Love will find a way. Indifference will find an excuse.

“I’d really like to get together, but I’m awfully busy right now.”

I don’t doubt that my friend is really busy. But guess what—we’re ALL busy. The message I heard was, “Having lunch with you isn’t as important as the other things I’m choosing to do.”

Is that unfairly harsh? Perhaps, but it got me thinking about the difference between reasons and excuses. I’d like to do a series of three articles about this topic, pointing toward Friday’s thoughts that may ruffle a few feathers.

I got an object lesson on excuses this weekend while riding my hand cycle—that tends to be where I do a lot of random thinking.

I approached a moderate hill and found myself slowing down. I realized I was concocting a lie to tell myself.

The Excuse

“I’d really like to keep cranking up this hill, but I’m too tired. I need to rest first.”

That simply wasn’t true. It was an excuse.

I’d been riding for about thirty minutes, so I was a little tired. But too exhausted to continue cranking up the hill? No.

The excuse was a lie to avoid admitting the actual reason. I really wanted to defer the discomfort of cranking up the incline. I knew it would hurt a bit.

I was afraid, but instead of acknowledging the fear of pain I was prepared to lie to myself. This excuse-making is a nasty, self-defeating habit. So I tried altering my self-talk.

The Reason

“I’d really like to keep cranking up this hill. I’m a little tired and I’m afraid of the pain, but I can make it to the top.”

And that’s what happened. My shoulders hurt, but it wasn’t that bad. I kept moving, repeating the process each time I felt myself slowing out of habit. Soon I’d cranked ten miles, and I stopped.

But this stop was different. It’s important to stay hydrated on a long ride, and since I pedal and steer with my arms I can’t safely drink while I’m moving. Plus, it was a nice shady spot by a stream and it was time for a rest.

Reasons, not excuses. I stopped this time by choice. I wanted to rest, I needed to drink.

See the difference?

I use a wheelchair because my legs are paralyzed—that’s a reason. I can’t go into that building because it’s hard to climb the ramp—that’s an excuse.

I’m thinking about excuses I use a lot.

• Excuse: I’d really like to study the bible more, but I don’t have time.
  Reason: I choose to watch too much television instead.
• Excuse: I’d like to do some longer rides, but the weather’s too hot.
  Reason: I choose to leave my blog post to finish in the morning so I get a late start.
• Excuse: I’d like to do morning devotions, but I need to get started on work.
  Reason: I choose to stay up late. It’s a higher priority than devotions.
• Excuse: I’d like to promote Relentless Grace, but if people really like it the word will spread.
  Reason: I’m afraid of appearing to be a self-promoting spammer and I allow the fear to control my actions.

Excuses are lies designed to fool myself or someone else. Even when the real reason isn’t very positive, it feels a lot better when I’m honest about the reason rather than offering an excuse that usually fools nobody.

The only person who is really free is one who can turn down a dinner invitation without giving an excuse. Jules Renard

What’s a favorite excuse for you? What’s the true reason behind the excuse?

###

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Reflecting Jesus

Disabled…Really?

Why Take The Risk?

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” [John 13:34-35] 

This might not be my most popular post.

I’m struggling with an invitation to be interviewed on a relatively high-profile Christian radio show. It’s the sort of opportunity most authors would celebrate, a chance to tell my story to a large audience of mostly sympathetic listeners. Such an interview might generate book sales and speaking gigs, but mostly it’s a chance to spread a message of hope.

This kind of connection should be exciting, and in many ways it is. So why am I struggling?

The invitation came in the context of a political cause the host actively supports. He suggested that my story might fit into promoting his view of the issue.

The strange thing is that I agree with the end result he’s trying to achieve. I don’t know the details of this particular measure, but overall I support the primary objective.

So where’s the discomfort? If I’m not advocating an idea just to get some exposure, what’s the problem?

