Beyond the Squishy

Love.
 
(That's love with a period behind it for punctuation)

 
Love.

 
Love is one of those typically odd English language words whose sound and spelling are alike regardless of how you use it.

 
Love, the noun, looks and sounds just like love, the verb.

 
Some languages give you a distinction between the different parts of speech in word usage.

 
Not English, however.
(I guess we couldn't afford the extra letters or something.)

 
Love is love.

 
But...um, not really.

 
Love.

 
Just to exhale the word elicits a plethora of responses, thoughts, attitudes and emotions.

 
Some see carefully scored romantic scenes of roses, candles and lace.

 
Some see mad passion, released in impetuous abandon.

 
Some feel the excruciating pain of shattered emotions.

 
Some will begin to cry.

 
Some feel such a deep sense squishy fluffiness, they'd almost swear they were being digested by a Teddy bear.

 
Some: numb.

 
Love.

 
Love & Ollie.

 
People seem to love to talk about Ollie and love.

 
Some have transformed nouns to adjectives to describe me in such terms as Teddy bear or puppy. And I suppose this has something to do with how they view me, and my intimate relationship with a noun.

 
That noun?
Love.

 
And, I suppose that on my "What's Love All About" pie-chart, the biggest wedge of color would certainly be dedicated to the "Love is squishy" legend.

 
I'm just that kind of person.   

 
For me love is, in so many ways, about teary-eyed embraces, uplifting utterances and understanding glances.

 
I do hereby proclaim to be a squishy, gushy man of fluffy warmth.

 
Need a Teddy bear? I'm that guy.

 
Need a sad-eyed, loyal puppy? I'm on-call, pretty much 24/7.

 
No more denial, I have embraced the Ollie I've found myself to be.

 
I am completely secure in my insecure, needy-by-nature outlook on love.

 
But there's so much more to love than all that billowy marshmallow & hot cocoa stuff that I obviously embody.

 
Love, true & pure, doesn't always require an extra shot of insulin or additional miles on the elliptical.

 
Love.

 
See, we see love as being only about the emotionally charged passion of Lifetime movies.

 
And I think this may be the exact reason love is viewed as the icing-on-the cake to accessorize an otherwise bland ensemble, or a rarely noticed fringe benefit.

 
Our discussions are so often capped with afterthought phrases, which often hold no meaning but to appease our conscience.
Things like, "And yes, let us not forget the 'royal rule of love.'" (Said so often with the same cold sterility found on your dental hygenist’s plaque scraping utensil.)

 
But sometimes love is way, way beyond the limits of our emotions.   

Sometimes love is simply not about our emotions.

 
Love, the decision.

Love, the verb.

 
It is the hero in the story who steps into that darkness where the fluffy dare not venture.

 
Love, in the reality of its purity, is one tough son-of-a-gun!

 
Love is an act of our will, regardless of the feelings of our heart & mind.

 
Sometimes love is the toughest thing you'll ever do!

 
Sometimes love is fighting every urge and natural desire and doing that very thing we dread most.

 
Sometimes its, as I said, going into a place of overwhelming, putrid darkness because that's the place love is needed.

 
Sometimes love is forsaking justice so mercy can comfort and grace can prevail.

 
Sometimes love is calluses on hands, dirt under fingernails, dryness in mouths.

 
Sometimes love makes zones of comfort distant memories.

 
Sometimes love is a strength and intestinal fortitude whom Chuck Norris would humbly call you sir.

 
Where is the Teddy bear now?

 
Love.

 
An ancient man named John said it is the only way to theology in the true meaning of the word: God knowledge.

 
An incarcerated apostle named Paul said love pales faith and hope, and without it, even our martyrdom is useless.

 
A rabbi with a justifiable rebellion, named Jesus, said everything his people’s law and the teaching of their prophets were suspended on love. (He didn’t stop there…he said ridiculously radical things like love was his new and final word, it was the proof of a person who was learning from his life…)

 
There’s a time and place for the squishy, gushy love…and there’s a time and place for the backbone love.

 
Embrace them both.
ove.
 
(That's love with a period behind it for punctuation)

 
Love.

 
Love is one of those typically odd English language words whose sound and spelling are alike regardless of how you use it.

