Tag Archives: faith


March 15, 2014:

When he was alive, my dad had ADD and a nasty habit of flaking out on his family. He was the kind of guy who could get in his van, head to the store to buy a package of steak for dinner, and decide halfway there to hit the highway because suddenly he would rather drive to Georgia than buy his steak or head back home. Five days later, he would come home with no real explanation for his temporary disappearance or regard to the appointments he’d missed with his family or accountability to the promises he’d broken in order to satisfy his bout of distraction. He would just come home (with the package of steak he’d gone out for in the first place), hit the grill or go to bed depending on the time of night he’d walk in, or sit down in front of the television as if no time had passed. Of course, four days earlier I might’ve been eager to tell him about something he’d think was awesome, but whatever it was, it had since lost its relevance, or I’d forget about it, and that was that.

His was a self-control issue. I could go into a discussion about his battles with various substances, including alcohol, to make my point, but I think the story tells itself better when one considers how he broke his promise to me (and two of my friends) to take me (and my friends) to a water park down in Dania, Florida, called Six Flags Atlantis. I was just a kid. I hadn’t previously been to this water park, but I had heard so many awesome things about it that I couldn’t wait to finally go for the first time. Dad had promised to take my friends and I to the park that day, but only after we visited the nearby comic book convention first. My friends and I were cool with that because there were things we could browse, and checking out comics before racing down twisting waterslides was not a bad way to spend the day. But time was ticking away, and we were quickly losing hours, and I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t have enough time to enjoy the park once we got there. Dad assured me we would have time, not to worry. Then he went looking for more comics to buy. I remained worried. I continued to paw at comics to pass the time, but desperately wanted out so I could get on with having his promise to take us to the water park fulfilled.

Eventually the moment came that we were finally ready to leave, with time to spare. I was relieved. I wish my relief had endured.

“We’re gonna have to cancel Six Flags,” he told us. “I ran out of money. We’re heading home.”

Broken-hearted, I said okay. I hated the turn of events in that moment (and temporarily hated comics and all that they had stood for), but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was a young kid: I had no job, no income, and a dollar-a-week allowance. I was somewhere between the ages of eight and ten. I couldn’t afford the trip to the water park myself. My dad had broken his promise to me (and my two friends), and his folly would be repeated many times in other forms throughout the remaining eleven years of his life, up to and including pawning or selling the stuff I had worked hard for or had been gifted with at Christmases or birthdays to support his addictions.

That was my earthly father at his worst. That was my working model of faith.

“Now suppose one of you fathers is asked by his son for a fish; he will not give him a snake instead of a fish, will he? Or if he is asked for an egg, he will not give him a scorpion, will he?”
-Luke 11:11-12 NAS

Because my dad was so good at putting himself first in pretty much any decision he had faced, I was generally surprised when he did something sacrificial or just plain thoughtful. Often I had asked him to give me something specific (a bite of his dinner, a drink from his soda, a toy from the store); sometimes he would give, sometimes not. During big gift seasons (Christmases and birthdays) I would ask for a toy or a video game. When I was a kid, toys and video games were all I really cared about. Usually I had to save the big-ticket requests for my grandmother (his mom) and my Aunt Jeannine since they were the ones who could afford it. I rarely got what I had asked for out of him, unless it was something simple or inconsequential. Sure, occasionally he would bring home a new television or stereo to celebrate the big landscaping job he had taken, replacing the one he had sold or pawned months earlier to support his addictions. But that was for the family, something I could use, something all of us, including him, could use. It was less common to see him come home with anything just for me.

Less common, but not unheard of.

When I was eight, I was eager to check out Six Flags Atlantis for the first time. He failed that one. But I also had another prime interest: Transformers.

Shawn, my neighbor and friend, was out in his front yard playing with this new advanced Go-Bot thing, a toy Porsche that could transform into a toy robot, and I was a bit jealous. The thing was like a Go-Bot, but bigger, badder, and had more moveable parts. As a car, it rolled around on surfaces smoothly, doing everything that a Hot Wheels toy could do. As a robot, it had less mobility, and was really made for modeling, but it was awesome. It had wings, die-cast metal parts, and guns and rockets. He called it “Jazz.” I called it the greatest toy I had ever seen. I had suddenly wanted my own Transformer.

On Christmas that year, someone had informed my grandmother (dad’s mom) of my interest in this toy. Naturally, I was excited from anticipation. But my excitement became weary as the family gift giving that morning had become exhausted, and the extended family gift giving at Grandma’s house was burning through quickly. I had gone through my entire stash of gifts that day, disappointed at one piece of clothing or toy of marginal interest after another. Sure, I was appreciative of the things I was opening. At some point I think I might have even opened an Atari game, which was my other childhood obsession (Nintendo still had another year to make its debut, and it would be another three years before I’d get one of those, using my own money to buy it), but these things weren’t really what my heart had desired. I just wanted a Transformer, and none of the wrapped packages I had left to open resembled the little rectangular box that Transformers were contained in. The only thing that had given me any hope was the command to hold off on opening the big package in the corner of the living room until the end. I was skeptical. Maybe whatever was in there was cool, but it was far too big to be a Transformer. Whatever it was, it didn’t do its job to maintain my hope.

The night was coming to an end. I had finally reached the big one. The shape of the package inside was curious: bulky, hollow, bulky, hollow, bulky. I couldn’t make sense of it. Why did they insist I save this one for last? It couldn’t have been the thing I had asked for. Did they somehow think I would like this mysterious thing better? I had my doubts. But I wasn’t about to let in on them. I had to put on my happy face, if for no other reason but to please my family, the people who thought I would like whatever this thing was. I opened it. My childish heart fluttered. I was right. It wasn’t a Transformer.

It was three Transformers.

