Reflection on a Year

I'm contemplating time tonight. I have been trapped in a Facebook black hole for part of this evening, digging up memories that I had buried for the past year. A year. I can't believe how long a year can feel. The past year for me has felt like the longest one of my life. Last summer, on July 19, Alex had not yet been fired (I believe it came the next day..), we had a whole different group of friends that has since scattered, I was half way done with my pregnancy, and we didn't have even an inkling of what our lives would look like merely a month later.

That bump!

Prepping a house to sell is a lot of work!

When I think about my life now, my friends, our church, my son...I am overwhelmed. Last summer I did not even know that life could be this sweet. That I would have friendships with people, with women, who I admire so deeply, trust so innately, relate to so immediately. I didn't know Alex would find work at a place where we feel accepted, appreciated, loved and where we feel so much respect for the leadership. I didn't know I would live in the most beautiful, small town with a tight knit community, that is a couple hours from my family. I didn't know how magical motherhood was, how much Emmett would change everything. I didn't know how special it would be to see my parents become grandparents. To see Alex become a dad.

I have never been as fulfilled with a deep sense of joy as I am at this stage of life. I want to remember this. I want this post to be a record of this time, because I know it won't last forever. I know I'm on a mountain right now, and that the valley will come. I want to look back at this when life feels like it's crumbling, when I go through a hard time, and remember how much God loves me and provides for every need, even ones I am unaware of.

A year ago, life crumbled. It was only because of that crumbling that God rebuilt my life and blessed me with a peace that seemed impossible in the midst of the destruction. I lost so many things that at the time seemed good, just to discover that God had great waiting. God had a place for us where we fit. Not where we had to pretend to be something else, or hide our beliefs or force ourselves to connect with certain people. He gave us a place where we are not alone. We are surrounded by friends who inspire us and help us grow and embrace us and share in our beliefs. Our son is loved by these wonderful people who we've only known for a handful of months. We are loved.

This is a thank you. It's a thank God. I am so undeserving and He gives us so much. I am unworthy and He has filled me up.

Time is doing that pesky thing where it speeds by and crawls at the same time. This year has been so full of change, it has felt so long, simply because everything about my life seems to be different than a year ago. But, of course, it also feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. I remember sitting in my empty house in Kansas about 11 months ago, sobbing a guttural cry because of everything that we had lost. I cried so deeply I would lose my voice. I felt so betrayed, so unloved, so hurt by people we had invested in for over a year. I felt this huge weight of injustice. I felt like I never wanted to go back to a church, like I couldn't trust anyone, like I didn't want to. I remember being so scared of passing the stress of my life to Emmett, growing in me. I remember hating the people that treated us like we were disposable. I felt devastated that we were having to "regress" in our adult lives. Live off of the charity of my family, enter into parenthood with uncertainties.

How could I, in one year, go from this valley to this summit? Only God. I am in awe of the change. Of the opportunities he presented us with. The friends, the jobs, the beauty of Big Bear. This place is healing and He brought us here, just like He does with so many of the people who end up in this small forest town. Last year I lived in a holler, and now I'm on a mountain and that is no coincidence. All I can do is praise.

|| Posted by Kate ||

The Person I Want To Be

I was walking across campus, my ear throbbing from an infection, my nose dripping. I had just stayed up til midnight the night before working on papers, trying desperately to catch up on things I had let slide. In all fairness, the majority of the day was spent staring at a blank page or trying to find anything to distract myself. And now I was walking like a zombie, loaded up on NyQuil, not quite fully present, but not absent either.

That’s when I ran into PJ. PJ and I had a class together first quarter. She had struggled to adjust to seminary life and I had attended a study session with her where I shared a lot of the study tips that I learned in undergrad. Concepts about canon, and infallibility, and how faith and Bible study must build each other up, but one of the most important lessons was learning what you don’t need to read. She would spend the day in class, go to work after, come home to her young son, not to mention whatever other church work she was volunteering for, and after all of that she would spend hours reading over the articles and books that were assigned for class. The advice I gave was apparently profound, but at the time I thought it was just a clever form of laziness. I said, “don’t do all the reading.” It’s simple. If you’ve got that much on your plate, you need to recognize the bare minimum that you can get away with in these classes and that’s what you do. At least until you can find a more permanent solution.

When I saw PJ she asked “how has your quarter been?” And I hesitantly shared that I had been phoning it in all quarter, struggling to balance my life, my work, my school, and my sanity. She volleyed the same advice I had given her in the Fall. She reminded me about priorities and about grace, and in that moment I was reminded for the millionth time that the Gospel is true, that God loves me, and that I can’t earn His grace.

I’ve been given life, and life abundantly, a life so full of blessings and gifts that I simply can’t hold them all, and they overflow. But I’m in the weird-happy of trying to keep everything inside, rather than letting the abundance pour over me.

I want to be that person. I want to be the person who is acutely aware of the amazingness of each breath. I want to be the person who always puts God first. The person who always prioritizes my family. I want to dedicate my mind to studying the Scriptures, and dedicate my body to living them out. I want so badly to be this person.

