Spiritual Klutz

Hostage Crisis Drives me to my Knees

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 12:18:00 +0000

It was hard to watch the CBS news interview with American missionaries Gracia and Martin Burnham. The Burnhams were haggard, filthy, and appeared to be disoriented.

While on vacation, they were kidnapped by Abu Sayyaf terrorists and were being dragged through the Philippine jungle. It had been a year since they had seen their children, and it looked as though they never would. One of their fellow hostages had been beheaded.

Their captors had given a journalist rare access to interview the Burnhams. For the couple, it was an opportunity to show their family members they were still alive; for the terrorists, it was an opportunity to generate ransom money.

The Burnhams were despondent and appeared to believe they had been forgotten, that there was no hope.

"We need someone to show some mercy," Gracia pleaded. "This is no way to live. There is no way to take care of yourself. Last night, I woke up with severe chest pains, and there's nothing you can do. You just lay there and you're in pain.

"We have sores in our mouths because there's no nutrition in the food we're eating," she said. "We have sores on our legs. Well, nobody cares about that here..."

I felt I had to do something to help, and praying was all I could do. I went to my room, got down on my knees, and asked God to give the Burnhams hope, to strengthen them physically, mentally, and spiritually, to rescue them from the hands of their captors. And I made a commitment to pray until they returned home.

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I was haunted by Gracia's gaunt face, by the sound of her quivering voice, the voice of woman who believed all was lost. And it motivated me to pray, again and again, "Please God, please let them know we are praying. Let them know we haven't forgotten them."

The Burnhams before captivity

When I didn't see anything in the news for a while, I made a simple request in addition to the first: that God would let me know what happened to them. But as time passed, my prayers felt more dry, less regular, and more perfunctory. Even so, I figured that listless prayers were better than no prayers at all.

Six months after I began praying, and eighteen months after the Burnhams had been kidnapped, God answered the second prayer. I heard a radio news report that the Philippine army attempted to rescue the Burnhams, but only Gracia made it out alive. Martin died from three gunshots to the chest.

The news was bittersweet and strangely personal. Though I had never met the couple or their children, praying for them left me feeling like I had gotten to know them, that I had played a miniscule part in getting Gracia home.

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One year later, I got a call from a Christian bookstore in the city where I lived. In my one visit to the store, I had apparently entered my name in a raffle, and they drew it from the fishbowl. They wanted me to come in to claim my reward.

The young lady across the counter handed me a bundle which included a Christian CD and a hard bound book: In the Presence of My Enemies -- by Gracia Burnham. It was a full retelling of what had happened to her and Martin in the jungle. I didn't even know she had written a book.

As I drove home, I marveled that God had seen fit - not only to let me know what became of the Burnhams - but to make sure I read Gracia's own description of what they had survived. At home, I opened the book, and on the first page, Gracia wrote,

This book is dedicated to . . . you. If you prayed for Martin and me while we were in captivity - even once - then put your name here. It is because of your prayers that I came out alive and am able to tell the story. Likewise, I hope to become one who earnestly prays and cares for others who are hurting. We truly need each other, don't we?

"Yes," I thought to myself, as my eyes watered up, "we do." Gracia needed me to pray when she felt hopeless and alone; and I needed Gracia to remind me that even when my prayers feel dry and useless, God listens, God cares, and God answers.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here. You can also follow Spiritual Klutz on Facebook or Twitter.

The Klutz is Published in Boundless

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 16:15:00 +0000

Last year, after Boundless magazine reprinted my article, "Man Enough to Love a Real Woman," the editor was kind enough to bring me on as one of their freelance writers. Today, Boundless published my first original article for the magazine: "Your Friendgirl Deserves Better."

In the article, I engage in some straight-talk with single guys who are "just friends" with women - physically speaking - but emotionally, they're inappropriately intimate. You can find the article here.

Thanks to the Boundless team for the opportunity to work with them, and - to my readers - please flood their website with traffic.

Caught Between Love and a Cigarette

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 12:15:00 +0000

I was a child when I started hating cigarettes.

credit: healthylifecarenews.com

Blame my dad. His smoking habit clung to him like a dirty, old coat. He said he hated it, but the only thing that could stop him from puffing was dipping snuff. I found that equally disgusting.

Over time, my disgust with dad's smoking habit turned into a disgust with anyone who smoked cigarettes. It only got worse in college when I became a neurotic, Bible-thumping church cop who gratuitously looked for reasons to condemn people to hell.

And cigarettes were a sure-fire sign of a person who was flirting with the flames of eternal damnation.

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It wasn't just cigarettes though. The list of no-nos grew with my zealotry and included overeating, drinking (alcohol or excessive caffeine), cursing, celebrating Halloween, watching movies, and kissing outside of marriage (yes, you read that correctly).

It was maddening, but it was my "relationship with God" - the Religion of No. Notably absent was much compassion or love for the people I was willing to dry roast in hell. My top concern was getting them converted, getting them to agree with me, getting them to come to my church.

Ironically enough, God would use cigarettes and a nursing home as part of my years-long process of getting free from being a modern-day Pharisee.

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In my junior year of college, I started a small group Bible study that met in a nursing home. The idea was for us to have Bible study and prayer and then visit with the residents. It was only mildly popular with the college students at my church - you know, being in a nursing home and all.

I'm sure things have changed now, but at the time, the nursing home had a smoking area inside. One day, I was standing a few feet from the smoking area talking to a couple of the members of my group. I saw a heavy-set, white-haired, disheveled old woman park her wheelchair in the smoking area and pull out a cigarette.

My instinct was to condemn her, but instead, I felt an uncharacteristic surge of compassion and thought, "You know, if I were stuck in a nursing home, I would probably want to smoke too."

____________________

I carried on my conversation with my church friends, but I was distracted by the sight of the feeble old woman.

She managed to get an unlit cigarette between her involuntarily quivering lips, but she was having trouble getting her lighter to do more than spark. And even when she got the lighter going, she couldn't get her shaky hand to her quivering lips in time to light up.

A part of me felt the woman was better off not smoking the sinful cancer stick. But then my heart got in the way, aching as I watched the unlit cigarette bob uncontrollably from the woman's lips as she repeatedly failed to light it.

I abruptly ended the conversation with my friends and walked over to the woman, who was too focused on her cigarette to notice that I had approached.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I said. "Do you need me to light that cigarette for you?"

"Yeah," she said in a raspy voice.

I lifted the dying lighter, struck the flame, and lit the woman's cigarette as it shook in her mouth. She thanked me, took a drag, and I walked away, dumbfounded by my own actions.

For a moment, I wondered if I should feel guilty for helping her smoke, but one thing kept me from it - and that was love.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here. You can also follow Spiritual Klutz on Facebook or Twitter.

The White House Recognizes the Klutz

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 12:05:00 +0000

Believe it or not, someone at the White House heard about the "Forgiving My Father" series on Spiritual Klutz. As a result, last night I received a White House Fatherhood Champion Award for the DC area. When the White House representative first contacted me, I thought it was a joke.

My dad and me

"No, this is definitely real," he said. "It's a part of the President's Fatherhood and Mentoring Initiative."

He said they were looking for someone with a compelling personal story of fatherhood, and they were especially touched by the fact that mine involved reconciliation.

At the event, they gave me an opportunity to speak, and I used it to tell how God took my broken relationship with my dad and brought it back together. The story clearly had everyone's attention, including one woman whom I saw crying.

A senior White House official looked over at me and seriously said, "I need to read that story," so I wrote down the link on my business card and gave it to him. He tucked it in his front right coat pocket and said, "This is where I put business cards when I actually plan to do something with them."

A number of times on Spiritual Klutz, I've emphasized the importance of being vulnerable, of sharing your redemption story. And I realize that talking about God's work in your life feels scary and intimidating (believe me, I wasn't exactly comfortable putting that series out there). But there's nothing like your own testimony to make the case for redemption - and you never know who's listening.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here. You can also follow Spiritual Klutz on Facebook or Twitter.

Single Mom Saves More than Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 13:10:00 +0000

In retrospect, I suppose it was an odd game we played at our church Christmas dinner of 1986. It seemed ingenious at the time though.

Someone took a large goblet, pressed play on the tape deck, and passed the goblet around the room. The 19 or 20 people of our little church were expected to drop money in when it passed by. The object of the game: when the music stopped playing, whoever had the glass got to keep all the change.

My brother (right) and me (left)

The goblet would only stop once, so the stakes were high.

Each time the cup passed through my seven-year-old hands, I held onto it as long as I could, hoping the music would stop. But it kept playing, and the cash pot (and my excitement) kept growing.

