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October 29, 2020October 29, 2020

Knowing vs. Feeling

If you’ve been following any of my past blog posts, you know that I, like many of you, have been struggling a little bit during this truly outlandish time in which our world has found itself. The Bible says that there is nothing new under the sun, and this is true, but most of us alive right now haven’t experienced our world the way we are experiencing it today. I’ve always found comfort and hope in the promises of The Bible.

The promise that has seen me through some of the toughest times in my life can be found in chapter thirty-one in the book of Deuteronomy. It says,

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.”

This promise can be found several times in Scripture: Hebrews 13:5, 1 Chronicles 28:20, and Joshua 1:5, just to name a few. Equally comforting and encouraging is the promise that God made to us regarding His Holy Spirit who dwells within every believer forever (1Thessalonians 5:19 and Romans 8:11 — again, just two of the many places this promise can be found in Scripture).

I know that God has been with me, right beside me for my whole life and definitely for as long as I’ve been a Christian — thirty-eight years now! On a spiritual and intellectual level, I know He has never left me alone.

We’ll fast-forward now to something that happened a few weeks ago that shook me to my very core. I never realized it, but I know now something that I have taken for granted my entire life. It was a blessing that God gifted me for so long — a blessing of which I am utterly undeserving, as I am of all His blessings. God had blessed me my whole life with the feeling of His Presence.

Never, not once, even during the dark years when I did everything I could to not be close to Him, did I ever not feel Him. There were times in my life I rejected Him, decided to walk my own way for awhile, and I did, but even during those days, I still felt Him right beside me, and even dwelling within me. I’m not talking about the knowing I mentioned earlier. I’m talking about straight-up feelings.

All I can hear in my head right now is my Dad singing, tongue-in-cheek, of course: “Feelings…nothing more than feelings…” while he explained to me growing up that God gives us feelings, but we aren’t supposed to trust those feelings.

We’re supposed to trust Him. Still, looking back now I realize how special I must be to my Heavenly Father that he would give me not only the gift of eternal life with Him, but that during this life on Earth, He would also give me the gift of feeling His Very Presence. It’s one of those things you don’t appreciate nearly enough until it’s not there.

Now, let’s rewind just a little. A few weeks into the pandemic, I found myself feeling pretty despondent. I was lying awake in the middle of the night (not really a new thing for me), and I decided to pray. Sometimes, when I feel like this and don’t know how to pray, I just say the Name of Jesus out loud. There is power in that, and it brings about comfort all on Its own. When I’ve done this in the past, usually, like, my-whole-life-usually, I would instantly feel God right there. And the Presence I felt was always a welcoming, comforting, kind of come-here-my-child feeling, never judgmental or resentful.

I wouldn’t feel alone anymore. Instead, that night, I felt echoes. I can’t explain that any further except to say there was an emptiness, a vast emptiness that shocked and frightened me. Never before had I ever uttered the words, “God, are you there?” or “God, if You can hear me…”

I had always felt Him. I didn’t, couldn’t feel Him that night, and I can’t explain how foreign and wrong it felt. I realize now Satan was working hard on me. He knows he can never win me, but he can certainly keep me from being effective for Jesus here on this Earth. He was feeding me lies, telling me my Father had abandoned me. I knew it wasn’t true, in my brain and even in my heart, but boy, did it feel kind of true.

Eventually, and I’m not even sure the moment it happened, but God returned that blessing to me, and I hold it so tightly now, now that I know not everyone gets to experience that, at least not for the lifetime I’d been given. I’m not sure why He allowed me to have that experience, but I’m really glad He did. God promised us He would never leave us nor forsake us, but He never promised that we would always feel His Presence.

When you experience that, treasure it in your heart forever. It is my prayer for all of you, my Brothers and Sisters, that you would be blessed with feeling the Presence of God. And those times that you don’t feel Him, just keep knowing the truth — that He is there, and keep saying His Precious Name.

