What Neighbors Do


A very brief one, stretching out St. Patrick’s Day a little longer.  I played in an ultimate tournament today and I am, paradoxically, both a little disappointed and immensely satisfied.

We have a team in town.  By “team,” I mean a group from a church back where we’re from who are here for a week+ to experience Nicaragua, see and help with what we do, and try to grasp what it’s like to live here.  Before we moved to Nicaragua, I did a bunch of these trips.  They’re increasingly controversial, with many insightful concerns being raised about them.  But I also know we would not have moved here if we had not gone (come) on several trips.  I can see both sides.

Last night, our neighbors Mileydi and Juan Carlos invited the team over for dinner, for, as she said, “real Nica food.”  The team had a wonderful time.  Mileydi and Juan Carlos are good friends of ours; Mileydi runs the preschool with Kim.  Mileydi and Juan Carlos are generous and hospitable, and that is one of the things I hoped our visitors would experience.  Receiving generosity from those whom, by your standards, live in poverty is powerful and humbling.  Doing so can break through some of the automatic superiority that most of us feel, whether we acknowledge it to ourselves or not.

I had told the team that we weren’t coming for dinner (a tricky dance in itself, but having us there would have really changed the dynamic) but that they could come back over for dessert, since we still had way too much left over from earlier in the week.  After dinner they returned, bubbling over with how much they’d enjoyed it.  My hopes were realized.  They ate dessert.  I drove them back to where they’re staying.

When I got home, Mileydi yelled across the street, “What about dessert?”

¿Quieres helado?”  (“Do you want ice cream?”)


¿Chocolate o vainilla?


Here’s the beauty of this moment:  it was so marvelously normal.

I’d thought Mileydi and Juan Carlos might come back over with the group and we would all have dessert.  They didn’t.  But I had offered dessert!

When you live among people in poverty and you are rich (as we are, in comparison) things are always a little weird.  You learn to deal with it.  That’s just one challenge of living in the community instead of outside of it.

But this wasn’t weird!  It was normal and comfortable and funny!  It’s the thing a neighbor would say, who is also a friend with whom you laugh and who, at times, makes fun of you.  It’s not giving because one has more and the other less but sharing because that’s what neighbors do.  You can ask, in a joking way, because that’s what neighbors do.

This may not strike you as a big deal, but it’s one of those moments when I realize, “This worked!”  We did this crazy thing moving into our barrio and we’re still the crazy gringos but somehow now we’re also the neighbors who laugh and look out for each other and can share ice cream without it feeling awkward or like charity.

Because that’s what neighbors do.


*Obviously this is a mistake, but that’s not the point of my story.

This Week, or What I Think Is Important


This past week, a member of our congregation died.  Gerry was a servant-hearted man with a huge smile and three kids, 14, 8, and 2.  His wife loved him dearly, in spite of his many flaws, just like my wife loves me.  We celebrated his life last night. Today, his body was buried in the ground.

Today, we prayed for a friend at our school, Tom, who is flying to the US to receive treatment for the cancer that is in his lungs.  He has a wife and young child.  He is scared and trying to trust God and he wants more time to be with his family.  He wants to live.

Last week, we read with horror and despair that a young man who had been identified in every way as a threat planned and carried out an attack on the school from which he’d been expelled, killed 17 people–14 of his former classmates and 3 staff.  He shot them to death.  At least 14 others were injured and taken to area hospitals.  He had bragged on YouTube “I’m going to be a professional school shooter.”

People around me, people in my life, people dear to me are falling apart beyond my capacity to put them back together.  Admittedly, that capacity is woefully limited; I mostly rely on God’s power of redemption to healing.  But sometimes I feel like I can help.  Sometimes I’m praying hard and I can’t see anything but things getting worse.  

That’s all this week.  One week.  There’s more, of course.  A few major things going down with my family that even I, open window that I am, must choose not to share.  

Also this week: I shared the story of Isaac and Annalise with my senior Bible class.  It was the first class session in which they all stayed awake and all paid attention the entire time.  I think I’m a decent teacher in my own unorthodox way, but this class has been challenging thus far.  After going through Gerry’s very rapid decline and death, after discussing whether Jesus really heals people and if it’s as easy as it seems in the Gospels, I decided it was time to tell them my experience of God not answering our prayers for healing and of God answering our prayers for healing.*

So I find myself thinking about life and death right now.  It’s in my face.  People shared this testimony at Gerry’s vela (memorial/wake):  “He loved his family.  He loved his kids. Everyone could see how much he loved them!”  Gerry had some problems and his life was not easy, but that is how I hope and pray that I am remembered.  

Some kids went to school and never came home; a mechanic, a friend, a father was diagnosed with leukemia and died a few days later; a fellow teacher, a guy who loves our students with God’s love is fighting for his life.  I’m praying, we’re all praying, that he lives.  I don’t know what will happen, not because I lack faith, but because I’ve seen one of our children die who we were told would live and one live who we were told would die.  

I’m taking a deep breath, another one, and I’m going to tell you what I think is important, because life is too short and too uncertain.  

Nothing can separate you from the love of God.  Nothing.  

I’m encouraged recently that people I’ve been trying to love get that I love them.  We are here to love one another.  We are here to learn to love ourselves and become people who can love one another.  I’ve struggled my whole life to love myself, but I’m getting there.  That’s making it easier to love other people.  

I’ve struggled my whole life to love myself, but I’m getting there.  That’s making it easier to love other people.  

This life you live is grace and that breath you just took is grace and your eyesight and your ability to read are grace and your mental capacity to ponder how (or if) this fits in your worldview and applies to your life is grace.  The old woman who sells me avocados so I can give them to my wife, the old woman who smiles at me with such a wrinkled face and talks to me though her throat can barely make sounds, the old woman who today charged me ten cordobas less for my avocado and I have no idea why, she is grace in my life.  Getting to love young people who have energy and hope and believe the world can change even though they get knocked to the ground when their beloved dumps them,** this is grace in my life.  My children are grace in my life.  

Grace is greater.  God doesn’t hate you, dislike you, or find you mildly annoying.  God loves you, not “in spite of” how awful you think you are, as if that were a pretty big hurdle for God but somehow, somehow…  Grace is so wildly much greater that God delights in you and can’t get enough of you, never tires of your company, loves hearing from you no matter how you communicate, and would like to hang out with you for the rest of time.  

 There won’t always be one more.  There just won’t.  There will be a last one and after that, no more.  

At Gerry’s vela, his daughter Sasha sang a song for him.  She said, “Well, Poppa, I guess this is the last time I get to sing for you.”  That wrecked me.  It reminded me of giving the eulogy at my dad’s memorial, which was my last chance to honor him.  I start to breath heavily and feel my throat closing just typing that.  There won’t always be one more.  There just won’t.  There will be a last one and after that, no more.  

