Worship Pastor Theology

Don't get me wrong. I love Worship Pastors. I think they are integral to the life of the church. They play such an important role, and in many ways have one of the most difficult jobs in the church, because there are few things people criticize as much as the worship music in a service.

That being said, I do have a pet-peeve about Worship Pastors. And my pet-peeve is with what I call "Worship Pastor Theology."

When a church hires a Senior Pastor, they often take that Pastor through the ringer when it comes to his theology, academic credentials, theological training etc. Not so much, however, with the Worship Pastor. The Worship Pastor's primary credentials often seem to be (1) is he talented and (2) is he likeable? If these two qualities are present, then the person is hired.

And then that Pastor is thrust on the stage of the church on a weekly basis. And in doing so, he is given an ENORMOUS platform as one of the two main spiritual leaders of the church. And yet, often Worship Pastors have had little to no theological training. And yet here they are, week after week, leading people in one of the most important parts of a typical church service.

Now, I would be OK if all the Worship Pastor did was lead songs. But very few Worship Pastors are content to ever just lead songs. They also feel the need to speak a lot, and introduce those songs with their own thoughts. And this is where things go wrong.

Because when they speak, many--and this especially happens with younger Worship Pastors, say those who lead a college or Young Adult ministry--say some things that are lacking any sort of deepness. Their thoughts are often surface-level devotion-ally things, usually containing phrases like "I just don't think that God cares if..." or "I think God is less concerned with..." or "What I think God really wants from us is..." And they almost invariably end with something like, "and so I challenge you, as you sing this next song..."

None of these things carry with it the force of "Thus saith the Lord." Rather, they are nebulous feel-good statements with little to no Scriptural support. Often they present an image of a God that isn't really the God of the Bible, but some sort of amalgamation of the characteristics of a former teacher, a kind grandfather, a motivational speaker, and a stern football coach. And while a Pastor spends HOURS preparing a sermon to make sure he speaks with the force of God, I usually find that a Worship Pastor thinks of what he says on the spot. There's something wrong here.

I've often wondered why this is the case, and just the other day I realized at least part of it. And when I did, I realized that the blame can't be put as much on the Worship Pastor as it can on the songs that he/the congregation sings. The truth is, many of our "worship" songs lack any sort of theology these days; our songs are as devotional as the comments from the Worship Pastor that precede them. Rather than the hymns of old which conveyed great theological truths in subtle lyrics ("Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; hail the incarnate deity"), we now get feel-good nonsense phrases which are repeated over and over and over again ("Every move I make in you, you make me move Jesus").

And the problem (and honest truth) is that Worship Pastors often do not spend as much time in the Word as they do listening to these horrible songs. And so their theology is based on songs that are based on nothing. And this is what is represented in their devotional comments which often feel as good to the masses as the songs that they are singing, but in the end are lacking any substance.

Now, of course, I'm generalizing here. There are some WONDERFUL Worship Pastors out there who know their theology well and express that both in the the things they say before a song AND in the songs that are chosen in the first place. But for every amazingly good, theologically astute Worship Pastor there is at least one bad one, who is given, week after week, an astounding platform from which to express themselves and lead the masses. And I find that troubling.

I want to make it clear, also, that I am not saying anything about the character of these men--many, if not all, are well-meaning people who love the Lord deeply. What I am saying, however, is that churches need to take their worship seriously, and in turn need to take who they choose as their Worship Pastor seriously. Ongoing theological training for someone in that role is a must. Challenging the Worship Pastor to spend as much time in the Word as he does listening to Worship songs is important. People look up to and trust the Worship Pastor; he is given just as prominent as a role as the Senior Pastor. Likeability and talent should not be the only qualities in determining who is fit to be in that position. A deep and fully informed faith is a must, as well.

This is the only way that theologically solid, deep Worship can happen in a church, ensuring that what we say and do will be pleasing and acceptable to God--and ultimately profitable to us.

"Fresh Ways"

Before people look to engage the Bible in "fresh ways," I think people should just engage the Bible. The Bible is exciting enough on its own by reading it--we don't need "fresh ways" to dress it up.

(I would argue that those looking to engage the Bible in "fresh ways" probably aren't engaging it at all and really never have been.)

2006

I opened my drawer recently to look for something, and came across some pictures I had in there from college. They were mostly from my Senior year, with some Junior year ones thrown in there. As I flipped through them, I began to remember (and, in some cases, not remember) all of the wonderful events and stories behind those pictures. Such amazingly good times.

As I poured through those pictures, something caught my eye--my eyes. Literally, my eyes in those pictures caught my eye. There was a, for lack of a better word, "shine" in them. I looked genuinely happy, excited even. I have a picture from high school on my desk, and that picture doesn't have that same "shine." There was something about those two years in my life that excited me. I was really happy to be there, immersed in that whole environment. And, magically, I was for a brief few moments transported back to that time, reliving all of the fun that went with those couple of years.

As I left that time and came back to (the present) reality, there existed an acute sense of sadness, as I was reminded that those times are over, and that I would never quite have those experiences again. I wondered if my eyes would ever shine like that again.

---

2006 was a year of transition for me. I left one major "way of life" and began to adopt a new one. Like 2000, when I moved from high school to college, and 2004, when I moved from college to Goldman, 2006 will probably stand out in my life as one of those great "in between years," where the old gives way to the new, and the new presents itself with challenges I had never faced before, and I struggle to react.

In my last week at Goldman, I distinctly remember walking to work and having this feeling come over me like, "Chris, what in the world are you doing?" Even though I frankly hated almost every second of that job, there was familiarity and, even amongst the unpredictability that so defined that place, a degree of predictability. There were no surprises in the work itself, even if you could never get a grasp on the amount and timing of the work. And, perhaps most importantly, every two weeks a nice chunk of change got deposited in your account.

I guess what I'm saying is that Goldman was secure. I knew the ropes. I had paid my dues, and I was beginning to reap some rewards from those dues; I was more confident, more self-assured in what I was doing; I was secure in it all.

Granted that feeling of doubt I had that last week lasted only for a few seconds, but it characterized something about me: that I am a creature of comfort. New experiences scare me. And no matter how much I might dislike a certain pattern in my life, I like the fact that there is a pattern in the first place. Leaving Goldman was going to disrupt all of that.

As I "transitioned" from Goldman to Talbot, I was faced with something that I had never seen before. This was (and still is) hard. I take a while to adjust to new experiences. I can't hit the ground running. I take a while to hit my stride.

