Author: Chris

On Being Introverted While Learning Another Language

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There’s nothing like a good time of being alone. The silence. The peace. The absence of any expectation to talk.

When I was a little boy, I used to enjoy going into small, dark spaces and sitting by myself. I loved the furnace closet. Writing that sentence now, I feel a little strange. But there’s just something about being in a place all alone knowing no one can interrupt the peace (who’s gonna look in the furnace closet?).

Yes. I’m an introvert. I know everyone is these days, but I’m a real one. I definitely need my people. I need conversations. I need people around me to stay sane. But, I very easily get lost spending time by myself. Oh my, that sounds so egotistical. Which is probably true, too.

But back to introversion: I did something kinda crazy and agreed to help some friends transition into the administration of a children’s home in Bolivia. I arrived two weeks ago and will be primarily helping the boys until late October or early November. “Tio Chris,” they call me. I’m told Kris is also a brand of mayonnaise and ketchup, so that’s hilarious.

I don’t know what I was thinking. A children’s home isn’t the best place to come for an introvert to tap into his inner-introvertedness. What I really didn’t consider, though, was the fact that I’d be functioning with a two-year old’s level of Spanish. Doesn’t make for great heart-to-hearts con el hombres. It can quickly become overwhelming for an introvert who would just as happily sit in his hammock and read Kipling.

Not only does all the wonderful activity exhaust you (because you still love people!), you get mentally exhausted from just plain talking. All the vocab and conjugations and grammar.

One of the first days, I asked one of the boys how many “beautifuls” he has. I meant “sisters.” I knew better, but in the moment got mixed up and said “hermosas” instead of “hermanas.” I guess it could’ve been worse. And it really was funny.

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“Hope” Revisited

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Prelude:

This post was written merely 17 days after my Mom’s death on November 6, 2012 (chronologically before my previous post, “[Not] an Accident”).

In the immediate after math of the accident, the Family of God surrounded our family with incredibly love and comfort. I can’t explain to you how healing and helpful that was. It breaks my heart that not everyone who experiences loss gets that kind of support.

If you know someone who has experienced loss—loss of any kind: a loved one, a baby, a marriage, a child’s faith, a church, a friendship, even significant material things—show them love. Sit with them. Take them food. Try not to talk to much, but do ask them questions. Ask them if they want to talk about their loved one. Don’t forget them.

These are the ramblings of a grief stricken soul under the tremendous grace of an Almighty God.

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When You Don’t Want God

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Have you ever walked into a house while someone is cooking a meal? Think of Thanksgiving day when your mom is preparing that delectable array of dishes and the aroma saturates the entire house.

Even if you aren’t hungry before, you are once you’ve smelled the delicious food! In fact, if you’re like me, you’re hungry right now just thinking about it!

A while ago, some of my friends and I were discussing what it means to be “hungry for God.”

We talked about how we often ask God to make us more “hungry for him”–to “help us want him more,” as we often put it.

I’ve said this a lot and I always mean it in a good way. I usually say it like a transparent plea before God, being honest about how I feel while also expressing my desire to love Him more. And I think this is often appropriate.

But my friend Vince wondered what it is like for God to hear us pray “Help me want you more.”

Imagine being the most beautiful Person to ever exist, the most glorious Concept in the universe, the most desirable Companion–imagine being all that and having people say “I still don’t want You enough, help me want You more.”

Vince thought perhaps the best question is not “Do you want God?” but rather “Have you seen God?”

Because just like smelling a delicious Thanksgiving meal stirs up hunger, seeing God stirs a longing for more of Him. The more you see Jesus, the more you desire Him.

Today, instead of asking God to increase our desire for Him, let’s ask Him to reveal Himself to us.

I think that’s what will really stir our desire for more.

“One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple.” – Psalm 27:4

Blessings,
C.D.

Being a Leader Doesn’t Always Mean Being King

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Jonathan from the Bible may be one of my all time favorite leaders.

I’ve been thinking a lot about leadership, recently, because I’m working on writing a book for young guys about what it means to be a man while we’re young. Obviously, a big part of “being a man” is being a leader, right? Taking initiative, standing strong, commanding groups of people–all that.

When we think of great leaders in the Bible, people often immediately think of David or Joshua or even Jonathan’s father Saul because they led with authority. (Saul not so much in his latter years.)

But in many ways, it takes more strength, humility, and grit to play Jonathan’s role, to be a follower instead of a king.

