I hit full stride at the 50-yard line. With the goal square in front of me, nothing could get in my way. As though through a tunnel, I was focused only on the light at the end. I zeroed in and let loose. Amidst the ecstasy of flowing adrenaline, I awoke from my pleasure on top of the ball carrier. My first tackle. My first season. My first game. I looked up to the stands, hoping I did good by him. Hoping I did real good. But was it enough? I surveyed the stands, looking, looking. But he was nowhere to be found.
Even here in Africa, far from the high school football field, I make the tackle only to look up and wonder, is it enough? Sitting with my good friend, Joe, at a local coffee shop I talk about some weekly struggles. Everything from culture shock to frustrations with my team and roommate to let-downs in myself. I am tempted to think, is this enough? I respect Joe as a mentor and love him as a brother, one who cares enough about my walk with the Lord to meet every other week. Yet, my temptation is always to ask, OK, is this enough? I learned some great lessons this week, is this enough? Have I earned respect, praise, love?
There are so many influences in this world that teach me to ask this question of God. Is it enough? Have I studied enough this week? Did you count my prayers as I walked the city? Did I do enough to feed the kids on the street? J.D. Greer has this to say about my search of enough: “The simple truth is this: the Gospel eschews the word “enough” in any context, except in describing Christ’s work on our behalf. “Enough” will almost always become a form of compulsion…”
I know Joe wants me to see him not so much as a mentor, but as a brother, as a colleague. Life isn't about what is enough. What I have to offer is not enough. What Joe has to offer is not enough. Christ has already accomplished enough for both of us. The less I work to try to please Joe, my team, and my Savior, the freer I will be to live my life in loving obedience to the Savior who has already said, “It is finished”, or, perhaps, “It is enough.”
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Scenic Route
In college the late Dr. Jerry Fawell stressed to me the importance of getting married. Well I didn't and was disappointed. When I graduated and my friends began to marry, I thought maybe I was doing it wrong. I was given the same message in a different way upon my arrival to seminary. For the first time, I was the minority. A single 22-year-old guy in a sea of married, established seminary students. The pressure seemed somewhat overwhelming. Now the message was not just get married, but get married so you can do ministry.
Despite this pressure to find that one special someone who possessed the key to the rest of my life, I decided to leave. Maybe I was running. Maybe not. But I began the process of going to Africa. And along the way I disobediently thought that maybe my obedience would provoke God to change His mind about my singleness. As this process progressed, I became entrenched in my decision to go live in Africa. And find her there.
Three months ago I sat on a beach in Spain and gazed at the moonlight shimmering across rolling waves. On a clear, calm night the tranquil ebb and flow of seawater lulled me into peacefulness. I enjoyed nature's beauty until one single thought ruined it all. Would I always have to enjoy these moments alone? I feared I might.
As I have waited for the last month and a half, my life has changed. Adventures have marked my path with even more promised. Twice the Lord seemed to speak to me. The first time He spoke, my course was reset for Mexico. The second time He spoke was just for me.
But as I think about living in Mexico, I start to wonder why I must return to seminary. At least, why right away for the Spring 2o12 semester? There is so much the world has to offer someone like me. I still want to live in California, Washington, or Florida. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail, even if it is by myself. I want to meet people from other cultures. I want to learn their language, their culture, and their dreams. No, before I return home to North Carolina, I have every intention of finally exploiting my singleness. Exploit it and enjoy it for as long as I can. But above all else, I am going to exploit it to the glory of my Savior. I have worked hard in my hermeneutics to overlook this, but I think Paul once said something similar.
Despite this pressure to find that one special someone who possessed the key to the rest of my life, I decided to leave. Maybe I was running. Maybe not. But I began the process of going to Africa. And along the way I disobediently thought that maybe my obedience would provoke God to change His mind about my singleness. As this process progressed, I became entrenched in my decision to go live in Africa. And find her there.
Three months ago I sat on a beach in Spain and gazed at the moonlight shimmering across rolling waves. On a clear, calm night the tranquil ebb and flow of seawater lulled me into peacefulness. I enjoyed nature's beauty until one single thought ruined it all. Would I always have to enjoy these moments alone? I feared I might.
As I have waited for the last month and a half, my life has changed. Adventures have marked my path with even more promised. Twice the Lord seemed to speak to me. The first time He spoke, my course was reset for Mexico. The second time He spoke was just for me.
But as I think about living in Mexico, I start to wonder why I must return to seminary. At least, why right away for the Spring 2o12 semester? There is so much the world has to offer someone like me. I still want to live in California, Washington, or Florida. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail, even if it is by myself. I want to meet people from other cultures. I want to learn their language, their culture, and their dreams. No, before I return home to North Carolina, I have every intention of finally exploiting my singleness. Exploit it and enjoy it for as long as I can. But above all else, I am going to exploit it to the glory of my Savior. I have worked hard in my hermeneutics to overlook this, but I think Paul once said something similar.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Nowhere To Run
Running from the border. Running out of time. And finally, running home. So just what was running through my mind as I fled the British-controlled border of Gibraltar? I can do this. On my own. And then I’ll tell everyone the story. So I ran and ran. And when I thought I was done, I ran some more. Running to pride. Running to my own glory.
We were two travelers, weary from the journey, who were ready to just sit for a few hours and watch a movie in our own language. Leaving the movie theater, we were both shocked to discover the time was 10:40. The last bus to Algeciras, Spain was scheduled to leave at 11:15, yet here we were on the other side of Gibraltar. So what did we do? We ran, of course. We ran through the downtown tourist area. We ran the length of Main Street. We ran across the airport. And we ran to the border.
