Sell All Your Possessions and Ride a Skateboard

Several years ago, while visiting friends, their son excitedly showed me his quarter pipe skateboard ramp and grinding rail.   It was exciting to watch him as he flipped his skateboard on the rail and slid down the length of the steel, and as he dropped down off the lip of the quarter pipe and raced down the driveway. 

It seemed like a lot of fun and I had the idea it might be worth a try.  Now, I knew there was no way I could flip that board up onto that rail, but I thought there was a chance I would be able drop into quarter pipe.  My mistake was I spoke this idea out loud and the boy began to encourage me to try. When I hesitated, he proceeded to egg me on.  I think he may have even used the word “Chicken”.  What was I to do?

I watched him take a few more turns dropping into the pipe, asking questions each time about what he was doing and how it should feel to drop off the edge.  He was more than helpful.  I think he was now feeling some responsibility for my decision and wanted to do everything he could to insure my success.  After all, nobody wants to be the guy who talked someone into cracking their head open on your parent’s driveway.

After a few minutes I realized it was now or never, so I took the board, set it on the edge just like he told me to, and hung there, one foot firmly on the tail of the board which was resting on the top of the pipe and the other lightly touching the front of the board.  The young man continued to give me instructions on how to drop in.  Like a pro athlete who visualized the shot before he takes it, I allowed the image of me dropping in and rolling down the driveway play over and over in my mind. 

 Finally I committed, well sort of. The board began to move and I went with it, but I did not fully commit.  My friend’s son had told me over and over you had to put your weight on your front foot when you went.  What I found is your body wants to do just the opposite.  It wants to stay firmly planted on the back foot because it feels secure.  To transfer your weight to the front foot seems unnatural and risky, but I discovered the hard way, it is also the safest thing to do.

I dropped in, my weight still planted on my back foot.  Rather than feeling the thrill of riding the skateboard down the ramp, I felt the board squirt out from under me, throwing my feet up into the air and by upper body down onto the concrete.  Thankful, I did not crack my head open, but I did hurt my wrist.  At the time I jumped up and acted as if I was fine.  It then proceeded to get in my car and drive away as quick as possible.  My pride could not let him know I had done more than just embarrass myself.  It took weeks before my wrist healed and felt right.

This painful lesson taught me when it comes to dropping into a quarter pipe, you have to fully commit.

In the Scriptures there is a story about a man who meets Jesus.  He does not want to learn to skateboard, but he does ask Jesus to teach him something.  He asks Jesus, “What good deed must I do to have eternal life?”  Jesus replied by saying, “If you want to enter life, keep the commandments.”  The man asked Jesus which one and Jesus shared several.  What Jesus said must have made the man feel good, because he reported to Jesus, “All these I have kept.”  And yet, he seemed to know in his own heart that it was not enough for he also said, “What do I still lack.”

Jesus responded by telling him to put all his weight on his front foot when he dropped in.  With love in His heart for the man Jesus said, “If you want to be perfect, (if you want to know the joy and thrill of riding down the face of the ramp and speeding down the driveway), sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

What Jesus was asking must have felt unnatural and risky, but Jesus was not extending an invitation which would lead to this man’s peril.  He was inviting him to life.  He was calling him to make the safest move.

There the man stood in front of Jesus, one foot hanging on the edge of the board and the other planted firmly on the security of the ramp.  I wonder what visualizations were going through his mind?  Was he thinking about how abundant life would be if he put all his weight on his front foot, or was he thinking about how perilous it would be for him to let go of the security of his wealth.  I think it must have been both.  We do not know for sure, but we do know latter image won out. 

The Scriptures do not tell us what happens to the young ruler after his encounter with Jesus.  We know enough to understand in his moment of hesitation the invitation shot out from underneath him and he was upended. Something was injured in his unwillingness to leave the security he had known, in order to take hold of the life he was being offered. We are told he was saddened by the choice he felt he had to take.  Sadness is born out of loss.  He knew he had lost something significant in his decision and went away grieving.  

This man’s story of loss teaches us, in order to take hold of the freedom and fullness of the life offered by Jesus, you have to fully commit.