This is what has characterized my L.A.G. ("Life After Goldman"). I feel like I'm asked to compete in a race having just received a new pair of legs. Before I know it, I'm at the starting blocks. The announcer says "Get ready, get set," and the gun goes off, and I'm trying to get everything together, but these new legs don't work like my last ones, and I'm moving in fits and starts. Every once in a while, it looks like I might actually know what I'm doing, but before too long, I stumble again, fall down, scrape my knees, and have to get back up and try it again. Meanwhile, the other runners--the ones who have had their legs longer than I mine--are rapidly moving out of sight.

As I reflect upon where I ended 2006, I'm standing on that path, legs a bit cut up, palms red and a bit raw. I'm bent over with my hands on my unfamiliar knees, breathing deeply. I rub the right side of my face on my shoulder to get the sweat out of my eyes. I'm tired. I'm beat. I'm still unsure, and even as I stand there, my legs wobble.

But I take a deep breath, and, with a burst of determination, I stand erect, bend my elbows, and with my still untested left foot, push off...

---

I began 2007 with a very "collegy" experience. I went to the Rose Bowl to see USC "rout" (I think that is the choice word of the various sports news columns I read after the game) Michigan. I was surrounded once again by all of my best college friends. By all appearances it was just like old times--the times reflected in those pictures I recently came across.

There were pictures taken this day, as well. With my newly acquired camera (thanks, Mom!), I wanted to make sure to get as many shots of this day as I could. So every time there was a "group" picture, or a chance to take a picture with a good friend, I did. As I got home and looked through the photos, I paid special attention to my eyes.

My eyes weren't shining in the pictures I took on New Years Day 2007.

---

I enter 2007 ready to race. I'm going to fall down again, I know it. I'm going to get some more scrapes and bruises. And I'm going to get tired. After one of my falls, I'm sure that I'm going to look back at the start of the race and see my old legs. I'm going to remember how comfortable they were. I'm going to envy how easy they were. And I'm not going to remember how painful they, too, were when I first tried to use them, how hard it was to hit my stride going with them, and, even when I did hit my stride, how they still ached, and how longingly in those moments I looked back at my pair of legs before those (the college legs--now those were some good legs).

But I'm going to keep on running. And I'm going to keep on racing. Why? Because I know that in 2007 I'm going to hit my stride.

---

There's no reason why my eyes shouldn't have shone brightly in those pictures. I was, once again, surrounded by all of my best friends. I was at a great event that was reminiscent of my college days. And I got to see USC rout (Did I use that word before? Because that's what they did) Michigan.

After some reflection, the reason why my eyes didn't shine in that picture is because I didn't let them shine.

---

It doesn't matter how long we may have been stuck in a sense of our limitations. If we go into a darkened room and turn on the light, it doesn't matter if the room has been dark for a day, a week, or ten thousand years - we turn on the light and it is illuminated. Once we control our capacity for love and happiness, the light has been turned on. -- Sharon Salzburg

---

"Shining," true happiness, is a choice. It is not caused by your external circumstances. You can be truly happy in the midst of painful experiences. And you can be miserable surrounded by love. It's all up to you.

I have been focused for too long on my circumstances. At Goldman, I looked at my hours, and my work and decided not to be happy about it. At Talbot, I have focused on how awkward my new legs are, and have chosen not to rejoice because of them. And on New Year's Day 2007, I focused on the fact that our gathering seemed to be merely a shadow of the past, and chose not to shine because of it.

I have missed two and a half years of opportunities to truly shine because I have been so focused on past experiences, past happiness, past moments that I can never regain, that I have forgotten about the present reality.

And every day in the present reality is a time for me to be thankful for what I have, for the light that has been turned on, and for the fact that I have been given an opportunity to even race in the first place.

You see, I finally realized today that whenever I have hit my stride in my life, it is not because I finally became familiar with my legs. Rather, it is because I stopped focusing on my legs entirely.

Whenever I have hit my stride in life, it is because I have focused on the race.

In 2007, I will focus on the race.

In 2007, I will shine.

Hello, 2007.

On the Preaching the Word

Right now I'm at this interesting place with regards to my faith. For the past two and a half months, I've had more thrown at me in such a short amount of time than ever before, and they have raised in my head numerous issues that I had never considered before.

To be clear to anyone reading before I continue, this is by no means a crisis of faith. Quite to the contrary, this is the most exciting part of my Christian walk that I've ever experienced before.

You see, with regards to the fundamentals of the faith, I have never been more secure. You can't go to a place like where I'm going, and be surrounded by the type of people that I'm surrounded by, and not come away with a stronger faith (well, I guess you conceivably could, but it seems highly unlikely).

What I've been trying to digest and process, rather, are some of the other issues of Christianity. For example, the Trinity. I had never really thought about the Trinity before; I had just accepted it and moved on. But the concept of the Trinity is exceedingly complex. I find my mind rolling around these types of issues to see if I can even get a grasp on it, and what it means to my faith.

In addition to the big theological things that I have been contemplating, I have also spent a considerable amount of time--especially in recent weeks--thinking about my future career, and in light of what I'm learning, what type of Pastor I'm going to be.

A big part of this relates directly to the Word, to the Bible. I have always felt called to preaching, but to tell you the truth, I haven't given much thought to what type of preacher I was going to be, and the implications of preaching the Word of God. Having had the oppotunity to attend a vast number of churches over the years, I have seen all different styles of preaching. And from all of those experiences, I have kind of come away with the impression that preaching isn't that big of a deal. All it takes is a good idea, a couple of easy to understand principles you can teach on a particular subject ("5 Tips to Battling Boredom," with extra points given if each principle starts with the same letter, in this case preferably "B"), and then pulling out a couple of verses that seem to fit what you want to say and to give it that Biblical flavor. And voila, you're done.

Now, of course, that is just one style; you can also choose to go through a book at a time, but even then, from what I've witnessed in churches, that isn't that big of a deal. Just pull out a few verses at a time, stand up there and say what it means to you and give some general "Life Applications" (usually tacked on at the end of the message, in your notes handout taking the form of sentences with a word missing, so that you can fill in the blank, and taking the form of such universal principles that you could probably get them out of any text of scripture: "Life Application 1: Remember that God is God and _____ are not!") and there you have another sermon.

It seems like you could bang out writing a fairly decent sermon following one of the the above two models in 2 hours, 3 hours tops (if you want to make it really good).

But after thinking about this concept of preaching God's Word more, and reading some books and hearing what other people have to say about it, as I define what type preacher I'm going to be, I have come to the conclusion that there are serious problems with how preaching is often treated in modern-day churches.

