Day One

There are a lot of reasons why I blog so much less frequently these days.  I'm busy, I wonder what anyone would want to read about, Facebook, I can't get motivated, etc.  Whether it's a term paper or a book chapter or a letter or a blog post, the empty page is daunting.

Here's what occurred to me recently, though:  Although I'm an author, I'm not really a writer.  Know why?  Because writers write.

So I've taken a challenge from my friend at www.lisaspence.com to blog for 21 days straight no matter what, to put words to paper every day for 21 days, to write something--anything--long enough to push through the resistance.  If she can do it, I can do it, right?

It's actually very consistent with a tool that I've used many times in my life.  The idea is that if you have a dream and you do something every day toward your dream, you really might see your dream come true.  I can't even tell you how many times I've taken that on and how many times it has made the difference between good intentions and real results.

So . . . the next 21 days on wonderfullyflawed might be really inane.  Who knows?  That's not the point.  I still ask myself a lot, though, "What would someone who shows up on this site want to read about?"  So if you want to suggest a topic, I promise I'll take it on, one way or another.  Otherwise, you'll probably be at the mercy of whatever I'm thinking about on any given day.  Let's see what happens . . .

If you're an evangelical and you don't sometimes feel a little conflicted about that label, you may not be paying attention.   In this article by Lynne Hybels, I found both my ambivalence about evangelical life and my commitment to it beautifully expressed.  Of course, what she describes isn't unique to evangelicals but I wish these ideals were more closely associated with them . . . us . . . me.

Speaking up about speaking up

My heart is beating fast and I can feel the heat in my face.  My hands feel a little shaky, although I don't think you would notice if you saw me.  My internal conversation is going back and forth between self-righteousness and self-doubt.  Here's what just happened:  I was on Facebook and saw that a friend of mine--someone I used to know and like but rarely see anymore (although I did see him recently)--posted a comment that I found deeply offensive.  Deeply.  And personal.  So I commented.  I didn't want to--I hate conflict and I hate exposing myself like that--but I felt compelled to.  I couched my comment in tongue-in-cheek teasing (at least I hope that's how it came across) but I know that what I said was also provocative.

I'm practicing having the courage act authentically even when it means letting go of my habitual need to please.  It's a commitment I've taken on but don't always know how to pursue.  Obviously, I can't comment on every stupid comment on Facebook.  I almost never comment on the political posts that I disagree with, no matter how strongly I disagree.  But about a year ago, a political joke was circulating that I thought was so incredibly offensive that I couldn't believe that my friends--people I loved and admired--were perpetuating it.  I never said anything and ever since, I've wished I had.  I know that I wimped out.  I  didn't speak up because I knew people were "just kidding" and because I didn't want my own views to be exposed and because I didn't want to be perceived as self-righteous.  I was wrong.

Still, I'm not sure what is the right thing to do.  It's gotten to a point that, except for a public forum like Facebook, almost no one says really offensive things in front of me--whether it's my gender or my age or the role I play or some kind of personal authority or all of the above, I don't know.  But I can remember more occasions than I can count when I didn't say anything or said something weak and ineffective or talked to the person privately later, after I had a chance to collect my thoughts, leaving the public impression that I agreed with what was said.  I've learned now that if I can't think of what to say, I can say "I see that differently."  No one ever asks me how I see it differently so I'm off the hook, although sometimes I would welcome the conversation.  And obviously, just because I think something is inherently offensive doesn't mean that it is.

So what do you do?  Do you speak up and say what you think, even when you know it would inject controversy?  Do you see that as a good thing--"the marketplace of ideas"--or do you see yourself as an "enlightener of others?"  Do you wimp out and wish you hadn't?  Do you consider that your own views are just that--your own views--and keep them to yourself?  Come on, hit the comment button and speak up about speaking up!

I spent the weekend at Friends University in Wichita, Kansas for the Aprentis/Renovare conference.  Isn't this an amazing building?  Highlights include beginning the conference singing "Immortal Invisible" with 800 other people in a gorgeous chapel and ending with singing The Apostle's Creed.  In between, some great presentations.  Here are a few excerpts:

"Being holy means living from the world of God."  ~ Dallas Willard

"We are able to determine the kind of person we turn out to be."  ~Dallas Willard

"Repentance is thinking about your thinking."  ~Dallas Willard

"Moments in life become catalysts of change when they precipitate a crisis that demands a response."  ~Scot McKnight

"Walking away from God is like walking on a treadmill."  ~Mindy Caliguire

"An unhappy preacher is one of the most dangerous people on the face of the earth."  ~Dallas Willard

"The church is better equipped to speak truth to power than to have power itself."  ~James Catford

"The cross is not the best symbol of the Christian life.  It is the Table." ~Eduardo Pedreira

