Five Minute Friday: Real

Begin

Since I am composing this post on my phone, it won't be a long one. But thanks to the wonders of technology and the appropriateness of this Friday's word, I couldn't resist.

I am visiting some dear friends in Jinja, Uganda. Yesterday I had the opportunity to go out to a local village for a bi-weekly Bible study. My missionary friend brought along a Flat Stanley from a little boy in Michigan. We took pictures of him with all the kids who came to church. My traveling giraffe Haji joined in the fun as well. When that little boy gets his Flat Stanley back, I know he'll be super excited to hear all about Africa and the things his friends are doing here. But for me, it wasn't second hand or by proxy. From the red dirt covering my feet to the language barriers bridged by a smile -- for me, it was all very real.

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Tebow

Because good things bear repeating. The scope of my resources may be different, but this is the kind of human being I hope to be.


I believe in Tim Tebow
By Rick Reilly

I've come to believe in Tim Tebow, but not for what he does on a football field, which is still three parts Dr. Jekyll and two parts Mr. Hyde.

No, I've come to believe in Tim Tebow for what he does off a football field, which is represent the best parts of us, the parts I want to be and so rarely am.

Who among us is this selfless?

Every week, Tebow picks out someone who is suffering, or who is dying, or who is injured, flies them and their families to the Broncos game, rents them a car, puts them up in a nice hotel, buys them dinner (usually at a Dave and Buster's), gets them and their families pregame passes, visits with them just before kickoff (!), gets them 30-yard line tickets down low, visits with them after the game (sometimes for an hour), has them walk him to his car, and sends them off with a basket of gifts.

Home or road, win or lose, hero or goat.

Remember last week, when the world was pulling its hair out in the hour after Tebow had stunned the Pittsburgh Steelers with an 80-yard OT touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas in the playoffs? And Twitter was exploding with 9,420 tweets about Tebow per second? When an ESPN poll was naming him the most popular athlete in America?

Tebow was spending that hour talking to 16-year-old Bailey Knaub about her 73 surgeries so far and what TV shows she likes.

"Here he'd just played the game of his life," recalls Bailey's mother, Kathy, of Loveland, Colo., "and the first thing he does after his press conference is come find Bailey and ask, 'Did you get anything to eat?' He acted like what he'd just done wasn't anything, like it was all about Bailey."

More than that, Tebow kept corralling people into the room for Bailey to meet. Hey, Demaryius, come in here a minute. Hey, Mr. Elway. Hey, Coach Fox.

Even though sometimes-fatal Wegener's granulomatosis has left Bailey with only one lung, the attention took her breath away.

"It was the best day of my life," she emailed. "It was a bright star among very gloomy and difficult days. Tim Tebow gave me the greatest gift I could ever imagine. He gave me the strength for the future. I know now that I can face any obstacle placed in front of me. Tim taught me to never give up because at the end of the day, today might seem bleak but it can't rain forever and tomorrow is a new day, with new promises."

I read that email to Tebow and he was honestly floored.

"Why me? Why should I inspire her?" he said. "I just don't feel, I don't know, adequate. Really, hearing her story inspires me."

It's not just NFL defenses that get Tebowed. It's kids who will die soon. It's adults who can hardly stand. It's high school girls who don't know if they'll ever go to a prom. For the game at Buffalo, it was Charlottesville, Va., blue-chip high school QB Jacob Rainey, who lost his leg after a freak tackle in a scrimmage. Tebow threw three interceptions in that Buffalo game and the Broncos were crushed, 40-14.

"He walked in and took a big sigh and said, 'Well, that didn't go as planned,'" remembers Rainey. "Where I'm from, people wonder how sincere and genuine he is. But I think he's the most genuine person I've ever met."

There's not an ounce of artifice or phoniness or Hollywood in this kid Tebow and I've looked everywhere for it.

Take 9-year-old Zac Taylor, a child who lives in constant pain. Immediately after Tebow shocked the Chicago Bears with a 13-10 comeback win, Tebow spent an hour with Zac and his family. At one point, Zac, who has 10 doctors, asked Tebow if he has a secret prayer for hospital visits. Tebow whispered it in his ear. And since Tebow still needed to be checked out by the Broncos' team doctor, he took Zac in with him, but only after they'd whispered it together.

And it's not always kids. Tom Driscoll, a 55-year-old who is dying of brain cancer at a hospice in Denver, was Tebow's guest for the Cincinnati game. "The doctors took some of my brain," Driscoll says, "so my short-term memory is kind of shot. But that day I'll never forget. Tim is such a good man."

This whole thing makes no football sense, of course. Most NFL players hardly talk to teammates before a game, much less visit with the sick and dying.

