Thinking Thanks

I love the Thanksgiving holiday. I love that we still have a day set aside for this simple and powerful act of giving thanks. I love that families and friends make a point of gathering to remember that we are, in fact, blessed.

Thankfulness is a two-way act. Looking up, we give thanks to God. God is the owner of all, the Creator, and the one who deserves all our praise, all our thanks. And looking around, we thank other people for the ways they bless and help us.

Giving God our thanks is something we generally do quite well. In our prayers and songs, we frequently find ourselves saying “Thank You” to our gracious, Heavenly Father. And that’s the right thing to do. As the Apostle Paul reminded his friends in Philippi, “in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Most Christians I know are quick to give thanks to God.

Something that has amazed me is that some of the people most grateful to God are the ones who appear to have the least for which to be thankful, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve met Christian believers facing economic hardship, or suffering physical illness, or grieving in deep tragedy, who are quick to say, “I’m so thankful to God.” And I’m always amazed at their thankful attitude!

Yet I've also observed that we’re not always as good at giving thanks to each other. I know I’m guilty of this one! We can so easily take one another for granted, or we get so preoccupied, we forget what another has done for us and just fail to say thanks. Or maybe we’re afraid that if we say thanks the other person will become proudly puffed up or embarrassed, and we wouldn’t want that!

One tradition we’ve adopted at the past couple Thanksgiving dinners is to say thanks to each other. To make it simple, as we go around the table, each person is asked to say something they are thankful for, AND something they appreciate about the person sitting on either side of them. It’s our way of saying, “I’m thankful FOR you and I’m thankful TO you.” And no one seems to mind being appreciated.

As Christians, we know relationships are important. We do our best to love one another and be a blessing to each other. In other words, we strive to be at peace. The Apostle Paul wrote to the Colossians, “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.“ But then Paul punctuated that with one more command: “And be thankful” (Colossians 3:15).

Expressing thanks to each other doesn’t solve every problem, but it sure goes a long way to keeping peace and maintaining good fellowship. It’s easier to overlook one another’s imperfections when we are show gratitude. It’s easier to offer help when we know we’re appreciated. And it’s easier to enjoy our fellowship when we simply say, “thank you”.

Happy Thanksgiving! And may you have much for with to be thankful this season! 

Paddling Backwards?

Our family recently had the pleasure of spending a day at Shaver Lake in our beautiful Sierra mountains. The water is high with run-off from the heavy snowpack. The sun was up, and a brisk afternoon breeze made the day about as perfect as one could wish for.

Best of all, I got to spend a little time fishing - something fun for me and (so far) perfectly safe for the fish! As I cast fruitlessly, I enjoyed watching some canoe paddlers working their way away from shore into the body of water. And I mean working, with great effort and minimal progress.

There were two adult women in the boat, and a small child in the middle. The ladies wore no flotation vests, but seemed to be laughing and having a great time. I'm glad about that, because they were making barely incremental progress, in part, no doubt, to the fact that only the woman in the back was paddling.

It was one of the lake afternoons, the time when a stiff wind lifts the water into spiky waves, and the canoe was headed directly into the wind. Mind you, it was with some difficulty the paddler/pilot/captain kept the bow pointed into that wind.

Watching them struggle, it took me a few moments to catch on to the oddity of the situation. The front of the slender craft dipped precariously low, while the back end rose out of the water. What? And then, "Aha!" The woman in the back was actually sitting backward on the front seat of the canoe! They had their vessel turned backward.

And struggle they did, for a considerable length of time, until at last they spun around and let the wind return them to shore.

It was funny to watch, and potentially dangerous for those in the canoe, I suppose. But I got to wondering how often I've been in my boat, paddling backwards into the wind. How often have I struggled needlessly, because I wanted to do things my own way, or because I was too stubborn to ask for direction? More often than I care to admit.

Several days later I came upon Psalm 48 in my devotional readings. The Psalmist boldly praises God our Savior, and celebrates Jerusalem, the great fortress and city of God's people. His closing comment reminded me again of the backwards boaters, paddling without direction or understanding. The Psalmist reassured me that instead of struggling like that through life, I can say with him, "The LORD is our God forever and ever, and he will guide us until we die" (Psalm 48:14).

Note to Self

Eavesdropping?  One of life's guilty pleasures. In the sauna at the gym the other day, I was pondering the sad picture that of the 8 of us in the hotbox, I was the only one without earbuds and an mp3 player or cellphone filling the potentially valuable time for personal reflection. So when a couple guys came in, talking, I had no choice - I had to listen.

