The Best Friend I Never Met

This world makes my soul ache. The fact that I was made for eternity but born into a world of sin is like being captured in a net. Even when circumstances in my life are stable the ache is still there, reminding me that eternity is just a whisper away. For me, the crescendo of following Christ reaches its culmination the split second I experience eternal life without sin. But for now, the ache remains. I'm telling you, there's not one thing authentic in me other than the reality of my failures. And while we all may share this same ache, there is one person who could articulate it better than anyone I know. That person is Rich Mullins.

I see a huge shift in the modern church culture to make following Christ a complicated marriage of philosophy and mysticism. And being authentic is key. Personally, I don't think "authenticity" is something you can cook up at a moment's notice, it's something you just are, or you aren't. I've seen stuff flood some "Christian" venues that's downright contrived: trendy, popular, and straying from Scripture in order to be palatable. Rich Mullins, as a person and an artist, stood in stark contrast to these views. What I like so much about him was that what you saw was what you got, He loved Jesus, spot on. There were people who didn't get him, but for those of us who did, even though we never met him, he was one of our best friends.

It is the gut-level sincerity of people like Rich Mullins that I try to find in myself. And as of today, I'm still searching. Hidden beneath layers of spiritual laziness, yelling at my kids, not making the bed every day, being more concerned about the next words I'll type than whether or not I've looked at any Scripture today, the same Truth that held to Rich Mullins is holding onto me. God knows, I'm not always holding onto it; I'm rebellious and would run from God lest my favorite TV show be interrupted. I care too much about appearances and not enough about other people to care sometimes. It's the pain of my sin that beats me against the musty, hateful rock of the threshing floor again and again. (And this is just my confession, when I think of the repentance that needs to take place it's appalling.)

Rich and I had a lot in common. We both have questions of theology and suffering that go unanswered because the answers are beyond what a human mind can grasp. And whether or not you like his folksy, hammer-dulcimer, torn up jeans, calloused foot music, you have to admit, the man seemed to understand what most of us only wish we could. I think I have a hunch as to why.

His home was a old trailer on an Indian reservation where he dedicated his life to teaching music to Navajo children. After his death his friends went there to gather his personal effects. Upon entering they found little more than a mattress. He traveled light because he knew that's exactly what he was doing: traveling, passing through. He was not made for this world and he knew it; he lived it.

In a career that was marked with tremendous financial success and fame, Rich was incredibly uncomfortable with it all. At the Dove awards he left his seat at the dinner following the ceremony and donned a waiter's hat and began serving dinner to other guests. Many thought he was joking around, but I doubt it. From what I've heard of him, limelight made his eyes squint. He needed to serve because that's what made Jesus shine, so that's what he did. He was said to be flaky, and maybe that's because he simply wasn't tied down. In his entire career he never knew the extent of his earnings. His quarterly checks from record labels were sent to the board of elders at his small home church. He asked them to pay him the median salary of a typical US worker, about $24,600 annually. The rest was given away to missions and charitable organizations or put into his retirement. Rich said, "If I knew how much I made it might make giving the rest away all that much harder."

When he died I cried for a long time. I wasn't grieving Rich Mullins, I was grieving for myself. The pain was about losing a beatnik poet who never met me but understood the ache of my human condition - my sin and misconceptions of God. His music was the salve that soothed these wounds by reminding me that from the moment time began, the God of the Universe, the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, had a plan for me. By putting Scripture, angst, sweat, and eternity to music he was an arrow pointing toward heaven.

Rich Mullins was far from perfect. But for me, I'll take the introspective search for The Real Jesus Christ over contrived authenticity on any given day.

Rich died 11 years ago this month. He was riding in an open jeep when fate stepped in. Then instantly, he was gone, straight to the arms of the Jesus he spent his life chasing. If I could tell Rich anything it would be to thank him. But my guess is, at this point, he really doesn't care.

This song, "Hard To Get", was recorded just days before his death. He purchased a cheap tape recorder from K-Mart, ergo the raw recording. I can't sing this song without being reminded of my soul's ache, but I am comforted knowing the ache won't last forever. I hope it does the same for you.

Finding God: A Reason To Praise

There are some days when it seems like I can't get my hands high enough in the air to praise God. Days when I see Him all around me. When there's no miracle too small for me to notice He's in it.

He shows His love in small ways that I would miss if I weren't looking to find Him in it. He's in the laughter of my son when he runs to me just because he's too happy to keep life to himself. He's in the coolness of morning that reminds me that fall is right around the corner. He's in the reckless abandon of my desire to love my Dad, regardless of what fractures there have been in our relationship. He's in everything, just begging for me to acknowledge Him.

Most of all, I find Him remindind me to stop running away from Him, to turn around, and run back to Him.

Because God is all around me, I know I'm not alone. I know I'm loved beyond understanding. I know that though some situations are bigger than me, nothing is bigger than Him. He's awesome. He's in everything. He loves me. And I love Him back.

He's in His Word.
He's above my praise.
He's around my house.
He's about changing my life.
He's the rays of the sun that break through the trees.
He's telling me to get off the computer and play with my son!!
He's everywhere. He's everything.
He's jealous for my praise. He has every right to be. Because no one will ever love me more completely or satsify my soul.

