Silence

It hasn’t been an easy two weeks.

I watched the turmoil of this election as it played out across the world. We’ve had our struggles in various parts of life. I’ve taken a job that has me working long shifts a few days a week and our family time has suffered.

Carter looked at me the other morning and said that he missed me and he wished I was home at night. As a father, hearing that breaks my heart.

You want to provide and make a difference but you don’t want to lose your son as a trade-off.

These weeks have seemed like a holding pattern.

I haven’t felt this much stress in a long time. And when I’d try to type I’d find nothing.

Silence.

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One of my goals recently is to be more honest. I’ve starting thinking about a project based on fatherhood, a book to reach out to other guys going through the same things as me.

Something for the rest of us that don’t have our lives lined up in a neat row.  The ones not in the holiday movies wearing sweaters as a fire roars in the background.  The dads staring down bills, stressed out spouses, crazy kids, and demands demands demands.

I’ve taken to listening to podcasts on the way home from work.  Something about the miles of dark highway makes it easy to listen. I had on my guy, Pastor Erwin McManus, and he said this last night.

He said his wife asked him why he always speaks about courage and living an adventurous life.  He replied:

It is my greatest fear to miss the opportunities God gives me and not live out the life he has planned for me.

His fear is missing the boat, the side street, the fork in the road that leads to God’s Grand Design.

I’ll admit, there are days where that design seems so far off in the distance that I’m not even standing at the starting line.

My fear, the thing that haunts me, is the same.  It is missing the opportunities that are coming, the open doors, the connections, the chance to live a full life and do something to put a dent in the universe.

We find what we look for; a sliver of daylight in the night, a crack in the wall, a whisper in the silence. Sometimes we only have the strength to turn our heads in the right direction and, just barely, open our eyes.

It’s a start.

 

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What Should Life Be?

It rained yesterday.  The sky was the slate blanket that comes every now and then in the Pennsylvania transition between seasons. It was one of those days you dreaded as a kid, sitting in school with no way to mark the passing of time.

Morning was afternoon.  Dawn was dusk.

I got home from work, we ate dinner, then dressed the boys to go run some errands.  Aiden put on his rain boots and ran outside.  I followed and attempted to get him and Carter in the car.  He found his way to a puddle and started jumping.

Peppa Pig style (for you parents out there) jumping in puddles with his rain boots.

At the end of a dreary day, he’d found his own slice of adventure.

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Kids are easy for this.  They are our stereotypical adventurers.  We watch them play with nostalgia.  If only, we think and sigh, those were the days.

We are meant for more.

We are meant for a faith that calls us out of the darkness.

We are meant for a radical community of faith, hope, and love, to embrace others and show them the grace that allows us to live day by day.

So many dream of Heaven.  We think, then we can finally live, finally see the beauty of sun rays, crystal waters, perfect love and joy.

So we go on auto pilot and try to survive.  All the while, God calls us to the deep.

How will it look for you? How will it look for me and my family?  I don’t know.  I feel like I’m learning more each day.

Learning that the story isn’t over.  That there is still room for adventure, for a life of passion and change, hope and impact. There is room for hope in a better world, that the poor can find help, the hungry can be fed, the cold can find warmth, and the burdened will find rest.

I wish I could explain it to you. I wish I had the poetry that some of my friends and fellow writers have.  I wish I had the copywriting spin to sell you on the key points of the Gospel. I wish I had ten million copies sold to hold up and show you why you should believe me.

The only thing I can give you is honesty.

Faith isn’t easy.  I’ve looked in the mirror many moments and wondered why and where? I’ve held my hands to the sky and asked God to show up. I’ve wanted the concrete conversation, for Gabriel to show up in my Scion one day and, after miraculously healing the brakes, tell me the depths and heights of faith and the song of the Universe.

Hope isn’t easy.

Love isn’t easy.

For in the moment when the voice, the one that sounds so familiar for Adam and Eve so long ago, when it whispers “this is it, just give up,” something tells me No.

This isn’t it. The fight isn’t over. Bigger things are coming. It is a gut response, a fight that rises up from the place that can only be occupied by the fire of the love of Jesus.

What is life about?  It is the fight for Passion, to never give up, to never back down. To taste every sip of the majesty of God’s creation, to work to change lives, to shine the light of grace and love.

To wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

 

Half Full

Recently I’ve had the chance to transition my day job.  I’ll always call it a day job, in that it supports the writing dream.

We all need to have the deeper current running under our souls pulling us forward.

Today I was trained by a guy named Ben. Ben was an interesting guy, gun fanatic, video game fan and comic reader. We were making small talk when he said something that stuck with me. He said:

“I’m a pessimistic guy. I feel like you find the level of crap (he used a different word) you like in your life and get comfortable.”

Know anyone like this?