 
Love, the noun, looks and sounds just like love, the verb.

 
Some languages give you a distinction between the different parts of speech in word usage.

 
Not English, however.
(I guess we couldn't afford the extra letters or something.)

 
Love is love.

 
But...um, not really.

 
Love.

 
Just to exhale the word elicits a plethora of responses, thoughts, attitudes and emotions.

 
Some see carefully scored romantic scenes of roses, candles and lace.

 
Some see mad passion, released in impetuous abandon.

 
Some feel the excruciating pain of shattered emotions.

 
Some will begin to cry.

 
Some feel such a deep sense squishy fluffiness, they'd almost swear they were being digested by a Teddy bear.

 
Some: numb.

 
Love.

 
Love & Ollie.

 
People seem to love to talk about Ollie and love.

 
Some have transformed nouns to adjectives to describe me in such terms as Teddy bear or puppy. And I suppose this has something to do with how they view me, and my intimate relationship with a noun.

 
That noun?
Love.

 
And, I suppose that on my "What's Love All About" pie-chart, the biggest wedge of color would certainly be dedicated to the "Love is squishy" legend.

 
I'm just that kind of person.   

 
For me love is, in so many ways, about teary-eyed embraces, uplifting utterances and understanding glances.

 
I do hereby proclaim to be a squishy, gushy man of fluffy warmth.

 
Need a Teddy bear? I'm that guy.

 
Need a sad-eyed, loyal puppy? I'm on-call, pretty much 24/7.

 
No more denial, I have embraced the Ollie I've found myself to be.

 
I am completely secure in my insecure, needy-by-nature outlook on love.

 
But there's so much more to love than all that billowy marshmallow & hot cocoa stuff that I obviously embody.

 
Love, true & pure, doesn't always require an extra shot of insulin or additional miles on the elliptical.

 
Love.

 
See, we see love as being only about the emotionally charged passion of Lifetime movies.

 
And I think this may be the exact reason love is viewed as the icing-on-the cake to accessorize an otherwise bland ensemble, or a rarely noticed fringe benefit.

 
Our discussions are so often capped with afterthought phrases, which often hold no meaning but to appease our conscience.
Things like, "And yes, let us not forget the 'royal rule of love.'" (Said so often with the same cold sterility found on your dental hygenist’s plaque scraping utensil.)

 
But sometimes love is way, way beyond the limits of our emotions.   

Sometimes love is simply not about our emotions.

 
Love, the decision.

Love, the verb.

 
It is the hero in the story who steps into that darkness where the fluffy dare not venture.

 
Love, in the reality of its purity, is one tough son-of-a-gun!

 
Love is an act of our will, regardless of the feelings of our heart & mind.

 
Sometimes love is the toughest thing you'll ever do!

 
Sometimes love is fighting every urge and natural desire and doing that very thing we dread most.

 
Sometimes its, as I said, going into a place of overwhelming, putrid darkness because that's the place love is needed.

 
Sometimes love is forsaking justice so mercy can comfort and grace can prevail.

 
Sometimes love is calluses on hands, dirt under fingernails, dryness in mouths.

 
Sometimes love makes zones of comfort distant memories.

 
Sometimes love is a strength and intestinal fortitude whom Chuck Norris would humbly call you sir.

 
Where is the Teddy bear now?

 
Love.

 
An ancient man named John said it is the only way to theology in the true meaning of the word: God knowledge.

 
An incarcerated apostle named Paul said love pales faith and hope, and without it, even our martyrdom is useless.

 
A rabbi with a justifiable rebellion, named Jesus, said everything his people’s law and the teaching of their prophets were suspended on love. (He didn’t stop there…he said ridiculously radical things like love was his new and final word, it was the proof of a person who was learning from his life…)

 
There’s a time and place for the squishy, gushy love…and there’s a time and place for the backbone love.

 
Embrace them both.

Haunting Words: He Found Nothing But Leaves

He found nothing but leaves.

These five simple words haunt me.

He found nothing but leaves.

Whispering in my ear on a daily basis. And sometimes the whispers become screams. He found nothing but leaves.

These five words evoke such emotion inside my heart.

