Thanksgiving Day is a wonderful opportunity to do what so many of our Puritan fathers and mothers did: give thanks and direct affection to God. (And have a happy time!)

If we’re using the holiday to set apart America as sovereign, redeemer, hope of mankind, then we do wrong. I’m very fond of and thankful to live in the United States, but she makes for a very lousy idol.

Let’s happily, intentionally distinguish between gift and Giver, between idol and Object of All Joy.

And therefore, necessarily, have a happy time!

Twitter and Facebook are the latest, greatest waves of attack in the total war on momentary silence. (This is especially true if you have them on your phone, always at the ready.) They don’t reduce reflection, they compound it many times over, ironically rendering it impossible. They entice multitudes with the appearance of an attack on boredom, but result largely in its consistent dominance.

Other than that, I love them both.

I hate traffic, especially drug traffic, but also the congested, automobile variety. Today I was held up by a vast, right-lane conspiracy of cars blocking the road by driving so slow they seemed to be going somewhere between 10 mph and reverse. I angrily imagined my vehicle fitted with sidewinders and me pressing a button, saying, “fox 1, away!” and “fox 2, away!” Just like in Iron Eagle, or whatever.

Calming down, I listened to the cheerful chirrups of Jason Gray and wished that the sadness of being stuck in traffic would come untrue.

I wondered if it was God’s will that I be late for work. Why would it be? How is that good? Why doesn’t my vehicle have side-winder missiles? You know, the big questions.

Mostly I pondered sovereignty. I thought of how often I’ve heard people thankfully say that they were saved from a terrible wreck because of some irritating delay. A child couldn’t find his shoes and we were delayed. If we’d been on time…. A wrong turn. Delayed by a storm. We’d have been right in the middle of that terrible accident.

Accident?

The unifying element in these tales is thankfulness to God for rescuing the teller from what was very close by and terrifying. I’ve been impressed and conversely distressed at hearing these reports. Part of me is eager to embrace them, to say: “Good, see the hand of God in all things and be grateful for mercy.” Another part of me says, “Would we be giving thanks if the delay had caused the wreck? Or would we still attribute the calamity to God’s hand?”

These questions, these kinds of puzzles, are what keeps the wise-as-serpents part of our minds busy while we go hunting for the innocence of doves.

But I know why bad things happen. It’s because of rebellion.

I’ve been studying the Pentateuch, particularly Genesis, for the past several months. The beginning of Genesis is so profoundly instructive, as well as being a deeply moving story, teeming with pathos. In chapter three we see the attempted de-Godding of God by the first parents.

The heartbreaking results follow fast. In chapters four and five the hearts stop, the blood runs, the refrain echos out: “And he died…and he died…and he died…and he died…” Etc. On and on the deaths pile up, a grotesque contrast to the unfallen before.

In the acrid air of usurpation our first parents got new clothes, a sacrifice to cover their naked shame. A hint of resolution, restoration brewing.

God is still sovereign. Even in suffering. Happier still, he is merciful down deep, slow to anger and abounding in love. He offers rebellious, treasonous mankind a great exchange, our sin for the righteousness of Christ. We can be acceptable to the Father again, by the mercy of God in Christ.

I don’t know how traffic jams and wrecks work out for God’s glory and the good of his children. I know, in the short run, it often feels terribly wrong.

But death feels wrong because it is. It isn’t natural, isn’t the way things ought to be. It’s a fearful, final foe. But one which will be defeated by the victorious King Jesus.

I don’t know how sovereignty works out. My father, quoting Walter Staton, always said, “God is sovereign and man is responsible.” That helps me.

People say, “When God closes a door, he opens a window.” I am always tempted to blurt out, “and sometimes he knocks the house over on the people.”

God isn’t safe.

So do we give credit to God for deaths in traffic as well as praise for when we are saved from the same by lost shoes or a bad sense of direction?

When we read the Bible, we see pretty fast that God kills people, sometimes in large groups all at once. This may bother us, but we can’t pretend it isn’t so. Wrestling with this is fine, even appropriate. But this reminds me of what Jared C. Wilson said.

“It’s okay to wrestle with a biblical text, so long as at the end it masters you and not the other way around.”

It’s popular to say that doubt is humble and certainty is arrogance. This depends, of course, on what we’re certain of and what we’re doubting. There can never be enough of doubting God and his Word to please an entrenched rebel in his pride. If we doubt ourselves, however, we may be on to something (this is humility). If we habitually doubt the faithfulness of God, this is no poetic virtue; it’s called unbelief. Who of us hasn’t prayed, “Lord I believe, please help my unbelief?” But let us keep on praying it and not surrender to our proud misgivings. Keep on fighting, keep on praying. Doubt is a thin shield, a hollow creed.

