Category Archives: living God’s truth

You’ll do.

Our Sunday School roster of teachers was down to slim pickings today. The regularly scheduled facilitator and her substitute were otherwise detained, and I offered to step in at the last minute. Attendance numbers were slim as well, but what we lack in quantity we make up for in quality. These people I do life with are some of the finest folks I know.

After an initial greeting and my pre-emptive apology for serving as a fill-in, a generous soul in our midst offered me, perhaps, one of the most sincere and beautiful commendations I have ever received:

“You’ll do.”

Generous laughter followed his proclamation, along with an inward tugging in my spirit. He attached no harm to his words; instead, they rolled off his lips as a compliment of the highest order. And therein I felt safe. Wanted. Warmed by his genuine assessment of me.

“You’ll do.”

Oh, to be welcomed to the table of holy conversation with a hearty handshake of acceptance! It’s a gift to me … to be graciously received and, further still, to no longer need any weightier accolades attached to my name. That’s not always been the case. There was a season when I clamored for a bigger stage, a larger audience, and a calendar filled with invitations to validate my spiritual prowess.

That season didn’t last long. And while I knew that I was naturally and (at times) supernaturally gifted for the stage, it wasn’t to be. Instead, God simplified the matter for me, took my hand, bowed my heart, and led me down a quieter path of holy privilege.

There’s nothing “lesser” about a quieter path, at least in God’s eyes. It just means that kingdom work doesn’t always need a stage to get results. Sometimes the good seed falls to a few good souls who gather on a Sunday morning to say “yes” all over again to the holy deliberation of God’s Word. To be awed by the wonderment, the workings and worthy practice of chewing on a few verses and believing that, with the chew, something profound and beautiful happens.

Jesus happens. Every single time. In the midst and in the muddle of a week and of a world that is often void of his voice. When the Bible is open, Jesus takes the stage regardless the size of the audience. He makes no apologies for his presence. He simply and profoundly stands there on the pages of holy writ with all truth embodied within his frame. Like a brilliant shard of light dispelling the darkness, Jesus illuminates and fills the empty pages of our souls. And when that happens, when the hunger of our hearts is satiated by the love in his heart, then the kingdom moves forward. The kingdom expands.

Eternal deliberations with the eternal God yield eternal results.

I’ll get up every day for that kind of spiritual progress, friends. A step toward home is a step in the right direction. And to step it alongside a few hungry saints, is, indeed, the path of holy privilege.

Maybe today you need to be reminded of such things like quieter paths and open Bibles and friends who trust you to lead the holy deliberations therein. These are not lesser stages of significance and your participation isn’t a lesser point of privilege. Rather, these are great works of grace with a great and awesome Jesus.

You’ll do, friend. Bring what you have to the table in obedience.

He’ll do … the rest. Even better. Even more.

On earth, even as it is in heaven. As always…

Peace for the journey,

A cup of warmth; a cup of dignity

A cup of warmth; a cup of dignity.

That’s what I bought him today. It only cost me five bucks and a little bit of time – a small price in comparison to the gift given.

I saw him walking down Main Street, carrying a backpack along with multiple grocery store bags. Instead of holding his groceries, they held his worldly possessions. Freezing temperatures and spitting rain are hostile enemies of the homeless – just more fuel added to an already burgeoning fire of helplessness.

I wondered if he would follow me to the McDonald’s just down the road. Daughter and I were headed there for our usual Monday lunch date. McDonald’s is one of the last stops before the interstate. Perhaps he would venture in before venturing onward.

He did, quickly making his way to the back corner of the restaurant. A look of shame covered his face, his eyes not wanting to meet anyone else’s until they did … meet mine. Before praying at our table, I made my way over to his.

Can I buy you lunch, Sir? What would you like today?

He looked up; his response was humble.

Yes, whatever you’d like to get me.

After nailing him down as to the specifics, I brought a chicken sandwich, fry, and Sprite over to him. I asked him his name, and then I asked him how I could pray for him.

I want to be warm, and I want to be protected.

Accordingly, we prayed together.

As I made my way back to my table, the tears began to fall.

I watched my new friend out of the corner of my eye while he ate. He took off his hat, plugged in his small radio, and for a few minutes, he was warm. He was protected. For a little patch of his day, he belonged somewhere.

Funny how five bucks and a prayer can buy someone so very, very much.

A cup of warmth; a cup of dignity.

