Spring brought some unwelcome houseguests to the new Cooper estate. Now I know what you’re impulsively thinking, but my in-law’s break the stereotype. I actually enjoy their visits. These unwanted intruders had six legs and big stingers (if I just described your mother-in-law, I do apologize).

Carpenter bees.

They built their hidden nests by drilling perfectly round little holes into the untreated underside of our deck railing. Then they posted two aggressive sentries who, let’s just say, took their guard assignments pretty seriously. For the last two weeks, we avoided cooking on the grill and I mowed the backyard with a tennis racket in one hand.

We tried all the sprays, even the kind you shoot up into their holes at night, but these bees just laughed it off (I swear I could see them smiling) and continued their daily reign of terror. Each-hands on counterattack we conceived was swallowed by irrational visions of Hitchcock horror. Fear kept me talking, but never really acting. The insects were winning.

That is, until my wife decided she’d had enough.

Sunday afternoon at precisely 4:44PM, I received the following text as I was assisting my daughter with a school project in the safe confines of our air-conditioned kitchen:

Before I could put down my phone, my beautiful bride appeared through the sliding glass door with a giant pool net and the look of an angry linebacker about to sack the franchise QB. Mama wanted her yard back. Fear or no fear, it was time to kick some thorax.

In one fell swoop, she trapped the striped invaders under the net and beat them to death with a shoe. 20 seconds. The hill was retaken.

I sheepishly recalled how many times I snuck up close, ready for a smack down, only to let fear win the day. And I wondered how many other areas of my life suffer the same demise.

How many important things have gone unsaid?

How many great ideas are still just thoughts dancing around in my head?

How many potential victories are nothing but lofty goals.

People who act haven’t overcome fear, they just swing the net in spite of it. After all, it’s not courage if you’re not scared.

How many of you are like me? How many of you are waiting for the fear to go away before you take some action? How many of you will one day write a humbling story of how your wife found more guts than you?

Maybe a few less now?

For the last few years, my wife and I (and our three kids) have been involved with a beautiful organization called Safe Families. One of the greatest assets we’ve been fortunate enough to have in our lives is people. Lots of them. An embarrassment of riches.

Family. Church. Friends. Neighbors.

When we have a need, small or great, we have a network to lean into for strength and support. For help. A tapestry of love that feels nearly endless at times, that fosters an underlying confidence and strength as we embrace each day. I can’t imagine feeling completely alone, not knowing where to go or who to turn to.

But as hard as it is for me to comprehend, many live there each day.

That’s where Safe Families steps in to help.

Click here to view the embedded video.

(Click here to watch a great piece from Katie Couric and CBS News)

An alternative to the child welfare system. A temporary respite for an overwhelmed mom. Extended family that many just simply don’t have.

Safe Families has recently submitted for some much needed grant funding, but they need 23 more families to signup by the end of June in order to qualify.

Listen, there are lots of great ways to serve your community. We don’t give from a place of guilt, but from a place of grace. Maybe Safe Families is for you, and maybe it isn’t. But if you’ve been considering ways to share your life with those in need, Safe Families is a great program and now is the perfect time. It’s not a high pressure process, and you can make your preferences known for length of placements and even the age/sex of the children you feel comfortable taking into your home.

It’s messy. It’s beautiful. And it impacts lives. (Especially yours).

How safe is your family? Click here to find out more.

Growing up amongst a charismatic church movement, I was occasionally exposed to things that made me uncomfortable. Expressions I naturally accepted in my youth I began to question as my intellect matured and my personality uncovered its cynical side.

Hyper-emotionalism.

Awkward “prophetic” utterances.

Even a woman who claimed to wet her pants every time the “Spirit fell” on her. (I wish I was joking).

I never openly rebelled against these things, I just quietly severed my heart from the most embarrassing of the chicanery and subliminally embraced a much more sane and sober understanding of how humanity can connect with the Divine. For the most part, I’m glad I did. I mean really, who wants a relationship with God that requires an endless supply of adult diapers?

But in my noble desire to avoid crazy, I sometimes wonder if I unintentionally neutered my belief in the Supernatural altogether.

Salvation became about self-discipline.

Strength a product of my will.

And wisdom solely a reward for diligence.

And while no one would sanely malign hard work, persistent preparation, or inner courage, I think we mistakenly look only to ourselves as the source of these outflows. And when we do, we miss out on the powerful promise of the Gospel.

