My Hazardous Journey for Faith

Today, I'm continuing in sharing narratives that has defined who I am today and who I'm hoping to become tomorrow. 

If you haven't already, be sure to check out the first narrative I shared last week: my PCD story, as told by myself, my mom, and my wife.

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My journey for faith isn't altogether common. I didn't see a "bright light" or have a dramatic conversion experience. I don't remember what date I considered myself "saved," nor what date others might have considered me to be saved. 

The journey hasn't been a straight line; I've often taken one step forward and three steps back. I'm also not as self-assured as many are in their beliefs; I may be wrong about many things, possibly even everything. 

It's a hazardous journey, but it's worthwhile. However hazardous it may have been, though, my faith narrative is an honest search for truth, as I hope to find what I'm looking for in the end.

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As with many significant shifts in my story, the first one begins with a girl. 

This girl was funny, smart, and incredibly friendly. In my eyes, we were meant to be. Naturally, I wanted to get to know her. What I didn't know is that I'd get to know her, her family, and her faith by the end of our time together.

There is one small caveat, though: this all occurred in grade school.

I was a too-smart-for-my-own-good child who had never stepped foot inside a church. I wasn't raised to believe one way or another; instead, I was simply raised to live and enjoy life. I loved reading, playing video games, and enjoying a good game of catch with my mom. I was a typical elementary-aged boy, picking on my sisters, ignoring my parents, and forming crushes on every girl I met.

So when Jenna first invited me to AWANA, a church program for children, I wanted to impress her.

"Have you ever been to AWANA before?" 

The question was harmless, and in retrospect, a simple "No," would've sufficed. Unfortunately, I was prone to lying, so these are the words that escaped my mouth instead: 

"Yeah! We play baseball and all sorts of games at my AWANA!"

If we were watching this journey on tape, now would be the first of many occasions necessitating a face palm. Go ahead, do it.

I'm not exactly sure how the conversation went after that - it's been nearly 15 years since then - but eventually I must have said yes, because next thing I knew, I was regularly attending church with Jenna and her family.

The church was fun, friendly, and dedicated to working with kids. It was a perfect environment for me to be introduced to my faith in. The church was of a Baptist persuasion (they've now relocated and changed their name), but that didn't matter much to me as an 8 year old. All I knew is we were playing games, I was able to spend more time with Jenna, and I was learning about a really cool guy named Jesus.

I attended AWANA at this church throughout elementary school. Jenna's family either picked me up or took me home every week. Those car rides were almost as amazing as the church itself. It was nice to be introduced to faith and to a family who surrounded me with love.

I will be forever grateful to Jenna, her parents, her brother, and her sisters. A simple question and a little love drastically changed the course of my life for the better.

... ... ...

After elementary school, I stopped attending church. Jenna attended another school, and we no longer had the connection we once did. I wondered about them on occasion, but as with most middle-school boys, I was mostly focused on myself.

Middle school was a dark time in my life. It's another narrative for another day, but I was in a scary place during these years. As my mom once put it, I slept through sixth grade - I was very sick - and then in seventh and eighth grade, my naive hope was to find the girl of my dreams and be the most popular kid around.

I failed on both counts, for anyone keeping score.

There isn't much to tell about this time in my life. My faith was stalled and I wasn't interested in fixing it. I was in a dark, hopeless place, and I wasn't sure if I would make it out. 

But even in the darkness, hope was present. Even if I couldn't see it, joy was pursuing me. 

These years would lay the foundation for my next big step in faith.

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High school was a welcome change in my life. I needed a new environment. I needed new friends. I needed a new chance to be who I was and to become who I'd eventually want to be.

I emerged from a time of deep depression with the clearest signs of hope in years. I was meeting new people, experiencing new things, and redefining myself as a person.

And then along came... you guessed it, another girl.

