After taking in Mahomet’s underwhelming display last Sunday evening, God more than made up for it the next night. A group of us trekked up to the south side of Chicago for a White Sox game, and there were plenty of fireworks—both during and after a glorious 9-2 Sox victory.

As we gazed up at the postgame fireworks show, I found myself wondering how the heck fireworks work. What causes the bright blues, greens, reds, etc.? What causes some to sparkle and some to sound like bombs? What causes some to soar high while others barely climbed over the skyline? Okay, I’m guessing you get the point.

I’m getting better at recognizing when Jesus is at the podium. So I decided to do a little research the next day. I knew fireworks contain black gunpowder. And obviously, they rely upon the fire and heat triggered by lighting them. Depending on what color you desire, you use varying metals/elements (e.g. barium for green). 

What I didn’t know is that the height is controlled by how tightly one packs the powder into the firecracker. The more tightly wound the firecracker, the higher it will generally soar. Not only that, but the largeness of the display depends upon this pressure as well. Those massive fireworks which spread across the sky during a show’s finale, they are packed more tightly than the opening fireworks.

Interesting.

A while back, I heard this dude named Trygve Johnson talk about this concept called “askesis.” Askesis is a Greek word which has no natural English translation. Askesis basically deals with the need for something to be confined before it fully comes alive.

If you’re in need of imagery, think of violently shaking a can of pop before you hand it to a friend (oh, come on—I’m not the only one who’s done that!). Or Michael Phelps exploding onto the Olympic swimming scene after a decade of training and sacrifice. Or fireworks.

In each case, if that something or someone wouldn’t have been confined by boundaries, the reaction wouldn’t have been remarkable or even noteworthy. The problem is we see the word “boundary” and we recoil. Such boundary talk carries nasty, negative connotations into our discussion. Boundaries presumably infringe on our personal freedoms, and frankly, we don’t appreciate that.

” The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul.”  —Psalm 19:7

The actual translation for law here is the famous Hebrew word “torah.” Torah was never meant to be a restriction or hindrance, but rather a much-needed guide for us humans to reach a goal or ideal. At its core, torah is a means, not an end.

True, maybe something got lost in translation over the past 2,500 years. But the issue runs deeper than that. The issue rests upon my trust—or distrust—in God. Do I trust that He knows the way to places where my soul explodes and comes fully alive? Because if I don’t, then I risk subconsciously relegating God to be some pleasure-denying scrooge. 

I was at a party on the 4th, learning to play washers in my friend’s backyard when our friend Nathan tossed a bundle of firecrackers at me and yelled, “Dan! Watch out!” Well, I didn’t dive for cover (only because I didn’t have time to do so). Turns out Nathan hadn’t lit the fuse on the otherwise harmless firecrackers. Yes, the gunpowder in those firecrackers was tightly packed, but obviously they needed the fire from an outside source. And so our weekly metaphor is complete.

May you embrace our God’s boundaries for what they are. May you see them not as fences, but a pathway to real life and the highest highs it can provide. May you trust in those confinements when it comes time to do so this week.

And when you do, may you sense God nearby, ready to light the fuse.

Last weekend, I got to help my friend Shannon install new hardwood flooring in his living room, kitchen and front hall. Typically, I don’t need much instruction when it comes to destroying things, so Friday night’s removal of the carpeting, trim, etc., didn’t take much brainwork. Saturday’s installation of the dark oak surface, however, would be a different story altogether.

By the time I arrived the next morning, Shannon and fellow flooring expert Gene already had the operation humming. Right away, the math teacher (code for the anal side of me) insisted upon organizing the wood piles by length and width, upon which I waited for my marching orders.

For the floor’s sake, I lucked into a relatively simple job. From wall to wall, I would lay out the next row of wood. With 3 different widths of wood and 10 different lengths, this puzzle was perfect for my mathematical sensibilities. Once I had laid out the row, I began to gently hammer each piece into place so the seams were airtight. Gene would follow me and staple that piece into the floor for eternity. 

I ate it up—I loved the experience. It felt good to be doing manual labor, surrounded by sawdust, powerful tools, constant noise and (last, but not least) men who actually knew what they were doing. As for me, I could at least fake it while in their midst.

Honestly, there were moments I felt like I was in a Black and Decker commercial.

By mid-afternoon, we had installed roughly half of Shannon’s living room and kitchen floor—not a bad day’s work. I remember admiring our crew’s handiwork and thinking that Jesus had been a carpenter, too.

But it wasn’t until the next day that I realized how deeply spiritual this experience had actually been. On first glance, I had been busy installing pieces of dark oak. But all the while, Jesus had been showing me about what it will look like to follow Him in new ways. Maybe God will highlight one of them for you:

Lesson #1: I did what I was told because it was someone else’s floor

First, I relied on Shannon and Gene for directions and guidance the whole afternoon. I did what I was told, and honestly, I preferred it that way. On my own, I knew I had no idea what I was doing. Plus, this was Shannon’s floor, not mine, and I didn’t trust myself when it came to someone else’s floor.

Somewhere in that observation, there’s a lesson to be had. The prophet Jeremiah was onto something when he finally grasped that his life didn’t belong to him, that his Lord had earned the right to direct him. Imagine if I lived my life with that kind of dependence on God’s directions.

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” –Proverbs 19:21

Imagine if I had the patience and desire to wait for clear instructions before I acted. And imagine if I fully realized that this life is God’s, not mine, and I don’t (and shouldn’t) trust myself with it.

When I woke up Monday morning, I got out of bed slower than usual. That weekend, I had exercised muscles which apparently hadn’t been used in a while. When I arrived at school, Shannon immediately asked me if I was sore, too. I threw a knowing glance his way—heck yes, I was sore. Any time you do things you haven’t done in a while—or things you’ve never done—you can expect some soreness.

So lesson #2: If I’m trying to imitate Jesus, then I should be experiencing new kinds of soreness

Jesus wanted to elaborate here. Can you guess what ached the most? Well, having crawled around on my knees all afternoon, they were a little tender. And being bent over for several hours, my lower back let me know that it didn’t appreciate the pop quiz I had given it that weekend.

“Now Daniel…went into his house; and his windows being open in his chamber toward Jerusalem, he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God….”  —Daniel 6:10

So, is all of this a coincidence? Honestly, I don’t buy that. Because…

Lesson #3: I haven’t been on my knees or humbly bowing before my Lord near as much as I should.

