Bible 101

This past summer I heard Jerry Jenkins, the dude who wrote Billy Graham's biography (Just As I Am), dole out the best Bible-reading advice I've ever heard.

So much advice out there is to get on a schedule, to slot God in, to become legalistic about one of God's most life-giving books. If you think about it, aside from God's grace, scripture has probably been abused more than any other divine gift. So what's Billy Graham's secret?

Simple: He just left a Bible open on the counter. Seriously.

So he'd go get a glass of milk, see his Bible, wander over to it, and read a few lines. Chew on them while sipping the milk. And then he was off. On his way to the mail, there was his Bible. Read another verse, or maybe read the last few over again. Ponder them while walking to the mailbox. Back to work. Find it again before lunch. Read some more.

That's really cool. Try it sometime. I have, and it's really neat. When it's open, it's somehow easier to hear and sense God's pull toward it and respond.

Calling

This morning I got up before everyone else, stealing through he silence as I slipped out the door to take a drive through a peach sunrise. As the fog of sleep (vs. the fog of war) lifted, I was gripped again (or still?) with the mission God has given me:

Live the life. Cast the vision. Preach the word. Lead the change.

I typed that moniker up last year, taped it on my desk front and center. Break down my job, and that's what it comes down to. As I pray, I sense clearly that last year, I dropped the ball on two, maybe three of those. And while every believer stands before God accountable for their own lives, I also know that as the Lead Pastor, I'm saddled with a weight Paul the Apostle spoke of — with some angst, at that (II Cor.11:28). I'm accountable to lead. To be faithful to the vision God has given me. Period (Acts 26:19).

Even before I became Lead Pastor, the Spirit of God and I had a couple of pretty intense conversations about the role I would soon be called into. One of the things he said was that I had no business charging into this valley unless I was willing to die there. To give myself entirely to the cause. I'm sensing that reminder again: It's time to bring it. To be the vision-bearer, to spend myself, to pour myself out, to express a fiery zeal for God's household, to give 140% in order to wring %70 out of the people I lead.

Which makes me take a long, careful breath. This is going to hurt. This is going to cost me.

But this is worth it. So be it, Lord Jesus. Thank-you that you are the ultimate Shepherd of your people, that I'm just another sheep on the most basic level. That while what I just wrote is true, in another sense it isn't up to me at all. I trust you and I love you, and I intend to prove it. I welcome your presence, wait for your word, cling to your touch.

More on headaches and responding and initiating

Monday morning I blogged about the wonder of being headache free after responding to a prompting from the Holy Spirit to NOT take my meds for a mounting migraine. I'd pounded the brass doors of heaven for years, asking God to heal migraines, often right in the middle of them. I found that God almost never answered a prayer to remove one that had already started (I can count probably 4-5 out of many thousands) but that if I asked him for a headache free day tomorrow, more often than not, he'd say yes.

But this was entirely different, not a matter of prayer at all. It was about obedience.

The amazing thing is, I haven't had a headache since. No meds, no preempting the bad boys before they hit. Nothing. Praise God! Even if this ends tomorrow, it's been a wonderful gift.

I'm reminded once again that the point is not how much I pray, or read my Bible, or fast, or memorize scripture, or anything else. The point is that I'm supposed to walk with God, letting him lead, responding to his presence, voice, and touch with faith and love. His nudges plus my response = a partnership. That's it. Sometimes that partnership is in prayer. Sometimes it's in action. Sometimes it's waiting. I'm finding that the more I initiate what I think ought to happen, I run on ahead of God.

Now, I will say this: Harold, our Family Ministries Pastor, is more activist than thinker. He's smart, but he'd rather be doing something. My theory is that a Spirit-led activist is also a responder, though the response time is probably shorter. What comes to me through reflection may come to him in an instant, in the form of a gut, "We need to do this!"

Reflecters need to beware of procrastination. Activists need to beware of running ahead of God. Those are my thoughts.

Checking in

As often as I can, I try to remind myself of a bunch of things. This isn't a religious checklist — I don't do this every day, there's no particular order — it's just kinda checking in with all the great stuff God has for me. God is saying, "Hey, just remember...." Because the best things in life are invisible, we have to put some effort into living in the reality of the gospel goodies. And I'm learning more and more that my perspective on life determines my experience of life.

Christ is in me, above me, behind me, beneath me, all around me. And I am in Christ, hidden there with him in God. This isn't just a nice thought, it's a "physical" reality.

While flesh and blood cannot enter into the kingdom of God, cannot inherit or enjoy its wonders, my spirit is there right now, traversing kingdom terrain while I kneel beside my bed and tap out these letters. Remember, Jesus said that to get saved means to enter the kingdom. The kingdom is a realm of light. The foundations are grace. It's a place where God gets his way. Where his will is done. Flesh and blood can't get in, but the kingdom can get into our space.

God is speaking. Right now, I sense him nodding excitedly at these words. Communicating always. Because it's impossible to not communicate.

I am immersed in the love of God — the breadth, the depth, the heights. A sea of affection for me. The warmth of it thrills me even now.

God is holding nothing back from me that I need to live and serve him well. Nothing. I am fully resourced and ready to go. I have his authority to do his will. Marching orders from the King of Kings, whether that's to greet a stranger or raise a person from the dead, I walk in the Father's power, coursing through me by his Spirit. He is waiting to manifest the kingdom through me today. Through my presence, voice, and touch.

Thankfully, I am not thirsty for God; the Spring of His Spirit flows from within me, watering my soul and quenching my thirst eternally.

I am not obligated to follow any kind of list. I must only respond to what God is doing in and around me. That's it. That's my day in a nutshell.

Christ is my salvation, guarding my mind. He's my righteousness, protecting my heart. He's my readiness, preparing my feet. He's my truth, arising as my center of gravity. He's my shield, the object of my faith. And he's the words on my tongue that put the snarkiest demon to flight.

I am his. He is mine. Bring on the day.

Presence. Voice. Touch. The website.

Hey all... if you haven't done this already, click on the box to the right and check out my new site... explore a bit, make use of the resources... and then zip back here and give me some feedback. I'd love to hear what you think. And if you know anyone who might be blessed or helped by the content, please direct them my way. I'd love to serve them.

God bless!

