-Housefly Vacation-

Last week on my weekly voyage to and from visiting my family something strange happened. OK, it wasn’t all that strange really. It’s just something that happened. It’s not that big a deal when you think about but for some reason it has stayed with me. See, now I’ve built it up and there is no way it can live up to the hype so please accept my apology in advance for the rather anti-climactic nature of this post. I’ll just get to it.

On my way to SoCal from here in Fresno last Thursday, I noticed that I had picked up a stow-away. A fly was buzzing around in my car as I trekked south on the 99. So, like the genius I am I swatted at it in futility before finally giving up and opening my window in the hopes that it would fly out. Those hopes would be shattered before my very eyes. After a few attempts at this, (each of them unsuccessful), I gave up. It’s not that I’m a quitter or anything; I just came to the conclusion that I needed to wait and chose my moment wisely. When my tiny six-legged enemy wouldn’t see it coming. Stupid you say? Unbelievably moronic even? Perhaps you’re right. But it’s a four-hour drive and I have to entertain myself somehow.

Much to my disappointment, the moment never came. The fly never came back up to the front seat to bother me. I could see in my mirror buzzing around in the cargo area of my Buick Rendezvous so I knew he was still there. He just had the presence of mind to avoid a confrontation with someone that so much higher up on the food chain. Smart fly. When I finally arrived at my destination in SoCal I opened the door and the fly zipped past me beating me out of the car and buzzed away never to be seen again. Or so I thought.

As I drove off back to Fresno on Saturday I noticed I had yet another freekin’ fly in my car. Once again I opened the windows in futility and the insect, refusing to exit the vehicle, ended up making the whole trip with me. But as I junctioned, (that’s not really a word), from the westbound 210 to the 5 north a thought occurred to me. “What if it’s the same fly?” What if I was merely transportation for this fly’s weekend getaway to Southern California? The thought sent me reeling. I began to respect the fly a great deal. Yes, I realize how stupid that sounds but hear me out.

According to Wikipedia, the average life span of a housefly from egg to death is about 15-22 days. It takes about 10 of these days to mature into an “adult” housefly. This means that an adult fly has only about a week or so of activity before it dies of natural causes; if it makes it that far. So this particular fly decided to spend 3 of it’s approximately 7 days in beautiful Southern California. He wasn’t going to just live an average, mundane housefly lifestyle. He wanted to go places and have different experiences. I wonder if his fly family tried to stop him and explain that he should just live like the rest of the houseflies. But he wasn’t going to have any part of that.

I wonder if he went home to his fly family and told them about the humidity in SoCal and about all the Bar-B-Ques he experienced. Freshly grilled meat just sitting out waiting to be…landed on. I wonder if he met any other flies in SoCal and learned to windsurf the coastal ocean breezes. I wonder if he met a girl-fly and had an affair. Or even a horsefly or bee or something because, what happens in SoCal, stays in SoCal. Yes I began to admire the fly for not wasting his 7 days just buzzing around horse crap like all the other Fresno flies.

So as I always try to do I thought to myself, “God, are you trying to tell me something here? Am I supposed to learn something from this?” He answered me with such a tone of pity. “John. Sometimes there’s just a fly in your car, man.” Hmmmmm. Suddenly the fly didn’t seem so noble to me.

Let me encourage you; always look for the deeper meaning and listen for the message God is trying to convey with each life experience. But don’t be so zealous to see it that you end up admiring a housefly that haphazardly found it’s way into your car. That’s just stupidity posing as wisdom. And quite frankly, it’s kind of embarrassing.

-Your Story-

I was listening to a podcast I subscribe to last weekend and the guest speaker was a woman named Margaret Feinberg whose book, “The Organic God,” I read about a year and a half ago. I found the book fairly interesting as Ms. Feinberg reflected on the experiences of her life and how they helped shape and form her perception of God and how He works in her life. I love hearing peoples stories. Whether or not they are Christians I believe there is value in the lives of all six billion people that are just trying to make there way through life on this ball-shaped rock that is spinning through our universe without our control. I think there are lessons in life to learn and sometimes the best way to learn them is found in someone else’s story. But as I listened to Ms. Feinberg reflecting in this podcast she reminded me of something she wrote in her book that I had forgotten about.