The one told the other, "It's my birthday on Friday." The friend asked how old, and the first one responded, "25. A quarter century. [Deleted expletive]."

Funny how perspective interprets that number. To him, he considered that old. To me, with the half-century mark in view? Oh, sweet youth.

Closing in on 25 years old...

So, I did the old guy thing - I butted into their conversation. I was thinking about being 25, and what I'd tell my younger self if I could, so I suggested, "Hey, birthday boy. Happy birthday. I'd recommend finding five people who have already been 25, and ask them what they'd want to tell someone your age. It will change your life." I'm pretty sure Birthday Boy left the sauna muttering, "Nutjob!", but I think it's good advice.

So here's the top things I'd tell myself, if I could send a letter back in time:
1. Put money aside every month. I know you're broke, but you will be for a long time. Save now.
2. Try new things. Push yourself, figure it out.
3. When faced with a choice between something hard or something easy, pick hard.
4. If you are asking, "Is she the one?", she is. You won't regret it.
5. Ride a motorcycle, do more camping, hiking and outdoor adventure. Learn to fish, because you'll want to teach your kids how.
6. Be a minimalist when it comes to technology. Embrace only what's necessary, and dump the rest.
7. Don't buy that TV.
8. Form a rock band.
9. Call your parents more.
10.Practice your music.

What would you tell your 25-year-old self if you could?

And the winner is...

Yeah, so a couple weeks ago I attended my son's academic awards ceremony. This is a nice event to recognize those students who are above average academically. Cool. And I'm proud of my son.

But I gotta ask, when did we start giving students grade point averages above 4.0? I've seen it before - I know that college entrance to the good schools recognizes those students who achieve greater than the maximum grade.

I admit: I'm confused.

It's like the athlete who claims to give 110%. What? How is that possible? How can one give more than the maximum?

I know, it's the middle-age thing creeping in again, the old, "They sure didn't have that when I was a kid." But honestly, they didn't. Because there was a standard in school - 4.0 - and you either met it or you didn't. Your effort was compared to a set, measurable, objective standard.

Instead, we've removed the objective standard so that all measurement is now subjective. The student can never know they've measured up, because they could always go higher. Their score only matters in comparison to others. A 4.0 is meaningless if others receive a 4.1. And the 4.1 fades in comparison to the 4.2, and so on.

Here's my beef with this. First, it's unrealistic. In the marketplace, these students are going to be surprised that employers and customers have measureable, objective standards. Second, it creates a constant state of stress, the pressure to always do better. There's no chance to sabbath - to rest - saying, "I've measured up." Third, it renders the measurement meaningless. For example, the student who scores 3.5 (a respectable grade in former times) now knows that the score is a joke, even if they've done all the required work.

Here's the real carry-over. It's a mirror of what's happened culturally. Just as the objective standard has been removed in academics - that is, there is no rule by which to be compared - any objective moral standard has also been removed. Our post-modern culture tries to deny any external measurement of morality, replacing it with a comparison approach.

That means I no longer view my behavior as right or wrong, just as better or worse than others. You cheated on your boss? Well, you're not that bad, because your co-worker cheated AND lied about it. And they're not that bad, because the boss cheated too, and lied, and got caught, and... you get my point.

But there is an objective standard, and God will call us to account on a final day. Hebrews 9:24 reminds us that "each person is destined to die once and after that comes judgment." And Jesus warned us that "the Son of Man will come with his angels in the glory of his Father and will judge all people according to their deeds" (Matthew 16:27).

I've given my life to proclaiming the grace of God, that through faith God has made a way to free us from the consequences of our sinful deeds. That's the good news, and if morality was simply a matter of comparison, there would be no need for grace, save for the very worst in the world. No, we all need grace, because we all fall short of God's perfect standard.

No, none of us will achieve perfection in this life. And all of us will fail on some level. Let's be thankful for grace, but be careful not give in to the lie of comparative morality.

Are We Any Better?

I am reluctantly weighing in on the Bin Laden assassination. I know that even naming it that is going to aggravate some.

The problem is not that US forces ended his life. I'm not opening the "Should we have forgiven him?" question. We chose retaliation over forgiveness ten years ago, and his demise was, in my opinion, inevitable. I expected he would perish in a rocket attack or gun battle.

I was at the gym on Sunday evening when the killing was reported. People around me were stunned, thankful, and cautiously relieved, as was I. It was the later reports that concerned me - the president smugly taking credit for ordering the operation, and Americans in the streets, celebrating, chanting "U-S-A, U-S-A".

