Second Day

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind." - James 1:5-6

I think I'm struggling with "Post-Traumatic Thanksgiving Syndrome." Some of you may be familiar with the symptoms: an increased desire to consume large quantities of food all the time, wishing that you could take three naps a day, avoiding all people interaction and just being plain dog-dang tired.

I'm so tired that I barely think I'll get through this entry. And I've done everything I can think of to do, aka pour a huge cup of coffee.

Here's my plight: after being here in Orlando for a week we traveled back to Chattanooga for Thanksgiving and came back, and now I'm on my second official day at the office. I'm super-duper tired, but I want everyone at the office to like me. But I'm simply hoping that no-one notices the a hunted expression that I must be wearing. I'll probably be ducking behind a lot of potted plants today.

No, it's not too bad, in the moment it's always worse. But I've been down the road of jumpy-anxious-balled-up-freaking-out-Philip many a time. It's just that I'm new to this job and I really want to make a good impression. I would absolutely love it if everyone just adored me, perhaps slipping me notes of encouragement letting me know how much it means to them that it's their second day of having the privilege of working with me, whilst not engaging me in direct conversation as that would freak me out.

I feel sort of like a cross between a jack-russel terrior and a dear - extremely skittish and ready to bite at a moments notice. Also really, really small, with the unreasonable desire to jump through screen doors.

It's on days like this that I am comforted by the truth that God is with us ALL THE TIME. My ego speaks so loud and seeks to control so much, that I need a God who sticks very, very close when I'm the new guy, desperately trying to make good first impressions and control every conversation so that they would have the best possible experience of Philip.

The verse above is an encouragement that I can live and ask for wisdom from God in the midst of "me-craziness," and most importantly that he will answer with wisdom. It's a pretty sweet deal.

Of course the following verse about not doubting makes me cringe. If anyone feels tossed about on the waves of life, it's got to be people like me, trying to be really ridiculously cool new guys while at the same time trying to rely on God's wisdom.

So this morning I guess I'm coming to a point of decision. Do I turn my will and life over to God this morning and just move forward ("dorky-new-guy-perhaps-with-bad-breath-and poor-wardrobe-decisions" and all) trusting that he will give me wisdom. Or do I go around biting people and getting hit by trucks. I hope I pick the former. Plus I saw a dear on the side of the road the other day and it was totally gross.

Tiny Muscles

"I am but a little child." - Solomon

I stumbled down the stairs in my getting-all-too-personal-morning-fog and into the kitchen this morning, just to be met by all the eager productivity that is my family. How did I wind up "Father" in this family? I don't know. But I'll take it.

Looking up, Melissa greeted me and asked David to show me something. David sauntered up to me (carrying his stocky frame with a confidence that only his new Batman pajamas afford him) looked up at me, took sort of a Sumo stance and began to flex/tremble until his face shook and changed color.

Later in the morning, as David and I were working on a task that required "man-muscles," I asked David to show me his muscles again. And though with all 3 year olds everywhere his muscles are tiny in proportion to his head, I was actually impressed. He's a strong little tike.

Now I've finally arrived at my work/caffeine-induced-morning-fog-reducer-Starbucks and I've just read the passage in 1 Kings in which God offers to grant Solomon a gift. Solomon's words "I am but a little child" just made something go click in my brain (I don't know, perhaps something just went click because I'm on my second cup of coffee).

The click is this: When we are asked to approach God and we do so as ourselves, in full knowledge that he is our father and the gift giver, there's something going on between father and child that is intimate, much like my rejoicing over David's new-found muscles. Now that I've written it, it's not really much of a "click". But I believe that God rejoices in us when we just come to him and show him what we can do.

In Solomon's case he's explaining to God his ignorance, what he feels powerless to do, rather than flexing his tiny muscles. And it's what everything in David was telling me today as he showed me his muscles and went about helping me in my task. He was showing me through all of his eagerness that he knew I was strong and I have real big muscles (I did do 10 pull-ups this morning by the way - in the middle of my fog as well), and he wants to be just like me, strong and capable.

All of this lit up my heart with a joy. God must rejoice over us no less when we come to him with our strengths and our weaknesses.

