I'll Take A Mulligan

Today's been one of "those days". It hasn't been bad-although there've been bad parts; and it hasn't been good-although, there've been some good parts too. But it's one of the days that leaves me, at it's end, asking myself what I'm doing.

Sometimes, I look back at a day or a week, and wonder if I'll ever learn. Today had a few of those experiences--the ones that, if you'd learned your lesson the last time, or two times ago, or five times ago, you'd be smiling about, as opposed to crying.

I, apparently, am thick-skulled. I just can't seem to get it right. And I find myself, on what seems like the fourth or fifth hole, playing my sixth or seventh mulligan--saying, "Hey, self: I've messed up again. Gimme another ball." At some point, you hesitate to stick your hand in the bag for fear that it'll be suddenly empty.

I stop, and look back over the course I've traversed thus far, and see my shots gone awry strewn all about the course, and I realize that, above all else, I'm simply an embarrassement when it comes to the game of life.

And I'm tempted to despair. No, that's not true; I promptly dive-bomb, emotionally, into the deepest pits of despair. At times, it feels like a permanent fixture in my life.

I think that's probably the single greatest struggle that I face when it comes to a relationship with God; how in the world could a God really love someone as messed up as I?

Because, I'll be honest with you--perhaps this says something about me as a Christian--but, for the most part, I don't really "feel" loved by God. I'm certain that He does love me, but often, the disconnect between my heart and my mind is so severe, I can't force myself to trust it fully.

Especially on these days, when I start counting the stray balls and the mulligans.

I took a few moments tonight to gaze back down the course of my life, and began examining, from this great distance, some of those embarrassing shots that landed me in the sand-traps of life. Some of them were near enough that I could see. Others were distant-far enough back that they were no more than a speck on a field of green. Others were so far behind me, they weren't even visible any more.

And then it struck me: despite the fact that I look back over the game, and I can't recall a single excellent stroke, but can see, in plain sight, the evidence of dozens of horrible shots, I stand here, on this fourth or fifth hole, having made some headway.

And I stood, speechless, for a moment. How is it that I've not made a single decent shot, yet I've progressed nicely down the course?

"It was me," I heard.

I looked around.

"I've been making the shots for you; you refused to acknowledge it, and kept trying to play the game alone, and I let you play. But I played alongside you. It's because of me you're still here.

"And so, what right do you have to think poorly of yourself? You win the game," He continued. "I'm insulted that you can't get over yourself long enough to let go of the lack of self-worth, and realize that, if I weren't playing the game with you, you'd not have budged from your starting point. Why don't you forget you for a while, and just be a tool that I can use to accomplish what I want to accomplish THROUGH you?"

I'm sorry again, God.

A Dangerous Buffet

I'm sitting in a packed restaurant waiting for a flight out of Los Angeles. I ate dinner with a few colleagues, and during desert, the conversation turned to the age old controversy-creationism vs. evolution.

I tuned out.

Not that I don't have strongly held beliefs; I do. But, as a respected colleague says: if you have faith, no evidence is needed; if you don't have faith, no amount of evidence is sufficient. I've found that if a person is not searching, you're likely not going to help them find anything.

Something, though, caught my attention, and I tuned back in. One of my colleagues indicated that, in his mind, the Bible is subject to interpretation in that there are glaring inconsistencies with respect to the implied timeline in the Bible, that conflicts with "proven scientific fact." Perhaps, he said, much of the Bible was written simply as a "story" that represented the beliefs of the writers at the time-to some degree, based on reality, but nowhere near factually accurate.

I found this curious. I asked him if, in his mind, the Bible, as a whole, was subject to interpretation. He said of course not.

"The important stuff, like the New Testament, is pretty literal, I think."

He had to leave soon after, as his connecting flight departs a bit earlier than mine. But as he left, a gentleman at an adjoining table chimed in. He mentioned that he couldn't help overhearing our conversation, and that something I said resonated with him.

I asked him what it was.

"You made a comment," he said, "about taking the Bible literally. You said that if one takes a portion of the Bible literally, don't they have to then accept that the entire Bible is literal.

"Modern religion," he said, "tends to treat religion as 'take the parts you like, and ignore the parts you don't' smorgasbord. I've always had a problem with that."

And therein lies the problem with most religion. Once you accept that some portion of the Bible is subject to human judgment, then you're left with the quandary of deciding which portions are applicable, and which are just "a story." And then you have to ask yourself, "who is the authority." That is, who is qualified to determine what portions of the Bible are meant to be accepted "as gospel," and which portions are just "fluff." Invariably, we turn to our own judgment-which is likely clouded by our fleshly desires and normal human inclinations.

Which makes for a "buffet" type salvation-religion that, as my new friend here in the restaurant put it, is "feel-good." A salvation that suits your lifestyle, that's not uncomfortable at all-is, in fact, convenient.

Which is a huge departure from my perception of salvation.

Not that it must always be a burden to bear. But if it were easy, if it didn't require stifling our nature, conquering our fleshly tendencies, then why is it necessary?

I don't claim to understand the Bible; I certainly don't claim to understand salvation. But I do know that, the moment I start "building my own salvation" I've defeated the purpose.

Which is the danger you face when you conclude that portions of the Bible don't apply.

Father, Forgive Them

I had another post started that I intended to post tonight, but then today happened.

This morning I got blindsided by someone-in a way that, frankly, can be taken no other way than that it was intended to be deliberately hurtful. The message they sent was troubling in and of itself, but the way in which it was sent was injurious-to say the least.

And I have to admit that, initially, I was angry and hurt.

And the anger and pain burdened me-weighed me down-for quite a while today. To the point where I recognized that I was somewhere in that no-man's land between injury and hate, between pain and bitterness, hurt and rage.

And so, there in my office, I stopped, examined myself, and made a conscious effort to forgive. I determined in my heart that they were forgiven-whether they desired forgiveness or not; whether they cared or not.

And now, I'm free. It reminds me of a post from a few weeks ago, and so I went back and reread it. And realized that to forgive doesn't satiate the thirst for vengeance or justice, but it does loose the self-imposed bonds that the come with carrying the hurt.

Luke chapter 23 tells the story of Christ's crucifixion. Verse 34 contains one of the most powerful statements in the Bible, I think:

"Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."

With that, I think Jesus said all that needed to be said. They hurt Him-deliberately. They despised Him, and treated him worse than a common criminal. They mocked Him.

But Christ interceded on their behalf, because they were simply too blind to understand what they were doing.

And so those, today, who inflicted pain, probably did so on purpose. And perhaps they even despise us.

But I think they're probably too blind to see what they are doing. So, I forgive them.

And for that, I'm free.