Jon Acuff's Blog, page 111

SCLQ – Lying to your kids (Round 2)

If you ever meet my kids and ask them about the ice cream store, they will tell you something pretty surprising:

"It's often closed on Saturdays."

Why do they believe that? Well, here's the thing: When my kids were young, they would often scream if they saw the sign for the ice cream store. Or Waffle House. They loved Waffle House because it has hash browns and the oldest selection of jukebox songs on the planet. Nope, actually they loved the waffles and the buckets of syrup they'd try to snatch out of the waitresses hands when she wasn't looking. (Is there a stickier place on the planet than the surface of a Waffle House table? I submit "no.")

So one day, when we were driving by an ice cream store and they screamed "We want to go!!!," I may or may not have said, "It's closed today."

And that was a lie. Similar to the lie we tell them when we act like "breakfast supper" is an exciting moment and not an indication that mom and dad have failed to go to the grocery store all week.

But my lying ways have been topped. A friend told me a parenting lie that put me to shame. (Or maybe made me feel less shame. It's a toss up.) Her friends tell a lie about the ice cream man, and here it is:

"The ice cream man only turns the music on in his truck when he's out of ice cream."

Every time her kids would see the ice cream man, they would get excited, right up to the moment when he turned on the music, indicating that he was out of ice cream.

That's horrible. But also funny.

So today, my question for you is:

What's the silliest lie you've ever told your kids, or what's the silliest lie your parents ever told you?

Wondering if there will be pets in heaven.

Recently someone asked me if I thought our pets might be with us in heaven.

The short answer?

I don't care.

The longer answer?

Not any of the pets I grew up with.

Except maybe Rocky, the parakeet I had when I was in the second grade. We didn't name him Rocky because of his Italian heritage. It's really hard to tell if a parakeet is from Italy. He got his name because he was tough, and occasionally liked to fight Russian parakeets while dancing to James Brown.

At one point, my toddler brother Will pulled out all of Rocky's tail feathers and placed him inside my He-man Castle Greyskull. Rocky took that horrible incident with a quiet dignity that might be enough to earn him a trip to bird heaven.

Rusty, my dog? I don't know about that one. His favorite game was called "run away from home," followed closely by his second favorite game, "No, I will not get into the car when you finally find me across town running through a neighbor's yards."

Although, in his defense, he did protect me from a drunk guy my dad let sleep in our house. He was trying to break into our car for a spot to sleep, and my dad, being the consummate pastor, said, "No, sleep downstairs on the couch." I was the only one in the family who had a bedroom downstairs, so that night Rusty stood watch outside my door. So that's something, I guess. But then, Rusty ended his illustrious career at the Acuff house by biting the mailman, getting shipped off to a farm, killing a few kittens, biting a few other people, and eventually passing away. Not sure I'm going to see Rusty in heaven.

Che, my brother's ferret? Nope. That is an easy one. He won't be in heaven.

Named after, you guessed it, Cuban revolutionary Che Guevara, that ferret was the worst pet we ever had. That I can tell, his only trick was going to the bathroom in the living room, which now that I think of it, was pretty revolutionary.

I might have been able to forgive him if he had protected our family from the other pets my brother decided to get: snakes. You really haven't lived until you've heard the sentence, "The snake got out again. Keep your eyes out in the house. He's bound to show up."

And show up he did, late one night when a house guest was going to the bathroom. As he made his way past the laundry room, my dad's colleague saw what he thought was a long, dark belt on the floor. Until it started to crawl toward him. Soooo, probably not going to see that snake in heaven.

Maybe I've just never had super awesome pets, and your pet will be in heaven. Or, maybe there won't be specific pets, but just lots of available golden retrievers in heaven that you can play Frisbee with. That would pretty awesome. Is that in Revelations anywhere? Can someone please Google that? "Frisbee playing golden retrievers in heaven?" Thanks.

Question:

What do you think? Will there be pets in heaven?

Using "Ministry" to Avoid Real Life Responsibility

(It's guest post Friday! Here is a new one from John Crist. John is a standup comedian from Colorado. If you want to guest post, here's how!)

Using "Ministry" to Avoid Real-Life Responsibility by John Crist

I was homeschooled.

A lot of people make fun of homeschoolers. Not me. I loved it. Looking back on it, homeschool was the goodest thing that ever happened to me.

Somehow I graduated college with no job prospects, no career plan, no resume, and no wife. I understand why I didn't have a job. But I'm still not sure as to why I wasn't married. It was probably the result of the fact that:

A). I drove a purple Volvo.