Don’t get stopped by the need to do something “big” or paralyzed that this isn’t “enough.” Use what you have to do what you can.  “Justice is what love looks like in public.”  Cornell West

Fight injustice in whatever way you can.  Side with the oppressed and the persecuted. Take the side of the lonely kid and the single mom.  Care more that there are people poorer than you than that there are people richer than you.  Don’t get stopped by the need to do something “big” or paralyzed that this isn’t “enough.” Use what you have to do what you can.  “Justice is what love looks like in public.”  Cornell West

Don’t get stopped by the need to do something “big” or paralyzed that this isn’t “enough.” Use what you have to do what you can.  “Justice is what love looks like in public.”  Cornell West  

The struggle to stay alive, to overcome depression and anxiety, the daily and hourly choice to stay sober, the work to become healthy and live healthily, these matter because you matter.  They don’t matter “if…” or “so that…”  You matter.  Your. Life. Matters.  

“The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.”  Frederick Buechner

One of my biggest privileges in life is that I get to stand up in front of people on a regular basis and tell them God loves them.  I’m told, fairly often, that I’m gifted at this, that people like my preaching, etc.  You know what’s cool about that?  Not that it strokes my ego or even that it contradicts my ridiculously low self-esteem.  What’s cool is that means they are listening.  That means God has gifted me so that sometimes, when I tell people God loves them, they hear it!  How cool is that?

Nothing can separate you from the love of God.  Nothing.  



*I swear, if you tell me “God did answer your prayer, the answer was just ‘No'” about the death of my child…  Deep breath.  Deep breath.  I’ve been told that before.  Yes, really.  

**Daniel: “Well, I mean, I’m a little relieved.”

Sam: “Why?”

Daniel: “Well, because I thought it would be something worse.”

Sam: “Worse than the total agony of being in love?”

Daniel: “Oh. No, you’re right. Yeah, total agony.”

Love, Actually

Two Views On Social Media, Part 1


I’ve given this a lot of thought.  I’ve spent way too many hours being angry at “people” for the stupid, ignorant things “they” say. I’ve let myself read through discussions of posts, seemingly for the sole purpose of getting myself angry.  What am I looking for?  What do I hope to find, reading through hateful statements that only provoke the next person to escalate?

I’m a fundamentally hopeful person, as in, “hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”  Hope rooted in God’s love.  I’m not blindly optimistic that people are just nice.  I don’t think they are, particularly.  Some are awful.  But I believe in love that changes us.  Not magical pixie dust love, but God’s love that we see every day in forgiveness and reconciliation, God’s love that heals and redeems.  

So this begs the question: if my basic orientation is hopefulness, if my central belief is in God’s goodness and willingness to love us no matter how we are and change us through this love, why am I so drawn to read people’s expressions of ugliness?  Why do I choose–why do I have to force myself to stop–reading some of the worst people have to offer? 

Honest answers.  Here we go.

I’m dying to tell them off.  I really am.  Deep in my crooked little heart, I have the same ugliness and sin and I also feel I’m right and smart and understand the world better.  Occasionally, not horribly often, a stranger or someone I barely know will comment on one of my posts in such a patronizingly simplistic fashion that I can only assume they believe I’ve simply lacked this information all my life:

“If you color with the green crayon, you’ll get green.”  


 Now truthfully, that shouldn’t bother me.  I already knew about the green crayon, from way back, and this is not actually someone I’m close to and have tea with or who gives me helpful feedback on my sermons.  This is a person insulting my intelligence whose insult should have no bearing on me, because A)Who is this person? and B)That was a very patronizing thing to say, which reflects badly not on me but back on this person.

Yet some ferocious beast in me yearns to crush my keyboard into shards explaining just what an inane comment the stranger made and demonstrating to “the world” how much more I understand everything than this person does.  


If I weren’t careful, I’d suspect that this same beast is behind much, perhaps most, of the comments I read that enrage me.  If I were especially incautious, I’d infer that the same thing that offends me about them is within me, wanting to fire back.  If I were wildly reckless, I might even call that “thing” a spirit.

 Or just sin.  

And that would knock down my whole house of cards.  

I think Facebook, Twitter, perhaps all social media platforms that people use as spaces for uncivil (anti-social) debate, lend to the sense that there is this collective soul, a generic “they” out there who just needs to be straightened out.  In the old days, “they” were far away, out there somewhere.  Now they type!  And their comments show up on my screen!  I’m angry all the time when I’m on these days because They think such Stupid Things! But it’s rarely the same person twice.  I’m not actually mad (okay, I probably am) pissed off at everyone, or even everyone who might hold that position, but because there is a constant stream of “someones” saying stupid things,* I begin to lump them together.  

But this is unchristian.  I think that’s the best way to say it. Social media generates not only anonymous interactions, which we all know allow for some people to show their most hateful side seemingly repercussion-free, but generalizing interactions, removed from individual context or connection (I see the tiny little icon of your cat or a flag next to your comment, nothing more).  That lack of any rooting in our individual peculiarities and uniqueness, the things that can make us endearing to one another even when we disagree, leaves us in the same mindset that people have when they practice racism or sexism or homophobia.**  “You people make me angry; you people are all alike.”  

But that’s false.  When I’m collecting evidence of how stupid people are, reading through their comments, I’m lumping together the person’s Ayn Rand comment with the one about Vespugian immigrants threatening our jobs and the one about how recycling doesn’t matter.  They weren’t by the same person.  They might all disagree with one another’s comments.  The person unhappy with immigrants might hate Ayn Rand and recycle more faithfully than I ever dream of doing.  The anti-recycle person might spend evenings helping shut-ins by delivering their groceries.  Heck, the Ayn Rand fan might be quite hilarious and have great taste in movies.

But they aren’t people to me; that’s what I mean by “unchristian.”  Jesus, who is God Almighty existing before time, came to earth in a very specific time and place in a particular human body, and he became friends with individual people whose names we know, Peter and Mary and Lazarus and Levi and Joanna.  God in the flesh got to know them personally, individually.  Our most basic claim about following Jesus, even before “I’m a sinner,” is “God cares for me.”  Specifically.  Individually.  He cares for you, in all aspects and in most minute detail, down to the very hairs on your head.  

When I turn around and disdain people I don’t know based on a few words they type, I’m defying what my faith is about.  I’m left to conclude, then, that this compulsion to read comments with which I will disagree–and you know, the moment you start reading comments, where it will most likely go–is simply a temptation to sin.  Pride, arrogance, my need to be superior, maybe even insecurity and inferiority that drive me to “prove them wrong.”  Yeah, I can mask that as “getting a better sense of what people on the other side are thinking,” or some such smokescreen, but the real way to do that is to engage my friends in real, direct conversation.  I have enough friends who see things differently than I do (go figure).  

