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.

There Is A Place Only Love Can Go

Photo by Brandyn Morrow

When I first met Jamie, she was dating someone else, so at first, she was just another girl to me. I don’t mean that to sound ugly, nasty, or misogynistic in any way whatsoever. What I really mean is she was a young woman in a world full of them at a time when I was interested in none of them.

I had been through nothing short of relational disaster two years before. The entire thing had unceremoniously short-circuited most of my future in a way best described as a train wreck. That’s exactly what happened as a result. It left me an emotional wreck.

God had done a big work in me over the preceding months. During that time, I had begun serving college students through an organization that had helped me so much during my early college years. I had learned a lot about giving back and was excited about new adventures taking shape.

One day we took a big group of people to a nearby mountain. It is a great spot where people go to watch the sunrise and sunset. We gathered on the side of the mountain in the light of a setting sun and I played some songs on my guitar for a while. We sang together and shared laughter and stories. It was a lot of fun.

As we got ready to leave, I tripped, and as I pitched forward the full force of my guitar case smashed Jamie right in the top of the head. I felt awful. I had just gone full on caveman on this poor girl I didn’t even know yet. As I walked back to my car feeling forlorn and jerkish this inexplicable thought popped into my head. I will never forget it. “If you ever married her that would make for a really funny story.”

I don’t know what made the thought pop up. Being totally honest here. There were still no romantic feelings between us, but the thought came just the same. And well, we did get married. I’m not sure how funny the story from the mountain actually is. But the strange random thought turned out to be quasi-prophetic musing.

Jamie and I started spending a lot of time together. Not alone or anything. There still wasn’t any romantic interest anywhere on the canvas. But something beautiful happened. We got to know each other in the company of each of our best friends. We would all go out and hangout as one big group. We would run together. We hiked together. We watched movies, went swimming, and did all kinds of things.

This was all happening at a time when a bunch of religious people were making a big deal out of the idea of “group dating”. It was supposed to be this big thing where people who thought they might like each other would go hang out in groups and do things exactly like Jamie and I had been doing. We weren’t trying to do this at all, but over the course of time we got to know each other.

Eventually Jamie and her boyfriend broke up. A while later we were hosting a large group of young college students at the family farm for a weekend getaway. Something clicked in me that weekend. Something I hadn’t paid attention to in a long time. I realized I had feelings for this girl. Maybe the time at my home in the company of so many good friends had emboldened me. Perhaps it was something else entirely, but I decided to invite her to the movies, and she said yes.

The next week or so was kind of a blur. Those moments opened a part of my heart I had written off as unwelcome territory. Places that were a No Man’s Land of emotions I didn’t want to acknowledge or address. Somehow, someway, Jamie gave me the courage to walk into them, and she still does.

When I realized there were legitimate feelings for her I did two things I will never regret. I talked to my friends Heath and Christie, who were also my pastors, about it. Heath high-fived me and said, “go for it.” That night I did maybe one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I sat Jamie down on my front porch and told her every bad thing I had ever done in my life. All of it. I held nothing back. I finished, and she was still sitting there. Just the fact she hadn’t ran away screaming at some of the finer details of my story was a good indicator of just how special she is.

Jamie did, and still does, for me what all amazing women do in the hearts of the men who love them. The potential of her affection drew me into new places. It helped me go to God and find forgiveness and grace for a lot of the old places too. She came into my life during a time when so much of it felt like it was a recovering disaster. Large swathes of the land of my heart were still full of the wreckage and devastation of the previous two years.

It didn’t take me long to love Jamie. In fact, we had only been a real couple for just a few months. One Saturday night we were at a church we had travelled to with some friends of ours. We all enjoyed going to these small churches to share songs and stories to encourage the people. I was just about to walk on stage to lead the small gathering in some singing when I looked over at her and said the three words that always elevate every relationship to new places when they are sincere. I said, “I love you.” I’m pretty sure she was speechless. Or maybe I only remember it that way because about thirty seconds later I was playing my guitar and singing songs in front a few hundred people.

