restored to grace

It had been almost a year since I last connected with this friend. We met tonight at the Barnes & Noble on Rte. 10 in Morris Plains. I decided to go early so that I could do some book browsing before she arrived.

I found a book about the Apostle Paul and flipped through it a little. As I did, I began to daydream a little. What would it have been like to travel with him? Was he a somber guy, or did he have a clever sense of humor?

And what would it be like to walk alongside someone who understood that deeply what it meant to live a missional lifestyle, who understood the synergy created when cross, culture, and community meet within a life?

As I was making my way from the Religion section to the Science Fiction section, I heard my name called. It was my friend.

After barely a minute of small talk, our conversation dove right into ministry. As we shared our hearts, passions, and discoveries with each other, I couldn’t help but sense that she too was experiencing the same “dip” that I am now crawling out of.

And it’s tough.

It’s tough when God has given you a gift and placed on you a calling, and circumstances push you away from where you feel called. And it’s tough when you look within and find that your own sin, guilt, and depression are pulling you away from taking any step towards what God has called you to.

And it’s tough when that call is ministry, and you know that your ability to serve is almost completely shot.

But, like my friend said tonight, finding yourself drawn to ministry, regardless of how often you’re tossed around and pulled away from it, means that you’re meant for it. When you long for the trenches, for the spiritual battle over the souls of people who surround you. When your mind isn’t satisfied until you’ve filled it with God’s word. When your arms itch to embrace the hurting and broken soul. When your lips purse at the thought of sharing with others everything God has taught you. When your ears perk up at the cries of the youth who is lost, frightened, and alone.

You were meant to be in the trenches.

As I sipped my tea, my friend looked straight into my eyes and asked me, “How is your relationship with God?”

She was meant to be in the trenches.

She drove right to that question. Everything else in our conversation had flowed organically, but this question didn’t. No, it was purposed. Directed. Intentional.

It was as if that was the only thing she wanted to ask me. As if the night would be incomplete if she didn’t help wake me up to the realization that I was headed down the same path the led me into this dark valley I’ve been in.

She knew what was important and how to get at it.

And she opened my heart to a truth I only recently began to notice.

I’ve not been connecting with my Daddy.

And crucial to living a missional lifestyle is maintaining an unbroken, open connection with God.

Because without that connection, we can’t be like Jesus.

And being missional is being like Jesus,

(who was more human than anyone else)

which makes us more human than we were before,

so that we can better connect to the broken and hurting humans who would never listen to us unless we fully realize our own humanity.

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Last night in the basement of a house in Lake Hopatcong, NJ, our entire youth staff had fallen face down on the floor in humble adoration of the cross, of grace, and of our Saviour. It was a moment I won’t soon forget as it was the moment that could very well catalyse a new movement within the Liquid community to pour into the next generation like never before.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the changes in store for our SM program or annoy you with boastings of some of the great things we have planned as a youth ministry, but I will tell you this: never before have I felt that my journey in faith had landed somewhere until now.

I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when I placed my trust in Christ, but at some point just two years ago, I knew beyond any doubt that my life belonged to the King of the universe. And over the course of the last two years I went through so many changes and shifts that I began to lose any sense that I even remotely resembled the Nate Nakao prior to 2007.

And while I still feel like I’m in a bit of a “dip,” my future is beginning to come into focus just a little more. But even if the specifics change, I know without any lack of conviction that the rest of my life will be dictated by this sentence: I love the next generation.

I took on an interim directorial role for the children’s program at Liquid, but as I look back on my term in that position, I realize, to my shame, the lack of seriousness I had with the role. I was tasked with taking the gospel to a future generation, and I could barely stay focused long enough to complete that task Sunday to Sunday. It’s a wonder the program didn’t fall apart with me at the helm.

But the gravity of my calling hit me last night. My role as a youth leader is one of utmost importance. My task is a grave and urgent one. My Missio Dei is the same as that of all others: take the gospel to all. But in its specificity, my mission calls me to the youth culture. A culture where the idea of a Creator God who loves them enough to die for them is a foreign idea. A culture that is crying out for connection in all areas that they turn to social media—the greatest tool for and weapon against the fulfillment of their desire to connect. A culture that has found something to live for, but is longing for something to die for.