She related a story about a conversation she had with someone who explained that when talking to people about Jesus, he doesn’t really bombard them with questions or even scripture verses. He simply asks them what they love about Jesus. What a disarming question but at the same time extremely provocative. Because there are boatloads of people who don’t go to church or who aren’t Christians but still have a great respect and appreciation for the man, Jesus. I mean, His existence isn’t in question by any serious scholar or historian and His teachings are probably the most well known and even respected across the entire scope of human history. So asking someone what he or she loves about Jesus is a very culturally relevant question.

Ms. Feinberg went on to describe how she loves the beauty of Jesus and I won’t try to regurgitate all that comes with her saying that. You can get the book if you’re interested in unpacking what she means by His beauty. But it got me thinking about what I love about Jesus. If I were to sum it up in just a few words, what would it be? Those of us that have been Christians for a while will have the tendency to make a list of all the amazing things Jesus represents so we don’t miss anything about who He is. Because we can’t have that, no, we have to represent our whole understanding of Him or we may offend Him. How myopic our thinking is sometimes. But what if I resist that urge? What if I set out to just make it simple and raw and real? What do I love about Jesus?

For me, I think it is His reckless acceptance. The gospels are full of example after example of His willingness to share a meal or have a conversation or lend a hand to even the most outcaste, marginalized people. From tax collectors, to adulterers, to promiscuous women, to lepers, Jesus accepts them all. He even shared meals with ultra-religious people. Can you imagine? Yes, it is His reckless acceptance that draws me, and just about everyone else, to Him.

But not just His reckless acceptance of those people we read about in the Bible. It’s His acceptance of me that compels me to come to this answer. With all my imperfections and all my mistakes and all my failures and all my excuses and all my crap, He still accepts me. In fact it is the disaster that is John that he accepts and not some perfect or better form of me that I may, one day, achieve if I work hard enough. He even accepts my filth and all the more because of it. This is what I love about Jesus.

What about you? What do you love about Jesus? I’d love to know and to hear part of your story.

-What's Wrong With Organized Religion?-

I like to read. I didn’t always like to read. In fact until I was about 20 I hated it. Then a close friend and life mentor gave me a book and made reading it a requirement. When I finished that one he gave me another one. And then when I finished that one he gave me another one. It was non-stop and after three or four books I realized how much I was learning and growing. At that point I started getting my own books instead of waiting for him to give me one. Now I am constantly reading. Sometimes up to four books at a time. (No not at the exact same time)

Well lately I have been enthralled with books about the emerging generations and their thoughts and perceptions of the “church.” Great information. I am learning quite a bit really about the best way to communicate Jesus to this generation. But I came across one excuse that they use for not liking the church and got a little frustrated. It’s the “I don’t like organized religion,” excuse.

When ever I’ve heard that it has always left me with an awkward feeling. What’s wrong with organized religion? The government is organized, (sort of). The educational institutions are too. Police, restaurants, retail stores, city layouts like traffic signals and stop signs and where to put parks or schools or shopping centers are all organized. Our families are organized with certain tasks and responsibilities belonging to designated people. Our homes are organized as to what room is dedicated to what activity. Even our computers are organized in programs, files, folder and all kinds of other things I have no clue about. Every aspect of our lives is organized. So why shouldn’t our religion be too?

Now I’m not talking about certain church “leaders” who organize other Chirstians around a political agenda that is divisive and judgmental in nature. I understand that that brand of Christians are out there but in reality, they are a major minority, albeit a loud one. Personally, I think the “I don’t like organized religion,” excuse is a cop out most of the time. Not all of the time, but most of the time. In that case, you shouldn’t work for a company because it’s an organization. You shouldn’t sleep in your bedroom because that’s how the house was organized. You shouldn’t drive on the streets because they are part of the organization of the city. You also shouldn’t purchase or even turn on a computer because it’s an organizational piece of equipment that was built by a…you guessed it…organization.

Does that mean they would be willing to be a part of an “UNorganized religion?” I’m just straining to understand it that’s all. Because when ever I have followed up that excuse with the question “What do you mean organized religion,” the answer is ambiguous at best. Usually I get the “It’s hard to explain” answer, which is code for, “I just don’t want to live a Christian life.” I wish they would just say that. I could respect that. I just think that sometimes, people who are copping out need to be called on it.