That was the weekend I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this wondrous woman God had put in my path. This amazing person who makes me better on every level. Isn’t it just like God to do that? To take two imperfect people and help them find each other.

There’s a cool story in the Bible about a guy named Boaz and his bride to be Ruth. Like Jamie and I, Boaz was much older than Ruth. Ruth entered his life by means of circumstance and surprise—at a time when Boaz was not really looking for anything romantic. Ruth invited Boaz into the places he almost forgot were inside him. Boaz took care of her. They grew together, and God used their family to fulfill a host of promises.

I often hear religious folks talk about putting God first in our lives, and I understand what they are trying to say. Or at least I think do. They are really saying God should be a priority.

I have never liked or identified with this idea that God is first in that sense. It probably sounds like terrible theology. I don’t know. Maybe it is. None of my degrees are in theology.

I think what God really wants has nothing to do with us segmenting our lives into schizophrenic religious weirdness. He doesn’t want a bunch of people stumbling through their days with a heart beset by a segmented organizational chart, quick to give God top billing, yet not access to any of the rest of them.

I’ve met a lot of people who live this way, and they are almost always incredibly weird. If you think about this for a moment you might realize you’ve known some of these weird people too. If you can’t think of any weird people like that, chances are you’re the weird one.

No, the older I get the more convinced I am God never intended for us to chop our lives into pieces and serve him the first chunk. Because usually what happens is we give him some small insignificant part that helps us sooth our conscience but rarely does much to change the rest. Instead, I am absolutely convinced we find the full goodness of God at work in our lives when he is invited to work in every area of our life.

I don’t know if God makes just one right person for everyone. It sounds romantic and wonderful, but also scary. What if you were supposed to marry Susan, but she chose Bob instead? You would be in trouble. I don’t think it really works like that.

I do however know I’ve gotten it right by God’s grace. I have found his grace in my misgivings and mistakes. Somewhere along the way I happened upon a different kind of grace in the form of a five-foot nine brunette I affectionately call Wonder Woman. I’m reminded of this every time we hear a song from our favorite band Needtobreathe:

 In my heart you'll always know
There is a place only love can go
There is a place only you can go

 There is a place only love can go. God goes there first if you invite him in. This place, the place where love goes, it isn’t solitary confinement. It is the rich part of our soul waiting to be shared with another soul out there somewhere who’s also had the courage to extend God the same invitation.

When the Adventure You Want Is not the One You Get

At 6:34 am I rolled over to get out of bed. Not my bed though. A rented bed. We were on vacation.

I usually ignored my phone in the morning. The world doesnʼt deserve tolerating me before at least two cups of coffee. Tuesday was different. Maybe I was just out of my routine. Vacationed.

We picked the cabin we stayed in for many reasons. One of our favorite things about it is a total lack of cellular phone reception. AT&T hasnʼt discovered our little cabin by the creek, deep in the Ozarks. Paradise. But then I checked my phone.

Apparently iMessage can go where even Big Comm isnʼt welcomed as long as there is WiFi. Yes, our mountain escape paradise has WiFi.

Who would text me at five oʼclock in the morning? Mom. “Brian is at the hospital. They are admitting him.” My brother was fighting cancer and things had taken a turn for the worse. I spent the next two hours contacting people asking them to pray.

The kids had woken up. They were excited about the hike Jamie had planned for the first day of our illustrious hillbilly getaway. We were out on the porch picking at our pop tarts when I remembered something inside we needed for our adventure.

I went to get it—only to discover the door was locked. The glass door. The one without a keypad. All the doors with keypads were still dead bolted because we hadnʼt used them yet. *insert facepalm emoji*

What did we do? We loaded up the van with children and adventurous expectations. What could go wrong?

We travelled miles down the kind of road my dad used to take me down as a kid. The kind Burt Reynolds and Elisa Dushku would have been terrified to discover in their hillbilly horror movies. Why? We were looking for the trailhead to an obscure waterfall Jamie had found online. It was the kind of adventure where the only living things you expect hope to see are trees and squirrels.