Awake

Today we visited a gorgeous spot nestled into a green valley in the Alberta back country called "Big Hill Springs Park." I always drive away from Big Hill feeling refreshed and inspired. The park's centerpiece is a collection of pristine wedding-cake waterfalls that shimmer and spray their way down tuxedo black stones dressed in frothy green bridesmaid mosses. Stunning. Absolutely stunning.

I can't go places like Big Hill without my camera, since holding it is an excuse to notice things that I'd ordinarily walk right by or appreciate only in passing. Subtle dances of playful light, Earthy eddies swirling paisley patterns on the fringes of the stream, rich shadows guarding treasure in deeper pools just beyond the pathway. It's all magnificent. And worth noticing.

Photography reminds me of what so many people miss. MY PHOTOS often focus on things most people wouldn't think of taking pictures of. My most recent was a small tumble of crystaline water smoothing out a fallen log (Click on pic for larger view). I got right down, almost dipping the camera in the water, giving the lens a creekside view mere mortals would never enjoy. But there it is. I captured it, or some part of it anyway, and I'm thrilled for having been let into the experience, like a special club was opened to me because I was willing to get on my knees.

God spoke to me through that moment: Keep your eyes open, Brad. And your ears, and your heart, and your hope, and your faith. It's like he is telling us that there are so many blessings to be had if we will just look — not just harder, but differently. It's a discipline, you know. Try it sometime. Go out into your yard and look at it from a few angles you've never enjoyed before. You'll see the part of the fence that needs painting, the mobster of a spider trying to pull of his latest heist under your deck, or the way the light spills through the swaying oak tree when you sit on your back on the grass with your legs bent ninety degrees so that they are climbing the trunk. Try it.

Wake up!

TRUST

I'm stunned. And grateful.

Last night we were out as a family and near the end of our evening, I leaned over and whispered to Shauna, "I have a headache coming on." That's our signal. Uh oh. Better get daddy home. My migraines don't come on fast, but they come on certain, building like an avalanche in slow motion.

Once we were home, we threw the kids in hot baths to scrub them down, and the storm in my head was still building. Thunderheads were frothing in the waning sky of my consciousness (wow, that was wordy). By the time it was time for me to hit the hay, I stumbled to the medicine cabinet and reached for my happy pills (when it's close to bedtime I usually hold off taking them until right before bed so they last longer into the night and give me a better shot at sleep).

I had the cupboard open, I was reaching, and then I stopped. God was niggling me again. I'm learning to keep my heart soft to the gentlest of nudges, so I paused to listen.

"No. Don't take your medication."
Sigh.
Sigh? Yeah. Let me explain. At the very top of my lifetime cumulative "Prayers for healing" list is asking God for a migraine or headache to stop. And at the top of the lifetime cumulative "unanswered prayer" list, the very same prayers. I haven't stopped asking, mind you, but I'm skeptical by now. Doubting. Rolling my eyes, even. So when God says, "Don't take your meds," I sighed. Maybe you would too.

But I listened. I closed the cabinet door, trudged upstairs, lay down in bed, and hoped something miraculous would happen. Cause usually, if I don't nail them with meds, these things can pretty much take me out.

Yeah, well... this morning, imagine my surprise when I wake up headache free, rested and bewildered. All I can say is "Thanks, God." The one major difference between this time and almost all of the other times is that last night's act of faith was a response, not an initiative. Cool, huh? I love experiencing God's touch.

Saturday woo-hoo

Ah, Saturdays. The weeklong schedule is out the window, the kids are home, and stuff just kinda happens. My neighbor Steve came by today and we replaced our front disc brakes on our Echo. Never done that before. I enjoyed a late lunch with a real live princess (my Glory) while Shauna and the manchildren were out galavanting Saturday style. You know the drill.

And then I realized that I only turned my thoughts toward Jesus a few times today. I sense that he's been waiting just out of sight, barely within mind, for me to realize this — not so much so that I'll apologize, though I did, but so that we can talk. Enjoy each other's company like Glory and I did at lunch time.

Jesus, thanks for being so patient with my wandering. I get so distracted! This mind you've given me channel surfs well enough to win some Oceanic Cup somewhere.

I just love God's patience, don't you? This grace he gives, that can restore ANYTHING? Did you know that the root of the word grace in Greek means "That which causes joy?" Seriously. So I come before God, tail between my legs, saying OOOPS once again for some brain freeze behavior, and what does he do? Not just wipe the slate clean. Not just clean up the mess, get me back to par. He dumps a big 'ol bucket 'o' grace on my head, which means he wants me to feel not just forgiven or grateful, but joyful when I get back off my knees. Not, "Whew! That was close...", but "JESUS IS AMAZING! WOOO HOOO!"

I'm going to spend the rest of my day swimming in WOO HOOO!

Niggles

God seems to lead me often with niggles and jabs. Jabs are more direct. They stop you momentarily in your tracks with a sense that something is important. That you need to pay attention. Niggles are less direct, kinda like a faint idea dancing in the back of your brain somewhere that you ought to focus.

I was reading John 2:1-11, the story about Jesus turning water into wine, and got nothing in particular out of it. Nothing but a niggle. A niggle to keep digging. I get that a lot, actually — a nagging sense that I should or shouldn't do something. This time I was niggled to not move on in my reading of John until I'd learned what I was supposed to.

That was three days ago. Day one, all I had were questions. What's going on here, God? Why does Jesus even do this miracle? Why did he say, "Why do you involve me? My hour has not yet come," and then do a miracle anyway? What's the significance of using ceremonial urns to hold the wine? Why 6 of them?

Day two I made some progress, adding to my list of questions without answers. Niggle niggle. Niggle niggle. Okay, okay. I'll keep at it. Then today, WHOOSH. The dam breaks and God gets through to me with all kinds of cool stuff I never would have seen unless I responded to the niggling by niggling the passage myself. No room to wiggle under a good niggle, I tell ya.

This post is about niggling, but I will share a few nuggets. I think Jesus was teasing Mary. Seriously. "C'mon, ma. Leave me alone, wink wink." And she rolls her eyes and says, "Sure. Right. Guys, do whatever he tells you." Funny! And the whole miracle helped the disciples put their faith in him. So it's supposed to do that for us, too. I can't really get into it right now but I'll post a link to my sermon this Sunday cause I'm using this stuff for the second half of my message, which wouldn't write itself until I used my niggle material.

Niggles. Go figure.

Ugly

Man, yesterday's epiphany felt good. I mean, the air was crisp, I was hearing God clearly, filled with joy...

And then I decided to play an online video game. I love e'm. I love the excitement, the outlet, the mindlessness of it all when I've spent my whole day using my mind like a rikshaw in Manilla (is that how you spell rikshaw?).

Yeah, well, yesterday I got a little too overheated while playing. I'm pretty sure some of the other players were cheating. CHEATING? How can you enjoy yourself knowing you aren't succeeding on your own mad skills? AGGGH. I started muttering under my breath. Then it got louder. "C'MON, THAT'S CHEATING!" AND LOUDER. AND LOUDER.

I was yelling at the TV screen. I had an itchy scalp, sweaty palms, a flushed face, and I have to admit, a few less than godly words spewed from my mouth. That stopped me in my tracks.

"Oh," I said. "Yuck." And then my bubble burst, as the gentle conviction of the Holy Spirit settled on me. I sighed. "Where did THAT come from?" he asked. I was ashamed. Ashamed, with a big A. Cause I know better. I'm a nice person. And I'm an adult. A christian. But stuff still lurks deep within my soul, stuff that God will even use a video game to excise up and out into the light so I can't deny it.

Touch that part of me, Lord Jesus, those ugly, angry, petty parts of me that are so unChristlike that they'd still resort to bad language in a pinch. I don't want it, don't want any of it. I want to be like you, but more, I want to be full of you all the time. Thanks for showing me my sin. Now I give you permission to root it out. Amen.

How about you? You got any of those petty, angry places that God wants to touch?

Epiphany

I realized something today. Something painfully obvious. What's even more painful is that it took some serious prayer to get the point.

I realized that my writing is never going to sound as lovely as Sarah's. As her husband Chad pointed out to me, "You wouldn't sound right with a chick voice. That would just be weird. :-)" I also realized I'm never going to be as witty and funny as Annie. Trust me on that one, this girl is worth the price of admission (her blog just hit the 100,000 visit mark, BTW). And I'm never going to be as quirky as Linda the OC housewife. It's just not going to happen. Plus, I'm not buddies with Rick Warren like she is.

So over the past few months I've tried to blog about touching family stuff. And funny witty stuff. And quirky offbeat stuff. I did OK, but I always had this vague notion that I hadn't found my niche yet. Until I read Annie's blog about why she blogs. Her bottom line, she said, was that she blogs for Jesus. She blogs for him. And for the people Jesus loves. Huh.

So why do I blog? I'm not entirely sure about before, but as of last night and this morning, I blog for HIM as well. And I think he wants me to blog about Presence, voice, and touch — the trinity of contact God uses to connect with us and lead us through this life. I'm going to walk with God, darn it, and I'm going to blog it. I'm going to reflect on God's presence in my life. Ponder his voice. Relish his touch. And I'm going to share it with you through thick and thin. Which will include family and church and neighborhood and everything in between. But there you go.

So I folded up my bradhuebert.com website and my voice of God website and dumped them all into the presencevoicetouch site (for now type in www.bradhuebert.com and it will take you there). That's my focus. I'd really love it if you came along for the ride — if you want to go deeper on this stuff — but truth be told, I've got my jaw set on HIM. And I know if I do that, someone out there will be touched and it will all be worth it.

Top Ten Ways to Ruin Your Church and Your Experience Of It

10. Believe in your heart that church is a morning service in a building, instead of a community of Christ followers living real lives all week long.

9. Whenever your church hires a new pastor, assume that this means there is less work for you to do, instead of wondering what new initiatives this will enable your church to explore.

8. When you don't understand what church leadership is up to, choose to believe that there is a conspiracy afoot to keep the congregation in the dark because the leader's hearts aren't in the right place.

7. Insist that the church ought to be pouring its considerable resources into meeting your needs, instead of insisting that you are all the church and that the church is God's gift to the world.

6. Assume that your disappointment with something in the church is universal and be sure to speak about it that way. IE, "People don't like the worship here," vs. "I don't like the worship here."

5. Listen to sermons with the attitude, "Tell me something I don't know from a novel angle I've never heard before," instead of realizing that until you're living it out, you probably need to hear it again.

4. Make sure you agree with Satan's accusations about people's faults and weaknesses and join him in his gossip and slander... instead of getting in touch with your own sinfulness and extending grace to others.

3. Use your tithe as leverage; withhold it when you disagree with something the church is doing.

2. Refuse to find a small group to be part of and then complain that the church is impersonal and that you're not connecting well.

1. If something is wrong, leave and find a better church — instead of becoming part of the solution.

0. Insist that every focus and sermon and song and ministry should be exactly as you want it to be and nitpick with like-minded people or until people become like minded with you and molehills become mountains and you have created a divisive spirit that quenches God's Spirit and causes the church to rot from the inside like a cancer, instead of saying, "Hey, close enough. Count me in!"

(Yes, this is technically eleven things... c'mon, stop nitpicking and just say "close enough...")

The right word

I think that far too many Christians have this following Jesus thing turned around.

For most of us, the word that summarizes our role is "initiate." Our stated theology insists this isn't true, but our lives betray our true creed: We think its up to us.

We think its our job to get closer to God. We think it's our job to get people saved. We think our parenting hangs on our effort. The world is waiting for us to make stuff happen. Seek God. Raise godly kids. Lead your ministry. Initiate conversations about spiritual things with people who know God. Discipline yourself into godliness (where'd that one come from?!). Suck it up. Move on. Go, go, go.

This goes far beyond the age old being vs. doing balance beam. Both are needed, and yes, it's hard to get just right, but the one word that summarizes what God wants from us isn't the word "initiate." It's the word "respond."

We love, because he first loved us. He speaks, we obey. He heals, we celebrate. He reveals, we worship. He forgives, we thank him. It's always about him first, us second.

For me that takes the pressure right off. I don't have to make anything happen. I really don't. My job is to listen, to receive, to welcome what God is saying and doing and giving. And then to respond. I need that today. Today my head is spinning with all the stuff that needs doing in the church. The vision is huge. The demands are scary. It looks like a mountain that's daring me to climb it, waiting for me with crevasses and loose boulders and mountain lions and a 70 degree incline.

But my job isn't to initiate. It's to respond. Not to decide, to obey. So doing and being come together beautifully. First I receive — BE. Then, I obey — DO. Neither are complete without the other. Man, that feels good. How about you?

Our little Philanthropist

My Son Joel is a little philanthropist.

He's seven, just barely, and he loves to give. It's pretty common for him to have friends over and give them something before they leave. His little buddies will be at the door, getting their shoes on, and they'll be clutching some little car or figure or hockey card we recognize.

"Oh, honey, that's Joel's," we'll say as sweetly as we can manage.
"Joel said I can have it," they'll reply. Blink, blink, staring up at us with innocent eyes.
"Joel?"
="I gave it to him," Joel says proudly, with no small sense of satisfaction. Well, okay... but we often bite our lips.
"You know that if you give it to him, you can't have it back," we remind him.
"Uh huh. I gave it to him."

Wow. And he's a saver. He doesn't need to spend money like our older two. So they often run out of birthday money and find themselves wishing for more. Joel has OFTEN come to them with a five dollar bill in hand, saying, "Here you go." Funny thing, he never runs out. He's always got more than them, no matter how much he gives.

He's got a hockey book, a binder full of hockey cards collected over the past few years. It's maybe 25 pages long, and it's his most precious possession. About six months ago we dragged our kids to a party we'd been invited to (for the one-year old belonging to one of Shauna's managers at work). Well, Joel found a little buddy there and before we were done Joel had given him an entire PAGE of his hockey binder! "Joel, those are your hockey cards," I remind him, as if he doesn't know.

"I can get more," he says cheerfully. And he means it. He genuinely finds pleasure in giving. Again, wow.

It brought tears to my eyes. Because I think we're fairly generous people, and I'm sure that's rubbed off, but Joel takes this thing to a whole new level. Sacrificial giving. Giving some of his most precious stuff. And, if I may be so transparent, I'm pretty sure he hasn't learned that from us. I think it's innate to his soul, or maybe taught by God himself. My confession? I find myself swallowing hard when he gives like that. Thinking, "Don't do it buddy. That's yours. YOURS." But I don't want to be the one who holds him back. That would be sad. Why on earth would I try to curb his generosity? He makes me so incredibly proud. And ashamed, that my seven year old has to lead me. Well, so be it. May I be led.

MY LUST STORY, PART SEVEN: A FREE MAN

Where were we? Right. Resisting the urge to scratch the itch.

"Guys struggle with lust. That's just how it is." That's what everyone says. I beg to differ. I did then, and I do now. What I came to realize was that the intense battle I was experiencing was happening for a reason. There was a root cause. A trigger point. And Satan knew exactly where it was and how to push it. Like a really annoying little sister that can always get you to lose your temper and get you in trouble. So annoying. So debilitating.

So one day, instead of just goring the barrage of lustful thoughts on the edge of my trusty spear, I grabbed them by the throat and dragged them into God's throne room with me. "Here," I said. "This. This is what I'm feeling every time Satan pushes my buttons. Where's the button? Where's this coming from? Take me there. Let's deal with this thing once and for all."

And the Spirit of God took hold of my mind, guiding me back to a memory in my formative years that had absolutely nothing to do with lust but everything to do with a number of other issues. As I replayed the memory, I felt the same feeling I get just before the temptations would come over me. Cause as a mentor once remarked, "You can smell a lustful temptation a mile away." You can sense yourself warming to it, weakening to it, even before it crosses your mind. If you struggle with this, you know what I mean. So God showed me the root, and the misinterpretation of that event I had unconsciously adopted. He spoke his truth into that lie, and POOF-! My war ended, just like that, on a dime.

I'm not kidding. And it stuck. To this day, maybe five years later, I'm still good. I have to make wise choices — I'm not immune to sin. And temptations still come, but I'm telling you, I feel no inner war to resist them anymore. The back of that beast is broken in me, praise Jesus. It's far more natural for me to stay pure than it is to fall. Now my falls are like, "Hon, I glanced at a TV guide cover for a sec and sensed my heart crossed the line." That's it. And they happen maybe every 2-3 months. I'm a free man. And Shauna is a thankful woman.

The tricky part, I'm finding, is learning to re-embrace beauty and let it be what it is. Purity doesn't mean walking around not looking at anything, with blinders against everyone I find attractive. Ignoring woman isn't much better than using her. Neither reflect God's ideal. They're the bad ends of the spectrum. Godly purity means being able to walk through life, see beauty, appreciate it, and remember that whatever it was in that woman's body that I found appealing is appealing because she's made in the image of God, the Ultimate and True Beauty, whom I ultimately am smitten by. See, true beauty embraced by a pure heart spurs worship, not lust — which so refreshing when it happens, let me tell you. The day that happens naturally, I'll be a much more Christ-like man.

My story isn't over, not by a long shot. But that's where I'm at right now. So... what'cha think?

MY LUST STORY, PART SIX: SELF CONTROL

I've got to tell you, God and I stopping the lust express before it trainwrecked my life was pretty amazing. And while I still struggled intensely with my eyes and stuff I shouldn't look at, I managed, with the self control of the Holy Spirit, to "put to death the misdeeds of my body" (Romans 8:13).

As I said yesterday, I confessed every single time my heart crossed the lust line to Shauna. Like, I've never kept a single fall from her. This is now 15 and a half years later. I'd better explain. See, I promised BOTH God and her and asked him to hold me to it. He's done that. So every time I cross the line, I get a heavy feeling, like a weighted blanket on my soul. My stomach sometimes turns. So it feels like I'll be sick if I don't confess. Sometimes I don't even think I technically did anything worth confessing, but if the conviction comes, I go with it. Every single time. He won't let me off the hook, praise God. It's pretty cool, actually.

But the battle was still raging inside me. I felt like I had poison Ivy and wanted desperately to scratch the itch but couldn't. Like it was inevitable, one day I would scratch unless I dealt with the rash somehow. That flushed, heart-palpitating, weakening temptation still thrashed me every single day, multiple times a day. No, I didn't give in, but one day I said something like this to God: "There's GOT to be more than this. This isn't victory. This is full on, drag-em out war!"

I felt like a dog — you know... how if you find that special spot and rub it, how their legs involuntarily start jackhammering up and down? Yeah, like that. Satan knew my triggers, all the pressure points. It felt like I was totally at his mercy. So I started praying, asking God to reveal that trigger that Satan kept pushing. What was the missing piece?

I soon found out. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the coup de grace in this drama.

TO BE CONTINUED... and CONCLUDED... TOMORROW!

MY LUST STORY, PART FIVE: HER

The next major moment of change in my lust story happened when I met HER, that is, Shauna — the girl I'd end up marrying.

She was just so...so... wow. It didn't take long before we were the best of friends. Soul mates. It wasn't much farther down the pike from soul mates that we realized we were going to spend the rest of our lives loving each other. Which meant she needed to know what she was getting into. Aw, nuts.

I'll never forget the moment. We sat on my bed in my basement room, and my face felt like it kept going from beat read to deathly white. My shame was so palpably heavy that I couldn't look her in the eyes. I told her everything. EVERYTHING. For twenty minutes (half an eternity), I poured out my heart. Cried. Felt my stomach turn. Dreaded what would happen when I was done. There was about five seconds of silence, and then she began to speak. I couldn't hear her. I was too numb. And then she touched me. I felt her hand on my chin, raising my gaze until my eyes were locked on hers. And instead of disgust I saw... I saw... God, looking back at me through her. I saw love. I saw grace.

From that moment on, I wanted, I needed, to be clean for Shauna. She deserved my purity. With a newfound determination, I managed to prayerfully whittle my falls down to once a week. Then twice a month. Then once a month. Pretty awesome. But you see, those once a month falls still wrenched me pretty badly because I knew they hurt her. That's when God and I had a monumental chat. I was so angry at myself. So disgusted after one particular fall that I was beside myself. "I wish I could just promise You and her that I'd never masturbate again!" I muttered angrily.

"Why don't you?" He asked.
"What?"
"Why don't you?"
Huh? But isn't that impossible? Isn't that just setting myself up for failure? All I can say is, that time it felt different. Fateful. Powerful. So I made the promise. With all my heart. And I told Shauna, adding another promise: "I will never masturbate again," I said, "but any time my heart crosses the lust line in any way I'll tell you. Not what I did, to spare you the details. But that I did. So you never have to wonder where I am in this whole struggle."

That was sixteen years ago. Four years later, I broke the masturbating promise once. Just once, and believe me, it nearly killed me. And after that, never again. And I have never, ever, NOT confessed when I've slipped. Ever. More on that tomorrow. Because the best was yet to come.

TO BE CONTINUED...

MY LUST STORY, PART FOUR: ACCOUNTABILITY

My lust addiction, while far from broken, had waned some through taking my thoughts captive, cutting out opportunities to sin, and resisting my enemy. When I say waned I mean I went from falling several times a day to several times a week. I can't tell you how huge that was. But it was still an addiction, because I couldn't stop. You have to be honest about these things.

"I need to get accountable," I thought to myself. And I'm sure God was in it, too. A couple of godly guys from my church had started an accountability group so I joined in, thinking that if someone asked me how I had done with lust that week things would get better. Any book on overcoming lust will tell you so, and so will I, but only to a point.

See, accountability has to be pretty airtight to work. It's easy to hide behind poorly crafted questions. "Did you fall this week?" Uh, define "fall." Right? And if we met on Friday, I'd be sure to get my porn and masturbate on Saturday so I could say that I fell right after we met, but the rest of the week was great. So I had something bad to confess, but something to be congratulated for too, even though the whole thing was an act. I came to see that I could confess this sin to the whole Western world and still, accountability wouldn't take me the whole distance.

(FYI, the only accountability that truly works begins with each person making a list of the three questions they absolutely do not want to be asked, and the list must be given to people who can ask the questions at any time).

I remember one day in my office (I was a youth ministry intern at my church) I was slammed by such a ferocious temptation that my cheeks went flush and my heart pounded and I felt weak inside (that was actually a pretty common occurrence, by the way). I knew, KNEW, that if I didn't do something drastic, I'd fall into sexual sin. I didn't know what to do. I started to panic.

Then an idea came. I called my mom and said, "Mom, I'm being tempted to look at pornography and I need you to ask me how I did this afternoon when I get home!" Yes, I actually did this. And you know what? The thought of having to confess masturbating to my mom evaporated that temptation by the time I was off the phone. Praise God! And thank goodness.

It's true, my mind was being renewed. I had made serious progress. But the second real turning point was just around the corner.

TO BE CONTINUED...

MY LUST STORY, PART THREE: MIND GAMES

A funny thing happens to your addiction to lust when your heart starts to change. You become willing. Your will starts to become God's servant instead of saying "Yes, master," to sin. And that's what happened to me.

Man, talking about an uphill battle! For years I had literally been sucking up pornographic images almost intravenously, absorbing them into my soul and filling my mind with their psychic bile. Yuck. So then I wake up one day and realize my heart is changing and I want to take a stand. Perfect. I'll say no to porn. Easier said than done. Not buying more magazines didn't actually gain me much ground, because I already had two hundred of 'em stored in my internal hard drive of a brain, jumping up and down volunteering to be used. And whenever the temptation would hit, a kaleidoscope of images would literally deluge my senses. Masturbation was still a big problem.

BTW, I think the Bible does actually talk about that. Jesus is talking to guys to "look at a woman lustfully" in Matthew 5:28. His next line is, "If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out...if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off..." (5:29,31). Come on... you don't think that maybe the God of the universe knew about the connection between eyes, right hands, and lust?

Which is where "taking my thoughts captive and making them obedient to Christ" came in. II Cor. 10:3-5 tells us to do that. I studied the Greek on that passage and it refers to a guard at a city gate with orders from the commanding officer. A stranger strolls up in the middle of the night, say. The guard pins the person to the wall, gently applying the spear to their chest. Friend or foe? If you're a friend, you may pass. If not, well, goodbye. Get out the mop and bury the infidel. So that's what I did, probably a hundred times an hour. Every time a lusty thought reared its ugly head, I'd run it through and send it to hades. Exhausting work, but over time, the internal library began to fade.

And there was more cutting off to do. I avoided going into certain stores by myself. Or watching TV late at night. You know the drill. You know the ways you edge closer to sin, justifying your actions because it's not sin YET... well, that's deadly thinking, people. And I started cutting it out. Off. It was like watching Braveheart.

Enter my enemy. Yes, I'm serious. I was in so deep that there was an evil spirit or two that got ticked with my progress and started digging in their claws. I actually saw one flare up in front of me in my basement. I had painfully wicked nightmares. But gradually, with the power of the Holy Spirit, we gained ground and sent the enemy packing. The stronghold buckled, cracked, heaved, and then gave way with a shudder.

Victory, right? Nope. That was just the beginning.

TO BE CONTINUED...

MY LUST STORY, PART TWO

After finding myself trapped in the lustful addiction I described yesterday, I probably cried out to God for deliverance 10,000 times. Meaning, the prayers weren't working. At all.

Oh, the guilt was ramped up. The shame sucked the life right out of me. I was a Christian, after all — and I was a youth leader in my church. How could I be such a hypocrite? I often felt sick, weak with disgust and regret and a growing self loathing.

One day in my parent's basement, I hit rock bottom. I was lying on my face before God, bawling my eyes out, literally clawing the carpet in desperation. I finally voiced my frustration: "God, I've prayed more times than I can count, and you don't seem to be helping me at all. Why? WHY?!"

"Because you don't want me to," was his gentle but firm reply.

I wanted to defend myself, to deny it, to kick and scream and argue, but I couldn't. He was right (He always is). Bottom line, lust, like all sin, has a payoff. It brings a measure of pleasure, short term. I was still stuck because I liked it, and until I admitted that I would remain stuck. The reason God couldn't get in to my dark places was that I wasn't willing.

The revelation stunned me. Rocked me to my core. The tears stopped. The anger melted away.

"Then I'm willing to be willing, Father," I prayed. "Change my heart." And that became my prayer a dozen times a day for a couple of months. Change me. Change my heart. I want to be willing. It felt like so little to offer.

It was enough.

TO BE CONTINUED...

MY LUST STORY

For those of you who don't know me, I'm a happily married Lead Pastor with three amazing children. And this week or so I'm going to tell you how God has rescued me from a dark, daily, compulsive addiction to lust. When I say rescued I mean that my #1 struggle in life used to be LUST. And #2. And #3 — and now I wouldn't put it in my top 5. This rescue is probably the single most incredible miracle God has done in my life. I believe you need to hear this.

I've told this story other times in other places in smaller settings — never with potential for the whole world to read it — but there's something breathtaking about ripping all your skeletons out of the closet: There's nothing left to hide in them. That, and others might identify with my story and find God's help for themselves woven throughout. So I'm not going to pull any punches with this. Female readers, you may get a tad squeamish at times. I just pray that the window I'm giving into the guy struggle gives you a kind of "aha" into the boys and men you know. It will give insight into any ongoing struggle for either gender, probably. And guys, quite frankly, we need to talk about this, so deal with it.

Here we go.

In grade 8, I found a picture of a naked woman and it detonated a hormonal atom bomb in my soul. BA-BOOM. I wanted more. I needed more, or so I thought. I found the more at a friend's place, in his older brother's room. Playboy, Penthouse (the days of printed porn). One of the kids in my class joked about masturbating one day, implying that I didn't know what it was. I knew enough to give it a shot, and I liked it. I did it again. And again. And before I knew it, that act got linked to the lustful pictures I was storing in my brain. Graphic, I know. But there it is.

I started stealing centerfolds from magazines at the drugstore. Then stealing the entire magazines (I wasn't old enough to buy them). My occasional masturbating became regular. Then daily. Then multiple times a day. As I would discover later in life, I was hooked on the endorphin rush and the tentacles of the enemy were wrapped around me pretty badly. By the way, minus the stealing, I've found that many (most?) guys can relate to this part of my story. Sorry to burst your bubble, ladies. And your facade, men.

In grade 12, I gave my life to Jesus. And... while many things changed overnight, lust didn't. Oh, I wanted it to. I really did. But nothing budged. Now the only difference was that I felt a smothering guilt every time I gave in to lust. I now bought the magazines because I was even more ashamed to steal them (mind-boggling hypocrisy, I know). It was beyond awful. And my heart ached for an out.

* This story assumes that masturbation is always a sin. To hear my thoughts on this, look under "Resources" under "Writing and Books" at www.bradhuebert.com.

TO BE CONTINUED...

IT...

One of the most intriguing messages I heard at the Willow Simulcast was gold from the mouth of an innovative pastor named Craig Groeschel, lead pastor of lifechurch.tv. He's recently knocked out a book simply called "IT."

"It" is about that mysterious something, that transcendent quality present in some people and ministries and churches that makes them seem anointed and effective. Is that "it" a person, the Holy SpirIT? Well yes, but we all have him, all churches have him, so then why do some churches grow and deepen while others don't? Some have the same approach, the same kind of building, similar staff, identical ministries, and vastly different levels of impact on their people and their communities. Why do some churches get it, have it, and others don't? An interesting question.

This morning our speaker, Elaine Philips, led us on a journey through Revelation 4, where the church in Ephesus was doing all the right things but had forsaken their first love. Jesus commends them for their perseverance but laments this lack of passion for him. He tells them to repent, to remember the height from which they had fallen, and to begin doing the stuff they had done when they were on track — or he would come and remove their lampstand.

And then it hit me. The lampstand is a symbol for the IT. They were on their way to losing IT. They had IT, and forgot about IT, and were about to pay the price. God would still be among them (he's omnipresent and specially present in each believer). They were still faithful obeyers. They had good stuff going on. But any fully alive believer visiting would walk into their gathering and be able to sense, THEY DON'T GET IT. THEY DON'T HAVE IT. And I realized my church is in the same boat. We're doing the right things, stuff is beginning to change, but the IT is still mostly absent.

Good to know that IT isn't about more money, lights, cameras, and action. Jesus links it to passionate love for him, that spiritually based "collective effervescence" Tony Campolo used to talk about. I want IT. I want IT bad. For the sake of Christ's kingdom, for a worlds fumbling around in the darkness looking for IT.

What about you?

Undertow

While we were on holidays our family was invited to a dreamy breach day at Laguna with some friends (thanks, both of you!). The waves were pretty nice, and two of the boys (My Noah and another guy his age) were getting right in there. Yeah, the lifeguard had to come over and remind them of the undertow. The pic there is of them getting in trouble. Hee hee.

I feel like I need that reminder in my ministry right now. I need a lifeguard to pull me aside and say, "Hey buddy. I know you're eager to get right in there and the waves look pretty sweet. But if you get in too deep too fast you'll get sucked right under and drown."

A couple of days ago I couldn't get into it. Couldn't engage in ministry like I wanted to. Now, after getting back at it for just a few days, I have a day off already and my temptation is to just do a little work. You know, putter a bit with some of the great ideas God gave me during the Willow Summit. Thing is, I know that even though I don't feel exhausted enough to have earned a day off, if I get into the habit of letting sabbath get nibbled away, I'll be in trouble before I know it. I need to draw a line in the proverbial beach sand and not get sucked into the undertow. There'll be plenty of big waves tomorrow.

Shameless

The past two days at the Willow Summit have been awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I had to leave early and say uncle cause my noggin was too full for the last session.

In particular, God has been braining me with the life work of two women: Wendy Kopp and Catherine Rohr (photos to the right). Wendy Kopp is founder and leader of Teach for America, an organization that challenges top university graduates in leadership to give two years of their lives to teach in the worst school divisions in the nation. She's aiming at reversing the discrimination that occurs when the best teachers go to the cushy jobs, meaning the poor areas get the worst teachers and perpetuate their problems. One of her alumni started in a school in an area where 7% of the students finished high school. Now 90% of his graduates finish college! It's flippin' awesome.

Catherine Rohr is founder of the Prison Entrepeneurship Program, which trains convicts in business admin with a major ethical component and helps them get work when they get out of prison. The prison system typically gives ex cons $100 and a pat on the butt when they're done, not doing much to help them re-engage. Somewhere between 50-60% end up in prison again within a year. Of those that enter Catherine's program, less than 10% fall again.

Here's my life lesson: Both of these women believe strongly enough in their mission that they shamelessly, and I mean SHAMELESSLY, promote it and ask for financial help from those who can give it. They are bold without being ornery. And I sensed God saying, "You've got something to learn from these two ladies. Step it up. Stop apologizing for the great things I'm calling you to lead the church into."

Amen. But God, give me courage!

The good question

"How are people supposed to believe that God is good?"

That was the question posed to us probably ten times by Gary Haugen (that's him on the right) at the Willow simulcast today. Gary works with grave injustice in our world, like child prostitution and exploitation. How, he asked, is a twelve year old girl beaten and trapped in a Saigon brothel supposed to believe that God is good?

The answer is that God's people must be his hands and his feet. We must fight injustice and rescue the oppressed. The preoccupation of the church must be convincing the world that God is good by proving it with our lives.

It got me thinking that the last few generations were probably trying to answer a different question: "How are people supposed to know that God is holy?" Many churches focused on holy living and strict morality. Outward goodness. Making sure the church was pure and upheld strict standards, for example, raising the bar on who could and couldn't get baptised and excommunicating people who made us look bad. The world had to know that God is holy, I guess. The problem is, I've never met an unbeliever haunted by that question. They could care less whether God is holy.

Now, I know that God's holiness is important. I just preached a three part sermon series on his holiness this Spring. But that's not the question haunting our society. The question I hear more than any others is the one I originally posed: Is God good? How would I know?

Well, I suppose if his children were good — meaning, full of radical, practical kindness — the world would already have its answer.

Right?

Back in the saddle

I jumped back in the saddle today.

I've been on vacation, trying my level best to say, "La-la-la-la I'm not listening" with my fingers in my ears whenever a church thought tried to clamber up into my brain. I'm a pastor, and I'll always care about people — but every once and awhile I need to do what even Jesus did — withdraw. Unplug. Unpack. Unwind. Take a deep breath and let it out real slowly. Like three or four weeks slowly.

That said, now I'm back, and I feel lost in my own office, almost like I was doing someone else's job today. It was like this last year too. It takes me a week or more to catch my stride, find my place, offer my best. My vocal chords aren't in preaching shape. My noggin isn't visionary in any sense of the word. It's weird.

But I'm tired, too. Refreshed, sure — in a change of pace, change of scenery kind of way, but something in my soul is begging for another fifteen minutes in my "vacational" (vs. vocational) bed. Or maybe weeks. I live passionately, generally speaking, so I find days like today really hard. Like I'm grinding the gears on my Toyota Echo all day. I want to engage, to find my heart in this again, but instead I'm fighting sighs and a sluggish brain and ideas that don't quite connect with anything substantial.

Renewal is coming, it's just hard. God is breathing new life into me every day, and tomorrow me and my staff are headed for a Willow Creek Leadership Simulcast which never disappoints. I'll need it, that's for sure. I usually walk away with 3-5 ideas that spark my heart and are worth the price of the entire three day conference. I look forward to those again.

Drinking it in

This morning I packed myself a picnic lunch and drove off to Big Hill Springs, about a forty minute drive. It's a utopian set of smallish cascading falls set into a thick valley stuffed with greenery. Gorgeous.

THe other day I asked God what was wrong with my heart and he said that I needed to fill it with images of glory. I began reading John 1, where Jesus is introduced: In him was life, and this life was the light of humanity. The darkness couldn't comprehend it. And as he came into the world, he gave light to all who would receive him. Life to all who would receive him. Grace and truth. Life. And my soul began to drink in the glory of it all.

Today at Big Hill, the glory came through nature: Crystaline falls, ripe vegetation, blackened rock. I snapped a few pictures in my attempt to drink in the springs. They literally come "out of nowhere, bubbling straight out of the rock somewhere up in the secret side of the valley.

It reminds me of Jesus' promise, that those who believe in him will have a spring of living water, bubbling up from within them. Pure. Refreshing. Endless. Within me.

Each image of true beauty, of glory, restores something broken in me. Fills me. Completes me. Points me to God.

Dating my daughter

Years before I had children, one of my mentors mentioned that he dated each of his daughters while they were growing up. I remember thinking, "Yeah, that's cool." So now I have a daughter, Glory, who's 8 and a half. And from time to time, we go out on dates.