B). I referred to women as broads.

C). I looked like this.

D). All of the Above

After graduation, I went on a mission trip to New York City for the summer to do the Lord's Work (i.e. go to live sporting and entertainment events for three months, sponsored by my parents' church friends). After that, I enrolled in the Focus on the Family Institute in Colorado for the winter so I could learn about family and Christian worldview (i.e. delay getting a job so I could snowboard and meet girls).

If you received a support letter from me, circa 2005, here are the six sentences that should have raised some red flags.

"First and foremost, I'm asking for your financial support."

Also, you can pray if you want to. But seriously, don't pray too much, because I haven't either. Just send cash.

"We're gonna be doing a lot of prayer-walking."

I led a mission trip to Egypt once. We prayer-walked around the pyramids. We prayer-rode camels too. Then we even prayer-boated down the Nile River.

"I'm hoping to meet my future wife while I'm there."

I spent a summer in Africa in 2005. Somehow Footprints In The Sand turned into John Crist's Footprints In The Sand Of Exotic Moroccan Beaches. There was one set of footprints. I was carrying her. To a candlelight dinner I had prepared.

"We're partnering with a company called Missionary Tourist Adventures."

Don't let the name fool you; we'll be working hard. I swear. No really, we will. I'll send you back a picture of me with a shovel.

"Jesus said, 'therefore, go and make disciples of all tourist desti-nations'!"

And baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit…in clear waters off the coast of sandy beaches…after we minister to the scuba instructors. They need Jesus too.

"P.S. I need to raise an extra $2,000 to cover my monthly credit card payment."

I've played the Visa card for far too long. Now it's time to play the God card.

For the record, some of these trips and internships have changed my life. The freedom I experienced at the Focus on the Family Institute was incredible. My brother is currently raising his own support to serve as an intern at IHOP in Kansas City; it has changed his life. Some of the missionaries around the world that rely on our financial support are some of the hardest working people I know. We're not here to debate all that.

I'm just saying, the slope (although I halfheartedly tried to build a set of stairs into it on a mission trip to Honduras once) is slippery.

What do you think?

(John Crist is a standup comedian. Watch his standup on Youtube,  follow him on Twitter, or visit  johncristcomedy.com)

Throwing away the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.

That I am aware of, my dad is not telepathic. Yes, while pastoring the church I grew up in he did seem to know if I ever made out with a girl after youth group, but that did not require special powers. That required "deacons."

But despite that, once a year, he always exhibited an otherworldly type of power, a sixth sense as it were. If he was Haley Joel Osment in a movie he would have simply stood by the mailbox with translucent, creepy eyes and said:

"I see swimsuit photos and I throw them away."

It's true, the Reverend Mark Acuff has a 1.000 percent career throwing away the Sports Illustrated swimsuit record. He never missed. With cat like reflexes and a combination of both long game and short game, he consistently beat the teenage version of me to the mailbox.

Now that I'm a dad and not actively trying to defeat what I perceived was my father's anti body painting tyranny, I want to tell you how he did it. Maybe you can do this for your kids some day too.

4 ways to know the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue Is Coming:

1. Your kids check the mail.

Let's be honest, how many times a year are your kids checking the mailbox? Maybe at Christmas, but other than that, they probably avoid it all together. But if you've got teenagers, this will be the one time of the year they are suddenly deeply engaged in the whereabouts of the mailman.

2. It's February.

Go ahead and put a little automatic reminder in your iPhone for next February. It's the same time each year. Just be smart about how you write the reminder, especially if you share your calendar at work. If you type, "Swimsuit Issue!" as your reminder, coworkers are going to think you're really, really excited about "swimsuit season."

3.CNNSI.com starts covering bikinis like they're a sport.

One day you're reading well written, journalistic articles about Linsanity and cheering on the underdog sports hero of the Knicks. The next, CNNSI.com has transformed into naked town, suddenly dropping first string sports coverage for g-string focus. This is the most obvious sign that the Sports Illustrated issue is headed to your mailbox. If you don't pick up on this one then you have even bigger problems than the Knicks do when Melo comes back and takes all of Linsanity's shots.

4. A murder of ravens.

We were warned many moons ago, yet we forget. When bare feet pad, in swimsuits clad, across this land the ravens go mad. With a darkness that makes night seem bright and a cry that makes you question the very geography of your own soul, they will take to the sky to rain down beating wings and air broken by the lashing air.