Isn't that a huge distraction?

"Just the opposite," Tebow says. "It's by far the best thing I do to get myself ready. Here you are, about to play a game that the world says is the most important thing in the world. Win and they praise you. Lose and they crush you. And here I have a chance to talk to the coolest, most courageous people. It puts it all into perspective. The game doesn't really matter. I mean, I'll give 100 percent of my heart to win it, but in the end, the thing I most want to do is not win championships or make a lot of money, it's to invest in people's lives, to make a difference."

So that's it. I've given up giving up on him. I'm a 100 percent believer. Not in his arm. Not in his skills. I believe in his heart, his there-will-definitely-be-a-pony-under-the-tree optimism, the way his love pours into people, right up to their eyeballs, until they believe they can master the hopeless comeback, too.

Remember the QB who lost his leg, Jacob Rainey? He got his prosthetic leg a few weeks ago and he wants to play high school football next season. Yes, tackle football. He'd be the first to do that on an above-the-knee amputation.

Hmmm. Wonder where he got that crazy idea?

"Tim told me to keep fighting, no matter what," Rainey says. "I am."

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This article was emailed to me by a good friend. But you can find it here: http://m.espn.go.com/wireless/story?storyId=7455943

Confession

This is an honest confession from a worship team member.

"Will you be there next Sunday?" asked Cherie. "There are a few songs that have a lot of violin in them. I'll give you a CD so you can hear. But I know you can take it and make it pretty like you always do."

Well, what I always do is try to hide up there on the chancel and just...worship on my violin. Sometimes it doesn't feel like much, but it's what I've been given. I don't usually use music. I just fill in as we go along. It's an offering from my heart, and a way for me to give back to my church family.

Playing what was on that CD certainly fell within my skill level. But for some reason, I found myself being incredibly intimidated. Maybe it's because I *am* a little intimidated by the talent of the other musicians. They're so good at what they do. I'm a renaissance woman musically, but they astound me with the things they do.

So I played my special part, and immediately sought affirmation from Eddie and Cherie. (After the worship team finished and exited to our room where we listen to the sermon.) "Was that ok?" "Did it sound right?" "Were you happy with it?" They quieted my fears, but I still resolved (to myself) to do better during the next service.

And again I played, and it went well, but I still found myself hoping for reassurance...or I'll be honest, for praise.

And then God spoke to me by way of a song. More precisely, by a guitar lick.

I'm not kidding! I was sitting on the couch in our little room, over analyzing how I had just played, and a song intro just popped into my head. It took me a few seconds to remember the first line of the song, but then it came: "For the praises of man, I will never ever stand..."

I sat there, convicted and humbled, and reminded that it doesn't matter. If I played just like a CD, or if I played something beautiful and new, or if I played as well as the incredibly talented musicians there with me, or if my playing impressed someone or made someone happy or anything else. Yes, I need to do my best, and approach every opportunity I have to play with excellence and integrity. But the most important part is having the correct posture of the heart. *Why* am I doing this?

Of course I like to know that I'm being a blessing, and I've been genuinely encouraged by different comments from members of my church family. But once that encouragement becomes something I seek -- a requirement to determine if I played well enough on any given Sunday morning -- my heart has changed.

It can be a fine line, but that morning I crossed to the wrong side. I confess. I let my perfectionism and insecurity get the better of me. I was hoping to get praise instead of giving it. I'm thankful for that still small voice (guitar intro?) for reminding me why I play, and who I'm playing for.

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May these words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord. (Psalm 19:14)

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.
(Psalm 51:10)

Crowned

A package came in the mail for me yesterday. It was a crown (or more properly, a circlet) that I ordered to wear on Saturday to the Renaissance Fair. My sister and I dress up every year, and I finally decided to accessorize my dress with some jewelry.

So I put it on for the first time, and I felt so regal. My sister and I stood side by side and checked ourselves out in the mirror and just couldn't stop smiling. We physically looked the same. Our outfits hadn't changed (I was in my business casual garb, my sister in jeans and a t-shirt)...but our demeanor had. Even now, I'm at work and I'm sitting a little straighter because I have a crown at home. I'm regal even if people here can't see it. Then it struck me... how is today any different from any other day?

As children of God, being adopted into his family....we are royalty. How would your demeanor change if you were wearing a crown? (Wouldn't it be cool if one came down from heaven as soon as you got saved?  All the girls say, "Amen!") The point is, remember who you are. Walk a little straighter. Remember all the resources you have at your disposal (and be a good steward of them).  Remember that even if you can't see it, you have a crown.  But most of all, be aware of the amazing love that wanted you to be part of the family.

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A rediscovered thought from my old Xanga blog.

