Last week Jack got potty-trained.  Michael and I have been putting off the inevitable, not because we love changing diapers, but because we couldn’t imagine how we would potty train a boy, and we knew that having a kid out of diapers would mean more planning on our parts when we went out grocery shopping, to the park,  or on car trips.  We knew that Jack understood the basics, and that he was physically capable.  The only barrier to him being potty trained was mom and dad’s imaginative barrier—Michael and I couldn’t get Jack potty trained because we couldn’t imagine Jack being potty trained. 

 So last Friday, we got up in the morning and said, “Jack, guess what happened last night?  You got POTTY TRAINED!”  Jack screamed, “NOOOO!,” cried for an hour, and then went and got a pair of underpants and put them on.  Job done.  (Proud parents beaming)

 It gets me wondering how many other things in our lives—in our families, in our work, in our congregation—we are unable to do because we just can’t imagine it being done. 

 No European crossed the equator until the 15^th century when intrepid explorers finally did, simply because no one could imagine it ever happening.  Similarly, it was many years before anyone ran a four-minute mile, and when that imaginative barrier was broken, several men broke that record within a short time. 

 What things have we told ourselves can’t be done?  What limits have we placed on ourselves not because we lack skill or energy, but because we lack imagination?  What calls to ministry and discipleship are we not answering because we can’t imagine doing the things God calls us to do?

In July, Michael, the kids and I went up to Luther Heights Bible Camp in the Idaho Sawtooths to serve as camp pastors for High School week.  It was a fun week of camp—we had about 50 kids from Idaho, Utah, and Oregon.  Michael and I helped with worship services, gave staff devotions and “Back Deck Chats” (little talks on the theme of the day each night after supper), and generally mixed in with the campers during meals, activity times, and canteen. 

One afternoon Michael and I took Jack and Natalie canoeing on Lake Perkins.  Neither Michael nor I are expert canoers—we consider it a successful outing if we’ve ended up where we wanted to go, instead of traveling in circles. 

Last year we went around the lake and explored the inlet.  This year I wanted to go down the outlet river.  So we got to the river and headed down it.  The river is shallow—18 inches or so, and we hardly had to paddle other than to steer.  After a couple of hundred yards, the grade gets  steeper, and the river breaks into small riffles.  What fun!

Belatedly, Michael and I remembered that we would have to paddle back up this increasingly fast river.  We turned around, knowing that we had quite a bit of work ahead of us.  We paddled as hard as we could, hardly making any progress.  In our efforts, we soaked the kids, who were by now crying.  Our nice canoe ride had turned into a miserable trial.  Finally, the current was so strong that we couldn’t keep the canoe headed upstream.  In defeat, we decided to portage back to the lake. 

We nosed the canoe close to shore, and I jumped out to pull us in.  But as I pulled the canoe, I discovered how ridiculously easy it was to pull  upstream.  The water was shallow, and the canoe felt like a feather as I pulled it through the riffles, around the corner, and back to the lake. 

Why had we struggled so hard to paddle our way back to the lake when it was so easy to pull the canoe?  For us, in admitting defeat and surrendering our plans, we discovered a better way.

Our lives are filled with all sorts of these surprises.  We struggle; we become exhausted by our trials and burdens.  It is only when we give up our ideas of how things should be, when we surrender OUR way of doing things, that we are open to God’s way.  As we pray, “HELP!” God shows us his way.  You can trust that God will  bless you with his guidance.

I spend a lot of days home alone with the kids, and some days they completely melt down. (To be fair, they are not always alone in the meltdown.)  “Suicide hours,” my mom calls them. If you add in the Fed-Ex truck making the dog bark and the usual messes—spilled juice, markers gone off the paper, and toy cars underfoot, you’ve got yourself a Calgon moment (“Calgon, take me away!)  When the screaming gets to be too much, what do I do?  I reach for a cookie.  Or three. 

I know I’m not the only one who turns to the comforting power of a cookie or a bowl of ice-cream when emotions are running high.  It’s certainly not the worst way in the world to deal with stress, but aren’t there better ways?      

It turns out that God created us hungry.  God created us with a yearning, a “God-shaped hole” that only he can fill.  God created us with a hunger for his presence and a thirst for his peace that stays with us our whole lives, that drives us to keep seeking until it is filled.

Unfortunately, we often mistake our God-hunger for cookie-hunger or beer-thirst.  Instead of turning to God when the pressures of the day finally get to us, we turn to other creature comforts.  We eat too much.  We drink too much.  We spend too much. 

And seeking to fill ourselves up, we end up hungrier and hungrier. 

I wonder what would happen if, while the kids were melting down, instead of reaching for a cookie, I sat down with the kids to pray?  What would happen if I substituted a camp song for that second bowl of ice-cream? 

I’m going to try it this month.  And I suspect that I already know how the experiment will turn out.  God is going to find ways to surprise me, to blow my expectations out of the water.  I know that by turning to Him instead of to snacks to ease my frustration, I’ll be blessed.  And my kids will be blessed.  What better lesson can a parent teach a child than to turn to God when the going gets tough?

Spiritual hunger—it’s good for us to see it in ourselves.  As we recognize the hunger for God that He has built into us, we can begin to reorient our lives toward Him so that we might be filled.  May you be blessed with hunger, and with God’s peace that passes all understanding.

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve received came from a pastor in a South Australian Aboriginal town.  He said, “Never be afraid to re-invent yourself.” 

Being reinvented is hard.  It’s disorienting.  There’s time at the beginning when you don’t know where you’re headed, only that you can’t stay where you are.  Then there’s time in the middle when you’re really confused.  After a while, things start to clear up.  God’s path starts to shine brighter than all the other paths.  The future comes into clearer focus.  And pretty soon, you come out on the other side of the confusion and pain and growth, and you discover you are a new person.  A stronger, smarter, person.  A person who spies God working in your life more easily.  You’re a new person who God has called to do something new, and something amazing.

At least that’s been my experience.   

And in the past couple of years I’ve been wondering how congregations can nurture disciples instead of encouraging members to be consumers.  How do we challenge and support our leaders so that they grow in their abilities?  How do we bring up new leaders?  How does a pastor help a congregation grow, both in spiritual maturity and in numbers? 

So here I go again — following God’s call to get smarter and stronger, to become a more faithful disciple and better pastor.  

I’m applying for a doctoral program through Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Kentucky.  The “Doctor in Ministry,” or D.Min. is a three-year program designed for pastors in busy parish ministries.  It requires about ten hours a week of reading and writing, three weeks on campus each year, and a thesis project.    For the next three years, I’ll sleep a little less, the kids will be with the sitter a little more, and when I go to continuing education events, I’ll go to Louisville. 

I’ll be studying “Advanced Practices in Ministry,” which is a fancy way of saying “Leadership.”  I’ll be learning (and practicing) how to encourage you each deeper into your walk with Christ.  I’ll be learning (and practicing) how we can form our congregation to more closely resemble God’s dream for us.  I’ll be learning (and practicing) how to help us connect more broadly with the people in our towns. 

These next three years, I’ll be investing in myself.  And I’ll be investing myself deeply in you.  I know that God is calling us to something delightful and full of grace.  I want to help you discover God in a new way in your lives, and to help as you listen for God’s call and find that “thing” that makes you burst with excitement.