And apparently, as I read God's response to Solomon, he does. So my advice to any cyber-space people out there who may be reading this, is this: show him your tiny muscles. I promise, he'll be impressed.

Me, My Problem With People

"Man in his pomp will not remain;
he is like the beasts that perish.
This is the path of those who have foolish confidence;
yet after them people approve of their boasts.
...
But God will ransom my soul from the power of Sheol,
for he will receive me." - Psalm 49

I feel a little defeated today as I write. Perhaps it's just a sugar hang-over from the stuff that I was shoving into my mouth last night. It is definitely not food!

At one point I was arrested by my daughter who asked me, "Did you get that Tootsie-Roll out of my bucket?" I did the smart thing and chewed with my mouth shut for a few seconds. In biding my time, her sugar-crazed mind was unable to focus on her interrogation and my indescretion. I watched in satisfaction as her heels became blur and she took off for the next house/candy-dispenser. Then I was alone with her bucket once more. It was a beautiful thing.

But what has me feeling a little defeated today is this: I'm moving from a place in a couple of weeks that I've never reconciled myself to. And it feels like escape. And last night was a confirmation of that it is in fact escape.

As we strolled the streets of our community last night, I was struck by the affluence, the posturing, the plastic cups full of alcohol everywhere and the keeping up of appearances. But most disturbing of all was my not so subtle feeling of superiority.

"I'm not like these wealthy snobs," I thought. "I'm a supported missionary for crying out loud." Where we're living right now seems to have many of the elements of the movie "The Stepford Wifes" - just the right combination of affluence, good-old boy connections and religiousity, to just make me feel like a real outsider. And since I don't like feeling like an outsider, I simply place myself on top of the heap.

This morning I was talking with my total-stranger-friend "Starbucks lady." From what I can gather she is an introverted thinker, philosopher and widow who feels deeply and has tried to make a go of it in this community. Her frustration and disgust for what I just described was thinly vieled.

I'm cringing even as I write, because many of the folks I know and love, friends and family are part of this community. And while they slot in just like I expect they think I do, they probably have much the same struggle with this place.

Basically what I'm getting at is how do you love the world when you feel rejected by it and at the same time "better" than it? Melissa, my wife turned to a group of women last night, attempting to engage them in conversation, only to literally have them turn their backs on her. You tell me, how are you supposed to love that?

So I'm discouraged, both at the beast within and at the uglyness of the culture without. I have not resolved myself to where I'm currently living. And now I'm moving in two weeks, and it feels like an escape. In many ways, I haven't lived well here, and now I'm moving.

The truth is that while this may seem like a indictment of where I live (some of you may know the place), I believe it's an indictment of both where I live and me. There's something in me, namely self-righteousness, that doesn't approach my culture with love, respect and empathy. Where's the humanity Philip? Where's the humility Philip? Where's your God-life Philip?

Melissa and I were trying to process this last night, and I said that what I believe God wants from us is to be aware of the "foolish confidence" and fakeness, but to love deeply because of our own realization that we are in hiding as well. We have the tendancy to be just as fake, the desire to be included at any cost even if it means shunning or making fun of others.

Thus my discouragement. Rather than doing the above, Melissa and I, a community of two, were attempting to make ourselves superior by pointing out the flaws of the community. We had no God-given agenda of change, just a restless feeling of rejection and lack of acceptance spurring us on to judge.

The Gospel is a deep salve to this very issue. "God will ransom my soul from the power of Sheol. He will receive me." As others have reflected, what God thinks about us is the most important thing about us.

So when tempted to respond to a rejecting culture in kind, what should I do? Cling to a God who is my accepting culture. Then both God's awareness and humility will be my guide, enabling me to be a positive force in a hurting world. The same awareness and humility that enabled him to eat with sinners, prostitutes and tax collectors.

Can we be fountains of refreshment in "Stepford Wives" cultures? I believe we can. But first we need to be so rooted in the Good News that we really believe that we're sick and we're in this together with other sick human beings. Perhaps this is the attitude that had Paul considering himself the chief of sinners.

