Bright Minnesota Mourning

I heard it again… Cancer has been found in someone I love. It was last week, and Angela and I had just landed in Minneapolis for a quick visit for some small group research with a local church that does them well. We had just finished lunch at Jamie and Gretchen's when Ange made the call to find out how the appointment went.

Scotty and Mary Syde stepped into our lives in the fall of 2001 and very quickly became family to us. When I found out about my mom’s cancer in early ’02, they were over at our house minutes later crying with us and buying me a plane ticket for the next day to go surprise her. They made it possible for me to walk into my mom’s hospital room and see her tears of surprise.

Scotty was my right hand man in Student Ministries – making everyone feel welcome and solving any problem, whether in our Youth Room or in Honduras. Scottie is one of those people that has a magnetism about him that affects everyone around him – if he is on board, everyone is on board. In fact, I used to call him a dreamer, but I realized that he isn’t so much a dreamer, as he is a doer, someone who recognizes big dreams and champions them early and passionately to the point where it seems like his idea. He is what every transformation needs – a strong proponent of the vision – no matter how crazy it may be.

Scotty and I have a relationship that is hard to describe – on one hand I see him as a great friend, an intimate ally that I can have great times with but also share my heart with. On the other hand, he and Mary have been like parents to Angela and I when we lived in Minnesota. Our actual families were hundreds of miles away, but Scotty and Mary proved to be just a phone call away. They were with us in when we were looking at houses, and even there when we bought our first! Scotty would be the first call I would make if Ange got sick, and he was the first and most frequent visitor when her illness led her to a hospital bed. We celebrated Christmas with them and their son Dan, who is in my inner circle of lifelong friends and someone with whom I share too many hobbies and interests to list. Most Sunday nights would find Angela and I laughing and swapping stories in their living room until well past midnight (so late that Scotty would be sound asleep but would try to act as if he was still listening). Scotty is a friend and feels a lot like a dad to me at times when mine is far away.

One of the biggest strengths and maybe even his biggest weakness is that Scotty is a fixer. He wants to solve problems in whatever form they present themselves. When the doctors were stumped by what was keeping Angela so sick or unable to walk, Scotty was calling doctors or researching online or scheming with me on the phone to try to “get this thing figured out”. I’ll never forget seeing him on our London missions trip a few years back rubbing the back of a student that was in the throes of a nasty bout of motion sickness and even holding the bag for her. His favorite TV character is of course Jack Bauer of 24, a character that can single-handedly stop the world from being destroyed without ever having to use the bathroom or eat. When our church was seemingly headed in the wrong direction, it was Scotty who spoke truth and risked to try to “fix” the problems that it was headed for. The reason that it’s a weakness for him is that when he can’t fix it, it tears him up inside. From Angela’s health to board members that disagreed with him, when he couldn’t fix it – he felt weak and helpless.

If there is one thing that I’ve learned in being married and being in ministry, it is that God chooses the weak things to change the world. God chooses the weak things to confound and to frustrate the wise and strong things. When we are feeling most helpless and weak, God is now ready to work in us and through us. When we cannot possibly fix the pain, suffering, apathy, or mindset of someone it forces us to our knees. Desperate. Urgent. Weak. We limp to the cross – desperately carrying or attempting to carry our friend to our suffering savior. I picture the sight of Samm carrying Frodo up the side of the mountain tripping and falling and stumbling yet pushing.

Now my friend Scotty that has been the fixer and the source of so much strength and encouragement needs us to carry him to the feet of Jesus. All of us, in our brokenness and weakness have the chance to do for Scotty what he has done for us. To love him. To fight for him. To cry out to God for him and his family. To pray for Mary and Dan as they cling to Scotty and they cling to Jesus.

And we know God hears us when we cry out to him. We know that He draws near to those who draw near to Him. We know that He has a plan for Scotty. Already we can see it… Just a few days ago at Mayo Clinic, Scotty underwent surgery on the growth in his afflicted pancreas. It was a difficult surgery – but it was done with the skill and expertise of a medical miracle worker and surgical artisan. Hands that were guided by God himself.

