What do you do when God doesn’t show up the way you thought He would? What do you do when your dreams are shattered? What do you do when your life isn’t turning out the way you thought? What do you do when you have to turn to Plan B? These are the questions asked on the jacket of Pete Wilson’s new book Plan B, and they’re appropriate. Everyone goes through a Plan B situation. I know I’ve been there more than once. Two years ago I was working at a church doing what I thought I was going to do for the rest of my life, and that fell apart. A year later, I was still miserable but my one constant was the girl I was in love with and was sure I would marry. Then that fell apart, too. I was angry, confused, and upset. I was so sure that God would at least let me have that. I was so sure that that was part of His plan. I really could’ve used this book back then.
In Plan B, Pete tells the stories of Bible characters we all know, as well as personal stories of his own and people he’s come into contact with throughout his life who have gone through their own crises or had their dreams shattered. Folks like Joseph, David, Joshua, Abraham, and modern folks like Pete’s friends Angie and Todd Smith, or Justin and Trisha Davis. Pete relates the stories of his friends and these Biblical heroes to whatever Plan B situation you may be going through right now. You will probably find (as I did) that a lot of the questions you have are the same. Why is God doing this to me now? Why is God letting this happen? What did I do to deserve this? So the first thing I want to note is that reading this book made me feel as if I was in good company. I’m not alone in my pain. In my sorrow. Even Jesus went through Plan B’s. He was “a man of sorrow and acquainted with grief.” (Isaiah 53:3)
What I was afraid this book would be (unfairly, given what I knew of Pete from his blog posts and tweets) was a self-help book of 7 easy steps to grief-free living, or a guide to praying the prayer that frees you from your problems. That’s what seems to sell, anyway. But that isn’t what this book is. There’s a beautiful turning point about 2/3 of the way in where Pete brings up the cross. You see, Pete has this crazy idea that maybe our Plan B’s have a purpose, much like the cross of Jesus. Maybe they’re taking us somewhere. Maybe they’re changing us. Maybe it’s in the Plan B, in the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, that God’s doing His work in us. And there’s one passage in particular that punched me right in the gut:
You may be at odds with God right now. You’re not happy with the way your life is turning out. You may be praying and pleading with God. But is it possible you don’t really want God? Is it possible you just want what God can give you?
Ouch. That really hit home for me. How many of us have done that? Probably all of us. I know I have.
You see, Plan B isn’t a book that claims to have all the answers. But it does point us to the solution, the cross of Jesus. It is at the cross our hope is found. In this world we will come across all sorts of trouble, but can have HOPE because our God has overcome the world (John 16:33 my paraphrase). This book doesn’t end with a nice bow wrapped on top, to make everyone feel better. But it does end with an honest challenge that can change the way you live in your Plan B. Choose to let God change you, choose to love, and choose to trust. I pray we all can do that. Amen.
Our woes began when God was forced out of His central shrine and “things” were allowed to enter. Within the human heart “things” have taken over. Men have now by nature no peace within their hearts, for God is crowned there no longer, but here in the moral dusk stubborn and aggressive usurpers fight among themselves for first place on the throne…The roots of our hearts have grown down into things, and we dare not pull up one rootlet lest we die. Things have become necessary to us, a development never originally intended. God’s gifts now take the place of God, and the whole course of nature is upset by the monstrous substitution.
– A.W. Tozer, in The Pursuit of God
My love affair with things began early. I remember my prized collection of action figures, or ‘mens’, as I called them. Most of them were Ninja Turtles, which eventually gave way to X-Men. If you tried to take my ‘mens’ from me, there’s a good chance it would end in screaming. As I got older, my things changed. I didn’t care about action figures anymore. I cared about baseball cards and books. Then I cared about guitars. DVDs and CDs. Cars. Clothes. My Blackberry. Blackberry apps. My TV. Tivo. Cable. Cable Internet. My computer. My 20 inch flat screen monitor. I’m surrounded by things. I love things. I need things. Or, at least, I tell myself I do.
How did this happen? How did this predisposition to possessions get wired into my little brain? Well, I think Mr. Tozer already answered that question. So the next question is…How do I get over it? How do I make sure that with all of the “things” surrounding me, I don’t lose sight of the one thing that really matters?
