Grace – Grace. Truth. Coffee.

Christianity Doesn’t Work for Me

February 21, 2024February 21, 2024onebouchard

Working downtown often leads to unexpected encounters. Not long ago the sun was finally making an appearance in the midwinter sky. Although the air still had a bite, I couldn’t resist the lure of the sun on my face. Sure, I had a reasonable lunch in the fridge, but sometimes a short walk to my favorite lunch destination is the wise choice.

There’s always a line at Boston. The food is the best downtown and they move folks through in a hurry, though. Even if the line appears excessive, the wait is never long and the food is always worth it. As I flew through the revolving door into the art deco lobby, I ran into an old friend. Literally. We brushed ourselves off and began to catch up while waiting in line.

It’s easy for friends to drift apart. Nothing traumatic needs to happen…we can just naturally drift when our paths stop crossing frequently. That had happened with Pete. We began to catch up like long lost brothers, sharing the latest about our jobs, spouses, and kids, and then pivoting into those hopes and dreams that seemed so important to us all those years ago. By the time we had our sandwiches and sat down, we were going deep. He always had a passion for service and for the work of the church, so that was a natural trail for the conversation to follow.

“Nope. Not anymore. Those were good times, but I’m not doing that now. Life gets busy. Kids grow up. Seasons change.”

I hear excuses like that frequently, but I wasn’t expecting it from Pete. He and his family always seemed so…engaged. Captivated. All in. I sensed there was more to the story, so I responded, “Pete, I never would’ve expected that from you. That love you had was deep. Did something happen?”

“To tell you the truth, most people are satisfied with that answer and leave it alone. I should’ve known you’d dig! Honestly, after following that path until I was at the end of my rope I made a discovery. Christianity doesn’t work for me. The last straw was when we were prepping for a mission trip a few years ago. This was before the kiddos moved out, and we were excited to go as a family. As we were finalizing the last details, we got a call from the financial secretary. The money for the trip was gone. Transportation, food, lodging, supplies, and all the other miscellaneous things that kids had been fundraising for…all gone. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a lot of money…18K or so. Not enough to retire on, but way too much to scramble for at the last minute. We were devastated. What had happened? That was the worst part. A staff member at the church drained the account and left town. The church decided not to press charges because they didn’t think it’d be the Christian thing to do.”

“So, Dave, that was it. Seeing the pain my kids endured…the loss and the grief…watching them process the betrayal by those they loved, looked up to, and trusted…that was too much for me. I had to walk away. That’s when I realized Christianity doesn’t work for me.”

I was shocked. Although I knew where he attended, those details were unknown to me. I guess they didn’t make the news. My heart broke for him and for his family. That pain is deep. Real. Visceral, even, especially for a father who loves his family as much as I knew Pete did.

“Wow, Pete. I had no idea. I can’t even imagine how badly that hurt.”

We continued to talk for a bit. We both had hurts to share as well as some great successes to celebrate. It was great to catch up over a Cuban. We promised to try our best to reconnect more frequently, both probably somewhat aware we would again fail miserably. After a quick bro-hug, we went our separate ways back to our offices.

As I walked back my mind went back to that phrase, “Christianity doesn’t work for me.” It seemed to be working for me, even through numerous hurts. But there was something more to it I was trying to pin down. Walking that last block back to the office, it hit me while waiting for the “walk” sign. I’m not a Christian because it works or doesn’t work. That would be what’s called pragmatism. Pragmatic people go with what works, without digging too deeply into the hows and whys. For some people, they grab onto a belief system that works for them in their current life situations and goals. It works within the crowd they’re running with. It’s “true” to them because “it works.”

That’s a common way to believe. In fact, when it comes to religious belief it’s likely the most common way to believe. Even people who adopt the beliefs of their parents fall into this category. It “works for them” to believe what their parents believe for many reasons…a big one is that it makes things easier at home. What they find in large numbers is that when they move to the next phase of their lives, something other than the beliefs of their parents work even better for them, as they discover new friends and new life goals. They cling to entirely different and even contradictory systems of thought and belief in each season of life.

We have a tendency to divide the things that shape our lives into “things that are true” and “things that work for me.” The former are things like putting gas in the tank of your car, showing up to work, and keeping enough money in the bank to cover the bills. What falls into the latter are things like morality, our view of humanity, questions about what happens when we die, how we should develop and maintain relationships. All the questions that tend to be covered by spiritual beliefs–even if claiming to have none–often fall into the category of pragmatism. They are malleable and fluid.

This pragmatic approach kind of makes sense within many different religious systems (and non-religious systems). In fact, they demand it, because although they attempt to explain the way those elusive things are, they don’t claim to be empirically true or verifiable. Christianity isn’t like that, though. Christianity boldly claims to not just explain how we got here, where we’re going, and how we should live…it claims to be true. Like…really and totally true. Christianity properly understood corresponds to the reality we live in when we test it.

In 1 Corinthians 15:14, Paul says “…if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation is in vain, and so is your faith.” Paul most likely wrote this around 20 years after the crucifixion. Not only were Peter, John, and many other disciples still alive, there were countless other eyewitnesses to the crucifixion and resurrection. Paul was inviting challenges at a time when it was still possible for eyewitnesses to prove him (and the basis of Christianity) wrong.