Scotty is recovering now and as anyone familiar with this situation knows, recovery can be much more trying than the procedure itself. Mary has been by his side the entire time, sleeping on whatever furniture is in the room – she’d rather be uncomfortable and exhausted next to her lover than alone in a hotel room down the street.

I share this story with all of you because it’s not just Scotty’s story – it’s our story. We all have brokenness, all are wounded and suffering. The need for us to claim the words of Isaiah have never been truer – “By his stripes (wounds) we are healed.” I may not have cancer of the pancreas, but I have wounds that need healing. No one but Jesus can heal me. No one. I cry out to him now for Scotty, Mary, Dan, Angela, Jerry, Bekah, my dad, my sisters, myself, and for you… For Africa, Detroit, New Orleans, Iraq, Minnesota, and Darfur…

Jesus – please heal our brokenness… If you choose to heal others by breaking us, please bring your presence with the pain. Allow us to know your comfort and peace in the midst of the raging war. Pierce our hearts for those who are suffering with no hope. Shower them with love and comfort. Surround them with those who will mourn with them, cry with them, and bring them encouragement. Inspire them through your Word and the words of your saints. Remind us God that Jesus is alive, that death was defeated, the tomb is empty and He is seated at your right hand. Conjure in our hearts the sight of our loved ones that have passed on that are now worshipping you wholly and intimately in your presence. We long to join them, but for the sake of this world we will remain until you call us home. We love you Jesus.

Farewell to Minnesota - Part 1

After hearing the results of the vote, Angela and I couldn’t drive fast enough to get out of that church parking lot. She was sobbing, and I was speechless, stunned, stabbed. Why God why? Why did we go through this heart-breaking process of questions and answers, accusations and testing? Why did I just take it when they ripped and crushed, tore and punched my vulnerable heart? If I had known it would turn out like this, I would have bailed long ago. God – is there anywhere for us? All we want to do is serve you with our lives and hearts… We just want to pour all that we are and have into your people – to see them come alive in you.

This was the scene in June of 2001 – we had just had the door slammed on our dreams in my home church – a very strong wounding was absorbed that day, one which very well may be there until the day I die. Little did we know what God was rescuing us from and saving us for.

After several more church flirtations, I found myself researching a Youth Ministry conference online – Youth Specialties (shhhh – don’t tell anyone) – and as I was perusing this robust youth ministry site, I noticed a button on the navigation bar that simply said – JOB BANK. Now up to this time I had always gone on record as saying that I didn’t believe in online searches for pastoral jobs – I had this belief that the job would just show up supernaturally on my desk or in my mailbox. So lets just call it curiosity that led me to that life-changing click.

The first few listings were mostly part time Youth Pastor gigs for small churches in the West. One was literally a church in Seattle that was looking for a part time youth pastor – part time janitor. I giggled to myself and was about to close the browser when something caught my eye. “God centered”. Those two words grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. I was entranced by the only listing that actually mentioned God as being the desired center of the student ministry. I hypnotically began a series of drags and clicks that ended with an email being sent to a church in Bloomington, Indiana (or so I thought) with my ministry resume (what a ludicrous thing that is – complete with its bullet points) and vision for student ministry.

I remember stepping off the plane at the Minneapolis Airport and breathing a humble prayer of protection – just as I searched the crowd for someone named Tammy. I was getting worried looks from women that were wondering why I was looking at them so intently as I desperately searched for eye contact of someone that was as yet faceless. My heart relaxed a little bit when I saw some John Eldredge books lying on the end table of the Feigal’s home – I then experienced a truly genuine connection with a family that seemed to share a love of each other and God that was at the level of the heart. I remember thinking to myself that if nothing else was to happen at this church, I will never forget the conversation I had with the Feigals.

Unfortunately, much of rest of that weekend has blurred in my memory banks, except that I remember sleeping on a water bed at the Wagner’s home and having to go to the bathroom three times that night. I guess a future as a pirate is out of the question for me.

