Let's Trade: My Sins for Yours?

Sometimes our pain is caused by love
or maybe just the lack of.
Sometimes our love is caused by pain
of someone else's using gain.

Sometimes we're sure that love is real,
or maybe it's just what we feel.
Sometimes what's real is not of love
It's what we get because we deal.

But God loves us though He can see
the ugly stain in you and me.
Our sins, the broken ones we are,
And brings us home from wandering far.

His love removes the pain we feel,
His love restores and makes us real.
His love redeems the broken man.
His love says we can stand again.

-- Thom Hunter

I've often said that if I had been given a choice of sins, I would have chosen more wisely, that I would not have picked from the shelf the fruit of temptation labeled same-sex attraction.  I would have gone on down the aisle for some sin a little less edgy, a little less blatant, a little more acceptable, more palatable . . . more forgivable? -- which makes no sense -- but I would definitely have preferred a sin that more people could better understand.

Of course . . . there is nothing wise about "choosing sin" in the first place. The only wise thing is to not.  Too late.  We mature into our wisdom at about the same rate we grow into our sin and they uncomfortably co-habitate.  Of course, we confuse knowledge with wisdom, but that's a topic for another day.  The point is, we sin. We're not setting a precedence, or establishing a trend.  Sin is not a fad; it's a fact.

We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. -- Romans 7:14-16

I know that a lot of the people who read this blog have been beaten down by the weight of their sexual sin.  I know that a lot of the people who read this blog are trying to find some way to lift back up those they love who have been beaten down.  Beaten down by . . . a judgmental church perhaps . . . a blinded-to-his-own-sin brother . . . a former friend with whiplash from the blindsiding . . . a misguided but well-meaning advisor who has a chart on sin-ranking, with sexual sin being "off the charts" . . . a culture warrior who equates homosexual struggles with homosexual agendas.  The list of those who are in a frenzied rush to throw the first stone is long.

Why do I know this?  As one who fell into sexual sin and emerged into the bright lights of full revelation, I've experienced the repercussions of wrangling with each of the above.  Results?  Church discipline and removal . . . loss of friendships . . . rejection by my own offspring . . . beyond-the-chart reactions by the more religious-among-we . . . and claims that my sins were tantamount to a deathly attack on all that is good and meaningful in life.  We don't stone sexual sinners anymore . . . but we do pile on enough pebbles to bury them in hopes they will please just disappear.  It is . . . embarrassing . . . after all.  Christians are to pursue purity, not practice lust.  (No argument there.)

So, I was wondering . . . if the opportunity presented itself . . . could I maybe just trade up?  My sins for someone else's?  Take on the sinful nature of a more natural sinner perhaps?  Accumulate a few sins from my accusers in exchange for the one that put them to pointing fingers?  My same-sex attraction sin, which I never wanted in the first place, slipped across the table for some wild-card sin of another.  I hate my sin and am amazed that God loves me despite it . . . and even in spite of it?

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. -- Romans 5:8

If we were not sinners, God would not have needed to send His son.  But we are . . . and He did.  Amazing love that.

Still . . . I don't like this sin.  So . . . I think I'll trade it for . . . hatred . . . or idolatry . . . or unbelief . . . or debauchery . . . or selfish ambition . . . or fits of rage . . . or jealousy . . . or drunkenness . . . or envy . . . or gossip . . . or lying . . . or gluttony . . .  or stealing . . . or discord . . . or judgment . . . or pride . . .  or witchcraft (well, maybe not) . . . or "the like," which should pretty much cover just about anything the nail-me-to-the-dartboard crowd might bear in their sinful nature.  Yep . . . they have one of those natures too.

Some sins are actually greater in the measurement of morality.  A person who murders and a person who spreads rumors are not the same.  Stealing and coveting are similar, but one, in its action, causes more problems.  Still, an exchange of sin might go kind of like this:

"Hey, dude," I would say.  "I'll trade you my lustful thoughts for your prideful ones.  Even -Steven."

"Wow," he might reply.  "If I thought you worthy of my pride, I'd willingly trade . . . but I think I'm probably the only one who could actually bear this sin this well.  Sorry, got to pass."

So I move on to the next bargain-basement sin bearer.

"Morning . . . I'm looking to trade all my sexual sin for your gift of gossip.  Deal?"

"Oh my goodness," she replied (yes, I know I'm stereotyping.)  "You're a sexual sinner?  I promise . . . I won't tell a soul . . .unless, of course, I run across someone who might be able to help you out and all.  And if I do, I'll be real careful about what I say.  Gotta' run.  Meeting some friends for lunch."

Hmmm . . . where to turn, where to turn.

"Oh, hey there," I said to the next guy.  "I'm ready to rid myself of this sexual sin.  Can  I interest you in a trade?  I noticed you have an extra heaping helping of hatred there.  Surely you wouldn't miss that."

"I know about people like you," he said.  "And I know all I need to know."

Hatred leads to quick answers.

"Alrighty then," I said to myself as I looked around and spotted a 'friend' from the past.  "Wow . . . it's been so long.  You still carrying all that judgment around?  Care to unload it for my sexual sin?  Something a little different . . . even perhaps more manageable?"