Wonder of lucky wonders when someone hit stop on the tape deck while the goblet was in my hands. I hollered at the top of my lungs and poured the money onto the table in front of me to count it. Merry Christmas, indeed.

A few days later, the same people who put the cash in the cup provided most of our Christmas presents (see photo above). We certainly needed the help. Dad wasn't around, and my working mom was struggling to provide for us. But none of that was on my mind on Christmas morning.

When we counted all the presents in our small apartment living room, there were 48 of them. And as far as I was concerned - regardless of what was going on at home - we not only had what we needed, we were rich.

I always presumed mom felt the same way.

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A couple of years ago, I reminded my mom of the Christmas cash game and said, "Mom, you know, I wonder if they planned it so that cup would land in my hands."

"Of course they did," she said.

"Really?" I said. "I always assumed I got lucky when I won."

"No, it was a donation," she said. It made sense, but I couldn't believe it took me until my early thirties to figure it out. And when I imagined my mom sitting there as her peers clumsily took up a public collection for us, it put the evening in a different light.

"Mom, were you embarrassed that night?" I asked.

"Yeah, a little bit."

Of course she was. But I would've never known it. And I would've never known how she felt on Christmas Eve when church members showed up with donated presents and stacked them in the apartment. A mixture of gratitude and shame perhaps? Again, if she felt that way, we didn't know it. We were too busy being kids.

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Since becoming a parent, I look back on times like Christmas of 1986, and I see my mom in a different light. I grew up viewing her as firm, steady, and unshakable. After all, when dad left her (again), she kept a brave face and simply asked us to pray for his return. When she had to work two jobs to support us, she didn't complain. And when she was denied food stamps because she drove a Ford Escort (apparently deemed a luxury vehicle by the state of Mississippi), she didn't say a word to us about it.

Only now am I beginning to realize the insecurity she must have felt when coming to our school events without a husband. I can't imagine the exhaustion of working her day job, going to night class, and then coming home to address wedding envelopes until 2 a.m. to make extra money. And I never even considered how dire things must have been for my proud mom to have actually applied for food stamps.

But whatever she felt, we didn't know it. We didn't know her shame; we didn't know her exhaustion; we didn't know her fear. Because regardless of what she was feeling, now I realize that during Christmas of 1986, and so many other times, mom was giving us a gift that no one from my church could have donated: she was giving us a childhood.

And for that priceless gift, I'll be forever thankful, mom. You recognized that some things are better left unsaid - especially when the listening ears are those of children. Your reward is in Heaven, because God knows we'll never be able to pay you back here.

Finding Peace at God's Expense

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 11:07:00 +0000

I have a Jewish friend named Jared who grew up in southern California and has minimal experience with evangelicals. Every once in a while, I introduce him to elements of our sometimes-odd subculture. The other day, a short conversation provided an opportunity to explain the all-important evangelical phrase, "I do/don't have a peace about it."

He called me and said, "You want to go to Subway for lunch?"

In fact, I did not, so I jokingly said, "Give me some time to pray, and I'll let you know if I've got a peace about it."

"A piece?" he said. "A piece of what?"

I explained that in the world of evangelicals, that's the term we sometimes use to justify our decisions (presumably after we've prayed about them). It didn't make sense to him, and I'm not sure it makes much sense for us to lean on it so heavily.

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Let me begin with a disclaimer for all my friends, family, and evangelical acquaintances who regularly "get a peace": please believe me when I say I'm not targeting you with this post. The term is so commonly used that there's no way I could target any particular person unless I was a passive aggressive punk who had it out for you personally. I don't, and in light of the number of times I've "gotten a peace," I'm targeting myself as much as anyone.

Not Jesus

With that said, I understand that sometimes when we pray, the Holy Spirit gives us supernatural, peaceful clarity about a decision we must make. But a great deal of the time, I suspect we quietly make up our minds, pray about it, and then - what do you know - we "get a peace about it."

If anyone questions our decision (for example, with scripture or just plain, old common sense), we shut down the conversation by claiming we "got a peace." No one can argue with the peace mandate that allegedly came from God, which is convenient, because it often ensures we'll get what we want.

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If the things we feel peaceful about are always working to our advantage, perhaps we're mistaking our feelings for God's approval. Recall that when it came to the most important decision of Jesus' life - whether to go to the cross - He didn't have a peace about it at all. Nonetheless, He said "if it be Thy will, Father" and "endured the cross, despising its shame." (Heb. 12:2). And if Jesus is our example, then we can't expect that His call for us to "take up our cross daily" comes with a guarantee of feeling good about it (Luke 9:23).

I don't have a five-point formula for knowing God's perfect will, but I know this much: feeling peaceful isn't the magic 8-ball we use to discern it. And if calm, self-assurance is the primary thing that motivates us to follow Him, we might need to stop and ask who's really in charge.

The Childhood of My Marriage

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 13:38:00 +0000

The other day, my wife and I were in the backyard with Rudy, our 22-month-old daughter, who was playing with a beach ball. My wife ran a few steps beyond her and said, "Come on, Rudy. Run!"

Rudy was a little uncertain at first, but as my wife continued to encourage her, she mustered the energy and began awkwardly waddling towards my wife.

Rudy when she was younger

"That's right, Rudy! Come on," said my wife, laughing and inching a little further away as Rudy ran to catch up with her.

As I watched Rudy trying to catch up with her, it hit me: it won't be long before Rudy can easily catch up with us, before she can say the vocabulary words that - for now - sound like a baby trying to speak French.

Hold onto these moments of her childhood, I thought.

But then I looked beyond Rudy and saw my young wife laughing and running around in the backyard and realized that it won't be long before we get older. Lines will appear on our young faces, running around in the backyard won't be as easy, and spending time with our daughters will mean talking to them on the phone from college.

New birth

As I've said before, we have a tendency to let ourselves get nostalgic about our children, showering them with care, while we forget that our spouse is our first love. It's understandable though; childhood is so short - but so is the childhood of my young marriage.

And just as I'm raising my daughters with great care in this tender time, I want to do the same for my marriage - to fill it with love and get it off to a good start so that one day, it will grow up strong and healthy.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here. You can also follow Spiritual Klutz on Facebook or Twitter.

Jesus Writes An Advice Column 2

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 11:57:00 +0000

Advice columns aren't as popular as they were when I was a kid, but if Jesus wrote one, I'll bet they would be. So, with that peculiar idea in mind, this is my second installment of "Jesus Writes an Advice Column."

As I've said before, I don't intend for this to be a new translation of scripture. It's just my idea of what Jesus might say if He were to have a modern-day, online advice column (but if you need scriptures to back it up, click on the link at the end of each segment).

First, we have a letter from Pastor Tim in Houston (and no, Tim is not a real person) . . .

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credit: jdrf.org

Dear Jesus: I'm the Associate Pastor for Young Adult Recreational Activities at Open Windows Church. We're trying to come up with cool ideas to attract the young, single professional demographic to our church. Any suggestions?

Pastor Tim

Houston, Texas

Dear Tim: Yeah, I've got some ideas: feed some hungry people, visit a prison, go hang out with some social outcasts, or go take care of some sick people. It won't attract successful young singles (a.k.a. affluent, well-educated, upwardly-mobile evangelicals), but at least I'll find your gatherings much more attractive.

Jesus

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Dear Jesus: My dad left my mom for another woman when I was eight-years-old. We only saw him a handful of times after that. Last year, right after he was diagnosed with cancer, he claimed he became a Christian. In the two months before he died, he wrote us all letters and said he was sorry for what he did to us and mom. He tried contacting me several times, and I refused to meet with him.

I don't think you get a free pass to salvation just because you get spooked by the prospect of hell at the last minute. Anyway, I'm just wondering, did my dad really love you?

Marie

Springfield, Missouri

Marie: Let's talk about the real issue: how much you love me. Let's say there was a debtor who owed a rich man $1,500,000 and another debtor who owed the rich man $15. Neither of the debtors could pay the debt, so the rich man forgave both debts. Which debtor is going to love the rich man more? The one who owed $1,500,000, or the one who owed $15? The first one, of course.

At the end of his life, your dad understood how awful he had been, how great his debt was. And with fear and trembling, he humbly accepted my forgiveness.

Marie, you've always colored inside the lines. You lived up to your promise that you'd never be like your dad. And you almost achieved that goal, except for this: you, too, are a loser - just like your dad, just like everyone. Marie, I don't think you understand that I actually like losers - especially honest, humble ones. It's easier for them to love me, because in their brokenness, they understand how much they need me. You could learn a lot from your dad, Marie.