Now calling people out on their excuses should only be done with great delicacy. I am not suggesting we point our fingers at people and ridicule them. That kind of attitude got the western church where it is today in the first place. But I also believe that we shouldn’t be so afraid of scaring people off that we become spineless. Jesus never ran after anyone and apologized or insisted that they simply misunderstood him. We can be confrontational without being combative. Like I said, I simply follow-up the “I don’t like organized religion” excuse with asking them to define what they mean by organized religion. First off, it’s a non-combative question that is simply asking someone to explain his or her point of view deeper. Secondly, I’m actually honestly interested in what they mean. I want to get to the bottom of peoples perceptions of the church and what is wrong and right about them. But the majority of the time the “organized religion” concept is used it is simply a bunch of BS.

Don’t get me wrong I understand the need to meet people where they are at and only go as far with the subject as they are willing to go and I am completely on board with that. But people need to be honest about where they are at for me to meet them there.

I believe the church has some major ground to cover in the western world. I believe that in the past Christians have abused their influence and created many false perceptions of the church at large. I believe we should not be judgmental and accept anyone, wherever they are at. I believe we need to make some serious changes to our approach to out-reach and evangelism. But Jesus also said that the Kingdom of God advances by force and forceful men lay hold of it. I’m thinking about getting shirts made up that say, “What’s so bad about organized religion?” What do you think?

-God and Strep Throat-

Over the last two years or so of my life I’ve tried to discipline myself to be constantly asking the question, “What are you telling me now God?” From the significant experiences like relocating my family to the mundane ones like brushing my teeth, I feel that God is there, and waiting to be heard. He spoke to me last week yet again.

Last week my daughter, Felicia, came down with strep throat. Exciting times for mom and dad to be sure. I suppose these things are typical in childhood so we should just get used to it. So my wife, Krissy, took Felicia to her pediatrician to get it checked out. As usual during these visits to the doctor they checked Felix’s height and weight. My five-year-old daughter weighed in at a ginormous 38 lbs. She is in the 30th percentile of five-year-olds for weight and 80th percentile for height. In other words: she’s tall and skinny. This is all well and good and she isn’t unhealthy or anything of the sort. Every kid is different in their growth rate so there is no real way to gage these things. But the interesting thing is that two years ago when Felicia went in for her three-year-old appointment and immunizations, she weighed 36 lbs. This means that over the last two years she has grown an average of one pound per year. As my wife explained this to me my mind clicked into “What are you telling me now God?” mode and I listened for His answer. His answer came quickly.

If you have been a Christian for at least a year you have probably had what is known in “Christianese” to be called a “spiritual valley.” That is to say that you have experienced an extended period of time where you didn’t feel like you were getting any closer to God. You may have been doing all the “right things” like praying often, reading the Bible regularly, and consistently attending church; but you still didn’t feel like you were getting to know God any better. The relationship didn’t seem to be moving forward. These “spiritual valleys” are completely normal and should not cause anyone to distress. A point God made clear to me through my daughters lack of weight gain over the last few years.

You see, as I listened to God that day he made it clear to me these times of apparent lack of spiritual growth are usually not that at all. He said, “John, sometimes I feed people, and sometimes I stretch them. And it’s not for anyone but Me to decide which one I do and when I do it.”

God is not in the business of abandoning us when we are trying to get closer to Him. Quite the contrary. The Bible is filled with promises from God that He will never leave us; that there is nothing that can separate us from His love. So maybe in these times of spiritual dryness; maybe in these periods of where we are not putting on any “spiritual weight” it’s because God is stretching us and not feeding us. He is showing us our utter dependence upon Him and reminding us to stay connected to our source. Maybe the spiritual hurt and pain we perceive as a separation from God, is actually the effects of Him stretching us. And that is a comforting thought.
“Sometimes I feed people, and sometimes I stretch them. And it’s not for anyone but Me to decide which one I do and when I do it.” I am in your hands God. Do with me what You will.

-King John the First-

There is no real point to this story. I'm using for a message illustration but liked the way it turned out so I thought I'd share it.

Everything is this story is true. These are actually some of my most vivid childhood memories. Suffice to say that as an adult, I am better able to process the thoughts and feelings I was having back then at ages 6 and 7. So while much of this story is described and related in retrospect, it is never-the-less, all true. I hope you find it entertaining:

I discovered girls at a pretty young age. 1st grade really. I never went through the whole “girls are yucky” phase. Of the 60 or so 1st grade boys at my school only a handful of us made this discovery so early on. The five of us that did naturally gravitated toward each other and formed our little clique of girl watchers. Anthony, Brian, Alex, and Sean were their names I can remember their faces and how their voices sounded even to this day. We would hang out during recess and lunch watching the girls spin on the monkey bars and hang up-side-down waiting for the rare but exciting, girl in a dress hanging up-side-down. We had no idea why this was so exciting. We were in first grade and still had NO clue about any of that. We just knew that underwear wasn’t supposed to be showed off. So when it was, we would gawk openly without fear of being seen, because no one really cared anyway.

