Mayhem at the Mansion

You know you’ve arrived when you live in a mansion. Fortunately, I actually had the opportunity to do just that. Now, I know you’re thinking, “Glamorous!” or maybe something more along the lines of, “Spoiled jerk!” But either way, I assure you, it’s not what you think.

It was that time. You know, the time in every musician’s life when he has to move out of his mom’s house and grow up (go ahead, insert your best musician joke here). At first, words like domain, kingdom, empire, monarch, and potentate flooded the man-center of my brian. (ok, I looked up that last one in a thesaurus) To be the chieftain of my own chateau, the king of my own castle, the ruler of my own domain. This was my calling.

But where would I find such a place of my own? Just my luck, one of the maintenance supervisors at my church was looking to rent out his place.

So, five of my friends and I banded together and decided we would partition our newly acquired territory according to our pecuniary share. Of course, our venue would need a name. One that would be recognized throughout the land as a title of honor and valor.

Being located on Village Road, we considered calling it “the Village.” But think about that for a second. What would six men living in “the Village” be called?…exactly. Mockery was far too accessible. And if people were going to hurl insults, I’d prefer they at least work for it. (If you are still unsure as to what I am referring, Google “six men the Village” and read the first Wikipedia article that shows)

As usual, my friend Dan - a man with the agility of a cheetah and the intellect of… well, a really smart guy - had a better idea.

“Why not call it ‘the Mansion?’” he inquired.

Our house was nice, but it was certainly no mansion. So, not understanding his angle, I doubtfully replied, “Umm… I’ll think about it.”

To which, after dishearteningly shaking his head (as was often the case), he responded, “No. Get it?... The Mansion?”

“Dan… You’re a genius!” I declared.

That was the name we chose and that was the title we wore proudly. “The Mansion.” (I told you it wasn’t what you were thinking)

Lucky me. Not every fledgling who’s been thrust from the nest lands on such a platform of nobility. This was the life of luxury! Soon enough, the Mansion would be hub to a bustling social scene of which we would be the stars.

More importantly, we thought, foolish as it was, that freedom - true, defemininitized freedom - was within our grasp. No one to tell us how or when to clean our bedrooms nor our bodies. No pilfering bandits to rob us of our finest garments. No sneaky operatives to investigate our private matters. No nagging agents to impose a ban on nocturnalistic tendencies. No one to stand in our egotistical, self-serving, filthy way. Whatever we did or didn’t want to do were our decisions to be made. Nevertheless, such “pros” inevitably had their cons.

With the overall hormonal balance tipping way to the testosterone side - as in any citadel under the command of six single guys - chores were demoted to a status of mere triviality and chillaxin’ was the new priority. Soon enough, the trash turned into a radioactive landfill, the landscape a weed-filled jungle more dense than the Amazon, and the sink a breeding ground of evolutionary digression. To any sensible person, it would have been deemed a hazard zone, but to us, it was our Mansion; Nay, it was our Empire.

As with any great kingdom, however, war was inevitable. HOA’s declarations flooded our landlord’s desk concerning their plot to overthrow us. Claiming that our topography was unsuitable to their sophisticated standards, they sought to bankrupt our humble economy by way of fees and fines.

In all honesty, our landscape had become quite the travesty. I’m just surprised that the smell didn’t get to them first.

Even still, for the sake of our pride, we wanted to fight them, and would have too, but were advised that HOA was far too formidable a foe and would surely take us down. It was either we battled the weeds, or we battled them. So, the weeds it was.

I, bare-backed and bare-handed, faced the botanical onslaught like a true man. No five-minute-every-five-minute breaks to sip on passion fruit iced tea. No hired help to do my dirty work for me. And most of all, no sunscreen to shield my epidermis (a decision I duly regretted for the following week). It was just me against the multitude of weeds.

Infantry flooded forth as if the gates of Hades itself had burst open. I could see their eyes. They taunted me, but with overestimated confidence. Their sneering lives were soon cut short as my fist plunged into their shallow bellies, ripping them clean out of the ground.

Knowing full well that their individual strength was no match for this warrior - as Napoleon Dynamite verses King Leonidas - they strategized to wear me out instead with sheer numbers. Our months of stalling the battles made for one fierce war. The hours seemed like days. But I would not relent until victory was mine.