I’m not comfortable with the combination of politics and religion. I think politics is by nature a matter of achieving dominance, and Jesus’ message simply isn’t congruent with a quest for power and control. A great deal of harm results from both religious politics and politicized religion.

I tend to agree with Tony Campollo: “Mixing politics and religion is like mixing manure and ice cream. The manure’s not improved much, and the ice cream gets ruined.”

My concern isn’t about left or right or any particular ideology. Whenever anyone invokes Jesus to promote their agenda, I think Christianity loses. Politics is a battle that demands compromise, winners, and losers. I understand the real-world realities, but I simply cannot reconcile my faith with a desire to win.

Like most folks, I have my personal political ideas. They’re often not internally consistent, nor do they always exemplify love, service, and generosity. I’m working to better align my views with my understanding of Jesus.

I guess my concern is that politics usually works the other way—we tend to pick out the parts of scripture that enhance our cause while ignoring less convenient teachings like “love your enemies.” In a political context, a worthy result justifies less-than ideal means. That’s not what Jesus taught.

I’m convinced that Jesus would be neither liberal nor conservative, Republican nor Democrat. I don’t think He’s on the political spectrum at all, because He represented a higher truth. (Left, Right, Or Something Else?)

I’m not trying to appear self-righteous. I miss the mark and fall into the arms of grace more than anyone. I clearly don’t have the right answers—in fact, I’m still trying to understand the questions. So I hope this doesn’t come across as condemnation, because that’s not the intent.

But I do believe that Grace And Truth are partners. As we rely on grace, we’re able to confront more truth, which increases our reliance on grace even more. So when I get a handle on even a scrap of truth, I want to follow it to the best of my limited ability.

And one truth I see is that Jesus didn’t approach the world on the world’s terms. He didn’t advocate or pursue political solutions to issues of spirit. He maintains that He is the way to mend broken hearts.

There’s lots of room for disagreement among those who love Jesus, and I don’t claim to know the one and only right way to follow Him. So while I decline the opportunity to tell my story in support of a political cause, I don’t condemn those who see it differently. If my track record’s any indication, I’m probably wrong.

I believe in expanding the circle. I think every Christian has one primary obligation that trumps all others—we need to clear the path for others to find relationship with Jesus. And we certainly can’t intentionally place obstacles in that path. Winning a political battle at the expense of alienating others from Christ—that shrinks the circle, and that’s just too high a price.

I wonder what would happen if we took Jesus seriously and approached one another with unconditional love? I wonder how many of our problems flow from our reliance on the world’s pricesses?

I’d really like to hear your thoughts. How do you deal with conflicts between worldly realities and Jesus’ ideals?

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Left, Right, Or Something Else?

Grace And Truth

Jesus said, “You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.” [John 14:4-7]

Have you ever been frustrated and said, “Just tell me the rules”?

Last time I gave Satan a little advice. If I wanted to mess up someone’s life, I’d get them to respond to fear. A great indicator of fear is the anger and frustration that demands a list of rules.

The enemy moves toward his goals when we focus on lists of rules. When we try to reduce complex aspects of life like relationships or faith to a set of absolutes, we reduce our own humanity. And that’s what the enemy desperately desires.

Some rules are good. If you’re using computer software, it’s a good idea to learn and follow the rules when you begin. You can break them later when you know what you’re doing.

See, that’s the thing about rules. They’re usually a place to begin. Nothing wrong with that, but we get in trouble when we substitute rules for understanding.

Rules are often intended for novices. Every parent of a three-year-old establishes absolutes like “never step in the street unless you’re holding my hand.” It’s a perfectly logical rule—for a three-year-old—but the kid’s life would be miserable if he turned it into a life-long barrier.

Many rules are meant to evolve or disappear with wisdom and experience. A great way to hinder growth is insisting on absolute compliance to an outdated rule.

Think about you own “rules” and see if any of them were established for particular circumstances that no longer exist. Do any of them need to be modified or eliminated?