Jogging across the border we flashed our passports and continued on to the bus station. We arrived at 11:07, but there was no bus. And everything was closed and locked. The sole occupant sat entrenched in the doorway with her belongings including some cigarettes, a pillow, and a coat. “Esta cerrado” she said. With this confirmation, my mind moved to our other options. Option #1: Sleep on the street. No thank you. Option #2: Find a hotel. At this hour of night? Option #3 struck me in a flash. “Cuantos kilos a Algeciras?” “25.” Algeciras was only 25 kilomters away. As I did the math I realized that was only 14 miles! Now the most I’ve ever run is 11 miles and that took a little more than 90-95 minutes. And here, I had all night! What a great challenge! Here was a real chance to show our mettle!
Luke was not so optimistic, but with some convincing he joined me and we soon found ourselves running down the interstate. Several kilometers later, as we jogged along the highway, Luke began to hold up the international hitchhiker sign. In the states this sign could be confused with a "good job," but we went with it.
Some kilometers later, Luke began to pray out loud. He asked God to provide a ride. But above all, he asked God to be glorified in us whether we got a ride or not. Around 12 kilometers from where we had begun in Gibraltar it finally struck me that my heart was wrong in all of this! While Luke had been far less optimistic than I about running home, my attitude had inwardly become haughty and prideful. While Luke was praying for God’s glory to come through provision, I was working hard to create my own adventure.
I jogged through the silence pondering my revelation. And it wasn’t even my revelation! It was God who had provided the conviction of sin. By the light of the moon and stars, God had illuminated my dark heart. My pride. My foolishness. “Lord, I did it again,” I repented, “be glorified in my attitude.” Immediately, the starlight that illuminated the ground we ran turned red. Brake lights came to a halt just ahead of me. Forgetting where I was, I greeted the driver in Arabic. Taken aback, he returned my greeting and continued to speak in Arabic.
For the final ten minutes of our journey I sat in the back seat and relaxed to the sweet sounds of Luke sharing the good news of Jesus in a mixture of Spanish, English, and Arabic. It is not for me to worry myself with what this man decides. But whatever he takes from the conversation, God was glorified through our attitudes. Attitudes of thanksgiving crediting every good and perfect gift to the Savior before our new friend, Hamid.
There is nowhere to run when I run for my glory. I can try to promote my own glory, but He always catches up with me. And as long as my strength, my will, and my endurance are sourced by my own pride I am doomed for a fall. With every step, humbling is just around the next bend. And repentance is the path to win the race, the marathon of His glory.
We were two travelers, weary from the journey, who were ready to just sit for a few hours and watch a movie in our own language. Leaving the movie theater, we were both shocked to discover the time was 10:40. The last bus to Algeciras, Spain was scheduled to leave at 11:15, yet here we were on the other side of Gibraltar. So what did we do? We ran, of course. We ran through the downtown tourist area. We ran the length of Main Street. We ran across the airport. And we ran to the border.
Jogging across the border we flashed our passports and continued on to the bus station. We arrived at 11:07, but there was no bus. And everything was closed and locked. The sole occupant sat entrenched in the doorway with her belongings including some cigarettes, a pillow, and a coat. “Esta cerrado” she said. With this confirmation, my mind moved to our other options. Option #1: Sleep on the street. No thank you. Option #2: Find a hotel. At this hour of night? Option #3 struck me in a flash. “Cuantos kilos a Algeciras?” “25.” Algeciras was only 25 kilomters away. As I did the math I realized that was only 14 miles! Now the most I’ve ever run is 11 miles and that took a little more than 90-95 minutes. And here, I had all night! What a great challenge! Here was a real chance to show our mettle!
Luke was not so optimistic, but with some convincing he joined me and we soon found ourselves running down the interstate. Several kilometers later, as we jogged along the highway, Luke began to hold up the international hitchhiker sign. In the states this sign could be confused with a "good job," but we went with it.
Some kilometers later, Luke began to pray out loud. He asked God to provide a ride. But above all, he asked God to be glorified in us whether we got a ride or not. Around 12 kilometers from where we had begun in Gibraltar it finally struck me that my heart was wrong in all of this! While Luke had been far less optimistic than I about running home, my attitude had inwardly become haughty and prideful. While Luke was praying for God’s glory to come through provision, I was working hard to create my own adventure.
I jogged through the silence pondering my revelation. And it wasn’t even my revelation! It was God who had provided the conviction of sin. By the light of the moon and stars, God had illuminated my dark heart. My pride. My foolishness. “Lord, I did it again,” I repented, “be glorified in my attitude.” Immediately, the starlight that illuminated the ground we ran turned red. Brake lights came to a halt just ahead of me. Forgetting where I was, I greeted the driver in Arabic. Taken aback, he returned my greeting and continued to speak in Arabic.
For the final ten minutes of our journey I sat in the back seat and relaxed to the sweet sounds of Luke sharing the good news of Jesus in a mixture of Spanish, English, and Arabic. It is not for me to worry myself with what this man decides. But whatever he takes from the conversation, God was glorified through our attitudes. Attitudes of thanksgiving crediting every good and perfect gift to the Savior before our new friend, Hamid.
There is nowhere to run when I run for my glory. I can try to promote my own glory, but He always catches up with me. And as long as my strength, my will, and my endurance are sourced by my own pride I am doomed for a fall. With every step, humbling is just around the next bend. And repentance is the path to win the race, the marathon of His glory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)