At the time, I couldn't pinpoint it, but there was something about this girl that intrigued me. Maybe it was the chase. Maybe it was the mystery. Maybe it was my hormones. Either way, I wanted to get to know her and see if there was anything between us.

This girl made it clear, though, that she was a Christian. Naturally, I remembered back to my younger years and boldly declared, "Well I am too!" I hadn't a clue what that meant, but if I got a chance to go out with her, it was worth it.

Again, I had a sad propensity toward lying.

Eventually this girl invited me to church. At this point, I had visited a youth group before, but it was nothing like the one she took me to. At her church, we sang songs I could actually understand, there was more than 5 people to meet, and those people were some of the friendliest people I had ever met!

So I started attending an Assembly of God church with this girl. And for the first time, I began making my faith my own.

Somehow, before this time, I never grasped that the Bible could be understood. I didn't really think anything of the Bible, other than that preachers read it a lot. It might as well have been in French.

But for some reason, this youth pastor (whose name I never even knew) communicated its words in a way I could understand, in a way that meant something to my life. He delivered truth in a way that inspired hope within me. And at this point in my life, I still thought hope was never meant for me.

I continued attending the church for a while. I also eventually dated the girl I liked, but it didn't last more than a week or two. Eventually, I realized I needed to move on and continue making my faith my own.

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Now back in elementary school, AWANA wasn't the only reason I went to church. Sometime after I met Jenna and her family started taking me in, I also started going to church on occasion with my next door neighbor.

The draw for me here was Upward Basketball, a basketball program for youth. I loved playing basketball, so I didn't really care where it happened, as long as I was allowed to dribble, pass, and shoot a basketball. It just so happened that this all occurred inside a church.

After I grew out of Upward and my neighbor moved away, I stopped attending the church for quite some time. Somehow, though, this church stuck with me.

So when I needed to move on to a new church, to help form my own faith identity (and to move on from my ex-girlfriend), the Southern Baptist church that hosted Upward was the first thing to come to mind. My old neighbor still attended my high school, so I knew I could still go with him if I desired. 

The youth group, by this point, was dwindling. The church had gone through a lot of turmoil over the previous decade, and the leadership was brand new. This church wasn't as youth-friendly as the other churches I had attended, but it was exactly what I needed at this point.

I got plugged into the youth group, and I eventually made new friends at the church, desiring to go even if my old neighbor didn't. It was during these years that I developed a lot of the foundation for my faith. I grew into a leader in the youth group and did my best to follow as Jesus led me.

Unfortunately, during my time in this youth group, I dated around a bit and burned a lot of bridges in the process. It was clear to me that my time was coming to a close with this group, but I wasn't sure what to do if I left. I knew I needed to continue growing and learning, but I didn't know how.

... ... ...

Of course, along came another girl.

I met this girl through a few new friends at school. I had finally emerged from my depression and was learning to be myself around others. This allowed me to form new friendships that wouldn't have happened otherwise.

I met this girl at a concert. Luckily, Facebook was just becoming popular around this time, so I was able to look her up afterward and connect with her. We hit it off and eventually started dating.

At this point, I was still attending the Southern Baptist church I knew so well. Things were only getting worse there, though. I found myself dreading church and loathing every night I had to go there.

So naturally, I tried everything I could to make things better. I even invited this girl to visit with me, but that didn't make the night any more fulfilling. I knew something had to give.

Now I'm fuzzy on the exact details here - this has been a long journey, after all - but at some point, I decided to see what this girl's church had to offer. And it turns out I truly enjoyed my time there. I started visiting more often, but I could never quite get myself to leave my roots. I felt responsible for the youth group I was already in.

I dated this girl off and on for about a year, and after ending our relationship for the last time, I decided I needed to take a break from girls. I thought they might be the reason I was struggling so much at church, and so I started attending more regularly, hoping things would get better.

Unfortunately, they only got worse.

... ... ...

And then... you guessed it. I found another girl.