Rules are often minimums. Drivers know the basic “rules of the road.” Does anyone believe that knowing and following those rules makes you a good driver? Laws and regulations are a starting point, but they can’t replace experience and judgment.

“Stay out of the street” doesn’t insulate that three-year-old from harm. That doesn’t make it a bad rule, but good parents teach their children to develop awareness and understanding that translate to other situations.

Are you settling for minimum expectations by following any of your personal rules?

Rules encourage a search for loopholes.  Nearly any rule can be circumvented. Adhering to the “letter of the law” is rarely the same as doing the right thing, and the enemy wins when following the rules becomes the acceptable standard of behavior.

Children discover incredibly creative ways to endanger themselves. “Stay out of the street” doesn’t cover parking lots or driveways. Strict, ironclad rules can never cover all the possible exceptions.

Can you see places where you justify marginal choices by claiming that “you’re following the rules”?

Rules are often shortcuts. I don’t want to invest the time and energy to understand how it works. Just tell me the rules so I can get on with it.

That’s okay for low-level, algorithmic processes. I don’t need to know the science behind engine lubrication—I’ll just get the oil changed when it’s time. That’s enough.

The problem occurs when we turn relationships and interactions into rules. Anyone who’s married knows that a sure path to disaster is following a list of rules.

Are you using someone’s list of “ten ways to …” as a shortcut, to avoid the hard work of listening and caring and serving?

I’m not a big fan of rules and laws. I don’t advocate breaking them, but I don’t think they get us closer to doing right.

In John 14, Jesus was preparing His friends for His departure. In verse 4 He says, You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Thomas replies that he doesn’t know. He wants a map and some directions.

And Jesus answers, “I am the way …”

We can’t know God by following the rules. There’s no system of laws that can get us where we were intended to be. Jesus didn’t give us a map, because it doesn’t work like that.

“I am the way.” Jesus gave us Himself as a compass to point the way. Rules won’t do it. I have to get to know Him.

Where are you using rules to substitute for authentic principles of love and respect? What can you do to move away from this tendency?

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Go And Do Likewise

If I Got Jesus, Do I Really Need All These People?

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. [1 John 4:16-18]

Do you think you’re controlled by fear?

I’ve recently encountered a couple of suggestions for Satan. Writers emphasized the negative impacts of some behavior or issue by stating, “If I were Satan, I’d try to get everyone to …” The implication is that if the enemy could get at this one particular piece of us, everything else would collapse.

It’s an interesting notion. What’s the one place you’d attack if you wanted to do the most damage to the most people at a really fundamental level?

Tough choice—we’re pretty vulnerable and fragile, lots of weaknesses to exploit. Satan is an expert, and I’m not a fan of unsolicited advice anyway.

MY ADVICE

But if he asked, I’d suggest prompting us to react to fear.

He doesn’t really need to create fear. We’re surrounded by real and imagined threats, and there’s no shortage of people who’ll highlight and exploit them. The boogeyman is everywhere. The enemy’s only job is to whisper that we must react immediately to fear.

Politics and political media thrive on fear. “You’re either with us or against us” is the rally cry as we demonize and condemn those who disagree. They’re obviously intent on destroying the ideals we hold dear. We must crush them at all costs.

A lot of religious energy focuses on fear, especially when it’s mixed with political or theological ideology. We’re told to fear the enemy, fear hell, and especially to fear anyone who sees things differently. Listening to much of the rhetoric, you’d conclude that Jesus hadn’t already won the battle and God can’t withstand questions or challenges.

Personal and professional interactions invite fearful reaction. In an uncertain economy, the competitor, the colleague, the boss—all of them become threats to financial security. Loved ones hold the keys to emotional security, so we control or withdraw to protect our hearts.

In a time of great peril, Franklin Roosevelt exhorted, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

Fear is our most powerful emotion. Unchecked fear trumps faith and overcomes love. Important to note—the real problem isn’t fear, but unchecked fear that controls choices, attitudes, and behaviors.