Back in my atheist days I would boldly (and naively) claim that science couldn’t prove the existence of God. Faith was nothing more than wishful thinking without evidence. But this claim from Paul invites a challenge from a discipline that predates science. It’s a truth that can be investigated historically, and has been.

When I endure the inevitable trials of life, I don’t walk away from Christianity. When I am hurt and even betrayed by those claiming to be representatives of Christ, I don’t contemplate if Jesus is working for me or not. I can’t. I’ve scoured the evidence for Christianity and the experiences of Christianity and found that I’m standing on solid ground even in the storms. It has been thoroughly tested and holds true. And so when I struggle and when I wrestle with doubt, the words of Peter in John 6:68-69 come to mind, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

I hope Pete and I run into each other again soon. I know he has seen the goodness of God, and I’m looking forward to reminding him of where our hope is anchored.

Condemning Condemnation

July 29, 2023July 29, 2023onebouchard

Condemnation. It’s such a harsh word. The noble goal of our culture in recent years is acceptance. Those two seem to stand in harsh opposition. Acceptance is loving and welcoming. Condemning seems to carry with it disapproval and hate.

Recently verse 17 of the 3rd chapter of the Gospel of John has been used to condemn condemnation by positioning Jesus as the great affirmer. This verse follows the most famous verse in Scripture and says “For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him.” At first glance it appears we have a friend in Jesus in our quest to affirm and accept…He didn’t come to condemn!

There is a challenge we face if we attempt to draw that lesson from this verse, though. The Bible isn’t a fortune cookie, and so we generally can’t simply grab a sentence we like and draw broad conclusions. There is a coherent, consistent overarching message in scripture. Each historical narrative, poem, letter, and sermon provides an important puzzle piece illuminating the grand message. In short, it all fits together to tell us about God, His plan, mankind, and our purpose in His mission.

Before digging into John 3, it’s good to revisit that overall metanarrative. The story of the Bible is that God created and sustains everything that is, was, and ever will be. Among other things, He is good, He is love, and what He created was glorious. Humans were created in His image and were given stewardship over creation. God’s design for humans was for us to live in relational harmony with each other and with Him. Humans turned from God, though. Even today, we turn from Him both by nature and by our own choice. Every single one of us.

That’s the root of our problem…we were designed to live life in an intimate relationship with God and turning away has left us deeply unsatisfied, but our tendency is to double-down…even though we know our judgment is imperfect, we stubbornly pursue the paths we think will make us whole again. The uncomfortable truth is, we don’t have it in us. We simply aren’t capable of bridging the chasm between ourselves and our deepest need…our Creator. We have run too far. You might even say that in our current circumstances, we are condemned to a life separated from God.

Now snap back to John 3…that’s right where Jesus is meeting us. God–our Creator–loves us so much He sent His only Son so that anyone who places his or her trust in Him will be reconciled to God (16). Jesus did not come into this world to condemn the world (17)…it was already condemned without Him! If we make it to verse 18, it says “…anyone who does not believe is already condemned…” In verse 19 it tells us that Jesus is the light and “people loved darkness rather than the light because their deeds were evil.” That’s the story of all of us. We’ve lived in the darkness that comes from being isolated from Him. We’re comfortable in the dark and so we shun the light.

What I’ve learned from both Scripture and personal experience is that Jesus meets us where we are. Whatever lifestyle we’re living, whatever we may be worshiping, and whatever speed we may be running from Him. Wherever we are, we can simply turn and discover He’s right there with His arms ready to embrace us. He already knows us deeply and loves us wholly. When we turn to Him, we place our trust entirely in Him. It’s a humble acknowledgment that our Creator knows more about His creation than we do. Although we may recoil against some of the implications of the life He calls us to, we trust and know He is good, He knows everything, designed everything, He is wise, and He loves us. We can trust Him. And so when Jesus meets us where we are, He doesn’t leave us there. When we turn to embrace and trust Him, we don’t turn back! We continue drawing nearer to Him and following Him, even if it means our old life slips away. Honestly, we know it wasn’t working anyway. But like a childhood stuffed animal or an old, favorite sweatshirt…it can be hard to walk away from the things that gave us comfort before we knew Him.

The lesson we learn from leaning into Scripture is that Jesus doesn’t come into the world to condemn us because we are already condemned without Him. The great news is that Jesus knows us fully and loves us deeply…in fact, He is the only one who truly can. The message the world screams at us is that we are fine the way we are. We are captains of our own fate, we are the masters of our souls. These days this is called affirmation and acceptance. But true affirmation acknowledges more than just our preference and inclinations…it acknowledges our circumstance, our loneliness, our pain, and our longings. It acknowledges our weariness. And love doesn’t leave us there. Jesus won’t leave us there.

On The Road

November 18, 2020November 18, 2020onebouchard

This classic post first appeared on my blog close to 10 years ago. It seems timely today so I am resurrecting it here.

Oh the irony. I remember all those times I drew comparisons between following God’s plan and driving on the highway. How many times have I told people that when God wants you to exit, there will be signs? If you miss them, there will be more chances. Just stay alert.

