The insight of skinned knees

At the time I started writing this post, my seven-month-old son was crying on the floor.  He is so very, very close to being able to roll over by himself.  If he's on his back, he can -- with some coaxing -- successfully get to his belly.  Going the other way is another matter.  He just can't yet manage that final push.  To be fair, we live in an old house with lots of uneven flooring, so some of his attempts at rolling over are literally uphill.  Which is completely unfair.  As is, I suppose, using your son's disadvantages as the impetus for a blog post.  But he's the son of a pastor/writer, so that's just part of the contract.

Through this new lens of fatherhood, I am gaining unique insights into God's love for me that I naively thought I understood all along.  For instance, in the midst of my undergrad, I wrote the following lyric for one of my band's songs:

Failures are the lasting lessons
I’ve got so much left to learn
I’ll crawl so I can walk, skin my knees and my pride
But never forget to smile
Chewing on the trials

The imagery I was after (nearly 10 years ago now) was exactly the phase of life my son is currently entering: the emerging independence of a human personality that is at once so confident and so determined, and yet so very incapable.  Zeke, like all human beings, must learn by bumping his head, by taking those intrepid first steps and falling down.  We learn by struggling.  The progression from a diet of milk to one of solid food is necessarily gradual.

Watching it literally happen in front of me, I now have a much better context for understanding the care and perseverance of our Heavenly Father.  God labors to teach us the way I labor to teach my son: He could very well step in and fix everything for us, yet He lovingly allows us the opportunity to struggle, to learn, and to worship Him all the more for it.  Sometimes, Zeke needs me to step in and give him a push.  Other times, it's better for me to wait, so he can push himself just a little harder.  He doesn't always appreciate it when I opt for the latter.

But then again, neither do I when God does the same thing to me.

In the midst of each spiritual battle and God-ordained challenge, Christians face a choice: either embrace the opportunity the adversity represents in order to trust God more and grow in our faith, or instead adopt a shortsighted, embittered preoccupation with trying to eliminate as much difficulty in our lives as possible, complaining all the while.  The sad thing is that, when we take the latter course of action, we miss the opportunity for true joy.

In our Wikipedia/YouTube culture -- where answers and solutions should never be more than one click away -- endurance is a concept that needs revisiting.  Even for Christians, it's easy to become discouraged when facing the same sin struggle day after day, or having to forgive someone for the 489th time.  We might be tempted to want the same type of immediate gratification our world craves.  It is an immaturity -- not unlike my son whining with one arm tucked helplessly under his side -- that demands immediate solutions.  On the other hand, it is absolutely NOT immaturity for us to cry out to the Father for help, provided we begin learning to ask the right things from the right heart attitude.

The Apostle Paul penned some pretty famous words in his epistle to the Philippians, words that are often stripped of their rich meaning.  Speaking of his own challenges with regard to sharing the gospel, he wrote, "I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound.  In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through him who strengthens me." (Phil 4.12-13)  And that, Paul says, is connected to the ability to know true joy -- to endure hardship and be closer to God for the struggle.  The ability to "do all things" is not some promise of superpowers.  The power that Paul speaks of is the power that God abundantly supplies in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit.  It is a power that, ironically, requires us to be dependent upon God.  It is a power that is only accessible via weakness.

The "secret" of facing plenty, hunger, abundance, and need is through HIM.

That's why our skinned knees are so valuable.  They shouldn't just teach us practical lessons about how to do it better next time.  They should teach us to lean into a source of power that is beyond our limited abilities -- one that is best expressed in our weakness.  If we are willing to focus on the One who never fails, who never changes, and who never requires us to do anything He won't lead us through, suddenly our spiritual growth is not an insurmountable mountain or a life of isolation and drudgery.  It is a walk with God.

I love to walk with Zeke -- for the time being, with him in my arms, or in the stroller, or strapped to my chest.  Sometimes with him upside-down over my shoulder.  The type of delight I feel when he smiles or learns something new is a taste of the type of delight our Heavenly Father takes in my daily dependence on Him.  And the reality is that, once Zeke masters this whole rolling over thing, there will be another challenge for him to face.  And another one.  Likewise, our spiritual growth isn't about one day or even one year.  It is a lifelong process.  My hope for Zeke is that, as he matures, he learns not to whine or complain, but to ask for help, and to trust in the wisdom and care his Mama and I can provide.  An even greater thing is true of each Christian's walk with God, because God is not only worthy of our trust, He is worthy of our worship.  The adoration we must give Him is not because He craves it or is incomplete without us: we give it because no other is worthy of receiving it.

We would therefore do well to stop relying on ourselves, cease our complaining spirits, and instead cry out to God daily for help with every challenge we face.   Spiritual maturity is not (contrary to popular opinion) independence and theological intellect, but rather learning to more fully depend on the transforming grace that God abundantly supplies.

