The Miracle of the Moment: When Faith Flexes

Late one night in March my son Ethan was born. It was an incredible day. The culmination of months of prayer, joy, nervousness, faith, and preparation. Jamie and I didn’t know how to be parents. Four kids and nine years later I often wonder if we still don’t. But it didn’t really matter at Saint Mary’s hospital in the infant delivery ward the day our Ethan arrived.

Like many first-time parents we were waiting expectantly for the day to come when we would be able to hold our little prince in our arms. Our friends and family celebrated the onset of our parenthood with gifts and parties. It was a season of incredible joy as everyone in our lives gathered around us. A heightened sense of anticipation descended on our circle of friends, close loved ones, and faith family. Ethan’s due date came and went with no small amount of nervousness on our part.

Jamie’s doctor departed for a family cruise and we were introduced to some new guy. He was not the kind lady we had spent the last nine months learning to trust. He seemed capable, sure, and kind, and all the kinds of things you hope for if the situation arises when you need another doctor to perform the baby-delivering equivalent of pinch-hitting.

A week passed. Jamie and Baby Ethan were perfectly fine according to all tests, but I was getting super nervous. Still, this was nothing compared to my dad. Finally, the substitute baby doctor guy announced early the next week he would need to step in and help the process along. Allowing nature to delay much longer would begin to cause opportunities for major complications. We trusted this guy because we trusted who invited him into our lives.

So, on a Monday morning we showed up at the hospital with all our bags packed to begin the process. Boy was it a process. All day tests were running, conversations were had, and doctors seen. It was a day of waiting, praying, and trusting. Like never before, and rarely since, Jamie and I both felt the muscles of our faith flex as if to say, “don’t be afraid.”

We shared the news of what was happening, first with our loved ones, and then the world at large across social media. The love poured in. It was as if dozens and maybe even hundreds of people were lending us their faith because each one knew this was new territory for us. With every passing moment we drew closer to the miracle we had prayed and waited for. As all those moments crept by, we could feel the reassurance of love.

It was like this incredible substance was propping us up. It was a palpable gathering of the unseen activated on our behalf. What one writer in the Bible described as faith via the evidence of things not seen. We couldn’t see it, but we could feel it. The ramifications were evident as our souls were encouraged.

The long day stretched longer. Someone, I think my mother, brought my favorite hamburger and a chocolate shake. I wasn’t hungry. How could I be hungry awaiting such a monumental miracle? But I ate the entire thing and remained not hungry as I drank down all forty liquid ounces of the superb chocolate shakey goodness.

The long day stretched, and yawned, and winked into night as a sliver of the moon rose above our small town as if to say it was almost time. Just like another man in the Bible described the arrival of a baby in a barn—it was the fullness of time, our time, and my son took his first beautiful breath on this earth.

I cried. My wife cried. It was faith made manifest. It was trust personified. It was the full range of the miraculous in motion and thrust upon our family with all the majesty of the moment. Faith was flexing big right before my eyes with the full force of the love God has for all of us.

Ethan was a promise given. A promise born. It wasn’t just a baby born that day, but it was a mother and father, a grandmother and grandfather, an uncle and cousins. A ripple of life echoed across everyone meaning anything to us and we were all changed. We were all made to mean a little more. We were all together in this and it was lovely beyond imagination.

Faith is a muscle we flex across a myriad of moments, but it is also a miracle that resounds with the finality of lightning. It is both ethereal and ever present. It is surmounting and inescapable in its subjugation of the right now and its dance across our unknown.

We can know, and we can hope, and we can see, and we can trust. Even when we don’t feel it, especially when we don’t feel it. Even when it seems elusive and illusive. When our faith seems deeply inadequate, we can borrow some from a friend.

There have been plenty of times when my faith was not enough. I had to look beyond my own hiccups and draw deeply from the reservoirs of a friend. My mentor, pastor, and close friend Mark is a continuing source of this for me.

