Last week, I found myself sitting in the basement of Jared Anderson’s house in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He had invited me to a two-day songwriting retreat he was leading, and even though full-time music isn’t in my job description anymore, I felt God nudge me to go.

I’m so glad I did.

After dinner Wednesday night, Jared sat down behind a keyboard setup in the corner of his basement to share a few songs he’d recently written. Only problem? One of his children had run off with the sustain pedal (those meddling kids!). This is a pianist’s worst nightmare (like a politician without a teleprompter).

But Jared didn’t flinch. He plunged forward like a pro and led us in a new tune from New Life’s latest worship album. Even without a sustain pedal, it nearly did me in. I’ve had it on repeat ever since.

Here’s the “pedal-full” version. I dare you to listen to it without tearing up:

I thought there might be a few of you out there today who, like me, need a little reminder of who this God is that we claim to serve.

Difficult circumstances in front of you?

He’s the Great I Am.

Brokenness in your life?

He’s the Great I Am.

Big decisions ahead?

He’s the Great I Am.

Lean in. Lean hard. He’s the Great I Am. He’s got this (and He’s got you).

I’ve always prided myself on being teachable. Open to challenge. New ideas. Ways of thinking. I believe it’s one of my most likeable traits. I do my best to understand your perspective and even allow it to influence my own. I want to learn and get better, and I usually assume you have something of value to add to my life.

But there’s a fine line between being “teachable” and manipulated.

If we’re not careful, being open to new ideas can manifest as having no convictions of our own. Being controlled and directed by the loudest, most articulate and outspoken voice in the room. I think that’s a mistake.

Here’s a couple of things I’m working on:

1. Have an opinion.
2. Argue more.
3. Contend for what’s inside.
4. Irritate a few people.
5. Challenge assumptions.

Some of you out there thrive on those 5 steps, but I’m guessing a vast majority would feel guilty, uncomfortable, or arrogant for embracing those expressions. But here’s the thing…

The world needs more of you, not who you think everyone else wants you to be. The beauty (and the truth) is usually in the tension. So go out there and create a little.

Being teachable is not the same as being manipulated. Stir it up a little today.

Separation sucks. Goodbyes always feel foreign. Like they’re not part of how we were originally designed.

(I’m sure you have a few relatives that challenge that line of thinking, but roll with me here).

When goodbye is necessary, I’ve always found it much easier to be the one leaving instead of the one being left.

The one staying behind is forced to live amongst the constant reminders of what was. The one leaving is at least going somewhere. Moving toward something new.

When our house miraculously and unexpectedly sold last week, our family was a bit shaken (although my daughter actually said, “dad, I think you’re the only one freaking out about this,” but alas).

I was out of town, but my wife wisely realized the best thing to do was to start looking at other houses. To begin focusing on the adventure ahead, instead of just mourning the memories we are leaving behind.

That was a good move. It stirred the imagination.

Imagination is the birthplace of hope. The playground of life. As we dream forward, we realize that the scary unknown is actually quite a miraculous journey worth embracing.

Are you focusing on what you’re leaving or where you’re going?

I hear voices in my head. Seriously.

Four of them.

(Although I occasionally get a 5th that sounds strangely like Flo from those Progressive ads).

But if you’re thinking I could use some meds, grab your own prescription bottle. I bet they’re talking to you, too.

Me – This voice tells me what I impulsively want (like that 4th slice of pizza).

Obligation – This voice whispers what I should want (like a Prius).

Proponents – These voices affirm my natural desires (my homies).

Detractors – These voices think I’m an idiot (we’ll just call them the condescending jerks).

On any given day, at any given moment, all these voices are vying for my attention. Arguing for my loyalty. Pleading their case. Screaming to be heard.

But the One Voice I desperately need to hear won’t ever make a scene.

It’s still.

It’s soft.

And it’s the only One that matters.

But The Voice refuses to fight with my other internal house guests. I have to stop long enough to listen. I have to let it become the loudest.

How many voices are in your head? Are you listening to The One that really matters?

Dead, dormant, or perhaps cryogenically frozen. That would probably be the best description for a very special part of me:

Songwriting.