"Get thee behind me," came the practiced reply from a face that looked to the left of my shoulder, eyes pinched to avoid the infection of interaction.

My brushes with Brother Hatred and Sister Judgment were a severe blow to my plans for exchanging my sins for another's.  The list of sins is actually pretty long, but everyone seemed more-or-less content to deal with what they already have, familiar with their consequences, already comfortable with their lay-it-all-down techniques.

I spotted one last potential swapper.  The sin was not so evident, but I knew he had to have it hidden somewhere.

"Oh . . . hey there." I said.  "Wanna swap sins?  I struggle with sexual temptation and, frankly, I'm tired of all the baggage that comes with it, the diligence required, the up-keep, the internal battle, the always-on-my-guardness of it all.  And, well . . . you know . . . it is the worst sin, after all . . . survey says."

He shifted a bit, keeping whatever sin it was he bore, completely out of sight.  And then . . . as he turned and ignored me altogether, I caught a glimpse.

Unforgiveness.

I backed away at about the same pace as he.  That's one sin I would never trade for.  Every sin has consequences, but to be unable or unwilling to forgive?  What a burden to bear.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. -- Ephesians 4:32

I crumpled my list and tossed it aside.  Not that I want to hang on to my sexual sin.  I don't.  And I'm not, through the grace of God and the love of brothers and sisters who go beyond the labels.  Besides, there's no need to trade away something someone died to remove.  Why trade something when you can gain by His having already taken it away?  Sin is sin.  Mine and yours . . . and his and hers . . . theirs.  We're all mingled in our sinful nature and not as separable as we want to believe we are.

Galatians 5:19-21 -- one of the well-known lists of sins -- is followed quickly by Galatians 5:22 . . . But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.  I'm sure you get the picture.

Now that's a reasonable trade.  The teetering imbalance of sin for the uprighting indwelling of the Spirit.  The rotting decay of hatred, sexual immorality, gluttony and sinful on-and-on . . . for the ever-blossoming fruits of the Spirit.  None of the things I listed above and conjured to trade for would replace my sexual sin with love, or joy, or peace, or patience, or kindness, or goodness, or faithfulness.  No, not one.  I'd still just be sinning.

The deal we need to make with each other, sealed with a handshake, heart-to-heart, is to stand with each other and help each other rise to defy the evil one who tempts us each in our own weak way.  We can give each other strength through love and forgiveness, but only Jesus Christ can cleanse us from our sins.

I'm not proud to have owned this particular sin.  But then  . . . pride would be a sin too, wouldn't it?

So, I'm back where I started.  As I said, I would not have chosen this sin.  In fact, I did not choose this sin.  But, I do have a choice I can make regarding this sin, just as every one who struggles with any sin, has.  I can choose to awaken each God-given day . . . and give this sin away to the One who bore it for me.   Why I took it back so often will be a question God may yet reveal.  It's not mine to bear unless I dare to snatch it back and claim for myself something Someone else already paid for.  That too, as I see it, is a sin.

God Bless,

Thom

This is No Place for Cowards

I carry the past that each day I chose

One step to another . . . now everyone knows.

It isn't the past I would have wanted to claim

But it is my past . . .  it is mine just the same.

I wonder sometimes about all of this

Can there be no exchanging what was for what is?

Will there be no will be because of what's done?

Will yesterday's darkness eclipse today's sun?

Is forgiveness a mystery, a want too far-flung?

Is healing a melody not to be sung?

Is change just a hold-out, dangled just past the grasp?

Is grace to be rationed . . . with some of us passed?

No mystery, no silence, withholding or ration

But clearly and justly and full of compassion

Forgiveness and grace for changing and healing

Are given to us through our Savior's revealing.

Through faith in His love, through trust in His grace,

Our past just becomes our starting-out place.

He is there when we stumble, He is there when we stand

If we rise through the strength of His out-stretched hand.

-- Thom Hunter

It stands to reason to me that if we, as Christians, can embrace the idea that bad things happen to good people . . . then we would be able to wrap our arms around the idea that good people  -- even Christians -- do a fair amount of those bad things.  And then we could wrap our good Christian arms around those that did it and those that hid it at the same time we comfort those that got pummeled by it.  "It" being sin.  Surely our arms are bigger than we let on.  Surely, there is mercy and forgiveness and grace abounding.  Surely we can restore the sinner with the same hope we rescue the sinned-against.  Surely God's love -- which is to be in us -- is enough to cover all.


Surely.


We're so concerned with preserving goodness that we blind ourselves to the ever-threatening badness, fooling ourselves into thinking we can purge it, despite God's clear warning it will always be with us.  We need to deal with it, not delude ourselves into thinking that our purity affords us some protection He didn't even offer His own Son.  We think if we deal harshly with those who have succumbed to temptation that we might find ourselves somehow supernaturally separated from it and unable to fall. Look out below.


We're so determined to flee that we opt for banishment instead of reconstruction.  Go weep and wail and gnash your teeth; we're praising in here.  We build walls where we should build alliances against the evil that is stripping others bare right before our eyes.  Sometimes we bow down in solitude when we should stand in solidarity.  We nurse our own little nicks from contact with sin rather than addressing the gaping wounds of those who are being slashed to pieces from within.