So, brothers and sisters, let us struggle and lose. Let’s understand that God isn’t simply responsible for the deaths of the Egyptian army in the Red Sea, or the many who worshiped the golden calf, but of Moses too. In fact he isn’t caught off guard by any death. He is sovereign over all, never asleep, feckless, or disinterested. We are responsible. We chose and go, drive and die, but God works his will over all.

Whether I am spared death (for now), or meet my end today, I am glad. I’m thankful. Uncertainty about how it all works out abounds, as well as doubt in my own ability. But let me be certain of him and his Word. He is good. He is just. He is merciful. The Story is true.

At his right hand are pleasures, evermore.

This post was first published at The Rabbit Room.

I just got home from watching The Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole with my family. I’m eager to share just “owl” much I loved this movie. And with that bad joke I demonstrate explicitly how far I am from being qualified to review a movie. I have none of the skill of the learned chaps who know what they’re talking about when it comes to “cinema.” This will be a review from a person who has never seen most of the movies that get reviewed by people who know a lot about cinematic art. Most of my male relatives chew tobacco.

Owls movie, regular idiot review, with commentary on raising kids in a toxic world…go.

Firstly, Legend… is breathtaking to watch. It’s a visually stunning, captivating movie, with wonderful detail and animation (is it still called animation?). I recently finished reading Neil Granger’s book, Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination. I couldn’t help but think of Walt. I thought of how he accomplished something incredible with Snow White and how amazed he would be at a film like this. It was a real joy to watch. 3D? I loved it. Maybe that makes me a real hick from the sticks, unable to appreciate how 3D is devastating modern cinema. This was a movie where, for me, 3D aided the suspension of disbelief and the imaginative quality of the picture.

Movies with good “special effects” are in great supply. (Do they still call them special effects?) But there are fewer movies that have a great story and fewer still which don’t undermine the truth about the world God made either in slight, or flagrant ways. This movie, to unholster a tired cliche, has it all.

I loved the story. I bought in like a rich investor, took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Was it a basic good vs. evil story? Yes. I love that. The story was so fundamentally good that I just sat there grinning throughout. My review can be summarized in one word: fantastic. But this has a lot to do with where I am in life and who I was sitting with.

I sat between our 5 and 7 year old kids, my wife held our sleeping baby throughout. Our 5 year old boy has only been so for a few days. Yesterday we celebrated his birthday with a “St. George” party. My older brother dressed as a dragon and our son, distinguished from his comrade knights by the St. George’s cross on his chest, led the attack on the castle to save the princess (well-acted by his brilliant and beautiful sister). It was a great time, though I’m sure if there were any dour, P.C. scolds watching they would have been horrified. (This is unlikely in rural West Virginia farming country.) What we emphasized in that party and what countless tales told to these children over and over emphasize is this: If you have strength, it is not to dominate and control, but to love and serve. If you are a leader, then you are not to rule by lording it over others, but to lay down your life. To serve. To die.

I must say (though I know it is hard for some modern ears to hear) that I especially emphasize this point with my oldest son (and will with his brother in time). My old-fashioned understanding? Boys need to know that strength is not for lording, intimidating, tyrannizing, and it is for dang sure not about serving yourself. We. Look. To. Jesus.

Jesus is our example. The Son of God who, though being rich, became poor; though being strong, became weak; though being Majestic in Glory and Deserving of All Power and Praise, put on a servant’s nature. He came to serve. Husbands are therefore commanded to be like that as they lead. My heart is for that in my own life (though I fail regularly) and my training and instruction for these boys must be “in the Lord.”

So, back to this movie about owls. Inside the story there is a story (I love that kind of thing.) The story within the story is one that our main character, Soren, loves and retells over and over. He believes this story (of the legendary Guardians) with all his heart, though others deride him for his faith. A beautiful element of this movie is how the story that he believes to be true, though he can’t see with his eyes, impacts his entire being. He is different because of how this story works on him, in stark contrast to his unbelieving brother.

This is pretty much the situation for Christians.

Of course Soren is right, his faith eventually becomes sight and he meets his heroes. In a lovely touch, his number one hero is not as physically impressive as he expects. This clever turn points to the underlying theme of the story and the oath of the Guardians. They are charged with, “mending the broken, making the weak strong.” In contrast with the evil “Pure Ones,” (wondrous, ironic nomenclature) who wish to manipulate, dominate, and enslave the weak and vulnerable.