And so I go forward, taking what I’ve learned and experienced these last few years and building it into who I am going to be.

I lay for my life a foundation characterised by:
Grace – Nothing distinguishes the believer more than his/her unbounded love.
The Cross – The Chosen one of God selected death as his means to bring life to a dead world. It is the central point of history and the fabric by which all life holds together.
The Culture – The point at which I am ineffective in connecting to the culture is the point at which I cease to live out my call. Universally, the point at which any believer ceases to communicate effectively with the culture that surrounds him/her is the point at which he is no longer fulfilling the Missio Dei given directly to him/her in Matthew 28.18-20.

Today I declare my life’s mission. And every tomorrow to follow will carry with it an opportunity to live my mission. My prayer is that I will seize every one of those opportunities. I just hope I never miss one again.

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It’s winter.

Not just the season of the year, but the season of my life. There’s a cold desolation that’s been eating away at me for a long time. I’m not sure if I can attribute it to any particular circumstance, event, or situation, but it tears at my heart nonetheless.

And I find no balm.

Cold. Empty. Desolate. Dry. I find myself attempting to satiate my search for warmth in anything that gives off temporal heat. But I cannot find satisfaction.

And I remember the fire that once burned inside me. The passion with which I burned and the flames that swirled within my soul.

The fire of God’s Spirit searing its way through every fiber of my being.

But after circumstances changed, I began to feel a lack of power. And the lack of power began to feel like helplessness. And the helplessness began to feel like desolation.

But the Spirit hadn’t left me. He was trying to show me something about himself.

That he cares.

Christ called him the Comforter. And I’ve certainly needed comforting.

And tonight, when I feel most alone and confounded, he’s here, whispering in my ear, telling me to “cast all [my] anxiety on him because he cares for [me].”

Maybe soon I’ll feel him empowering me again, using me to accomplish magnificent things for his kingdom.

But for now I just need to rest in the knowledge that he’s my Comforter, quietly salving my intangible pain.

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I recently wrote an article for a magazine published by Cornerstone Church in Chandler, AZ. Click here to read the article. Hope you enjoy!

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It’s been a while since I’ve written anything here. I feel like my life has been at a standstill, and I suppose that’s what’s being reflected here.

I’ve suffered a few hurts over the past few months—several obstacles that I’ve found it difficult to get past. But it seems God’s not finished with me.

Last week I had a conversation with a friend of mine that was a little jarring and difficult to get through. I understand she was just being honest about her assessment of me, but there are things I’m not comfortable with, and, while it may be to my detriment, I may never feel comfortable with them.

But hearing her opinion on this matter may be the catalyst needed for my realizing a new and better me.

To be honest, I don’t think I’m ready to make the changes she suggested. It’s foreign to me, and it makes me feel vulnerable and naked. But I understand her point, and I see where my spiritual and emotional health would be benefited by implementing these changes.

I think we all have things in our lives that, when someone points them out to us, we cringe at the thought of. But we’re just not ready to change those things. Because doing so would weaken the defenses we’ve spent our whole lives building.

I like where I am. It’s comfortable and familiar. It’s easy, and that’s what makes it dangerous.

But perhaps I need to take some risks. We’re getting close to 2010. Maybe it’s time for some resolutions.

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I was reading though Exodus recently, and I was struck by the beauty of the narrative. It’s a sweeping epic tale of the humble beginnings of the nation of Israel brought about by the overwhelming power of the Almighty.

And in the middle of this whirlwind was a man named Moses—a man who was born a slave, raised a prince, trained a shephered—a man with the audacity to defy the king of the most powerful empire in the world.

But like so many times throughout human history, God chose to use the ordinary to accomplish the miraculous.

Moses was not the epic leader we think of him as.

Sure, Egypt may have hailed him as her future king. And yes, he led Israel out of her captivity under Egypt’s fist.

But Moses was a coward who was full of excuses.

He ran away after killing a man, afraid of his royal family’s power.

When God gave him the charge to lead the Hebrew people out of Egypt, he whined. “I can’t face Pharaoh. Who am I to such a great king?”

You mean, other than a prince who might have been in line to take the throne of Egypt?

But God says, “I will be with you.” The Almighty has placed his Spirit upon Moses.

And still he complains?