Nice metaphor as long as your car keeps cruising along. I never counted on a breakdown. I suppose we rarely see those coming. Now it’s apparently broken beyond repair. No mechanic in sight. It’s sickening to think of how much work I’ve put into it, too. Making it shiny. Putting gas in the tank, polishing the chrome. This was my pride and joy. It got me where I needed to go.

So how do I keep cruising down the highway? Well, I’ve still got feet. So I keep walking that highway. It’s the direction that’s important, right? As long as I kept pushing myself up that mountain, everything would work out, just a bit more slowly than I had planned.

The road wasn’t made for walking, so I branched off. I saw a sign. I knew I was supposed to head into the woods. In fact, in retrospect I thought it was a blessing that the car broke down. I would have missed this lovely path entirely if I had continued at 60 miles per hour! I told myself I was grateful I decided to walk.

Oh, but my legs ached. They screamed. I’d been pushing so hard. Tired, hungry, and thirsty, I cried out, “God where are you?” I never could have uttered those four words from the comfort of the air conditioned car. Now they were all I had left. Still, I kept trudging along. I knew that if I just worked hard enough, I would find what I needed. I’d find Him.

The forest provided no relief. The cool shade became a chilly darkness. Between the critters and the exhaustion, it felt like there were enemies everywhere. Adrenaline provided the nourishment my body craved, pushing me forward. Lost and utterly alone, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I kept repeating “I can do this. I can find Him.” I can’t tell you I believed it, though.

To call it a clearing would be generous. There was a space ahead where the shadows were weighed less. I didn’t know if it I could make it, but I decided that was my destination. It would all end there. It was all I had. As I got closer, I saw a bench. It was old and worn, crafted from an ancient tree.

I plopped down harder than I meant to. The pain shooting up my backbone from my tailbone was the final insult. I was done. I found the end of myself. I sat with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. No words were on my lips, I was well past anything resembling coherency. I interlocked my fingers behind my head as it sank lower, almost to my knees. The warmth of the salty tears streaming down my face didn’t do a thing to ease the shadowy chill.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I was too far gone to jump. Whoever it was, he could do whatever he wanted. I was done. I felt him circle around and plop down beside me. The hand became an arm across my shoulders, attempting to comfort me. That arm became two, pulling me close. He held my head to his chest, like a father does a son who just lost his first pet. I could feel his tears on my neck as he gently whispered, “I’m here. I’ve got you. Now and forever, my beautiful son.”

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33

A Great Light

February 1, 2019February 1, 2019onebouchard

The people living in darkness have seen a great light…
Matthew 4:16

Of all the imagery used to describe the call of our Creator, my favorite is darkness to light. This motif moves me to look at where I’ve been and where I am while looking ahead to what is to come.

Imagine sitting in a windowless room. The door is shut and there are no obvious sources of light, although a murky twilight fills the room. A life lived here may feel complete. Having never glimpsed a sunrise or a starry night sky, you would never long for the beauty that only light can reveal. Surrounded by others in the same state, you would not necessarily be lonely, even if you feel incomplete. You never hear anyone describe trees or puppies or Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Everyone you know is in this darkness together, assuming this is all there is. On some level would you feel a nagging sense of discontent? Would your gut long for more? Would your soul cry out to be filled without even knowing what you lacked?

One day a stranger arrives. He describes a life that is at the edges of your comprehension. Unimaginable yet plausible. Although his tales of flowers, waterfalls, blue skies, and mountain peaks sound intriguing, they also sound bit fanciful. You wonder if it could be true…Is it possible to see in full the things that are currently only imperfectly imagined? Is there more in creation than what we realized?

This metaphor has limits but the spiritual analogy holds. Darkness leads to hopelessness and resignation. Not knowing what light looks like leads to searches for fulfillment in a thousand things that can never satisfy and were never intended to. Living in spiritual darkness, we seek relationships, material things, or indulgence to fill the void. As we repeatedly come up empty, we slide into desperation or denial. The only two obvious paths are either more vigilant efforts to fill ourselves up (i.e. try harder) or to settle into a state of reluctant acceptance (i.e. lowered expectations). We think our only options are to define our own meaning or deny that meaning exists.

It’s into this desperate hopelessness the glimmer of our Creator’s light shines. Perhaps a light comes on in the next room and leaks under the door of your dark room. A warm, inviting glow breaks through the dreariness saying “come and see.” Do you stay in the familiar darkness or move toward the light? In Matthew 4:6, Jesus quotes Isaiah 9, who is in turn speaking of Jesus. From the beginning, God has been reaching out to us. He calls us with and into a great light. The Prince of Peace brings the fullness of what God foreshadowed from the beginning.

The town of Itabi (eee-tah-bee) is a small and lush town nestled among rocky hills. Having lived there for years, most of the people I met are blind to the ever-present beauty. Through the eyes of an outsider, each overlook and slope full of precariously balanced rocks are simply spectacular. The perspective residents share are of being overlooked and forgotten by the world. Many feel resigned or even condemned to a life that is less than that of people in the “big city.” The good life is more than elusive, it’s unobtainable. We met many people who had turned to alcohol to numb the dreariness of mere existence. Many had been neglected or abused by those who had selfishly sought meaning in life through power, control, and indulgence. There were intricate, tangled webs of abuse cycles from which no one seemed to be able to break free. It was remarkably similar to how people are in my home town. Everywhere, people are seeking satisfaction and comfort in places that can only bring deeper darkness.

