The Blackness of White

Blackness permeated the night. It was the kind of blackness that isn't content to hang starless in the sky or weigh heavy on the air, but insists on infiltrating the mood of those who venture out into it. My Sentra's tiny headlights waged war against the darkness, fighting to illuminate the road ahead, even as the whirring of my weedeater engine struggled to inject noise into the silence. Still, they were no match for the opponent and the battle raged thickly in the driver's seat.

"Is it really wise to be walking away from the life I have here, from all my contacts and years of relationships and credibility built? How can that possibly be wisdom speaking?"

I've lived either north, west, or south of Nashville for 19 years, called 8 churches my family (oh the joy of being a pastor's kid), gone to 3 different schools and the best University ever - Belmont, woot! - and I know TONS of people.

I love pretty much everything about Nashville (except the way people drive!). It's small town, big city. People are family here, and the air is alive with the excitement of dreams. Sure, being in the Bible Belt can be frustrating instead of inspiring as a Christ-follower, the commercialism of the music scene can grow tiresome, and the prospect of New Hollywood scares me just a little, but this is home.

Over the past few years I've worked with the best of the best in the industry, and developed close friendships with future A-listers. I realize that can sound a bit vain, but it's just the way things are when you grow up here. It's no uncommon thing to sit beside a Dove award winner in church on Sunday, run into a film celeb at Starbucks on Tuesday, have lunch with a multi-platinum engineer on Thursday, and hang backstage with a soon-to-be-signed band on Saturday. I lost the ability to be starstruck a long time ago, and now I realize that so many of my friends have credentials that make them worthy candidates for name-dropping. But I've never even thought twice about it because we spend our time talking about the merits of Jersey Mike's, the location of my fusebox, the French Revolution, Nacho Libre, and relationship statuses.

So as I'm driving along in the dark realizing that my life puts me in the circle with so many of the "right" people and with some work I could turn those connections into almost any job I want, I'm freaking out and thinking, "Seriously God? Are you absolutely sure it's a good idea to move to Lynchburg, Virginia?! Is it really wise to take my life in an almost completely different direction?"

As dark as it was on the road and in my mind, not thirty seconds after throwing this question out into the night, my headlights pierce the black for a moment and fall on a church sign (normally one of the crummiest of the crummy when it comes to stupid sayings) that reads "I GUIDE YOU IN THE WAY OF WISDOM."

How many times have I joked about God just putting up a billboard to tell me what to do, and BAM! There it is. It's a little humbling to take advice from a tiny Free Will Baptist church in nowheresville, but I guess that's more of the irony of God's upside down economy where the least is the greatest. 

I am reminded once again that the Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, that we may make plans, but the unfolding of the future lies in His hands. God wastes nothing in our lives, and just because I don't see how He can take the sum of my experiences and connections and use them in an entirely new way for the Kingdom doesn't mean He can't. If I am seeking Him, waiting on Him, and walking in the path He lays before me, even when it may seem foolish in the eyes of the world, the light of wisdom is shining brightly. 

Driving Lessons and Greener Grass

Rounding the corner to my parents house I passed a silver two-door saturn with a particularly fuzzy faced driver. Or so I thought at first glance. Turns out instead it was a young dad with his daughter in his lap. Her tiny hands grasped the steering wheel and brown curls bounced up and down excitedly as he strained to look around her for approaching vehicles. We shared a wave as we passed. I couldn't help but laugh at her delight, and his obvious entertainment in it. Seems like just yesterday I was sitting in my daddy's lap behind the wheel of our blue station wagon. We'd drive around that Michigan parking lot, waiting for mom to finish her errands. It was so hard for my little hands to turn that steering wheel, but I remember the sheer joy of "driving" and wishing only that I could be big enough to push the pedals myself too.

This long lost memory jilted the cache of my memory file and brought a flood of childhood memories to mind. My first pony ride, first motorcycle ride, the agonizing process of trying to learn to ride a bike, building forts, trying to start a fire, pulling the legs off crickets, flushing my live goldfish, bossing other kids around on the playground...

