Paul and the Upcoming Conference

In just one short week, me and my lady friend will be hopping in a car and driving to Arkansas for a conference on creativity. Now, my first reaction is to make fun of such a conference. Creativity in Arkansas? Is that even possible? Feel free to make your own jokes, but I’m going to be the bigger man and move on. Okay, just one. I hope their idea of creativity in 2010 is not using flannel boards as a means to bring stories to life. Or that the new trend in social media is that new MySpace phenomenon. And if FinallyFast has a booth in the convention hall, I’m leaving. Alright, I’m done now.

So I’m heading to a conference and I always get a bit nervous about these things. The same thing happened when I was in youth ministry. The same question always pops up. “How big is your church?” “How big is your youth group?” For some reason, our value is attributed to the size of our church or ministry. And I’ve always hated that. Because I don’t have a huge ministry. I don’t work for a mega church. So in the eyes of the world, my value is very low. I’ve been tempted to lie on occasion. “How big is my church? A billion a week. How about yours?” “You ever heard of Starbucks? We started that in our church basement as a small youth fundraiser.” They might be lies, but they’d make me feel better. Better than saying, “You know? My church isn’t big and flashy. My feet are small and narrow and flat. My car needs three new tires. Most everything I know about design I learned from online tutorials. I’ve never won an award or been published. I listen to the “Glee” soundtrack. And I forget to flush most of the time.”

So as I get ready to go to this conference (note to self, you still need to actually register for this conference, find a hotel, and rent a car), I’m trying to go in with a new perspective. A perspective that bigger isn’t better. By the way, this perspective does not work when talking about TV’s or Christmas presents. I’m trying to go into this conference content with who God has created me to be. In Matthew 5, Jesus says, “You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less.” In Romans 12, you read, “Let’s just go ahead and be what we were made to be, without enviously or pridefully comparing ourselves with each other, or trying to be something we aren’t.”

So who am I? Am I a designer? Am I a youth minister that just isn’t youth ministering right now? What is my legacy? I was talking with some men about this a few weeks ago, and it was amazing that we all agreed that we are not our jobs. We are more than that. When we retire or move on or are down sized, people aren’t really going to remember us for long. For what we did for this or that company. But where will we be remembered? At home. Our families. Our children. My son doesn’t care if I ever win a design award. But he does care when I spend more time at work than I do playing with him. Or when I tell him that I can’t pass a football because I have a project I have to finish. My legacy is being formed at home. With my son. With my wife.

So as I go to this conference next week, I will not get drawn into the comparison trap. Yes, other people are better designers than I am. And other people work for bigger, flashier churches. And others have bigger paychecks and budgets. But God has me where He wants me. And my legacy does not lie in what I do, what my job is. My legacy is being made at home. And maybe I need to spend a bit more time worrying about that than about whether people like my designs or not.

Paul and the Struggle to Grow Up

If you’ve read this blog for very long, you know that I’m not perfect. Some of you might think I never do anything right, because I usually write about the many ways I’ve screwed up situations and relationships. And that’s not true. It just makes for better reading and storytelling. I do a lot of things right. Like…umm…you know…things. But it’s easier to look back at the ways I’ve fallen short; the things I struggle with. And there’s probably not anything that I struggle with more than my desire for the latest and greatest.

On 9/9/99, I stood in line for the Sega Dreamcast on the day it came out. I went to a midnight book release for Harry Potter. I had the latest iPhone delivered to my door the day it came out. I’m still eyeing a Kindle. And when my parents came to visit a few weeks ago, driving a new VW Jetta, I was ready to trade my car in for something new. I like the latest. I like the greatest. And when I want it, I want it. And I want it now.

I didn’t want to wait till I got married to have sex. I didn’t want to wait till I was 21 to drink. I didn’t want to wait till I was 16 to drive. I don’t want to wait till I’m 65 to retire. I don’t want to wait till I have the money to make the purchase. I don’t want to wait with one of those little buzzers at restaurants to be seated. I don’t want to wait for test results. I don’t want to watch commercials. I don’t want to wait till Tuesdays for new music to come out. I don’t want to wait till Christmas morning to open the presents. And for the last few weeks, I haven’t wanted to wait for my leg to heal to start running again. I have a goal to attain. I have a race to run.

