run like hell

It's almost too bad being a mouse in (or near) homes, buildings. You're poking around, darting here and there, minding your business. But then suddenly, you spot this unbelievably gorgeous piece of human food, just sitting there. 

Sure, the "platter" it's sitting on looks a little weird, but you crave this treat. You want it because you want it.

You cannot resist. You edge closer, wanting just a taste of of the delectable delight. This is usually how mice encounter a heaping dose of life-altering pain. 

It's also like this too, with temptations we face.

To be a human being in this world is to face temptation. Temptations tend toward something enticing, something beautiful, something enjoyable -- at first. But within the temptation is what would ruin us. A sweet outer shell that coats a bitter, poisonous core. It's either something good misused (money, food, friendship, drink, sex, language, etc), or something that's just rotten through and through.

And even though we may know it's not good for us -- we want it anyway.

For Christians, the reality of temptation appears in the fabric of the most known prayer in the Bible, the Lord's Prayer (lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...). Let's be clear: having to face temptation is not a sin (by sin, I mean missing the mark -- misusing others, ourselves, the world around us for our own selfish ends).

My pastor, during a sermon some years back, shared some bracing truths about humanity and temptation 

... mainly, that people continually overestimate their ability to withstand temptation in tempting scenarios. Pride comes before the fall.

When have you overestimated yourself in such scenarios? When have done something you previously thought -- or swore -- that you'd never do? It's happened to my friends. It's happened to me. It's probably happened to you, too.

The apostle Paul had this to say about temptation, in his first letter to the church in Corinth, Greece. 

"Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed, lest he fall. No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to [people]. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation God will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry." (1 Corinthians 10:12-14)

A few points to spot:

a) "let anyone who thinks he stands take heed, lest he fall" -- the mere presumption that we're self-sufficiently strong enough to withstand a temptation becomes a warning sign. 

b) "No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to [people]" It can encourage us to remember that whatever temptations we face are not unique to us. Yes, our backstories, particulars may differ from other people. But the object of temptation isn't new to this world. In other words, you're not alone with what you face. Other people have faced it. You can too.

c) "he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, with the temptation God will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it." God will always provide a way out of temptation's snare. The way out might not be easy. The way it may cost. But there's a way out. Take the way out whenever you can. 

 Clamber for the escape. Keep fighting to get away.

d) "Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry." If (for example) you struggle with gambling, God's not going to be impressed by how well you abstain -- in the presence of slot machines, at a casino -- from betting money. The Lord's counsel is to flee.

To run like hell. To stay far, far away. To recoil back from temptation, and to RUN from it.

e) "God is faithful" However deep or longstanding your temptation may be, and however many times you've tried to break free and have not yet, God's faithfulness outlasts, outreaches, out-shouts. No temptation can break God's faithfulness to us. Our temptations don't get the last word, ever. 

Rest on these words, sisters and brothers. It's OK to run like hell away from temptations. It's often the wiser course of action to take. Temptations are harder to resist than we think.

dreams, plans, God, all y'all

Cooperating with God's plans for life can make people uneasy, for a few reasons. Well, I should speak for myself: deciding to cooperate God's plans for my life has made me uneasy (and sometimes still does).

Here's why: God's not the only one with plans. I have life plans too. We all do. We dream dreams. We harbor hopes. It challenges us to figure out how (or if) some of our hopes and dreams fit with God's plans.

I've sometimes thought that -- in order to follow God's plans for my life -- I'd have to, as a prerequisite, kiss goodbye and detonate other cherished dreams and hopes. I'd have to walk away from them, and never look back.

(walking away as dramatically as possible, of course...)

You ever feel like this?  I'm sure you do. It's wrenching to consider. 

This came to my mind while watching some rehab work on a nearby home. In the span of a few hours, workers totally ripped the front porch base away!

And yet, they only removed the porch base. The existing roof and columns remain, dangling there (it's honestly a silly sight, these spindly 2x12's supporting everything). There's a clear purpose for utilizing this makeshift support: a new porch will soon be built where the old one was. The new porch will connect, incorporate, and support the existing roof and columns.

This is comparable to our plans, and God's plans.

Don't hear what I'm not saying: following God's plans could mean letting go of some dreams, hopes and wants. That happens.

It could mean letting go of that person. Letting go of a professional status. Letting go of the name-brand coffee. Letting go of the gaming record. Letting go of a coping mechanism that's served us OK, but no longer does. Letting go of bragging rights. Letting go of a personal identity painstakingly duct-taped together. Letting go of cramped security. Letting go of that subscription. Letting go of the pride. Letting go of that crowd. Letting go of rights. Letting go of having the last word.

But God has a way, a track record, of making use and re-purposing new plans alongside (some of) what we've learned along the way of chasing our dreams, so that eventually, nothing whatsoever goes to waste. He also, in time, replaces dashed dreams with dreams better than we could have possibly imagined.

Sometimes God's plans for us means we need a stronger base foundation, so as to be ready for what the dreams may eventually require of us. So we grit it out.

Sometimes it means we're in a holding pattern, dangling by some spindly supports while we wait for that new, firmer footing. So we trust.

Sometimes we're the rickety porch, needing repair, having no choice but to trust the builder will be able to distinguish between what needs replacing, and what's worth salvaging. So we wait, and hope.