“But what if they ask me who sent me? What do I tell them?”

Moses, isn’t it enough that the God of the universe has asked you to do something and has given you his power to accomplish the task? You have to keep worrying about the hypothetical?

“But what if they don’t believe me?”

Jeez, Moses! What do you want, a miracle?

“Oh, I forgot. . . I suck at public speaking.”

Who created you, Moses? Who gave you the ability to speak? What does God have to do to get our attention?

And as annoyed as God might have been with Moses, there’s a sentence in Exodus 33 that reads: “Inside the Tent of Meeting, the Lord would speak to Moses face-to-face, as a man speaks to a friend” (emphasis added).

God doesn’t come to us as a friend because we ask him to. He doesn’t bend to the will and desires of humans. God speaks to us as a friend because he wants to.

His words are right in front of you. He’s writing to you as a friend. Are you paying attention to him?

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Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we’ve been given a brand-new life and have everything to live for, including a future in heaven—and the future starts now! God is keeping careful watch over us and the future. The Day is coming when you’ll have it all—life healed and whole.

I know how great this makes you feel, even though you have to put up with every kind of aggravation in the meantime. Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure; genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine. When Jesus wraps this all up, it’s your faith, not your gold, that God will have on display as evidence of his victory.

You never saw him, yet you love him. You still don’t see him, yet you trust him—with laughter and singing. Because you kept on believing, you’ll get what you’re looking forward to: total salvation.

I read passages like these, and during a normal season of my life, it fills me with hope and excitement. But there are dark times that make reading something like this difficult and frustrating. “A day is coming” sounds cheap, almost like “It’s gonna be okay” when you know better.

And it’s easy to feel that way. It’s almost like there’s no way out of a rut you’ve been in for too long. It’s easy to give in because it’s been like this for what feels like an eternity. There’s no direction to life, no purpose anymore, no real fulfillment where there once was pure joy.

But maybe this is for the better. As dark as today may seem, there is a tomorrow. And through the trials we become better, stronger, more resilient. We may not see the completion of our salvation now, but take heart. God has promised to complete it. Like Paul wrote to the church in Philippi, “I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.”

In 627 BCE a man named Jeremiah began his ministry in ancient Israel. He wasn’t exactly a popular fellow because he promised his country that they would be taken captive and hauled away to a foreign land. Obviously people didn’t want to hear that their great nation was going to be defeated and carried off.

But Jeremiah spoke the truth.

In 586 BCE the Babylonian Empire swept through Israel and hauled the population off to Babylon.

But in the middle of all of Jeremiah’s predictions of destruction was a word of hope.

This is what the Lord says: “You will be in Babylon for seventy years. But then I will come and do for you all the good things I have promised, and I will bring you home again. For I know the plans I have for you. They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me. I will be found by you. I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes. I will gather you out of the nations where I sent you and will bring you home again to your own land” (emphasis added).

In the middle of our pain and suffering,

in the middle of our distress and anxiety,

in the middle of our frustration and hopelessness,

God promises a future.

And because of Jesus, that future starts now.

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I keep a little bit of a prayer journal. There are a lot of gaps in it, mostly because I get too scared to immortalize my prayers on paper.

Anyway, I was going through some old entries when I stumbled on these three. I was struck by how much can change in just a few days. I’ve actually never shared this story with anyone because I was afraid to let people see this much. But it’s just too awesome to keep hidden forever.

~Sunday~
Today was amazing, Father. Thank you again for the opportunity to help out in such an amazing ministry. Thank you for these people and the time I get to share with them. You’ve blessed me with some amazing friends.

God, I’m excited about the ministry that you’ve blessed me with at Liquid Kids. I’m humbled by the amount of leadership Bill trusts me with. I don’t get that at all, but it’s in your hands, not mine.

Oh, and thanks for the little break he let me have. As much as I love Liquid Kids, it was definitely nice to have a Sunday off.

God, I don’t know what you have in store for me, but I get the impression that Liquid is going to play a big part in your plan for my future.

Father, please put me in the right place at the right time.

~Monday~
I need your strength, Father. Today was such a difficult and frustrating day. I felt stifled, and I’m angry about the situation I’m in. I’m sorry for being discontent, but it’s so hard right now.