October 8, 2018October 8, 2018

A View of Catholicism Today

This I believe. I believe in heaven. I believe in God. I believe each of us has a soul that after death resides with God and angels and the souls of countless others in eternity. I believe that angels exist, reside in eternity and are God’s messengers to we dwelling on Earth. I believe that any creature capable of loving, caring and having feelings for others has a soul that too, after death, resides in heaven. That goes especially for animals.

I am also a Catholic

I am a mightily disturbed Catholic over the public outing of those miscreants who call themselves priests.

I have countless times over my adult years said “I’m a Catholic in spite of the Church.”

I identify as a Catholic mainly from communal, social, and family reasons. I’m from a half Italian, half Sicilian family. The distinction is verification that I know the difference. I went to Catholic elementary school, Catholic high school and a Jesuit college (the distinction is intentional as many within the church cast a skeptical eye towards Jesuits, even calling the head of the order “the Black Pope”.) My relatives are Catholic. For the most part, my friends and classmates are Catholic. I attend Catholic Sunday services. Quite unintentionally I’m a founding Grand Knight of my parish counsel in Maryland. I consider myself part of my new Texas Catholic parish community.

Being Catholic is part of my identity. I would not feel comfortable or honest to say otherwise.

The Catholic religion is based on faith in Jesus Christ. It’s a legitimate part of what followers call Christianity. We don’t worship statutes as some think. We don’t worship angels. We don’t worship Saints. We worship one God and it doesn’t, to me at least, matter what anyone calls the Supreme Being, even using the Hebraic phrase that acknowledges God but refuses to use a name to that effect.

I also need to be very clear that I really bridle at being asked if I’m a Christian. If you can’t tell what I believe from the way I act then I don’t deserve to use that description anyway.

Another reason I don’t subscribe to the “have you accepted Christ” club is that I find it a tad insulting and just as offensive as Muslims demanding fealty to Mohammad’s cult of belief. I say cult because any group that believes “others” who, for whatever reason, refuse to join that group deserve death is no fellowship that worships the true God.

If, as many claim, Mohammed was an impressive and quite successful plagiarist of world religions his epic work’s most despicable admonishment that non-believers must be slain can be traced to an equally disgusting era of intolerance of those from whom he borrowed ideas including the Catholic Church. The Inquisition was one. Oliver Cromwell and his Roundhead Generals genocidal slaughter of Irish Catholics as compelled by “the wrath of God” is another. Witch trials were part of that horrid mindset.

The idea of any one religion claiming exclusivity to (pick a name) heaven, paradise, nirvana, or whatever the name du jour for eternal happiness might be is utter, egotistical bull.

My attitude is simply that what I practice as a form of worship is none of your business. As I said, my life is my membership card and if that’s not good enough for you…that’s your problem, not mine.

That said I have a very real problem with the historical and present Catholic Church, the regal structure of the clergy and the offenses against God and mankind that follow.

I can’t stand anything that walks like, talks like or has pretensions of royalty. I’m sure it’s due to equal parts of my Sicilian/Italian genetic disdain for overbearing authority and the intrinsic importance of independence to being American. Bow to a King or Queen or kiss a Cardinal’s ring…thank you no. I’ve shaken a few Presidents’ hands but taking a knee to anyone or any group is out of the question. We are all the “Chosen.” Why else would we be here? We all deserve equal respect until we prove otherwise. And, we are all servants no matter if others call us by any exalted title.

In my seven decades as a Catholic I’ve encountered priests who understand their role as servants of God and their fellow humans, and I’ve known many who posture as divine arbiters of human behavior. I’ve found Irish Catholic priests more often than not tend to act like petty tyrants who demand the faithful follow their every idiotic command as coming directly from the mouth of God.

The recent, but by no means new, revelations of the wholesale sexual depravity of some Catholic clergy in Pennsylvania and elsewhere were not shocking. They didn’t shake my faith or cause me to jettison my identity as a Catholic. The horrific sexual predator practices among scores of priests in Pennsylvania is but one of the most recent in a long-standing history of that abomination. Not that such damnable behavior is restricted only to the Catholic clergy.

