Jon Acuff's Blog, page 95

Host the Quitter Conference Simulcast at Your Church!

As I recently shared on my other blog, my wife used to call me a “Sunday Jerk.”

Why?

Well, on Saturday I was fine. I was happy. But on Sunday, I could feel the weight of Monday morning building. I could sense the stress of the clock ticking as I got closer to returning to a job I didn’t feel called to do.

At first I thought it was just me, but then I started to talk to people and realized we’re becoming the “I’m, But,” generation. When I ask someone what they do, they tell me the same thing, “I’m a teacher, but I want to be an artist.” “I’m a customer call center representative, but I want to start a business.” “I’m a ________, but I want to be a _________.”

Across the country I heard that same story from people of all ages.

More than 80% of employees in the US want to change jobs.

College graduates face a 16.4% unemployment rate when they finish school.

People in their 50s are being forced to look for “encore careers” due to layoffs.

In order to provide hope and a plan for folks facing these situations, I wrote the book Quitter and started the Quitter Conference. This two-day event is a crash course in closing the gap between your day job and your dream job. When the last two conferences sold out, churches began to ask if we would take the show on the road.

After a conversation with Dave Ramsey, we realized the best thing to do is offer a simulcast of the entire event to churches like yours on September 21-22. (It starts on Friday at 6PM Central – 9PM and then Saturday 8AM – 4PM Central.)

If you’re familiar with my blog and book, Stuff Christians Like then you know the event will be a fun, honest, insight packed event. (With possible bouts of breakdancing from me.) Invite everyone from high school students to single adults and married couples. (It’s hard to find someone these days who is not in the middle of a career transition.)

You don’t have to be a tech genius to run the simulcast, we’ve got an entire team to help make it an incredibly easy experience. And whether it’s held in a Sunday School classroom or the sanctuary is up to you depending on how many folks you invite. Don’t miss this special event. If you’d like to bring the Quitter Conference to your church call 800-572-0375 or email us at simulcast@daveramsey.com.

p.s. Not a church, but still want to see the Quitter Conference? We’re live streaming the Friday night session. You can sign up here for an individual pass.

The Facebook Prayer Interruption

I’ve been a part of approximately 1.2 million public prayers.

I say “approximately” because God frowns on you officially counting prayers. (It’s in Leviticus. Google it up.)

I thought I’d seen it all until a few weeks ago. I witnessed something new, something I think you’re going to see eventually too.

A Facebook Prayer Interruption, or FPI.

What’s that?

Well, a friend of mine stood up to make a prayer request. She was asking for prayer for a mutual friend who had a big event scheduled for that day.

Midway through the prayer request, another friend interrupted her and said, “Ohh, sorry. I actually saw on Facebook this morning that was canceled.”

The friend making the prayer request paused, said something like, “Oh, I hadn’t checked Facebook this morning yet. OK. Um, never mind.” And then sat back down.

Later I talked to the Facebook Prayer Interrupter, and I asked her what was going through her mind in that moment. How did she know it was time to bust out an FPI?

What are the signs that maybe you should make an FPI someday? Together we came up with this list:

How to make a Facebook Prayer Interruption

1. Be sure your information is up-to-the-minute accurate.

Don’t be that friend who checks Facebook once every 3 months and then asks for prayer for the birth of a baby who was born three months ago.

2. Don’t touch your ear like a news reporter who is receiving breaking information.

People frown on that, and it will probably make you look a little crazy.

3. Make sure the person is very wrong about their prayer request.

If someone says, “I want to pray for the safe travel of my friends who are going on a mission trip to Honduras,” and you know they’re actually going to “Guatemala,” pipe down Connie Chung. Did they get the country wrong? Yep. Is God going to be confused and send a fleet of angels to the wrong country because of the prayer request? Nope. Don’t interrupt that one.

4. Don’t do live updates.

If you decide to drop an FPI, just say, “I found out some new information on Facebook.” Don’t give a play-by-play via status updates during the middle of the prayer time. “According to Jill’s last status update, her grandmother is in the hospital. Now she’s out. Her uncle commented on the status, he’s coming to the funeral. Ohh, cute puppy photo. Jill’s got such a sweet doggie. Whoops, new status just got posted. Grandmother is now out of the hospital.”

5. Don’t call it “The Facebook.”

Adding the word “the” to things makes you look old and in possession of brittle bones that require you to eat calcium chews.

Hopefully, those 5 tips will help you, because trust me, this is going to happen.

You will either give a Facebook Prayer Interruption or receive a Facebook Prayer Interruption. But, don’t worry, God never gives you more FPIs than you can handle. That’s in Mark. Google it up.