All of their boxes were taped together, hence the size of the package. I couldn’t believe it. I was now the proud owner of “Hound,” “Wheeljack,” and “Trailbreaker.” Greatest gift of my eighth year on this planet, courtesy of my grandmother and, I think, my uncle, and maybe one other person. I’m pretty sure it was my dad’s idea to conceal them all in the same wrapping. Whenever he was involved with a surprise, he was good at getting it right.

Inside each box came an official series catalogue. In the 1984-1985 toy season, there was only one series available. This series came with the legendary robots “Optimus Prime,” “Megatron,” “Bumblebee,” “Starscream,” “Jazz,” “Ironhide,” “Ratchet,” “Soundwave,” and a host of lesser-known but equally important characters that any Transformers fan would remember. There was a total of 18 “Autobots” and 11 “Decepticons” available to collect. (Yeah, I may have a sucky memory today, but I rarely forget my obsessions, and I was so obsessed back then that I had studied every inch of that catalogue, and even now I can see the matted action scene on the back side of the folded glossy featuring all of the characters engaged in a space battle). I was so intrigued by the possibility of seeing all of these Series One robots in person, even though I knew I would never have the opportunity to own them all, that every time I went with my mom to the grocery store, the mall, or the toy store (we had a Toys-R-Us back then, but we usually shopped at Lionel Playworld), I would look for the aisle that had the Transformers on display and dream about maybe taking one home, even though I knew that wasn’t gonna happen. And every time I checked that aisle, I would take a mental note of the robots I’d find. “Jazz” was common. “Hound” was a little rarer. Sometimes I’d dare ask for one, but the answer was always no, even when the toys I’d asked for retailed for about $10. I fished for my requests a lot. And I’d keep looking. Kept seeing the common ones. Kept looking for the lesser-knowns.

The presence of “Optimus Prime” or “Megatron” was hit or miss, but at $25 each, I knew asking for either was fruitless and expecting either was lunacy. I asked for them anyway, and I asked for them a lot. No Transformers collection was complete without having at least one faction leader on hand. But I knew how little my family had to give to my toy box, and my mom was strict with the finances, so my expectations were loose.

I’m sure my dad also knew that. But I’m also sure that he took delight in hitting me with surprises when I least expected them, especially when I stopped expecting them. Whenever he tried to surprise me, he would get creative about it. Whenever he had a surprise to offer, I had learned to stop expecting the expected. One of the biggest surprises I had gotten as a nine-year-old was him telling me to go look in the cabin of his truck for something he had gotten for me at the store. I had no idea what to expect. I went out to the truck (he followed behind to watch my reaction), opened the door, let the dome light fill the cabin (it was nighttime), and saw this larger-than-life box sitting on the passenger seat. “Optimus Prime” had come home.

If I were to take stock of all the times I had been surprised as a kid, and given how much I loved my small, albeit important, Transformers collection, it would make sense that finding the leader of the Autobots sitting on my dad’s passenger seat would be pretty top. After all, we’re talking about my childhood cartoon hero. Shoot, I’m in my thirties, and I still get goose bumps whenever Optimus Prime appears in the live action movies and starts ripping Decepticons apart. Naturally, when Optimus Prime became part of my toy collection, I was beside myself with happiness. It didn’t matter that, as a toy, he was pretty uncomplicated and offered no challenge to my skills of mechanical manipulation. My dad had surprised me with something I had spent months asking for, and it was bliss knowing that my request had been answered. Whatever selfish thing he might have rather spent his money on, he decided that that night, he would ignore it and give his kid a good gift. But, this wasn’t the top gift of my Transformers-obsessed childhood, contrary to popular belief. No, when I was nine, dad did something that went beyond my comprehension. Even now, as an adult, I’m stunned by it.

As I said, one of the ways I had satisfied my obsessions was to travel the toy aisles in search for elusive robots. But, like all things that pique my curiosities, the same old same old got lame fast, and seeing the likes of “Ironhide” or “Prowl” everywhere, all the time, got tiring, even to me. The kids would bring their Ironhides and Prowls to school. One kid had even brought in his Megatron (a toy gun, which, by the way, the schools had no concern over back then, because, you know, they were toys and the adults knew they were harmless), and we fans would beg him for the opportunity to “transform” him. But the opportunities to see Prowl in action, or any others that had commonly surfaced, didn’t do much to quench my desire to see the rare ones in action. I wanted new; I wanted different. Yet, I never really spoke of those names that I could never find.

Enter “Sunstreaker.”

In the animated series, Sunstreaker was a virtual no-show. He had, to my memory, one episode with his brother, “Sideswipe,” a much more common character—one of the most common, if I recall—and at least one appearance in the animated movie from 1986. But he was one of the coolest in the lineup because he was a Lamborghini, and not just any Lamborghini; he was a yellow Lamborghini—classy, slick, and uncatchable. As if it should be no surprise, he was one of the fastest movers in the Autobot clan. Only his brother Sideswipe, a red Lamborghini, could hold a candle to him. But he was also one of the sleekest in robot form. Just an interesting character all around. Even cooler than the bulky twin that had a completely different robot mode.

As a toy, he was the most elusive character from Series One. In the catalogue, I took notice of him quickly because he was the one character I could never, ever find. I didn’t know of anyone who had him in his collection. No store I explored had him on the shelf. And there was no Amazon.com circa 1985. Sunstreaker was, in a word, impossible to own. I had never even spoken of him to my parents because the thought of seeing him in the store was hopeless, and the thought of adding him to the collection was ludicrous. Sunstreaker was the character that would live on in that unattainable part of my heart, the same place where the hope of starting my own family seems to live on today, never to rise into that place of hope or expectation. It just simply wasn’t meant to be.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up on a Sunday morning, sleep still in my eyes, and looked over to the corner of my bedroom to notice something highly unusual about my dresser. There was a sealed box sitting on top. A Transformers box. A Transformers box with a yellow Lamborghini encased in the plastic seal and a cartoon image of Sunstreaker posing beside the window.