"Knowing the transformational promise of the gospel, it is fair to ask whether a person who claims to have a relationship with Jesus exhibits more peace and less stress, handles crisis with more grace, experiences less fear and anxiety, manifests more joy, is overcoming anger and their addictions or compulsions, enjoys more fulfilling relationships, exercises more compassion, lives more consciously or loves more boldly."  ~Mark Scandrette

"A church is a place to love and be loved."  ~Dallas Willard

"Don't ask, 'What would happen if you died tonight?'  Ask, 'If you don't die tonight, what happens tomorrow?'"  ~Dallas Willard

"Discipleship is for the world.  The church is for discipleship . . . There's not a thing wrong with the church that a little discipleship wouldn't cure."  ~Dallas Willard

"How did we get to the point that a minister's job is to get people to do things they don't want to do?"  ~James Bryan Smith

"Don't announce the revolution."  ~Dallas Willard

Hopeless and disillusioned . . . for now

I drove home today pretty sure that people just don't change. Maybe they can't, maybe they just don't, whatever, but somewhere between my office and home, I wondered if transformation . . . or heck, even change . . . is even possible. You understand that this is like the pope deciding he doesn't believe in God or like a senator deciding she doesn't believe in government, right? I am in a serious funk.

Fortunately, tomorrow I'm going on a road trip with my super-friend drkatg. We're going to a Renovare conference entitled . . . wait for it . . . The Process of Change. So I guess that by Sunday, I'll know whether my life's work is an exercise in futility or not.

Seriously, we're driving to Wichita, KS tomorrow, attending the two-day conference and then driving home from Wichita on Sunday and then going to work Monday morning. I'm really not sure what we were thinking. At one time, this seemed like a really good idea. Right now, it sounds like a lifesaver . . . except for the driving to Wichita part. Seriously, what were we thinking?

Boo at UMHB

She's doing great and so are we!

Tell me a story

I've been thinking all summer about the power of story. I think it started when we went to the FBC Woodway College Ministry reunion in June. You have to remember that the years we were uniting around were a powerful, formative time for everyone in the room. So how to capture that? Well, we spent the evening telling stories. We told stories around tables and one-on-one and in small clusters and as a large group. We told stories that made us laugh and stories that made us cry but the important thing was that we never had to explain it--the story said everything there was to say.

i was reminded of the power of story again when C and Boo and I went to the first midnight showing of the last installment of the Harry Potter series. We stood in an insanely long line with hundreds of kids who had been waiting for this moment for a decade. They ranged from about 16 to 22, so I guess they were technically young adults but trust me, this night they were kids. They ranged from hipster to socially awkward, costumed simply or elaborately, but they had come together for one reason: to share the end of the story together.

The Harry Potter is THE story of my kids' generation. When the first book came out, conservative Christians predictably saw a story about witchcraft and pointed a finger of condemnation. It's sad, I think, because the saga never was about witchcraft. It was about sacrificial love and about the terrible triumph of good over evil and about the kind of friendship that can change the world. Every single one of the kids who filled the theater that night were there because the story of Harry Potter had touched something deeply in them since they were children, had made them think about things as they grew up with Harry, and had changed something about how they saw the world.

All of us who were there--even the middle-aged tagalongs--knew how things were going to end. There was no longer any suspense. And yet, throughout the movie, we were surrounded by heartfelt sobbing and spontaneous cheering as these kids lived the story with the actors on the screen and with each other. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I had a thought: we failed this generation by not giving them a good enough story. There is no better story than the epic story of the gospel. In our commitment to modernity, though, we turned the gospel story into a systematic theology, better shared in outline form than in narrative. In all the world, is there a better story than the American story? And yet, how many of us had history classes that really conveyed the story of liberty in a way that made anyone want to listen?

I was reminded about the power of story again when we went to see Garrison Keillor the other night. I remember more of his Lake Wobegon stories than I do individual sermons, even though I've gone to church all my life. We started talking about Bill Cosby--we know some of his stories by heart--and about Tony Campolo. I said once that I wanted to have stories to tell like Campolo does and someone reminded me that in order to have stories like he has, I would have to live like he lives. That was a good point.

And then, sadly, I thought about the power of story again as I was glued to the TV for the last two or three days watching the remembrances of the events of 9/11. There are few things as powerful as those stories of people facing the unimaginable and responding with love and courage and faithfulness. As all good stories do, they make us think deeply about our own lives and what we value and why we're here.

And then, just this weekend, C and I were talking with a friend about the weekend's football games and she said, "I''m not really a fan of any one team. I root for the story." Don't we all?

If we want a better world, we have to tell a better story. We can start by telling our own stories with all the courage that it takes to tell a true story about ourselves. We can go back to the stories of the gospel and stop worrying so much if we and others have the theology right. We can tell the stories about our country--the good ones and the bad ones--without defensiveness or rancor. We can listen to the stories of others, even those with whom we passionately disagree or with whom we think we have nothing in common. I think it's the only hope we have.