I don’t want to loose all of these stories. They track the story of an amazing adventure.

In honor of this new adventure I’ll be starting a new blog. You are welcome to check it out at fishspew.wordpress.com

If I don’t see you there, know I have loved this ride! I am excited to live and see the new stories that come along.

I was driving along doing things according to the map in front of me, and suddenly I found myself in a place I didn’t recognize. Like all good men, I never ask for directions either. Fortunately, I am surrounded by a wife and men who love me and who forced the question on me. I didn’t understand the question at first, but eventually through their persistence and frustration the question got through. When I finally put the map down that I was using I found out both where I was and where I needed to be. So let me tell you a story. Paraphrasing Adam Taylor let me tell you, “A story of me, a story of us, and a story of now.”

The story of me
My journey of faith has been one of big ideas, bold actions, humiliating failures, character flaws, brokenness, and a faithful God and loving friends who believe in me more than I believe or trust in myself.

When I look back upon the highlights of my life I remember the overwhelming moment when I understood grace for the first time in 1981. Before I was a Christian a friend invited me to a Sunday service. I’d been to services before, but when I walked into this one people had eyes closed and faces turned to heaven. They were singing, but it was so much more. I remember thinking, “I’ve been looking for this all my life.” A few months later, after understanding grace, I was part of that amazing love set to music.

I remember the very first family I served through a church, a migrant farm family in Texas who gave me a home-made tortilla for delivering a space heater. To this day it’s the best tortilla I’ve ever eaten.

I think about walking the streets around the Astrodome in Houston from 11:00 pm to 2:00 am to get teen prostitutes off the streets. FYI, I never got to talk to a teen prostitute, but I met plenty of older ones who weren’t interested in what I had to say. They didn’t mind talking, except when the pimp showed up.

I think about sharing Christ on the sea-wall in Galveston and being threatened by bikers and gang-bangers.

I think about the Lord redeeming from massive failures of character and faith – a 10 year trial that forever changed me. It was a breaking that re-made me.

I think about renting tiny, one-room houses in run-down parts of town and meeting the best people (and some real losers).

I think about working in a school district health program but having to get the kids home before 6:00 because that’s when the gun-fire began. I remember a great-grandmother as the primary care-giver for a first grader. She was an amazing woman taking care of two generations lost to addiction, and trying to protect the third.

I remember families suffering from violence and genetic mutation in rural Maryland, and the hope, strength and despair of families on reservations in northern Minnesota and Wisconsin.

I think about Romania and meeting my wife. About doctor’s offices and waiting rooms through crisis pregnancies and innumerable transfusions and fears, and the two healthy sons who are my joy. I think that if I could have them know one thing in life it would be how big, beautiful, and audacious our God is – and how tame most of us make him.

I think about being asked by leaders to leave public health and go into ministry. I remember the people who left as a result. I remember hard years of ministry. Of people loved and relationships lost.

I think about years of seminary with few spare moments and too much time away from family over 8 years.

I think about my first Christian Community Development Association meeting in 2004. It was a time like walking into that church in college for the first time and realizing, “I’ve been looking for this all my life.”

I remember trembling steps into a meeting of elders with my resignation typed up should they reject my plan to follow the Lord. Not as a power-play (I’m not that kind of guy), but because I had nothing else but that plan.

I remember being a little shocked when they said yes.

I remember the fear and confusion and delightful ignorance of moving out in transition. Always partially what I wanted, partially not. But church is about body and group and shared wisdom, not a cult of personality.

I remember picking up a freaked out and panicked Meth addict on the corner of Peachtree Industrial and Peachtree Rd, who couldn’t understand why no one wanted to give her ride to her motel. She looked like a zombie.

I remember Pearl Lane and the chaos of the after-school program. I remember the first time in a room with 4th grade boys who wanted to know where babies come from. I remember trombones and singing Christmas songs. I remember Cheryl Burton teaching me that ministry succeeds not because we don’t fail, but that when we fail we humble ourselves and do the right thing. I remember a boy talking about his fears after someone broke down their door and robbed his family. I remember the loud drunks yelling at each other as we walked by them on my way to taking him back to that same house.

I remember my wife coming out of a session with John Perkins at a CCDA conference in 2006 saying, “We have to move.” To this day it causes tears to well-up in my eyes to see the Lord confirm what he had placed on my heart years before.

