When you're feeling worn out

I’ve just spent the last hour chasing balls down the street while my two youngest play outside. That’s after a long day at work in a week filled with twists and turns. I could go on with a list of all the reasons I feel worn out—but I won’t because we all have those kinds of lists. Plus that would be lame.

The point is, we all get tired. We all get fatigued. We all have a time when we wonder if we can keep doing that which God called us to do. We may feel like giving up.

The older I become, the more encouraged I am by the words of Isaiah the prophet who said that “even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength” (Is. 40:30-31a). It’s comforting to realize that God is the one who gives us the strength we need to continue. It is he who sustains us. Our part of the equation is clear: hope. We hope in the Lord for his future, his providence, his will to be done.

I picture hope as a person smiling on the inside. She may be worn out and ready to give up on the outside, but inside is a deep-seeded contentment because of the One she trusts. He might be ready to call it quits, but he doesn’t, because inwardly he believes that God will finish the good work he started.

We have seen a number of celebrity pastors recently calling it quits on church ministry to go on to something different. I would not be the one to judge their motives. However I do wonder if any of them simply got worn out. Church work is tough business. I came across this anonymous quote recently: “Many of the great achievements of the world were accomplished by tired and discouraged men who kept on working.” I suspect the same is true in the local church.

So no matter who you are or what your situation is, hang in there. And if you need more strength, remember the prescription is hope.

One of these things is not like the other

Matthew, 5 and Kara, 6

So I’m getting a lot of stares these days. A person will look at me, and then they will look down my arm, which is attached to my adopted Ethiopian son’s little arm, and then look at him. Then they look at him, then at me. Repeat. It becomes one of those moments when you want to use that playground phrase that was popular in kindergarten: “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

I actually wasn’t prepared for the kind of attention adopting Matthew would bring. We were told this would happen upon becoming an “inter-racial family,” but I guess I didn’t believe it. On the airplane coming home, my wife was convinced she was getting shoved by some people as they walked down the aisle. That’s because some Ethiopians view adoption as a negative. It feels to them like stealing their children. The guy who sold me shoes the other day wasn’t sure what to think either. He was African American and had this look on his face like, “where’s that kids father.” I wanted to ask him if he thought he looked “just like me.” (10 people have told me that Matthew looks “just like me.” And yes, I am counting...because it’s funny.)

An elderly lady thought it was the cutest thing seeing us together. She just kept on smiling the whole time we walked by, and shaking her head. I doubt she would have had that reaction if it was my other son with me. He doesn’t actually look that much like me, but he’s white, so there’s that. And I guess that’s what all the stares are really about.  It’s our superficial response to the first impression. It’s only been about a week, so I had better get used to it.

When we begin to see that we are literally part of God’s family, our differences begin to diminish. It no longer matters what we look like, or who our parents are. Our human identity, although important, becomes secondary to our spiritual identity as children of God. When we begin to believe this, the church will become a more ecclectic place, filled with all the beauty of all the nations.

What causes us to sin?

The Bible says that we all “sin and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom 3:23). Sin is any time we disobey God, or don’t do something he asks us to do. Generally, I think that sin is simply a deep down dissatisfaction with our lives or the way we feel in the moment. A person may be mad about the way his marriage is going, so he grabs another beer. After a while he may succumb to a full blown addiction. Another person uses food for the same purposes. Some may put down others or live in conflict in order to make their own life seem more significant. Others may misuse power or authority in order to mask their dissatisfaction.

The dissatisfaction, however, isn’t one’s deepest motivation. Behind it is doubt. We doubt that the world is really the way God says it is. We doubt that he really loves us. When we sin, we doubt that his grace really covers us—we doubt we are truly forgiven. This doubt causes us to feel dissatisfied and that causes us to sin. It’s a vicious cycle.

It’s also why the Bible makes such a big deal about faith. It’s why faith is at the heart of Christianity. It’s why the Bible says that “without faith it is impossible to please [God]” (Heb. 11:6). If you are struggling with sin, check your motivation. Do you feel dissatisfied? What are you unhappy about? Do you trust that God has your life in his hands? Do you believe that he created this world and is sovereign over it all? Do you believe that he deeply loves you and forgives you for all of your sin?  Once you begin to truly believe these things you will be amazed at how life begins to change.  You begin to have the kind of freedom only Jesus can bring.