Of all the girls in 1st grade, the one we fixated on the most was Tammy Patton. Tammy was a tiny little girl with light brown hair that she always wore in ponytails. She had big brown eyes and a giant, brighter-than-the-sun smile. She wore the color red a lot and I think that is why to this day, red is my favorite color. Then one day… it happened.

That Valentine’s Day it was brought to my attention, after passing through several other people, that Tammy Patton thought I was cute. The pure joy I experienced in that moment is a feeling that has only been surpassed 3 times in my life. When my wife said she would marry me, when my daughter was born, and when my son was born. It was that significant.

By March our “relationship” was in full swing. Which means we would send messages to each other through friends because we weren’t that good at writing notes yet. We’d exchange smiles in class and sit at lunch tables that were next to each other. Boys and girls sitting at the same lunch table was simply unacceptable in the 1st grade. She would watch with a group of girls as I triumphantly took to the monkey bars each day at recess demonstrating my superiority at chicken fighting. I was unbeatable on those bars. I was the tallest kid in 1st grade, which meant I could kick and pull at my opponent with my legs long before they got close enough to retaliate. I owned those monkey bars and everyone referred to me as the King of Chicken-Fighting. I was elated when I found out, one day, that the girls secretly referred to Tammy as the Queen.

Yes, life was good. Everything was going my way and I knew that some day I would be President. I began expanding my challenges to chicken-fighting 2nd graders. It was more difficult and took more strength but I held my own. I lost a few times but it was OK…they were 2nd graders and I was supposed to lose. But 8 out of 10 times I would still reign supreme etching my name into the annals of chicken-fighting history. And with each victory came another smile from Tammy. Sometimes a wave. One time she actually blew me a kiss and I thought my heart was going to pound right out of my chest.

April came. Other girls started to send word to me of their affection. Sara, Jennifer, the two Heathers and a girl named Cinnamon all sought to be my queen. I was flattered but my heart had made it’s decision back on that cold February day and nothing could tear my affections away from brown-eyed smiling beauty. We had grown so close we were sitting back to back at the lunch tables now “accidentally” bumping into each other. Spring was exploding around us and I planned and schemed to be sitting at the same table as her before the end of the year. This was unheard of, of course. The very discussion of it with Anthony, Brian, Alex, and Sean sent shock waves through the four 1st grade classes. News of my idea got around quickly and two days later all eyes were on me every lunch hour for the rest of the week to see if I’d execute my plan. The girls that Tammy sat with even made sure to keep one side of the table clear for my friends and me in case the day arrived. That Friday I told my band of brothers that next week was when it would happen.

A week from that day the five of us would walk to the lunch tables with our plastic lunch boxes and sit down across from Tammy and her friends declaring our power to shatter what is socially acceptable in the 1st grade. As the King I would take to my throne with my knights at my side and my Queen across from me. Word spread quickly yet again that next Friday was the day. Tammy smiled each time our eyes met for the rest of the day and each time she did I imagined what it would be like next week to sit across from her face to face rather than back to back.

That weekend my mind raced to my plans. How I would execute it so calmly and confidently. How when I did all the kids would be amazed and applaud me for my strength and worship me for such brazen audacity. Sean and I rode by Tammy’s house on our bikes a few times on Sunday hoping to find her outside. With no luck we began to ride off, but as we did we heard a girl shout out, “WAIT!” We turned around to see Tammy’s best friend Amanda in the window upstairs. We stopped in front of her house. She turned her head and said something to Tammy who appeared in the window smiling that bright smile that I had become so enamored with. I waved confidently and that’s when something happened that I couldn’t have expected or anticipated in any way. Something so huge that my seven year old mind strained to even understand it. Tammy looked at me with that smile and blew me a kiss, but didn’t stop there. After she blew me that kiss she immediately followed it by holding up her hand with “I love you” sign. Sean gasped and exclaimed “WHAT!?” and Tammy and Amanda giggled and hid behind the curtains in her window.