It just so happened that this girl attended the same church as my ex-girlfriend, though. I had liked this girl for a while, but at this point, I was trying to distance myself from relationships; I needed to focus on my relationship with God.

And then one summer day, in the middle of my dating "fast," she sent me an instant message (yes, I'm dating myself a little, even though I'm young). She decided to give me a chance, and I couldn't pass it up.

We started dating, and I started visiting the same Christian Church again. I stuck to my roots in my old youth group for about another year, but I knew the time had come to say goodbye.

A new youth pastor was starting at my girlfriend's church, and I figured I could transition with him, help him out, and maybe find a new faith family. In retrospect, it was a ridiculous idea, but it ended up working out well.

I started attending my girlfriend's church on a weekly basis, helping lead the youth group with our new, passionate youth pastor. He took me in, loved on me, and pushed me to develop my own faith as I searched for truth.

All along, I craved what I once had back when I was younger. I didn't see it then, but I knew I wanted what I once had: a family who would love me and a faith community who would support me.

What I didn't know is that I would find everything I craved and more.

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Interestingly enough, the final piece of my faith journey (so far) still involves that same girl.

As many of you know, I married my high school sweetheart. We dated for three years and have been married for three years. And we've taken the next step in our journey together.

We experienced a lot of pain, hurt, and deceit at the Christian Church we attended during high school. Lies were told, rumors were spread, and hearts and lives were destroyed. So when we moved back into town after college, we knew we'd be looking for something different.

In college, we found a church we loved. It wasn't perfect, and we didn't agree with everything they said or did, but it was a place where we were loved and supported - again, what I'd been seeking all along.

Since then, we've been hoping to find another faith community like the one we had in Manhattan. So far, we've struggled. 

We've really wrestled with the fact that we haven't been able to find a new church home. Are we terrible Christians? Are we doing something wrong? Are our standards too high? These questions plague our hearts every day.

My faith has emerged from ignorance, beginning in a small Baptist church, suffering through depression, into an Assembly of God congregation and a Southern Baptist youth group, through a couple of Christian Churches, and into our current state of church homelessness.

It's been a hazardous ride to today, but the journey has been worthwhile. Every piece has been significant. And I believe even this piece, one of wandering and church homelessness, is integral to our future. 

So we keep searching, keep hoping, keep praying, and keep waiting. Because faith is worth it. Because love is worth it. Because Jesus, regardless of the hazards he takes us through, is worth it.

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I’m sharing My Hazardous Faith Story as part of a synchroblog connected with the release of Ed Cyzewski and Derek Cooper’s new book, Hazardous: Committing to the Cost of Following Jesus.

Feel free to join in with your own hazardous faith story!

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Questions: What hazards has your personal journey for truth been through? What moments in your life have shaped who you are today? Where do you hope your journey eventually leads you?

Did you enjoy this post? If so, I'd appreciate you subscribing to Life Before the Bucket and sharing it with your friends. Thanks a million for reading!

Remembering the Story

It's Monday. But let's not forget, even today, what we so exuberantly celebrated on Sunday.   

As we drove to the church yesterday, colors were a bit more vibrant - the grass greener, the sky bluer. Everything seemed to be teeming with livelihood as we headed to celebrate the cornerstone of our faith: resurrection.

And how absurd it sounds - worshiping a man who was flogged, hung, and left for dead. They rid him of life, and ashamed, buried him, so that they might forget. So that they might hide the man who had duped them. "The Anointed One?" they thought silently to themselves as they trudged along the road, away from the scene: "What a joke. How did I ever fall for that one?"

Sullen and stricken, those left alive endured the pain of their souls crucified. Not for resurrection - that would be absurd. Instead, they waited, hopelessly. To be let down from their tree. To be released from their stripes. For the pain to subside. For the hurting to heal. For the brokenness to be mended. But by what? Their only hope was dead.