This means I am talking about “a spirit.”  I’m talking about exactly the spirit by which I do not want to be led in my decisions and actions.  It’s obvious, in retrospect, because I can see that my comment-reading-and-lumping almost invariably produces bad fruit in me–meaning it does bad things in my heart and mind, aggravates my insomnia, and doesn’t make me more Jesus-like, even a teensy bit.  You’d think that would have been enough to give me a clue, but funny thing about sin: it makes us think wrong.  It clouds our judgment and allows us to rationalize our destructive and self-destructive behaviors as somehow being benign or even productive.  

I am repenting here.  I hope I am also challenging our thinking on how we see and interact on social media.  You may be way ahead of me on this.  I want to stop dehumanizing people.  Jesus came to help us become fully human, to become the most alive and joyful we can be.  

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

I think this is what I’m saying: I want to interact with people as Jesus taught, not as the thief leads.  



*I know we don’t all agree on what constitute “stupid things.”  If, as in my subsequent example, you happen to love Ayn Rand, fear Vespugian immigrants, and despise recycling, I apologize; I wasn’t trying to single you out.  

**Don’t begin to tell me homophobia is not real.  I had a conversation not long ago with a self-proclaimed Christian who, when the subject of gays came up, stated “I hate them. I hate them all.”  

Rachel Denhollander, Costly Grace, and the possibility of Redemption, Part 2

[I originally intended to post this and part one together.  Kim suggested that it might reduce the impact of Part 1 to make it that long.  My wife is wise.  I didn’t want to take away from Rachael Denhollander’s story.  I do think this will make more sense if you’ve read Part 1 first.]
In his book, The Cost of Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer warned against “cheap grace.”

Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.

Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble; it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows him.

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock.

Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: “ye were bought at a price,” and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God.”*

Cheap grace is excusing violaters, molesters, and assaulters, who have not asked forgiveness, much less demonstrated repentance.  Looking the other way in the face of such evil is the antithesis of the Gospel of grace, which calls all evil and sin into the light for justice as well as grace, for healing of the victim and then, we pray, repentance, forgiveness, and redemption for the violater.  Grace leads to transformation because God’s spirit works in us.  Anything that offers excuses instead of sincere repentance, that falsely calls victims of abuse “liars” instead of exhorting abusers to face  the “crushing guilt” of the abuser is not Christianity.  If it declares itself “Christianity,” it is a false Gospel.  Paul, the chief of sinners who experienced true repentance, wrote:
I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel—  not that there is another gospel, but there are some who are confusing you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ.  But even if we or an angel from heaven should proclaim to you a gospel contrary to what we proclaimed to you, let that one be accursed!  As we have said before, so now I repeat, if anyone proclaims to you a gospel contrary to what you received, let that one be accursed!        Galatians 1:6-9
“Let that one be accursed” is a polite translation.  Paul is saying, “Damn them!  Let them be damned!”  Paul could not say this any stronger.**  The Gospel of God’s grace takes our breath away because it offers true, costly forgiveness for literally anything; God offers forgiveness freely because God pays for that costly grace that condemns sin yet sets sinners free.  Jesus gave his life for this.
Rachael Denhollander gives face and voice to true, costly grace.  She embodies the forgiveness that Jesus makes possible through his death and resurrection.  She offers forgiveness to her attacker.  She offers what she has received, what God has given her.  Through God’s love in her, she has the strength to forgive even this man.  
Contrast the women who received justice, who were able to face and address the man who violated them, with those who are disregarded, discredited, maligned, whose characters are torn apart, while the man who violated them continues on unperturbed.
Contrast the true Gospel, in which Rachael Denhollander can both confront her attacker–and the system that allowed him to continue–and offer him a chance of redemption
a perverted Gospel in which an attacker takes no responsibility, is defended by people calling themselves Christians, and consequently experiences no guilt, no grace, and no redemption.
Where is the healing for the one abused?  
Where is the hope of transformation for the abuser?  
I understand why Paul speaks so vehemently.
 Every day, people are told that both of these contradicting things are the Gospel.  Are Christianity.  Are grace.
But I am compelled again to say what Rachael Hollander reminded me is true:
There is only one Gospel.
There is only costly grace.
Grace is greater.

“Should you ever reach the point of truly facing what you have done, the guilt will be crushing. And that is what makes the gospel of Christ so sweet. Because it extends grace and hope and mercy where none should be found. And it will be there for you. I pray you experience the soul crushing weight of guilt so you may someday experience true repentance and true forgiveness from God, which you need far more than forgiveness from me — though I extend that to you as well.”  Rachael Denollander***

Every abuser needs to hear these words.  This is their only chance for Grace.  
*Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship.  
**Paul writes later in Romans that he wishes the false teachers leading disciples away would “emasculate” themselves, i.e. dismember themselves.  That’s vivid, too, but not in Paul’s view not even this is as serious as being damned.
***I encourage you to research what Rachael Denhollander went through to seek justice for her abuser under the law.  She paid a huge cost.  She exhibited incredible courage and faith.

“Those first few weeks and months waiting to see if anyone else was going to speak up was absolutely hellish. Within 24 hours, Nassar knew that I’d come forward. And I was alone. That was really scary.

In the first few weeks until the child porn was found, the things that were said about me, the things that were said about Jamie (Dantzscher), who was anonymous at the time, were really quite vile. And it demonstrated perfectly why these victims were silent.

I was not surprised. I knew what the cost would be.”

Final thoughts: we admire what Rachael Denhollander did and the incredible strength of her faith.  But she was attacked and threatened and bullied, called a liar and slandered in any number of ways by those trying to cover up what Larry Nassar had done to her, by those in power who had much to lose.

If we are living the Gospel, if we believe in Grace, we take the side of the victims and seek to empower them in their pursuit of justice.  We seek to amplify their voice.  If we are silent, if we pretend we don’t realize what crimes abusers have committed, if we turn away and close our ears to the cries of abused women and men, we put ourselves on the opposite side from God and we oppose grace.

Rachael Denhollander, Costly Grace, and the possibilty of Redemption – Part 1


I haven’t written a blog post in January.  There are a number of reasons: numerous commitments, sick wife and son, waning motivation, prioritizing writing time, discouragement.

But I read a quote and feel compelled to respond.  Simply put, it epitomizes “Grace is Greater.”  I have to write about it.

“Should you ever reach the point of truly facing what you have done, the guilt will be crushing. And that is what makes the gospel of Christ so sweet. Because it extends grace and hope and mercy where none should be found. And it will be there for you. I pray you experience the soul crushing weight of guilt so you may someday experience true repentance and true forgiveness from God, which you need far more than forgiveness from me — though I extend that to you as well.”

