I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Before I've even typed a word, or even thought about what I'm going to type, I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Funny thing is...I'm not even sure, either. It could be because the blog post isn't as good as you expected, because you didn't have time to read it but you did anyways, or just because you have a stomache while you're reading this, which is completely unrelated to the post.

You see, I feel sorry about a lot of things. I feel guilty and that things are my fault the majority of the time, even if it's out of my control.

• I'm really sorry to ask you this [insert close friend's name]...but can I borrow a Q-tip? If not, no problem...I'll just find a stick from the woods to clean out my ears.
• Can I borrow a celery stick from you [insert loved one]? I haven't eaten for several days because my bank account is empty...I promise I'll pay you back. Maybe just half a celery stick?
• I'm so sorry you got the flu [another close friend]...I should've bought you vitamins last year so you wouldn't get sick. I guess in a way, it's my fault.
• To the state of Texas, I just want to apologize for the drought. I had half a glass of water that I didn't finish at a restaurant once...I owe you guys big time.

Okay, so those are a little extreme, but a real-life situation might look like this:

Excuse me, Jesus... I messed up again. I feel horrible, so in order to not inconvenience or bother you, I'm just going to slink away and try to deal with my faults on my own. Sorry. sorry.

Frankly, I'm tired of believing that. So I'm fighting against the belief that everything is my fault, that I'm annoying people constantly with my presence, or that I'm an inconvenience. If it is my fault, the people who love me will give me grace to try again. The same goes for my relationship with God. I've heard over and over again that God's love has no bounds and that His grace does not have a limit. Well, it's time to start believing it. Time to let it travel from my noggin to my heartstrings. Time to see that His promises of grace in the Bible aren't just words, but love letters to each one of us.

Does that excuse me from seeking to live like Jesus? Absolutely not. But I don't have a problem with realizing that I'm imperfect, that I make mistakes all the time, or that I have the potential to let others down. I have a problem with realizing that I can't possibly be loved any more or any less by a God who is already so infatuated with me. There are times for apologies and reconciliation...but there are also times for freely living in grace.

So for those who live with a guilt/burden complex like me...let it go. Those who truly love you won't stop loving you because you make mistakes. Neither will Jesus. Jesus loves you. Is that cheesy? Kind of. But I sure as heck am gonna believe it with all that I am.

Hope you enjoyed the post. If not, forgive me...I'll try again. But I'm not sorry :)

Stop defending

I love reading the reviews of music albums on Amazon. Both the good ones and the bad ones are helpful, but a lot of times I read some debate-starting reviews.

Exhibit A: Mr. Allen writes of Owl City, "When one of your favorite artists crosses over into the dark side and fills his song with Christian innuendo, it's time to jump ship. What a shame."

Now, I'm a fan of Owl City. I like the sound of the synthesizer thingy, the flashing lights in the music videos, and the way that my foot starts tapping every time his song starts playing. It also just so happens that he's someone who sings about positive messages and hopeful things...and yes, he is a Christian, so once in awhile some Christian messages get into his music. My initial reaction was to get a little annoyed with the anti-Christian comment.

But as I scanned down the 15 or so responses to his review, some mild and others pretty fiesty, I realized something: Christians, myself included, feel like we need to defend Jesus. Like Peter in the Garden of Gethsemane, our first reaction is to draw our sword and start swinging at any attackers of Jesus, because we are supposed to protect Him, right? We are his warriors, correct?

Maybe not. I completely believe that I need to take a stance when someone tries to force me go against what I believe--abandoning Jesus in order to perhaps do the more popular thing isn't what God wants. But I don't think that kicking and screaming about what we believe gets us anywhere. Commenting "goodbye and good riddance" to Mr. Allen for not liking Owl City anymore doesn't do any good. Picketing with signs displaying "God hates fags" doesn't help express what Jesus was all about. Yelling at an atheist and spouting reasons he should believe in God doesn't make him or her suddenly believe in God.

So my fellow Christians, let's stop trying to be Jesus' machine gun and instead start being His hands and feet instead. Let's have conversations about difficult issues--without proclaiming (or thinking) "SINNER!!" Let's start letting God do the talking, instead of drowning Him out with our own arguing.

And to my friends who aren't Christians, I apologize for the times that I've sounded condescending, arrogant, or downright hateful by trying to "defend" Jesus. My hope and prayer is that you see the true God I love because of, and sometimes despite, what I do and say.

Blessings

BG

Moses and Fundraising

Wait, you want me to speak to this rock? And water is supposed to come flying out? Enough for the whole community to drink? Couldn't it just rain instead? Are you sure?

If I were Moses, those would be my questions after God told him to speak to the rock in order to bring water for the thirsty Israelite community (Numbers 20:1-13). And after Moses grabs the staff, just as God commanded him to, he speaks. But instead of speaking to the rock, he speaks to the Israelites, then gives a couple of good Babe Ruth sized swings to hit the rock. Water comes spewing forth and everything's good...right?

Then why does God get angry at Moses in verse 12? Because "you did not trust in me enough to honor me as holy in the sight of the Israelites..."

I've been fundraising this summer to be an InterVarsity Ministry Intern at Creighton University next year, and I write this after several days of cancelled appointments, little money raised, and a general feeling of discouragement during the process. Doubts and fears, both deep and superficial, begin to creep in: Is it something I'm saying that's turning people off? Maybe they weren't a fan of my haircut...or maybe I had spinach in my teeth?!? What if I don't reach the fundraising goal?