I was immediately drawn back to that horrible day nearly ten years ago when the towers and the pentagon were attacked. I remember the moment and the very spot I was when I heard the news. Even living in Canada at the time, it was deeply disturbing, and people everywhere grieved with the American people. Worst of all were the news images of Arabs dancing in the streets, celebrating this attack on civilians, ending the lives of thousands. "How could they?", I wondered, "Don't they realize these are innocent people?"

I'm not suggesting we're celebrating the loss of civilians in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq or Libya. That horrifies us. But we're the free west. We've been taught that we have inalienable rights to liberty and justice. Things like a right to a fair trial when accused of a crime. I know that most of us would say that Bin Laden relinquished those rights when he attacked America. But on what basis?

I wonder at what point do we justify our president ordering a death squad to eliminate someone who attacks Americans? Should we have sent the Navy Seals to take out the Unabomber, Tim McVeigh, Charles Manson? Those men were, after all, out to destroy innocent people in support of their own twisted ideologies.

The work of the al Qaeda network disgusts us. It is evil, demonic, directed from the forces of hell. I want to see it destroyed completely and permanently. I also know we are at war with them, a war we all want to end soon, but successfully. Our service men and women are daily putting their lives in danger to reduce and hopefully eliminate future terrorist attacks on the USA.

I just wonder if, in celebrating the work of the tactical killing team, we've lowered ourselves to the bloodthirstiness of those who oppose this great nation. There's something in the glee of the president especially that disturbs me. The mix of blood and power is frightening elixir that stokes an insatiable appetite.

Want To, Have To, or Get To?

What I should be looking like soon under my skin!

I mentioned in the previous post that I'm visiting the gym these days. It's good, really, I almost enjoy it some days, but it definitely is a discipline to get there. And there's nothing like the gym to remind me - again - that I'm a midlife survivor.

My fitness schedule is somewhat erratic, which suits me fine, and satisfies my people-watching curiosity. Late at night tends to be the middle-aged working folks, and the young unemployed. Afternoons are mixed, and the mid-mornings bring out the middle-aged and "mature" set to work out. (I have yet to try the 5am workout, but I'm told many do.)

I've decided there are essentially three types of people, who happen to fall into general age categories. The under-35 crowd seem to be there by desire. Most of them already look pretty fit, and are there because they want to be. My set is there, I think, out of obligation. We have this sense we know it will be good for us, and besides, we're paying the fee, so we'd better use it! It could also be that a spouse said, "I'll go if you go."

And then, there's the "doctor-says-I'll-die-if-I-don't-get-fit"/post-heart-operation crowd. I'm most impressed with these folks. They are there for survival. Yes, it's for their own benefit, but also for others; not to show off to others, but to stay alive for them. That said, I've never seen them break a sweat.

I'm reading this great book right now called, The Reason for God, by Timothy Keller. In a section on God's grace he refers to "the threat of grace". That is, if we properly understand and receive grace, we recognize we have no rights to our own selves, because none of our own efforts saved us, not even being a "good, moral Christian". It's only by God's gift of grace.

I've done a few good deeds in my life, and hope to do more. And the Bible promises reward for that. But not salvation. It's not like going to the gym. If I work out consistently and persistently, I'll be rewarded by a healthier (still middle-aged) body. My health is "saved" by my "works". I work out to get healthy, not because I am healthy.

But under grace, my deeds are in response to grace, not to acquire it. It's not because I want to or because I have to, but because I get to. I'm "not my own", as the Apostle Paul said, for I have been "purchased at a high price" (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). I'm saved so I can do God's good works - works he's even prepared for me (Ephesians 2:10) - not because I do them.

I go to the gym out of both obligation and compulsion, because that's what middle-aged guys do. In some ways, my spiritual life sounds like that too, but only if I misunderstand grace. Yet because there's no way for me to impress God, I can relax in the confidence of knowing I'm still very flawed, and yet very loved, and completely accepted by grace.

Trust me - I'm surprisingly slow in grasping this. But when I do, the motivation for pleasing God is no longer "have to" or even "want to", but completely "get to".

What's your motivation?

moh-men-tuhm

Momentum. Life's great when you have it, and frustrating when you don't.



