How Deep Does Your Hate Run?

When I was in high school I had a friend, an acquaintance, that I worked with at the local grocery store. His name was Brian and he was kind of a goof off who used to pull some crazy stunts while we were working. It was great entertainment. Especially since his dad owned the store, so he knew he couldn't get fired for any of his antics.

He was also into drugs and the party lifestyle pretty big. I think he might have been an original goth... not the black clothes and white facepaint goth (this was only the mid 90's... I'm pretty sure Marilyn Manson was still a zit-faced teen himself). But he wore different clothes, didn't comb his hair, listened to weird music, and painted his fingernails. He was weird.

After I graduated, I moved out of town for a while to go to college. I eventually heard a rumor that Brian had been baptized. This struck me as kind of odd... did this mean he was a Christian? Why were people only talking about his baptism? Is this some kind of a stunt or practical joke? What did it mean? He was definitely not from a religious home. I was intrigued.

A while later, I was back in town and ran into Brian at a local coffee shop. There he was, still dressing funky, but I could see a twinkle in his eyes. They weren't glazed over and he wasn't stoned... there was something truly different. He came up to me and offered to pay for my cup of coffee if we could catch up. I thought that would be great! Who doesn't like free coffee?

So, we sat down and made small talk for a few minutes. How was life post-graduation. Where are you working. What are you doing. Etcetera, etcetera. Then he pointed out the jacket I was wearing. It was kind of a shearling coat made out of fluffy wool. I'll never forget his next words.

"You look like a sheep," he said with a sinister smile. "Do you follow a shepherd?"

Then it hit me. Not only were the rumors true, he had become a Believer, but he was trying to witness to me.

I will never forget the overwhelming feeling of guilt that swept over me at that moment. Part of me was impressed by his sweet lead-in and obvious gift for evangelism that I wanted to play along and "get saved" just to help his ego. But the bigger issue was that I was already a Believer myself, and he didn't know.

See, I'm not an evangelist. That's not my gift. I don't have the ability (or desire?) to just walk up to casual friends or perfect strangers and share my faith. I like St. Francis of Assisi's advice to "Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words." That's safe.

I can be a good person and live a good life, and sit back and let that speak for me as it permeates the people around me. Put it on their shoulders to recognize why I'm different. "They will know you are my followers by your love." If I just love everyone, they will know... I don't have to say anything. It's safe. No ridicule. No rejection. No awkward situations after I've laid it all on the line. It's safe.

But how effective is it?

Recently I watched a video blog from Penn Gillette, a devoutly open and adamant atheist. Someone had given him a Bible after one of his shows, and he was moved to tears. Not because he believed in anything the guy said, or that he was ever even going to read the Book... but he was moved by the gesture that this guy cared about him enough to share what he thought was The Answer.

Then he asked the question. A question that has rocked my world and thought process for the last few days since hearing it for the first time. I can't get it out of my head, and I don't think I'll ever be the same because of it.

He asked, "How much to you have to hate someone to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell them?"

How much do you have to hate someone to keep this from them? It's not a matter of inconvenience, or awkwardness. It's not even a matter of selfishness and hiding the truth. If we fail to share The Answer with them, it's an all-out assault of hatred towards those who don't believe.

Let me clarify something. I am not promoting street-corner preaching, or soap-box screaming. No "Turn or Burn" theology or "Fire & Brimstone" threats. There are people in our lives, people we are in relationship with, who will turn to us one day and ask us why we never told them.

So I challenge you to do the same thing I have been doing over these last few days. Examine your life. Examine your relationships. Are there people in your life you haven't shared with? And if so, why not?

How deep does your hate run?

What Are Your LEGOs?

Nathan Sawaya is a man who is living his dream. He is doing what he has always wanted to do... what he always hoped he would attain. He fought long and hard to get there. After graduating from law school from NYU, and spending 10 years in the New York law firm Winston & Strawn as a mergers and acquisitions attorney where he was making a healthy six-figure salary, he has given it all up.

For LEGOs.

That's right. LEGOs. "Forever, that's all I've wanted," he says.

It started at Christmas 1978 when he received his first set of LEGOs as a gift at the age of 5 years old. After that, his life was never the same.

Every waking moment he could, he spent it building with the blocks. He turned his family's living room into what he called, "LEGO City"... an always changing city made completely from LEGO blocks. Firehouses, train stations, skyscrapers and restaurants filled the room as his city was always growing, always changing, always living.

