So, hold on. It's coming. And I've brought just a taste. Below is an image of the interior cover plate (on Wausau's lovely Astrobright Re-entry Red stock) that will reveal the numbering of these 50 pieces. It's not much, but, like I said, it's a taste.

            His legs had gone numb. Knowing the lack of feeling meant nothing good, he nonetheless enjoyed his respite from pain. His head, though, was another matter entirely. He could feel every millimeter of the gash on his scalp, like some Cherokee warrior had done a half-assed job collecting his trophy. To distract himself, Cyrus fidgeted with the Zippo, turning it over and over in his palm like some addict’s version of a rosary.

            The silence of his tomb, a blessing at first, had grown more maddening than mollifying. Absent the thunder of the continuous miner and the rattle of conveyors straining to carry that cursed rock to the surface, Cyrus’s mind was too at liberty to reflect. The past, crisp as freshly ironed linens and pungent as death, scratched and clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. Voices long dead seemed to seep from the rock to settle in his ears.

Below, you'll find an image of the back of one of the postcards included in the project. It reveals a bit of Jason Webb's detailed work (though in black and white here, the front of each postcard will be in full color) and a brief quote from the story itself. Click the image to enlarge it. Enjoy!

I argue that what we have isn’t ours to begin with. And yes, that runs counter-culture to the world we live in.

King David, a man who had been both a lowly shepherd and an exalted monarch, knew that EVERYTHING he had was due only to the grace of God.

"Therefore David blessed the Lord in the presence of all the assembly. And David said: “Blessed are you, O Lord, the God of Israel our father, forever and ever. Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty, for all that is in the heavens and in the earth is yours. Yours is the kingdom, O Lord, and you are exalted as head above all. Both riches and honor come from you, and you rule over all. In your hand are power and might, and in your hand it is to make great and to give strength to all. And now we thank you, our God, and praise your glorious name."

1 Chronicles 29:10-13 ESV

Here’s a bit of background for that passage. King David wanted to build a temple to house the Ark of the Covenant. (See Raiders of the Lost Ark. Kidding. Try the Bible.) He offered gold, silver, bronze, iron, marble, wood and precious stones from his kingdom and then even more of the same from his personal portion. The highest ranking officials followed his example and did the same, which in turn inspired the rest of the Israelites to give what they had to the cause. Before it was all said and done, about 7 BILLION dollars (in today’s money) went into building the place and it was quite the beauty to behold…a house built not for a man but for the Lord God Himself.

The prayer that you just read came after the people of Israel had willingly given up all that they had for the building of the Temple. And what does David do? He gives God ALL the glory, knowing that the riches they had to give were not their riches to take glory in, but riches that had always belonged to God and were in their possession only because of His favor. He goes on from there…

“But who am I, and what is my people, that we should be able thus to offer willingly? For all things come from you, and of your own have we given you. For we are strangers before you and sojourners, as all our fathers were. Our days on the earth are like a shadow, and there is no abiding. O LORD our God, all this abundance that we have provided for building you a house for your holy name comes from your hand and is all your own. I know, my God, that you test the heart and have pleasure in uprightness. In the uprightness of my heart I have freely offered all these things, and now I have seen your people, who are present here, offering freely and joyously to you. O LORD, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, our fathers, keep forever such purposes and thoughts in the hearts of your people, and direct their hearts toward you.”

1 Chronicles 29:14-18 ESV

I recently had a brief discussion (read: argument) with a woman who, though she claimed to be a Christian, couldn’t seem to understand why an athlete like Tim Tebow would thank God for his victories on the field. “He should thank his teammates,” she said. “They were the ones who won him the game.” But, like King David, I think Tim knows that God gets the credit for everything that is: his health, his ability, the path through life that brought him to the NFL, the players on his team…that it’s all available to him because God has been generous to him. That, as the Creator of all, whatever glory there is can only belong to Him.

