What’s your greatest fear?

People are not just frightened, but genuinely fearful of the most amazing things.  Things like the following:

• Anglophobia- Fear of England or English culture.
• Deipnophobia- Fear of dining or dinner conversations.
• Ephebiphobia- Fear of teenagers.
• Hellenologophobia- Fear of Greek terms or complex scientific terminology.
• Metrophobia- Fear of poetry.
• Sinistrophobia- Fear of things to the left or left-handed.
• Zemmiphobia- Fear of the great mole rat.

I’m not making that last one up.  Google it.

Of course there are many, many, many more.  We all know (and possibly even share) some of the more common ones.  Fear of the dark.  Fear of loud noises.  Fear of enclosed spaces.  Fear of spiders.  Fear of clowns.  However, I don’t think we’d necessarily count these as the real biggies, those fears that, if we give any real consideration to, whatsoever, we’ll end up losing sleep over.

You know the ones I’m talking about.

Fear of ridicule.

Fear of pain.

Fear of death.

Fear of insanity.

Fear of insignificance.

You might even share what, up until recently, would have been my answer to this post’s leading question.

Fear of failure.

So, what happened recently that caused this to stop being my greatest fear? Well, I’m glad you asked.

The simple answer is that I read a book, specifically The War of Art by Steven Pressfield (he wrote The Legend of Bagger Vance).  It’s a book about winning your inner creative battles, of which I have many, most of which I seem to lose.  So, this book was helpful, helpful like a root canal or invasive surgery or a back-waxing is helpful.

In one particular chapter aptly entitled “Fear” Pressfield revealed to me the fact that failure was not my greatest fear.  He accomplished this by making me aware of a greater, deeper fear I’ve held for who-knows-how long without even realizing it. After listing out more of our very real, deep-seeded fears than I have here, he wrote the following on pp. 142-143.

These are serious fears.  But they’re not the real fear.  Not the Master Fear, the Mother of all Fears that’s so close to us that even when we verbalize it we don’t believe it.

Fear That We Will Succeed.

That we can access the powers we secretly know we possess.

That we can become the person we sense in our hearts we truly are.

This is the most terrifying prospect a human being can face, because it ejects him at one go (he imagines) from all the tribal inclusions his psyche is wired for and has been for fifty million years.

We fear discovering that we are more than we think we are.  More than our parents/children/teachers think we are.  We fear that we actually possess the talent that our still, small voice tells us.  That we actually have the guts, the perseverance, the capacity.  We fear that we truly can steer our ship, plant our flag, reach our Promised Land.  We fear this because, if it’s true, then we become estranged from all we know.  We pass through a membrane.  We become monsters and monstrous.

We know that if we embrace our ideals, we must prove worthy of them.

Pressfield closes out the chapter by asking the simple but loaded question, “Do you believe me?”

Now, if I’m honest, I have to admit that, in the time I’ve been mulling over this, I probably haven’t run it through all of the Biblical and theological filters that I should.  But, in answer to his question, I think I have to say, “Yes.  Yes I do.”

What about you?

The image above is from my office. I have a bookshelf in between two chairs, and on top Max and the “Wild Things” from Maurice Sendak‘s classic Where the Wild Things Are dance on in a relentless wild rumpus.

I keep these figures there so that I see them every day and am reminded of that scene from the book because there’s something very attractive about it to me.  I find the image of a land where I am king of all that is wild and dangerous and frightening and adventurous and magical to be very appealing and conducive to my “process.”  Of course, I know it’s an illusion, itself a figment of imagination run rampant, but that doesn’t matter, not in the moment.  Whenever faced with trouble, whether of my own doing or not, I like the fantasy that I might conquer it all through sheer will and declare a dance rather than a tantrum.

Even though I’m now an adult, a grown up, with a child of my own, I like this idea. I’ve always liked it.  I can’t tell you that Where the Wild Things Are has always been my favorite book or that I’ve always loved it as much as I do, not because it wasn’t or I didn’t, but rather because I simply can’t remember.  You’d have to ask my parents (which I haven’t, so I can’t tell you what they’d say).  However, I can, at the very least, tell you I’ve always connected with it.  Of course, whether I could articulate why or not is a different story altogether.

I tell you all this just to try to put into context a little bit for you how excited I’ve been about the film version of Where the Wild Things Are that opened this weekend.  I’ve been sincerely worried about it.  I had the same thoughts as so many who have loved the book as children and carried some deep relation to it on into our adulthoods, which could be somewhat summed up with the following exhortation, “They better get it right.”