Frankly, it's easy to start feeling like I need to start doing more. I need to re-evaluate how I ask for support. I need to find more people who would consider supporting the ministry. I need to send more letters out. While there is a large element of work and planning during fundraising, what is often near the end of my list is my need to trust in God enough. The reason that God got upset was not because Moses hit the rock, but because Moses seemed to forget the multiple ways that God had provided for the Israelites. The Passover was pretty amazing. The Red Sea doesn't usually part for pedestrians. Manna, in quantities enough for one day's worth of food, doesn't often fall daily from the sky in the desert. Over and over, God had taken care of Moses and his community. Yet Moses still wasn't quite sure. And many times, neither am I.

God's done plenty of things in my journey to Creighton to earn my trust in Him: a home to stay in (for free) for the year instead of an apartment, a good friend as my supervisor instead of someone I don't know, and support from people who I didn't think would even give a dime! The benevolence from our great Provider and Father is all around...I just need to remember it.

I will say that fundraising will never replace taking 30 minute catnaps and eating a Cool Mint ice cream cone on my "Top Ten Things to Do In the Summer" list. Fundraising is not one of my favorite things...but is an invaluable tool. Why? Because it is about so much more than green pieces of paper with presidents on the back and getting enough support to be on campus. It's about the trust that I choose to have in Him, even when things don't look so swell, as well as about walking with God as go through the whole process.

You may be fundraising for a mission trip to Ethiopia or St. Louis, or perhaps you're trying to gather funds for another year of campus ministry. It could even be that you're not fundraising, but instead fundsaving, trying to figure out how you're going to have enough money to afford another semester of college. Regardless of what the financial situation is, the aspect of money can be distracting--something that threatens to steal your eyes from God and His power, or from life and the joy that comes with it. Sure, fundraising can sometimes be really challenging...but "consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverence" (James 1:2-3).

Work needs to be done in fundraising, and sitting on a couch assuming God will drop a check from the sky probably isn't the thing for me to do. But as I fundraise, my goal now is to trust God to do the providing, and wait for the water to start flowing.

God is good...all the time.

No substitute.

We love substitutes.

Diet Coke instead of regular. Texting instead of calling. A side salad instead of french fries, which is always a good choice if you're trying to eat right. But then comes another substitution. Instead of actually exercising and doing sit-ups, we prefer to invent new ways to get fit, such as strapping an electric belt that painfully shocks us with high voltage pulses--all so we can look like this: Ab Belt. What a cute couple. I prefer the Wii.

I certainly do it. I try to find shortcuts, time-savers, and ways to get the same end result--without actually going through some of the pain in the process. Ask my roommates. Video games, naps, and cramming were often substituted for studying responsibly. But I promise, I don't procrastinate anymore. :)

But there are certain things that can't be substituted for. For example, HyVee generic brand "Honey O's" don't satisfy my craving for Honey Nut Cheerios...not even for the two dollar difference. But seriously, a parent can't substitute a toy for spending quality time with their kids. A stuffed animal doesn't replace the feeling of missing home after a family moves to a new state. Not even a kind word substitutes for a loss of a family member.

How many people would say, "Oh, Mike and I are practically best friends. We hang out when there's a group gathering, I talk about him a lot to my friends that know Mike, I write about Mike on my blog...heck, I even sing songs about Mike! Mike and I don't ever talk alone or one-on-one...I kind of feel weird approaching Mike by myself. I never know what to say, and sometimes I don't know if Mike's actually listening to me. But yeah, Mike and I are best friends." I would hope that doesn't describe your best friends' relationship with you.

Then why do we do that with Jesus?

Replace Mike with Jesus in the passage. I don't know if that hits home for you, but I know that for the longest time, that was my attitude. I figured I could go to church, go to Bible study, talk about Him with others, and sing songs about him without ever actually consistently talking with Jesus. And I wonder why my faith suffers after going a week without having one-on-one time with God...

Try as I might, I can't quite seem to find an effective substitute, a quick-fix of sorts, for it. If there is one thing that I have been learning the past several months, it is this: there is no substitute for spending regular, personal time with God. Not just time with God during church, not just time w/God listening to Chris Tomlin or David Crowder Band, not just time w/God reading Guideposts or watching episodes of Touched By An Angel, and not even just spending time with God as you marvel at His creation...on the golf course with three of your friends.

Just like any other relationship, if it's one that you really want to improve...you spend time with God daily. The time doesn't have to be majestic or prepared, nor do you have to "have things together" or know the right prayers to spend time with Him. Just come as you are. Is every interaction between husband and wife, between two friends, or between a child and their parent majestic, prepared, or perfectly worded? Of course not.

So stop trying to do the same with God. If it helps, this image (though goofy/ridiculous/corny) helped me to think about how I can approach God:

It's Black Friday and the mall, containing seemingly millions of people, is bustling. There are people everywhere, and claustrophobia begins to set in. But then I see the seat. A single seat, in the middle of the food court, at a table separated from the craziness of life. There's a man sitting across the table, though, and as I stare harder, I realize it's Jesus. I'm unsure of what to talk about, what he'll say when I sit down, or even if he'll let me have the seat. I haven't talked to him in awhile. The desire for a respite in this packed mall drives me to the chair. I quietly ask my friend if I can sit down, to which he smiles and nods. I kind of stutter and stammer for words as I stare at the floor, awkwardly asking what he would like to talk about it. I finally catch his gaze, and I see that he's smiling, looking right back at me. "I don't care," he says. "I'm just glad that you're here."

