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The Cool Kids Table

I got a phone call yesterday from a young man I’d known from a past church. He’s serious about following Jesus, but now he’s hurting and calling for advice. 

He’s made some mistakes and now friends are choosing sides between him and another friend. In the whole mess, he feels like he’s made compromises on his faith. He’s tried to make others happy, but has disappointed God by following friends more than his faith. 

Now God is the only one who’ll talk to him. His friends are playing those “power games”, just like we did back in high school. And now he’s left alone.

As I listened, I couldn’t help but relate. Those games we played in school don’t go away once we become adults. Even at this point in my life, I’m still navigating between the bullies and the mean girls. 

The desire to find a place to fit in follows us into adulthood. I’m no exception. I’ve always felt socially awkward, and I didn’t enjoy any popularity until my college years. So I’ve always felt like an outsider.

Another problem is my calling. Pastors don’t often get to be themselves, especially when everything they say and do gets judged harshly by an impossible standard. So at times I’ve sought friendships in the community outside the church. They offered me a breath of fresh air. Though they rarely shared my faith and values, it was nice to not worry about being judged at every turn.

But I’ve started to notice an uncomfortable tug in my heart. And like my young friend on the phone, I’m afraid I’ve made some compromises along the way to be accepted. No, I haven’t experienced some great moral failing. But I’m realizing that I’ve been letting my values take a second place to friends with different values.

How did I compromise? Not as much in what I did, but in what I didn’t do.

There were too many things I didn’t say that I should have said. The same friends who didn’t judge my morality would have absolutely judged me if I’d ever pushed back on their personal morality. Their casual attitude toward a million vices bothered me, but I never spoke up. 

Sure, I always rationalized that my life would preach the best sermon to them. But they never got the message. Sermons need words to hit home.

I also found myself shutting up about my faith more than expressing it. Why? Because I wanted to be the cool pastor who could take a joke, who wasn’t too “religious” all the time. Too much “God talk” and I’d appear less sophisticated and open-minded.

So when they expressed disgraceful opinions, I found myself looking away. I rarely offered them my own values. No, I just kept quiet. And maybe, on a couple of occasions, I think I even laughed along at things I should have been crying over. 

The very first Psalm explains the problem:

Blessed is the man
Who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly,
Nor stands in the path of sinners,
Nor sits in the seat of the scornful

– Psalm 1:1

Compromise starts as seemingly small missteps with people we choose as friends. You start listening to ungodly counsel. You begin traveling in the path of sinners, even if you’re not sinning yourself. Then you’re tempted to join in and become scornful of virtuous things they deride.

Why? Because you’re at the cool kids table. And the price of admission is to make fun of the things they don’t like.

This is why so many Christians today are publicly critical of the church. We’re so quick to point out every flaw in a believer. We often join our voices with those who see hypocrites in every pew. We think that by echoing their criticisms we will win them to our side. 

But by trying to make the “mean girls” happy, we’re just making fools of ourselves. They will never like us. Trust me.

The bullies and mean girls gain power through the threat of losing their approval. So you’ll be expected to prove your allegiance often.

They’ll expect you to laugh at the things they laugh at.

They’ll expect you to choose between being their friendship and someone they deem unworthy.

They’ll expect you to put your own plans aside and prioritize whatever it is they need you to do for them.

The bullies let you stay at the table only as long as you do what they want. In school, they’d make you do their homework in exchange for their attention. Likewise as an adult, I let many of my gifts and talents be used for their benefit, thinking it was all part of our friendship.

But when you stop doing their homework, when you stop shunning their enemies, you’ll be out. When you dare to say things they disagree with, your chair at the table will be gone. 

Most of all, when you stop laughing off their abuse and insults and finally stand up as if you mattered, that’s when everything changes. When you finally remember who you are, that’s when you realize how they really see you.

You’re not their friend, you’re just a tool.

You kept jumping through every hoop because you thought that’s what good friends do.

It was never about friendship, it was just about them.

Now I feel like I just woke up from a trance, mesmerized by my own neediness. Honestly, I thought I’d grow out of wanting people’s approval so badly I’d compromise to get it. I guess graduating and growing older doesn’t guarantee you won’t keep making the same mistakes you did in high school. Age and wisdom are not always delivered in the same package.

As the dust is settling, I’m also trying not to learn the wrong lessons. 

It’s not wrong to be generous with your time. It’s not wrong to help people. When you give of yourself to humble people, they’ll appreciate you. But the arrogant will use you up, spit you out, and expect you to feel honored they ever noticed you in the first place.

I wish I could tell my young friend on the phone that everything will get better. That adulthood would rid him of these childish games. That he would eventually grow out of the need to be accepted. But I know that’s not true.

Thankfully, God has led some new friends into my life. They treat me with respect, and actually give back as opposed to the one-sided friendships I was used to. One friend has used his gifts in photography to give me amazing head-shots for my ministry use, at no charge. Another texts me most every day to check on me. One couple surprised me the other week by coming over and fixing supper for my family, just to show their love.

But my biggest surprise was realizing how much they value my friendship. Actually, it shocked me. I’d forgotten I was worth the trouble.

Our teachers always warned us, “if you want to know who you’ll become, just look at your friends”. Friends can pull us toward God, or away from Him. They can make us feel valued, or worthless. It’s our job to realize when the tug is taking us the wrong direction.

Thankfully, I don’t think I was unfaithful to God when I sought validation from the cool kids table. But I’m pretty sure I was unfaithful to myself. I put up with a lot of abuse for the sake of thinking I was a friend. I started to forget the value God had placed in me. I began to think my worth rested somewhere within their approval. 

But thankfully, the bullies and mean girls eventually overplay their hand. That’s when you wake up and decide to move to another table.

Seeing anew my own value as a friend was when I decided to walk away from the cool kid’s table. And with a little help from my new friends, I’ll keep walking and not look back.

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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.