Just Say “Thank You”

Several years ago, I went to a small concert with a couple of friends. I had been to many concerts in my life but never one like this. It was called a house show. Maybe you’ve heard of those or have even been to a few yourself, but I hadn’t.

Apparently, what makes a concert a house show is when it takes place in a small setting with a very limited number of people. That was definitely the case here. There were maybe eighty people at this show.

Another interesting thing about this concert was where it happened. It was in a bar on a street well known for its reputation of hosting very raucous parties. It was the first time I’d ever set foot in a bar, but I didn’t mind so much. In fact, I thought it seemed like a pretty good idea. Why not get together and listen to a guy sing songs about God’s incredible love in a place where that kind of thing probably wasn’t happening all too often?

Occasionally throughout the show someone would shout the name of one of the artist’s songs. While not unusual at a concert, fans offering up requests I mean, this guy’s reply was different.

Each time someone made their request the singer would stop singing or halt the song he was about to begin. He would find the person in the small crowd, his gaze quickly searching out the one making the request. He would look them in the eye and without fail say, “Thank you.”

Wait a second? “That’s not how that’s supposed to work.” I thought the first time this happened. I was used to two reactions to this scenario. Artists kind of ignoring requests completely or the request becoming lost in the noise of the moment. Occasionally, they make vague suggestions about why they won’t be doing the song. I mean I get it. They probably have a well-rehearsed plan.

Not this guy. He stopped what he was doing. He acknowledged the moment and the person. And he offered his sincere thanks. It was his way of showing appreciation to the person who was a big enough fan of his life’s work to request specific pieces of that work. Every time someone asked him to play this song or that song, instead of playing the song he made it a personal moment between two friends.

This artist wasn’t doing it business as usual. He wasn’t hiding behind the big smoke and lights, even though those things can be incredibly fun for someone in his position. He was there. He was present. He was with all of us. And when a request was made it wasn’t an interruption, an annoyance, or a detour. It was an opportunity. It was a chance to show the true nature of his art. It was a moment for intentional beautiful human connection.

I’m no artist, but I know how I usually respond to interruptions. They drive me nuts. There’s a lot of opportunity for interruptions at the King Casa.

I have four little kids in my house. They are awesome kids. So, I guess in some small way I am an artist because they are certainly masterpieces. But let’s be honest, my wife gets most of the credit for that. Still, I live a life full of wonder, miracles, and joy. Not because every moment is some kind of story book wonder, but because the rhythm and cadence of my days are filled with the joy of fatherhood’s many adventures.

What I’m trying to get better at is stopping to acknowledge each request. To look my kids in the eye. To say thank you. And to mean it.

There are three little boys and a baby girl in Arkansas who think I rock. They think life is my stage. Every day the spotlight shines bright on my life. How I respond makes the loudest of proclamations.

When I don’t stop to say thanks it's usually because I don’t think I have time to dabble in whatever they have concocted. But like one guy said and a million more have repeated “The days are long, but the years are short.” In other words, the truth is I don’t have time not to respond.

These early years are magic. They are wondrous. They are opportunities for intentional miracles. If I will only stop to say, “Thank you.”

I need Ethan, Jon, Matty, and Anna to know how thankful Daddy really is for them. For their interest and joy. I need them to know their interruption is the most artful part of my day.

Do you see the pattern? I. NEED. THEM.

We need some holy interruptions to snap us out of our plan. Wake us up to the moment. And point us toward the opportunity of a lifetime. The request may only come once. Or may only come for a season.

My house is my show. I don’t want to be the most important. I don’t want to be the boss. I don’t want to be the “lord.” I don’t even want to be the king no matter what my birth certificate says. I want to be famous. But I want to be famous for the way I love my family. I want to be known for the full-throttled way I lean into interruptions that matter. I want to be famous for thank you.

Tomorrow I will blink and then suddenly it will seem like many years have passed. My last little one will be walking out my front door to step into her own adventure. She’ll do it in the way she chooses.

I want all of them to choose well. I want them to know their value, their strength, and just how much Daddy loves them. I want them all to know I am and always will be thankful. It’s on me to help them learn to live their best life smack dab in the middle of outrageous love.

I have always liked using the language of fatherhood to talk about God. It’s an easy concept for me to gravitate toward because my dad is amazing. I know that’s not the case for everyone. These days it’s not even the case for most kids being born. I am one of the lucky, no—not lucky—BLESSED, ones. I want my kids to be one of the blessed ones. But I’m the one ultimately deciding that.

Another singer named Chris I really admire has a popular song talking about the good, good father we have in God. I really like that. He is good. He is our father.

I’ve known a lot of folks over the years who made talking to God a big chore. They peppered it with big words and theatrical stuff. But Jesus talked about prayer with his friends once. He said we just need to show up and be open and honest. We can just talk plainly to God.