I hope that you read this, then decide that maybe it would be nice to spend some quiet time with Jesus. I pray that you start to really see God as your best friend. And my desire is that you begin to see our God the way He should be seen--ready to talk.

Let's Get Real, Part Deux

I saw this commercial the other day...it went like this:

(Man walks up his wife, who is holding a display case of coins)

Man-- Honey, what do you have there?

Woman-- (Smiling) Well, dear, I just bought this from Goldcoin.com! This, my little Pumpkincake, is a coin collection that looks exactly like one that would be retrieved from Blackbeard's ship at the bottom of the ocean...except this one is completely fake! It's worth absolutely nothing!

Man-- Wow, sweetie! That's great! It looks just like a valuable, precious set of gold coins...cripes, I can practically smell the sea-salt from these fake coins that weren't found in the ocean at all! Who would've thunk it's a piece of crap!?

Woman-- (Still smiling) I know! It's not authentic at all! Why would you want the real thing? It's so much better to just pretend... and the best part about it? It cost the same exorbitant price as if it was authentic! (Couple hug, kiss, then place the worthless case of junk up on their mantle).

Okay, so maybe I dreamed that commercial...

Which do you prefer: An authentic gold coin, or an inauthentic gold coin made of copper? An authentic autographed basketball signed by Michael Jordan, or an inauthentic autographed basketball signed by Michael Jorge, the pizza delivery guy? An authentic friendship with someone who you can share your true feelings, or an inauthentic friendship with someone who you can share what you think they want to hear?

Most of you would probably prefer an authentic gold coin, autograph, or friendship, right? For those of you who prefer inauthentic items, I have some inauthentic pens to sell, used by John Hancock to sign the Declaration of Independence, for a small price of a couple hundred buckaroos.

As I think more and more about authenticity, my ponderings focus on my relationship with the One who already knows the authentic Brendan. I don't quite get why I'm afraid to utter the thoughts I think to God. I mean, I understand authenticity being difficult between myself and others--most people have secrets that they hide from others...I get it. It takes awhile to open up and share struggles, fears, etc. with other human beings who have the ability to take advantage of your vulnerability.

But God?

I act like He's the biggest gossiper around. What if God has connections with TMZ or National Enquirer and spreads around what I told him? Or worse, what if He tells my friends?! Or worser...what if He tells my parents!?

When I was younger, some of my friends and I, being bored youngsters, would approach an electrical fence surrounding the cattle lot. "I triple-dog dare you to touch the fence," one would say. And of course, refusal to touch it would be the worst act one could do. So you do, hoping that the power isn't on.

Getting real with God feels like getting dared to touch an electrical fence, just to see if it's on. If it is, you get hurt, burnt, and probably laughed at. So as I reach my hand towards that fence, I prep for the shock that will surely come: the shock of feeling like if I pray out my frustrations, fears, or sadness towards God, it will only annoy Him, make Him roll His big, cosmic eyes at me, or cause Him to send a lightning bolt and make things harder for me, just to show me that I need to stop complaining.

But that fence is never on with God.

King David, probably my favorite person in the Bible, figured out that praying (or singing Psalms) to God candidly did not result in a huge spanking from our Father above. Our friend Dave had more emotions than Crayola had colors. One day he was feeling Joyous Jazzberry Jam, the next day he was feeling more like Ticked-Off Teal.

Day 1: You have taken from me my closest friends and have made me repulsive to them. I am confined and cannot escape; my eyes are dim with grief. (Psalm 88: 8-9)

then, Day 2: Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth, burst into jubilant song with music; (Psalm 98:4)

aaaaand Day 3: So my spirit grows faint within me; my heart within me is dismayed. (Psalm 143: 4)

But the crazy thing about David's mood swings is what he says amidst his anguished days, whether he was hiding in caves from Saul or anticipating defeat from enemies:

Day 3: I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land. (Psalm 143:6)

Wait, Davie...I thought you were just dismayed? And yet, your response is seeking God?

David's two-step process: honesty, then faith. Authenticity, then expecting God to show up.

My two-step process is a bit different: a 5 second help me prayer, then freak-out. A glance to the sky, then Googling advice for my probems.

Because even though I know that going to God is the right response, I somehow feel like I'd be bothering Him. Yeah, His yoke is easy and His burden is light...but what if He gets sick and tired of me always bringing the worst of me? Isn't there a limit to how many comments I put in God's comment box?

Yes, we need to go to God with good things and bad things, and no, we shouldn't only complain to God like a whiny 3 year old. But... if we can't come to God with honesty and authenticity, what is it worth? Just as I wouldn't want an inauthentic autograph from Michael Jordan, God doesn't want an inauthentic faith from Brendan George. God doesn't want me to pretend like everything's okay. God wants me to have faith that He's big enough, that He cares enough, that He loves me enough to handle the real me. I feel like God says "go ahead and complain, but have faith that I can deal with it...I'm a pretty good multi-tasker."

And that's my hope. As I seek authenticity, the process is slow. But it starts with one honest conversation. With God, it starts with one "I have no clue what you're doing God...I'm kind of pissed off. But I trust what you're doing" prayer. As scary as it can be, it starts with reaching for that fence.

Let's Get Real.