Sometimes tears, painful and bitter.

Sometimes anger, raging anger.

Sometimes these words prompt a sense of purpose and even at times joy.

I cry tears because I don’t understand. Why?

I feel anger because it is still happening. He is still just finding leaves.

I find purpose in knowing he is still waiting to be fed.

I find joy because I know there is hope to feed him.

He found nothing but leaves.

I hear these words whispered in the lonely halls of our houses of worship. I hear the ghostly whisper of these five words in our state-of-the-art sound equipment, our elaborate décor and in our comfortable auditoriums.

He found nothing but leaves.

Over the loud lyrics of our emotional worship service songs, I hear these five words screamed.

He found nothing but leaves!

I hear these words in our strategic planning and cut-and-paste mission statements.

He found nothing but leaves.

Why? Why just leaves?

He was hungry. He had work to do. He needed nourishment. He needed nurturing. But he didn’t find anything to meet his needs.

He found nothing but leaves.

I wish I could see the bigger picture. But the bigger need is blocking the way.

Five forgotten words remind me of a forsaken man.

He found nothing but leaves.

These are haunting words…because this ancient occurrence occurs around us everyday.

Figtown.

He was in Figtown. Most commonly referred to as Bethany, the Hebrews called it Beth Anya, the Place of Figs. I call it Figtown.

A place so known for having fruit they even called it by the fruit’s name.

Figtown. Where else in the world would a homeless man go when he had a simple taste for a breakfast of figs and an empty belly? Beth Anya sounds like the perfect place to be.

But even there, even in Figtown, there were no figs for him.

He found nothing but leaves.

This is where we live. We live in Figtown. Right?

Here’s how Mark recalled the story: "The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs."

This tree, this fig tree, so prominent and beautiful…so obvious it was distinguishable even “from a distance” is so overwhelmingly a metaphor for the church.

Where do we live? We call it the “Bible Belt” and where I live, Central Georgia…this is the place where “the belt” is pulled tight: the buckle.

“A church on every corner,” that’s what we say.

Churches of every pedigree and distinction, right here.

Fig trees…as far as the eye can see. We are living in Figtown.

Jesus couldn’t find what he needed, nourishment and nurturing, when he approached the fig tree.

He found nothing but leaves.

And he finds the same thing when he approaches us…when he approaches our “fig tree.”

I know what you’re thinking. “How dare you, Ollie! How dare you accuse us of starving Jesus.”

But Jesus said it.

Matthew heard him and quoted him this way: “I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.”

When we don’t provide for the hungry, sick, lonely, imprisoned, and naked, the marginalized and disregarded…we aren’t providing for Jesus.

He approaches our tree…he looks for fruit. What is he finding?

The word for leaves, in Greek is “foolon” which boils down to basically meaning “everyone the same.”

That’s what he found. No fruit. No care, no compassion…just everyone the same.

We love this comfortable feeling and try to find a church where we can comfortably exist with people who are like us in things like appearance, enthusiasm, or philosophical belief. But is this best?

Is thick, lush, impressive foliage worth a starving Jesus?

What is Jesus finding when he approaches?

Is it the same haunting five words?

He found nothing but leaves.

Let’s show love. Let’s feed Jesus. Let’s feed the least of these.

The worst thing that could happen is grace.

Can you imagine it?

The worst possible thing that could ever happen...has happened.

All your dreams, dashed!

All your hopes, faded...

You are young.

You are from a less than desirable community.

You are engaged.

You are madly in love with this man.

You are just learning things about the biology of your own body.

You are pregnant.

And the father of this baby? Not the man to whom you're engaged. Not the man to whom your dreams are joined at the hip.

You are going to have a baby and its not his baby.

Everyone's heard this story, this way so many times.

The poor, marginalized, unwed teen, pregnant with someone else's baby.

You've heard that story.

But can you imagine it?

All this weight and pressure on such young shoulders...

The worst possible thing that could ever happen...has happened.

This is the kind of thing that makes melodramatic writers pen words like "her greatest dreams became her worst nightmare."

But that's what happened.

If you were a teenage girl and you had these incredible dreams of love and escape...what worse thing could happen to you?

