Jon Acuff's Blog, page 136

Complaining.

You don't complain about church. That's one of the things I like about you. That and your breath. It's delightful. What is that? The black Dentyne gum that is so minty fresh it lights your tongue on flavor with freshness? I thought so.

You're not a complainer. The moment you get in the car to drive to church, you shut off your desire to complain. You don't cut people off on the way to church and, upon arriving, you walk in, worship, leave and go home without a negative word. You've never complained about Sunday School or how the kids program is run.

I have, though. I used to complain about the traffic at a church I attended. Which, by the way, is the opposite of the Great Commission. "Urgh! I hate this traffic in the church parking lot! All these people coming to worship God and have their hearts transformed! So frustrating. Who keeps making these disciples?"

That's a topic for another post. But, in addition to complaining about the traffic, I also complained about the volunteers who were directing it. I'd get all grumpy how our row of cars was getting ignored while the volunteer in the vest kept waving out people who hadn't been waiting nearly as long as us.

Sermons about grace and compassion would roll right off my back like something even slipperier than water off a duck's back. You thought I was going to say "water," but sometimes I shake a sermon even faster than that.

But then I learned a pretty powerful truth about church volunteers that forever changed my habit of complaining. Something that I hope you'll keep in your pocket for the next time someone complains about a ministry or a program or an anything at your church.

Here it is:

Never complain about something at church you're not willing to volunteer for.

That's it. I couldn't complain about how the traffic at church was directed if I was unwilling to volunteer for traffic duty. I couldn't get frustrated at how the volunteer in front of our car was weaving the lanes if I wasn't willing and able to get out of bed early, stand in the freezing cold on some days, and direct hundreds of cars out of the parking lot.

So if you don't feel like your kid is learning anything in Sunday School, volunteer.

If you wish they did more for single adults at your church, volunteer.

If you hope Vacation Bible School is better than last year, volunteer.

If you wish your church did a better job of welcoming new people, volunteer.

This principle works like a charm. Except if you've got a problem with the music or the minister. You can't just volunteer to give your own sermon next week if, while critiquing the sermon at Sunday lunch, you realize you are complaining. You can't just bring your own instrument next Sunday and volunteer to play if you feel like worship is incredibly tambourine deficient. That's what a man in his 70s did one Sunday at my dad's church. He literally got out of his seat, walked to the front, stood beside the worship leader during one of the songs, and started tambourining.

So don't do that. But, when it comes to just about everything else, remember:

Never complain about something at church you're not willing to volunteer for.

Question:

Have you ever volunteered at your church?

2 surprising reasons to attend the Quitter Conference!

There are 2 surprising reasons you should attend the Quitter Conference on July 30th in Nashville.

1. It's going to be practical and tactical.

Expect to walk away from the conference with dozens of real things you can do THAT DAY to close the gap between your day job and your dream job. You will get at least 52 practical, tactical actions you can do to change your life. Including things like:

• How to deal with your fear of failure.

• How to build the 3 layers of support every dream needs.

• How to create your own think tank.

• How to get a billion dollars of research for your dream for free.

• How to use a single piece of paper to completely change the way you blog.

• How to use the "mother in law test" to figure out your dream.

2. It's going to go way beyond the book.

Writing the content for this conference has been like writing a sequel to the Quitter book. It's based on the same principles, but there are entirely new sections too. For instance, one whole section is on everything I've ever learned about Social Media. Another section covers the three things you need to do to execute more ideas than you ever have in your life. (I wrote 17 pages yesterday on the process I personally use to generate and finish ideas.)

Here are the six main topics I will be covering:

1. Figuring out what your dream is

2. Facing your fears

3. Getting started on your dream

4. Fueling your dream with ideas

5. Plugging into the social side of dreaming

6. Knowing when it's time to jump

The more I work on this conference, the more excited I get about the potential July 30th has and I don't think prior to today, I've done a great job of explaining points one and two. Which is why they might be surprising. But the idea that 100 or 200 people could be awake in what they were designed to do and equipped to do it is wild to me! The thought of us coming together to work on that and then being a part of what can happen when we all go back to our own homes, communities and cities is unbelievable.