My friend Morgan and I were talking about these Monday Moments last week. Morgan remarked that she wonders where I come up with them. My thoughts were rudely interrupted as Jesus playfully slapped me upside the head.

“But that’s just it,” I told her. “I don’t come up with them.”

I’m not smart enough to make these connections, let alone do it week after week. If you believed that, then you were overestimating me big-time. Like I said at the beginning, Jesus is one clever, resourceful dude. He’ll use anything.

Do you feel you struggle to hear from God? You might simply take a quiet, long look at a recent experience in your life.

The hardwood floor was mine—not yours. I don’t say that to hog it. I only say that because I find it absurd that God wouldn’t be trying to talk to you, too. I personally believe you’ve had your very own hardwood floor experience. Probably in the past week, no less. So…what was it.

I’m not saying they’re wrong or I’m right, mind you. It’s a simple matter of personal preference, and as for me, I need my seasons. I love the snow. I love those first warm, melty days of spring. I love the variety.
And I love Lent, I really do.

I daresay I think it’s my favorite time of year. In fact, I’m lightheartedly considering starting a grass roots campaign to make Lent the 5th season. After all, we mostly spend these 40 days confused about whether it’s winter or spring anyway, so why not?

Some of you are more familiar with Lent than others. Basically, it’s a 40-day time for us to re-anchor ourselves to some simple, yet highly elusive truths of our faith. Lent culminates with the celebration of Holy Week and Easter, and to realize that the God of the universe paid the ultimate price for you and me is indeed cause for some serious celebration.

Anyhow, this got me thinking: why did God give us the seasons anyway? A couple weeks back, I asked Him and felt like He at least gave me a partial answer.

Reason #1: the seasons are the same.

“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.”   —Genesis 8:22

The seasons are cyclical creatures. Winter, spring, summer, fall…and then we do it all over again. The 4 seasons provide a certain constancy to each year.

Don’t doubt for a second that God was extremely strategic about this. In the seasons, God acknowledges our human need to return to things. Our discipleship is no exception.

Lent acts as a 40-day reminder that our God went first…in every way imaginable. He loved us into existence with Him, He forgave us before we could even ask, He initiates everything about our relationship. And when we struggle with these truths, God offers an annual reminder every spring. Lent is His mild-weathered invitation to revisit these mysteries, to re-own them.

I don’t know about you, but this whole notion that Jesus actually died so that I could be with Him and we can hang out forever—this is just not automatic for me. I mean, He couldn’t possibly pay a bigger price or give up anything else. Jesus held nothing back. Unfathomable. This is bizarre, it’s not normal, and it defies reason. I need to consistently return to this truth, and Lent gives me a season to do just that.

Reason #2: the seasons are the same, yet different.

Yes, the seasons follow the same sequence, year after calendar year. But no spring is identical to any other spring. God has a cruel sense of humor about this, too. For years, my mom has nagged me about getting air conditioning installed in my home. Finally, last May, she asked me to do this for her birthday; so I caved. The new system was installed in early June, roughly about the time God decided to give us the coolest summer I can ever remember (I believe I ran the AC twice, and one of those was just to make sure it worked!). 

“And God said, ‘Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark the seasons and days and years.’ ” –Genesis 1:14

So how will your experience of Lent be extraordinary this spring? Will it? You know, the decisive ingredient in this whole equation happens to be reading this sentence right now. Make this a different Lent—somehow, someway. Not so much for Jesus’ sake, but for your own.

Lent 2010: the same, but hopefully different.

Seriously. I’m not talking about what you’re supposed to think. Nor am I talking about what you want to think. I’m not even talking about what you think you think. I’m talking about what you actually, deeply think of this God, no matter how frightening that may be.

We’ll revisit this in a minute. First, do any of the following describe you?

* Inner peace has proven to be elusive
* You wrestle with unfulfilled dreams, unmet desires or imperfect relationships
* You struggle to explain wrong turns in your past—they seem like pointless detours

If so, read on. If not, well…read on anyway. Let’s start in the beginning: in Genesis, the leadoff book of God’s scriptures, we find Joseph. This is a guy who certainly battled with these aforementioned issues as he lived one topsy-turvy life.

If anyone in the Bible lived a story which lends itself to a Broadway production, then it’s Joseph, hands-down. Here’s a guy who was sold into slavery by his own brothers. His new owners abruptly uprooted Joseph to another continent. And just when Joseph finally seems to catch a break, he’s falsely imprisoned by his boss—his crime was loyalty—and serves a jail sentence for a couple years.

At this point, Joseph and karma are probably not on speaking terms.

But he perseveres, is freed and experiences a dramatic climb to the top of Egyptian government. Years later, Joseph is unexpectedly reunited with the same brothers who betrayed him. After all these years, they don’t recognize Joseph. Now ironically enough, they are in dire need of his help. I’m not sure what I would say to them, but it would not have been this:

“And now, do not be distressed with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you.” —Genesis 45:5

Are you kidding me?! Who reacts that way? Where is Joseph finding the strength and perspective which fuel such a response? Because I want some of that.

Here’s where I would argue this is not so much an indication of what Joseph thinks of his brothers. Rather, Joseph’s response is a direct, unfiltered reflection of what he really thinks of our God. Through all these years and wrong turns, Joseph seems to be deeply in tune with an invisible Father who only has Joseph’s best interests in mind.

Shameless Plug of the Week: I listen to a fair amount of podcasts. I’ve heard some good ones and even some great ones. I’m not sure there’s a category for one I heard this week, unless “ya-gotta-hear-this” is one. Other than that, I cannot describe how impactful I found it. Do yourself a favor—for you, not me. Carve out 30 minutes some night, go to http://www.marshill.org and listen to Rob Bell’s message under the title “Ask, Seek, Knock.” Rob takes a frustrating passage (“Ask and it will be given to you…”) from Matthew 7 and unpacks how I believe God intended for us to read it all along.

2 quick points about this verse and how it ties into what we honestly think of God.

Point #1: Are you truly asking? If you are sincerely asking, Bell explains, then you are giving God the right to say no. Otherwise, our “requests” are really nothing more than a bunch of veiled demand and nicely-worded ultimatums, aren’t they?