I was speechless. Speechless before erupting with thanks. Actionless before giving my dad a big hug. I hadn’t remembered ever saying anything about wanting to find, much less own, this toy, but it didn’t stop him from understanding that this was the one at the top of my request list, and I would remain restless until the day I saw it with my own eyes. I never dreamed I would actually hold Sunstreaker in my hands or claim that he was part of my toy collection. Dad had taken the silent thing that I never spoke of but still wanted so badly (to see Sunstreaker in person) and did one better. And this was the same man who, in spite of his faults, failures, and broken promises throughout the years, had somehow stashed eight Go-bots on his body when I was sick in bed and every couple of minutes would reveal one, telling me, “Perhaps what you need is another Go-bot.”

“If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?”
-Luke 11:13 NAS

My dad passed away in late December 1995, and any gift he had ever wanted to give prior to that day but didn’t, he would no longer have the opportunity to give. Outstanding debts were stuck in limbo. Empty promises would remain empty. On that late December evening, the job of being a father to me went exclusively to God, my heavenly Father. And given the kind of unpredictable earthly father I had, I had gone into this transition with numerous faith issues. I had spent years praying for my dad to overcome his addictions. It had taken his death for him to finally let go of them. Maybe that was a matter of free will, and maybe he was so stuck on what he wanted that he didn’t want to let go of what was clearly ruining his family dynamic. But I still asked for it. I still wanted a dad that didn’t flake out at any given moment, or rob his son of hard-earned possessions to pay for the vices that kept him enslaved (we can critique my childhood toy vice another time). I just wanted a dad who did his part to be a father. Consistently. Not just when he felt like it. Something pretty much all of us want and few of us ever get. I never did get that. God is, was, and will ever be the only one who can be that kind of father, and, let’s be honest, it’s hard to cry out to a dad that I can’t even see, or ask of things when it’s so easy to misread or mishear His answers. Watching my earthly father fall apart after enduring years of broken promises left me with a shaky faith. Having my own personal problems that I couldn’t control, that had little to do with another person’s free will, and waiting forever for the prayers I’d prayed regarding them to receive an answer, had left me with anxiety and shaky hope. Patience had always been required of me, but enduring it has never been an easy practice. Even today I struggle because, as I’ve mentioned in another recent journal, I’ve prayed tirelessly for the last twenty years for the opportunity to meet a good woman and start a family and to take on an income that would make doing so possible—my prayer obsession today and rival to any amount of heart I had devoted to my Transformers collection of yesteryear—and yet everything that looks like an opportunity is in fact a misread. I feel like my hands have gone bloody from all the asking, seeking, and knocking I’ve been doing. It has become more than an Optimus Prime moment for me. It has been my Sunstreaker. Sometimes the waiting for it leaves me in pieces. It’s not just a deep-seated hope that constantly eludes me; it’s the thing that keeps my faith on edge. It’s the thing that, in spite of those messages of hope I sometimes receive, whether through the words of a stranger or the acts that God performs through His sovereign hand, I still wait for, and trust Him for, and even respond with hope when the opportunity seems to arise, and it leaves me discouraged when that hope is shattered by someone else’s free will taking it all away, giving me no opportunity to fight for it, or punishing me with abandonment when I decide to fight for it anyway. When those messages of hope arise, it feels like thievery and broken promises when circumstances call for their destruction. I need that reminder of the time when my dad surprised me to keep those moments from hollowing me out inside.

“And [Jesus] said to them, ‘Suppose one of you shall have a friend, and shall go to him at midnight, and say to him, “Friend, lend me three loaves; for a friend of mine has come to me from a journey, and I have nothing to set before him”; and from inside he shall answer and say, “Do not bother me; the door has already been shut and my children and I are in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.” I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his persistence he will get up and give him as much as he needs. And I say to you, ask, and it shall be given to you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and he who seeks, finds; and to him who knocks, it shall be opened.’”
-Luke 11:5-10 NAS

My dad can’t surprise me anymore, but God sure can. Many friends and family now know about my infamous “dolphin prayer” that I had prayed in late spring/early summer of 2012. As I often did and still do, I was struggling with my trust issues and how they related to prayer, and wanted to reach that state in my spirit that I could finally let go of my fears, insecurities, and senses of hopelessness, and trust God for anything and everything. I wanted to believe that “ask, seek, knock” is a real thing. So, after taking a friend’s advice to start a prayer journal, I had come up with a series of insignificant things to ask God for, things like a free dinner and an invitation to a pool party, just to see if my prayers were heard and if they had even mattered. I called it the “prayer block.” Among the things on that list included a free dinner, a free computer monitor (I couldn’t afford a store-bought one), a free car stereo (my current one had a broken CD player, and I was forgoing much needed trips out of town because I get tired without music, and I couldn’t afford to replace that either), $100 in the mail (just because why not?), all of which had since been answered within a few months (the $100 in the mail was my insurance check to replace the car stereo that was stolen from me later that year when my car itself had been stolen and its steering column damaged, and even though that $100 paid for a new car stereo with working CD player, I had never claimed that the $100 should be mine to spend on whatever I wanted or that someone else had to physically hand me the already-paid-for stereo, so I considered that two prayers answered in one). But the most insignificant member of my prayer list, one that was so easy to check as answered, the desire to see a whale or a dolphin in the wild (really, God could just tap the underside of a dolphin at that one moment I happened to be looking at the ocean, and send it just high enough above the surface of the water that I could see it, and I can call it “fulfilled”), ended up becoming that summer’s obsession, because God would not answer me, no matter how often I asked, no matter how often I sought, not matter how often I knocked, and it was driving me crazy because it was so simple—way simpler than asking Him to provide a path to that one woman that He knows would take me seriously as a love interest, and certainly way simpler than leading my dad to the right store at the right time with the right amount of money in his pocket to bring home the ever-elusive Sunstreaker.