After church that Sunday, I was “interviewed” by a search committee made up of men AND WOMEN. Even though it went on for over four hours on a 100 degree day in August, I remember feeling appreciated and encouraged. I remember having my heart and love for students celebrated – not belittled by a board of men who saw doctrine and degree as the highest value. The women were asking the questions that engaged my heart and probed deep beyond intellect into motivation. The men shared honest struggles of their own children and asked how I would try to help them grow.
I remember Joni and Deb driving me around Minneapolis before it was time for me to go home – showing me the sights and sounds of one of the most beautiful cities in America. So much pride and excitement – breathless enthusiasm and love for their area and church – I couldn’t wait for Angela to meet them and for them to meet the most beautiful and precious creature that currently graces this earth.

Angela knew immediately that this was to be home. She looked at me as soon as Scotty and Mary Lou dropped us off at the hotel after picking us up from the airport. There were flowers at the front desk of the hotel for us! For us? Who are these people?

As Angela shared her story with the search committee, tissues were in high demand as were hugs when she finished. Her tales of suffering, beauty, and hope seemed to cut to the heart of every one that day – including myself as I was once again reminded of the gift that I woke up next to each morning.

Each night of that trip was ended with a long talk with Scotty, as he shared his hopes and dreams for the future, as well as his regrets about the past. The Syde family, all three of them, had embraced us with an uncommon love and generosity of affection that we had never seen nor will ever see again. Angela was convinced that this was it for us – but I had been reticent to give my heart to the idea without hearing from the board and the church as a whole. The wound from Pennsylvania was only 3 months old and it was far from healed.

The morning that we were to head back was interrupted by a surprise visit to our hotel room from the entire search committee including Carey Olson, the senior pastor, as they announced their unanimous decision to have us come back and candidate. Angela clapped and laughed, giddy as ever – but my reaction was quite different. Much to my shame as I look back, I reacted much more soberly, offering them only a cold “We’ll pray about it” as a response to their joyful visit. I’m not really sure why I did that. I can blame it on the fact that I hadn’t consumed any coffee yet – but I think it probably goes deeper than that. I honestly believe that I was trying to guard my heart from another devastating blow – to get my hopes up again only to have our dreams crushed.

On the plane ride home, I was finishing up one of the most impactful books that God has ever moved me to read, Wild at Heart, and I couldn’t deny what God was stirring me to do. So I closed the book and said to Angela “I want to go on a wilderness trip. Just me. No friends – just me and God. Like Moses, John the Baptist, and Jesus.” She smirked and nodded approval “Sure babe – that’ll be great for you” barely containing her laugher.

I made the arrangements for this trip before we flew back to Minnesota for our week of shaking hands and kissing babies, otherwise known as candidating. More meetings and interviews, hanging out with students, leaders, and the finance committee – where I pleaded my case for more cash because of Angela’s health concerns. They graciously gave us more – and God moved other hearts to pay off our student loans as well (a move of such heart-breaking worship that I still cannot comprehend it).

We were preparing to fly home on the Tuesday morning before the big church vote, when I flicked on the TV in our hotel room to see what kind of weather we could expect to return to in PA. What happened next has defined our fears and foreign policy for our country in unimaginable ways before. I tuned in to ABC news only to hear Peter Jennings bumbling and unable to explain clearly what was happening onscreen. The second plane had just hit.

Stunned and tearful, we weren’t going home for awhile.

I went up to the church to pray with the pastoral staff and saw the humility and genuine hearts for God and people in those men in such a palpable way. A quick prayer meeting was scheduled for that evening in the church sanctuary and many hurting souls gathered to call out to God. We prayed and cried with the saints that night.

The next night Angela and I were invited to attend the Wednesday night Youth Group Gathering to see what we would be possibly taking over. I must say that we had second thoughts after that night. Our dreams and visions for Student Ministry could not be any more different than what we saw. Big games, video teaching, a snack and total disrespect for the leaders was the ethos of the room.