Players on my hockey team, the Vancouver Canucks, are thinking a lot about momentum this week, I'm sure. After rising to a three-game lead over Chicago in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs, they badly lost games four and five. Yes, they still lead the series 3-2, but every fan knows Chicago has a better chance of winning right now because of the undeniable energy of their momentum, acquired by scoring an unheard-of 12 goals in two games! (Don't get me wrong, I still believe!)


I have friends who are changing their lives, recovering from addictions and habits that have burdened their lives and relationships. Momentum is important for them too. There's something much more motivating about 30 or 60 days clean and sober than two or three.


Or how about heading to the gym? For the first time in my life, I have a gym membership, and momentum is crucial there too. From the simple act of getting out the door and down the road, to the physics of moving weights or a rowing machine, momentum makes all the difference. And if/when momentum is lost, it is not easy to get it back again. Did I mention we were on vacation this past week? Just a few days away, but today was my first day back to the gym in a week. Darn momentum.


Writing, yard work, housework, reading, riding a bike, home improvement projects - virtually everything we accomplish we do so with momentum behind us. Why do we have half-finished books on our nightstands? Or why do photo album scrapbooks remain unfinished? For some reason we lost that intangible currency called momentum.


What about spiritual momentum? It's transformational, yet easily lost. It's why I encourage people to maintain a daily habit of reading the Bible, and need to myself. I find that when I'm making time daily for a devotional life, it's relatively easy. But skip a day or two, and the lost momentum grinds it into a week or two. 


Psalm 1 illustrates the contrast of a person pressing on in their spiritual life, versus the one losing momentum. The psalmist writes,
  "Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked 
   or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers,
   but whose delight is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night.
   That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season
   and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers" (Psalm 1:1-3, NIV, emph. mine).

It's quite a picture. As one loses his delight in God's words, he slows first to a walk, then proceeds to a standstill, and finally takes a seat with "mockers", those who make light of righteous living. Instead having something to offer, like a productive tree, this person finds himself lost in the culture of apathy.

The challenge is keeping the momentum going. I'm learning it doesn't happen alone. Going to the gym with my son today helped me get moving. And I learn there that momentum is gained and maintained by keeping my workout achievable, and rejecting distraction.


The Canucks face the Blackhawks in game 6 tomorrow. Everyone wants to know how they will stop not just Chicago's shots, but their momentum, and then rebuild it it for themselves. It's "just hockey" I know, but I've been reminded again of the immeasurable value of momentum.

Who Are You, Really?

I'm ten days away from leaving my current job, so this is no time to be insecure. My identity is not the same as what I do for a living or what I earn or how I look. I don't need some external accomplishments to affirm my social credentials. I'm deeper than that.

But it's not always easy.

Yesterday, for example, in line at our favorite local take-out (can you guess what it is?), I bumped into an acquaintance, someone I've briefly chatted with a few times, but whom I really don't know. As often happens, the "What do you do for a living?" question came up, and I was definitely beaten in the "manliest occupation" category.

The guy is a former navy diver, certified for underwater demolition and welding, and works a high-responsibility job related to those skills. Talk about uber-masculine! At that point, it's pretty hard to make "I'm an associate pastor" sound impressive. Using the biblical metaphor and saying "I'm a shepherd of God's people" probably wouldn't have helped the situation.

What I do is important, possibly the most important occupation, because I'm offering spiritual direction for people's eternal future. No, I don't have massive biceps and I can't make complex engineering calculations, as impressive and admirable as those qualities are.

But even my current occupation is not who I am. And that's a relief. Because as I shift occupations, I can still honor my calling of offering spiritual direction to those who will receive it. I can still offer soul-care, and point those I encounter to things of eternal and spiritual significance.

In earlier times, people were often identified by their father, and even their father's trade. Smith, Shoemaker and Miller are surnames pointing to a family's occupational heritage. I am my Heavenly Father's son, a child of the living God, and I find my identity and occupation in that.

And that's enough.

What's your identity?

Passion

So I'm in the hunt for a new job, possibly even a shift in career direction, and to that end, I'm starting to push on doors to see what opens. Nothing solid yet, but I'm still at peace, and looking forward to the next big thing.

But it's curious timing, in the midst of this whole "midlife" thing. I'm frequently asked, "What's your passion?", the question hinting at the old saying, "Find the work you love, and you'll never work a day in your life", or some variation of the same. The belief is that we could all be doing something we love, something we're passionate about, in order to feel fulfilled.

It's an appealing theory, but is it realistic? I, ever the pessimist, wonder, "What if you just really don't know what your passion is?"

A local resident cleaning fish on Romblon Island, RP.