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!” —Matthew 7:9-12

Here again, this is Jesus basically asking, “So what do you really think of my Father?”

Point #2: In this passage, notice Jesus never says that if we ask our Father for a fish, He will give us the fish.

For obvious reasons. Because sometimes my desires just do not lead to what’s best for me. I am not interested in a God who gives me whatever I want—that would be dangerous at best. Instead, I want to follow a God who’s a bigger fan of me than I am. I want to follow a God who relentlessly chases after what’s best for me, especially when that means denying me what I want. I only want to follow a God who loves me more than I do.

Does that describe your God? Is that what you think of Him?

If you were to ask your God to spend the afternoon together, do you believe He would show up (bread) or ditch you (stone)? If you were to trust Him with your future, would He give you the best (fish) or offer a blueprint for a lesser life (snake)? Depends on what you think of Him, I suppose.

I hope you come to re-anchor yourself to the true identity of our God as a bread-giving Father. Take inventory of all the bread in your life—from crumbs to loaves. Then decide for yourself whether He really is a bread-giving God, one whose track record shows He has earned your trust.

“But you would be fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.” —Psalm 81:16

Not just any bread—the finest of wheat. Only the very best for His kid.

So maybe backseat drivers get a bum rap after all.

I’ve got to share a little of the magic I’ve recently reaped just from allowing God to gradually move from the back seat to the passenger seat to the driver’s seat. Mind you, this is nothing if not an ongoing process, one which started in late December with a persistent whisper:

“You are not your own; you were bought at a price.” –1st Corinthians 6:19-20

I am not my own. Some decisions are not mine to make; in fact, Someone else has earned the right to make them for me.

Inside each of us, there is this intricate game of tug-of-war going on, where this notion (that I am God’s and not my own) strangely co-exists with the concept of free will. On the surface, God might come off as oppressive. But in the last couple weeks, as I have oh-so-gradually applied this truth to more areas of my life, I’ve found this as liberating as it is effective.

Let’s get practical. Based on the Scripture above, I’ll share 2 ways God has literally changed my life in the past few weeks:

1) This discovery—that I am God’s, and that my life is His, too—has proven to be a phenomenal weapon against temptation.

Satan likes to delude us into thinking we have the power to make the call. And sometimes, that’s all the wiggle room our minds need to make a destructive choice. To lust after someone, I don’t have the right to even consider that option—the decision’s been made for me. That’s so liberating. Do I keep eating out of pure desire, or do I back away and eat rather out of necessity? Suddenly, it’s not my call to make.

“And He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for Him who died for them and was raised again.” - 2nd Corinthians 5:15

I don’t believe it was hubris which blocked me from previously taking advantage of this weapon; no, it was more ignorance than arrogance. I didn’t realize this other-worldly power which is crammed into the simple realization that I am God’s. My life is His, not my own.

2) Coming to grips with the reality that I am His and not my own has allowed me to embrace the present.

Unlike previously, I haven’t been nearly as consumed by unfulfilled dreams or unmet desires. I would say those desires are all still there, they haven’t changed.

They just don’t matter as much.

“I know, O Lord, that a man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps.” - Jeremiah 10:23

When I’m living for Dan, coping with unrealized ambitions can be a painful process. But when I’m actually living for Jesus, then it’s simply not the biggest deal in the world anymore. Jesus’ desires trump mine; His purposes cut past mine to the front of the line. Again, it’s extremely freeing.

“For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone. If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.”  - Romans 14:7-8

I’m really learning what it feels like to die to one’s self and live for God instead. And I gotta tell you—it feels an awful lot like a reception, not a funeral.

I pray each of you has enjoyed the peace which Jesus has blessed me with lately. It’s a tidal wave that has rushed into every area of my life.
Sorry—His life.

Amazingly enough, I’d never been here during the Christmas season. Despite having grown up 35 minutes from Chicago, I’d never been down Michigan Avenue when this shoppers’ haven is famously lit up for the holidays. One never notices how many trees actually call downtown Chicago home until they are strewn with white Christmas lights.

As my friend Ben and I power-walked north over the Chicago River and toward Water Tower Place, there was little doubt I was a fish out of water. I’m not much of a shopper, and even when I am, I never frequent the high-end stores which make up the Magnificent Mile. For a native Illinoisan, I sure felt like a tourist. Even out of my element, however, I was soaking up my first Michigan Avenue shopping experience and the festive spirit.

As we scurried to catch a bus back to Ben’s place, I saw the silhouette of a man on crutches. As we fast approached him and he came more into focus, I could see he was gingerly inching his way across an intersection, slowly sliding across the pavement almost as if he were cross-country skiing. Closer still, I noticed that he was wearing magazines for shoes and small plastic bags for socks.

That he was trying to get across Michigan Avenue made the contrast heart-wrenching. As Ben and I sped by this man, my heart silently sank. We barely made our bus, but whatever. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t do anything, to be painfully accurate.

The next morning, I wrote about this in my journal. I remember asking, “What do you want me to do, God?” A week removed from that experience, honestly, I’m not sure if that was a stupid question, a cop-out, both or neither. Not 3 days later, I was catching up on my Bible-reading and found myself face-first with the following reminder:

“He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” —Micah 6:8

“What do I want you to do, Dan? Here’s your answer.”

The God I’m getting to know, He’s not particular about where we’re at, what our day job is or even how long our to-do list happens to be. He’s really not. Rather, as long as we’re busy going about these 3 things, He’s quite happy to let us fill in the details. I don’t know about you, but I feel I need to unpack these 3 missions, for my own sake. If you’d like to do that together, by all means, read any or all of these three:

1)    Act justly
Micah’s contemporary, a guy named Isaiah, urges us to seek justice, to learn to do right, etc. Isaiah paints this very active, learn-by-doing approach to creating equality. What are you and I doing to bring justice to our corners of the world? Anything? If not, we need to at least be taking baby steps toward that very goal.

2)    Love mercy.
I’ve never really thought about this one until I started typing the words you’re reading now. The prophet Hosea interestingly equates loving mercy to acknowledging God. So if we believe in God and claim to know Him, we are acknowledging a Being who unfairly wipes our slate clean…

Not so the cycle ends there, but so we might do the same for others. For their sake and ours. I need to learn to LOVE to pay God’s mercy forward.

