Eating fruit from the right tree

I made a deal with myself recently. Actually it's more like a rule. It's this: I'm not allowed to judge myself. 

Usually, judging myself is in the form of this phrase: "What's wrong with me?"

Often, my thinking goes something like this: "I'm one of the most blessed people I know. I have a wonderful family. I have incredible friends. I'm healthy. I'm living out a dream. I get to be in one of the most special places on the planet. Why don't I feel awesome all the time? Why do I do or say stupid things? Why do I think self-defeating thoughts? Why do I make dumb choices about how I spend my time? Why aren't I the person I want to be yet? What's wrong with me?"

What I'm seeing more and more, though, is that "what's wrong with me?" question, the judgements I make toward myself, are part of a destructive mindset. It's a mindset that says God expects a certain kind of song and dance from me in exchange for blessing. It's a mindset that assumes God only loves me when I feel good about myself. It's an insidious attitude that wants to live well, do well, relate well and look good in order to feel I deserve God's love.

But God isn't like that. He's a God who made babies. And babies cry. Babies can't do anything for themselves. Babies are adorable even though they're messy and chubby and needy. We don't judge babies for making mistakes when they're learning to walk or talk or eat.

He's a God who made plants come from seeds. From sowing to harvest, there's a long process involving sun and rain and care and nurture and pruning.

He loves process. He created process. He loves my process, even when I don't feel awesome. He's in charge of my process of being and becoming. He's transforming my mind and healing my brokenness from many years of trying so hard to live up to my own standards and what I perceive others' standards to be.

In the Garden of Eden, there were two trees. One was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The other was the tree of life. Adam and Eve ate from the wrong tree. Since then, along with our sin and rebellion, we've been obsessed with judging ourselves and others to be good or evil. It's a miserable business.

What God actually wanted for us is the tree of life. The Bible starts with that tree and ends with it in Revelation 22, where the tree brings healing to the nations. Instead of causing us to be obsessed with knowing and judging good and evil -- the essence of religion -- the tree of life offers us freedom from all that through Jesus' breathtaking act of hanging on a tree.

So from now on, I choose not to judge myself. I choose to surrender to the process of being transformed from one degree of glory to the next. I choose to believe in the pleasure God takes in the process. I choose the tree of life.

- Anne

Giant trees and wild surf - Eureka and Fortuna, CA

Fortuna and Eureka from Andrew Douglas on Vimeo.

Declaration of Dependance

I'm an oldest child; I like to blaze trails. I like to do things by myself. Don't even suggest that it would be better to do something together, because I want to do it on my terms, in my timing. 

I've been told I have a gift of apostleship. It's the gift that drives missionaries, church planters and entrepreneurs. An apostle isn't satisfied with the here and now; she wants to create new venues and expressions, visit new places and bring new aspects of the Kingdom of God to communities. New relationships excite me. I like meeting new people and hearing their stories. I love considering what God has in store for me and others. 

But the dark side of the apostle/oldest child combination is independence. And independence is just code for "I don't need anyone." And that's actually a lie. 

A few weeks ago, when our group at school visited a ropes course, it was a wake-up call to dependence. I expected it to be like the ropes course at camp: everyone stands at the bottom and watches while the person on the rope displays their awesomeness at overcoming fear and getting across. Imagine my dismay when our ropes instructor, Larry, took our group of eight to the top and told us that we had to get across the course - all connected. I admit I was not thinking very nice things about Larry.

But what I expected and what happened were two very different things. It was actually being a team that got us across the course. Many times, our collective strength and balance kept us up there when one of us would have fallen. There were times when I clung to others, practically eyeball-to-eyeball, and every straining muscle in my body was grateful that I wasn't up there alone. 

Also, I noticed that it was way more fun and pressure-free to do the course as a team. It completely freed us of performance issues. 

A few months ago, I gave a second-year student a ride home from the church. She asked me how it was going so far. "Honestly?" I said, "Being here is a dream come true and I thought I'd be ecstatic all the time. But sometimes I feel overwhelmed." She laughed and said, "Don't worry, I felt that way last year too. But it's okay to feel like that. It's important to be vulnerable, because to be vulnerable is to be brave." That has proven prophetic. 

Recently we had a speaker who talked about dependence being our only job. She said Jesus told us we're branches and He's the vine. And the only job a branch has is to be dependent on the vine and just hang there, receiving nutrients. It doesn't create leaves or fruit on its own. In fact, it can only bear fruit if it learns to be dependent. 

Okay, I'm sensing a theme in all of this. When I talked about my independence with an older friend here, she nodded and said gravely, "Yes, God asked me to repent of that myself a few years ago." Repent? Really? It's actually a sin? 

So I did. I told God that I don't want to try to do things on my own any more. I told Him I need Him, and that I need Andrew, family and friends. I know it might take some time for me to learn to live that out, and that change may be gradual, but my Jesus is patient with me. 

Video - A weekend in November

A weekend in November from Andrew Douglas on Vimeo.

A new way of worship

I’m not feeling God’s presence in worship very much these days.