Rachael Denhollander spoke these words, in a courtroom, to the man accused and found guilty of molesting her, repeatedly, when she was fifteen.  The accused, Larry Nassar, had more than 150 women testify against him.  They spoke their minds.  They spoke their hearts. As Denhollander expressed it:

I do want to thank you, first, Judge Aquilina, for giving all of us the chance to reclaim our voices. Our voices were taken from us for so long, and I’m grateful beyond what I can express that you have given us the chance to restore them.
Nassar was sentenced to between 40 and 175 years for decades of sexual abuse against one hundred fifty-six girls.  He also was found guilty and sentenced to 60 years for federal child pornography charges. He will die in prison.
The depth of Nassar’s atrocities, his sheer, depraved sinfulness (I’m guessing even secular folks may be comfortable with that description in this case) is difficult to fathom.  You and I might argue that he is beyond forgiveness.
But Rachael Denhollander has forgiven him.
I take her at her word.  She offers the man whom I would be sorely tempted to describe as a monster and an abomination her forgiveness and exhorts him–prays for him to receive, to experience, true repentance and then true forgiveness from God.
I have spent years (and years) forgiving some people in my life whose sins against me, by my own measure, are a trifle compared to what Ms. Denhollander suffered.  I try to grasp her process of saying with sincerity that she forgives her abuser and I fail.
But I believe her.
And that is what makes the gospel of Christ so sweet. Because it extends grace and hope and mercy where none should be found. And it will be there for you.
Reflect on these words for a moment.  Then consider to what “that” refers in her sentence:
“Should you ever reach the point of truly facing what you have done, the guilt will be crushing. And that is what makes the gospel of Christ so sweet.
The crushing guilt is what makes the Gospel of Christ so sweet.  The Gospel of Christ “extends grace and hope and mercy where none should be found.”  To the extent that Larry Nassar is a monster, precisely to that extent God offers him grace.  Ms. Denhollander forgives/has forgiven Nassar and so will God, if Nassar truly repents.
Does that offend you?  Because I am offended.  I believe in grace and know that God’s grace has saved my life and yet I’m offended.  But it’s good for me to be offended. It displays for me my own hypocrisy, and yet proves my blog’s thesis statement: to whatever degree we grasp God’s grace, it is greater. than. that.
The power of the Gospel is that there is no one living who is beyond God’s grace.  No one.  God will forgive anyone who repents for anything, for everything they have done.  Me, Larry Nassar, you.  All of us.
Understand that no one is excusing Larry Nassar’s crimes, least of all Rachael Denhollander.  Her courage, determination, and persistance put him in prison, not single-handedly but as the single biggest contributor to bringing about justice for his abusive violence.  To excuse means to wave off, to look the other way or ignore, to accept an excuse as covering the sin.  Hardly.  Sin has consequences, and sins that harm others have greater consequences.   A sentence of two hundred years in prison is the opposite of “excusing.”
Grace looks directly at the crime, the sin, the atrocity.  It recognizes the crushing, appropriate guilt.  Then, while allowing consequences, it offers forgiveness and the opportunity for redemption.  None of this has anything to do with deserving or earning forgiveness: grace means precisely that you do not and cannot earn forgiveness.  Grace is giving something good when something bad is is deserved, giving love and forgiveness and love when condemnation and death are deserved.
Grace is more powerful than revenge.  Forgiveness frees the victim. It frees the victim from being a victim anymore, sets the abused one free from the power of the sin*, and, astoundingly, opens up the possibility of redemption for the sinner, for the violator, in a way that revenge never can.  We have historical examples.  Saul of Tarsus.  He hunted down followers of “The Way,” the radical heretic Jesus, and dragged them from their homes in chains, seeking their death sentence.  “Breathing violence and threats.”  Then Jesus redeemed his life.
Confrontation, repentance, forgiveness, transformation.  Grace.
Paul understood the crushing guilt.  When he describes himself as the worst of all sinners (“the chief of sinners”), I don’t think he’s speaking lightly or being falsely self-deprecating.  I think he’s remembering accosting mothers and fathers in their homes, remembering the eyes of their children watching him make their parents disappear, turning their children into orphans, for the crime of responding to a teacher who taught love and forgiveness.
But that was ancient history and we elevate “The Apostle Paul” to saint status, forgetting who he was, what he was.
Today, Rachael Denhollander offers Larry Nassar forgiveness.  She points the way to his redemption, because God can redeem even his life.
#MeToo and #ChurchToo call out sinners for their sins, abusers for their crimes.  The women and men who have suffered abuse deserve a voice, they deserve to see justice for their abusers.  Then they must decide if they can forgive.  I’m not standing in their shoes.  I’m not claiming that I would.
I’m saying that Rachael Denhollander did.  She reminds me, I hope she reminds us all, of the breathtaking, shocking power of grace.  She’s my new hero.  Plus Jesus is my hero, for giving her the love and the strength to do this.  I’m pretty sure she’s fond of him, too.
*I don’t say this lightly and forgiveness for in some situations may be a lifelong process.

Cynicism Versus Hope


A few quick thoughts on this, the third day of the New Year.  Pretty soon the shininess will wear off and it will be just the year.  


“All politicians are liars.”

“The government will always be corrupt.”   

“Everybody is just looking out for number one.”

I made a comment in a recent Facebook post that I consider cynicism to be cowardly.  I’m going to back up that statement.  

Cynicism likes to posture as cool.  Cynicism tells us that everything sucks and life is bitter and cruel but knowing this and being able to look it in the eye without blinking makes you superior.  You aren’t one of those saps who gets sucked in by all that Disney unicorns rainbows bull.  Some might call you jaded, but you just get it and refuse to sugarcoat anything.  

It follows from this philosophy that anyone trying to spread hope or believe things could improve is gullible, foolish, or trying to sell something.  Proper response to such lightweights or con artists includes suspicion, derision, and scathing sarcasm.  

Personally, I think the whole thing reeks of cowardice.  

If I don’t think there’s any hope in the world, I don’t have to try to make things better.  I don’t have to risk myself to help others. I don’t have to risk disappointment. I can turn away when I see refugees dying, when their children starve to death in those pathetic boats before they can reach shore.  I don’t have to let that rip my heart because it’s all pointless and everyone dies and what does it matter, anyway?  

Chicken feces.  

Being jaded does not make you cool.  Being jaded means you have given in to evil in the world and lack the courage to face it.  You might not be evil but you’re passive in the face of evil, and I’m not sure there’s any difference.*  Mocking others for remaining hopeful, being willing to risk themselves for a cause, choosing to believe in something, tells me you want to convince yourself that your dark view of reality is true.  If you make others’ hope look stupid, that proves you’re more worldly-wise and intelligent. Hope is for little children…along with the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and leprechauns.  

Every New Year, I exhort people to make the world a better place.  It’s time again.  I notice that as I get older, the fight to remain hopeful gets harder.  I’ve seen more.  I’ve watched things get worse.  I’ve seen more people die young of cancer, more people kill themselves with drugs and alcohol, more people who were once idealistic hunker down and get comfortable and complacent.  

So I’m saying it straight on this year:  Cynicism is cowardly and I won’t give in.  

I believe people can be redeemed.  