I promise, this is a day you don't want to miss. To the people in 20 different states from Oregon to Tennessee who have already signed up, thank you!

If you haven't signed up yet, don't miss your chance. Click here.

Seeing people.

My wife and I own an unbelievable amount of junk.

Had you asked me how much junk we owned a year ago, I would have said, "Not much." And I would have been gravely, gravely mistaken.

I realized just how much nonsense we owned when we decided to move twice in a year. In the first move, we boxed and packed our entire house ourselves. Then a group of 7 men with nicknames like "Tiny" put it all on a truck. Then they had to add an extension to the truck to fit other stuff. And then add a trailer.

It was like watching a prequel to an episode of the show "Hoarders." In my defense, we don't have any pets so we'll never be on the even scarier version of that show, "Animal Hoarders." I once saw an episode where a guy was living with 60 full-grown chickens inside his house. If I ever tweet out a picture of a chicken sitting next to me on the couch watching TV, please come over my house and have a poultry intervention.

After our move from Atlanta to Nashville exposed the innards of our attic, we decided to get rid of a lot of stuff. We gave it away. We sold it. We threw it away. So when it came time to do a cross town move in Franklin, TN, I thought it'd be a lot easier.

It wasn't. We still had a tremendous amount of stuff, including a ridiculous amount of books. Have you ever carried 800 or 900 books? Not all at once, you're not huge like me and Tiny, I get that. But have you ever had a moment when you actually wanted to punch your stuff in the face? That's where I was after my wife and I made 59 trips in our cars across town to load and unload the small, random stuff we could carry.

For the bigger items, we hired a moving company that our friend recommended. This turned out to be a mistake.

For starters, they showed up an hour after they were supposed to be there. My wife told me that was actually early for movers. It always drives me crazy that there are still some professions where an hour behind schedule is considered early or on time.

But after 60 minutes of tracking them down, they did show up. Both of the guys got right to work. They started hauling things out of the house quickly, but there were some things they tried to talk us out of owning. They looked at some potted plants we had in our courtyard and said, "I'm not sure if those are going to fit on the truck." Which is a weird thing for a mover you're paying by the hour to say. The plants were three feet tall. If they didn't fit on the truck on the first run, we'd just bring it back and make a second run.

Then they started to complain that they were having to carry heavy items. Again, weird thing for a mover to be surprised by. I assume that carrying heavy items is one of the first things they teach you at moving school. If you're an accountant and you showed up at work and someone said, "Can you please move that fridge to the truck in the driveway?" you'd probably be thrown a little. As a mover, carrying things kind of comes with the territory.

The grumbling got louder and louder throughout the day, the pushback from the movers more direct and off-putting. Finally my wife, who had literally dealt with the mafia on a job site in Boston when she was in construction, said, "I don't feel comfortable being around these guys. Can you please handle everything from here on out, even if things get put in the wrong place?"

So I did. And we came to a bit of a crossroads. The truck was so full we had to make two trips. The movers started talking about coming back tomorrow to finish the job. But the remaining items at our old house were our beds. And, if I paid them that day for the job, the chances of them driving back out the next day to finish were slim at best. So I convinced them we were completing the job today and drove them back over to the house to empty it out.

On the way, I was praying about my attitude, which stunk at that point. (Even reading those paragraphs above, I sound whiny and ridiculous.) And I prayed that God would let me see the movers Kevin and Danny the same way he did. I was kind of hoping that would be a prayer he slowly answered, so that I could still be grumpy that day. Then maybe a week later he'd reveal how he saw them, and I could write a post about it without actually having to change the way I behaved that day.

But I felt like his response was almost instant.

"How do I see Kevin and Danny? They're two of my favorite people."

Dang it. They were. I saw Kevin and Danny, the belligerent movers. The guys who were an hour late. The guys who took a bajillion smoke breaks. The guys who banged and bruised our furniture. The guys who creeped out my impossible-to-creep-out wife. The guys who seemed determined to complicate moving day.