You see, I have been taught to believe that the Bible is the inspired and inerrant word of God. And the more I read and learn about the Bible, the more convicted I am in that truth: that the Bible is God's word and His revelation to us humans. And, I believe, it is His only revelation to us, and will be so until He returns. The Bible is the tool by which God has revealed Himself to us on earth.

If I truly believe that, then, that inevitably has profound implications on whatever teaching ministry God might bless me with. Viewed from the perspective that the Scriptures is God's revelation to us, then the Bible ceases to become the catch-all self-help book that many churches today like to treat it as. Rather, it is a holy and sacred text that contains the truth of the almighty God.

Therefore, anytime that I stand behind a pulpit, and preach from the Bible, it is my responsibility to present the Word of God accurately and precisely. Gone is the image of the preacher as motivational speaker, or psychologist, as has become so popular today. Instead, the preacher serves as the spokesperson for God. What an awesome responsibility.

And therefore, if my logic and reasoning is correct, preaching from scripture then requires that I give the particular text that I am studying my complete devotion. It means that I spend countless hours studying the scriputres, to discover, with the Spirit's help, the original meaning the author intended, and therefore the truth that God is conveying in each passage. It does not mean that I stand up in the pulpit and give the message that I want to give, pulling random scripture from all over the place, completely out of context, to support my views and to sound more "Biblical." Now, it would seem to me OK to do to give, perhaps, only a single verse as support of something if the particular scripture I am referring to actually means what I say it means. But if I'm just pulling a verse out because it happens to have the word "boredom" in it in one of the 50 different translations of that verse, then it seems it would mean that I am perverting the Word of God. And it is my gut reaction that doing something like that would carry with it pretty grave consequences. Maybe that is what James means when he says, "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness" (James 3:1). But to be honest with you, I don't know. I haven't studied it enough to accurately say that.

Preaching would seem to be, then, no light affair. But instead, it appears to be a task that carries with it a supreme sense of obligation and duty. So much so, that it would almost seem easier to forget the whole thing altogether and just hold a "self-help" seminar every Sunday morning, void of Bible references.

But there is something amazing that happens when the Word of God is taught accurately and precisely: it cuts to the heart of a person unlike anything else. I know that in the few sermons I have prepared, when the Spirit begins to clearly illuminate a passage of scripture for me, through my studying, my heart is opened up, and it speaks to my soul, to the core of my being--so much so that I let out a soft groan as the truth speaks resonates within me("mmph"). The writer of Hebrews observed that same thing. "For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart" (Hebrews 4:12).

Of course, that type of preaching is not always popular. People want sermons that are immediately relevant--sermons that they can hear on Sunday and use on Monday. And teaching from the pulpit about the headship of Christ in the church on Sunday morning isn't something they can exactly use at the office come Monday. But as preachers, the Bible clearly says that we are not called to please men, but God (see Galatians 1:10). And God has called preachers not to preach what is necessarily popular, but to preach the Word. People might want something else, but it is not a preacher's responsibility to give them what they want. It is a preacher's responsibility to preach the truth.

Again, I'm still sorting all of this out. And I haven't reached a conclusion. But unless someone comes up with a convincing argument for how anything but this could be the case, then this might very well be an issue that, for me, is decided. If that is the case, then I need to stop writing and get back to studying the Word of God. I think this might be a good passage with which to start:

I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingdom: preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accmulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths. As for you, always be sober-minded, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry. ~ 2 Timothy 4:1-5

Standing Up for the Truth

Refreshing to see someone stand up for the truth and say what many are afraid to:

The Incarnation

Word of the Father
Now in flesh appearing
O come let us adore Him
Christ the Lord

So I'm pretty excited about this Christmas season. In fact, today I put on a Christmas CD in my car on my way to school, and as I listened to it, a huge silly grin came across my face.

Part of the reason I'm so excited about Christmas this year is because I largely missed it last year. I was working pretty hard, right up until December 23rd. I didn't listen to much Christmas music, didn't get any decorations out, didn't do much of any "getting in the spirit." I distinctly remember promising myself last year that it would be the last Christmas season I ever spent like that. I would not allow myself to have another Christmas like that.

So as this season begins, I am trying to really relish all of it. It represents a new significant time in my life, and I'm excited about actually being able to joined.

That is heightened by the other reason I am excited about Christmas this year. For the past few weeks, my main focus has been on God. Three days a week, I drive to attend classes that are focused around Him, and therefore putting my focus on Him. And in the days I haven't been driving to attend these classes, the majority of my homework (and, indeed, my extracurricular activities) have bene focused on the nature of our Heavenly Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ.

Now I will freely admit that I have not even scratched the surface of who God is. And no matter how much education I get, that will always be the case. My knowledge of God, although certain to grow in my three years in seminary and beyond, will only be at the most superficial level. There is so much to God that it is sometimes incomprehensible to think just about how much there is to learn about God.

And that is precisely where my excitement about Christmas comes from. I have been spending a lot of time recently thinking about the Incarnation--a seminarian's fancy word for God taking on bodily form through His Son Jesus Christ--which we spend time celebrating during the Christmas season--the birth of the savior.

And as I start to scratch the surface of the reason behind December the 25th, I am sometimes overwhelmed at the thought of it all--so much so, that if I ponder it too long, my eyes start to well up, and I almost cry at the thought.

The God of the Universe--the Creator of Heaven and Earth--becoming a mere mortal. Giving up some of His glorious attributes so that he could become flesh. And why? So that he can offer Himself on the cross, and save my wretched self.

It doesn't make any sense. It just doesn't. But He still did it. He did it because He loves me, and wants to spend an eternity with me. And the only way that could happen is if He took the punishment for my sins.

Absolutely incomprehensible.

As I thought about that again this morning, my mind wandered to some of the other faiths of the world, and some of the gods that these faiths worship. I wondered to myself--would the gods of other religions, would they be willing to give their lives for poor, pathetic humans? Would they be willing to lay aside their power and authority just to save a bunch of people who aren't worth saving?

I don't know all of the world religions, but I would guess that none of their gods would become man, only to die a criminal's death. And if I even raised that prospect to the followers of these religions, I bet they would say that the very thought was an insult to their god.

Yet that's what my God did. He didn't have to--grace is a gift of God, it is not a requirement of Him--but He did it because He is love, and He knew that the only way my sins could be appeased was if someone else took the punishment for them.