As my daughter and I bundled up to leave, I waved good-bye, walked out to my not-yet-paid-for vehicle, turned on its heater, and headed home.

I have so much; Bobby has so seemingly little.

But for a few moments today, we sat together on level ground, talking to the Ground-Leveler, Jesus Christ. At God’s feet and before his throne, life gets simpler … safer.

That’s where I want to live. That’s how I want to live. Giving the warmth and protection of Jesus Christ to others. In Christ, and in him alone, all people re-discover their dignity.

Pay attention to the world around you, friends. There’s a world full of Bobbys waiting for you to take notice. A little time on your hands, a little prayer in your heart, and a little money in your wallet will exponentially move the kingdom of God forward. To the Father’s glory, for his renown, and for his name’s sake give a cup of warmth and a cup of dignity to someone today. In doing so, you bring heaven to earth.

Amen.

A guest post by Nick Woods

Nick and Jo Jo – 1998

My son surprised me with some thoughts he posted on social media last night … not because of what he wrote but, rather, because he chose to share them in such a public way. Nick plays his cards pretty close to the vest when it comes to social media, so I was caught off guard by his vulnerability. Graciously, he’s allowed me to post his thoughts here; they are worthy of so much more than this landing spot. When I asked him for a title, he wasn’t particular – said he wasn’t really thinking about one when he wrote words down. So I’ve been thinking…

about Nick’s first, best friend. His name is Joseph, but we called him Jo-Jo. I dug through some photo boxes to find this one. It was their last visit together before we moved from KY to NC, a dreary day for both of them. When I asked them to smile, this was the best they could offer. Hugs were given, tears were shed, and then, we all moved on. That was June 1998. 

Fast forward to last night – June 2020. The boy who wrestled with his emotions twenty-two years ago, is the same boy who penned these thoughts last night. And I can’t help but wonder if those three years with Jo-Jo didn’t serve as a solid foundation for the years that have followed … the heart that’s been shaped into the man who is now willing to “climb into” another man’s skin. I don’t think it’s the first time you’ve done it, Nick, … climbed into another man’s skin … but it probably will be the most important time you’ll ever do so. I love you, son. Thank you for this gift. 

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A guest post by Nick Woods (6.01.2020. Allrightsreserved.)

Sharing this on social media, an ouroboros of demagoguery, name-calling, and general lack of good-will, may not be a great idea; but I am not posting for likes, I am not posting as a performative exercise. I am not sharing any crazy radical ideas or thoughts that you haven’t already heard before. I am simply writing as it helps me to organize my thoughts and posting in the spirit of feedback and accountability from those who would read and engage this post in good faith.

OK, here goes…

One of my earliest and more formative experiences engaging with “race relations” on an intellectual level was in reading and occasionally re-visiting passages from To Kill A Mockingbird. If you are like me or grew up in the South, it is likely you also had this as required reading in school.

I have been thinking a lot about the book recently. It is certainly an old text and dated in many regards. And I know many folks roll their eyes when you bring up this book – and I will certainly acknowledge there are many problematic elements with the “who” and the “how” of the storytelling mechanics. But there are also broader themes of empathy, courage against difficult odds, and fighting for justice in impossible situations that ring eerily true in contemporary America. I am struck by a couple of the more famous lines that Atticus delivers to Scout and Jem: (1) “You never really understand a person…until you climb into his skin and walk around in it” and (2) “simply because we were licked a hundred years before we started is no reason for us not to try to win.”

I have tried to climb into others’ skin and walk around in it in recent weeks. We have seen the very public outpouring of anger, frustration, grieving, and confusion in the wake of the injustice with George Floyd and so many others. We have seen COVID-19 disproportionately impact the health of minority Americans and their families, to say nothing of the disproportionate economic destruction of their livelihoods.

Someone once half-joking said to me “I believe white privilege is real, and I’m sure glad I‘m benefiting from it.” A lot of truth in that statement. Whenever I see a police officer in a public space, I feel a sense of security, that I have someone who is watching my back and looking out for me. I will never know the feelings of fear, worry, and pain that same situation elicits from a person of color. I will never know what it’s like to be born into the wrong ZIP code. I will never know what it’s like to be denied access to educational attainment. I will never know what it’s like to search for a job as a person of color. I don’t know how we fix all that, but that has to be the goal. And even though it may feel like we “were licked a 100 years before we started,” we still have to keep trying to fix it. We can probably start by shutting up and listening to the folks who face these barriers and challenges each day.