Catholicism to me is not an exclusive club, nor the only community whose membership enjoys favor with the Divine although church figures throughout history would beg to differ. I do not hold the Catholic clergy or their hierarchy of pretentious titles – monsignors, bishops, archbishops, cardinals, even the Pope – in any particular awe. They are just men doing a job who tend to wear funny outfits. Respect I give for the individual on a sliding scale depending on their dedication to service to all of us, humans and animals alike.

There is but one God. To me, it does not matter the flavor of believe espoused: Christianity, Islam, Protestant faith etc. with which one identifies. (Islam is mentioned here with a figurative cautionary asterisk attached.)

A great lesson was taught me when my wife and I sought a cleric to preside over our marriage ceremony. We made inquiries of a wide range of religions. The local, Maryland Catholic priest declined. He said our previous, less than successful forays into domestic disfunction, required the past unions to be annulled. The idea that children even those from the worst parental pairings would be, in theory, the offspring of a newly deemed non-existent union was pretty offensive and insulting. Even a minister whose website proclaimed theirs was a community of progressive thinking, acceptance, and quite “universal” that met in a glorified tree house said “no.” One man, whose initials begin with “Kenn,” stepped forward. I believe his background was Baptist…and definitely former Marine.

Attending the event were many Catholics including two nuns. One of the nuns approached me once the vows were made and documents signed and said that the Reverend’s service was the single most spiritual she’d ever seen. No robes, no altars, no organs accompanying vocalists singing hymnal or Hollywood songs. It was a spiritual event orchestrated by a true clergyman saying true words in honor of the true God.

So,in spite of the church and too many predators in priest clothing, I remain a Catholic but my form of worship is grounded in how I live my life, embrace others, open my heart to the companionship of those who passed before me and accept the many gifts, both positive and painful, the Divine One allows me to experience during my journey here.

October 1, 2018October 1, 2018

Peeking into Paradise – God’s Plan Pt II

One of the most troubling reasons people give to deny the existence of God is “why does God let bad things happen to good people?” Why war? Why the Holocaust? Why cancer? Why abusive parents, teachers, preachers, cops, national leaders, and spouses? Why babies with massive birth defects?

My starting point to answer that question is the idea that God is not the kind of parent who believes in spoiling the child. Nor does God punish. God lets each of us work through the perils, pitfalls and blessings of our own life. God is an equal opportunity deity. The rich, beautiful, talented, athletic, well-born and perfect in every physical way among us have as many problems as the rest of us who are not rich, beautiful, endowed with genius intelligent quotients and maybe have a physical problem or two.

The reason the opportunities God provides everyone are misinterpreted, overlooked or ignored by most is simple. Each, whether benign or harsh, is an opportunity or option left for us to decide how to respond in order to become a good and decent person.

The idea behind the above interpretation of God’s relation to human life isn’t new or unique. In fact, it begins with conception and birth. Life, every aspect from the time the fastest swimming sperm cell enters the egg to life’s last breath, is a crap shoot. We don’t know from one moment or one day to the next what’s in store for us to encounter and decide how to respond whether it will be something to be enjoyed, feared or conquered. There are no guarantees. No set of instructions on how to deal with each: birth, disease, the journey to adulthood, or death. What happens and how we deal with it is the measure of whom we are.

A gift from my son, Tommy, provides a decent starting point or background against what I’m about to try and say. It’s a very simple, short, clearly written and thought-provoking book by Sebastian Junger called “Tribe.”

Towards the latter third, Junger explains the difference between people who correctly understand the way we best fit into the universe and those who wander about in a state of self-absorbed idiocy. Somewhat counterintuitively, Junger uses the bonds formed by civilians and military enduring the real dangers of being in the midst of combat to illustrate the finer qualities of life.

