As human beings we live in stories.  The Bible is one grand story.  A central part of the journey is hearing our own stories.  To help foster this approach, each teaching includes a story of real life, one that hopefully captures the dissonance, joy, tension, and wonder we all face. The following story is from the Q6 Workbook – Into The Desert.

———————————————-

6.01 – Stories – Hungry

Sarah had never seen such a voracious appetite from anyone.  The woman with the blue shirt seemed to shove the food in her mouth, the pockets of her stuffed cheeks looked like two mice bouncing up and down to the rhythm of her chewing.  She had stacked three plates full of food in front of her, more than she could possibly eat.  “There’s more food,” Sarah said.

At first the woman didn’t say anything, more engrossed in the act of eating.  But then she stopped and stared at Sarah.  It was a penetrating stare that said, “How can you possibly know what I’ve been through.”

Sarah had joined the Red Cross out of college with the desire to make a real change in the world.  Her dad had been a lawyer enjoying a successful career in tax law and hoped she would do the same.  She wanted to see the political side of the world and use what she thought were real resources available to a hungry world.  Her new role allowed her to actually target disaster areas and bring needed food and supplies where most needed.  There hadn’t been a day yet that she regretted her decision.

She was now leading a team serving the Galveston region, which had been devastated by Hurricane Charles. Several larger buildings had collapsed and rescue efforts had discovered the woman trapped underneath a building for nine days.  Her only water source was the rain that had dripped over her face as she was trapped between rubble.  Physically, she was in decent shape but as she devoured the food her hands shook, a physical reminder of the toll it had taken.

“Can I get you some water?” Sarah asked.

“Do you have any grape soda?” the woman responded.

“No.   We have water and Gatorade.”

“The woman scratched her head, as though the decision required more thinking than she was prepared to do.  “Do you have any coffee?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, realizing she had a coffee, too.  She turned to get the coffee and hit the corner of the table with her leg.  Something was different and it was capturing her attention.  Sarah had been through a few large scale “events” as her boss liked to call the operations.  She had even heard of the teams who served Africa and the level of poverty that were common there, but something in this woman seemed to jar her senses.  This was the first time she had seen someone affected to this degree by the lack of food.

She thought back to her childhood and could not remember a time when she went without food.  She had fasted before but the reality was that she could always eat if she wanted to.  As she poured the coffee, she turned to look at the woman.  She wondered what the woman must have been feeling at this moment to feel the need to devour her food.  There were no words in her vocabulary to describe the element of poverty this woman was feeling.

The wet rains had been almost constant following the hurricane and the second they stopped everyone in the building noticed.  The moment served as a reminder that the worst was coming to an end.

[The following is a story from one of the Tribes on what it means to engage maturity.]

Over the last several days I have been having conversations with people about my journey. Significant people I trust. Each of these conversations has been a great dialog that has allowed me to process my experience with someone else.

A friend of mine called me back after our conversation to say that he has noticed a significant change in my personality and demeanor. I was, to say, validated. I have been walking through this journey of love with eyes wide open, not sure if anyone has noticed. Some people have said things, others have not. I’m not worried.

But my friend was intrigued by my change. He asked me what had been the catalyst, or reason for the change. I know my mom’s death had something to do with it. But this would be limiting to say it was the defining thing. Death does have a way of speaking to us, but I know that it was not the only thing. I believe it was a lot of things.

But one event sticks out in my mind. I was in the shower about six weeks ago when I felt like God was asking to grow up. I’m 38 and I’ve been studying the faith journey for at least 12 years, if not longer. I was stunned to say the least. As I pondered the question, I realized that it was that time. In order for me to fully mature in love, I had to let go of my wounded identity. I had to let go of who I was. And I did, right there in the shower.

The unique thing about this was that it wasn’t hard. Actually I’ve been processing this for as long as I can remember. But now I was willing to let it go. I think I was just ready.

The funny thing is that when I did, it was awesome. It felt like a rebirth. I liken it to letting go of a thousand pound weight. My burden was light again. I now ask myself why I had waited so long to embrace who I was becoming as a mature person of faith. I guess I was just ready.

