#24 - Meaningless

by James Baker

Bipartisan.  Contemporary or traditional.  Social.  Centrally located.  Organic.  Awesome.  Nice.  What do these words all have in common?  Nothing.  Literally, they are all nothing.  Meaningless.  Perhaps at one time they had descriptive value, but they’ve now been stripped of all nuance, left with barely enough grit to connote even the blandest of notions.

If a recently passed bill has bipartisan support, you can be assured that it is less about ideology and more about I’ll-sign-it-if-you-promise-not-to-release-my-twitter-pics-ology.  Organic has made its way into the lexicon of both the foodies and emerging church-types.  In either case, throw it into any conversation with a group of young hipsters, and you’re automatically part of the in-crowd – but if anyone asks you what that actually means, just roll your eyes with disgust through your non-prescription horned rim glasses as you sip from your green tea frappucino…that’ll shut ‘em up.  Describing last night’s blind date as nice?  Translation, “His personality is as barren as Minute Maid Park in October.”  Mean.  Ing.  Less.

Topping the charts of feckless chattery, though, is the uber-uttered guarantee.  I’d wager that through my life, I’ve been given thousands of guarantees – but have yet to cash in on any of those broken promises.  Like the ones I often hear from my favorite QB or point guard, guaranteeing me that a win is in store.  Really?  So if you can’t back it up, you’ll give me the next 3 ½ hours of my life back? 

Sure, my potato chips and deodorant come with money-back guarantees.  That is, as long as I type up a page expressing my discontent, parcel up the unused portion, drop it off at the post office, and then wait 8-12 weeks for my $2.37 check.  Pretty sure I’ve never had unused portions of chips anyway, no matter how much I hated them.  Except for pork rinds.  (But don't try to get your money back on pork rinds, because the only thing the pork rind company is going to tell you is, "What did you expect?  They're pork rinds.")

Way back when a guarantee was more than a sound bite, it meant “something that assures a particular outcome or condition”.  Assurance.  It can be trusted.  And verified.  But because it’s overused and under-delivers, I tend to skate right over it whenever it pops up in my reading.  Even when I’m reading scripture.

The apostle Paul reminds us, “And when you believed in Christ, he identified you as his own by giving you the Holy Spirit, whom he promised long ago.  The Spirit is God’s guarantee that he will give us the inheritance he promised and that he has purchased us to be his own people.” (Ephesians 1:13-14; emphasis mine)

You may have dismissed this as much as I have, or at least paid it little consideration.  But take a moment to re-read that passage.  Then read it again.  Read it until it alters your thoughts.  The finality, the certainty, of this statement crashes in on perhaps the single greatest misconception I have of reality – the misconception that everything after today is unknown.

If you love God and have handed him the reigns of your life, the too-good-to-be-true, but-true-nonetheless, fact is, well…the game’s already over.  And we've won.  That reality doesn’t give us a pass on living out the rest of our days well, but it should absolutely free us up to shed that pesky and pervasive belief that the confines of this world hold any sway over our present joy.

Just got that promotion?  Doesn’t matter.  Laid off?  Doesn’t matter.  Cancer screening came back negative?  Great, doesn’t matter.  Cracked slab in your foundation?  That sucks, but it doesn’t matter.  Why?  Because any circumstance we encounter in this world - good or bad - has an expiration date only slightly longer than the one on your milk carton.  It is the first letter of the first word of the opening sentence on page one of a book that never ends.  Sure, it seems like forever, but that’s just because we haven’t yet tasted forever.

The bank may have declared that you now own that F-150 free and clear, but the truth is, you’re still just leasing it.  There’s only one thing that is owned free and clear.

And that is you and me.

#23 - Flooded (Guest Post)

by Jenny Martin

I’m in the parking lot and the only thing separating me from a bunch of teenagers is fear.  I didn’t realize teens could be so scary, but as it turns out, they can be quite frightening. It’s Sunday night and I’ve agreed to volunteer with a friend at high school student ministries. As I sit in my car staring up at the foundry a million thoughts run through my head. Would I seem like the old married lady to them? Would I be the out of touch mom? Would they connect with me? Did I know any Lady Gaga lyrics?

The funny thing about God is that he usually calls me out of my plans and into his. One minute I’m elbow deep in diaper rash anointment, and the next I’m working myself into nervous hives because I’m about to enter the land of high school students. A place rumored to be inhabited by all manner of Wild Things who “roar their terrible roars and gnash their terrible teeth”.  

I try to compose myself by remembering all the faithful people who poured into my life as a teen, and I know it’s my turn to do the same. Sometimes its comical how quickly God moves; hadn’t I always thought about serving students ”one day”; one day when I had enough time to devote to it; one day when my own girls became teens; one day when I made enough space in my heart for it…you know…one day.

I’m not sure what it is about teens, perhaps it is their ability to make me feel a spectrum of emotion all at once or the fact they are so much more assessable-so unlike adults. Whatever the appeal, I finally exit my car despite my fears and proceed into the building. As I enter I pray for supernatural instructions that will enable me to appear more like MTV and less like Lifetime. Then I heard that all too familiar still small voice of our Father telling me. “Sit down. Love them. Hear them. Pray for them.” 

So I pray, and that’s when the flood happens.

The students flood me with their uniqueness, their silliness and their style. My heart instantly inflates with their tears, their needs, their words and their worlds. Their problems, large and small, are so different from what I envisioned and I find myself counting how many more student leaders they need just to be heard.  Lively chatter, musical laughter; hugs and singing whirl around me and I pause as one adult leader is adorably serenaded by a precious ukulele player. 

Our time together passes quicker than I expect and I’m left in a delighted state of awe. I entered the foundry that night afraid I wouldn’t be able to relate and I left irrevocably altered.  

Weeks have passed since that night and all I can say now is how completely blessed I am to serve these students in any small way. From a simple text message offering encouragement, or a prayer about their lives while I’m in my car…anything I can do to bless their lives.

What I have discovered is how amazing it was to obey God even when I didn’t think I was ready. With unparalleled precision God wrecked all my comfortable fears and the totality of the damage is staggering. The blessing of being broken by teens is something I never thought I wanted, but the experience has become like a prize possession. It is a joy to watch them seek out faith and godliness, and I’m honored to have a front row seat as God meets them right where they are. It is the beginning of a journey that I look forward to walking for as long as Christ will allow.