Flanking me with moderately rooted artillery too extensive for my bare hands, it was time I brought out weaponry of my own. I grabbed a small shovel and rake and resumed my conquest. The hoards charged with weapons drawn, knowing all efforts were suicidal. Each direction I turned, they slammed into me like kamikazes. I fought on, but their numbers were wearing me down. The sun proving to be their ally as it relentlessly beat on my back.

Aware that their numbers were running low - but thinking they might have a true shot this time - they sent in their brutes. With roots deeper and more burly than any yet, these monsters were trained in the art of standing their ground and annihilating all who would dare tread upon it. It was time to break out the big guns. Lucky for me, I carry two at all times. Their training had made for a staggering fight, but after firing round after round of pick axes and hedge clippers into their very souls, they too were vanquished.

After five and a half hours of grueling war, a stillness filled the air.

“Could this finally be the end?” I thought, wearily drained from battle. But not wanting to portray any sign of weakness, I exclaimed “Is that all you’ve got!?!?” in a tone like Braveheart while beating my chest like King Kong.

There I stood, looking down over their remains with my head raised high. I breathed in the scent of triumph. My chlorophyll-stained hands were finally able to relax. Victory was mine.

At least for the front yard, anyway.

Thinking back on the battle, I learned six allegorical lessons that day. Six lessons that stemmed from a war against weeds but apply to the war that wages in our very own daily lives.

Six Lessons in Gardening a Mansion:

1) Do you know what it takes to get a yard full of weeds? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It’s really easy to get weeds to grow. You can, as we did, just go about your business and sure enough it will happen. The nature of weeds is to do just that, grow and grow and grow. Though no one wants it this way, if left untended, they will take root anywhere they can and inevitably invade and consume the entirety of your landscape.

Go ahead. Try it. I dare you…

2) You don’t notice the weeds until it’s time to pull them or until someone calls them out.

We walked by that terrain every single day - multiple times even - and never noticed that things were getting out of hand.

Upon hearing of the HOA’s letters, one of the guys even exclaimed, “What!?!? That’s ridiculous! First, it’s not their business. Second, they can’t even see the backyard unless they’re snooping - which should be a punishable offense. And third, it’s not even that bad… I’ll bet it was one of our nosey neighbors who’s just trying to cause trouble.”

But do you see how ridiculous his statements were? First, it is their business - their only matter of business, in fact. Second, it wasn’t just the backyard; it was the back, sides, and front too. And even if it were, the bushes were growing way above the fence line. I assure you, no snooping was necessary. And third, it was in fact that bad.

The problem was not that the HOA was “pointing the finger,” but rather, it was our  faulty perspective and unwillingness to see the issues that caused so much trouble for them and us.

But it wasn’t until the HOA pointed out the problem, threatened us with fines, and we had to pull the weeds that we noticed how bad it had actually become.

3) Different weeds have various root lengths, and it takes intentionality and varying amounts of effort to get to the bottom of each.

All of us experience weeds in our lives - and if you haven’t, you don’t exist; you are a figment of your own imagination. We’ve all been effected, and are effected, by weeds. 

Weeds take on various forms and can be introduced in a variety of ways. Even still, a weed is a weed is weed, and needs to be uprooted and dealt with as such.

Some weeds’ roots are shallow and you can pull them out with your pinky toe. Others need a bit of unearthing with your hand or a small shovel. And still, some are so deep that you need an industrial drill, a mountain of dynamite, and Paul Bunion to do the job. What happens if you don’t get to the actual roots of weeds? They come back - often times like they never left.

Furthermore, some weeds that I thought were stand-alone would reveal, once I pulled on them, that they were actually connected to a whole host of others via a vast labyrinth of underground roots.

4) In order for a healthy garden to flourish, the weeds must be dealt with.

Weeds consume nutrients, time, and sunlight, that could instead be used to cultivate a thriving, beautiful garden. In essence, weeds choke out that which is healthy.

So, if you want a healthy garden, you must clear out the weeds.

5) Weeding is hard work,  but it’s worth the effort.

As anyone who’s pulled weeds before can attest, weeding takes hard work. It takes time, energy, intentionality, and if you’re anything like me, a sunburn six layers deep.

But in the end, to behold a garden that is freshly hewn and ready to ascend to the apex of its potential - to have a vibrant, healthy garden free from harm - it’s well worth the effort.