As a child of God, I will never be any "better" than anyone else. That's why I can echo with Chesterton, that the problem with the world is me.

Let's Wrestle!

"I will not let you go unless you bless me." - Jacob in the wrestling match of his life!

I blearily stumbled into the kitchen and was greeted with the face of my 3 yr. old, a face that beamed with energy, perhaps the energy of a thousand energizer bunnies coursing through his little frame. And he asked me a question I could have guessed a thousand times over, "Daddy, do you want to wrestle?"

As he looked at me with those big hazel eyes, pleading for what I know would make his day, I deliberated the cost. Not much, I thought, five minutes of romping and rolling around on our bed in the hopes of making my favorite boy's day. So we wrestled, and I'm not sure who had more joy, Dad or Son.

I've been reading Tim Keller's Conterfeit Gods and I finally finished it. It was difficult to pick up. I am so swamped with idolatry that I wasn't sure I could handle a book that would blast through it all with the truth. I guess I was afraid that all I would hear would be just more moralistic bootstrap pulling thickly veiled under gospel language. The old "Just stop it" we here in our Christian religion.

I've tried to stop my idolatry and I can't. I need more. I need to wrestle with my God. I need to jump on his back, test his arms to see if they can carry my pain, get spun around on my head and laugh until my sides hurt as he tickles me.

My daughter always insists on stripping down to her underwear when we wrestle. We need to feel skin on skin, to feel the reality of closeness, to feel the muscles twitch and turn as we contort, twist and tickle.

This is what Jacob found in his WWF match with God. As Keller notes, this is what Jacob must have been thinking:
What an idiot I've been! Here is what I've been looking for all my life. The blessing of God! I looked for it in the approval of my father. I looked for it in the beauty of Rachel. But it was in you. Now I won't let you go until you bless me. Nothing else matters. I don't care if I die in the process, because if I don't have God's blessing, I've got nothing. Nothing else will do.

Could this be the universal cry of the human heart? Was it Jesus' cry from the Garden of Gethsemeny? God blessing, God approval, God wrestling? We were made in the image of God, made for this, made for bodies to lock, skin against skin, to twist, pull, push, grunt, sweat and laugh and to be overwhelmed by the power of this creator God, who limits his power for us, much like a Dad with a 3 yr. old.

So this morning I popped little David's hip out as well, just so he'd remember who he was dealing with. You have to keep them in their place after all.

Being Rad

"I'm a pretty amazing guy." - Me.

This morning Melissa and I were sorting through our old papers from school. We're trying to sort through our belongings and repack/get-rid-of stuff that we just don't need. And I was finding all these papers I'd written in Seminary and I was like, "I don't even remember most of these classes and even some of these professors but DUDE these papers are all in the B to A range (actually they never really reach a full A because we all know professors are snobs, sorry Dad)!"

As I perused through my own works of sheer brilliance, I savored the comments from the professors(just the positive ones). I even got a "strong work" from JI Packer. I think I might frame that one.

I'm sharing all of this because first I like to brag, second because I really like to brag and third because I'm kind of stunned. I'm stunned by all this stuff we humans learn and forget. There was this class called "Success, Failure and Faith" that was team taught by two professors and I've pretty much forgotten the entire thing. It's like it never even happened. I've even forgotten what the professors looked like! I remember we watched a movie though. (It was one of those poignant, meaningful ones that I only ever want to watch once because there's no funny quotes.)

As I often struggle with despondency, melancholy, depression and I-wish-I-could-die-or-every-one-else-would-just-die, I also struggle with low self-esteem. Surprise, suprise! I think of myself as sort of dumb. And I am, I'm dumb enough to learn a lot, write a bunch of "brilliant" (all of my professors should write this at the top of every paper) stuff and then...time passing... forget it ALL!

I think it's because every time I learn something new, old stuff is squeezed out. I don't know exactly, but I've probably forgotten most of the debates that rage about historical biblical criticism and hermeneutics (fancy words - you like?) because I had to learn how to put on a cloth diapers, on my children of course.

(Just to clarify about diapers, I've only had to wear them once and it was highly contextualized. And it's not really something I'm comfortable blogging about. Or at least talking about it really "depends" on whether I feel very very safe, snugg and dry.)