I believe God changes people’s hearts.

I believe forgiveness changes lives.  

I believe you are more than the worse thing you’ve ever done. 

I believe that even though things look very dark right now, we’re going to turn this tide.  

I’m going to continue investing my heart and my life in young people and walking with them through failure and tragedy and chaos because God is faithful and they still believe they can make a difference.  So do I.  

Yes, it’s “safer” to sneer and scorn and refuse to hope.  Yes, you can protect your heart from getting broken if you keep it to yourself.  Yes, there’s a lot of evidence that politicians lie and the government will remain corrupt and the rich will get richer and people will be selfish and hurt you.  

But that kind of safe is a lie, a temptation.  

“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

–C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves


Hope is dangerous, too. I’m going to hope, anyway, not because I’m a fool, not because hoping is the grown-up version of refusing to accept there’s no Santa, but because hope is a revolutionary act.  Hope is courageous.  Hope changes us and others.  When we choose to be cynical, we reinforce that the evil we see cannot be changed.  When we choose to hope, we become part of that change.

Hope doesn’t mean denying the bad in the world, but looking straight at it and throwing yourself into making things better.  The world is such a bad place, it’s worth risking failure to try.  If we don’t have hope, we can’t have faith; acting on hope means our faith is active, not mere words or facade.  

This is my hope:  God’s love overcomes hatred and evil…in my heart.  

I have much forgiving to do this year.  That’s one of the things I’ll be working on and praying about, a lot.  

My hope starts in me and works outward.  Is God really going to change people who seem, empirically, committed to greed and selfishness and actual evil?  

God can.  God has.

God can change hearts.  God can break chains of systemic poverty and generational abuse.  God can free people of addiction.  

God can change you and me.  God can change the world through us.

I hope you believe that.  


*”He who passively accepts evil is as much involved with it as he who helps to perpetrate it.  He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really coooperating with it.”  Martin Luther King, Jr.  

The Difference a Day Makes


Here we go.  Another calendar page is about to flip and the year is about to change.  

Tomorrow is December 31 and then the next day becomes January 1.  

Is it any different, going from December 31 to January 1, than going from any other day to the next?  Excluding the obvious, superficial things: fireworks here, lots of parties, some people drinknig to excess, does it make any difference that midnight turns into a New Year?  

I think it does.  

I’ve previously made an argument for New Year’s resolutions.  I understand they make for good jokes and cynical memes.  I also think it’s a lot easier to joke and be cynical than it is to change.  

But let’s say you don’t care for New Year’s resolutions.  That’s fine.  Change doesn’t have to come through resolutions (and, statistcally speaking, rarely does).  

Change happens a day at a time and an hour at a time, a minute at a time and a choice at a time.  

Change happens when you believe you can be different.  

Change happens when you can’t live with being the same anymore.  

Change happens when we hit the bottom.  The real bottom.  

Change happens when it finally hurts enough that we have to change.  

Change happens when you can look down the road, see the consequences coming, and decide you will do anything, whatever it takes, to avoid that.  

Change happens when you ask God to do whatever it takes to change you.  That’s a scary prayer.  

But realistically, the calendar will flip and most things won’t change.  

Change doesn’t happen when it hurts so we figure out how to numb the pain.  

Change doesn’t happen when we rationalize how other people are the same or worse.  

Change doesn’t happen when we keep investing time and energy and emotion and spirit into coping with–or covering up–the symptoms.  

Change doesn’t happen when we come up with a spiritual justification for how we’re damaging ourselves.  

Change doesn’t happen when we keep lying to ourselves.  

Change doesn’t happen when we avoid anyone who would tell us the truth and stick with those who will speak more comforting, enabling words.  

Change doesn’t happen when we make certain things in our lives off-limits to God.  We probably don’t say it that way, we just don’t let those things come up.  

Borrowing this off of Twitter, of all places:

 I think all Christians grow most in their faith when they recognize the ways in which Jesus doesn’t look or sound anything like them.*

As I talk about change here, I’m assuming that we know how we need to change, or at least where we need to start.  I like this quote because it is the opposite of the culture and politics wars I’ve been reading (and occasionally fighting).  Most of those go: “You’re bad and God thinks your bad because you do this but God says or thinks this.”  Implied here is “…just like I do.”  You’ll rarely see this argument formed, “God thinks you need to change because you think or do this…just like I do…and I also need to change.”  

The calendar is about to flip or maybe just flipped.  

Do you want to change?  

That thing you’ve been allowing and ignoring and explaining away.  

What difference does one day make?  

One day you make the real decision.  One day you stick with that decision.  One day you get yourself back up when you fall down and, rather than deciding it’s hopeless or pointless because you’ve already screwed up (the devil’s favorite lie, in my opinion), you take the progress you’ve made and build on that.  You keep going.  

I’m really thinking broadly, from better eating and exercise to taking real time to pray to recovering from alcoholism or pornography addiction.  

In whatever way, you need to make the change, because no one else is changing you.  God will work in you and answer your prayers, but waiting for someone else to change you is another form of denial.  And, of course, I’m preaching to myself here as much as to anyone else.

I’m going to end on an uplifting heavy note, if you can believe that.  

I have people in my life who give me partial credit for helping them still to be alive now.  Some of them read this blog.  I love you very much.  I’m inexpressibly glad you’re still here.  

The difference a day makes is that you chose to live for another day.  And then another.  And that made all the difference.  

This is always the answer: One day makes all the difference.  



Tightrope Walking


This will be one that makes no sense to some but a ton of sense to others.  Please sort yourselves accordingly.


I included the above drawing in my Stream of Consciousness post but realized I have more I need to say about it.  One way I could describe my life is as a constant struggle between trying to look reasonably together and trying to be honest about the struggles I live every day.  Generally, I lean to the side of being transparent about my issues, because I firmly believe 1)God is glorified when working through our weaknesses, 2)other people with similar or related difficulties might be encouraged to hear they are not alone and there is hope.  It is, in the end, all a battle for hope.

But the decision between transparency and keeping up appearances is not simple.  One issue is Too Much Information.  That’s a pitfall some of us would do well to avoid.  Not everyone can handle knowing what we carry, and while a part of me wants to say, “Well then, screw ’em,” that may not be my most godly impulse.  I suspect.  I could be wrong.*  Whether “can’t handle it” means knowing would cause them harm (my children don’t need to know everything) or knowing would cause them to lose respect and make our relationship not work, this question requires discernment on my part.**

That’s on their end.

My end, that’s another question.

People will say, “Don’t keep your problems to yourself!  Share them!  Give others a chance to help!” There will be exclamation points behind each of these exhortations, and they sound great.  I know I’ve said them myself, likely with hand gestures for added emphasis.

Now go back up and read that Story People above.

If you’re walking on a tightrope, that’s, you know, tricky.  You might be good at it by now, but even when it’s your normal, it can still be precarious.  Or it might be your normal but it feels life-threatening. Every. Single. Time.  No net. Stupid, tiny little wire.  Why do I have to be up here?