Mark likes to joke that he is Iron Man because he has a mechanical heart valve. I’ve never done it, because I don’t make a habit of putting my ear to grown men’s chests, but his wife says she can hear it ticking away at home in the silence of the night. Every flicker of Mark’s heart is a faith moment as he trusts in what he can’t see. He’s lived a full life of putting Jesus at the center, loving people well, and leading and serving with great integrity. He is without a doubt one of the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Mark had been my family’s pastor for a while. He loved us through some big changes in our life. He led us through even more changes. And he helped launch us into our dream of becoming pastors of our own new, growing, and healthy church family. All of it came with a lot of bumps, talks, prayers, conversations, and confidence. His faith muscle is even bigger than his biceps (which are gigantic). I know when my faith is flickering I can borrow some from him.

There was a guy like this in the Bible who met Jesus one day. He needed help. He needed a miracle. Jesus asked him if he believed and he said, “Yes! But help me with my unbelief.”

This guy’s story demonstrates what way too many people are being silent about in their own faith journey. We’ve spent years communicating (intentionally or otherwise) you can’t experience both faith and doubt at the same time. I’m not buying it. The faith in our life flexes so much more when there’s uncertainty to face down first.

Ethan’s first breaths weren’t the normal baby breaths doctors expect to be greeted by. There was something much different about them. Something alarming to the people who know what to look for.

So, after a moment of celebration and wonder the well-meaning doctor pulled our son from my wife’s arms and whisked him away to another room. Suddenly, here at the end of an already long and emotional day we found the depth of raw emotions butting up against our years of working faith. We prayed. People we love prayed. Friends, family, and our church prayed. Heaven was on the receiving end of a barrage of people flexing together. The culminating trust of so many echoed big along those hallowed corridors.

Part of me wonders if those who went home before us jumped in to lend their faith as they heard the echoes pass them by. It might sound like wonky theology, but I can just imagine Grandma and Grandpa King picking up the clarion call as they mustered their faith from their remarkable perspective. Jamie said it best from the midst of her confused and longing heart, “I want my Ethan.” Love wants what love wants. It wasn’t just a cry of desperation. It was a statement of faith echoing across eternity as it was repeated in the mouths of praying loved ones.

Ethan’s birth was the culmination of something hard to articulate in a few paragraphs. The sudden alarm for his well-being was something altogether different. As the combined prayers of the many continued in petition of our Heavenly Father the strange breathing normalized. Ethan was returned to mommy’s embrace.

Just like that God showed me how good the experience of our faith at work can be. He didn’t show it to me once. He didn’t even show it to me twice. He showed me twice in the same day.

Faith flexed the moment Ethan was born. It was the bright miracle of a new life entering this world for all to see. It was the holy awe of what it feels like to love a living creation of your own soul. Faith also made itself known as the alarming moments of misunderstanding fell away before complete trust in our amazing Father.

Faith is practiced. It is work. It is art. It is a muscle we hone, and it is also a miracle. The miracle of faith isn’t only a progression of movement between moments, it is also a sublime experience of the miraculous in the moment.

There will be plenty of moments throughout our lives when we must lean deeply into faith in the private spaces of our day-to-day decisions. There will also be those penultimate circumstances when a loved one, friend, neighbor, or son needs us and our faith.

Our faith is a beautiful thing when it stands on its own—trusting Jesus like the guy in the story I mentioned. Our faith is a glorious thing when it stands together as it did for us the night Ethan was born. Those are amazing moments of holding, helping, and hoping within a community of people all believing and trusting for the same thing. Such a myriad of personalities coming together and bombarding heaven with a joining of faith catches the attention of heaven in an entirely different way.

Faith is the substance of our hope. It is the evidence of what we don’t see. It is the everyday stuff, the working it out stuff, and it is the miracle happening just when we need it most.

Moms, I Know Sundays Are Harder Now Than Ever

Photo by Quinn Vo

My wife shared her heart with me while we were on vacation a few weeks ago. And I wanted to share it with you. If this encourages you will you share it with someone who could use some encouragement? Thanks! - Nate

I raised my goldfish to the Lord. It wasn’t intentional. I lowered my hand immediately.  Though I thought about putting it back up again. 

You see that’s what my hands are like these days: they are full. And me? Well I’m usually distracted.

I used to think I was alone in my distractions. And then I looked around. Distraction fatigue is everywhere.