I do not know when your moment will come, but I know there will be a time when you find yourself with one foot securely planted on what feels solid and secure and the other dangling on the end of a board. In this place, you will be confronted with the choice of keeping your weight on your back foot, where it feels secure, or shifting it to your front, trusting that the move will actually be safer than holding back or hesitating. 

Maybe you are poised on the lip of the pipe right now, trying to visualize what it will be like to actually make the move.  The only choice which leads to life is to shift your weight.  Do it now. Do it without hesitation. Let go of what you are holding onto for security and fall into safety.  Choosing not to, or being tentative, will do nothing but upend and injure you.  

Take the risk, drop in even if it feels unnatural and you will know the thrill of riding down the face of a pipe and racing the down the driveway in freedom.

Of Whales and Waiting

This past week we were blessed by some friends with a three night stay at a resort in Avila Beach.  On the first morning, I went down to a patio which overlooks the Pacific Ocean.  I took a book, some coffee and settled in to read, pray and sit in the silence.  It seemed like the perfect way to begin our stay.

Not long after I got comfortable, and before I had turned too many pages of my book, I heard the unmistakable sound of a whale breaking the surface of the water and clearing her blow hole.  I looked up from my book quick enough to watch the humped back of a whale dip back under the water, leaving behind only a froth of foam where her body had been moments before.

I put the book down and began to scan the water between the two piers, which were to the right and the left of my perch, to see if I might be lucky enough to catch another glimpse this majestic mammal.  In the next few minutes I discovered there were others with her, at least six, who were feeding on a school of anchovies, which luckily had decided to make its home for the day just off shore.

I would have imagined this would have been a fleeting spectacle, but it lasted all day long. For several hours that morning and for a few more in the afternoon I sat in the same spot watching the whales feed.  They not only broke the surface to take a breath of fresh air, they would also breach, jumping high into the air before crashing down onto the surface of the sea.  Sometimes, two and three whales would come up together, almost as if they were having a competition to see who could jump the highest.  They were probably engaged in bubble net feeding in which the whales work together to herd the fish into a smaller area and then swim up together through the middle of them with their mouths wide open, catching hundreds of fish in the process. 

I cannot tell you how beautiful and mesmerizing all of this was, or how powerful and yet unhurried they seemed to be.  I was content to simply sit and find joy in each sighting.

I was not the only one.  Eventually, crowds formed at the end of one of the piers and on the road below the patio where I was sitting.  When the whales would breach, a collective gasp of delight would rise from the people below me, or echo across the waters from those standing at the end of the pier. The whales would chase the fish around the bay in such a way that no matter your vantage point, everyone eventually had a front row seat.  The only way you could have had better was to be in one of the kayaks which were gathered underneath one of the piers.

I decided if the whales were in the area the next morning my daughter and I would have to see if we could not get ourselves into one of those kayaks.  They were, we did, and it was spectacular. 

Having had this experience did not keep me from returning later that afternoon to the same spot where I had first seen the whales.  I brought my book, but knew I would probably simply return to a posture of silently watching and waiting for what might appear before me.  While the whales were not nearly as active (at least above the surface) as the day before, they were still present.  It took a little more attentiveness but if you watched you would see the beauty, power and majesty of their presence. 

Not long after I sat down in my spot a husband and wife came and stood next to me.  A whale had just surfaced on the other side of the pier.  You could not see her clearly, but you could hear the strong exhalation of air clearing her blowhole. The wife was excited and pulled out her phone and began to try and get it set up to take a photo.  She told her husband she wanted to show the kids. Who would not want to capture the moment?

While she was fiddling with the camera settings a text came through.  She sat down at the table next to mine, facing me, not the ocean, and began a text conversation with whoever was on the other end of the data signal. 

The husband began to scan the horizon and got distracted by how many people were down at the beach and on the end of the pier.  He began making observations to his wife about these things, but she was blocking him out, typing something on her phone.

Just then two whales breached the surface of the water and slid back under the surface.

They did not see it.

Several minutes passed by and one of the whales came up for air and the husband pointed it out to his wife.  She casually glanced up from her phone, made a comment about it would not have been a good photo, and went back to typing.

The next time the whales breached the surface of the water I thought about drawing it to their attention, because they were once again distracted, but I decided not to.  I thought I would wait to see how long it would take before they put away the distractions, readied the phone for a photo, and simply waited.