When he moved to New York City to attend NYU, he figured he had to hide his habit, for fear of being thought a freak. So he continued to build and play, but only his roommates knew about his habit. "Let's just say it doesn't get you a lot of dates. People [would] think you're a little strange... a little off."

He even attempted to hide it from his girlfriend, but couldn't continue to keep the large unmarked boxes (he buys in bulk) that were constantly being delivered to his apartment, a secret. "It wasn't," says girlfriend Dierdre Harding, "what I thought."

Finally, he heard about a contest to determine who was the best LEGO builder in the world. The prize? To be one of only 7 "Master Builders" on staff at the LEGOland theme park... for an awe-inspiring $13 an hour. He didn't even have to think twice about it. After years of watching LEGO's job listings on their website, his big break had finally come.

He entered the contest, won, and landed his dream job making five times less than he was as an attorney. But he was living his dream.

Today, he is a LEGO artist. He is commissioned by companies all around the world to come and build his LEGO art for them. His sculptures and art sell for tens of thousands of dollars, and he couldn't be happier.

Isn't it interesting? We can, according the rest of society, "have it all." But, if we're not doing our one thing, the thing that makes us come alive... we might as well be dead.

Those are strong words, I know... but if we aren't living from our heart, chasing our LEGOs, then we are just the walking dead going through the motions of a wasted existence.

So the question begs to be answered... What are your LEGOs?

Putting My Paddle Down

A few years back, I went on a half-day whitewater rafting trip with my brother and some friends on the Arkansas River in Colorado.

Now, I'm no professional, and these weren't anything like the "unrunnable" rapids from The River Wild, but for a few flat-landers from the Midwest, it was a pretty intense adventure!

The freezing cold water splashing in our faces was quite a wake-up call on the hot day, and our adrenaline was pumping. I remember our guide navigating us around a "bowl" at one point that, if we fell in, would suck us underwater and promptly place us about a quarter mile down river in less than 30 seconds. I remember his screams as he was yelling out instructions for us... who to paddle, how much, which direction, and when... now? NOW!!!

When I look back at that time, there haven't been many adventures in life as exhilarating as that was. It was a memory for a lifetime that I won't soon forget.

Our relationship with God is a lot like a whitewater river ride. It is fast paced and intense, and if it weren't for a well-seasoned and competent Guide, we would have no hope of making it down alive. There are dips and drops, twists and turns, and at times, all we can do is take a deep breath before we get pummeled by another wave. We don't know where the river goes, and we can't see what's ahead.

But our Guide knows. He's been down this run before. Many times. Sometimes we've been down the same run with Him, and we don't even realize it. It doesn't look familiar... it doesn't feel safe, and we have every reason to doubt we'll actually make it through safely to the end. Or do we?

See, every time He delivers us safely through a whitewater adventure, you'd think we'd trust Him just a little bit more next time. I mean, we can look back up river and see all the different stretches of whitewater we've been down. Some big, some not so big... some felt a lot bigger than they actually were! But the story remains the same: we're here, and we're safe. We've obviously made it through each one of those runs, but for some reason we feel that the next one is going to be the one that ends it all.

I look back at how I rode those runs, and I'm embarrassed. I've got my puny little paddle, with a white-knuckled death grip on it, feverishly trying to back-paddle and fight the flow of the current. As if somehow, whatever small resemblance of "strength" I can offer on my own will be a match for the power and intensity of the rushing waters and the splashing waves. And when the calm comes (it always does, you know), there I am panting like a dog on a hot summer day, out of breath, arms pumped with absolutely no strength left... completely exhausted from fighting a force that I couldn't even faze.

And I missed it.

I missed the scenery of those runs, I missed the joy and excitement from the intensity of the journey because I wasn't able to rest assured in the competence of my Guide. I've missed it all because I was fighting for control... trying to attain something so impossible that its almost humorous that I thought I had a shot.

And yet, I've still made it. Tired, sore, battered and bruised... but only from my own doing. If I had just sat back, enjoyed the ride, chose not fight and trusted in my Guide, then I could have saved myself a boat load of pain (no pun intended).

So here I am, the current is starting to pick up again. The water is moving faster... I know I'm in for another doozy of a run. I can't see the end... in fact, I can't see more than a few yards in front of me. I hear the sound of rushing water ahead... is that a waterfall? It doesn't matter.

Why?

Because this time, I'm putting my paddle down.