Called Out

Today, I came across a blog post from Mark Batterson that is a week old. I read it then, loved it. Read it today, loved it again. This time, I have to share. It's an excerpt from his new book, Primal: A Quest for the Lost Soul of Christianity:

Chapter 2: The Tribe of the Transplanted

Several years ago I had the privilege of attending
the National Prayer Breakfast held annually at the Washington Hilton Hotel. The breakfast is a bipartisan gathering of leaders from all branches of government and both houses of Congress as well as delegations of leaders from foreign countries. The speaker that year was Bill Frist. Prior to his tenure in the U.S. Senate, Dr. Frist performed more than 150 heart transplants as a thoracic surgeon. During his remarks, he talked in reverent tones about the moment when a heart has been grafted into a new body and all the surgical team can do is wait in hopes that it will begin to beat. At that point he stopped speaking in medical terms and starting speaking in spiritual terms. He almost seemed at a loss for words as he described that miraculous moment when a heart beats in a new body for the first time. He called it a mystery.

Heart transplants are a marvel of modern medicine, but it goes way beyond what medicine can explain or understand. The heart is more than a physical pump. It doesn’t just circulate five thousand quarts of blood through sixty thousand miles of blood vessels day in and day out. The heart has a mind of its own. Studies suggest that the heart secretes its own brainlike hormones and has cellular memory. So a heart transplant isn’t just physical; it’s metaphysical. Heart transplant recipients don’t just receive a new organ; they receive cellular memories.

In his book A Man After His Own Heart, Charles Siebert shares a scientific yet poetic depiction of a heart transplant he observed at New York-Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. Not long after, Siebert attended an annual banquet for transplant recipients and he was deeply moved by their profound appreciation for life. They spoke in reverent tones about the second chance at life they had been given. They humbly acknowledged their responsibility to honor the donor. And many of them talked about new desires that accompanied their new hearts.

Siebert concluded—and his research is backed up by numerous medical studies—that transplant recipients don’t just receive a new heart. Along with that new heart, they receive whole new sensory responses, cravings, and habits.

Siebert called this group of heart recipients “the tribe of the transplanted.”

When you give your heart to Christ, Christ gives His heart to you. And you become a part of the tribe of the transplanted. That new heart gives you a new appreciation for life. You humbly acknowledge your responsibility to honor the donor. And the cellular memories that come with that transplanted heart give you whole sensory responses, cravings, and habits. You literally feel different. Why? Because you feel what Christ feels. And chief among those sanctified emotions is compassion. Your heart begins to break for the things that break the heart of God. You become part of the this coup de compassion that started at Calvary. And that is the heart of what it means to love God with all of your heart.

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

You know, there are times when I come across a song and it inspires me in an unnatural way. These days, that song is "Someday" by Rob Thomas. Besides the fact that I simply love his voice and the way that this song is arranged, the lyrics inspire something deep within me.

Maybe it's the idea of hope. Or, maybe it's the contrast of emotions represented. Maybe it's the charge to make a difference. Whatever it is, this song inspires me, and makes me think. Take a look:

Rob Thomas "Someday" from Snap Films on Vimeo.

And maybe someday we’ll figure all this out
Try to put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to make things better now that
Maybe someday we’ll live our lives out loud
We’ll be better off somehow, someday

I don't read Steven Furtick's blog often, but I stumbled across this post, Ignoring What They Said, from him today:

Ignoring What They Said

Jesus is in the middle of performing a miracle in Mark 5:36, and some doubters start to voice their cynicism.
To describe Jesus’ reaction, Mark uses a phrase that ministered to me deeply last week:
“Ignoring what they said…”
Then, of course, Jesus goes on to heal the little girl, in spite of the surrounding doubt, teaching us a valuable lesson:
In order to witness the miraculous, sometimes you’ll have to ignore what they said.

Maybe some people are perpetually misjudging your motives, and nothing you say seems to sway their verdict.
Ignore what they said.

Perhaps someone in your past filled your head with insecurity about who you could never be, and what you could never do. (Several people told me adamantly I’d fail as a church planter.)
Ignore what they said.

Sometimes the voice of doubt is internal-and we struggle to tune out the static of condemnation, faithlessness, and worst case scenarios.
Ignore what they said.

If any voice is raising itself in contradiction to the will and Word of God concerning you, be like Jesus.
Practice selective hearing.
Ignore what they said.