At 10:30 am we piled out of the van and had a picnic on the ground. As we concluded our meal we readied ourselves to head into the bush. Then I heard something that changed everything. It sounded like a roar.

In rolled a thunderous biker gang like the Hillbilly Sons of Hell.

Just kidding.

The roar was more of a whisper. And the news being whispered was our impending flat tire. Yikes. The air was steadily leaking out. I suddenly regretted taking my really nice floor jack out of the van to make more room for Ethanʼs Pokémon Cards.

Did we even have a jack? Did we have a spare tire? Holy Goodyear, Batman. We did.

We jacked up the car. We replaced the faulty rubber with our pristine donut. Sure we had to convince Matty he couldnʼt take a bite out of it, but we got it on. It looked better suited for a lawnmower than a Dodge Caravan, but what did I know about tires? Covering our tiny wheel in prayer and absurd expectations we drove back at half the speed of smell.

Several careful miles, and what felt like hours, later we were at a tire shop. While awaiting our turn, Uncle Brian called from the hospital. Had our tire not deflated weʼd have missed the call. Jon prayed for him over the phone. It was one of the most tinder serene moments Iʼve ever experienced.

The people at the shop were colorful and friendly. The Salt of the Earth kind of people I am more comfortable around than almost anyone else in this world. The proprietor reminded me so much of my late father-in-law I was instantly at ease. Except for the dog.

There was a beautifully obese brown lab lying six inches from where they had jacked up our van. I was pretty sure it was dead. I wanted to check for a pulse but didnʼt know where to find one on such a fat dog. I looked to see if it was breathing. Nothing. Stuff was leaking out of its head. Nevermind. It was just an abundance of drool mixing with abandoned motor oil. Then the metallic squeal of a torqued lug nut seemed to resurrect the dead dog with a twitch.

Jamie and I rested in the shade of an old oak tree surrounded by older tires and our four playing children. Thunder boomed. For real this time. But the promised storm played out like presidential campaign promises and fizzled fast.

Soon the mechanic walked over to announce our car was finished, “I donʼt know where yʼall went, but I wouldnʼt go back ifʼn I were you.”

“Wouldnʼt go back...” I started, which he took as a question.

“Yeah, man. Ya had eight staples in one tire and a nailʼn tha other one. But we patched ‘em both up for ya. Thatʼll be ten bucks.”

As in ten dollars? I couldnʼt believe it. I handed him a twenty and we drove away. That feeling Iʼd had since 11 am, the one promising impending nervous vomiting, finally went away.

What did we do to celebrate? Ice cream of course.

We found a local ice cream shack. Walked to a nearby park. And stuffed ourselves until frozen dairy comas felt imminent.

We drove back to our cabin. The realtor helped us get back inside. And, after hot dogs, and a giant glass of Gatorade we played in the creek until sunset. And we did it all together.

Bumps in the road arenʼt a lot of fun. Flat tires, disappointments, and certainly cancer are enough to ruin anyoneʼs day. Iʼve let a lot less ruin my share of the calendar.

Missed expectations, like missed turns, take us where we didnʼt plan to go. Sometimes going forward feels like a slow drive on a tiny misfit tire. Often it feels like nervous hurl trying to climb the back of your throat. Itʼs a sure sign something went sideways. Youʼll know youʼre there when life starts to feel upside down.

When I get upside down over something itʼs almost always because I tried tackling it solo. Solo is rarely the best adventure. Together is always a better adventure.

Whatever surprising adventure smacks your agenda embrace it with both arms. And then invite all the arms at your address to lean in and get some of the action. Life is gonna toss you a lemon more often than youʼd like. When it happens, donʼt just make lemonade. Make enough for two. Adventures are sweeter that way.

All The Sweeter

Today I learned something amazing. My wife and I are having a baby girl. What?!?! The KingCasa will no longer be solely driven by the testosterone fueled mischief of an all boy abode.