COURAGE

Lots of people think courage is the absence of fear. But if you’re not afraid, why would you need courage? Courage means doing what’s right in the face of fear.

When we help others confront their fear and hold fast to truth, we give them courage—that’s encourage. When we prey on their fear, emphasize the threat, and spur them to act in response to fear, we remove courage—that’s discourage.

Fear tells us to forego principles for immediate results. Fear directs us to destroy the boogeyman at all costs, even if it means violating our most cherished values. That’s discourage.

And here’s the truth: perfect love drives out fear.

My understanding of this truth might be this paraphrase: perfect love drives out the need to react in fear.

John is not telling us we can’t experience the feeling of fear. Jesus certainly experienced fear as He faced the cross.

Love enables us to face the fear, to not be controlled by it. Love supplies the motivation to hold to eternal principles when fear tells us otherwise.

Love encourages.

The next time someone pushes you to react in fear, ask yourself if their words encourage or discourage.

If they suggest compromising eternal principles for some immediate result, they’re leading you to react in fear. That’s discourage.

If they direct your attention to Jesus’ simple message of unconditional love and respect, if they prompt you to cling to eternal principles in the face of temptation, they’re guiding you to do truth despite fear.

That’s encourage.

What voices of discouragement do you hear?

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Don’t Be Afraid

How To Give Unsolicited Advice

The Real Power Of Forgiveness

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” [Luke 10:36-37]

It’s great to be back with you again after a few days of rest. Our trip was mostly vacation mixed with a bit of work—while we were in California I was blessed with the opportunity to speak to the congregation at Modesto Christian Reformed Church. (In case you’re wondering, the photo’s just a vacation shot from the Charles Schultz museum in Santa Rosa. Charlie Brown doesn’t attend Modesto CRC.)

There’s no such thing as a “routine” presentation. They’re all special, but this particular morning was particularly significant and personal because it closed an important circle in the story of Relentless Grace.

The pastor who invited me to speak is my friend Al Helder. If you’ve read the book you’ll recognize Al as the character who spent many long nights beside my hospital bed. He also performed our wedding eight years ago—in fact, we celebrated our anniversary during the trip.

Preparing for the morning provided a chance to reflect on an improbable thirty-year journey. I tried to extract a few insights that might help Al’s congregation understand our shared experiences. We based our discussion on Jesus’ parable of The Good Samaritan.

We are not defined by our experiences. My story’s nothing special; everyone has a unique, compelling personal story. I’m not an injury or a disability, nor am I the mistakes I’ve made along the way. In the parable, the man wasn’t less precious or worthy because of his misfortune.

We all know individuals with similar experiences and backgrounds but very different lives. We’re defined in the end by how we deal with the events we encounter. Some folks rise above incredible adversity, others shrink in the face of the smallest obstacles. Blessings and struggles are present on every road, but we determine the nature of the journey through our reactions and responses.

To me, experiences seem like context or background for the real story. They’re important, and we can certainly learn from them. But a story centered only on “what happened” can’t have much depth because “what happened” misses the most important components of the story.

We are defined by relationships. We’re made in God’s image, and He is about relationships. We are designed for authentic intimacy with God, with other people, and with ourselves.

I firmly believe I owe my eventual recovery to people who reflected God’s grace and mercy when I didn’t want to see them. They loved when it wasn’t easy, despite my stubborn resistance. Those folks were “Jesus with skin on” and they refused to allow fear to keep them from doing what had already been done for them.

The church exists to serve people. Church isn’t intended as an exclusive club reserved for a bit better class of sinner. It’s a hospital, not a hall of fame.

That means church can’t be just for folks who look, act, dress, and behave like us. Church should be uncomfortable at times because it reaches out and welcomes people who don’t fit in our comfort zone.

My life didn’t change because of an injury or due to any heroic personal decisions. It changed because people welcomed me and loved me when I was a mess, when I didn’t belong.