Maybe for some people, that’s not a big deal. But for me, over the last few years, worship has become the most important thing in my life. I have felt more alive, more free, more beautiful and more loved in worship than anywhere else. It completes me. One of my main desires in coming to Bethel was to go deeper with God in worship. And yet here I am sensing His presence even less than before.

Until about seven years ago, I felt nothing in worship except enjoyment for the music itself. Then something shifted. I had times of being filled with the Holy Spirit. And feeling His presence after years of feeling nothing was like a cup of cold water in the desert. Finally, this felt like a real relationship. My heart came alive when I praised and adored and experienced the King of kings. I treasured those new moments of intimacy with God. I felt His favour, His approval and His pleasure. And so I was thrilled to come to Bethel where His presence is known to be so tangible, where people are free to enjoy His presence in extreme ways.

And now, I barely feel Him. And it makes it especially hard that so many around me have dramatic experiences in worship.

People say, “don’t trust your feelings.” Okay, but feelings ARE important or God wouldn’t allow us to experience Him tangibly. Throughout scripture, God has deep emotions and expresses them.

Now, in worship, I feel what Isaiah talked about in chapter 6, when He was taken up into the presence of the Lord: “Woe is me. I am a man of unclean lips.” These days, in worship, I just feel raw and undone.

The other day, I was sitting at the back of the auditorium during worship blinking back tears. Then a song with the words, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty” began. And I realized. I couldn’t sit and feel sorry for myself anymore. I had to stand, raise my hands and give this Holy God, the God of the universe, His due. Because He is holy. And He deserves praise, whether it’s an intimate experience of His presence, or a sacrifice of praise.

I think I’m going to trust that He is doing a new work of worship in me and it’s okay that it doesn’t feel like it used to.  

           -- Anne

Video - Trip to the salmon hatchery

Salmon run - Oct 2012 from Andrew Douglas on Vimeo.

Running in circles

I ran the US Half Marathon in San Francisco two weekends ago. It was an out-and-back course -- out from Fisherman's Wharf, through the Presidio, over the Golden Gate Bridge, and back. 

The day before the race

It was an out-and-back experience in other ways too. Emotions and memories overwhelmed me through the last half of the race. By the time I crossed the finish line I was a mess.

The last time I was in San Francisco -- almost exactly six years ago -- it was the tail end of the worst two weeks of my life. Anne and I were publishing DogSport magazine and we had hit rock bottom. We were broke. Before arriving in San Francisco I lost my wallet and passport in Arizona and then suffered through a disappointing tradeshow for the magazine. Then the gas got shut off back home in Guelph leaving Anne in crisis trying to shuffle debt around to make room to pay an overdue bill -- all with our three young kids in tow and winter looming. By the time I rolled into Northern California in time for the wedding of a close friend, I felt completely strung out and desperately alone and hopeless.

But that trip also began a great spiritual awakening for me. At my lowest possible point, God met me. Things didn't miraculously turn around financially until a few years later. But in my desperate state that November six years ago, I felt Jesus' love so tangibly that it marked me and changed me forever.

None of this was on my mind three weeks ago when I booked our hotel room. I'd been training for this race for a few months, running through the beautiful high desert landscape around Redding. I was ready and excited. I felt sure that I could finish the half-marathon in under 2 hours. 

Then something went wrong. Before we left Redding our Visa card failed. It didn't make sense -- we were paid up. I didn't have time to figure out the issue but the feelings of dread surfaced quickly. I learned later that it was simply that our address hadn't been updated properly. But at the time, all I could I remember were the feelings of panic that come with having a credit card declined. Poverty and hopelessness swept in like a grey fog. It's like I was transported back into the DogSport years.

The hotel I found was the cheapest available that still looked clean and safe. It was within walking distance of Fisherman's Wharf and Lombard Street. And, it turns out, it had a history.

When we pulled into the parking lot, carved into an impossibly steep downtown street, I knew I'd been there before. But I couldn't place it.

Then it hit me. It was the same hotel I'd stayed at before the wedding six years ago. Anne and the kids spilled into the room, tickling and laughing and planning the afternoon in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I stood outside for a few minutes, looking out into the hotel's courtyard, marveling at God's patience and love and protection. He was bringing me full circle. First the Visa card and now the hotel. There was something He wanted to do this weekend.

The next morning, as I rounded the halfway mark of the race, painful memories of failure and poverty from the past mixed with new hope and faith and anticipation. The Golden Gate Bridge carried me over the bay and back towards the city on the homeward stretch. The view was breathtaking as the sun burned away the morning fog over the skyline. My perspective had changed so much in six years. I was a new man. 


I missed my goal by 12 minutes but I found something much more important that morning. I saw into my past and God showed me how much He'd redeemed. God led me back to the same place I'd been to show me how far I'd come. There was much healing during that long run. I feel more free of my past failures and more open to God's leading after this weekend.

This isn't a story of me returning as a conquering hero having figured life out in the intervening time. But I am more sure of God's love for me now, and so aware of His presence. He loves me... and that's enough. 

Anne and the kids met me at the finish line. The race was done. We piled into the car and headed back to our temporary home in Redding. Soon it will be time to start the next race. This one's going to be a grand God adventure. And this time, I won't be running alone.

On a tour of San Francisco Bay, watching dolphins and harbor seals play in the boat's wake