But what is “right” with regards to a masterpiece of children’s literature that is only ten sentences long, a mere 339 words, and extends just as firm a grip on the hearts and dreams of adults as it does on those of their kids?  I honestly don’t know.  Even though I wanted them to get it right, I would have been completely and utterly at a loss as to define for you just what I meant by that had you asked.  So, having now seen the movie, if you were to ask me, “did they get it right?” I think I’d still have to say, “I don’t know.”

What I can tell you, though, is this: what they did, in fact, “get” I absolutely adore.

Some people have expressed to me their interest in my thoughts on the movie. As I’ve just said, I loved it.  So, there you go.  For any of you who haven’t seen it, let me offer a “brief” review.  Then, for those of you who actually stick around, I want to try to express on a deeper level the resonant affection I have for this film.

The movie follows the same basic plot-line as the book, which can be summed up like this:

A mischievous young boy in a wolf costume named Max causes trouble for his mother who lashes out at him, leading him to escape to the land of the “wild things” whom he “tames” and over whom he is then made king.  As his first order of business, Max declares that a “wild rumpus” begin.  However, after the fun has run its course, Max finds himself longing to be back home.  So, he leaves the “wild things,” though they don’t want him to go, and returns to his home and his dinner.

However, don’t go in expecting a mere re-telling of the book. In fact, don’t go in expecting a children’s movie at all.  I’ve found that most of the criticism lobbed at the film is because of some unmet expectations.  So, if you go in expecting either of the preceding, know that you’re going to be soon joining the camp of the naysayers.

Even though it follows that same basic plot-line, it’s very, very different from the book and Spike Jonze (the co-writer and director) and his crew (including co-writer Dave Eggers) have made a beautifully raw film about childhood, but not necessarily a film for children.  It’s worth mentioning that they did so with cooperation, participation and blessing from Maurice Sendak who’s been quoted as saying, “I would rather not have had a film than turn it into a kiddie movie.”

Rest assured, it’s no “kiddie movie.”  You see, in adapting the book into a screenplay, Jonze and Eggers remembered what all children know but adults tend to forget, namely that childhood is not cute, precious and innocent.  Rather, it’s actually hard, painful, confusing, awkward, terrifying, violent and even, sometimes, lonely while also being endlessly adventurous, paradoxically joyful and heartbreaking, and most definitely fun.  So, that’s the movie they made.

Max is now the son of divorced parents and lives with his mother who’s busy with her own problems and a sister who’s leaving him behind in her own quest to grow up.  The kid’s got problems, both of his own doing and as a result of living in an imperfect world, and is definitely having trouble processing and dealing with them.  This results in fits of pure rage and attention-seeking acts of selfishness.  His mother reaches her limit with Max when he acts out in front of her new boyfriend causing her embarrassment.  She fails in an effort to calm/control/comfort/condemn/convict/corral Max resulting in his running away from home.  Max discovers a boat and sails to the island of the wild things, a dysfunctional family of larger-than-life monsters over whom he soon becomes king in the hopes that he’ll keep them together and make everything the way it should be.  The rest of the film follows the results of the very real truth that it’s impossible for anyone to do that.

I think everything about this film is great.  The writing.  The directing.  The performances, whether by live actors, like the perfectly genuine and relatable Catherine Keener or the new star-in-the-making Max Records, or the performers in the wild things suits designed by the Jim Henson Company, or the voice talent, a dream-cast that includes Forest Whitaker, Catherine O’Hara, Paul Dano, Chris Cooper, Lauren Ambrose and James Gandolfini (I admit that having heard Gandolfini’s voice in the trailer, I hated it.  However, hearing it in context, there’s no one else to play his part).  The cinematography is both beautiful and unsettling, and the music by Karen O is pitch-perfect (pun intended).  Plus, the CGI utilized is actually believable and serves the character (as much as it pains me to say it, take notice George Lucas).

I give it an A++ or 5 terrible roars out of 5.

I’ll eat it up, I love it so.

To sum up, here’s the tweet I posted right after I’d seen it.

Just saw Where the Wild Things Are. Wow! I’m a wreck. Loved it. Really really loved it. If you didn’t I understand. But… Wow. I did.

If you are one of those who just want to see the images of the book move (and I completely get that) you can check out the animated version here.

Now, if anyone else is left, let me warn you that SPOILERS MOST CERTAINLY FOLLOW. Scroll down if you want.  If not, don’t worry, I won’t take it personally.

Ultimately the real reason I love Where the Wild Things Are (the film) is because it’s truth. It’s an incomplete truth to be sure, but truth none the less.

