gluttony

The last time I posted in this blog was October 22, 2009.

It is now March 15, 2010.

That is almost 5 months.

It has been 5 months of gluttony.

Gluttony.  Taking it in.  Taking it all in.  Taking more in.  More information.  More experiences.  More challenges.  More tasks.  More lessons.  More questions.

More, more, more.

But what have I actually done with with all of this intake?  What am I putting out there?

Well, on the one hand, a lot.  A heckuva lot.  (I wish I could use that term heckuva more often.)  I've programmed services.  I've led meetings for all of our volunteers.  I've coached my staff.  I've taken on a few people outside of my staff to mentor.  I've helped to launch another campus.  I've posted a lot on our ministry's blog about this and that, upcoming events, prayer requests, etc.

But in all of this, I don't really feel like I've really contributed an awful lot.

In fact, I feel exactly the opposite: I feel like I've let my unique contributions and creations fall away in favor of the to do list, the task at hand, the rhythms of my calendar and meetings, expectations, responsibilities, projects, etc.

Just what are my unique contributions and creations?

This.  What I write.  What I think.  What I am wrestling with.  What I am challenged by.

What the Spirit is raising up in me.  Where God is calling me.  How God is correcting me and growing me.

I've let my unique contributions and creations fall away for several reasons:

I feel like someone else has probably already said it, and said it better than me.  While this is probably true, this mode of thinking fails to take into account the fact that I am still responsible for saying it to the people God has entrusted to me.  Even if it is just sharing what someone else has said.  Even if it is posting a link.  Even if it is simply providing my own reaction.  Simply because someone else has already said it does not mean that I'm not responsible to say it, say it differently, say it again, or say something completely different.  God has gifted me with the ability to write and speak.  I let this gift go at my own peril, and at the peril of others.  Reaction is creation in its own way.

I feel like my best energies can and should be spent on something else - something more pressing, more important, more concrete, more unselfish.  Long story short, I've let others dictate how my best energies are to be spent.  That's not their fault.  It's mine.  But what I've learned is that taking the time write, think, react, respond, etc. is what keeps me clear.  It's what keeps me going.  It's what keeps me on an appropriate edge.  It's what motivates me to challenge others.  It gives me vision and confidence to call people from where they are to where God wants them to go.  In the long run, it's hard to think of a lot of things that are more important or that can have a greater kingdom impact than this.

I feel like the things that I really want to write about will probably cause more trouble than good.  This is a slippery one for me.  Sometimes it is all to easy for me to stir the pot in the name of Jesus without the Spirit of Jesus.  But when I'm at my best, I feel like there is no obstacle that can't be removed, misunderstanding that can't be corrected, fuzziness that can't be clarified, or truth that can't be explained and entered into as I write about it, wrestle with it, and am faithful to what God has put on my heart concerning it.  And in those instances, it almost always involves some sort of collision with a commonly held assumption, a sin hiding underneath the trappings of religiosity, a biblical principle misunderstood or misapplied, or a sentiment that is protected by Christian culture but confronted by Christ.  I love, love, love setting our captive minds and spirits free from these traps and trappings with the sometimes controversial but always radical Way, Truth, and Life.

So no more gluttony.  No more taking in without putting more out.  It's time stop doing just what's expected of me.  It's time again to be the me that God created me to be.