But then, something happened. There weren't any trumpets. No grandstanding angels to announce the incredulous. Simply a stone rolled away and some linens neatly folded. A man, who by all appearances seemed to be a gardener, waiting outside. And as they visited his grave, they faced their biggest fear: that this was the end. That their lives with him were over. And that they, most likely, would be next.

Little did they know, their day would only get worse. They arrive to grieve, to commemorate, to remember. And who among us has never celebrated a life passed, even through our tears? But to arrive to the grave of our beloved, only to find it vandalized and the body removed - life would be kicking us while we're down. And how unfair it is, really. As if God exists. The least he could do is preserve the body, since apparently he's unable to retain the soul.

At least the gardener is kind, though. His voice is soothing - familiar, even. Maybe he whispers a genuine, "I'm sorry," with a sly grin on his face. He comforts their hearts, as he's done all along. He stills their souls, if only for a second.

And then... oh, then. Then, for a glorious moment, they look up. They catch his eye. And his grin - that all too familiar grin. Of course, this is death toying with them. His body is stolen, his soul departed. "We're seeing what we want to see," they think as they look down again to the empty tomb.

Until suddenly, it dawns on them. And the color of the morning comes rushing in as they look up at the man, flabbergasted. Their minds race while their hearts stop. The gardener, who has been there all along, whispers, "Mary," and she knows. She runs to him, arms open wide, weeping with every last bit of breath within her. As she gasps for air through her sobs, words escape her.

And just like old times, in storms of yesteryear, he whispers, "Have peace and be still, my friends," as the tempest of death subsides and the rushing wind of love floods their souls.

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Questions: How did you celebrate Easter this weekend? And if you believe in Jesus' resurrection, how do you plan on continuing to celebrate this week?

Did you enjoy this post? If so, I'd appreciate you subscribing to Life Before the Bucket and sharing it with your friends. Thanks a million for reading!

image credit - osmar01, sxc.hu

A Jesus Worth Following: A Conversation About Gender and the Bible

The other day, my wife and I were talking.

We do that sometimes - it's our "secret" to a healthy marriage.

She's currently discussing gender in one of her classes. The stories she tells from the class are about as stereotypical as you can imagine: the girls don't think guys understand them, and all the guys want is for the girls to make them a sandwich. Pretty typical stuff.

They've studied a lot about how they themselves fit into certain stereotypes as well. One day, Kalyn even brought home a questionnaire that she had filled out about herself. The survey looks at your traits and characteristics, and based on how you respond, it rates you as exhibiting either primarily masculine, feminine, or neutral traits.

Oddly enough, my wife didn't score high enough on any of the traits to merit being lumped into one of the three categories. Not sure what that means, but I still like her!

Naturally, I wanted to take the test for myself.

Big mistake.

I took a deep breath, did a couple of neck rolls, cracked my knuckles, and answered away. Kalyn fired off question after question, and after what seemed like forever, she tallied my score.

Lo and behold, I came out on the feminine side. Heavily, in fact.

There was no doubt that many of the traits that I exhibit (and that I'm even proud of) are considered "feminine." Kindness, caring, listening, empathy - these are all traits that I think any of us would like to have, but that are typically categorized under the umbrella of "feminine" traits.

The first thing my mind jumped to was a blog post that Richard Beck wrote a couple of years ago entitled "Thoughts on Mark Driscoll... While I'm Knitting." Here's a tidbit to whet your taste:

I illustrate the gender psychology/education association to my students by asking them the following question: "How many of your male, PhD college professors do you think are hardcore NASCAR fans?" Answer: Very, very few. Personally, I've never seen a NASCAR hat on the head of any male university colleague. I then ask a follow-up question: "How many blue-collar males working in the city are hardcore NASCAR fans?" Answer (note that we are in small town West Texas): A lot.

See the difference?

So Driscoll has a point. Most church leaders are highly educated. This means that most church leaders are culturally divorced from the average NASCAR fan. The very group Driscoll is targeting.