My friend shared with me a really great observation. He told me of the story of the blind man at the pool, which I’ve heard many times.

6When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?” 7“Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

My friend made an interesting observation about the blind man. Instead of responding “Yes, I want to get well,” which was the question, he makes an excuse. Pow it hit me, upside the head like a knockout punch. How many times have I made excuses rather than just saying, “Yes, I want to get well.”

To be honest, the guy reminded me of myself. When it really came to change, I didn’t want to. It’s easier to live in the identity of wounded person because my wounds provided me with an excuse for my humanity. I was just doing what I was supposed to.

I’m actually glad I made the choice to grow up. I like this place better. I don’t want to sit on the mat anymore and make excuses. I want to love. I want to feel his presence in my life, joy, healing, purpose and love. The reality is that these were not prevailing traits of my life before my decision to grow up.

When I turn to my son and I see a four year old boy, I shudder to think of him growing up physically but never maturing beyond four years old. It would crush me if he were stunted in this age, as fun, and charming, and great as it is right now. I want him to grow up and become who God designed him to really be. To live valiantly, to love deeply, to pursue his purpose with passionate resolve. I just don’t think he can become this person as a four year old.

It’s hard to grow up. Not in a literal sense. Our bodies biological process happens regardless of our choice. I speaking of our maturity of heart. When wounds cripple us, it becomes something that takes courage to really step into. I want that for me, for my son, for those I come in contact with. Why? Because I believe that it is in maturity of heart that we love deeply, which is the fully expression of who we are as humans.

And I want to become that person. Do you?

As human beings we live in stories.  The Bible is one grand story.  A central part of the journey is hearing our own stories.  To help foster this approach, each teaching includes a story of real life, one that hopefully captures the dissonance, joy, tension, and wonder we all face. The following story is from the Q4 Workbook – When God Breaks In,  pg 20-21.

——————————————————-

4.02 – Stories – Sign

As the doors burst open to reveal a small crowd of onlookers, a large Italian woman held a small sign that read, “Bianchi”. Derek noticed it but thought nothing of it, looking only for the correct aisle where his baggage would come out. Normally he only carried an overnight bag but this trip required a longer stay. And because of that fact he was tired and wished his bag were the first to come out.

He noticed his flight number on the board and began walking toward it when he heard a scream behind him. He turned to see another younger Italian woman, whom he recognized from the plane, almost tackling the woman with the sign. The two immediately hugged and started crying beyond what two people would normally do. The older woman picked up the younger and twirled her around. Their sobbing seemed to grow more pronounced as the moments went by.

Derek’s curiosity grew and he stepped back to see what the meeting was about. For at least 30 seconds the two did nothing more than hug and cry profusely. At one point the older Italian woman pulled away to look at the younger woman, caressing her face and looking into here eyes. The crowd around them had stopped, all wondering what the moment had meant.

Derek approached the outer circle of onlookers and asked the gentleman next to him, “Do you know what its
about?”

“No,” the man said. “But it must be something interesting?”

Derek looked around and spotted an opening in the crowd and circled to get a closer look. Other family members were also there and they were all talking with elated smiles and a few tears. Derek pressed through the crowd and found his opening almost next to the woman.

“You know I never wanted this to happen,” the older woman said to the younger.

“I know,” the younger woman said, crying again.

Derek looked at the woman next to him who shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “I don’t know either.”

The older woman kissed the younger woman’s forehead and then crossed herself as if to pray and bless the
moment. She said something in Italian.

The younger woman wiped away the tears and finally noticed the crowd around them. She laughed at the moment and then addressed the crowd.  “She’s my real mom, and I have never seen her before,” she said, almost embarrassed.  The two hugged again.

For some reason Derek couldn’t help but applaud and the crowd joined right in.  His heart rose to the moment as if to connect to the younger Italian woman’s joy and pain.  A tear fell from his cheek.  In a single moment this woman had experienced more emotional connection with a mother she never knew than he ever had in forty-two years with his own father.