Pregnant and its not even the fiance's baby.

Awful!

Put yourself in that dark bedroom on that fretful sleepless night.

He's going to leave. And he's going to do so with complete justification.

You know how guys are afraid of commitment (which is an unfair blanket statement, but gives lazy writers a good fall-back in a storyline) and now he's got an easy out!

There's a dream dashed.

And now you're the scandal of this already unfortunate region, Nazareth.

People are going to point, stare and talk about you behind your back.

The worst possible thing that could ever happen...has happened.

And as you lay there in tearful worry, fear and isolation...alone with you thoughts, suddenly you're alone no more...

A celestial, vaporish being shines in your darkness.

And speaks.

"Do not be afraid, Mary..."

The first words spoken tonight spoken not in desperate fear, telling you not to be afraid.

What absurdity!

What paradoxical absurdity!

"Don't be afraid..."

Of your now shattered future?

Of this rising-sun-like apparition standing at the foot of your bed?

I mean, really?

Don't be afraid?

But then a warm piercing blade of peace penetrates your oppressive worry...

"Don't be afraid.."

A deep, clean breath releases into a calm exhaling of those age-inappropriate burdens.

"Breathe, little girl...its going to be okay..."

But wait! You're still pregnant! The worst possible thing that could ever happen...has happened. It STILL has happened.

"Deal with that, Angel-man!" you think...because you're still pregnant and its still not Joseph's kid!

Then the angel continues the ridiculous talk.

"... you have found favor with God."

Favor?

With God?

Yes, this thing that has happened to you...this worst possible thing that could ever happen...is actually God showing you his FAVOR!

Favor.

The Greek word the angel spoke to Mary: Charis.

Favor in English.

Charis in Greek.

Charis, a word translated many times in the New Testament as grace.

"Mary, God has shown you grace."

What Mary, in her current state, viewed as the worst thing that could ever happen to her...

What at that time in her history seemed to be the thing that robbed her of her dreams and future...

Was actually God showing grace (favor) to her and all creation.

It didn't really rob her of her dreams and future...it was actually the granting of Mary's, along with all creation, dreams and future.

It secured her place in history.

Where are you today?

What has happened that you would describe as the "worst thing that could ever happen?"

That thing, that tragedy, that theft of your dreams...could possibly be your loving, gentle, gracious Daddy showing you his favor, his charis, his grace.

Have hope.

What is the worst pain you've ever known, could be the changing of history for you, as well as all creation.

Start over.

Start over.

That's what I've been convicted to do.

Start over.

I've been hanging out with Jesus for the last 22 years, and for the last 22 years I've been in ministry.

I say "hanging out with Jesus" not to be irreverent or anything but because there's been times when (actually for almost all that time) I wasn't really about living and patterning my life after Jesus.

I used to be a "Christian" (religiously that was my identifier.)

And I went through times of being a "believer." I thought that was a really admirable thing. I was in and around a bunch churches that were all about faith.
"BELIEVE!!!" They would scream.

And I was "believing" Jesus.

I believed, but I wasn't doing anything with what I believed.

And I was okay with that. I sat on my big, fat, white booty and didn't DO jack!!

Then, there was the time I was a pretender.
I've moved in and out of this phase over the last couple decades.
This was those times when I really got a kick out of my titles.
I liked being called "Reverend."
I liked being called "Pastor."
I liked being called "Brotha Ollie."
(Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth a little. Jesus probably threw up a lot during those times as well.)
These were the times when I was just a pretentious, self-serving butt hole!

Start over.

I don't like "labels." Labels limit us. Labels say, "this is who I am." Labels draw a line in the sand and say, "I'm with you, but only up to this point." (Does that make sense?)

But I labeled myself in these ways.

Labeled as a "Christian" I was just all about my religion.

Labeled as a "believer" I was just about my beliefs and opinions.

Labeled as a "pretender" (this is a.k.a.ed as being labeled as a "minister.") I was just about, well...being a butt hole.

Start over.

I don't want those labels anymore...I don't want anything to limit me in my love for my Daddy or my loved for people.

But if I use a label now, that label is primarily "follower/lover." (I think these two words, when speaking of Jesus, are synonymous. Jesus was a lover and if we follow him and do what he did...we'll be loving. So, follower is lover in the way I see it.)

