What We Need

Today I begin client contact as a part of my journey toward becoming a therapist.

Pardon me.... I think I just threw up a bit as I typed that sentence.

I'm terrified. Petrified. Mortified. Stupified.

But I'm excited.

I've been in school for 18 years now. From kindergarten, all the way through the tail end of my first year of grad school, I've been working hard... all for this moment.

To interact with others in a way that is helpful. To talk with others in a way that is useful. To spend time with others in a way that is loving, edifying, and beneficial. I've worked toward this my entire adult life.

Will I fail? Possibly.
Will I be of any help? Maybe.
Will I mess up? Most certainly.

But does it matter? Is the fear of failure so powerful that we avoid helping others? Are our own egos so fragile that we cannot enter into relationship with those who are broken, giving of ourselves, our time, our emotional resources, and our lives?

What is stopping us?

The world needs love. Pure, unadulterated love. Love uncoerced, love unconstrained. And it needs it now. Today. Right here. In this very moment.

What's stopping us? What keeps us from moving? What keeps us staring at our screens, in the safety of their glow? What stops us from stepping out into the safety of the Light of Love?

Us. Ourselves. Me. You.

There is no other scapegoat but the face we see in the mirror.

Because when it comes down to it - when we really dig deep down inside, we notice something. Whether we wear a different color of skin, or were born into a better set of circumstances, deep down, we're all the same. We don't love others because we ourselves crave and long for love. We don't reach out because nobody has reached to us. We don't sacrifice because we've never seen it done before.

... or have we?

You see, over 2000 years ago, a man - God himself, at that - nullified our excuses. When Jesus sacrificed his life, he also sacrificed his ego, his status, his wealth, his career, his friends, his family, and the love he had already secured. He sacrificed the comfort of Galilee for the brutality of Calvary.

And yet here we are. Terrified. Petrified. Mortified. Stupified.

But why aren't we excited too?

My friends, it's not about what "the world" needs. Because frankly, we're in the world, and we look a lot like it. We need love as badly as our neighbor. Something tells me God had that in mind as he asked us to love others as ourselves.

Because without Love, we're all bankrupt. Empty. Destitute. Alone.

And that's what we fear. We fear that if we reach out, if we sacrifice ourselves in any small way to love others, we'll fall flat on our faces, and nobody will be there to pick us up. And you know what?

I feel the same way.

As I begin this internship, working both at a low-cost counseling center and a homeless shelter, I'm scared of being alone. Of no one understanding. Of no one caring.

And yet, here I am. Terrified. Petrified. Mortified. Stupified. But excited.

Because I know I will be alone at times - at least in appearance.

But I will rest assured that the very God who picked a lonely criminal to be in Paradise with him as he hung to his own death would be willing to do something so simple as to comfort me. To care for me. To pick me up when I fall, dust off my pants for me, and give me a gentle hug. The very God who received no love in his final dying breath will choose to love me so greatly, so powerfully, so deeply, so passionately... it's overwhelming.

Don't you think he wants to do the same for you?

It's not what the world needs.

It's what we all need.

And that is something to be excited about.

... ... ...

What stops you from pursuing others? What opportunities do you have to show love to those around you? How has God shown love to you lately?

The Uncertainty of Being Dory

They say the only thing that never changes in life is change itself.

Life twists, turns, ebbs, and flows as we wade through its currents. Sometimes we're swimming along, content as a clown-fish who has just been reunited with his son - we're thrilled to be like Marlin, from Finding Nemo. Other times, we wander aimlessly, unsure of who we are, where we're from, or where we're going - you could say we're a lot like Dory.

This, my friends, is one of those times when you could call me Dory.

It has been eight months since I last wrote here. That's 240 days. Something like a billion hours (give or take a few million - my math is a little shoddy). And with that time passed several moments in our lives that have radically shifted and shaped who we are today.

In the last eight months, I can't even begin to name all that has happened.

We moved. Again. I was placed as a student therapist at a homeless shelter. We began volunteering and falling in love with Young Life. I discovered the joy that is home-roasting my own coffee. I visited a casino for the first time. We took photos with several wonderful high school seniors and families. I had brain surgery.

And the list goes on.

In all of that change, I felt flustered at times - I wanted life to pause for a second. It's been moving so quickly lately - how am I supposed to enjoy it when I barely know which way is up?

And yet, one thing that has persistently been on my mind - why did I stop writing in that time? Was it because of me? Was it because of you, whoever you are? Was it because of my sickness? Or just because I stopped waking up at the buttcrack of dawn?

I don't have an answer for why I stopped writing. But it doesn't mean I stopped living. And I don't know that I'm "back," so to speak. But I'm here now, in this moment. And I'm enjoying it while I can. I'd like to enjoy it with you, despite all the crazy change that keeps occurring.

Why?

Because in these last eight months, I've learned that "they" are wrong. Change isn't the only constant. In fact, it may be the least important of any constant I can consider.

When I think of the craziness of these past months, and I remember learning to roast my own coffee, having brain surgery, and being placed as an intern at a homeless shelter, I don't remember change. I don't remember chaos. I don't remember the uncertainty of being Dory.

Instead of remembering change, I remember Love. 

When I learned to roast my own coffee, my wife watched with joy from and celebrated with me as I enjoyed my first cup of hand-crafted coffee.