Question:

Have you ever seen a prayer request get interrupted?

6 things not to tithe

(It’s guest post Friday! Here’s one from Tor Constantino. You can check out his blog here, as well as find him here on Twitter. If you want to write a guest post for SCL, here’s how!)

For the past five years or so, I’ve been the board treasurer at our church. One of the duties covered by that office is counting the tithes or donations after the weekly church service.

I know, I know–the idea of tithing 10% of your income to the church can be controversial. In fact, Jon has written about the challenges he faces since he direct deposits his tithe every week.

But what you might not know about the weekly tithe is that the practice of passing the offering plate, bucket, or double-handled velour satchel (the latter of which resembles a magician’s prop, circa Doug Henning 1970s), sometimes results in non-traditional giving.

Here are six things you might want to avoid “donating” when possible.

1.  Origami Folded Cash or Checks

While the ancient art of Chinese paper-folding is a wonderful diversion at children’s parties, it sucks trying to reverse engineer the back folds on checks and Benjamins folded up as tiny unicorns or pelicans. Please reserve and redirect your Avatar paper-bending skills for when you volunteer for childcare duty.

2.  Tony “Scarface” Montana coke-snorting-money straws

During worship, you might be tempted to see how tightly you can roll a 10 spot into a little “snow-blowing” cylinder, but please don’t. It’s already tough enough making cash deposits on behalf of a church when 80% of the paper money in the U.S. has traces of cocaine. Let’s not add further realism to the drama.

3.  Coupons From the Sunday Circulars

While the gesture of tossing in a few double-value coupons for Hamburger Helper might seem like a good idea, it’s really not. I don’t think the spirit of tithing covers the clipped discounts on VO5 Hot Oil Treatments or Scrubbing Bubbles cleanser. When standing before the Great White throne of judgment, it’ll be tough defending the practice of tithing 10% of your paper recyclables to the church.

4.  IOUs 

I understand the tough economy of late, and I think God does as well. While I don’t want to speak on behalf of the Big Guy, I don’t think you need to scribble an “I Owe You” on the sermon notes for $20 if you’re short on cash that week. God understands–even if your bookie or neighborhood loan shark doesn’t.

5.  Monopoly Properties or Trivial Pursuit Cards

Not sure if these were accidental or intentional. Perhaps the anonymous parishioner thought they might playfully liven up the sometimes tedious offering-count process. If you want to tithe games, at least offer a complete game (not 10% of a game) that the counters can play using the tithe bucket or bag such as Yahtzee or Liar’s Dice (Father pre-forgive me for breaking the 9th Commandment).

6.  The Little Plastic Communion Cups

Our church takes communion on the first Sunday of every month. During the actual service, the offering follows immediately after communion. Every few months or so, we’ll get an offering bag that’s got a couple of tiny, drippy communion cups with bills drenched in grape juice. Perhaps some congregants confuse the offertory with the church’s waste management practices? I don’t know, but just as a reminder the velour bag with black cherry handles and brass inlays is not a communal, in-service refuse pickup.

Question:

Are there any other odd things you’ve seen placed in an offering plate, bucket or bag?

(For more great writing from Tor, you can check out his blog here.)

Suddenly realizing you own fourteen Bibles

No one ever sets out to own fourteen Bibles. This is not a goal anyone commits to paper and tucks inside their wallet so that they can constantly remind themselves, “Someday, I’m going to own my bodyweight in Bibles!” No one hoards Bibles like a squirrel on purpose or smuggles them out of church in their pants legs. We never intend for this to happen, and yet somewhere along the way, in your Christian walk, you’re going to wake up one day and say, “Whoa, I own fourteen Bibles.”

It all starts off innocently; everyone needs a Bible, so you buy one. And you like it, it’s nice, but you didn’t realize how many options there were.  You were expecting to go to the store and say, “I’d like to buy a Bible,” and have the guy behind the counter who probably would have a mustache and overalls and look vaguely like a character from a Norman Rockwell painting say, “Sure, got a fresh shipment in last night. Looks like it’s goin’ to be a cold winter; muskrats are running. Here you go. Enjoy your Bible.” But that’s not how it happened at all, is it?

When you show up to the store they pointed you to the Bible section. The section! There are rows and rows of Bibles.

You had no idea there were so many varieties. And so you started looking through them, but it’s overwhelming. Authorized version? Who authorized it? What does that mean? Are the rest of the Bibles considered unauthorized? Like that biography of Ralph Macchio you read?

Holman Christian Standard? Who’s Holman? How come he gets to set the standard? And what does Douay-Rheims mean?  That’s fun to say, kind of like your favorite phrase, “nougat bungalow,” but what does that mean?