So my new label is Christ follower/lover. (And I'm pretty sure we're staying here for a while...)

Okay...
With all these labels, I've approached a collection of books, writings, prophecies, rants and letters (commonly called the Bible) in different ways.

As a "Christian" I saw it as one big book and I wanted to read it so I could learn about my religion. I took the parts of this book I believed, the parts that I thought facilitated my religion and read those parts. I thought all of the bible was about being a Christian.

As a "believer" I saw this book as something I was supposed to believe. Again, I took the parts I believed, the parts that made my "faith" stronger and read these parts. I thought it was all just about making me a believer.

As a "pretender" I saw this book as something I was supposed to tell, preach or SHOVE down the throats of others. I didn't use these words to apply to MY LIFE, I used these words to apply to YOUR LIFE! I used the parts I agreed with to help me be, you guessed it, a butt hole.

Start over.

With all my different labels, I used traditional, bible school taught methods of "bible study."

I studied topically. I would pick a topic and try to find everything the bible said about that topic.

Not bad...but often confusing.

I studied exhaustively by book. I would pick a book, letter, etc. and study through that section of scripture.

Not bad...but again, often confusing.

Either type of bible study would always take me to this lost place of forgetting the context of what I was reading and studying.

I would read some letter Paul wrote to people a few decades after Jesus died and apply it to today, without even considering Jesus in the equation.

Or I'd read some part of the ancient legal books and apply it to a current situation forgetting Jesus.

So this is where I am today. Right now.

This is where I am and if you're not feeling where I am...well, that's not for me to decide in your life. (Surprise! I'm not your Holy Spirit!)

Start over.

I've been in a process of starting over for the last few years and its brought me to this place in studying the bible:

Start with Jesus. Not with his "words" as much as his LIFE.

I've learned from spending time in other countries and seeing translations of languages...what a WORD means to one culture isn't always the same as what the same word means to another culture. (For instance, the movie "Wild Hogs" when translated to Ukrainian, then back to English, became "Crazy Boars.")
And what words meant to society in one generation are very different from the meaning in another generation (i.e. being "gay" in the 1890s and being "gay" in the 1990s are slightly different).

So before I get too deep in the words Jesus spoke, I want to look at how he lived. How he acted. Who he hung out with, who made him angry, who made him comfortable.

I want to learn about how Jesus lived his life first, before I let Ollie's brain, in America in 2009, interpret his words.

Then through the lens of how Jesus lived his life...what words did he say?

I want to study Jesus words, taking into account how he lived. How he loved. Who he ate dinner with and who he chased out of a building.

Then, after studying Jesus' life and actions, after studying HIS words, I want to study the rest.

See, in my understanding, this compilation of books we call the bible is all about HIM. Why not learn him first?

The legal books at the start of the Old Testament show how much we'd have to do meet his standards. They remind us how inadequate we are without him. But when read through the lens of knowing how Jesus lived and the words he spoke, these books show me how much he loves. These books remind me not to show others judgment, but grace and mercy, because I'm as messed up as them.

The prophecy books are all about Jesus coming...reminding me my Daddy loves me so much, that Jesus was going to come to earth to fix my brokeness.

All the letters in the New Testament are about Jesus and living the life of love he lived.

I used to think "keeping things in context" was about just knowing the logistics of what I was reading. Who was being spoken to.
Where they were geographically.
How screwed up they were emotionally and spiritually.

But I'm beginning to think that is only a portion of understanding the context.

Maybe understanding the context is more about remembering who its all about...how he lived and what he said.

I think if I don't start over, there won't be any change in my life and how I live.

I think if I don't start over I'll know words but won't know life.

I think if I don't start over, reading the bible will just enable me to be a religious Christian.

I think if I don't start over, reading the bible will just enable me to be a lazy believer.

I think if I don't start over, reading the bible will just enable me to be a pretentious butt hole.

And I don't want to be a butt hole.
The absence of hate does not equal love...