I went to the beach three or four times a week. I’d walk the shoreline two miles north and two miles back, getting exercise and giving God plenty of opportunities to provide the answer to this prayer. For two and a half months I would persist in my prayer. “Just let me see the freakin’ dolphin,” I’d cry out. Of course, God knew what I was really asking: “Answer my freakin’ eighteen-year-old prayer.” He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t let me see that dang dolphin, in spite of me looking at the ocean, the place where dolphins live, giving Him many opportunities to show me. I had started this prayer in early June. By late August, I had given up asking. It was pointless. Stupid. It was obvious God would not be manipulated by my prayer block. It was obvious that He would answer only the prayers that He wanted to, and my reasons for wanting to see this dolphin weren’t in accordance to His plan, or something philosophical like that.

Or, maybe, just maybe, it had nothing to do with any of that. Maybe he was just preparing to pull a Sunstreaker on me.

That summer was the summer that I had begun getting my walking exercise at the beach. My routine was and is that I’d park on the other side of the Intercoastal for additional exercise and to save on parking fees. On a Thursday in late September, more than a month after I had stopped asking God to answer my dolphin prayer, I was walking across the bridge to head for the beach when I spotted a dinosaur perched on the seawall. It was actually an iguana, but the thing was at least two feet long and probably weighed about thirty pounds. I was tempted to take a photo of it, but because I was planning to walk the shoreline, and the turbulent ocean loves to get my pockets wet, I decided to leave my phone in the car. So I kept walking, crossed A1A, entered the beach parking lot, headed for the sand, and started my journey northward. Seeing the iguana was cool, but it was nothing I had asked for, and I didn’t give it anymore thought once I’d reached the shore.

I had completed my roundtrip walk without having any prayers answered. I wasn’t surprised. Wasn’t even thinking about it anymore. I left the shore, left the sand, headed across the parking lot and across A1A, and started walking toward the bridge. As I neared the base, a man from Pennsylvania was riding his bike toward me, mentally preoccupied with two things: the 24-pack of beer under his arm and the creature that was swimming around in the dead waters of the Intercoastal. When he pointed at the swirling wake in the water, I had said, “Oh, that iguana must’ve jumped in.” I was disappointed because I was on my way back to my car to get my phone so I could get a picture of the thing. And now it had jumped in. Needless to say, the northerner was fascinated by the prospect of seeing a two-foot lizard swimming around in the Intercoastal. Yet, he was also skeptical. “What iguana?” I told him I had seen an iguana sunning itself on the wall. Then I pointed at the location where I had seen it. Then I was surprised. The iguana was still there, right where I had left it an hour earlier. Then what was that thing swimming in the water?

Everyone, including me, thought it was a shark. It was a dark creature that swam high enough to show its round-tipped dorsal fin but not one that would surface Jaws-style to devour lizards, fisherman, or anything that someone might’ve thrown in. It was just a roving shark, seeking whatever God commanded it to seek. I thought, “Well, it’s not really what I had asked for, but it’s something.” My spirit was giving me another signal: “Everything you’ve been told is true. This is how I’ll answer your big prayer: in the place and time that you least expect it.” I didn’t know how to turn my heart and brain off enough to “least expect it” because when I pray for anything specific, especially for the deepest desires of my heart, I prepare for the possibility every time I walk out my front door, even if my faith for it is shaky. But the message was nonetheless clear to me. I hadn’t seen the dolphin, but I did see something close enough to what I had asked for that the point was made. I went to my car, grabbed my phone, got to the lizard a minute too late to get a decent photo, went back to my car, and left the park. Later, I told my mom about the shark I had seen in the Intercoastal. She looked at me with confusion, clearly knowing something about the waterway that I didn’t. “There are no sharks down by the bridge,” she told me. “What you saw was a dolphin.”

I don’t know if the dolphin became my present-day Sunstreaker, or just a present-day Optimus Prime, but seeing it reminded me of something real, true, and maybe profound. It had certainly refueled my faith. It had reminded me that God hears me. It had reminded me that He’ll even answer me—in His timing and in His way. Yeah, I could’ve just gone to Sea World or the Miami Seaquarium to check this one off my list. Sometimes faith requires action, and sometimes we answer our own prayers, or, as some people have made popular, “make our own luck.” But I’m convinced that action can be anything, and letting God answer prayer His way and through His wisdom is far more satisfying to me, and sometimes less costly, sometimes, than doing it myself. After all, I’m an idiot. I thought seeing dolphins from the beach or a boat was the only way to see them. Nope, God knows better how to reach me and how best to answer my prayers and how, incidentally, to best surprise me.

“I’ll answer your big prayer in the time and place that you least expect it.” Kind of like waking up on a Sunday morning to see Sunstreaker sitting on my dresser, in spite of me never telling my dad I wanted it, but God knowing that my heart desired it more than anything else in childhood. It didn’t matter that Sunstreaker was one of the clunkiestly-designed Transformers from the original series or that he was the hardest one to use given how badly the toy company designed his arms. What mattered was that I had needed my heart fulfilled, and God used an incompetent dad and poorly-designed toy to remind me that faith is not a temporary thing, that all prayers are heard even if we don’t like the answers or solutions, and that we shouldn’t let circumstances convince us that what we hope for is impossible. Because I couldn’t make a dolphin pop up out of the ocean or feel satisfied that God had answered my prayer in His special way if I had to look for it at an aquatic preserve, and because I couldn’t do anything on my own to see, much less own, Sunstreaker, I know that sometimes I’m at God’s mercy. Yet, it’s at His mercy that our prayers seem to have the biggest impacts.

“Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it shall be opened. Or what man is there among you, when his son shall ask him for a loaf, will give him a stone? Or if he shall ask for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him! Therefore, however you want people to treat you, so treat them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.”
-Matthew 7:7-12 NAS

I may still struggle with asking God for the desires of my heart. Those feelings of robbery and broken promises surface every time I respond to an opportunity in faith, especially those that come to me in a time and place I least expect, and the person that could be the instrument to fulfill that hope and that prayer has other plans in mind. Even with God’s sovereignty, free will takes all bets off the table. Dad didn’t have to bring home Optimus Prime or Sunstreaker. Likewise, he didn’t have to blow all of his money at the comic book convention when his kid and his kid’s friends trusted him to take them to Six Flags Atlantis. But sometimes he did his part and listened and responded. Eventually I made it to the water park, as did my friends. It was a year later, and my mom had to take me, but I got there. One day I’ll get my own family started. Eventually, someone will discover the desire stirring in her heart and respond favorably. I know that discovery will happen by divine appointment. God, like my earthly father, has a habit of surprising me when I least expect it.

It has become my core understanding. And it all started with a yellow Lamborghini that could transform into a robot.


The Silver 1978

Originally posted to Blogspot on:

January 31, 2014

Earlier this week my pastor brought up a small but relevant point about the voice of God. In short, he reminded us that we never really hear it. Not the audible voice at least. Not like we did in Moses’ time. If I go to a snowy mountaintop in Alaska right now, expecting to hear God’s mighty voice of instruction for improving my life, I might hear some heavy wind, and some crackling trees, and I’ll probably freeze to death in the long, dark night, but I probably won’t hear the audible voice of God tell me, “Get off this mountain before you freeze to death!” In my spirit, however, I’ll likely hear him warning me plenty well using a wonderful tool he has in his human creation arsenal called “common sense” and another tool called “body temperature.” Of course, if those fail to warn me, maybe the old man in the cabin will. Doesn’t matter—if God tells me to get somewhere warmer, He’ll know how to reach my ears. Whether I listen to Him is another story. However, if I have any sense, then I’ve already heard Him. I won’t need to hear him shouting it at me from Mt. McKinley for His words to be so clear.

Why do we want to hear the voice of God? Well, we want instruction generally. We want resulting peace, prosperity, or whatever makes us better. Many of us are pioneers at heart and know that we can solve our own problems and make our own choices without asking or even acknowledging God’s position on the issue, if we just find the right combination of actions, or perform the right guesswork. We have free will, and if we don’t want to ask God for help, we don’t have to. Maybe we’ll spin the roulette wheel and it’ll land on the number or color we want. Risky, but we’ll do fine if we actually get what we want. Maybe we’ll spin the wheel again. Maybe we’ll land on the wrong color this time. Maybe we can correct our mistake by spinning again. Maybe we can’t. Maybe our failure leaves us humble. Maybe we ask God for help after all. Would we even hear Him speak if we did? How would we know if we’ve heard Him? He doesn’t exactly shout to us from the mountaintop anymore.

Knowing when God speaks is a tricky thing because it often comes suddenly and deeply. We understand that the audible voice of God is something that only a few have heard and haven’t heard since the Old Testament days. Doesn’t mean He’s silent. Doesn’t mean He ignores us when we talk to Him. Just means we have to do better to train our ears.

In 2003, a friend was turning 25, and I had thought of this cool idea to do something creative for her birthday gift. I didn’t want to do anything fancy or crazy—just something neat and somewhat memorable, something I couldn’t buy, and something that couldn’t be duplicated for any other occasion. I decided to write something interesting about turning a quarter of a century and paste an actual quarter from the year of her birth, 1978, to the card. Sweet, cheesy, but memorable. I knew it would be appreciated.

Problem was, I didn’t have a quarter from 1978 on hand, and I had less than a week to pull this off. So, I did what anybody who likes God’s help would do; I prayed that I’d find one before it was too late.

I was no money hoarder. I didn’t have mountains of change to convert, or a stack of bills to break down. What I had was not entirely sufficient. I did have an ATM and a cafeteria at the hospital I worked at, so I had access to quarters. And every time I went to lunch, or bought a cookie, or converted my dollars into change, I’d keep my eyes open for that 1978 quarter. Yet, none appeared, no matter how many times I’d go making change to find one. I asked coworkers to search their pockets and wallets for that elusive year. None turned up what I had wanted. Time was ticking away. My friend’s birthday was closing in. Several days had passed and I was nearly out of time. I began to wonder if God had even heard my prayer.

On Sunday this week, my pastor opened his point about hearing God speak to us by asking, “How many of you know that God has a sense of humor?” Well, back in 2003, when the desire to finish this custom gift had reached the eleventh hour, I’d experienced that answer firsthand.

My job at the hospital was to take inventory of any equipment that belonged to my department and catalogue its location. That meant scanning each volumetric infusion pump, each gastrointestinal suction pump, each feeding pump, and so on that we could find, every morning, and it meant supplying requested machines to needed rooms, and decontaminating used equipment prior to returning them to our storage room, and it meant, essentially, that I had free reign to travel to all four corners of the hospital, including critical care rooms, the emergency room, and any of the hundreds of patient rooms on the hospital’s floor plan.

I had been spending most of my week hunting for that quarter, searching every known quarter-supply outlet I knew, and praying for God to supply me one before time was up, but to no avail. I was getting restless. I was losing heart. Then, partway through my shift, on what I believe was the last day before I’d see my friend and have nothing to offer for her birthday, I was walking into a patient’s room with either a pump or the handheld tracker (doesn’t matter what, and I really don’t remember), basically dismayed and ready to give up, when I accidentally bumped into the patient’s table and suddenly heard the voice of God go clink, clink, clink, clinkclinkclinkclinkclink….

I looked at my feet and saw the patient’s pillar of quarters (yes, he didn’t have just a couple pieces of loose change sitting on his table; he had a tall stack of quarters sitting on the edge—really, who does that, in a hospital room no less?) now lying all over the floor around me, and I just felt God saying, “There you go. Prayer answered.” I just stared at the pile, smirked, and felt not even remotely surprised as I knelt down, grabbed at the first quarter that caught my attention, flipped it over, and saw the year 1978 staring right back at me. When I told the patient I had been looking for this and offered to trade him (as I was picking them up—I didn’t just make a mess and leave!), he told me to just take it. So, when I got home, I pasted it to that index card, wrote my note, and ended up putting a smile on a friend’s face for birthday number 25. (The note itself helped, but I don’t remember what I’d written, so I can’t share that now. Sorry.)