On turning a quarter of a century old (A Decade in Review)

25 is a milestone, though I suppose it's still too early for me to be overly nostalgic or begin thinking the best years of my life are already behind me.  Just for fun, I tried to recall some of the more significant details of my past decade of living, and found -- unsurprisingly -- that it gets harder and harder to keep them all straight the further back I go.

Last year, when I turned 24, Tara and I got our first puppy together, and it was this past February that we bought our first house.  We've been living happily ever since in quiet Woodstown, New Jersey, and are approaching our third anniversary in February of 2015.

Two years ago, when I was 23, I first got on a plane and first set foot outside the country on my first short-term missions trip to Roatán, Honduras.  That was also the year that The Twenty Committee released our debut album, A Lifeblood Psalm, to scores of positive reviews.

On Christmas Eve, 2011 -- not long after I turned 22 -- I asked Tara to marry me, and our wedding took place two months later on February 25th, 2012.  I finished my BA in English that same year, graduated Rowan, and began working in youth ministry as well, the joy-filled career in which I currently find myself and trust the Lord to protect in the years to come.  2012 was also the year XXCMTE was officially formed (building on the skeleton of Synaesthesia), and the year we road-tripped to Nashville to record the album at Radiant Studios.  I also started Häxprocess that April, and am looking forward to a fourth year writing this blog.

One of two performances as Revere, the first
incarnation of XXCMTE: equal parts jam, prog,
comedy, and prophetic readings from Isaiah.

When I was 21, Tara and I (impossibly) started dating again.  Steve also built me a Telecaster for my birthday, and Synaesthesia traveled 1300 miles in under 72 hours to Wilmore, Kentucky and back to perform at a Christian music festival.  Tara and I began our season of serving at Mercy Hill Church that year as well, building relationships with a neighboring church body that still continue to bless us today.

Years 19 and 20 together were a dark point for me -- certainly the darkest point of my life to date.  Though I finished my Associates' Degree at GCCC, transferred to Rowan to study English, and began working at JMT as a custodian all during that time, those were also the years that I found myself on a self-destructive track of emotional neediness, pursuing sour, sinful relationships instead of the only One that truly mattered.  And yet my compassionate Father ultimately drew me back into His loving arms, despite the choices I'd made.  Though the memories are painful and certainly nothing I would desire to repeat, God ultimately used even my period of rebellion to grow me into a stronger follower of Him, with a deeper appreciation for the limitless nature of His grace.

To the end, He is faithful -- even when we are so undeserving.

My 18th was the year Tara and I first dated, even after Geoff and I fooled her into thinking the ice maker at the Grubers' house was hooked up to The Clapper.  No, seriously -- we did.  She tucked her glass under her arm and everything.  Come to think about it, maybe that's why our first attempt at a relationship ended so quickly...  A fateful family vacation in Myrtle Beach also occurred during the summer of that year, and Synaesthesia -- my second band with Richmond, Steve, Dana, and Joe -- officially formed in July of 2009.  Overall, we had a longer, more polished run as Synaesthesia than we did as Seraphim, ultimately putting out a 6-song EP and building a sturdy reputation before the band lapsed into permanent hiatus.

My 17th year was the point at which I was finally capable of driving myself back and forth across southern New Jersey.  It was also the beginning of my final 9 months of high school.  I began my first job as a custodian at Pitman Methodist Church, a position that ultimately lasted three years and got me through my first degree without any debt on my shoulders.

16 was the year I got my first car and started my first band, together with my brother Richmond and best friend Jeff Van Valkenburg.  Seraphim was a typical garage band with big hopes and dreams, and was my first venue for writing music.  Altogether, we finished eight songs -- nearly all inspired by U2 and Springsteen -- and played our mostly original catalogue to receptive friends, family, and fans during our two-year run.

I did a lot more yelling than singing in those days.

I'm fairly confident I can't remember much in any chronological order beyond 15 -- not without consulting one of my mom's meticulously documented photo albums.  My 15th was the year of Katrina and the devastating 6-10 Eagles' season (following on the heels of the previous season's spectacular 13-3 record and Superbowl appearance), and was also the year we threw a surprise birthday party at the Winters' house for my dad, not to mention the beginning of my time at Gloucester County College (homeschoolers might be subject to a lot of teasing, but they do have the luxury to start accumulating credits early).

Ten years is a long time to sum up in so few words, but that's my past decade in a nutshell.  I'm not old -- not even close yet.  For that matter, the years are sweet now and promise only to sweeten further.  Even in these times of plenty, however, I'm encouraged by the promise God made to His children in Isaiah 46:

"Even to your old age I AM He, and to gray hairs I will carry you.  I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save."

Though we may grow older and weaker each year, God does not change.  His promises do not fail, and His faithfulness endures throughout all the generations of man.