For weeks when someone would ask about Baby #4 I would just say, “I assume we are having a boy until science says otherwise.” Science says girl. And we’re thrilled. Not because we were wanting to add ribbons and bows to the mix. We’re thrilled because this adventurous life just got bigger and better. We would have been happy with any result. But yeah, there is a certain Grandma in the scenario who was really angling for a little princess—as well as two of my closest friends who both have daughters of their own.

Isn’t it just like God to completely surprise you? I’ve always liked good surprises. Suddenly, like we so often do, Jamie and I find ourselves in brand new beautifully-terrifying-territory. I don’t know ANYTHING about girls. I still find it a little bewildering that I found one who likes me enough to stick around.

But the faith life is nothing if not an ever stepping trek into the new and the unknown. One more jaunt up a hill whose pinnacle of hope masks a horizon of promise painted long before the first sunrise made its away across the globe. God knows. He knew it. He made it so.

He hung it there for us to find. He sat it there for us to walk upon in our wild journey into all of the good things he makes ready for the ones he loves. That’s you by the way. It’s me too. What a ride. The joy of this journey of faith is sometimes juxtaposed against a sadness for all the ones I’ve known who never dared to give it a shot. For in faith’s embrace life is made all the sweeter.

School Started: How Loud Is Your House?

Our house is crazy loud all the time. I find myself needing to escape the din and the noise and retreat to a room full of silence at times. But not this morning.

Today is the first day of school. Ethan started 1st grade. Jon and Matty went to preschool where they will be enrolled full time for the first time ever. So my home this Monday morning is silent.

I sat down with a cup of coffee and my Bible. I put some music on as I read and I drank all of it in—the quiet, the contemplation, and the caffeine. I like it, but I don’t want to get used to it.

Our house is usually what I like to jokingly call a “happy bag of chaos”. It’s always, always, always, full of crazy frenetic energy. Until it’s not.

This morning it is not.

And, while the peaceful moment is momentous I don’t want so many of them that it becomes the norm. Like many parents I wonder at the sanity of trusting my children to strangers during their formative years while at the same time being intensely thankful for the people who often lovingly and sacrificially give of themselves to better our kids.

My house is quiet, but my heart is not. I relish this moment to reminisce, but I am already ready to see my boys again. I’m already ready to fill this house again with the sounds of legos, and fighting, and boys at play.

Not all noise is great, but when it comes to the kind of noise arising within a house filled with life there can be no better sound. This is a rare moment. Next week I’ll go back to school myself and then my house really will be silent.

But our house is not our home. It’s just the place we experience the joy of togetherness most often. Where our noise is where home is. Even as I bask in the ever fleeting silence I miss it.

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.

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.

WALKING WITH GRANDPA

  

Today my parents came to visit us. It was a really good day. We didn't do anything too out of the ordinary but it still stands to serve as a day that will mark a special place in my memories.

One of the best moments of the day came after lunch. The fellas in the family; my oldest son Ethan, my brother Brian, my father, and myself all went for a stroll outside—in the woods. It was great. Perhaps the best part of the whole affair was the simplicity of it. We just went outside, for a walk, together.

At one point I looked up to see my dad, who has never been an overly affectionate man, holding my three-year-old son's hand. It was touching. Why? Because it was a perfect picture of rare and raw masculinity at work.

My dad is a man's man. He loves the outdoors. He would rather be outdoors than anywhere else you can imagine. He likes all of the kinds of things that the men of his generation enjoy about the outdoors, but mostly he just enjoys experiencing God's creation.

Back to the walk in the woods...

This picture perfect masculine moment came when my dad, a hard working outdoorsman of the rarest kind, used his strength in a way that offered my son protection. It was the simplest of gestures. But it carried so much meaning for me. It was more than my dad holding my son's hand.

It was a multigenerational extension of strength, identity, and initiation—all wrapped up in the protecting hand of a grandfather. Something that is becoming rare in our society today.

.