At the start of the year, I was out of shape and quickly growing to “overweight” status. I’d call myself a skinny husky. I was about 130 pounds when I got married back in 1998. But at the end of 2008, I was about to top the 180 pound mark. I had stopped running. I was eating anything I wanted. And none of my clothes were fitting. So it was time to either lose weight or buy new clothes. I didn’t have the money to go shopping. So that made my decision easier. It was time to lose weight. So I downloaded a free app for my iPhone called LoseIt. It kept track of my calories and exercise. And slowly, the weight started coming off. I started running again and even ran in a race in March. I didn’t win. I didn’t place in my age group. But I finished. And after that race, I set a goal. Continue to lose weight (40 pounds was the goal), and run a marathon by the end of 2009.

So I talked with a friend of mine and we decided to run the Rocket City Marathon on December 12th, in Huntsville, Alabama. All summer, we braved the hot Florida heat, building base mileage. But at the end of June, while on vacation, I pulled a hamstring running. I didn’t want to throw off my training by taking a week off. So I kept running. And the hamstring kept hurting. And finally, about 3 weeks ago, the hamstring got very bad. But I still wouldn’t stop running. So I started compensating with pain by putting more weight on my other leg while running. And within a week, I had strained my achilles tendon. So I now had two bum legs. And after a 13 mile run one night, I decided that I couldn’t keep running. I needed to see a doctor.

I started going to physical therapy. The doctor told me to stop running immediately. I did, but every time I went back, I asked if I could run. I was supposed to run a half marathon that next weekend. I was going to run it and just not tell my doctor about it. But the day before the race, I was talking with some men in my small group. They were both runners and they convinced me that it would be better not to run, and be able to run in the future instead of rupturing my achilles and having to need surgery. I heeded their advice and pulled out of the race. I supplemented my running with cycling and swimming, but hated both.

On Tuesday of this week, I was invited to run with a group of guys the next morning. I decided to do it. Screw the doc. I was gonna run. But that morning, at staff meeting, my pastor led us in a group discussion on this passage from Colossians. And in it, I came across this verse. “Meanwhile, be content with obscurity, like Christ. And that means killing off everything connected with that way of death…doing whatever you feel like whenever you feel like it, and grabbing whatever attracts your fancy. That’s a life shaped by things and feelings instead of by God.” (Colossians 3:4-5 MSG)

That verse stayed in my head all day, and in the end, decided not to run that next morning. The doctor hadn’t cleared me to run. I needed to listen to him. He knew what was going on in my body. If I ignored him, I risked doing damage. The same is true when I choose to ignore Scripture. When I choose to chase after things and feelings. That’s why I’m so grateful for the people in my life that keep me grounded. My small group. My running partner. My wife. My son. My pastor.

My hope for you is that you have a group of people that will help you. Help you listen to God. Steer you back on track. Keep you from doing permanent damage to your life. It’s hard to wait. It’s hard to sit out of the race. But it will be worth it. I don’t know when I’ll finally run my marathon. But it will happen. When my body is ready. And it will be worth the wait!

Paul and the Integrity of a 6-year old

The other day, Toby, my 6-year old son, came home from school with a Lego character that wasn’t his. It was his friend Jared’s. Or it had been. Till Toby threatened to rat him out unless he gave it to him. You see, you’re not supposed to bring toys from home to school. But Jared decided to bring a tiny Lego figure with him, and he showed it to Toby. Toby did the polite thing by telling Jared that he wasn’t supposed to bring toys from home.  Very polite. Very appropriate. But then Toby took it one step further and threatened to tell the teacher unless Jared gave him the character. So Jared did, and Toby proudly showed us his new toy when he got off the bus.