As I’m sure you know from seeing the trailers or posters like the one above, the marketing tagline for the film is, “There’s One In All Of Us.”  And this is true.  That’s actually where the wild things are.  Inside each of us are those things that are out of control or wild.  They’re terrible and frightening.  They want to be our friend yet so often can’t be trusted.  They tell us we’re in charge yet constantly seek to consume us.  We can get lost indefinitely in being engaged with them, and this engagement can be both playful and tragic.  They’re broken and selfish and manipulative but also attractive and curious.

Yes, this is truth.  There is indeed a wild thing inside of each of us.  However, it’s an incomplete truth, because, like Max, most of us, perhaps even all of us, don’t just have one wild thing, but a whole family of them.  Inside Max it seems there are seven, maybe more, but these are the ones he meets, with whom he engages and from whom he’s able to learn a bit about himself and how he relates to the world around him.

I’m not a literary or film critic by any means.  However, let me take a minute and tell you, just from my perspective, what aspects of Max’s character I feel each of the wild things represents.

Ira is his innocence, goodness, artistry and naivete, and also Max’s openness to trust.  You might say that Ira is Max’s child-likeness.

Judith is Max’s skepticism, his burgeoning realization that things are not what they seem and probably shouldn’t be believed.  She’s weariness and sarcasm.  She’s kinda like his potential grown-upness.  Incidentally and significantly, Judith and Ira go together like husband and wife.

Alexander is Max’s insecurity and need for acceptance and affirmation.  He’s also honesty and hurt.

Douglas is reason and practicality.  However, he also possesses the propensity for relativism if it seems to serve the greater good.

The Bull is Max’s silent strength.  He also embodies all that is frightening.  He’s a thinker and represents potential.

KW is love, not a perfect love, but rather one that’s jaded, that’s seeking someone to return their understanding of what love is.  She’s a protector and a realist.

Then there’s Carol.  While Max is declared king of the wild things, Carol is their de facto leader.  This makes sense because he’s the one that is most like the Max we see.  He’s aggression and anger born out of a frustration with the sense that things aren’t how they should be.  He is passion personified.

Of course, these are oversimplifications.  The wild things are actually much more complicated and fuller characters than I’ve described here, but I think, hopefully, you get my point and can even begin to notice some of the wild things you have in you.

We all, at some point or another, think that this world would be better if we could just control it. We think this, of course, because we believe, on some (deep, often hidden) level that this world is our world, and that is the land of the wild things.  It’s a world in which we seemingly tame our wild things by giving false credentials for why we’re qualified to be in charge and are then declared king to rule as we see fit with the promise that we, like Max, could “be a truly great king.”  There’s just one problem… the land, like the things, is wild itself and cannot be tamed.

After Max is declared king and they have their wild rumpus, Carol takes Max on a tour of his kingdom.  Along the way Carol is telling him that everything that can be seen belongs to him as the king.  However, Carol then begins to make exceptions, like the holes that Ira makes in the trees or “that stick” or “that rock.”  See?  Even though Max is king he’s not fully in control, nor could he ever be.  There are even parts of his kingdom that already are “not that great.”

Of course, like us, Max can’t see this, at least not at first.  He believes he can be king and he can make things better.  He immediately sets forth trying to do so, to construct a place in which everyone will be safe and protected and can live together in Utopian harmony where they can “all sleep together in one big pile.”  It doesn’t take long for conflict to arise, though.  And what is Max’s solution but more conflict.

He divides the group into two teams of “good guys” and “bad guys” and proceeds to initiate a dirt clod war (remember those?  I do).  We might be tempted to think how childish this is of Max, yet I can’t help but realize this is so often how I address conflict in my own life, whether personal or corporate.  I compartmentalize and oversimplify, drawing clear battle lines and forcing everyone (even if it’s just myself) to choose sides.  In the end this strategy never works, and it certainly doesn’t for Max.  It doesn’t take long until feelings (and bodies) are hurt and the group is scattered again.

It’s following this that I believe the pivotal moment in the film occurs.  Max approaches Alexander who’s been injured both physically and emotionally in the war.  He’s alone, as usual, and feeling desperately sorry for himself.  Max realizes for the first time the trouble he’s caused and the impossibility he faces when trying to make everything right himself.  Alexander forces him to stare himself in the face by declaring:

You’re not really a king, are you?  You’re just a boy pretending to be a wolf pretending to be king.

Max, of course, realizes and acknowledges that this is true.  To which Alexander heartbreakingly replies, “I don’t think there is a king like that [that can make everything right and keep everyone together].”  And this is truth, though an incomplete truth.