So you pace the aisles and try to find a Stuff Christians Like version but there’s not one…yet.

And then you just buy one. In a sweaty huff, you buy one and for a while it’s okay. But then you see your friend’s Bible. Then you read some other versions and you think, “I bought the wrong one. I need to get another one.” So you go back to the store months later, and you buy the one you like. Now you’ve got two, your first Bible, which is special for sentimental reasons, and your second Bible, which is now your “I’m going to read this one daily” version.

It’s great too. You love that Bible, but it’s awful heavy. Have you noticed that? Carrying it on trips is no fun, lugging it around church is kind of a hassle, and forget about putting it in your purse. It’s like putting volume “K” of the encyclopedia in there. Maybe you should get one that’s streamlined. Something small and compact and portable. Maybe with a magnet clasp. That would be a lot easier wouldn’t it? Now you’re up to three.

Then a holiday rolls around, and your family members or friends who aren’t Christians think, “What should we get him for Christmas or his birthday?  What do you buy a Christian? How about a Bible? Christians love Bibles.”  So you get one as a gift.  Now you’ve got four.

Which isn’t too many; four Bibles isn’t obscene. But then you start a new Bible study group, and you’re going to read through Proverbs. It sure would be nice to write in your Bible, to take some notes and write in the margins, but the Bible you use has margins that are approximately .01 inches wide.

You would have to possess the precision of a Japanese blowfish chef to write in that Bible. And hey, look at this, there’s a new journaling Bible with notebook lines built right in.  Welcome to Bible number five.

Five is good. We’re done at five. If we ever had to play a game of basketball against the Koran, we would be able to suit up an entire team. That’s enough. But then a friend comes over and, low and behold, you get to witness to them. You’re not even sure how that happened, but right there in your living room you’re telling them about how much God loves them. And they don’t own a Bible. You’ve got to give them a Bible; everyone needs a Bible. So you give them number two from your lineup, and you have to go back to the store.

Hmmmm, what if that happens again? What if you’re the next John the Baptist, and you’re on some kind of streak? How many houses are in your cul-de-sac?  Eight. There are eight people who live near you who might need Bibles at some point. Now you’ve got twelve.

But what if they don’t come to you?  What if you have to go get them?  What if you’re visiting them, and they bring up God?  Better get a spare Bible to keep in your car, a “car Bible” if you will.  Now you’ve got thirteen.

And you’re not superstitious. Numbers don’t hold power over you. Sure seven is holy and six is evil, but thirteen isn’t unlucky. That’s just  silly, and yet at the same time it doesn’t seem wise to own thirteen Bibles.  And so you return to the store…

(This originally appeared in the Stuff Christians Like book.  If you want to pick up a copy, click here!)

Dear God,

Dear God,

We’ve been trying to rebuild Eden since the day we got kicked out.

And I find myself on the construction site more than I’d like to admit.

But no amount of success is big enough.

No amount of money is deep enough.

No amount of attention or adoration or approval is strong enough.

Before I wrote a book, I thought maybe being an author would be enough.

It wasn’t.

Before I spoke on stage, I thought maybe a crowd would be enough.

It wasn’t.

Before I had a house, I thought maybe a home would be enough.

It wasn’t.

Everything I’ve ever acquired in my life has burned bright at first, but it turned to ashes in my hands when I tried to turn it into my Savior.

But still, I build. Perhaps, if I can’t recreate my own version of Eden, I can at least make a ladder to get back into yours. I perform. I strive. I strain. I accomplish.

And yet the rungs are never high enough. I can glimpse the glow of where I want to be, but just can’t get there via me.

Then there is grace. Frustrating, frustrating grace. Like everything else in my life, I want to control it. To shape it. To make it do the things I want it to do.

It won’t. Grace refuses to be controlled.

Well, then, maybe I can earn it? Maybe I can buy it in bulk with my good behavior. Maybe I can balance out the filth of my failures with good performances. But you give it freely.

You won’t let me earn it. You don’t let me dance for it. You just tell me to come dance.

Which feels so lazy!

I am the prodigal son returning home for a job. I am returning home to work my way back onto the farm.

And, instead, you throw an unbridled, unexpected, UNDESERVED party.

I’m afraid to accept it because I don’t think I’m good enough to maintain it. I don’t think I can be as perfect as I need to be in order to continue deserving it. Now that it’s in my hands, my hands can never be dirty again. You hand me grace, and I think you’re handing me an expectation.

And it weighs so much. I’m afraid to drop it, but the expectation to be perfect is heavier than I can carry. I know this is foolish. I know in my head that, when you give us grace, you are not finishing the process of forgiveness, you are beginning it.