I think about kids shouting “Pastor Tim!” as the bus rumbles down a busy road past the church while I’m talking to the police and a guy in hand-cuffs whom I had been helping but who had also been robbing the church at the same time.

I think about the building inspector for Doraville coming to my house because I was a pastor and there were neighbors who needed translation into Mandarin.

I think about the people I talk with at public coffee houses in Theology Café – theology, faith, and conversation outside the walls. Whether it’s one person or a dozen I love every minute of it.

I remember faces and lives lovingly shared with me. I see hundreds of them. But I remember George clearest of all. George (pronounced Gi-yor-geh) was the Romanian boy who prayed with me to ask Jesus into his heart after hearing my story. It was the first time after my divorce and all the ugliness it revealed in me that I had shared it in public. I remember it being trembling and halting. I was far from the flawless example of Christian perfection. George taught me to tell God’s story of His faithfulness and ability to restore scared, divorced, humiliated failures.

If I am dedicated to Christ’s cross, I will tell my story truthfully to reveal the magnificence of his grace and mercy that others might see him and know him and love him for who he is.

This is the story of me.

The story of us
Before I was married or ever left Minnesota I’d been invited to Northside Community Evangelical Free Church (now Open Table). The mission pastor of Heather’s very large church had sat next to the pastor of Northside at a conference. The mission pastor handed Heather a hand-written invitation to come to the church when we got to Atlanta (we knew we were moving to Atl before we got married). The first place we visited in Atlanta was the church. That Sunday the first person we met was Jim Wehner. A nice, newly married couple asked us to lunch, Aaron and Kendra Brussat. It was October, 1996.

The church was an amazing expression of faith. They were part of the Right To Life movement praying for and protesting the killing of children through abortion. Many of the church’s leaders had met in jail.

The church had a conviction to reach Bosnian Muslims as an unreached people group. As they pursued that vision a civil war broke out in (then) Yugoslavia. It didn’t stop them. They worked in refugee camps during the war and in the reconstruction that followed. To this day we have missionaries serving in Sarajevo and Mostar.

Soon after we arrived we were asked to help with youth ministry at church. A while later I was asked to leave my job with the CDC and go on staff. We agonized for two months about it before saying “yes.” We said yes with one caveat: we be allowed to move to Bosnia in two years to help there. The church said yes.

Two years later, the Holy Spirit shut the door to Bosnia. Through a vision he called me to pastoral ministry and sent me to seminary. A month into seminary the interim pastor of the church took ill and left. I was asked to preach and lead. I did. The elders asked me to put my name in for the pastoral search. I wasn’t sure why, but I obeyed. A few months later I was offered the job.

When asked why two things came up: my brokenness and authenticity as a Christian, and the conviction that I could lead even with the founding pastor staying in the church. I tried to live with this for almost two years before I had to ask the founding pastor to leave. I didn’t do it well. It didn’t go well.

Through prayer and fasting the Lord led us on another daring journey of faith. Not to political protests or international missions, but to local incarnation. It was a time when many of the stalwarts of the church decided it was time to go in different directions. I didn’t blame them. They served well. They were tired and started focusing on different forms of service.

So we became significantly smaller, sold the building, and moved on. We had new visions of mission and incarnation in places being abandoned. I ended up going to a political protest in Washington DC over budget cuts to the foster care system, WIC, and Medicare. I marched with immigrants in support of their humanity and contributions to society. Same DNA, different expression.

The Lord brought David Park and Peter Choi to be light and hope in my life. Through them he also revealed a most significant improvement to the vision – reconciliation and the hope of a multi-ethnic church.

The Lord, through the Holy Spirit, took us the route we have walked to Cary Reynolds, Pearl Lane, and Communicycle. We have partnered with Movers & Shakers, Theology Café, the C.S. Lewis Institute, Refugee Arts and Refugee Beads. I’ve met pastor’s who sandals I am unworthy to untie; pastors that serve Bosnian, Nepali, Egyptian, and Zomi people.

In 2010 we found ourselves in a new location in an old building. Through the work of the new leadership team we started to strip away the last vestiges of plans, habits, and practices that no longer fit our size, our location, or our needs. It’s been a good and necessary (if not pain-free) process.

To grow stronger and deeper we have a plan for discipleship and small groups and serving immigrant and refugee communities.

This is the story of us.

The story of now
I look around me now and I see myself for the past year inside the walls of a church attending to details. I’m not a manager or an administrator.

