Month: July 2018

This weekend, my son and I are enjoying a trip to the west side of Michigan. It was 5-hour drive from our home in Ohio to the beautiful shores of Lake Michigan.

Sometimes it felt like we would never get there. Miles and miles of roads.

Eventually we arrived, and I was able to enjoy an evening exploring the sand dunes and witnessing a beautiful sunset.

Have you ever been on a trip with a child who constantly asks, “Are we there yet?” Fortunately, I didn’t hear much of that this weekend.

However, I find myself asking that question often on my journey of growth and healing. I want to get to the end and everything be just the way I want it.

I’m so impatient sometimes, looking over at God and asking when I’m going to arrive. There are moments I want to say, “You’re God. Can’t you just get me there now?!?”

The reality is I need the journey. I need the struggle. I need the moments that test me, stretch me, force me to do that thing I find uncomfortable or unpleasant. Those are an unavoidable part of getting there.

If you’re anything like me, you need those reminders to be present in the moment and find the value in the journey. I know I need to open myself up to the lessons and blessings in every moment, not just the ones I’m pushing to get to.

Life is filled with twists and turns, construction and detours, a host of unexpected stops along the way. These are all part of getting us where we need to go.

When I ask, “Are we there yet?” I need to listen to the small, still voice whispering, “No, you’re not there yet. But you’re on the way.”

I traveled to Washington, DC for July 4th this year. It was an exciting trip and an opportunity to honor my parents by attending the Capitol Fourth concert, an event we watched together on television when I was growing up.

I spent most of the day on the 4th walking around, visiting various monuments and memorials. At each stop along the way, I was reminded of the complexity of the human experience. Love and hate. Joy and sorrow. Celebration and mourning. Life and death.

At the Lincoln Memorial, I stood at the place where Martin Luther King, Jr. stood to deliver his “I Have a Dream” speech. I thought of the beauty and hopefulness of his words, but also the violence and hate perpetrated on those of color and other minorities in our country, even to this day. The work of Abraham Lincoln continued on the steps of this building dedicated to him 50 years ago, and it still does.

At the Vietnam Memorial, I walked slowly, looking at the thousands of names, sons and daughters killed fighting a war in the jungles of southeast Asia. I began weeping as I thought of every spouse, parent, child, sibling, family member, and friend who experienced the loss of a loved one. The gravity of the ugliness of war weighed heavily on me in that moment.

At the Korean Memorial, the words “Freedom is not free” are engraved on a wall. Sacrifice is almost always part of the cost of freedom. Whether giving your life, your time, your energy, or any other part of what you have or who you are, we must be willing to give to something bigger than ourselves.

At the World War II Memorial, there is a rope connecting the columns for all 50 states, symboling how everyone worked together. And the distance from the Memorial to the Washington Monument is the same distance the troops had to travel when they stormed the beaches at Normandy. If we are going to accomplish anything of importance in this world, our best chance at success is working together, not against each other.

At the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, I read the words of this man and was inspired by his vision to bring a people together, heal a nation (and the world), and communicate hope in the midst of difficulty.

At the Jefferson Monument, I was reminded of the contradictions of all human beings. Here we honor a man who had high ideals and grand dreams for our nation, but also owned and even fathered children with slaves. If we are honest, we all have a little of Jefferson in us, not quite living up to our greatest hopes and desires. Maybe we need to extend a little more grace to each other in light of this reality.

While I visited several other places, the final one I will write about here is the Holocaust Museum. My two hour journey through the history of what happened to the Jews and other groups was truly soul-crushing. At the end of the experience, I sat there and wept. The level of hatred, cold-bloodedness, and evil penetrated my deepest places. How can we human beings treat each other with so much contempt? How can we slaughter millions of innocent men, women, and children, simply because of their heritage or differing beliefs?

I witnessed the best and the worst of us during my short trip to DC. Many of us have incredible dreams, passion, and love. We all also have dark places we hate to admit or even acknowledge sometimes. We are all, to some extent, a mixture of everything I witnessed that day. But that is part of the human experience. I was reminded that one of the most important things is to admit all of it, at least to ourselves, and hopefully to those around us.

If this world is to be a better place, we must own the best and the worst of ourselves, our community, our leaders, our nation, and our world, extending grace to and demanding accountability from every human being we encounter. In our desire for justice, we must not use hate. In our passion for what we think is right, we must not act in ways that contradict our beliefs.

I have grown weary of people hating in the name of love, fighting in the name of peace, and condemning in the name of justice. There are times we must hate things, but never people. There are moments we must fight, but only when truly necessary. And there are actions that we certainly should condemn. But when situations call for such steps, let us still remember that every person is created in the image and likeness of the Creator, even those in the other party, the ones crossing a border, different races, and yes, even those who threaten to attack our nation.

This is the hard work, living in the tension of standing for what we believe while also acknowledging the humanity of every person. But it’s work we must do to move closer to the grand dream of Shalom in the world.

Last night I attended my 30th high school class reunion. There were dozens of familiar faces, many of whom I haven’t seen for years. It was an evening of stories and smiles, laughter and reminiscing.

But for me there was a darker, unseen side to the evening.

As I have mentioned recently, I’m going to be more transparent and vulnerable in this blog moving forward, and this is going to be a journey into that place.

I was a damaged person in middle school and high school. When the time is right, I plan to unpack some of the causes of my brokenness; for now, I’ll share one way I was broken.

I had very few real friends in high school. This is certainly not their fault for lack of effort or friendship. My woundedness both discouraged and prohibited me from any relationships that were deeply meaningful during that season of my life. I see that evidenced in the way I failed to stay truly connected with anyone from that time.

Looking around at people reconnecting and reminiscing, the shallowness and temporality of my high school relationships became tangible. I could taste it, sense it, feel it.

Let me pause briefly to share what I have been processing these last few hours. If you’re familiar with the Enneagram, I am a textbook Type 7. Sevens in stress move to Type 1. Without getting into all of the details (there are books dedicated to this), I could actually feel myself shifting into Oneness at my reunion. A friend I ran into later in the evening even mentioned they sensed a noticeable difference in me.

While I have undergone significant changes and growth over the last three years, last night shook me to the core. It exposed areas where I still need work, revealed deep wounds that are not completely healed, and – on a positive note – reaffirmed how much I have grown and healed and how much self-awareness I have gained.

We all carry around wounds from our past. Some wounds are deeper than others, but we are all broken to some extent.

I can tell you than burying much of my woundedness for the first 45 years of my life served me well on the surface, but made my internal life a living hell at times. The mental and emotional toxins I contained poisoned my soul. Last night revealed some toxins yet to be fully purged.

Last night served as a good barometer for me, showing how far I have come and how much lies ahead. I am thankful for where I stand today and sometimes overwhelmed by the work yet to be done.

If anything I’ve said relates to you, find someone to talk to. If you’ve been burying things, begin to uncover them. In subsequent posts, I will offer more insights, but in the meantime, I pray these words bring you hope.