David gave away more riches than you and I will ever see. He set the tone for a nation and, when the people rose to the challenge and gave all they had to give, David gave all the glory to God and asked only that God keep that sort of generosity and goodness in their hearts—and that He direct their hearts toward Himself. Knowing how clueless and self-centered the Israelites could be from time to time, it doesn’t take much to imagine that someone in the crowd was thinking, “Hey, what about giving ME a little credit? I donated the opal for the front doorknob!”

This week, my friend Jason Webb and I launched a Crowdtilt campaign to lend a helping hand to Linda Badley, the mother of our friend, Scott. Linda is the kind of woman that does without so that others can have what they need. She raised three boys, has worked long hours at a stressful job and, in an economy where layoffs are the norm, Linda’s made do with less so that she can keep her employees working. Last week, Linda had a mild heart attack and, though her life was spared, her lack of medical insurance added the additional weight of a staggering medical bill to her already overburdened shoulders.

Jason and I launched our campaign because we’re broke. You see, I don’t have $100 to bless Linda with and help ease that burden. Jason doesn’t either. So, following the example of the Apostle Peter ( Acts 3:6,) we gave what we could—our talents—and pledged some incentives for anyone else who had a few dollars to spare on Linda’s behalf. Like King David, Jason and I realize that what we have to give is not our own. Whatever talents we possess are ours only by the grace of God. And what we’ve asked of others is that they recognize that the same is true for them.

The world runs counter to this Biblical truth. We’re told to take pride in our accomplishments. We’re told that money is for our pleasure. I. Me. Mine, mine, mine. We like to talk about our successes and victories and see ourselves as heroes in someone else’s story. We spend money on movies, video games, concerts and the latest iteration of the iPhone and then feel good about tossing a 20 dollar bill in the offering plate at church or the donation box that appears in the check-out line around the holidays. We embrace all our STUFF as though it has some eternal value, but that just isn’t true. My pastor has a saying that goes, “Everything you own—all the stuff you get such pleasure out of today—is the stuff of future garage sales and garbage piles.”

If everything we own is God’s to begin with, why are we so afraid to give? If He blessed us with much to begin with, do we fear He isn’t faithful to bless us again? If it’s all His anyway, and we’re just the stewards of it, why do we clutch it so tightly? Why can’t we freely give it away as He’s freely given it to us? I know it isn’t easy. My family lives paycheck to paycheck most of the time and even $10 can have an impact on our budget, but we pledged $10 to Linda because we realize that WHAT WE DO HAVE is ours only by the generosity of God. We can stretch our food budget. I can put off getting a haircut or fixing the printer. We can give because, had it not been given to us we wouldn’t have it to give.

In the end, stuff is just stuff. It may be nice, but we don’t NEED it. What we need is love, compassion and generosity. What we need is a new attitude. Like say:

                “But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.”

Philippians 3:7-8 ESV

In Him,

J. Patrick Lemarr

If you can spare a few dollars for Linda Badley, our Crowdtilt campaign will be live for a few more days. I can’t promise that you’ll get a pat on the back for your effort, but I can assure you that it will bless a sweet lady immensely.

A Little Help For Linda – Crowdtilt Campaign

     I don’t know if that sort of cancerous misrepresentation of God and His Church was what the original gentleman intended, so I won’t comment on that. Instead, I wanted to respond to a quote that someone threw out—undoubtedly thinking it a clever way to add fuel to the fire while simultaneously stroking her own ego by tossing out a quote from a Greek philosopher—as a means of putting all of us uneducated, backward-thinking Christians in our place. Instead, it only proved two things: first, that she has apparently confused the Greek philosopher Epicurus with the recipe website, Epicurious…to whom she mistakenly credited her quote. Second, she proved that she doesn’t understand scripture and its intent any better than she knows how to spell Epicurus.

     Here’s what she posted, though I’ve removed her name for the sake of being gracious:

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?”

-Epicurious

     It’s clear that, no matter how intelligent the woman who posted this quote may consider herself, this is just a borrowed philosophy from good ol’ Epicurus, so it’s really him and his double-talk I’m taking to task. I guess the gentleman from Greece just couldn’t be bothered with trying to understand the Torah (if he even read it)…and since he lived before Christ, he didn’t really get the bigger picture. The woman trying to pass off his quotation as her own answer, however, doesn’t really have that excuse.