I’m a man of faith and that influences everything in my life. I recognize that not all of you share my faith, and therefore, won’t see what I’m about to describe.  But the reason that Alexander’s resignation was so heartbreaking to me is because I know that there is a King like that, yet I also know well, as I think we all do, the doubt.

In the middle of all of it, though, we (hopefully) eventually come to realize that even without the answers, the first step is admitting that we’re not king, or at least not a very good one.  Max does and decides to return home.  None of the wild things really understand why but none take it more personally than Carol.  He basically goes nuts.  Douglas tries to calm him down.  So, Carol rips his arm off and then decides the only way to keep Max around is to eat him.  Max escapes by actually climbing in KW’s mouth.

Did you get that?

He escapes being literally consumed by the wild thing that represents anger and aggression by instead being consumed by the wild thing that represents affection and acceptance.

Later, after Carol has cooled off a bit, Max comes to see him.  Carol basically questions why he has to leave and why everything isn’t better since he came.  Max’s answer results in the following exchange.

Max: Because I’m not a king.

Carol: Well, what are you then?

Max: I’m Max.

Carol: That’s not very much, is it?

But part of what Max has realized is that it is, just not the “much” he had thought.

And that’s true, though incomplete.

Carol then walks off leaving Max alone.  Max goes to the beach where all of the other wild things are.  He promises to talk well about them when he returns and as he’s climbing in his boat to leave, Judith comments, “you’re the first king we haven’t eaten,” to which all the other wild things chime in with agreement.

And that’s true.  The wild things inside only consume us when we ceaselessly and uselessly attempt to exert control.  When we give up that illusion, we give up their control as well.

Meanwhile, Carol is off alone but stumbles across a simple message Max has left him: a heart made out of sticks with a “C” in the middle.  Just as Max is setting off Carol comes running down the dunes and straight out into the water.  Max looks back at him and all of the wild things, while they all look after him.  What’s left for them to do but to roar their terrible roars?

And this they do.

They roar.

They roar with longing.

They roar with regret.

They roar with expectancy.

They roar with sorrow.

They roar with joy.

They roar with fury.

And they roar with love.

‘Cause, you see, that’s what it’s ultimately about.  Love.  Love of self and love of others, regardless of how wild we all may be.

And this is true though incomplete.

And by this point the final scene is just icing, delicious and sweet and leaving us (or me at least) craving more.

Maybe you think I’ve read way too much into it, and maybe I did.  But I don’t care, because it got me.  Where the Wild Things Are really got me.

Some of the critiques from parents that I’ve read have centered around the film being too dark, the themes being too adult, Max being too rambunctious and angry, the wild things being too sad and scary and not being inspirational enough.  To those parents I would say that regardless of what their specific issues might be, their children are living in a very wild world and the vast majority don’t know how to deal with it if no one will help them.  If nothing else, Where the Wild Things Are illustrates this perfectly and provides all of you with the perfect opportunity to help your children along the way by talking to them not like a kid but a fellow wild thing.

So, if you any of you have made it this far… thanks.  I’m sure I haven’t expressed myself as well as I could have.  Maybe we can grab some coffee and just talk about it.

I think that would be nice.

Arrrroooooooooooooooooooo!

So, I promised on Monday that when video of this moment became available, I’d post it.  Well, here it is straight from Catalyst.  You might want to prepare yourself a bit.

Catalyst 2009 Compassion Moment from Catalyst on Vimeo.

Remember, you too can be a Compassion sponsor and be a part of changing a life like Jimmy’s.  To do so, click here.

Thanks.

I was sleeping.  Hard.  I’d only started Beeson a couple of weeks before and was still adjusting to how much harder it was than my undergrad plus I was working the warehouse at Event Xtras manhandling big inflatable obstacle courses and wasn’t getting along with my roommate.  Anyway, I was tired.  I’d hit the snooze button, a couple of times, I think.  My alarm started going off again, but, though I kept hitting it, the sound wouldn’t cease.  I was in a state somewhere between sleep and waking when I realized it wasn’t my alarm at all.  It was my phone.

I grabbed it wondering who in the world would be calling me so early.  It was Liza.  We were engaged at the time.  She had come to Birmingham too and was living with some relatives while looking for a job before we got married in January.  When I answered she was a little frantic, which immediately had me worried.  She just kept telling me to turn on the news, that someone had flown a plane into one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

Honestly, I was frustrated for being woken up for this.  I picture some amateur pilot who had flown a small Cessna through the city, lost control, and crashed, a tragedy to be sure, but nothing to wake me up about.  However, since she was so insistent, I got up, got off the phone and turned on CNN.