But for a moment I forgot the distractions. I forgot the fatigue. I forgot I was shushing a three-year-old. For a moment I wasn’t worried about the trash the five-year-old put on the church floor. Or the fact that the eight-year-old sat down one song earlier than I told him he could. 

I forgot about the toddler strapped to my chest, which hopefully makes the bag of goldfish make sense now. Because for one line of the song. For one short refrain. For five heavenly seconds. I felt the Lord move. I felt blessed. I was thankful to be in the church. So I raised both hands because, in a rare moment, they didn’t have kids in them. 

The toddler in my carrier noticed my inadvertent cheese-dust covered offering, and squealed. And the moment came to an end. You see this season of life doesn’t afford me long talks with Jesus. I don’t get to worship free of worrying over what my kids are doing.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some people come into a church empty. While others come with their hands full. God says to the empty and the full, “Bring what you have and come.” 

If your heart feels empty because life has gone wonky…come. If you’re empty because relationships have fallen away...bring your emptiness. If you’re bursting at the seams with apprehensions, regret, or indifference … bring all of it and just come.

So, during this season I’m toting hands full of goldfish. Why? Because by the time I walk through the front doors I’m already tired. Just to get there I’ve spent the morning finding everyone’s masks and reminding them to pack a snack. 

By the time we pull into the parking lot I’ve been explaining to my three-year-old that kid church is not open. And, no, we can’t go to Chick-fil-A after service. “How often do I have to repeat this?” I think for the seventh time in a minute. Or maybe that was seven times seven. Either way, it’s a good reminder to forgive myself.

I don’t have to lean on the expectations of a “normal” or “calm” service. The pastor gets it too. These are his kids making a mess on the front row. Literally. 

More importantly God understands my season. God meets me where I am—goldfish and all. Amidst the minutes of mania. Blissfully stalled in the seconds of serenity. Or somewhere in between. He is still God. And He says, “Bring what you have and come.”

If you’re empty, show up and leave with something you need. If you’re full—leave a few things at the threshold. Heaven’s here for you. Our stuff isn’t about to surprise anyone on the other side of eternity. 

When God says, “Bring me wat’cha got.” Do it. Every time. Any time. Do it at the baseball park, and the grocery store. Do it when you’re second hand shopping and pushing a stroller. Do it any day you can. Especially days that end in y. And if you find yourself close to a church on a Sunday, please do it there. Hear it when heaven extends this simple invitation, “Bring what you have and come.”

So I do. I did. And I will again. And when the song hits a lull and you hear a baby crying just look over. You’ll probably see me raise my goldfish to the Lord.

With Thanksgiving

 Thanksgiving has always been an incredible holiday experience in my family. Food, family, and fun have always been the norm resulting in a lifetime of memories that have helped shape my values and direct my life. This has given me a thankfulness for my past that is rooted deep in my soul.

I realize that my experience is not the same as everyone else's. I know how blessed I am. I know that those like me who find the holidays to be refreshing and full of joy have something truly amazing to be thankful for. I try very hard on a daily basis to live in a way that does not take it for granted. This stage of life is showing me on a daily basis what I have to be thankful for right now, today, every day.

Last year Thanksgiving changed. We were at my parents' farm where I group up. It was early in the morning. We were getting to ready to have breakfast when we got the news. My father in law had passed away early in the morning hours before dawn.We were close. He would frequently supervise me as I tackled projects way beyond my skill set—offering up his expert advice and informed opinions—all smothered in generous helpings of his winsome sarcasm. 

Over the years I had come to love and appreciate our conversations. They were packed with questions. He would quiz me on different passages of scripture and I would share my opinions. We disagreed almost as much as not and I ALWAYS came away learning something even though I was the one being asked the questions. 

His passing hit me hard. He had become a second father to me. Of course I was sad, as most people are when losing someone they care for, but I was reassured by one simple passage of scripture that I have probably heard hundreds, maybe thousands of times.

“Enter his gates with thanksgiving; go into his courts with praise. Give thanks to him and praise his name.” ‭‭Psalms‬ ‭100:4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

A year ago that's exactly what he did. It was a reminder of the joy that awaits us. In an era of cultural uncertainty it has renewed in me a sense of thankfulness for the future.