In the past I used to think the voice of God was the same thing as the voice in my head. Sometimes I still think it’s possible that God speaks to us in actual words that can double as our thoughts. Honestly, I’m no expert on the subject. However, my experience with that has been poor and generally misleading. But that day I finally understood not only that God speaks to us on occasion, but I also figured out what He sounds like. It isn’t verbal so much as it’s just a silent but understood language spoken to our spirits. I had spent all week praying to find that quarter. I was beginning to think my prayer wouldn’t get answered. Yet, just as He’s done in times since that day, He answered it in the one way I wouldn’t expect Him to. I thought I’d find my quarter in a cash register or a friend’s wallet. Nope, God decided I was better off finding it in a stack of change on a random patient’s bedside table that I’d eventually accidentally bump into, aka the most ridiculous way possible. Thanks, Lord.

There’s something to be said about that fine moment when peace overcomes a person’s heart. Sometimes it comes in the form of relief: That test we’ve spent all week studying for, dreading, losing sleep over, and suddenly finish, leaving us happy to get it over with. We expect the ending; we expect that luscious moment when there is nothing more we can do but wait. Then we fear the unknown: What if we fail? We won’t get our license. We won’t get our perfect record. Then we get the results and respond. If we pass with flying colors, we celebrate at a fine restaurant. If we fail, we question what went wrong and start thinking of ways we can do better next time, if there is a next time. Peace has its price. Peace has its reward. We have to allow it into our hearts if we want it at all. We have to surrender our pride and admit that we don’t have all the answers, and that sometimes we just have to believe that God has a better way, and a better system for getting us there. That peace is basically what the voice of God tends to sound like to me, not just a basic peace in my heart, but a targeted peace in my spirit. I tend not to trust the voice in my head alone, especially when it tries to convince me that a formula is required to get what I want, or that I even deserve what I want. Not once did the Lord tell me I’d find that quarter. It was only after I had seen the mass of quarters at my feet that I knew He had heard me and wanted to help me. I didn’t have to check the stack to know that 1978 was in there, waiting to be picked up and pasted to a card. Obviously, I had to thank God for that. It was certainly one of His finer answers to my prayers. Ironically, it was also the one that made the most sense to me.

I should also thank my pastor for rekindling that memory this week.

That Old Rusty Formula

Originally posted to MySpace on:

June 5, 2007:

Recently, I’ve been hearing a lot about this new book and movie craze called The Secret. At first I thought it was a movie starring that kid from 3rd Rock from the Sun—and I really don’t know why I thought that, random brain activity I guess—but later came to find out that it was a lesson in forcing what we want through positive thinking. Interesting.

As New Agey as it may seem, and probably is, it makes a good point: positive thinking brings positive results. Fair enough. Obviously it speaks some truth, because the entire world is biting into it the way a starving man on a desert island might bite into a Big Mac. If it didn’t work, the masses would throw the book into the fire. Right?

Well, if it weren’t any surprise, the Christian community has picked up on some of its principles and applied its meaning to its own sense of faith. Admirable, I think, considering the speed at which we condemned rock music and Harry Potter for its blatant promotions of evil. Because of this idea of viewing the “Law of Attraction,” as it’s called, as a form of faith, I have to admit that the possibility of finding out more about it “attracted” me. After all, if it really does show me how to attract what I want—to essentially step up my faith a notch—then it must be a good thing. Right? Right?

A few weeks ago, my Wednesday night Bible study decided to spend a week studying it. So now, after all the hype surrounding it, I got to see what it was all about for myself. And with all the visual stunners, like that wave of some crazy force ring shooting out like a pulsar cannon from the thoughts of those who dream of big houses and sexy wives, I have to say I was impressed with the production. With all the positive thinking that obviously went into it, all I could think was that the geniuses who made this film were certainly tapping into the “Law of Attraction” when they told themselves they would be gazillionaires someday.

Jokes aside, I could understand why the Christian community jumped on board with this phenomenon. It encourages faith—I mean, it has to—the whole point of the Law of Attraction is to see yourself with the very thing you want, which to me requires a heck of a lot of faith. If a penniless nobody can say he wants to make $100,000, actually draw (in marker) the extra zeroes onto a one dollar bill so that he can see the hundred grand as reality, and then somehow sell his $.25 concept to a tabloid and call it “Chicken Soup for the Soul,” then obviously somewhere in that equation he had more than a mustard seed’s worth of faith, because we all know what became of that little $.25 idea. A hundred grand is merely chump change now.

For those who haven’t seen the video, though, I’m not gonna spoil it for you. The bottom line is that this methodology teaches us that whatever we set our minds on, that’s what becomes reality. To some degree, I can accept this. For those who really believe in their abilities, somehow they make it work. But there has to be a line.

When the video was over, I had one nagging problem: the idea of making reality of what we think about. In the video, it talks about how a man who focuses primarily on getting out of debt is still thinking about debt, and thus he’ll never get out of it (because the “universe”—New Agey term—thinks he wants the debt because he keeps thinking about it and yada yada yada). Again, I can sort of see where this might apply. But, at the same time, from a Christian standpoint, it has one fatal flaw: our relationship with God, namely.

Here’s the thing: the Christian community can accept this thing called the Law of Attraction, because it promotes faith. But where the Christian community is completely turning the deaf ear is that this form of faith rules out relationship. In other words, if I’m asking God to help me out of debt, then, according to the Law of Attraction, I am still thinking about my debt, and thus God will keep me in debt.


The workaround, of course, comes back to positive thinking, as the creators of this video might say. “Don’t think about debt,” they say, “but think about prosperity. If you dwell on prosperity, then you’ll have prosperity.” Fine, if you say so. I’ll have prosperity.