My wife calls me tired. My friends and leaders ask me what my passion is. They ask me what I want to be doing with my life. If you could do anything at all what would it be? What’s your dream? What’s your passion!? I didn’t have an answer. When I realized I didn’t have an answer I knew I was lost. Not in the separated from God sense of “lost”, but in the “turned around”, “how did I get to this place,” “using the wrong map” sense of lost.

So I asked my wife and my friends, “Who am I? When am I at my best, my most alive?” They all answered the exact same way. When they did I started to see where I was and how I had gotten there. I also saw more clearly who I am.

I live in a community of full of immigrants and refugees.

I don’t speak Spanish, Cambodian, Mandarin, Vietnamese, Bangladeshi, or any of the other dozen dialects or languages that are all around me. I can’t speak the heart-language to these adults. But I do with their kids.

I see kids willing to talk, but not willing to come to church. I want to go to them.

I look out at the world and the church and the big things I see are “out there.” Lives crushed by injustice and despair. I see someone elected Governor of Georgia whose politics toward people I care about are horrid. I see a fight coming and I want to stand up for those who are caught in the middle, especially the kids who were brought to the US and who have no hope for a future. They have only ever lived in the US and yet they have no options for their ambitions and abilities except on the black market.

I look out at where we are and I want to walk and pray. I want to understand what and who the giants are in this land, in Chamblee and Doraville. I want to step in. I know some of their names – prostitution, gambling, drugs.  I want to be part of the solution.

I am not brave. I am not strong. I am compelled.

And I can’t do this sitting inside the walls of a building.

This is the story of now.

Why am I telling you this story? Because what you heard is important. What you DIDN’T hear is important. What you didn’t hear is that I think about writing sermons, growing the church, or constructing a meaningful worship service. I don’t think about nice buildings and nice budgets.

When I look back I see a pattern. When I look back I feel a pulse.

When I look at now I see real things that need to be tackled in the world around me – outside the walls, with people outside the walls. This is when I am most alive. This is what matters to me. This ignites my passion and gives me something worth living (and dying) for.

So I am stepping away from the inside of the church to work on the outside.  I am not leaving my community, I am going deeper into it.  If the church were larger or had more resources I could probably stay on staff.  But we don’t have more resources and I can’t.

When I was first called into pastoral ministry it came with a vision of man handing me a steering pole to a boat.  My job in the vision was to steer the boat through my section of the river, then hand it off.  It’s that time.

So here we go.  Excited, fearful, at times terrified.  But here we go!

The phrase itself brings up all kinds of images from Lord of the Rings to Left Behind to the Exorcist to Twilight. It means many things to many people: psychotherapy, dark nights of the soul, sweat, visions, and – usually – yelling and casting out demons. As someone who came through the Charismatic Renewal I have experienced a fare share of yelling and casting out.

But as I’ve gotten older, I think that spiritual warfare has less to do with “casting out.” Although I need to be clear that I do believe that demons, oppression, possession, etc do exist and must be confronted in the power of the Lord. However, that is not the place we start in understanding “spiritual warfare.”

Warfare points to the fact that at least two things (sides if you will) are in conflict with one trying to overcome the other. “Spiritual” means not-material (“flesh and blood”) but heavenly (Christ and the devil, the church and gates of hell, angels and demons) and ideologically (values, intentions, priorities). This is not to say that the “spiritual” and “material” are disconnected or not related to each other. It merely goes to the point that when Christians talk about spiritual warfare they are talking about the hostility between two sides: God and those in rebellion against God and merely “flesh and blood” (Eph 6:12).

With this as both background and starting point we can move into what I think is a foundational orientation when understanding spiritual warfare – Sabbath.

Sabbath reminds us that we live in two worlds: the culture and “realities” of the world on the one hand (what scripture calls the kingdom of this world, principalities, powers, and authorities, etc), and God’s Kingdom on the other. Sabbath reminds us that we can’t live in both, and that we have to make purposeful decisions in the rhythm and practice of our lives.

At its most basic Sabbath is about rest and delight in the Lord. It’s not about certain days or times or things to eat or not eat or religious practices that make you right with God. Instead it is about celebrating a relationship and entering his rest. It is pushing away the world and its priorities (rushing, doing, insecurity, economic anxiety) and being God’s people focused on Him.