6) Keeping your garden free from weeds takes regular maintenance.

Pretty self explanatory, eh?;)

The trouble is, many people don’t take the time and effort necessary to deal with their weeds. Sadly, their gardens are overrun by them and are unable to flourish because of it.

This is the part where you might ask, “Ok. Cool story… kinda. But what does all this overdramatized weeding business have to do with me?” I’ll spell it out for you.

Analogy Spelled-Out

In this story, the weeds are analogous for our sin and/or the effects of other’s sin in our lives, a healthy garden is analogous for a healthy life, the war on weeds is analogous for the war we face in dealing with our own “weeds,” and the mansion is analogous for a bachelor pad.

1) Do you know what it takes to get a life full of sin? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You can, as I often have, go about your business and sure enough it will happen. Our sin nature wants to grow and grow and grow. And though no one wants it to be this way, if left unattended, it will take root anywhere it can and inevitably invade and consume your life. 

This time, I don’t dare you.

2) Sometimes, you don’t notice the effects of sin until it’s time to deal with them or until someone calls  them out.

You might walk around with your “garden full of weeds” every day. And it might not be until someone else calls it out or you get to the point where your life has become so overrun that you have no choice but to deal with them.

When either happens, you have a choice to make. You can either have an arrogant attitude like the guy in my story and try to push the blame and responsibility off on other people. Or you can take the humble approach and use it as an opportunity to examine yourself and, thus, grow in a positive way.

It wasn’t because the HOA or our landlord wanted to hurt or insult us that they pointed out the issues; rather, it was because we needed to address them for the best interest of everyone involved, including ourselves.

The problem is often not that someone is “pointing the finger,” but rather, it is our faulty perspective and unwillingness to see the issues that hold us back from ever really addressing them.

**Note #1: Just because someone is pointing the finger doesn’t automatically make them right. I understand there are many out there who are treated unfairly and are excessively criticized. Take time to examine yourself and be confident in who God has made you to be, while also being humble enough to know when you do need transformation. We all will encounter both.

**Note #2: Just because someone is pointing the finger doesn’t automatically make them wrong either.

3) Different weeds have different root lengths, and it takes varying amounts of effort and intentionality to get to the bottom of each.

If you’ve read my blog posts entitled, “Setting the Stage,” you know about some of the weeds that are in my garden. As I mentioned, weeds can be either the effects of our own sin or they can be the effects of how others’ sin has impacted our lives. Some of my weeds are simply my own sinful tendencies. Some were planted by my father’s death and the following changes that took place in my family, but they are, nevertheless, still my weeds to pull. 

Maybe your weeds take form via the sins of selfishness, pride, lust, laziness, or a variety of others. Maybe they are a result of someone else’s sin that now effects you, such as bitterness from being treated unfairly, insecurities from when your self image was shattered by maliciousness, fear of rejection or abandonment from when someone who you thought loved you walked out, hate from being bullied, or a variety of others. If you’re anything like me, or the other 100% of the earth’s population, it’s a combination of both.

Some of our issues are pretty shallow and we just need a slight adjustment. But others, as most of them are, run incredibly deep. So deep, in fact, that we don’t even recognize it until we start digging. And some issues that we think are stand-alone, actually prove to be connected to a host of other, deeper issues once we start tugging.

In the past year or so, I’ve noticed that many of my weeds are much deeper than I thought and, thus, take much greater effort and intentionality to unearth and deal with. Trust me, my garden is still packed with them, but as I put forth the effort, I find myself in a healthier and healthier place. My encouragement? So can you.

4) In order for our lives to flourish, our weeds must be dealt with.

In the “garden” of our lives, our weeds consume nutrients, time, and energy, that could instead be used to cultivate a thriving, healthy life. So, in order to make room for such, we must be intentional about clearing out our weeds.

5) Weeding is hard work, but it’s worth the effort.

As those who have been honest with themselves can attest, weeding takes hard work. It’s not easy admitting that you are in need of transformation. It’s also not easy diving into some issues that often bring up intense feelings of woundedness, pain, loss, and more.

But in the end, to behold a life that is freshly hewn and ready to ascend to the apex of its potential - to have a vibrant, healthy life free from harmful effects of sin - it’s well worth the effort.

6) Keeping your life free from the effects of sin takes regular maintenance.

