Doorbells, Prairie Dogs, and the Hidden Heart

Growing up in Western Kansas required us to be creative regarding entertainment. In fact, I should probably issue a formal apology to my neighbors for the countless times they heard a knock on their door only to find no one there. Or even worse, to open the door to see a little brown bag on fire waiting for them to stomp it out, and without knowing it, submerge their shoe in poo. 

Lord, I apologize.

One of the more productive forms of entertainment we participated in was prairie dog hunting. You may think it sounds cruel to blast prairie dogs with high powered rifles, and like Olympic judges, rate their flips and turns as they landed flat on their backs, but it was actually good for the crops. 

As entertaining as it was, it usually didn’t last long. As soon as the first shot rang out, the prairie dogs would scurry about and nose dive into their holes. They would then spend lengthy periods of time buried under ground hiding in the safety of their burrows. 

I never discovered how long they actually stayed in hiding after the sound of the first blast (far too impatient to wait), but I am assuming they eventually mustered enough courage to breathe fresh air again. Imagine a young and vulnerable prairie dog hearing the screaming bullets for the first time and making a vow to never come out again. Even years after the threat is gone, there he is still shaking with fear in his burrow afraid to surface and join the rest of the prairie dog community.

Lord, I apologize. 

The more I have the opportunity to sit across from people and listen to their stories, the more I realize that this is precisely what happens to the heart. I have lost track of the number of times I have heard the same theme surface in counseling sessions. In essence, it goes like this: Something painful happens in a person’s life—often times in their early years—and the heart gets buried in order to avoid experiencing the pain and to keep it from happening again. The person then learns how to live a much “safer” life (John Eldredge calls it “posing”) where the heart is nowhere to be found. 

The problem with burying the heart is that it’s actually the “wellspring of life” (Proverbs 4:23).  When you cut off the heart, you are going to experience drought.  I looked into the desperate eyes of someone this week and listened to them say, “I feel so dry. I’m tired of hiding.” 

That simple acknowledgement is such an important step in their journey towards abundant life.  It’s the life God created all of us to experience. Jesus extended an incredible invitation as he proclaimed, “I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10) 

In order to taste the richness of this truth, we must invite him into the depths of the heart. We must surrender the heart into his steady and faithful hands and allow him to do what he does best--create beauty from ashes. This is a daily process of inviting him into the very places we’re tempted to bury and hide. 

As you continually respond to his invitation by extending your own invitation to him, you’ll learn to trust him on a deep level. You’ll see how loves, heals, redeems, and even leads us to repentance.  

Perhaps this repentance will even include your neighborhood antics from your teenage years. Say it with me…

Lord, I apologize.

A Life of Love

My grandma, Elizabeth Jenkins, passed away on Monday evening. She lived a full and fruitful life. In fact, she must have taken God’s command to be “fruitful and multiply” quite seriously as she and my grandpa Jack had nine children together. All nine of those children have turned out to be incredible people, which speaks loudly of the type of person she was. 

Many of her children were already gathered around her bed as my family and I walked into her hospital room a few days ago. There were four generations present as we laughed, hugged, and enjoyed each other's company.  Even though it was obvious that she was just steps away from life’s finish line, she still managed to flash that same contagious smile I was used to seeing. 

I said my goodbyes and was headed out the door when I looked back to see her struggling to sit up. It was apparent that she had something important to say, so I quickly turned around to join the others who were still gathered at her bed side. In a soft spoken but commanding voice, she said, “Love and forgiveness is what heals people.” They were the final words I heard her speak. 

Those words reminded me of what Jesus said to his disciples just hours before he tasted death. I imagine he probably had the same serious and commanding tone as he said, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:34)

As I’ve reflected on these words, a sense of conviction and inspiration has settled in my heart. The conviction is that religion without love is mere theory. The inspiration is to experience the life that I was created to live—a life of love.  

What does a life of love look like? Well, I think I've seen a pretty good example.

Thanks, Grandma.

Wisdom's Call

I stood on my back porch on Saturday afternoon and proudly declared, “Victory is mine!” I’m pretty sure any of my neighbors who heard my emphatic declaration thought I was crazy. I was simply excited that I had finally won the war against the neighborhood wasp army.  

Hundreds of wasps chose to reside under our brick porch throughout the summer, which meant we were held captive in our own home.  At one point, while family members were visiting, my brother-in-law was stung after being outside for all of about 60 seconds.  

In the following weeks, I blasted their home with wasp spray, I caulked their entrance closed, and I broke two fly swatters in my passionate efforts to enable my daughters to once again play in our yard. My works proved to be relatively futile though as the wasps were still multiplying by the day.  

This is when my strategy became more subtle, and I decided that I would try trapping them rather than blasting and swatting. It’s amazing how well it worked. I soaked a cotton ball in wasp attractant and placed it inside a trap, and I spent the next few weeks watching one wasp after the next fly through the cone and die inside. There were about 50 dead wasps stacked on top of each other, and still there were other wasps trying to get inside. I thought to myself, how dumb can you be? Can’t you see the pile of dead wasps who tried the same thing?

Isn’t this the allure that sin has? It looks good and smells good, so we become ignorant of the consequences and go for it. It started with Adam and Eve and continues to this day. Why would the enemy change his strategy if he knows this trap works so well? He is counting on us to be so compelled by the attractant that we choose ignorance over wisdom. 

Ignorance is an interesting thing. I lived most of my college years in ignorance. I was drawn to sin, and I refused to lift my eyes to see reality. When the consequences of my actions caught up with me, as they always will, I experienced the heartache and  impact of many bad decisions.  Quite simply, I chose ignorance over wisdom and emptiness over relationship with God. How could I be so dumb?

Speaking of ignorance, I was sitting in the hot tub at our local gym yesterday enjoying the 105 degree water when I began to think about what was actually in the water.  How many people had suddenly experienced a loss of bladder control while enjoying the same hot tub?  I chose not to think about it. It’s easy to play the ignorance card when something feels good.

This whole process has led me to evaluate my own life. What are the traps that have been set for me? What is the attractant that I may be prone to pursue? These are questions we must consider as we heed the Apostle Paul’s instruction to carefully inspect our lives. 

May we all reject ignorance and embrace a deeper level of wisdom. Let us open our ears and respond to wisdom's call—even if she is a real party crasher. 

She’s also a life saver.