Of course, they were as messed-up as I was. I brought something they needed, though I didn’t see it at the time. As my friend Al is fond of saying, “Nobody’s here by accident.”

Jesus often shows up in unexpected clothing. During times of struggle I often wonder why God doesn’t step up, but that’s because I expect Him to speak from a burning bush.

Jesus was with me, speaking to me, throughout a horrible ordeal. I didn’t recognize Him because He wore a nurse’s scrubs, a therapist’s lab coat, or a college student’s blue jeans. He spoke to me and cared for me through ordinary, imperfect people.

Jesus’ message is actually pretty simple. That doesn’t mean it’s easy or convenient, but He tells us pretty clearly how to respond to His call. He ended the parable with a clear command: “Go and do likewise.”

We make it complicated. His simple message of unconditional love doesn’t fit our limited notions of how the world ought to work. It’s uncomfortable, it requires sacrifice. So we impose our own rules and conditions and turn His message into a tangle of religious rules. We endlessly debate the rules instead of following Jesus.

We lament that God won’t tell us what He wants. We pray for guidance and direction. We sing songs about the mystery of His purposes. That’s all good, but sometimes I wonder if it’s an elaborate religious smokescreen.

Jesus told the parable of The Good Samaritan in response to the question, “Who is my neighbor?”

At the end, He asked a question of His own: which of the characters was a neighbor to the man in need? The reply was, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Then Jesus told Him, “Go and do likewise.”

Perhaps if we did the truth we know, we’d learn the truth we need to know.

“Knowing about” doesn’t do much good. I thought I knew Jesus, but I really just knew about Him. I knew the facts, the story, the events, but those were useless when the storm arrived. I needed to meet Him, encounter Him in an intimate, transparent relationship.

It’s the same with grace. We all know about grace, but that’s like reading a book about kids and thinking you know how to be a parent. Grace becomes real when it’s reflected to those who need it (that’s you and me and everyone else).

Our words and knowledge don’t change lives. God’s grace and truth changes lives, and He uses ordinary people to demonstrate His love. And that brings me to a final observation …

God uses imperfect people to accomplish His perfect work. Ever wonder why God works through flawed human beings? It’s because they’re the only kind.

I’ve learned not to idealize people. Christians can do God’s work through the Spirit. Pastors have a special call on their lives. Teachers, preachers, writers—they all have something to contribute. Nobody’s here by accident.

But even the best of us are broken. We all have blind spots and biases. We all make mistakes and then rationalize or blame. We all judge and allow fear to color our vision. We all fail to do what’s right, even when we know it.

I don’t deserve any of the blessings I’ve received. I’m here for one simple reason: Jesus loves me.

Now I want to respond to His simple direction: “Go and do likewise.”

What’s your take on events, people, and what shapes your journey?

The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?”

But the good Samaritan reversed the question: “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” Martin Luther King, Jr.

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Hypocrites, Hospitals, And The Hall Of Fame

Reflecting Jesus

Clanging Cymbals

**This article is a re-post from January 23, 2010. I’m re-visiting the archives while my wife and I enjoy a few days of vacation. This is one of my absolute favorites.

Happy Saturday!

I encourage you to grab a cup of coffee, sit back, and be inspired by a 20-minute video:

The Butterfly Circus

I’m still fascinated by the guy in the top hat. What do you think?

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. [Isaiah 43:18-19]

**This article is a re-post from February 27, 2009. I’m re-visiting the archives while my wife and I enjoy a few days of vacation.

“You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” 

I listened as a speaker explained the “60-20” principle, claiming that when we initially meet someone we have sixty seconds to create a lasting impact. The first twenty seconds focuses on appearance, the next twenty on behavior, and the final twenty on words.

I wonder what first impression we create in the minds of non-believers? How can appearance, behavior, and words create the first impression of Christ?