Amen, I quickly say, following another lack-luster quiet time with God. I put my Bible down on my desk, where it will most likely sit for the rest of the day. Rushed, forced, and sometimes downright insulting to God...that would be the way I would describe my quiet times lately. As I struggle to figure out what I'm doing wrong, I realize that I have other things to get done, so I leave my thoughts and yearnings for God on my desk--right next to my Bible. As I prep for the day, though, I can't let any of that faulty faith or lackluster zeal for God show...because, well that would surely let others down. So what do I do?

I slip on the mask.

I'm not talking about the green, creepy thing from the aptly-titled movie, "The Mask" starring Jim Carrey. If you've seen the movie, you know that mask turned Jim Carrey into a mischievous, crazy-antic inclined man. The mask that I put on, the mask which allows me to hold up my carefully-constructed reputation and honor, is a mask of a much more deceitful and dangerous form.

It is the mask of Inauthenticity.

Surely, those who think of me as a God-seeking man don't want to see that I'm struggling--that means I'm clearly weak, right? And I surely can't let an ounce of doubt show, because if I do, the people who are supporting me financially for next year with InterVarsity at Creighton will think that I'm spiritually weak, and undeserved of their hard-earned money. And heck, why would I want to share my struggles with my friends and family--they already have enough to worry about.

So the Oscar for the Best He's-got-it-all-together Actor award goes to (drumroll please)...... me. I act out my Christian faith when I don't feel like I have an ounce of faith in my body. As God screams to me "Please!!!! I just want to spend 5 minutes with the real Brendan, not the Brendan who feels obligated to read the Bible," I fill my time with other things, thinking that surely my mask, that good ol' trusty mask, will help me cover the ugliness of me.

I post a meaningful Bible verse on Twitter and Facebook that I hope inspires others...while at the same time not letting it get anywhere near my heart. I tell others about the importance of praying for mission trips, campus events, and conversations with friends...while I go several days without praying for anything but the Hot Pocket for lunch. I teach a Bible study about truly following Jesus, just as Peter did...while I repeatedly choose to make other things of this world lord of my life instead of letting the Lord of Lords take control.

Authenticity.

For the past year, I've felt like God has been throwing that word at me. As I've tried to understand why God wants me to focus on that, I've assumed it's been for those around me. I figured God wanted my friends who praise Jesus on Sundays and got drunk the night before to learn the meaning of authenticity. I figured God wanted my friends, the ones who could spit Bible verses out like fire but also told dirty jokes, to realize the importance of authenticity.

And I, while wearing my mask, was supposed to make them aware of how inauthentic they were.

Here's the thing about God and masks: He is not a fan.

Jesus says in John 14:15, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments." There it is. None of "If you love me, you will make everyone else believe that you are following my commandments," or "If you pretend to love me in public, even if you don't keep my commandments in private, at least others see God through you...so that's good, I guess?"

God has never, and will never, want a fake me or a fake you. Which is exactly why I'm writing this. This is a frustration post, and in all honesty, the next 3 or 4 blog posts will probably be about authenticity, because being inauthentic is the thing that I hate most in myself. I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of going through the motions, I'm tired of saying "Welp, I tried to pray," I'm tired of professing my belief in authenticity when I haven't started treading that path yet myself. My hope is that one or two people reading this feels the same way.

So...the first step in recovery is acknowledging that there is a problem. Oh, and there is definitely a problem. The second through the 54th step is going to God, who is the best Counselor possible.

Now, I'm going to go read the Bible. For real.

Live like they were dyin

So yesterday was not the Rapture...which is, well, not all that surprising. I have a strong feeling that God has his own secret timing to throw the greatest divine block party; it says in Matthew 24 that no one knows when the end of the world is gonna happen except the Big Guy upstairs. However, all the hype did get me wondering: if yesterday would've been my last day (and I was 100% sure), what would I have done? Would I have hopped on a plane, traveled to New Zealand, and watched Jesus return from the countryside (which also happens to be the set of the Lord of the Rings?) Would I have spent my day in prayer to get closer to God? Or would I have eaten as many McDonald's shamrock shakes as possible in the 24 hour span?

On a more serious note, this past week there was a well-known and well-loved music teacher who, after having her husband pass away with cancer 5 months ago, needed to replace her failing pacemaker. After the surgery didn't go well and she was put into a coma, she passed away two days after the surgery. She was 50 years old and left behind a daughter who graduated from high school a week ago. As my own saddened heart and prayers go out to her daughter and those closest to her, I ponder my own mortality, and begin to see how much of a vapor my life is on this earth.

As the saying goes, I begin to think that I should "live every day like it's my last."

But something makes me pause at that statement. Don't get me wrong--it's got some great truth to it: Carpe diem, seize every moment, and savor every laugh, trial, and hug from loved ones. But what if we lived every day like it's more than just our last?

What if we lived every day like it was everyone else's last?

What if we lived like it was our mom or dad's last day? What if we lived like it was our professor's last day? What if we lived like it was our boss' last day? Even scarier: what if we lived like it was the last day of the person who seems to hate our guts...or the person who we detest?

What would that look like?

Is that possible?

There was a not-too-shabby Teacher called Jesus, who knew that his last day was drawing near. What did he do? Far from scarfing down shamrock shakes, Jesus (in Matthew) predicts his death to the disciples, then proceeds to give sight to two blind men, teaches 6 parables and multiple other lessons, shares an intimate supper with his closest disciples, then prays to His Father in heaven before being crucified.

In short, Jesus lives His last day the same way He lived His whole life: serving and pouring Himself into those around Him. His compassion, His passion, His heart...all freely given away. Focusing not on his own death, but instead on other's lives. Which is exactly what I want to do.