Pretty self explanatory, eh? The trouble is, many people don’t take the time and effort necessary to deal with their issues. Sadly, their lives are overrun by the effects of sin and, consequently, they are unable to flourish.

I hope that neither you nor I are that kind of person. I pray we can live lives that have been freed to flourish to the summit of our God-given potential.

As this war ensues in your life, as you face the multitude of weeds in your garden, and when you are drained from battle wondering if it will ever end, remember this, my friend, victory is ours. The war has already been won.

Setting the Stage (Part V - conclusion)

(If you are reading this for the first time, make sure to scroll down and start with Part I of "Setting the Stage" to get the full story. Thanks!)


The impact of my father’s death distorted the lens through which I perceived God. If this was my concept concerning fathers, and if God is the Chief Father, then according to my heart, He could not be trusted either. Deep down I believed that God, being the Father, was going to reject and abandon me too; that He, like my earthly father, was incapable of truly loving me.

The love of God is not an entity that can merely be intellectualized; rather, it is one that must be experienced and beheld in your heart. But for too long, my intellectual responses overshadowed my heart’s authentic reply. Although my mind and mouth had been saying ‘yes’ to the aforementioned questions regarding God’s character, my heart was in disbelief. My eyes were too weak to perceive such Majesty and my heart too wounded to encounter such Love. The truth is, I had no idea how to love God. More than that, I had no idea how to be loved by Him.

Woundedness spawned within me a fear that silently seeped into my soul.

So, as is my tendency when fearful, I created methods to push God away - often utilizing sin to keep Him at a distance. I figured if I was sinning, He could only have so much of my heart. Then if - or when - He let me down, He could only break that which I allowed Him to have.

The most devious component of my story is that I was largely ignorant of these invading issues. For the most part, I did not realize - or at least acknowledge - that these wounds created such misconceptions. I knew the battle was ragging inside of me, but I knew not who my opponents were. I was so busy running, I never turned around to catch sight of their faces. Though I tried to retreat time and time again, the battle advanced more swiftly than my heart could hasten.

In order to fight, I had to halt and turn to stand and face my adversaries with the full knowledge that war is never absent of blood and tears. And this one would not be either.

I remember lying in bed one night after finally realizing all of this, worn from fighting and bleeding out to God, “You know I’m afraid to let you in. You know I’m afraid to trust You. But I want to trust You. I want to love You. So, as hesitant, as scared, as fearful as I may be, this is what I will do.”

At that moment, I began to feel the Spirit flanking my foes. Where I lay in defeat, He started to claim victory. Where I retreated in fear, He proved to be bold. Where I was weak, He was, and is, mighty.

My friend, let me give you permission to drop all pretenses. I dare you to be vulnerable - to be humble. Do not permit yourself to give any pre-rehearsed, trite, pulpit-fed responses. You know, the ones that you feel you have to give in order to be a ‘good’ Christian? Be honest with yourself. Even more so, be honest with God. The question is not if you have enemies, but rather what enemies do you face? What misconceptions do you believe about God and about yourself that are the result of well-placed wounds? Stand and face your foes. Brothers and sisters, be strong and courageous, for the Lord our God is with you. Allow Him to be mighty in your weakness - to be triumphant through your meekness.

Allow not your head, but rather your heart to reply to the following:

Do you believe that God loves you? I mean, really loves you? Do you love Him? Do you know how to be loved by Him? Do you experience His love regularly, or is it merely an intellectual concept?

Do you believe that He is more trustworthy than you could ever hope? Do you trust Him? Do you know that by faith in Christ, He will never leave you nor forsake you?

Think of the person, people, or situation that has maimed you deepest. Does God resemble them to you? Do you know and believe that He is nothing like the opprobrious subjects who have wounded, lied to, or discarded you? Are your beliefs founded upon God’s unchanging Truth, or are they founded in your woundedness?

Do you believe that in even the most grim situation, He is good and desires good for you?

Is your intellect standing on the knowledge of God’s character, but your heart retreating from His presence?

(Hint: These questions cannot be answered by just reading through them. Take them with you and consider in depth your heart’s answer. Most likely, your heart’s response is buried beneath layers of intellect, insecurities, fears, and debris. It’s going to take some excavating, and, if you’re honest, it will be probably be painful. Treasures such as these are never procured without a war, and a war is never absent of… yeah, you get it.)