God, are you sure this is where you want us?

We flew home on Saturday somehow, hopping planes and hitching rides in the chaos of the airline industry the week of 9/11. Angela cried when David Hallstrom told us of the unanimous church vote. So did her mom. My heart felt like the end of The Grinch. It seemed to grow and heal in that moment. I left the room and wept and worshipped.

When we finally got back to our apartment and listened to our messages, the first one I heard was a lucrative job offer from Johnson and Johnson to be Pharmaceutical Drug Rep. The job offered a base salary that was literally twice what I would be making in Minnesota. We exhaled, shook our heads, laughed and deleted it.

I went on my wilderness trip to Canada - the most horrifying and exhilarating week of my entire life. God revealed and healed, taught and scolded, and filled me with hope and passion for the unknown wilderness of Minnesota that was the next great adventure of our lives.

We arrived in Minnesota on a Thursday evening to the sight of 30 people of all ages, shapes and sizes. They were ready to move us in with open arms and fill our apartment and refrigerator with gifts and Frappuccinos. We felt like rock stars – ok, maybe Christian rock stars.

Our first Sunday morning I shared with our students about Jesus’ prayer in the garden before he was betrayed, beaten, and executed. Thanks to Brad Peterson, I will never forget the points of that very first message. It was about prayer – and I wanted it to be memorable so I alliterated it : His Plan, His Posture, and His Passion. I explained about the drips of blood on his forehead – that it was an actual medical condition called hematidrosis, that under times of extreme distress blood vessels can break in the forehead causing blood to appear as sweat.

We had our first Wednesday night Youth Group that week, and I ranted and raved, we had no games, lots of songs, and I spoke on James 2 about faith and works – my message was hopefully going to cause these students to fall on their knees and confess their dead faith right then and there. It was held in a room roughly the size of my living room, and it had a foul smell reminiscent of mold, sweat, cats, and bad breath. The temperature reached the upper 90’s that night in those cramped quarters… I really don’t know what anyone thought of that first week – I think I was still too new to get scolded by any parents yet – but it didn’t take long for the honeymoon to end.

The next week I reached my breaking point – I saw guys standing or sitting in the back row and talking, laughing, and playing around during the time of musical worship. I snapped. I boldly proclaimed that this would not happen as long as I was their pastor. I offered them the chance to leave the room and wrestle and giggle all they wanted in the hallway – and I told them to leave during my prayer. I prayed so passionately that God would fill that place with a passion for Him and His word and worship, I asked His forgiveness for those that were disrespecting him and promised Him that it would not happen again. I fully expected the room to be half-empty when I said amen. No one moved.

Worship became our collective heart.

Things began to change. I hosted the senior high guys small group at my apartment the following Sunday night. The guys shared their hearts honestly and somewhat vulnerably – especially once I outlawed “school” as a prayer request. After we finished, Mike Wagner asked if anyone wanted to go to Pneuma up at the church, which was a Worship Gathering that met in our sanctuary every Sunday night at 8pm. It was a full band with a huge heart to lead God’s people in worship. They were amazingly talented musicians that I grew to love as friends. For some reason, many of us said yes to Mike’s offer, even though my beloved Yankees were playing in the World Series that night.

What happened next changed our lives, and the very direction of the ministry from that point on. Simply put – God showed up. High school guys that had never worshipped God in freedom tasted of His presence in a powerful way. A passion was born that night – and there was no going back.

Back in action...

Hey - for those of you that are unsure if I am still breathing, I assure you that I am alive and well but I have moved...

I now live in Michigan, in the Metro Detroit Area, where I serve as the Pastor of Young Adults at Woodside Bible Church. I wanted to drop a line to anyone who checks this blog at all - not very many I would assume since I haven't updated it in almost 6 months...

I will now be blogging and podcasting at a temporary web site: web.mac.com/nycliff until our real site is completely redesigned...

I have a new post up there and will continue to regularly blog and podcast so if you're interested swing on by...