To do this most fully means to think on, meditate on, sing about, and work deeper and deeper into the fabric of our being thankfulness and joy about who Christ is, what Christ has accomplished, and why. In Christ-only do we fully see the Father’s love and the Holy Spirit’s work. As we bask in his beauty we see (or we should see if we do it right) ourselves and our world more clearly. We can then adjust our lifestyle, our decision-making, our priorities and purposes in life according to Him, His ways, His purposes. It is this adjustment that is the first – and vitally important part of – spiritual warfare.

The main conflict in our lives is (according to Ephesians) putting off the “old man” and putting on the “new man”. This is Paul’s image to explain what it means to be renewed in your nous. That is, in the perceptive, imaginative, intuitive, knowing-without-always-know-why part of your mind/heart. Without this essential reorientation of your thoughts, attitudes, emotions, will, and intentions we are mindlessly, uncritically drifting on in the ways of our culture and world. God’s kingdom always cuts across the pull and direction of culture in some way.

Now to do this – here is the spiritual warfare part – means confronting all kinds of obstacles and pressures. On a practical level, these run from not spending our time and money in the same ways, to how we see the goal and purpose of life, to how we see ourselves and define success.

The conflict is real and difficult and comes with consequences. For example, to have a certain kind of job that demands certain hours and sacrifices may be in direct conflict with what the faith tells us our main goals should be. To stand up for what is most important in this situation will mean definite and difficult consequences. We just had a woman in our fellowship forced to become a whistle blower against her company because of the corruption and theft she saw being perpetrated. She has lost her job and is now embroiled in the legal complexities. The whole affair has been full of anxiety, anger, dread, moments of confusion and despair.  In other words, warfare living according to God’s values (or not).

And we could give innumerable examples not just in work, but in home life, personal life, hobbies, recreation…you name it. Even in the life of a church we have conflicts in how we define and live out success, popularity, security (read money), and prestige as defined more by the world than by God.

It’s not that the ways of the world and God’s ways are essentially in opposition. Sometimes the word’s ways remind of ways we have compromised our faith unknowingly and bring us back (environmental movement, peace activists, modern anti-slavery movements, etc). However, while World and Kingdom are not essentially (always) in opposition in certain values, they are always in opposition when it comes to the why and how of these values.

But let’s not get side-tracked.

So in the tension and conflict between living according to God’s Kingdom and living according to the ways of the world, the main “weapon” we have is Sabbath. In Sabbath the life of God is renewed in us and we gain the energy, perspective, and fortitude to live according to God’s ways and not compromise (or at least compromise less and less as we mature in Him). We have peace with God and rest in God because of Christ as a standard. In Christ we are given the Holy Spirit as a guarantee of future (eternal) consummation of our relationship with God in Christ, and the power to live according to God’s ways. Ways that put us in difficult and sometimes horrible conflict with the world in which we live.

What does this have to do with demons and the devil? Let’s tackle that next.

But before I do, one last defense for my more-broad definition of spiritual warfare. The reason I draw the boundaries larger than just power encounters between Christians and the demon-possessed, is because that’s what I see in scripture.  For example, putting on the full armor of God to stand against the wiles of the evil one is (according to Ephesians 6) about the normal Christian life.  This scripture isn’t one exciting, dramatic part of that life. It is one, dramatic way to depict essential elements of the normal Christian life.

It was stunning.

For about 24 hrs I wrestled with worth, ego, vanity, doubt, fear, anxiety, and depression. I truly doubted God’s ability and care for me, and God’s plan for our fellowship. I just wanted to curl up and be taken to heaven.

So I did all I knew to do. I prayed (even though it seemed empty). I read scripture (even though it felt futile). I eventually talked with my wife (expecting the worst). While there were no “magic pills,” the Lord slowly pulled me back, brought peace and stability though all of these things (prayer to Him, Bible about Him, wife’s perspective of Him).

I truly had a great time with my family as the days progressed. In fact, one of the things I relied on was the normalcy of my family and following their lead and not my emotions in making decision about what to do. I wanted to be left alone, but I knew that was poison and mustered all the enthusiasm I could to go hiking and swimming. By the afternoon of the second day (after talking with Heather) I had a great time free of anxiety and strife.

I did two things when I got home. First, I wrote the elders and leaders to confess what was going on so they could pray and watch over me. Second, I did something Jim Wehner taught me which is that when a leader experiences unexpected things and temptations he shouldn’t be fooled that it is all about him. So I contacted others in our community who I know battle with emotions. Sure enough, their battles have been hot and heavy over the same time (longer actually).  In fact, at the same time some of the families being ministered to in the “2″ are also undergoing intense time of oppression and fear.