Now, to aid you in unearthing your answers, let me give you a little test.

How do you know what you believe? How do you know that your answers are truly a response of your heart? You compare the content of your answers to the content of your life. Is what you said congruent with what you do? Is there evidence of a trust in and love for God in your life? Is there evidence that you regularly experience the love of God and know it in your heart?

Do you treat God like you treat those who afflicted you? Do you find ways - whether they be methods, sins, habits, attitudes, perspectives, doctrines, theologies, etc - to keep God in your personalized box? Do you find ways to keep Him at a reasonable distance?

Now, I would be misleading if I produced within you the idea that I am completely healed of all internal anguish or that I have vanquished my adversaries. Truthfully, it is a daily battle for me. Some battles I know I will fight my whole life through. But this is where I must learn to trust God all the more. I am no match for my enemies. My strength is feeble and my wits are dull. Believe me, I have tried to win this war, but inevitably I am left time and time again in a pool of my own depravity.

And you will be too, unless you find your solace, strength, and serenity in God Himself. We are guaranteed, as a result of living in a fallen world, that we will have tribulation. However, it does not end there! We are encouraged to take heart in this promise, that our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, the risen Savior, has overcome this world. That by His wounds we are healed. That by the power of His Spirit and the perfection of His love  our combatants are slain and our battles won!

“For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen.” - Ephesians 3:14-21

Thank you for reading. I love you all and am honored to call you brothers and sisters:)

Stay Rooted!!!

Setting the Stage (Part IV)

On the 4th of July weekend - only a couple days after my girlfriend broke up with me - my friend Jim and I took a trip down to sweet home Alabama where we met his family and I learned that the myths are all too true. What? No. Not about inbreeding and illiteracy. I’m talking about food and hospitality. Come on! We ate well. The mosquitos did too. The only one complaining was my waist line. Best of all, we got to spend a day out on the bayou. Ok, we were on a lake. I just feel more authentic using terms unknown around these parts.

Upon our arrival, the scent of banana puddin’ and comfort welcomed us. Jim’s mom is a delightful lady. She is a retired missionary nurse who, for decades, has healed the people of the world, principally in Africa. As a token of her adventures her house was cleverly decorated; each room had its own theme based on the seven continents. Of course, I was housed in the Africa room. Pictures of her working in clinics and curing African cultures lined the walls. Oh, by the way, did I mention that my girlfriend wanted to be a missionary nurse in Africa? Yeah. Go figure.

As I was lying in bed thinking about where I went wrong in my relationship and how I managed to destroy the best thing in my life, as well as why my father would make the choice to abandon my family and I, a voice - one that I attribute to the enemy, in whatever form it took - spoke to me. In the most malevolent temper, it said, “Of course your girlfriend left you! Even your own father didn’t love you enough to stay. What makes you think anyone else in this world would?”

......................

Even with my extensive background in pubescent warfare, I had never been hit that hard. It was a sudden strike that pierced into the very depths of my heart. In this somber solitude, I realized that my authentic awareness of rejection and abandonment had taken root long before she did it. To the enemy’s dismay, however, the wound pierced so deep that it actually revealed what was buried within. It penetrated to that place unseen; to a place I did not even know existed. God used for good what was intended for evil.

I had been rooted in rejection and abandonment for years. The fruit that I bore gave witness to it. Just ask any of my old girlfriends. Actually don’t. It will make me look bad. The roots ran deep. Too deep for me to realize. It took being rejected again by someone who I loved dearly to drive a shovel deep enough to unroot these issues.

Until this point in my life, if you were to ask me, “Nathan, do you fully believe that God loves you? Do you fully believe that He is trustworthy? Do you fully believe that He will never leave you nor forsake you?” I would have answered you, “Absolutely!” with a smile on my face and a heart that was running for the exit.

Most Christians that I know of who have a similar story as I do say that when they heard of how God is a Father to the fatherless and that He wanted to be theirs, it drew them to His embrace; they yearned to acquire the relationship of which their lives were lacking. This was not so with me. Every time I heard that God wanted to be my Father, my heart would retreat faster than France in...well, just about any war. It located the nearest escape and took it. Why? I don’t know, ask France. Oh, wait, you mean me?