Our prayers don’t need a stage. They don’t need lights and smoke. They don’t need the big show or the grand gestures. They just need a son or a daughter and a dad. They just need an expression of thanks.

There are probably a lot of reasons why we are intimidated when it comes to prayer. For some of you just the thought of speaking out your inner stuff to a great big God is too lofty to get your head around. Some don’t even believe in God at all. For others, God doesn’t seem like a very good dad—because yours was such a lousy example.

Real prayer isn’t complicated. Leave the complicated stuff to the fakers. Ignore their show. It’s smoke and mirrors. They love the spotlight.

Instead, learn how to open your heart to a good good father. He is your biggest fan. He is good.

That can be a hard truth to accept. Often it might seem like God would have too much on his plate for my request. But, what I see as an interruption, God sees as the most artful part of his day. Why? Because he’s still working on me.

I am learning to let my needs have their moment. This happens when I just say it out loud. It’s not fancy. “God, I need you to help me with …” or “God, I am feeling bummed about …” and also a good dose of “God, thank you so much for …”

God leans forward when we make our request known. He’s not annoyed at the interruption. Why? Because he can literally do all the things—at the same time. We just have to say them.

God’s not annoyed at you. He welcomes the interaction. As I student of God’s love I am learning how to say them more. I’m covering them all in a big dose of “Thank you.” These days I know the words are echoed in the love of a good father and the life he is helping me learn to live.

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.

The Boy On His Bike

Today I called an audible. For you nonfootball people (like me) that’s the moment when the quarterback makes a conscious decision to change the play just moments before its set to begin.

This morning I called the dad version of an audible—a dadible. It’s a technical term I promise. But you can’t look it up. You’ll just have to trust me. Also, you owe me $3 every time you use it.

My oldest son Ethan had been dreading an event at school all week. All week we had been trying to encourage him to embrace it and have fun. The event involves kids riding their bicycles at school. Something he hasn’t really worked on a lot. So he was nervous about it. And in his nervousness he wanted to avoid it.

I know you get that. We all sometimes long to avoid the things we dread. But we can’t. We can fight the internal dread. We can run from it. Or we can nod our head with honest recognition, offer to shake hands with it, and sit down to sort it out.

I’ve not always been the face-my-problems kind of guy. Mostly because I didn’t know how—and to a lesser extent I was intimidated by why. But God-willing my kids will be. And Ethan is the oldest so he gets to go first.

Step one: identify the source. I needed to figure out what was causing the problem. In Ethan’s case it was nervousness about his bike.

Step two: identify the catalyst. Source means starting point, but even a starting point has a cause. Ethan was nervous about his bike because of a lack of skill riding it. The catalyst was the size of the bike. It wasn’t too big. It was too small.

We got our son a junior style chainless learning bike two years ago. In growing boy time it might as well have been 6 years ago. He has grown like a weed since then! And his old bike is TINY. So he felt bad about it. He was intimidated by this tiny thing because it held him back.

We do that sometimes too don’t we? We let a tiny thing become a big thing on our way to doing a potentially cool thing. So instead we do nothing. Or we do something worse than nothing. We don’t have to. And once I identified the catalyst of my son’s disdain for the fun event I didn’t do nothing. I called the dadible.

Step three: don’t do nothing. Unless nothing is the thing you’re supposed to do to make it better. But that’s rare.

I bought Ethan a new bike. That’s right. I went to Walmart, found a shiny new Spider-Man bicycle, and took it to him at the school event. It wasn’t in the budget for this month. I’m sorry Dave. But I did it anyways.

Ethan had a blast. And you know what? He did well. He took right to it. He rode that bike. He forgot all about the possible pain he had feared all week. He was too excited about the new and the opportunity.

Don’t fear what’s not there yet. Don’t make a hotrod out of a hot wheel. And don’t avoid the small stuff that feels like big stuff, or the big stuff that is actually big stuff.

Face your problems like a boy on his bike. Just keep peddling. You got this.

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.

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.

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.

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?

April 15 - Pray: Hallowed Father

Read: Matthew 6:9-13

Pray then like this: "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. (Matthew 6:9 ESV)

Prayer is such a powerful and important component of the Christian life. During his Sermon on the Mount Jesus laid out a really practical example for what healthy prayer looks like. It began with a statement of reverence.

Ultimately God is our Heavenly Father. He is to be revered. He is holy. He is unique in such a way that words can not accurately describe and the human mind can not begin to fathom.

Even though He remains beyond our comprehension God has chosen to reveal Himself to humanity as a Father. He really is. It is often difficult to comprehend. Especially if we do not have a mortal father from which to draw a clearly defined example.

Reverence for our Hallowed Father is demonstrated out of what the Bible often calls the fear of the Lord. It means displaying a realistic perspective of God's power and sovereignty. It means having a healthy fear of God, but not being afraid of God.