Oddly enough, this is actually comforting.  Not because it is in any way pleasant, but because it means we’re are on the cusp of truly meaningful things.  As they use to say in the old days, the devil leaves you alone until you start meddling.

So rather than drawing inward, it is important that we learn, be unified, be encouraged, and respond with boldness.  There is no turning back.  The gates of hell are before us and we will either turn away or enter into our inheritance as those who will prevail against those gates.

But spiritual warfare isn’t always what people think.  So it’s time to start learning…

It was a little jarring, but I invited him in to pray with me. When I finished an admittedly abbreviated prayer time he asked, “Is this what you do? Isn’t it kind of boring?”

I laughed and asked him if he played an instrument (I knew he did). He said yes and I asked him how someone becomes a good musician. He said practice. I asked what he practiced. He said scales. Lots of scales. Learning new songs too.

I said that that is what spiritual disciplines like praying everyday are. They are spiritual musicians playing spiritual scales. Sometimes it’s boring. Sometimes inspiring. But the point is that we learn, grow, understand, and get “better” (i.e. more like Jesus) by playing scales every day.

I’m not sure he bought it, but he nodded as he headed out.

How are you doing with “playing scales”? I hope well. Many people stop as they get “older” spiritually. They are so busy with so many other things, then wonder where the closeness and intimacy they had when they were “younger Christians” has gone to. The Lord hasn’t changed, the music just becomes more challenging, and the need for regular practice time becomes more essential.

If I can help you figure out your practice schedule, just let me know.

I say interesting because I went away with more than a little trepidation. I had a great dread of being alone with the Lord. In my head I know how faithful and good He is, but it wasn’t rational and objective. I don’t really know how to describe it, other than I knew this wasn’t going to be summer camp.

I arrived on Tuesday afternoon. I wanted to start planning out the up-coming focus on prayer and I naturally went to Jesus first teaching on prayer in the first gospel. In it Jesus teaches us to not be public hypocrites in prayer who seek our own glory. He writes: “But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” (Matthew 6:6)

I meditated on the passage, read it in Greek, and – sure enough – dread rose higher. You see the text uses very specific word-pictures in the original that don’t come through in the direct translation. The “room” we are to go to is a private place where things we are given stewardship over are kept. We would say our heart, our memory, our desire, our calling and purpose, our understanding and worship of God. It is a place built only for the person and the Lord. In the Greek it gives the hint of storeroom buried underground, a root cellar. We are to “shut the door.” That is, to be alone and close out all else. In a cellar it means to sit in the dark. The word “secret” is the word “hidden.” The Father who we cannot see or sense with our physical senses will meet with us. Jesus promises (will reward you).

I guess this isn’t going to be about writing up lessons plans.

So I take a deep breath and close my eyes and still my heart. I ask the Lord to meet me in the dark recesses of my soul. As I do I find myself looking at my life from early on. It was a very poignant time full of tears, some healing, but a definite sense of opening up old memories and dealing with things stuffed away. I filled pages of my journal.

As I came up for air I thought about what had happened, and asked the Lord what was going on. Why remember the past, relive griefs, relive blessings?

My mind drifted to scriptures about renewing my mind. Frederica Matthews-Green is a favorite writer of mine. She talks about that word “mind.” In Greek it’s the word nous. It doesn’t mean “mind” like we use mind. It isn’t the problem-solving, cerebral aspect of thinking (there is a different word for that). It’s the intuitive, perceiving part of mind. I went to my Greek resources once again.

There I found the most amazing thing. Do you know what the word for having your nous changed is? It’s the word metanoia (trust me, nous is the root). Metanoia is the word we translate (correctly) as repentance. It isn’t repentance in the “I’ve-done-something-wrong-and-got-caught” turning away from sin. It is “thinking-rightly-about-Jesus-and-turning-my- now-thinking-back-to-Jesus”. It’s realizing how much I need him. How much I need his mercy and grace.

There is an ancient prayer that is all about this. It’s called the Jesus Prayer and goes, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.” I started to pray it.   Deeper and deeper I found my understanding change. It went from a I’m-in-trouble-and-really-screwed-up understanding of mercy, to an I-really-need-you-all-the-time understanding of mercy.