Multiple times the whales either broke the surface of the water or breached, but the couple never saw them.  They would often catch a glimpse of the churning water left in the whales wake as it dipped below the surface, but not once did they share in the joy of seeing the complete cycle of the whales emerge from the deep, push towards the heavens and then recede back to where they came from.

I sat there thinking about the tension between how excited these two were to see whales and capture a photo for the kids and the fact they were unwilling or unable to be still and silent long enough to allow themselves to discover the dance which was taking place in front of them. 

 As I thought about this a thought occurred to me. I think when it comes to our desire to see and experience God, many of us find ourselves caught in the same tension as this couple.  We want to see, but we are so distracted that we cannot sit still and watch long enough to be able to allow ourselves to see what He is doing right in front of us.  How much we must miss by being distracted by what is on the periphery or busying ourselves because we cannot stand to wait.

I don’t know about you, but I do not desire to live like this.  I want to have my eyes wide open to see what God is doing.  I want to see it, be awed by it, engage in it and find the same kind of joy I experience while watching those whales. 

To take this posture is to simply see each moment as having the capacity to reveal something about who God is and what he is doing.  It is choosing to live in the present moment, recognizing this moment is the only point in time where we can actually have an experience of God.  It is having the faith that he is at work and if I can discipline myself to lay aside my efforts to make something happen and refuse to engage in the  distractions which take my focus of what I am experiencing in the present, I will see. It is being willing  to trust that God is at work, even if it is under the surface, and to be expectant there will be moments where we will see what He is doing break out above the water line.

It is this expectancy which teaches us to be silent and still, to learn to wait and watch, and to pull away from the distractions and simply be present.  I encourage you to pick a moment today and simply be present in it.  Lay aside the distraction, don’t do anything and simply watch.  Ask the questions: Where do I see God here?  What is he doing?  If you are patient, if you are willing to be silent and still,  I have a feeling you will be able to see.

Because this couple did not see what they had hoped for, they left after a few minutes.  While they left disappointed, I had sat there once again experiencing the wonder of whales dancing in the ocean before me. The only difference between me and them was the posture we chose to take.

Be still know…Psalm 46:10

"He Has Holes In His Hands!"

I don’t know what you do when you are trying to drift off to sleep or find yourself awakened in the middle of the night.  I have found if I am not careful my mind can run to all sorts of places.  It can run backwards and try to relive the past. It can project forward and try to structure the future.  Both movements can lead to worry.  And I have found worry is generally not very helpful in drifting off to sleep or slipping back into a peaceful slumber.

The first chapter in the book of Psalms calls the man who meditates on God’s Word, day and night, blessed.  The author of Psalm 119 declares in verse 148, “My eyes stay open through the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promises.” It may have been written by David, because he echoes the thought in Psalm 63 when he cries out, “On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night.”  This seems to me to be a much better use of the time than reliving the past or worrying about the future, so it is where I endeavor to turn my heart when I find myself awake when I would much rather be sleeping.

A couple of nights ago, I was sleeping in a strange bed, in another state, in the wrong time zone.  Needless to say, I was having trouble drifting off to sleep so I turned my attention to God and what the Scriptures reveal about Him.  After a few minutes I landed on the topic of Heaven and chose to settle there.

To be honest, for as much hope as we put into heaven and for as big as I imagine it to be, the Bible doesn’t say as much as you might expect about the subject.  It does tell us there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, and everything will be made new (Revelation 21:4-8).  It says there will be no more curse, night or need for the sun.  God’s radiance will be enough light for us all (Revelation 22:3-7). No one will ever hunger or thirst (Revelation 7:13-17).  Scripture tells us that Christ will have prepared a place for us and that he will be seated at the right hand of the father (John 14:2-4, Colossians 3:1-7).  There will be angels singing, rivers flowing and one of my favorite things, a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month (I like trees, Revelation 22:2).

These realities are much better to meditate on than the things I might be tempted to be worried about. Though the images we are given in scripture form a pretty impressive picture, in truth it is but a sketch at best.  