We tried to explain that Jared didn’t “really” give it to him. He gave it out of fear. But Toby was convinced it was a gift. We tried to explain the concept of blackmail. Extortion. Mob tactics. We thought about sitting him down and having him watch a few episodes of “The Sopranos” on DVD. He was a tiny hit man in the making. But we kept talking to him and asked him if he’d like it if someone did that to him. Exploited his mistake for their benefit. He told us he wouldn’t like that at all. So we told him that he needed to give the character back to Jared. And he needed to tell Jared that he was sorry for treating him like he did. We figured he’d just throw the toy at Jared and say sorry. We’d take it. Small steps.

But the next day, Jen went to lunch with Toby. And while she was there, she witnessed Toby giving Jared his Lego back. And she also witnessed him explaining to Jared that what he did was wrong and that he was sorry for threatening to tell on him. He never looked at Jen for affirmation. He just took responsibility for what he had done…once he realized what he had done, and he took the steps to make it right. When Jen told me what he did, I was so proud of him. I was proud, because I never would have done that. And still don’t.

When I was in 1st grade, I found a coat in the school closet. I liked the coat. It was puffy. It was blue. I liked blue. And day after day, it never moved. So one day I decided to take it home. I didn’t really think it through. I didn’t imagine that my mother would notice that I had a new coat. But she’s perceptive. And she did notice. And I lied about where I got it. And in the end, I did get busted for it. And I did get in trouble. And I didn’t take responsibility for my actions.

To this day, there are things in my life that I try to pawn off on others. My actions, that I somehow rationalize onto someone else. Some circumstance. Some event. I don’t have half the integrity of my son. He even tried to give away half his allowance yesterday. I never would do that. In fact, I was complaining that my wife was giving away too much of our food. Like I said, integrity is not my strong suit.

But I’m also very fortunate to have people in my life that have integrity. That hold me accountable. A running partner. A small group. A wife. And now a son. People that God has used to teach me valuable lessons. People that God has used to model Godly behavior. People that probably don’t even know that I’m watching them, studying them, learning from them. And the crazy thing is that there are probably people that do the same to me. People that God has put into my life that watch how I respond in certain situations. God has not left us alone in our weakness. It is up to us to look up and see what he is doing around us. I really like Peterson’s translation of Colossians 3:1-2 in The Message. “So if you’re serious about living this new resurrection life with Christ, act like it. Pursue the things over which Christ presides. Don’t shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ – that’s where the action is.”

Who are the people in your life that God might be trying to use to mold you, teach you, lead you? Don’t shuffle along, eyes to the ground. Look up.

Paul and the Loss of Childhood

Jen and I were at a wedding reception this past Saturday. It was hot outside. Close to 90 degrees, as the sun was going down. I was just trying to stay in the shade. Stay cool. Try not to sweat and get those unsightly pit stains on my one dress shirt. But I look across the way, and there is our 6 year old son. Dress shirt and tie on. Running around the backyard with his best friend, like there’s no tomorrow. They’re wrestling in the grass. Throwing each other around. Getting dangerously close to the tiki torches. And sweat running everywhere. Down his face. His shirt sleeves are soaked from where he’s wiped his brow. His shirt is untucked. Grass and sweat in his hair. And he’s having a blast! Every once in a while, he’d stop, come guzzle some water, and then get back at it. He didn’t want to leave, even though he was a stinky, sweaty mess.

Where did that childhood innocence go in my life? When did I care so much about what others thought? When did I care more about my body comfort than having an adventure? So I started thinking of some of the things I used to do as a child, that I would never do now. And things that I try to discourage Toby to do..because what will people think?

When was the last time I built a ramp? Isn’t that a rite of passage if you’re a boy? Build a ramp and then jump something off of it. Whether it’s a bike, skateboard, or sled, building a ramp is awesome. I had a ramp growing up. Not really a ramp, but a sudden pitch, that would allow me to jump my BMX bike off of. And yes, I did fall off a few times. And yes, it did hurt. I bled. I have a scar on my knee. But I did it again. I won’t do it now. Why? Because I know it will hurt.

When was the last time I did a belly flop into the pool? Toby will jump into the pool, contort his body into all kinds of positions, and then get back up and do it again. It doesn’t matter if he lands face first, belly first, back first, or butt first. It’s all about the jump. It’s all about being able to say, “Did you see that? Wasn’t that awesome?” When was the last time I threw caution to the wind and just jumped into the water? I can’t remember.