Parent Stuff: The Weight of Grace

 In 2011 I had the incredible opportunity to travel to the Arkansas State Capitol at the invitation of then Lieutenant Governor Mark Darr. My responsibility that day was to open the afternoon session of the 88th Assembly of the Arkansas State Senate in prayer. I had thought long and hard about the words I would pray over those important lawmakers. Here is an excerpt from the prayer I prayed that day.

"God, my fervent hope today is that you would help them to continue to hear—not just the voice of their constituents, but your voice as well. God grant them the wisdom to make sound decisions and the discernment to understand the far-reaching implications of those decisions."

I don't remember what was on the docket for the day. But I know that each man and woman in that chamber was responsible for representing a body of people they had chosen to serve. Their actions—no matter how small, or even seemingly insignificant, carried weight. What they discussed, conclusions reached, votes cast. It all mattered. It all made a difference. The molding of the law was akin to working the clay of civilized society.

What about you? In your world you may be the lawmaker. You may be making the rules of the house. You might be passing down mandates and dictating decisions that shape the days, months, or years to come. If you're a parent or guardian of a child you better believe this is true.

Your every decision, reaction, omission, and word have weight. The things you do will echo in the future of your child. The things you don't do will echo just as loudly! The point I'm trying to make is that you have a responsibility. It is holy. It is God-given. It is authority. It is blessed. It is vital.

The implications of your every action are so important. I wish I could say I always get it right. I love my boys so much. But not an hour ago I was sending my three-year-old off to bed with a much harsher tone than was probably necessary. 

Parents, do you feel the weight of the life you hold in your hands? I hope so. Does it keep you up at night sometimes? I hope so. I think it should.

Now. Stop holding your breath. Unclench a little bit. Relax. Breathe deep. After all, you're not perfect. Yes, your every action and inaction as a parent matters. But you're never going to get it all right. But guess what? It's alright. After all, who better to guide you through your imperfectness as a parent than the perfect parent?

Ask God to help. Go ahead. Ask him right now, I'll wait.

Now, doesn't that feel a little bit better. Ok,maybe it doesn't yet. But long before you became responsible for guiding this little human being through the obstacle course of life God set your memories into motion. The first steps, the first fight, the crying, joy, gladness, serenity, and taxing anxiety of parenthood...God has already experienced all of it, for everyone, ever. Whoa!

He's right there in the middle of your mess waiting for you to ask him to make it better. I love my boys "to the moon and back again" as one of our favorite bedtime stories goes, but I'm so far short of the perfect parent.

Thank God I've got God. He's in the mix. He's helping in the moments when I want to duct tape my son to his bed and scream at the wall. He's there rejoicing when I get it right! He's there when my heart hurts over a poor decision I have made. After all, there's grace for that.

Yes, there are far reaching implications for your every action but God's actions can reach farther than yours. There is a weight to grace.

Deep Roots

  Today's my parents anniversary! God knew he'd have to put two amazing people together to come up with someone as epic as me... 

Joking aside, I'm so thankful for their values, authenticity, and faith—driven by a love and selflessness that has always modeled God's love better than anything else. Faith has always came easy to me. I have had a lot of people ask me why that is over the years. I never knew quite how to answer that question until today.  It's easy for faith to grow strong in your life when your roots run deep.

Say a prayer for them today when you read this. My momma is taking care of my brother who is still recovering from surgery and my dad is no doubt in a watermelon patch.  Thanks for reading. Go make a difference in someone's life today.

Baby Eyed Faith

   I have always had strong faith. Faith just comes really naturally to me. That isn't to say that I have not gone without struggles. And I find myself deep in doubt more often that I am comfortable admitting. But overall I am quick to grasp faith in God, his goodness, and his personal impact on both my eternal and temporal my well-being. But I know after countless conversations over the years that I am not necessarily the norm in the faith department. Staring into our one month old son's eyes last night I started thinking of this verse from Matthew's gospel in a different way. 