But that's not who God saw.

He saw Kevin and Danny.

He saw two guys he loved.

Two guys he sent his son for.

Two guys he was crazy about.

Two of his favorite people.

After we got back to my house, Kevin asked me if I could pay in cash instead of a check. The owner of the company called and asked me to do that too because the banks were closed and Kevin wouldn't be able to get his money that night. In a near empty garage, Kevin quietly told me, "Tomorrow is my eight-year-old son's birthday, and I don't have anything for him yet. If you pay us tonight, I can get him something."

Kevin was carrying my furniture all day, but he was also carrying the weight of being a dad without a gift for a little boy's birthday. And that was heavier than anything I owned. He was carrying the realization that on a Saturday he wasn't at home with his family, he was at work with someone else's.

I don't know if you've got a grumpy mover in your life. Someone who feels like an opponent to your day. A coworker whose hobby seems to be making your life difficult. A neighbor who walks their dog into your yard to use the bathroom. There are a million possibilities, and ultimately I don't know who that person is for you. But I do know how we're called to respond.

With love.

With prayer.

With more compassion than they deserve, more forgiveness than they'll ever ask for and more kindness than they'd ever expect.

Because those guys aren't just Kevin and Danny.

They're two of God's favorite people.

Calling your wife your "bride."

I'm going to lose readers on this one. Even as I start writing this post, I can hear metaphorical car doors slamming shut and tires peeling away from SCL into the vast blogosphere in search of better posts to read. But I have to make a confession, and I can't hold it back any more.

It weirds me out a little when a guy refers to his wife as his "bride."

Unless it's your wedding day, telling me, "I need to go see my bride," sounds a little strange to me. If it's your big day and you're about to go down the aisle, bride it up. Say bride all day long like it was your J.O.B. Go bride wild. I'll even get in on the action and say things like, "Your bride looks beautiful today." Or "It's going to be amazing for you to see your bride walk down the aisle!" I'm 100% down for calling your wife "bride" on the day you get married.

The day after your wedding? I'm not so sure. Here's why:

1. Ladies never do the equivalent.

I see guys on Twitter and Facebook talk about their brides all the time. A friend once said to me, "Please tell your bride thanks for sharing you with us this weekend when you came and spoke to our church." But I have never, ever seen a lady call her man her "groom" after the wedding. I've never heard a girl say, "I need to get home to my groom. I've been really missing my groom."

2. It feels a little medieval.

Whenever I hear someone say, "My bride and I have a really full weekend planned," I instantly imagine, "Of course you do. Probably going to do some jousting, eat a giant turkey leg, maybe pull a sword from a stone. Big weekend planned. I'm not sure if you and your fair lady will have time for Bed Bath & Beyond this weekend."

3. It feels a smidge too fancy.

It would feel way too formal if I was ever at a dinner party and someone I worked with said, "Hey Jon, come here, I'd like you to meet my bride." My first thought would be, "Wait, am I at your wedding right now? She's wearing shorts and flip flops, but I must be at your wedding if I'm meeting your bride."

As I researched this idea, in my head mostly, I felt like there were two possible reasons to call your wife your bride. The first is that it's biblical. Isn't the church called "the bride of Christ?" It's not called the "wife of Christ." So using "bride" could be a throwback to the Bible. So maybe saying "bride" is like answering the question, "What Would Jesus Do?" He'd say bride. OK, I get that.

The other reason I could see you using this word is that your wife loves it. If my wife wanted me to call her my bride and that made her feel loved, the title of this post would be "People who don't call their wives their brides are stupid." So maybe that's why you do it.

Me personally? I call my wife "Brown Sugar" like D'Angelo suggested. But I'm hip hop.

What's your take?

Do you call your wife your bride? Does your husband call you that?

What's your opinion?

Going beyond Deep V-Neck Syndrome

I knew it would happen when we moved to Nashville. People warned me. Deep down in my own heart, I knew it was a very real possibility. I just didn't know it would happen this quickly.