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I recently listened to a podcast from Pastor Erwin McManus, one of my favorite inspirational church leaders.  He spoke about faith being a nonsense, in that it exists outside our run of taste, smell, touch, hearing, and vision. It is our connection with the divine.

We often confuse faith as a noun when it is really a verb.

There’s a moment in life, a balancing on the edge of time. Athletes know it in the release of the pitch, the height of the serve, the Hail Mary pass in the final seconds. Teachers feel it in the silence of an answered question.

Expectant mothers in the pause between birth and first breath.

You have a choice. The moment bends both ways. See it in darkness or light. Moving forward or back. Success or failure. Goal or denial. Run or stumble.

Then grasp your next moment and do it again.

I can’t give up. There’s too many dreams to fulfill, too much good to create, too tight of a community to join. Our story isn’t over. I refuse to believe that.

I refuse to go down without a fight.

I let Ben’s comment drift past on the afternoon breeze and looked out the window dreaming of the future, excited at the changes that are coming and where we are called to go.

Never give up.  As long as you are still breathing, your story isn’t over. Balance on the moment and look forward.  See faith as a verb and not a noun and see what God is waiting to pour into your life.

When God Moves

Tonight I took our youngest son to the grounds of a local museum.  They have a walking path that runs next to a small creek.  The water usual contains a variety of ducks and, as the boys grew up, we would take them over to watch wildlife in action.

The sun was making its way down the sky, the walkway shaded and groups of people rode bikes past us or walked their dogs.  At the end of one side is a garden, flowers intermingling with statues and benches. The garden breaks through a path shaped like a heart.

It was a peaceful moment and, as we walked the path, the benches were filled with people.  Every single person had their head down and their hands on a cell phone.

God still paints pictures if we take the time to see them.

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This month has been one of change for our family.  I’m starting a new chapter in my career life, some new work on writing projects, and a new front in my personal growth through education.

We started looking at larger goals and bigger targets.  Over the last 8 years of struggle, it is nice to feel God moving again.  Even though the movement never stopped.

Our heads were down, weighed under pressure and stress, money and time. We stood in beauty and failed to see it for the structures of this world.  Our five-inch screens weren’t playing Pokemon Go, they were playing a loop of guilt.

Why keep trying? What if you fail? Isn’t is just easier to do nothing?

We get captured by the words and they lull us to a sense of comfort in the darkness.

There is power in movement, in discomfort, in shifting spaces and setting yourself out towards a target no matter what the voices say inside and outside.

My faith hangs on the belief that God has planted big dreams on my heart and on the lives of my family.  I believe love wins. One person can make a difference if they keep fighting.  I believe that, as long as we are breathing, there’s still a job to be done.

It may not be easy, but God has immense visions and purpose waiting.  I believe we are called to make a dent in the universe.  We are called to keep moving.  One step at a time.

 

To My Son on Turning 8

Dear Carter,

Your labor wasn’t easy for mom.  Thirty-seven hours. Three visits to the hospital over the weekend before she was admitted. You tried for a regular birth but just couldn’t make it out.  The doctor had to go get you.

I remember, before he did, standing in the room with mom and the doctor watching the screen showing your pulse as it climbed and fell.   The air was thick, the lights unforgiving.

He stood and said they were doing a C Section and, in the middle of August, you arrived.

I was the first one to hold you.  Mom was in recovery and they wheeled you out to me.  We sat on a chair in the room with the television playing in the background just after midnight.  You didn’t cry.  We had peace.

You ended up in the NICU with an infection and, a few days later, we took you home.

I still look at that picture of the day you got home and wonder where the years have gone.

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You ran before you walked.  You woke at the first hint of a ray of sunshine and we spent many mornings on the couch at 6 am watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

I remember you starting preschool and, eventually, elementary school.  I remember dropping you off that day and crying at how much you’d grown and how, for the first time, you were in other hands.

I’ve watched you grow into a blonde ball of energy. Strong and strong-willed. You are my athlete, sensitive and caring. You have your mother’s big heart, even if you don’t know it yet.

Great things are coming for you. New experiences and learning, new friends and activities. I wish you joy as you learn more about who you are.

I’m sorry for not being the perfect dad, for the days where my energy doesn’t match your own and my patient is spent. I’m trying my best and will keep working to do better. I want you to be as proud of me as I am of you.

Your world will only get bigger and wider. You will keep learning.  You will inherit the good and bad from my generation and you’ll need to handle it with strength that will come from these years.

You will know the love of Jesus, of community and service.  You’ll meet an amazing woman and find yourself with a family one day.  You’ll call mom and I when your son has jumped off the couch for the 1000th time after you said not to do it and you’ll ask us how we managed.

I’ll hand her the phone and laugh.

Happy Birthday son,

Matt

 

 

Never Give Up

I remember, almost twenty years ago, going on the first date with my wife.  I remember our first movie together. I remember holding hands and driving around for hours as we soaked up every single second of new love.