But in my ears I hear differently. I cobble together a view of you that is untrue. From bad sermons and bad books and bad theology and bad friends, I build a bad God.

I don’t know who you are yet, but I know it’s not who I’ve built you to be.

When you hand me grace, please take away my hammer too.

I’m tired of being in the construction business.

Jon

Small group surprises.

I need to get back into a small group.

We were in one in Nashville for a while, but my travel schedule made it hard for me to consistently make it.

My wife got tired of going to a couples small group all by herself. Go figure. She’s weird like that. Walked out of the Neverending Story movie when she was a kid.

One of the things I miss about small groups, in addition to going through seasons together, putting hedges of protection around people, shotblocking each other’s prayers, etc., are the surprises that happen.

I don’t care how long you’ve been in a small group, people are always full of surprises. Just when you think you know someone, they throw a curveball.

Case in point: One of the small groups I was in when we lived in Atlanta.

We’d been together as a group for about 6 months. The ice had long been broken. Our stories were long “unpacked.” Suffice it to say, we were “doing life together.” We were in the middle of reading CS Lewis’ Mere Christianity. That’s not as heady as, say, a century’s old tome covering Arminianism, Semipelagianism, and the writings of Hugo Grotius, but it’s not a cakewalk either. There are way easier entry-level modern Christian books you can start off slow with, as opposed to CS Lewis.

One night, as we discussed the book, one of the other husbands casually said, “It’s a good book. But at the end of the day, we’re all going to the same place. Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, it’s all the same. Right?”

Then he waited for the person next to him to jump in with their thoughts on the book, as if he had just perhaps said, “I like CS Lewis. Big fan of Narnia. Gotta love the Narnia. How beautiful you think that mane on Aslan was? Flowing, I bet. Man.”

The group got quiet for a second because we weren’t sure if he was playing a wry, religious practical joke. We all waited for him to say, “Bazinga!”

But he wasn’t joking. He was serious. What’s surprising was that we’d met for six months. We’d known each other for half a year. We’d potlucked together, we’d even crock potted together.

And yet, we didn’t really know each other.

There were still surprises to be had.

And this one ended up being a great segue to a great discussion.

I miss that about being in a small group. That and most of the desserts. (I say most because putting nuts in brownies is like choosing to bake with gravel. Why you would ruin a perfectly good brownie with small rocks is beyond me.)

Question:

Has anyone in a small group ever surprised you?

Happy Labor Day!

I hope you have a great day off!

When I grew up in Massachusetts, this was always the last day of summer. So farewell summer. Hello corduroy pants season!

See you tomorrow.

What if your dream of youth ministry changes?

(It’s Guest Post Friday!  Today’s guest post is by Ethan Bryan. This is not a traditional guest post, but I really loved how Ethan explained the new adventure he’s on. And there are a lot of folks who read this blog who work at churches and might understand exactly what Ethan is talking about.)

What if your dream of youth ministry changes?

I Quitter-ed. Well, kind of.

My wife and I were married for 14 months before we were evicted from our apartment (not our fault), which launched us from Missouri to Texas to start my seminary education. Three years and one newborn daughter later, we returned to Missouri, to Kansas City—home of BBQ, the Royals, and the church where I was the newly hired Minister of Youth and Worship Arts. I was deeply influenced by Tony Campolo during my seminary years and planned on staying in Kansas City and at my church for life.

I grew into a proficient worship leader, learning on the job how to lead a band at a young church growing into contemporary worship expressions. I started writing songs, and a couple of them connected deeply with our worshiping body. I also worked with a great group of very bright and passionate teens, who asked really hard questions and pushed me to keep on learning, struggling, and exploring what it meant to follow Jesus and find friends in our community.  Honestly, I thought it was my dream job.

During the first six years, the church struggled financially. My wife and I still felt strongly about the amazing work the church was doing in the community, and they started a non-profit to help provide food and clothing to friends in need in our city.

When the youth ministry budget officially hit zero, I started writing my own youth curriculum and absolutely loved it. I wrote material for retreats and youth camps, for Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. I started writing on a blog to share stories of life and faith. Then I was told my priority was not to be writing. (Cue the internal tension.)

With my wife’s support, I Quitter-ed my position as worship leader, while staying employed as youth minister. The day after I resigned, I accepted a position as a freelance/contract curriculum writer for a national publishing house. Soon, I was asked to write multiple curriculums simultaneously, which kept me studying and typing and tightly managing my time. A friend suggested I read Quitter . The book was two years too late, and I loved it.