But life doesn’t have to be like that. We are called out of the darkness and into the marvelous light. Immanuel means “God with us.” God Himself comes to us, breaking into the darkness with light. The Creator enters Creation, stepping into the muck and darkness that can consume us. Through Him, the Gospel brings good news to all of us, everywhere. In Him we can find peace. We can find rest. We can find joy.

Two years ago God used our little mission team to bring this good news to a small town in Brazil. Lives were changed. Eternal destinies were secured. These experiences in Itabi continue to ripple throughout my mind as they echo throughout the world. God’s light is calling to every person in every people group everywhere in the world. The invitation is open.

Run

January 17, 2018November 18, 2020onebouchard

“Well, I guess that’s that. It’s over.” The bridge of our friendship was crossed and set aflame. Raw emotions and bruised feelings put us on opposite sides of a river that could no longer be crossed.

I’m no saint. Four decades of walking through life has left a graveyard of dead friendships behind me. Some are clearly because of my own recklessness with the hearts entrusted to my care. With some, perhaps I’m not so clearly the only one at fault. When we draw near to others, our broken pieces inevitably clash. Too often it’s too much to bear so we cross a bridge and light a match.

Some days the weight of those burned bridges is overwhelming. I gaze over my shoulder at the graveyard and grieve. It doesn’t matter who lit the match, the gap is now too wide to cross. Although the world throws around words like forgiveness and reconciliation, they are quickly followed by demands for pounds of flesh. Somebody must pay. It’s easier and more safe to stay on our own side of the river, wandering alone down the shore. The message we hear is clear…forgiveness is impossible. Roads that split never reconnect.

As I wander alone, I stumble into chapter 15 of the book of Luke. Although this story is about family, the principle carries through. Words were said. Or perhaps the words were left unsaid. “You’re dead to me,” was communicated. The paths diverged for the two who had cherished each other. One stood firm, the other wandered off. Both were without the other. The relationship was over. Forever.

The wanderer soon learned a profound truth…life alone was miserable. Other people saw him as merely a means to an end and walked away when his usefulness evaporated. He looked up from rock bottom, gazing past his shattered hopes and remembered the one who truly loved him. But that bridge was burned. The inferno consumed it quickly and it was gone forever. Even if he could find his way back, he could never repay all he owed. He would never deserve that love again.

Even so, he wandered back toward the one who had never left… Toward the one who had firmly stood at the gate…first watching the prodigal wander away with the father’s money and heart…then expectantly watching for any sign of his return. His faithfulness was rewarded when a lone figure emerged on the horizon. The familiar silhouette in the distance brought a flood of joy. Arms outstretched, he ran to reunite with his son. The one who had wandered had found the courage to return. The one who remained behind had faithfully anticipated the glorious day of his return.

Here we learn that bridges are a horrible metaphor for relationships. Our emotions and desires are not matches setting the world ablaze. True and treasured friendships are never burned beyond reconciliation. Like the parable of the prodigal son, humility and love on both sides of the river build new bridges on which we stand. Love says “you are more important than my pride.” Love is quick to forgive and runs toward reconciliation.

Take a look back at your own friendship graveyard. Can these dry bones live again? Jesus teaches us that as long as we’re living, reconciliation is possible. He models it for us. He stands firmly and unwavering upon the truth, arms open wide and ready for us to return. The past remains in the past. We step into our future pure and fully forgiven. We can run to Him, and then we can run to each other.

Who you need to run to? I bet those arms are open wide, waiting for you to take the first step. Run, and let the celebration begin.

The Word: Halfway

January 14, 2018January 13, 2018onebouchard

Thirteen days ago turned to page 855 in the book I’ve carried for thousands of miles. It’s been on almost every trip I’ve taken in the last 3 or 4 years. I’ve used it to prepare and preach from pulpits in both Brazil and the US. The words of Isaiah 35 brought profound insight and encouragement last December when I was in Houston. As I opened to page 855–chapter one of the Gospel According to Luke–a new and unexpected journey began.

In the Christian circles I tend to run it we frequently open our Bibles together. Usually it is because someone is teaching and asks us to open to a specific verse. Honestly, this has confused me a bit from time to time…the teacher always reads the verse, so why do we turn to it? We’re don’t read entire chapters together, and certainly don’t have the time to read entire books. Sure, it can be helpful to mark a passage or scribble some notes in the margins, but how many of us really do that during a sermon?

Still…the Word beckons.

On January 1 as I read the first word in Luke 1 (“inasmuch”), a bunch of friends did the same. We aren’t physically together and we’re not reading at the exact same time…but folks said “I’m in” and began the two month journey through Luke and Acts. Everyone is going at their own pace, which is wonderful. I’m reading 6 chapters per week in Luke, but grace is abundant. This week, Wednesday was simply too busy and I was too exhausted. So I didn’t. I shared that I didn’t. As expected, people responded with grace, not condemnation. That’s what life together is supposed to look like. That’s what we do.