That night I couldn’t sleep. My mind raced with new thoughts and ideas for my Queen and me. It only now being early May there was still time to take it beyond merely sitting at the same lunch table. No that wouldn’t be enough. It was big and exciting but would only be the first step in ending the school year with a bang. I layed in bed that night and made my decision. Before the school year was up I would be sitting next to Tammy at lunch, and would walk through the play ground with her…holding her hand. This would turn the school up side down. 5th and 6th graders were rumored to have done this and maybe a few brave 4th graders. But surely mere 1st graders have never done such a thing. It had everything; controversy, intrigue, excitement, scandal. At first I was afraid of my plan. But this was bigger than me. This was set in motion back on Valentine’s Day and it was our destiny. I couldn’t stop it now.

The next day I played it cool. I focused most of my energy on chicken fighting and didn’t talk much about my plans for Friday and beyond. I mentioned it to the guys one day and they were speechless. They stared at me wide-eyed in awe of my amazing bravery and greatness. And I loved their attention and admiration. As word spread throughout that week I continued to get looks of wonder as I walked by and it energized me. On the monkey bars I was invincible as 2nd grader after 2nd grader fell to my superior chicken-fighting skills. The rumors spread and one night at home my brother Joel, who was in 3rd GRADE, asked me if what he heard was true. “Yes,” I told him. And that was all I needed to say about it. I was becoming a legend that now spanned 3 grades. My Kingdom would soon be mine.

Before I knew it, it was Thursday. That day at recess I took out 3 straight 2nd graders on the monkey bars the last of which was my arch-enemy, Danny, whom I had lost to before. He was visibly angry at his loss and insisted that I didn’t really win yet because he had beaten me last time and that now we were only even. I looked him in the eye and said, “Then lets do it again.” with such confidence that it sent a chill down peoples spines. He answered, “OK. I’m not afraid of you.” “You will be.” I quickly replied. Everyone gasped and several kids droned, “oooooooooo” in unison. I got that line from my older brother, which is one of the few benefits of having an older brother when you’re in 1st grade. But as we strode to our respective sides of the monkey bars, the bell beckoning us back to class interrupted our pressing combat. Danny and I looked at each other. “Tomorrow.” I said. He only nodded his head in agreement.

As I walked back to class flanked on either side by my faithful companions and knights, Alex and Anthony on my right and Brian and Sean on my left, (that’s how we always walked), Alex said to me, “Tomorrow is gonna be a big day for you John.” Yes, yes it was. At recess I would defeat my nemesis on the monkey bars claiming forever my Kingship. And then at lunch I would break down the invisible social walls of the 1st grade by sitting at the table with Tammy, claiming my queen and securing my place in playground lore for generations to come. It would be my finest hour.

I slept easily that night. Confident. Knowing in the very depths of my soul that God had anointed me Lord of the Lower Playground at Stallings Elementary.

There was a buzz in the air the next day at school. Everything was falling into place. Everything was lining up for my coronation that day. Kids I never met were giving me High-Fives and patting me on the back. Girls would giggle and blush as I walked by with my four loyal comrades. And I drank in their affection and worship of me like it was cold water from the hose on a hot summer day. Tammy was wearing my favorite red dress of hers and beaming like the sun itself. Her supreme confidence in me made it impossible for me to be anything but completely victorious. Everything in the world was in the exact right place.

As the bell rang signaling recess time kids from all the 1st and 2nd grade classes raced out side as if the building were on fire so they could get a good spot by the monkey-bars. I strode slowly and confidently to the back of the playground where my battlefield was located. The crowd parted as I approached and many even cheered. Danny was at his end of the monkey bars already… awaiting me. I stared at him with hard narrow eyes as if I were looking through him. I could see the fear in his eyes. And like a shark catching the scent of fresh blood in his nostrils I savored my victory to come.

I was met on my side by Sean, my first Lieutenant and my best friend. Anthony, Alex and Brian had made sure that Tammy and a few of her friends were right up front. I bent down and pulled the Velcro straps on my shoes tighter and stood back up. “You ready?” Sean asked. I glanced at Tammy once more and saw her beaming that intoxicating smile and, once again, holding up the “I love you” sign with her hand. “I’m ready.” I answered, and climbed the three rungs to take my position. One of Danny’s friends stood in the middle to signal the beginning of our epic battle. The crowd fell completely silent in anticipation. Only he sound of the calm spring breeze and the singing of birds was heard.