     I’ll address the quote line-by-line, so it’s a bit easier to follow.

“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then He is not omnipotent.”

     God is most certainly omnipotent, but He is also just…which is what rubs the world the wrong way. Would you prefer that He had not given us free will? That we should be automatons? It was because of His just nature that He gave us the ability to choose or reject Him. Because of free will, people can commit great evil, and that evil, of course, brings dire consequences. We all have that nature within us. But it was God’s goodness that gave us a way out while also upholding justice. The law of the Old Testament was a diagnostic…a means by which humanity could see it would never measure up to the righteousness of God. It’s very purpose was to show us that, apart from an intervention from God, we could never be holy or righteous. We could never save ourselves from the punishment we are due.

     Justice demands a consequence for sin, so His Son (the only One to ever actually fulfill the Law) took our sin (past, present and future) upon Himself, paying the ultimate cost so that justice could be met. Christ traded your sin debt for His own justification so that, when you receive the gift He offers, God will no longer see you in the mire of your sin, but see you as His child. In your free will, however, you can choose to receive that gift or reject it. But in your rejection, you’re choosing to reclaim a debt He already paid…and thus, the consequences of that sin can be expected.

“Is He able, but not willing? Then He is malevolent.”

     No. He’s just. He is willing and able, and has already provided for your freedom through His Son. From there, the choice is ours. We either accept or reject Him. That’s really the ultimate choice. People often ask “Why would a loving God send people to hell?” The answer is simple. He doesn’t. People choose hell by rejecting God. His judgment is only about whether or not He knows you. (That’s KNOW, as in, has an intimate relationship with.) To be absent His presence IS hell. To be absent His mercy IS torment. To be absent His Living Water IS unquenchable fire. It's your rejection of Him that's the issue. You are, by far, your own worst enemy.

     Let me try to give you a good example.

     Imagine you are floating in the ocean, tired of fighting to keep your head above water. How long you’ve been adrift, you can’t seem to recall. You spot something in the water and swim toward it. It’s a crate of some kind. It’s taking on water, but it may have something valuable inside…maybe treasure. So you hang onto it. Before long, you’ve amassed a lot of cool stuff that was just left there in the water. You imagine that, should you ever get home, you’ll be rich from everything you’ve found. Swimming, though, is getting nearly impossible from the weight of your “treasure,” and a few times the weight of it pulls you under. You manage to stay alive, but you won’t last long.

     Then, you see a boat with a man inside, calling for you to come aboard. “I’m headed to my little village. I’ll take you there,” he offers. “But the crates have to stay behind. They’re from a ship that carried disease. I can’t take that stuff back to my village.” You’re adamant that he relent…that he load your “treasure” and then pull you aboard. He tells you that he cannot allow the disease into his village, but he wants to rescue you. “Just let go of it,” he says, “and climb aboard. You don’t know what’s in the boxes, but I promise they aren’t worth your life.” You curse at him and try to bribe him—promising anything under the sun if he’ll just do what you want—but he will not relent. Ultimately, you choose to stay in the water and hold onto the treasure. He waits. He pleads. You show him just how stubborn you can be, all while trying to appeal to his good nature. Eventually, he has to go. And you let him. You want to be rich. You want what you want and who is he to make you give it up?

     When you drown, is it the boatman’s fault? Was it malevolent of him to be unwilling to bring death back to his village? Was it malevolent to offer you a way out? Was it malevolent for the one who owns the boat to be its captain? Or did you want the salvation of the boat without having to let go of the diseased baggage you wanted to bring along?

     You see, things like evil and sorrow have nothing to do with God’s willingness and everything to do with yours. Does receiving His gift of salvation eradicate sorrow from your life? No. Does evil grind to a halt? No. Does your sinful nature just disappear when you give up everything and climb in the boat? No. But there’s freedom from the eternal consequences of your own self-destruction. You only have to die to yourself and let Him do the living through you.