We are no longer at a crossroads in our civilization. No, the crossroads has long since passed, and may indeed no longer even be visible from our rear view mirrors. We missed the turning point. Men stopped being men. Fathers stopped being fathers. A generation grew up with dad's in their homes that were not dad's in any other capacity that mattered—and having lived that way they have believed that fatherhood is optional. My sons' world is a world where the numbers of kids who know their dads is fewer than it has ever been, and the number who know their grandpas is fewer still.

I will be there for my boys. As much as I can be. My dad has always been there for me—and will be a grandpa to my sons. But what will the continuing repercussions be for a society that finds itself lacking grandpas who want to hold their grandsons' hands?

What will the implications be for boys, of all ages, who don't have someone to model strength for them? To tell them who they are? And give them a loving push into manhood?

The answer is all around us. It's in our prisons. It's in our broken sense of honor, justice, and morality. It's found in the depravity that permeates our culture like a dirty poisonous fog. It's death.

Without the guiding embrace of a man, on some level, a boy cannot become a man—and a man cannot truly live.

God walked with Adam in the Garden. He showed him strength, purpose, and identity. He showed him fatherhood. And ever since the Fall we've been fighting to get it back.

Thanks for reading. Let us know your thoughts in the comments.

Walking the Line

My wonderful grandpa's birthday is today. Much of my stubbornness and compassion came from him. I talked to him on the phone earlier and shared with him the name we have chosen for our second son, Jonathan Eli. At Thanksgiving he had announced to the family, pretty much out of the blue, that he had been thinking of that name. Today when I told him that we had in fact chosen that name for our son he said, "I know. I just told my sister Ruby on the phone." He was touched but not surprised.

Apparently he really did know. It was one of those inexplicable knowing by faith kinds of things. A measure of the movement closer to God I have seen in my grandpa's life in very recent years. The power of God's love has been hard at work in the lives of my mom's family. Prayers that were prayed for decades have been coming to pass in the wonderful work of God's mercy and grace. The culmination of a passage from the Psalms that has been really moving to me lately...

I'm finding my way down the road of right living, but how long before you show up? I'm doing the very best I can, and I'm doing it at home, where it counts. Psalm 101:2-3 MSG

My Papa has been an incredible example to me in my life. Not because of his perfection, because I have never been under such a false assumption where he was concerned. In fact, I have long since felt that his many flaws were so well known as I grew up that they always pushed me in an authentic direction. I struggled to actually be authentic much of the time, but the example was there. I never felt that he tried to be someone he wasn't. I never felt that he pretended. He was never fake. He was always himself. And he never apologized for it, perhaps another series of traits I inherited.

Like the classic country ballad his nephew Bob helped to make famous my Papa Wootton has always Walked the Line. Not perfect, but dedicated. Dedicated to his family. Dedicated to the things that matter. When I grow up I hope I can be just like him.

Happy Birthday Papa & Happy Valentine's Day to the rest of you.

Thanks for reading, Nate

May 29- He Went Away

Read: Matthew 19:16-30

When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. (Matthew 19:22 ESV)

During the final stretch of Jesus' public ministry a young religious ruler secretly came to him to find out the truth about eternal life. Jesus shared with him several insights about living a devout Godly life. The young man met all of the criteria, he was on his way to experiencing eternity with God, until Jesus revealed the final piece of the young man's personal journey.

Some biblical translations call this man a rich young ruler, a name that adequately describes his place in life. At a young age this fellow had amassed great power and wealth. That was a problem. Not because either of those things are bad things, but because when Jesus asked him to leave it all behind he was unwilling. He went away sorrowful.

I am not rich and powerful. If God called me to lay aside my finances it would not be a monumental request. For this man it was. I believe that is exactly what Jesus asks of his followers sometimes. He sees into our hearts, and knowing the very things that would distract us from following him with the greatest sense of passion, he sometimes asks us to lay them aside in favor of a simpler life in pursuit of him.

In those moments we are presented with a choose similar to that of the rich young ruler. Either we will lay aside our idolatrous distraction and follow Jesus without reservation, or we will walk away sorrowful, unwilling to part ways with the gods of our own making. What will you choose?

May 28 - Who Believes In You?