3)    Walk humbly with your God.
Do you regularly hang out with God? Does your lifestyle reflect His reality? Or would a bystander possibly conclude you follow a cartoon God, someone you don’t actually believe in? Because nobody would bother to spend time with a fictitious God, right? Tough questions with equally tough answers. And that’s just the walking part, let alone doing so humbly.

God equates humility with a responsive heart. Somewhere, we make the commitment to receive our marching orders from Someone other than ourselves. In other words, we know our role. We follow through on the impulses the Spirit places in our soul today, not worrying about tomorrow until it arrives.

I think back to that Friday night in the Loop. I didn’t do anything, and I’m certain I regret that more than if I had. Each of us will always have excuses—good ones, bad ones, and everywhere in between. But my mind is starting to shift in a scary direction:

What if it’s not that I don’t know what God wants me to do? What if the real issue is I just don’t care to do it?

Granted, this is complicated. I’m not getting the vibe that these are competing possibilities, that it’s an exclusively either-or proposition. I’m confident the truth carries a little of both.
But after my run-in with Jesus on Michigan Avenue, I now believe more than ever in a God who will give me repeated chances to a) learn to spread justice by actually doing it, b) leap at the chance to offer mercy rather than to begrudgingly do so, and c) to simply hang with Jesus, giving Him the chance to lead me into a fuller life.

I love wrapping paper. When I was little, wrapping paper was this tantalizing barrier, blocking me from the identity of the latest mystery gift to be placed under the tree. No doubt about it, wrapping paper creates intrigue. It creates anticipation. And isn’t that a major ingredient of the holiday season?

Remember when you were 8 years old and would struggle mightily to fall asleep on Christmas Eve? One year, I recall sneaking downstairs and planting myself behind the couch, determined to wait for Santa to appear. I wanted to be there when the reindeer landed on our roof; I wanted to personally hand him the plate of cookies. Somehow, I woke up in bed the next morning, only to take off downstairs.

Almost without exception, each year I was the first one to the tree each Christmas morning. Now, however, that process seems to be inverting itself: first to bed, struggle to get up.

Wrapping paper speaks to our need to guard our anticipation, to protect the intrigue of the Christmas season. To be blunt, I don’t think we do that. We need—yes, need—to follow Mary’s example and become purposeful about setting aside time to do this.

While the shepherds were bustling about the countryside, while the magi were bringing gifts—right in the middle of this whirlwind of newness and activity engulfing a new teen mom, Mary’s reaction is pretty suggestive:

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” –Luke 2:19

The original word used for treasured was “suntereo,” which translates “to preserve, keep safe and keep close.” You probably guessed as much. But suntereo also carries the connotation of preserving these things together, with something or someone.

I’m betting Mary did a lot of this treasuring with Jesus close by.

And if…if you really believe this baby grew into who He said He was, then it isn’t far-fetched for us to be able to do the same: treasure these things with Jesus close by.

Back to wrapping paper (seamless transition, huh?). I hate wrapping paper. There are downsides to wrapping paper. This is probably the guy in me speaking, but I have never really seen a great need for wrapping paper. Let me get this straight: I’m supposed to painstakingly wraps a gift so my nephew can ravenously tear apart my handiwork to get to what he’s really wanted the whole time?

If we were to downsize Christmas—not a bad proposition—wouldn’t wrapping paper be the first to go? I refuse to part with Christmas lights, egg nog or the music. But wrapping paper? So disposable. Seen through this lens, I view wrapping paper as the tonsils of the Christmas season—nice, but not really needed.

Maybe it’s been said too many times for us to take notice, but may you take the time needed to build a child-like anticipation for December 25th. But when that morning arrives, may you tear past all of the traditions that have been wrapped around this season over the decades. May you rip through to the purposeful gift, one so mysteriously beautiful that it defies reason.

And may you have an extraordinary, peace-filled, blessed and merry Christmas.

Last week, the Associated Press reported that 22 million Americans have been infected by the virus. Closer to home, I noticed the swine flu affecting my classroom. By the end of the week, I had a growing stack of papers from students returning to school after 4-5 day absences. I simply referred to it as “my H1N1 pile.”

On Wednesday, our students had the opportunity to be vaccinated. I say opportunity because there has been some controversy/concern over the H1N1 vaccine. I have heard from a couple people who had healthily sidestepped the whole swine flu epidemic—until they received the vaccine, that is.

Do you realize how a vaccine works? You are actually injected with a small strain of the H1N1 virus in hopes that your body responds by developing the antibodies needed to fight off such a virus. Thus, your body builds an immunity to the swine flu in case you encounter the virus down the road. 

Some people swear by flu shots; others adamantly oppose them. Personally, I’ve never gotten a flu shot of any kind, H1N1 or otherwise. I’ve always been a little leery of the thought of injecting myself with the very virus I’m trying to avoid.

I wish I lived with the same caution when it comes to sin.

I don’t know if you’re like me in this regard. We are all annoyingly skilled in the art of rationalization, aren’t we? You convince yourself that you won’t be entangled by something, that it’s just one time or that it won’t hurt anyone, etc., etc. Oh, we are skilled at spinning the ol’ excuse wheel.

Have you ever been guilty of the vaccination approach—to test a sin just to prove you can walk away from it? I’ve been guilty of trying to vaccinate myself from further sin. There’s only one flaw in my otherwise flawless plan: sin does not work like a vaccine. Not even close.

I’ve made a simple conclusion: sin is usually a fertile breeding ground for more sin. I have no proof for you…other than pretty much every time I’ve ever chosen to dance with sin. For example, lie once and you’ll find it’s much easier to lie.

Big or small, public or private, once an hour or once a year—none of that seems too change my enemy’s delight and sense of opportunity. Maybe that’s why I have a difficult time remembering when God told me to stop being a wuss, walk right up to sin and meet it face-to-face.

He never did.

In all of His recorded words to us, never once does Jesus prod us to walk up to sin and prove we’re bigger than it. Simply put, this was a recipe for failure. If we take inventory of our lives, haven’t we proven as much ten times over? 

Instead, Jesus is fairly open when it comes to our strategy. Tuck tail and run. And don’t look back. Themes of vigilance and being proactive about avoiding our vulnerabilities are woven throughout Scripture.

“Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and He will come near to you.”  —James 4:7-8

In other words, if you’re just going to pitch a tent for the enemy, don’t be surprised if he walks up to your campfire. Enough said.

“If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.”—Matthew 5:29

Whenever I’ve read, heard or studied this teaching in the past, I always rested on the comfort that Jesus was speaking metaphorically here. While I still maintain that point, I don’t think I should rest on it anymore.

A couple things emerge here. First, notice Jesus is awfully specific, mentioning our “right eye.” Peculiar, isn’t it? When the topic is sin, it’s easy to lose ourselves in generalities, but exact details can be more painful. Pretty soon, I’m talking about the world’s struggle with some sin and, in the process, forgetting about my struggle with it. Very convenient…and equally unproductive.

I’m hearing Jesus say, to all those who are genuinely serious about escaping the clutches of a sin, “Be precise, exact and honest in your fight.”

Second—and this is totally consistent with Jesus’ teaching—notice the immediacy and the dramatic plan of action. He knows us; He knows our tendencies. How often do we try to wean ourselves away from sin? Doesn’t always work too well, does it?

Just surf God’s instruction manual. Don’t lie, big or small. Don’t even harbor a hint of sexual immorality. If you need to forgive, do that first—and do it now. Jesus is straight-forward in pushing for an immediate, clean cut from anything which threatens to drag us from our Protector.

“Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.” —Ephesians 4:26-27

Or a syringe loaded with your sin du jour.

Honestly, I like to think of myself as a fairly self-aware person. To study human nature, to ask why we do the things we do—I find that stuff fascinating. And my biggest case study would have to be…me.

It only makes sense, right? I’m constantly around myself, so I have years of data. I’m not prepared to say I have myself figured out, but I do feel like I have a decent working idea of what makes me tick. I have a good pulse on my passions, my fears, weaknesses and strengths. 

But a couple weeks ago, something small happened to me that made me call all of this into question. During one of my geometry classes, we were chatting about parallel lines. Apparently, I was making some grand gesture with my right hand when it collided with my glass of water I’d placed on a nearby cart.

I swear that what happened next occurred in some dimension of extreme slow motion. The glass fell about 4 feet to the tile floor below, survived the initial landing, and then proceeded to hop about a foot in the air before splintering upon second impact. Go figure. 

I hurriedly scrambled to pick up all the shards of glass and drop them in the garbage can, eager to get back to parallel lines and away from my clumsiness. Several minutes later, I noticed that my piece of chalk was feeling sticky to the touch.

I looked down and realized that my thumb had been bleeding, presumably since I had picked up the pieces of glass. All this time, I hadn’t even realized I was bleeding. Neither had any of my students noticed.

A couple days later, I was listening to a message about the Pharisees. While I do think the Pharisees get a bum rap, the speaker did say something scary about the Pharisees:

“They were spiritually dead, and they didn’t even realize it.”

Do those last words chill you? When I heard them, they frightened me a little—not because of the Pharisees’ condition, but because of my own. I mean, if I can be physically bleeding and not realize it, then surely I can be spiritually dead in some areas of my life and not even realize that, either.

It’s like the story of David and Bethsheba. Basically, David lusts after his neighbor’s wife, sleeps with her, she becomes pregnant and David has her husband murdered in a last-ditch effort to cover up the whole mess. Here’s where we pick up the story.

God sends the neighborhood prophet, Nathan, to confront David. So Nathan spins this parable about a rich man who hosted a traveler. Instead of preparing a lamb from his own flock, the tycoon decides instead to take the one lamb belonging to his poor neighbor and prepare it for the meal. Well, David bites—hook, line and sinker.

“David burned with anger against the man and said to Nathan, ‘As surely as the Lord lives, the man who did this deserves to die! He must pay for that lamb 4 times over, because he did such a thing and had no pity.

Then Nathan said to David, ‘You are the man!’ ”  —2nd Samuel 12:5-7

Oops.

Sometimes we can be so close to a situation that we’re not able to see it for what it truly is. No red light goes off because the way we are, it’s all we’ve known. If our story ended here, though, this would be rather depressing. We would walk into the rest of our week feeling powerless and nobody would blame us.

God’s answer is simple in theory, but a little uncomfortable in execution.

“Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses.”—Proverbs 27:6

Each of us has friends, companions with our best interests at heart. But by itself, that is not enough. Remember my students didn’t notice me bleeding, either, until I mentioned something.

Translation: we probably need to be intentional about seeking out these people and purposefully inviting them to watch, to look for the shortcomings, behaviors or words we will miss. For example, I really felt the Spirit telling me to gather one student from each of my classes—someone who knows both me and who I want to be—and I’ve asked them to watch for the stuff I miss. They will tell me when I’ve pushed too hard, been too sarcastic or fallen short in this quest to be Jesus-like. So that’s what I did last week.

In Psalm 141, the writer asks God to put those people in his life. He compares their advice and rebukes to “oil on my head,” a sacred Jewish tradition reserved for the guest of honor at a feast. Wow…what a mindset. The psalm’s author?

David.

Now hear me out on this one. Because if I can find the right words to pull this off, I believe I’ll have shared the most pivotal lesson God has taught me in the past year.

When I was little, I remember watching the TV show version of Batman. Sometimes Bruce Wayne would spot the Bat-light knifing through the night sky high above Gotham’s skyline, signaling the need for everyone’s favorite Caped Crusader. Other times, a bright red phone in Bruce’s mansion would light up, indicating that the police chief (Commissioner Gordon) was calling Batman directly. 

Well, sometimes God speaks through circumstances, other times through music. Sometimes through messengers dressed as humans. I suppose these and others would represent the Bat-lights in our life, noticeable only if we’re looking for them.

And sometimes He just picks up the phone and uses His direct line to reach us.

Such was the case for me last Sunday. Just after communion, I was sitting in church…just trying to listen, I guess. Ever the teacher, Jesus decided this was the day. And in a single moment, things burst into clarity.

As I said, we had just finished with communion. My mind drifted back to the days leading up to Jesus’ life-saving death. Eight days later, I couldn’t tell you how my mind arrived at one particular scene (other than Jesus taking my mind there), but here’s where I found myself:

“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail.”  —Luke 22:31-32

For whatever reason, I couldn’t shake that scene. Now I see that I couldn’t shake that moment because Jesus was using His direct line. I listened as my Teacher turned the hidden into the obvious. He called me directly, and it went something like this:

“Dan, let Me get this straight. You’ve heard people talk about how the Bible is still happening, which is highly cool to you. So cool that you’ve talked to other people about how it’s still happening—including this very week—right?

