Why is it so hard to be honest? The truth is freeing. Being known and loved as we really are is one of the deepest longings of our soul. But it’s also, by far, the most difficult to embrace.

Three months ago we sold our house. I shared the bulk of this gut-wrenching process as we Pepto-Bismol-ed our way through each terrifying day. We were gearing for an epic life change, but in the end we decided to buy a house just up the road from where we’ve always lived. Why?

1. Our families are close by.
2. Our kids’ school is just up the road.
3. We like it here.

It’s really that simple. But when a group of my peers asked me about the decision last month, my instinctive reaction was almost comical.

1. We want to house missionaries and homeless people in our new basement.
2. We felt sorry for the owner who needed a quick buyer to help him avoid bankruptcy.
3. God commanded us to.

I never actually said any of those things, but I sure wanted to. I wanted to add some spiritual or moral “umph” to what really ended up being a rather mundane and practical decision. But I feared my true motivation wouldn’t be good enough for some of you, and my pride was longing for some inspirational story of epic sacrifice, so my insecurity and sin began to manufacture some “spice.”

What if we owned our why’s? The real ones.

Look, our motivations are screwy. Selfish. They beg for tension and challenge. But God’s mercy and grace collides with who we really are, not who we project ourselves to be. I think avoiding our true motives trades the opportunity for real transformation for a self-serving imposter.

And here’s another kicker – mundane and practical isn’t necessarily wrong. Your motivation might not be unholy, it might just be boring. Be careful about your desire to make everything appear epic. That might be pride. (Hand up. Guilty). The question is, “are you obedient?” Not “will your story have people talking?”

Contend for honesty. Even if your motives are questionable. Even if your why makes you seem more normal than your ego can stand. Own it.

Do you agree? Is there a “why” you’re refusing to own?

The back seat of my car can morph into a movie set (they’re usually filming some sort of Lifetime drama), a competitive arcade (we have more gaming electronics than HH Gregg), an MMA cage fighting ring (yes, the pastor’s kids know how to throw down), and even a courtroom (complete with opening arguments, character witnesses, and passionate cross-examination).

And all this in the 6 minute ride from our house to school each morning.

Three kids, two miles, one back seat. As chauffeur, it’s a strange mix of irritating and entertaining. Irrirtaining? As usual, my favorite display will undoubtedly erupt from the 6 year old.

“Emma, watch me blow a snot bubble with my nose.”

“Emma, look at me!”

“Emma!”

“Arghhhhhhh…..Emma! Look back here now!!!!”

“Dad, would you make Emma look at me!”

He’s demanding. Attention. Love. Acceptance. Approval. Laughs. And when big sis doesn’t give it to him, he starts to lose his mind. “Make her give it to me, dad! Make her! Make her!”

As adults, we’re not much different. Just (well, sometimes) a bit more discreet. When someone ignores us, disagrees with us, disapproves of us, we absorb it so personally. And out of our deep insecurity we respond with indignation, shaking our fist (figuratively or perhaps at times Metta World Peace-ably) in the face of our offender…

“Love me!”

“Approve of me!”

“Respect me!”

“Agree with me!”

“Accept me!”

The only problem with this approach is that it’s both emotionally exhausting and completely ineffective. The more we demand love and respect, the less the other party desires to give it to us. It creates distance, not connection.

So here’s a little trick I learned from a good friend that’s given me immense freedom in this area of life. When someone disagrees with you, shames you, ignores you, refuses to give you what you want – don’t shake your fist and demand it.

Smile. Laugh.

Seriously, it’s simple and it’s empowering. Makes you much more comfortable with who you are, and much less likely to absorb the rejection you’re feeling inside. Sure it stings, but you can handle it. And the acceptance you’re longing for is much more likely to come if you’re respected. No one runs toward a whiny beggar.

God doesn’t demand love from us, so why should we try and demand it from others? It you have to force it (dad, make her look at me!), it’s not real anyway.

Is there someone who’s love, approval, and acceptance you long for? Are you trying to demand it?

Today’s blog is a Mother’s Day guest post (well, actually I stole it from her website so I guess it’s more of a hijacked post) from someone very special to me–my mom. Not only does this post introduce you to some of my cherished family legacy, it also introduces you to my mom’s writing. She needs to post more often (you might help nudge her in that direction), but what she has written is well worth your time. Enjoy.