As I was wheeled to the surgery room to be cut open from my head to my stomach, my family and friends were close by in spirit, even as many were no where near the hospital.

And as I discovered where I would be working as a student therapist, my new friends in class celebrated with me, even if I was a bit reluctant about it at first.

My friends, the last eight months haven't been perfect. They've been painful. They've been chaotic. They've been, at times, unbearable. But in all that pain, in all that chaos, and in all that change, I have discovered the one constant that has been there all along - and not just in the last eight months, but since the beginning of time.

So though I may feel like Dory today, unsure of who I am, where I am, or where I'm going, I know that Love has been by my side all along. I may have felt alone and desperate at times, and I may even feel that way today. But I know that change isn't my only companion; Love is close by - watching, waiting, beckoning.

Because without Love, this whole mess falls apart. Without Love, we lose purpose. And without Love, what more do we have than the cold chaos of change? Thankfully, whether we see it or not, whether we acknowledge its presence or try to sweep it under the rug, Love is with us.

And then again, it always has been, hasn't it?

... ... ...

You guys, the last 8 months have been insane. And I know I'm not the only one, so I'd love to hear from you. Leave me a line in the comments section so I can hear what's been going on in your life lately!

What has changed in your life in the last 8 months? What are some of the ups and downs you've experienced? Where have you seen Love?

image credit: Dory

Hope Never Ends

Today marks the end of something life-changing.

But really, truly, it's not the end. And no, I'm not talking about the Olympics (though I wish someone had told me to record the Closing Ceremony!).

Odds are, you haven't heard about this event on the news. It's been circulating around the blogosphere like wildfire, though, and I'd like to be one of the last participants to carry this inspirational torch of hope.

(Be sure to check out where the Relay of Hope began and will end - with Melanie Crutchfield - and where I heard about it from - huge kudos to Aly Lewis.)

In all these true* stories of hope, though, there is a common thread:

Hope, however minute, however seemingly insignificant, endures.

... ... ...

I'd like to tell you about a friend named Ted. Ted is a fantastic guy. He loves large, but he's been let down hard. Ted was once a pastor, but after years in ministry, he had the rug pulled out from under him, along with everything he'd ever known. He moved, bitter and resentful, and still searches for a glimmer - a spark of hope that something might actually go right in this world for once.

Some people see Ted as heretical or unbelieving. Really, truly, though, Ted seems lost more than anything. He searches and he searches, but the wounds of his past failures keep reopening, and after so long, the pain seems too much to bear.

Somehow, someway, though, Ted keeps smiling. At the very least, he's still fighting, because he knows there's something more to this life than the pain and rejection he's experienced thus far.

Ted needs this hope.

... ... ...

I'd also like to tell you about a friend named Mark. Really, I'm not sure what to make of Mark. We aren't really friends in the traditional sense, but I'd consider him someone I care about. I haven't known him long, but in the time that I've known him, the voices talking about him have had a tendency to drown out the very voice that is his.

Rumors about about Mark persist: "He's a drug dealer," or "He has mental issues," or even "He's a thief." It's difficult to drown out these remarks, but hope covers them all.

Instead of hearing these words when I think about Mark, I instead think of his kindness. I think of his good-natured smile and his laugh. I think of the fact that he tends to a beautiful garden, creating and caring for the purest form of hope: life itself.

The cards seem stacked against Mark, but I know there's something greater within him and even greater seeking him.

Mark needs this hope.

... ... ...

I'd also like to tell you about a couple we know well named Vincent and Christine. These two are happily married, journeying through life hand in hand. They each have different visions of the future, but somehow, they mesh.

Vincent enjoys being friendly with strangers and Christine enjoys entertaining and catching up with old friends. They each love serving those "beneath" society, those most often forgotten. They may not have the nicest house, but their hearts are adorned with the finest decor of love. They're on a mission to change the world, one person at a time.

Vincent and Christine struggle with various ailments, both physical, mental, and spiritual. If it's not one thing, it's another. But you would never know it by their smiles.

Vincent and Christine need this hope.

... ... ...

What could possibly be worth celebrating and commemorating by so many?

You've seen this hope. Maybe in yourself. Maybe in a friend. Maybe in a complete stranger. Hope lingers and never lets go. It flickers, but never extinguishes. It shines and never shorts out.

Yet hope is not some vague notion of some better reality far off in the distant future. Hope is here. Hope is now. Hope is in stories like these - stories that reflect goodness, love, and truth. Hope ignores the haters while changing their hearts.

Then again, maybe hope is something far off. But it could never arrive at its destination without first changing today.

Think of those you love the least. Think of those who hurt you. Think of those who degrade you. Those who have ripped your heart from your chest, stomped on it, spit on it, and pretended like nothing ever happened.

These people, each and every one of them, desire hope. Want hope. Seek hope. Need hope. 

Despite our best chances to quench its fire, hope carries on.

Today may mark what we're calling the "Closing Ceremonies" of the Relay of Hope, but this is no ending. Instead, it's another step toward something greater, toward hope realized.

Will you pass Hope's torch today? Or will you do your best to smother out its flames? Will you look to the best in your neighbor and love them for that, or will you let doubt win out? Will you get to know someone better today, or will you brush them off as a nuisance?

Friends, we could all be Ted or Mark or Vincent and Christine. We could all be those people, hoping - so dearly hoping - and yet hushed by the world. We could be seeking a better tomorrow, while so many point to a poorer yesterday. We all exude imperfection, but we're all craving hope.

