forever shake off the bad marks I’ve got on me, but it isn’t. I still doubt. I still believe the lies of the marks. I still, like lots of other Christians, forget who I am. I still give other people’s words too much power. I don’t have it all figured out. Instead, more than anything, life feels like it’s been a long series of believing that I am not who other people define me to be, I am a son of God. I am God’s work of art. And the more I have been open to believing that, the more He’s shown me it’s true.

What I’ve learned over the years is that an experience can’t change that. My relation to God is not a simple little mark. It is not a big tattoo or a little sticker; it is who I am. I cannot completely cover that up or blot it out with failure. The prodigal son tries, he completely messes up his life. But, more importantly, he shows how sometimes the worst marks are the ones we give ourselves. “I’m a bad husband. I’m a terrible employee. I’m ugly.”

These are the words we sometimes hear from ourselves, and they are the kind of words the prodigal son tries to say to his father. (I have written about this story so many times it’s getting a bit ridiculous, but I love the lessons it has for us.) When the prodigal son rehearses his homecoming speech, he decides to conclude it with, “make me like one of your hired men.” That was the last thing he was going to say. But when he speaks to his father, that is the one thing he is not allowed to speak. The rest of his speech comes off without a hitch. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”

These words are delivered without incident, but he doesn’t ever get to say “make me like one of your hired men.” Why is that?

Why are those eight words left out? You can certainly read that as just accidental, that regardless of the words, the father was going to cut him off before he finished speaking. And maybe that’s right. But when I read that, I read a father stopping a son from saying something the father would never do. The father would never make him like one of his hired men. He would never give the son a new mark of slavery. He would never call him employee instead of son. So he doesn’t even let those words out. He stops him because no new mark would be given that day. The old truth, the one at the core of the son, still holds true.

Despite the pigpen and the prostitutes, the dirt and the deception, the father doesn’t see a hired man.

He sees a son.

He sees his child.

And that changes everything.

Question:

What’s a mark you need to let go of?

(This is a throwback post that originally appeared on SCL a few years ago.)

Babies crying during the sermon.

A few weeks ago at church, there was a baby crying during the middle of the sermon.

Here is what immediately went through my head.

1. Am I the only one that hears that right now? No one else is looking back in that general area. Maybe this is my super power?

2. Heightened hearing? Is that the best superpower? The hearing of a bat?

3. Oh man, I hope my superpower is not just an ability to hear crying babies in crowded rooms. That would be the lamest superpower ever.

4. Except for the character Scarlett Johannson is playing in The Avengers. I love that scene in the trailer where they’re all back to back in the middle of the street. The Incredible Hulk is looking massive. Captain America is standing there with his crazy strength. Iron Man is all suited up. Thor has his mythological hammer. And then Scarlett cocks a handgun. Seriously? She’s a teammate of Thor, and she’s bringing a pistol to the party? If I’m a supernatural villain, I’m thinking “How adorable, tiny bullets!”

5. Don’t be that guy. Don’t you dare look back to see which baby it is.

6. But it’s so hard not to. I’m not judging. I’m just curious. That kid has some lungs! I feel like he’s probably standing up right now with both arms raised above his head victoriously. I gotta see this.

7. I live in Nashville. Maybe that kid will grow up to be the next Garth Brooks, and if I just sneak a glance back I’ll be able to say, “I saw Garth Brooks sing once when he was a baby. Sure hated sermons on spiritual warfare. I’ll tell you that right now.”

8. You can’t turn back to look at a screaming baby and not look like you hate babies. And people who bring babies into church.

9. Maybe they’re a visitor. And it’s their first kid. And their puppy died this morning as well. You’re such a jerk.

10. Remember how hard it was to get L.E. to go to the nursery when she was a baby? She wailed in the hall like you were dropping her off at baby prison. Have some empathy.

11. As a parent, it’s not easy to hand some stranger your baby and, in return, receive an elastic bracelet with a number on it. You vet babysitters at home like you’re the CIA, and now on Sunday morning you’re supposed to just walk up to a stranger in a brightly colored t-shirt and say, “Here’s my baby. I sure hope you’re not crazy. See you in an hour!” Have some empathy.

12. Be careful about writing about this on SCL. Even the faintest hint of suggesting that someone bring their kid to Sunday School instead of big church is libel to stir up some controversy. Like Rob Bell and Harry Potter.

13. Is there a verse where Jesus says, “Don’t you dare drop your kids off at Sunday School?” In the Sermon on the Mount did he ever say, “This next part is for the kids in the crowd. Could they join me up front for a minute?” At that point, did he dismiss them?

14. If we’re supposed to take our kids to big church and have them experience the same sermon adults experience, how come none of the disciples were little kids? How come we never heard about Timmy, the 4-year old disciple who used to get all grouchy when he hadn’t had a nap in a while and got sick of eating fish and loaves? Timmy wanted some chicken fingers!

Eventually the baby stopped crying. Or they took him out of the room. I’m not certain because I didn’t look back at the kid. Cause I love Jesus. And puppies.

How about you?

What goes through your head when you hear a baby cry?

Worship Leader Simon Says

“You may now be seated. Please hug someone before you sit down.”

Like a grenade of intimacy, a worship leader at church threw those two sentences out into the crowd at church three weeks ago.

I paused, mid crouch. Not standing, not sitting, not knowing what to do. When a worship leader tells you to do something, it’s kind of like “Worship Simon Says.” You say sit down. I’m sitting down. You say turn to a certain hymn. I’m turning there. You say greet your neighbor. I’ll greet my neighbor.

But a hug?

That was a bit of a curveball.

In that moment, I had mere seconds to execute one of 4 possible moves:

1. Hug my wife

I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count. When the worship leader said “Hug someone,” she definitely meant someone you didn’t know that well. Plus, my wife and I already hug after each song and then play a game called “Jon tries to kiss Jenny on the mouth in public to embarrass her.” So this move was out.

2. Side hug

I stopped side hugging for free once we put the side hug on the cover of the Stuff Christians Like book. Now I charge a $1.25 per side hug, or a stick of licorice if you’ve got it. Side hug was out.

3. Front hug

I assume handshake or side hug in most social situations with complete strangers. Some people, especially a first-time visitor, might greet my front hug with a Liam Neeson throat chop. Couldn’t do this.

4. Front hug with a single leg wrap

Probably too much, too soon. Probably.

In the time it takes a hummingbird to disappear after you’ve told somebody, “Look at that, it’s a hummingbird!” I made my decision. What did I do?

I punched the guy sitting next to me on the arm and said “Hey man, glad you’re here!” He laughed, and then with his eyes said, “Hey, thanks for not front hugging me with a single leg wrap.”

All in all, it turned out to be a pretty good morning.

Question:

What would you have done in that same situation?