Think about it.

From a human perspective, the throne belonged to Jonathan and David was a usurper. Jonathan was the heir-apparent; David was a royal outsider. It was within Jonathan’s (human) “right” to protest and consider David a rebel.

Yet Jonathan had an unflinching resolve and conviction to follow David and remain loyal to him while honoring his father King Saul.

Can you imagine?! Imagine being so close to having the throne and power as your own and yet giving it all up willingly. Just a brief look at the history of European monarchs or communist-Russian dictators is enough to tell you that a position of such power is no small thing to pass up. Goodness, some guys can’t even handle another guy getting “the girl”. 

We place a lot of emphasis on stepping up and leading out. We admire people like Elon Musk and Steve Jobs and MLK Jr. who don’t wait around for others but take the bull by the horns and forge the new way on their own. These guys are truly remarkable. David was truly remarkable.

Yet, David needed Jonathan. Without Jonathan, he likely would’ve been murdered by the mad king.

Yes, initiative is incredibly important. I wish more people were capable of taking initiative and swimming upstream. Being able to buckle up and rally a team is essential to progress. But I think what makes leaders truly great is having the ability to follow really well.

Because without good followers, no one can lead.

Jonathan is historically a nobody. He was never king. His name isn’t in any Messianic genealogies. He’s not listed in Hebrews 11 with the “greats” of the faith.

He spent his life defending his best friend, trying to honor a madman-father, and single-handedly taking out entire armies with rebuke as his only reward. He didn’t even die a noble death. He died in defeat and his body was disgraced by his enemies.

I guess my point is that great leadership isn’t always about being the head of the spear. It’s not always about being the one who stands head and shoulders above everyone else. It’s not about getting songs sung about you or having a viral reputation.

It’s about doing what needs to be done in order to achieve a greater goal. Sometimes this means taking charge, often it means giving your best opinion, but many times it simply means saying “I’ll do whatever you say, Captain.”

If God has called you to be a Jonathan, just remember that of the three, I think he was the better man.

But what do you think? Do you agree that sometimes the best leaders are great followers? Do you think Jonathan was better than David?
 
I’d love to hear your thoughts!
 
C.D.

I Don’t Need to Be Understood

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A little over a year ago my mentor gave me some valuable feedback about how I relate to people. I had just returned from a mission training school which he happens to teach at and apparently one or two other students (who are all phenomenal people, btw) gave some brave feedback in a debriefing paper about finding it difficult to relate to me. I guess it seemed like I was argumentative and didn’t value other people’s opinions as much as I did my own.

It wounded my ego at first, but I could see where they were coming from because it’s a little bit of a recurring theme in my life.

I enjoy a proper conversation about substance. Talking about sports and celebrities and the weather just gets boring after a while. Even more, I like it when people are willing to disagree because it’s when we disagree that we learn stuff.

I’m not saying I’m a crusty guy who only talks about religion and politics. Far from it. I actually hate political conversations and heated arguments and have participated in my share of silliness.

It’s just that other people’s opinions are fascinating to me. I like hearing their train of logic and why they believe what they believe. Why is one of my favorite words. I don’t know why parents completely squash it out of us when we’re kids.

Of course–as with any human–I naturally prefer my opinion over others. That’s why I have it. I’m biased to my train of logic and point of view. (You probably are too.)

And so instead of listening and trying to understand what the other person is really saying, it can be easy for me to start building my next thought. I think most of us have this problem. And sometimes, I do run over other people and even belittle their opinion.

I do think I have been getting better, especially after I found out that it was a real problem at Bible school. But I’ll let my friends decide whether that’s true or not.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned about myself, though. When I get frustrated in a conversation, it’s usually not because the other person has a different opinion or point of view. I’ve grown up interacting with a myriad of opinions. It bothers me more when people obviously have an opinion and refuse to share it because they don’t want to argue. (There’s a difference between having a rigorous conversation and a heated argument–but the untrained eye might not be able to see it.)

I get frustrated for a couple of reasons–but one in particular keeps recurring and I’m realizing it’s actually a very silly reason.

I get frustrated when I don’t feel understood.

Either I haven’t articulated my opinion very well or people have over complicated things and assumed beliefs into my statements. Or sometimes I get in trouble by playing the “devil’s advocate” and the next thing I know I’m backed into a corner defending the devil’s point of view because people thought I actually believed it. I shake my head and wonder why I’m defending the devil! I was just testing the parachute for holes before I put it on.