Squadouche instead of Paradise

Orphans sometimes have a hard time figuring out what’s going on once they’re adopted. For instance, we heard about a little boy who was adopted from Ethiopia and was told of the incredible home he would have once he reached America. His nannies promised him the works. They told him all about American homes with their fancy indoor plumbing, their new-fangled air conditioning, and their electronic gaming consoles. The little boy was so excited. When his parents put him on the jumbo jet to fly home, he became inconsolable. He shrieked with terror for hours and hours. Not knowing his language, they could not figure out what was wrong.

This went on for some time, and finally an Ethiopian woman on the plane came over to help. She found out that the boy thought that the airplane was his new home. He had no concept that some contraption could actually fly through the air, over an ocean, to America. He assumed that he had to share his new “home” with the several hundred other people on the flight. He thought his airplane seat was his new bed. He thought his living space was the row in between his two parents. He thought the airplane food was his new diet.

He was horrified.

My favorite C.S. Lewis quote (and there are so many good ones!) is from his sermon Weight of Glory:

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Could a person literally be living his life like an “ignorant child” who is “making mud pies in a slum”? He cannot imagine something better so he settles for squadouche instead of paradise. He settles for an airplane instead of a mansion.

How about you?

The first time

For some reason, the first time you do something in life is generally the most exciting. I remember the first time I rode a bike, for instance. I was so thrilled to be able to keep my balance without the training wheels on. And the best part was that I was only 16 years old! (Ok, maybe I was 5.) It’s a hoot to watch our adopted son Matthew try new things each day since practically everything is a “first.” (Picture is his first cheeseburger.)

On his first morning in America, I was up at 3:30 a.m. and he was up shortly after. I made us a big breakfast which we both scarfed down. It was early, but he wanted to go outside, so we did and ended up on the swings. At first he was tentative, and obviously had never been on a swing before. He didn’t even know how to kick his legs to make himself go. But when he felt the thrill of being pushed he shrieked with joy. He was so enamored by this strange new contraption and the way his stomach felt when he hit the apex and came back down. He started yelling and laughing (sorry neighbors!). It was such a kick.

Truth is, life gets a bit stuck when we don’t try new things. We need to get out of our comfort zones from time to time and allow ourselves to be stretched. We need to do things that create a certain fear in us a first, but then the thrill of doing something new and amazing. We need to allow God to lead us in this process so that these things are honoring to him. This is the way life was to be lived—the wide eyed look of a child experiencing something new and thrilling. It’s the giddy laughter of a boy on a swing set for the first time.

The spiritual practice of "cocooning"

So there’s an adoption practice known as “cocooning.” It’s what you’re supposed to do after you bring your adopted child home. According to most experts, the child is not to be exposed to very many people for at least a month. It is related to attachment, which is the goal of the first several months after adoption. Attachment happens when the child feels that he can’t live without you, similar to the way a biological child feels. Mom and dad are the only ones that are supposed to feed, clothe, take care of and nurture a child until attachment takes place.

So we started this process with Matthew (pictured above), and of course it is difficult since he is a 5 year old boy. He would much rather be climbing a tree with a friend, or maybe even owling. But it is true that the newness of all this leaves him overwhelmed when there are too many new people around. You could imagine how it would feel to hear all these strange looking white people speaking all this gibberish. Plus, everything is a first. Just on the way from the airport to our home he encountered a number of firsts: first water-fountain (“bubblah” for my RI friends), first escalator (he decided to take the stairs), first McDonald’s cheeseburger (he didn’t care for the pickles), and first car ride on a super-highway.

I was thinking that this practice is something we Christians need to do. We forget to periodically take time to be with God in an intense, exclusive, and utterly dependent way for the purpose of attachment. The goal is the same: we need to get to the place where we can’t live without him.

Can you say that you can’t live without him? Is he the most important person in your life? Is he what your heart longs for?

Matthew's adoption, and ours!