He describes life during the London Blitz of World War II and the more recent genocidal Bosnian War. The daily reality of random death from a bomb or sniper’s bullet, the lack of safe shelter, sufficient food and water did not lead to cultural chaos. Depression and suicide were not the n norm for individuals. Looting, raping and thievery did not characterize societal behavior. Quite the opposite. The awful burden of war brought people together. They helped each other and shared what little they had. War, as horrific as it is, brought the values of tribe to the fore.
When peace and prosperity returned, society descended to the depths of depravity. People forgot the bond of the tribe and became self-absorbed, greed driven individuals. Depression and suicide rates rose. Those who lived through the war years yearned for the time when they laughed more and were their happiest.

Once done with his wartime examples, Junger’s prose slides onto the subject of “litter.” Those who toss a cigarette butt or candy wrapper or plastic water bottle to the ground are clueless about why we inhabit the earth. They think only of themselves. They have no connection with others, with humanity, with nature. Those who don’t ignore others or community or nature, who pick up the trash strewn about by others do connect. They understand that we are part of a “tribe” in the broadest sense of the term. They strive, without seeking honor or praise, to live as decent, caring humans…as God hoped we would.

September 27, 2018October 1, 2018

Peeking into Paradise: Why I believe in Angels

Three times my late son, Johnny, changed my life.

The first time was when he was born. That was the experience only parents who care and are aware of what it means to be parents understand. It was the instant when why we are here on earth became un-mistakeably clear.

The second time was when he died March 10, 2010 ten days before his twentieth birthday. He wasn’t supposed to live many days after his birth. He was born with his heart’s left ventricle, the major chamber that pumps oxygenated blood from his heart to his body and brain, missing. It’s called hypoplastic left heart syndrome, a fairly common birth disorder.

PeTA, the ever so kind and enlightened community of animal rights activists, said of him in a note to me that his life was not worth that of a single lab rat sacrificed by medical research to find a correction or cure for the problem. You might have guessed it, I don’t take kindly to PeTA or their intolerant tribe. The fallacy of their fanaticism became apparent when, at a meeting of the Humane Society of the United States (a multi-million dollar group that runs no…repeat no…animal shelters and whose staff ranks are replete with PeTA-philes) I asked “so is medical research on animals that benefits animals also wrong?” They were not terribly responsive or happy with my presence.

The third was many years later after a Tai Chi class at a gym in Rockport, Texas. A wonderful instructor, a street tough and gentle lady with multiple “black belts” each being high up the skill achievement totem pole and whose martial arts skills rival most Navy SEALS, beckoned me over. Victoria is her name.

She began by saying “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy but…” What followed the word “but” both rocked my consciousness and brought me great joy.

“For the past few days I’ve been visited by a young boy surrounded by bright light. I had no idea who he was or what he wanted but he was very persistent. The second you walked into the room he rushed to your side. He’s here now.”

I listened with more than my usual skeptical demeanor, but also with a non-judging look to my face. I wanted to hear what she had to say. With my diminished hearing capacity thanks to a day at the national high-power rifle competition without hearing protectors, I strained to capture her every word.

“He says to ‘tell Dad’ I’m tall and can dance. Tell him not to worry, everything’s going to be all right. Tell him I love him and that I’m happy.” She went on to describe Johnny perfectly. I had never met her before, nor had I told her or anyone she knew anything about or even the fact that I had two sons, Johnny and Tommy, and that Johnny had passed.

Johnny, thanks to his biological mother’s omission of a single rule of CPR – to clear the airway, spent the last six or so years of his life as a non-verbal quadriplegic. Watching a television comedy, he had a seizure and passed out. During her attempt to revive him, he aspirated the late-night cereal he was eating into his lungs and halted the passage of oxygen to his brain. It took two years before, she said my blame for the EMTs who first administered to him was misplaced.