Jesus

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Dear Jesus: I'm 29-years-old and my parents just kicked me out of their house a couple of weeks ago. I got a job delivering pizzas, and I'm inviting a bunch of my friends over to my new apartment to celebrate. There's going to be a lot of drinking and a few people will probably be smoking weed. I'm not sure how you feel about that - but anyway, let me get to the point: do you want to come to my party?

Doug
Dothan, Alabama

Doug: I would love to come to your party. I'll bring a case of beer with me.

Jesus

How to Forget Your Spouse is Wonderful

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 13:09:00 +0000

"Make sure and record as many of your child's moments as you can, especially in the early years," said my coworker. "You'd be surprised how quickly she will change."

I thought it was good advice, but I didn't want to break out the video camera every time my daughter said a new word. So instead, I decided to get a journal and - every day - write one thing my daughter did and one thing my wife did.

This little exercise in preserving our young family's history was going to teach me a lesson: I was forgetting to admire my wife.

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My brief journal entries went something like this:

Tupperware head

Today, I came into the room and found my daughter with a Tupperware container on her head. I got a good laugh out of that. My wife felt tired all day.

I also had a number of longer journal entries where I wrote six or seven sentences about my daughter, gushing with detailed admiration about something adorable she did. Then I would remember to write about my wife and add something like, "My wife worked out today, even though she's six months pregnant. Go honey!"

It wasn't until a couple of weeks into my journal-writing that I saw the pattern: I would go on and on about my daughter and end by noting that - oh yeah, my wife is still alive. And even when I did write more colorfully about my wife, it was almost always about her role as a mother.

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The thought occurred to me: "You know, my wife is someone's little girl too. It's not like she stopped being cute and interesting just because we got married and had kids. And there's more to her than being a mom." So I started watching her again, looking for all those things that interested me when we first started dating.

My wife as a baby

It didn't take long before I realized that she frequently makes me laugh, she's a serious woman of prayer, she's very perceptive about people (especially me), and she still turns my head when she walks through the room. But I had taken these things for granted, and by the end of each day, the most beautiful things about her had passed me by.

As I started making a point to enjoy her as much as I enjoy my daughter, my journal entries began changing. Rather than write about a tired mom, I began writing about a gorgeous, godly lady who's fun to be around. And in a fresh way, with each journal entry, I'm realizing all over again why marrying her is the best decision I ever made.

How to Hear God Speak Audibly

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 12:16:00 +0000

I ignored Jamie's Facebook friend request for weeks.* Although I'm usually pretty open when it comes to adding Facebook friends, the idea of allowing this particularly needy, socially-awkward person to hound me online seemed like a bad idea.

image by mahalo.com

I actually knew Jamie better than I know many of my current Facebook friends. I just didn't want Jamie cramping my style - you know, putting goofy surveys on my page, sending Farmville requests, and making awkward comments on my status updates.

After about five weeks of internally debating what to do with Jamie's friend request, I denied it. I felt a little uneasy about it, but then I shrugged it off, telling myself that I have a right to determine who my Facebook friends are.

Then my brother Caleb called.

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Caleb had seen a documentary about Mother Teresa that rattled him. The film highlighted her desire - actually, her delight - in loving the poor of Calcutta, India. The filmmaker asked Mother Teresa how she could live with diseased, terminally ill, social outcasts. She said, "It's not hard, because in each one I see the face of Christ in one of His more distressing disguises."

As Caleb and I talked about it, we realized that essentially, Mother Teresa listened to God's call - not the Christianese "call to ministry" per se - the call of Jesus Christ Himself saying, "I'm lying here with a 103 temperature, I've got diarrhea, and there are running sores all over my body. Would you please carry Me somewhere, clean Me up, and give Me a decent place to die?"

Mother Teresa took it literally when Jesus said, "Whatever you have done for the least of these, you have done it unto Me" (Matthew 25:31-46).

"I want to be like that," said Caleb. "I want to respond to Jesus when He calls."

"But you do, Caleb - every day," I said.

_____________________

Canaan and his brothers

Caleb and his wife, Rebecca, have an eight-year-old son named Canaan, who has Down Syndrome. He's a sweet kid who loves playing with his brothers and has some impressive dance moves. But he's also got some serious medical needs, due to his damaged digestive system.

As a result, Caleb or Rebecca get up at least once every night to change Canaan's diaper; and every day, they have to clean his clothes - or the carpet - because of an accident.

"Caleb," I said, "when you get up in the middle of the night because Canaan's crying for you to change his diaper, that's Jesus asking for a diaper change. He's calling, and you've been responding for eight years now."

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Many Christians have been led to believe God has some marvelous "call" for everyone's life. So we wander around aimlessly, waiting for that extra-special shout-out from Jesus, which we presume will be accompanied by chill bumps, pixie dust, and lots of crying.

from hospitalchurch.blogspot.com

As for me, I would be happy with a phone call from Zondervan publishing company telling me they want to turn all of these blog posts into a book ("Good news everyone! God called me to be a Christian celebrity!").

So when Jesus speaks in the voice He actually promised to use - the voice of "the least of these" - I don't recognize it, and I ignore His friend request. Thanks to Mother Teresa and my brother, I'm starting to see that when I do that, Jesus loses, Jamie loses, and I lose too. I don't want that.

I want to hear God's call. I think we all do - but to be clear, I don't think that means we have to accept every Facebook friend request, or that we have to move to Calcutta to help the poor, or that we all need to raise kids with special needs. It means, if we're going to hear God's call, we need to be open to hearing His voice, however it may sound.

Most of us are a little deaf, Holy Spirit - please be our hearing aid.

*Please note that although this story is essentially true - believe it or not - I have told it in such a way that it is practically impossible to figure out who "Jamie" is, even if he or she were to read this.

If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here. You can also follow Spiritual Klutz on Facebook or Twitter.

After Death, New Life

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Mon, 19 Sep 2011 22:00:00 +0000

The last article on Spiritual Klutz, "Trusting God in the Face of Cancer," shared the first part of Stephanie and Jason Weathers' faith journey, and it's already one of the most highly-read posts on Spiritual Klutz. This week, we conclude their powerful story.

Please note that the conclusion of this story is painful, and reader discretion is advised if you know someone who has been removed from life support. However, beyond the painful details, at its heart, this story is a testament to the God who gives us grace when we are suffering and at our weakest.

Letting Go of Jason

At age 23, Jason Weathers had promised his bride, Stephanie, that death was the only thing that could part them. Only ten years later, Jason's promise was being fulfilled, far sooner than he or Stephanie ever imagined.

Final portrait with the kids

After a seven-month battle with leukemia, Jason was lying in a hospital bed without any brain activity. Although Stephanie had believed for his healing since his diagnosis, she now realized that Jason would be healed, but it was going to happen in Heaven.

Stephanie knew that Jason's death would traumatize his body - the doctor had gravely warned her about that - but it was impossible for her to prepare for what it would do to her heart.

Not long after the doctor removed Jason from life support, his body began breaking down, gasping, trembling uncontrollably. Stephanie watched in helpless horror as death took her husband, that gentle giant, and shook him like a rag doll for hours.

Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon turned to dusk. Just before the sun went down, while a team of medical personnel scurried about the room; Stephanie found herself transfixed on the sunset outside the hospital window. Beyond her husband's dying body, a brilliant splash of colors illuminated the sky as the sun sank behind the pine trees.

Stephanie quietly lost her composure, and tears began rolling down her cheeks as the sun bid farewell to the sky. In that lonely moment, she stared out the window and thought, "The sun is setting on my marriage, and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Then, an hour and a half after the sky turned black, Jason stopped breathing. "And that last breath that he took," she says, with her voice shaking, "- when it was over, it wasn't pretty, but it was a special time to be there when he met Jesus, to be a part of that very moment when my husband was in the presence of the Lord."

Life without Jason

In the months following Jason's death, Stephanie was surrounded by the love and support of family and friends, but there were some wounds in her heart that only Jesus could heal.

Smiling through the exhaustion

Each night, after putting the kids to bed, a wave of despair crashed over Stephanie. It was hard enough raising three kids under age six, but to do it without Jason seemed impossible. All of her life, she had casually espoused the view that kids were best raised by a mother and a father. Now her kids were those kids, the ones being raised by a single mom.

She grieved for her children, and she grieved for herself. Late into the night, she searched the house for any remnant of him - especially anything he had written. When she found something, she would curl up in the recliner to read it and then weep as she read it over and over again. And when she eventually came to the point where she could find nothing else to read, she wept with frustration that Jason had not written more.