Her door was shut as I ran through the kitchen yelling “MOM?”  Those familiar sounds stopped me in my tracks.  She was at it again.  Muffled pleas to the Father.  Tears of intercession.  I heard my name.  Mom was praying.  The lady who lived what she taught.  The lady Dad said had that direct line to heaven!  She was pouring out her heart to God…for me.

To have a mom who was fanatical about prayer may have embarrassed me back then!  But the work Mom did on her knees has shaped the course of my life.

“When God finds a mother who will pray,

He has someone through whom He can work.

Praying mothers have wielded more power for good

than will ever be known this side of eternity.”

My mom wasn’t a scholar.  In fact, she never finished high school.  But she read God’s Word like her life depended on it.  Mom believed that the Lord and His Word would fill in the gaps where she and Dad might fail.  God had called them to the task of parenting. He would provide what they needed. And Mom had that direct line!

MY MOTHER, HELGA

Don’t let prayer overwhelm you.  It’s just talking to God about your concerns.  Don’t make it too hard or live under a constant guilt trip that you’re not measuring up.  Begin today.  It’s never too late and you can do it anywhere.  Instead of wringing your hands in despair, lift them to God in prayer.

“Pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord.

Lift up your hands to Him for the lives of your children.”

–Lamentations 2:19

Prayer will make a difference in your child’s life, so pray about everything.  Ask God for specifics. A tender heart. Iron-sharpening friends. That perfect teacher.  Wise choices. Better grades.  Whatever your concern, pray it. I remember asking God for my children to get caught when doing wrong.  (We want things nipped in the bud before it’s too late, don’t we?).

Before you feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of prayer, remember that you have an Arsenal. God’s Word is described as a Sword that penetrates.  A Fire that consumes.  And a Hammer that breaks down stubborn resistance.  Use the Arsenal of Scripture. I encourage you to find a verse in the Bible that relates to the concerns you have for your child. Underline it. Date it. Claim it. Write your child’s name by it.  And begin to pray those words out loud in faith.

Think of the impact your prayers will have on your sons and daughters!  What security you will provide them, as the mom has her own direct line to heaven!

You can catch all my mom’s posts at KingdomMom.com along with some great Bible Studies she has written. It’s OK, I’ll share her with you. Seriously, go ahead and check it out.

Last year my sister in-law did something crazy (no, no….she married my brother 4 years ago).

She and her dad jumped out of an airplane. On purpose.

I’ve always wanted to skydive (theoretically), but the story that unfolded from the skies just outside of Houston, Texas gives me great pause. Britney’s dad, while plummeting to the earth at 125mph, encountered your worst possible skydiving fear.

His chute got tangled and didn’t completely open.

Thankfully, his tandem partner–the expert strapped to his back–was able to pull out a knife, cut away the worthless chute, and deploy the emergency backup just in time to bring them in for a safe (albeit somewhat harder than normal) landing. Best they figure, 30 seconds later and this story would have had a whole different ending (and point).

Free falls like this are why most people will only daydream of jumping from 10,000 feet. They’re also why most of us choose to stay locked up in assumptions about ourselves and God that simply aren’t true. The fear of the free fall outweighs the misery of the lies we’ve chosen to desperately cling to.

I’m unlovable.

I’m unqualified.

I’m the only one that struggles.

I can’t change.

God hates me.

I have to do it alone.

This is just the way I am.

I’m unforgivable.

We all claim to want freedom, but the responsibility that comes with it is often more than we can handle. It’s easier to be a victim than to embrace the identity God designed for us before the foundations of the earth were laid.

Trust me, I know.

Life can wound us (for some the trauma is horribly deep). Wounds are painful. So we fabricate stories, make vows, and construct an impenetrable fortress to protect ourselves from the hurt and shame. It’s natural. Understandable even. But these self-protections are lies that keep us enslaved. Unchecked, they become idols that we worship. Imposters of the one true God and false projections of our real identity.

Jesus offers liberty. Forgiveness. Hope. Life. But we have to let go of the lies. Repent. Risk the free-fall. And trust that in Christ, we have a tandem expert that ensures a safe landing. On free ground. In the truth–of who we are and Who He is.

You just have to find the courage to let go.

We’re talking about this for the next two months at City Community Church. You can hear my co-pastor Nathan LaGrange open the series by clicking here. You can also catch each week’s message on the CityCom mobile app, or even check in with us live online each Sunday at 11AM by clicking this link. Come free-fall with us.

What lies do you need to let go of? Start the conversation.

I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m a church rat. Contrary to popular rumors my mom did not give birth to me in the baptismal tank, but I pretty much grew up around the church. Developed my social circles there. “Found myself” amongst the pews and hymnals.