I think of it as a child who stands in awe of their father or mother. They realize that there is ability, power, protection, and control that far supersedes what they know or understand. While they do not think of it in those terms they live it, accept it, and depend on it. It is all they know. It shapes everything about their little world. I believe that having that healthy reverence for God can be something we live from, communicate from, and pray from. I believe it shapes everything about our little world.

Vomit, Crying, & Gratitude

Last night was a rough one in the King house. Our 12 month old son Ethan came down with some kind of stomach bug out of the blue. One minute he was happily soaking up Sesame Street with his mommy on the couch and all-of-a-sudden he was vomiting like crazy. Yeah, I know that's gross. Sorry. It was a mess, but that was the least of our concerns. Our little boy was sick. To compound the issue I had to leave for our weekly ministry gathering shortly after the ordeal began. This went on throughout the night. My wife would try to get some fluids in him to prevent dehydration, but his little body would reject them, and up they came. He got splotches on his tummy that indicated the onset of dehydration. It was scary. We prayed a lot. I was largely distracted during our service. My mind kept going back to my little boy. After service was over I made my goodbyes and headed to the pharmacy to get some special juice that is supposed to help with that kind of situation. It did. He drank it, and kept it down. He drank some more, and kept it down.

Jamie and I took turns sitting up with him on the couch throughout the night. We slept sporadically. When morning came it seemed his energy had returned. He laughed, he played a little, and then.... he cried.

It wasn't a cry of pain, or a whimpering wailing of discomfort. It was the kind of short bursting cry that comes from being just a little spoiled, something that I am completely ok with at his age. And while I am usually easily annoyed by prolonged bouts of crying, especially during my more cranky moments, this morning was different. I was grateful. I was just happy he had the energy to cry.

Sometimes something that is annoying, aggravating, or challenging can actually be a reason for rejoicing. Yes, life is sometimes hard, but often our attitude has the power to shape the perception of our experience. Today, I'm grateful for the grace to see with gratitude.

February 10 - Well Pleased

Read: Mark 1:9-11 & John 1:32-34

And a voice came from heaven, "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased." (Mark 1:11 ESV)

Growing up one of my favorite feelings was always that experience of knowing that my parents were pleased with me for something. Sometimes it accompanied a task or an accomplishment, but often it was just there. It was a sense of cherished love and value that came simply as a result of being their child.

I really believe we can experience that same kind of affection from God. Yes, it comes in ways that are similar to those of my own childhood experience. Sometimes God is pleased with us and our actions, but usually the feeling of acceptance, love, and appointment is derived simply from belonging to Him.

Both parenthood and childhood are pleasurable experiences when enjoyed through a righteous and wholesome relationship. God is the Father. All who come back into the Father's family can and will experience the Father's good pleasure. I hope that the thought of God being pleased with you, His child, will put a smile in your heart and joy in your steps today.

I Know Him

When I close my eyes I can see my son's face. The dimples. The smile. I can hear his precious little giggle, and the way he flaps his arms when he gets excited. I can remember the soft feel of his skin when he throws his arms around my neck for a hug or reaches out his tiny hand to grab mine. He is my son. I know him. I am wonderfully blessed to be able to work in a career that affords me a generous amount of time with him every day. I relish every precious moment of it. At this point in his young life, I know everything there is to know about him.

I've spent a lot of time in ministry teaching, preaching, and training people to join their heart to their mind in "knowing God". Something I've spent much less time thinking about is how well He already knows me. My needs, my laugh, my idiosyncrasies, and guffaws. He knows all that could, would, or ever will be known about me.

For some that line of thought may be potentially terrifying. I find it gloriously freeing. We spend so much time in this life playing to the mob, trying to appease the expectations of those around us, fearful that they may discover us for the phonies that we are.

How amazing that God, who knows me, died for me, not just in spite of myself, but to bring me around to an altogether different destiny. I am His. He knows me.

Protection

I am allergic to wasps. Not deathly so, not without a large number of stings, but I am allergic and tend to get quite sick when stung. Even so, when a wasp landed on my infant son today I swatted it away with my bare hand. Crushed it with my bare hand. Never once thinking about the potential consequences to myself. Why? My innate fatherly instinct to protect. God instantly used this moment to show me a bit about Himself. He has that same instinct to protect those that belong to Him. This is where (good) parents get that instinct, having been made in the image and likeness of God.

God does not derive His sense of protection from an outside source. The desire to protect is not so much a thing He experiences so much as it is a part of His nature. In other words, just as mercy, love, justice, and goodness are part of His being...so is protection. Being in Him, belonging to Him, comes with it the requisite existence of supernatural protection. This is not to say that harm will not come to believers, anyone can realize that. This protection extends beyond the natural to the spiritual realm, although it does from time-to-time have natural repercussions in this life.