But why should I have to say it like that?

If this Law of Attraction is a real thing that God can use to answer our prayers, then isn’t it still possible that God has complete control over how it works? If He doesn’t, then how are we supposed to be ourselves before Him if we’re too busy nitpicking over vocabulary, trying to manipulate Him into blessing us?

My understanding of the Bible, and thus, my understanding of my own existence is to have a relationship with my Heavenly Father. Shouldn’t that mean, then, that I have freedom to tell Him exactly how I feel, and trust that He’ll hear me for my heart and not for my AOL keywords? If He doesn’t hear me for what I bring before His throne, then what is the point of trusting Him with my heart?

So that’s the thing that left me unsettled as I dwelt on this theory—which could have some truth to it, as some people do make it work. But then, that brings us to another point.

First of all, I’m not going to continue this journal pretending that I know everything. I don’t. I know some things in biblical context, though there is still plenty more that I don’t have a clue about. My memory skills suck when it comes to verses and song lyrics (though I could probably still tell you the names, identities, and allegiances to every single character from the first season of the original Transformers—how sad is that?), so I’m not the grand authority of all things spiritual. Because of this, I tend to seek counsel in these matters when I turn up clueless. Sometimes I find it in Christian “rulebooks.” Lately, I’ve just been asking people that I trust to know the Spirit better than I do. After spending the last few weeks trying to figure out how the Law of Attraction coincides with God’s will, I finally asked a mentor.

Having said that, keep in mind that most everything to follow from this point on are not my own thoughts, but a redevelopment of the conversation that a friend of mine and I had about God, faith, and the direction that ministry is heading.

There’s a reason why I had this problem with the Law of Attraction as an absolute—as the video would describe it to me. It’s because it pigeonholes God’s authority in my life. It puts control into my own hands, and more or less disregards His personal will for my life. Maybe this thing does work, for some people, but does it mean it’s the right thing?

The Secret and the Christian church’s adoption of its principles as a form of faith subscribe to a key issue that controls western thought: it’s all about the marketing.


Never mind that God is sovereign, free to bless people His own way and in His own time—if He chooses to bless us at all. No, according to this new marketing trend, all Christians are automatically promised prosperity (remember Jeremiah 29:11—my favorite verse to be perpetually taken out of context?), and so the positive thinking trick guarantees us the desires of our hearts.

As long as we don’t think a single ill thought against it.

What?!!! That sounds a bit limiting for God, the author of the world, doesn’t it? Also gives a little too much power to the Devil, the Force, and Jedi Master Yoda, all of who, despite our fears, can’t actually read our minds. Only God has that kind of authority.

God is creative, am I right? Does He not know the desires of our hearts before we even ask? Does He not know of the best path in which to see His will fulfilled in our lives? Of course He does. So why does the Christian church throw heaps and heaps of formulas in His way?

Years ago a friend of mine told me that he would never again read another book about relationships. Why? They seemed to be pretty harmless, certainly informative, and probably the surest bet to finding “the one,” and having the best relationship possible with “the one.” So why stop reading them?

Because they’re formulaic? Because they take the adventure out of life? Because they limit God from establishing things His own way, should He choose to even make it happen? Hmm, the truth kinda takes the thunder out of “How To” books, doesn’t it?

Why are Christians disappointed when a church promises prosperity if they “get their heart right with God” just to wind up in debt, in bad relationships, or being falsely accused of murder? Didn’t God promise the desires of my heart—of prosperity—according to Jeremiah 29:11, the most out of context verse ever? I thought I was supposed to do this and that and then my dreams would come true. If only I had read my Bible more, my dreams would come true. If only I had tithed more, my dreams would come true.

If churches told us that only some of us would prosper, while the rest of us would fight the rest of our lives for the desires of our hearts just to die poor and alone with 28 cats, then would we be interested in going back? Western culture, says “hell no,” so squeaky clean Reverend Mafia Man (apparently they exist—yikes!!!) tells us that prosperity is eminent so that we keep coming back and filling the coffers. Marketing genius. Spiritual suicide.

Why does the starving Christian want to put more hope in The Secret than he does in the sovereign will of God? Marketing. Is God not good if He doesn’t fulfill the desires of man’s heart? Or is He just? Would the CEO of Starbucks love God if God told him, “All right, now it’s time to try something new; go spend the next ten years getting to know the common man while running the register at Burger King.” Or would he be fighting God on the matter, arguing about how such a move would affect his God-promised prosperity? If he argues, then why would he? Is he no longer content with the will of God? If the CEO of Starbucks didn’t rate his prosperity on the size of his limo, would he be content, then, with a rusted jalopy from 1923? Probably not. Marketing strikes again.

So why then do some people make the Law of Attraction work? If it puts a limit on God’s sovereignty, then why can some people still get what they want through positive thinking? Here’s a better question: why do the wicked prosper if prosperity is meant for “those with faith?” My theory on the wicked prospering had always been that this is the best they’ll have. For them to prosper now is like God having compassion on them in light of their destructive future. But the friend I talked to about this the other night had a better theory: prosperity, like everything else, is a gift bestowed among certain people. Just as a wicked man can paint a glorious portrait through the gift of creativity (as can a Christian with the same gift), so can a wicked man turn three dollars into a million if he has the gift of business (as can a Christian with the same gift). Not everyone will have the ability to do both (I, for example, have creativity, but my business sense is atrocious), so not everyone should expect to have both (or either, if that’s the case).

The bottom line is that Secret or no Secret, God is sovereign and He can do whatever He wants. If He wants to prosper us, then good for us. If He wants to let us die in captivity, then we should probably learn to like it. In the end, it’s unfair of us to limit our relationship with Him to certain boundaries so that the formulas of prosperous Christian living can endure. Isn’t it better to live each day as it is, continue to ask for the desires of our heart, be content with the answer He gives us, whether it’s what we want or not, and let Him flourish in His ways and in His story for our lives? I might get discouraged at times for seeing opportunities I’ve desired float away far beyond my reach, but then, how would I ever be content if I got every blasted thing I ever wanted? I’d just end up wanting more anyway.