Having just finished chapter 12, I am now halfway through the book of Luke. Just a few small steps every day and here I am. Halfway. Most days it takes longer for me to write a few thoughts about the chapter than it does to actually read it. This two weeks of reading has taken me to page 872. Seventeen pages in twelve days of reading. On one hand, it doesn’t sound like a lot. On the other, there has been so much ground covered. Remember…we’re reading text that was written almost two thousand years ago. It’s not necessarily all going to be straightforward and easy. It was originally written to a different people in a different culture living at a different time. Some of it seems quite foreign.

As I pause today in the journey through Luke that we’re on, I have a couple of areas I’ve personally noticed change.

Community

The last two weeks something really cool has happened. People are sending me messages letting me know they’re with me on this journey. I’m getting insightful takeaways from my friend Tamarah. I got a message from Mike letting me know he’s reading with us while he’s traveling. Some people tell me they’re behind but still with us. Dear friends are engaging with Scripture at a level they never have before. Because we are doing it together. I’m learning that we all get more out of God’s word when we go through it together. We have a longing for community because God designed us to do life together. It makes sense that His Word is experienced better together.

I’m afraid most of us carry around a lot of baggage about God’s word. Many Christians carry an unnecessary burden of guilt…perhaps because they think they don’t read their Bible enough. Or perhaps it’s because they have tried and just don’t understand it. We want to love God’s Word, but find it intimidating or unapproachable. We look around us and see Bible verses printed floating around everywhere…sometimes used like fortune cookies or horoscopes, bringing brief feelings of hope and encouragement…but sometimes used as daggers, thrown at others with the intention of drawing blood. But there has to be more, right? Surely God’s Word is more profound than a fortune cookie. Surely it has some other purpose than to wound and condemn. Unfortunately, guilt and pride keep us from opening those pages and even more, it keeps us from asking the questions we find embarrassing.

We’ve all been there. Nobody was born understanding Scripture. Way back in the early chapters of Luke it says that Jesus grew “in wisdom and stature.” It was even a process for Him. Personally, I remember sitting in Mike’s class and asking if John the Baptist was the same dude who was one of the disciples. Was he the one who wrote John, or was John just about him? Was Luke a disciple? Are Christians supposed to take every word of the Bible literally? Can God make a rock so big He can’t lift it? Why do people think Jesus was God? How can there be one God if the Father and Son both claim to be God? What’s up with this Holy Ghost thing…is that like Christian Gatorade or something? Do we even need the Old Testament anymore? What’s up with all those lists of names? Why don’t all Christians read the Bible?

I asked all of those questions at some time in the past 10 years or so. I’m not embarrassed in the slightest about any of them. That’s how I learned who God is. That’s how both my faith and knowledge deepened. And now that’s happening around us…as we read together, we can learn from each other. We’re all travelers on a journey and all have something to contribute. We’re a community.

Our community is a bit disorganized, but it’s beautiful. I cherish every interaction. Nothing’s off the table or out-of-bounds.

Personally

Knowing others are also reading changes my own perspective. I’m not only reacting to what resonates with me, but I’m anticipating what others will respond to as well. It broadens my view and allows the Word to challenge me in unanticipated ways.

In the first twelve chapters, I have found myself comforted by the narrative. The story of Jesus’ life and ministry is familiar. When the disciples feed the crowds, I’m delighted. As the people lean in to listen to the incredible teachings of Jesus, I’m amazed. Mary and Joseph, angels and shepherds…it’s like visiting old friends.

But there’s more that has been happening. In addition to the life and events, there is conflict. There are teachings that are hard. As I read Luke, I see Jesus continually warning us to stop focusing on things of this world. He tells us to seek the Kingdom of God, which seems to be a stark contrast to the kingdoms we build for ourselves. He tells us that “one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” (Luke 12:15) That brings my mind back to the woman with the alabaster flask in Luke 7, who out of gratitude washes the feet of our Savior with her tears and anoints His head with oil. This woman who had nothing pours out everything she has for Him, simply as a worshipful response to the forgiveness she has found through Him…the new life she has found. She knows Jesus and has been transformed. She is no longer who she was…she has walked away from her old life completely. Her future is completely unknown except for this…that she is trusting Jesus with it. There is deep meaning in the anointing of Jesus here, but for her it represents letting go of her “before” to step fulling into “next.”

As I read I wonder what pieces of my past am I still clinging to that are keeping me from fully following Him? I often think of emotional baggage like the tattered and worn suitcases we bring back from Brazil. Rio is really hard on luggage. But what if the weight I’m carrying around is an alabaster flask, beautiful and full of a substance of great value? Do I trust Jesus enough to break that flask and pour its contents out for Him? Do I trust Him with my future, even if it is uncertain and difficult? At the end of chapter 9, Jesus seems to be telling us that we can’t look both back at our old lives and continue forward with Him. As He said in chapter 11, “a divided household falls.” And so I look at my heart and pray the end of Psalm 139: “Search me, God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts. And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” The reality is, trusting Jesus with eternity often seems much easier than trusting Him with tomorrow.