Dempsey

This is Dempsey. I call her the Lifepoint mascot.
She embodies so much of what we're here for...
See nobody wanted Dempsey...she was toothless, discarded, homeless...
In fact, her name is Dempsey, because that's the name of the transient old hotel in downtown Macon, Georgia where she was found.
Dempsey comes to our offices with Dan, one of our board members who cleans the building.
Dan loves the homeless, hurting, forgotten, discarded...the marginalized.
Dan loves community and is famous for saying "doing life together."
Dan has a great financial and business mind and could be anywhere doing anything. But he chooses to reach out to people whom other people don't want to reach out to...but he's not trying "convert" people...he's trying to love them.
LOVE THEM.
Dan adopted Dempsey.
Dempsey loves love.
She would like to have someone give her something to eat...and rub her ears...
Her eyes are sad and deep...they speak of abuse and learning to survive. They speak of loneliness...and the incredible joy of not being lonely anymore.
She just now, as she so often does, came into my office.
I was busy, working on my computer (as Prince said in "Raspberry Beret", "I was busy doing something close to nothing...") Something that would probably have very little affect on history or eternity.
Dempsey saw my empty lap and hand on the computer's mouse.
Dempsey had a better idea...she obviously felt that my lap would be a good for her to rest her jawls...and my hand could serve a better purpose...rubbing her ears...
Dempsey loves love.
She lifted my hand with her nose, nuzzled her chin onto my thigh and perfectly positioned her ear under my hand...
I said (in baby-talk), "Aww...Demps...I love you..."
She looked at me with those eyes and said without saying, thanks.

I see Dempsey as the LP mascot, because she's who we really want to love...the used up, washed up, coulda been, shoulda been, has been, dropped, put out, pushed aside, shooed...

If you feel like a Dempsey...there's love for you.

IMG01694.jpg

Surrender: I quit.

Butt on resin plastic.
Sun beats down.
Sweat profusely pours...and I'm not even "trying to tan."
I'm just hot. Oppressively sticky, hot.

Splashing. Giggling. Screaming.

"Polo!" In reply to "Marco?"

And footstep, footstep, footstep: "CANON BALL!!!"

How much fun is that...

But I'm just hot. Oppressively sticky, hot.

The shimmering reflection brushes my eye, brighter than the sun. And more inviting as well.

Why would I sit in heat, despising my own skins dryness?
Why do I insist on suffering when everyone else is having fun?

Why?

Why am I suffering?

Because I will not quit! I will NOT give in!!

Fools! Hair all funky and wet shorts awkwardly adhering to skin...they look like fools!

Fools having fun...

But I will not give in.

I get the droplets anyway- and it does feel good-

Remnants of a dive, hurtling through the humid air to find themselves on my otherwise unwet shirt.

Yes. It does feel good.

I bet the fools feel good too.

But if one more person yells at me...I swear, I'm going to--
"C'mon!"
And there's one more...

Not a taunting, but an invitation--stupid, old adage, "the water's fine!"

But I, I will NOT give in!!

NEVER!

But, maybe...

O god!
Okay.
Whatever...

As I begin to stand and remove my shirt, the sun makes contact with more skin.
Partial discomfort coupled with partial, gentle prodding.

And my entry? The steps?

No, that'd just give me the chance to chicken out...

Instead I walk the other way...to a place that lends itself to a slightly greater commitment...a point of no return.

Stepping up, I feel the rough, sandpaper-like surface on the bottom of my feet. But it provides stability, not discomfort.

I hear my motions: swish, swish, swish.
First up, then down, and--ker-plunk!
As soon as I'm down on the board's edge, I'm back up again--flying to fall.

And it's over now...dry is history.

Cool.
Breathless.
Engulfing.
Surrender.

Control is no longer my possession...and suddenly...its okay.

I gave up.

And it feels good...

Bubbles, thousands of bubbles.

A push from the bottom and I'm on the surface.
Oxygen refills my lungs and I say, "ahhh..."

Now the oppression of my body's weight is lost.

I'm free.

Awkward movements of the land are now graceful and well, fluid.

Maybe an underwater flip and a hand stand (just to impress the ladies).

In the embrace of hydrogen and oxygen, floating on my back and squinting up at the now friendly sun, I have a revelation:

Surrender feels good.

I give up.