The Buried Things

Imagine one of those dramatic scenes where the shovel breaks the dirt, and it is solemnly brought over a hole in the ground. The dirt falls across… something.

You seldom see the body, but you know it’s there. In your head there is something in that grave. There is something getting buried, and there is a moment of tension as you let go of whatever just happened and recognize that for whatever is in that grave- this is the end. And you let it go.

You bury the hatchet. You put things in the past. You let it die. And you can grieve, and you can move on, but nothing will be how it was. This is what it means to bury things. Dead means done, done means not coming back. Freedom, and release, and sorrow, and loss, all in one moment.

Do you have things in your life, that no matter how you grieve them and process them they always seem to come back? I’ve heard countless sermons about letting go, forgiveness, moving on, letting the past be the past. And the sheer number of object lessons attached to those sermons is daunting. The price is paid, a dog doesn't return to its vomit, Lot’s wife “looked back” and you saw what happened to her. I’ve held trinkets in my pocket to remind me that I’ve forgiven people, I’ve carried around heavy luggage, I’ve written things down and nailed them on crosses, set them on fire, dyed them in red coloring, bleached them white.

And yet I was sitting in counseling today, my foot tapping like crazy as I anxiously recalled that one thing that just wouldn’t die.

This is the part of every post where I think to myself, “I wish I could just end it here. I’m not sure I have any good advice to give, and I’m not sure I’m done wrestling with this thing, so let’s just drop the mic and walk away.” But I can’t. Cause this is one of those things that just.
won’t.
die.

And I’m torn, because I celebrate Resurrection Sunday. I think Christ’s resurrection from the grave is the single most important event in the history of humanity.

But I’m also a fan of The Walking Dead. I imagine something rising from the grave as a cold, decomposing horror, that chases me without relent.

So, I have two choices: zombie, or exalted.

Two Truths and a Lie

I am unhealthy. -Truth

I go out of my way to adopt healthy behaviors. -Truth

I am fat. - Lie

---

I agree with the Democratic party. -Truth

I agree with the Republican party. -Truth

I am a Republican or Democrat. -Lie

---

Today is a good day. -Truth

Today is a bad day. -Truth

How I feel about Today matters. -Lie

---

I am right. -Truth

I am wrong. -Truth

I define right and wrong. -Lie


You’re familiar with the game, right? I come up with two things that are true about myself, and then one lie, and you have to guess the lie. I always hated this game, because you always have someone who just cannot come up with anything, and they sit there trying to figure out one thing that is true about themselves and they just can’t.

Then there are the people who you know are lying about all three things, or are at least lying through omission. Like, “oh I totally went to prom with a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model,” which is true, but it’s only half true. They went to prom with someone who was featured in the background of a shot of as an extra, but since they were paid they were technically a Sports Illustrated model, and they were technically wearing a swimsuit, so… truth? (That would still be impressive…) And there are the people who just tell whatever story they can think of to get attention, and it may be true, and really heart breaking, but they kind of forgot this is just a game. Like, “I was adopted from a third world country, and still wake up in the middle of the night crying from memories of my family.” And everyone is just sitting there like, “God, I hope that’s not true, but also- this is a game right? Like, this isn’t counseling?” We’re supposed to say fun things, like- my dog’s name was McPoops cause everytime he ate McDonald’s he would diarrhea on the carpet. I’m not supposed to then finish that story with- “so we put him down, and my parent’s didn’t tell me until I got home from school, and I failed geometry that year because I was so depressed, but no one ever understood why I didn’t do my work, so my parents thought I was stupid and I had to get a tutor, and ever since then I’ve felt like my parent’s think I’m stupid.” Cause that would be super sad, right? (Also, stop feeding McDonald’s to dogs.)

But the point is, that game should be called “Two half truths, and something you wish were true.” Because functionally that is a more accurate title.

We all have a tendency to do that, don’t we?

The Future American Church - or How to Stop Sending and Start Receiving

There are two things I desperately want to write about, and they may not seem to be connected but they really are - promise.

First, Christian Sci-Fi isn’t much of “a thing”.

Christian culture seems to shy away from forecasting future events, unless that forecast ultimately consists of Christ returning and everything else being pointless. The church seems far more concerned with eschatology, and far less concerned with futurology. But the generation coming up in the Western World seems to have rejected the fairy-tales of the Left Behind era, in favor of dreams of self-driving cars, an internet of things, and the implications of 3D printing (or at least I have). For years now this has been perceived as a departure away from Christianity and toward the secular, but I would disagree.

To those Christians who still drive cars with faded NOTW stickers, I share this with you:

Have You Heard the News? (Everyone’s Talking) Life is Good, cause...

So, the word is out. And it’s true, I’m a pastor again. And there are so many stories I want to share about how it all happened, and what happened, and why it happened… ya know, the happenings, but I am finishing up my finals for the Winter Quarter at Fuller, so I’ll keep this post brief (I just finished the post, and realized it’s not brief at all… sorry).

