Archives For Getting glory

My wife and I are celebrating our 30th anniversary in Italy. In my absence, I asked my friend Gary Barkalow to write a couple blogs.

Gary has spent his life studying Calling—you could call him a Calling Expert. I invite you to enjoy with me as he shares.

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“Ok, the idea that I possess a glory, splendor, strength, brilliance that is extraordinary seems a little farfetched.  It’s not my personal experience.  I think my effect is pretty small.  I can only do the best with what I’ve got and that ain’t much.”

I’ve heard this thought many times – within myself and from others.  The truth is that if it was YOU ALONE that might be Assistedtrue, but it isn’t to be YOU ALONE.

Dallas Willard wrote,

Now what we can do by our unassisted strength is very small. What we can do acting with mechanical, electrical, or atomic power is much greater.  Often it is so great that it is hard to believe or imagine without some experience of it.

But even that is still very small compared to what we could do acting in union with God himself, who created and controls all other forces (The Divine Conspiracy).

Our life was never designed to be “unassisted.”  And yet, that is how we live—okay, I live—most of the time.  Partly because I believe the lie that I’m on my own.  Partly because of my fear that God won’t come through.  Partly because “it’s hard to believe or imagine it without some experience of it.”

Jesus repeatedly said, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” Matt. 4:17

Dallas told the story of growing up on a farm in southern Missouri where electricity was not available.  Then, one day, it was announced that power lines would be brought in.  It was an opportunity for a different way of life if they if they chose to tap into them.  He writes,

The comparison, you may think, is rather crude, and in some respects it is.  But it will help us to understand Jesus’ basic message about the Kingdom of the Heaven if we pause to reflect on those farmers who, in effect, heard the message: ‘Repent, for electricity is at hand.’

How we live   
Continue Reading…

[Click here for an audio version of the post.]

A friend once told me that some early Christians thought the story of the Prodigal Son was really the story of Mary and Martha with a gender change. She offered examples:

  • with_mary_and_martha006 r1Martha seems like the older brother, irritated and “slaving” away in duty.
  • Mary sits “inside” at the feet of Jesus while Martha is “outside” in the kitchen.
  • The house doesn’t belong to both of them. Martha owns it, and the Prodigal was penniless because he had spent his portion of the inheritance on wild living.

I wasn’t sold on the interpretation but it tickled my curiosity. In casual conversation I mentioned it to several friends. They were furious at the idea and furious with me.

They were furious, but not because it was idle speculation (which would have been a fair criticism); they were angry because it sullied Mary’s reputation.

  •  “I hate how the church belittles women. Here they strip Mary of her goodness and turn her into some kind of whore.”
  •  “How dare you think of Mary with such dishonor and impurity!

The new interpretation had mildly tickled my curiosity; the ensuing, bitter, indignant, antagonism fascinated me. Mary’s adoration at the feet of Jesus is beautiful.

Could anything she ever did (or didn’t do) in her former life diminish that beauty? Continue Reading…

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I used to work for a company that created software for publishers. It handled mail orders that were accompanied by checks, cash, or credit card information.

We had a balancing tool that ensured all the money that came into the mailroom was entered into the Grandmother holdup r2system and deposited in the bank. It protected against embezzlement.

In 1988 we installed the software at a large Christian publisher. When management heard of our checks and balances, they were appalled. They felt it questioned the integrity of their employees. They asked us to turn off the balancing feature.

A year later, a timid, gray-haired, rooster-pecked grandmother—a long-term employee of the publisher—stole fifteen thousand dollars.

Afterward I asked her, “Why?” She shyly stammered, “It was so easy. The money was just sitting there. It was just so darn easy.” She added,

I’d heard of embezzlers before. I always said, ‘I’d never do that.And then I did.”

Her simple path to self-destruction    …      Continue Reading…

The movie The King’s Speech tells the true tale of a shy prince who becomes a King. “Bertie”—as only his family can call him—is the frog who becomes a prince who is crowned the King of England and who will lead the nation through World War II.