So I am excited about this Christmas season. I am excited because it puts into focus once again the glorious miracle that happened 2,000 years ago, and for the first time, I think, I will be able to see beyond the tree and the gifts to the true present Christmas brings. And as I sing those time-honored and treasured hymns, each one of them will take on a new and more significant meaning.

Christ by highest heav'n adored
Christ the everlasting Lord!
Late in time behold Him come
Offspring of a Virgin's womb
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
Hail the incarnate Deity
Pleased as man with man to dwell
Jesus, our Emmanuel
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"

Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"

Ruminations

My roommate and I were talking the other day about how what seems like a simple decision can influence the entire direction of your life for years to come. Here two years ago I decided, without too much thought, “I think I’ll work for Goldman.” Little did I know that it would take me to San Francisco for two years and end up being the most significant, character-shaping, life-changing experience of my life.

I definitely believe in free will. I believe that I decided—I, and not God—to take this job. But I believe that once I did, God’s amazing will went to work. I made a simple decision, and God set up everything else. From where I would end up living to where my cube was placed at work to what teams I got staffed on, God set it all in motion. All of it was planned the way it was to teach me lessons, to grow me as a person. I probably picked up 15% of what God wanted to teach me here. But never mind that, He will continue to try to teach me the lessons that I haven’t learned yet. That’s the result of having a God who is intimately concerned with His children’s development. “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:6).

I found myself last night praising God for this job. No, that’s not a typo; I didn’t mean to write, “cursing.” I actually praised and thanked God for these past two years. These have been two phenomenal, significant, years. None have grown me as a person like these two. I will be forever grateful for this experience. It was hard, it was difficult, and I complained—a lot, and in fact will probably complain a few more times before it is officially over—but as I get prepared to leave, I realize just how good it was for me. As I’ve said before, I take away from this only the good, none of the bad. The bad is gone—or has turned into good. I am better for this experience. There, I said it. Scary, huh?

And now I’m onto better things. Exciting things. There was a point a while back when I doubted my whole decision. After all, if I have learned this much after two years, wouldn’t another year be even more significant? It was after thinking this that another thought popped into my head—I’d like to think it was “Divine Intervention”—that asked “do you really want to just exist for another year?” And that’s what I’d be doing in this job—existing. Not living. Just existing.

There’s a profound difference in the two. I would argue that a lot of people out there, not just in my company, but all over, that are merely existing through life. I like Thoreau’s quote, “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” If that isn’t a description of corporate America, I don’t know what is.

I have come to believe—perhaps errantly, in which case I’m sure God will teach me otherwise at some point over the next three years—that God wants all of us to live, to thrive. I cling to Psalm 37:4, “delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” That verse, coupled with Proverbs 3:5, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” paints a revolutionary outlook on life. I take it to mean that God has given us desires—passions—that He wants us to fulfill. We find out those passions by growing closer to Him. And if God puts something on our heart, even if it doesn’t make sense, He wants us to fulfill it. If we then trust in God to provide—leaning not on our understanding—He will provide.

So many of us have desires and passions in life. And yet we take them to be nothing more than pipe dreams; logically, we can’t figure out how we can support ourselves (or a family) by fulfilling them. So we give up on them. But I believe that the Christian whose will is aligned with God’s can and should fulfill these passions, confident that the God who will never leave us or forsake us will provide. He may do it in one of His characteristic “mysterious ways” perhaps asking us to sacrifice our dream (think Abraham and Isaac) before we can fully realize it. And like Abraham, we must be willing to sacrifice it all, without any thought of a “Plan B” (Abraham brought no lamb to the altar, only his son) trusting in the Lord who Provides.

Like I said, do not quote me on this—yet. These are ruminations, scattered thoughts now. I need more study and more devotion to find out if they are of God or simply the ramblings of a 24 year old who has had a lot of time by himself the past two years to think. And I want to emphasize that I am not preaching the prosperity Gospel here. I am preaching the Gospel of a God who tells us not to worry about what we shall eat or the clothes that we wear. And I’m not talking about Morton’s steak house and Burberry scarves. I’m talking about the necessities of life, the basics.

I would have never thought two years ago I would have ended up where I am. Strangely, that gives me comfort in my next three (or four, or five). Look how much God was able to do with my simple decision made rather hastily. “I think I’ll work for Goldman.” I’m beginning to wonder if it really matters to God what we choose to do. If maybe He’s waiting up there in Heaven saying, “OK, Chris, decide whatever you’re going to do, but for My sake, hurry up already. I got a lot to teach you and a lot to throw your way, and I need to know whether I should send my angels to La Mirada or if they should hop the 57 to Azusa.”

Maybe (just maybe) I’m onto something.

Or maybe I simply have too much time on my hands these days.

Complete

He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. ~ Phil 1:6

I have recently become thoroughly convinced of two things:

1. God loves me just the way I am
2. He does not want me to stay that way

I was reminded of it again last night. At a time when I'm feeling good about myself, and how far I've come in my faith, and how much I've grown, I felt convicted again of all my shortcomings and realized how far I have to go. As I've said before, the closer I get to God, the more I realize how far away from Him I've been.

But there's something unique about the conviction of the Holy Spirit. I have noticed that it is never condemning. The only condemnation I feel is that which I put on myself. Instead, it is a feeling as though "this is a problem area in your life. Going forward, let's make sure to work on it." It's kind of the feeling that I think the adulterous woman felt--where Jesus did not judge her or condemn her, but rather said, "Now go and sin no more" (John 8:11).

I find that when a family member or a friend criticizes me, I tend to get defensive. But when Christ does, I am far from that. That is because the conviction of the Holy Spirit is one that is so personal, so to the point, that there is no arguing about it. Further, it is one thing to be criticized by a imperfect relative. It is another thing to be convicted by a perfect God.

And that's the other thing I've found about God's continual process to transform me: it draws me closer to Him. There is something attractive about being drawn to the utter completeness of Christ. In my incomplete moments, I find myself wanting to draw nearer to Him who is lacking in nothing. He fills me. He completes me.

God does not love me any more now than he did two years ago. But the same cannot be said for me: I love God more today than I ever have. And that is why He continues to work on all of us. It is not that He needs our love; rather, it is because He knows that we need Him, and our lives will never be whole without Him. And by transforming us to become more like His Son, we become closer to the Father--thereby becoming complete.

Freedom

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. ~ Matthew 11:28-30

From the late nineteenth century until the early twentieth century, New York served as the immigration capital of the United States. Almost daily, hundreds, if not thousands, of immigrants from across the Atlantic Ocean would pour into the United Sates via massive cargo ships. The people on these vessels were leaving behind everything they knew--everything that was familiar to them--for a chance at something they had never experienced before. The lands they grew up in and came from were oppressive and stifling, and America provided promised something much better.

