The waiting is the hardest part

The great theologian (jk) Tom Petty of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers once wrote a song with the following chorus:

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part.

I am not one who enjoys waiting. Combined with my genetic predisposition to arrive early for appointments, I find myself regularly in situations that I must endure if I can't find a way to enjoy. I am in a waiting season at the present time. I enjoy the extended devotion and prayer times that this season has afforded, but I am someone who needs to know what I am supposed to be doing. I am also a man, and as such, form much of my feelings of self-worth by what I do. I don't like not having a ready answer when I meet someone new and they ask me what I do. I can get a chuckle from some by saying, "out of work preacher", but that doesn't really cut it in most instances. I know that my complaint is shallow and that my identity is formed in my relationship with Christ, not by the organization name on my business card. But realities being what they are, I am ready to find out what is in store for me, whatever or wherever it is. But until I get clarity, I choose to pursue trust. I trust that none of the experiences of my life which have combined to bring me to this time and place are wasted experiences. I trust that God has prepared good works in advance that I am just now ready to do. I trust that He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it until the day of Christ's return. And I trust that when I know my next assignment, He will lead me and give me wisdom to do all that he calls me to do. That's plenty for now. But I still don't like waiting.

Confluences

Several years ago I went on several amazing fishing trips to Alaska with some friends. We fished on many different rivers, but the place that produced more consistently than any other was a place known to us only as "the confluence". Confluence is a really good word. It refers to the place where two rivers come together and one larger river continues. It can be messy at a confluence because the momentum of two distinct currents of water come crashing into each other, causing turbulence. With the turbulence, a lot of mud and debris gets kicked up and the water isn't usually very pretty for some distance until the newer, wider and more powerful river current settles down and goes about its unending task of delivering the contents of the rivers to the ocean.
The turbulence caused by the confluence of two rivers does more than stir up mud and debris. It stirs up underwater bugs, sculpins and minnows and exposes them as food for the fish of the river. The fish will accumulate just below the turbulence, instinctively knowing that food is coming their way. The fish understand that the messy and turbulent places are places of great opportunity. So out in the seeming middle of nowhere is a busy intersection where life and death activities are carried out. There is no reason for the fish to stay in the clear quiet pools for more than a brief rest because the food is at the confluence.
We encounter confluences in the spiritual realm as well; places where the streams of the world and its pursuits comes crashing together with streams of Christ-centered lives. It is in those messy interchanges of life where we find people who are most hungry and who are actively looking for answers. The quiet pools of life don't offer the opportunities to share the gospel in the way that the turbulent confluences do. We can't wait in the beautiful, quiet places if we wish to encounter people who are looking for answers. We must position ourselves in the turbulent, murky places if we want to find those who are truly hungry.
These confluences occur at work, in neighborhoods, and in the marketplace. They happen at tables and in cars. They happen in living rooms and driveways. They happen in the aftermath of disaster. They happen in bad parts of town. That's where we need to be if we want to live Christianly and share our faith. Confluences are opportunities. They are rarely appointments.

Sermons We See

Sermons We See

Edgar Guest

I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day;

I'd rather one should walk with me than merely tell the way.

The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear,

Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear;

And the best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds,

For to see good put in action is what everybody needs.

I soon can learn to do it if you'll let me see it done;

I can watch your hands in action, but your tongue too fast may run.

And the lecture you deliver may be very wise and true,

But I'd rather get my lessons by observing what you do;

For I might misunderstand you and the high advise you give,

But there's no misunderstanding how you act and how you live.

When I see a deed of kindness, I am eager to be kind.

When a weaker brother stumbles and a strong man stays behind

Just to see if he can help him, then the wish grows strong in me

To become as big and thoughtful as I know that friend to be.

And all travelers can witness that the best of guides today

Is not the one who tells them, but the one who shows the way.

One good man teaches many, men believe what they behold;

One deed of kindness noticed is worth forty that are told.

Who stands with men of honor learns to hold his honor dear,

For right living speaks a language which to every one is clear.

Though an able speaker charms me with his eloquence,

I say,I'd rather see a sermon than to hear one, any day.

A Milestone

This week I passed a milestone of sorts. I received my third passport in the mail. That means that I have been travelling internationally for twenty years. I applied for my first passport in 1990 so I could go on a mission trip to Monterey, Mexico with Bill Mash to help with the construction of a medical clinic. That opportunity changed the trajectory of my life. As a boy I watched with eager anticipation when missionaries would come to church. They would have strange and exciting items on display; snake skins, masks, spears, and colorful robes and clothing. They would set up their slid projectors and show pictures of huts and dugout canoes surrounded by exotic and frightening looking people. I always loved looking at the maps but never had any idea that I could be involved in any way personally.

But that first 5 day trip to Mexico started me on a journey that I hope is far from over. God has allowed me to visit some 25 countries since then, and many countries I have visited multiple times. My travel started slowly, but in 2000 it really picked up steam. I spent two years travelling internationally at least once a month and staying gone more than half the time. My expired passports are a record of those travels. The entry and exit stamps and the colorful visa stickers form a tapestry of memories of excitement, anxiety, joy, aggravation, pain, fulfillment, victory and defeat. In short, they are a record of life. The old passports are worn, messy, and marked up. I love them. The new one is fresh and the pages are empty. It holds a promise of many more countries to see, many more missionaries to encourage and come alongside, much more work to do, many more hotels and homes to stay in, and many more local dishes to sample. For the first time in a long time I don't know where my next international adventure will take me as I wait for my next assignment from God. But if the Lord delays his coming and allows me to do so, I plan to take more people for their first view of world mission, come alongside more missionaries, sample more good food, share the Gospel with more people, sleep in more wierd places, fly to more new locations, and thank God everyday that I have been blessed to get to do it.

A poem I found

And now, O Lord--
When I've done drunk my last cup of sorrow—
When I've been called everything but a child of God
When I'm done travelling up the rough side of the mountain--
O--Mary's Baby—When I start down the steep and slippery steps of death—
When this old world begins to rock beneath my feet—
Lower me to my dusty grave in peace
To wait for that great gittin' up morning.
--James Weldon Johnson

Sometimes Things Go Right

This morning I attended an adoption proceeding. It just took a few minutes and was light-hearted. The room was full of people who were there to celebrate this expression of love by a couple who made the choice to change the trajectory of the lives of four siblings; three girls and a boy. There are few human expressions of love as pure as that of adoption. Child rearing is difficult and to begin the process in the midst of previous difficult circumstances makes the job even harder. Four adolescent children are not an attractive option for many people, so it takes a couple who is specially called to step up to plate. It also requires community and I saw that in abundance at the hearing.

In many ways, this was more than an adoption; it was a redemption story. Four children, born into a bad situation, faced an uncertain future. But a redeemer found them and took them in. The children have a new name and have permanence that they can rely on. They know who their family is and they know that their family loves them, because their family chose them.

The judge did a great job of keeping the atmosphere light in the courtroom, but the proceedings carried a great weight of responsibility. The children came into the room as wards of the state. They left as members of a loving family. The parents came in with one child and four children they were caring for but left with five children with all of the attendant lifeling responsibilities.

There is a full day of celebration today. Sometimes things go right.