I’ve been in Colorado Springs since Sunday night. Spent Monday in the home of one of our City Community Church overseers and his wife. Tuesday with our partners at Mission of Mercy.

But the next two days are personal. I’m here to find something I lost.

Between 2001 and 2008 songwriting was a normal outflow of my life. My buddy Nathan and I wrote songs. A lot of them. A few were even worth keeping around. Over time, a culture of songwriting actually began to emerge amongst our church community. It was a beautiful era.

But a series of painful transitions and new responsibilities have left my piano mostly untouched for the last few years. It just hasn’t felt right. So when Jared Anderson sent me a personal invite to a two-day songwriting collaborative, I immediately told him no. Didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’m a pastor now, not a musician. Those days are behind me.”

Translation:

“I don’t want to face that pain. Please leave the giant millstone tied securely to that gift.”

That was an unfortunate form of self-protection. Songwriting goes far beyond recording albums and working with record labels. It’s an unmatched form of human expression. Glenn Packiam would even call it a spiritual discipline. One I allowed to be stolen from me.

I’m here to get it back.

Today starts two days of collaborative songwriting sessions with 25 other writers from around the country. I feel incredibly vulnerable. Anxious. Rusty. And I can’t wait to see what happens.

Has pain stolen a piece of your identity? Is there a gift buried deep inside that you’ve simply stopped expressing?

Go get it back.

I know this feeling. Why do I know this feeling?

The queasy stomach.

The clenched jaw.

The involuntary tightening of the neck and back muscles.

The mind racing to project every possible outcome and scenario.

The last time I felt this way I’d just quit my job.

I was a music pastor at a sizeable church. Successful by comparison. Comfortable salary. The course of life smoothly charted for at least another few decades. Until God stepped in and totally changed the trajectory. Completely messed with normal.

I remember coming home from one of our last mid-week music rehearsals to my wife filling out a part-time Fed-Ex application–and I lost it. Couldn’t hold it in any longer.

What had I done? Giving up such certainty on a whim. Destabilizing my reputation and my family’s future on a hunch God had spoken to me? I know I tell people He does that, but really? I’ve seen plenty of people embrace foolishness and call it faith. I must have drunk the Kool-Aid.

And now we find ourselves here once again.

A few months ago I felt like God said we needed to list our house. I didn’t want to. But I figured what the heck, it doesn’t stand a chance to sell in this real estate market. We’ll set the price high and watch our listing fall into the ever-expanding abyss of unsold homes. Oh yeah, and we can “obey God” in the process. It’s a win-win.

10 days, 2 showings, and 2 offers that ended up in a bidding war later….

We have a signed purchase agreement (and no clue where we’re heading). Hence, “that feeling” again. A mixture of anxiety and second guessing with a sprinkle of nausea thrown in for flavor.

I’ve seen a lot of well intentioned people do really stupid things in the name of faith.

I’ve also seen a lot of over-calculating believers completely miss God’s future because they’re holding so tightly to the present.

I’d prefer to be neither.

Where is the line between faith and foolishness? Have you ever confused the two?

As I shared here last week, we reluctantly decided to put our house on the market. And honestly, it’s been an emotional few days. Contracts. Disclosures. Pictures. Virtual tours.

Last night was our first showing.

My wife scrambled most of the day to get the place looking like a Good Housekeeping photo-spread, and then we vacated the premises for a nice long dinner with some CityCom friends. Coming home, I felt like one of The Three Bears: Somebody’s been walking through my house.

By the table where we share our meals.

On the carpet where my daughter took her first steps.

Through the backyard where we learned my son was a lefty.

Down the driveway where training wheels became two-wheelers.

And worse yet, these strangers were imagining themselves there. Living there! Creating their own memories there! In my house.

I felt violated.

And then I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out this:

Dinner was at one of our favorite downtown Asian restaurants. We don’t usually put any stock in these stale, eastern, after-dinner wafers, but this one left us wondering if God ever speaks in fortune cookie (you know, like He speaks through Tebow’s football stats).