I'm now in stage 5 of Deep V-Neck Syndrome.

When we moved to Nashville from Atlanta last August, I was in stage 3. That's the judgment stage, as in "When you own a single deep v-neck t-shirt you start to judge every other crew neck shirt in your wardrobe as boring and lazy and without any sort of flair."

The weird thing is that I skipped right over stage 4. That's where you actually start to make your own v-necks, taking a pair of scissors, or in extreme situations, a bowie knife, to your other t-shirts to render them V-tastic.

I haven't made my own v-neck shirts, but recently I caught myself wearing a v-neck from H&M that was deep like the river Jordan. I'd like to say that my wife bought me a v-neck sweater that required me to purchase that H&M deep v-neck t-shirt for underneath, but one of my marriage vows was to never throw my wife under a wardrobe bus.

The scary thing is that, as I've toured the country this last year, I've realized that deep v-neck syndrome (DVS) goes much deeper than I initially imagined. There are actually 8 stages, not 5. Some Christians at the churches I've been speaking at are actually going "beyond deep v-neck syndrome."

Here are the next three stages you need to watch out for:

Stage 6: The shave

Nothing says, "Me & V-necks 4-eva!" like actually shaving your chest so that you can wear a deep V. The challenging thing about this stage is that it's hard to shave your chest because you can't look in the mirror because you can no longer look yourself in the face anymore for the shame of what you're doing. And once you shave the v-neck t-shirt area, you face the same dilemma Seinfeld faced in the episode where he shaved his chest. Where does it end? Do you keep going? How far? Beware my friend: In a few minutes, you might find yourself completely hairless like one of those scary cats. Sure, you'll be more aerodynamic, but what kind of life is that to live?

Stage 7: The choke

Something weird happens after you wear v-necks for a while. When you try to put a crew neck t-shirt on it starts to feel like it's choking you. You think, "Is this too tight on my neck? Ugh, I don't know if I can even breathe in this thing. What sort of cotton poly blend torture device is this? I gotta get this thing off, right now, before I pass out!" And panicked, clutching at your neck, you rip it off and return back to the bosom of your friend, the v-neck. If it doesn't choke you, at the bare minimum, after months of wearing v-necks, you start to visually think crew necks look like "t-shirt turtlenecks."

Stage 8: The sunburn

Laugh, oh laugh all you want, but eventually if you wear v-neck's long enough, you'll get a v-neck shaped sunburn. One day, you're enjoying an outdoor summer concert surrounded by skinny jeans and people who are pretending they've loved the banjo as an instrument for years. The next, you're wearing a deep red triangle of shame that says, "Look at me, I shaved my chest, wore a navel grazing v-neck t-shirt and didn't put on any sunscreen!" You're not a redneck at this point, my friend. You're a "mauve neck."

The last time I wrote about Deep V-neck Syndrome, my warning went unheeded. I even didn't listen to my own advice. Hopefully, this year will be different. Hopefully, you'll put down the razor and step away from the deep V-neck t-shirt. If not for yourself, for the children. Who I believe are the future.

Question:

Have you ever worn a v-neck t-shirt? What stage are you in?

Win 1 of 5 copies of Priscilla Shirer's New Video Series "Seed!"

Last December, I was one of two guys who went to Deeper Still Conference. When I came back from the conference, I wrote a post about it and said this about Priscilla Shirer:

Good grief, that Priscilla Shirer was on fire. I only caught a couple minutes of her, but she absolutely destroyed that stage. Wow. I thought at the end she'd just drop the mic like Eminem at the end of 8 Mile and walk off. Great stuff.

Six months later, when Lifeway said, "Do you want to give away 5 copies of Priscilla's new DVD series Seed?" the answer was easy. "Yes, yes I do."

Seed is a 6-part series of short videos with thought provoking, modern-day parables with weekly Bible study guides. Sometimes, as a small group leader, it's hard to find resources that will be engaging, encouraging and challenging. (Also not crazy, or boring or weird.) I've been part of a lot of small groups where the conversation grinds to a halt when you finish one book or video series and don't know where to go next.