Remember these people today. For you, they may have different names, different faces, and different situations. They may have deeper hurts, bigger flaws, and more regrets, but the fundamental truth about them, about us all, remains the same: they seek hope, and hope seeks them.

The only question left, then, is if we're willing to get out of the way.

... ... ...

* All names contained in these stories have been changed to protect people I love. The content, however, is completely true. 

How has hope inspired you lately?

Maybe Tomorrow

Note from Adrian: This is a guest post from a great blogger and mother named Melanie Dawson. Melanie is 32 years old. She plays several roles: during the day she is a special education teacher, and by night she is Super Mom! She has two Masters Degrees in education, and she absolutely loves what she does. Her role as Super Mom gets a little tricky sometimes. She has a 12 year old son, Sebastian, her daughter Tyler is 10, and little Mason is 5. They keep her going all day long, and she loves it!

You can follow Melanie on her blog, Penguins on My Shirt. 

(Want to write a guest post for Life Before the Bucket?) 

... ... ...

Typical - that was my life.

I was married to my high school sweetheart, Mike, and together we were raising our three beautiful children. We both worked full time jobs, and took turns transporting the kids to their endless sporting activities. An hour each way for gymnastics twice a week, soccer, piano lessons, more gymnastics - every moment was scheduled. It felt like we were never home.

Family meals were often found at the bottom of a fast food bag, and homework was done in the car. We rarely took time for ourselves. Sure we took family vacations, and we worked hard to create memories with the kids, but we were young. We often joked that our time would come when the kids left the nest, then we would focus on us. Could we have been more wrong?

April 14, 2011 my life changed, and so did my priorities. I came home from work to find that Mike had passed away from a heart attack. He was 34. My husband, companion and best friend was suddenly gone. We had been together since I was 17, and it would have been our 14th wedding anniversary that year. How could it be possible that I was a widow at the age of 31? Gone were the tomorrows we had planned for.

Living life to the fullest no longer means that I try to cram my day full of more than it can hold. Instead, I give my kids more magic kisses than their little faces can hold.

It no longer means putting off until tomorrow the memories I want to create today. 

It no longer means putting myself after everyone else in my life. 

I now understand that I cannot be the mother I want to be if I don’t take time for me. There are fewer moments of “Wait a minute,” or “I can’t right now.” I try to stop what I’m doing to acknowledge every piece of artwork and every out of tune song. We take things slow, day by day, and sometimes moment by moment.

We still get caught up in the little things that don’t really matter when compared to the grand scheme of things; however, those moments are becoming fewer and fewer. My life is at its fullest when my kids wrap their arms around me and say…

“Mom, I love you. Real or not real?”

“Mom, I love you to infinity and beyond.”

“Mom, here are your magic kisses! They won’t ever come off!”

What could be better than that?

... ... ...

Questions: What events in your life have drastically altered your priorities? What are you putting off until "tomorrow" that should be done today?

This guest post was part of a guest post series called "Living to the Fullest." Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way!

How I Became God's Basking Case

Note from Adrian: This is the second part of a two-part guest post from Aly Lewis in our Living to the Fullest guest post series. Check out part one, "The Unwelcome Elephant," if you missed it yesterday. And don't forget to leave some love for Aly and follow her on her blog and on Twitter!

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And that was the beginning of the basking. The beginning of a life lived to the full.

This basking is just my way of saying that I learned to accept God’s love for me.

The basking started imperceptibly. A few encouraging words here. A short reprieve from guilt there. Cheeseball alert: then I began writing love letters to a skeptic: myself. Things like,

Aly,

I love you if you work out.
I love you if you don't work out.
I love you if you sweat sweat sweat it out.
I love you if you don't eat enough.
I love you if you eat too much.
I love you if you call mom back.
I love you if you isolate yourself.
I love you if have a productive day at work.
I love you if you sit on Facebook the whole time.
I love you if you're feeling hot.
I love you if you're feeling bored.
I love you if you give to the poor.
I love you if you splurge on a fancy dinner.
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

It sounds cheesy. It sounds silly. But something REAL began to happen in my heart and my mind as I began to bask in these words of love.

In fits and starts, this Love began to come alive not only in my thoughts and reasonings, but in heart and in my life. “I love you” began to come alive.

And as “I love you” came alive, the elephant began to die. I began to tell myself a better story that allowed me to live like I was loved, like I was forgiven. I became vigilant in my basking, leaving no room for the elephant to trumpet his tauntings in my life.

And only after months of keeping the elephant at bay, did I finally begin to believe that maybe there is a loving God. That maybe it was the God of love who made me free, who was there loving me all along.

That maybe He’s the better story.

You may be thinking, “That’s all well and good for you, Aly, but what about your initial prayer asking to love and serve others better?”

Turns out my church friends who told me to bask knew something I didn’t: I can’t love others if I don’t love myself.

If I had followed God’s greatest commandment “To love others as yourself,” what a disaster that would have been (and believe me, it was.) How could I expect to love others if I went around accusing, attacking, and belittling them like I did myself?