Now it's your turn. In what ways is God all around you today? Where have you found Him lately? Let's remind each other to find Him in places we may have forgotten about until now.

God bless you today!

Sunburn on Sunday

Last week my kids spent 8 hours on a pontoon boat. It was hot as snot and on the river it's easy to get sunburn. My daughter has red hair and very fair skin and she got the worst burn of everyone. She was fine with it and never really noticed it, or that it had started peeling, until she went to church that Sunday.

When I picked her up after Sunday School she was quiet and sad. "Mom," she said, "the kids were making fun of my sunburn. It really made me feel bad." Then she started to cry. "I have to go to school on Tuesday. If they made fun of me here, what will they say at school?"

Oh crap. CRAP! For so many reasons...C.R.A.P.!

So many lessons learned in one hour of Sunday school that weren't even part of the curriculum:

1) People at church can be no different that people in the world. They can say mean things, make you cry, and make you scared to face "the real world". (Suckfest Lesson I.)

2) Appearance is more important than what's inside. Yes, I know that part of growing up entails grappling with personal appearance. Kids make fun of noses, ears, freckles, zits, bad hair, braces.... But still. (Suckfest Lesson II)

3) People can turn on you. No matter how nice you have been in the past, no matter if you've been friends before, kids (even adults at times) can be fickle. (Suckfest Lesson III)

Did I have an awesome opportunity to teach her about how God sees us from the inside? Yes. Would this have been a good time to suggest that we pray for the (ingrate, evil, hell bound, unsanctified, idiotic) kids (raised by rabid wolves) in her class? Yes. I could have talked to her about how we all sin, that we have to choose our words carefully, that God still wants us to love others (even if they are voluntarily retarded) no matter how they treat us. Of course I could have done all of those things, because all of those things are core truths.

But in those moments, with the facts of what happened to her swirling around me, I was confronted with all the times I stood in her shoes.

The truth is, I have often found myself being treated worse inside the church building than anywhere else. Am I suggesting that the church has never been a safe haven for me? No, not at all. Rather, what I'm saying is that Christians can be just plain mean, under the guise of "in Christian love".

After the birth of my son I dealt with severe post partum depression. It was the darkest, scariest, most vacant feeling I had ever known. Life was all around me, but I was living death. Like the victim of a horrific calamity whose arms are severed, I lost touch with any of the vitality around me.

It was impossible for those around not to notice the crisis. Women in my Sunday School class certainly noticed, both by observing me and hearing our cries for help. My husband became my advocate, asking women in our church to help me in any way they could. We were dignified, not begging or demanding, just asking for relationships, really. Unfortunately that backfired.

One of my husband's friends called him later the same Sunday that we had asked for help. Apparently a good size group of women clustered together were heard to be saying the following, "I am not going to help her in any way." and "Well of course not, that would only be enabling her laziness." and "It's surely a spiritual problem." Needless to say, any depression I had felt up to that point paled in comparison to the abandonment and isolation that descended upon me. Not to mention the embarrassment. Oh, the embarrassment. So in those moments I reacted. I seared my heart closed. I threw up walls made of steel and concrete and vowed never, never to make myself vulnerable again. Of course that backfired, too. Long after the post partum depression went away, situational depression stepped in. I continued my resolve to keep people out. I refused to invest myself in anyone, ever, out of fear, and sometimes out of sheer hatefulness. Essentially, I was stuck in Suckville for over 3 years.

Am I blaming the situation on everyone else? Absolutely not. I surely had a hand in my own demise. Unforgiveness made a monster out of me. What I am saying is a truth we all know too well: It's not impossible to be hurt by the church. By the same token, it is entirely possible to marinate in unforgiveness until we're so soured by it we lose all perspective. That is what I didn't want to happen to my daughter.

So in those moments when she felt so bad about being teased in Sunday School, I said nothing. I held her while my heart cried along with hers. Over the course of the rest of the day we talked about being careful about how we treat other people. About forgiveness. About the possibility that maybe some kids were just curious about what happened to her. About how to respond if she were made fun of again. Then, we made fun of sunburns and called each other "lizard skin" as we pulled molting skin from her face. Sick, I know, but she laughed. Somehow, it made everything okay.

Yesterday was her first day of school. She was peeling worse yesterday than she was on Sunday...but no one at school said a thing, which is good. But somehow bittersweet.

This is a really heavy post for me. Maybe it strikes a cord for you, too. Of course you're always welcomed to comment but if I might suggest something it would be this. The worst thing we can do is dwell on the past - it's okay to acknowledge past hurts, but setting up camp there will do us in every time. I would hate for this to turn into a bash the church session. Instead, supporting each other is what it's all about, for me at least. I would like to know how you have handled your disappointments, good and bad.

p.s. This MUST be said: God loves us no matter how beat up we are, or even if we're the ones doing the bullying. Truthfully, I've been both people, and I'm not proud of that. Jesus will never smack you sideways, be unloving, or make fun of your sunburn. Don't let the ruin of others ruin you. Forgiveness - and maybe moving on - is key.

p.p.s. "Suckville" and "Suckfest" aren't in the spellcheck. Who knew?