     You see, if God is Truth, then everything that isn't Him or of Him is a lie. If He is Life, then every road not leading to Him is leading to death. If He is Love, nothing but His love is strong enough to last. So, by rejecting God, we become separated from truth, from real love and, ultimately, from real life. Everything else is just something we’ve settled for—a cheap facsimile we try and take some comfort in so that we don’t have to relent—so we don’t have to answer to anyone else.

     So God is able and willing, but people don’t want to let go of what they’re clinging to in spite of the fact that it’s killing them. He didn’t reject you. The Bible tells us that it’s His desire that none should perish…but the choice has been left to you and you’re holding fast to creation instead of the Creator, not realizing that only in Him does it all come together and make sense. That’s what He wants for you.
;

Is He both able and willing? The whence cometh evil?

     This we covered. If God is, by His very nature, the ultimate good then everything that is not of Him is evil. We are born broken because of sin. We rebel. We want what we want and damn the consequences. But He woos us like a lover to draw near to Him…to give up our brokenness for His perfection—to die to ourselves and be reborn a new creation. So evil is just His absence. The more we close our ears to His call, the more deaf we become to Truth. The more we turn from Him, the more wicked the world becomes.

Is He neither able nor willing? Then why call Him God?

     Scripture assures us that God is both willing and able to prevent evil. But the more we choose to reject Him, the less room we allow Him to work in our lives. “But He’s God. If He wanted to prevent evil, He should just do it,” you say? Well, then that brings us back to my original question: what becomes of free will? The only way to truly prevent evil would be to either prevent humanity from existing at all or to enslave us to His will and leave us no choice in the matter. Is a man who is forced to do the right thing a righteous man?

     Because He is God, He has justly given us the right to choose Him or reject Him. If you want to lay blame for all the evil in the world, you don’t have to go very far. Set that blame at your own feet. We’re all guilty. We’ve all failed. But your failure can be replaced by His grace and sanctification if you’re willing to let go of who you were to become who He’s calling you to be. Once you know that love—once you’ve accepted that you are your own worst enemy—your perspective will change, not because you have some new set of rules to live by…but because the closer you draw to Him the less this broken place holds for you.

     The Christian faith is not a philosophy to live your life by or a set of obligations and observances you have to meet to get a ticket to heaven. It is a living connection and Way to a Creator whose word can reveal to you how creation really works, leading you to the Truth of all that is and all that will ever be and the Life that is stronger than the death we’re walking in.

 J

Dear Friends,

Some time ago, I mentioned that I was meeting with someone about co-authoring a book with me that is unlike anything I’ve ever written. While my co-author’s identity will remain a secret until the book is finished, I can now tell you a little bit about the project: an autobiographical journey through grief tentatively called Grace In Our Grieving.

Those of you that know me as more than just “that writer guy” know that, over the course of about six years, I lost my maternal grandfather, my father, my mother and then my younger brother. As I worked on my recent publication, the poetry collection entitled I Am A Broken House, I began to notice how much of the work was inspired either by my grief or the grace that became evident as I struggled through it. I realized that I couldn’t really talk about the book without talking about grief…and, if I had to talk about grief, it should be in a way that carries more impact and benefit than a few poems in a collection.

In the past, poetry has been the one avenue of writing through which I’ve opened up my own story. True, not every poem is a glimpse of me as I’m fond of employing my “fiction brain” at times, but poetry tends to dig down into my joy and my pain and uproot it for all to see. But writing out my story…retracing the steps I’ve walked through the darkest period of my life in the hope that some other grieving soul might find something useful (hope? kinship?courage?) was something I hadn’t really considered before. The thought of it is quite frightening, to be honest. But I thought about it. I prayed about it. I talked about it with my wife and my teenaged daughter. I consulted a friend or two. In the end, it was clear that, if I wanted to talk about grief and the grace that carried me through it, I had to dig it all up and lay it out. I had to tell my story from the beginning and hope that it helps someone. But…I also realized it needed to be more than that.