As they approached the New York harbor, they were greeted by a symbol of everything they were looking for: The Statue of Liberty. Standing 305 feet tall, this statue embodied all of the hope and promise of America--the hope of a better life, the promise of a new beginning. The Statue of Liberty signified for these new Americans everything that they had yearned for in their old country but had never received.

At the base of this statue stood an inscription that summed up the hope they were putting in America.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

"Yearning to breathe free." This is why the immigrants came, and this is what they hoped to receive in America. Freedom.

But freedom from what? An oppressive government, yes, but I would argue they were also looking for freedom from so much more. As they came to America, I think they were looking for freedom from all of the problems that plagued them in their homeland. They wanted freedom from their financial burdens…from martial problems…from sickness…from arguments…from you-name-it…

Lady Liberty, for them, signified this newfound freedom. They were leaving everything behind, and here, in America, everything would be better.

Not much has changed in the past 100 years. Although our destinations have changed, we Americans are also on a seemingly never ending quest for freedom from our troubles. Although we no longer (normally) change our addresses quite as drastically, we are constantly changing our circumstances to escape them.

Like the immigrants, we play the game of “if only.” “If only” this were to happen, that would be much better. “If only I were to get a new job,” “If only I were to get a promotion,” “If only I were to find the right girl,” “If only I were to get a divorce,” “If only I could move to this place,” THEN it would all be solved.

The Statue of Liberty provided a false promise to those immigrants. When they arrived in America, I’m sure they were disappointed that many of the same problems that faced them in their homeland followed them here—and that new ones continued to surface. While they might have, indeed, been more “free,” they were still burdened.

And no matter how much we believe the false promises that “if only” this were to happen, we, too, are faced with the same realization: wherever we go, whatever we do, we are never truly free of our problems.

So is that what life is, then? A series of burdens? A series obstacles that follow you around wherever you go and never get better? And eventually after battling these for 80, 90, 100 years, you just give up and die? Is that all there is?

When I read the Bible, and specifically the words of Jesus, I find a life that is being preached there that is in stark contrast to the lives I think that most of us people lead. While most of us humans are consumed by worry--worry about how we're going to support ourselves, our family, and "keep up with the Jones,'" Jesus tells us, quite simply, "do not worry" (Matthew 6:34).

“So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' for the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first is kingom and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” ~ Matthew 6:31-34

I am in a job right now that has caused me a great deal of stress over the past year and a half. I have worked almost every day in the past year in this job. My attendance record said that I worked 41 weekends in 2005. That means I got a total of 11 weekends off the entire year--on top of being there pretty much every day during the regular work week. But "regular" work week it ain't. This isn't no 9-to-5 job. Sure, I usually do get in at 9:00, but when I hit five, I am just about halfway done with my job for the day. The average time I get out of my job is between 10 and 11 at night, but sometimes it can be much, MUCH later. The demands on my day are ridiculous, the turn-around-times on projects are absurd and the people I work with, well, see my previous post.

The whole reason I took this job was because I was worried. I knew that God had called me to be a minister, and I felt as though (and still feel) like in order to be an effective one, I needed to go to seminary school. But seminary school is not free. In fact, it cost a great deal of money. And I was worried about how I was going to pay for seminary school, AND be able to pay for the basic necessities in life. And I felt like I had to take it upon myself to figure it all out. So I took the job out of college that would offer me the most money. And thus I have found myself in my current predicament.

Now of course I don't know, and I can't tell anymore, but I feel like that if I had done what I believe was God's will, and gone to seminary school right after college, I feel like God would have provided. I feel like somehow, perhaps miraculously, He would have opened up doors and made it possible for me to go. At the very least, He would have told me to not worry about it, and would have made me understand that it was all in His control.

Why? Because God tells us that his yoke is easy, and his burden is light.

The yoke is a concept that is somewhat lost in our society, but the people of Jesus' time would have fully understood it. In a world without the benefit of our modern day trucks and other modes of transportation, the people of Jesus' time relied on animals to carry their loads from place to place, or to do agricultural work like farming. In order to get maximum efficiency out of these animals, they would attach a wooden crosspiece over a pair of the neck of these animals. They would then attach whatever load they needed to carry to this cross piece, and the animals would drag it behind them. This crosspiece was called the “yoke.”

Each of us has a yoke that we are carrying throughout life. Loaded up on this yoke is a series of burdens—the troubles and problems that plague our day. And as we go throughout each day, they get loaded with more and more stuff. It is these yokes that most of us spend our entire lives trying to get free of.

Jesus does not promise a yoke-free life. But He is telling us that the burdens that most of us have been loading onto our yoke are burdens that we were never intended to carry.

You see, we have it all backwards. Rather than try to figure out God's will and then follow it, and realize that in doing so He will meet our needs, we instead make a list of our needs and follow our will to try and meet those. And then we try to cram God into all of the empty spaces that are left over. In doing so, we are taking upon ourselves something that was not meant for us--it was meant for God to carry. And so we worry and stress and feel burdened throughout life because we are trying to tackle monumental things that we have very little control over. We become weary with life and cease to have the freedom we all truly desire.

Allow me, if you will, this analogy: I am surprised that as many people feel comfortable using an airplane for transportation as they do. When you think of it, a plane is an extremely complex piece of equipment. And in order for it to get to your destination, literally millions of things have to go right. If any one them went wrong, the airplane could crash to the ground instantly.

And yet every day millions of people fly in relative comfort (well, in first class at least). Why is that? I would argue that if you wanted to be worried about flying, you have every right to be. You would be completely justified in opening up the cockpit and demand to fly the plane. After all, the pilots have your life in their hands. Can you really trust them to take care of it? How often do you really let that happen?

But you don't barge in there because you realize you would be wholly inadequate to successfully manage such a task. And you realize that there are a hundred people who are hopefully fairly adequate in their jobs making sure that your plane reaches its destination safely. You know that before you took off grounds crews checked over every part of that plane to make sure it was operational. You know that while you taking off, two pilots who are extremely skilled in the process of flying a plane were in control. And while you're in the air, you have dozens of air traffic controllers who are monitoring the skies to make sure that everything is going as planned. In short, you have a ton of "experts" who are hopefully taking care of all aspects of that flight.

And unless you are trained in flying, you wouldn't dare go into that cockpit and demand to fly the plane. It wouldn't make sense. You are not trained in that. You would only mess it up--big time.