I was confused.  I couldn’t figure out what happened.  What wasn’t helping matters is that none of the anchors seemed to know much of what was going on either.  I began flipping back and forth between other news channels, and everyone was reporting different information, mostly because no one was sure what had happened at all.  Then, there was a universal pause, a brief moment of silence, as another plane entered the frame.

Reporters frantically began giving eyewitness accounts from the scene narrating what we all were watching in horror.  This second plane flew in to the other tower.

Two planes crashed into both towers of the World Trade Center?  What the hell was going on?

Over the next few hours we continued to ask that question.  We had a lot of questions, actually, but they could all be summed up with that one.  A third plane flew into the Pentagon.  People trapped in the towers above where the planes crashed began jumping, even swan diving from impossible heights.  The south tower collapsed creating a cloud of dust and debris that enveloped everything around it.  Reports came in of a fourth plane down in some field in Pennsylvania.  In the midst of the chaos following the first tower’s collapse, the north tower fell too.  News feeds that had featured footage of firemen and other rescue workers running into the buildings began reporting on their horrific loss.

What the hell was going on?

Of course, that’s exactly what was going on.

Hell.

Hell on Earth.

Our prosperous, comfortable, “Christian” pseudo-Eden of a nation was invaded by Hell.

Contrary to what some church leaders believed and even espoused on national television it wasn’t God’s judgment on us for abortion or homosexuality or greed or pornography or any other grievous sin.

It was sin.

Or the result of it.

It was the work of Evil in the world.

And we stared at it, in its eyes, for most of us in a way in which we’d never been forced to before.

At the worst, for those of us who just watched but weren’t there, it paralyzed us in helplessness, fear, and despair.

At the best it unified us together.

Of course, that was just initially.  Since then there’s been much worse results, namely war.  Lots of war.  Long war.  Costly war.  And there’s no time now to try to evaluate all the others.

But maybe, just maybe, hopefully and prayerfully, it scared the Hell out of us.

And maybe with Hell gone, we were left to turn to Heaven.

And though many of us wouldn’t find there the answers we wanted, we would find the only answer we really need.

*EDIT*

Some other friends have added posts about today.  Check out Shane’s here and Malinda’s here and Ruth’s here.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

1 Corinthians 13:11

Yesterday I was on Facebook (as I’m often am during the day, especially when procrastinating the actual things I need to do; I have a real problem) and realized that out of the 12 items in my highlight feed (you know; the one over on the right) 8 of them featured kids under the age of six.  Each of the kids featured belong to friends of mine.  I’m sure that in their highlight feed some item featuring the Storykins pops up pretty regularly (especially if they’re also friends with Liza).  Anyway, a year ago my highlight feed would most certainly not have featured so many items about children.

Also the other day I began having a bit of a health issue.  I won’t go in to details about it, at least not yet, because right now I don’t know that it is anything.  But it made me immediately progress down the line of thought to where I pictured myself being wheeled around in a wheelchair hooked up to various tubes and bags.

My back hurts.  Regularly.  So does my left elbow.

I’ve been losing my hair for awhile now but it’s only recently that I realized it was past the point of no return.  There is no amount of therapy that can help.  My hair has simply given up on life.  It’s sad to watch, really.

I was reading someone’s blog last night who was named one of the top 30 people under 30 in her city.  I thought, “I can never be named one of the top 30 under 30 anymore.”

All of this (and some other stuff) made me feel very… not old… but… grown up, I guess.  Like for years being “grown up” is this ethereal phase of life that’s out there and that you want to achieve but never really see coming.  That is until… BOOM!  POW!!  ZAP!!!  It’s happened.  And when I had that thought… “I guess this is it… I’m grown up… I don’t necessarily feel grown up… is this what grown up really is… or did I blow it somehow… (sigh)…” I realized that “grown up” definitely now had a negative connotation for me.  No longer was it something to be looked forward to, to strive for and achieve.  It had now become something to be mourned.

Or is it?

Late last week I was having a conversation with some friends in which the phrase “junior high sucks” was uttered.  And we were all like, “Yeah!  Junior high does suck.”  And we sat around for awhile telling embarrassing stories from our own junior high experiences and laughing about how much it sucked.

Now, I know that some of you work with junior high students in schools or churches and that you love them and think the world of them and don’t want to work with anyone else.  I get that, completely.  Notice that I am not saying “junior highers suck” because they don’t.  But junior high?  It most certainly does.  Even those junior highers (or middle schoolers) you know who love life and everything about it right now will one day look back and realize that junior high actually, in all reality, kinda sucked (at least a little bit).