So we officially adopted Matthew at the Ethiopian embassy yesterday. Some important things happened as a result of his being adopted. Here are a few highlights. If you are a Christ-follower, this list should seem very familiar. That’s because each of these things has happened to you. As you read the list, consider how each translates to our spiritual adoption as sons and daughters of God! Is it really any wonder why God chose to use adoption as a primary metaphor for the Christian experience?

He got his first new pair of clothes. (Transformation)
Oh yea, he loves his new duds. They took us to a store that was kind of like a Gap Kids, Ethiopia-style. Everything was overpriced, but too cute not to buy. Matthew kept pointing to the clothes, and then to himself, as if to ask: are these really mine? He kept touching his new sneakers and made us take pictures of him posing with them.

He gets to eat more than he ever dreamed. (Provision)
Forget about 3 squares a day, this little boy can pack it away! A 5 year old that weighs less than 40 lbs. should not be able to out-eat me. But there it is. I’m guessing he will gain 10 lbs. before he makes it home to the states.

He got a new name. (Identity)
At the embassy, they officially changed his name to Mathewos Robert Tucker. His first name stays the same, his middle name is automatically taken from the father, and the last name is the family name. (We intend to officially change his name to Matthew in the states.)

He is learning a new language. (Prayer)
At first we didn’t think Matthew would talk. He seemed so quiet and shy. But when another adopted boy from his same village entered the guest house, the words came running out. We are already trying to teach him English, but he’s a boy, and as such is more interested in blocks.

He received a new Father. (Belonging)
(And a new mother, but hey, I’m trying to make this all spiritual and stuff.) It was really tender and cool that Matthew didn’t call me daddy until right after the embassy that made him officially our son. We were waiting outside for our ride and he called me Ababa (daddy)...Not to be confused with Abeba, which means flower. (Although I am pretty, and I do smell nice.)

There are no words

I was wondering what we would say when we met Matthew’s mother. (Matthew is our just adopted child.) We had a list of questions that we wanted to inquire about. What was Matthew’s father like before he passed away? What did she do for work? How was her health? It occurred to me sometime during the 6 hour drive into the Ethiopian countryside that it probably didn’t matter what words came out of our mouths. After all, I didn’t want our one-time encounter to feel like some kind of awkward job interview. Instead I realized that what Matthew’s mother needed was beyond words. I wanted her to know how deeply we respected her. I wanted her to know how honored we felt to raise her child. And I wanted her to be able to ask us any questions that she had about us.

Her name was Marta, and she was a small, pretty woman on whom life had obviously taken its toll. She wore a lime green shawl over a purple dress, undoubtedly her best outfit. She had no shoes. We sat down with her in a small room with two translators (Walatina to Amharic to English and then back again). I took her hand and bowed my head to show respect. She bowed lower, so I bowed lower. She bowed lower still. I found myself unable to outdo her courtesy. The conversation started out uncomfortably quiet. No one really knew what to say. My wife suggested we give her the photo album we prepared for her. We were told to include pictures of our family, our home, and some pictures of us with Matthew. She started flipping through the pictures and at first she was unmoved. But when she saw her son Matthew she burst into tears. She began to kiss every picture of him. Her tears were contagious. Unexpectedly, hers were tears of joy. She told us that the last time she saw her son, he was very frail and had yellow hair from malnutrition. In the pictures he was smiling and healthy. She was overjoyed. She began to bless us profusely. “God Bless you,” she said and, “to God be the glory.”

Eventually she asked us some questions, and one thing she wanted to know was if we were “Protestant Christians.” This was surprising since most Ethiopians are either Orthodox or Muslim. She rightfully wanted to know how her son would be raised. She was assured to know that we were of the same faith. (Although I hope I didn’t scare her by adding that I was actually a pastor in such a church.) She blessed us some more. She said “God bless your journey home” and “may you be safe.”

The whole encounter was beautiful beyond words. We saw yet another glimpse of God’s glory. Our perspective had changed once again. We began to wonder if our response to adoption was simply God answering the prayer of this Christian widow on behalf of her son. He is so gracious and so loving that it seemed likely to be so.