The task of flying a plane is a burden that you were never intended to carry—and thankfully no one asks you to. Imagine the weight on your shoulders if every time you boarded a plane there was the possibility that you would be asked to take the wheel!

Jesus calls us to come to Him, so we can be free of what has been on our shoulders for our whole lives. He wants to take the yoke that we've been carrying—that desire to figure all things out--and put it on his. He's the expert at those things. He's got it all in His control. And He never asked us to carry it in the first place! We're only working to mess it up. In its place, he's going to give you rest for your weary soul. While He fights your battles, you get to carry the yoke that you were intended to carry.

When people first come into Christianity, there is no statue that greets us. For that, I am eternally grateful. It is useless to put your hope in something that cannot move--no matter how big it might be.

Instead of a monumental structure, then, Christians are greeted with a living, breathing Savior. And He doesn't have an etching at His cold, unmoving base. Rather, He has words on His living, breathing lips. And these words aren't full of empty promises of so-called “Freedom.” They are, instead, words that are so true that they bring tears of joy to those who hear them--those who have finally been set free.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” ~ Matthew 11:28-30

A Short Prayer

Father, let me have enough motivation in life to save people's souls as the people I work with have to make money.

Amen.

Shaun Grove's "Welcome Home"

Take, me, make me
All You want me to be
That's all I'm asking, all I'm asking

Welcome to this heart of mine
I've buried under prideful vines
Grown to hide the mess I've made
Inside of me
Come decorate, Lord
Open up the creaking door
And walk upon the dusty floor
Scrape away the guilty stains
Until no sin or shame remain
Spread Your love upon the walls
And occupy the empty halls
Until the man I am has faded
No more doors are barricaded

Come inside this heart of mine
It's not my own
Make it home
Come and take this heart and make it
All Your own
Welcome home

Take a seat, pull up a chair
Forgive me for the disrepair
And the souvenirs from floor to ceiling
Gathered on my search for meaning
Every closet's filled with clutter
Messes yet to be discovered
I'm overwhelmed, I understand
I can't make this place all that You can

Come inside this heart of mine
It's not my own
Make it home
Come and take this heart and make it
All Your own
Welcome home

I took the space that You placed in me
Redecorated in shades of greed
And I made sure every door stayed locked
Every window blocked, and still You knocked

Come inside this heart of mine
It's not my own
Make it home
Come and take this heart and make it
All Your own

Welcome home
Take me, make me
All You want me to be
That's all I'm asking, all I'm asking

Prayer

Jabez cried out to the God if Israel, "Oh, that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain." ~I Chronicles 4:10

When the whole "Prayer of Jabez" thing was going on a few years ago, I joined the side of the cynics and the conservative Christians who scoffed it, thinking that it's nothing more than a "fad" and that true Christians wouldn't pray such a prayer. I said that there is no "secret password" to God, no magical key that unlocks His power. And so I refused to read the book or even pray that prayer, saying that as a genuine Christian I was supposed to keep to some more dignified style of prayer, and not give way to the latest style.

I've always had a hard time with prayer; I don't understand why it's necessary since God knows everything, and I've never really known if it was all that effective. I mean, I feel like God's going to do pretty much what He wants to, and so how can my prayer effect that?

Recently God has been teaching me about prayer. And perhaps the most astonishing that I've learned is that God chooses to work through prayer. It sounds simple, but it's something that I've missed for my entire life of being a Christian.

God can choose to work however He wants. After all, He's God. And, for whatever reason, He has decided that the way He works here on earth is through our prayers. He responds to prayer and He moves through prayer. In Numbers 14, we read where God had planned to smite the Israelites for their behavior. But Moses prayed, and God spared them "as you asked" (Numbers 14:20). God chooses to work through prayer. It might not make sense. But it's the way it is. So you can either fight it, and refuse to pray and ask God for things, or you can accept it, and begin a disciplined life of prayer.

Which leads me to the prayer of Jabez. I still don't think it's the lucky quarter that always pays out when put into a slot machine. But that doesn't mean I think it's pointless. There was a lot of anecdotal evidence out there that people who started praying it started to have amazing things happen. Wilkinson sights several of his own personal examples in his life in the book where praying the prayer helped otherwise impossible situations. Many other people have similar accounts.

And you know what? That makes sense. Because the "Prayer of Jabez" did two good things for people. One, it got people on their knees, before God, in prayer. And that is a wonderful position to be. It allowed people to connect with God, and it opened up a line of communication with God perhaps some people had never had before. And because God chooses to work through prayer, God chose to respond to some people's prayer. And in doing so, He answered what is truly an amazing prayer.

And that is the second good thing the "Prayer of Jabez" did for people: it allowed them to pray in a way they never had before--it allowed a limitless God to begin to do limitless things. So often when we pray, we give God specifics, and we restrict what He is able to do. We pray so hard that He will grant us this job, or that girlfriend. And the whole time God is up there saying, "But you don't understand...that job is so much better. This girlfriend will develop into so much more of a meaningful relationship." But we keep on praying for specifics, that I think that sometimes God finally gives us over to our prayer and says, "OK...if that's what you want, well then here you go."

Or, even worse, sometimes we want something and fail to even ask for it at all.

Chuck Swindoll is convinced that there will be a room in Heaven that will be full of all of the things that we never asked for here on earth. I'd like to agree. I think we'll get to Heaven, and Jesus will open a door to a huge room that is filled to the brim of things--both tangible and intangible. When we look in there, we will see all of the desires of our heart. We'll see some of the secret burning desires that we were too embarassed to ask for. Or we'll see things that we never even thought of asking for, but instantaneously we'll see how we could have used them in our life--"that would have made this difficult experience so much easier." After seeing all of these things, confused, we'll ask Jesus, "what is this room?" He will respond, "these are all of the things that I wanted to give you in life." "Well, why didn't you?" we'll ask. His answer will shock our inner being, "Because...you never asked for them."

What is so amazing about the prayer of Jabez--or any prayer of that nature--is that it doesn't restrain God. It asks God to enlarge our territory--but doesn't tell Him how. It asks God to bless us--but leaves it to Him to determine in what way. It asks God to protect us--and leaves the details to Him. So often we choke God with our prayers. This prayer simply says, "God--show Your favor upon me. How You do it is up to You." When we let God decide how, and get away from our small thinking, I think we'll be blown away by how He chooses to work in our lives.

I like the story of the man who asks the Pastor if it's OK to pray that he wins lottery. The Pastor responds, "Sure it is...if you want to limit God to just the lottery."