In Margaret Feinberg's book, The Sacred Echo, she explains this transforming power of self-love better than I ever could. She says,

"When God echoes I love you, it’s not a slice of information but a feast of transformation. I am invited to experience the fullness of God’s love in my life, heart, and spirit. The holy metamorphosis is designed to ring so genuine and true that others can’t help but notice. When I love you is alive in my heart, I become freer to love others. When I love you is alive in my mind, I become better at expressing that love. When I love you is alive in my life, I become a smidgen closer to being who God has called and created me to be."

Love for myself made me freer to love others, to serve others, to defend the poor, and be a voice for the voiceless.

One of my friends once said “Self-hatred is a social justice issue,” and I couldn’t agree more. How can I believe the poor are worth anything if I don’t believe I am worth anything?

I really do believe this basking, this experience I've had with God's unconditional, unconventional, unfathomable love, has shaped and formed me to love others better.

It turns out the only antidote to the fear, self-doubt, and condemnation that sneaks in to poison our lives like unwelcome elephants is LOVE. Compassion for ourselves. Grace for ourselves. Which bleeds into grace for others, for a hurting world.

This is the backbone of a life lived to the full. A life lived without an unwelcome elephant.

I’m sure it sounds cliché. I mean, it’s the basis of our faith. You were probably looking for the advanced version, not the Life-to-the-fullest-for-dummies. But I’m a dummy when it comes to getting this spiritual life right. And perhaps this is more for me than for you, but sometimes I just need the reminder that I AM LOVED. That the elephant doesn’t win.

Psalm 34:8 says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

If you want to live a life to the full, taste and see that you are loved. Then slam the door on that greedy little monster’s face, and go (or rather skip) on your merry way, bidding farewell to this unwelcome elephant, unencumbered and free.

Let the basking begin.

... ... ...

Questions: Were you surprised at how Aly decided to turn into a basking case? What does this look like in your own life? How can loving yourself better (and letting God love you) be a form of social justice?

This guest post was part of a guest post series called "Living to the Fullest." Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way!

The Unwelcome Elephant

Note from Adrian: This is a guest post from Aly Lewis, a fellow blogger. Aly is a twenty-something writer from San Diego, CA. When she’s not writing ridiculously witty and yet still thoughtful and inspiring copy for the international non-profit Plant With Purpose, you can find her roller blading, showing off her dope hip hop moves, or overanalyzing her quarter life crisis. 

Aly has a passion for social and ecological justice, anyone who speaks Spanish, and experiencing the God of the unexpected. You can check out her mismatched musings on her blog, Memoirs of Algeisha, or on Twitter!

... ... ...

The feeling only comes in two sizes: regular - can’t shake this vexing sensation but still able to function, and extra large - paralyzing, life-stopping, all-consuming.

If you allow this unwanted guest to sneak past the bouncer of extra large you can pretty much say hello to an eternity of bumping and grinding with this guy in the nightclub of hell. When he comes looking for you in your modest skirt and smoothed hair, assuming invincibility because you don’t flaunt yourself around like a floozy, you need to stop, drop, and roll off the bus leading you down the one-way highway to the danger zone.

Trust me, you do not want to let this guy anywhere near you, your hopes, your future, your children, even your dog. He will squash your dreams and eat your confidence for breakfast. He will steal your identity and transform you into a small, frightened child. His presence prickles your hair and dries your mouth. With your heart beating like a conga drum, he wraps his icy fingers around your tender throat, daring you to call out his name. But you can’t reveal his identity. You don’t even know who he is.

But I do. He is the unwelcome elephant of fear and self-hatred.

You give him an inch and he’ll take a foot, your leg, your whole body and mind, and your little dog too.

This is not a life to the full.

I used to let this elephant rule my life. I used to tell myself awful stories. Depressing, really. I told myself stories of how dumb I was. How ugly. How boring. How awful. I was never good enough. Even in my relationship with God I wasn’t good enough.

So I left the church. I left it all. What was the point? How was I supposed to love God or love my neighbors if I didn’t love myself?

And I stayed there, angry and encumbered.

Until I became God’s basking case.

No, not basket case, (although I’m sure there’s a hint of that, too). Basking case.

This part of the story starts with a rebuttal.

When I first came back to church, people started asking me if they could pray for me. Most of the time, I said no.

But after awhile, after racking my brain to come up with anything I might like the almighty creator of the universe to help me out with, I finally decided on the one prayer request I felt comfortable asking.

“I’d like to be able to love and serve others better,” I mumbled more to my feet than to anyone in particular.

And the response?

“No, that is not what you should pray for.”

Excuse me?

Since when does a prayer request have to pass quality control? When I was a junior high youth leader we'd pray for students' sick fish, cats, and Nano babies. No prayer was too big or too small.

But the congregation had spoken: I was not to pray to serve others better.

“I have an image for you instead,” they said--they all said, different people on different occasions. All with the same image, the same concept. The same Instead...

Instead they all had an image of me basking in God's love.

One couple told me, "Aly, you are beautiful. I see you lying in a meadow. Soaking in God's love."

Another woman (on a separate occasion) told me: "I see a picture of you in a field of flowers, basking in God's love."

Another person straight up told me, "No, I don't think you should pray to love others. I believe you need to bask in God's love."

The first time I heard this, I scoffed.

The second time I heard this, I scoffed.

The third time I heard this, I started to get nervous.

Basking, really? That’s about the sissiest verb I’ve ever heard and somehow everyone in this church is obsessed with it.

