Don't

Sometimes I

Don’t know the right words

Don’t know if I can sweeten my attitude

Don’t know how long the road will be

Don’t know how to do what needs doing

But I

Do know God is wise 

Do know God is loving 

Do know God is faithful

Do know God is gracious

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

— Romans 8:37-39 (NIV)

What don't you know, friends? Share a comment below. And, please share this post to get others thinking too.

A New Road

I used to be a runner. A marathoner. Running—in addition to being enjoyable exercise—was a metaphor for life. Now I’m a cyclist. And just as I saw deeper meaning in the act of running, so too in the transition to cycling.

Life means change.

We grow; we age. We’re healthy; we’re sick. Things work; things break. We hope; we hurt. We love; we hate. Chapters start; chapters end. We learn; we languish. Circumstances smile; circumstances stink. We’re joyful; we’re sorrowful. We’re born; we die. 

Is change the only constant?

As I wrote here, “Part of maturity is sacrifice. Part of maturity is transition. Part of maturity is change. Nothing lasts forever. Everything has a season.” Life means change. We may not want to surrender to it, but we may be forced to.

Guess what I discovered in this change?

As much as I loved running, I thoroughly enjoy cycling. I feel a bit like a kid again every time I start a ride or pedal as hard as I can to top a hill or race down the other side. It’s fun. There is joy in the new road. Of course, cycling is not life, but it shares lessons that apply to our greater life concerns.

How can we better handle change?

Have the funeral. Mourn your loss. Write the obit. Offer your eulogy. Seriously. Whether it’s a job change, relationship change, health change, ability change, or whatever. Mourn as fits your personality and situation. If it’s not coming back, then celebrate what it was and close the chapter. Go at your own pace, but engage the process. God made us to grieve. Grief serves a positive purpose.

Share the experience. Again, as it fits your personality and situation, invite family and friends and anyone else who can help or cares to listen into your change. Change is a common denominator of all people. You’ll be surprised how folks step up to contribute to your recovery if you let them in. Folks want to help, they just might be too shy to volunteer; give them an invite. We need one another. We’re always better together.

Get moving forward. I’m not a cyclist unless I get out there and cycle. What about you? You’re not truly alive unless you are out there living, right? Don't die before you take your last breath. Get moving. In your own time, pursue some new dream, new relationship, new you, new whatever. Get yourself moving forward to get yourself healthy. Life is change. Roll with it. Even down your new road.

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Twenty-three Years Ago Tonight

On January 9, 1992 I was preparing for my last semester at Hardin-Simmons. Knowing I wasn't ready to go straight to seminary, I'd taken the advice of a friend to share some time with her pastor, Bob Roberts, Jr. He concluded our one hour of conversation over Chinese food with this statement, "So you want life experience and you want ministry experience, but you don't want to go straight to seminary. You need to be a journeyman."

"Me? A missionary?," I was thinking as I said something like, "Thanks, Bob, I never thought of that." God had other plans.

In the months that followed, I read Scripture like never before. I read the biographies of missionaries. I listened to—almost memorized—the music of Keith Green. I spoke with friends and advisors. I applied with the, then, Foreign Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention to be a Journeyman Missionary.

There was one problem. I was dating a young lady I highly respected. She had character quality that I might imagine marrying. What about her? We'd been out to supper and discussed all I was learning and seeking. Driving down Ambler Avenue in Abilene, Texas, I'll never forget her confronting me with my need for faith. She stated—and you've read it here previously—that "fear is the opposite of faith." Did she even know what she was saying? As a result, we broke up days later. Could she imagine that her challenge would tip the scale of my faith struggle and change my life forever? 

On a Sunday night. In my Nix Hall dorm room. Alone in the dark. I fell on my face before God. "Wherever you want me to go, God. I am yours." I cried. And prayed. And sang. And praised. What freedom! What release! Surrender is sweet.

It was Sunday night, April 5th, 1992. Twenty-three years ago tonight. A seminal moment.

That surrender, wherever God, changed the trajectory of my life forever.

As a result of that surrender, I spent two years in South Africa as a Journeyman Missionary. You can not serve there, among those amazing people who have suffered through so much, and not be changed. As a result of that surrender, I took a nontraditional route through seminary. I squeezed my 3 years into 7 and served incredible churches with treasured brothers and sisters along the way. As a result of that surrender, I went to a missions conference in New Mexico and met a Louisiana girl who was serving as a missionary nurse in Georgia. She's been my incredible wife for near 18 years now. As a result of that surrender, we were not looking for a place but a people to serve in 2005. We've been in Nebraska going on 10 years and can not imagine life elsewhere. Our church family is wonderful. Our family is flourishing. We are SO blessed. Life is good.

God is good.

How do you need to surrender? I wonder how your life might change for the better when you do?

Surrender makes all the difference. 

Twenty-three years. And counting.

Thank you for joining me along the way.

To read more posts about surrender, click here. About faith, click here. About fear, click here. And if you'd like to subscribe, please click here.

What Difference Does The Resurrection Make?

To make a difference, something must have meaning. To make a difference something must matter. In the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ that we celebrate at Easter, we find both.