I kind of think of it like a package which has been wrapped and set under the Christmas tree. You can judge its size, weight and the sound it makes when you shake it, but you really cannot give an exact description of what is inside.  You must know, I have a long history of wanting to know what was in the package (that is an entirely different blog). Because I like to figure what is inside and I lay there in the bed thinking about heaven, meditating on the lines scripture has sketched out for us, and just holding these things in my mind to see what God might want to reveal.

As I did, my attention turned from Heaven as the place to the idea of what it would be like to meet Jesus there.  I had to think about it for awhile.  Which Jesus would I meet?  Would it be the Jesus who was seen at the transfiguration, clothed in brilliant white, shining like the sun? (Matthew 17:1)  Would it be the Jesus of Revelation 19 who is mounted on a white horse, His head covered with crowns, clothed with a robe dipped in blood with the words King of Kings and Lord of Lords written upon it?  Would it be Jesus sitting on the throne surrounded by angels singing Holy, Holy, Holy?  I gazed upon each of these images in my imagination and held them there for a moment, but none of them seemed to be the one on which I should fix my heart upon.

I had laid there for a few moments thinking about these things when another image of Jesus came to me.  It was the image of Jesus when he appeared to Thomas (John 20:24-29).  There he stood, compassion on his face, and his arms extended with his palms turned up. When I saw him in my mind all I can remember thinking was, “He has holes in His hands.”   

This shouldn’t have surprised me; I have read the stories of His appearing to the disciples many times. I knew Thomas touched His wounds and believed, so I knew they were there. It is just that when I read the Scriptures speaking of heaven being a place where there is no more pain, no more sorrow, where everything will be made new, I imagined Jesus’ hands having been made whole, perfect, without any scars.

The surprising thought "he had holes in his hands" made me stop and ponder why when all things had been renewed and restored, would he still carry the scars from these wounds?  It also made me wonder if we too would carry with us into eternity any marks from our suffering, and if so why?

I thought about how Jesus was wounded.  I imagined the nail pressed against his skin just before the hammer blow drove it through His flesh.  I imagined Him screaming out in pain as the spike pinned his hand to the cross. I thought about what it would have felt like to have the crossbar slowly lifted up the post, the weight of His body slowly pulling his tissue and bone tight against the iron pins. It was one of the most painful forms of execution and he endured it.  He endured it because He trusted His Father was doing something far greater than the pain he was experiencing.  He trusted to the point of death.

Then I thought about what it must have been like for Him to experience resurrection, to find life where there had been death.  There have been moments in life where I have had to trust, points at which I have had to believe, wait, and see what the outcome would be. In times like this, when the crucial moment passes, and I discover that my trust has not been ill placed, joy rushes in.  I imagine you would have to multiply that feeling by a million or more to capture what Jesus must have felt. The critical moment having passed, the victory over sin and death having been won, He knew full well His trust in the Father had been well placed.  There must have been joy upon joy upon joy!

I thought about how different those holes in His hands must have looked to Jesus then.  Whereas, His wounds had been marks of rejection and evidence of His is adversary’s best effort to kill and destroy, they were now proof that His Father had not abandoned Him. Looking at them, understanding what these wounds had accomplished, Jesus knew His Father was trustworthy, powerful and present.  They were reminders of His Father’s grace, mercy and love, and His willingness to set aside His desire to do the Father’s will.  They told of the lengths to which love will go to rescue, redeem and restore all thing. They were blemishes on His flesh for sure, harsh wounds which spoke of pain and suffering, but they were also beautiful. Jesus was afflicted but not crushed, and because of this fact, the holes in His hands now speak a better word, one of victory, life and freedom. 

I wonder if it will not be the same with the wounds we experience.  While their cause may be horrifically painful and leave permanent marks upon us, if they drive us to turn to the Father in trust, if they enable us to experience His presence and power in ways which are unimaginable with them, if they cause us to know in our deep His mercy, grace and love, might we not find ourselves seeing them as beautiful?  And because they are not simply reminders of the wounding we experienced, but the One we encountered, might we not want to enter into eternity bearing their marks, not to remind us of the pain, but as a testimony to the power of the resurrected life and as an opportunity give glory and honor and praise to the One who heals? 

Meditating on that image, I drifted off to sleep.