Love God, your God, with your whole heart: love him with all that’s in you, love him with all you’ve got! Write these commandments that I’ve given you today on your hearts. Get them inside of you and then get them inside your children. Talk about them wherever you are, sitting at home or walking in the street; talk about them from the time you get up in the morning to when you fall into bed at night. Tie them on your hands and foreheads as a reminder; inscribe them on the doorposts of your homes and on your city gates.
– Moses to the Israelites, in Deuteronomy 6: 5-9
These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on.
– Jesus, in Matthew 7: 24a
I think that’s where it starts. We have to love God more than anything. And we have to take the things He has taught us, shown us, instilled in us, and make them real. Make them ours. Build our very lives on them. It’s a struggle, but I pray God gives me strength to build my life on His words, and not on the ‘things’ of this world. Amen.
Anyway, today is Poem In Your Pocket Day (Thanks for the tip, Kari). I didn’t know that was today until I was already home, but as soon as I found out I knew what poem I would pick. It’s my favorite poem ever and it’s by one of my favorite Poetry/Prose Auteurs, Wendell Berry. It’s called A Warning To My Readers
Do not think me gentle
because I speak in praise
of gentleness, or elegant
because I honor the grace
that keeps this world. I am
a man crude as any,
gross of speech, intolerant,
stubborn, angry, full
of fits and furies. That I
may have spoken well
at times, is not natural.
A wonder is what it is.
How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a second that you’re carrying a backpack. I want you to pack it with all the stuff that you have in your life… you start with the little things. The shelves, the drawers, the knickknacks, then you start adding larger stuff. Clothes, tabletop appliances, lamps, your TV… the backpack should be getting pretty heavy now. You go bigger. Your couch, your car, your home… I want you to stuff it all into that backpack. Now I want you to fill it with people. Start with casual acquaintances, friends of friends, folks around the office… and then you move into the people you trust with your most intimate secrets. Your brothers, your sisters, your children, your parents and finally your husband, your wife, your boyfriend, your girlfriend. You get them into that backpack, feel the weight of that bag. Make no mistake your relationships are the heaviest components in your life. All those negotiations and arguments and secrets, the compromises. The slower we move the faster we die. Make no mistake, moving is living. Some animals were meant to carry each other to live symbiotically over a lifetime. Star crossed lovers, monogamous swans. We are not swans. We are sharks.
That quote from Jason Reitman’s Up in the Air covers Ryan Bingham’s entire philosophy of living. All of his possessions are in the luggage on wheels and the wallet in his suitcoat. He carries dozens of keycards for hotels, car rental companies, airlines, etc. He lives on the road and in the sky. Ryan’s family accuses him of self-isolation. Ryan counters “I’m not isolated, I’m surrounded.” But it becomes fairly clear that the random people Ryan encounters in planes and airports aren’t enough. Without even realizing it, he’s seeking relationships. Community. He meets Alex, a fellow constant traveler with similar philosophies, and they form a sexual connection. But that isn’t enough for Ryan, and it’s a joy to watch him realize that. I won’t go into where the relationship goes, and there’s so much more to this film I didn’t bring up, but I love the way this film depicts the difference between living in isolation and living in community. The final scene of the film is filled with interviews of people Ryan has “fired” telling how they made it through the ordeal. Each of them depended on their family and friends to get them through it. That’s what we need. God made us to be together, not alone.
It’s been a hard few weeks. My girlfriend of a year and three months broke up with me. I lost my job temporarily (got it back now). I still don’t really know where I’m supposed to be when it comes to work or church…or really anything. But I’m living, and I’m going to keep going. I had a really rough summer last year, and this one had been good until recently. It’s hard when something you love and take for granted goes away. Not surprisingly, music’s helping me get through this. This Avett Brothers song (big surprise) has really helped today. Enjoy.
And I run to the arms of another song, another story by a man who’s dead and gone; When will I run, when will I run to the arms of God?
– Andrew Osenga – “When Will I Run?”
Now–here is my secret:
I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God–that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.