And as surprising as this may be to some of you–I’m grateful for that. I don’t remember one day when I wouldn’t have considered myself a sincere follower of Christ (even during the MTV rebellion of ’89).

I remember praying the magic salvation prayer for the first time in my bedroom when I was about 5 years old.

And then again at church on a Sunday morning (or seven….seventeen….ok, seventy).

And at church camp (every July from 1986 through the first Bush administration).

And those were good moments. Beautiful moments. Of decision. Of conviction. When my soul responded to a prick of the Holy Spirit and my heart surrendered to the voice of the Master.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past three (ok, nearly four) decades, it’s that transformation is a journey. A process. It may start with a momentary decision, but it’s all about movement and motion.

Last week I wrote a post defending church people, outlining our imperfections, admitting our humanity, and asking for a little grace (that we often forget to give). Not surprisingly, I got some push-back. But not from church haters. From church people.

“If the church is full of flawed human beings, how and when do the broken people get healed? If we’re just the same as everybody else, then what’s the point?” A valid question. If Jesus really is who we say He is, when do we get “better?” When does the change come?

My answer: It’s an ongoing journey of discovery, repentance, healing, & grace. Jesus isn’t a momentary magic elixir, He’s an active pursuit.

My adventure started with a simple bedroom prayer over 30 (some) years ago. Since then, it’s had numerous twists and turns and countless highs and lows. The most recent leg has been scary. Painful. Gut-wrenching. About 36 months long. And it’s not quite over yet.

I’ve outlined quite a bit of it here on the blog. I’ve been a meticulous people pleaser. I determined my value by how others perceived me. It’s rooted in some old wounds of rejection, and vehemently protected by lies about who I am and how God perceives me.

Three years ago, a few good books, some challenging sermons, and a dear friend helped shine light on those lies and the idols they had fashioned in my life.

Discovery.

Then over time, with the help of strong community, I began to acknowledge and ask forgiveness for embracing those deceptions. Not just a one-time prayer, but an ongoing recognition of when I was falling back into old habits and patterns, asking Jesus to do what only He can do to help me combat it.

Repentance.

As recently as this week (over 3 years later!), I’ve begun to notice different responses to my old sinful triggers. I’m stronger. Bolder. I know Who gives me value. I don’t own things that aren’t mine to own. I’ve changed.

Healing.

And the journey continues. New legs. New adventures. New discoveries. More repentance. Unending forgiveness. Renewed healing. Ongoing transformation. A journey of grace–that’s how we change.

How have you seen transformation happen in your life?

I am directionally challenged. When God knit me together in my mother’s womb, he left out the Google Maps app. Until recently, I was embarrassed to admit it. My dad is flawless with directions (unless they require power tools), but the gene pool seemed to dry up somewhere after red hair and freckles. Need proof?

A few months ago, my wife and I were driving from Chicago back to Indy. Thanks to the little blue dot on my iPhone screen, I’d safely negotiated my way through downtown traffic and was nearing the interstate when my worst driving fear became reality:

The road split.

One choice led due south–back to the promised land. The other went to Milwaukee. (No offense Wisconsin, but not even the Bucks want to play there).

I was heading west, so surely the left lane was the right choice (right? I mean, correct?). Blinker on. I didn’t make any friends as I slowly merged through the aggressive Chicago-land traffic (those people always seem to know where they’re going and you’re always in the way), but I hit that left lane with flare and confidence…

…only to watch it dip sharply under the lane to the right, bank north, and land us on the road to cheese-town.

This is why I hate driving in unknown areas! It’s dangerous. People honk at me. I look stupid in front of my wife. And despite all the logic and tools at my disposal, I seem to make the wrong call anyway.

Unfortunately, this mindset isn’t limited to navigating city streets. I hate being incorrect. I disdain feeling stupid. I run from the disapproval (honking horns) of others. And I despise–I mean vehemently–the regret that comes from mistakenly heading in the wrong direction.

But living a life that matters might be less about negotiating the traffic itself, and more about confronting the emotions that keep us from making decisions in the first place.

We want to make an impact, but we fear looking stupid.

We want our voice to be heard, but we feel shame when others disagree.

We want freedom, but we’re terrified of regret.

Decisiveness is the currency of courage. Perfectionism is the weight of cowardice. There’s usually a turnaround exit a few miles up the road, so let’s make a few decisions today while we’re waiting for the GPS to catch up.

What’s one decision you’ve been putting off because the emotions of potential mistakes are too much to negotiate?