I always remember being pretty imaginative as a child. When Lindsay was just a baby, Justyn and I would play outside in our front yard in Swartz Creek, Michigan for hours tossing a ball, trying to perfect cartwheels (a feat I have yet to accomplish to this day) riding tricycles with the neighborhood kids and whatever other randomness we came up with. 

One thing we NEVER did was cross behind our house into the neighbor's yard. Apparently there was something super special about their grass. It was luscious, soft, and brilliantly green - I mean, really nice for grass, but grass nonetheless - their pride and joy. We had specific instructions relayed through our mother not to lay a foot on it. Which is sad you know, because our grass was dry and scratchy (this, of course, had nothing to do with our down and dirty playtimes) and I always imagined that grass would be like playing in Eden.  

Anyway, one day we were playing a rousing game of kickball when our ball inevitably went into the forbidden Eden. Naive logic said, well, you gotta get the ball. I mean, if it just sits there, it really will turn the grass brown, plus, they'll probably be MORE mad that we let the ball land in their precious yard. Being the oldest, I got nominated to brave the invisible boundary, dash in, snatch the ball and get out without being seen. Windows were closed, blinds were down. We figured we'd be safe, and it was now or never. Taking a deep breath, I went for it. Gingerly, I ran on my tiptoes into the softest grass my feet had ever touched, grabbed the ball, and turned to make my triumphal exit. All of a sudden, behind me I hear the screen door slam and incoherent shouts come from my neighbor who is chasing me through the yard with a BROOM! Call me crazy, but I was four, pretty sure I was doing a lot less damage to his precious grass than Mr. 250 Pounds was as he plowed through it wielding that broom and screaming like a banshee.

Good times man, good times. With a million more stories like that from my childhood, I guess it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how I managed to be such a crazy mess at 25!

Lead of Love

Though Rascal Flatts latest hit Here bears suspicious thematic similarities to their smash single Broken Road, it's still good music. And I confess, I can't get it out of my head. Sometimes the lyrics of a song just resonate, you know? The chorus in particular:

I wouldn't change a thing
I'd walk right back through the rain
Back to every broken heart
On the day that it was breakin
And I'd relive all the years
And be thankful for the tears
I've cried with every stumbled step
That led to you and got me here

I feel something quite like that these days. There is nothing perfect about this life. Nobody has it easy. Everyone gets their heart broken in one way or another. Even the rare moments of bliss are tainted with little bits of regret and humanity. But I just have to say that some of the most bitter experiences have produced some of the sweetest results. Wrestling with the angel in the valley may leave you with a dislocated hip, but at least there's a blessing attached, eh?

Over the past few weeks I've had some tough decisions to face. More than once I've felt like turning around and walking away, doing absolutely nothing to "change the status quo." I don't know if it's curiosity, a sense of adventure, insanity or serious divine grace, but for whatever reason I've turned to face new opportunities and challenges head on.

The lavish outpouring of God's reinforcement that I am indeed following Him has been simply stunning. New school opportunities, new job experiences, new contacts; the past week alone has been crazy! Add one fantastic snow day and an amazing sunrise over snowtopped hills this morning and I can feel Him wrapping His arms around me with delight as He whispers in my ear, "Taste and see that I AM GOOD!"

Tomorrow it could get really hard. It could be time to come down from the mountain. Inevitably the trials will come back with a vengence. I am on a road of resistance because it's the road of using my life for something that counts eternally. For now I'm basking in the affirmation, but the joy and peace of my spirit will last much longer than the high.

I leave you with these words from an old Caedmon's Call song, Lead of Love, which I think could just be my theme song:

Looking back at the road so far
The journey's left it's share of scars
Mostly from leaving the narrow and straight
Looking back it is clear to me
A man is more than the sum of his deeds
How you've made good of this mess I've made
Is a profound mystery

Looking back you know you had to bring me through
All that I was so afraid of
Though I questioned the sky
Now I see why
I had to walk the rocks to see the mountain view
Looking back I see the lead of love