Bertie’s road to the throne is filled with potholes. It is his older brother who is the heir, not Bertie; the scars of his past create fear in this future king of a scared nation; and he stutters in an age Speech at Wembley 2when live speeches are the new way to lead.

At one point he mourns, “I am the seat of all authority because they think that when I speak, I speak for them. But I can’t speak.”

The movie opens as Bertie stammers through a speech at Wembley Stadium, a speech broadcast to the world. We share the prince’s anguish in his painful pauses and repeating c-c-c-consonants, every stutter amplified for the listening ears of the world.

Bertie reluctantly turns to Lionel Logue, an uncertified speech therapist. Lionel sees in Bertie a vein of gold. Lionel unearths this gold by teaching, cajoling, and even provoking the shy prince, until Bertie finally shouts:

Bertie: L-L-L-listen to me

Lionel: Why should I waste my time listening to you?

Bertie: Because I have a right to be heard! I have a voice!

Lionel: [pause] Yes, you do. [stands] … You’re the bravest man I know. You’ll make a bloody good king.

In the movie, a commoner helps the king find his voice. And that is the way it works in the world, underlings give overlings a platform to be heard. Christ turned worldly wisdom upside down. Now it’s the leaders who help others find their voice.

The thing is, few Christian leaders know how to do it.            Continue Reading…

Several weeks ago I had an awful day in the middle of a horrible week in the midst of a bad month. A sniffle turned into post-nasal drip which turned into bronchitis—the third time in five months. When I inhaled, it felt like shards of glass shredding my lungs.

I canceled everything so6990615-sick-man-sleeping-on-office-table I could have some recovery time. Later, that same day, I ended up with six hours of unexpected, unscheduled, and exhausting meetings.

Now I was both sick and tired.

That same night an organization I belong to sent out its weekly email. Hidden in the email was the description of a decision that I considered a tactical blunder. So I dashed off a short email to the leaders asking them to reconsider.

Alas! I ended the email with this nasty, sarcastic dig:

Why don’t we think first? For a change.

The next morning several people emailed back, correcting me for my caustic comment.

My initial response was self-defense: I was sick. And their decision made little sense. And my day of recovery had been stolen. And besides, maybe they deserved it.

But that was just defensiveness. The truth was I had been a jerk. No one forced me to write those words.  They were unnecessary and inflammatory. And no one had a gun pointed at me when I pressed “send.” I was the one with a gun, pointing it at others.

Why didn’t I just think first? For a change.        Continue Reading…

About thirty-five years ago, I lived in a community of a hundred men who kept everything in common. We literally pooled our money. Out of that pool we paid for our clothes, food, rent, and even our cars.

Before we had a non-profit name, the cars we bought were registered in one of the men’s names (usually whoever was convenient at the time). We had a little fleet.

One day I was in a car with Bruce (the first time I’ve used a real name) when he was pulled over for speeding. Officer ticketThe officer sternly asked for a driver’s license and the car registration. We always kept the registration in the glove box; always … except this time.

Bruce told the office he didn’t have the registration, and the officer asked Bruce who owned the car. Bruce glanced at me red-faced, turned to the officer and stuttered, “Sir, I don’t know who this car belongs to.”

The officer replied incredulously, “Let me get this straight. You are speeding in someone’s car; you can’t find its registration. You don’t even know who it belongs to; but you don’t want me to think you are stealing it.” He strode back to his squad car.

A few minutes later he marched back with a speeding ticket. After handing the ticket to Bruce, he leaned in the open window and he dead-panned,

“By the way, sir, just in case you’re curious, this car belongs to you. You own it.” Continue Reading…

My kids and I used to have a small Lionel train set in a corner of my tool room. Ten years ago we dismantled the small set with dreams of a bigger and better train set in a newly created basement room called the Train Room.