Advice from the ground from non-tight rope walkers often is, at best, distracting.  At best.

I half-joke about being the most dysfunctional functional person I know.  By that I mean I deal with the most internal garbage while still managing to function, mas o menos, and do some good in the world.  I’m not, of course.  Some people deal with inner challenges that, by comparison, make mine look miniscule.  For our analogy, their rope is 700 meters higher, the wind is a gale, and the rope is waxed.  I’m not competing; that’s just the truth.  I have people I love desperately who have been hospitalized, repeatedly, because staying on that rope is such a bitch.

Now if you say, “I can’t imagine being hospitalized for mental health issues,” then let me play that back for you:

You. Cannot imagine. Being hospitalized for mental health issues.

I’m not shaming or scolding you.  I’m glad for you.  Perhaps a touch jealous, but that’s my issue.

No, I’m discussing why it’s hard to have people shout advice from the ground.  Sometimes it’s well-meant, with a good heart.  Sometimes it’s judgmental and holier-than-thou.  That, by the way, is in the ear of the beholder more than in the original intent.  I’m sorry if that doesn’t seem fair, but the issue here is impact.  If you helpfully shout and cause someone to glance down and lose their balance…well…there was a kid’s song we often quote:

“Some kind of help is the kind of help/That helping’s all about;

Some kind of help is the kind of help/We all can do without.”


Here’s a quick, first-person-from-the-tightrope perspective.  I’m going to try to split the difference between being open and not saying more than I should.

Sometimes the things I do to keep me sane and balanced backfire.  Sometimes the (figurative, not literal) medicine turns on me.  That’s always a bummer.

Do I tell people?  Do I say, “Hey, this is supposed to be helping me but it’s hurting me instead and I’m having really negative, self-destructive thoughts right now in the midst of what should be this really good thing?”

I don’t.

I don’t want to add their well-intentioned “help” to what is already a pretty damned difficult situation for me.  In that moment, I’m doing my bloody best to stay on the frigging, suddenly-greased tightrope, and I can’t add anything to that challenge.

So then I just seem grumpy.  Not very social.  Oh, well.

I hope that wasn’t too vague to be useful, but here are my applications:

  1. If you’re on the tightrope, choose as wisely as you can whom you tell.  Yes, the principle still applies that staying silent about our struggle is not life-giving, but help that hurts is the last thing we need.  I have a lot of people whom I wish could understand, because I’d like them to help…but they can’t, and they don’t.  Bummer.  But the times when I’ve gone against that instinct and tried, the bummer was much bigger.  Huge.

2. You know that saying, “Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.  Be kind.  Always.”  This.  It means this.  “But if they’re fighting a battle, they should tell me!”  No.  They should tell you if it helps them.  It’s their battle.  Love means you want to do whatever you can to help, including not be told and show all the kindness you can, anyway.

3. Here’s the tough part.  No one thinks they are the person giving the “helpful comments from the ground.”  But a bunch of somebodies are.  So do the math.

Someone in my life, when upset, does not want to hear kind words of encouragement.  Those make this person furious.  It happens the thing I’m really good at is…you guessed it.  Words of encouragement.  Outstanding, if I say so myself.  So even this principle of “Be Kind. Always” is subordinate to loving people in whatever way helps them stay up on the rope.

Trying my best to be kind and encouraging was making this person’s balancing act worse.  Harder.  So what to do?

Insist that this is the right way to help because I’m good at it?  Keep at it because it should help?

Shut the [expletive] up and simply indicate I’m there for support but silently.  Yes.  That one.

Love this.  One of the things this says is, do you want to help me in the way that helps me or the way that helps you?  Do you want me to add to the challenge of staying on this rope by juggling your feelings and good intentions, too?

Here’s a crazy thought:  If you don’t get why someone behaves in that way, pray first (if you do that) and ask for compassion and empathy.  Ask for the ability to help in a way that helps.  Then–and only then***–inquire if there is a way you can help or support.  Asking if you can support comes across very differently than chiming in with advice.

Two more things, figuring that if you’ve read this far it might be helping and the people who didn’t, that’s kind of irrelevant.  

You may have the gut response, especially as a believer in God, that this whole tightrope analogy fails because, in Jesus, people don’t have to stay up on the tightrope.  This may all sound a little defeatist.  I believe in God’s power, in prayer, and in healing.  I also suspect someone struggling with mental health or serious emotional issues will find this attitude exactly what they want to avoid.  When people just know they can help, they easily become deaf to what is actually being communicated.  I’m not going to resolve that for you, I merely ask you to take it as a serious precaution.  People have been helped to death before, and by those with the best of intentions.


Finally, if you’re walking the tightrope, I’m sorry.  Not in a pitying way, but Me, too, and I wish we didn’t have to.  I appreciate your courage. I appreciate your hidden smirk when people throw up that oh-so-helpful advice from the ground, which means, if I’m translating smirk correctly “You’d be impressed if you had any idea how damned hard this is!”  I appreciate that you’re choosing to hang in there another day and, miraculously, keeping a sense of humor about it.  

I appreciate you.  

You’re doing a great job.  Yes, you are.  You’re still here?  You’re doing a great job.  

And you’re braver than we know.  Of that, I’m certain.  



*No, I’m probably right.

**I even ask this question when writing my blog…except at 4AM, when all judgment goes out the window.

***If you don’t pray, I guess I would suggest being mindful of the person and trying to distinguish between what would make you feel good in helping them versus what could be good for them (might be the same, might not).  Heck, if you do pray I’d still suggest this.

I Don’t Want to Be What’s Wrong


When asked by a reporter “What’s wrong with the world,” Chesterton offered this famous reply:

Dear Sirs:

I am.

Sincerely yours,

G.K. Chesterton

In the most concise sense, this is the beginning of the Gospel, this is the 1st step of the 12 steps, this is the truth of our condition.  I am what’s broken and I can’t fix that.

My first question is: do we agree?  I suspect the interviewer wanted Chesterton to go off about fascism or communism or the gross excesses of the rich or the laziness of the poor, but Chesterton took a much more fundamental and personal approach to the question.

I commented in a post on marriage that most Christians will readily acknowledge that we are sinners, but have a much harder time hearing, “you are wrong.”  On one level, that’s just poor logic, because if you are a sinner, you are also, by definition, wrong.  But I think it also points to a deeper issue.

We want to see the world get better.  I’m so incredibly sick of reading and hearing more and more bad news.  I have seen some horrible things reported, but just yesterday I read that George Zimmerman was auctioning off the gun with which he murdered Trayvon Martin.  I was just glancing at headlines, my 8-year-old son started talking to me, and suddenly this caught my eye–and I had to close my eyes tight and breathe.  It made me nauseous.

