Providence Road

Providence Road leads me on towards toil and rest. It is a beautiful respite, but the view of Southern brick and draped foliage cannot disguise my heart's discontent. Once again, the 30-minute drive assumes the role of a confessional.

The tank is near empty, but I am rushed and unable to stop at the next station for fear of the timeclock clicking past 6:45. I contemplate numbers in my head and am assured I will make it to work on ample fumes. My thoughts tend to bounce in random trajectories on these evenings. Prayers are uttered, but the windshield offers distractions that evade my amens. Half prayers: a testament to the weakness of the flesh and human mind. Silly distractions pulling us away from a divine blessing. I detest the weakness.

But Lord, tonight, my presence will be missed. He'll wash and dry the dishes, he'll supervise bath-time bubble wars, she'll snuggle with him while she drinks her warmed milk. He'll enter bed alone.

He forgives my absentmindedness. Grace abounds as I begin to count each green banner displayed alongside the journey, as if this arterial stretch was named so for my sanctification only. His providence is evident in this moment, on this road we are traveling. He assures me that oneness is not sacrificed, failure is not inevitable, our home is protected under much greater power than our own. Yes, He understands this heart beating within me. He knows. Tomorrow morning, I will return and find rest.

Saturday Morning Pancakes

His task is essential this morning. Soft, sift-able powder joined with carefully measured milk and water, a sunny yolk, a drop of vanilla, and a shake or two of cinnamon. Eager mouthes anxiously await the end product: Saturday morning pancakes. He acknowledges her pleading gaze, "What color sprinkles today, Josie?" She spins the container filled with a rainbow of tiny candies and chooses her favorite colors for the week - purple and yellow. They melt quickly against the cooking batter, and splashes of color adorn her pancake medallions.

A simple prayer escapes among the scent of syrup and butter, among the sounds of squealing children and crisping bacon, among the quickened pace of feet on the kitchen floor. I capture the moment and hold on, if even for a second.

One day it will be a picture, just a snapshot, stored in the attic space of an elderly mind. But today... today I yearn for the ability to soak in the present, to bask in the glories unfolding, to rejoice in love. For He gives to me many simple joys - like sprinkles on Saturday morning pancakes.

Salty Mission

The food was salty. If it was salted in an attempt at preservation, it would have had a half-life of a couple decades. If it was for taste, it was simply overpowering.

In reaction, I puckered my face and began to think. The phrase flashed across my mind, “You are the salt of the earth.” Are we meant for preservation or taste? Are these the qualities Jesus meant to describe his followers? His declaration in Matthew 5 means far more than the common interpretation that we as Christians merely season the world with goodness or flavor. The primary purpose of salt wasn’t for taste or preservation, it was for something more.

Jesus says in Luke 14 that “Salt is good, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is of no use either for the soil or for the manure pile. It is thrown away.” The soil and manure pile? Not as glamorous as its purpose in adorning my favorite Mexican pork, Puerco Pibil. Jesus was not referring to flavor or preservation, rather he pointed out its purpose in cultivation. On the soil, salt brought fertility, bringing life to an area devoid of it.

Jesus, in praying for us, says, “And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” Jesus’ mission was to bring eternal life by revealing the God whom humanity rebelled against. He then took on humanity’s penalty. Now he calls us to participate in making the true God known to a rebellious humanity, going to areas without eternal life and bringing the Gospel. To be salt of the earth. Salting our everyday lives in Gospel truths - in our home, our work, our church, our neighborhoods, and our community. In the depravity of these areas, we know the Gospel intrudes, penetrates, and brings true vitality. The Gospel fertilizes and cultivates the dead areas.

As a church, we take His call seriously. We are salt in an area lush in luxury but bankrupt of the Gospel. We send missionaries to be salt in areas like Bulgaria and Africa. We are sending out the Jones family to be salt in an area filled with religion but empty of the Gospel. We support churches in other cities that are taking the Gospel and bringing life.

In discovering God’s call to my family, we are prayerfully exploring where he might be leading us to salt the dead areas with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In the next season, we will be considering Gospel opportunities outside of Grace Community Church as we seek to discover his call. We will continue to pray for the congregation of Grace as it continues to salt the area of Marvin and South Charlotte.

On behalf of my family, I want to thank you for the support and love of Christ that you have demonstrated to me and my wife. We ask for continued prayer as we seek God’s call to our family to live out of our identity in Jesus Christ, as His salt of the earth.

written for this week's gracenotes

92 Degrees

The summer befriended us, so we basked in its bountiful offerings. Those two wheels, propelled by chain and pedals, they were my lifeline to youthful ventures as I grew up under a Californian sun. We were fish in the creek, each afternoon visiting famed spots with ropes and swings placed conveniently for our amusement. The Bear Hole almost claimed me the last summer. The old lava flow from Shasta created an exhilarating slide of water that led to entrapping currents. The undertow fought hard to keep me, but the Lord fought harder.

Our feet were scorched from boiling pavement in competitions to see who could withstand the burn longer. From climbing roofs to throw pine cones on the cars passing below to roaming the foothills of the Sierras without direction and knowledge of its inhabitants. We were foolish and reckless, but at the moment, we captured life and encapsulated the memories of childhood.