We serve a Risen Savior. As a living, risen Savior, Jesus has overcome both death and hell. Overcoming death and hell, Jesus offers the free gift of eternal salvation from our sin. In offering salvation to us, Jesus pursues a personal, love relationship with us.

The resurrection of Jesus makes an eternal, abundant difference in our lives. Let’s consider three things the resurrection means and three reasons the resurrection matters.

The resurrection means Jesus is who he claimed to be. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life,” (John 11:25). Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life, no man comes to the Father except through me,” (John 14:6). Jesus proved he is who he said by what he did. We establish a relationship with God through Jesus.

The resurrection means Jesus has the power he claims to have. Jesus said, “All authority on heaven and earth has been given to me,” (Matthew 28:18). Jesus said of his life, “I have the authority to lay it down…” (John 10:18). Jesus laid down his life to pay the price for our sins and rose victorious three days later.

The resurrection means Jesus does what he promises to do. It was said of Jesus, “On the third day he will rise again,” (Luke 18:33). It was true of Jesus, as the angel at the empty tomb said, “He is risen. Just as he said,” (Matthew 28:6). Jesus did what he said in his own death; he will certainly do what he says in our lives.

The resurrection matters because my past can be forgiven. The Bible says Jesus, “died for us while we were still sinners,” (Romans 5:8). The Bible says of our sins, “…there is now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus,” (Romans 8:1). No matter what we have done, God will forgive us through Jesus.

The resurrection matters because my present problems can be handled. The Bible says of Jesus, “his incomparably great power” is at work in us (Ephesians 1:19). The Bible says of Christ followers, “I can do all things through” Jesus (Philippians 4:13). Christ followers have supernatural power available to them to handle every situation we might face.

The resurrection matters because my future can be secure. The Bible says, “Now this is eternal life: that they may know” Jesus (John 17:3). The Bible says, "In his great mercy," God has given us, "new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,” (1 Peter 1:3). Jesus changes the eternity of those who trust him for salvation.

If you have never committed your life to Jesus as your personal Savior, then you can do that right now. Your past will be forgiven. Your present problems will be handled. Your future will be secure. It’s your decision. Don’t delay.

To learn more about a personal, love relationship with Jesus as your Savior, talk to a Christ follower you know or contact me directly.

Photo credit: Becky Jansen, This Day of Resurrection 2015, Southview Baptist Church, Lincoln, Nebraska. Outline adaptation: Rick Warren, with permission. 

Never

As you read in my last post, I was to have arthroscopic surgery to repair a cartilage tear and flap in my right knee. 

My doctor had stated,”We’ll know more once we get a look inside.” Even though a MRI offers great diagnostic ability, it’s not the same as seeing the real thing.

A few days ago I wrote, “I may not, however, ever run the same again.” That was then. This is now.

Surgery was quick; I woke up just about an hour after I’d been put under. Still woozy from the medicine, I don’t recall if my wife told me first, but I will never forget what my doctor had to say.

“Other than running around with your kids, you should never run again.”

Bam.

There it was.

Something that has been part of my life for a decade. Something that is part of my identity. Something that kept my physically healthy and mentally sane (at times). Something filled with such sweet memories. Something I enjoy just for the simple pleasure of propelling myself over space through time. Something I could never imagine not being. Is now something I will no longer be: a runner.

A friend wrote something like, “Once a runner, always a runner. No one can take that away.” Although the sentiment is kind, I think the best I can do now is “former runner” or “retired marathoner.” It’s a simple syllogism: Runners run. I can no longer run. Therefore, I am no longer a runner.

My doctor was surprised by what he found: forty plus pieces of floating cartilage in my joint; deterioration of every cartilage surface in my joint; even the flap that was to repaired had totally ripped off leaving a gapping finger nail sized hole to my femur. He cleaned it up. I’ll only have four weeks on crutches instead of eight; that’s good. But I’ll never run again.

Friends are kind with suggestions. Elliptical. No offense, but gag me. That’s fine for others, but it’s never been my thing; I love the outdoors. Swimming. Alright. Involves other muscle groups, nonimpact. But in Nebraska it’s mostly still indoors. Cycling. Yes. That’s where I’ll probably turn. I’ll enjoy learning new things, the distances, the training, the people, and the speed. All good, but still not running.

Again, as in my last post, Ever, I’m not whining. I’m a healthy guy who can no longer do what so many despise. It’s just running! But I’m a healthy guy who can no longer do one thing I love no matter what anyone else thinks. It’s running. I’m not whining. I’m coping.

Part of maturity is sacrifice. Part of maturity is transition. Part of maturity is change. Nothing lasts forever. Everything has a season. You deal with it. You suck it up. You adapt and overcome. You find a new normal. Doesn’t mean you have to like it. At least not a first.

Four marathons, each with their unique memories. Seven Market to Market Relays with a varied cast of characters making up my teammates. Adventure runs in travels to Colorado, Pennsylvania, Texas, San Francisco and Western Nebraska. A year’s worth of fun in running my neighbor’s spirited English Pointer. Countless daily runs around my part of town all alone and loving it; passing miles and thoughts and prayers.

Over 6000 miles. Over 900 hours. I am thankful. Most thankful.

I will never run again. Yet I will never regret that I did run. All that running gave me. All that running made me. Never.