Grief is intensely personal. My story is just that—my story. For this book to help in the way that I wanted it to, it had to reach beyond the personal. To that end, I secured a co-author. In my journey through grief, I sought help in the form of grief counseling and, though I know not everyone feels the need to talk their way through that pain, it helped me immensely. So, I’ve asked a grief counselor to co-author this book and follow each of my autobiographical chapters with a more professional look at the elements I introduce. Where I may see my journey toward recovery as a spiritual one, my co-author can broaden the scope to fit everyone’s story.

So, friends, once my editing work is complete on Worlds Apart, a fantasy novel that should see the light of day near the end of this year, I’ll turn my attention to the story of my grief and work closely with my co-author to produce a work that, hopefully, will help bring healing to those who are held fast in the quicksand of their loss and grief. It may end up being the most difficult thing I’ve ever attempted, so I ask that your thoughts and prayers be with me as I take on this challenge. Your support, dear friends, means more than I could ever say and is, in part, grace in my grieving.

                                                                                                                                                                J

                You see, some of the greatest friends I have were found in that little one stoplight town, and the impact of their friendship is still felt today. Even those I don’t get to see or talk to as often as I would like have still burned themselves into my memory with grace and goodness and truth. I think of Mike Moberly and Shelly Dewitt (who was a Webb back then) and how God used them to flip a light on in my soul—a light that illuminated how long I’d been running from the call of God because I didn’t think He could use a teenager. I think of Rev. Mike Williams, not a pastor back then, but a good man whose entire family brought grace and laughter to my family in our darkest moments. I think of Sheila Tolbert, whose joy shone so brightly I can see it still…and even now, when we talk on the phone, I hear it swelling beneath her voice like a heavenly chorus. I think of Nicole Jennings who not only put up with countless pranks from her brother and I, but has grown into a lovely woman I can call a friend and a sister. She continues to be an instrument of God’s grace just by being herself. I think of Rachel Patman (now Rachel Petty, if memory serves) and her quiet wisdom…and I could go on and on about others.

                Of them all, three brothers have walked with me the closest and the longest. Scott Badley, the youngest of our quartet (oh, that we could actually sing!), is that man you always hear about…the one who would give you the shirt off his back. When trouble comes to call, Scott’s got your back, and he’s had mine for more years than I care to admit. Jason Webb was my confidant. When, over time, I fell into a leadership role, Jason was the one I could always be weak with. I could count on him to be rough with me, too, any time I needed a tougher love. And now, we have daughters near each other in age that have become friends and Jason is still that guy—the one that speaks truth to me and receives truth from me. Like Scott, he’s a brother in every real sense of the word save blood, and in the end the grace and love these men bring into my life counts for more than blood ever could.

                This past Saturday, however, it was my dear friend, Ryan Jennings (one quarter of the aforementioned quartet) who reminded me how good it is to have not only friends, but friends who have walked with you throughout your life. Ryan and I are vastly different people on many levels—from music to movies, from our church backgrounds to what we look for in a hometown—but our foundation was built on a love much greater than the two odd men who find themselves blessed by it. Over the years, Ryan and I have walked through valleys together. When trouble comes to call, I stand by him. When I’ve lost people I love, Ryan (like Scott and Jason) comes running.

                On Saturday, as I drove with Ryan and my oldest daughter from Oklahoma City back to Ardmore, Oklahoma where Ryan had left his car, we talked about the music we grew up with. Ryan played a few tracks from Second Chapter of Acts and the Imperials and we enjoyed singing along with someone who shared the same musical history. I mentioned that the gospel music of B. J. Thomas held sweet memories for me and, it turned out, the same was true for Ryan. I plugged in my iPhone and started playing the songs I had from that era and we, again, sang along and reminisced. A couple of songs in, the track “Home Where I Belong” played and I found myself shaken. It was one of my dad’s favorite songs from those days and I have bright and vivid memories of him rocking with me on his knee and singing along with it.