I didn't want images of soaking and basking and laying lazily in a field of wild flowers. I wanted to help people. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted my god to care about injustice and oppression. I wanted my god to help me love others better, to quiet the guilt in my heart for being born to a well-off family in the wealthiest country in the world.

If you're going to give me an image, I thought, let it be of selling all I have and giving it to the poor. An image of writing award winning exposés that shut down sweat shops and bring justice to the marginalized around the world. An image of revolution. Of anger. Of action.

That's not what my church friends had for me. And it's not what God had for me either.

Check back tomorrow for Part Two of Aly's story!

... ... ...

Questions: Does being God's basking case sound "sissy" to you? How would you react if someone told you that you should focus on basking in his love? Do you struggle with the unwanted elephant that Aly describes?

This guest post was part of a guest post series called "Living to the Fullest." Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way.  

To the Fatherless

Last week, we turned in our *big* senior papers. Having finished mine about two weeks early, it wasn't anything monumental in my mind. However, what I learned from my research was enough to break my heart even further for those who are broken, for those who don't can't speak for themselves.

This is the first thing that comes to my mind when I
think of orphans.

In the Old Testament, there is a litany of passages which talk about three major people-groups which are constantly being oppressed in the Ancient Near East: widows, aliens, and orphans. Today, I want to take a look at orphans.

One of the most surprising things that I learned through my studies was about orphans. In ancient Israel, a child was considered an orphan if he had lost only his father. That's why you see many translations offering the word "orphan" as "fatherless." In fact, I found that it is nearly impossible to pinpoint a context in the Old Testament in which "orphan" refers to someone who has lost both parents.

There are many reasons for this which don't necessarily apply to our modern-day Western culture. The primary reason for this distinction deals with the way in which ancient Israel operated. If a child didn't have a father, or a woman didn't have a husband, they didn't have an identity. They didn't have property. They were among the poorest of the poor, and had no way of helping themselves.

This really seems to put a damper on the saying that "God helps those who help themselves."

Nowadays, if you don't have a father, you still have a social identity, you still have the capability of acquiring wealth and possessions, and, for the most part, you can be economically secure.

One thing that is often overlooked about the fatherless, though, is that beyond their economic security lies a much deeper need, a square hole often filled by a round peg.

The fatherless are still without a father. Biologically speaking, they lack half of their heritage. Half of who they are is a mystery. So, even though they may be secure economically, their deep-seated emotional insecurity remains a void that is rarely filled. And even though they may have an identity socially, they lack part of their identity internally.

Because our culture has so radically shifted from the culture of ancient Israel, I would also go as far to say that the same conditions apply to those who don't have a mother. If you grew up missing a parent, then this  applies to you.

What are the rest of us to do, then? The Bible seems clear on this one: provide for their needs. Those who have should help those who have not. And I know this sounds a lot like socialism, but it isn't. It is love.

Do we really need a step-by-step outline of how to "care" for these people, though? Are we so far out of touch with God's love that we've forgotten what it looks like to truly provide for someone in need?

My first instinct is to propose a list of practical, applicable steps to remedying this situation, but it seems unnecessary. After all, if we, as Christians, are a people who claim to live in love, shouldn't we know how to love one another? Shouldn't we be the best at serving the fatherless or motherless? Shouldn't the love of God (which we claim to be so great and abundant) be overflowing in our lives to the point that loving these people wholeheartedly is our only alternative? 

This love, which we say comes from God, should be evident to those who need it. To those lacking emotional security, we should be a beacon of safety and security. To those who seek their identity, but can never find it because it has gone missing with their mother or father, we should be a ray of hope, illuminating the answer for them: that their identity remains, not in parents (who may leave or pass away), but in God, who never leaves or passes away.

Again, I'm resisting the urge to enumerate the practical steps of such an action, because I know that we've heard it all. We don't need anymore step-by-step guides or self-help manuals to point others to God. We only need to stop asking "How?" or "When?" or "Why?" and simply start doing.

When we stop asking and start doing, then (and only then), will these square holes stop being filled with round pegs. Then, and only then, will those without fathers or mothers find the One who fulfills what they've been seeking all along. And then, and only then, will we become those flesh and blood fathers and mothers to those people.

There are so many broken and so many hurting and devastated because one of the two (or even both) of the people who are always supposed to love them have abandoned them. Will we come to their rescue? Or will we hide behind a facade of ignorance, hoping that if we pretend long enough, the problem will simply disappear?

The need is evident. The command is simple.

Love the orphan.

Care for the fatherless.

Provide for the motherless.

And, above all else, point them toward the One who has been there all along.

... ... ...

Questions: Do you know anybody who is growing up without a father or mother? What keeps you from caring for them? How do you desire to help them? What would that (practically speaking) look like for you 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! 

Seat-Between Syndrome

I'm stoked to start up our Life to the Fullest guest post series this week! If you haven't already, consider submitting a post!

As a Christian, I notice a lot of odd phenomenon among our sub-culture of America.

For instance...

We "like" some pretty terrible music. Those who willingly participate in the  K-LOVE challenge are my primary witnesses to this fact.

We make things more complicated than they have to be. Oh, what's that, you say? Jesus had "disciples?" Why don't we just call them "students," 'cause, ya know, we speak English, not Bible.

We get caught up in the petty and often overlook the egregious errors of our ways. The horror that was/is the overlooked abuse of Jessica Ahlquist is enough to get us all to shake our heads in shame.