When was the last time I rode down the stairs in a laundry basket? I used to do that all the time growing up. The adrenaline rush. How many steps could I make it down before I flipped onto my head and rug burned my cheek the rest of the way down? I won’t do it now, and I’d try to dissuade Toby from trying it. He might get hurt.

I used to ram all my Hot Wheels cars together in a demolition derby competition. The baseboards in my parents’ house still bear the scars and dings of those immortal contests. But not now. I think about resale value of the house. We can’t ding up the baseboards.

I used to pile up all the couch cushions in the house. I’d use them as I played football and dive over them like Walter Payton diving into the endzone. I’d plow through them like an action star plowing through enemies. I’d hide in them. But not anymore. I don’t want to get them dirty or covered in dog hair. Or scuffed up. We’re not made of money. We have to make the furniture last!

I don’t roll down hills anymore. I worry about grass stains and allergies and itchy knees.

I could go on and on. But where did my innocence go? Why don’t I throw caution to the wind? Why don’t I ride my bike with no hands on the handlebars? When did I become so safe? When did I care more about the value of my house and furniture than the thrill of childhood and laughter? When I think about this, I do keep coming back to Jesus telling his disciples that unless they can become like children again, they’ll never see the Kingdom of God. We’ve become so safe. So grown up. We refuse to lose abandon to those things God would have us lose abandon to. Stepping out in faith. Helping the helpless. Loving the lonely. Doing something without thinking about the consequences or what people will think. But just doing the thing that is on your heart to do. As adults, we pray for signs. Signs for a new job. A new move. A new relationship. The safe way to invest our money. I should just let Toby make those decisions. He wants to help people. He walked a girl to the teacher that had gotten her feelings hurt the other day because she just looked like she needed a friend. He told Jen that he lets that weird kid give him a hug and he’s not embarrassed by it. That’s a lot of wisdom in a 1st grader. And so instead of getting so upset when he jumps on the furniture, I need to learn from him. And maybe, just maybe, I need to jump on the furniture too. Before it’s too late. Before I’ve lost all my childhood. What about you?

Paul and the Kanye Debacle

When I was 12 I made a huge mistake. I threw away all my rock tapes. All of them. Quiet Riot. Twisted Sister. Ratt. Even Night Ranger. All into the trash can. I purged them from my life. I wasn’t sure how I was going to lift weights in the garage without the chorus of “Round and Round” soaring through the rafters, but I’d make it somehow. The reason I did it? Because I had just become a Christian. Those weren’t Christian bands. So I threw them all out. Two weeks later I regretted that decision. I needed to be reminded that “We’re Not Gonna Take it”. I needed to “Cum on Feel the Noize.” I had made a huge mistake.

I’m trying not to do the same this week in view of Kanye West’s jackassery at VMA Awards last weekend. I’d just recently spent 99 good cents on “Heartless” at iTunes. And another 99 cents on “Love Lockdown”. And finally, another 99 cents on “Stronger.” That’s a good $2.97 that I had to decide if I would really delete from my hard drive and iPhone. I’ve decided to hold off for now. I don’t want to revisit the tape burning debacle of 1985.

Am I embarrassed by what Kanye did at the VMA’s? Sure. Has he done that sort of thing in the past? Yes. Is he egotistical? You bet. But do I really know the real Kanye West? Not hardly. And I’m guessing that you don’t either. I was reminded of this on Monday when a lot of the people I follow on Twitter were putting together their best 140 character tirades against Kanye. Some were harsh. Some were funny. Some didn’t make much sense. But then one person had a very sobering comment. They said that before we judge Kanye too harshly, we should consider how we’d want people to treat us if MTV aired our deepest, most embarrassing, humiliating moment on national TV.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want that to happen at all. It’s hard enough facing the people that do know my deepest failures. My lapses in integrity. The many many moments when I’m not a light for Christ. Would I want that shown to the world? No way. Do I need my jackassery spread via YouTube? Not hardly. So I do need to think very carefully before I go off on Kanye or anyone else. I need to hear the words of Christ when the crowd stood before the woman caught in adultery, stones in hand. “Go ahead and throw the first stone…if you haven’t sinned.” And then I need to drop my stone, because I know good and well the life I’ve lived. The thoughts I’ve thought.

