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Divine mistakes

     We pray for our lives to go smoothly. We beg God to stay with our plan and keep to our schedule. But sometimes God wants our plans to fall apart so His plan can go into action.

     When I lead a worship service, I plan every detail out specifically. I respect people’s time, so I try to be prepared for any eventuality. But despite my best efforts, I vividly remember on Sunday at my church that was a train wreck.  It started off bad, and then steam rolled out of control as the service progressed.

     To begin with, I was running late that morning. When we arrived to set up at the middle school we rent each Sunday, we noticed the media cart with the connections to the auditorium’s video projector was missing.  Gone.  Nowhere to be found.  

     Without it, it would be impossible to project the songs we picked out onto our video screen and throw a huge monkey-wrench in my worship plan. But this just served as an opportunity to send my incredible volunteers into action. These resourceful men found a way to attach a patch cord directly into the projector that was mounted in the auditorium’s ceiling.  It would have to hang down awkwardly in the center of the front row, but it was certainly better than no video at all. What a team!

     As we got into the worship music of the service, some sound system problems caused the music to suddenly boost to an uncomfortable level.  When I turned my wireless mic on later at the start of the sermon, feedback filled the room.  But that was not the worst crisis to befall me that morning…

     My hair gel failed.

     To any other pastor, this would be a minor irritation if not left completely unnoticed.  But I have really big, full hair.  And only large helpings of hair gel will keep it all in place.

We ship it to my home on trucks, in large, industrial-sized containers.  I’m only slightly kidding.

     So as I’m preaching, my hair begins to fall in my face. Now I’m continually running my fingers through it, trying to get it to stay up on my head. Fail.  Trying again.  Failing again.  

     Then, my cell phone gives off a little “notification ring”.  I laugh to the congregation, “Oh, who would be texting the pastor during his sermon?” I pick it up to read a text from my wife in front of the whole congregation.

      “Stop messing with your hair. It looks fine”

     The room explodes with laughter.

     Then just as I’m getting toward the big conclusion of the message, THE POWER GOES OUT! 

     You may think this service sounds like one huge disaster, but in the end it was quite the opposite. When I finished the message and gave an invitation, we saw several people come forward to respond to God’s Word.  In fact, God answered some prayers that day I had been praying for over a year.  Wow.

     If you think it’s impossible for God to work through a train wreck like what I’ve described, then I have a message for you…

     Dear Control Freak: just stop it already. Right now. Seriously. 

     You know who you are. You’re the ones who must have everything done “just so”. You call it being “organized and thorough”, but in truth you’re really just a control freak. And if you don’t get your controlling under God’s control soon, you’re going to hurt a lot of people you love and miss some of God’s best adventures for your life!

     I’ve watched control freaks for years ruining the lives of their friends and family. They are the ones at holiday gatherings expecting everything to go perfectly, despite having a roomful of divergent personalities and opinions. They demand their employees not only get the job done but do it exactly the way they would do it. 

     They are also the parents shaming their overweight kids, just because they want them to be “healthy”. And we see them all over social media right now finding racism in every statement and in every heart. They feel they must right every wrong, and everyone but them are the ones in the wrong. 

     Take it from me, your tweaks are as welcomed as being pecked to death by a duck. 

    The sad part is that whether you’re right or you’re wrong, what you’re doing is not going to work. Why? Because eventually people will get tired of being dominated by you. I’ve also noticed that human nature works against controlling people. After a while, most people double-down on the very behavior you’re trying to change.

     The worst part is when controlling habits creep into your spiritual life. A.W. Tozer once said, “When we come to the place where everything [in the worship service] can be predicted, and nobody expects anything unusual from God, we are in a rut.”

     The same is true for your life. You think you’re being conservative and cautious. But God knows you’re just a coward. As a result, your life become dull and predictable. However, it is also peaceful. 

     Peaceful like a graveyard.

I love what the famous art teacher and TV personality Bob Rose said whenever he made a mistake painting:

“We don’t make mistakes, we make happy accidents”

  In the same way, film director Orson Welles talked about the importance of going with the flow in his technique. Far from trying to control every detail, he once explained:

“the greatest things in movies are divine accidents… my definition of a film director is the man who presides over accidents… everywhere there are beautiful accidents… they’re the only things that keep a film from being dead”    

But when we try to take control of our lives, we leave little room for God to do His best work. In the end, we get only what we can accomplish with our own limited skills and insight. What a waste!

Coincidently, the sermon on that “trainwreck Sunday” was on when Jesus prodded Peter to walk on water with Him. I was encouraging people to allow Jesus to make their lives an adventure, to “walking on water”, taking risks, and live in the moment.  And what God had just done is illustrate my sermon better than any pastor could ever expect!

     I imagine if Peter hadn’t stepped out of the boat that night around 3am with Jesus, there would not have been another opportunity.  He saw his opening, he asked Jesus if it was OK, then he just stepped out into the Sea of Galilee.  He didn’t wait for good conditions.  In fact, the conditions were the worst possible for water walking – a storm.  Yet he took hold of the opportunity in the midst of an imperfect situation and became one of only two people to ever be held upright by nothing but H2O.

     I want to live a life like that – something that’s worth telling my grandkids about one day.  How I stepped on a crazy whim and went on an adventure with Jesus.  And together, we changed the world!  Well, mostly Him…but I helped.

     That Sunday morning, our service certainly was a train wreck.  But I went with the flow and had one of my best preaching experiences ever.  Lives were changed and I left invigorated and inspired. The best parts of it were completely unplanned, spontaneous, and out-of-control.  It was something only God could have done…through me.

     This is the life Jesus is calling you to – a messy, random, magical existence.

     An unpredictable comedy of errors you could never plan in a million years.  A story too unlikely and amazing to be believed.  And yet it is happening right before your eyes.

     Stop over-planning.  Stop worrying.  Embrace the chaos.  Enjoy the ride.

     Then tell your grandkids.

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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.