The Guardians protect the vulnerable, they serve the weak. They do not use their power and authority to serve themselves, but fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. The Guardians also have a hierarchical structure; they have a king and queen. But the use of this power and authority, as in Tolkien and Lewis (and Scripture), is operated by the “good side” not for self, but for love and service. It is, frankly, a beautiful thing to see.

It is a rare joy to go to the movies and so explicitly see the values that we emphasize in our home be, not undermined, but underlined. I was ecstatic.

Sure, it’s fine to talk over all the core toxicity of films with our kids, to learn something from the bent expressions of the fallen imagination. These can sometimes be very fruitful –especially, I suppose, with older kids. But man, it’s great to just see something good. Real good.

This is why I love Andrew Peterson’s books. Fantastic stories brilliantly told, but without the core deceptions of a man-centered worldview. A modern author…and we can trust him! Don’t wonder why Christian parents rejoice at such things. It’s a rare treasure found. There are others of course (my kids have read hundreds of good books), but the “total package” thing is pretty rare in my experience. I feel like that’s what you get with AP’s books.

This movie feels pretty close to that as well. I haven’t read the books (The Owls of Ga’hoole), but this movie was a deep delight for me to see with my kids. I enthusiastically stick all the thumbs I have and can borrow from my neighbors in an upward direction.

Note: Some of the action/peril might frighten young kids, but my 5 year old (prepped) was not bothered –and he is not exposed to a lot of scary images/movies.

Note 2: This post was originally published at The Rabbit Room.

Tuesday (in Part 1) we heard from Greg Lucas about his family and how the Gospel informs the care of the vulnerable. It was deeply insightful, true, good, and beautiful. More of the same today in the conclusion of our interview with Greg. You can get Greg’s book, Wrestling With An Angel, here.

Sam: Tell us about your upcoming book. Why did you write it and who might benefit from reading it?

Greg: The book is titled Wrestling with an Angel. It began as a personal journal, morphed into a public blog and then bled over to the actual book. It is a collection of memoirs and life lessons of grace reflected through the struggles of my severely disabled son.

The title of the book comes from Genesis 32 and illustrates my struggle with God through caring for my son. But more than a memoir of my relationship with my son, it is a rather raw account of God revealing grace in my life through the most unexpected, and undesired circumstances.

At fist glance, it might be seen as a book about disability—and I hope that families dealing with the challenges of disability will read it and benefit from it. I especially hope that fathers raising disabled children will be helped by the book since most points of perspective on families dealing with disability comes from a mother’s view.

But the book is actually about a father seeing himself in relation to God, through the life of his disabled son. It is a book about coming to the end of your rope, the end of your strength, the end of your understanding, and finding that God’s grace really is enough—that in our greatest weakness, God really is our greatest strength. This is the universal message of the book. We are all disabled by sin. We are all looking for healing and hope. The cross is the ultimate answer for our ultimate handicap, and every difficulty of our disability is pointing us there.

Sam: What part does local church/ gospel community play in the life of your family?

Greg: The local church, and especially the gospel community we are a part of, is central to the overall spiritual health of my family. But that’s not all. The emotional, mental and even physical aspects of our family are often kept in check through the local body of Christ. Our gospel community has always been a place where the diversity and disability of our family has been welcomed and even celebrated.

I use the term “gospel community” to describe the real heart of our local church. We don’t just meet on Sunday morning, hear an inspiring message and go about our own way the rest of the week. Our gospel community is comprised of close families and good friends doing life together. We share each other’s burdens and celebrate each others victories. We attend our kid’s ball games and birthday parties; help each other with work projects, counsel, encourage and even admonish each other through life.

Sam: Do you have any wisdom/encouragement for people who are being moved to explore adoption or other avenues of mercy?

Greg: Wisdom? Allow me to stack a pile of soap boxes and climb to the top.

Adoption is very difficult. It is a long and often heart wrenching process. Depending on what type of adoption is pursued (domestic, foreign, special needs, etc.) you could wait upwards of four years and spend up to $40,000 on the adoption process. You could also wait a few months and spend as little as $2,000.00.

I’ll put this as simple as I can. Some types of adoption are not for everyone, but everyone can and should be involved in the adoption process.

According to UNICEF, there are somewhere between 143 and 200 million orphans worldwide. By some liberal statistics (and perhaps sprinkled with some divine irony) that’s about the same amount of people who identify themselves as “Christians” in the US.