Trayvon Martin’s death is not about disrespecting our police force–George Zimmerman is not, and never was, a police officer.  It’s not about respecting the law–when Zimmerman called 911, the operator told him not to approach.  Had Zimmerman respected law enforcement and obeyed, there is every reason to believe Trayvon Martin would be alive today.  And Trayvon Martin’s death is not about “a good guy with a gun,” at least not from the perspective that George Zimmerman has subsequently been charged with aggravated assault with a weapon, domestic violence and battery.  In fact, he’s been charged several times for various crimes, including another charge of domestic violence, since he was found not guilty of second-degree murder.

So this is the man seeking to make money not by the sale of a gun, but by the notoriety of his having used this gun to kill a 17-year-old black young man.  The selling point is that he used it to take a life, he claims in self-defense.  Zimmerman had his Kel-Tec PF-9, Martin had a pack of Skittles, yet we’re to believe that Martin attacked Zimmerman.  And now, having been found not guilty, Zimmerman seeks to profit from this, writing in his description of his item for auction:

“I am honored and humbled to announce the sale of an American Firearm Icon.”  “The firearm for sale is the firearm that was used to defend my life and end the brutal attack from Trayvon Martin on 2/26/2012 … Many have expressed interest in owning and displaying the firearm including The Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. This is a piece of American History,” Zimmerman wrote, a claim that was later refuted by the museum.*

My son saw me blanch and asked, “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

The world we live in is a horrible hell hole?  People are sick and twisted and I can’t fix that for you?  I’m discouraged that trying to make the world a better place seems hopeless in the face of this?

“I’m okay, Buddy.  I just read some bad news.”

I guess that was true, in the sense that after vomiting for twelve hours straight, I might say, “I’m okay, Buddy, I just ate some bad mayo.”

So I’m posing this question: Do we agree with Chesterton?  Do we believe that we are what is wrong with the world, or do we point to others as the actual problem?

Here’s where I think we get burned.  I don’t know what is wrong with George Zimmerman–I could give you some theories, but I don’t know the man–and yet it’s very easy to blame him, and the court in Florida that acquitted him, and the Stand Your Ground law, and the pervasive racism still thriving in the United States.  They are the problem.

I wouldn’t be wrong.  Neither would Chesterton have been wrong to detail the problems plaguing his world in 1910.  They were many.  It’s fairly easy to find people worse than us, especially if we are making even a decent effort to help others and make the world better.

Do you hear the “but” coming?

But…this is the problem with the world:  it’s too inconvenient for us to make it better.  Changing things would cost us our comfort.  Never mind global warming for a moment, I know people want to debate over the science involved, so let’s just take pollution.

In 1997 a study by the Harvard Center for Population and Development Studies found that life expectancy for people living in poor communities in the United States was markedly lower than life expectancy for people living in wealthier communities, sometimes by as much as fifteen years. While many factors contribute to this alarming discrepancy, it has become clearer since the 1980s that poor communities, which are also predominantly non-white, bear the brunt of adverse pollution affects.**


Cars and trucks with internal combustion engines pollute the air.  Air pollution hurts people.  I mean, air pollution causes cancer, childhood asthma, it poisons water supplies.  It’s nasty.  How would we improve air quality?  By supporting legislation that requires lower emission vehicles, or by driving cars with lower emissions, or by buying local instead of from large chain stores that ship good across the world and add massive pollution to the atmosphere, or by buying an electric car or a hybrid.  All of the above?

But air pollution isn’t bothering us that much.  Always, people living in poverty will suffer the effects of pollution at a far higher rate than those in the middle and upper classes.  Why?  Because the homes and apartments in lower income areas suffer more pollution, there is little political clout to prevent businesses from polluting there, and the areas that are already badly polluted have lower property values and rental rates–so that’s where poor people end up living.  It isn’t hurting you and me.  (Well, I’m living in a poor barrio, so it may be hurting me.  It wasn’t when I lived in the States.)

Now, just in case this sounds like a political argument to you, I would like to make this simple point: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

The crucial requirement of this teaching, this commandment, is that we exercise first empathy and then compassion.  If you cannot–or will not–put yourself in someone else’s shoes, you can’t obey Jesus on this point…and most consider it a pretty point.

Do you live near a landfill or waste transfer station?  Is there lead paint in your building or school or does lead contaminate your water supply?  Are oil companies fracking in or near your neighborhood or seeking permission to?  Is your air quality where you live poor enough to shorten your lifespan?

If your answers to these questions are “no,” then that is good and fortunate for you.  I think our next set of questions, as followers of Jesus, must be, “How would I want someone else to behave toward me if they were?”  What if it were your kids getting poisoned?  What if your husband or wife had asthma and suffered daily from toxins in the air?

As I read the Gospels, there is little Scriptural warrant for “that’s not my problem.”  Jesus said to treat others the way you want to be treated.  If my children went to a school that elevated their likelihood of getting sick and dying, I would want your help.

If this conversation still sounds political, then I must suggest that we have become so politicized and polarized in our thinking that our factions have started to outshout the Gospel in our ears.  Children suffering or dying should not be first a political issue; it’s a Jesus issue, as in, how does Jesus want me to respond to the cries of his children?

If you are “pro-life” and oppose abortion because you see that as murder of children but do not oppose pollution when that, too, is murder and abuse of children, most frequently impoverished children, then I don’t understand what “pro-life” means.  The issue for a Christian does not become more complex because a multi-national with billions a year in proceeds is causing the pollution, nor because the children in question do not share my ethnicity or pigmentation.  The command to do unto others is not subject to whether you or I think that a poor nine-year-old’s father has acted irresponsibly or her mother receives food stamps.  It’s this:  1)If my child were suffering, I would want you to act, 2)that child is suffering, 3)I will do as I would want done to me.

So I come back now to inconvenience, comfort, and the what’s wrong with the world.  I see so many easy targets.  But most of them simply allow me to blameshift and create clouds of smokescreen.  I am what is wrong with the world when I can look at a child who is not mine and ignore his or her suffering.  I am  what’s wrong with the world when I can know about a child’s suffering and realize that I am contributing to the cause, yet make no change because I like my comforts.  I am what’s wrong with the world when that child is not my problem, because I have stopped taking Jesus seriously regarding what he says about children–he really likes ’em–and what he says about loving other people–he wants us to do it like he did.

My blog is called “Grace Is Greater.”  How is grace greater in this?  First, I think God’s choice to have mercy on us when we have conspired to place our lifestyle above others’ lives is a grace beyond fathoming.  It’s certainly not that we in our selfishness deserve for God to extend that mercy.  Grace.

Second, I think God gently calls us to change.  Compassion, for most of us, works better close up than from a distance.  When it’s personal, we are more likely to respond. So God brings people into our lives to open our eyes and help us to see them as he does.  I really believe that.  Look around.  How is God showing you through the people you know that you could be more just, more “do unto others” in your lifestyle?