She longed to hear Jason's voice, but instead, she heard him dying, heaving and gasping in his last moments. When she closed her eyes, she saw his body thrashing about, tortured by death. Even the smell of his hospital room haunted her nose. She begged God for mercy, to take away the memories and grief, to give her strength to raise three children alone.

And finally, Stephanie would fall asleep exhausted each night, only to wake up the next morning to see three little faces needing their mommy. She didn't even want to get out of bed.

"God," she would whisper, morning after morning, "I don't understand You, but I know You're sovereign."

Healing for Stephanie

In order to survive the sleepless nights of mental torture, Stephanie did the only thing she knew to do: she told herself the truth.

Stephanie and the kids

She repeated God's promises out loud, night after night, combating despair with the beauty of scripture. For months, the scriptures became her central weapon in reclaiming her imagination, her sleep, and her sanity. And over time, she began to believe, like never before, in the sovereign goodness of God, who works all things - even death - for good.

As she began to emerge from despair, she also experienced healing from the images of Jason's last moments, though she doesn't even know when that happened. She just knows that one day, she couldn't remember the last time she had thought of Jason's last hours. In fact, she could hardly remember the horrible details at all - God had erased them.

And God gave her an image of hope which she still holds onto today. As she describes it, He showed her that "life is like a tapestry. When you stand too close to it, it's not very pretty. But if you'll step away and see the full picture, you'll see God's beautiful artwork. It's just that pain has a way of bringing us too close to the tapestry."

Dawn Breaks

Three years later, Stephanie is quietly celebrating the little victories: the moments when she senses that Jason, as a part of that "great cloud of witnesses," sees his children growing in the Lord; the times when Anna Lea, age nine, asks Stephanie profound questions about Jason's death; or when Ally, age three, explains that her daddy lives on the beach with Jesus.

And there are still moments of grief: learning that Jon Brent, now six, can't remember Jason anymore; the days when Anna Lea cries over not having a daddy like all her friends; and the fact that Stephanie has simply had to let go of what might-have-been.

But, as Stephanie puts it, the dawn is finally breaking. She can see the sun on the horizon, and she is leading her family with faith in a sovereign God - the One about whom Jason wrote, in his final months,

I know my God is great, and I know His plan and purpose for my life is perfect. I know this bend in the road is a part of that perfect plan. I may never know why, this side of Heaven, but I rest assured, because He is omnipotent God. All glory be to Him who is above all, knows all, and is all!

Amen.

Many thanks to Stephanie Weathers for sharing hers and Jason's story with Spiritual Klutz. If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here. You can also follow Spiritual Klutz on Facebook or Twitter.

Trusting God in the Face of Cancer

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 10:35:00 +0000

As the regular readers of Spiritual Klutz may know, a few months ago, I was understandably convinced I had brain cancer - that is, for an hour-and-a-half. During that time period, I was terrified - like never before - as I tried to fathom how life was going to change.

My almost-comical ordeal only lasted ninety minutes - Jason Weathers got a real diagnosis of cancer in 2008, resulting in a powerful testimony of God's grace in the face of a worst-case scenario. So today on Spiritual Klutz, I'm going to share the first part of Jason and his wife's story.

Heads up: it's not exactly a feel-good story that's going to get featured on the 700 Club anytime soon. It's a story about hard-core faith, about stumbling around in the darkness when the only thing you can see is the love of Jesus.

Dark Clouds Gather

For over two weeks, 33-year-old Jason Weathers had been mysteriously ill, running a fever and battling extreme fatigue. Naturally, he presumed it was viral. But as the symptoms continued, his wife, Stephanie, inexplicably had a morbid thought: this could be leukemia.

February 28, 1998

Stephanie wasn't one to dream up life-threatening illnesses for her husband. But when the thought of leukemia continued to nag her, an easy Google search turned up two early symptoms of leukemia: consistent fever and extreme fatigue. And with that, Stephanie was all-but-convinced Jason had cancer.

Jason was out of town the week these thoughts began quietly gnawing at Stephanie's mind. At 32-years-old, she was seven months pregnant and raising two children, ages six and three. She couldn't imagine being a single mother, widowed in her early thirties.

One night that week, she lay in bed alone, and an unnerving thought came to mind: "A God who loves you would never allow you to lose your husband right before you have your baby." But then she sensed the Holy Spirit say, "Trust Me. I love you with an everlasting love. Just trust Me." Back and forth the two thoughts competed until finally, at 4 a.m., she could take it no more. She sat up and cried out, "God, please just don't let it be leukemia."

She would receive clarity in less than eight hours.

The next morning, she called Jason and firmly asked him to get his blood count. He was resistant but did it that morning anyway. When he called her in the middle of church, she rushed out, answered the phone, and heard a sound that was very unfamiliar to her: the sound of Jason sobbing.

"Stephanie," he said, "the doctor thinks I have lymphoma or leukemia."

Privately Facing Facts

Twenty-four hours later, Jason was back home with Stephanie in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where a specialist confirmed Jason had acute myeloid leukemia and would have to undergo chemo treatments immediately. Minutes later, Stephanie walked into the hospital admissions area with Jason, and her baby kicked from inside the womb. She forced herself not to cry, wanting to be strong for Jason.

The Weathers in 2005

However, as she drove home that night to be with their children, her raw emotions broke through, and she began weeping. She cried out to God, overwhelmed by the changes that were afoot. When she pulled into the driveway, she wiped her tears away, took a deep breath, and then went inside to begin the months-long task of keeping life normal for her kids.

In the coming months, the daily drive home from the hospital became her sanctuary, a place where she could unreservedly break down before God for 15 minutes. She knew He was mighty to save, but she also realized He might choose to heal Jason in Heaven. That thought was too much to bear, so as Jason's aggressive chemo treatments continued, she just kept believing for his healing on earth.

Holding Each Other

The next few months were, at times, nightmarish, and at other times, it seemed like the clouds were breaking.

Jason holding Ally

In January, Jason almost died after getting a life-threatening infection. But then by the next month, despite being frail and emaciated, he made it to the delivery room just in time to see the birth of his third child, Ally. Then, after another near-miss with a life-threatening infection in April, Jason bounced back again later that month.

As time went on, many who were praying for Jason found their faith increasing as he continued fighting into summer. By July of 2008, seven months after being diagnosed, he was not only alive, but his all-important blood count was in good shape.

On July 9, Stephanie and Jason had a rare moment alone at his parents' house. That day, she met Jason in the hallway, and when she saw him, she walked up and wrapped her arms around him. As she held his shrunken frame, she thought of how cancer and chemo had ravaged his once-strong body, how much he had suffered in the last seven months.

Standing there in the hallway holding him, she told him how much she loved him, how proud she was of him, and how sorry she was for all he was going through. And in response, again and again, he simply said, "I love you so much, Stephanie."

After their conversation, Jason insisted that Stephanie go swimming with the kids, rather than spending the day with him. She said goodbye and drove away, not knowing that was the last conversation she would have with Jason.

Hanging On

While at the swimming pool, Stephanie got a phone call from Jason's mother, Peggy. Jason was spitting up blood, and they were headed to the hospital. When Stephanie arrived at the emergency room, she learned that Jason had gone into respiratory failure on the way to the hospital, causing him to have a heart attack. As a result, his brain had been without oxygen for over seven minutes.

Although the circumstances had never been so dire, Stephanie still believed Jason would be healed. She went home that night and typed an update about Jason on Caring Bridge, a website that allows families to provide reports about ailing loved ones. Unable to sleep, she stayed on the website the whole night, which she now describes as one of the holiest moments of her life.

Photo by Joshua Rogers

All night long, people posted messages, prayers, and scriptures on Jason's page. Stephanie felt strengthened as the chorus of interceding saints joined her in lifting up Jason, whose life was hanging in the balance. And that night, with so many believing for God's miraculous intervention, she felt certain Jason would be healed.

But the next morning, when she sat down with the doctor, the news was grim and conclusive: Jason had no brain activity.

After these words sank in, a strange peace unexpectedly came over Stephanie, bringing the quiet calm of the Holy Spirit. It did not take away the pain of reality - it gave her the grace to understand that she, Jason, and so many others had fought the good fight. The battle for Jason's health would be won in Heaven.

And in this moment of peaceful clarity, she could sense the Holy Spirit saying, "Hang on." But she knew the Spirit wasn't telling her to hang onto Jason - no, He was telling her to hang onto Jesus. Because if she was going to face life as a single mother of three kids - life without Jason - then Jesus was the only one who was going to be able to hold her together.