We would walk around the mall and window shop furnishings for our future home. We’d stop and get frozen yogurt parfait cups at this little stand inside the mall and sit on a bench watching people walk by.

We had hope for the future.

Future that included picking out a wedding ring and the thrill of a proposal, the excitement of being new parents, and discovering who we were as we grew up from teenagers to adults.

Today the most dangerous thing we can do, as people and as a country, is lose hope.

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I believe in the power of change. I believe something better is on the horizon.

Somewhere in a room, in a city, a young man or woman is deciding to grow up and run for political office.  They will revolutionize the country with a platform of unity, peace and love.

Somewhere in a patrol car a police officer is making the choice to go out for another shift and do what is right even with a target on their back and today, in this moment, they will save a life that will start a movement and turn the tide against hate and division.

Somewhere on a playground a kid will look up from a text message to see bullying and put down their phone to stop it, changing the life of the victim and giving them hope that there is still good in the world and people do care.

Somewhere a shopper in a grocery store will buy some extra items of food and drive it to a friend or coworker in need.

Someone will find the courage to leave their apartment after months alone.

A terminal diagnosis will be reversed with healing that cannot be explained.

A father will come home.

A mother will find strength she didn’t know she had and stand up to lead her family.

A son will put down the needle and call for help.

A young couple will lock eyes across a bookstore and start a conversation that leads to laughter and a spark of connection.

I believe in hope for now. In powerful, positive change. There is always a reason to fight, to stand up against darkness and show it we will not sit quietly, to break the cycle of anger and make a difference.

I believe the time has come.

~Matt

 

Love, Water, Death, Peace

“What’s baptism?”

The question came from Carter in the back seat. We had just driven by the front of our church where a pool was set up for the annual outdoor summer baptism service.

I thought about the handful of linguistic avenues to answer the question and which ones could be handled at his age, staring off into the setting sun.

The world is moving towards death.

We have individuals sold out on belief systems that allow them to drive a truck through a crowd of people in France and kill almost a hundred men, women, and children. The tensions of difference are felt more now than ever.

People are angry.

There are voices for peace and yet, as this nation looks towards an election, the loudest voice cries and prods our implicit fears of the other, that somehow we are losing a war to get back what was never ours in the first place.

There’s a Flannery O’Connor short story called The River. Her main character is a little boy who is taken to see a pastor baptize people in their local river one day.  The boy, in the midst of a chaotic  and horrid existence, returns to the river and ends up drowning in his attempt to get to heaven.

Philip, we read in the book of Acts, meets an Ethiopian eunuch on the side of the road attempting to read the scriptures.  He explains what he can about Jesus and the eunuch, the classic “outsider,” states that he must be baptized right away as they are seated next to a body of water.  Philip complies and his action leads to Ethiopia being the first Christianized country in the ancient world

Baptism is about death. It is about being the outsider.

It is about love.

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In Pastor Erwin McManus’s recent podcast about the Last Supper, he mentions the point  in the Upper Room where we are told that “all power returns to Jesus.”

All power.

Snap your fingers and form a universe.

And what does Jesus do with it?  He grabs a bowl of water and washes the feet of the disciples.

He could have, in a moment, taken apart that room atom by atom and rearranged it anywhere in the entirety of space and time.  He could have vanished Judas on the spot, sending him to hell in punishment of the betrayal that hadn’t happened yet.

Yet Jesus, God and man, serves in love.

Imagine if our leaders followed the same example?

In Malcom Gladwell’s book David and Goliath, he mentions a study of crime and policing in major cities.  Know what made a difference?  Not the might of authority.  Not the threat of a bigger punishment.

Cities and towns turned around when they realized that the police department cared. When officers went the extra mile and reached out to provide for basic needs, when they showed that they were invested in their territories beyond their badges. When they talked to parents and friends of teens and made a point to tell them they were worth it.

Service in love.

We kept driving to our destination as Carter waited for my answer.  Just what was baptism about?  I swallowed.

Well, I said, let me tell you a story…

 

Matt

 

 

Early Retirement

I’ve written before on here about some of my favorite podcasts. A few weeks ago Scott Kramer, one of the pastors at our church and a friend of mine, recommended finding some ministry podcasts to listen to while working out or occupying your spare time.

I took the challenge and have found myself learning and being challenged with a variety of new and interesting messages. One of my favorites is from Pastor Erwin McManus of Mosaic Church in Los Angeles.

McManus is an interesting figure. I’d recommend any of his books you can find.  He’s a mix of scholar, pastor, communicator, encourager, and cultural architect.

His message last week was on knowing and asking God for exactly what we want. He stated his belief that some of us ask small because we are afraid of “proving God doesn’t exist.” We feel like we need to protect God by lowering our expectations when, in reality, more and greater things than we’ve ever dreamed await us.