We dreamed of the perfect train layout with switches, freight yards, and realistic scenery; with a moving crane, sawmill, draw-bridge, and coal dump; and with cities, tunnels, mountains, and farms. It would fill the new 15 by 18 foot Train Room.

Our quest for perfection derailed us. We dreamt of glory, and for ten years we did nothing. We ran out of steam. The Train Room became the junk room, a closet in which to hide things that belonged nowhere else.

Dad - train setIt also stored the dusty train set that we dismantled ten years ago.

The day before Christmas, my kids suggested we re-assemble the train set in the new Train Room. We cleared the “closet” out (never mind where all that junk went), we put the table up, we rewired the accessories, and we set the trains back on track once again.

It was a blast. Doing something adequately was far better than doing nothing perfectly.

Continue Reading…

Years ago I witnessed a curious interaction between a client’s president and his secretary. I arrived at their office mid-morning and found the secretary crying in the parking lot, crying because of a tongue-lashing she had just received.

Apparently her president had wanted new conference room table and chairs. He found a set man-pointing-fingeronline and asked his secretary to buy it. She found an identical set from another distributor with a better offer: it was several thousand dollars cheaper and it included an extended manufacturer’s warranty.

When she told the president about the better deal, he was furious, and he shouted, “Don’t you know who I am? I am the president!”

The president and I had lunch later that day. During the lunch, the president gave me his version of that morning’s story, and his story matched hers—almost word for word. He ended by asking, “Didn’t she know I am the president?”

The thing was, everybody knew he was the president. He owned the company. He basically operated as the CEO, COO, and CFO. There was not a single person with a hint of a shadow of the tiniest doubt who he was. Everyone knew it.

Except maybe the president himself. Continue Reading…

[To listen to a reading of this article, click here.]

I was at Panera waiting for a friend when I overheard a three-way conversation at the next table. I didn’t mean to listen, but they were loud and seemed unaware of others.

One person complained—just a little—of his spouse’s odd eccentricities; another found fault in a boss’s stupidity; and the last grumbled a bit at her grown child’s ingratitude. Just normal middle-class Americans griping at everyday discomforts.

Then the first told of a documentary he had seen on tribal peoples in the South American Rain Forests, people who had little to no contact with the rest of the world.

The threesome turned out to be Christians, and they wondered about the eternal future for such people. One asked, “If someone never heard the gospel, do they have any chance of heaven? Or is hell their only option?”

Another had just read a book which claimed that everyone is going to heaven. After all, if God really loves the world, wouldn’t he save the whole world? Everyone at the table seemed swayed by this argument (which I think is faulty), and everyone sighed in relief.

Then someone asked, “If God is going to bring everyone to heaven, why on earth would anyone spend any time trying to evangelize anyone?” They concluded there is no need, and frankly no reason.

They collectively breathed another sigh of relief. I too was relieved. Not because of Universal Salvation—which I don’t believe.

I was relieved that these three would never try to evangelize. Continue Reading…

[To listen to a reading of this article, click here.]

Last Sunday night was a dark night. I woke in the dark, thinking dark thoughts, unable to stop my mind from wandering the shadowy paths of self-condemnation. I lay awake,

  • Remembering my unfulfilled promises to my kids when they were young,
  • Regretting my mistakes made as a boss to good employees,
  • Wondering if my life had made any difference for good in the world.

Sunrise came. I stretched and tried to shake off the phantom spirits of despondency. I looked for something to cheer me, something to help me forget the darkness.

My wife has been reading (and rereading) Ann Voscamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts. It’s a book about gratitude. I hoped it would do the trick. The first nine words were a quote,

Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness. (Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace)

I read those words and stopped.  I almost felt the wind knocked out of me. I lay the book aside and prayed. I meditated the next thirty minutes on this simple statement: Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness.

It was just what I needed but not what I wanted. It stripped my soul and breathed in life.

That morning I woke, hoping to escape from sadness, but the sadness was really an emptiness that I feared to face. I prayed, and confronted, and heard this. Continue Reading…