We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all. -- Isaiah 53:6

Did you get that?  All. Each.  If you know someone who thinks somehow he is not one of the sheep; has not gone astray; has not turned to his own way . . . pray for him.  His sins weigh as heavily as yours, but his blinders are a deeper tint.


We pray "give me Your eyes . . . give me Your heart . . . give me Your hands."  Why?  So we can see . . . and feel  . . . and do, like He would do.  We don't pray "blind me and bind me and callous my heart."  Yet we sometimes pray "hide me in the cleft of the rock," but for all the wrong reasons.  Not for security and salvation . . . but for refuge from the challenging restlessness of the world in which He placed us.  


This is no place for cowards. 


This is a place for courage.


Courage to carry out courageous commandments.

A new command I give you:  Love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another.  By this all men will know that you are My disciples, that you love one another. -- John 13:34-35.

That you . . . judge . . . one another?  That you . . . condemn . . . one another?  That you . . . shame . . . one another?  That you . . . blame . . . one another?  That you . . . reject . . . one another?  That you . . . remove . . . one another?  That you . . . ignore . . . one another?


No.  Love.


We're not here forever: we're there forever.  Glory.  But, while we temporarily reside in gory, with glory in our future, can we not be a bit less cautious?  A little less cringing before the mess?  Our knees are meant to help us surrender, but it is to Him we surrender so we can rise in His righteousness, not so we can hide beneath His robes.

This is the world, chock-full with God's creation, from yellow butterflies floating in glorious freeness to hardened murderers pacing concrete cells, from babies cooing to drunkards cursing, from couples pledging forever fidelity to adulterers pursuing destructive infidelity, from children sitting on a sunset beach with a snow cone to children crowded into a dark room longing for a cracker, from a grandmother knitting booties while rocking next to a table filled with pictures of her legacy, to a grandfather striving to picture all the ones who come behind him but choose not to know him.

This is the world, bright and dingy, clear and cloudy, green and gray, life-giving and death-dealing, abundant and barren, pure and stained, refreshing and repelling, blissful and blighted, rejoicing and recoiling, accepting and rejecting.  It turns toward us with outstretched hands; it turns against us with a slap.  It heals; it hurts.  There is so much give and take that we often know not what we have or for how long.

This is no place for cowards.

We are much too often the brute beast instead of the bleating sheep.  And yet . . . He is with us always.

I remember taking a walk along a railroad trestle with my sexual abuser when I was about eight.  It was on one of the most beautiful days I remember.  We stood on the trestle overlooking a perfectly clear and babbling stream that danced upon smooth rocks far below.  And I found myself trusting the one who was trying to destroy me for his personal and temporary satisfaction.  The sadness of the damage done was overwhelmed by the beauty of the scene in which it had all taken place and the comfort of camouflaged caring.

There were times in the future that I would wish he had tossed me from the trestle to the rocks below like an empty soft drink bottle.  Would it have been better to have forever left the brokenness on the rocks below than to have carried it along on the tracks of life?

God has plans.  This is no place for cowards.

I am so blessed by those who struggle in determination, realizing there is no guarantee they will overcome the temptation attached to this side of eternity.  Still, they hope and pray and trust and obey . . . and if they fall, they rise again to hope and pray and trust and obey.  I am encouraged by those who climb free from the suffocating mess and turn and cheer the ones behind them.  I am energized by the relative few who reach into a mess they do not understand and offer a hand to those whose hands are dripping from the muck and mire . . . and pull and grasp and refuse to let go, even when the slime makes the grip almost impossible.  They do not give up; they do not flee; they love . . . and pull.

There is such a thing as glory.  We can see hints of it and they are given to us not to make us content here, but to make us intent to enter that glory someday beside those who might never have glimpsed it but through us.  Hand-in-hand with the ones who would have given up and given in and gone down into the gore were it not for the sacrifice of our selves on the banks of their destruction.

This is no place for cowards.

I have exchanged the anger I once had for the spiritually-blind and churchianity-bound self-proclaimed saints for pity.  What an unattractive flock.  Yet, I am aware that if one of them strays -- even into that pure-white blindness of their own self-sustaining spirituality -- Christ will go out of His way to bring them in and keep them safe.  Some of them need to be saved from themselves.

Yes . . . I hurt others because of my decades of enslavement to same-sex attraction.  I was selfish . . . or at the least the self I thought I was was selfish.  Sometimes we feed a person inside who was never invited but has become like home-folk.  That sinful guy becomes very loyal, even in his unlimited demanding.  He has his own view of the world, and it's based on desire.  He is determined to get what he wants.

To quote the Borg from Star Trek:

 "Resistance is futile."

Or, to quote God:

This is love for God: to obey his commands. And his commands are not burdensome, for everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith. Who is it that overcomes the world? Only he who believes that Jesus is the Son of God. – I John 5:3-5

Feed the bleating beast's insatiable demands?   Futility.  Obey God's commands which "are not burdensome?"  Victory.  Love.  Overcoming.