Thanks,

Cliff

(PS - I am still planning on one last goodbye post to Minnesota... It is still gestating, but the contractions are getting stronger).

Catching my breath...

Ok - for those of you who check this blog often - you may have noticed that I haven't posted anything in quite a while... There is actually a reason for this - and I plan on uploading the pictures to prove it.

WE FINISHED THE BASEMENT!!! This project that began in November of 2004 was just completed yesterday. Hours and hours of hard work - countless trips to home depot - sleep deprivation - caffeine... We are so grateful to God for the crew that did the majority of the work, (Dan, Chuck, Craig) and for everyone that came over and helped out with the different phases (Jamie - the painting maestro, Eric and his 2 days of glory, Dan Syde/Megan/Jessica/Steph/ and a guy named Jimmy (or Bobby) who brought a gallon of root beer. Scotty B, Brad P, Bob C, Paul P, Jamin, and Wes also worked hard for the project to be completed.

It is so strange to walk downstairs and have my feet sink into soft snuggly carpet, instead of the cold, treacherous concrete of the past 2 years.

I do have to admit a strange emotion that comes over those of us that would call ourselves dreamers - mourning. Even as the hard work gave birth to the finished basement, it also dealt the death blow to the dream that has occuppied and pre-occuppied my mind and heart for over 2 years.

Does anyone relate to this feeling? The birth of a new thing meaning the death of the dream? I readily admit that I am not normal... But standing in my finished basement and feeling a little sadness is a truly strange emotion... Now before any of you seek to get me on your couch for some therapy, I realize that this feeling may have something to do with the fact that our house is going on the market this week. But still - I can't shake this feeling that has appeared in my life a few other times as well - the end of missions trips, the end of 40, or after something is purchased that I have wanted for a long time.

Why is it that sometimes the dream is more desirable than reality, even when reality is exactly what you dreamed it would be?

Potential...

Have you ever looked at something and thought about all of the potential that it has? I'm not sure why, but earlier today while working I started to think about this - about how everyday, simple objects have enormous potential, both for good or evil.

I first noticed a pen that was sitting on the counter. It was a cheap one, I think it was a black Bic - without its cap of course. Now, its purpose on the counter was to be used by customers as they signed their credit card receipts before they left smiling with their new sound equipment. But I started to ponder the potential of a pen - how this instrument had been used by a judge to sign the sentence for a man's execution - it had also been used by a governor to pardon another man destined to die in a chair. Or how the pen has been used by "holy men of God were moved by the holy spirit" to write out the words, sentences, and paragraphs that would later become the Bible. It can send you straight to prison if you use it to write a threat to someone, or it can brighten a depressed friend's day with just a few strokes. Once The Declaration of Independence was written stating our willingness to fight for our freedom, war was decreed by a few strokes of a pen by the English Monarchy.

As I look at my desk around me - I see so many objects that have the potential for greatness or tragedy - for truth and beauty or lies and crime. I see my wallet, anorexic for quite some time, but always bearing plastic reminders of debt. One impulse, one phone call, one click and bankruptcy could be ours. But the wallet also contains evidence of modern convenience, that there is no danger of being stuck without cash for food or emergencies. I also see my belt (I have no idea why it's on my desk, but anyway), which of course has held my pants in their right place for many years, but it also had a more frightening role in my early upbringing. It was the enforcer of discipline and the threat of punishment.

The computer is probably the grandaddy of this entire conversation (that I hope to have - rather than a monologue). Think about it for a minute. Computers have been used to do advance our culture in so many different ways - science, research, law enforcement, banking, technology, communication, education, etc... Many of us use computers every day to work, write, pay bills, and deepen relationships. But of course this same computer, with a couple of keystrokes can ruin lives, victimize, steal, and exploit.

OK - this post is part one of the bigger point that I want to make... But I want to hear some other ideas and thoughts about this. Look around your house, your room, outside... What are some objects that have the potential for creating pleasure or inducing pain? Can you find significance in the mundane?