Of course, if God wanted to be the Father who gives to His prodigal son, then that’s His business. It’s not my job to grumble it. It’s my job to love Him anyway and do what I can to follow the path He’s lit for me.

Anyway, these were just some issues that came up during this processing time. After spending many sessions of positive thinking toward the things I wanted in the past, just to have them rejected anyway, kinda tells me that the “Law of Attraction” is just a thing that some people can use, but ultimately doesn’t override the sovereign will of God. If we trust Him with His will, then that’s what we’ll see come to pass. Whether or not that means pleasure for us is irrelevant. Whether or not we become an army He can use, however, is relevant. Submitting to God and letting Him do as He wills is a mark of faith, I think, and one that lets God be who He is through us. Yes, we can still ask God for the desires of our hearts—the Bible makes that clear—but true faith, I believe, accepts the answer regardless of what it might be.

If anyone would like to add a remark to this, please do, as I’d like to build a discussion here.

And you’re welcome to send this wherever you want, if you feel like it. But you don’t have to; this isn’t a chain letter. I know that you still love Jesus, even if you delete this. No accusations, hidden agendas, or condemnations here. Be who you are.

Breaking Conditioning

Another journal that predates the beginning of Drinking Cafe Latte at 1pm, this time written on:

November 17, 2004

It’s been awhile since I last posted a journal entry, but I suppose that’s largely because time constraints and lessons learned have been at odds with each other. I suppose it’s safe to say that I find more joy in writing fiction than jotting down my thoughts in this season of life. Since I’ve been trying my best to get various writing projects edited and completed this past year, other projects, including my written lessons, have been taking a back seat. But today I feel like I’ve discovered something about myself that’s worth remembering for the days, weeks, months, and years to come. Who knows? Maybe I can look back on this some day and actually feel like I’ve grown an inch or two.

First of all, I know that patience has been an ongoing struggle with me. It really doesn’t matter what I have to wait for; I just hate waiting for it. I get antsy, I get nervous, and odds usually lean in the favor of me getting stressed. It’s just something I’ve dealt with my whole life, and I don’t suppose it will ever fully go away. But that issue seems to conflict with a lot of important things in my life.

I suppose the best thing to do here is to jump right into the lesson because realistically any aspect of my life can fit into this equation.

I recently started a job waiting tables, which I’ve been curious about for awhile, but never really had the option to try until now. That’s all fine and dandy, but on the surface that doesn’t really seem like anything relevant to remember. But today I discovered something about myself (or at least found refinement in a discovery I had made some time ago), to which I think reveals my difficulty in trusting the Lord.

I need to clarify that there are some underlying things that I don’t question. The Bible says it’s true; therefore I believe it. My salvation is the primary area of my life that I just don’t question. If the Bible says I’ve been saved through Christ, then I believe it. I know that I have no power over such things as saving souls, including my own, but I believe Christ does. Because that is such a massive thing to believe, and yet so simple if I just accept it, I find it odd that I have a hard time believing Christ to take care of the lesser things—the things that I have some ability to work with on my own.

Now to get back on track, something I’ve known about myself for a little while is that I’m a conditioned individual. And this is partly to do with what I had started talking about in regards to serving tables. Essentially, I develop a mindset of things according to what repetition teaches me. Today I found myself getting in over my head with things that should have been simple because some of my customers wanted variations to items and requests that most people accept as they are. In other words, people wanted changes made to certain meals, to which I found myself in a situation where I had to correct mistakes and ultimately slow down my service to other tables because I didn’t catch my bearings long enough to process the variations.

So far I’m still being a bit vague, so I’ll try to narrow it down further. On a given day, I serve my tables through a sequential process that involves drinks, then sides, then meals. Pretty straightforward. When the restaurant is slow, I find it easy to pace myself, and my mistakes are few. However, when business picks up, I find that my pace has to speed up as well, and thus my thought process moves into autopilot. Now, there’s nothing wrong with autopilot when a customer wants his or her order to conform to the standard that both the majority and the restaurant expects. I know my routine, and I know how to get through it as painless as possible. But once the first difference is expected, that autopilot can ultimately cause a lot of problems for me.

And that’s what had happened today. When I made the first mistake of the day, I had to go back and fix it, which slowed down my pace, which my mind and body turned to flight mode, which invariably created a chain reaction of further mistakes, which slowed my pace down even more, which eventually caused me to get so far in over my head that I ended up losing tables to another server just so I could get caught up. All this because I kept myself wrapped up in a conditioned state of mind. Despite what differences the customers ordered, I still brought things out the way I’m used to bringing them. And it messed up the course of my day.

Where this relates to my spiritual life is that my faith has been shaped by condition. I find it difficult to hope for certain prayers to be answered because I’ve conditioned myself to doubt them. If I’ve been disappointed 99 out of 100 times, what’s to stop my dreams from disappointing me again? Even when I ask in prayer for something important to me, or when I work hard to get it, I find myself struggling to find good fruit in the outcome because most of the time I expect to be disappointed. It’s a pattern that began long ago, and it seems that I’ve gotten myself in over my head in this sea of doubts.

I’m writing this down because I think the key to recovering my heart is to slow down and take a new approach. At work, the key to break the condition is to slow down long enough to think about what I’m doing. I take the notes I need, I decide on how I pace myself throughout the day; there really shouldn’t be any reason for me to make brainless mistakes. If I accept the fact that there is no set standard in waiting a table, then maybe I can adopt that to even greater things. Maybe I can somehow find a way to break the conditioning and no longer expect failure in my life.

That’s the base of what I’d learned today. Obviously there’s still room to grow, but it’s helpful to have an idea on from where to launch.