Christ came and died and rose again not to insulate us from the sins of others, but to free us from the burden of our own, that being death, which He conquered in our place. And, in His great love for us, He gives us the desire to work as we can to defeat the sins we still bear.  That great love should cause us to willingly bear with others the weight of the sins they have yet to conquer.

But what of judgment?  Does it not stand to reason we should suffer and be punished and die a thousand deaths for the darkness we have dabbled in and dealt to others?  Don't we need to add a little spice to the consequences?  Drive it all home?  JUDGE?

Moreover, the Father judges no one, but has entrusted all judgment to the Son. -- John 5:22

Judgment has already taken place. Jesus bore it; my sins and yours adding to the weight.  Yes, I will account for all my sins when I stand . . . finally and forever . . . before the King.  The King who entrusted all judgement to the Son.

This is the world.  The world that Satan wants to rule; the world that Jesus wants to love.  The world that Satan came to kill; the world that Jesus came to save.

Jesus was no coward.

God Bless,

Thom

The Heartache of an Echo

I

“Where is God? ...Go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double-bolting on the inside. After that, silence.” – C.S. Lewis, after the death of his wife.

My grandfather was a man of few words.  At least he was to me.  I was often just an intrusive little boy who always forgot to not slam the screen door when running in and out.  I'd yell out an "I'm sorry" as I bounded down the porch steps or down the hall.  Paw-Paw, sitting at a card table playing Solitaire, would usually just make a grunting noise in return, not looking up from the cards, though once I paused and saw him smile.  That told me a lot more than the grunt.

I regret now that I was always dashing in and out and passing his table with little thought.  He was so accessible, but for some reason I felt he would have little to say, not a lot in common, and might want me to linger longer than I wanted to.  So, I dashed and slammed.  What was so much more important?  Hide-and-seek with the now-forgotten neighborhood kids in our connecting yards?  A comic book down the hall that needed reading?

I wonder if the slamming door echoed in the emptiness of the room in which he often sat alone playing his cards or eating syrup on bread?  How long did the smile stay on his face?  

I do know that my grandfather was not a man of few words with everyone.  He helped my older brother assemble a motorcycle.  That takes more than a grunt.  And I do remember him putting some pretty stern and loud polish on a few words here and there . . . again usually spoken to my brother, often from the front porch as the motorcycle disappeared down the street.  Probably sent the neighbor kids into a deeper form of hide-and seek.

I wouldn't necessarily say Paw-Paw had a way with words, seeing as how he somehow gave my grandmother the nickname "Bump," a term of endearment she endured until his death and probably repeated in her peaceful thoughts until her own.

What words would he have had for me had I listened?  Would I have had a nickname?  What might Paw-Paw have wanted to hear had I slowed and sat a moment at the table?  Maybe he was much more interested in me than I thought.  I believe he was.  Maybe he would have said more if I had sought more.  I believe he would have.

I' never picture God as a grandfather, puttering around in the garage for spare parts to make this or that work again.  He doesn't tinker.  He ticked the first tick and knows all and sees all and hears all . . . but sometimes I think He plays a little Solitaire.

How about Hearts instead, God?  Deal me in.

I know that God is omni-present; but it seems every now and then He is omni-absent.  The sign on the door says "Gone Fishing," the lights are out, the doorbell dings in an empty room, the No Vacancy sign is on . . . drive on down the road . . . alone.  Yes, I know that is not true; He never leaves me; He never leaves you. Even as I sit here and write questions about His absence, He knows each keystroke in advance.  But . . . will He keep me from misspelling?  Bad grammar?  No.

Wasn't He there, in the Garden of Eden, right after Adam and Eve's encounter with the serpent?  His Word says God came walking up in the cool of the day.  Surely He was also there in the heat of the moment.  Yet He didn't clear his throat and wag his finger and say "Ummm . . . Eve . . no, no, no."   So Eve did, did, did and we've been done for since.

God was oddly silent and then clearly loud.


I'll admit that it bothers me a bit to know that God was with me before I slipped and, with all the power of the universe, watched me tumble, twist and turn on the way down, hit the bottom with a gut-wrenching and bone-jarring thud . . . and then comes out in the cool of the day as if He had not seen it all happen.  Is He really a "what's up?" God?


No.

“Wait for the Lord. Be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.” -- Psalm 27:14

But I don't want to wait.  I want to act.  I want to meet a . . . need?  I want!


How many of us, when we are dialing a number we shouldn't know; turning into an area we shouldn't go, logging on to a website we shouldn't see, acting like someone we shouldn't be . . . say to ourselves:  "Wait . . . Let me ask God about this?"


It's easy to say He's not speaking when we're not pausing.  It's pure spiritual finger-pointing to say He's not responding when we're not reflecting.  

I think sometimes we think we might prefer a "No . . . No . . . No . . ." wagging-a-warning finger God.  And we would, of course, gently lay down our pride, sweep aside our defiance, thank Him profusely for keeping us from falling, pledge our undying trust and obey without question.  Or perhaps we would eat of the fruit; gain the knowledge we do not need; satisfy the glutton side of our spirit and waddle into our all-too-familiar rescue me mode.  