Most of these oddities are chronicled in the writings of Jon Acuff (over at Stuff Christians Like), but every once in a while, something slips through the cracks.

That something has been happening to me and many others for as long as I can remember. It's a condition of Christians that I like to call...

Seat-Beside Syndrome.

SBS, if you're lazy and don't want to type all of that (like me).

SBS has plagued churches across the nation for years. For as long as churches have been packed out, this has been a problem. And the only remedy to it is often an awkward announcement by someone up front that we all need to "scoot to the middle" of our seats.

Don't worry, though. You can easily self-diagnose whether you're at risk for having SBS by noting a couple of things next time you go to church (or any other social setting, for that matter).

Here's an example of the climate in which SBS thrives.

First off, do you find yourself looking for an empty row of seats (or even an empty section) to sit in during a church service? This isn't actually SBS, but is a symptom of a much larger problem.

Secondly, when you are relegated to sitting near other actual people, do you find yourself spreading your stuff so no one sits near you? Again, this is another very serious symptom of SBS.

Finally, when you do sit next to someone, do you experience a slowing of time, as if you may be stuck there forever? Do you experience feelings of dread at the thought of such an occurrence? If so, it is very likely that you may have SBS.

If you find that these three symptoms regularly apply to you, please seek immediate professional assistance. It is very likely that you suffer from SBS.

So what exactly is SBS, you ask? Well, it's simple. Here's how you actually diagnose the disease:

When you scout out your seat during a church service, you find the perfect spot. You approach the row of seats, only to find others sitting near there. So, without thinking twice, you allow your SBS to take over, and approach those people. You choose your chair and take a seat, again, without hesitation.

Now, after you've firmly staked out and claimed your seat of choice, diagnosis is easy. Are you ready for it?

If there are people two seats away from you, who aren't reserving any places around them, and you don't choose a seat next to them, but sit a seat down from them, then you have Seat-Beside Syndrome.

I know, I know. You're a little scared. You aren't sure what to do. Is there a cure? Will you ever be rid of this disease? Don't worry; I've got some answers.

Seat-Beside Syndrome is curable. In fact, it is often a signal of a much larger problem. We haven't been able to diagnose it yet, but research is being done at a breakneck speed to pinpoint the root cause. Here's what we do, know, though:

First of all, you might be scared of people. If this is the case, though, you probably already know it and very rarely go to social events (like church) in the first place. If this applies to you, then I have no words for you, since going to church would be enough of a struggle for you in the first place.

If this doesn't apply to you, then I've got some bad news. You, like myself, might just not like other people. Sure, friends and family are okay - they don't count as "others." But we really just don't care much for the person sitting (sort of) next to us.

It's sad, really. A body that doesn't cooperate or enjoy other parts of itself. Like a hand that refuses to grasp something because the thumb has a certain distaste for the middle finger (hence their separation by the pointer finger). Sounds ludicrous, doesn't it?

If you don't have SBS, then you're probably not sure what to make of this. But if you do, then you're probably saying, "Oh, I've heard this sermon before. Get on with it."

This is more than me preaching at us, though. People, we are messed up like no other. Not only do we shield ourselves from people whose beliefs are different from our own, but we put up defenses to avoid those who we claim to call brothers and sisters. It's embarrassing for those without SBS, to be frank.

You don't even have to get a shot to curse SBS!

So do yourself (and the rest of those people without SBS) a favor. Sit next to someone at church this week. Not near them. Not around them. Next to them. And then, maybe try out this thing that the guy you follow (Jesus, in case you forgot) proposed: loving them. And not in a "I don't have to like them - I only have to love them" kind of way. That doesn't even make sense.

For the sake of all of those around you, stop leaving empty seats between you and others. Take a baby step toward building up your community of faith. Next thing you know, you might actually enjoy sitting by other people. And before you know it, you'll be rid completely of SBS and all of its symptoms.

Unless, of course, you enjoy being sick. But take a word of advice from someone who's been there: if you don't treat a sickness, it only spreads and infects the rest of the body. If you don't take steps to remedy SBS, it is contagious and will affect those around you. It may even morph into a stronger disease that has no cure.

So let's vow to nip this in the bud. We know the disease (SBS), and we have a cure (true love), so let's stop it once and for all.

... ... ...

Questions: Have you ever thought about SBS before? Do you think it's a problem? Is it something you struggle with? What are some other peculiarities of Christians that you've noticed over time?

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photo credits: Leonardini and emailrober - sxc.hu

We Break Things

So, believe it or not, I love my wife.

Apparently, you seem to like her too. It seems that my most popular posts are about her. Like this one, for instance.

I've got a secret to tell you about us, though. Promise you won't tell?

Okay, well, here it is...

We... Well, we break things.

Before your mind gets going - no, this is not a post about an old country song I can't seem to get out of my head. 

We literally break stuff. All. The. Flippin'. Time. 

Prime example number one is the fact that my wife never blogs or posts on here - we would probably accidentally press the Nuke button on the blogosphere. And then she'd probably be ticked at me for ruining all of her favorite blogs. But that's beside the point.

Some real examples of things we've broken: our car window, our soap dispenser, our internet (frequently!), Kalyn's old laptop (may it rest in pieces...) and so, so much more.

We can't help it. We're a little clumsy. 