But I also hope as we grapple with these important ideas and fight for a more just society that we can also find a lot of common ground – I happen to believe we as Americans have far more in common than things we disagree on.

I believe 99% of the protestors we have seen this week are peacefully, admirably exercising their First Amendment right to call attention to an important problem (the other 1% are simply losers who are breaking things and committing crimes on account of drunkenness, media attention, and a real distaste for capitalism). I believe 99% of our law enforcement officers are operating with the best intentions to protect and serve all people in their communities. Like George Floyd’s brother, I believe that riots, looting and property destruction has to stop if we ever want to build some consensus and not turn off folks who would be allies. I believe that if you want to solve these problems, you can’t count on the folks in White House, and you can’t count on the folks in your Statehouse. Vote however you’d like, but politicians aren’t fixing this mess – and I have a sneaking suspicion many of them don’t want to.

As a Christian, I also think we have to recognize that we are not fighting against each other on this. This isn’t a Left-Right issue. This isn’t an Us-Them issue. This is a fight against Satan and his kingdom of spiritual darkness. As many pastors are fond of saying- racism isn’t a skin issue, it’s a sin issue. The Bible talks about the story of a man named Saul, who had a great deal of experience with leveraging his position, status and legal authorities into a vast number of injustices before he encountered God and changed his life. He later wrote “do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” What a turnaround! What wisdom!

This week, I encourage each of us to climb in someone else’s skin for a bit and walk around some. How does that walk compare to our typical one? What burdens do we discover along the way? What can we do to help remove them? Maybe, just maybe, this will be the time we as a country can come together, listen to each other, ally with each other, and overcome evil with good.

I just want to close by saying how unsettling and heartbreaking this week has been, on so many levels. The amount of pain, anger, and broken-heartedness in the United States is incalculable. Seeing all the riots and broken windows and destroyed property was horrible – but those things can be replaced. Human life cannot. I want to extend my deepest condolences and prayers for the family and friends of George Floyd and to all who have experienced pain in the aftermath of his death. And I also want to think about and pray for the more than 100,000 who have passed away from COVID-19 – a disproportionate majority of whom are black and brown. These folks didn’t just lose one life, they lost two: the ones they were living and the ones they still had to come.

The poet Philip Larkin once wrote “the first day after a death, the new absence is always the same. We should be careful of each other, we should be kind, while there is still time.”

Indeed.

on course-correcting indulgence

Christmas has cost me a few pounds. A recent doctor’s visit and my turn on the scale indicated this reality. Accordingly, upon my return home, I purged the remnants of my kitchen–those remaining crumbs of a recent, earlier delight. I had had enough of indulgence. My body knew it; perhaps even greater, my mind … my spirit was in agreement. And when those two entities collide, when the flesh and the spirit are in agreement, then healthier choices take place. The fullness that comes to our stomachs when walking in tandem with the spirit is a course-correct that will eventually balance out the cost of earlier, unchecked indulgences.

And while the human spirit is a mighty force for change, God’s Spirit living in us through the powerful work of the cross, is mightier … holier … the same kind of strength exhibited in Christ’s resurrection from the grave (see Romans 8:11-12, Ephesians 1:19-20). As Christians, God means for us to daily walk in his resurrection strength, to breathe and to take in the fullness that he offers to us, so that we might know the difference between an earthly, hungering stomach and an eternal hungering spirit. So that we might run to the right cupboard for the filling.

Long before my recent purge, another purge of sorts took place on Judean hillside. The crowd numbering in the thousands had gathered to hear from this teacher, this miracle worker named Jesus. On that day, Jesus addressed both of their needs–their hungering stomachs and, even greater, their hungering spirits. It was the latter filling that led them to follow him to the other side of the lake for more. It was then that Jesus released a truth that many of them could not fully absorb:

I am the bread of life. Your forefathers ate the manna in the desert, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which a man may eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world (John 6:48-51, NIV).

Jesus then furthers the discussion with talk of “drinking his blood” — a partaking in what some would deem too strange of a feast. Eating flesh? Drinking blood? What on earth was he talking about?

Jesus wasn’t talking about earthly things. Jesus was teaching about eternal realities, about that place, that moment when the body and the spirit collide and come in agreement for a healthier road forward. This is the course-correct that balances out unchecked indulgences. This is the course-correct that will fix the human condition–those irrational hungers that bloat, that burden, and that distend the soul to damaging limits.