This article is the first in a two-part series about Stephanie and Jason Weathers' faith journey in the face of cancer. The second part will be posted on September 19. If you would like to receive an email whenever there's a new article on Spiritual Klutz, click here.

God, Why Did You Freak Me Out?

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 03:37:00 +0000

I wasn't looking to be freaked out. It was 3:30 a.m., I had been working for over 22 hours, and I had to drive 45 minutes to Starkville, Mississippi. All I wanted was sleep.

While driving down the foggy, pitch-black highway, I turned on a talk radio show where the host was discussing whether kids should play with BB guns. I have a strong opinion on the topic, so when the host invited callers to respond, I picked up my cell phone and called.

The line was busy.

But I wasn't giving up - I had nothing else to do. I dialed the number again and again, getting the same busy signal. Then the radio host said, "Alright, our first caller is David from Arkansas. David, are you there?"

"Hehh-lo," said the caller in a familiar Ozark twang.

My mouth dropped open. David, the first caller, was my father.

"Dad?" I said out loud.

____________________

I was dumbfounded, confused, staring at the radio, and trying to listen to my dad as he shared his opinion with the host. And I could hardly think.

There was no doubt it was my father's voice on the line, but the chances of this freakish coincidence happening - at an hour at which I'm never awake, in a rural area in which I don't live, on a radio show I've never listened to - seemed impossible.

After dad finished making his comment, I dialed his phone number.

"Hehh-lo," he said.

"Dad! What are you doing up?" I nearly shouted into the phone.

"Aw, nothing."

"But - you were just on the radio, dad."

"I was?"

"You know, you were talking about kids using BB guns."

"Oh yeah, on the Kevin McCullough Show. Yeah, I called that show two nights ago."

"Wait - what?" I said. And then I realized the reason I was getting a busy signal: the show wasn't live. It had somehow been broadcast live two nights before when my dad called in from Arkansas. And two days later, at 3:30 a.m., at the very moment I was trying to call in, they replayed my dad's call on a radio station in Mississippi.

____________________

The next day, I wondered if the radio show was just some audio hallucination brought on by 22 hours without sleep. Later on, when I called my dad and we talked about it, things got even more weird.

"Josh," he said. "I want to tell you something. When you called me at 3:30 a.m., I was physically sick, and I was feeling emotionally low as well. And after we talked, the sickness and low feelings completely went away. I could feel the power of God, Josh. It was strong."

I didn't even know how to respond to that. The bizarre intervention left me feeling like I had played a part in a Twilight Zone episode with no clear point.

So for two weeks, I repeatedly asked God to help me see why He would do such a weird miracle. What was He showing me? What was He showing my dad? But no matter how much I questioned, the only thing that would consistently come to mind was a miracle from the Bible - that time Jesus mixed spit and dirt, rubbed it into a blind man's eyes, and told him to go wash in a specific pool. The guy did it, and he was healed.

And I thought my miracle was weird.

Finally, I went back and reread the passage about the mud-and-spit-mix miracle. It was there I found the purpose of my own weird miracle: "This happened so that the works of God might be displayed in [my dad]" (John 9:3, alteration mine).

So it wasn't so much about my dad or me - it was about God, about His glory. I hate to admit it, but that's probably why it took me so long to get it.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Whose Applause Do You Need?

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 09 Aug 2011 11:32:00 +0000

Last week, one of my articles got published over at Boundless. It felt like it was my birthday.

For a year-and-a-half, I've been consistently cranking out articles that have been mostly read by my mom and her quilting guild. The next thing you know, the traffic meter at Spiritual Klutz zooms upward, new people start subscribing, and I'm on the phone with an agent who's offering me a chance to co-write a book with Beth Moore (okay, that last part didn't actually happen).

Quite frankly, it felt good - and I mean really good. And there's nothing wrong with that. Life is full of hard knocks, so you have to celebrate your victories when they come.

But then I began to think about what I would write this week, and something weird happened: rather than pray about it or just write from my heart, I thought, "With a potentially bigger audience this week, I need to write something that will keep my numbers up."

So I went to work, typing an article that would make these new readers love Spiritual Klutz forever.

I started by cranking out an article that shrugged off the critics of my Boundless article. But it was toxic, so I stopped in the middle and deleted the whole thing. Then I started a sugary sweet article, the title of which began with the words, "25 Ways to . . . " - and then I stopped that one too.

It hit me: I was trying to do a lame spiritual headstand to get strangers to keep reading my stuff.

Jesus talks a lot about rewards in scripture - the rewards that come from men, and the rewards that come from God. And the biggest payoff we can get from men isn't money; it's applause, approval, and admiration - especially when it comes to our spirituality. For those who pray, fast, or do charitable deeds in order to receive the reward of men, Jesus says, "Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward" (Matt. 6:2).

And for bloggers like me who write quasi-spiritual posts just to build a bigger audience - well, a bigger audience is the only reward they get. I'll pass.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Spiritual Klutz Gets Published in Boundless

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 15:42:00 +0000

On Spiritual Klutz, I periodically make a point to admonish single guys who can't commit to real women because they are stuck in committed relationships with their imaginary girlfriends.

One of the articles I wrote, "Man Enough to Love a Real Woman," caught the attention of the editor of Boundless, a magazine for Christian twenty-somethings. Boundless asked for permission to reprint it, and it appears in this week's edition here.

Thanks again to Boundless, and - to my readers - please flood their website with traffic. Thanks, Boundless!

A New Father, A Better Husband

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 12:51:00 +0000

My wife was racked with pain, desperate to deliver our baby, and on the verge of her last push. My pulse raced, my breath was shallow, and I was both terrified and elated.

Just after delivery

“I want to catch the baby,” I said to the doctor, reminding him, for the third time, of what we had discussed five weeks ago at my wife’s appointment.

“I know you do,” he said with a smile. “And you need to get ready, because we’re going to do one last push, and the baby's going to be here.” He paused. “Alright now, push.”

My wife took a deep breath and pushed, her face determined, and my second daughter tumbled into my hands. It happened almost too quickly, leaving me shocked as I stared at my hands, which were holding my tiny, wailing daughter.

“The baby’s in my hands,” I said nervously, terrified she was going to slip out and fall on the floor.

“I know,” said the doctor, who was unraveling the umbilical cord.

“Uh - I’m holding the baby,” I said again, my nervousness apparent. The doctor chuckled and said, "I've got her," and then picked her up to take care of her.

That was 11:01 p.m. last Saturday.

____________________

I'm still reeling with joy.

There's something powerful about seeing the woman I love bring a child into the world - it leaves me in awe of her strength, more aware of her maturity. And there's something about having a newborn in my family. She's a living, breathing, clean slate - the face of new beginnings - a reminder that it's never too late for me to grow and change for my family's benefit.

And as I ponder the life ahead for my two-day-old daughter, it hits me all over again: if I'm going to be a good dad, I've got to be a good husband first. Because whether I like it or not, my daughters will look at the way I love their mother, and it will teach them what kind of man they deserve.

Think of it - I'm going to be the first man my daughters love, and I will set the precedent as to how a man should treat a woman. If I am respectfully direct when I communicate with their mom, they will probably avoid a passive-aggressive man who gives the cold shoulder. If I criticize and pick at their mom, they will tolerate a man who puts them down. But if I strive to love, serve, honor, and cherish their mom, they will look for the qualities of Christ in a man.

It's a daunting task, leaving me with that feeling I had when I nervously said, "I'm holding the baby." But if I step up to the plate and follow through with this, it's one of the finest gifts I'll ever give my little girls - and the woman who brought them into this world.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Why Hasn't God Healed Me?

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 10:06:00 +0000

So I've been trying to figure out how to write about a non-life-threatening, chronic medical condition I have and its impact on my spiritual journey. But I've been avoiding it for months, because I don't want to publicly share the details of my medical history.

So I came up with a solution: let's just pretend I've got a nail in my head, right under the surface - a nail doctors can't remove without damaging my brain. Quite frankly, it's been more annoying than anything - but, believe me, it has been really annoying.

Many believers have joined me in asking God to remove this nail from my head. The update: even though the symptoms have lessened, the nail itself is still there, and my doctor says there's a 99.9% chance it always will be.

This brings me to the question I've been grappling with for months now: if God still heals (and I know He does), then why hasn't He healed me?