When my father died, the impact warped my concept of who fathers are. Until this time, in the depths of my heart, I believed that fathers, by nature, abandon their families, are the most untrustworthy beings on this earth, are intolerably selfish, and are not truly loving; therefore, trusting them with your heart and life is suicide. Of course I would never admit it, but mainly because I did not realize I held these beliefs.

Do you see the predicament? 


(...Almost there. Just one more blog entry to go to complete the 'stage!'...)

Setting the Stage (Part III)

...my girlfriend broke up with me while I was in Nashville.

Now, I know you’re thinking, “Seriously? You left me hanging only to end with a sappy love story? If that’s what I wanted, I’d just go listen to Taylor Swift and get wasted on ice cream. See if I ever read this blog again.” But its point is relevant. I promise!

She was not just my girlfriend, she was my best friend. She was the love of my life. I had been strung on this girl for over five years. Five years, people! She understood me better than anyone ever has. Which, if you have ever been around me, is quite the feat. You would understand that even, or especially, my humor isn’t the easiest to grasp. I think it’s what most people classify as ‘dorky.’ But it was ok, because she was, or is, too. I was convinced that we were going to spend our lives together. Then it all fell apart and I could do nothing to repair it. Trust me, I wanted to jump on the first plane available, buy a white horse, knight’s armor, and a lance and go rescue her from the evil clutches of confusion, but I could not. I had to respect her choice and love her enough to let her go.

She broke up with me and it broke my heart. But out of this broken heart would flow insight and understanding.

 As a word of advice, if you ever get your heart broken - which I hope you don’t, but if you do - make sure you stay clear of country music and the South. Why? Because it’s musically catastrophic. I started writing songs about her. Cheesy ones too. With such titles as “Nashville Stole My Heart” - as a play on words - and “Lying to Me.” The lyrics of the latter had a line that said “I’ll be ok without you. But when will I see, that I can’t keep lying to me?” Oh heartbreak. It’s quite the inspiration, is it not? At least now I have trudged through the muddy soil in which the roots of country music are planted.

Fortunately, I had made some wonderful friends in “the ‘Ville.” Evan, one of my guy friends, was going through a similar situation; so, naturally, we talked about how women, at least our women, are ruthlessly irrational and have no true understanding of logic or their emotional processes (unlike any of you tremendous and beautiful women currently reading this blog, of course). It was quite therapeutic. Nevertheless, the feelings of abandonment and rejection lingered.

These very feelings from our breakup, however, would unearth deeper fears and misconceptions that had been buried for over a decade. This was not the first time I had been rejected. And though it felt like it at times, this was not the worst form of rejection I had endured either.

In my dejection, I also shared my story with my friend Jenn who had experienced her share of family struggles too. She thought it would help if she gave me a questionnaire she received from her counselor that focused on helping me understand my family dynamic and what role it had in shaping the person I had become. And help it did, but not nearly how I anticipated. More than anything, the questions got me thinking about my father, and I realized that much of my family’s dynamic was set on a new course the day he died. It impacted all of us. And as I hopped in the Delorian and explored the past, I saw just how vast the crater actually was and how far off course we had been cast.


At this point, I have yet to reveal how my father actually died. Well, shortly after receiving a letter from him that ended with, “I’ll see you soon, buddy boy,” I walked into that room to see the disclosure written on my mother’s face. Though he battled physical and emotional anguish for years, eventually he lost the war to drugs. 


So where is this all going? What does my girlfriend breaking up with me and my father dying from a drug overdose have to do with each other? I am glad you asked.


(...I was really trying to pack this all into three posts, but let's face it, the richness of life is more complex than a measly three entries. I hope you will join me next Monday for Part IV. Thank you very much for reading! I hope reading these stories bless you as much as you reading them blesses me!...)

Setting the Stage (Part II)

Anguish threw my sister on the couch and swept my brother into the refuge of my mother's arms. I remember my grandmother opened her arm to console me, and as she wrapped it around my waist, my heart sternly protested, “What are you doing? Don’t touch me. I don’t need you.” Anguish compelled me to promptly construct a stronghold inside of which I would imprison my heart for years to come.

Within this bastion, my heart grew cold and isolated. More than anyone, including my dad, I was angry at God. As I said, I knew facets about God, but true understanding was blinded by circumstance. I began to ask, “He is the one who claims to be all-loving, all-knowing, and all-powerful, right? Then why me? Why anyone?”  My anger towards God was frequently displayed in colorless language, hole-filled walls, contemplations of suicide, and broken relationships.