                I was my father’s son from the day I was born. My mother used to tell me that I lit up when my dad came home from work…and he would light up to. When he became a pastor, he became MY pastor and I’ve been spoiled ever since. I heard the gospel from his lips. I learned that being a real man means being a man of peace and grace. I saw him weep with conviction, laugh in pure delight and proclaim the gospel of Christ as if it were his sustenance. I saw him mistreated and belittled by religious folks who had never known the grace of an encounter with Christ and watched as his love and mercy for them drove them madder still.

                My dad was sick on and off for most of his life. There were more hospital stays than I can remember and a dozen times or more that we were told his life was over. But dad kept beating the odds. God kept reminding us all Who truly determines the number of days we are afforded. It’s sad to say, but that sort of life prepares you for its inevitable end. Every time he was hospitalized it could have been the last time. So, when Dad finally left us, we were prepared. Not ready, mind you. You’re never ready to lose someone you love. But we were prepared to face it.

                Dad was my hero. He was flawed, as every man is, but he walked in grace and in a righteousness that wasn’t his own. As hard as it was to lose him, I rejoiced with the saints that he had graduated to something better. Because of that, my longing for my dad doesn’t press on me as often or as hard as the loss of my mother or younger brother.

                Saturday, though, as B.J. Thomas sang that song, I missed him fiercely. I told Ryan it was my dad’s favorite and that it was hard to listen to…but I didn’t turn it off. You see, while that song played, I spent time with my daddy. I was a kid again, rocking in his lap, listening to him sing. And as I listened, I understood what that song must have always meant to him. I think heaven was on his mind more than I ever realized. How could you live the life he lived—have survived the illnesses he had—without knowing you’d likely never live to see old age? So, as that song played and I thought about what the lyrics really meant to my dad, I wept. I’m a weepy guy and I have no trouble admitting it, but I was in a car flying down the interstate with my daughter and my good friend and I had no desire to make anyone uncomfortable. So I remained silent and let the tears flow, hoping that maybe they’d go unnoticed. But they didn’t.

                Right as my longing to just hug my dad again collided with the joy of knowing he’s now home and fought to strangle a sob out of me, my dear friend…who knew my dad, who loved my dad the way I love his parents…said just loud enough for me to hear, “You know…he’s still serving Him gladly.” I could only nod and stay focused on the job of driving, but those words, as few as they were, struck a blow for joy that claimed that battle. I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t know if you, dear reader, are blessed to have such a friend. Ryan, whether he realized it or not, wasn’t just trying to comfort me. He wasn’t trying to break the tension of an uncomfortable moment. He was a brother—one of the finest I know—speaking a word of truth, being a living instrument of the grace of the living God.

                Just as I wept in the car that night, I weep now writing it all out for you. But hear me say this: God is good. In the midst of trial and uncertainty, He may give you a song—a reminder that Home is not made by human hands—to help you persevere and use what time you’ve been afforded for the glory of His name. In the heartache of loss, He may use a photograph, a forgotten song, or the scent of an old book to give you a blessed moment or two to be a child again, listening to your Daddy sing. In the longing for a loved one, He may give a brother the wisdom to say just the right thing to set you free from that moment of pain.

                I’ve been blessed to overflowing with friends who love God and bring His grace into my life—friends who have walked down so many roads with me that we don’t have to say a lot to be impactful. There’s a shorthand to it all. I never have to think, “Will they come running to help?” I know they’ll come running when I need them…just as I know I’ll go running when the call goes out.

                Listen to your life, dear friend. Examine it closely for the threads of grace running through every battleground or time of sorrow. I guarantee you that you’ll find them. And though, at times, we want a booming voice from heaven to say, “Relax. I’ve got this. It’s going to be okay,” sometimes all we really need is an old friend to quietly say, “He still serves Him gladly.”

            When I was a teen growing up in rural Oklahoma where my father pastored a small church, one of my favorite songs was a tune called “How Many Times (Seventy Time Seven)” by the band White Heart. The song, of course, is built around that great conversation in Matthew 18 when Peter asked Jesus a simple question. “Lord,” he said, and I paraphrase here, “when one of your crew—you know, my ‘brothers’—royally ticks me off, how many times do I have to forgive him?” Not only does Peter ask the question, but he also makes a suggestion…as if he was afraid Jesus might say something ridiculous which, of course, He does. “Seven times?” Peter offered. And the One who knew no sin said, “No, Pete. Not seven. Multiply that by seventy or so all you’ll just be getting warmed up.”