The world we’re walking in, is a damaged, sin-sickened society that makes it all too easy for us to distend our souls. The world’s cupboard is full of choices to satiate our hunger. They’re hard to miss; they crowd our kitchens and their aromas fill our nostrils until we are convinced that we must eat, we must partake, we must cram final crumbs into that remaining void without even considering the cost to our souls. The momentary overshadows the eternal and, before long, the scale lives to tell the tale.

When that happens, when the mocking of indulgence comes back around to taunt us … to haunt us … it is time for us to release that burden to the cross; it is the only scale that will balance the bloating of our souls. Christ leveled the playing field when he submitted his flesh to a bloody surrender. In doing so, he has made a way for us to overcome our earthly hungering. The cross and our bloody surrender therein, eliminates the extra pounds.

The cross is the course-correct for the fledgling and fragile and failing human condition. It is a strange feast indeed; yet it is a beautiful and bountiful one in which we must partake if we want his life to be made evident in ours.

So today I ask you the question that I am asking myself. What has your recent indulgence cost you? What scale are you using to calculate that cost? Are you tired of the bloating, the bulge that has you stretched to your limits? Has your stomach and your spirit come to an agreement on the matter? If so, then you are ready for a course-correct. Your seat at Christ’s table–his altar of grace and mercy–has been reserved.

Dine there. Feed there. Cram in the cross. The hunger that cannot be filled by earthly cupboards can be filled to overflow from the rich storehouses of heaven. This is the sacred balancing of our souls.

I’ll meet you at the table, and as always…

Peace for the journey,

on measuring the distance

I picked up eight stones in the first few steps of my walk this morning. I’ve been walking this street for a week now; it’s my new route in this new chapter of living. Whereas my former neighborhood boasted several streets full of twists and turns and lots of scenery, my current neighborhood includes a single, straight street dotted by a dozen or so homes. On my former route, two laps around the neighborhood meant I had completed my course. Now “completion” requires eight.

Those eight laps should be easily counted … easily remembered. But I am easily distracted and often lose count. A stopwatch marking the minutes comes close to measuring my steps, but my pace isn’t always consistent. My steps don’t always measure out evenly. Sometimes I walk more slowly. Sometimes more briskly.

For me, time isn’t the truest measure for knowing when my course is completed.

Distance is.

And so, this morning I picked up eight stones. I carried them in my left hand, and each time I passed my driveway, I transferred one of them to my pocket. Carrying and counting stones is a tangible way of measuring distance. An empty palm and a full pocket signals completion.

As it was for me this morning, so it was for the Israelites as they made their way across the Jordan River to enter the Promised Land (see Joshua 3-4). Along the way, God instructed twelve men to pick up twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan and to carry them over to the other side. Joshua (the new leader of God’s people) then took those twelve stones and built an altar at Gilgal to serve as a memorial to the faithfulness of God. In the future, each time the Israelites looked at that altar … counted those stones … they remembered their mighty God and their mighty walk through the Jordan on dry ground.

Twelve stones counted and carried by the Israelites, measured the distance of how far they’d traveled with their faithful Father. As they walked onto the pages of a new chapter in their history as his people, God made sure they had a memorial to serve as a reminder of the previous steps taken. He didn’t want them to forget that faith walk.

He doesn’t want us to forget ours … the steps we’ve traveled with him.

Time isn’t the truest measure for knowing when our course is completed. Distance is. Our steps won’t always measure out evenly. Somedays we’ll walk more slowly; somedays faster. Somedays (thanks be to God) steady as we go. Time cannot accurately measure the length, width, depth, and breadth of our faith walks with Christ. But a few stones carried in our palms and in our pockets deposited as grace at the end of a life’s laboring?

Well, that’s a pretty good measure of the sacred distance we’ve traveled with God.

And so today, let me encourage you to pick up a stone or two–a faith moment between you and Christ where you have known, seen, and felt the mighty arm of the Lord working on your behalf. Start building an altar unto the Lord so that in the future, when your children ask you or when you ask yourself, “What do these stones mean?”, you’ll remember the day when you walked through your Jordan on dry ground because of the strong arm of the Lord.

That altar … that distance … is the measure that matters eternally.

Step on in faith, friends. I’ll meet you in the riverbed. Together, let’s continue to build a living witness to the faithfulness of our God. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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