So how is it that, when you read this story, you read it as one isolated event in history? It’s powerful to you that I would fight for Peter like that, and it should be! What ever made you think that I am not doing the same for you? Today. What led you to believe I am not fighting for you the same way? Today.”                                   

How could I not have realized this? To be honest, I wasn’t nearly as bothered by my oversight as I was empowered by the discovery and its timing. How long this will last, I’m not sure. But 8 days later, I can tell you His words have definitely changed me so far.

To know that the God I’m trying to follow, to know He is fighting for me today—this brings hope into my discouragement. Over the past week, possibility has actually trumped despair. Yeah, I can write about all of this, but that doesn’t do this past week justice.

Oh, I almost forgot the end of the story. In that scene, Jesus leaves Peter with these words:

“And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”  —Luke 22:32

So I suppose that’s what I’m attempting right now. Maybe He wanted one of you out there to know the same thing, to discover you have a God who is fighting for you this very day. And tomorrow, He’s going to do it all over again. This was no single, one-time gesture reserved for Peter; it was one preserved for you.

For me, simply put, that changes things.

Not alive yet. 

We always remember where we were when history interrupts our lives, don’t we? We remember what we were doing. And more to today’s point, we remember who we were with at the time.

Now last week, nobody landed on the moon, but I did get to witness history (at least in my book), nonetheless. On a drizzly Sunday evening in the great city of Chicago, 7 of my friends and I converged on the United Center for the Bruce Springsteen concert that night. And while this would mark my 10th Springsteen show, this concert was guaranteed to be markedly different from any of the previous nine.

For starters, more often than not, I attend these shows by myself. But for some reason (unknown to me at the time), I got caught up in the fever of the moment and bought 8 tickets as soon as they went on sale in July. As concert night approached, I became very aware of this heightened anticipation building within me.

To have 7 friends in the house with me, this was going to be different in a way which words can’t seem to do justice. And sitting in the UC before the show, it definitely was. I could feel the simple power of shared experience. I liked it. That time served as yet another reminder that the most beautiful things in this world can rarely be explained. So to Ann, Austin, Ben, Ken, Luke, Ron, and Ty, thanks for a great memory.

Also, for the first time in history, Bruce and his band were going to play the entire “Born to Run” album—probably their most famous, defining contribution to rock ‘n’ roll—from beginning to end. With the whole arena shrouded in darkness, Bruce walked underneath the burn of a solitary spotlight, harmonica in hand. He began to introduce the legendary album which saved the band’s careers from an early death.

The currents of freedom, adventure, the romanticism of the open road flow strongly throughout Born to Run, both song and album. As the UC’s house lights sprang to life and 24,000 people followed suit, my mind drifted back to what Bruce once said about the evolution of Born to Run, an anthem he penned when he was 24:

“I guess when I wrote this song, I was writing about a guy and a girl who wanted to run and keep on running. And that was a nice, romantic idea. But I realized that after I put all those people in all those cars, I was going to have to figure out some place for them to go.

And I realized that in the end, I guess that individual freedom—when it’s not connected to some sort of community or friends or the world outside—it ends up feeling pretty meaningless. So this is a song about 2 people trying to find their way home.”

For you and me, there are profound truths to be mined from these words. In His brilliance, God wired us to be communal, relational creatures to the core. In our most self-aware moments, we notice how we usually come alive in interdependent situations and treasure one of His greatest gifts—good company for this journey.

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” —Proverbs 17:17

Fellowship. Togetherness. The need to be a part of something bigger than me. Friends, this is powerful stuff; these emotions are fundamental to our core.

“A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”  —Proverbs 18:24

So this week, may we reconnect with the simple power of having an inner circle of friends, brothers and sisters. May we meaningfully pause to throw some gratitude the way of our God, Creator of that inner circle, giver of that inner circle.

And member of that inner circle.

I just touched down from a 34-hour whirlwind of a trip down to the bayou swamplands of Louisiana and back. We drove all through the night both there and back, so my body clock was thrown for quite the loop this weekend. The desination: Baton Rouge and an LSU football game, home to one of the best atmospheres in all of college football. Saturday nights in Death Valley—Tiger Stadium’s more popular nickname—are quite the experience.

My co-pilot Casey and I pulled into LSU’s campus around 10:00 am Saturday morning. At that point, we were running on a full tank of adrenaline and determined to soak up a full day of the LSU experience. On football gamedays, the entire campus and surrounding area are overrun by roughly 150,000 tailgaters (mind you, the stadium itself only holds 93,000). Many of these purple and gold-clad Cajuns are stirring these huge black vats of jambalaya and gumbo with what could best be described as an oar.

There are a handful of famous traditions and sights associated with LSU football, and Casey and I experienced all of them with the exception of the ultimate one: Mike the Tiger. Mike is an actual Bengal tiger who doubles as LSU’s mascot. During the week, he lives in an enclosed habitat in the shadows of Death Valley, literally right across the street from the stadium.

A couple hours before LSU home games, Mike is traditionally loaded into a mobile cage and placed right in front of the visiting team’s tunnel. Talk about menacing. He is then rolled out onto the field right before gametime and remains on the sideline to watch another Tiger victory (they’ve won an unreal 34 straight home night games!).

As we approached Mike’s home, I was surprised by how big it was. Mike’s habitat is an expansive jungle-type environ with plenty of room for Mike to roam. There’s even a 3-4 foot pond that butts right up against a glass wall separating us from him. That’s right, Mike has his own swimming pool. Go for a morning dip, take a nap, then watch the LSU game from the field that night–not a bad life, if you ask me.

To our disappointment, however, we couldn’t spot Mike from behind two layers of chain-link fence or the glass walls. Maybe he was in his cave sleeping. Regardless, I figured we’d just catch up with Mike later at the game.

That afternoon, I was talking with a fellow tailgater when he mentioned that the latest Bengal tiger, Mike VI, has proven to be quite elusive. Whether he’s disturbed by all the commotion or was put off by LSU’s subpar season last fall, apparently Mike VI only made the trip across the street for 2 games last year. Sure enough, there would not be a Mike sighting on Saturday night. Upon my return to Illinois, people asked me, “Did you see the tiger?” Nope.