Perhaps we’re stretching a bit, but as my wife and I shared our raw emotions standing in the kitchen that soon may or may not be ours any longer, this little slip of paper acted as a subtle reminder.

That God is with us.

That He knows our angst.

That what we feel isn’t wrong.

That He’s OK with our honesty.

And that whether we sell or stay, our deepest attachment must always be to Him.

It’s OK to wrestle with the unknown. To question whether you’re doing the right thing. To struggle with losing control. Anything less would make you inhuman (or a liar).

Just never hold onto anything tighter than you hold onto Jesus. That’s one fortune (or stat line) I know you can believe in.

Is suffering God’s desire for our lives? Masochism some unlisted fruit of the spirit? The gateway to knowing God? After all, Jesus said some really disturbing things like:

“Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how.” -Matthew 16:24

He was called a “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” -Isaiah 53:3

Suffering is an undeniable part of this human journey. But is it some kind of virtue to be pursued? I’m wrestling with that.

Jesus was crucified.

Paul was shipwrecked. Put in prison.

11 of 12 disciples were martyred for their faith.

I’m no theologian, but I don’t think any of them desired their painful outcomes (Jesus Himself is seen begging the Father to find another way the night before His death).

I think they were just dead set on embracing their purpose. Their God-given identity. Who God originally designed and created them to be from the foundation of the world. As they pursued that purpose, suffering became an undeniable side-effect.

As we pursue purpose, we will face suffering.

Pursuing God’s purpose assaults our sinful self-obsession.

Embrace the suffering.

Pursuing God’s purpose engages the sinful self-obsession in those around us.

Embrace the suffering.

Pursuing God’s purpose enrages the forces of darkness at work in this world.

Embrace the suffering.

Don’t go looking for pain (that’s just a little weird). Pursue purpose. And then prepare to embrace the suffering.

What do you think? Do you agree?

NOTE: My friend and co-pastor Nathan LaGrange shared his family’s personal journey towards God’s purpose, and the pain they’ve embraced as a result, this past Sunday at City Community Church. You can hear it here.

Today we celebrate one of history’s greatest dreamers. A man with a vision so compelling, so transforming, so revolutionary, he was willing to give everything (including his life) to see it become reality. He made the world a more beautiful place. We rightly stand in awe.

Martin Luther King had an imagination like few others. Or did he?

I think we’re all born with unimaginable imaginative potential. Unlike MLK, most of us have just quit using it.

The older I get, the more I’ve impulsively begun to lean into what I know. To protect what I have. It’s proven (for better or worse). It’s safer there. And to top it off, I’ve collected some nice things. Some important things.

A wife.

A family.

A house.

Some nice relationships.

Responsibilities.

An ebb and flow.

A reputation.

Certainty has it’s benefits (even if it’s only the illusion of certainty).

To risk all that for what’s behind door number 1 doesn’t seem overly pragmatic. As invigorating as a dream might be, it’s also carries a high likelihood of costing me something. Dreams are always trade-offs – what already is for what might be. And strangely enough, a known mess can seem more appealing that unknown possibility.

What if I end up with a billy goat? A timeshare? The latest Nickelback album? That’s just too much to consider.

While teaming with blood-pumping potential, my imagination is also an evil playground for some blood-curdling visions. Sure, that constant scrape against the window might just be a tree branch blowing in the wind, but it’s probably some serial killer re-enacting his favorite scene from Dexter.

Fear.

Pain.

Loss.

Self-protection.

They’re dream killers. If we don’t confront these counterfeits, the greatest oration we’ll ever deliver is the I (Used To Sorta Kinda) Have a Dream speech. I’ve seen that in plenty of reflections (including my own), but never any history books.

So I challenge you to pray this prayer with me in this year: “Lord, rekindle my imagination!”

It might cost you what you know. It might cost you your life. It also just might make your life count for something eternal.

Does your imagination need rekindling?

Earlier this week I shared some thoughts on why change is so difficult for us. Our own sin and the wounds of others weigh down and swallow up the beautiful identity God originally intended for us. Then we try to fix ourselves.

I used my daughter to help illustrate this reality at City Community Church last Sunday. Her therapy starts next week.

Hope you enjoy this short clip: