I grew up in the suburbs. A place of perpetual activity. Of Hurry. Of worry. Of 5 soccer games on the weekend, piano lessons and orthodontics. A place where there is very little time to sit and think about…well…anything.

I still live in the burbs. I don’t love it, and I don’t hate it. It’s the water and I am the fish…the suburbs are where I live. They just “are.”

funeralLast week I attended the funeral of a dear friend’s mother in small town Indiana. It included things I expected – a small country church, home-spun anecdotes about the wonderful woman who passed away, and a delicious “pitch-in” lunch following the service. It also surprised me in a few ways – the genuine warmth I received from people I didn’t know, the breathtaking landscape of rural Indiana in autumn, and how beautiful a funeral can be.

As we left the funeral home in the long line of cars being led to the cemetery by local police escort, one observation struck me. Though we moved at a snail’s pace, every car coming the opposite direction pulled to the side of the road.

I was stunned.

I looked at the people in the cars. Young, old, kids in car seats, businessmen and students. I didn’t see a single person who looked impatient, nervously tapping their steering wheel waiting for the procession to pass. They were calm and respectful, acknowledging the gravity of the moment. There was even an older gentleman on a riding lawnmower who stopped and bowed his head as the line of cars passed.

Where I live, I can’t imagine a scene like this. Even if we were required to stop, I think I would be releasing heavy sighs, calculating how I could make up for the loss of four precious minutes.

I’ll admit it. I like the convenience of the suburbs. I like the school systems and the easy, geographically convenient access to services I use virtually every day. I can buzz around with few obstacles, but do I miss the people? Are the lives around me worthy of honor and respect, and do I steep myself in their richness?

Thanks, Seymour, Indiana.

I’m a positive guy.

Ask 10 people who know me to describe me, and you’ll almost certainly hear the word “positive” at some point. I’m a cheerleader, the kind of “rah-rah” guy you probably like when you need a pick-me-up, but who may annoy you in a contemplative moment. And if you’re given to frequent bouts of melancholy? Well, you might envy me my upbeat outlook, or more likely, you might characterize me as delusional.

I don’t apologize for it. Whether by personality or pathology, (likely a combination of both), I like being a glass-half-full guy. But….sad

It’s okay to be sad.

It’s okay to be sad when you’re lonely.
It’s okay to be sad when you experience pain…of any kind.
It’s okay to be sad when you see racism.
It’s okay to be sad when your enemies, and especially your friends, hurt you.
It’s okay to be sad when you’ve been ignored or marginalized.
It’s okay to be sad when you see the plight of less fortunate people.
It’s okay to be sad….period…for no reason, other than sadness.

I recently had one of these sad moments. I have no idea why it hit me, but sadness came over me like a misty, cold cloud. Instead of reaching for my phone to play a game, or text someone, or to start a conversation about football, I decided to let it wash over me. I owned it. I embraced it. I allowed it to run its course. It was, in its own way, something quite beautiful.

Shortly after experiencing this, I ran across a YouTube video of comedian Louis CK on Conan O’Brien’s show. Because of some coarse language, I don’t feel comfortable posting the link here, but in the middle of this clip, he talks about how in our fast-paced, multi-tasking world, we miss the opportunities to really feel sadness. We avoid it with activity, and in avoiding real sadness, we avoid real joy.

I want joy…so I’m going to embrace the sadness when it comes.

How about you?

For over two years I had pined for it, asked for it, and maybe even begged for it, so when my parents gave me a guitar for my 21st birthday, I couldn’t have been happier. I remember gently removing it from its case and admiring its beauty. The grain of the wood, the smooth feel of the neck and the beautifully inlaid mother of pearl on the fretboard clearly illustrated the care of the luthier. I was overjoyed by the gift. For years, that first guitar was a source of creativity, rest and comfort in the dark places.

Recently, I got to thinking about the luthier that crafted my guitar. The skill demonstrated was obvious, but I also recognized that he or she built it for a specific purpose – to make beautiful music. In some small way, as I progressed as a guitarist, I was bringing glory to its creator.

There are, of course, other uses for my guitar. It could easily be used as a hammer, an oil pan or even a tennis racquet. I’m not suggesting it would work well in any of those capacities, but it could be adapted to serve those purposes. But why?

I’m not sure why I was thinking about my guitar being an oil pan, but about two weeks ago, someone asked me a simple question. “Why were you created?” I thought for a minute, and then it dawned on me.

I am my guitar.

Though created by the Luthier to make beautiful music, I often make choices that repurpose His intent. I am that hammer or oil pan in the shape of a guitar. I’m not at my best when I’m repurposed in this way, and I am in no way reflecting the intent of the Luthier.

Why do I do it?

Because I think I know better. I think I can out-think my Creator, and be something I was never really created to be. As I’m getting older and life humbles me, I’m finding more comfort in living out the Luthier’s purpose, not the purposes of others. Or even my own.

How about you? Why were you created?

I love motorcycling.

It’s a love that came to me later in life. My brother (pictured) has always loved motorsports – boats, cars, jet-skis, and mostly, motorcycles. It took a long time to rein me in, but I finally caught the bug, and it will likely never leave me.

When I first started riding, I was encouraged to take a motorcycle safety course sponsored by ABATE of Indiana. In 3 days, the instructors there drilled into us the how-to’s of safe motorcycling. I loved it!

A principle that I learned early on was the discipline of turning my head and looking into a turn. In motorcycling, where your head goes, your bike will follow. Our natural inclination is to look down at where we are, but to be safe, we must turn our heads, not just our eyes, and look where we want to go. I must have heard “Turn your head!” a thousand times during the class.

One of the most dangerous things about riding a motorcycle is something called “target fixation.” Essentially, the rider sees an obstacle, and focuses on it. “Don’t hit it, don’t hit it, don’t hit it.” And the rider almost always hits it. Remember, where the head goes, the bike goes, and if the head is looking at an oncoming car…well…disaster ensues.

This same principle, however, can also work in in my favor. If I focus on my line and where I want my motorcycle to go, that’s where it will go.

The same is true in my life. If I fixate on the obstacles I face, I will likely hit them head on. But if I can focus on where I want to go, I will almost always avoid the very obstacles that are freaking me out.

In my case, as a follower of Christ, HE is my target….I want to be more like Him. The beauty of it is that the Bible gives me a terrific verse outlining where my target is to be fixed….in a positive way: “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”(Hebrews 12:2)

Perfect.

Earlier this week I spent a peaceful morning at a gorgeous state park not far from my house. The turmoil in my oversaturated life was in stark contrast to my surroundings, which were reminiscent of Thoreau’s Walden Pond. As I slowly walked through the woods, I could feel my stress dissipate. I could sense that my weary soul was trying to poke through the clouds of my circumstances, and I was relieved.

Near the end of my hike, I found a picnic bench near a pond. A huge tulip poplar tree hung over the water in front of me, and within seconds I was drawn to something I’d never seen before. A slight wind was blowing, creating tiny wrinkles on the pond. From the water, gold reflections of light rippled up the tree’s huge leaves and onto its branches. It was like watching the Northern Lights on a cold winter night. For 5 or 10 minutes I could do nothing but stare at the light show…amazed.

Then it dawned on me.

Water has no light properties at all. If I were to sit in that same spot on a moonless night, I wouldn’t even be able to tell I was sitting near water. It can create no light. Water is, however, perfectly created to reflect light. In water, a blinding light source can create an equally blinding reflection.

The same is true of you and me.

We hold no inherent lighting properties. Left to ourselves, we can be dark and murky. But God, in his grace, created us to reflect His light perfectly. He “is light; in him there is no darkness at all.” (1 John 1:5) When we are positioned in His presence, the light of His glory reflects onto those around us, creating a breathtakingly beautiful light show of grace, mercy and love.

In 1 Corinthians 3:18, Paul casts a beautiful vision: “Nothing between us and God, our faces shining with the brightness of his face. And so we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our lives and we become like him.” (The Message)

May it be true of you and me.

It didn’t take long to write, but it expressed my heart perfectly.

Recently, as part of an exercise, I was asked to write out a prayer. The facilitator wanted us to be thoughtful…writing our prayers as did the psalmists and ancient believers. Here was my entry:

The road is barely visible
Covered by the dust of frantic inactivity
The remnant of miles traveled hopefully
Long ago.

What of great import drew me away?
Why was the road inadequate –
the destination re-routed?

The lure of significance?
The beauty of a throne?
The nobility of sacrifice or the promise of reward?

The road to joy remains unexplored.
Its destinations plural…its source, singular.

I need a Map.

It’s interesting what pours out of my heart when I take a few moments to examine it.  The noise in my life often drowns out what is actually important.

I’m grateful for the Map.

I just have to read it.

Imagine being a 13 year-old boy in the 70’s. Divorce was not yet the norm, and it was unusual for you to have a different last name than your parents. You haven’t seen your “real dad” since you were 8, and you REALLY identify with your step-dad.

You get it, right?

Junior high isn’t the most forgiving sub-culture in the world, and constantly explaining who you are and where you came from can be both exhausting and humiliating.

Wouldn’t you want to change your name? Wouldn’t you want to remove the obstacles that keep you from your mission? (Which, in junior high, is survival with the minimum amount of humiliation and pain.)

This week our organization announced a name change…from “Campus Crusade for Christ” to “Cru”. For 29 years I have been a part of this amazing group. Our DNA has always been to take the gospel, the love of Jesus, to EVERY person on the globe – giving every person the opportunity to say “yes” to Jesus!

In recent years, however, our name has become an obstacle. The media would have you believe that “Christ” is the issue. It’s not. But if we remove “Campus” and “Crusade”, which are obstacles, we are left with “Christ.” (I think we can all agree that that’s a bad name for an organization.)

So our leadership embarked on a prayer-saturated, sober process to rename a 60 year-old organization…an organization with a clear reputation for being willing to do ANYTHING to take the Good News to the four corners of the world, where men and women desperately need to know the God who loves them so dearly.

Explaining and operating with our name actually became an obstacle to our mission – to exalt and proclaim the name of Jesus! As our US Director stated, “We care more about effectively proclaiming the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ then we do about having the word ‘Christ’ in our name.” So we made the change.

Like hundreds of churches and parachurch organizations that operate without “Christ” or “Jesus”, our mission is not defined by our name. Our mission and values drive us…and our mission is the same mission and call given to Dr. and Mrs. Bill Bright in 1951, to “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” (Matt. 28:19)

Oh, and that 13 year-old boy? That guy was me. Changing my name made all the difference in the world to me, and I survived junior high with minimal damage.

Mission accomplished.