Read: John 7:1-10

For not even his brothers believed in him. (John 7:5 ESV)

I want people to believe in me. It's part of my personality. I have an innate desire to inspire others to believe. In an often selfish twist of this I regularly wish for them to believe that I know what I am doing, how I will do it, and why I will do it. Perhaps I am not so alone in this.

We all probably crave to have others believe in us. Sometimes it can become a distraction, especially if we come to depend on it as a measurement for self-worth or accomplishment. But encouragement is an exceedingly powerful thing. So, who believes in you?

Jesus faced this same issue. His own flesh and blood siblings doubted his divinity. They would not change their minds about it until after his resurrection. They would not simply believe in him. In spite of their doubt Jesus kept on ministering. He never lost focus. He never got distracted. He knew there was a source of belief in him that surpassed anything that could come from men. The Father believed in him.

The Father believes in you too. He believes in His image and likeness with which you were created. He believes in His righteousness with which you were covered. He believes in His future in which you can be a part.

That is a life changing bit of encouragement. It is actually quite daunting. God believes in you. We spend so much time sometimes considering the notion of belief as a term for the contemplation of existence. To believe also means to support, to encourage, and to rally to. So let me say it again, God believes in you.

Jesus believes in you. He believes in you so much that when his family, his culture, his country, and his friends rejected him he carried on. He endured. He sacrificed.

All. For. You.

All because he believes in you. He believes you were worth it.

May 27 - Not Everyone

Read: John 7: 1-24

For not even his brothers believed in him. (John 7:5 ESV)

Sometimes the people you love the most can be the harshest critics. Maybe family are your biggest critics, often it is family, perhaps it is close friends or peers. The simple truth is that the more we operate inside of Godly community, the more we love, and are loved; the more vulnerable we become to rejection at the hands of those same people.

Jesus was rejected by His hometown of Nazareth.  He was rejected by His own brothers, at least until after his resurrection. He was betrayed for thirty pieces of silver by one of His chosen twelve Apostles.  He was denied by His best friend.  His own Father turned His back on Him in His final moments.

Sometimes, many times, the Christian existence will call, send, and guide us into territory where life's many potential vulnerabilities become realities. Thankfully we follow someone that has already faced that kind of hardship and overcome it.  We can carry our cross with the full faith that Christ leads us into His own glory. That is, He leads us into the glory of God, by the grace of God.

May 26 - Who Are My Brothers?

Read: Matthew 12:46-48; Mark 3:31-35; Luke 8:19-21

But he replied to the man who told him, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” (Matthew 16:48 ESV)

Brotherhood is a remarkable thing, truly.  Many of my favorite memories in life involve my brother.  I have loved him deeply, as only brothers can, since the first moment my parents told me he was coming into this world.

Jesus had brothers too.  After his birth Joseph and Mary went on to have other children.  James, one of Jesus’ brothers eventually even went on to pastor the Jerusalem church.

Jesus’ statement concerning his family wasn’t an attempt to downplay his love and concern for his earthly family.  There are several examples in the Gospels that demonstrate Christ’s consideration and adoration for his family.  Rather, it was an inquisitive statement put forth to engage his audience.

The New Testament frequently uses the language of family to describe Christian community.  Those of us who follow Jesus have been adopted into the family of God.  We are brothers and sisters in Christ.

May 13 - Gaining Brothers

Read: Matthew 18:15-20

"If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother. (Matthew 18:15 ESV)

A lot of the language used in describing the early community of Christ followers was familial in nature. Brother and sister were words regularly used to refer to fellow believers. This is the kind of brother Jesus was speaking of.

There will be times in this life in which we find ourselves at odds with fellow believers. Usually it will be a difference of opinion or a misunderstanding, but there are also times when this tension will be a result of a moral failing. We have an obligation to address the sins of those we care about.

Too often in the Christian culture we paint sin as something incredibly easy to deal with, but the truth is that sin is anything but easy. Obviously we are supposed to take our sins before Christ as a matter of repentance and forgiveness. But what about dealing with them friend-to-friend and brother-to-brother?