Fact of the matter is, God does wag a "No . . . No. . . No. . . " finger in our faces.  We just ignore it and say we didn't hear Him.  Are we actually expecting God to come sit by our bedside and read His Word aloud to us at night?

My son, do not forget my teaching, but keep my commands in your heart, for they will prolong your life many years and bring you prosperity.  Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.  Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.  Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD and shun evil.  -- Proverbs 3:1-7

OK . . . I'll do that.  But . . . remind me.  Okay, God?  I just might forget.

Oops . . . that was how the verse began:  "do not forget."  And it asks me to "keep."  Keep what?  Those commands I so easily tossed to lighten the load as I traveled down the me-want road.  And . . . oh yeah . . . He wanted me to write "love and faithfulness" on the tablet of my heart.  But . . . that's my heart.  There's not much writing room left; I've done a lot of scribbling and mark-outs through the years trying to satisfy the longings of my heart.

Of course then He wants me to trust.  Trust?  Lust?  Tough choices we face in this life. He says if I trust Him instead of myself . . . he will take all those crooked detours, jagged fault lines, dangerous drop-offs, impossible mountains . . . those cliffs . . . out of my path and make it "straight."  We're not talking sexual semantics here . . . we're talking direction . . . which can certainly lead to some serious sexual semantics.

So what else does this "silent" God, who has looked up at me as I once again slammed a door in haste, have to say?  He says for me to not "be wise in my own eyes."  Who knew that the pursuit of wisdom could be so dangerous?  Well . . . Eve, I guess, in retrospect.  Adam, too.  And, oh yes, the serpent.   But he knew it all along.  Surely God doesn't want me to just be stupid?  I'd get into so much trouble.  Oh  . . . yeah.  That.

For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength. -- I Corinthians 1:25

I remember driving out onto a lonely hill at the edge of the town I grew up in, seeing the lights in the distance and thinking of each of them as a porch light in a home where everything was right and good, every body tucked in for the night, every heart satisfied, every mind at rest, every soul at peace.

Lacking the courage to call out to God, I repeated instead within my mind what all was not right with my world . . . my home . . . my heart . . . my soul . . . my peace.  And those words echoed within the emptiness . . . and brought me heartache.  I had come to the hill alone . . . and remained there alone . . . and departed alone.  My choice.

We may come to the garden alone . . . but we shouldn't leave that way.  He is so accessible, but He might want us to linger a little longer than we want to.  So, we dash and slam.  "Oops . . . sorry."

What must really be difficult for God -- if anything could ever so be labeled -- is to hear the echoes of His own Word as it descends into our valleys and reverberates against the emptiness we feel as we seek to satisfy our selves with increasing self-absorption.  We want to move that mountain, cross that valley, swim that ocean  . . . and then . . . when totally satiated, cry out "Where were you, God?"

With you.

The heartache of His echo.

I know sometimes it seems that we are all alone in whatever battle has worked to separate us from His love, whatever temptation has tattered our goodness, whatever sin has led to our shunning.  But we are never alone.  We would not, could not, will not be alone.

Having trouble finding your own way out of your mess?  Tempted to blame God, declaring Him absorbed in some sort of Solitaire while you slowly slip away?

Maybe, in some small way, God really is like Paw-Paw.  Maybe I would hear more than a grunt; see more than a passing smile . . . if I would open a few doors here and there instead of slamming them as I proceed to and fro on my own.  Maybe if I played a little less hide-and-seek, put away the comics -- the pursuit of happiness as defined by culture -- and paused at the table, talked to Him, listened to Him, pulled out the chair, sat down . . . and waited.

Like He asked me to do in the first place.  Remember:  “Wait for the Lord. Be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.” -- Psalm 27:14


You know, that's what I always wanted:  to be strong, to have courage.  And He said I could.  If I would wait for Him.  I bet that was a resounding echo.

I do love God.  And, with God, Solitaire is a team sport.  One heart.

Next time you find yourself feeling the pain of self-induced pity at your pitiful plight of weakness in the face of temptation, remember:  Wait.  Be strong.  Take courage.  Wait.

We don't do that very well, do we?  Waiting.  Waiting on the Lord.  Want . . . wait.  A choice that can lead us into a celebration of conversation or a heartache of echoes, purpose or pain, oneness or aloneness.  Victory or defeat.  Restoration or repetition.  A straight path or an endless cycle.

God is never silent.  He spoke it all in advance of every question.

God Bless,

Thom

  

Walking Down the Road of Life

In the stillness of the night and the darkness of my room,
A tear teased at the corner of my eye.
At the window through the curtains and beneath the silent moon
I once again addressed Him with my why?

In the brightness of the day in my room I sat and stared,
Broken, I allowed myself to cry.
But the window in my mind said despite it all He cared
So I once again addressed Him with my why?

He's so patient, so forbearing, yet in His truth unyielding,
And He doesn't turn away when I ask why.
Though it's often in His silence that He does His truth revealing
As He quietly continues by my side.

Are you broken?  Let Me see.

He looked deep into my eyes.

I could feel that God was moving

And I knew He heard my cries.