She called one day and said Johnny gave up and quit eating, that he had died. My sorrow almost overcame the simultaneous question of how was that possible? He was fed via a machine and a tube leading to his stomach. To say I was enraged would be quite accurate, however my loss and natural instinct to display no public emotion other than a stoic stare at horrific incidents took control. Don’t ask why. It’s not an act. It’s just how I react, with a dead silent poker expression searching mentally for any and all facts of the incident.

Victoria keeps me posted on all of Johnny’s antics. Before Hurricane Harvey hit Rockport, Texas as I attended her class on ancient Chinese defensive movements. The class after Christmas she told me Arthur Meru was having a great time with Johnny. Arthur was a new Rockport/Corpus Christi friend. He was one of the most intense, gentle, and spiritual persons I’d ever met. He was Hispanic, a former Vietnam-veteran U.S. Marine. He was a private investigator and a member of a 900-year-old Japanese Ninja family. For a man my age, 70 at the time, a pat on his back was identical to hitting a solid oak board, he was that tough. Arthur came to one of Victoria’s classes. He dressed in Samuria armor.

Arthur died in his sleep Christmas night. Now, Victoria tells me, Arthur hangs out with my son Johnny and a passel of angels. Yep…angels. Some are little…cherubic faces with wings. Others are pretty impressive in stature. Angels are one of God’s creations. They guard us and upon occasion are his messengers.

The angels are described as almost a background chorus while Johnny and Arthur try to make Victoria laugh by dancing. They too were smiling and laughing…a sign of God’s good humor. One day Johnny and Arthur showed up in grass skirts doing a version of the hula. Two little angels sat on their shoulders. Nothing like a martial arts instructor cracking up silently while angels sing and my son and Arthur dance.

August 6, 2018August 7, 2018

A Visit to the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte

It’s supposedly the #1 attraction in the Charlotte, North Carolina, area, the Billy Graham Library. That means it’s more popular than NASCAR. Although I had seen the billboards advertising the Billy Graham Library and I routinely visit Charlotte and the surrounding area, I hadn’t visited until … my parents joined me in Charlotte for a family wedding. I grew up watching Billy Graham’s amazing crusades on our black and white TV, back in the ’60s. As a teen, I went forward to answer the call at a crusade in my hometown of Sioux Falls. And now, it seemed fitting, right, to go to the library and to visit the resting place of Rev. Graham and his wife, Ruth, at the library in Charlotte with my parents, the wonderful people who not only brought me into the world, but also, who started me on my journey of being a Christian.

These are my lovely parents, who are standing in front of the Billy Graham Library on a wet and chilly April day in Charlotte. The grounds are gorgeous.

Inside the Billy Graham Library

Although the building looks “barnish,” it houses valuable documents and artifacts that chronicle Graham’s mission in life — to preach the gospel of Christ. Rev. Graham preached for almost 80 years, and you can follow, chronologically, his own journey. The Library is hosting special displays this year:

June-August: “New Frontiers” – 1980s & 1990s
September-October: “Looking to the Future” – 2000s & 2010s
November-December: “Then and Now” – Today

I especially liked the display that featured the time that Rev. Graham went to Berlin. It features live footage of the occasion, and the magnitude of the crowds is really, rather overwhelming. There is a hunger in the world to hear the word.

Visitors to the library will follow the life and journey of Billy Graham, and also learn about his #1 helpmate, his soulmate, Ruth Bell Graham — whose parents were missionaries in China. Find out more about this lovely lady and about how her plans, of eventually returning to China as a missionary, were changed and melded into an even greater plan.

This is a super interesting display — the preaching Bible that Billy Graham used on his crusades across the world.

Throughout the library, you will be exposed to videos and photographs of the world and the times and how Rev. Graham effected change.

How can I even improve on this little piece of information. Life changing. You’ll find nuggets of wisdom and pearls of knowledge throughout the journey in the museum, which will take at least 2 hours. Make sure to visit the gift shop, where you may find Rev. Graham and his team’s books, as well as several devotional books and lovely mementos of your visit.