I have a firm conviction that every member of a Christ-centered, gospel believing church should be involved in the adoption process. If you have room in your family, fill it with a child in need of a family. If you have money in the bank, but cannot physically adopt, support a family who can.

As American Christians we are incredibly wealthy. Our houses (even the smallest of them) are bigger than most foreign orphanages. We have the resources, we have the room, we have the gospel…all that’s missing are 200 million orphans!

I also believe that the greatest influence of the gospel is within the immediate family—Dad pastoring his family and both parents living the gospel in front of their kids. If this is true, then one of the greatest ministries of the church and one of the most effective settings for evangelism and discipleship should be the ministry of adoption.

At our local church, my pastor is setting the example for this. He and his wife have three amazing children. They don’t “long for” more kids, neither do they feel that there is something missing in their lives in their early 30’s. They simply saw a need that broke their hearts, found some room, scraped up some money and now they are on a waiting list for a child in Ethiopia. Talk about Great Commission obedience!

With this in mind, take some time to walk through your enormous house and ask God what he would have you do with your part of the 200 million orphans worldwide, most of whom may never hear the gospel, much less have it lived out in a loving family of their own.

Ok, I’ll climb down from my soapbox now.

***

Thank you, Greg. May God be strong on your behalf.

Alan Jacobs writes an important little essay on the prevalence of an ethic of justice on the internet, but a failure in humility and charity (illustrated brilliantly by the xkcd comic above). He writes that…

“This same logic governs our responses to one another on the Internet. We clothe ourselves in the manifest justice of our favorite causes, and so clothed we cannot help being righteous (‘Someone is wrong on the Internet’). In our online debates, we not only fail to cultivate charity and humility, we come to think of them as vices: forms of weakness that compromise our advocacy. And so we go forth to war with one another.”

He includes three highly instructive quotes, which I have stolen for future posting here on this blog. But do read the post, I think you’ll find it challenging and, well, to highlight the virtue he sets apart as overemphasized, just.

via: Jeffrey Overstreet

Note: This was posted at The Rabbit Room recently. So, you may have seen it there. Do not read it twice. It’s like seeing yourself in time-travel. –sam

Last night I wrote a fable. It’s fabulous. And by that I mean it’s a fable.

With me?

Words really mean things. I want to be some one whose appreciation of this fact fuels more intentional investigation on word origins.

I only have one book on my shelf that I can think of right now about word origins in English. That book is pretty amazing (now I’m thinking of what amazing history the word “amazing” might have), but I ought to have more. I almost have aught.

I remember hearing Ken Myers talking to some fellow about how he was grading a student paper where it was said that a boat had “arrived half-way across the ocean.” The fellow was objecting to this use because the word “arrive” has in it the notion of coming ashore. So one cannot arrive half-way. It means to get there. Specifically to “come to shore.”

So, at Hutchmoot (the Rabbit Room conference) this idea of the power and origin in the original power of words arrived on the sandy beach of my mind. Courtesy of Walter Wangerin, Jr.

Walt (I call him Walt, because I was close enough to yank his pony tail –but I didn’t, amazingly) was amazing. <—– I haven’t looked that up yet.

I felt a thousand things as he spoke, which I feel incapable of putting into adequate words. I feel like a clever monkey trying to explain to Beethoven (who is deaf and dead) the joys of flinging poo. I felt validated, inspired, full, hopeful, peaceful, joyful and the list goes on and on like a long, long list.

But here is one thing. Walt knows words.

He inhabits language like the oldest local. He speaks as one with authority, as if in his naming the thing may finally –again– be itself. It was not that words were used by him, or that he was commanding with them. I can aspire to that. It was more.

He cooperated with words. Co-operated. He and the words were on the same side. He has arrived on their side after a long, literate life’s journey.

His relation of the history of schap (forever on the chalkboard of my mind) was a significant life event for me. Because, in so many words, he told me who I am.

I am a schap. A shaper. This is how he talked about storytellers.

And words are the tools of my trade. I will use them, care for them, add more to my bag and hope that one day I will do more than use them. I will inhabit them. Know them like an intimate friend. Partner with them. Conjure up with them a vision for those without eyes to see. And tell stories.

Like Walt.

Leg Crossers –Jason and Sam

I got to meet fellow Rabbit Room writer Jason Gray in Nashville a few weeks ago, as well as hear him perform some songs. Then this past weekend got to hear him again here in southern West Virginia (thanks Matt and Mark). Gina and I (and the kids) got to spend some extended time with him and it was really special. I encourage you to check out his music. It’s good, ya’ll.