-- Thom Hunter


Life is full of firsts.  First steps.  First lost tooth.  First birthday.  First day at school.  First car.  First love.  Somewhere in there is a first fall.  We might not have seen it, but it happened.  It probably felt more like a compromise than a fall, but it was a tumble nonetheless and, at least for the moment, it stretched the distance between ourselves and the Hand of God.  We might not have even noticed the separation, and gone scrambling back like a toddler when he suddenly rebels against the freedom he so wanted and runs back into the outstretched arms.  Restored to safety.  It is well.

I don't remember my first steps, tooth, birthday, day at school.  I do remember my first car and I remember a first love, though the closest I came to her was kissing her through a screen door on her front porch.  I ran as fast as I could and never approached that porch again.  I've forgotten her name now; I was only about 10.  Some firsts definitely deserve to fade.

I do remember my first car.  It was a 1960 Ford Falcon, bright red and purchased for $300, paid out at $25 a month.  I was 15.  In that first car, I discovered my first clutch.  It never occurred to me when my boss dropped me off at the used car lot and drove away, that the car I had chosen -- based strictly on price -- was not an automatic like my mother's pink Buick.  I had no idea how to drive it, and if I could have driven it all the way home in first gear, I would have.  Even better, if someone had pulled up next to me and asked me to give it away to them, I would have.

What I really needed, as I struggled to cross the town in a car with an unforgiving standard transmission and a very hard clutch was for someone to pull up beside me and say "do you need some help there, young man?"   No honking horns or pointing fingers, no snickering, no rolling eyes.  Just a little help, please.

I had never been that flustered and frustrated and I had never so deeply failed.  But I ground on home and, once it was in the driveway, the car shifted from "stupid" to "stupendous."

Which leads me to the first fall.  This is not the tumble-into-a-coffee-table-while-learning-to-walk type fall.  No, I'm talking about a pre-meditated, pre-determined, pre-weighed, definitely-decided-upon headlong tumble into pit-like darkness.  A pre-acknowledged clear and present "I'm sinning" moment.  Not the "we're all born in sin" reality, but the reality that I, fully aware, totally conscious, of clear mind, chose to sin.  Knew it, did it.  Took a tiptoe into the winking wilderness that winds its way alongside the path to the abundant life. A daring and defiant detour into the shadows.

Confessed and forgiven, I can spare you the details.  Disappointed?  Don't be.  First falls are generally messy affairs; we brush ourselves off and look over the bruises and make vows.  It takes a little practice to perfect our pursuit of sin,  just as our pursuit of holiness.  The two pursuits are often intermingled and can leave us famished in a land of plenty.

If we are not careful, we can confuse our detour with our destination.  We can forget where we were headed in the first place when we took an off-ramp and rambled around in the hinterlands, avoiding for a bit the hithertoos.  We need a good wake-up call in the form of a correcting come hither so we can we get back on the right road again and chart a course where the broken find abundance.

The devil is not just in the details; he's out on the detour, ready to strip the hubcaps off, tossing nails in the roadway.  For the sexually-broken, he's lurking like a hitchhiker flashing whatever it takes to reel you off to the side of the road. Men and women addicted to pornography find free showings at the detour rest stop.  For the men and women who struggle with unwanted same-sex attractions he throws up seductive messages on the detour's billboards to take you further and further out of your way.  For the lonely, he lowers the lights along the way to make life seem ever more grey and he closes the detour coffee shop just as you pull into the parking lot to make you ever more lonely and needy.  He knows how to make you stray.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.. – John 10:10

The devil sometimes has some strange accomplices, most of them unaware of how he uses them to complicate our finding our way back on track.  These are the ones who, well meaning or not, cause us to shift our focus off of Christ and onto them, making us performers on a perfection path, they hold out rewards of righteousness if we can but prove our repentance to the point of relieving all their reservations about us.  Christians can be so . . . un-Christian.  Our pursuit of holiness can become a pursuit of approval:  a detour.

I remember when I was past my darkest point of having been revealed as a double-minded sinner drowning in  waves of uncontrolled temptation to act out in sexual sin.  Having been through the fire of accusations and having run the gauntlet of public embarrassment, I was like a battered boat against the boulders of the jagged coast, barely holding together under the relentless waves of earned judgement. I was ready for restoration; determined to repent; thirsting for reconciliation. 

"You're not broken," they told me.  

I could barely hear them, as my ears were worn from the accusations I had to hear repeated against me before my confession, still ringing from the recantation of my sinful reveling.

"I'm not what?"

"You're not broken."

"You can tell me that? I thought, looking at the pieces of me laying around the room.  "What does broken look like to you, if this is not broken?"

"We'll know it when we see it."

They never did.  And maybe never will.  It is unlikely I will do the brokenness approval dance, which is probably just as dangerous as the other disastrous dances we do throughout our lives for the approval of others, the price we pay here and there to open a door or gain access or achieve an image.  Do you like me now?  Do we really want forgiveness if it has to be earned and bestowed upon us like a title in a talent show?  Detours.

I guess it really depends on where we want to go.  

Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me. -- John 14:6.

