I don't ever want to hear I can't!

This morning a good friend and I went for an extended bike ride.  We left the house plenty early and set out across the Northwest Arkansas country side.  We talked as we rode and decided to leave town on a route that put us on a pretty good climb almost immediately. 

He might have accused me of being crazy. 

In truth, I was just a glutton for punishment.  The night before I had looked at the route on the internet and checked the elevations just to know what we would be up against.  After looking, I didn’t sleep very well. 

Back to the ride.  After 38 miles, we stopped for a Coke in a little town called Goshen.  We stretched a little and tried to mentally prepare for the pain that what coming.  Several miles down the road was a 4 mile leg-searing climb up out of the White River Basin.  And it was in my head.  

Normally when I am riding I don’t think about much.  Today was different.  Midway up the climb, over the sound of my own pulse, I heard my dad’s voice.  I time-traveled to1982 when I was learning to waterski.  I thrashed and struggled trying to get my ski binding back on after a fall.  I wanted to quit and I told him I told him I couldn’t do it. 

He said, and I quote… “I don’t ever want to hear I can’t!” 

I got mad.  And now as I was entertaining thoughts of walking, I was mad again.  Mad at myself.  Mad at the hill.  Mad at my bike. Funny thing is though, the same fury that helped me get my ski binding back on drug me up that hill.

Later that afternoon, as I was on my way to a lunch appointment it occurred to me how appropriate that lesson was for certain seasons of life.  Let’s face it, life is uphill.  Sometimes we get to coast, most of the time we climb.  In truth the buildup is much worse, but we still have to make it up that hill.  And with every fiber of our being, we press on toward the goal (Philippians 3:14). 

And we tell ourselves… “I don’t ever want to hear I can’t!”

Hugging the Hurt

I have discovered another spiritual irony of sorts. 

Sunday morning we were studying leadership in Acts 27, a passage that illustrates a profound truth.  Leadership ability is revealed in crisis situations.  It is not unlike patience in that regard.  To have patience, you’ll have to endure situations that require it.  So it is with leadership, you’ll learn it by going through situations that require it. 

I had challenged our congregation to embrace crisis because in in my view, we have managed to create a culture within the church that refuses to deal with problems.  We bury them, decline to speak of them and for pride's sake consider other people's perception of us more important than finding the help we need.  Not only does this environment fail to foster genuine relationships, it takes away opportunities to lead. 

The irony is that what I had taught was immediately put to the test.  The events of this weekend and the bad news of Monday morning – my mistakes, the cancer, and any number of other problems – were more or less situations that would require it.

It’s hard to plug in to problems, especially when they could have been avoided.  Those are the ones that hurt me the most.  But those are also the ones that have the most to teach us. 

So as the flood waters of Monday morning recede, I know that someday they will return. 

And because of that I’m learning to hug the hurt. 

Flood Waters Rising

I picked a day of all days to start writing a blog.  The truth is I sat down to write, hoping for some relief.  And in the hopes of finding said relief, I am going to be transparent. 

I messed up yesterday. 

I wasn't paying attention and allowed a conversation to take place that put a member of our ministry team in the cross-hairs for criticism.  It was unintentional, but as pastor, that one is on me.  And I regret it deeply.  So I spent the night at odds with myself, even my wife.  And I woke up this morning after what was only a few minutes of sleep to the news that my grandmother has terminal cancer that has invaded her entire body.  Really?

The man in me feels like I am being a baby.  He tells me it'll be fine and to move on.   The pastor and husband in me knows I messed up.  He feels like the world is coming to an end.  And now I am worried about my family.  My mom has battled cancer for nearly 3 years and is still fighting.  Now her mom will not have much of a fighting chance against the same disease.  The son and grandson in me just wants to go home. 

I am on empty.

So this morning, I put my head down and I pray for help to be strong in the Lord and the power of His might (Ephesians 6:10).  I know the same afflictions I experience, my brothers and sisters experience too.  I know I am not alone, so I beg for mercy from Him who is long suffering toward us and whose tender mercies will not fail (Psalm 25:6). 

There is no simple fix for this one.  No magic pill.  The flood waters are rising.  The fire is kindled.  So I choose to trust His promise to me, for my kin and my faith family.

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior." (Isaiah 43:2 - 3)