When does adventure become selfish?

       As I’ve pondered this question I keeping coming back to one word: “escape”.  I think adventure becomes selfish when it’s an escape. Not that all escapes are bad. No, indeed there is a time and a place for escape and deliverance always feels preferable to provision in the midst. But that is not adventure. It’s something else entirely. And further I would distinguish deliverance from escape. Deliverance is about the action of God, escape is about the action of man. Which brings me to why I think adventure as escape is selfish- it’s about what I can do for myself. At its core I think selfishness is an attempt to provide for our needs apart from God. Escape is how we run from the work and heart of God. It’s too risky, too much, too far, too close, too fill-in-the-blank. But adventure, adventure is the way we run into the middle, the heart of what Jesus is doing because it’s the trajectory of our devotion. Is my adventure born out of devotion or self-preservation? It is not an easy distinction to make. But it is easy to flee and call it adventure. To hide and call it adventure. To shirk and call it adventure. To isolate and call it adventure. One of Merriam-Webster’s definitions for adventure is “to take the risk involved.” I think adventure becomes selfish when it is an effort to circumvent a risk rather than take one. I’m afraid of what’s in front of me so I travel around Europe for a month in an effort to avoid coming face to face with an invitation to risk that will dog me to the corners of the earth. That’s the other thing about adventure as escape- it will never work, but we keep trying and Jesus doesn’t fault us for the fact that we keep trying. Grace upon grace upon grace. Yet Jesus will never stop asking you to risk. So is your adventure the adventure of taking your particular risks, following your particular trajectory of devotion? Or is it a sham adventure elaborately constructed to avoid the risk Jesus calls you to? It may sound like I’m trying to turn adventure on its head and say, “True adventure is staying put.” I’m not. I’m asking what is your posture as you go? Are your eyes shut tight as you run out the door? Are you moving forward, but facing backward? Is your head hanging down? Or do you take a look around as you go, say goodbye, and look up? And are you willing to let it be possible that Jesus wants you to stay put for now? Is that possibility on the table? Is everything on the table? Or are there possibilities you simply won’t consider? Whatever you hold with clenched fists is most likely to slip through your fingers. The more you dig in your heels for your way, the more you feel the ground giving way beneath you. To give to God is to receive back in fullness. The desires I keep stay small, the ones I lay down before Jesus grow and are given back to me in such measure they cannot but be shared. So where is adventure born and where does it grow? Is my adventure born out of my need to find some semblance of control in a chaotic and broken world or is it born out of the kind, winsome, strong, risky call of Jesus? Does it grow in the shadows, behind closed doors or does it grow in the light of his sovereignty and the community he’s given me? Do I adventure as a defiant orphan, always on the run? Or as one adopted by God, also running, but running to instead of away? Adventure becomes selfish when it is about what I can get, instead of what I’ve been given.

Living Poems, Everything is on the Table

I’ve always secretly thought of poetry as a cop out. A way of not explaining what you mean and getting away with it. To me the worst way of communicating. I’m coming to see saying what you mean without explaining it, may be the only way to truly say what you mean. To own your words, your actions, your life without apology may be the most genuine and world changing way of communicating. So I am becoming a poet. I can say things like, “August tried to kill me.” And I don’t have to tell you why or what that means to me to make it true. Yet it will be far richer if you wonder what that means, if you ask how a month tried to take my life. Here’s the thing: poetry invites relationship in a way prose never can. Prose tells, poetry provokes. Don’t you wonder when you read my poem about the last year what it means that August tried to kill me or that I walked into October with my real self? If you engage with me about my poetry you will know me far more than if you simply read my prose. My poetry requires you bring yourself. My prose simply requires you absorb information. The ladder is not bad, but the former can change both of our lives. And of course I mean what I’m saying but to me the far bigger truth is a metaphor—how do I live, not just write, poetry? After a lifetime of explaining and defending, making my apology, I hear the call to let my words make music instead of sense, my life make music instead of sense. I can only make room for community by relinquishing the never ending monologue of my explanations and living in your sight in a way that doesn’t defend but constantly invites engagement. Everything is on the table every day. To God and to you. This is communion with God and this is communion with you. I want to live in a way that only works if Jesus shows up, that means my defenses are down and my hope is rampant. And I need you to show up too. I need you to ask questions. I need to know what you see. I want to be friends, not innocuous observers. Friends are not innocuous. Neither is poetry. I need you, not your approval. Everything is on the table. Jesus has to show up.

Words About a Year, 5 Months Later

A Reflection of 2013:

I didn't know January came.
February brought whispers of health in the midst of darkness.
In March I began to dream,
And in April I acted.
In May the cloud lifted.
In June there was a puppy and rest.
July ministered to me tirelessly with sunrises and oceans.
August tried to kill me,
Yet I lived to see a vibrant September.
I walked into October with my real self.
November was a gift.
And December? In December I was surprised by joy.

Thank you 2013. Welcome 2014 past and 2014 to come.