“Answer this question: Does the God who lavishly provides you with his own presence, his Holy Spirit, working things in your lives you could never do for yourselves, does he do these things because of your strenuous moral striving or because you trust him to do them in you?”
–Galatians 3:5 MSG

“The LORD gives his people strength. The LORD blesses them with peace.”
–Psalm 29:11

“If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.”
–James 1:5

His work. His strength. His wisdom. For your job, your family, your community, your ministry. Offered to us as a gift. Just ask.

I long to tap into this life that is so much greater than what I can conjure up on my own. Normal. Everyday. Supernatural. No incontinence required.

My kids have become fascinated with “dad stories.” They love to hear of my heroic exploits as a young child, and what dad doesn’t like to embellish (I mean share) some of his favorite childhood memories with wide-eyed, genetically predisposed fans. So last night, I obliged.

It was a baseball tale of legendary proportions. The summer between my 5th and 6th grade years found our squad playing for the league championship. Bases loaded, bottom of the last inning, and my number was up in the batting rotation. I stepped boldly to the plate, scraped my rubber cleats three times in the arid dirt, tucked a wad of Big League Chew neatly between my cheek and gums, stared down the wobbly-kneed pitcher like an old west gun fight…

…and went yard!

Grand slam.

Game over.

A hero was born. (Mostly) true story.

But then I had to go and try to play football.

It didn’t even take coach to the end of the first practice to notice my passivity (I would have loved playing football if it wasn’t for all the hitting and tackling). So he devised an ingenious plan for our first game of the season, sticking me dead center on the front line for the opening kickoff of our first game. The ball was sure to fly over my head, I could feign a few touch blocks, and then the real football players would do the dirty work far in the backfield behind me. That is, until the inexperienced kicker dribbled the old pigskin 10 yards off the tee right into my trembling, rookie fingers.

The rest is a permanent fixture in family folklore.

In sheer panic, I began running with the football fully extended like it was a baby with a dirty diaper, until (as my dad likes to recount the story) my scrawny form was violently swallowed beneath a pile of opposing team. The ball squirted upward through the mass of pre-pubescent humanity, was quickly scooped up by our enemy combatants, and returned untouched for a opening play touchdown.

I was forbidden to touch the ball ever again. (And rightfully so).

Lots of lessons in these two little anecdotes – understanding your gifts, responding to failure (knowing when to be a spectator). But the one I really wanted to drive home to my kids last night was perhaps the most profound. You see, I watched my baseball value soar in the summer of ’85, while my draft stock for football dropped faster than Tim Tebow. But my value in my dad’s eyes was never shaken.

And therein lies the powerful truth: Your value isn’t determined by what you can or can’t do, but by who loves you.

“We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him.”
–Romans 5:7-8 MSG

In this life you’ll have some grand slam days, and then you’ll turn around and fumble the opening kickoff. But the beautiful, scandalous message of the Gospel is that you are deeply loved with no earning strings attached. You’re valued not by what you do, but because of what has been done for you.

Your Father already declared your draft stock when He sent Jesus. So what will you do, how will you love, and who will you serve knowing there’s absolutely nothing left for you to earn?

Batter up.

My seven year old has provided plenty of material for this blog over the years, but this one is a little different (in an incredibly fun sorta way).

In January, my brother opened his brand new music studio and school, and my two youngest kids got the chance to be guinea pigs for the songwriting track. I shared Anna’s song a couple of months ago, but Austin’s single just dropped last week! I know he shares my DNA, but I think this is pretty amazing (especially for a 7 year old).

So what was my boy’s first original composition all about? If you know him at all, it won’t surprise you (but I promise it will make you smile). Take a listen:

Mario_Is_Sario_With_Effects_

(Click the link above to listen).

Huge shout out to Justin Alley, who patiently walked the Aus-man through the creative process. And of course, my brother Darren, for his passionate playing and studio work (even on a simple kid’s project).

Summer would be a great time for you to enroll your offspring at Grizzly. Combat vacation boredom with a little creative expression. Click here for more info.

“You mean you’re not slumlords just trying to make a buck?”

Conversations about our company are usually full of puzzled interrogatives, and the one I found myself having with a contractor at one of our Muncie apartment complexes this morning was no different. He seemed authentically intrigued.

Honestly, so I am.

We definitely aren’t slumlords, but we are trying to make a buck. And we don’t apologize for that. But we do have some pretty big purposes in mind.

At CRF, business = ministry.