How do we humans learn and forget so much? And how am I going to spin this into a nice little neat sunday school lesson? I don't know, and I'm not.

But I do think there was something being unearthed in me this morning as I dusted off those old papers. So much of God's image poured out and into those words I wrote years ago (and I just a 20-something punk moron back then right?). It was really refreshing, and a reminder not to underestimate how God's put us all together.

A lot of people struggle with feeling stoopid. And as I looked at all the reams of work I'd done, I realized that no matter how we feel and no matter how much we forget, we're pretty amazing. In fact, since I began this blog bragging, I'll end it with what my sister-in-law so often says, "We're totally rad."

We reflect our creator, and I, when I'm really reflecting, wear those dope shades in the picture above.

I am Royalty, a Force to be Reckoned With!

"Who put glass around my chair? If the commoners are always doing that, I'll never have a place to sit. Oh, and let them eat cake!" - Me.

Is your understanding of the Gospel robust? Melissa and I were chatting about this last night as we thought about the world from our bed.

I know my understanding is woefully inadequate. Unfortanately, for me I often relate it to a formula that goes something like this: Jesus came, died, rose againg and will come back. This formula has in it the essence of the Gospel.

But if it remains a formula, especially in Americanized Christianity, it can become very unnattractive. It's just a means to be saved. "Sign on with this creed, and you'll go to heaven when you die."

That's not at all really Good News is it? Good News to me would be if God had made a way for us to be with him forever; if God had shown both his love and justice in our history; if God had stooped low to lift us onto his lap, brushing away all the tears, hurt and chaos from a world full of death and suffering; if God had made a way to renew his creation and his creatures, to breathe back into them his breath of life, to walk with them in the coolness of the garden, to fill the ache that lurks in the heart of every man, the ache for something more, something greater, something other, something truly good. This would be Good News. This is the Good News. It makes for long sentances with lots of semi-colons.

In light of the above I don't know why I'm stumped when I lay on my bed and think "What difference does it all make?" Last night I asked Melissa, "Are we royaly?" Of course we are!!!

We are "co-heirs with Christ." We are true sons and daughters of God. It's pretty amazing! I have a really hard time believing it. And the amazing thing is we are all this right now. It's just really crazy stuff.

So why do I yawn? Why do I moan and complain about my day? Why do I poke about with my idols, trying to get a little life out of them, when I have everything, absolutely everything and more in God.

Melissa said that it's because we are still hard-wired by our former slavery. It's true, the very state we've been rescued from, the state we're used to seems to rule our daily experience. I can't seem to shake it. One day I will. Every day a little more. And a little more.

God's kingdom came in a small package, a baby. And just like his king grew and matured, my guess is as we seek to comprehend and understand more about the robust Good News, God's kingdom will grow in our hearts and lives. For God is on the move. Our king will win the day.

The Jesus Kid

"At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, 'Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?' And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, 'Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.'" - Jesus in Matthew.

I wish I was that kid. How sweet would that have been? To be used as an illustration by the great teacher himself. To be honored by Jesus! This dude could heal people. How cool is that? If it had been me I know I wouldn't have remembered much of what he said, but I'm sure I could have felt that it was good, real good, to be honored by such a cool and fun guy.

Which leads me to wonder what kids thought of Jesus. My guess is that they were clawing all over their parents to get to play with Jesus. I mean, Jesus wasn't attractive looking, we know that, but what he did have, the ability to relate to the lowly, he had in Ancient Near Eastern cart-loads.

I've always seen this with kids and adults. The adult that gets down and looks the kid in the eye, the adult that reaches out and tickles, the adult that picks the kid up within 2 minutes of chatting - that adult is an instant hero.

I have a cousin who's like that. In fact most of my cousins are like that, and I really can't think of much I like better than watching my cousins playing with my kids. Of course then there's my Grand-Father, who at age 90, still knows all the tricks in the book when it comes to playing with kids.

One of the chief tricks is getting low. If you want to become an instant jungle gym, I suggest you lay down. Kids love that! But I should also mention you should expect to get up with a few bruises.