I realize that pursuing one's passion is only an option to a tiny percentage of the world's population. It simply cannot be universally applied, given that only in wealthy nations, and only among the middle-class and higher, is "pursuing one's passion" even a possibility.

I've just returned from a 20-day trip to the Philippines. Visiting that beautiful nation really messes me up. I love the lure of the islands, and the agricultural landscapes of the countryside. I also enjoy the grinding cityscape of sprawling metro Manila, and the gracious Filipino hospitality in every place. Like most non-Western nations, it is a land of contrasts. I browsed in shopping malls as nice as any I've seen here, and I walked through slums that turned my stomach and broke my heart. I met comfortably wealthy nationals living in spacious homes and I met some very poor people with few possessions to their name. But even then, how odd to see small homes, shacks really, perched beachside, in places we'd pay handsomely for a 1-week getaway (if we could get there easily and stay in sufficient comfort). The residents wake up every morning to a view most of us have to settle for as a desktop wallpaper.

Making a living from the garbage dump in Tondo/Balut, Manila, RP.

The most difficult, however, was a walk among garbage dump scavengers, hardworking men, women and children who manage to survive by combing through a mountain of trash, finding anything they can sell to the recyclers, down to small bits of plastic, glass and metal.

And I thought, "No one here has the luxury of 'pursuing their passion' at work."

Kids always find a way to play.

And still, I saw smiles. Not everywhere, and more so among the children, but I saw them. And I realized, there's more to life than simply finding a job that fulfills. And there's more to work than serving your passion.

The problem is not that some have passion and others don't, it's that passion gets lost. It is possible to let a job, a crisis, or an institution wring passion right out of us, until we forget that we ever had any. The garbage dump scavengers I saw could live with passion, but for most, their need to survive has squeezed it out.

I'm not trying to create passion in my life - I'm just creating some space so passion can breathe again, can find life and rise to the surface.

So it likely won't be passion for an occupation, unless that occupation allows me to pour myself into that which feeds greater passion, realities like true relationships, for example, or the opportunity to meaningfully care for people. A pastor, mechanic or assembly-line worker can all live with or without "passion", regardless of their occupation. We find fulfillment not IN our work, but we may find it THROUGH our work.

Passion: what's yours?

Tipping Point

I think the best and worst of midlife is exactly in the name - it's MIDlife. We no longer have the energy of 15 or 20 years ago, but we're not yet seen as too old to be irrelevant (I hope!). No one expects me to fly like a 22-yr-old, but my head can still be in the game with lots to offer.

But here's my question: What's the Tipping Point between being mentored and being a mentor?

When Beck and I were church planting in Chilliwack, Canada, some 10 years ago, I frequently had to deal with the "you're too young to be a pastor" comment. (It may have been six or so years ago that people stopped saying that. It might have been the grey hair, or receding hairline that increased my perceived age-eligibility for the pastorate.)  But I've now reached the age where the people I have the opportunity to shepherd are mostly younger than me. 

That means I'm often expected to have answers or be able to offer direction simply because I'm older. It also means young people look at me and think, "You're an old dude." Old enough to mentor.

Yet I don't feel very old, and and I long to receive mentoring and spiritual direction from older, godly men. Young enough to be mentored.

And my peer group - well, we're trying to navigate the complexities of midlife together. 

So I feel I'm at the tipping point now, about to cross from "mostly asking advice" to "mostly offering guidance". I'm wondering, is it really an either/or matter? Can I have it both ways?

I guess I am looking forward to a final day when this will be true:

"When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely." 1 Corinthians 13:11-12.

Golden Oldies

Here's another Midlife Concern: when a 20-yr-old song is played in church, and you feel warm fuzzies, does that define you as middle-aged?

This is not me.
But yes, I had a mullet.

We enjoyed a great church service yesterday, partly because - to my pleasant surprise - we sang an old Vineyard song we used often when I led music as a Bible College student. Honestly, the last time I sang that song, the mullet was still popular! But our worship team played it well, and I found myself surprisingly drawn in to worship by the tune.

And this is unusual for me, because I'd be happy to sing a new set of songs every week, and I'd love to sing a few OLD songs - the kind that are printed in those books that are now usually just used to lift and level the video projector! (The majority of church-goers I've interacted with over the past 10 years have probably never opened a hymnal in their life!)  But I'm not typically fond of sort-of old songs.

Until now.

