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The Long Run

One buddy of mine, who we’ll call “Bill”, has fought an addiction to pornography his whole life. It started with a magazine he found by accident as a boy. The photographs inside permanently twisted him so that Bill can no longer get pleasure from what most would consider “normal sexual activity”. This has also limited the field as far as partners for him, leaving him lonely and alone.

I know what I’m supposed to tell him. I should say Jesus can take all those thoughts away this instant. That with enough prayer or counseling, he can be right as rain again. But the truth is, he may not ever be completely “right” again in this life. That’s because like a parasite, sin burrows its way into hearts and wraps itself around every vital organ.

Sure, God will forgive all our sins if we ask. But it may take something supernatural to pull all the roots out. Often the consequences of sin we’ve sown in this life will still be reaped here. We may spend years harvesting the crops we’ve planted when we run from God.

People in recovery from addictions can tell you what it’s like to walk through hell and out the other side. But don’t make it to the other side. They struggle for years to become functional again, but then some difficulty blindsides them and in a moment of weakness they turn back to their crutch.

Many of them love Jesus, but still they run. They run back and rest in their disease’s embrace as if wrapped in the arms of a familiar lover. But it’s a lover who plans to devour them.

The truth is, we’re all addicted. We’re addicted to our own selfish pursuits and the misdeeds that hurt others and debase ourselves.

The Bible word for this has fallen out of vogue recently, but it’s a short one that’s quite easy to remember: sin.

We are all desperately fallen creatures. The pursuit of our own lusts has riddled our souls with the disease of sin like a cancer that silently eats away at us. Some of those sins aren’t illegal, but they are just as deadly. Many of them won’t keep you from holding down a good job (or pastoring a church, for that matter), but they’ll keep you from ever standing in the presence of a holy God unless you turn from them.

We are the Gollums who used to be Smeagol.

We are all Prodigals who used to be darling sons and daughters of our fathers.

Sin will take your gifts and your destiny and convince you to flush it all down the drain. In the end, you’ll look in the mirror but see only a monster of your own creation staring back.

Though some of us have learned to be functional, we still feel the disease coursing through our veins. We lie our way through each day, trying to convince the world we’re better than we really are. Yet inwardly we’re desperately twisted beings, incapable of honesty, hiding unforgivable thoughts and desires under our diverting smiles. At least that’s what I see lurking about in my own dark heart.

You’re probably saying, “Dave, you’re being too hard on yourself. You’re not that bad”.

No, my friend. The problem is you’re being too easy on yourself. The truth is, we’re all that bad.

“There is none righteous, no, not one;
There is none who understands; There is none who seeks after God.
They have all turned aside; They have together become unprofitable;
There is none who does good, no, not one.”
“Their throat is an open tomb; With their tongues they have practiced deceit;
“The poison of asps is under their lips, Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness.
Their feet are swift to shed blood; Destruction and misery are in their ways;
17 And the way of peace they have not known.There is no fear of God before their eyes.
..

For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God”

Romans 3:10-23

So Bill will most likely have to choose to avoid all sexual relationships from now to the end of his life. He can no longer be fulfilled sexually in a God-honoring way, and he doesn’t want to subject another person to his proclivities. So he chooses to remain abstinent. He is broken, and the hard truth is the fix Jesus is working in Him will probably not be completed on this side of heaven.

But Bill loves Jesus enough to wait until that day. He knows he won’t be truly whole until he’s finally “home”. And then, because he has embraced Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross for his sins, he’ll finally experience an amazing transformation.

Likewise, I know my pride, my vanity, my desperate need for significance will not be transformed anytime soon. Even though God is chipping away at me like Michelangelo at his own “David”, this “masterpiece” with not be completed even by my 90th birthday on earth, should I live so long.

The best of us will exit this world a “work in progress”, far from completion. But, I have this hope…

One day all our sins will be revealed. Though that sounds ominous to some, it will truly be a relief. We’ll finally be seen exactly as we are – naked, gorged on a selfish lusts and enslaved by our own appetites. But on that day, He will not shirk away from us. He will see us in all our unfinished, distorted mess and amazingly choose to love us anyway.

On that day, just as He did with the lepers in the Bible, He will touch us and cleanse us.

He will rub the mud in our eyes as with the blind man 2000 years ago. When He does, we’ll finally see the truth. We’ll see He’s the thing we were looking for all our lives, only in all the wrong places.

He’ll take the water jar from our hands and dip it deep into His own well. He Himself will support us with His right arm as He holds the cup to our parched, withering lips. We will drink deeply and know transforming, transcendent joy. We’ll finally have our thirst quenched, in spite of a lifetime spent drinking from all the wrong wells. 

He’ll search us out and track us down to the tombs where we’ve hid. He’ll flood light into the caves where we’ve dwelt with our demons. With one long embrace He’ll release us from those devils that drove us to harm ourselves and others.

At the end of this long wandering journey, He will be the one who meets us at the end of our prodigal road. As we limp homeward, we’ll fall beaten and battered by our own misadventures finally across heaven’s finish line.

We’ll look up from the ground to see Him leaping over the bannister of His Father’s front porch. Our mouths will drop as we watch Him run toward us at gallop pace.

It wouldn’t be the first time He left His Father’s house to rescue one of us.

On that bright, unclouded day, He’ll pick us up from the ground and lift us into His arms.  As He tosses us heavenward, our bodies and minds will renew in midair. Falling back downward to Him, as toddlers we’ll be caught again in His firm grasp.

Then He’ll set us gently on our feet by His side, where we were created to be in the first place. And once again, we’ll walk with Him through the garden in the cool of the day. But this time, our hand held tightly in His, never to wander from home again.

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.