Rev. Graham had his family home moved to this site, keeping 80% of the original materials. He lived in this house from the age of 9 until he left for college. The interior is similar to how the Graham family lived, with original appliances and furniture, along with fascinating photographs.

Rev. Graham passed away in February 2018, at the age of 99, and his grave is located on the site near his wife’s grave.

No admission charge, but a donation is accepted.

Visit the Billy Graham Library.

May 20, 2018

The Surprisingly Simple Remedy for My Lukewarm Christian Life

Here’s an example of a podcaster using what is available in social media to reignite his passion for the Lord. The tale of a project called Miracles & Atheists. The surprisingly simple remedy for my lukewarm Christian life.

What do you mean, “when was I born again?”

I grew up in a church, I’ve always believed…it’s awesome that you found Jesus right before you were about to take your life, that God spoke to you as you opened the door to cheat on your wife, that you were delivered from your 10-year addiction, but I don’t have a story.

The Dilemma

I prayed for Jesus to be my Lord and Savior when I was a kid I guess, but I don’t remember being saved. What I do remember is praying that same prayer several times throughout my childhood, on 5 or 10 occasions maybe. I suppose I just wanted to make sure I was saved, but nothing happened.

The point is, I don’t have a story so don’t ask me about it, I get uncomfortable.

I don’t like being uncomfortable.

The truth is, not having a dramatic story makes me wonder whether I truly am saved. I believe, sure. At least I think I do.

But what does it really mean to believe anyway? I’m supposed to know that I know that I know I’m saved, right? That’s what the pastor says. Ok then, but how do I know for sure?

Faith is being convinced about things we do not see. Hebrews 11:1 tells us that; but am I convinced? The whole concept sort of stresses me out. Jesus tells us those who believe will cast out demons in His name, they will speak in tongues…wait tongues? What’s that all about anyway? I grew up United Methodist man, I don’t know what all this means.

Those who believe will pick up snakes with their hands and drink deadly poison without getting hurt. They’ll place hands on the sick and the sick will be healed…seriously? (Ref: Mark 16:17-18)

I certainly haven’t experienced any of that. Maybe I don’t believe then. But why not? What am I doing wrong? If I’m not saved, why am I wasting my time with church?

These are the things I struggled with during the first 38 years of my life as a lukewarm Christian.

People always used to tell me about the freedom they found in Jesus, but all I felt was condemnation. Paul says there’s no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1) so I felt confused all the time. What’s the point of it all?

My lukewarm Christian friends used to tell me not to worry about it…that I was bearing fruit, I was fine. Even so, I had a potty mouth, an adulterous heart and an empty feeling inside….continuously searching for fulfillment, for something more.

Far from freedom, I know.
The truth is I was doing something wrong. I was going through the motions: seeking after the Lord with one hand but holding onto the world with the other. I’ve learned it doesn’t work that way.

About 18 months ago I started an unexpected journey in search of making sense out of it all. It was a Sunday afternoon, where despite having three energetic kids running around the house, I found myself scrolling through a mind-numbing playlist of movies on Netflix, most of which were full of sex, violence, and self-centered living. I’d been watching too many of those lately and I needed something kid-friendly, but not a kid’s movie, I couldn’t stomach anymore of those.

I selected a documentary called “The Finger of God.” I thought to myself, “hey that’s different.” The premise of the film was to investigate why some churches were on fire for the Lord, while others were well, lukewarm, perhaps? The film’s producer, Darren Wilson, sought after churches that were seeing real-life miracles, with the goal of capturing them on film.

Before watching this movie I knew absolutely nothing about miracles. I never even thought about signs and wonders before, or that any of the miraculous things Jesus talked about still happen in the 21st century. The Holy Spirit was basically an afterthought to me.