In part 2 I will complete my thoughts on this fascinating idea...

A Sabbath to Remember

Ahhh...

What a day!

We slept in 'til past 11am. I was awakened with the aroma of bacon and eggs - soon accompanied by a steaming mug of Starbucks finest coffee, their Black Apron Exclusive Rwandan Blue Bourbon (thanks Abby). I finished things off with a large bowl overflowing with fresh green grapes, so juicy and ripe that I had to keep wiping my face off after each bite.

After a breakfast spent talking about what we were NOT going to do today, the conversation shifted to the future... But this time, as opposed to other times more recently, I felt a stronger sense of hope and excitement about the steps we are taking towards co-authoring the next chapter of our lives.

I didn't shower, and I didn't care.

We grabbed some blankets, pillows, drinks, and great books as we sprawled out in the backyard on our suddenly green lawn.
The sun showed up for work today with a wink and a smile, and the breeze fanned us when a drop of perspiration appeared. I read more about rest and play and sabbath... Today I read about Restoration and Healing, and also about Feasting. I was strongly impressed and stirred by the stories of Jesus healing on the Sabbath. Now I had always been taught that it was to teach a lesson to the Pharisees, and to us, about grace versus the law. But today I was challenged by the statement, "Jesus' favorite day to heal and restore was on the Sabbath. He deemed that day most appropriate."

We all have wounds, all of us are broken. If anyone claims otherwise, then he is lying to himself and the chasm between his head and his heart is very wide indeed. The thing is - busyness keeps us from dealing with the quiet things, the hidden things, the wounded places of our hearts. Those wounds get covered up by work, or soccer practice, or food, or media, or simply overbooking ourselves. One thing I have found is that those who CHOOSE to be overly busy - seem to have the most profound woundings. Anyway, the heart needs our attention, our focus, most importantly our TIME in order for our wounds to be dressed, treated, and eventually healed. Sabbath is that day. Not vacation. Not sabbatical. Sabbath - a day, once per week as planned by God himself, that is held in highest honor and importance for our bodies, minds, and hearts to rest. To play. To be. To heal.

After a long time in the sun, the results of which have colored my face and arms red, Ange wanted to mow the lawn. Now to some - that seems like work - but to my wife, it is an absolute relaxing joy. Part of that joy is due to the fact that we own a fabulous John Deere riding mower, and normally I fight for the right to mow, but today I could see in her eyes that she realllllly wanted to.

Have you ever done work that didn't feel like - well, WORK?

That was today for us... While Ange mowed with a big silly grin on her face - I went into our almost finished dream basement, plugged in my ipod to some speakers, and had a painting party. I sang along to some of my favorite tunes, harmonizing at the top of my lungs along with the likes of James Blunt, Sufjan Stevens, Bloc Party, and of course, the Modern Skirts. I danced a little, when no one was looking, and oh yeah - painted all the boards.

It was a day of relaxation, rest, love, music, food, great conversation, and accomplishment...

And now my lover beckons me to snuggle as we fade into midnight...

Thank you God for the Sabbath... I feasted on your gifts today.

Time to Play

I think I've forgotten how to play.

I'm reading an amazing book by Mark Buchanan right now, called The Rest of God. It is dealing with the wildly misunderstood concept of Sabbath. I just finished a chapter on play, some could even call it a Theology of Play. In it, he explained how as adults, we have forgotten what it means to lose track of time and just play, for the sake of playing. Instead, we have become slaves to the clock and have stopped playing and instead choose to sit and stare at others playing.

The irony is that the best memories of our lives are when we are playing. The risks we took, the exhilaration we felt, the laughter, the feeling of being alive. The crazy thing is, that I don't make time to play. Not that we should "schedule" it in, like a golf lesson, but that we just take our watches and toss them on our nightstand, grab friends and loved ones and just go have an adventure.