Back when I got ordained I got a nice fancy piece of paper that said “Alex Jackson is hereby ordained as a Minister of the Gospel”, one of the ladies at the church even took time to decorate it with glitter markers so you knew it was really extra special. When you go through an ordination process it requires that you really consider what God has called you to do, and when I was ordained I knew that it wasn’t just for one church, and it wasn’t just as a Youth Pastor, it was forever. From that day on I was a Minister of the Gospel, no matter the circumstances. It was a call I received from God, and you can’t just be un-called. It’s not like Jonah was chilling in the whale thinking “great! I totally got out of that mess! Now I’ll never have to go to Nineveh.” No, it was more like “well… I guess God does get what He wants.”

But let me tell ya, these last few months tested that to my very core. As I attended Fuller I kept on having to write about my calling and where God wanted me, all the while I was floating around from different jobs, learning how to be a dad, and not know what the future would look like.

Thanksgiving

This year, Thanksgiving was extra special. Alex and I are back at my parents' home, my sister flew in from Northern California, my grandpa was over and Jim and Nadine shared the day with us. I'm also just about 39 weeks pregnant! After our pie baking on Wednesday night, I was absolutely exhausted! It's hard being on your (swollen) feet all day when you're the size of a small whale. 

Here's some of the preparation the day before Thanksgiving.

How I Got Here pt. 3- “It Ends How it Begins”

**Author’s Note: This is the last part of the “How I Got Here” series, and it ends how it begins. If I boiled the answer down to it’s simplest form, it would be “I was called.” How did I get here? I was called. I’m sure the Memento-style blog posting will come to an end, and hopefully we’ll go back to a regular chronology for future posts. If you’re confused, it may be nice to read this in reverse order, starting with this one. Thanks again for reading!**

Sometimes I imagine God like a childhood friend tapping on my window. It’s cracked open just a bit, and I can hear him saying “hey. Hey Alex! You sleepin’?” It’s this soft whisper that’s packed with all sorts of adventure. It’s dark out. I should be sleeping, but how can I?

Vocatio, the Latin word, or kaleō, the Greek. They mean calling. Our lives are wrapped up in our callings. Where do we go, and why? Our calling is the source of so many of our choices, and our choices are the only proof of our convictions. A man who has the conviction to help children understand the joy in the world may have the job of a puppeteer. If you saw this same man working at the IRS offices you’d likely think “hmmm… maybe he didn’t really care about kids that much.” This is what I mean when I say our choices are the only proof of our convictions.

People take tests about vocation. They see counselors, they talk to certified vocation professionals. My wife says that some even take quizzes on “Kickinitteenstyle.com” (Unlike her, I don’t watch The Middle). But I see it differently, or maybe I should say I hear it differently.

“Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices? I hear them calling my name. Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailor, the voice may be one in the same.”

It may not seem like the best way to make big life choices, but when I hear a voice calling me in the night, I go. Like Calvin hearing Hobbes knocking at the window, adventure awaits.

How I Got Here pt. 2 or "Goodness, gracious! How did you lose your job?”

I have to admit, this is hard for me to write. I put it off for a number of weeks in the hope that getting some distance from the issue may help me put words to all of it. I struggled with feeling that I should simply let sleeping dogs lie, and that if the dust had settled on this issue, what was the point in stirring it up again?

But the dust never truly settled. I still find the occasional speck falling in my eye, causing irritation and affecting my vision. Often, in order to clean a room of all that has built up overtime, our task is to kick up the dust once more, and hope it falls elsewhere… like in the trashcan, or under the rug.

How I Got Here pt. 1, or With the Faith of a Mustard Seed you can Move to the Mountains

Maybe it’s just a mistranslation, like a jot or tittle got erased somewhere along the way and we’ve been thinking of this whole thing wrong for years.


Maybe it’s “with the faith of a mustard seed, you can move to the mountains.”


That makes a lot of sense for me at least.


See, I want to tell you the story. I want to tell you about how I ended up in a completely different place, looking at unfamiliar ceilings, and fighting with God a lot. But as I try to find the beginning of the story, it seems like it is always eluding me. The puzzle still seems incomplete no matter how many pieces I add. So, I’m going to start at the end, and like the years of BC we’ll just keep counting up while going backwards until maybe we find where this whole thing started.


Let’s start with how I got to the mountains.

This Sucks.

This sucks.


There was this student at the church I worked at who was passionate about service. We had just finished a conference where we focused on the power of God’s grace and how it should encourage us to serve all people, no matter what their background or current situation was. The last day of the conference was on Sunday, so we had some students share stories in the main service about what happened. He stood up in front of the whole church and said something that would completely rock my world.


“Without grace, we would be screwed.”


That’s true, isn’t it?


Is there anyway to live this life without grace? Without forgiveness? And if there is a way to live without those things, is that a life worth living?


The need for grace, and the recognition of that need are the basis of the Christian faith. Grace should change the world, and knowing that we need it, that without it we would be screwed… well that’s something that should turn your whole life upside down.


So I wasn’t surprised to hear that people were upset about what he said. I was just surprised at what specifically upset them.


“screwed.”


It’s lewd language. It’s crass. It’s immature. It’s sexual, and aggressive, and it’s just wrong. So we don’t say it in church, and if we do we need to learn better, and grow out of our childishness and become true Christians.