Kids, when they're at their best, can be really humble. Not most of the time mind you, but way more than we adults. Jesus is perhaps using the child-illustration since they weren't honored in the Ancient Near Eastern context.

But I believe Jesus uses it as there is also something inherently humble about being a kid. As a kid, sure you are selfish, but you are also immensely curious about the world around you. You don't go around trying to control everything. Mostly because everything is controled for you. You enter situations with imagination ablaze with stories, heroes, villians, toys, forts, castles, horses, space-ships and for my boy David the all powerful "Blue Star Wars Lego Man." (I often kiss him goodnight and whisper "I love you my Big Blue Star Wars Lego Man." I think he likes it.)

As a kid, your imagination is ablaze with possibilities. The world is a huge adventure! It has yet to be beaten down to the size of petty worries, anxieties and fears that plague adults.

Surely Jesus knew this about children, when he chose a kid for his illustration of kingdom living. Kingdom living is about humility. It's not brow beating stuff, humility. Humility, as Tim Keller says, is thinking less of self. And there's nothing more freeing than thinking less about yourself.

Not that kids don't think about themselves. My kids are obsessed with getting their way practically all the time. But the limits that are placed on them, enables them to have space to imagine, space to dream, space to just be, to be humble, small, and well taken care of.

That, in a word, is kingdom living. Knowing that we are taken care of. Knowing that we are free to play and imagine. Knowing that we can be like kids again. Knowing that we are small and loved. Knowing the joy of being bounced on a knee, looked in the eye and simply held. Knowing God.

The joy of a well-loved child should be the joy of we Christians. For children are what we are. So here's to never growing up. Here's to embracing life as an adventure: a great battle between real good and real evil, but a battle where we are watched over and well taken care of. Something akin to the Narnia Chronicles. Something akin to a kingdom, not a busy city full of worries.

So here's to kids every-where, teaching us how to really live.

The Shelf of Impossible Sainthood

"...why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we have made him walk?" - Peter.

No mere human saved me. No mere human discipled me. Only Jesus. Only the Spirit. Only God.

Our culture puts people up on pillars of worship and then reports as those pilars crumble. Just look at how the media sets people up as gods and then gleefully reports on their demise. Why with glee? Because we gleefully lap it up. We love worshipping people and we love it when they fail. We're pretty bad, perhaps evil.

And Christian culture is no different. Dad and I were talking this morning about preachers and how they take on airs as they preach. How they have breathy prayers, build up to yelling in their sermons, wax eloquent and tearful in their "authentic" moments. A lot of the time I wonder if they're striving for an Oscar with their performances. Preaching is not performance.

But then Dad and I began talking about Billy Graham. For all I know he is a man who has walked close to God for a very very long time. Dad and I were wondering what we'll do to him when he dies. I know what we'll do, we'll deify him. Put a halo around his head and forget about him. It's pretty sick I know.

But from the grass-roots of Christianity we see this happening. People looking to people for worship and salvation. That's why Peter says what he says above. In essense he goes on to say, "Look you crazy peeps, this Jesus, who you killed, who God raised, healed this man. Now repent, so that you can experience Jesus do his thang."

I worship people constantly. And yes, sometimes I love it when they fail. Other times I have so much vested in them as the objects of my worship that I'm devastated when they fail.

I need to be shaken, perhaps even slapped around a bit, to see the kingdom reality that, as a Christian, there is only one savior, only one discipler and only one sanctifyer. People don't even partner with God. God has to rescue and transform them to the point that they get with his program. They then follow God as he disciples, etc. etc.

Maybe I'm splitting hairs. But according to my wife split hairs mean something. And this has been such a point of trauma in my life that I've just got to write it down.

I've been burned over and over again by worshiping people and not God. People who I've thought were saints have hurt me and wounded me deeply. I don't think I would be immune to hurt and wounding if I didn't worship individuals, but rather than treating people as objects of worship, as idols, perhaps I would treat them as people, broken and in need of mending just as I am.