“Readyyyyy…. GO!” he said and Danny and I carefully made our way toward the center of the monkey bars one rung at a time. As we got closer we began to kick at each other. Our feet ricocheting off one another’s. For what seemed like hours we did this, each of us strugling to gain the upper hand. Then, out of nowhere, Danny made his move. He pulled up to get a one-legged hold on me. I saw it coming and reacted quickly kicking his foot squarely away from me with my left foot sending him off balance. This was it. This was my chance. I picked my right leg up to push him down using his momentum against him. It worked. He was forced to let go with his left hand leaving him dangling one handed ripe for the kill. He swung his legs back trying to regain his balance and I moved in to finish him off. In a panic he lunged his feet at me keeping me at bay long enough to get his left hand back on the rung but was still off balance. Again he lunged his feet directly at me pushing his hips backwards so his feet could get maximum altitude. And altitude they got.

One of his feet plunged into the front of my face pressing my lower lip hard against my teeth tearing the flesh open and sending a searing pain into my mouth. Without thinking I let go of the rung with both hands falling to the ground and landing on my back. I lay there bleeding and crying from the pain of my injury. And after a few seconds all I could hear was the laughter of the 1st and 2nd grade. I opened my eyes and turned my head to see my four friends standing, mouths open in amazement of my dreadful defeat. I looked at Tammy who was more red than her dress with embarrassment. I heard the bell ring again signaling the end of our recess and kids ran back to class laughing all the while at my misfortune. I sat up to find Tammy standing there in front of Amanda. Looking at me with her big brown eyes. I could see tears starting to form in the corners of them. Sensing her deep concern for me I cleared my throat and said, “I’m OK.” She blinked causing the tears to stream down her smooth, soft cheeks. Seeing her compassion for me made all the pain and embarrassment fade into nothingness and I knew I’d be fine. “I’m OK,” I said again. She looked down at me on the ground and exclaimed, “I don’t like you!” and ran away crying, chased closely by Amanda leaving me there by myself. The pain seemed to return after that more intense than before. So I sat there alone... and cried.

Thus ended the reign of King John the First. Lord of the Lower Playground at Stallings Elementary.

-Wading In The Crap-

Lately I've been bombarded with reading and discussions about people's pasts. How to deal with the past, letting the past go, forgetting about the past; these are all pretty common discussions when it comes to our pasts. But there is something about the way many Christians speak about past experiences and issues that has always bothered me a little. Actually there are a few things when I really consider it.

First, is the idea that "God forgets our past." This is just flat out lame. We're talking about God here. He doesn't just forget things okay. The Bible tells us that he has numbered the hairs on our head so the idea that he lets our indescressions slip his mind is just absurd to me. He remembers everything. He remembers your birthday, He remembers where you left your keys, He remembers your next appointment, and He remembers the day you guys met. So He certainly remembers that time you "got so wasted you couldn't even stand-up." The Bible talks about a judgment according to our deeds. It's known as the Bema Seat Judgment. Everything you've ever done will be on display and while the impure, selfish things we all did will not be held against us, they will be present.

The second annoying thing we do sometimes as Christians is to perpetuate the idea that we should forget our past or let it go. Why would I want to do that? My past is what has shaped the person I am in the present. All my failures and junk and deep dark secrets are included in that. Stop trying to let your past go. First off, it's impossible. You can't. Everything you are today, you are because of something that happened yesterday. To let your past go would be to let who you are escape you. Maybe this is why so many Christians have an identity crisis at some point. We paint on our plastic smiles and pretend everything is okay because we're going to church and we have to appear at peace. What everyone doesn't know is that we were just arguing with our spouse on the way to church because of his porn addiction or her lack of self-control with spending money. Forgetting our past or the softer version of, "letting it go," leads us to a dark place. Some people even tells us to just, "give it to God." What does that even mean?

Your past makes you who you are. Don't let it go. Claim it. Own it. All of it. The junk, the joy, the failure, the success, the ugly, the dirty, the gritty, the beauty. It's all you and it's okay. Remember that you own your past, it doesn't own you. So all that garbage that you want to forget about, all the crap we hate about what we did or didn't do this time or that; own it. But let it be your PAST. Sometimes we have to drudge up all our crap and wade in it for a while. It's part of being human. It's part of letting God deal with us from the inside out. Romans 5:8 tells us God died for us "while we were still sinners." He loves us enough to get down and wade in our crap with us. He's willing to get dirty WITH us and help us find our way through the junk. He doesn't pretend it's not there and neither should we.

I am who I am today because of my past. All of it. But I don't have to let my past dictate my present and control my future. Because Jesus is in it with me. Helping me find my way out. Because He knows that if I pretend it's not there, I might just drown in it.