I fear that the broader culture too frequently equates “Christian” with political rhetoric, judgment, condemnation, and exclusion. We’re known more by what we oppose (and for being angry about it) than by what we support. Certainly there’s a place for stating your case and standing firm in your beliefs, but effectiveness is blunted when that first impression causes folks to turn away.

Skilled missionaries understand this principle. Their ultimate purpose centers on conveying Christ’s message of salvation, but much of their work involves building houses and establishing adequate systems for providing food, water, and safety. They travel to difficult, dangerous places because they recognize that people don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. (1 John 3:16-18)

Do others see Christ in my appearance? I can’t do much about old and bald, but do I strive to display a welcoming smile that communicates genuine pleasure when I encounter someone who may be “different?”

Do my initial behaviors draw people closer? Do they perceive open arms or reserved analysis?

Are my first words an invitation? Am I authentically interested in listening instead of preaching?

I fear that the unhappy answer to these questions, for me at least, is frequently negative. I’m too quick to scrutinize, analyze, and categorize. I’m glad Jesus doesn’t receive me as I so often receive others.

It’s not my job to save people; Jesus took care of that. It’s my job to love them. I don’t have to decide who’s worthy or who belongs; everyone belongs. I don’t need to identify the broken; we’re all broken. My first responsibility, above and before anything else, is to create a first impression for Jesus by loving everyone.

Many times our “ministries” convey the impression of the healthy helping the sick, but that’s wrong. By God’s standards we’re all sick, and the physician is Christ. He asks only that we love the other sick folks as He’s loved us.

We’re not known as Christians by crosses around necks or fish on car bumpers. We’re not known by political affiliation, by separating ourselves from the bad people, or by being better than everyone else.

How will they know us? They will know we are Christians by our love.

Question: What’s one area in which you struggle to love the unlovable?

**This article is a re-post from February 27, 2009.

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The world lost a giant last weekend when John Wooden went home.

You didn’t need to be a sports fan to appreciate Coach Wooden, because his legacy and influence transcended sports. If you’re a fan of peace, love, character, generosity, and humility, then you had to be a fan of John Wooden.

In this video, Wooden talks about his one true love and his sincere desire to spend eternity with her.

If you can’t view the video, please click here.

Here’s a bonus: Coach Wooden talks about his definition of success.

 If one falls down, his friend can help him up.
But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. [Ecclesiastes 4:10-12]

Writing can create the illusion that you’re involved in a mostly solitary endeavor.

I always try to visualize a group of four or five people as the audience—enough for a discussion, not so many that they become faceless. I imagine that I’m listening to their voices and reactions as I edit. But in the end it’s still just me and the keyboard, and frankly I’ll be worried if those imaginary audience voices become a bit too real.

I actually like solitude, working at home with nobody but the dog to talk to. I prefer to cycle alone because it’s some of my best thinking time. I think I’m wired to spend a lot of time by myself.

I think it’s important to be comfortable with only yourself for company. I haven’t always been able to spend time alone. For much of my first thirty-five years I filled my time with people—any people—simply to avoid having to spend time with my own thoughts and failures and guilt.

Seems like the culture tells us that it’s all about socializing, networking, and connecting with as many folks as possible. And if we are alone, there’s the Internet to provide those virtual relationships. We’ll take any company, even bad, boring, or dangerous company, to avoid being alone.

But while a good relationship with yourself is important, it’s not enough. I need to guard against the tendency to become excessively solitary.

When Genesis states that we were created in God’s image, I think it’s telling us that we are creatures of relationship. God has lived forever in the relationship of the Trinity, and I think that’s the model for us. To be healthy and whole, we require intimacy with ourselves, with others, and with God—a cord of three strands.

I’m not sure if that what the writer of Ecclesiastes meant, but it’s a pretty good analogy that makes sense to me. One cord—myself—won’t withstand much strain. Two cords—myself and others—that’s better, because we can help each other.

But three—myself, others, and God—I believe that’s how we’re all at our best.