Nothing is more frustrating to me than being misunderstood.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned: It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter if people understand me. I don’t need to go round-and-round in an argument until they fully grasp my point of view.

I know what I’m trying to say. I know why I pushed back on an argument I thought had some holes. I know why I posted that article or poll I found fascinating. I don’t need to go around making sure everyone understands where I stand. I don’t need to prove my point.

What does matter is that I strive to understand other people. No matter who it is, I can guarantee they have a story, they have reason they are where they are. They have a “why.” And sometimes the only persuading they need is a listening ear and an understanding heart.

It’s a powerful thing to be understood. Not labeled or boxed up, not rejected or pandered to, not condemned, belittled or pacified.

Understood. Known. As a real person with a real story and a real why.

So who have you argued with recently? Can you say you really understand where they were coming from? Were you able to walk away without “proving your point”?

If you did, you’re a remarkable person. That takes real guts!

C.D.

“[Not] an Accident” Revisited

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Prelude:

In the fall of 2012, four days before my brother’s wedding, my mother, sister, and I were in a car accident. The incident dramatically affected not only the course of my life, but my very identity.

In the proceeding months, blogging, journaling, and writing poetry became one of the primary ways I processed the accident and aftermath.

Looking through my old blog, Fraction, I was recently amazed at how quickly this process began for me. My first post after the accident was only two weeks later. It was titled “Hope.”

Over the next several months, I want to revisit some of these pivotal pieces as well as publish some of the poetry and other prose I had written during that time, but never published. My hope is that it will not only be healing for me to remember what God has brought me through, but also healing for those of you who have gone or are going through a similar experience.

If that’s you, please know: You are not alone.

I’m beginning with a piece which describes—in details I had since forgotten—what it was like for me to wake up that day. Although some of my theology has matured since I originally wrote it, I do hope you find it encouraging and inspiring. 

Without further ado:

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One Hundred Eleven

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Here’s a random fact: It’s been two years, two months, and ten days since I last published an actual post on a personal blog (apart from the “I have a new website” posts that I did).

Obviously–given the two year gap–it’s been hard to get back into the groove of blogging. Having been dormant for so long, I’ve pretty much lost any sort of rhythm that I had. Thus my writing habits have devolved into random spurts that splatter themselves all over Google Drive. It’s terribly messy.

Part of the problem is that my actual job involves a lot of writing. And by “a lot,” I mean, it’s nearly all writing and sitting at a computer. Therefore, writing and sitting at a computer is usually the last thing I want to do for a hobby (unless it means mindlessly scrolling Facebook or surfing Youtube).

All that to say: the creative juices haven’t exactly been flowing.

Nevertheless, here I am. Writing. And that’s what counts, I guess.

Speaking of counting…

I should divulge something right away: I’m a little bit of a nerd. I built a fictional world when I was twelve years old, complete with maps, fragmented languages, histories, and a 70,000+ word novel; I watch YouTube videos about string theory for fun, I’ve read The Silmarillion three times (and other abstract Middle-Earth lore), and I notice quaint little things like when the clock reads 11:11.

In fact, a couple of years ago, I started noticing the time 11:11, or the number 1 anywhere in repeated consecutive order, so much that I began taking it as God’s way of reminding me that he loves me.

“Oh look, it’s 1:11pm. God loves me” or ‘Your destination is in 11.1 miles…’ “Aha! God loves me,” weird little stuff that only a nerd would find interesting. Could be coincidence, if you want to spoil all the fun.

This whole number thing is significant to me because over the past few years I’ve struggled to feel like I have any sort of meaningful connection with God. But I’m beginning to doubt my feelings more and more.

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An Unusual Day – A Story from 9 Year Old Me and Raw Reflections about Current Life

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An Unusual Day While sorting through a bunch of old memorabilia, my sisters came across this short essay I wrote when I was 9 (I think).

“An Unusual Day. It was an unusual day when my pants got wet and I had no pants to wear! I had to wear my sister’s blanket. I had to do everything when nobody looked! I had to lay in my brother’s bed. I had to write a story about it in my blanket. My sister wrote the story because I didn’t feel like writing it. This all happened in California. True story”

I have no idea what happened to all my other pants, or why I had to lay in my brother’s bed instead of my own, or why I chose to write a story about it, or why I couldn’t write the story myself. Really 9-year old me. Really.