The reason that I don't want to live like today is my last day is because, honestly, too often I already do. Too often I do what I want to do, pursuing what I want to pursue, and concern myself with my life. Why? If it's truly Jesus who I follow, I want to live like it is the last dying day of everyone around me. I want to live like today is the last day to heal wounds of my relationship with another, like today is the last day to show my deepest love for my friends and enemies, like today is the last day to fervently pray for those who don't know about Jesus' love, like today is the last day to pour out myself like Jesus.

Maybe that means instead of flipping out at your parents after a long week in the house together, you cook dinner for them. Maybe that means instead of just saying to my friend "We should catch-up sometime," I actually do it and invest in the friendship that has too long been neglected. Maybe that means instead of screaming that the end-times are coming and that your non-Christian friends should repent, you show them the love of the amazing, life-changing God so they can begin to approach Jesus without shame or anger.

If it's our last day today, then so be it. But if it's someone else's last day, whether it's our best friend or the "outcast" we never talk to, let's try to give them the best darn last day someone could have. Let's try to love 'em all Jesus-like.

Freely we've received love, forgiveness, and healing from God...let us freely give it away.

Feel the wounds.

Imagine with me.

You cast your eyes at the ground, because lifting them higher just brings you shame. You try to block out the cries of his mother, which only remind you of the past 24 hours. Finally, after gaining the courage to glance up again, you make eye contact with the man who has willingly walked up this hill...to Golgotha...to his own death. His gaze doesn't scream condemnation, though, it whispers love. His eyes don't judge, but instead forgive.

But you don't want any part of it. Not because you don't believe that the man on the cross is indeed God, but because you don't believe that the man on the cross should, could, or would forgive you. Instead of walking closer to speak to him, to apologize to him, to explain your shame...you turn. You continue staring at the rocks beneath your feet as you follow the path that leads down the mountain, reminiscing in your mind about the stuff that you've done the past day. The sight of the blood that stained the rocks beneath your feet, the blood that the innocent "criminal" shed as he struggled up the hill, sting you, as if somehow you feel the pain that he feels.

As you walk through the streets of town alone, you see up ahead the entrance to Pilate's court, where Jesus was put on a trial. The angry cries for Barabbas' release still ring in your ears, but what can be heard even more clearly is your own voice, screaming for the punishment of this man. What made so much sense earlier that day seems ludicrous now, and as you wipe away your tears angrily, you can't stop thinking over and over about your own worthlessness. There is no possible way that the man, whose death you shouted for could possibly speak to you, let alone love you.

Still thinking about the mistakes you've made, you head home, attempting to distance yourself, (at least physically) from your past mistakes, and more importantly, from the man that seems to remind you of everything wrong with yourself. As you enter your front doorway and slip off your sandals, your guilt comes rushing back. The secret sins of your past are whispered quietly in your ear as you lay down on the mat. There is no part of me that is good, you think, as you drift off to sleep.

The next couple days pass, but not without the thought of what you had caused. The death of an innocent man, the one who was going to bring peace and rule as the greatest king, was because of you. It's hard to find hope when you feel like you've killed hope.

As you go about working in your home as a carpenter, mind still racing, you hear a knock. You look up...and see the same loving eyes as you saw three days prior. You begin to feel light-headed, unsure if you're in a dream or have been possessed by a demon. How in the world is he alive? How am I seeing a ghost? And why is he standing in my home? you wonder. Still ashamed, you look at the floor and mutter "Um...I don't know what to say. Why'd you come here? I mean...you don't want to know what I've done the past few days."

"I do know what you've done," the man says, as your shame and guilt begin to flood back, "but that is exactly why I've come here."

And still staring at the dirt floor, you see two feet come into your view...two pierced feet. You feel a hand touch your shoulder, which propels you to bring your eyes once again to gaze at the man's face. You see the pierced forehead, the scars of a crown that mocked this true King. Then,

"And you are why this," he says, as he touches the hole in one of his hands, "happened... Not because you cried for my death. But because your heart cried for life. So life, abundant life, is what I gave you."

So you reach out. You feel the wounds. You look at him again. And this time? The shame has left, replaced with love.

* * * * * *

I feel like that's me a lot of the time. Replace that with a modern context...sure, I didn't call for Jesus' death. But I also sometimes don't act like I desperately wanted Him to live, either. And as I realize my own faults, my own sinfulness? I turn and walk. Away from the Cross. Away from the place I need to go. Away from the only way that this brokenness can begin to get fixed.

Nooooo...God surely can't handle my pride issues. He surely can't handle the problem of lust. He surely can't deal with the fact that many days I spend more time sending emails than I spend with Him.

Or can He?

Maybe Easter is more than just a good story. Maybe Easter is more than just three days worth. Maybe the best part of Easter is that He comes searching for each and every one of us after we retreat from Him.

If it's my sin that keep me from Him, then I want to give every one of those crappy, horrible, disgusting, filthy problems I have...I'm pretty sure He can handle it.

Optional mandatory.

In high school, we used to occasionally have basketball practices that could not, due to high school basketball rules, be called mandatory. So, the simple solution to that for the coach? Call them optional, and let it be known with some subtle hints (large intimidating smiles) and not-so-subtle hints ("Soooo, you guys should be at practice...if you're smart") that the practices were necessary if you wanted to play an integral part on the team. We called this clever strategy "optional mandatory ." However, even though I wasn't always the most enthusiastic about going into those practices, I knew that I needed to be there to both improve and be a big part of the team's success. Additionally, the practices were simply necessary in getting us ready for the upcoming games and making us better.