Whoa, that last one got away from a little bit. I've been reading Robert Jordan fantasy books lately. You're lucky there wasn't a unicorn or protective coyote in that last point.

Kudos dad, for tossing out the swimsuit issue. (To any haters who say, "Why didn't you just cancel your subscription, I say, "Go heels, Red Sox and Patriots" who we enjoyed the 51 other weeks of the year.)

Did your parents ever do anything like that with magazines or TV?

Are you right now?

(This is a Throwback Thursday post from a few years ago.)

The R-word.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about feeling convicted over my choice of music. I shared that lately it was getting harder for me to justify the soul-feeding benefits of explicit rap involving strippers and cocaine. (The post was over 1,000 words long, but that's pretty much the summary.)

Some fun conversation followed in the comments, but one particular thought stood out to me. Here is what someone said in response to what I wrote:

Jon…its all talk until you delete him out of your ITUNES

I really like that comment, because I really want it to be true.

When I bump into challenges in my faith, I want the solution to be as simple as deleting a file from my computer. (Or, in my case, removing it from Spotify.)

I want to press a button, feel a twinge of completeness, and walk away. But there's a problem: That's never worked in my life.

It didn't work in the seventh grade when I would go on a retreat, get on fire for God, throw CDs away, and then buy them again a month later.

And it's continued to not work. Despite the barriers, steps, and plans I come up with, I keep doing things I don't want to do and not doing things I want to do. Just like Paul said.

The truth is, that's what's so frustrating to me about God. I want him to give me a to-do list. I want him to give me some action items, and he keeps refusing.

I say to him, "Give me a solution." He says "I gave you a savior."

I say, "Give me something that will fix me forever." He says, "Walk with me today."

I say, "I want a present from you that will change me." He says, "I want you in my presence."

I want a quick fix. I want actions. I want progress I can control and monitor. And instead, in the face of all of that, God offers me something incredibly simple.

Relationship.

Why? Because that is the only thing that will lead to renewal in my heart. All the plans I craft will eventually crumble. All the good intentions I might have will fall apart. All my willpower and discipline will abandon me in my greatest time of need. But one thing remains steadfast: My relationship with God.

It's messy. It's slower than I want. It's not always the shape I'd like it to be because, though I know what I want, God is the only one who really knows what I need.

But the truth is, if I want my heart renewed, if I want my soul sanctified, if I want to be the new man God's always known I could be, I have to trust in the relationship. I have to return to the relationship. I have to give all to the relationship.

If you read this and think, "OK, I don't need a filter on my computer. Actions and plans don't matter," then I've done a poor job writing this. It's not that actions don't matter, what matters is where they come from. The actions that blossom from my relationship with God are completely different from the actions that start in my own desire to fix something.

If you've got a song you don't think you should listen to, then delete it. Delete it all day. But just know that actions alone won't change your heart. We are not designed to renew ourselves. What a sense of freedom and release from pressure I felt when I first realized that. Trying to fix me with me is exhausting.

True change, heart change, life change, can only come from one place, your relationship with a God who already commissioned the action that matters most, the death of his son on the cross for you and me.

Getting single people married as fast as possible.

Happy Valentine's Day! Here's today's entry from the Stuff Christians Like daily calendar (which is only $5).

 

 

SCLQ – Why what you are doing matters more than you think.

In January, I wrote a month of posts on JonAcuff.com about something I call "FinishYear." The basic idea is to challenge you and I to finish things that matter in 2012. The dreams you start never change the world. Only the dreams you finish change the world.

And it's been encouraging to me to interact with a lot of people who are working on things that matter.

I started to think, though, if you're not reading jonacuff.com, maybe you could use a little encouragement too. You see, sometimes as you work on things, it's easy to think they don't matter.

You don't see progress.

You don't see change.

You get negative feedback from someone, and eventually maybe you don't see the point in going on.

But what I've learned in almost four years of writing this blog is that we have no idea how God is going to use what we do. Our efforts, the results of our actions, both might feel insignificant to us, but in God's economy they might change the world.

Because he tells big, crazily connected stories, and I don't want you to stop being part of the one he's telling in your life just because you can't see where it's going.

Over Christmas, someone posted a comment on my Facebook page. I couldn't have predicted this when I started the SCL blog, I couldn't have imagined this, and yet here is a story that's true. My hope is that you'll read it and be reminded, like I was, that in God's hands, our small, silly stories can have a big, unexpected impact in the world.