Right now, it's just boards holding up this porch roof. But when the work is done with this porch, it'll look better -- and will be stronger -- than before.

hope, and wisdom

When I hear news that hurts, I personally gravitate toward an Irish-influenced disposition (not that any of you asked; I just thought you'd be interested to know). 

By 'Irish disposition', I mean that I dislike any syrupy, tone-deaf optimism response to heartbreaking news ... but on the flip side, I also don't want to project a grim, doom-and-gloom aesthetic onto everything either. 

(I'm not even really sure there's anything strictly Irish about this sort of reaction. It could just be me. It's probably not that important. I digress.)

Two words percolate in my mind and heart when I hear news that hurts, try to take a break from scanning headlines of news that hurts, and try to filter fact from hysteria: 

Hope. And also wisdom.

Every world faith tradition has resources for dealing with suffering and calamity. As a Christian, I'm most familiar with my own faith's resources, so it's fitting to share from within that. 

There's this passage in the New Testament book of Matthew, chapter 2, when an angel visits Joseph & Mary (Jesus' parents) to warn them of danger, and tells them the plan for what they should do. Jesus is a baby at this point. This passage, with its blend of hope and wisdom, has long stuck with me...

".....behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, 'Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.' And [Joseph] rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed to Egypt and remained there until the death of Herod."

The hope the presence of the angel. In Scripture, angels are nothing like the Precious Moments figurines that collect dust on your great aunt's bookshelf, wearing doilies and adorable harps; they are warriors, and look quite alarming. In fact, almost every time an angel meets someone in the Bible, the angel has to say 'Do not be afraid!' Why? Because they look fearfully strong, and genuinely threatening. So if they have your back, you'd feel good about your odds in a tight spot.

And yet, the wisdom -- 'Rise, take your child and his mother, and flee...'  The angel, this warrior, this messenger of God, has just one command:

RUN. 

Hit the road. Get out of here. Flee.

Who cares if the car's all the packed, start the engine! Less chatting, more moving. Hurry, hurry.

There's nothing fancy about these words.

The angel avoids syrupy optimism ... "just believe it'll all work out, and it will!" 

Nor does the angel turn gloomy -- "This sucks, why bother? All is lost..." 

Nor does the angel take a defiant stance ... "I'll never let them get to you!"

It's none of this. The fact that there's something to do invites hope! But there's urgency too. Scripture-infused hope always includes some wise, anchoring roots in this world.

Hope and wisdom, woven together. 

This is where I find my emotions today amidst continual washing ashore of heartbreaking news.

There's hope amidst all this going on. And urgent wisdom to observe in the meantime.

Where does this leave you with whatever you're dealing with? Which do you lean toward carrying with you ... the hope, or the wisdom? The euphoria, or the gloom?

When my feelings start to tank toward doom-and-gloom, I try to remind myself that the angel's words carried hope. When my feelings get euphoric and invincible, I remember the angel, the powerful angel, told them to run.

May we continue in hope. And may we anchor this hope in wisdom.

the lies of butterflies

 "There are times when there is no illumination and no thrill, but just the daily round, the common task. Routine is God's way of saving us between our times of inspiration." -Oswald Chambers

I love to *start* road trips. Can't say I feel the same love about sitting in the car for the duration of a road trip.

At some point, I get antsy. I want out -- of the car.

My butt's gone numb. I've shuffled through my go-to playlists. I'm out of range to stream anything new. I've called a few friends to catch up, and I've picked over my snack supply. I look at the dashboard clock -- it's 10:02, and I got nothing to do. "If I keep checking the time, this trip'll feel like forever."

After what feels like waiting an agonizing amount of minutes, I dare look at the clock again.

Only 133 more miles until I change highways, and then another 198 miles until I arrive to my destination.

With any goal we pursue, the thrill of starting the journey does not (and will not) last. The newness wears off.

The start of a new semester in school settles into a predictable routine of class, homework, getting food, studying.

The start of a half-marathon brings so much fanfare! Cheers, crowds, inspiration. Not as much hoopla at mile 5, or mile 10. Just routine of maintaining a doable pace to make it to the end.

The start of hiking to a mountaintop feels so gallant! But after awhile, you're repeating a bland to-do list -- "watch out for loose rocks" -- "watch out for tree roots" -- "stay hydrated" "stay close together". You can't see the peak. But you also can't see where you started. You're just in it.

Starting to re-paint a room looks so audacious with that first swipe of new color! But before long, it's tediously pressing the roller to the wall, back and forth. Trying not to drip paint. Trying not to enjoy the fumes too much.

Monotony. Drudgery. Part of any goal.

When the butterflies of new inspiration and good vibes dissolve away, it doesn't automatically mean we've veered off-track. But sometimes we presume that. You see, so many of us excel at starting something new.

But it requires different skills to *stay* with something long, and to keep chipping away at a goal. For that, we gotta learn how to keep a routine, regardless of how we feel. We must grow more tolerant with some amount of boredom. It just takes time to adopt that pace. Routine is God's way of saving us between moments of inspiration.

So take a breath ... and let that breath out. And do that again.

Let's keep watching the road. The miles, and the minutes, meander by as we slowly climb toward our goals and dreams. Feel free to settle in; there's nowhere else we need to be.

"For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love." -2 Peter 1:5