Even so…among all these teaching that challenge me so greatly, Jesus never gives up on anyone. Sure, He rebukes Pharisees and Scribes. We see plenty of people leave His side when the teaching gets difficult or the cost of following Him grows too high. But He never turns His back on anyone. This is where I find hope. In these chapters it is abundantly clear that following Jesus is not an easy life. He never guarantees that…in fact, He repeatedly tells us the opposite. When we follow Him, though, He remains with us. He does not abandon us, even in the middle of our messes and failures, even in our deepest hurt and darkest places. When friends abandon us or tragedy strikes, He is there with us…lifting our face and pointing it toward eternity…toward a time when there will be no more tears or pain. These chapters remind me that we don’t get there by breaking our jars and unloading our baggage. Those things bring us closer to Him in the journey, but ultimately all of our hope is in Him. We get a beautiful glimpse of Him on the pages of the Gospel According to Luke.

On December 31 I posted an open invitation to join me in reading Luke and Acts. There are no checklists and no discussion questions, just a ragged band of misfits wandering through the Word together. I’m reading 6 chapters of Luke each week and plan to read 7 chapters of Acts per week when I get there. I set that pace because it seems achievable and I’m just dorky enough to need that kind of symmetry. Four weeks through Luke and four weeks through Acts. But if you want to take this journey, do it at your pace, not mine. Read 30 minutes a day if you want…perhaps that will be 2 or 3 chapters. Read more or less…just keep reading. I’ve been posting a few thoughts and my progress on my personal Facebook page because that’s where this all started, but I’m happy to interact with anyone anywhere. Reach out to me and let me know how it’s going. And if you’d like me to reach out to you a couple of times a week to see how you’re doing, I’d be happy to.

The familiar pit: Grief

October 10, 2017October 9, 2017onebouchard

A side effect of a summer full of travel surfaced recently. Hours after midnight, I’ll sit straight up in bed and fumble for the lights in a mad panic. My disoriented mind attempts to discover if I’m in a hotel in Brazil, a condo by the ocean, or a sleeper train on my way to Scotland. In the dark, I could be anywhere. As the light suddenly fills the room, two questions pop into my head:

Where am I? How did I get here?

My eyes quickly find familiar objects…my lamp. The picture on the wall. My dresser. My wife. Those answers give me perspective. Context. Even though my heart is racing, the adrenaline begins to subside. My breathing slows. Awareness of my situation helps me move on. I am not entirely unchanged…even though I’m safe at home in bed, this is disruptive. I’ll be a little extra cranky tomorrow. The memory of panic will return throughout the day. Yet the truth shines through… I’m home.

Experiencing the same grief again is a similar emotional process. Self help sites and well-meaning friends may tell us grief is something we process, move through, and get over. At some point we should be better. We can expect life to be normal again. The truth is, when we lose someone we love dearly, their absence leaves a hole in our world. It’s possible to stumble into that hole again and again for the rest of our lives. When we do, we find ourselves disoriented and confused, like my panicked fumbling in the middle of the night. To find our way through it, we ask those same two questions:

Where am I? How did I get here?

Recently I found myself in that familiar pit again. Like most of us, I’ve experienced loss. Grief is familiar. I’ve recently learned that when it comes, accepting and pressing into it is much healthier than denial or avoidance. Acknowledge it for what it is without minimizing it or giving it more control than it deserves. Understand that the deep hurt is a reflection and validation of love known, experienced, and lost.

Just like the whimsy of love can drop in at any time, grief can as well. That’s what happened this time. I was staring blankly at my screen. When my screensaver kicked on, my mind snapped back to the present. “This is a familiar darkness…hello again, grief.”

Although the weight had settled into my soul the day before, I finally recognized it for what it was. I was in the pit. Oh, but I knew that first key answer. Where am I? I’m in the pit. I’m mourning. Recognizing my surroundings was vital.

There hasn’t been a personal loss in my life lately, though. So the next question became key. Just like in my jet-lagged panic, I first had to answer: How did I get here?

Our minds work in strange ways. Although mysterious, they aren’t entirely unpredictable. As autumn approaches and the daylight hours decrease, I tend to drift toward melancholiness. This was different. It was triggered by something. I realized social media had been showing me memories of my past.

This time, it wasn’t the anniversary of a loss that led me to the pit again. Instead, it was the anniversary of the beginning of a relationship that ultimately left me heartbroken. I had been revisiting the start of a life-changing relationship that would be cut short mere months later. Seeing the beginning prompted my mind to revisit the entire journey, including those familiar feelings about what might have been.

The wounds became fresh again. I’ve heard a broken bone become stronger than the original once it has mended. I don’t think that’s true of our emotional breaks. Years later they can still be uncovered and be once again raw and sensitive. Falling into the pit of grief reminds us that the wounds on our heart never fully heal. The pit remains because the love remains, which can be a freeing thought. Grief is a consequence of love, and love is worth it. Understanding this key helps validate our time in the pit, even years later. It frees us to feel the pain without the self-condemnation that often accompanies it.

It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to mourn again. In that way, these wounds that remain fresh do ultimately strengthen us emotionally by allowing us to revisit that love and acknowledge the loss. When we allow ourselves to feel the loss again, we also give ourselves permission to experience the joy, too. The scars we live with aren’t unlike those on Christ’s hands and feet, which the Bible tells us are eternal. Those scars are a reminder of the permanence of love. He thought it was worth it. We should, too.