Now that I think about it, though, it’s rather symbolic that I never saw him.

“Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” —1st Peter 5:8

Haven’t seen him, either. And I can’t help but wonder, “Where is he camped right now?” Just like Mike the Tiger, you are not able to see him, but you know he is there. Or do you?

Is it your mouth that gets you in trouble? Your eyes? Your mind? Don’t kid yourself—he knows. He’s there. And he lurks…whether we take him seriously or not.

Jesus’ own brother James left all of us with a timeless warning concerning Satan:

“Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” –James 4:7

This week, may each of us take the time to imagine what resistance would personally look like. That’s why I mentioned earlier that it depends on how serious you take this threat, the unseen presence of the devil. If he’s just a cartoon to you, I doubt you’ll contemplate how you could be more self-controlled and alert. 

“Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul.” —1st Peter 2:11

“So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled.” –1st Thessalonians 5:6

Because the alternative is equally clear: throw him some meat, and he’ll stick around.

For me, that moment would be the morning of Saturday, July 18th. I awoke to one of those gloriously crisp summer mornings, blissfully unaware of what was about to take place. All I knew was that these conditions were screaming for one last training ride before I packed my road bike and headed west to Yellowstone with my brother.

With the temp probably hovering in the low 60’s, I wore a t-shirt and a running shirt, but quickly realized this was too much. After 4 miles, I chucked the t-shirt off to the side of the road and forged on. I’d pick it up on the way back.

After an exhilarating 30-mile ride, I did just that. I had planned on jamming the t-shirt into the bag below my seat, but that wasn’t going to work. So I briefly thought about tucking it down my running shirt before deciding to wad it up and just pin the shirt against a handlebar. After all, I was only a couple miles from being done.

With a couple minutes left, I kicked it in gear and really tried to bust out that last mile. I remember glancing down at my speedometer, which read 18.5 mph. Seconds later, my front wheel locked up and literally stopped instantly.

Unfortunately, I continued on at 18.5 mph. I hurtled over my handlebars, quite confused at this point. My head and right shoulder met the pavement violently, busting some pieces off my helmet.

When I came to, I laid there for a while, taking careful inventory of myself, before a jogger who had heard the wreck ran back to see if I was okay. Turns out the shirt had gradually wiggled free of my grip until it finally caught the tire and shot up into the gap where my front brake pads are located (I’m an idiot).

To appease my mom, I reluctantly went to the emergency room that night. The verdict: a fairly bad separated shoulder. Could’ve been worse, though; I shudder to think of what would have happened had I not been wearing a helmet.

When I returned to central Illinois a couple weeks later, I was still facing an uphill climb of 8 more weeks of rehab. With weightlifting, golf and running clearly not options, I resorted to the only thing I could do with a bum shoulder.

What else? Riding my bike.

I’m not sure what the doctors or PTs would say about this; thus, I never asked. But on my second ride back, I was cruising downhill when I was suddenly bombarded by this loud buzzing. Turns out a black hornet (maybe a wasp?) had somehow miraculously flown into one of the tiny slits in my helmet. That wasp did not want to be in there, and I was in total agreement.

But before I could slow to a stop and throw my helmet off my head, the wasp stung me 4 times on the head and neck. By this point, I felt like Luke Wilson’s character in the movie “Anchorman.” After losing an arm in a fight, he later is leaning over a railing at a zoo, only to have a bear maul off the other arm (don’t worry, it’s funny). Needless to say, he reacts in stunned disbelief.

Then, this Thursday—you thought I was done?—I was run off the road by a pickup truck. As I saw the truck approaching, I saw that the driver was not exactly fixated on the road, so I bailed right into a grass ditch. On Friday, I was biking into Champaign when, in the distance, I saw a pit bull standing defiantly in the middle of the road. Then I noticed his brother was in the front yard as well.

“Hmm,” I quickly thought, “Champaign can wait,” and promptly turned around.

To a person, everyone who’s heard these stories (especially the wasp episode—how unlucky is that?!) reacted by suggesting I give up riding—at least for a while. I’m not sure if they were serious, but I wouldn’t consider quitting anyway.

I have revisited the inspiring story of Nehemiah the past 2 weeks. In it, the Israelites had been unceremoniously kicked out of Jerusalem—and told to stay out—for almost 150 years. All the while, the city walls had laid in ruins, neglected.

Enter Nehemiah. He gathered 45 families or so and they began the tedious, daunting process of rebuilding Jerusalem’s wall, brick by brick. Before long, their efforts attracted the trash talk of some critical onlookers.

“What are these feeble Jews doing?...What they are building—if even a fox climbed up on it, he would break down their wall of stones!”  – Nehemiah 4:2-3

When their taunts don’t work, the naysayers resort to plotting a military attack on the now-weary workers. Nehemiah is unphased, having half the men stand guard while the other half work. And even those who did work were slowed.

“Those who carried materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other… each had his weapon, even when he went for water.”  –Nehemiah 4:17-23

But they forged on. They kept going (by the way, I can relate to the one-armedness!).

On the surface, we’ve been talking about cycling and re-building a wall. But I’m convinced it’s all connected. It all deals with who we are becoming. Each day, we’re either becoming more persistent or less. We’re becoming more like Jesus or less.

We are thirsty for perseverance. Admittedly, my getting right back on my bike does nothing for you. But when I ask God for something, He rarely gives it to me. Instead, He introduces me to situations which would require that character trait.

Maybe that’s because we already have been gifted with it.

If not, don’t bother. No offense, but what a waste of real estate. Apparently God was fatigued after creating the majesty known as Rocky Mountains and promptly decided to take a couple states to recoup.

The one redeeming feature of their landscape (or lack thereof) was the absence of signs. Growing up near Chicago, I have often thought that we’ve overdone the whole sign thing. Whereas you get reminders of an upcoming exit at 2 miles, 1 mile and a ½ mile and 500 feet in the suburbs (are we really this pathetic?), I can promise you there is no such overkill in the Great Plains. Three weeks ago, my brother and I were discussing this on our way out to Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks.