– Douglas Coupland – Life After God
I’ve been putting off writing this post for several months now, but a post over on Kari’s blog encouraged me to finally take the plunge. Right now, I’m listening to Andrew Osenga’s “Too Far To Walk” from his Photographs album. I could post all the lyrics to this song and they would apply to what I’ve been going through, but you’ll have to search them out for yourself. I need to get this out, and quick before I change my mind. If you read this blog, you know about the things I went through last summer (here’s the post about it), but I left out a crucial part because of the hurt that I feel when I think about it. I dream about it at least once a week, and it’s been the hardest struggle my mind has ever gone through. When my panic attacks started, I stepped down from leading worship at my church “temporarily,” until I could get things straightened out. I felt it was what I needed to do. I didn’t believe I could adequately lead the people of my congregation in worship when there was so much weighing down on me. This was supported by nearly everyone I know, including my family, my girlfriend, my friends, and the church’s pastor. After one failed restart (I had a panic attack on the way to practice on the day I decided I was ready to come back…I wasn’t ready, apparently), I finally knew, knew, mind you, that I was ready. That God had made me ready to do what I needed to do. I must digress to tell you that I believe more than anything in my heart that I’m supposed to use the musical talent God has given me to lead others in worship. So, I was ready. I met with my pastor and told him where I was at and how I felt. This meeting didn’t go the way I had hoped. I learned that my pastor believed the reason for my panic attacks, the reason for my depression, the reason I had struggled for three months was because I had somehow failed morally. He hinted that maybe it was because my girlfriend and I had slept together. This isn’t true, and to be honest, I was offended. I was hurt. I’d worked at the church for more than three years, and this man, my pastor, my friend, his first guess as to what has caused my problems is that I (pardon the commonness of this term) was screwing my girlfriend. Again, this isn’t true. Our conversation didn’t end there. He informed me that he would be happy for me to come back to leading worship at the church, after a four month probationary period, in which accountability would have to established, and I would have to earn back the trust of the church and its congregation. Let me restate that I stepped down from my position temporarily of my own accord, so I was confused as to where I betrayed the trust of the church. The meeting didn’t end well, and I haven’t been back to the church since. I’m fairly sure that no one there knows exactly what happened, and I haven’t talked to anyone from the church with the exception of a couple of folks. I regularly have dreams where I confront the pastor, asking him why he did things the way he did them, but the truth is I’m scared to talk to him. I know I should. I know it’s biblical (Matthew 18), but I’m afraid of what I might do. Yes, I’m really afraid I could become violent. I have so many feelings and emotions inside of me that I don’t know how I might express, or even how I could. My girlfriend and I attend church with my parents now, at a place where we feel welcomed and loved. I miss my old community so much, but I know in my heart I can never go back. I hope someday there can be reconciliation, but I fear there may never be. I pray there will at least be closure.
This situation has taught me, more than anything, and more than ever, that I need God. I need him more than the air that I’m breathing, and more than the blood pouring through these veins of mine. I know He’ll never leave me. I pray I never leave Him.
I’m currently reading A.J. Jacobs’s second book, The Year Of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. Jacobs is a secular Jewish man (He says he’s Jewish like “the Olive Garden is Italian”) who decided to take a year to immerse himself in the Bible. To see what it would look like to follow the Bible as literally as possible, to the letter. Every jot and tittle, as they say. What results is a sometimes funny, sometimes profound, sometimes moving memoir. I’m about 3/4 of the year through and this passage I read this morning moved me so that I felt I had to put it somewhere for posterity. For context, this excerpt was written from Jerusalem during a short trip Jacobs took there.