So for now I’ll keep my Kanye music. And I even have an urge to download “Round and Round.” And go lift weights.

Paul and the Night Run

A little over a week ago, I was out running, on my way home, and my next door neighbor came flying by on his bike. He’s a physical trainer, and there’s no sport that he won’t try at least once. As he cruised by on his pimped out cycle with aerodynamic everythings and whatchamacalits, he gave a wave and kept on going. As I got back to our neighborhood, he was waiting for me. He started asking me how far I was running. How often I was running. He noticed I had lost a lot of weight and body fat. And before I knew it, he stated that he’d like to run with me sometime. He asked me when I was going to be running next, and I told him that I do tempo work on Tuesdays at 6:15am and would love for him to join me and push me. He said he’d be there.

But Tuesday morning came and went, and he didn’t show. Later, my wife found a note in our mailbox from him, apologizing, saying he just couldn’t wake up. But he asked me to call him and when we chatted he asked me when I’d be running again. I told him that Thursday was my long run, and I run with someone, but he was welcome to join us. We were going to start at 7:30pm and go for 14 miles. This time he was there, ready to go.

As the first hour slogged on, we talked. All three of us. Jeff, Ricky (my neighbor), and me. We talked about work. Family. Heat. You can’t live in Florida without talking about heat at some point in every conversation. As we approached our first water stop at mile 5, the humidity and distance started to catch up with Ricky and he started falling behind a bit. But as we stopped, he caught right back up. We got a quick drink from the lukewarm water fountain that only dribbles to where you pretty much have to lick the bottom of the water fountain bowl like a dog, and we took off.

On the second leg of our run, it got dark. And as it got dark, Ricky started falling back again. But this time, for some reason, Jeff and I just kept talking. We got caught up in our conversation on heat and humidity and chafing, and all of a sudden, we looked back, and there was no Ricky. We were running on bike trails, but there were very few street lights (none), and oh yeah, Ricky’s black. And as he joked later, he kinda blends in.

So there we were, 7.5 miles into our run, and we had lost our guest. Did I mention that we made the great declaration to Ricky, that we leave no man behind?So Jeff backtracked a little, but couldn’t find Ricky. Nothing. We knew that he didn’t know our route, so our decision was to just loop back towards home and hope we caught him in case he turned around. So Jeff went one way and I went another, saying we would meet up at a certain intersection. We were trying to cover our bases in case he took a wrong turn. In just a manner of minutes, we broke all the cardinal rules of running. If we had been backpacking, we’d all perish and be eaten by wolves. We separated, a big no no. We did it in the dark. An even bigger no no. We had no way to get in touch with one another. Only one of us had water. We’re not smart…but we look awesome in shorty shorts!

Twenty minutes later, Jeff and I met back up, but no Ricky. Not knowing what to do, we headed the rest of the way home, hoping that Ricky made it back safely. Hoping we wouldn’t knock on his door and have to explain to his wife how we lost her husband. But when we got back, it was my wife that was out in the driveway wondering what the hell had happened. Ricky’s daughter had been by wondering where her daddy was. As she was talking to my wife, Ricky got back…but without us. So Jen started getting scared.

By the end of the night, we all sat in my driveway, eating popsicles, laughing about the comedy of errors that went into our run. And Ricky even mentioned that he’d love to run with us again, even though we broke our promise of no man left behind. But looking back on it, I definitely feel bad. I felt bad the moment we lost Ricky. No doubt about that. But I started thinking about that run, and thinking about all the years I’ve worked in a church, and how similar those are. Jeff and I were so busy talking, we forgot about Ricky. We knew what we were doing. We knew the route. We knew the pace. We knew where the next water stop was. Ricky knew none of that. How often do people come into our churches like that? They don’t know the typical order of worship even though we can do it with our eyes closed. And all my years of youth ministry, I see the similarity in summer camp. How we take kids to camp, they meet Jesus, and then we lose them because we don’t keep track of them afterwards. We just assume they’re doing fine. We get caught up in our own lives again. Our own ministries. And we lose the new Christian. We lose the visitor. We need to change our approach. Change our thinking. Leave no visitor behind. Leave no new Christian behind. And this time, we need to mean it!