Seed is a great "next" and is perfect for a 6-week summer Bible study. Each video stands alone and covers a specific topic, allowing you to watch the video together as a group, use the discussion guide, and then study on your own with the Member Book during the week. (For more info about it, check out Lifeway!)

Today, I've got 5 copies of Seed to give away.

Here's how to enter:

1. Leave a comment on this post with an answer to the question, "What's one topic you'd love to see Priscilla cover in a video?"

2. Twitter a link to this post with this link: http://bit.ly/mvt12k. If you don't have a Twitter account, you can use Facebook. You can write your own or use this example. "Win a free copy of Priscilla Shirer's new video series Seed on @jonacuff's blog! Details: http://bit.ly/mvt12k "

3. On Saturday June 25, we will pick 5 winners. We'll announce them the following week, and you can email your address if you're one of the winners.

That's it. I hope you enter! And if you want to see a clip from Seed, I have posted it below:

Comparing going to church to going to the dentist.

(It's guest post Friday! Here's one from Sammy Adebiyi, a college pastor from Nigeria, currently living in Ohio and working with the Mocha Club and the Vineyard Church of Toledo. If you want to write a guest post for SCL, here's how.)

Comparing going to church to going to the dentist. – by Sammy Adebiyi

I had to go to the dentist recently. And being in that office made me wonder about the similarities between going to the dentist and going to church. Specifically, I thought:

If I were a pastor and my dentist ever came to my church, I would…

Make the church secretary stop him in the lobby and ask him how long it's been since he's been at a church. If it's been a while, I'd make him fill out a really, really long detailed form about all his family's history of sins, struggles, shame and addictions. I'd let him know this was standard procedure, and we might need to even do some X-rays to complete our soul records unless another church could send them to us.

Then I'd make him wait 30 minutes for me by sitting on a very uncomfortable chair in a tiny room filled with pictures of depressed looking people while our youth intern probes his soul by asking him questions like:

"How many times do you pray a day?"

"Do you EVER read your Bible?"

"King James Version, The Message, or original Hebrew manuscript?"

"Why don't you take the next few minutes and show me exactly how you pray?"

A little while later, I'd sneak into the back of the room and start whispering to the intern, loud enough for him to know we're talking about him, quiet enough for him to get curiously anxious because he can't clearly hear us, and "clergy mumbo jumbo" enough for him to get confused and terrified.

"Really?"

"What about the eschatology of his exegetical hermeneutics?" *whisper*

"Whoa! I haven't seen this since Nebuchadnezzer did you know what…"

Then I'd walk over to him with a huge smile on my face and say something like…

"Let's see what we got here. Hi. I'm pastor Sammy. Why don't you lean back and try to relax while I try to find out about anything you've done that my intern might have missed.

And, oh yeah, if at any point you feel any guilt and shame, just raise your right hand, and I'll stop drilling into your background. So, you go to the country club often?"

After a few more minutes, I'd look over to him and say…

"Well sir, things look really good on the outside. Nice job. Nice car. Nice guy. But on the inside? Not so much."

"How bad?"

"Well, as far as I can tell you have NINE sins that need immediate attention. Two of them are not super deep, but if the other 7, if not taken care of, have the potential to ultimately alter how and where you spend eternity. By the way, we also have about four other potential sins that we are watching, but I guess that depends on whether or not you don't wait another two years before coming to church again."

'Well, it's been great seeing you. The intern will come back in and finish up with you. He'll have the mandatory offering plate and tithe envelopes for you. He'll also help you schedule 3 more of these terrifying nightmare appointments so we can work on that soul of yours."

On his way out, as a token of our appreciation, the reception will hand him a free colorful picture Bible, courtesy of our church. He'd get to pick the color of his choice, of course. And maybe even a little travel size Bible for when he's at a hotel and forgets to bring one.