What someone wrote on my wall:

I was 20 weeks pregnant, and this past week, my husband and I found out we were no longer expecting this child we hoped for. I was rushed into surgery yesterday, Friday December 17th. We waited around the hospital for many, many hours, doing lots of blood work and x-rays. I have your book "Stuff Christians Like" on my Kindle iPhone. I read it throughout the day as we waited in between procedures. My husband and I laughed and giggled as I read entries from the book. As our hearts were devastated for our loss, your book brought much needed comic relief. Laughing really lifted our spirits. My favorite entry, among many, was the one about Somber Christian Syndrome, and I just giggled the whole time reading it. With all the medication I was on and injected with, there is truly no better medicine than laughter. Thank you for your gift of humor and for writing Stuff Christians Like.

 

10 ways to have a horrible first date if you're a Christian.

I once got dumped in a coat closet. The girl I had taken to the dance decided to rekindle her previous relationship with her hulking ex-boyfriend. I weighed 112 pounds and decided to bypass the face pummeling that surely awaited me if I tried to stand between her decision and her massive former beau. (I took tap dancing in high school and wasn't working out my core relentlessly like I clearly am now.)

So we broke up in the coat closet, which is the phrase people who get dumped tend to say. "We" broke up. Sure ya did. It was mutual. Right.

But today is Valentine's Day Eve, (let's hope that doesn't become a thing and we have to sit through a star-studded, plot-starved movie like New Year's Eve) and maybe you've never really had a horrible date.

It only seems right that I dip into my vast knowledge of horrible dates and Christian culture to create the perfect mashup:

10 ways to have a horrible first date if you're a Christian.

1. Go to church on your first date.

Not when it's open. Go on Valentine's Day, Tuesday night, when it's closed. Break in through a side door. Tell her to bring a tankini, but don't tell her why. One word, "Baptismal."

2. Lead with a strong opening.

When you're driving to the restaurant, tell her, "I'm really excited about this date. I don't want to be a 'bachelor 'til the rapture.'"

3. Give her a tulip.

But then ask her if she can explain the 5 points of Calvinism using said tulip. If not, take that tulip back.

4. Make a mix tape.

Or CD or playlist, however you want to say it. Put together some great songs to listen to as you drive over to the restaurant. And then be like the person at the Christian concert who screams "JESSSSSUSSSSSSS!!!!" at the top of their lungs. Will it be awkward to do that inside a car with just one other person beside you? Sure, probably the first 15 or 20 times, but eventually, he'll get used to it and involuntarily flinch when a new song comes on.

5. Ask him which Bible verse he wants to have read at your wedding.

Nothing lets a guy know you're serious about this first date like discussing which of your silver medal friends will read a verse at your wedding. (A silver medal friend is someone you like enough to be in the wedding, but not enough to actually be a bridesmaid.) Argue about which is the best verse, even though, secretly, we both know you're going with "Love is patient."

6. Tell them your love language is ferrets.

Owning ferrets, breeding ferrets, racing ferrets in a small ferret-sized version of the Kentucky Derby. Not words of affirmation. Not quality time. Ferrets.

7. Tell him you play handbells at church.

And then, play them during your entire date. He says something funny in the car? Clang! Your meal is good at dinner? Clang, clang! He's a good listener? Clang, clang, clannnggggggg! (Whether you wear the white handbell gloves or not is on you. I can't figure out your entire life for you, this is a two-way street.)

8. Tell her you don't pray before dinner, you mime.

If it's me, I'm breaking out all the mime favorites when the meal comes. Sin is an invisible rope around me. Satan has me in a box. I'm walking up some invisible stairs to heaven. If she seems responsive to your mimery, don't talk the rest of the night. Mime the date. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

9. Come in character.

If you're a guy, show up dressed as Boaz. Ladies? Martha or Mary, whichever was the fun one. I always get them confused. You laugh, but nothing lets a lady know you're serious about the Bible like a John the Baptist camel hair snuggie.

10. Mutter about Paul all night.

Nothing makes a first date run smoothly like continually muttering under your breath, "And everyone thought I had been blessed with Paul's 'gift of singleness, I'll show them!"

At the end of the day, this blog is about changing lives. And well, I'm pretty sure I did that today.

But I can't be the only one with a history of horrible dates.

What's the worst date you've been on?

What are you praying about?

Today's short Saturday question is simple. What are you praying about?

What's something kicking around in your head or heart right now?