I love music. It's really that simple. I'm by a computer most of the day and more times than not you'll find Pandora opened up in one of my Firefox windows. Not familiar with Pandora? You need to become familiar with Pandora. Free, customizable, internet-based radio. It's like having your own personal DJ that brings you your favorites and few welcome surprises as well. LOVE it. Just saying . . .

A couple of nights ago, we had K-Love on at our house. (My son loves to listen and dance to music, and K-Love is the one station that we don't have to worry about him picking up unfortunate additions to his vocabulary. Not to mention, they play pretty good music.)

I was just playing along having a good time with my little man, and the song "Free To Be Me" by Francesca Battistelli came on. Ever heard it?

Here's a link where you can hear the song and see the lyrics: Free To Be Me

You can also listen to the song via the video below (it's really just audio with a picture, so click play and move on):



As some of you know, I've been on a bit of a journey over the past couple of months. In a sentence, God has been showering these Grace-filled words over my heart: Ben, you are enough. Just be you.

Francesca's song speaks to that.

If you've known me for long, you know that I love people. I love to be around people. I love to be with people. I love to invest in people. But, there's a dark-side to that too. I love to be liked by people. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with having friends. But, I'm a recovering "approval addict". I had years of my life that were dominated by the felt-necessity for all people to like and love me. And so, I would chameleon myself to fit into whatever situation I was in.

I didn't tell extravagant lies or go do things that were way outside of my character. But, I would change simple things: the stories I told, the music I liked, the words I used, the clothes I wore . . . all in an effort to be liked. If I was already liked, I wanted to be liked more. I would even go so far as to compare how much people liked me with how much they liked others. I wanted to be the "most" liked.

It's sick . . . I know.

But, I've been in recovery on that issue for a few years now. For several years, I've been striving to be real, genuine, authentic. I began to speak my piece and move on.

But, if I'm honest, I didn't believe deep-down within me that being me was enough. I had to be more.

Here's what I feel like God is teaching me.

1) God made me.
2) God doesn't make junk.

Therefore, I'm not junk. I am, in fact, God's masterpiece. His fine work of art.

So are you.

The Bible even supports it. Check out the words of Ephesians 2:10 (from the Amplified Bible)

For we are God's [own] handiwork (His workmanship), recreated in Christ Jesus, [born anew] that we may do those good works which God predestined (planned beforehand) for us [taking paths which He prepared ahead of time], that we should walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us to live].

I know, I know . . . my blog hiatus has been waaaaaaaay too long. I'm going to try to improve on that.

Had a great time at Indian Creek today as we talked about doing Greater Things Than We Can Imagine. The more I reflect on it, the more convinced I am that many people miss out on the life that God has for them by a mere 11 inches, the distance between the head and the heart.

I've spent a majority of my life learning more and more about Jesus Christ, and what it meant to be a follower of His. I've learned more and more about what the lifestyle of a Christ-follower looks like. As I've attempted to translate that head knowledge to from-the-heart living, I've noticed a pattern: following in the footsteps of Christ is risky.

The way of Jesus is not the safe road. It's not the path of least resistance. It's not the road of comfort. To truly follow Christ requires trust, a risk.

For instance, what if we really trusted God with our finances? Would we change the way we spend, give, invest, or save?

What if we really trusted God with our relationships? Would that change the way we listen, share, and interact?

What if we really trusted God with our hopes and dreams? Would that change the way we structure our days?

To trust is a heart-level thing. It's where knowledge meets life. And trust is risky.

But, what about the risk of living life the same way that we always have? What if we do nothing different?

Often times, we fail to calculate the risk of staying the same. Staying the same seems safe. It seems comfortable. After all, it's familiar, and it hasn't completely ruined us yet.

Think about it.

You know the risk that it would be to follow God in what He is calling you to trust Him with. What are you risking if you say "no"?

This morning I found myself praying a familiar prayer. I'm going to try to meditate and reflect on this one today. It was penned by a man known as St. Francis of Assisi. I truly believe that if we were to pray this prayer with genuine desire, amazing things would happen in our lives.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred . . . let me sow love
Where there is injury . . . pardon
Where there is doubt . . . faith
Where there is despair . . . hope
Where there is darkness . . . light
Where there is sadness . . . joy
O, Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled . . . as to console
To be understood . . . as to understand,
To be loved . . . as to love
For it is in giving . . . that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned,
It is in dying . . . that we are born to eternal life.