Now I'm not preaching the prosperity Gospel here, and I don't think that God's blessings will necessarily come by way of greater financial means. But I am saying that I think we are held back from His blessings by our own lack of faith in trusting Him to do "immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine" (Ephesians 3:20).

And so I, for one, am going to begin practicing some big prayer. I'm going to spend more time asking God for big stuff, not limiting Him to my measly perspective. I'm going to ask Him to bless me and my family in ways I can't even imagine right now. And I might use the Prayer of Jabez every once in a while to help model the type of prayer that I pray. I don't know what will come of it. But I do know I have absolutely nothing to lose by it. God chooses to work through prayer, and it's time I resist that and start meeting Him there.

Now enough writing--it's time for me to start praying!

It's Just a Game

I woke up this morning and was surprised to see the sun shining. I thought for sure that it wasn't going to come out today.

When I turned on the TV, I immediately turned to the news. I wanted to see what country had declared nuclear war on us. I was certain that it was just a matter of hours before Armageddon would start and the end of the world was at hand.

Surprisingly, there was no mention of any sort of nuclear weaponry whatsoever. Instead, the top story was about Ariel Sharon being hospitalized. Go figure.

I then opened up my Bible. I wanted to look up John 3:16. I was expecting it to be no longer there--erased over night. I was half-surprised as I flipped through my Bible to the verse to even find that my New Testament still a part of it. I had a feeling that it might have decided to jump ship. But no, it was still there, and as I turned through John, the hole that I thought would be in place of 3:16 wasn't there. Instead, there was the verse, same place it had ever been. Jesus, it turns out, still saves.

In fact, today was just about like any other day I had ever faced before. No end of the world. No catastrophic event. Just a normal Thursday.

Not surprised? Then you obviously weren't around a bunch of USC fans last night.

Yesterday I attended the Rose Bowl game between Texas and USC. I went because this entire season I have been following USC football.

Actually, following is not the right word. I have been engrossed. Engulfed. Consumed. I live in San Francisco, and work in a job that commonly requires me to work weekends. And yet I made it to every home game in Southern California except for one. It didn't matter how little sleep I had gotten, or what time I had to wake up to get to a flight. It didn't matter that I was in New York the morning of one game, and took a 6:30 am plane trip to make it. I risked my reputation at my job, my health, and my general, overall well-being and disposition to watch a bunch of people play football for an entire season.

And when we went the whole season undefeated and got a bid to the championship game, why I would have sold most all of my possessions for a pair of those tickets. I ended up nearly doing that--paying close to $2,000 for two. You would have thought that my entire self worth was wrapped up in that game--and it nearly was.

And then the game came. And it was a great game. One for the ages. A frustrating first half gave way to a shoot-out in the second. We scored, and then they scored, and then we scored again. Finally we started to break away. And with five minutes left in the fourth quarter, we were up by twelve.

Why, they should have handed us the championship trophy right there. After all, who could blow a twelve point lead with five minutes left? The game was about over in my book, and I was already thinking about how I would gloat at work that next day.

But then the unthinkable happened. They scored, and were within five points of us. We got the ball again, and started marching it down the field. We were doing pretty good, but got halted. And with about two minutes left, we were fourth-and-two. All we had to get was two yards, and the game would be over.

We were inches short.

Texas got the ball. And they marched down the field. Time was running out on them, but it didn't matter. We could not stop them. There were twelve yards from the end zone. Fourth and five. One last play. And with thirty seconds left...

You would have thought that instantaneously every Trojan fan in that stadium had just heard that their mother had died.

No, I think they would have rather heard that than what they did hear: the roar of 30,000 screaming, overjoyed Texas fans.

A few minutes later the Texas team was on the field, receiving the crystal football. And you can bet that more than one USC fan was calculating the risk-reward ratio of running onto the field and grabbing that trophy out of the presenter's hand.

And I stood there, watching that scene before me, a revolutionary thought immediately started to make its way into my head. I felt dirty thinking it, and immediately tried to push it out. But it wouldn't leave. And after a futile attempt to try and resist it, I finally gave up, and let it enter in:

It's just a game.

Yep, that's right. You heard me. It's just a game. It's all a game. A game we lost, mind you, but a game nonetheless.

The world keeps on spinning. The sun, I found out today, keeps on rising. And Jesus keeps on saving.

It's just a game.

I realized, in that moment, how completely out of whack my perspective has been these last six months. I was able to see nothing but Cardinal and Gold. I had wrapped so much of myself into this season, that it's all I was becoming identified by. And it was time for me to stop.

Trojan fans might get mad at me for saying that. One, in fact, was so upset at my sudden positive disposition after the game that he told me that it "wasn't the same" with me, because I hadn't been as "into it" as he was, and didn't have "as much emotionally invested into it" as he did. Last time I checked, he knew the same number of football players that I did--zero--so that makes perfect sense. But he wasn't the only one. People all around were shocked that I could even breathe after that game, let alone joke around.

But I can see where they're coming from. I mean, after all, we lost. And so I'm supposed to be devastated, right? I'm supposed to be depressed over the next three weeks, and talk about how we were robbed, and hang my head low. That is what a true Trojan fan is supposed to do, right?

If that's what I'm supposed to do, then count me out. Don't get me wrong, I was disappointed, and more than once caught myself thinking "what if." But I refuse to let my sense of self come from the outcome of how a bunch of people I don't even know play a football game.

Attitude is a choice, and I simply do not want to choose to be downcast over the final score of a game. What good does that do to me? How does that help me function better in life? Maybe that attitude doesn't make me as good of a Trojan fan as every one else, but they're all a pretty miserable lot right now, so I don't know if I really want to be associated with them anyway.

There are more important things to life than football, I finally realized, and I am choosing to set my focus on those things. This world keeps on spinning, and I'm going to keep on chuggin' along. Tomorrow, I will look at the sun be thankful once again for it. And I'll appreciate that we're not in a nuclear showdown right now. And I will praise God that John 3:16 is still a part of my Bible. And when Trojan fans decide to come around, I'll be sure to welcome them, with open arms, back to the real world...

...a world where football is just a game, and Jesus keeps on saving.

Showbread's "Matthias Replaces Judas"

It is so that my transgressions have born a withered fruit,
The sun has scorched the rising plains;
Alas they have no root. The bleached bones of animals bound by leather strips,
Dance through the air with laughter as I wield this wicked whip.