And not only that, but I started thinking about my own testimony to Ricky. Here were two guys that work for a church…and we left the new guy behind. Is this what all Christians are like? Is this the view of a Christ follower that we’re giving to someone that isn’t part of a church? Ouch. Here’s hoping our next run is dramatically different. One where we don’t lose him. One where, if he falls off the pace, we say “screw the pace” and go back and stay with him no matter how long it takes. Because there are some things way more important than a good workout.

Paul and the Bathrobe

I have a bathrobe. It’s gray. Or at least I think it is. It’s been a while since I’ve worn it. In fact, I’m not really sure why I have one. I’ve never really figured out what the purpose of the bathrobe is. If you ask people when you’re supposed to use the bathrobe, you’ll get different responses. Some people will tell you that you put it on after a shower. So this means, I’m supposed to shower, dry off, put on the robe, walk into my bedroom, take the robe off and get dressed? So I have a bathrobe that I will wear for approximately 20 seconds? Seems like a waste to me. Or am I not supposed to dry off with a towel and just put on the robe straight from the shower? I don’t like the feeling of drip drying. Then other people will say that you wear it around the house on a cool evening. When do those happen in Florida?

Plus, when I think of bathrobes, I normally think of old people wearing them around. Except they call them housecoats. They’re the exact same thing, except these people live in them. Wear them all the time. Wear them so much, they’ve started to wear thin. And I still remember my father in law coming into the living room of his house one evening wearing his robe, squatting down to pet the dog and giving me a peek of things best left unseen. My grandmother has done that too. So part of me associates bathrobes with unintentional flashing. They may tie in the middle, but when you sit down, you really have to be careful to make sure the flaps stay overlapped. It’s hard to carry on a conversation with someone in a bathrobe. If they get animated, everything can go downhill in a moment’s notice!

So more often than not, I’ll walk into my closet, see the bathrobe hanging there, and just think, “Not today, my gray friend.” No time to fit you into my schedule. Not even sure how to fit you into my schedule.

I’ve definitely had seasons in my life where the way I act with my bathrobe is the same as the way I act with God. If you ask people how they communicate with God on a daily basis, or include God in their daily lives, you’ll get lots of different responses. It’s a Sunday thing. I pray before I get out of bed. I pray before I go to sleep. I talk with God all the time. I tell my friends about God. I never tell people about God because I don’t want to push my beliefs. It’s like some big cosmic bathrobe.

I seem to only grab my bathrobe if the house is chilly. There’s been times in life where I’ve only really sought God when my life was in turmoil. God was my security blanket. My warmth. And when the crisis was over, I hung God back up, ready for the next time I needed Him. There’s been seasons when I’ve tried to develop a habit of using a bathrobe because I know other people do it. So I’ll remember to wear it a few times, and then slip back into my regular routine of just skipping the bathrobe. It’s weird. It doesn’t feel natural. It takes too much time.

The same has been true with my time with God. I’ve made conscious efforts to spend time with Him because I know it’s something I should do. Not necessarily something I want to do. But I should do it. So I make the time for a little while. I’ll do a devotional or read a book. But after a while, I’ll slip back into my old routines. It just feels weird. I don’t feel God speaking to me. It takes too much time. And so more often than not, I’ll pass my Bible, sitting on my nightstand and say, “Not today buddy.”

Maybe you can’t relate. Maybe you’ve figured out perfectly how to weave God into your everyday, ordinary life. There’s moments when I think I’ve got it figured out. But more often than not, I just feel like my relationship with God is like my relationship with my bathrobe. I’m just still trying to figure out what it’s all for. How I’m supposed to do this. Use this. Integrate this. How do I live it out for real? How do I live it out because I want to live it out, not because I think I should? It’s hard. But I really do want my relationship with God to be more like the old, worn, ratty housecoat that is threadbare and flashes people instead of fresh terrycloth robe that hangs in the closet most of the time until I need it most.  But maybe that’s just me.

