May You Live in Interesting Times

I've been told that that expression is a Chinese curse. Makes sense. Boring means nothing bad is happening. Interesting is a whole different story, and it's been an interesting few days.

First, last week. We went camping. I worked my behind off to get everything done, and we were going to stay Thursday night- Saturday morning. We drove an hour and half there, found an amazing campsite, and then my son started throwing up everywhere. So we packed everything up and went home. We got to camp for all of about four hours.

Then, last night, I threw my back out. Now, I've had back pain all my life, and I'm only 34. But I've never had it this bad. Could hardly walk or stand. This morning I went to the Chiropractor and he was actually gentler than usual. Which is how I knew I was in trouble. Turns out that my sacrum had locked up, he unlocked it, and now I have to go see him basically every day for the rest of my life. OK, that's not true, but it's still no fun. I can't sit still for very long, I'm constantly stretching, and it keeps stabbing me when I least expect it.

So, yeah, fun week. I hope my back is better by Sunday, and not just because there's a lot of setup involved with our worship. I could barely stand last night, and never for more than a couple minutes. No way I could lead a worship like this. I'd have to do it lying on the floor on my back. Who knows, maybe not having to look at my ugly mug would make it easier for people to think about God. I dunno.

What I do know is that I was supposed to have gone camping and come back refreshed, recharged, and bored. Instead, I've been living in 'interesting times'. I just didn't know 'interesting' could be this painful. Yikes! If you get the option, choose boring. Really. Choose boring. I will.

Walking with your eyes closed

On the 4th of July, my two and half year old son freaked out at the fireworks. Again. So I had to carry him 1.5 miles home. Again. I swore up, down, leftways and sideways that I wouldn't do that again this year, and here I was doing it again. Because I thought he might enjoy the fireworks for a change, and I love him.

Anyway, we were about halfway home when the fireworks actually started. I was holding him on my front, and he closed his eyes to keep the fireworks out. After awhile my arms were getting tired, so I put him on my shoulders. He kept his eyes closed. A little while longer and I had to put him down to walk, and as we started walking I looked down and he still had his eyes closed! We did that whole routine again before we got home- front, shoulders, walking, and then even front again, and he kept his eyes closed the whole time. It wasn't until I said "Turn around, open your eyes, we're home" that he finally opened his eyes.

Since then, I've had a lot of thoughts about this. One is that carrying a two and a half year old 1.5 miles isn't fun. Two is that I'd do it again if I had to because I love the little guy. I'd carry him until I fell over.

But the main thing I've been thinking about is him walking with his eyes closed. That's not something most adults would do. Then again, most adults wouldn't close their eyes because they are afraid of fireworks. Yet our eyes are closed to most of what is going on around us. We can't see it. We can't see the big picture, the big plan, we just walk with our eyes closed. We have no choice.

My son had me there to guide him. To tell him when to turn, when to step up, when to move to the side one way or the other. If I hadn't been there, he would have wandered into a building, a tree, or the road. It was a busy road, so...yeah. Not something I want to think about. But he didn't because I was there, and he held my hand, and he didn't let go. Not even for a second. He held on, and he kept his eyes closed, and he knew I would get him home safe.

Lots of people talk about faith. My son walked it. He literally 'walked the walk' of faith. My two and a half year old. It was something I don't think I'll ever forget, and even though it took my back two days to recover, it was worth it.

Getting out of bed & going to church

Believe it or not, there are days when I don't want to get out of bed and go to worship. Since I'm a pastor, that may come as a surprise. But it's true. There are days when I just don't want to do it. Last week was one. I had a rough night of sleep the night before, a brutal time getting the kids ready, it was ugly outside and I thought "Man, it would be nice to just stay home." I can't do that, obviously. I have responsibilities, and while I'm sure that if I had an emergency folks would pitch in and things would go OK, that's not something to do just because I "don't feel like going."

But here's the thing: I'm glad I have those responsibilities because they make me go. You see, God deserves my worship whether I feel like going or not. And being in a relationship means sometimes doing things you don't feel like doing for the good of the relationship. It's good for my relationship with God for me to go, even if it's not what I would choose. So I'm glad for those responsibilities. God is important to me, worship is important to me, and accepting those responsibilities helps me stick to my priorities and helps me keep my relationship with God strong. I'm glad for that, and I'm glad I went that day even though I didn't want to. Not because of what I got out of it, but just because it was the right thing to do.