____________________

In the year-and-a-half that I've been dealing with this rusty nail in my skull, my feelings have been hard to pin down. At times I've found it amusing that I somehow got a nail jammed into my head; at other times, I've felt angry - especially when the resulting symptoms interfered with normal life. Sometimes I've felt indifferent - but mostly, I've been hopeful that God will answer my prayers for healing.

As I continued to ask God for relief, many people encouraged me by reminding me that "the prayer of faith will heal the sick" (James 5:14-15), that "by His stripes we are healed" (Isaiah 53:4-5), and if we agree on anything in prayer, "it will be done" (Matt. 18:19). But no matter how many times I prayed, the nail firmly remained in place, ultimately leading me to deep frustration.

____________________

My prayers eventually got raw and desperate. I began saying things like, "God, come on. I've seen You do miracles before. Can't You just give me a break and get this nail out of my skull? The doctors can't fix it, but I know You can, so please just do me this favor."

After wrestling with my condition in prayer for a few months, God finally broke through - but it wasn't through physical healing. Instead, He dropped some scriptural wisdom in my mind that changed my perspective, and it sounded something like this: "Joshua, sometimes I show My glory in this broken world through physical healing (John 9:1-7); sometimes I don't (2 Cor. 12:7-10).

"Please don't get discouraged - I allowed the same thing to happen to Jesus, My own Son. I let Him experience physical pain (Isaiah 53:4-5) - I even let Him die. But it was temporary, and I was doing something beautiful that even He wrestled with (Mark 14:32-38). Sure, I 'was able to save Him from death . . . yet He learned obedience by the things which He suffered (Hebrews 5:7-8).'

"'Therefore, don't lose heart. Even though your outward man is perishing, yet your inward man is being renewed day by day. For your light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. So do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.'" (2 Cor. 4:16-18).

____________________

Let there be no doubt: I do not believe this illness is good, but I do believe God is using for my good. And in faith, I'm at peace with having a nail stuck in my head; because I'm starting to realize the biggest miracle of all: that God can take awful things like sickness and suffering and make something beautiful of them.

Please note that the scriptures quoted here were slightly modified in style, but not substance. Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Jesus Writes an Advice Column 1

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 10:13:00 +0000

Advice columns aren't as popular as they were when I was a kid, but if Jesus wrote one, I'll bet they would be. So, with that peculiar idea in mind, this is my first installment of "Jesus Writes an Advice Column."

credit: www.jdrf.org

Don't freak out - I don't intend for this to be a new translation of scripture. It's just my idea of what Jesus might say if He were to have a modern-day, online advice column.

With that being said - first, we have a letter from Claire in Des Moines, Iowa (and no, Claire is not a real person) . . .

____________________

Dear Jesus: There's a really nice couple from church we normally like to invite over. However, they recently adopted a three-year-old, and the toddler is out of control. She climbs all over them (and us) while we're trying to hang out. We love the couple, but because of the kid, we're growing tired of having them over. I know it's probably selfish, but is it okay if we stop inviting them to our house?

Claire
Des Moines, Iowa

Claire: Get over yourself, and let that little girl climb all over you. You will learn a lot about me from her if you stop worrying about your deep conversation and play Barbies with her on the floor. In fact, I want you take part of your tax refund, buy a trampoline, and invite the couple and their daughter over more often.

Have fun on the trampoline.

Jesus

____________________

Dear Jesus: My neighbor poured leftover paint thinner onto the ground next to my newly-sodded grass. A large portion of my new grass is now dead, and I want him to pay for it. How do I approach him about it diplomatically?

Craig

Louisville, Kentucky

Craig: Do not approach your neighbor about the grass. Replant it late at night so he won't realize the trouble he caused you. Then surprise him by inviting him and his reclusive wife over for a hearty breakfast next weekend. They will be shocked, and they will want to be your friends. Please take the time to get to know them. They need you.

Jesus

_____________________

Dear Jesus: I am currently fasting and praying on behalf of a sick kid at my church. I planned on doing it for 21 days, but I'm on day three, and it's killing me. I don't know if I can finish, and everyone's already telling me how thin I look. Please tell me it's okay to cut my 21-day fast short.

Jacob

Mobile, Alabama

Jacob: You know this is a public advice column, right? Of course you do. Now that everyone knows you are fasting for that kid, you have your reward. You could have gotten attention a lot more easily without starving yourself. Please know that I love you a lot.

Jesus

This is the first in a series of "Jesus Writes An Advice Column" articles that I will write periodically. Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Walking My Daughter Down the Aisle

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 10:21:00 +0000

Last Saturday, my 18-month old daughter was the flower girl in her cousin's wedding. Little "Rudy," as we call her, just learned to walk a month ago, so we questioned whether she would make it down the lengthy, red-carpeted aisle.

Rudy on the red carpet

Sure enough, about a quarter of the way down the aisle, Rudy stopped and froze in place. The ring bearer did his best to gently tug at her arm, but she wouldn't budge. When the bride's mother urged me to intervene, I jogged down the aisle to my daughter, bent down, and said, "Come on, Rudy, let's go."

I was afraid she would resist, forcing me to pick her up and carry her. But when she saw me, she smiled, took my hand, and we began slowly walking down the aisle together as the guests and wedding party chuckled.

As we walked hand-in-hand towards the altar, it hit me - there I was, walking my daughter down the aisle. My heart ached a bit as I realized that the next time we took these steps at a wedding, it would be her wedding.

Her little hand in mine took on a whole new meaning as we neared the end of the aisle, where there stood a beaming young groom, waiting for his bride. He's a gentleman who is kind, self-controlled, well-raised, and deeply respected by those who know him best - the type of man I hope my daughter will marry one day.

Rudy and me (photo by Lisa Schultz)

Later in the day, it occurred to me that, by the time she is old enough to marry, I will have little control over the man she chooses. She will be too old for me to pick her up and take her in the right direction, so the process of leading her to a good man is something that starts now, while the altar is still far away.

To get her moving in the right direction, I've already begun affirming her daily through words and affection. It's my hope that, in receiving that kind of attention from me, she will be less likely to sacrifice her body and soul to get it from a flattering, halfway-interested man-boy.

More importantly, I'm becoming more and more conscious of the way I speak to her mother. I'm Rudy's primary example of how a man should treat a woman, and if I force her mom to live with a thoughtless toad, then Rudy may assume she deserves the same.

Finally, I'm focusing more on my role as a spiritual leader in our home. I sing Christian kids' songs to my daughter, talk to her about God's love, and pray blessings over her before I lay her down to sleep. I'm hoping that, in doing so, I will help her understand the central role our faith plays in a serious love relationship.

As a dad, these are some of the ways I'm meeting my daughter early in her trip down the aisle, stooping down, and saying, "Come on, Rudy, let's go." And I hope that, when the time comes, the way I raised her will lead her into the arms of a man who loves her even more than I do.

Thanks to Christy McCormick for her input in this article. Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Does God Care Whether You Have a Headache?

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 10:01:00 +0000

I don’t often get headaches, but when I do, I ask God to heal me. Even so, I often find myself doubting He actually cares about something so trivial.

I figure He’s got more important things to worry about - things like world hunger, sex trafficking, orphans, and cancer. I can't help but wonder if He hears my request, shrugs, and thinks, "Why don't you use your energy to pray for someone who has a real problem?"

But an experience with my daughter last week reminded me that, as hard as it is to believe, He cares about the little things in my life - even headaches.

____________________

We took our 17-month-old baby girl to a state park last Friday. She recently learned to walk, and we let her waddle down the trail for practice.

My daughter climbing a tough step

You'd think my wife and I would've been bored trudging behind our daughter, who scooted along at a snail's pace. And you would think that was especially the case when she came to the larger steps on the trail, bringing us to an extended halt as she struggled to pull herself up. Not at all.

No, in fact, we were fully engaged, mesmerized by our daughter's Herculean efforts. Sometimes, out of a legitimate need, we helped her up the steps. And other times, we resisted the temptation and forced her to figure it out on her own. But the entire time, we were watching, we cared, and we were there for her.

We love our little "Rudy Toot," as we call her, and although the steps were relatively small to us, they were not small to her. The obstacles mattered to her; therefore, they mattered to us, because she matters to us.

____________________

As I walked behind my daughter, focused on her strenuous efforts, I realized that, in much the same way, my heavenly Father is not disengaged from my slow-paced spiritual walk.

My daughter and me

Because He loves me, the obstacles I face matter to Him. He will not always pick me up and help me over them, or I would never learn anything. But the obstacles - whether a headache or a personal conflict - matter to Him, because I matter to Him.

He says, "If a son asks for bread from any father among you, will he give him a stone? ... If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!” (Luke 11:11,13).