God's been doing that same thing with my views on poverty, serving others, and what Jesus calls me to do on this planet. I always kind of knew that working with the poor was something I should probably do, but I never had a solidified idea of what "seeking justice" (Isaiah 1:17) actually meant (How much work did that require? Who does that include? Can I do that after med school?). I mean, do I really have to do that, though? After all, some of that seeking justice stuff is pretty difficult and uncomfortable. Over the past few years, though, God has been the best coach of all time, making me realize that if I really want to be a key part of the team and love Him more, I don't have much of a choice. Loving more of the poor, the widows, and the refugees and loving less of comfort and my personal bubble is to be my goal, which just so happens to be Jesus' goal. Convenient, huh?

The idea started in Ethiopia three summers ago and it has been stirring in me ever since. The idea that a love of Christ breeds a love of serving others and caring for those who are rarely cared for. The idea that what God considers a pure and faultless religious attitude includes looking after orphan and widow in their distress (James 1:27).

The idea that the American Dream is the rest of the world's nightmare. And God isn't okay with that.

And that idea is scary. That idea makes me uncomfortable. That idea has an impact on everything: the way I use my money, the way I view my future career, the woman I marry, where I live, and how I see people who are very different than I am. That idea leaves a nervous, excited feeling in my stomach...much like at the top of a wonderful rollercoaster. So what do I call God's command to serve the poor and love the unloved, wherever I am in life?

Optional mandatory.

Sure, I could go about my business, tossing a couple of dollars at the homeless man on the corner...but failing to learn his story. I could pray that God sends others to work in the inner cities and improve conditions, knowing full well that God is calling me. But really? I can't. If I'm actually learning from the Bible, I can't turn away from the person who just lost their home, their spouse, or parents. I can't ignore those who are hungry and in need, whether that be the person on 1st Avenue or the person across the street.

I pray that if the time ever comes where I'm satisfied with keeping the poor, widowed, orphaned, etc. at arm's length, God robs my back pocket, kicks me out of my home, and puts me in their shoes anyways.

Diversity and Doritos: CityLights, Part 1

Multiethnic community is like Cool Ranch Doritos: Once you get a taste...you can't really help yourself from wanting more and more. Except multiethnic community is waaaaaaaaay healthier.

That's one of the many conclusions I've drawn from my week in St. Louis for the CityLights Spring Break with InterVarsity.

As many of you probably know, I grew up in rural Iowa, where awards for ethnic diversity don't exactly get hung in the town hall trophy case. The most unique ethnic example for my home region was the large population of Hispanics in Storm Lake, Iowa, but frankly, that wasn't ever looked upon favorably by many people. It was usually talk revolving around the jobs that were being lost to Hispanics. Rural Iowa certainly wasn't holding any Hispanic Celebration Day parades, not necessarily because of racism, but because there was a lack of exposure to any of it. I only knew about 5 people who came from significantly different background than I or had significantly darker skin than I did (which is saying something, because I would describe myself as "pasty white"). For me, diversity was something that I was all for, because I thought it was nice...but it was never necessary; if it happened, it happened. To keep the metaphor of Doritos going, I grew up in a Saltines world: white and fairly bland, but that's all I ate and grew up knowing.

Until this past week. I've been to Ethiopia and Egypt, and have seen the diverse and wonderful culture that both of those countries have; however, I've never seen a variety of cultures truly mixed in American culture. So, when I saw what New City Fellowship church was doing and experienced the power of different races and cultures actually living in community together, I was blown away. So many things that I had only talked or heard about before began to become much more real for me.

--I went to a church service that used Spanish, English, Swahili, and Hebrew songs during the worship, which preceded a talk by a Kenyan man, a Caucasian pastor who had just returned from Pakistan, and a sermon by an African American pastor. At the end of the service, we broke bread together: white, black, and every shade in between.

--I had lunch with Ameen, a friendly Pakistani man who jokingly called himself the "slumlord", who owned an apartment complex, and had a heart for improving the community. When he bought the complex, the 911 calls in the surrounding blocks were about 300 calls a month; now, it's about 3 or 4, largely due to his enforcement of a drug-free environment, even at the risk of losing important money. Last year, there was a 15-year-old Eritrean refugee gunned down in front of Ameen's apartments--the same apartments that we walked around and seeded with grass on Monday--and yet Ameen continues to fight for a better neighborhood. His smile and hospitality makes me want the same. Oh, and the lunch his wife made was a homemade Pakistani dish. Delicious.

--I had a conversation with a former member of the Crips, who talked with us about how much his life had changed in the past several years as he had begun to get involved with New City Church as a maintenance worker. He talked extensively about his life on the street, lessons he had learned, and the process that God was bringing him through. He talked about raising his 6 kids with a strained relationship with his children's mother and the difficulties with that, but honestly acknowledged both his sin and Jesus' power over it. In the span of about 5 hours, I learned more about urban city living than I could have in any sociology or anthropology class.