House Call

"Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved." Usually when I've heard this sentence, I've thought about the act of calling out to God. Saying his name or whatever. But it struck me that the phrase "to call" also means to come and visit.

People used to "call" on each other. Young men asked a young woman's father if he could "call" on her. Doctors made house "calls." Thinking of "call" in this way changes the implications. Motivated by either need or desire, someone intentionally sets time aside to spend quality time with someone else. The afternoon visitor wants to simmer in the moment and maybe enjoy a cup of tea over news. The doctor comes to examine and probe, to get to the root of the problem. The hopeful suitor isn't rushed because they want to get to know the other person... because they're falling in love with them.

"Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved." Do I spend time with God? Do I let him probe and get to the root of my proplems? Do I try to get to know him? Am I purposeful...and unrushed about it?

Just a thought for today.

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A rediscovered thought from my old Xanga blog.

Together

It's one of the most poignant and heart wrenching scenes of the final Harry Potter book. Harry stands at the edge of the forest, gathering his courage to face his final showdown with Voldemort.

He has known for a while that a lot was going to be asked of him. But now the true enormity of his task stands before him. He believes this meeting will cost him his life. Because now he knows he's more than just "The Boy Who Lived." He knows that he's more than simply "The Chosen One." And knowing the cost, he still chooses to make that walk.

His only request? It's as poignant as the situation itself: "You'll stay with me?" He asks to make that walk with the spirits of Lily, James, Sirius, Lupin...his loved ones...by his side.

[Abraham] said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.” Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, “Father?” “Yes, my son?” Abraham replied. “The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” And the two of them went on together. (Genesis 22:5-8)

I've always read this story and thought of what it must have cost Abraham. But today, I'm moved by the faith of his son.

After all, the passage portrays a shared faith between Abraham and Isaac. It says "we will worship." Isaac was committed to his relationship to God. Committed enough to travel three days away to worship together with his father. And he must have known it was a significant journey. Abraham knew the whole time. He knew. But Isaac gets to figure it out.

Have you ever had a moment when you realize you're in for more than you thought you originally bargained for? There's nothing quite like that feeling. Your stomach drops. The blood drains from your head. The world zoom in and zooms out at the same time. It's an epiphany of the most unique kind.

There's a choice to make in that moment. Maybe there's a way out. How committed are you? Do you believe in this thing as much as you thought you did? "Is this a hill worth dying on?" my old teacher might ask. Because if it's not, now is the time to bail.

If there's no way out -- if you're in-for-an-inch-in-for-a-mile, there's still a choice to make. Do be dragged along, or to accept the new insight and be driven by it. However scared you may be, do you take that step into the woods with commitment and purpose?

I wonder when Isaac's suspicions started. When he started to realize there was more to this trip than his dad was letting on. I wonder if he knew the answer to his question before he asked.

"Where is the lamb?"
"God himself will provide."

I wonder if it all clicked into place. If his stomach dropped through the ground. If a million thoughts and doubts and and questions and options raced through his mind.

All I know is this:  The two of them went on together. Isaac took one committed step after another. Believing this meeting would cost him his life. But having his father at his side.

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"You'll stay with me?"
"I will be with you, even to the end." (Matthew 28:20)

Tightening

Thanks to the wonders of the internet and the generosity of strangers -- and a whirlwind drive to Williamsburg and back -- I arrived at a friend's house on Sunday evening and gleefully unpacked an addition to my menagerie of musical instruments:  a shiny, new-to-me mandolin.  I picked it up, held it close, and strummed.

Woah!  ...I immediately cringed and stilled the strings.

It was pretty obvious that this little beauty had been waiting for action for some time.  (Translation:  It hadn't been tuned in forever and sounded it horrid.)  So I pulled out my tuner and started tightening.

And tightening and tightening.

The strings weren't hanging loose, but they certainly had a ways to go to be in tune. And for the lower strings, I wasn't too worried.  But as I got to the highest pair, I wasn't feeling very confident.

"Please don't break."  I kept saying out loud.  "Please don't break."

But even though I knew I was asking a lot from these little strings, I kept on tightening.  I was just so excited about playing my new mandolin for the first time.

And sure enough, as I nudged the highest string closer and closer to the right tone, it finally had enough and gave up.

I knew I should have let it rest.  Those high notes require a lot of tension.  And that's a lot of change to ask from a tiny string in one big push.

I knew better.  But I was impatient and tried to do it all at once.

There's a lesson in there somewhere.  About being out of tune and being tightened and needing to rest along the way.  Especially in the "higher things" and in the areas that have been out of action for some time.

Because if I expect immediate perfection and try to go all the way in one go, there's a real risk of ending up broken in the process.  (Not permanently broken. But set back just the same.)