            The point, of course, was not that Peter or any of his brothers should grab an abacus and get busy on the multiplication, but that Peter should continue to forgive long past the point of his own willingness. Forgiveness—real forgiveness—comes from an eternal well. It’s the forgiveness that Christ reminded His father about from the cross. “They know not what they do,” He said, and they didn’t know. Just like we don’t know all the times we’ve nailed Him up there ourselves. There is forgiveness because there is grace. And grace, so freely given to us in our own weakness and depravity, is freely given to everyone else that will accept it.

            I came back, to both the song and the verse, after a recent “falling out” with a very dear friend of mine. For over twenty years, this man has been as close a friend as any I have had the pleasure to know, a brother born not of blood but of sacrifice, compassion and loyalty. Like most “brothers,” he and I were privy to details of each other’s lives…and we, time and time again, stood up and supported each other through hardship and sorrow. When I lost my parents and, then, my younger brother, he came running and (along with my beautiful family and other dear friends) provided strength in a time I didn’t possess any. If that is not being an instrument of God’s grace, I don’t know what is.

            Not long ago, after many years of watching a pattern of behavior develop consequences that, if left unchecked, might eventually cost him respect or even relationships that mean a great deal to him, I felt the burden to share with him what I was seeing. Knowing the matter would be difficult to discuss, I spent several weeks praying about the matter and seeking a way to ensure my words would be as gracious as they could be. But, in the end, no amount of grace—no amount of humility regarding my own failures, no amount of assuring him that the issue I brought before him in no way tarnished my view of him as an amazing man and terrific friend, no amount of explaining that this was not a “sin” issue but merely a series of choices that I worried might ultimately rob him of joy—nothing deadened the blow for him. He felt sucker punched, I guess, and no one enjoys that feeling. All attempts to the contrary, I wounded him.

            I’ve been wounded. We all have. And sometimes, sadly, it’s the people who love us most that, albeit unintentionally, wound us the worst. Though my intention was nothing but grace, my friend imagined our conversation was born of something else. Spite? Jealousy? Superiority? I can’t really say what he thinks. Why not? Because twenty years of friendship—of laughter and tears, of having each other’s backs when the storms rolled in—apparently doesn’t mean much in the chaos of his anger and hurt. The pain in his heart seems to add more weight to the scales than nearly a quarter of a century of the truest friendship. Why? Because he’s human. It’s that simple. No human story is without villains because—guess what?—WE’RE ALL VILLAINS! We are all fallen. We are all broken. On our very best days, our own righteousness is nothing but filthy rags in contrast to the righteousness of Christ. I can easily imagine a situation where I, too, might have been wounded in spite of someone else’s best efforts to graciously bring an issue before me…because we don’t always want to change. Seeing weakness in ourselves can be disheartening. I find my own weaknesses nearly unbearable and, though I’m all too aware of them, they still get the better of me more than I would care to admit.

            I guess that particular verse in Matthew came back to me because my old friend, though a good man who loves God, doesn’t seem to be very quick to forgive me. And if eventually he does forgive me, it seems far from certain that he will welcome me back into his life. And, I have trouble seeing that as forgiveness. Perhaps it’s because I’ve experienced so much grace from others, but true forgiveness and grace isn’t about walking away. It’s walking toward the ones that hurt us. It’s opening our arms to the worst offenders in our lives the way Christ would. It’s knowing that, whatever hurt or frustration that individual caused you in the past, or may continue to cause you in the future, it is nothing compared to your own transgressions against Christ. Knowing that, at your very worst, Christ loved you, walked with you and offered you his limitless grace, you forgive and give grace to your brothers and sisters in the same way.

            The world, of course, would disagree. Our flesh doesn’t really acknowledge unconditional love or the grace we are offered through Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. Instead, it offers us self-help suggestions about “weeding out” all the people in our lives that don’t contribute to our happiness. See, ultimately, the message of the world is “I get what I want, or I’m out of here.” It’s “I’ll love you and respect you as long as I get something out of it.” It’s “I’ll be a great friend so long as you never disappoint me.”