I try to do this post once a season. Why? Because this site is read in 97% of the countries in the world and the readers of SCL have a steady stream of prayer needs and a huge willingness to pray for each other.

So what is something you'd love some prayer about today?

SNL-ing a Christian book.

(It's guest post Friday! When I wrote the book Quitter, my editor removed an entire chapter. I was crushed at first until he explained why. He said, "You're just repeating yourself. The ideas in this chapter aren't new and it reads like filler." And he was right. So when Ken Edwards submitted this guest post, I knew I had to share because as a writer, I'm guilty of thinking this way sometimes. And, you've probably read a book exactly like the ones Ken is about to describe. If you want to write a guest post for SCL, here's how!) 

SNL-ing a Christian book. By Ken Edwards

The thing that's always frustrated me about Saturday Night Live is that the show is about 40% too long. It's usually funny from 11:30 until maybe 12:15 or 12:20, but then almost all of what happens from there up until 1 am isn't even remotely funny. And I've wondered for the last 25 years, why don't they just sign off at 12:30 and be done with it?

It would be really easy to do. Instead of 5-minute sketches, make them 3. The first 3 are usually funny, but then they just drag on for seemingly no reason. Why not get in there, hit the punch line, make your point, then bow out gracefully?

I wonder the same thing about most Christian books. It seems that they are all—well, at least the ones I've read—about 40% too long. In a 200-page Christian book, the author has pretty much exhaustively made his/her point by page 140.

And sometimes I can actually see it. I'm nearing the end of Chapter 9. There was a thought-provoking foreword by some famous author/speaker/preacher. The biblical justification for the author's point has been made. It has been backed up by detailed life stories, illustrations and examples. There have been a few solid object lessons using farm animals. The condition of my heart has been effectively compared to how some type of machinery works. The author has cleverly sprinkled name-droppings throughout his prose. I've done justice to all the supplementary study/discussion questions.

And I see it. All we need is the last piece of tape and the ribbon on this bountiful gift of truth and wisdom. Just pull this thing into the garage and shut 'er down. Roll the credits. Let the clock run out. Blow the 5 o'clock whistle. This baby is over. But then…but then…

Chapter 10.

Noooooo!!!!! I utter a painful scream akin to when I accidentally bump my bad knee against the coffee table in the middle of the night on the way to the fridge. And so it continues. Not just through Chapter 10, but all the way to Chapter 17!

Are you kidding me? And now I'm in a quandary. I got the point. I have several quotes I can spew out at my next small group. I should just put this thing down and walk away.

But I can't. What if in the ensuing chapters of rehash, and rehash of the rehash, and rehash of the rehash of the rehash, there's some buried nugget of life-changing truth? After a few more chapters of what surely was the result of a copy-paste-fest, what if the author goes, "Oh, gosh, I almost left out the most important point in this entire book."

Cut me some slack! I'm a slow reader anyway. I was never hooked on any phonics. I'm not one of these super readers who can finish an entire hard-cover John Grisham book in one afternoon at the beach. I haven't read every hip and relevant book on the planet cover to cover. But I probably would have if they'd taken the final curtain call a few chapters earlier.

And then I find myself in conversations like this…

Super-Hip-And-Relevant-Christian-Reader: "Hey, have you read 'The You-Me Principle'?"

Me: "No, I've heard about it, but I haven't gotten around to reading it." (OK, that's a lie. I've never heard of it.)

S.H.A.R.C.R.: "What! You haven't read 'The You-Me Principle'? I thought everyone who had any kind of worthwhile relationship with Jesus had read 'The You-Me Principle'."

Me: "Well, uh, no, I haven't read it."

S.H.A.R.C.R.: "How are you able to even function in a world of self-aggrandizing egomaniacs without having read 'The You-Me Principle'?"

Me: "I don't know, but I seem to be making it so far. So, how far into the book are you?"

S.H.A.R.C.R.: "I don't know. Maybe 60%."

Me: "Well then you can save me a lot of frustration and heartache by just telling me everything there is to know about it, because you're effectively done."

Listen, my mom never walked in after a delicious and filling 3-course family dinner with another pot roast. We came, we ate, maybe we belched a little, then we just walked away from the table.

Can we just go with less rehash and maybe some more pictures if you need filler? And could we go with a one-hour SNL?

Question:

What's a Christian book you read that felt too short? Let's not fill up the comments with books that were too long. Instead, what's a book that was so good, you were sad when it was over?