He mentioned a friend who was retiring at an early age.  He had asked this friend why he was choosing to retire.  The man’s responded that he was ready for a quieter and more peaceful life. He wanted simplicity.

McManus commented about the nature of the man’s ideas and that he personally wanted to stay active, leading a community in a loud and noisy world until “the day the chariots of fire came to get him from Heaven.”

He then said something that struck me directly in the heart.

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He said there were younger people listening to the message who had hit “retirement” long before leaving their twenties.

It was like a card house falling, a lens sharpening into focus. The statement vocalized my state of mind quicker than anything I could have said at the moment.

I’d spent years lounging in the lull of simplicity, of sitting back and sitting on dreams, of the easy road holding off chances to make a dent in the universe.

I’d thought myself not good enough to dream, beaten down and hopeless, just happy to survive another day. Worry had ruled far too long.

Those days are over. It is time to start on the first steps of a new journey. It is time to get back in the game.

So I’ll fight with words, new projects, new books and bigger dreams. With a desire to inspire anyone who takes a moment to read and find hope.

Are you with me? Check out Mosaic’s podcast and stream the message titled What Do You Want?  I promise you will not be the same.

~Matt

 

The Journey

Tonight Val and Carter leave for a long drive to Florida.  They are headed to her family reunion.  Heading back home from dropping them off, crossing under the night sky in the midst of lightning, my mind went to the concept of the Journey.

As writers we talk about the Hero’s Journey. We know that stories follow a certain flow and that, most great ones, keep to this formula.  Sometimes you’ll find a fresh take that will catch on but, looking back, the main points are the same.

On Sunday we went to the cemetery to visit the graves of my grandparents.  I stood over the marker bearing my grandfather’s name, a small American flag blowing in the wind just above it.

I thought of the days we’d spent together.

He would take me fishing in the morning, park his old truck on the side of the road, and lead me around a pond large enough that we could have room to cast our lines. We’d get home to find my grandmother had made lunch; turkey sandwiches and fresh iced tea, and we’d sit on the porch.

He’d tell me about the war, about battles and marching for miles up the middle of Italy.

We had just told him about Val being pregnant with Aiden before he was called home to Heaven.

His journey had ended as mine continued.

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The process is a double-edged sword. I get intimidated at the thought of what my boys will remember about growing up.  It is inspiring to think of the road that remains and the work still to be done.

I know God isn’t finished with us.

I wish I’d learned to grasp his my grandfather’s sense of peace.  He faced down enemies attempting to take his life, seen things I couldn’t have imagined, and was able to take his only grandson fishing on quiet mornings.

I wish I’d learned his strength. When he spoke, you listened.  It was the virtue of a man of few words.  He was a rock, in my memory, for better or worse a member of the generation that raised men without the attacks of today’s societal forces.

I’m working on learning his storytelling.  In two sentences he’d given me an image: his back against a low concrete wall with chips of it flying in his face as bullets hit above. He was on a front line attack attempting to liberate a village of people he hadn’t known and would never see again, in the midst of a war that had taken him away from a wife and two children.

When he spoke, I could see it.

Tonight, I pray your journey is also inspiring.  I pray you have a past you can draw from for strength, inspiration, or the anger to push through when you are on the last moment energy. Have courage.

Write your hero in a dark spot and watch them fight their way out.

Know that you will do the same.

~Matt

 

Invested

We live in a world of noise.

Over the past week, I’ve worked in an office spot that allowed me a view of a waiting room television. It stays on one channel throughout the week, the local ABC affiliate, and the day is a cycle of news and talk shows.

Everyone has an agenda. Nothing is unbiased. Between shootings and alligators taking children, Florida is in the midst of a horrific stretch.

I’ve subscribed to a few different newsletters and one gave me something valuable on Wednesday.  It included a free copy of Steven Pressfield’s new book, No One Wants to Read Your Sh*t and What You Can do About It.

I loved his book, The War of Art and this is another powerhouse about writing. His opening chapters make a powerful point.

No one wants to hear what you have to say.

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There is a solution to this problem, according to Pressfield.

Know your concept. Inject it with emotion. Make it unique. Make it stand out.

We often write, and speak, to hear ourselves talk.  We stand on our message and think, for the sake of our own importance, it will automatically spread like wildfire.

Some marriages and families operate like this for years.

Emotion, and honesty, are risks. What if we lived like we had to earn our audience? How would that change our communication? How would it shape our stories?

This weekend, think about investing value into your days. Make the conversations and experiences count.

As a husband and father, I’m trying my best with Val and the boys. I’m trying my best with myself, looking into the mirror and being honest, having faith, and keeping the courage to move forward.

If you are alive and reading this, your story isn’t over yet. Make it count.

~Matt