This is a very important point. If we lift up our pastors and spiritual leaders, we strip them of their message and set them up for failure. Who ends up hurting who? Everyone seems to get hurt! And in time, if our pastors meet our standards for worship they become objects that we put on the "shelf of impossible sainthood." Rather than marveling at God because of what he has done with their lives, we stick them up there and forget about them. Those impossible saints.

I know I need to "repent therefore, and turn again, that (my) sins may be blotted out, that times of refreshing may com from the presence of the LORD." - Peter.

I know I need to quit ignoring what God's doing in people and start attending to God, for he's always on the move. Beware!

I am not I AM.

Melissa said, "You need to get back into writing Philip!" Apparently someone's checking my blog and noticed my week-long absence. It's good to be missed.

I'm trying to get back into a regular rythm of work, play and parenting. It's not easy. I like running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I like having wild ideas and plans, passionately pursuing a plan. And I've had a plan to keep me busy: I'm planning on riding my bike across the southeast for about 500-700 miles, visiting churches, friends and raising funds. Sounds fun doesn't it!

The problem is it's got my head spinning like someone in a horror film. I've turned into whacko-crazed Phil, the one with spittle dripping off his chin. The one who just will not shut up about his plan. The one who's obviously not spending much time meditating and spending time with God!

Yes it happens. Even saints (heavy sarcasm) like me put down our bibles for a while to pursue our own agendas.

But I picked up my huge ESV again this morning, no small feat as it weighs 300 lbs., and found in Ezekiel the phrase that cuts to the core of all OT biblical prophecy: "That you shall know that I am the LORD." It's funny, in the same passage God continues to say that "all the trees of the field shall know that I am the LORD." He's speaking of kings and kingdoms, but I find it funny anyways.

I can see Tree-Beard in Lord of the Rings not finding it funny at all. For Tree-Beard all trees are intelligent.

But this phrase reminds me of Jesus's words in the NT proclaiming that even the rocks and trees will raise up and praise him. So you see all this stuff is bouncing around my head as I write, making it difficult to admit how lazy I've been in keeping God first in my life, "Knowing that he is the LORD."

I think I AM. It's pretty twisted I know. But I feel everything in life exists to serve me in some sort of capacity. And if and when it doesn't, I get bitter, resentful and mean. "You better not frustrate my plans or I'll smite you."

That's why I wouldn't make a real good I AM, I would have smited everyone and everything by now. While I bet smiting would be real fun, I can picture myself with smoking fingertips standing on a pile of rubble, kind of sad because I've run out of stuff to smite. Sad and maybe a bit lonely, even though I'm an introvert. Perhaps there'd be a stray cat left that I could smite: "MEEEOUCH!"

So in all my pursuit of self, I really end up destroying everything and everyone. Not that I have the power to do that. But I do have the power to become a destructive force, a tool of the enemy. And basically I end up not all that fun to be around.

People don't like hearing my crazed plans, especially when I have blood-shot eyes and froth coming out of the corner of my mouth. "Back away from the guy with the plan."

So God's reminding me, ever so patiently that he's God, a lesson that, sadly, I'll be learning the rest of my life. It's a really good lesson though, because as I read the OT, I see a lot of destruction and despair there. I see people running from their creator and turning to all sorts of created things and plans and forgetting that God is the LORD, the great existence, the I AM.

I know I'll forget today. I know I'll forget that life isn't about me, its about Him. I know that I'll take his grace and forgiveness for granted. But to whatever degree I remember, to whatever degree I bow my knee, to whatever degree I become the real creature I am, Philip, I have hope. For last time I checked, God still reigns.

Tornadoes Don't Blow Sin Away

“Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness! You have given me relief when I was in distress… O men, how long shall my honor be turned into shame? How long will you love vain words and seek after lies? But know that the LORD has set apart the godly for himself; the LORD hears when I call to him.” - David in Psalm 4.

Storms absolutely ravaged this part of the country. 150 tornadoes ripped through the Southeastern US leaving 300 dead and missing, with multiple homes blown apart and businesses destroyed. We’re still tallying the damage but it’s evident that it will take a while for these scars to heal.

During the storm, we had a small community huddled in the basement. We spent time checking on the raging turmoil through the windows, calming our children and munching on home-made muffins provided by Melissa. It was a curious feeling, being so close with these brave few, calming our fears and praying for safety.