Some folks think they can do Christianity by themselves, but I think they’re missing an important part of the message. “Just me and Jesus” isn’t the model. In fact, perhaps my favorite part of Relentless Grace uses an analogy called The River to explain a powerful encounter with this notion.

Relationships with other people are messy and frustrating. Church families can be dysfunctional and often downright hurtful. It’s easy to imagine that it might be better to just go off with my dog and my bible (and my computer, of course) and leave the difficult people behind.

But those “difficult people” are precisely the ones Jesus told us to love. In Colossians 3:13 Paul writes, “Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”

It’s pretty hard to “bear with” and “forgive” others unless I’m willing to engage with them. Following Jesus isn’t a solitary endeavor. We’re meant to travel the path with others.

I guess I’d better back away from the keyboard and talk to someone besides my imaginary friends and the dog.

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What’s Your Theology?

The River (Relentless Grace excerpt #11)

Where’s Jesus?

How should you offer unsolicited advice? You shouldn’t.

This morning I rode a bike trail that includes an underpass and a particularly steep ramp. It’s one of my favorite routes, but for me that ramp is a killer. No matter how hard I try I can never get quite enough momentum to crank to the crest. I always stall just before reaching the top, so I have to just hold myself steady, make sure I don’t roll backward, and inch my way the final three or four feet.

So this morning I was maintaining my stalled position and creeping forward when a guy rolled past. He called over his shoulder, “You should shift to a lower gear before climbing a hill.”

Wow. If only I’d known…

I confess—my thoughts at that moment weren’t something like, “Hosanna, the Lord hath provided. Praise God for sending such a wise and generous man.”

I wondered if he really thought I didn’t know about shifting gears. If he’d taken a moment to understand the situation he’d have seen that I was indeed in the lowest possible gear. I would have assured him that I had tried a number of strategies, but my lack of dexterity and strength hasn’t allowed me to conquer this particular challenge yet.

But he didn’t bother to even slow down. He simply tossed out what felt like a dismissive, condescending nugget of drive-by advice. I wonder what he intended, what he was thinking—or if he was thinking.

Did he imagine that his pearl of information would help me reach the top of the ramp? Not likely, since you can’t change gears while stopped on a steep incline.

Was he concerned for my immediate safety? If so, perhaps he might have slowed down to ask if I needed help.

Some advice is a shortcut that demonstrates a lack of genuine concern. Providing helpful feedback requires time and patience and the commitment to engage in authentic relationship. It’s much quicker to provide a quick “If I were you”—even though you’re not—and then move on.

Sometimes advice generates a false sense of superiority. Since I’m clearly not as smart as you, I’ll never be able to figure this out on my own. The only way for me to avoid a mistake is for you to tell me what I should do.

Advice is often a simple quest for short-term results. I don’t really care whether you learn principles that might enhance your ultimate independence or problem-solving capability. I just want the answer or the sale or the immediate gratification. We’ll worry about that other stuff later.

When I speak to groups of kids about disability issues, they’re often concerned about how to help without offending. “What should I do if I see someone who appears to need help?”

My answer is to ask if there’s something you can do to help. This doesn’t guarantee that the person won’t be offended, because some folks look for excuses to be offended. Whenever someone asks me that question, I smile and thank them for asking. Usually I’m fine, but occasionally I do need a little help and I always appreciate the concern.

So if you see an old bald guy stalled near the top of a ramp, don’t tell him what he should have done. He’s probably self-conscious enough already.

But don’t just ignore him, either. This might be the day his shoulders are a little fatigued, and maybe he’s about to lose his grip and crash. He might appreciate a little push, or he might thank you and tell you he’ll be okay.

Either way, you’ll know you offered with a heart of service and love.

Are you ever tempted to offer unwanted advice to kids, spouse, or friends? What’s a better response?

It’s not my place to solve your problems. My job is to love you while you solve your problems. Cec Murphy

Did you enjoy this article? I encourage you to leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net.

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