Today's guest post is from my friend Jess Smith of the blog Get Busy Living.  Jess has an amazing story and has allowed God's joy to be prominent in her life!
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When Rob asked if I'd like to guest post, he said maybe I could write something about joy (my favorite topic) and/or my story (I'm a 30-year-old widow). I started thinking on the idea of finding joy even in death and how it all somehow relates to adoption.

Several things popped into my mind: an image of my "blog friend" Lauren when she first embraced her son Mareto at an Ethiopian orphanage...the wide-eyed excitement of my best friend Michelle and her husband Herb, when "the call" came from their adoption agency...and the thought "that must be how God felt when Isaac came home." Isaac was my husband, who went home to be with the Lord last year at 25 years old.

When Rob and Lesa met Matthew for the first time, I imagine there was much joy in that moment. And the morning when my Isaac left this world and met Jesus for the first time...the joy must have been beyond anything we can imagine here on earth.

It may seem strange that I can think of that circumstance as joyful. But, Isaac and I both put our faith in Jesus Christ and believe in the reality of eternal life in Heaven. Rob referenced John 14:1-3 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

I love how Rob sums up this passage: "In this world filled with many trials and troubling things, God is preparing for your arrival as His adopted child. He has an incredible home for you, one where you get to be in the presence of Jesus. One of the rooms has your name on the door. He has your picture on his wall. He thinks about you every single day."

I've seen, first hand, the joy of an adoptive parent when they finally get to bring their child home. Sometimes, when I find myself feeling sad over my circumstance, I remember that joy. I think about when Michelle and Herb brought their son home and everyone who loved them couldn't wait to stop by their house to meet him. I hope that was what it was like for Isaac. I hope when he got to Heaven, God showed him his room and everyone wanted to meet him and welcome him HOME. And I hope when I get there, that my room is right next to his.

Who I want to be like

I remember watching the “like Mike” Gatorade commercials of the early 90’s. Like many, I really wanted to be like Mike. Unfortunately, I am only 5’8 and my vertical lift is about 2 inches.

But some 10 years later, there is a new pro-athlete that I want to be like. Strangely, he is the same height and weight as I am. He is vertically (and follicly) challenged. But despite his limitations, he was able to win the Most Valuable Player award in 2008. He is having an incredible and unlikely career.

[Warning, if you are a Yankees fan, you may want to turn back now.]

His name is Dustin Pedroia, second basemen for the Boston Red Sox. Here’s why I want to be like him: When this diminutive man swings a bat, he swings as if his whole life depends on it. He puts every ounce of himself behind every hit. The expression on his face reveals his determinism. He wants to tear the skin off the ball. He believes that he can hit it with the same force as any other man. He does not believe his limitations can slow him down.

I want to be like him. I want to swing like my life depends on it—swing like it’s my last chance. I want my at bat to effect the outcome of the game. I want to make the most of every opportunity. I don’t want my limitations to stop me from doing what I was called to do.

But of course I’m not talking about baseball.

Owling the Gospel and You

I have a confession to make. The other day, with some friends, I did something out of character.

I owled.

That’s right, I said owled. Like the bird. I got up on my perch, on the sign for York College of PA, and yielded to social pressure.

If you don’t know what owling is, start with google-imaging “planking” (which is SO 2 months ago), then do the same for owling, and you will see the humorous trend of trying to pose yourself at various locations to outdo your friends. "Coning" is the most recent and even more over-the-top trend. It’s where you drive up and order an ice cream cone, rip off the ice cream, and leave the cone behind. Not kidding.

The Gospel doesn’t change. But I have said many times through the years that I will put it in whatever sized box you give me. Call it contextualization. We need to make the Gospel fit to all kinds of people, without changing it. I work primarily with twentysomethings, and so I owled.

Now owling is just a silly example, but are you expanding your behavior beyond what you would normally do for the sake of the Gospel? I mean, I know people who have tattoos for this reason, or have learned another language, or have moved to a different city, or have hung out at strange locations…all for the sake of the Jesus. I might go so far to say, if you are not feeling a bit uncomfortable for the sake of the Gospel, you are probably not going far enough.

What could you do this week to bring God’s message in fresh and fitting ways?

Thoughts?