What if there was only seven people that gathered as the church? Would seven be enough? Would Jesus still show up? Would Jesus still care? Would grace still appear? Would deep worship take place? Would an awe settle in? Would lives be changed? Would transformation happen? Would healing be present in hearts? Would the good news still be heard, lived, and experienced? Would Jesus and his way still be followed?  What if only seven gathered?

What if only seven people met as the church? Would Jesus still have died? Would God turned an ear? The Holy Spirit, would she reveal herself in flames and tongues once more? Would the atonement of all mankind still have happened if only seven ever listened and gathered? Would it? Would seven be enough?

I think it would be because all I know is a few nights ago seven of us met in a living room and experienced healing, and love, and God, and grace, and joy, and companionship, and brotherhood, and celebration, and a deep sense of awe like few of us have before.

It was a casual evening for our Thrive group as we were simply sharing a meal and catching up on each other’s lives a bit. To be honest I was just looking forward to the fellowship of some friends I hadn’t seen for a while (we are taking a break for the holidays until January). As the seven of us trickled in we clumped together to enjoy fellowship—some outside around the barbecuing tri-tip, some inside around the mashing of garlic potatoes, some just lounging at the breakfast bar enjoying wine. As the meal prep was finishing up a couple of us gathered around the table and a discussion of forgiveness and the atonement ensued. Some talked, others listened. The meal was placed on the table, someone quoted scripture from memory for our prayer and we ate and celebrated and laughed.

After dinner we cleaned up and I sat on the couch. I was a bit tired and sore so I mostly observed a conversation between two men about the issues going on in one of the man’s life. I was extremely blessed by simply listening to the honest and heart-felt dialogue/ministry taking place. Soon we were all gathered in the living room. The plan was to do an extended check in to see where each man was at and then watch a clip from the movie, The Mission. But God had other plans. It seemed as if one man in particular was heavily troubled. We asked him about it and he just opened up. Each man listened and when prompted by the Spirit offered council or asked a question or simply continued listening, quietly showing support. The Spirit’s presence and wisdom was clearly felt. We then circled around the man, laid our hands on him and prayed for him. The quietness after the prayer hung in the air like a light mist.

Our casual Thrive meal lasted nearly 4-hours as each man said their goodbyes and trickled back out the door. I and another were the last to leave and we spent a good ten minutes standing in the cold air by my Jeep recalling the night and the deep sense of awe we were feeling. I quietly drove home with no radio and let the evening sink into my heart.

Would seven be enough?

That evening God seemed to shout a resounding, Yes!

Have you ever wrestled with the idea of the priesthood of all believers?  I have.

While my story is different, I get the feeling this chapter is all too common. I have been witness to the most profound, life-changing, and moving event in my life. It was liberating, eye-opening, and the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Who wouldn’t want to share that? Who wouldn’t want all to know this rapture? Who would be reluctant to spread the word of this to all that would listen? Me, that’s who, over here, yea me, the guy who looks like every other Christian, acts like every other Christian, and quite possibly is every other Christian.

Yes, I know I’m called to spread the good news: Mark 16:15 (NIV) He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.” I actually do want to spread the good news and I try to do my best. It seems, however, the world and those around me are even more unsure of when and how, than I am. I have a memory of a man on the street corner in Pasadena, Texas on every Sunday morning at 7am preaching through a megaphone. No one is listening, no one is seeing but, he is fulfilling the call! Or, is he? It’s not really for me to say, but I do know, I don’t want to be that guy. I would rather my words be few, my arrow be true, than to have those around me tune me out like the always yelling parent.

Yet, even those few true words I resist. I want so badly to restore those I love, to free them from the captivity and oppression. To show them God’s Love through words as well as action. If they would just listen, open their eyes, feel my heart, they would know. But the fear holds me back. The fear that I don’t know enough, I hold no degree. The fear that I haven’t the experience; it’s been only a couple of years since I came to Christ. Fear that I will be judged. “Bible Thumper” is a term that comes to mind. And then there is the issue of my own restoration. How can I speak of the wonders of our Lord when I still turn away from Him? To lead a sentence with an apology is something I’m no longer comfortable with. “While I’ve only been a Christian for a short period of time..” I find myself saying that all too often.