God's ultimate protection is one where He keeps His kids close, in His presence throughout all of eternity. To cohabitate that great age of timelessness that our minds can't quite comprehend. To be free from both the wages of sin, and the allure of sin.

The most incredible thing about God's great protection is that He always knew the price for it. Where I reacted without regard for consequence in order to protect my son, God always knew the price that would be paid to reconcile our iniquity. Jesus is spoken of in Revelation as the "Lamb slain before the foundation of the world." Before "let there be light" or even "let there be" God was prepared to pay the price to protect His people. He created the system, the Law, that would need to be fulfilled, all the while knowing that it would demand death. Knowing only His death would undo that which we have, and continue, to do.

Father's Day

Last year for Father's Day I was in Ecuador. We were in this tiny little cinder block church with one fading loud speaker. It was my first time to experience an international worship service. It was a great experience. In the year since, I've become a father myself, and Father's Day means so much more. The following is a blog I wrote and shared last year while in Ecuador. It is a small excerpt from the book "Jesus Among Other Gods" by Ravi Zacharias. While reading it I felt that it was a great piece to share in light of Fathers' Day. The excerpt is followed by some of my own personal thoughts.

"A few years ago, a former Olympic athlete came to visit me. He was looking for some direction in his life. He was a strong and solidly built man. It was a privilege to be around him--just in the hopes that muscles were contagious!

He told me of the time he was representing his country at the Olympics. It was a story of dreams that had struggled against a potential nightmare. From the age of twelve, the Olympics had been all he labored for. He had put every penny he earned and every purchase he made into someday becoming a gold medalist in the event he loved. He was totally focused. This is what he wanted. But he had a very turbulent relationship with his father, who had no interest in this dream of his, and, therefore, he had funded every penny himself.

When he was only seventeen, he filmed the world champion in the event for which he was training and broke down his every stride, frame by frame, to study his technique. He then had himself filmed in the same distance and matched it, stride for stride. By precisely piecing together where he was losing the precious seconds to the world champion, he determined to bridge the gap. Through sheer willpower, discipline, and courage, his goal was within reach.

He made the cut for his country's team, and life was suddenly like being atop a floating cloud. He won every heat and was emerging as the surprise and potential winner when the finals came. Was this a dream or was it real? No, it was real, he reminded himself.

He was at the starting point for the finals, and his nation was watching. Millions were cheering for him, and hearts were racing, expecting this 'country-boy-makes-it-big' story to hit the headlines the next day. In fact, I remember watching the event. The gun was about to go off, signaling the start. This was the moment he had waited for most of his life. But the mind with all it's tenacity and resoluteness is also a storehouse of unuttered yearnings.

'From out of nowhere,' he said, 'an unexpected thought suddenly flooded my mind--I WONDER IF MY FATHER IS WATCHING ME.'

That unanticipated thought momentarily overcame him and may have added a fraction of a second to his first two strides, robbing him of the gold. With great credit, he still won the bronze. The third fastest in the world is no mean accomplishment. Yet, to him, the victory on the track lost it's luster when measured against the deeper yearnings of his life--the approval of the ones you love. Little did this Olympian know how my heart was beating as he shared this story with me. I understood him well.

Young dreams may be wild ones, but they are never corrected by ridiculing them. They must be steered by a loving voice that has earned the right to be heard, not one enforced by means of power. This is a very difficult lesson for parents to learn. And, as cultures lose their restraining power, there will be greater need for mutual love and respect between parents and children if a relationship of trust is to be built, rather than banking on authority because of position."

This Father's Day I am overjoyed by the reality of fatherhood. It is better than I could have ever imagined. Also, I'm grateful for an earthly father that never squashed my dreams. I never once had to wonder if he was watching because he was always there to cheer me on in my accomplishments or correct me with great grace and patience through my many-many failures.

I'm also infinitely thankful for a Heavenly Father who has shaped me in my peculiar uniqueness, equipped me for big dreams, measured the distance of my faults by the rule of His mercy, and guided my every step by the light of His Word.

"The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are children of God." - Romans 8:16 NASB

10 Things I Can't Wait to Do with My Son

Life usually doesn’t fit into nice neat little lists, but that doesn’t keep me from trying. Welcome to my Tuesday 10, where I try to fit the messiness of life into a list of ten. My son will be born any day now. This is my list of ten things that I'm really looking forward to doing with him. This list could have been soooooooo much longer. Thanks for reading.

1. Shoot a weapon.

2. Write and illustrate a kids book.

3. Watch Toy Story.

4. Talk about God.

5. Shop for mommy's birthday.

6. Play video games.

7. Build a Lego castle, spaceship, and other speculatively creative construct.

8. Sing and play music.

9. Basketball

10. Share the meaning of his name