I figured miracles were a conceptual thing, not literally something us humans here on this planet could actually partake in. But I tell you, this documentary got the wheels turning for me. I was fascinated by some of the things I was seeing: deaf people’s ears opening up, knees being healed on the spot, manna showing up in people’s Bibles. It was weird…was this the same Jesus I thought I knew?

The idea of seeing miracles stayed in the back of my mind for the next six months. I wanted to know more, but I didn’t do anything about it.

Doing something would make me uncomfortable, and I don’t like being uncomfortable.

It’s funny though, the Lord doesn’t seem to be concerned about my comfort. It’s like He has other plans for me or something…

So I figured the best thing would be to start getting into the Bible; to see what God’s Word says about miracles. Didn’t they go away? The problem was I found the Bible boring and confusing. I was going through the motions when I read the Bible and felt guilty about it. It shouldn’t be that way, having guilt didn’t feel right.

God knew I would get frustrated and blow off my Bible reading, and I did. So He put someone in my path who was well-versed in miracles, signs and wonders. I met Cale Nelson at a conference for podcasters in early 2017. We had only talked for five minutes or so, but I could see this guy was on fire for Jesus. I admired that, all the while wondering why I wasn’t on fire like he was…what was I missing, seriously?

At this point my finances were a mess and my marriage was about to fail. I was full of pride and selfish intentions. Yet, I put up a really good front. By God’s grace Cale and I kept in touch online, and after a few weeks I asked him whether he’d be interested in talking about Jesus with me more regularly.

Through Cale’s example, I learned how truly different real followers of Jesus were from the rest of the world. That scared me.
I was comfortable in my lukewarm world; I wanted to blend in.

Even so, I recognized in my search for fulfillment that I needed to make some sort of change. We all know the definition of insanity. So one of the first things I did was pray the Lord give me a hunger for His Word. If His Word truly brings life, I want to understand how.

It took a few months, but the hunger I prayed for did eventually come, gradually. I made a commitment that the first thing I would do after waking up is get into the Word of God before I did anything else, even if just for five minutes. To my surprise, I actually started enjoying my time reading! For understanding, I started devouring any Christian media I could get my hands on related to miracles: audiobooks, YouTube videos, podcasts, and more documentaries.

It opened up a whole new world for me! I couldn’t believe I’d been missing out on such life in the here and now. For my whole life I’d just been concerned about not going to hell, but for the first time I realized Christ is actually inside me in the form of the Holy Spirit, I just needed to learn how to access Him.

I was sitting in church alone one Sunday morning and the pastor gave a sermon about taking risks for the Lord. He said faith had to involve some sort of risk, that without risk, it wouldn’t be faith. The message resonated with me.

I realized I had developed a fear of man. If I were to talk about my faith, to move outside my comfortable, lukewarm world it would be awkward. Talking to Cale every week was fine, but getting out into the world and being that weird Christian well, that was different.

Yet Jesus said “so everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.” Matthew 10:32-33 ESV

Acknowledging Jesus would mean I’d have to take a risk, probably more than one, and I didn’t like that very much. On the other hand, I didn’t like going through the motions anymore either.

It was time.

A lot of Christians love to learn, but far fewer take action on what they learn. I wanted to take action.

The Lord gave me a vision of bringing atheists and believers together to talk about miracles, signs and wonders. The problem was that atheists intimidated me. They thought Christians were stupid, they talked with big vocabulary and I didn’t want them to challenge me on my beliefs. My theology wasn’t all that strong and I didn’t want to jeopardize my faith, so I stayed clear of any religious talk when I found myself in a conversation with an atheist. Nevertheless, I respected them. They weren’t like me, in that they made a decision. They didn’t question their beliefs, they just didn’t believe and moved on.

There’s something to be said for being decisive, yet I couldn’t understand why they would be willing to jeopardize their salvation. It was a fascinating worldview, and I realized I had a heart for the atheist.