Still, the burning desire to spread God’s Love through words pulses through me. Sometimes I want to take people by the shoulders, shake them, look them in the eye and say “You are deeply and profoundly loved! Open your eyes and see Him and you will know His love!” My friends would be few and my family would be far if I followed my own desire here. How many times have you heard wisdom being “yelled” at you? More importantly, how many times did you listen?

So, I struggle and I pray. “What words do I speak Lord?” How does a guy like me, still learning the word, inexperienced in spreading His wisdom, and unwilling to undergo the scrutiny; bring redemption to those that need it most? He answers me: “Through patience and [most of all] Love.”

Patience, are you kidding me? I’m middle aged; I don’t have time for patience! My kids are growing up so quickly, they need Jesus NOW! OK, OK, I get it, patience. Love I also get. Give the Love He has given me. Someone once said “Love is a verb”. “Love is God in action” would be another way to put it. So what about action? What do you want me to do Lord? “Just Love” He tells me. So if I love someone, the words God wants me to speak will come? Hmmm, that’s actually a relief! It takes the pressure off. I’m just a man. What wisdom do I have without You, oh Lord? I will let the Wisdom into my heart. I will share his Love with courage and take action.

1 Peter 2:4 As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him— 5 you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

—————————————————–

Mike Reynolds is a participant in a Thrive Group.  He lives in Folsom, Ca with his wife, two daughters and a short Daschund named Charlie.

At Thrive, we encourage what we call, “open hand leadership”.  It is the idea that we are stewards of what God has given us, but at any moment we may be called to surrender a part or a whole of what has been given.  In many ways this has been liberating.  There is something infinitely more rewarding that comes from nurturing and stewarding something as opposed to trying to control it.  But recently I had an experience that reminded me that this practice must continually be revisited.

A couple of weeks ago, my tribe went on our Q7 retreat.  The week leading up to the retreat we participated in an exercise designed to speak wholeness into our lives.  It was simply spending 30 minutes listening to how Jesus saw me. And during this exercise I asked him what I was being called to do.  With my eyes closed, the only image I was given was of my hands.  That’s it.  Nothing more.

So with this my tribe went to the retreat. And on Sunday, we had the opportunity to spend time alone walking with Jesus and really listening to how He wanted to speak into our lives.  And much of my work during the weekend was with family.  At one point I stopped and just enjoyed the surrounding beauty of the mountains trying not to force anything.  And as I closed my eyes I began to ask, “What have you been trying to tell me Jesus?  I want to listen.”

And what happened next surprised me.  Jesus took my hands and held them out with my palms down, as if covering something.  He said, “This is what you are trying to do with your family.  You are trying to control them.”  My heart broke because I knew it was true.  I knew that my own wounds had driven me to create unreasonable expectations for my family.

When we try and control the world around us, we inevitably get in the way of what God is trying to do.  We hold onto the image of what we expect and miss what God is already doing.  By trying to protect my family and control who they should be, I was getting in the way of what God was doing.  And worse, I was missing out on what He was already doing.

And then Jesus did something that restored me.  He took my hands and turned them over.  He said, “This is how I want you to participate.”  And in that moment I suddenly felt the weight of expectation drop off me.  It was incredibly liberating.  By letting go of control, I was letting go of an unreasonable burden that I had picked up along the way.

And then I learned something that I had never seen before.  When we returned as a group we shared our stories and then closed in prayer.  We typically hold our hands out together.  One of my brothers jumped in a read Colossians 1, which takes about seven minutes to read.  And normally I hold my hand out palm down.  And what I’ve noticed in the past is that during a long prayer my hand starts to fatigue.  And as he was reading I could feel the weight of all the guys hands on top of mine.  When he was finished, my hand was physically sore from trying to hold up my hand and the guys on top of mine.

And then we closed in prayer, but one of my brothers did something that I had never experienced before.  He turned my hand upwards.  And as we prayed I realized that the burden of the weight wasn’t as hard.  Structurally it was a better posture for my hand.

Thank you Jesus.