On second thought, maybe I'm glad church isn't exactly like the dentist. Praying is hard sometimes but it's nowhere near as difficult as flossing regularly.

(For more great stuff from Sammy, check out his blog: How much does God weigh?)

Live Video Chat Tonight!

I'm doing a live video chat tonight at 8PM Eastern/7PM Central. (I'll be on for an hour)

Tune in and ask a question! We'll talk Quitter Conference, Stuff Christians Like and all manners of awesomeness.

Here's the new link.

Prayer Demands

"You couldn't make something up like that if you tried."

I've heard that phrase a billion times, but only recently did I really understand it. A pastor sent me an email and, after I read it, I realized in my wildest uniball micro vision inspired brainstorming sessions I couldn't have come up with this one. Try as I might, this idea would not have emerged from my writing cave. I couldn't have made something up like this if I tried.

In his email, he told me what one member of his church had written on a prayer card. Do you have those at your church? They're tiny cards that you write prayer requests on. One Sunday, after going through a stack of prayer cards people had turned in, the pastor came across this one:

"I know our real home is in Heaven, but it would be nice if the lawn at our home at (INSERT CHURCH ADDRESS) could be mowed so it would be more presentable to visitors."

I didn't make that up. I just quoted it verbatim. And at first, I was thrown for a loop. It felt a little like a Jesus Juke but I don't think it is. A juke is when someone unexpectedly slams some Jesus into a conversation that wasn't initially about Jesus. For example, if your Facebook status on Super Bowl Sunday was "I'm so excited about the big game tonight" and one of your friends responded, "I wish you were that excited about church on Sunday," then you've just been juked.

This was different though. This was a "prayer demand."

A prayer demand is when someone prays something or writes something on a prayer card instead of saying it directly to someone. Let's imagine you're a counselor at camp this summer. Before the cabin goes to bed, you pray for them and end up offering a prayer demand instead of a prayer request. Here is what that would look like:

"Lord, I pray Tim Johnson would not think it's OK to sneak out of his cabin this summer unless he really wants to get all his privileges taken away. I pray you would remind him that he's an example for the younger campers, and filling a counselor's shoes with honey, mayonnaise or really any other condiment is a tremendously unkind thing to do."

And the prayer demand can be applied to groups too, not just individuals. Let's say you're a small-group leader, and none of the other couples are reading the book they're supposed to be reading each week. Maybe, they're doing the "in-car skim," which is where your wife reads all the subheads in a chapter to you while you drive to small group. Here's what your prayer demand might sound like when everyone sits down together that night:

"Dear Lord, I pray that you would give us the energy and enthusiasm needed to read the material each week before small group. I pray that in the midst of our busy weeks we would remember our per chapter commitment and not sit out in the driveway frantically flipping pages trying to find one nugget we can all talk about as if we've read the entire chapter. Amen."

The prayer demand also works with kids too. As a parent, you can pray with your kids and say something like this:

"Lord, please remind my two angels that asking them to wash their hands before dinner is not an invitation to stage an all out sprint to the bathroom, in which they slam into each other running down the hall like NASCAR racers going after the checkered flag. Please remind them that the first will be last and the last will be first, and that includes at the sink in the guest bathroom."

It's really quite a versatile little prayer if you think about it. I still think it's whack though. I'm not sure that prayer is the place for us to make our demands of other people who are in the room. Especially if they're delivered passive aggressively. So how do you tell the difference between a prayer request and a prayer demand? Especially with your kids, because there are times when you'll pray something like, "Lord, let my daughters have kind hearts to each other."

The easiest way to tell the difference between a prayer demand and a prayer request is to see if the person praying has their eyes open. And is looking at you while they're praying. Checking to make sure you're listening to what they're praying to God but really directing to you. You getting this? You listening to this demand? This one's for you. Pay attention. I've got something you need to hear, but I have decided to enrobe it in a prayer.

Question:

Have you ever experienced a prayer demand?

Thinking God will run out of welcome home banners.