So if I, being human, care about my daughter's efforts to climb the steps on a hiking trail, how much more must my heavenly Father care that I've got a headache. It's not the size of the need that moves His heart; it's the fact that I'm His child.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Unfortunate Miracle on the Highway

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 24 May 2011 11:26:00 +0000

My father, David, was younger than me when his first wife left him for another man (note: my father's first wife was not my mother). It was 1974, and the implosion of their marriage was messy, leaving him bitter and questioning his faith.

Sitting in the passenger's seat as his father drove down the highway, he vented his frustrations and eventually began railing against God.

"All of this 'Jesus loves me' stuff is a bunch of bull," he said, crying.

"How am I supposed to believe Jesus loves me when He lets this kind of stuff happen?"

My grandfather, a seasoned, Free-Will Baptist preacher didn't offer much comfort.

"David, you know Jesus loves you. We always taught you that."

"That ain't gonna cut it today, dad."

"But it's there in the Bible, David," grandpa said.

"That ain't gonna cut it either," said dad. And then he asked, with his voice shaking, "Daddy, do you really believe Jesus loves me?"

Before grandpa could respond, my dad blew up and said, "I'll tell you what. You can say whatever you want. If Jesus doesn't show up on the bank of this highway, look me in the eyes, and tell me He loves me, then I don't want anything to do with Him anyway."

As soon as the last word left his mouth, a truck with a camper on the back pulled in front of the car. Three little girls looked at him from the back window of the camper and screamed, "Hey mister! Jesus loves you!"

My dad and grandpa looked at each other in shock. It was the dead of winter, the windows were rolled up, and they had both heard the three little girls perfectly.

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I love miraculous stories like that. And I hunger for more of them, seeing them as signs of God's love. Yet in the back of my mind, I'm nagged by Jesus' words: "a wicked and adulterous generation seeks after a sign." (Matthew 16:4).

I struggle with that verse. What's so wicked about wanting a little confirmation from God? For me, the problem is that the desire is often rooted in doubt. I seek miraculous signs so I can justify believing in a God I can't see - a God who sometimes lets me down.

And in those moments, I'm not that different from my frustrated dad, demanding Jesus perform a magic trick before I will surrender and give Him the trust He already deserves.

Yikes.

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credit: christian-wallpaper.com

Now, to be clear, I love heavenly breakthroughs just as much as anyone, and I'm not putting them down. But here's the thing - Jesus isn't a circus performer. Sometimes He blesses us with tangible glimpses of glory; but many times, we're stuck walking things out in blind faith. I know, it's disappointing - we want a sign, something to validate our faith and remove our doubts.

To that, He says, "You want a sign? My faithless child, look at My death and resurrection. These were for you. Pause before demanding further proof and remember, 'Blessed are those who have not seen, yet believe" (John 20:29).

I know He's right, but simple belief doesn't come naturally. So I throw myself at His feet, "cry out, and say with tears, 'Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!'" (Mark 9:24).

And in time, Jesus always casts out my doubt with His love, "takes me by the hand, lifts me up, and I arise" (Mark 9:27), recognizing that His love is the miracle.

Thanks to my father for reviewing this story for accuracy. Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Let Go of Me, Jesus - this is Awkward

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 03 May 2011 13:22:00 +0000

Last week, I took my 16-month-old girl to a playground where we met another dad and his baby daughter. The girls played together nicely, and I chatted with the other dad, Justin, who seemed like a nice guy.

Then things suddenly got awkward, thanks to my daughter.

Justin climbed onto the playground equipment to check on his daughter, squatting down to speak to her - but my daughter intercepted. Crawling over to Justin, she grabbed his shirt, pulled herself up, reached her arms around his neck, and hugged him.

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"Awwww!" said the other adults standing around watching.

"That's sweet," said the man, awkwardly holding his arms straight out to the side and sheepishly smiling, as if to say, "I'm a nice guy, I promise. I'm won't hug your daughter or intentionally touch her in any way."

I thought it was endearing though, and figuring my daughter would let go soon, I decided to wait it out. In the meantime, Justin was growing visibly more uncomfortable as my daughter's grip around his neck grew tighter.

To ease the building tension, I said, "It's okay. I think she likes you," hoping he would just give her a hug in return.

But it didn't make him any more comfortable - and it didn't stop her. It was like she had found the love of her life and wasn't letting go, even if he wasn't going to hug her back.

When I couldn't bear the awkwardness any longer, I finally walked over to my daughter, stooped down, and peeled her arms off Justin's neck. I made a joke about Justin being her first crush, and he uncomfortably laughed as I carried my daughter away.

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Like Justin, most of us adults don't deal with selfless love very well. Even when we know it's safe to give and receive grace, we're uneasy with it, and our resistance crops up in a myriad of ways.

Try to pay for a friend's lunch - they will probably say, "Next time, it's on me." Try to pay for a stranger's lunch - they will probably refuse it.

Genuinely compliment a woman's hairdo - she will probably say, "I need a haircut." Or compliment her outfit. Ten bucks says she will respond, "This old thing?"

And then think about how you respond when someone has the guts to say, "I love you." You probably say, "Love you," or the superweird, "We love you too" ("we" who?).

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Grace - unconditional love - paralyzes us with awkwardness. So instead of receiving it, we pay for our own lunch, shut down the compliment, and say "love you" to someone who needs to hear the whole sentence. Being naturally resistant to the smallest acts of human grace, I think it's even harder for us to receive the divine graces of God.

from its-all-about-them.blogspot.com

His Son's outstretched arms on the cross tell the story of a God who isn't afraid to overdo grace. He accepts last-minute, deathbed confessions; He takes the blame to save the loser; He leaves the 99 sheep to save the one.

And we don't know what to do with that kind of fearless affection; so instead of returning the love, we pull away from Him, preferring to retreat to the familiar territory of guilt trips and self-loathing.

But if we'll allow ourselves the freedom, there's nothing like enjoying the innocent, child-like embrace of Jesus. And there's nothing like the joy of knowing He lives to show grace to losers like you and me. With that in mind, perhaps the next time the Son of God throws His arms around us, we'll listen to His Father saying, "It's okay; I think He likes you," and unconditionally embrace Him in return.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Our Gift from God

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 11:25:00 +0000

Sometimes you run across a story that demonstrates God's love in a way that a theological explanation never could. Today, on Spiritual Klutz, I'm featuring one of those stories from guest writer Evan Bell, author of the blog, Son in the Faith.

If God's been nudging you to take a risk, to give more than you thought you had to give - read this article. You may just walk away with the courage to follow Him down a path that will change your life forever.*

*Please note that, due to DHS regulations, photos of the face of the child featured in this article have been altered.

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My wife, Rachel, and I met Seth in May 2010 through some family friends, who were also his foster parents. At that time, he was four-months old and unavailable for adoption - not that we were we looking to adopt anyway. We babysat him for a few hours that day, took a few photos (see first photo to right), and later on, he went back home to his foster parents.

First meeting with Seth

A few months later, we met again. By chance, we went to the same restaurant where Seth’s foster parents were having dinner with my in-laws. We were happy to see Seth, and we held him while they ate (see second photo to right, below). While talking to his foster parents, we learned that he had suffered a life-threatening injury, and he was lucky to be alive.

After seeing Seth at the restaurant and hearing what he had been through, we began praying for him. We prayed for his health and that God would provide a home for him. But still, he was not available - and besides, adoption wasn't even on the table. At least that’s what we thought.

Over the next few weeks, God began working in Rachel’s heart. He began to stir thoughts in her mind about Seth, and as she says, God began “suggesting that maybe this baby boy was supposed to be our son.” She kept these thoughts to herself, thinking they would go away. I wouldn’t learn of what God had been doing through my wife until weeks later.

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Seth at the restaurant

“What if we adopted Seth?”

It took me a few seconds to process my wife's question. Us? Adopt a little boy? Now? Rachel and I had talked about adoption before, but only in a how many kids do you want to have type of discussion.

“Are you serious?” I asked her, already knowing the answer.

I’m ashamed of my initial response. I had just begun my third year of law school, and the only concerns I had were all related to me. I’m 24 - am I really ready to be a father? How difficult would it be to finish school with a child? Would I have time to study?

But Rachel had different questions - questions she had been struggling with, alone, for weeks. How will my husband react to what I believe is God’s calling for us? Will he agree with me? What do I do with such strong feelings if his reaction is negative?