On a more recent note, pray for my family if you think about it. We are needing to move out of our house by the end of the month and we don’t know yet where we are moving. We have some ideas, and we feel God’s peace, but nothing is certain yet! That is why my sisters were sorting through old stuff.

It’s tough because this is the last house where my Mom lived and where we were a complete family unit. This is the house we lived in when we were out here in L.A. “by ourselves” with only a handful of friends. This is the house we lived in when we saw more teammates move out and ministry grow. Where we got to know people from L.A. and build local connections.

And now our roots are being torn up again. And I wonder where home is. And I realize that it’s with the people I love–but it’s more than that–it’s wherever Jesus is.

Life has not been perfect for me. Lately, it’s been kind of rough. But I’m realizing that it’s in these rough times when life is swirling, and roots are mangled, and loved ones are gone or hurting, and the enemy is attacking–it’s in these moments when I want to check-out, when I want to scream at God “This isn’t what I signed up for!” When I want to shrug my responsibility–to lay down my sword–to curl up behind a tree and sleep while others fight–that I sense Jesus with me.

It hasn’t always been this way for me. There have been times in my life when I thought God could care less about what was happening to me. But not right now. Right now I sense His peace. I sense that despite all the lies, and feelings, and chaos Jesus is with me, loving me, holding me, teaching me, pruning me, filling me with more of Himself.

I’m realizing that–at least for now–I feel closest to Jesus when I feel the most desperate and lost. I feel God’s presence at the same times I feel the rawest anger and frustration.

Everything within me wants to avoid hard work, pain, and raw, real relationships–but, yet, they are very precious and, in a certain way, I cherish these times.

I remember, as a kid in Minnesota, boating on the lake with my family during storms or windy days and feeling the safety of my Dad’s arms or the comfort of my Mom’s lap. Nowhere else did I feel more at rest.

I think that experiencing Jesus isn’t so much about Him making my life comfortable, but about Jesus being with us in our pain and trouble. It’s hearing Him say, “I’ve got you, Son! I’m here. I’m with you. I’m holding you. You’re going to be okay. You are safe. Just rest in my arms.”

C.D.

Knowing God’s Will and Becoming Passionate About Him

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If God told us exactly what we should do for the next years, I think it would be easy for us to check out and not actually depend on the Father and learn to trust and love Him. His desire is for relationships with His children, not business partnerships.

Instead He says “Seek first my kingdom by loving me and doing good works, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

This requires constant trust in Papa and dependance on His Spirit to guide us. This produces relationship which produces love. It allows us to see that He is trustworthy–that Jesus is faithful and finishes what He started.

Wise men say the “weight of God’s glory” is a fancy way of saying “God’s value.” What is God’s value? Immeasruable!

All of that–love, dependability, commitment, grace–is the weight of God’s glory, His value. That is what He wants the world to see: how valuable He is–not as a business partner, not as a boyfriend, not as a slave master, not as a divine Santa Claus–but as a committed, dependable, loving Father.

He’s not up there grumbling, “Christopher’s not doing anything significant. Man, I really regret creating him. He’s just sitting on his bum looking at Facebook. Holy Spirit, give Him a little kick to get started! Jesus, are you sure this is one we want serving us? Look at how he keeps sinning! I’m going to withhold my favor and pleasure from him and not tell him my one specific purpose for his life until he shows himself committed and faithful.”

NOO!! That’s not the Father’s attitude AT ALL! Not an ounce of that is true! The Father is saying “I want to show MY glory through YOUR personality, because I absolutely love you and I love the way I created you! If you have sinned, please let me cleanse you because I don’t want ANYTHING to separate us EVER AGAIN.”

He says “I love you child” before we ever say “I love you Daddy.” He says “Let’s do something together” before we ever say “I want you in my life.” He’s not waiting for us to straighten things out, rather He’s saying “Let’s go on an adventure together and maybe in the meantime, we can work through some of these problems.”

Through this kind of Fathering, His glory is made known to us and those who see us. He isn’t glorified by how clean and unwrinkled we are, He is glorified by how good, patient, just, holy and faithful HE is and how alive we are.

So instead of waiting around for a moment when your life-purpose becomes crystal clear, start seeking God’s kingdom first and doing the good works already before you and give Papa the chance to “take care of the rest.”

Do you feel apathetic toward God? Like you don’t love Him as much as you should? Do something and trust Him to guide you, because it is through relational interaction that love develops and passion is stirred.

C.D.