It's summer and that always reminds me of the story of me and Michael Jordan. No, it's not that time I dunked on him. I had to sign a whole lot of confidentiality agreements about that. This story is different.

I met Jordan one summer while he was golfing at a country club in Pinehurst, North Carolina. My uncle and his family lived on the golf course, and I was spending a few weeks there before I started the eighth grade.

When word spread that Jordan and a gang of other important people were in the clubhouse that morning, we all went down to get a closer look. This was before Jordan became human. Before the gambling and the baseball experiment and the tabloid fodder. Jordan was a god at the time, and I had a Nike swoosh mark shaved into the back of my head to prove it. I told everyone in Pinehurst that summer that I had my haircut that way as a tribute to a friend in Boston who had been shot and killed for a pair of Air Jordans.

I'm not sure why I lied like that. None of that was true. Maybe I'm like Samson, razors bring out the worst in me, but Michael Jordan didn't know any of that. Neither did Dean Smith, the legendary coach of UNC, or Dr. J, who were both with Jordan that day.

They all signed the back of my shirt with a big marker. Later that afternoon, with the autographed shirt safely tucked in a drawer, I went back down to the clubhouse. It had been 3 or 4 hours and I wanted to see if I could get Jordan's autograph on a piece of paper I could frame.

The party had already finished golfing, and all the fans had gone home. I saw Jordan walking to his car in the parking lot. I ran out after him as fast as my little seventh grade legs would carry me and said, "Excuse me Mr. Jordan, can I please have your autograph?"

He stopped in his tracks and turned, a golf bag resting high on shoulders that towered over me. With a look that froze opponents on basketball courts across the planet he said, "Didn't I already sign you kid?"

Life is Limited

In the real world, in parking lots in Pinehurst, North Carolina, life is limited. Your hero turns to you and tells you that he's not going to give you another autograph. Your hero tells you he remembers you and that you're not getting a second signature, the only thing you want that day. That stupid summer, with a lopsided swoosh mark growing in the back of your head, and a mouth full of lies.

Sometimes I think God is like that. Bothered by me, tired of my requests for His time, even if it's just 3 seconds for Him to sign off on some prayer I'm saying or need I'm sure I can't live without.

He's on His way somewhere important after a round of golf with Moses and Elijah or Elisha, whichever one plays. I'm chasing Him down in the parking lot. He turns with His big God golf clubs, and He looks down at me. And He says in that massive voice of His "Didn't I already forgive you kid?"

Forgiveness is the thing I ask for the most. In my head, maybe I know that God's forgiveness is eternal and inexhaustible, but in my heart I feel like He's going to run out of it. That He's got a limited supply. And I'm burning them up, one by one, sin by sin.

The Day After The Party

I've read the story about the prodigal son more than anything else in the Bible. If you've messed up life like I have, then it's a pretty good read. When you get arrested, they should read that to you right after the Miranda rights. That'd be a nice way to take a little sting out of going to jail.

Part of the reason I've read that story so many times, though, is that I think there's something missing. I feel like there's some verse or passage that I must have skipped that makes the whole thing make sense. It seems too good to be true. The prodigal son takes his inheritance, blows it on fast living, ends up in a pig pen, and then gets a party thrown for him when he returns home. I've always wondered what the day after the party was like:

The first rays of sunshine crept across the floor and landed on a pile of party favors being swept up by a servant. A welcome home banner was being taken down and across the house the sounds of morning reverberated.

In his old bedroom, the prodigal son rolls over and opens his eyes. He'd dreamt it so often, dreamt of this place so often, he didn't believe it was real. Those nights in the dark, curled under a bush or beside the barn when his money was gone and his hope with it, he'd wondered if he'd ever know safety again. He sat up, surprised to find himself there, laughing at the memories of the night before. The feast, the party, the ridiculousness of it all.

His family who celebrated his return, as if his absence had increased their love for him, amplified it. None of it made any sense. There was a knock on the door. He had a door again. That was something he had missed.