I’d like to tell you I was the brainchild and sweat equity behind the creation of Community Reinvestment Foundation, but I was just graduating high school when it all began. Like so many other things in life, I now find myself trying to step into the visionary, risk-filled brilliance of an incredible team of forerunners. You see, CRF was started in 1992 by my father, my former pastor, and a few other mega-shrewd businessmen who saw an opportunity for non-profits to enter the housing business.

Twenty years later, we now own and manage 19 affordable, multi-family housing projects all over the state of Indiana (with one complex just over the border in Columbus, Ohio). As a non-profit, our heart is to create and sustain high quality, affordable housing options for lower-income individuals and families. And as a bonus, a large portion of our earnings go toward supporting missions initiatives across the globe.

In fact, we just returned from 5 days in La Ceiba, Honduras with our home office staff. It was a powerful time of walking hand-in-hand with just a few of the beautiful people that are impacted by the overflow of our work. As a non-profit, we don’t have shareholders. But in a sublime sort of way, these are our shareholders.

There’s been a resurgence today of young, passionate entrepreneurs who see business as a way to make a living, earn money, and do good. (In fact, non-profit or not, I must admit I’m rather fatigued by the tired, old stigma that business and capitalism are synonyms of greed and corruption). Perhaps the visionaries that started Community Reinvestment Foundation were just a few years ahead of their time.

Few things could have lured me away from full-time pastoral ministry. I absolutely love the local church! But it’s an honor to bring my passion for God into an organization that is all about (dare I say it?) proclaiming the love of Jesus by investing in housing, and then reinvesting in individuals, families, and communities.

Right here in the Midwest, and all across the globe.

Earlier this week I had a textbook day. It was pretty magnificent, no kidding. A case-study for enviously good living.

Knocked out a few important projects at the office.

Spent lunch encouraging a friend.

Cheered both my girls to softball victories.

Helped my youngest daughter with her science homework.

Sat with my other two kids while they mastered a few new songs on the piano.

Prayed with a neighbor family about a health situation.

Talked through a beautiful passage of Scripture with the whole family

And tucked all three smiling offspring into bed by 9pm.

It was as if the day played out in classic 1950s black-and-white, with a perky orchestrated underscore and perfectly resolved plot line. I felt more than pretty good about myself as I crawled under the covers that night. I did good that day. That was one to be proud of.

And then the rest of the week had to go and take place.

Grouchy headaches.

Forgotten homework assignments.

A failed test.

A project that exposed my learning curve at the office.

Kids screaming at each other over the silliest of disagreements.

Me yelling at the kids because of their screaming (yes, I get the irony).

Missed bedtimes.

Hurried tuck-ins.

Rote prayers.

The high horse bucked. My inner Bluth went and knocked off my inner Cleaver. I had one of those days that leave you feeling below average, a bit embarrassed, and hoping no one was secretly filming for some TLC reality show.

Here’s the blunt reality:

Some days end with me feeling like a champion.

Other days end with me feeling like a complete failure.

But because of the scandalous beauty of the Gospel, every day ends with me knowing I’m a valued son of God.

My worth is not rooted in my failures or accomplishments. It’s not what I do, it’s what He has already done. We work, we toil, we strive, and we live – not for acceptance – but from a place of It Is Finished.

So don’t confuse how you feel at the end of each day with what you can know at the end of each day. That because of Jesus, you are loved. Because of Jesus, you have value.

Because of Jesus, you are a son or daughter.

When my daughter was two years old she ran away from home. It wasn’t exactly a pre-meditated fleeing. Truth is, someone (most likely me) left the back fence gate unlatched. So while my wife stepped inside to answer the phone, our little (evil) Yorkshire terrier made a break for it, taking our sweet little toddler as an accomplice on her cross-neighborhood joy-run.

Who knew a two year old with a saggy diaper could run so fast? In less than 60 seconds she was gone. Vanished. Completely out of sight.

A panicked call had me speeding home from the office while a band of concerned neighbors started the hunt. Thankfully, just as I was frantically screeching into our development, relief came. They’d found her (and unfortunately the dog, too) nearly three streets away and just a few yards short of a retention pond, completely oblivious to the chaos her devious curiosity had created.

Here’s what I know…

I would have wrestled a bear to find my daughter that day (because, as you know, there is a burgeoning kodiak population here in suburban Indianapolis). Nothing else mattered. Meetings. Deadlines. Obligations. Life paused until she was back home safe where she belonged. We dropped everything to go and find her.