That's the no-detour route.  It doesn't meander through the why wilderness or the valley of confusion or the deeps of deceit.  It's just truth.  And life.  And it isn't exclusionary.  You don't fill out an application and go through an interview with the local approval committee to get a stamp of approval and a limited-use ticket.  It's "the" way.  He doesn't say there is anyone who cannot come; He just says there's only one way to get there. Just Him.

What I have discovered by trashing all the frequent-flyer miles earned by trying to prove myself pure enough for the approval of man is that the journey is lightened by the Light.  

I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in Me will not remain in darkness. -- John 12:46.

I know the dark; I love the light.  Sometimes we arrive at abundance through the great cost of loss.  And yet, we can count it all joy.  I wish I had never wandered, but I am more aware now than ever before at how determined He was to find me . . . even at the cost of His own life.  He brought the dead back to life; He can direct the wayward out of a detour.

Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?  And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.' -- Luke 15:4-6

That's me.  A sheep who, rather than be tended, tended to detour.  And that's Him . . . a Shepherd who does not give up on His own.  Who doesn't stand at arm's length and say "show me something," but instead picks me up, puts me across His shoulder and . . . rejoices.  Wow . . . it's enough to keep you from detouring.

Wherever you've been . . . wherever you are . . . there is a place for you in the Kingdom of God.  You won't have to prove your brokenness; He already knows.  

God Bless,

Thom

What I Brought Home from the Exodus Freedom Conference

I got a better picture of who we're meant to be

When God revealed your soul to me.

Sometimes I wonder why we strive

Until I see you so alive.

The way you search, the way you seek

Gives me more than just a peek

Because in you I begin to see

A part of what God can do in me

The pain, the joy wrapped up in you

The things you share that you've been through

Remind me Christ is always there

No pain, no loss beyond His care.

Thank you for the life you live

Thank you for the hope you give.

You thought you shared your words with me,

But God revealed your soul, you see.

                               -- Thom Hunter

If my personal life could divide neatly into decades, like we do with our cultural countdowns -- the '50s, the '60s, the '70s, the '80s, the '90s, the whatevers, the '10s -- I would have to say the 05s and beyond have been my period of Moving Forward . . . which also happened to be the theme for this year's Exodus International Freedom Conference.

Moving Forward does not mean we leave all of everything behind.  It means we toss aside the baggage that has weighed us down, stopped us in our tracks, set us on distracting detours . . . the junk that clutters the attic . . . the weeds that obscure the sidewalk . . . the shag carpet . . . the broken tools in the garage . . . the old letters in the box that spell out in detail the errors of the past.

Lightened up, we get to keep those good snapshots, meaningful memories and bright moments when we were on the track, before we somehow left the rails.  And though we can Move Forward together, we don't have to come from the same place; we just have to have the same source of energy.

Or . . . as Bob Hamp, director of Freedom Ministries, said at the Freedom Conference, we have to realize that God is always seeking to restore the factory settings.  Make us like new again.

I know the Exodus Conferences have been going on for 35 years, and I've only been to two . . . but I noticed a discernible difference between this one and just two years ago.  One of us has matured:  either my ears or the Exodus message.  And I came away with greater hope for me and for others.  Perhaps it was in the repetition of "The opposite of homosexuality is not heterosexuality; it is holiness."  Or perhaps it was the reminder that freedom is not the absence of struggle, but is instead knowing that the struggle is not in vain."

If strugglers then, focus more on their holiness than on their sexuality, their sexual temptations become less a wallowing in guilt and more a sacrifice to holiness.

Steve Payton, pastor of Stonegate Church in Midland, Texas, reminded me that "God will only let his child run for so long and then He will draw you back."  Granted, sometimes he draws us back out of a pretty deep ditch, enabling us drop the tool with which we are are digging ourselves in deeper.

And while so many for so long have made it so clear that I have sinned, Payton gave me a new definition:  "Sin is me believing I can get on my own something better than what God is giving me."  How many times have I praised God's loving generosity with one hand and longed for self-satisfaction with the other?

Uhh . . . sin.

I wish every pastor in the country -- make that the world -- could hear Joe Dallas explain the differences between homosexual orientation . . . identity . . . and behavior.  Orientation being involuntary, discovered.  Behavior being what we do with that discovery via our free will.  Identity sometimes foisted on us, sometimes embraced, but not who we really are.  Not in God's created intent, but only in our fallen nature.

Say it's so Joe:  "To be loved by God and approved by God are two different things."  How many times have I felt God's love even in an unapproved state?  And, if I had not felt that love when I could find none of my own for myself, and found it in scant supply in the community, how could I have yearned to turn?

Thematically, speaker after speaker spoke of the enduring love of God to brace those who are in ever-danger of falling.  The personal thread of endurance ran through the conference, but it ran alongside the reality of the strong chord of God's grace.

I loved the speakers and I could go on and on.  Kathy Koch, founder of Celebrate Kids, Inc, can put more comfort and hope into truth than anyone I know, for instance.  Mike Haley, from Focus on the Family and Mike Goeke, from Cross Power Ministries, shared testimonies that touched me because I can trace their victories in an alignment with my past and wrap myself in the fabric of realistic encouragement.  Alan Chambers, president of Exodus International, can map a battlefield with more clarity than a four-star general.