Third, I see grace in so many people who call us, lovingly and prophetically, to repent.  Yes, there are some angry folks out there screaming at us about what we’ve done wrong (and it’s possible we really have done things wrong and they are just reasonably pissed off) and that can be very difficult to take seriously.  But I am constantly amazed at how many humble, compassionate, truly beautiful individuals I see speaking truth to power without condemning or demeaning or dehumanizing.  If all you hear is screaming, then you might be watching only news outlets trying to sell airtime who prefer the most hysterical version of the message…or you might be choosing sources who want to make any of these arguments out to be patently stupid and nonsensical and “the reason America is no longer great.”

Prophets still walk and talk among us.  They aren’t getting much play on Fox.  You’re unlikely to catch them on CNN.  Few of them are household names (except Bono; a lot of folks have heard of him).

I’m not a prophet, but I am trying to be a faithful follower of Jesus.  I don’t want to complain about Christians or the church or what we’ve become.  I want to look at myself honestly and ask God:


Search me, O God, and know my heart;
    test me and know my thoughts.
See if there is any wicked way in me,
    and lead me in the way everlasting.


Finally, I see grace underlying our small efforts, our tiny steps to be more faithful to Jesus.  God is patient with us.  When we make any movement in the right direction, God’s Spirit encourages us and leads us deeper in.  What are small things we can do to repent of our priorities, to live out “doing unto others,” to becoming advocates for God’s justice for the children who live so differently than ours?

There are horrible people in the world committing atrocities.  I don’t think I can stop them.  I can’t make the world better by making our problems all about them.


It’s an amazing thing to think that ours is the first generation in history that really can end extreme poverty, the kind that means a child dies for lack of food in its belly. That should be seen as the most incredible, historic opportunity but instead it’s become a millstone around our necks. We let our own pathetic excuses about how it’s “difficult” justify our own inaction. Be honest. We have the science, the technology, and the wealth. What we don’t have is the will, and that’s not a reason that history will accept.***



Is it a reason God will accept?  I believe in Grace and I believe in Justice.

I pray we can seek both, and not have to find out.







*** Bono, interview to the World Association of Newspapers for World Press Freedom Day (3 May 2004).

Merry Stream-of-Consciousness


Sometimes I get so busy living life, I don’t have time to write about it.  

Five of the last seven blog posts I started are still in the “draft” folder.  We’ve had graduations and birthdays and THE CENTRAL AMERICAN GAMES and a near-collision with a motorcycle and an actual collision with a truck (no one injured, but my poor car!)* and, oh yeah, the newest Star Wars movie!  

In the midst of all this, I’m spending lots of time with my kids and wife who are on vacation as we soak up this (relatively) cool weather in Managua–it’s raining tonight, the 22nd of December, well into dry season.  It’s actually hit the 60’s! Crazy.

So I might have to post retroactively several entries in the Nicargua Diary because great stuff has happened and I want to celebrate it.  

But on this Winter Solstice, I’m going to free associate.  Stream of consciousness.  Merry Christmas.  

Managua Nativity scenes on la avenida Bolivar

The best part of celebrating our 7th year of Christmas in Nicaragua is that we left behind Materialism Christmas.  We’ve successfully lowered expectations of what we should get for Christmas, without weeping and gnashing of teeth.  All of us. No gnashing.  

The second best part of celebrating Christmas in Nicaragua is that the season feels more sane.  Less frantic and rushed.  We’re just moving at a slower pace, for which I’m very grateful.

My wife, whom I have mentioned once or twice is mighty, will be going to Estelli for the week after New Years for an immersion Spanish class experience.  She speaks great Spanish but keeps trying to get better. Esteli is north of Matagalpa, which is 3 hours north of here. 

A young girl from our barrio, a dear friend of ours, is going to college next year!  An intensive English-acquisition program, 8 hours a day for a school year, which is not her end goal but is a great first step.  How many kids do you think go to college from our barrio?*  

At thirty-three and through great perseverance, Juan Ramon,possibly my best friend here, earned his high school diploma.*  Now that was a celebration!  

The Nicaragua Women’s Volleyball Team, down 2 sets to 0 to Costa Rica in the Central American Games gold medal match, gave perhaps the greatest comeback effort I’ve ever witnessed first-hand at a sporting event.  After being demolished in the first set 10-25 and going down a second set, they won sets 3 and 4 over a team that was much bigger and clearly stronger, and led 9-6 (or 10-7?) before losing 12-15.  We cheered our voices and hearts out.  It was crazy like a rock concert.  

The glory of this was feeling the crowd uniting to cheer for their team, their fellow Nicaraguans.  Nicaraguans, especially poor Nicaraguans, do not, culturally, have a positive self-image.  As a friend pointed out, this self-identity change slowly.  The Central American Games, and within those even this match, felt to us like a small but significant step in the right direction.  This isn’t even mentioning the tensions between Nicaragua and Costa Rica.  We celebrated the first time Nicaragua hosted the Central American Games and Nicaragua’s coming in second in total medals behind only Guatemala.  

Bonus:  Nicaragua won the gold medal in baseball!  

The new Star Wars came out!  

The new Star Wars came out!  



Yeah, there are lots of flaws.  When I started writing my blog post on it, I was critiquing a lot of what they did.  It’s not my favorite Star Wars movie.  I don’t think it’s the best one.  

But it’s Star Wars!  

If you weren’t a kid when the original came out, it may be hard to grasp how much we bonded with this movie, how big it was in our lives…and how big it remains.  I’m happy our children have embraced this joy.  My kiddos and I had been counting down the days for months.  I consider this a parenting success!

Every day is a battle for hope.  Every. Day.  


Brian Andreas, an artist we love

I was talking today with a great friend about how good it feels to make a difference, even a small one.  Going in the right direction toward making a difference is a big deal.  

We agreed on this shocking conclusion: the world is so bad, trying to make a difference, trying to help in any way is worth it, even if you fail.  

If your life is not a battle for hope, if you are comfortable and things are going well and it’s easy: rejoice!  Give thanks!  Be grateful!

Then step up.  

Pray, then step up.  



*This is an excellent article on child poverty, child labor and education in Nicaragua.  Some excerpts:

“Compulsory education is one of the most effective ways of combating child labour, according to the ILO. In Nicaragua, children are only obliged to attend school until 12.

Only 72% of children finished primary school in 2009, the latest year for which data is available.

This low figure hides even bigger inequalities as only 65% of children from the poorest 20% of families completed primary school compared to 98% from the richest homes.

On the poor Atlantic coastal regions where Bluefields is situated, just 58% completed six years of primary education.

The Ortega government has prioritised spending on primary and tertiary education, so secondary school figures are unsurprisingly much worse: 46% finished the first tier (9th grade/year 10), and only 19% completed 11th grade (year 12). In the poorest families, only 6% of children finished secondary school.”

This final number is what we’re looking at.