Paul and the Pilates Workout

Yes, I said it. Pilates. A workout regimen I usually associate with women in tights, doing silly movements with a big inflatable ball. And yesterday I became one of those women. Whether I wore the tights, I will leave to your imagination. But there I was in the living room last night, big blue ball on the floor. DVD in the player. Ready to pilat, or pee-lot, or whatever they call the act of doing pilates.

I decided to add this type of workout to my marathon training. I’d heard that this or yoga, or some similar exercise was a good way to improve my core strength and flexibility. Actually, anything that could help my flexibility would be a good thing. I have the flexibility of a stick. I can’t bend well. If I didn’t know otherwise, I would swear my spine was fused together. It just doesn’t seem to bend or flex. I can’t touch my toes without bending my knees or having a six year old jump on my back. The closest I can get to doing the splits is standing up with my legs shoulder width apart. Anything more than that and I’m terribly uncomfortable.

So core strength, flexibility, this should be a good thing. So last night I went through my first pilates workout. Today, the list of places that I’m sore is numerous and growing as I type. My groin is stretched. My outer thighs are sensitive to touch. My shoulders feel like I’ve been hauling bags of grain all day. Of course, I’ve never actually hauled a bag of grain, but this is what I imagine it might feel like. My lower back hurts. And the list goes on. And it didn’t help that the workout had exercises with the dumbest names imaginable. “The Hundred.” The hundred what? And the fact that I was laying on this ball, raising and lowering my arms while breathing like I was in labor didn’t help. Was I supposed to actually give birth to the ball? Was I supposed to hyperventilate?

I can’t say that my core strength is any better. I’m supposed to do this workout three times a week and my DVD trainer guaranteed that I’d see results. We’ll see. But I’m hoping that this slightly different workout will help bring balance to my exercise and fitness routine. Right now, I’m just running and running and then running some more. My running muscles are in really good shape. I’m getting faster. I’m going farther. I’m acclimating to the heat of Florida. All good things. But then when I switch to simple stretching exercises or 3lb weights, my body feels like it’s been hit by a truck. You’d think that if you can run 2 hours, you can do 30 minutes of pilates without a problem. Not so. They work different muscle groups.

I have a spiritual routine too. Before I go to bed, I read one of two devotionals that I have on my nightstand. These are easy for me to do. But ask me to sit in prayer for 15 minutes? I’m convinced time stands still and have problems staying awake at times. Need me to give a talk to a group of people? Not a problem. With my background in youth ministry, this comes naturally. Want me to give up my Saturday and serve others? Now that’s a lot harder.

Some of my spiritual muscles are fairly strong. They’re not Billy Graham strong. Or Mother Teresa strong. But I have no problem sitting down with an Andy Stanley book or Francis Chan book and taking notes. But other muscles are really weak. My servanthood muscle. My prayer muscles. My self-control muscles. My sacrifice muscles. My loving my enemy muscle. In fact, I think that last muscle has gone into atrophy I haven’t used it in so long.

In order for me to be spiritually grounded, I need to be exercising all my muscles. Some are easier to work out. Some are harder. Some come naturally. Some take serious discipline. But for me to be the man God wants me to be, I need stretch myself. I need to do things that are out of my comfort zone. I need to add some spiritual pilates. Tights are optional.

Paul and the Facts about Feelings

My feelings are not facts. I don’t think I’d ever thought that before yesterday. In fact, I’ve thought the exact opposite. If I feel sad, then I am sad. That’s a fact. If I feel tired, then I am tired. That’s a fact. But then I got a tweet from my buddy @muntz, and he linked me to a small bit of writing, that personally, I need to read each and every day till I die, have it memorized, or actually believe it. This comes from Deadly Viper’s blog.