The head of a servant peered in:
"Sir, your father is waiting for you in the kitchen." This servant didn't go to seminary either and didn't seem that concerned that in biblical times "kitchen" was definitely the wrong word to use in that context.

With a yawn and a scratch of his head, the prodigal son got up. He put on his clothes and made his way to the kitchen. There, at a small table, sat his father.

"Sit down son." He said, motioning to a chair across from him.

"Thank you for the party father. I never expected that and …"

"Son, we need to go over the list." His father said, interrupting him.

"The list?"

"Yes" he replied, touching a large pile of blank paper with his hand. "We need to make a list of all the money you spent, all the mistakes you made, and all the people you hurt. Then we need to figure out how you start repaying your debt," the father said.

"I had a plan, father. I had a plan when I was walking home, but when I saw you running I didn't think I'd need it. At the party, I forget what my plan was," the son said, with a voice of shame and sorrow that had taken but a brief hiatus during the previous night's celebration.

"Well, you've got the rest of your life for it to come back to you," the father said, taking out a pen and writing "family inheritance" at the top of the list.

For most of my life, this is how I would have written the second part of that story, the directors cut if you will, an alternative ending that was too harsh for the version they released in the Bible.
 The father's anxious sprint toward the lost son doesn't make any sense. That's not how life works. People pay for their mistakes. They don't get a party for them. When you return home from wasting your inheritance on the world, your father says "Didn't I already bless you kid?" End of story.

Forgiveness

I don't understand forgiveness, and it's always depressing to me when I read a book that tells me that's the first step of the Christian walk, believing that God forgives you. If I can't get past that first step, then the rest of it, all the rest of it, remains completely closed to me.

It's not that I think I don't need forgiveness. I just don't understand how it's possible.

If I can't earn it, then it's out of my control and I'm powerless.

I remember the first time I ever knew how outrageous and insane real forgiveness was. I had gotten myself into some serious trouble at work. The kind of trouble  so big and ugly it makes you ashamed that there are people in your life close enough to you to get some of the trouble spilled on them. I wanted to push everyone away, to expel people from the planetary system that was me, and just go float somewhere and die.

I called my wife on the phone and told her as much.

"I'm sorry you met me," I said through angry, frightened tears. I was desperate for her to go, to pull away from me so I could inflict pain on only one person. The person I felt deserved it the most. Me.

"I love you!" She yelled through the phone.

"How can you say that? That doesn't make any sense," I responded.

"You don't get to decide who I love. I love you. That's my decision. You can't take that away from me. I love you. I choose to love you." She repeated words like these over and over again. She attacked me with love that day. And forgiveness I didn't deserve. Forgiveness I couldn't earn or make sense of.

I was overwhelmed that day. And I think that was such a thin sliver of what God's forgiveness is like, how big and nonsensical His love is. I heard a minister once say that His forgiveness, God's grace, is given wastefully. He pours it out on us in such abundance that it's almost wasteful.

The Tenth Party

I have to confess that some days I still think there's a list God will ask me to work through the day after He throws me that Welcome Home party. I have a hard time understanding how something can be true and illogical at the same time. And so much of God is that way.
 But some days, when I least expect it, in ways I can't control, I believe a different story about God's forgiveness.

The first rays of sunshine creep across a dusty road and grate against the eyelids of the prodigal son trying to sleep uncomfortably on a bed of gravel. His teeth felt dirty, his mouth and hands stained with the red of cheap wine. A long scratch ran across his cheek, a shoe was angled beneath his head for a pillow.

"How many times did this make?" he thought from the part inside him that still remembered returning home. He was doing so well, things were so happy but his "never agains" always seemed to fail him in the end. How long would he be gone this time?

Miles away, a concerned father stood by the front window of his house as a servant approached with a message.

"Sir, I checked his bedroom and the barn. His things are missing. He's left again."

"I know," the father said with sad eyes.

 And then, with slow steps, he walked to a large closet and motioned to the servant.

"Help me with this Welcome Home banner," he said pulling one from a pile of ten thousand.

"Today could be the day my child returns."