My time in this particular pit had a wonderful outcome this time. By allowing myself to feel the loss, I began to remember why the loss was so deep. It wasn’t because of the way that relationship ended. The reason I find myself in this pit again is because of the joy, good times, and love. I don’t miss the ending, I miss the during. So I reached out, because in this case I can. An incredible conversation followed, and a bit of a reconnection happened. A ray of light broke through the darkness of that pit.

Even though revisiting the pit is ultimately beneficial, it’s important to remember that life does go on. Although it is vital to allow ourselves to feel the emotions of grief and loss when they return, it is just as important to press forward into the remaining days we have been given.

Although we glance back over our shoulder at times, our life is meant to be lived looking forward. The keys to the journey out of the pit are similar to flipping on the lights in my confused state in the darkness. Answering where am I and how did I get here was the first step for me in this new journey through this old pit.

I’ve walked this road before. I’ve been in this particular pit before. Although it’s not exactly pleasant, the familiarity makes it easier. Remembering the love that was found…the special times we shared…these things cast light into the pit. Light illuminates the path.

“My Oklahoma” Calendar

December 29, 2016December 29, 2016onebouchard

I love filling Instagram and Facebook with pictures of light and beauty…scenes from where my journey takes me. This past year we saw the beaches of Texas and the mountains of Brazil. Even with this, my favorite views are in my own home state of Oklahoma. This year, I’m bringing a hand-picked assortment of these photos from your screens to your walls.

This calendar is special. Not only does it feature all twelve months of 2017 (which, according to my sources is supposed to be a phenomenal year), it also features one of my photos on each of the twelve months.

I first did a calendar in 2016 as a fundraiser for my family’s mission trip to Brazil. The calendars completely sold out and I even had to turn a few people away. This year I’ve printed a few more, but they are still a limited quantity.

Below is a gallery of the pictures in this year’s calendar. If you’d like one, shoot me a message on the social media of your preference: Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. They are $20, plus shipping (typically $5).

Brazil 2016 was phenomenal, but I’ve written about it elsewhere. Brazil 2017 looks like it will be another incredible trip, with a return to the state of Sergipe and passage through Aracaju on our way to our to our final destination in Itabi. It’s always a special time time to partner with the local congregation to help build a chapel in a week! The impact we have on the community, kingdom, and each other is immeasurable. As always, I appreciate any and all support I can get. Every prayer and every dollar counts.

70

October 12, 2016onebouchard

My mom recently celebrated her 70th birthday. Being a writer, I wrote this for her and narrated it at the party. She spend her life immersed in children’s literature so I thought it would be fun to use some of my most treasured quotes to emphasize the feelings in the text. See how many you recognize.

In a great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon.

My memories of books and stories are among my oldest and most cherished. This is a side-effect of a life spent with Becky. Growing up the son of a librarian, books were plentiful and reading was something we did together.

I remember our adventures at the public library. Maybe we went every week. Maybe it was more often than that. I don’t remember how many books I would leave there with on every single visit, but I’m certain it was right at the legal limit. She’d help me carry out my stack of 15 or 20 books, knowing full well it would be impossible to read them all before they were due. That wasn’t important. What was important was that curiosity. The love of learning. Finding both adventure and wisdom between the title page and back cover.

To tell you the truth, Becky is known as a no-nonsense person who gets stuff done. She’s a go-getter, having been highly successful in starting and building multiple libraries in diverse school districts and circumstances. She’s always been willing to take a stand against the powers that be in order to do what is right. And what is right generally happens to mean defending both books and children. The two are inextricably intertwined.

Even more, she always has fought for “the one.” Her life and career have been punctuated by the hundreds of stories of little ones who had the trajectory of their lives changed by a librarian with a puppet and a book. She has consistently given people hope when they had never known it was an option for them. She changed their perspectives and helped them embrace a life of significance and meaning. Books generally were the means…they were a tool to help the kids to understand and embrace a vision for their lives that was much grander than they ever would have imagined on their own. It was the vision she knew was possible. She knew because she had lived it. But that’s not my story to tell.

To me, she was always mom. She was the person who walked me to first grade having filled my head with things like these from Winnie the Pooh:

“Promise me you’ll remember, you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think.”

And then she walked home, alone, with another Pooh-bear thought… “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

After school, I would hang out with some friends. Once I had a group, I felt like a king. It’s good to be king. But then another feeling would hit, perhaps best described by Maurice Sendak.

“Then from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat, so he gave up being king of the wild things.” (from: Where the Wild Things Are)

I’d walk home.

She would be waiting for me on the front porch swing. She’d be singing “Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’ bread.” I didn’t even know what shortnin’ bread was, but I have since learned that I do indeed love it. But it wasn’t her wisdom, guidance, cooking, or singing that was so special. It was her presence. Looking back, I can appreciate it quite a bit. So many of my friends simply didn’t have that. I did. Always. And I still do.

When she returned to teaching, I went with her. This meant transferring to a school where I didn’t know anyone. It meant a school with kids from a different echelon of society than I had been with previously. It was worth it. It was important. Not only did I learn valuable lessons about a person’s worth meaning so much more than their family situation or social standing, I also got to spend a bunch of time with my mom. I got to see her build a library and transform lives. And I got to play Oregon trail on the Apple IIe. And watch Superfriends in the library after school. These were all incredibly important events in my life! Oh, and I got to see the look on my dad’s face when she locked her keys in her car one morning. With the engine running. All day. Priceless.