--Beautiful. That's how I would describe several families in the church that we were able to meet during the week. Adopted, biological, white, black--all sorts of children, all part of the same family. Sure, they acted like a normal family (I saw one sister get accidentally Chuck Norris roundhouse-kicked in the face at one point by a younger brother in a wrestling match), but that's why it was so amazing. Neither the skin color or the family tree of the child made a difference; love trumped all of it. In a conversation with Micah, a father of one of the main families we interacted with who had 8 children (a variety adopted/biological/black/white), I asked him of the challenges of adoption, especially that of kids with various ethnicities. His response was perfect; he explained that sometimes it was more challenging with adopted kids, because in a certain way, they are different than biological kids. However, he said, that's where God's grace comes in. "When you look at it, God adopted us into His family in a more powerful than even human adoption, with all our sin and crap. But at no point does He regret his decision to adopt us, nor does He say 'I give up on this kid. And neither can I'". Wow.

Enter the metaphor: Doritos and diversity.

When I looked around me, I felt like this is the way that God meant it to be. In Revelations 5, it talks about every tribe, tongue, people, and nation worshiping and living together in unity. Jesus, a Jew, reached out to the "unclean" Samaritan woman. The Acts churches reached out to orphans and widows, and strived for racial reconciliation. Multiethnic community is not simply nice, it's necessary.

But it's hard. As Jerry, the CityLights director said, "Our church, though authentic, is messy. Reconciliation is needed all the time," but he continued, "but it's a community that I think (and I say this humbly) that you will find that you wish to be a part of."

And I do. I don't know how exactly yet, but I know that if God can show me the blessings of a community like that in a week, I look forward to what he can do with more than a Spring Break. So for now, I'm left wanting more, waiting to see how God calls me to serve the immigrants, the refugees, the ethnicities that are different I, and the widows.

Crazy Love.

Check this video out...

Oh Child --Nevertheless

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnyE6Cx6X0I

So, it's been awhile, so I'll try to write something for you that will brighten your day.

God's love.

No, but seriously. Stop. Look at the previous line. Think about it for 3o seconds. What does that mean to you? Whether you're a Christian or not, what do you think of that?

I started writing a really long blog about Job...I'll use it later, but I felt like this is what I needed to get off my chest. A couple days ago on a 4 hour trip back from Omaha to Cedar Rapids, I shut off my car's CD player, which is a big deal...because I'm kind of frightened by too much silence (that'll be a whole other blog post someday). But the things I was reminded of were amazing. I'm finishing up Francis Chan's Crazy Love, which challenges me, makes me uncomfortable in many ways, but most importantly, helps me to remember how much God loves me.

When it comes to God's promises and love, I have the memory of...well, something with a really short memory. God could drop a 10,000 rose bouquet outside of my apartment that says "Brendan, I love you. A lot. Don't forget. XOXO God." I'd probably be in shock, but after the warm fuzzies wore off the next day and I did something wrong or stupid, I'd question whether God could possibly love me. Then God would drop a ginormous, 3-ton stuffed teddy bear in front of me on my way to class. "Brendan, seriously. I love you. I'm not kidding. XOXO." Then I'd repeat the cycle.

I wish I was kidding.

I think that's why I was so amazed as I drove in my car and started thinking. This whole thing, this whole life, is about love. God's crazy love for me. God's lovingly constant pursuit for me. Whether we think about it or not, God loves us. Whether we love Him back or not, He loves us. Whether we've walked to the ends of the earth just to avoid God, He loves us. When I fall flat on my face in my humanness, the God of love is reaching down with his loving hand to bring us into his loving embrace...and lovingly smile at me...God is love.

It's amazing how standard that sounds. "Yeah, I know God loves me." I think I heard a vacation Bible school song about that once..." But I can't state it any better or more exciting than that! The God of the universe is willing to have a relationship with us? Yeah...but what about all those mean things I said to my roommate about his cooking skills? What about the times that I forget to come to you daily? What about the pride I struggle with? What about my love handles and deteriorating biceps? What about that time that I doubted your ability to deliver in the clutch?

And God's response?

Shhhhhh...What about My love?

For me, I'm learning to stop and listen. It's the amazing convo I have with long-time friends. It's the family of deer that jog past me in the middle of the woods. It's the warmth in my heart when I see a toddler stumbling her way to her parents. It's the snow that falls on my nose and rests on the pine trees. It's the long-anticipated answered prayer. It's the death of His Son on a cross. It's His love.

Take it or leave it, God's love is here, there, and everywhere. As John Piper says, "God in eternity looked upon me, forseeing my faultness, my pride, my sin and said 'I want that man in my family, I will pay for him to be in my family-- with my son's life. That's Love, folks. That is mega, off-the-charts love!!!"

Really, though. Smile. God loves you. A lot.

Rejection.

I believe there are 10 stages of emotions after being put on an alternate list at one's top medical school.

1. Disappointment: Wow. Bummer.
2. Confusion: Wait, I thought I felt good about this med school?
3. Re-checking the school's email to see if the school mis-typed something (I mean, it's pretty easy to accidentally type "You got put on the much less exciting alternate-list" instead of "You have been accepted")
4. Running through the interview in slow motion in one's mind, analyzing the interviewers' faces. Was that grimace during my answer in response to his stomach pain? Or did he really not like my answer? Was the fact that he shut his eyes for an extremely long time a bad sign?
5. Doubting abilities of self: Wow, I obviously suck. I probably can't even do any of my normal activities anymore. I hope I am competent enough to drive home...
6. Doubting one's ability to dress for success: I knew I should've gone with the gold tie instead of red. Wow, I probably should just stick to pajamas the rest of my life.
7. Dispair: This med school was a perfect location, fit, and everything! Now what am I going to do?!?! I mean I should be thankful I got into another med school, but I'd rather freak out!
8. Considering throwing the problem into God's hands, then reconsidering: It's better to try really hard myself right? Otherwise it might show weakness of myself...
9. Repeat steps 1-7.
10. Finally accepting that God has a greater plan. Then giving it all to Him.