And that’s exactly the way God feels about you and me (but I fear we’re internally wired to think the opposite).

We see it from the very first chapters of the Bible:

“The woman stared at the fruit. It looked beautiful and tasty. She wanted the wisdom that it would give her, and she ate some of the fruit. Her husband was there with her, so she gave some to him, and he ate it too. At once they saw what they had done, and they realized they were naked. Then they sewed fig leaves together to cover themselves. Late in the afternoon, when the breeze began to blow, the man and woman heard the Lord God walking in the garden. So they hid behind some trees.

The Lord God called out to the man and asked, “Where are you?”

-Genesis 3:6-9

When Adam & Eve sinned, they were the ones that covered up. They were the ones that ran and hid. God came looking for them.

And He’s been pursuing us ever since.

You see, we instinctively think we have to clean things up. That we’re the ones who right the wrongs. That we’re the ones who must do the work to fill the gap between our sinful selves and a holy God. That we’re the ones who have to pay the price. That we’re the ones sentenced to go looking for a God who has hidden Himself from our ugly screw-ups.

But let me remind you, Holiness came looking for sinfulness. Jesus chased you all the way to a cross. Not to destroy you, but to redeem you. And then to empower you, transform you, and call you to something greater.

He’s looking for you. Right where you’re at. No matter where you’re at. It’s time to stop hiding and let yourself to be found.

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t in church on Easter Sunday. After 12 years in full-time ministry (and most of the rest of them in leadership without the paycheck), I might have some insight into how a newly retired NFL player feels on that first weekend in September. Weird.

Instead of preparing to lead masses of worshippers, I found myself leading a mass of Spring Breakers back across the 3.6 mile Destin Mid-Bay Bridge on a 12-hour drive back to reality. Like any good government-built project, the use of the Bay Bridge comes with a price tag. So even as we enjoyed the scenic view over Choctawhachee Bay, I was quietly searching every nook and cranny of the dash for the $3 fare it was going to take to earn our passage home. But then I got a surprise.

“Go ahead sir, the car in front of you paid your toll.”

Paid my toll? My expense? My debt?

How unexpectedly apropos on Easter Sunday.

A few months ago I stumbled onto a new word – Tetelestai.

It’s a Greek word, found only two times in all of Scripture. Both in the book of John. Both in reference to the death of Jesus. Literally translated it means completed, or as it reads in John 19:30, “It is finished.” In New Testament times, it was a term regularly used in reference to a paid debt, stamped onto business documents to show a bill was paid in full.

If you’ve been a regular reader of this blog over the past year or so, you’re well aware that this church kid has been completely re-captured by the scandal of grace. That because of Jesus, there is nothing left to earn. Nothing left to pay for. That the chasm we could not cross has been crossed on our behalf. That the love we crave is given, not worked for. That in Christ, it truly is finished.

Tetelestai.

So this week after Easter, I want to remind you to continue living that way. Now that the great reminder of Easter is over, don’t fall back into an “earn as you go” mentality. Because of Jesus, everything has already been earned. You are free to love and to serve the world around you with the grace you’ve been given, not because that’s what makes God happy with you, but because all the acceptance you long for has already been provided through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

It is finished. Completed. Paid for. Tetelestai.

It’s time to add that word to your lexicon.

Charles Barkley got a lot of flack back in the early 90′s when he boldly declared he wasn’t a role model for kids.

“I’m paid to wreak havoc on the basketball court.”

(And on the English language, Sir Charles. Don’t forget the English language).

So would it shock you if I insinuated that Jesus might be telling you the exact same thing? Of course I’m overstating to make a point (sort of).

Jesus undoubtedly said…

Follow me.

Look to me.

Learn from me.

I am the way.

He certainly came to show us what perfection looks like. But to focus on Jesus solely as a model for righteousness has the potential of distracting us from the life-changing truth that He also wants to become our righteousness.

Did you catch that?

The standard Jesus set with His life is meant to challenge us. Inspire us. Call us to something greater. But it’s also meant to crush us. To up the ante. To destroy any notion that we are capable of achieving the holiness and perfection He models (and God requires) on our own.

“I tried keeping rules and working my head off to please God, and it didn’t work. So I quit being a “law man” so that I could be God’s man. Christ’s life showed me how, AND ENABLED ME TO DO IT.”

–Galatians 2:19 MSG

Jesus lived perfection, to model perfection, to become our perfection. Jesus is not (just) your role model. He is the source of the Christian life itself. And that, my friends, is some seriously Good News.