Remember how I said I knew about God’s attributes? Well, to my conscience’s dismay, I also knew about Christ and His death on the cross. The interesting thing about it was that no matter how angry with God the Father I was, I could never be mad at Christ Himself. This image of Him on the cross, giving His own perfect life for the sin of the world, laid stake in my mind. A residency that He would not relinquish. And my conscience suffered for it because looking back now, every instance in which I tried to cast Him out has been followed with, “Why are you doing this? I desire so much more for you. I died for you to truly love and be loved.”

I lived my junior high and high school years in trenches of anger and depression, plowed by genuine despair. Sure, I was the guy who wore a smile, and wore it well, but I was dying inside. I was caught in a desolate search for true love, intimacy, hope, joy, and all other aspects of life that make it worth living. With each new pursuit, however, I continued only to find myself more and more void of all these things.

I grew immensely hungry and increasingly thirsty for Life. And not the ‘life’ that is portrayed by our second-rate media either - money, popularity, glamour, sex; I tried those - I’m talking about True Life. But the food I ate and the water I drank left me hopeless and empty. I ate bread that could never fulfill and drank water that could never satisfy. You see, my longings went far beyond what can be touched with our hands and seen with our eyes. They reached to the very depths of what can only be held in our hearts and cherished in our souls.

For years, I wasn't ready to give in. I wasn't ready to trust. My feet were swift to run into arms that betrayed me time and time again. Part of me somewhat expected these arms to lose their grip, because I knew they could never hold me securely. But what if I trusted in the everlasting Arms and they let me down? To whom was I to run then?

So my feet continued on, searching for water in a barren land. My strength to persevere was diminishing and my hope was fading with the sun into an even more cold and lonely night.

Then, the summer before my junior year of high school, my friend Matt asked me to go with him on a men’s retreat to the Sierra Mountains with his dad’s church. “Fishing, food, and flatulence. Why not?” I thought. “Time with the guys would be nice.”

We hiked. We fished. We ate fish... lots of fish. Then we sat around the fire to share our stories. Tom shared first. He was a tall man who could flawlessly destroy any of us if he dared. Lucky for us, he had not a violent bone in him. Not that I ever saw anyway. Plus, I slept well, confident that he frightened even the bears away. In the midst of his story, Tom spoke of how Jesus is the Bread of Life and Living Water. I thought not much of it, until I began to share myself.

Somehow in the midst of my story, unexpectedly, and so graciously, spoken by Tom and ushered by the Holy Spirit, I heard these words on that mountain, "I am The Bread of Life and the Living Water. Whoever eats of Me will never hunger again. Whoever drinks of Me will never thirst again."

This was the Truth I longed to hear. This was the reality I longed to behold. This was the Love worth living for. So, in my brokenness, as the glow of the campfire illuminated my tears, all I could say was, "I'm so hungry. I'm just so hungry." I realized that my anger towards God was unfounded, for He and Christ are One. The very One I could never be mad at - the One who gave His life for us - was the very God I resented all those years. And if He would reach as far as to take the form of a man and die on a cross for all who would come to have true, repentance-proven faith in Him, is not His reach long enough to save me too? Is not His desire for me evidently good? And if it is good, then both my dad’s death and my fruitless efforts were not His desired will.

You may think this is were I give witness to the transforming power of the Holy Spirit and how He miraculously turned my life around that day to live a life free from fear, free from sin, and free from self; where I raise my hands and shout ‘Hallelujah!’ while dancing naked and handling snakes. This, however, would be untrue. Actually, the last part will always be untrue, at least as it pertains to this blog and the public eye.

My journey with God has been, well, just that, a journey. One where I run and retreat, stand firm and stumble, conquer and am conquered. There are mountains God helps me overcome, and ones I ascend only to plummet back down again. But this endeavor takes perseverance, and loads of it.

There is much I have learned, much I am learning, and even more I have yet to learn. I am an unfinished work. If I were not, I would be a shoddy final product. Nevertheless, I am “confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in [us] will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6).

In fact, I think some of the most significant realizations in my life took place just last summer in 2009 when...

(...join me next Monday for another chapter...)