That afternoon, we skipped our usual Sunday nap, and with tears in her eyes, Rachel told me of her continuous thoughts about Seth. She told me of her sleepless nights and of her prayers, begging God to ease her mind and allow her to think of other things. But the thoughts never stopped. She could not keep her mind off that little boy. So we spent that whole afternoon begging God for clarity.

And clarify, He did.

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That very night, before we had told anyone of our desire for Seth, we went to Rachel’s parents’ house to pick up our dog, Jack. As we were leaving, Rachel’s mom turned to us and said, “Hey, guess what? Seth became available for adoption this week.” Rachel and I looked at each other in quiet shock, quickly finished the conversation with her mother, and slipped out the door, fighting back tears.

In the car we cried, and laughed, and cried some more. It was as if God Himself spoke to us. Our Gideon-like prayers had been answered. And after such a strong confirmation, we decided to pursue what we believed was God’s calling.

Knowing very little about the adoption process, we moved forward. We learned that there would be many hours of training, CPR classes, support group meetings, and mountains of paperwork. And there was one, big problem - one that could postpone the adoption until it was too late.

According to Arkansas law, a couple has to have been married for two years to adopt a child. Rachel and I had only been married a year and four months. We would have to wait until May before DHS would even consider us as an adoptive family. By that time, Seth could be adopted by a different family.

But then.

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One day, while talking with a social worker, we asked about the two-year marriage requirement. She stared back at us with a don’t worry about that look on her face, and then she actually told us not to worry about it. She said the law would be changing soon, and they would waive that requirement for us in the meantime. After that day, there was no doubt in our minds that Seth would be our son.

Bell family Easter

Although we were sure of God’s plan, the months afterward were difficult. We had finished our training and all of the paperwork, but adoptions take time. And our longing for Seth grew stronger each day.

But finally, six long months after that first discussion, we brought home our baby boy - a 14-month-old son who blows kisses and loves the guitar. And through the process, as He likes to do, God taught us more about His grace and love.

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While writing and rewriting this article, I couldn't help but cry as I reflected on God's goodness in all of this - how He gave us our son, whose name we chose because it means “appointed." When we think back on how everything unfolded, we know that, indeed, God appointed Seth to be a part of our family. And I feel so blessed, so overwhelmed that God would choose us to love Seth for the rest of our lives.

When we tell people our story, they often react by showing admiration for our choice to adopt. I understand their intentions, and I appreciate their words, but Rachel and I see it differently. The way we see it, God entrusted us with the care of one of His children, blessing our young family in a way we could never have imagined. And because of that gift, we refuse to take the credit of the Giver and, instead, we simply remain thankful for the son He gave us.

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Sometimes God's plan starts with a "what if" - and it may be a "what if" that could change everything. I'll be forever grateful that my wife had the ears to hear God whisper in her ear, "Rachel, what if . . . I'm ready for you to be a mommy?"

Our blessing

She had the wisdom to take that "what if" back to God again and again in prayer. And those prayers repeatedly moved Seth into our path, moved my heart, and moved any mountains that stood in the way of us adopting him.

Maybe this article has made you stop and consider a "what if" seed that's been lying dormant in the soil of your heart. If so, follow the example of my wife and water it with prayer. You never know - that seed may just grow up to be God's biggest blessing yet.

Make sure and check out Evan's blog, Son in the Faith. And if you want to read his wife's account of the adoption, check it out at her blog, Dinner Bells.

Spiritual Klutz is published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Is Jesus Disappointing?

noreply@blogger.com (Spiritual Klutz) — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 11:32:00 +0000

This is a special, Good Friday edition of Spiritual Klutz. Please offer a warm welcome to guest writer Tim Schultz, a dear friend and the author of the most popular post in Spiritual Klutz history. Thanks, Tim, for taking the time to share these powerful thoughts on the message of Good Friday.

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Tim Schultz

As Jesus rides into Jerusalem on the first Palm Sunday, He’s being praised by the crowds as a conquering king. Within one week, the crowd has transformed into an angry mob calling for Jesus’ execution. What happened?

I’ve always had a hard time connecting with this part of the Easter story. Until recently, I couldn’t think of any modern examples of such mass emotional schizophrenia. Even during Watergate, President Nixon didn’t suffer such a radical collapse in his approval rating. And the people on his enemies list didn’t call for his execution.

Now, it occurs to me that we do have an example of a public figure whose approval rating recently went from 100-to-zero in about 3.2 seconds. This man’s public career has even been branded with the messianic nickname “The Chosen One.” I’m talking about NBA superstar LeBron James, who last year went from being the most popular man in Cleveland, Ohio to having his jersey publicly burned when he announced his decision to play for another team.

Now LeBron of Akron is no Jesus of Nazareth. Still, I think the crowds’ unanimous turning on their would-be Messiahs tells us something terrifying about the human heart - and about my own heart.

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Lebron James

Cleveland is a sports-crazy town whose fans carry more emotional baggage than any other city in America (if you’re not a sports fan, trust me on this). When the Cleveland Cavaliers landed a local kid with perhaps the most amazing skill-set in basketball history, their overstatement in nicknaming him “The Chosen One” and “King James” was understandable. LeBron was a secular messiah, promising to deliver Cleveland from nearly a century of sports misery.

Compared to the people of 21^st Century Cleveland, the psychology on the streets of 1^st Century Jerusalem was even more tortured. Israel had a strong sense of national identity, but they had been governed by foreign occupying powers for over two centuries. If you’re an American, try to imagine our national psychology 200 years from now if, today, we were conquered and colonized. By France.

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Jesus spent more than three years performing miracles and giving speeches like no one had ever seen. His earliest biographers note that huge crowds pressed violently to get near Him. (Luke 5). When Jesus went out in public, the scene was like LeBron James entering a Cleveland sports bar at the height of his popularity.

Every Israelite knew of the ancient prophecies of a coming Messiah, a righteous revolutionary who would evict the Roman blasphemers and lead their nation to its long-awaited comeback. When Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, that's exactly what the crowds were expecting, but like LeBron, Jesus' plans would greatly disappoint them.

So how are these cases similar? Both crowds completely turned when their Messiahs revealed an agenda different from theirs. LeBron James revealed a self-centered agenda to take his talents to another city. Jesus of Nazareth revealed a self-giving agenda to set up a Kingdom utterly unlike what the crowds were expecting - or wanted, for that matter.

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During Easter Week, I join most Christians in giving Jesus a 100% approval rating. But I can promise you that no matter what your opinion of Jesus, He will disappoint you and me at some point in the next year.

If you’re an “I think Jesus is a great teacher and prophet of love” person, you will be disappointed when you encounter His constant claims to be God Himself. If you conclude your prayers “in Jesus’ name,” you will be disappointed when some of those prayers are not answered with your preferred results or timing. If you're a political type, you will be disappointed to find that His way doesn’t perfectly overlap with your political party, and that He definitely calls you to seek the good of your political opponents.

www.cleveland.com

We won’t understand Jesus in these moments, any more than His earliest followers understood what was going on that horrible Friday. None of His followers called it “Good Friday” at the time. I’m sure they thought, “You can raise the dead, Jesus! How can You let these evil Romans do this to You?” - the same way I think “How can You not grant my legitimate prayer request, Jesus?”

And I think Jesus is saying to all of us: “Trust Me. Just trust Me, okay? I may not be what you expected, but I'm not pulling a LeBron James on you.

"If I had a purpose in going to the cross, I have a purpose in doing things the way I’m doing them. And what I did for you on that Friday - the torture, being rejected by those I held dear, including Father God Himself - that proves you can trust Me. I turned crucifixion into resurrection, and I will turn your disappointment into resurrection as well.”

Though He may have dashed Israel's expectations that Friday two thousand years ago, we still call that Friday "good," because He is good - even when He dashes our expectations today.

This is a special, Good Friday edition of Spiritual Klutz, which is normally published every other Tuesday. If you would like to receive an email when there's a new article, click here.

Spiritual Klutz

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Top Ten Posts of 2011

The White House Recognizes the Klutz

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The Childhood of My Marriage

Jesus Writes An Advice Column 2

How to Forget Your Spouse is Wonderful

How to Hear God Speak Audibly

After Death, New Life

Trusting God in the Face of Cancer

God, Why Did You Freak Me Out?

Whose Applause Do You Need?

Spiritual Klutz Gets Published in Boundless

A New Father, A Better Husband

Why Hasn't God Healed Me?

Jesus Writes an Advice Column 1

Walking My Daughter Down the Aisle

Does God Care Whether You Have a Headache?

Unfortunate Miracle on the Highway

Let Go of Me, Jesus - this is Awkward

Our Gift from God

Is Jesus Disappointing?