Today I’m taking a rest from a walk on a set of stairs near the Jaffa Gate. Or maybe near the Lion’s Gate. I’m not sure. Frankly, I’m lost. But I’m resting here on the stone steps, which are cool and shaded and have a bumpy surface that makes them look like a Rice Krispies treat. I have my head bowed and my eyes closed. I’m trying to pray, but my mind is wandering. I can’t settle it down. It wanders over to an Esquire article I just wrote. It wasn’t half bad, I think to myself. I liked that turn of phrase in the first paragraph. And then I am hit with a realization. And hit is the right word– it felt like a punch to my stomach. Here I am being prideful about creating an article in a midsize American magazine. But God–if He exists–He created the world. He created flamingos and supernovas and geysers and beetles and the stones for these steps I’m sitting on. “Praise the Lord,” I say out loud. I’d always found the praising-God parts of the Bible and my prayer books awkward. The sentences about the all-powerful, almighty, all-knowing, the host of hosts, He who has greatness beyond our comprehension. I’m not used to talking like that. It’s so over the top. I’m used to understatement and hedging and irony. And why would God need to be praised in the first place? God shouldn’t be so insecure. He’s the ultimate being. Now I can sort of see why. It’s not for him. It’s for us. It takes you out of yourself and your prideful little brain.
It’s late again. I’m fairly sure that isn’t much of a surprise to anyone who might read this blog. I’m not what you’d call a “morning person,” although I suppose that depends on your definition. It’s morning now, right? Yesterday was Christmas, for those of you who hablar Espanol, which means “more Christ.” I think that’s beautiful. We celebrate this day by giving and receiving presents and putting electrical gadgetry on nature’s least fireproof organism, the tree. Also, we drink eggnog and sing songs about a fat man in red and white who orders around a bunch of flying deer and little people. They don’t like to be called elves, it’s not PC. The more festive folk also like to string up electrical gadgetry on the outside of their houses. It’s a strange culture we live in, but I digress. The reason I started this post was to tell you why I’m lucky. I must first apologize to my father, for if he ever reads this blog he will surely scold me for my use of the word “luck.” My dad would say I’m not lucky. That chance has nothing to do with where I am now but that God in his grace and mercy and benevolence has decided to bless me. He’s probably right. He’s smarter than I am, although he would try to tell you otherwise. Just because I’m the only one in the house who knows how to work the electronic gadgetry we depend on doesn’t mean I’m the one with the brains. Again, I digress. Why am I so lucky? I’ll tell you.
Three days ago was the eight monthiversary of my beautiful girlfriend Ashley and me. I think me is right. It might be I. Don’t shoot me grammarians. Ashley spent Christmas Eve evening (redundant much?) and Christmas morning with my family and I. She met much of the extended family on both my paternal and maternal sides. They all love her and she loves all of them and I must tell you how amazing it felt to watch the person I give the most of my love to bonding and getting along with the people who’ve known me the longest. Christmas evening (last night) Ashley and I went to her mother’s house to have Christmas with her family and it was pretty great. I feel like I’ve assimilated into her family just as well as she fits in with mine. I’m so glad.
I wasn’t particularly worried about this, mind you. In fact, I hadn’t even considered the thought but to see the interactions unfold, to see the happiness on all faces involved. It was, what’s the word? Satisfying.
I have much to say, but not enough energy to say it tonight so until we meet again…
The title to this post is from a song by Willie Nelson, whose music I’m drawn to for some strange reason this evening. I was listening to his album of demo sessions when this song came up, and I remembered it from an episode from the first season of Lost (my favorite TV show for those who don’t know me). In this particular episode the survivors of Flight 815 break up into two factions. Part of the group heads to the caves with Jack to dig in and try to survive. There’s fresh water at the caves, and shelter. The rest stay at the beach with Kate and Sayid to keep the signal fires burning, hoping for rescue. I remember watching this episode and trying to decide which group I’d be in. I don’t think I ever decided, and I’m still not quite sure about it. I’m at a place in my life where I have to make this kind of decision. Do I dig in and hope for survival, or do I keep the signal fires burning and hope for rescue? The truth is, I’m not sure I’m where I want to be, Willie.
One of my favorite bands is The Avett Brothers. They have an ability to capture energy and emotion in their music like noone else I’ve ever heard. My life has been a range of emotions as of late. If there was a soundtrack, it would be the music of the Avetts. I’m trying to be sanguine, as their song suggests, but at times it is difficult. Light-heartedness has been one of my trademarks for most of my life. When people describe me they say I take things as they come, live in the moment, I’m easy-going, unencumbered with the worries of life. They’re wrong. I’m trying to be that again. I’m trying.