So, I was lying awake thinking last night (as I’m prone to do) and realized that though I’m “grown up” I guess. I’ve still got a lot of growing to do, and, from my perspective, I definitely consider that a good thing.  Not only that, but I love where I am right now.  Not everything about my life is how I expected it to be or would possibly even want it to be, but if my parts of my life weren’t as they are now, would the others be.  To put it differently, would I have to lose the parts of my current life I want to keep in order to alter the ones I want to change?

Besides, junior high sucked (well, I didn’t go to junior high; I attended a middle school; but middle school sucked; so did ninth grade; so, yeah, junior high sucked).  High school, in a lot of ways, sucked.  College was okay, but school was still involved, so that gains it at least a few notches on the suck-0-meter.  Now, I make my own decisions and live my own life.  Nothing is laid out for me if I don’t want it to be (at least not so much as it might be pre-ordained by God).  I sure don’t get it right all the time (as many of you can attest to), but I own it.

Why would I want it any different?

If I did, I’d be like those people the writer of Hebrews is addressing.  You know the ones… they want to stay on milk ’cause it’s easy instead of putting in the effort and work to move on and embrace solid food (it’s a metaphor for the Word of God; check it out in Hebrews 5-6).

And I hate milk!

I love the IJM and what they do.  If you’re somehow unfamiliar with them, check out their site.  It won’t take you long to discover that they are the real deal and are definitely making it happen.

So, they have a new documentary coming next month called At the End of Slavery.

Check out the trailer below.

At The End Of Slavery – Extended Trailer from International Justice Mission on Vimeo.

I forgot to mention that if you’re interested in the No Excuses study I mentioned you can get it over at the LifeBibleStudy site.

Enigmatic Meanderings Blog Post – 8/11/2009 from Chris Kinsley on Vimeo.

When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.”

So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, 153 of them. And although there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”

Now none of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish.  This was now the third time that Jesus was revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Feed my lambs.”

He said to him a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Tend my sheep.”

He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go.” (This he said to show by what kind of death he was to glorify God.) And after saying this he said to him, “Follow me.”

John 21:9-19

Right off the bat, let me say that I’m not going to the exegete this passage or give a devotional or anything.  I just don’t want you to have that expectation and be disappointed.  Rather, in my short blogging hiatus, I’ve been trying to think of a way in which to talk about my latest trip to South Africa without simply giving you a play-by-play of what I did while there.  This particular Scripture passage will help me do that.

So, part of what normally happens when I go this time of year is I help my parents and whoever else is over there host a day camp for kids.  The first year I went the camp I helped with was at a place called Refilwe.  The past few years we’ve been at a school in the Mamelodi township in partnership with Berakah Educational Foundation.  Now, at both Refilwe and in Mamelodi we are working with what most would definitely consider to be “the least of these,” poverty stricken children.  Being able to serve these kids each year is a highlight for me, to say the least.  I expected nothing less this year.

Once I arrived and was sitting down with my parents to kinda hear their plan, we decided what I would do is work in the kitchen each day cooking the lunch for the kids except on the third day of the camp.  The focus for that day was to be on “salvation,” and it was decided that I’d teach the Bible study for everyone (they rotate through stations during the day, so I’d teach the same Bible study four or five different times).  Now, I got more excited about this assignment than any I’d had in previous years.  Why?  Mainly because of the passage above.

You see, there’s obviously a connection between loving Jesus and caring for His “sheep,” His people, His children.  This was most definitely true for Simon Peter and I believe it’s true for us as well.  Now, I don’t think that means Jesus was calling Peter to be a chef or anything.  However, when He said “feed my lambs,” He was doing so have just previously literally prepared and offered His followers a breakfast.  Now, at this year’s camp, I was going to have the opportunity to “feed” the kids both physically and spiritually.  What a responsibility!  What an opportunity!  What an honor and privilege!

However, this year’s camp I was helping with wasn’t at Refilwe or Mamelodi.  This particular camp was being hosted at a school in Atteridgeville.  The school is a private Christian school.  Many of the kids who go there are scholarshipped, but many are not as well.  Atteridgeville has some very poor areas and can be pretty rough, but it also has a large middle-class population.  So, there were a lot of kids there who had cell phones and talked about their computers and some who had even been to the States and visited Disneyland.  Also, since so many of them attend a Christian school. they had a lot of the “answers,” at least to the basics.