Curiously enough these storms did little to effect the Universe of Philip. It’s sad to admit, but I had a very mixed reaction to all the craziness. The day after the storm I felt compelled to get out and help in any way I could. As I searched, I felt completely overwhelmed, first by my incompetency (can you be an All-American Male without a chainsaw?) and second by the chaos and destruction. I didn’t know what to do. I felt paralyzed, anxious and depressed.

I visited folks, checked on my Grandparents and chatted with a family I knew whose house had been picked up and moved off of its foundation. People were wandering streets that looked like one of those end-of-the-world movie sets. One house had a 2-by-4 sticking out of the front of it, as if the storm had been playing darts. It was eerie.

Part of me, and I really have a hard time admitting this because it’s really ugly, rejoices when stuff like this happens. There’s a very deep evil that resides in me. My thought process goes something like this: “Maybe all these wicked sinners will wake up to reality through this tragedy. Maybe they’ll even fund me to do my ministry.” This thought enters my head almost unbidden, but something in me is drawn to it, to its alluring nature and to the energy it’s bitterness provides.

I think of myself as not such a bad guy. But thoughts like this prove otherwise. Little do I know God’s grace. Little do I know compassion. Little do I know how to react to real suffering.

At the risk of depressing everyone who reads this, I will delve deeper into my own inner struggle. Removing brush the day after the storm brought on a pretty severe allergic reaction to all the pollen in the air. I must have sneezed a hundred times. At one point I sneezed a wad of snot on my 4-year-old nephew who in true all-boy fashion simply wiped it off with the an unspoken sentiment of, “Oh that happens all the time.”

After the storm, my in-laws house was over-populated. Screaming and whiny children were getting the best of tired and pollinated parents. My feelings of ineptitude as a parent, a provider and a child of God were getting to an all time high.

How can I stew in my own personal depression when all around me is chaos and need? I find that I’m pretty capable.

“No one knows what it’s like to be the bad man, to be the sad man, behind blue eyes…” This song just popped on and I think it’s pretty apt. Except I have hazel eyes.

But as I was saying, I’m pretty adept at stewing in my own personal storm of emotions when all the world is in chaos around me. Now I’ve got to give God some credit, it’s not like I laid in bed all day and bemoaned my state, at least not most of the day. It’s just that I was definitely in the place of feeling like the “terd at the center of the universe.”

And, instead of helping folks, I ended up going for some long mountain bike rides to try and clear my head. The exercise did a great deal of good and it reminded me that people, even people in crisis, are perfectly capable of getting by without Savior Philip.

So where am I now, why am I writing all this and how does it tie in to the Psalm above? This Psalm speaks to me of a God who answers his people who are being beset by lies. While my lies come mostly from within, I see that God will vindicate himself and will be honored. The lies that swirl through my head and tempt me to believe “vain words,” will be defeated by the God “who sets apart the godly for himself.”

Do I feel all that “godly?” Not really. Especially after describing the ugliness above that has been dominating my thought life. But through the wondrous nature of a real and powerful grace I am godly. I am God’s. I am righteous.

The lack of care for others, the bitterness towards “all those sinners,” the comparison, the escape, the depression, the feeling that I’m constantly being watched and judged, the selfishness, and the tendency to control, manipulate, pout and moan when stuff is simply not going my way and (on top of all this) feeling like my face is being rubbed in a huge tulip, is covered. It’s covered. God’s answers me when I call to him.

He is not only the God of physical tornadoes but he’s the God of personal emotional tornadoes. He is the God who “knows our frame, and remembers that we are dust.” He’s the God who has compassion on his children.

It’s a good thing, because if I was God I’d be tempted to wring my little ungrateful neck. How in the world, in light of such tragedy, can I still think so much about myself? Rarely will someone admit, say after 9/11 or something, that they are still consumed with the fact that they have a head-ache or a really bad hang-nail. Most people say things like, “Wow, this really puts a lot into perspective.” Or “My prayers are going out to them.”

I’m a big sinner. And so the cross gets bigger, all the time growing in my life. Man I need this guy Jesus.