Fake Scholarship –Jason and Gina, fakers

His emphasis on weakness, brokenness and the power and completeness of God in our weakness is beautiful. His song from several years ago, Blessed Be, has been a welcome reminder of something I have needed to hear lately.

I am going through some health issues now, again (I have a medical test today, in fact, and would appreciate prayer). This idea of being perfected in weakness, of being blessed in brokenness (which is so evident in Matthew, and all of Scripture) has been a comfort to me. Jason’s music has added to the chorus of truth I need to hear now and all the time.

The Gospel is for the broken, the needy, the ones who know they need it. Not for the morally superior. Again, consider this amazing passage in Luke 18. I need that!

So, after the jump here I put Jason’s song, Blessed Be, up for you to hear. I didn’t ask him, so mum’s the word. It’s not the best audio (or video), so I put up the words. But he tells the same story on Acoustic Storytime, which is a great record.
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Or, it’s more about connection than it is about self-expression. And, of course, it depends on what we’re after. If we want people (who are not our mothers) to read us, then we need connection way more than self-expression.

I’ve never read Yancey, but I like this video (below). Especially at about the 23:20 point where he expresses how difficult writing is. As Pete Peterson said on the Story panel at Hutchmoot: “Many people say, ‘I write because I can’t not write.’ I don’t get that. I can easily not write. That’s the easiest thing in the world to not do.”

Well, he said something like that and he took the words right out of my mouth, so I’m putting them back in just as I like.

It’s easy not to write. It’s painful. On the self-same panel, Jonathan Rogers explained that when it’s easy it’s not usually worthwhile.

“I’ve written books that didn’t hurt, and to tell you the truth, they’re not all that good.” Jonathan Rogers

Well, this might have been easy to write.

OK kids, back to Yancey.

At one point he advises writers, “Don’t do it alone,” and goes on to say that there are many creative people, but:

“…they’re all into self-expression…but you don’t make a living in self expression, you make a living by connecting with people who want to pay money…to say ‘this is worth my time.’”

Good point, Phillip Yancey. Good point.

Also, you have an amazing ‘fro.

I have shared this vidya content before, but thought it might be good to do again. I thought those thoughts with the thoughts in my mind.

Writers are a pretty pathetic bunch. Especially, perhaps, those of us who want to have a book published, but haven’t yet. We have these odd tensions that are unresolved, like so many guitar strings tuned to the point of snapping. I don’t know if this ever changes, but one thing we writers do is try to convince ourselves that it’s everyone’s fault but our own when we fail. The excuses erupt.

It’s the state of publishing, the “ecomony,” lazy agents, the stupidity of book-buyers (Twilight, Left Behind, choose your hated success story), etc. –whatever makes us feel like it’s not us. It couldn’t possibly be that I stink.

Sit near struggling writers and you will smell the distinct odor of burned martyr. The unvalidated genius at the stake. “It was too good for them!” he cries against the flames.

Of course, sometimes it’s true. I think I know of some cases, myself. (I mean, people really do buy teen-angst, vampire books like crazy.)

I don’t have much to say about this pathetic streak in us, just wanted to let you know that it’s normal if you know some one struggling with P.W.S. (Pathetic Writer Syndrome). So, hug your writer friends and tell them, “There, there…poor baby,” in a gentle way.

As for us, the writers? At best it’s an annoying thing we need to get over. At worst it reveals an idol in our lives that we need to let go of/destroy. Because rejection by a publisher (or agent) is not our personal hell and publication/success is not our personal savior. If we are thinking of this situation in a religious, all-consuming way…maybe it’s a worship issue. We are made to be worshipers. Ourselves, ensconced on a throne built of literary success, makes for a lousy idol.

Here’s a cartoon from Rachel Gardner’s blog. It’s a self-deluded writer’s perspective on things.

Though some of this “Bewail the state of things!” is grounded in truth (and seems to be, perhaps, increasingly true), I still think that if our work is good enough it can and will be published (perhaps by a small press –that option is increasingly attractive in many ways). But things do have to line up for us and we have to work really hard. And that’s not even factoring in the sovereign hand of the God who does things for his own glory and our good, including sometimes allowing (or even causing) us to fail.

Like most things in life, this isn’t easy. Whoever said it was easy is lying, or selling something.

At least that’s what it looks like from here. But what do I know? I’m not a success story.

Yet. But it’s legitimately not my fault. It’s, um….it’s…