So we're careful. We take precautions. For instance, the only type of dishes that we own, besides mugs, are either Tupperware (which will survive World War III) or Corelle (which looks a lot like glass but is a lot more... droppable). 

Sometimes, though, we break things on purpose.

Eek... That was the part of our secret I wasn't supposed to let out. 

You see, we got married young. And though it may be "trendy," it's typically a big no-no where we live. It just doesn't happen much, and if it does, it ends quickly and doesn't end well. And since we started off breaking the rules, we figured we might as well continue.

So we unabashedly break them. 

Sometimes, I drive to school. Meanwhile, Kalyn walks. 

Sometimes, Kalyn carries stuff to the car for us, like laundry baskets or our bags. I carry the keys.

Sometimes, Kalyn plans our dates. And hey, sometimes I do, too.

Sometimes we joke about who's the "head" of the house. But we both know who the real leader is.

I know, I know. You're thinking I'm a terrible husband. Or that we're still young and haven't really figured things out yet. Or that we've murdered chivalry or some nonsense like that.

Well, this is the internet, so you're free to think want you want. 

But I'll let you know that, despite all of the things we've accidentally and purposefully broken, we're better people because of it. We love each other more deeply, and love God more passionately. We've become who we are because we're with each other, and we'd have it no other way. We'll be happily (and sometimes sadly, and sometimes angrily, and sometimes laughingly) married until God decides our poor lungs have had enough.

Doesn't sound like anything's broken to me. 

Does anything seem broken to you?

... ... ...

Questions:  What does an "ideal" relationship look like to you? What sort of things do you break (or hope to break) in your relationship? 

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Re: She Said Yes!

This is a continuation of reposts from 2011. Enjoy, leave some feedback, and share this with your friends if you enjoyed it!

We're goin' to the chapel and we're gonna get marrrrried...

Okay, just kidding. 

Been there, done that. One wedding was enough for me!

Today, two years ago, my wife and I stood before hundreds of people and proclaimed our love for each other. At the ripe, young age of 19, we knew who we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with, and we weren't ashamed.

Too young? Psh.

Too tough? Yeah right.

Too much for a 19 year old to handle? Wrong-o!

Two years ago today, we were wed. But five years ago, to this very day, we started dating. And we continue to date to this day.  

Yes, married people still date each other. 

It's way better than pre-marriage dating.

Truuuust me.

So, in honor of our five years of dating, I'd like to share with you five things I've learned since being married.

1. She is always right.

You and I both knew this was coming. It's the first thing most guys learn after being married for any amount of time. No matter what, no matter where, now matter when or how. She. Is. Right. Is she wrong? Too bad. She's right. Does it make sense? No. Does it work, though? Definitely.

2. When you marry the girl, you marry the family.

Now I definitely have to be careful about what I say here, because her family does read this blog from time to time... just kidding! I love them! Having a set of in-laws is like having an extra set of parents, which is great more times than it's not. But I definitely could've used a little more warning about how true this is before I got hitched.

3. I married the most beautiful girl alive.

No, this isn't open to discussion. I did, and that's that. Just look at her! 

4. There is an appropriate length for every piece of hair on my head. 

This most certainly coincides with the first thing that I've learned - she's always right. Every single piece of hair has its place on my head, and if it gets outta control, Kalyn will let me know. Is my hair getting a little long? Always. Is my mustache starting to show itself? Shave immediately. Is there hair anywhere on the sides of my face? Get that razor out. Is my beard longer than it is in that picture? Gotta find the beard trimmer before Kalyn trims it herself. 

(Okay, she's actually pretty nice about it. I'm just telling you what I know!)

5. You don't stop pursuing the love of your life after you get married.

This is probably the most important thing that I've learned over the last two years that I missed before I got married. And it doesn't mean you start seeking more wives after you find your first one (unless you're into that sort of thing). Most of us (guys, at least) are left with the impression that once we say "I do," there's no more work to be done. You've got the girl - what else do you need? Well, there's a lot more to it than that.

You see, I love my wife. And I love her too much to stop pursuing her. She deserves my very best, and I want to try my hardest to keep winning her love. I want her to keep liking me as she did before we were married. Therefore, I am going to keep pursuing her like I did before we walked down the figurative aisle.

This girl means the world to me, and I am amazed every day at how much she cares about me. So today, this is just one of the ways that I want to say...

I love you, Kalyn!

I'd love to hear from you! Leave a comment or send me an e-mail! And while you're at it, "Like" the Life Before the Bucket Facebook page and find a way to follow this blog!

The War on Christmas

I worked out yesterday, but I'm not sore today, so I feel like it didn't count or something.

Ten days, seventeen hours, and five minutes.

Let me guess: you didn't even have to look and see what day I'm referring to.

So what was your first thought when you saw that countdown to Christmas? Excitement? Joy? Dread? Apathy? Disgust?

My first thought was definitely: "Holy poop, Christmas is in ten days."

My second thought was confusing, especially in comparison to my first: "Let's get it over with!"

Photo credit: Flikr - greyloch

Oh snap. I'm turning into Scrooge. Or maybe the Grinch is a more appropriate description. 

You see, I used to love Christmas. Like every kid, I loved presents. But now, I don't even know what I want for Christmas most of the time (hence this post). And yet, I'm told that there's much more to this holiday season than gifts. But I just don't see it.