So I took my first risk, I took action.
I needed to find atheists and Christians willing to have a conversation. So I put out a polarizing post on Facebook about the folly of the aggressive, Bible-thumping, “you’re gonna burn” Christian. I mentioned that I would be working on a project to address the issue. I put out the post at around midnight on an early Wednesday morning and within 24-hours, I had nearly 300 comments and 20 private messages asking me what I was doing.

My post took people by surprise, it was out of character. And it also struck a chord. The next day I found myself filled with what could be none other than the Holy Spirit. I felt like I was high! Nothing else mattered, not my finances, not my frail marriage, not the kids, nothing…just God.

It was one of the most fulfilling experiences I can remember; that day I was baptized of the Holy Spirit. I took my first risk for the Lord, and I got my first taste of real faith. Shortly thereafter I found myself laying hands on the sick, rebuking illnesses and starting to see people healed. It’s been nothing short of amazing (and a little crazy).

One week later I launched a four-hour livestream on Facebook – I call it Miracles & Atheists. The premise of the show is to facilitate a healthy dialog between atheists and believers about the supernatural. It hasn’t been easy, but incredibly fulfilling.
Piece by piece, brick by brick my faith strengthened.

Nowadays, I see my wife and kids growing in their faith. My marriage is stronger than it’s ever been and God’s handling our finances. My six-year-old is even laying hands and praying for the sick! It’s been an amazing roller coaster of a ride.

I don’t care about being the weird Christian anymore, I just want to help the lost and heal the sick.

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Matthew 6:33 NIV

I had read that verse for years, but I never knew how to truly apply it in the fray of life, until I took my first risk for the Lord. Seeking God’s kingdom first means to truly die to yourself, every day. It’s means listening to the Lord when He calls you to do something, whether you know for sure that it’s Him or not. If it’s aligned with the Word of God, you go for it.

For me, I’d already lived the first 38 years of life for myself, so I’ll go ahead and live the rest out for Jesus.

If you’re like me, you may be afraid of going all in for Jesus. You probably don’t like being uncomfortable – believe me, I don’t either! Just know that your fear isn’t from God, it’s from the enemy. Push through and take that risk! When the dust settles, don’t be surprised when that mountain moves.

April 7, 2018April 20, 2018

Three Rocks

Driving into work one evening, I noticed a column of rocks stacked neatly by the edge of the woods along the roadside. “I wonder who put those there,” I thought to myself as I continued on.

The simple fact that I had asked myself that question prompted even more reflection. Not so much on the existence of the stack of rocks, but why was that the question that popped into my head? After all, three rocks stacked one on top of the other is an extremely simple construct. It’s not like those rocks were built into a bridge, or a house, or some other structure. Just three rocks, stacked.

Yet I immediately defaulted to the thought that someonehad put them there. Some intelligent being had picked up those three rocks, and stacked them just so. It never once occurred to me that natural forces had acted upon those rocks and caused them to end up that way. It is possible, of course, that forces such as erosion, gravity, wind, or water could have come together in such a way as to place those three rocks in a column. But while those sorts of formations might appear naturally in Monument Valley, it becomes a little harder to explain next to a wooded road in Kentucky.

What would you think, if you saw a similar stack of rocks in an otherwise improbable place? I imagine that most people would immediately ask a similar question…immediately, reflexively. “Who put those there?” Despite the extremely simple nature of the structure, we innately understand that it was built with an intelligent hand. At the same time, there are those who would insist that other vastly more complex systems occurred by accident. Human beings, planets, the universe, and all the forces which make them all function…just happened?

I don’t know how you reconcile the two positions. Three rocks stacked we readily accept as a result of intelligent design, but the complexities of life and the universe are a random occurrence? Unless you can look at those three rocks and honestlybelieve that their arrangement was truly just a roll of the dice, and that physical science just happened to put them there…I don’t see how you can logically look at the universe that way, either.

Me…I don’t believe for a second that those three rocks ended up that way by accident. And as such, I can’t believe that life, the universe, and everything in it is an accident, either.