And he said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:3 NIV)

My son Jonathan is a month old. This early in his development his vision is roughly 20/400. He sees nothing but a blur past the twelve to eighteen inch mark, and colors are largely something he will not even begin to appreciate for three more months. What does this have to do with faith?

Jon doesn't have to scramble, cry, and worry for everything in his life, it is provided for him. He doesn't have to fret for his safety and well-being. It is provided for him. All my son has to do is sit back and be. 

He just has to be my son. The very fact that he lives and breathes, that he is mine, bestows upon him the guarantee for protection and provision given to the fullest measure of my ability.

Even in my easy approach to faith there are moments of darkness. There is apparent blurriness. There are times when I do not have the answers and no answers seem forthcoming. Those are the moments when even walking by faith seems impossible. 

In those moments we must simply be. We must belong to the Father. We must realize that just being his guarantees us the fullest redemptive measure of provision and protection that is His to muster, which is all of it.

It's yours. Just be His kid. 

That doesn't guarantee you a steep bank account and a lavish life. But it is an unshakable eternal promise worth SO MUCH MORE.

Welcome: A Letter to My Son on His First Day in This World

  

Welcome to the world son. It's a lot different out here, huh?

It's big. And cold. And wonderful.

Sometimes it can be scary. Sometimes it can be miserable. But it is also beautiful.

Everything is new. Not as new as you. And not as cool as you, but it's all new to you. And you're new to everything.

There are quite a few people who have been waiting to meet you. Some of them are pretty awesome. They have already been in love with you for a while.

Your mom, brother, and I are crazy about you. We've been talking about you and getting ready for you for months. We've prayed for you every day together.

You're a little brother now. And big brother has been really excited about you!

You're a grandson, nephew, and cousin too—and those are all names that come attached with more awesome people who love you a whole lot.

The one mommy and I are most excited about though is the name son. We welcome you into this world because you're our's. We both get to love you, teach you, and help you.

You don't know it yet but you're a minority now. Not every sweet little boy or girl has a mommy and a daddy. And while we're not anything that special we are yours. And you are ours. And we promise to do everything we can, the best that we can, as often as we can. It'll have to do because you're stuck with us.

So welcome to this world. It's crazy (I think I already mentioned that but it is worth repeating). I can already tell how awesome you are. My little gift from God.

You're going to grow up to do some pretty amazing things. Just try not to grow up too fast ok?

Waiting

Parenthood comes with lots of "waiting" time. This isn't something anyone warns you about. Not saying there's a lot of calm time just waiting.  Waiting at practice, waiting for potty time, waiting on food to cook or cool (isn't that funny that we have to do both).  Waiting at the doc's, waiting for a phone call, waiting...waiting... Waiting.

Maybe that's why pregnancy comes with so much waiting.  Waiting on a positive test result.  Waiting to tell everyone until you're ready. Waiting for nausea to subside. Waiting to find out what you're having.  Waiting at the docs.  Waiting on test results. Waiting on your water to break.  Waiting on contractions.  Waiting to push.  Waiting on birth.

Having had my first child after being induced at almost 42 weeks I did a lot of waiting.  Now here I am waiting again.  God designed pregnancy to be a certain length of time for different creatures.  Why does ours have to be so long?  Why do we have to wait? And why is it so hard?

Waiting can do one of two things to you.  It can exhaust you or revive you.  We have to LEARN to be good "waiters."

Isaiah 40:31 speaks of the good kind of waiting.

31 But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

But we often see people who react quite differently to the waiting.  Who impatiently demand change or anxiously blame the waiting on something.  What is different?  Okay let's be honest we all are these "bad waiters" sometimes.

So what can we do?  Shift our focus and be content.  Paul talked about learning to be content in all circumstances.  Not accepting of status quo but so rooted in Christ and so trusting of His plan that you can accept what comes your way.  You can search the scripture but Jesus didn't follow a "traditional life schedule," write out a to do list, or whine about the demands of the job.  No he consistently fed those around him and then turned around and spent time with His Father.

So let us focus on serving while we wait. Let us remember the things we allow our minds to dwell on have power in our life.  As Paul wrote:

Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies. (‭Philippians ‭4‬:‭8-9‬ MSG)

Harmony and peace while waiting.