Instead, here's what I see:

Commercialism. Selfishness. Materialism. Greedy spirits. Fighting and bickering among loved ones. A supposed "war" on Christmas.

Meanwhile, I'm left scratching my head, unsure of what Jesus has to do with any of this. Heck, I wonder if Jesus has any clue we're counting down to his big birthday bash with the way we act around this time of year.

Sure, charitable giving goes up. We're all excited to lend a helping hand to anyone who asks. But when it comes down to it, if things don't go our way, we're "bahhumbug"-ing the entire way through and could care less about those who are truly in need.

It's all insanity, and I don't understand it. Heck, I'm even a part of it!

We've taken something so simple, and yet so beautiful, and turned it into a monster. Frankenstein's got nothin' on the beast that we've created called "Christmas" (or as several people like to deem it around this time of year, "CHRISTmas"). No matter how you capitalize it, Jesus has nothing to do with what we're doing down here on December 25th.

Sadly, there is a war on Christmas going on. But it has little to do with retail and department stores. And it has absolutely nothing to do with whether you say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy holidays."

Truth be told, if you're "fighting" the "war" espoused by the media around this time of year, then chances are, you're on the wrong side.

The real war on Christmas is a one-sided affair, and most of us are losing the battle.

Christmas isn't lost, though.

I see it when people gather simply to be together, with no pretense of "gathering for the holidays" (and by "holidays," I mean presents). 

I see it as people share the Christmas story with their families from the Bible.

I see it when people give more than they are able to, because someone needs food or a home, and not just because we're worried they "won't have a Christmas."

Fight for Christmas this year, and remember what it's truly about.

Question: What excites you most about Christmas? What's your favorite holiday tradition around this time of year? How are you working to remember what Christmas is truly about?

It Really Doesn't Matter

This post is part of my weekly Time for Honesty. I do my best to share something that's on my heart that is honest, sincere, and transparent - something that will get you thinking and get you to be honest with yourself.

One of the most interesting aspects of my life is something I rarely blog about: attending a Christian college.

Our school is very, very small - it averages about 330 students each year, which is less than my graduating class in high school. Having been in public school my entire life, it's a different environment for me. Everyone around here is either from some farm-town in Western Kansas, was home-schooled, or lives in areas of their hometown that I can't even afford to think about.

It's a weird dynamic to experience for four years.

I've been reluctant to write about MCC (Manhattan Christian College) for many reasons.

First of all, it really just isn't that interesting to me. There's a lot more to life than school. And although I'm pretty "good" at school, it doesn't top out my priority list.

Mostly, though, I haven't written about my school because I'm scared to hear from people who are hyper-apologists of sorts for our micro-community. Truth be told, there are people that don't want a negative word to leak concerning the school, for fear of losing something (though I'm not really sure what).

I'm still not really here to write about the negatives of my school, either. Maybe later. Much later. As in when I'm in graduate school later. But for now, I just want to share something interesting with you that I discovered last night:

All that I've learned at this Christian college is that I don't care about most of the stuff we have to learn about to get our Bible degree.

Now granted, that's a pretty sweeping statement, so allow me to narrow it down for you with a story.

Last night, we had a friend over who stops by on occasion - we love having her over. After dinner was done sinking to the bottom of our stomachs, she started talking with my wife about the Bible and about not knowing a lot of stuff about it.

My wife, being the genius that she is, told her that Bible college is good to help with that, and gave her the example of different views of Creation. She rattled off the basics of Young-Earth Creationism, Old-Earth Creationism, and the Literary Framework viewpoint. I was impressed with how well Kalyn articulated each view, but then our friend asked us where we stood on the issue.

After thousands of dollars, a dozen Bible classes, and three years of college, this is our shared view on that specific matter. You might want to get your pencils out to take notes, because it's a doozy. Here it is:

It really doesn't matter.

Say whaaaaaaaaaat?!

Okay, okay, back up. Hold up. Pause. Stop, collaborate, and listen (okay, maybe that's a little too far).

In three years of debates, struggles, studies, and "building relationships" (because that's what MCC is "all about"), that is our conclusion about most things that people bring up about Christianity and the Bible.

It really doesn't matter.

I'm just going to go on record as saying that we paid entirely too much money for such a simple answer.

I mean, maybe we've failed as Christian college students, but something tells me we haven't. You see, there's a lot of reasoning behind our conclusion. I won't bore you with the details (unless you e-mail me and ask, in which case, I'd be glad to!), but suffice it to say, there's one main reason that brings me to the conclusion I'm at with this stuff:

If it does not help me to love people more, it really does not matter.

The end. Period. That's my bottom-line. I came to MCC for a number of reasons, but I'm leaving with only one: love. Not knowledge. Not because of my degree. Not to use the skills I've learned. I'm leaving in a year because I want to love people that I don't know. I want to love people that I don't understand. I want to love people that disagree with me.

And I don't just mean a "I have to love them, not like them" sort of attitude. I really want to love people. God's equipped me especially for that, and it's what I want to do.

Arguing about Creationism? Well, unless you're pretty creative, there are very few ways that you can love someone through that.

So for now, I let the arguments rest. Chances are, when we're all dead and gone and chatting up God, we'll find out we were completely wrong about almost everything, anyway. And at that point, I don't think I'll care, so why should I now?

Question: What is something that you struggle with that keeps you from loving others?