My mind is instantly drawn to moments of extreme danger and risk, followed by laughter and the feeling that every last muscle and cell is dancing with you. A smile covers my face as I think of the first time I ever went 4 wheeling. It was a couple of years ago with Dan Syde down at their property that exists for one reason, to play. We hopped on these crazy, huge, hulking machines, and after a few brief instructions (here's the gas, here's the brake - see you in the stream!) I was off to the races. Something inside of me, someone else I think, took over and I wasn't, you know, getting the feel of the ATV, I was gunning it. I was flying all over the place, going as fast as I could, then hitting the brakes and turning hard so I could have that Dukes of Hazzard moment. Then I saw some hills in the landscape and starting to climb, and drop and swerve. My wrists were getting sore - but I didn't care. I was grinning like a grandpa watching toddlers play on Christmas morning. My eyes were wide open, with wind caused tears streaming down my cheeks. And then I was something out of the corner of my eye - a strange mass of land jutting out of the center of the rivine. Could it be? A JUMP???? At first I went over it cautiously, just to make sure that I wouldn't hit the base of the jump and be thrown into the distance while the ATV sat chuckling at me. It seemed safe, sort of. I hit it a little faster, and felt a little air beneath my tires. HECK YES! Before long, I was starting as far back as I could and going as fast as it would carry me... Launching high and far into the air and landing with a resounding thud, now my whole body is feeling out of whack, but still the adrenal glands were serving as my motivation and anesthesia. Then up the hills, racing as fast as I could through the orchard, up on two wheels - giggling like a little school girl. Even the moment of near tragedy, when I gunned it going down the hill and lost control - slammed head-on into a tree and flew 20 feet into the forest hitting my head on a few saplings, even that moment couldn't dampen my joy. Although when I rolled the ATV 5 minutes later, I figured maybe it was time to get some lunch.

My heart races back into memories of falling off a horse on ranch in Colorado, going cliff jumping in the Adirondacks with college buddies, jumping on trampolines, swinging on a trapeze that dropped me into a huge lake, playing war with bottlerockets at my friend Chris' house, playing wiffle ball in my back yard, leading dorm raids in college (then refusing to serve my sentence), and snowmobiling with Angela on a surprise Valentines getaway.

All of these were times that time seemed to be inconsequential - in fact - when I was on my wilderness trip of '01, we had a day all to ourselves, a solo day. I had no watch and never was a boy scout, so I had no way of telling time. At some point during the afternoon, after spending time journaling and singing and fighting off a swarm of angry ladybugs (long story), I sat down and leaned back against two huge pine trees that were so close that I could rest against both of them at the same time, sort of like mission style furniture. Well - I fell asleep and when I woke up, I had no idea how long I had been asleep. I still couldn't see the sun being that I was deep in the forest - so that didn't help me. I knew it had to be for a while based on my sore throat (huge snorer) and stiff neck, but I was totally at a loss for how much time had passed. It was at first unsettling and a little scary - was it 15 minutes or 3 hours? I checked my facial hair to see if it was even the same day, yup, same patchy stubble. After my initial confusion passed, I started to realize how refreshing it was to have it NOT MATTER. It honestly didn't matter, I hadn't slept through class, I wasn't running late to work, or missing a key episode of 24... My day was all about enjoyment and resting. A sabbath.

Our hearts desperately need that - a time to play and rest. A time to laugh and dance and sing and not care. A time to feast and burp and show our bellies to the sun. Nowhere to be. No way to be reached. This is what we have been created for - in fact we are commanded to take this time. I know the battle you fight - I fight it too... "But I have to get this done, and it's our only day to do that!!" The guilt arrives quickly and deeply - screaming infidelities in our ears. What would our lives look like if we fought for time to do nothing - to get away, even if it is just to your back yard - to take the cell phone and stick it underneath your sweaters in the bottom drawer.

It is in this joyful freedom that we most connect to the heart of God. We can hear Him when He speaks, follow when He leads, laugh when he jokes, and snuggle when He's close.

What are your moments? When have you just been able to play! No time, no deadlines, no technology - just you and the freedom to BE. I want to play again.