But here is the very important point about all this. A lot of the reaction to Driscoll isn't even about gender. We are actually talking about the little discussed fissure running through many churches: Education.

If you read the article in its entirety, Beck's ideas make sense. Simply put, men who are less educated exhibit more traits that are considered masculine, while those higher up on the education food-chain exhibit feminine traits. I would fall under this latter category on both points.

The second thing my mind wandered to is another class we're currently taking. For the introduction of the class, we were asked to take personality inventories. Since we attend a Christian college, the inventory looked at personality, as well as how we connect to figures in the Bible.

After I took my test, I saw, to little surprise, that the test had associated me with Thomas, the student of Jesus who is famous for "doubting" that he had resurrected. This connection was made to show that I require evidence before making major decisions and that I often don't take people solely on their word. Seemed reasonable to me.

Meanwhile, there are several females in our class, and some of them were associated with the likes of Ruth or Naomi, some of the more prominent women in the Bible.

This led me to another story from Kalyn's class that she recently told me. I'm not sure of the exact conversation that was had, but she told me that she piped up at one point and said, "Women are only allowed to study Esther or Ruth in the Bible." Apparently her professor got a kick out of this (as did I).

All of this got me thinking: is that really true, though? And even if it is, should it be? Should women only study women, while men only study men? What does that say about gender within Christianity? What does that say for men like me, who grade out to be more feminine than masculine? Or women who seem to exhibit more masculine traits than feminine? 

Should we really only be studying those in the Bible who fit the socially constructed notions of our gender?

So far, I'm answering with a resounding "No," simply because I've always enjoyed studying the women of the Bible, and this seems to make sense in light of Beck's thoughts, as well as what the aforementioned gender characteristic survey said about me. Plus, what does that say about women? Can they not study the life of Jesus to become more like him?

Maybe we are wrong in seeking to become "real" men or "real" women. Maybe this conversation shouldn't be about gender at all, but about becoming real people who exhibit both feminine and masculine traits, both of which God exhibits as well.

Sure, God chose to reveal himself as a man (because, according to nature, he had to choose one, the other, or become a eunuch), but does that mean he is a "man's man" or that he has a "man card" which keeps him from exhibiting feminine traits such as empathy, understanding, or care for others?

If that is really the case, that's a Jesus I wouldn't be interested in following. If he is anything like the "real" men that I know, he'd be a jerk, and a class-act jerk at that.

Instead, I choose to follow the Jesus who cares like a woman, is strong like a man, and who values both (and the eunuchs!) equally. I choose to follow a Jesus who is not a true man or a true woman, but is a true person, as fully human as is possible to become. A Jesus who doesn't discriminate, but who encourages the pursuit of true personhood instead of some stereotypical molds that none of us really fit.

That, my friends, is a Jesus worth following.

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Questions: What are your thoughts on this issue? Do you find yourself exhibiting more masculine or feminine traits? What does this say about you as a person? Should we only focus on those of the same gender when studying the Bible?

Did you enjoy this post? If so, I'd appreciate you subscribing to Life Before the Bucket and sharing it with your friends. Thanks a million for reading!  

photo credit - kikashi - sxc.hu

Let Your Money Do the Talking

I took some Tylenol before I went to sleep last night and I woke up feeling like I had been drugged. That can't be normal.

How rich are you?

No, seriously. Think about it for a second.

Think about the value of every single dollar that you earn.

It's hard to see when you're sitting next to the Joneses, who actually own the money-printing factory downtown, but trust me when I say these words: if you're reading this, then you're richer than you know.

Don't believe me? Check out this website. Just do it.

Here are my results, in case you were wondering (since this IS my Time for Honesty this week):

Now, granted, I don't feel like I'm in the top 12.5% of the wealthiest people in the world. But how I feel doesn't negate the fact that I am. And as a member of the group of the richest people in the world, I feel responsible.