The vacuum of heat greets me as I open the back door; it is my reminder. The weatherman says it will climb to 92 degrees today. Hot and memorable.

I do not mourn my memories or find disappointment in my childish ways. For a child to be a child is only natural and logical. Children believe in the invincible; consequences are only real when they become real. If they become real.

I pray under the sun as she squeals and runs on bean-pole legs adorned with bruises, scrapes, and the like. The Lord must be smiling at my new reality, as I stare at my child and ponder the memories she has yet to create, the dangers yet to be encountered, the grace she will one day rejoice in.

Score of Redemption

They are just lines, circles, and dots upon paper. Artistically, they don't make sense; they don't communicate. But it sprawled the page, fragile enough to be destroyed by a tear, crumble, or rip.

They sit lifeless on the page, unable to do anything. Each mark connected to the next, part of an unfolding progression eagerly awaiting a receptor. Each mark awaits for a falling hammer.

The result is not found in the notes themselves. The music was never intended to be constrained to an inanimate, lifeless page; it misses the experiential dimension. The various notes produce empty sound if they merely stay on the page. They indicate something more, with the power to envelop the listener and even elicit tears. It could never be a complete work without a falling hammer.

It began as a soft solo, a divine promise. It unfolded, slowly crescendoing more and more. Growing louder as others joined the chorus in resounding forte. The musical notes in the Score of Redemption found their finale and completion in Christ, on whose hands the hammer fell.

Household Armageddon

The scary stuff in the Bible seemed to have been prophesying our household that afternoon. It seemed that nothing was going right; Armageddon was ensuing. The kids were screaming, the house was in disarray, and everyone had an angry, nervous tick of the eye. The Doomsday Clock was at 11:59 and if given the chance, anyone in the house would’ve pushed the red button.

After some tears and talks, we understood that we were enacting our own improvisation that was playing out very poorly. The daily dredge of life began to take its toll. The long hours, the monotony, and the routine became the central focus. We were distracted and began living solely out of our roles, rather than living out of our identity in Christ.

We all play many different roles: father, mother, husband, wife, son, daughter, employer, employee, teacher, student, etc. We find comfort and ease in merely performing the role rather than living out our identity in Christ. The role is easy because it can be successful and even bear fruit. However, the fruit produced from living out of our roles are no different than if we were merely to staple some apples and oranges to an oak tree. It looks good and won’t go bad right away, but the fruit is superficial. Eventually, it will rot. That is where we found ourselves that afternoon. Our roles alone could not sustain the vitality of our family’s unity, relationship, and love.

Enter repentance. Within the Drama of Redemption, it is essential to the people of God. Repentance is the acknowledgement that we are in sin, living life apart from God by confining ourselves into our roles. Like Adam and Eve, we believe that we will reach our full potential outside of our relationship with God. However, this lie only results in sin, pain, and brokenness (e.g. near-apocalyptic meltdowns). To live out of our identity is to embrace our union with Christ, which will result in a loving and gracious posture in whatever role we perform. Repentance is the two-fold act of leaving behind our self-centered nature that rebels against God and embracing our new identity within God’s story.

The vignette our family played that afternoon was a microcosm of the larger narrative. Just as our family dynamic and peace was broken by our sinful actions, so also this entire world is estranged by the results of sin. The only cure possible for the world and our home is by the love and grace of God in Christ. For the Father lovingly sent His Son into the midst of the chaos, monotony, and dredge of life to communicate His love. The Son identified with the broken world, and in love, he gladly paid the penalty for our sin to give us a new identity in his name. His identity enables us to fulfill our roles, bear fruit for His Glory, and incarnate the Gospel every day.

written for this week's gracenotes

Daily Bread

A simple wafer brings salt to flood my thoughts. In remembrance - of fish and bread in baskets, a woman with a meager coin, of falling provision in the desert; from prayer to sustenance.

Unable to excuse the disobedience, Israel, you gathered more than the imperative. Precious to the fearful eye and the glutton, provision arrived each morning, but just enough. You stored the wealth of miracle bread in lack of trust and faith. My judgment is boastful, yet it ricochets and impacts this greedy heart. I too am storing manna, only to find it rotten and devoured the next morning. I confess: I am wandering in fear, in anxiety, in sin.

In remembrance - of living to every other Friday, nearing the red, in absent view of the next set of numbers. No extra plush to fill foolish desires. I confess: I still long for a storehouse.

In remembrance - of prayer to the Father who art in heaven, give us this day our daily bread. Thankful to not know real weakness or hunger, for a pantry stocked with Campbell's soup, pasta, to M&Ms, fine vinegar and oil, to the absurdity of bottled water.

In remembrance - of the body, the Bread of Life, broken. Sufficient for the day in absolving the fear and worry in trifling under the sun. Sufficient for the day in covering my sins. Broken for us to partake of presence, of substitution, of communion.

Together we lift miniature plastic cups filled to the brim with royal tinted juice. The palate is cleansed and the heart is reminded of daily bread, the Bread of Life.