And that concerns me. Because when I first served as a music minister, in my mid-20's, the 40-something choir members I led liked some "old" songs. They didn't seem to mind singing songs like "Seek Ye First" (Karen Lafferty, c.1972). To me, 40-somethings seemed old, and it didn't surprise me that old people liked old songs. After all, old people are sentimental, right? Right, and now I'm there.

Oh my, can this really be happening?

Scripture encourages us to sing new songs. Several times the Psalms say, "Sing a new song", and Isaiah 42:10 affirms that, saying, "Sing a new song to the Lord! Sing his praises from the ends of the earth!"  I've always loved U2's 80's concert closer, "40", from Psalm 40, with the lyric, "I will sing, sing a new song." (Which in itself is remarkable, that a 3000-yr-old lyric becomes a new song with a new tune!)

I think what made the old tune work for me yesterday is that is reminded me of a meaningful spiritual time in my life (okay, some sentimentality), and it had been dormant long enough to feel fresh again. Yet most importantly, the text of the song rang simple and true, a Biblical testimony. It was - and is - a good song. And I was able to sing it with new desire and purpose. The song is old, but God's work in me through it can be new, always new.

So I'm going to choose not to "feel old" because I relished a 20-yr-old song. And no, I don't want to sing it frequently. I still prefer the new over the old. But I'm thankful for those Golden Oldies that can make an old message fresh again.

(For those who wish to comment here or on Facebook, what are the "old" songs that mean something to you and why?)

Living in the Tension

One of the realities of this life-stage we call mid-life, is the tension between the desire, perhaps the need, for stability, versus the importance of preserving one's values.

When we were young, we pursued what was important to us, without a great deal of concern for stability or security. What we studied, what we drove, how we dressed or the music to which we listened were ways we expressed not only our preferences, but our values, what was fundamentally important to us, even in small ways. For example, at 20 I accompanied my brother to a boutique shoe store in downtown Vancouver, and bought an expensive pair of  Doc Martin shoes, specifically because I knew of NO ONE ELSE who wore those shoes. My college peers mocked me, but my shoes proclaimed - "I am unique" - and while it was money I couldn't afford to spend, I was glad I did.

Even in our early years of marriage and parenting, stability was a non-issue. Adventure, education and experience were precious, and worth the price we paid. My oldest son celebrated his first five birthdays in five different settings, because of the risks we were willing to take in relocating for schooling and employment. Our values of education and church experience trumped stability.

I'm willing to admit that my status as a last-born child and a sanguine personality (you can ask me why that matters) has delayed my desire for stability, but at this mid-stage in my development, I can admit that security is a concern for me.

The question is this: will I compromise my values for stability?

When I think of the Biblical examples I love - Nehemiah, the Apostle Paul, and of course, Jesus - stability was not their first priority. As Jesus said of himself, "Foxes have dens to live in, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place even to lay his head" (Luke 9:58).

But they didn't have kids. Or the pressure to take out a mortgage. They didn't need a reliable vehicle, or a secure garage for that vehicle, and there were no 401K contributions. They didn't have to steer their kids through the right high school classes to get into the correct college. You get the point.

So it seems inevitable - we embrace security, and do our best to live out our priorities from a stable home base and perhaps vicariously through the lives of our kids. Some of the idealism of youth collides with the midlife reality of bills and backaches.

But there's another word we might substitute for stability, a word that causes my stomach to churn, just a little. That word is comfort. It could be that what I call stability is really about being comfortable.

This past weekend my pastor announced my resignation from my current occupation of associate pastor at Mountain View Church in Fresno, California. My resignation decision was the result of a year of wrestling through my desire to make better use of the gifts and abilities I've been given, versus the desire to preserve stability for me and the church, by continuing in the role I took on a few years ago.

Finally, I had to admit "stability" was partly the "comfortability" of staying in a role that might be better suited to someone else. I don't yet know what I'll be doing in a few months, but I (together with my family) am taking the step of faith in trusting God that he'll put me in a setting where he can use me. Doing what honors our values must supercede doing what is comfortable, easy or stable.

I know this tension is different for each person. After all, stability is its own value, and I'm thankful for the stability of people who stay and serve consistently in one setting, be it a mechanic, doctor, pastor, or teacher. I certainly don't advocate everyone leave jobs and neighborhoods for the sake of adventure.

Values and stability don't need to be the opposite ends of a continuum, a sort of sliding scale of compromise. And yes, there are times in life when we have the freedom to pursue one more than the other.

Yet I know I don't want to sacrifice what is right for what is safe. Even at this time in life, what is valueable must always overrule what is comfortable.