God, you know how unhappy I am at this job. I need your help right now. I know you delight in giving good gifts to your children, so I’m asking you for one.

I want to be able to use the skills you gave me, and I know it’s impatient, but I want to put them to use as soon as possible.

God, I hate the way this sounds, but I’m so frustrated! I’m dying for a change.

I trust you’re sending something, though. Please help me be patient.

~Tuesday~
Sorry about last night, Father. I was overwhelmed with yesterday’s frustration that I didn’t take any time to thank you for all the blessings you’ve given me. With all the sin that continues to destroy my life, you’ve still chosen to use me mightily in your ministry.

You already know my hurts and frustrations, and I don’t want to go into all that again this morning because in the middle of all these struggles, I still have so much to be thankful for. Last weekend was all about you, God. Please help me make that true about my whole life.

I love you, Father.

Every Tuesday morning I get together with my mentor and pastor for some coffee and chatting. That Tuesday, instead of our ordinary talks, he offered me a job with Liquid Kids. Little did I know what road that would take me on.

But I’m thankful for that moment because it taught me so much about God. It taught me that God listens. It taught me that God loves. That moment became the catalyst for a whole lot of internal change in my life.

I still get together with my mentor every Tuesday. And even though I’m not working for him at Liquid anymore he still leads, prods, and teaches me.

His most recent challenge to me was the legacy he’s leaving with me. He has taught me so much, and I refuse to let it go to waste. It’s time for me to step up.

That Tuesday was no coincidence. It was a catalyst to bring me to new heights of worship and ministry.

And I intend to find my next one.

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I’ve been reading a book by Craig Gross and Jason Harper called Jesus Loves You. . . This I Know, and in the chapter titled “Jesus Loves the Forgotten,” Craig recounts the story of a boy who died alone for no other reason than this: everyone forgot about him.

Some kids in a youth group were encouraged to include even the outcast when inviting other kids to a big lakeside party. A socially awkward boy was invited, and gradually made friends. He pensively swam, with some help, (he was a very inexperience swimmer) to a floating island where the other kids were playing.

Eventually the kids went back to the shore to enjoy cake inside the lakehouse.

But the boy was still on the island.

Everyone went home, but no one remembered the boy alone on the island.

After he was reported missing, a diving search team found his body at the bottom of the lake. It was presumed that he had tried at some point to swim back to shore, but an asthma attack prevented him from reaching.

I’m going to be very honest. There are many times I feel like that boy. I often feel alone and forgotten.

Israel Houghton sang these words: “I am not forgotten.”

We may feel like no one remembers us, but if we consider Jesus’ love for us, we’ll remember that he can’t forget us.

Jesus loves us. I know this because he’s made that promise.

And Jesus never breaks a promise.

This I know.

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I was reading through Revelation 1 yesterday when I stumbled on a passage that had a very intriguing setup.

John describes a powerful, majestic, and terrifying incarnation of Christ. But immediately following this description, Christ says, “Do not be afraid.”

It’s almost as if he’s saying, “Look at what I did for you. I am the Eternal One, and yet I stooped down to experience death for you. But I didn’t stop there. I destroyed death so that you wouldn’t have to taste it. I control Hell so you won’t have to go there. So yeah, there’s no reason to be afraid.”

But if we’re honest, we’ll admit that fear is what drives our lives.

If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you’ve seen that I’m obsessed with the concept of love. It’s fascinating to me because it’s probably one of the greatest mysteries of our humanity, yet it’s the most common aspect of our lives. It’s also (supposed to be) the defining point of Christians. (I’ll refrain from my rant about Christians’ failure to exhibit this feature.)

So here’s an interesting thought about love and fear. . .

Love, in its purest form, is completely fearless.

Odd, isn’t it? I mean, fear and love seem to go hand-in-hand. We’re afraid to love because we might get burned.

Or the love won’t be reciprocated.

Or we might be taken advantage of.

All legitimate fears. But none have any place near love.

Check this out.

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.
~1 John 4.18

Um. Ouch.

I strive to love perfectly, flawlessly, purely. Yet I’m held back by fear. And I think it’s this fear that is crippling me and keeping me from becoming the man that God is calling me to be.

Fear destroys love. The most common command in the Bible is “Do not be afraid” or some variation of it. I think it’s time I start obeying this command.

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