Which jogs a memory for me. Glory is maybe four, and she's sitting on my lap, gazing into my eyes. She reaches out, taking one of my cheeks in each little hand. She tilts my head 30 degrees, and tilts her own the opposite direction to match. And then gives me a peck on the lips, straight on. She pulls back, smiling huge. "Now we are maweed, daddy." And I melt into a sentimental puddle. "That's fine with me, sweetie-pies. We're married until you're 16." (I actually said that. I actually meant it).

Last night I went on a date with my little princess. This is the first time she wanted to dress up for it. Shauna did her hair, she put on some jewelry, some lip gloss, and some bona fide princess charm. "She's dressed to the nines," Shauna warned me. "So make sure you tell her how beautiful she looks." Yeah, yeah. Of course.

And then Glory is standing in front of me, eyes sparkling like diamonds. She's so tall, slender, lovely. Breathtaking, actually, and so very grown up looking. She literally took my breath away, this little bundle all grown up that still wants to hold my hand (see photo). She coyly looks up at me, wanting my approval. I give it, I POUR it.

"So, you want to go?" she asks, playful, with a trace of blush and shyness. And I realize: This isn't a play date like we used to have when she was little. This one is real. This one is practice. So I open doors for her, both in and out of the car. We hold hands. I speak my adoration and admiration. I buy her a bouquet of flowers. She melts.

"You're treating me like I'm your wife," she comments at one point. "No, I'm treating you like you're my date, my treasure," I reply. "And any guy that doesn't treat you like this isn't good enough for you." She pauses, thinking hard, then nods. I pray that the message gets through.

Sensitivity

I've been struggling with spiritual lethargy lately.

Actually, my desire is there, but I'm not attuned to God's voice like I should be. Paul's words in Ephesians 4 resonated in parts today: He speaks of people who's hearts have become hardened. The result? They "lost all sensitivity." (4:18,19).

Yes, that's it exactly. Like listening to people chatting away on recliners beside a pool, except you're three feet underwater. They sound muffled to you, distorted, far away. Are they muffled? Distorted? Far away? No, the pool is making it seem like that.

That's how I'd been feeling with God. I realized that one sweet prompting at a time, I'd been shutting God out, grieving His Spirit, closing myself off from the intimacy He's trying to build between us. Letting other stuff in there instead.

What do I do next? Not strive or push or fast or anything else from the reservoir of my own pious effort. I simply admit my sin, yield again, smile toward him again, open myself to what He's bringing or saying. Again. And one prompting at a time, I walk with him. The first prompting comes.

In that moment, I rediscovered the beautiful grace of my Daddy God. What is his first instruction to me, his erring child, his distracted student with too many petty things on his mind? Take a nap.

Honestly, that's what he said. And so, enjoying the intimacy, I fade into a delicious snooze. When I wake, life seems just a little bit clearer.

Because it is.

Eldredge

I’ve been reading John Eldredge’s newest book, “Walking with God,” in which John lets us listen in on his walk with God for a year, using journal entries and the rhythm of his own life as a teaching tool. It’s kinda like a blog in print. Eldredge has been one of my favorite authors; “Wild at Heart” changed my life. “Epic” changed my ministry. Both put into words what I had known deep within me.

But alas, now, in “Walking with God,” Eldredge and I must part ways. There’s some good stuff in there, I must admit. God used some of it in my life. But now a couple of comments.

First, this is the guy who told us that our lives are part of an epic adventure God is unfolding throughout the aeons. And so far at least, his life seems... well, small. Petty, even. Sure, he prays with some folks, but mostly his life is about not getting to go fishing or not finding antlers to hang in his living room. His section on loss, I’m not kidding, is about when the family dog died. Come on, John. You diminish "real" pain like human death, cancer, war, and so much more. There is no sense of faith impacting the larger world in his book. Of witness of any kind. His is a glorified hermit’s life, disconnected, it seems, from the epic story he claims he’s part of. A trout fisherman, not a fisher of men. Walking with Jesus always takes us to the lost. Follow him around in the gospels, and you can't avoid it.

Second, and this is so ironic, right there on the pages, early on even, God is trying to get through to him, to help him rebuild his life on the love of God instead of a “get it done” mentality. He says this clearly. And then he goes on to rebuild a more spiritual sounding “get it done” life based on his own diligent effort. And then God convicts him again later in the year, and again he misses his own point: That his weariness is because of his view of the Christian life! The more I read, the more I’m glad I’m releasing my book, which unpacks the “new and living way” opened to us by Jesus, a life free of the endless striving, thirsting, seeking, and fighting Eldredge calls us into. It's a life built on simple trusting, enjoying, loving, and reigning. A life sprouting from the gospel that wipes away “the old way of the written code.”

Home

We're home.

7,200 kilometers later, (a KM is 6/10 of a mile) we've come full circle back to our caved in driveway in Coventry Hills. Amazing.

First reaction, home was just home. Home sweet home, that is.

Second: Home means the loading dock. Teamwork, people! Noah, put this at the foot of mommy and daddy's bed. Glory, put this on the kitchen table. Joel, quit playing, we're unloading.

Third: Home is the warehouse. Piles and piles of stuff cover the floor, like some treasure chamber belonging to an ancient pharoah, except nothing we own glitters anymore — dirty laundry, rubbermaids full of beachcombing booty, souvenirs, luggage, camping gear, Target bags. You name it.

Fourth: Home is cleaning bay. Rip the seats outta the van. Pick up all the miniscule Star Wars guns, Polly shoes, lost pencils, seashells, and fragments of lost civilizations that fell between the seats. Commission Joel to pick up everything else that can't be picked up by our vacuum. Vacuum. Wipe entire van down with Pine Sol. Dump bucket once for new hot water. Replace seats. Replace mats. Sigh.

Fifth: Home is launch pad. Glory is at the park with her friend. Joel is... is... where is Joel? Noah is a couple of blocks away with his supper clenched in his fist and may be spending the night with a friend. At their house, not ours. No way.

Sixth: Home is a publishing house. Sit down after cleaning the van, plug in my Mac (I'm a Mac person), and knucker out this blog post (Knucker... I made that up).

Seventh: Home is... home. Just home. Sigh. And thank God.