Now, let me be perfectly open and honest with you for a moment.  Since this was the case, I was kinda not as into it, I don’t think.  I mean it’s one thing to spend all morning cooking for some kids who might not have another meal that day.  It’s quite another to do so for kids who get picky about what you give them and even whine when it’s not something they really like.  It’s one thing to present the Gospel to someone who’s never heard the name of Jesus before or has a very warped understanding of who He is.  It’s quite another to try to do so to a roomful of kids who are either bored listening because they’ve heard it all many times before or who won’t let you hardly get a word out because they want to tell the story for you.

Or is it?

I found myself thinking that it’s two different things, but I forced myself to acknowledge that it’s not.  Fixing lunch and teaching the Bible to the poor makes me feel good because I see their need so easily.  Even the smallest morsels of food or knowledge that I have to offer are way more than they could dream of.  So, it’s easy for me to help them.  And this makes me feel really good, like I’m really doing something and doing something big.  But this year… well, this year was different.  Their “need” wasn’t as apparent.  Doest that mean it wasn’t there?  No.  Not at all.  But it was different.  I didn’t feel as good because it wasn’t as easy and what I had to offer didn’t stretch as far.  In fact, for me to make the same kind of impact actually required more from me, more giving, more compassion, more sacrifice.  I was still feeding lambs, but it took more for me to do it, which was actually good.

I won’t assume right now to speak for anyone else, though I think I could.  Instead, I’ll just speak for myself.  I go on these trips every year, sometimes with Servant Life or Compassion, other times just because I want to.  I go to serve, to do “God’s work,” to help the “least of these,” and I’m right to do so.  For sure.  No doubt about it.  And I’m pretty good at it… at the very least I “help” more than the average American.  That’s what I tell myself, anyway.  But when it comes to helping those I don’t perceive as “the least of these,” whoever and wherever they might be (though I have to admit, most of those I don’t see that way are the people I’m surrounded by all the time in my own country), I’m one of the worst.  I don’t serve them well at all.  Sure, I can come up with excuses and even some legitimate reasons as to why… but that’s all just hot air.

Jesus asks, “do you love me?”

I reply, “Lord, you know I love you.”

Jesus says, “feed my sheep.”

He doesn’t put any qualifiers on it, for the rich or the poor.

Why do I?

First, thanks to those of you who had some reading suggestions for me.  Between here and Facebook I think I’ve got some really interesting books to look into.  If you’ve got some others, please feel free to leave them in the comments section of yesterday’s post.  I’ll let you know later what I go with.

Now, on to today’s post…

If you follow me on Twitter or are a friend of mine on Facebook (I’m sure most of you do or are), then you know that I started feeling sickly the other day.  Since I’ve got an international trip quickly approaching, I wanted to knock out whatever was going on with me.  So I went to the doctor.  I don’t always immediately go to the doctor.  I don’t particularly enjoy doing so for a number of reasons.  Usually I see if I can’t treat my sickness myself with OTC stuff, plenty of fluids and lots of vitamin C.  Anyway, however, this time I went to the doctor.

As I’m sure you all know, one of the first things they do when you visit the doctor is measure some of your vitals.  This might include, but not be limited to, your temperature, your blood pressure, your pulse, your height and… your weight.  Now, I’m a big guy.  I know.  But I haven’t always been.  I’ve never been particularly skinny (though during a particularly dark time in high school, I kinda stopped eating a lot and dropped to about 135 lbs.), but I spent the majority of my life at least at an average weight and decently healthy.  Over the past, I’d say, eight years or so, that has ceased to be the case.  I’ve progressively put on more and more weight.  The problem for me, though, is since I haven’t been a heavy/overweight/obese/fat guy for most of my life, I don’t feel like one.  In other words, I never really think about or realize how big I’m getting or have gotten until I’m forced to stare it in the face.

This has been happening more and more lately.  First, a lot more pictures of me have been popping up.  This is mainly because of Story.  People want to take pictures of Story, and since I’m probably holding her half the time I end up being in a lot of those pictures.  Then I see those pictures and think, “what have I become?” Second, my belt has started rubbing a sore on the front of my belly where my gut hangs over it while I sit at my desk all day.  This sore hurts.  A lot.  So, either I endure the pain or stop wearing a belt.  I’m a pansy.  So, I’ve stopped wearing a belt.  This means that my pants are always falling down.  You wouldn’t think this was the case since, you know, I’ve got a big gut.  However, the big gut serves to push my pants down rather than keep them up.  So, now I’m one of those big dudes who’s either always pulling his pants up or revealing too much to the world around him.  Third, I had to get weighed at the doctor yesterday.  My weight typically fluctuates, not a lot, but in a range of about ten pounds.  If you had asked me yesterday how much I weighed, I would have estimated around 270 lbs., definitely not light.  When I stepped on that scale, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  290!!!! That means I’ve not yet reached the dreaded 300, but it’s still absolutely ridiculous and embarrassing.