            As Christians, we are called to a higher law, because we know that, without unmerited favor…without a love as unconditional as it is deep…without being shown grace we could never deserve, we’d still be lost. “Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more.” (Luke 12:48) If the Christ-like response to transgression or even betrayal was to walk away from that person, Judas and Peter would never have made the cut. If the Christ-like response to someone saying or doing something stupid or offensive was to shut them out of your life, Martha would never have been able to see Jesus raise her brother from the dead and most of the disciples wouldn’t have lasted a week in ministry.

            So, in Christ, even if I had willfully committed a sin against one of my dearest friends…if, out of anger and not concern, I had lashed out to wound him instead of seeking to serve him as a brother…even if I didn’t have over twenty years of loving and serving him as a brother in faith to weigh against that one moment that wounded him…the call of God is to forgive and embrace. The call of God is to extend grace after grace from a supply that will never run out. To offer the mercy made new every day.

            I don’t think I’ve needed forgiveness from my brother seven times in the past twenty years. Maybe I have. Maybe I’ve needed it seventy times that. Whatever the case, Jesus is clear. The forgiveness needs to continue. Love and grace must always win out over our need to be “right” or our need to “win” an argument. We must forgive as we have been forgiven. How many times? You know the answer.

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I've always loved to watch children create. Whether they are building a castle out of Duplos to fend off an impending dragon attack or fingerpainting a work of abstract wonder, their imaginations don't often know the limitations that years on this hard earth can shackle us with. Kids give themselves freely and unabashedly to whatever they do and there is a great joy about them…in both their thinking and their doing. It's a wonder to behold.

I often think that Creation must've been such a moment for God – that with child-like wonder and joy He spoke things into being. "Bunnies!" perhaps He said, and then He chuckled at them as they appeared and began hopping about. But those are thoughts for another time.

Last night, I received a private message on Facebook from some very dear friends of mine. Their daughter, a lovely girl just seven years of age, had come across one of the promotional cards I had printed up to help spread the word about "I Am A Broken House." The card (as you'll see below) bears the image of the same house that appears on the book's front cover with the simple tagline: Broken can be beautiful.

This is the card that inspired such a lovely poem.

If you've not read the work, you might not see the connection between that slogan and the poetry, but the overall work points to the fact that we are (every one of us) broken – by loss, by sin, by shame, by cowardice and more – and yet, by grace, we remain…and there's something beautiful about that. So the tagline, a last minute addition, seemed appropriate. Every time someone orders a signed copy, I try to stick a few of those cards in the book so they can pass them on to friends. At any rate, this wondrous little girl came across the card while driving somewhere with her parents, and…well, I'll just let her mother tell the rest of that story.

Yesterday we were driving around and (our daughter) found your "A Broken House" business card. She read it aloud and asked what it was. We told her that it was from your book of poetry and she began her own poem..here it is:

A Broken House

Broken can be beautiful
Broken can be dark
Broken can be like the stars on a late Sunday night

Broken can be warm
Broken can be a rainbow
Broken can be a nice little park

And Broken can be beautiful 
 

Folks, I confess that I was not only amazed by the girl's talent and insight (so unsullied and unfettered by this world) but utterly humbled that a silly little slogan I used as a promotional tool could inspire within her such a work of beauty. What surprised me the most, though, was the great welling up of hope I felt. As cruel and as broken as this world can be – and as we can be – we see the hope and joy and wonder in our children and remember that God, too, takes joy in His creation and finds wonder in each poem of a person. No story is so bad it cannot be rewritten. No structure so complex the mind of a child cannot build it out of Lego blocks and imagination. No song so difficult that a child cannot make up a new version and sing it with all his might. The Hope of Glory is alive and pulsing in the creativity of our children. May they remind us all of the childlike wonder of our great Creator and the delight He takes in His creation. We may be broken, but "broken can be a rainbow."

J