I was unpacking my bag on the bench when I caught two guys walk into the locker room out of the corner of my eye. There are three identical, contiguous locker bays at my gym–the other two were completely empty–yet this duo chose to pile their bags up next to mine and squeeze (just closely enough to make it awkward) into the same locker space I was occupying.

Alright. Relax. No big deal.

But when a fourth guy walked in, assessed the situation, completely ignored the other two empty locker bays, and proceeded to lean impatiently against the wall until I was finished, I had a sudden, involuntary flashback.

This is the same guy that used to attend my church when I was a kid! He and his wife would insist on the same seat each Sunday and go all wrath of God if your cheeks dared imprint on “their” cushion.

Wait a second. Maybe this isn’t a religious, “church-people” issue after all. Could it possibly just be a human issue?

I know you get a lot more attention when you rip on your own. Democrats who bash Obama. Republicans who light up Newt Gingrich. Pastors who criticize the church. That moves the needle. Makes people look. I’ve been known to do it myself (and sometimes it’s absolutely necessary).

But today I want to do something that may be a bit unpopular…

…come to the defense of church people.

(I know, I know….where’s he gonna go next? Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Lindsay Lohan?)

Look, I admit, we’re quirky, hypocritical, naive, simplistic, condescending, annoying, unforgiving, myopic, rote, and graceless (at far too many times). And I’m guessing what probably irritates you the most is when we act like we’re better than you. Like we’ve got it all figured out. Like we’ve solved all the mysteries and our bathrooms don’t need air freshener. Nobody likes to feel “less than” (I’ll put myself at the top of that list).

You hate when we “church folk” seem to forget that we’re broken, fallen human beings.

So please, please, please do me a favor: don’t you forget it either.

We’re sheep following the Good Shepherd. Sometimes we wander. Sometimes we take our eyes off the Master. Sometimes we break a leg or fall in a ditch. Sometimes we make Jesus look real bad. We’re the sheep (not the brightest of animals), not the Shepherd.

That’s the beauty of the Gospel. Because of Jesus, God always welcomes us back.

Our issues aren’t “church people” issues. They’re human issues. That’s why I love this tweet from the pastor of the LA Dream Center, Matthew Barnett:

“The church is not a social club of fake perfection, it’s a place where broken people fall in love with a perfect God.”

We “church people” will do our best not to forget that, but do us a huge favor and please remember it, too.

What’s your “church pew?”

Twenty seconds. What if that’s all it took? Twenty ticks of the clock?

Last week, my family finally rented the Matt Damon movie We Bought a Zoo. Outside of a few choice words….

(Try keeping a straight face when your 6 year old sincerely looks you in the eye and asks, “Daddy what does b***s*** mean? I fully expect a call from his school no later than Thursday.)

…there was one line from this screenplay that’s been echoing through my spirit for the last 7 days:

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”

- Benjamin Mee (We Bought A Zoo)

I don’t know about you, but a lot of days I don’t feel very courageous. Yet over and over again in Scripture, God commands His people to “be strong and take courage.” How do I reconcile this gap?

This movie got me thinking…

Is courageous a state of being? A personality trait? A gift of high quality DNA? A breed of human being? Or can it simply be a conscious, momentary decision? Something we “take.” A choice?

20 seconds?

Maybe courageous isn’t a word people use to describe you. But if you could muster up just 20 seconds of boldness today, 20 seconds of bravery…

What would you do?

What would you say?

Who would you call?

Where would you go?

What idea would you initiate?

Who would you reach out to?

What difficult conversation would you have?

What issue would you address?

Who would you encourage?

Who would you confront?

What would you believe?

What would you risk?

Maybe it’s not about becoming more courageous. Maybe it’s just about embracing it for 20 short seconds.

Today is my city’s Luck-y day.

(Look, the next 12-15 years are going to be filled with bad Luck puns – see there’s another one right there – I’m not missing out).

With the first pick in the 2012 NFL draft, the Indianapolis Colts will choose Andrew Luck, quarterback out of Stanford University. The most highly touted QB prospect in a generation, and soon to be heir to one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play professional football.

I know he’s uber calm, GQ cool (especially now that he’s shaved that neck beard), a great interview, and comes off like he was manufactured in a lab for this moment. But you’ve got to think (assuming he’s actually human) there are little beads of sweat testing the durability of his Degree underarm deodorant.

Come on, he’s replacing Peyton freakin’ Manning!

The comparisons must be terrifying, even though no one on planet earth could be more tangibly qualified to fill the role. The whole world is watching.