It’s time to stop the insanity!

For one thing, I’m just not healthy and that’s not good.  For another, I have a daughter that I’m sure is going to be a very active little girl once she gets moving around.  I want to keep up with her and be able to play with her and run around and all that kind of stuff.  Also, I think my obesity is mostly the result of sin in my life… gluttony… laziness… etc.  Then I want to look good for Liza, and there’s also the fact that there’s a lot of things I want to do with my life.  I want to have a long life in order to do all of them (God willing).

I’ve known things have needed to change for awhile and have genuinely wanted them to do so.  I’ve tried a number of popular weight loss techniques with catchy names that worked, but then when I stopped adhering to the strict (and, frankly, absurd) rules I ballooned back up.  So, I’ve known it would take a true change in lifestyle.  I’ve been implementing small changes over the past few months.  Drinking a lot more water.  Cutting out most soda.  Eating smaller portions.  Introducing some exercise.  Making better decisions about what I eat.  Limiting fried food.  Etc.  However, the small things, while good introductory steps, just aren’t cutting.  It’s time for big things.  I don’t know what those are, exactly, but I’m working on figuring it out.

I also know myself well enough to understand that left to my own devices, I won’t do much.  It’s too easy for me to convince myself to not excercise for whatever reason or why that large blizzard is okay “just this once” even though I know it won’t be just this once.  So, a major part of this journey is going to be accountability.  That’s where you can come into the picture if you want.

1. I give any and all of you full permission to call me out.  Ask about what I’m eating, how much I’m exercising, what my plans are, how things are going.  All of that.  I won’t promise to always like it, but I will give my word to always answer you honestly.  I just ask that you do so with the purpose of being encouraging and not amusing yourself with my struggle (I know how much you all love schadenfreude).

2. If you are in a similar position as mine, maybe you’d like to join me on my quest.  We can work out some things to do together as part of our plans.  Just let me know.

3.  Maybe you have suggestions on the major changes I should make.  Again, I’m not looking for the latest trends, a quick fix or something like that.  I’m looking for a new way to live.  This type of change doesn’t come easy and will have to happen over time whether than all at once.  So, keep that in mind.  You might also want to know that I’m not an early riser, I’m a pretty busy guy, running is not something I particularly enjoy doing and I have a wicked sweet tooth.  I’m not saying I’m not willing to change/adjust/adapt any or all of those things.  I’m just painting you a picture of where I currently am.

4. I’ll be putting regular updates of how I’m doing on this blog and elsewhere for the world to see.

5.  Here’s the big one.  My goal is to lose 50 lbs. in six months.  That’s not a small goal, nor is it an unachievable one.  I’m going to take the month of July to continue with my small steps, develop a plan and strategy and then start my six month journey on August 1.  That would mean that if I achieve my goal I will have lost fifty pounds by January 31.  If I do not achieve that goal I am going to pay $50.00 (that’s one dollar per pound) to anyone who comments on this post here on this blog (not on Facebook) in the next week (by July 8).  Come on people, my failure could be your profit.  If I achieve my goal, you owe me nothing other than a simple “congrats” and “job well done.”

So there you go.

Who’s with me?

So any reader of this blog or friend of mine knows that I’m an advocate for Compassion. The company I work for has a partnership with them, but my advocacy goes beyond that. However, most of my talk about Compassion here has centered around my experience with them or those of my close friends and are most often filtered through the lens of our limited perspective since we’re only a small few of those who have the privilege of joining Compassion in the work they’re doing to release children from poverty in Jesus’ name.

Shaun Groves is  a guy I’ve only met a couple of times, but who is a great voice for millions of children around the world who have none. He’s a musician but also works with the Compassion Bloggers. Last week he had the great opportunity to be up in Colorado Springs at Compassion’s home office to lead worship for their chapel service celebrating the sponsorship of their millionth child. You can read a little bit about it at his shlog. There he has a video they played at that service. I’ve only ever put Compassion videos on here that we had something to do with producing (we being those of us here at Student Life). But this one’s worth it.

Enjoy.

By the way, you, too, can be a part of releasing a child from poverty through sponsorship with Compassion International by clicking here.

Thanks.