As you did warn me carpenter, this world has weakened my heart,
So easily I disparage, self-seeking the work of my art.
And there you have come to me at the moment I bathe in my sorrow,
So in love with myself, sought after avoiding tomorrow.
Where do you find the love to offer he who betrays you?
And offer to wash my feet as I offer to disobey you.
Your beauty does bereave me, and how my words do fail,
So faithfully and dutifully I award you with betrayal.

The weak and the down trodden fall on broken legs,
As I walk past a smile I cast, fervor in my stead.
But my bones like plastic, do buckle backward now,
I lay in this field by Judas and anticipate the plow.
I can not be forgiven; my wages will be paid,
For those more lovely and admirable is least among the saved.
And where would I fit Jesus?
What place is left for me?
The price of atonement is more than I've found to offer as my plea.

Jesus my heart is all I have to give to you--so weak and so unworthy,
This simply will not do. No alabaster jar, no diamond in the rough,
For your body that was broken, how can this be enough?
By me you were abandoned, by me you were betrayed,
Yet in your arms and in your heart forever I have stayed.

Your glory illuminates my life, no darkness will descend,
For you have loved me forever, and your love will never end.

2005

2005 is officially gone. It disappeared sometime last night--I'm not exactly sure when, but it was shortly after the DJ said "[expletive], it's almost 2006" and a whole crowd of sweaty, disgusting and very drunk people stopped their fornication on the dance floor for 10 brief seconds before starting 2006 much the same way they ended 2005.

Yes, 2005 is over. And in all honesty, I'm not too upset about it. 2005 doesn't hold for me a lot of great memories. In fact, as I look back on it, it definitely qualifies for the dubious distinction of being the "Worst Year of My Life So Far" and although too early to tell, might be "of All Time" for me when I reflect over my life on my eventual deathbed.

Now worst does not mean insignificant. And worst doesn't mean all bad. In fact, I think I will look back on 2005 with equal parts respect and disgust somewhere in the future. But right now, I am too close to it for that respect part--and hence the disgust.

2005 will go down as a pretty significant year in my life. I realized, perhaps not fully, but partially, the cost of following my own plans and ambitions over Christ's. I learned the pain and the heartache of not choosing God's will fully and completely. I discovered how far a Christian can get away from God by choosing to simply neglect Him. I learned what it's like to spend 365 days of your life doing something you hate. And I learned how painful it is to break up with someone you love.

I have cried more times in the past twelve months than I had in probably the 10 years before 2005. I have had, quite literally, the life sucked out of me, and have adopted a new semi-permanent posture, that with my head down and hand on my belt, waiting for that next email that will inevitably destroy another weekend.

In short, I have spent a year absolutely and utterly defeated.

And for that reason, I am more than happy to wave 2005 goodbye.

But I will not leave it behind without taking from it some very significant, very deep and very profound truths, truths that have meaningfully changed my life, truths that will aid me immeasurably in my future profession.

I have learned, more than anything, about the love of Christ. That, in and of itself, makes the year not only worth it, but makes 10 more like it completely acceptable. I have learned this year how absolutely amazing Jesus Christ is. I have learned that He loves me, just as I am, if you can believe it, and no matter how many times I run away from Him, each time He welcomes me back with open arms.

I have learned that He died for me. And I learned that even after dying for me, He wants to know me better. And I have learned that, although inexplicably I avoid getting to know Him better, getting to know Him better is freakin' awesome. I have learned there is no place like being in Christ's arms, so much so that I have found myself thanking Him for the suffering that has often brought me there so many times the past year.

I have learned this past year about faith. I have learned about it without ever having it. God has showed me the joy of trusting Him--even though I have yet to do it. He has showed me that my current state is the result of not trusting Him, and that the world will not offer anything better than this if I don't learn to finally lean on Him. And reluctantly I'm beginning.

I have learned this past year about fulfillment. And I have learned that it doesn't come from things. It doesn't matter how many things you have, or how many things you make an hour. It might put a smile on your face when you get a lot of things all at once on something they call "bonus day," but that you still have to go to work that next day to earn those things, and no matter how much you might like things and how much they may make life easier, no amount of work that you hate is worth the accumulation of more things.

I have learned this past year about sacrifice. I have learned that most things in life take some sort of sacrifice. And I have learned that some sacrifice is worth it. And some is not. Sacrificing comfort during that last half mile on the treadmill is worth it, because you feel so much better afterwards. Sacrificing a weekend to help a client determine what company they shouldn't buy (like they were going to anyway) is not worth it because it isn't fulfilling. Sacrificing a good night's sleep to take a 6:30 am flight home from New York to watch a football game is worth it because there's nothing like spending time with friends. Sacrificing a good night's sleep to prepare a pitch for a company you know nothing about is not worth it because, well, it isn't fulfilling. And pitches just create more work. They always create more work.

And I have learned this past year about love. I've learned that love hurts. Sometimes, it hurts a lot. But it's worth it. It's worth it because it's awesome when you're in love, and despite the pain that it might entail somewhere down the line, that is what you risk in love. To shy away from that risk, to keep from loving someone because you don't want to get hurt--to stand outside the fire, to quote the great philosopher Garth Brooks--is not living life the way it's meant to be lived. It's merely surviving life. And life is not meant to be survived.

And I've learned that. That's been a painful one. But an important one, and one that I will preach about through life. Life is not meant to be survived. God did not build us to go through life hanging on by our fingers. God gave us dreams, ambitions and desires, not so we could sit in our cube and be mocked by them, but instead to fulfill them. God wants us to be fulfilled. He created us--each of us--for a reason. And He wants us to fulfill that purpose. And if we do, God promises He will take care of everything else--all that other stuff that keeps us from doing it in the first place. God's got that part handled. God doesn't want anyone to have a 2005 like mine. My number one response this year when people asked me how I was doing was "Survivin'. I'm survivin'." That should never be a response. God wants us to thrive. But it's our choice as to whether or not we do. When you truly live life, you risk getting burned, but I think those scars are less painful than the ones I accumulated this year simply sitting back and "surviving."

So, what will 2006 bring? Thankfully, an end to my job. That is the only thing I am certain of--I will do everything in my power to make sure that when I walk into that building on June 30, it will be the last time I ever step foot in that place as an employee. My life, quite literally, depends on it.

Other than that, only God knows. I don't have any illusions that 2006 will be less difficult than 2005. It might bring for me more challenges, more suffering, more heartache. But 2006 will be the first year I begin to live a life of faith--wherever that may take me. And when you're performing a script written by God, one thing is for sure: you're never merely surviving. You're living life truly as it was intended. I can't wait to find out what He intends for me. I have a feeling I'll thrive in it.

Hello, 2006.