You’re not going #1 in the NFL draft (trust me, I checked), but I bet you’re living with some fearful comparisons and questionable qualifications in your own life, too. Wondering if you’re good enough. If you can fill the shoes. If you’ve got what it takes.

If you’re qualified.

At your job. As a leader. As a mentor. With your family.

I do.

My dad is the Peyton Manning of fathers. Not perfect (you remember that pick 6 in the ’09 SuperBowl, right?), but he’ll hoist his own version of the Lombardi Trophy when all is said and done (and don’t worry dad, not all is close to being said or done).

He’s a true patriarch. A loving anchor. Our go-to. Decisive. Courageous. A problem solver. A resource broker. A man who inspires confidence and comfort even when he may not be feeling it inside himself.

A lot of people fear becoming their father. I fear I’ll never be qualified to become mine.

Yesterday, my friend Danny shared a powerful and encouraging passage with me on this very subject (which I think also qualifies as the longest run-on sentence in Scripture, but stick with me), and maybe it will encourage you, too.

“We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding THAT THE SPIRIT GIVES, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, WHO HAS QUALIFIED YOU to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.”

–Colossians 1:9-12 NIV (emphasis mine)

Here’s the great news: YOU’RE NOT QUALIFIED!

At least not by your own gifts and abilities. Your talent, wit, wisdom, decisiveness, resourcefulness–your ability to read defenses or throw a ball 80 yards in the air.

The Father has qualified you! If you can find the courage and humility to lean into Him today. That’s some pretty amazing news no matter who’s shoes you have to fill.

QUESTION:
Let’s be honest now. Do you ever feel unqualified?

Some people make me uncomfortable. They say hard things. Offensive things. Their very presence makes me bristle. Raises my blood pressure. Makes me flat out angry.

And it’s good.

They’re called prophets. A term we don’t hear thrown around much in pop culture today (unless they’re referencing some crazy in a sheltered compound with a chalice of red kool-aid and 300 blank-eyed followers). But I believe the prophetic gift is still alive (Ephesians 4:11), and at times the brokenness and deception in our lives will be violently accosted by very difficult truth. Painful truth. Prophetic truth.

The Old Testament prophets were nut jobs. Often outcasts. Recluses. They’d marry prostitutes or walk around naked to visually illustrate the sins of God’s people. Their call was to repent. They weren’t easy to ignore, but they were pretty easy to marginalize.

I undoubtedly face the same impulse when encountering a prophetic voice today. They like to point at things in me that I don’t want you to see. That I really don’t even want to see myself. I prefer to move them to the crazy line and get on with my life.

But there’s another kind of voice that can sound strikingly similar. That also leaves you bristling, irritated, and maybe even a little PO’d (for a whole other reason).

The cynic.

Haters. Full of self-righteous condescension, a sharp tongue, caustic wit, and an uncanny ability to make you feel like a pile of dog crap. And here’s the difficult thing about The Prophet and The Cynic…

…sometimes it’s really hard to tell the difference between the two.

I’m a pastor, so I live and breathe in “church world.” Admittedly, this can become it’s own subculture of competing philosophies and debate. The tension between prophet and cynic is one I wrestle with every day (at times even in my own soul).

The Western Church could use a good kick in the pants. A cold bucket of wake-up reality check. We’ve bought into some idolatrous (and perhaps even dangerous) lies. At times, we’ve even misrepresented the Gospel. We need the prophetic voices to radically and urgently point us back towards the truth.

But some of you so-called prophets need a gut-check of your own. You’re not oracles, you’re just haters – finding visceral satisfaction in expressing your animosity towards things that may have hurt you, that make you envious, or that simply don’t line up with your own personal preferences.

You’re just negative people. Nothing’s good enough for you – ever right or worthy of celebrating. When you’re not bashing mega-churches, worship styles, church structures, or the latest comment made by some well-known spiritual leader, you’re angst turns towards the idiot repairman, the forgetful waitress, your overbearing boss, or the ridiculous common area mowing schedule of your neighborhood association.

You’re not a prophet, you’re just a whiner with verbal acumen. Having a condescending opinion might make you a great ESPN analyst, but it doesn’t qualify you as the voice of God.

How do we know the difference? I fear mistaking prophetic words for the ramblings of a cynic. But I also fear gravitating towards the emotional woo of a hater assuming I’m hearing from God. So here’s a simple thought:

The prophet is motivated by redemption.

The cynic just wants to feel right.

What do you think? How do we discern between the two?