Jesus advocated one-on-one confrontations. Upfront personal conversations are best. Sitting with someone and talking the issue out always reveals the honest nature of those involved. It cuts through the potential miscommunications and lays all of the cards on the table. Hopefully in a way that brings healing and restoration to the relationship, and points the one who has sinned toward redemption.

January 5 - Family Tree

Read: Mathew 1: 1-17

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, Abba! Father! The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. (Romans 8:14-17 ESV)

Family can be a tricky thing. Sometimes personal genealogies are really difficult to understand or research. One of the unique qualities of the Old Testament is the staggering amount of detail it provides about the life of the Jews and their relationship with God. This is the people God chose to use bring the Messiah, Jesus, into the world.

The insight into the lives and times of these people is incredibly encouraging. It can speak volumes into our lives today. Each were imperfect. Some were deeply flawed. Many of them made an incredible turn around to pursue life with God. Abraham was at times a coward. Rahab was a prostitute turned follower of God. David, who is often called a "man after God's own heart" was a murdering adulterer. And these are just three of the better known examples in Jesus' family tree.

What does your family tree look like? What are the stories? What are the failures? Successes? Sometimes we romanticize the bad in our family. Sometimes we are misinformed. And for many people, they just don't know the details of their family history.

Jesus was perfect. He lived, served, died, and rose again without sin. But he was born into a family line that was anything but perfect. Our families are all far from perfect, but we can be adopted as sons of God, what the Bible calls "coheirs with Christ." This is not to discount the heritage we may enjoy (or not enjoy) here, but so that we can be adopted into the family of Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. Jesus was hung on a tree so you and I could be part of his eternal family tree.

Life in the Blue Light

Lying here in bed I see past the dimlit borders of my iPad to a cascading forest of shadows all around this room. It's late. We're sleeping, well they're sleeping. Me, my wife, my son, and one of our three cats are all piled up in our bed, bathing in the luminescent azure haze of Ethan's baby monitor.

His teeth are starting to come in, and it hurts. So he cries, and he doesn't understand why he hurts, so he wants mommy. So sleep only comes to him in the presence of his parents. Here in our bed where he can snuggle close between mommy and daddy, safe in the blue light.

The blue light is mostly for us. It's a nifty little light that is part of his baby monitor. Usually we leave it beside his crib but tonight he sleeps with us, and I want the blue light here so we can easily see him if he wakes. I need it. He is mine and how can I watch him if I can't see him? So here we are living life in the blue light.

God shines His light on you too if you let Him. Like an eternal watchman, He casts His gaze in your direction, and like the light of our blue baby monitor, the Great Father of Lights watches over you as you snuggle close. He comforts and cares when you hurt, and when you fail. You are His and how can He watch you if He can't see you? So here we are living life in the blue light.

Me Lately

Life has been good lately. Incredibly good. And while these first couple of weeks of parenthood have come with unique challenges, there is a level of joy to be found in it all that is profound beyond description. Everything about everything now seems to happen from a new point of view. How I plan my day, what I will do, where I will go, and practically everything I encounter, accomplish, or attempt now has direct bearing on this new little person in my life. Each act carries significance. And here I must venture forth with care. My wants, needs, dreams, passions, and frivolities now assert themselves wholesale upon the life of someone who cannot yet want and dream for themselves.

While I have in married life, these last five years, attempted to allow the needs and wants of my beautiful wife to run parallel and at times supersede mine own, the simplest truth is that I am, and am likely to remain, a fairly flawed individual for the foreseeable future. Where then can I draw strength to face my fears, curtail my iniquities, and plunge ahead into devotion to those deeply deserving of my most strenuous devotion? God alone.

As I lie in bed holding my sweet little son, I marvel at the beauty of this exquisite creation. I wonder, just the same, how that God--who's love and compassion has never been tempered with insecurity, jealousy, or abject stupidity; how much more does he look at you, me, and all of his precious children and just stare like only a father can?

He must love us in ways that we will never imagine, understand, or behold.