“There are ugly things that swirl in my head about my identity, future, and self worth. It happens often. I’m going to lose my job. Friends don’t care. I’m not a very good Dad. I said too much in that meeting. That person is using me. I’m alone. I can’t accomplish that. Crippling thoughts. Vapor. Fluttering through my head. Totally invisible. Nothing physical. No research or concrete evidence supporting my self critique. No one telling me this. Just pesky little thoughts of ugliness. A total intangible. Daily, I have to remind myself that my feelings are not facts.”

Wow. That one hit me across the face hard. Cold water. A powerful slap. I wanted to say “amen!” after I finished reading it. But at the same time, almost immediately, my mind started with the “yeah, but…” arguments. Maybe you’ve had these yourself. You read these statements and start saying, “yeah, but, my situation is different. My friends don’t care because I haven’t put the time into our relationship. I’m not a good dad because I put work before family. I am alone because I put up walls. I can’t accomplish that because I don’t have the same gifts as so-and-so.”

It’s a hard battle to overcome. I’m lifted, oh so temporarily from my own prison when I read blogs like that. But then I refute them. Say they don’t apply to me. Say that they’re for everyone else. And end up back in my “feelings are facts” mode again.

But if I’m still…if I’m quiet…if I let the words seep in…if I’ll let myself believe them for even just a moment, I can see the real facts. I know that God created me in His image. I know that He said “It is good.” I know that I’ve fallen short. I know that He sent His son to pay for my facts and feelings. I know that my failures don’t define me in His eyes no matter what others think. I know that His love is not conditional on my performance. I know that if I lose my job He will still love me. If I get a promotion He will still love me. No more, and no less, regardless of which happens. He accepts me, and loves me. My identity, future, and self worth are secure because of Him. These are the facts. These trump feelings.

Or at least they’re supposed to. I struggle with the facts because they seem too good to be true. My mind jumps into “yeah, but” mode. There’s a part of me that won’t surrender my failures to God. That same part that is still convinced I need to earn his acceptance. And unfortunately, those aren’t facts. That’s just pride.

I hope that you do better than me on this. That you can separate facts and feelings. Like I said, I need to read that statement over and over again until I die, have it memorized, or actually start to believe that it’s true.

Paul and the Stop Motion Video

Holy Crapazoid Batman! That was the only thing I could think of when I watched this video. I can’t even imagine how much time it took to make it. Over 60,000 pictures were taken? I can’t even count to 120 without messing up and starting over. But this video tells an entire story, using only pictures. Take a look. And if you’re not awed, you have no soul. Or you think that magic is real and that there really is a galaxy far far away where they fight with light sabers.

I’ve seen other videos similar to that one, and maybe it’s the designer in me that is so wowed by it. But it really is something to watch. If you took a look at any of the singular 60,000 pictures, you wouldn’t be floored. It’s just a picture. What’s the big deal? Sure, some of the pictures might be cooler than others. But it’s not till you combine all the pictures together that you get the full story. That you truly see the larger picture (no pun intended…okay, maybe a little pun intended)

Isn’t that how life is too? Our lives are made up of lots of little snapshots. Days. Moments. Choices. Decisions. And some of the snapshots are pretty awesome. Getting the promotion. Getting engaged. The birth of a child. Winning the Tour de France. But there are other snapshots that don’t reflect well on us. Dishonesty. Poor decisions. Divorce. Cancer. Death of a loved one. Unemployment.

I don’t know about you, but I seem to dwell way too long on one snapshot. I keep replaying that moment over and over. I can’t seem to see the larger tapestry of pictures being formed. I lose the ability to see the whole story. This video, to me was just a reminder that it’s not the snapshot that defines my life as a whole, but the full story that is being told. Sure, I’m going to have bad days. I’m going to be a tool. I’m going to struggle with temptations. I’m going to fail my wife and child and employer. But does that equal who I am? I don’t think it does. I’ve just begun a new book, upon recommendation, entitled, Shattered Dreams, by Larry Crabb. It only took me 4 pages to get to this quote. “Our shattered dreams are never random. They are always a piece in a larger puzzle, a chapter in a larger story.”

Your life is more than a snapshot. Don’t let your gaze linger too long at your failures. They are not random. They are part of your tapestry. Your larger puzzle. Your larger story. What story is your entire life telling?