Throughout life…through the ups and downs… going to schools where I didn’t know anyone… the first girlfriend and first breakup. Changing majors. Getting married. Changing jobs. Having kids. Through it all, she’s there. She’s present. And no matter what, she believes in me. That doesn’t mean she’s always silent. Love never is. She always has advice, wisdom, and guidance. But even when I go down my own path, she believes in me.

As I fought to carve out my place in this world, the wisdom from my past would come back to me…

“Listen to the mustn’ts, child, listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves. Then listen close to me — anything can happen, child, anything can be.” –Shel Silverstein

Oh, but it can be so hard. There are so many doubts to deal with, so many conflicting priorities pulling in so many different directions… how can I find my way?

And then the wisdom from my past would speak…

“Believing takes practice.” –Madeleine L’Engle

And it did. I wasn’t good at it at first. There were critical voices always telling me I was doing it wrong. Telling me to take the safe route through life. Telling me not to take a risk. But into that, love would speak.

“Man does not simply exist, but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become in the next moment.” “What a man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task.” –Viktor Frankl.

I’d find myself stopping by the woods on a snowy evening, considering turning down the road not taken…. And there she would be, reminding me that we didn’t go to the moon because it was easy, but because it was hard. And it was worth the journey.

So, just like the other kids she helped, she managed to get a grander vision into my life. Unlike the others, I have been fortunate enough to have it infused consistently for 42 years. I guess I needed the extra attention. But in spite of those things…the vision, the presence, the most important thing is love. And love is something I learned about from an old and tattered rabbit, who said:

“Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” (The Velveteen Rabbit)

When we love deeply, we risk deeply too. Deep love risks deep loss and pain. And all of us who have loved deeply have felt it. And we think it’s worth it. Atul Gawande (Being Mortal) said “courage is strength in the face of knowledge of what is to be feared or hoped. Wisdom is prudent strength.” That prudent strength tells us that “The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.” –Lois Lowry, The Giver

So we share. We share life. We share love. We rejoice with each other when things go well…new babies, new jobs, new dreams coming true. And we cling to each other in the hard times, when we lose a family member or dear friend. And I’m sure each of us has had one of those moments when we look up and say this…

“‘Why did you do all this for me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.’ ‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.’” (Charlotte’s Web)

It all goes back to those books. Books, in the hand of the right person, change lives. It has been said that “sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.” (John Green, The Fault in Our Stars) Becky had lots of books like that. She used them to change lives. She has made a difference in this world and continues to do so today, though not just her devotion to the next generation of family members, but through her volunteer work as well.

Although her story is still coming true, this speech is winding down. This is the point where I tell Becky, my mom, how thankful I am for who she is and all she has done. I’m both extremely thankful and proud of her. And so on this, her 70th birthday, I must say…

As long as I’m living, my mommy you’ll be. I’ll love you forever. (Love you Forever)

Goodnight stars, goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.

Missing You

August 15, 2016August 14, 2016onebouchard

Just like autumn, this season cycles by regularly. Missing you.

I remember the journey…the months our paths crossed. I tried so hard to make it work. We all did.

But I was missing you. Even though I tried to love without expectation…to fully accept who you are and where you were at…I see now the impossibility. I did have expectations. I tried so hard to love with my whole heart…to pray with my whole spirit…to cling to you with all I had.

I see it now…we didn’t meet you where you were. We were missing you. We tried to meet the needs we perceived, which were different than the needs you actually had. Although we thought we were walking together down the same path, our journeys never really intersected did they? Were we one family? In my heart we were. And we continue to be. But I was missing you.

To some degree, maybe I was enamored by the potential of you. The potential of us. God had given me the daughter I had longed for but never knew I wanted. With my eyes wide open, I recognized your past, faults, and personal limitations and didn’t care about any of it. I accepted you exactly as you were. As much as I hated the abandonment and hurt you had suffered, I thanked God it led you to us. To me. Together, I knew you could finding healing. You could recover. And then you could thrive. That’s what I expected. But I was missing you.

You didn’t need transformation. You weren’t after recovery. You didn’t want a forever family. You never asked us to be one. And yet we tried to be that for you. You aren’t to blame. We were simply missing you. We missed who you really were. We missed getting to know the real person inside the young woman trying to survive. I didn’t understand that your life experiences did not prepare you for the life we threw you into. You had no context for what we offered. And yet we expected you to embrace us. We expected you to appreciate us. We expected you to love us. We expected you to try. But we were missing you.

That you managed to stick with us so long is a testament to your persistence. Or maybe it’s your stubbornness. The life we made for you was a gilded cage, though. It had peace, but you don’t crave peace. It had space, but you don’t need space. It had stability, but you’ve never known stability. It had us, but you’ve never needed us

This isn’t a right or wrong thing. You are who you are, as am I. I still treasure your heart. I still accept you as you are. The jagged and broken pieces of me tear against yours. I grieve because I lost you. And I grieve because I lost the potential of you. And I grieve because I failed to see the real you, and that is a true tragedy.

Now, just like then, I am missing you.