I’m not sure how to describe it other than it really opened me up and set me in right attitude and right attention before the Lord. You see, you don’t pray the Jesus Prayer once. You pray it several times…like 33 times in row (or 77 or 100 or whatever). Which is fascinating for me because the first dozen are kind of rote, then it starts getting good (well, to be honest I should say there a times when it “gets good” and then are times when it’s just about being faithful and consistent).

I used it to begin all the “calls to prayer” that occur in the daily routine of a monastery (and now that I’m home). It took so much more concentration than you would think for such a simple prayer. Again, I don’t think I can describe it well, but it was a prayer all by itself and at the same time opened up other vistas of prayer. It was humble, truthful, right, and good. I haven’t felt that in prayer in a long time.

I was definitely renewed and encouraged by my time. I’m still chewing on it all and still enjoying the patterns of prayer.

One of the things I have brought back with me from all of this is a sense of urgency. Not urgency in the “we have to get things done now” sense. Rather, urgency in the sense that life with the Lord is so insanely important. We can’t drift half asleep through our lives. The Lord has so much of himself for us, and we have both the means and opportunities for a deep, rich, sustaining life with him IF WE’LL TAKE IT.

He is waiting in the quiet, dark room he made for you when he created you. He tells us to meet with him and he promises to reward us. If we understand reward in the “Pearl of Great Price” sense then our reward is glorious.

To not meet with him isn’t merely to make a bad decision in a hectic schedule. It is telling the Lord of All that you have better things than Him. I hope that were able to feel how much of an affront it is to think like that. How insulting and impious and disgusting such an attitude is. Yet it is one that comes so natural to people with so many choices in front of them. It’s not that a petulant, sulking God is angry at you for ignoring him. It’s that the lover and healer of your soul, who desires oneness and unity with his children and fullness of life, is holding out his miraculous life to us…and we walk away.

So let’s stop walking away. Let us instead go to him in the storeroom of our souls, close the door, and meet with Him. Let us change our minds, cry out for mercy, and be renewed. As I’m writing I keep hearing the lyrics of an old Keith Green song in my head, “Come away, come away, come away with me my love…”

If you are not sure how to meet with him or what to do, then call me. I’d be truly blessed to meet and figure out how to help you connect with our Savior again. There isn’t a magic formula or one size-fits-all response. The way you will repent (change) and connect with him may be very different from mine, but there is always a way. He promises. We just have to find it.

Fortunately, what comes out is “Hi,” (as I walk up to shake his hand and push Capt. Kirk out of my head) “my name is Tim.”  He was a city official and wanted my help with something that actually started a week before in an email and escalated into an unexpected ministry opportunity.

The week before my wife came out of the back of the house really ticked-off. Someone had sent an email out to everyone in our neighborhood’s Yahoo! Group accusing our next door neighbors of nefarious, property-lowering behaviors with only the scantiest of logic to justify the accusation.

Our neighbors were building an addition onto the car-port, but didn’t have a permit and had to stop. Some ladies walking by saw what happened and decided to give their opinion on the matter to everyone.

Now, in their defense, our neighborhood and the area immediately around us has a higher than average amount of illegal gambling, prostitution, and associated evils. So they are not totally out on a limb here. That being said, accusing the neighbors of operating a flop house was not stated as something that might be happening, but as a considered opinion given with conviction.

My wife, God bless her, objected; and talked about what it was like being their neighbors (no problems or troubles) and asked for facts supporting the accusation. She shared that we had helped them in the past and that some of the issue might be cultural as they were Chinese and spoke only a little English.

While some folks gave her great compliments saying that the conversation was a great example of the difference between being a neighbor and being neighborly; others went off into abstractions about learning English, being responsible to know building codes and laws, and barely concealed opinions about our family’s general level of awareness about the world around us.

So when the city official showed up, I was mighty interested to hear what he had to say. Basically, he was trying to explain some of the building codes that were involved in their home improvement (concrete footings, etc), and asked if we knew any contractors who could help them, as well as, a translator who spoke Mandarin. He was a very kind and respectful man who was genuinely trying to help them succeed. I was impressed as I expected to see disdain and racism.

I told him I would do my best on both accounts. Thank you Mr. Fu for being such a humble, available servant to step in and help my neighbors!

Later as I was praying about all of this I reflected on how much was going on in the past week.

Heather was at a bar on Cinco de Mayo and saw some folks we know. One unexpectedly started asking her about Open Table and what we believe. That we did so much and it was so great…but why? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YES!