Once we arrived at the parks, however, the signs returned…to a degree. While they may have lacked in quantity, they did not disappoint in the quality category. For your enjoyment, I jotted down 4 of the more bizarre signs in Yellowstone:

1) “Deer on road when lights flashing.” And how exactly does this work? Do the deer press a button before crossing? And am I to presume moose, elk and bears too stupid/irresponsible to do the same?

2) “Stay on bridge.” Without such a timely tap on the shoulder, this never would’ve occurred to me.

3) “Watch for wind.” Hmmm….

And my personal favorite:
4) “Avoid broken windshield.”

To my bewilderment, these last signs were posted continually throughout the park. Good thing, too. My last day at Yellowstone was marked by a soft rain throughout the afternoon, and I couldn’t help but think that without a windshield, it just might’ve ruined the experience. The whole thing remains inexplicable to me.

After a while, the novelty wore off and I became used to their presence, so I largely ignored the weird signs. Surrounded by brilliant scenery and abundant wildlife (hello, buffalo), I’m sure I drove right by some without noticing them.

Bizarre or mundane, God used the signs to have a chat with me late in the afternoon (when you’re stuck behind a buffalo herd for 3 hours, you’ve got time for such things). As you’ve already seen, many of these signs were of obvious nature. They were posted as reminders. And here’s the part where God grabbed me: oftentimes I need consistent reminding when it comes to the obvious. Especially when it comes to the divine.

After centuries of observing humanity from afar, Jesus re-discovered as much after a couple months of close interaction with His followers.

“He said to the crowd, ‘When you see a cloud rising in the west, immediately you say, ‘It’s going to rain,’ and it does. And when the south wind blows, you say, ‘It’s going to be hot,’ and it is. Hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky. How is it that you don’t know how to interpret this present time?’ ” –Luke 12:54-56

When you read this passage, it’s awfully easy to dismiss its relevance. I did. The crowd didn’t “know how to interpret this present time.” So they didn’t recognize Jesus for who He was. Many people didn’t. But that’s not a dilemma postmarked for you or me, right?

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But perhaps Jesus was speaking in a broader sense. I strongly suspect that there were people in that crowd who did see Jesus for who He was. And yet He spoke these words to them, too. Maybe they could identify Jesus, but couldn’t clearly see what God was up to in their own lives. Maybe they weren’t interpreting those signs.

The Greek word for sign is “semeion,” which takes on a variety of meanings in Scripture. The most popular use of semeion, however, translates into “having in itself an explanation of something hidden.” Which brings to light the duality behind all of this. On one level, we see the signs but just don’t process them through God’s lens.

On another, maybe we are driving right by them.

What are those signs in your life? Because that’s the question, that’s the whole point.

Maybe you are currently focused on an illness, injury or disability. And it’s caused you to drive right by a sign reminding you of this priceless gift we call life.

Maybe you are consumed with thoughts of a potential relationship, and you’ve driven right by the sign reminding you that the true God feeds off your companionship.

Maybe…actually, maybe you just might want to keep your eyes peeled for your own signs.

Whatever you do, when you take to the road today, avoid those broken windshields.

The following is dedicated to the person somewhere out there who has the fierce courage to simply let God take over:

I never have cared for solitaire.

For starters, the game never struck me as skill-based; rather, you seem to largely be at the mercy of the cards. What’s more, you play all by yourself. While my dad can sit there and play for annoyingly long stretches of time, solitaire is definitely not for me.

While surfing the net last week, I came across an album entitled “Cheating at Solitaire” by Mike Ness. Immediately, I was enamored by the title. It grabbed me…and hasn’t let go.

(By the way, you have no idea how many websites out there are dedicated to actually cheating at the computerized version of solitaire. Pretty sure if you look up “pathetic” in the dictionary, you’ll see someone trying to do just that. )

You know, God can use something as innocuous and mindless as surfing the net to jumpstart our next conversation. Because I’ve been thinking about the spiritual implications of my own cheating at solitaire. So without further adue, I would like to proceed with reading ridiculously more into the album’s title than Mike Ness ever intended by considering two simple questions. Off we go.

1)    So what would it mean for someone to cheat at solitaire?

Naturally, someone would not be cheating at anyone else’s expense except their own. Nobody else would know. To them, the lure of a fake victory inexplicably outshines the substance of a true victory. So in a way, they have lied to themselves…and what’s more, they have allowed themselves to be lied to.

First roadblock: Do you even believe that’s possible? Could you trick your own self?

“Do not deceive yourselves.” —1st Corinthians 3:18

So we get a pretty succinct answer from Paul. Evidently the people of Corinth could pull off a little self-deception back in the day, and I don’t think times—or people, for that matter—have changed much in that regard. Assuming we’re all capable of lying to ourselves, let’s move on to the 2nd question.

2)    Why would anyone be interested in lying to themselves? Given the choice, don’t we always prefer the truth compared to the alternatives?

Well, that’s just it. Logically, it follows that we must not always prefer reality (e.g., losing at solitaire), so our solution is to make up a new one (“winning” at solitaire). When we do this, though, we forgo a shot at the real deal, which is infinitely better than the made-up prize we try to sell ourselves. Amazing, really, when you think about all this. 

Recently, I’ve been learning about this guy named Jim Elliot. I’m not sure if he played solitaire, but nonetheless, you may have heard of him. Elliot was the guy who decided to leave his family and friends behind and headed to Central America in the 1950’s. He felt called to tell the Auca Indians about this difference-maker named Jesus. Here is Jim’s brilliant defense of what must have been an agonizing decision:

“He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” –Jim Elliot

Friends, Jim Elliot did not cheat at solitaire. Jim Elliot took Jesus at His word:

“What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” –Matthew 16:26

Yes, Jesus arrived on this earth so that we could hang out with Him forever. But He came here for so much more, too. Jesus came to show us how to live the best and fullest life possible, to show us the difference between fool’s gold and the real deal, and leaves us to each day decide which we will grab for.

As we look at our own lives, Jesus’ whole “losing your life” mindset applies to the big, the little and everywhere in between. May it drive where you and I will be located and what we’ll be doing in 5 years, may it drive us to more selfless uses of our summer…and may it drive what comes out of our mouths today.  Check it out:

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says… If anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless.”  –James 1:22-26

With the exception of God, nobody will know if you’ve been “cheating at solitaire.” Then again, who really loses when you do that?