So while some of these emotions or "stages" may be a bit extreme, all of them (sadly) are ones that I've stepped through. I recently found out that I got placed on the alternate list at Des Moines University, which was my first choice for medical schools since I started to apply to places. Needless to say, I was a bit bummed. Then I went through the ten stages.

I must say, there's an amazing growth process when you get to stage 8. I think I've hit stage 8 in my life many, many times; I like to call it the "There's only one real great option here, Brendan, but you're probably going to try to do this on your own again" stage. It's amazing how God uses pain and disappointment to bring you back to Him and remind you that His plan is the ultimate one.

There are so many times I feel like I hold up my life map (which I've cleverly designed to plot out my life) to the heavens and cry out "Why?! I had my life had all planned out! It was supposed to go like this!" The response from God goes something like this:

"Wait, you mean that thing? That map is scribbled in crayon, and the only destinations you have labeled are 'College', 'Des Moines University', and 'helping people'. What you don't see are the dangers and hazards, nor do you see the wonderful blessings I have in store for you on the narrow path I want to lead you down...you didn't draw that path on your map, Brendan. " Then God laughs lovingly at how poor of an artist I am. I mean, He can...I am pretty horrible at art.

The one thing that I'm choosing to do now that I don't normally do is that I've finally decided to go to stage 10. It's only been a few days since I found out the "terrible" news, and I already feel tired and worn out from the stress of running through scenarios and trying to beat myself up about it. Did I not pray enough? What about the awesome global health program at DMU? How many questions did I screw up during the interview? What could I have done better?

At a certain point, after beating my head against the wall of rejection, which awkwardly stands between me and being at peace, I decided to grab the extended arm of Jesus, ready and willing to hoist me over that obstacle. It's just not worth it: The doubting, the insecurity, the frustration--none of it is worth my time and energy. The yoke of Jesus is easy...the yoke of Brendan weighs about as much as King Kong. Doing it on my own is like watching Jesus run up to the top of a "hill" in my life, yelling "Come on Brendan! Look at the awesome stuff I have for you...something you won't even expect!" I'm about a country mile back, at the bottom of the hill, dragging my anxieties (which in my mind looks like a ball-and-chain.) "Um, yeah...just a second!"

So, as of now, I'm tossin it up to God. I don't know if I'll get into DMU (I mean, I'll sure as heck be praying for it), but regardless, I'm shootin for being content. God has blessed me amazingly! Only one medical school? It could be zero. Not ideal? Neither is the situation that I've seen millions of people living in during my trips to Ethiopia and Egypt. Sorting garbage in Egypt for a small wage to sustain your family? That's not ideal. When I want to feel sorry for myself, this verse seems to conveniently pop into my head:"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus." 1 Thess. 5: 16-18

To God be the glory.

Purpose Worth Dying For.

I sure hope this blog isn't like many other endeavors I've started and moved on from, completely unfinished, mostly because I have the attention span of a squirrel after a can of energy drink. So I'm praying this works :)

Having said that, my intention for this blog is to chart and record my journey through the last few months of college and beyond: the journey of a college student, of a boy trying to become a man, of someone who is trying to make a relationship with Jesus real, relevant, and important. So, this blog will probably seem scatter-brained, discombobulated, convoluted, and confusing at times, which might be a direct reflection of the author. However, I hope it's also real. I hope it's a pick-me-up for someone who starts the day by spilling coffee down their front, gets a speeding ticket, and gets fired all in one day. I hope it's something that people can laugh at. I hope it's something that people read and walk away feeling challenged, possibly refreshed, or maybe even uneasy, but I ultimately hope this blog is a blessing to someone like me: a person simply wanting to be "after God's own heart" and daily learning what that actually looks like.

The Mark Bible study that I'm leading was looking at the first chapter, where it discusses the life (and death) of John the Baptist. What'd I take from looking at John? Jesus. From what it seemed, every part of John's life pointed to Jesus. Whether it was the locusts he was munching on or his stench due to his inclination to ignore taking a bath and instead preach the good news of Jesus, everything about him said "I am not the greatest--I am only showing you the One who is." Oh, and then he got his head chopped off. Everything he does is to roll out the red carpet for Jesus.

So I got to thinking, and it still somewhat disturbs me. Would I eat locusts and honey for Jesus? I wear rags for Jesus? Would I literally lose my head for Jesus? I'll even back down from the "extreme" questions: Would I not go to medical school if Jesus asked? If I was trapped on an island with Jesus, would that be okay? Or would I need Sportscenter in the morning and my favorite salt and vinegar Pringles in the afternoon to be happy?

It sounds silly to be trapped on an island with Jesus and not pay attention to Him, but that's what I do a lot of days. I go through the motions, acting as if the most important thing I am doing and preparing the way for is...well, myself. The only red carpet I roll out is my own, so at the end of the day I have a silly, silly notion that my life I live is my own.

Absolutely not. I pray right now and always that He reminds me of the purpose of my life, of every breath I take in day, of me. I pray that I can learn to be a John: willing to suffer for Him, taking all praise and adoration directed towards me and aim it to the One who deserves it, and knowing that this whole life is about none other than choosing into a relationship with the Creator of heaven and Earth. I pray that I may decrease so He may increase.

Blessings