The vice-principal has asked me (weeks before) if we had a program to help a kid who had mandatory community service after being caught stealing. We don’t, but I said “Yes.” Even though nothing came of it, I was so glad that Josh agreed to put something together through Communicycle. The point is, HE ASKED!

I had a kid ask me, “Why are God and Jesus so important?” I dropped to one knee and said as simply as I could that we can’t do all the good things we need to do (and sometimes do things that are wrong or bad). But rather than punish us God sent Jesus who came to take our punishment. Everyone who prays and asks Jesus into his heart is washed of all that makes God angry so we can know him in peace and love. The kid said, “Oh” and walked away to play. I STILL GET ALL CHOKED UP AND WEEPY WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT. <LOL>

I’m sharing all of this as an encouragement (and a laugh). My family, and our church, started our Kingdom Trek years ago. My family moved into our neighborhood over a year ago. We saw and experienced very little in the way of tangible impact or effect. We were making friends and helping out and happy with all of it. But I have to confess that I sometimes wondered if the things we were told (and believed) that caused us to relocate and move would ever actually work. Would what we are doing with our lives matter in the thing that matters most: people finding Jesus? While no one has come pounding on our door asking to meet Jesus or anything, I am greatly encouraged – amazed even – at the recent turn of events. Even the ugliness gives us an opportunity to step in and demonstrate a different kind of love and value. What I fail to realize is that other people notice. And that it matters.

So I pray that you will be active in your own life. I pray that you will be one who humbly prays-as-you-go for others to know the greatest blessing of all, the blessing of knowing Jesus. A blessing that can only be bestowed by the Lord of All, and who, for some unfathomable reason, allows us to be part of it all.

Oh yea, my wife will kill me if I leave the impression that she hangs out at bars trolling for converts.  What actually happened was this: she is one of the leaders of  our community garden group. They had just finished a meeting and went around the corner from city hall as a group to support the local economy and share in the Cinco de Mayo festivities. The encounter with other people we know was just a happy coincidence.

Or was it…? Maybe there is more to this bar hopping-thing than I give credit for. Anyone wanna go get a Margarita?

I would encourage anyone and everyone to get this book and read it. It has some rough spots, but it’s also one of those books that captures things so simple, yet so overwhelmingly vital that the big, huge, audacious, ridiculous call of the scripture is suddenly very accessible and very doable by even the most cautious and skittish among us.

Judy Brower writes:

Gavin was six. Chloe was four. Our grandkids love to help make cookies.

I knew that I couldn’t possibly read the recipe without them. I always put in too much flour, and without a kindergartener and a pre-schooler to measure the ingredients and preheat the oven I’m a wreck. Neal likes chocolate chip cookies soft and chewie, but only my very young grandkids know exactly how long to bake them to make them just right.

You know I’m kidding right? My plans had nothing to do with needing their help and everything to do with making a memory. Likewise, they had nothing to do with my successful baking. As a matter of fact, I risked wasting costly ingredients and finding sugar in places that I didn’t know I had places.

First, it was all about relationship. Second, it was about ownership and value. I wanted them to experience the thrill of the finished product, sensing the significance that goes with accomplishment. It’s so fun to be part of their process as they grow. I did all of the measuring, they did all of the pouring. I watched over the process. Ever had a chocolate chip cookie with too much salt? I was taking full responsibility for the end result.

The most exciting part of cookie baking is the egg-cracking! Each having one egg, I turned my back for some reason. Suddenly, Chloe burst into tears. I turned around to discover that while Gavin’s egg had plopped slimily into the bowl just fine, Cloe’s had not. Egg was oozing around on the counter, as only eggs can do. Total devastation is the only way to describe Chloe’s little heart condition. She was a failure.

“It’s no big deal,” I assured her wounded spirit. “It happens sometimes. It’s just an egg. Here’s another one. Let’s try again. Eggs don’t cost very much anyway.” Since those words gave her no comfort I moved toward problem solving. I showed her the really cool trick of pushing the egg off the counter, into a cup and then into the bowl! I told her, “Look! Your egg is in the bowl and the cookies are in good shape!”

In that moment, it wasn’t about cookies anymore. She could not climb out from under her failure. I had no need for her to do it right. I didn’t need her help. I could easily fix whatever mistakes were made. Between my family and my youth ministry I’ve made 6,874 batches of cookies!