It turns out, the reality was a combination of Quitter and Steven Pressfield, and I’m still in the middle of it. Two months ago, I resigned as youth minister and moved to a new city. This time, with two daughters. I now write youth curriculum, magazine articles, and speak at youth retreats and camps. I play concerts at churches and small coffee shops. And within the month, I’ll be promoting my first book (www.runhomebook.com).

Quitter has been on my nightstand for the last two months. I still pick it up regularly as a guide and refresher. Quitter-ing has not been easy, and I’m constantly answering the “What if’s…?”  But I’m living into the me God whispered into being and watching dreams become tangible realities.

A couple of days ago, some friends were at my house playing with my daughters. I was headed out the door to write for the afternoon when I heard one of the neighbors ask, “Where’s your dad going?”

My youngest daughter replied, “Oh, he’s just a writer.  He writes stories and books and songs.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

This could be awesome!

A few weeks ago, a stand up comedian called me and left a voice mail. Turns out he got a few gigs because he wrote guest posts on one of my blogs.

That is awesome.

So, I started to think, “How do I share the platform with even more people?”

How do I help people who are hustling on their dream get some much deserved attention?

How do I encourage you and introduce you to 100,000 of your biggest fans?

Over the next few months I’m going to figure out a lot of different answers to that, but today I’ve got a very specific one. In fact, I’ll answer those questions with a question of my own:

Do you want to design the set for the Quitter Conference?

The event is Friday, September 21 at 6PM and Saturday, September 22 in Nashville, TN.

Even though we’ve got an amazing team here at Dave Ramsey that designs sets, I thought it’d be fun to find a fellow quitter like you and give you a shot.

Are you awesome at creating rooms? Staging experiences? Making an antique desk look good next to a skateboard? (See I can’t even describe the scene, let alone design it.)

If set design or live event design or staging rooms is your dream, here’s what I propose:

1. We will give you a small budget of cash.

2. We will give you a free ticket to the sold out Quitter Conference.

3. You and I will talk on the phone about the particular type of awesome we’re looking for.

4. You can come as early as Wednesday, September 19 to set up and make it look awesome. (You can come Friday if that’s better for your schedule.)

5. I will thank you profusely and do a big blog post about your immense talents and tell 100,000 people that you are awesome.

If that sounds fun to you, email links to some of your work or photos of it to Becky.Powell (a) DaveRamsey.com by Sunday, September 2.

Terrifying people into a relationship with Jesus

A friend of mine attended a children’s service once where they did the Fear Factor approach to salvation. They sat a roomful of kids, ages six and up, in front of a huge backlit white sheet. In a silhouette on stage, you could see a person lying on an operating table. Suddenly, another silhouette fired up a real chain saw and started cutting the person in half.  The person getting chain sawed wailed and flailed in agony as a children’s minister told the kids, “This is what God does when he removes sin from your life.” From the guts of the person, things like a television, a radio, and other sinful items were pulled out.

Meanwhile, the kids in the audience were bawling. They were terrified and couldn’t stop crying. Someone behind a curtain was getting murdered, and God was somehow involved. Parents and helpers rushed around the room, trying in vain to calm everyone down. The whole event concluded with an altar call to accept Chain Saw Jesus into your life.

This is a tricky topic to write on because we’re told to fear the Lord and there’s definitely fear present there. But I think events like that are why I have friends who say things like, “I’m so glad I didn’t grow up in church. I became a believer when I was older, so I didn’t have to unlearn much.”  Those kids would have accepted My Little Pony into their heart that day if it would have ended the chain saw sin massacre. The emotion they learned, the threshold they had to cross that led to God, was raw fear. He’s terrifying. He wants to hurt you. He wants to cut you in half to remove your sin.

I think sometimes this happens because we want to take a shortcut to salvation for someone. We want them to be saved right this second and right this moment and love can feel like it’s taking too long. Love is messy and slow. It unravels at God’s speed, not ours. Shame is faster. Fear is faster. And if the goal is to get them in the door, then fear becomes a pretty good method.

To tell you the truth, terrifying someone into a relationship with God is also easier. Love makes us vulnerable. I have to throw myself out there and be honest and naked and open to getting rejected if love is what I give to you. But fear doesn’t require any of that. I can yell and scream and try to intimidate you without getting hurt or taking any real risks. Love is harder because it demands that I get personally involved in your life. Fear doesn’t carry those same requirements.

But it does come with things like chain saws. That’s probably the other reason we try to scare people into a relationship with Jesus. Fear has better props than love, whose primary prop is a twirling ribbon. Look it up, it’s true.

(This originally appeared in the Stuff Christians Like book.  If you want to pick up a copy, click here!)