But . . . what did I really take home from the Exodus Freedom Conference that was most valuable to me?  The resolve of those with whom I sat and shared a meal, or a conversation in a workshop or small group, or a brief exchange in a registration line.  These open hearts and exposed souls who had come from all over the country and the world to seek . . . the holiness of which we speak.  They are the ones who provide fuel for my own endurance because they are on the painful road to freedom for themselves or those they love.

I won't use their real names here because they did not present themselves on a public podium, but their sharing endures.

Like Elena, whose smile expressed the soul of an encourager.  Her desire to love and understand the trapping temptations of a close friend back in her own country led her, as a young woman, to spend precious funds and a week among those who struggle with something that does not plague her . . . just so she could listen to her friend with a knowledgeable mind and a clearer heart.  Elena will walk further now.  Her friend will be blessed . . . as I was.

Or, like James and Jessica . . . a young couple who came to attend because James' honest struggle with homosexuality is a challenge for them both . . . yes . . . for them both.  By his side, loving him, encouraging him, listening with him, talking with him, walking with him.  Learning.  Yearning,  Sharing.  Caring.  Having faith . . . together.

Then there was Matthew.  This one was sad . . . but this is often a sad journey before the joy tips the scales.  Matthew learned just before he left for Exodus that his young wife was pregnant . . . and had decided to divorce him because of his struggle with homosexuality.  He displayed the hopeful but hurting persona of the trodden down who forces himself to look up.  He wants to be free; he hopes to hold on to the love of his life by relinquishing the burden of his sin.

And I was touched by the optimism of a young man who spent his last dollar to come from Australia.  He was stressed and worn by his travels and the expense, but so in pursuit of truth and so thankful to be among men and women who understood the drive behind his journey.  To breathe new air.  Not American air, but the air of grace, refreshing lungs exhausted by fear of being held forever outside of God's intent.  He was taking in every word and taking it back home . . . to move forward.

My heart was touched by a former pastor and his wife.  Embracing the reality of a deeply-hidden secret that, when revealed, cost him his church, he was open and transparent . . . and preparing to share with others the freedom he had found in the healing that only comes through persistent leaning on the arms of Christ.  Although they had already been restored to the ministry and he had been pastoring a church again, they felt the call to leave it and become "missionaries" to the hopeful hurting in their midst.  I was bolstered by the deep level of his trust in the Lord and the commitment of his wife to his new ministry, despite the rejection that lingers from those who once saw him as something else.  Here they were . . . healed; called.  And so anxious to share the news that many bury under the unnecessary weight of sin and guilt . . . not the intentions of God, but the inflictions of man.

And then, perhaps most moving of all to me, was the testimony of Ted and Jan Schneider, directors of About H.O.P.E. -- Heal Our Pain El Shaddai.

Ted and Jan found themselves stunned years ago when their son revealed to them that he considered himself to be gay.  They were not prepared; they knew not where to go or how to react.  They loved their son; they knew God's word.  Neither of those positions changed as the years passed and they endured in love.  With tears, Jan told of the day when they received the call that their son had been killed in a car accident; their loss immeasurable; their hearts broken.  And from this, Jan cried out to God to "please not let this pain be wasted."  God hears when the broken-hearted faithfully cry out and their ministry was born to help the families and friends of those involved in the homosexual lifestyle know how to live and breathe and love, to help parents understand and support through truthful compassion not tainted by compromise.

From our losses He builds bridges.

I need bridges.

In a world of ever-louder clanging confusion in the clash between culture and the church in this seemingly endless battle that has gripped the lives of so many and of those who love them, an Exodus Freedom Conference brings clarity.  In worship and prayer, in study and sharing, in listening and in releasing, the struggler finds a security in the overwhelming evidence that God is indeed who He says He is and we are indeed who He says we are:  His beloved.

More valuable than my notes are my hopes.  Hopes for those who boarded planes and cars and traveled home to face the battle better-armed, on stronger legs with clearer minds and healing hearts, with memories of comfort and acceptance . . . and an openness to God based on a promise that God really . . . really knows us . . . and heals our broken hearts.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.  -- Psalm 139:14-16

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. -- Psalm 139:23

Perhaps the most difficult thing about going to an Exodus Freedom Conference is to look around and wonder . . . why?  To wish, even in the bewilderment of your own struggle, to be able to explain to everyone else what theirs is all about so they could say "Oh . . . now I see."

But as Kathy Koch said:  "God gives us promises; not explanations."

But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,'  declares the LORD,  'because you are called an outcast, Zion for whom no one cares.' -- Jeremiah 30:17

He does heal our wounds.   I brought one other thing home with me from the Exodus Freedom Conference.  My wife.  I am so thankful that she loves me and that, through the grace of God, Lisa opened her eyes instead of closing her mind, extended the boundaries of her heart and placed her trust in Him above all others.  God uses those who love us as powerful weapons in the struggle.  As Joe Dallas shared:  "Healing in a marriage doesn't mean just healing the bad guy; it means healing the marriage."

I hope you will pray with me that those who attended will indeed Move Forward.  And that others will follow.

God Bless,

Thom

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