Then it hit me. This is God and me in the effort to save a soul. God invites me to work alongside Him. Not because he needs me, but for relationship, and the thrill I get in taking part in the only thing truly worth living for. His expectations, like mine with the grandkids, do not exist. He knows, in advance, every mistake I will make. He already knows how He will use those mistakes to bake the perfect cookie. He can and does use my failures and brokenness as effectively as He uses my talents and wholeness.

Hear me now: if He is God, then it makes no difference.

(Pray & Watch, pp.62-64)

I was picking up a couple of “new kids” who wanted to build a bike at the Communicycle Co-op.  I had to go meet the mom of one of the boys, and as we went up the stairs we came across a couple of drunks in a fight.  They were maybe 20 feet in front of us.  More to the point, it was in 20 feet of this boy’s home.

They fight continued as I was “talking” with the mom (talking is euphemism for the combination of translation and pantomime that it takes to talk to the moms through kids who are not completely fluent in moving back and forth between Spanish and English). As bodies thumped and grunted the young boy suddenly said, “I’m going to stay.”  He was very anxious and I could tell he was nervous and scared about the fight going on.  I told him not to worry and that he could start again when it was better for him.

That’s where I blew it.

Not in giving him an out, but in what I didn’t say.  I didn’t talk with him about what was obviously going on, and I didn’t talk about God’s kingdom.  At the point of need I didn’t talk about the peace Christ brings through the Holy Spirit.

Not in the abstract, theoretical idea of peace but in the actual moment when it is needed.  I was there.  I wasn’t afraid.  I mean, I know that these kind of drunken confrontation can escalate into something horrible in a moment and that they are not to be taken lightly.  But I simply wasn’t overwhelmed by fear.  Instead of sharing something he really needed, peace and hope, I closed the door with a smile.

At the same time, the fight entered a new phase.  I turned as one of the drunks fled head-long down the back stairs with the other laying there unconscious.  A moment later a group of young men came up to check on things.  It was all I could do to keep the other boys going with me to the shop that night from falling over each other to get a look at the fallen man.

I tried to talked about the fight on the ride, but they were so keyed up about it.  They kept flying back and forth between Spanish and English as they talked about it.  The only time they didn’t talk about it was while we were working on bikes.

It reminded me again of the work the Lord has given us.  Work to be present in the lives of people who want the same things I do (a strong family, health, peace, education and a future for their children, not living in violence and fear). What breaks my heart is the desperate situation that so many find themselves in.  They don’t want to live with brawling drunks outside their doors fighting in front of their kids.

As I was praying later about it all I was overwhelmed by the opportunity and the significance of my failure.  We do all that we do because we want people to know the story of God’s love in the middle of all that is going on around them.  Our unifying need is the actual, by-faith Presence of God in our lives which is proved by peace and hope in a world contrary to it. Here was such a moment in vivid reality.

While I was praying about it all I remembered why we do all that we do. The Lord calls us to be present in other’s lives not just from their sake but for ours.  Being involved transforms our hearts into something much closer to His heart.

We do it because of the “gravity well” of violence that pulls so many into its influence, especially without peace-bringers present to give another vision, another hope.

We do it because the anxiety and fear I saw in this boy’s eyes isn’t sterile, distant, or theoretical.  They are my sons’ eyes.  I don’t have to solve the problem of violence for everyone.  I just have to own what I know for this particular one, take both of us before the throne of grace, and find ways to be present.  It’s our calling.  The calling upon all of God’s people.

It made me think about belonging and hospitality, especially because we are spending January talking about our core practices of generosity, hospitality, forgiveness, and risk taking. The shout-out reminded me how much hospitality is more than just invitation. It is invitation with eager, hopeful acceptance of who the “other” is. It is also more than invitation in that it is also commitment to be present over a long term. We’ve been four years at this.

In addition to acceptance and presence, hospitality is also about enthusiasm.  It is about being excited about the people coming into your life. About knowing them, being with them, learning from them.

This kind of loving friendship doesn’t happen immediately.  It takes time.  Some folks reject you.  It makes hospitality a lot like evangelism.  We don’t get to decide who accepts or rejects God’s story.  That’s God’s business.  We get to be open to everyone, share our lives and the story with those who respond.  Hospitality is the same way.  We make regular invitation and see who opens their hearts to us.  But – this is the important point about it being a core practice – we have to have our hearts open and welcoming first.

The really great thing about a shout-out, is that I’m looking for opportunities to return the favor.  It really was a great feeling to be recognized.