My Ego in 17B and 20F

As I begin to type this, I’m seated in seat number...wait, that’s not quite descriptive enough. I’m actually wedged into seat number 17B, the middle seat on a 4 hour domestic flight from Fort Lauderdale to Dallas. My flight companions in 17A and C are seemingly nice guys, an average sized Asian man to my right and a generously proportioned white guy to my left. We’re doing the armrest elbow dance. 

Intuitively. 

An hour into the flight, I think we have our rhythm down.

I’m not really a middle seat guy.

I’m always an aisle seat guy.

At 6’ 3” it’s a bit beyond preference.

Heck, my profile with my travel agent clearly lists that “preference”. 

But this flight is slap full so snug 17B it is.

But here’s the twist: I know I’m blessed to have it. Today is a situation where my mid-level “frequent flyer status” let me jump on an earlier flight than I was ticketed to be on. My later flight included my coveted, preferred aisle seat, but I was able to jump on the earlier bird. 17B is a good ego check for me, a blessing that requires pride and comfort to be crammed away beyond the overhead bin.

Lately, I’ve been mulling on this idea of “I deserve” and “Ego” and “Of course, I know what I’m doing” and just the very worst ways that attitude can rear up and out. It's front of mind here in 17B because my ego tends to creep up at the airport when I have wait for group 4. Then, the rare instances when I’m bumped to first class, it has the chance to turn into a pride wrestling opportunity for growth. Hey Joal, reminder: it’s all the same plane. 

Stop with the high brow thinking.

Just Stop.

When I’m bumped up I simply lucked out that the first class seats weren’t sold out. 

And today I lucked out that a handful of seats were still open.

I didn’t DO anything.

I don’t DESERVE anything.

It was a happy blessing.

Whether it’s a teenager thinking they know it all or a newly elected Member of Congress thinking they’re God’s gift to America or the Pastor that thinks he can save people or counselors who believe they can fix marriages or a-hem...a particular sales rep who thinks he’s the greatest salesman his company has ever seen, all of them share the same bitter root. The "Me, Myself and I" gene is embedded in all of us from conception and is in full burn from breath number one.

Scripture is full of warnings and observations about pride. 

Here’s a thought: what if “life to the full”, a full personhood, restored, redeemed and reclaimed, was mostly defined as LESS of me? Actually, going further, how about none of the ME gene. I’m thinking more and more that’s precisely the case.

Josh Wilson, a favorite singer/songwriter around our family (and one of those guitarists that just makes you shake your head with what his fingers produce live) has a new tune called “Self Less”. The space between the words is intentional. The lyrical turn is: “It ain’t about thinking less of myself just thinking of my Self Less.”

A week or so later, it’s now a return trip from Corpus Christi and I’m “last standby list guy” blessed with the back row window seat 20F on another completely occupied flight. Again, a gift. 

The flip side of the Self coin has to be humble-gratitude. I should count some blessings: 

I’m blessed I was able to work today and this week. 

I’m blessed to do work that not only provides for my family but is something I actually enjoy a lot and it matters to the world!

I have a beautiful wife I’m so in love with that I’m racing home today to see her and she’s geeked about it. 

I have children who are growing up strong, healthy and independent in good, noticeable  ways. 

And those are just a few of the significant ones. I won’t list the countless ways art, music, conversation, coffee and avocados rate as minor blessings in life; they all do.

My prayer needs to be for more 17B and 20F Self Less moments and the grateful heart to pair with it. “I, me and my” needn’t rear up. Amen, Lord Jesus.

Coffee with Ethiopians May 2019

I just spent a week in East Africa. 
I went to serve but my last day there I was served by the sweetest Ethiopian couple; they’re people I’ve known for years but never really spent time engaging. 
True servant’s hearts displayed in simple hospitality. 
That kind of hospitality is strikingly inviting.

Upon arrival in Nairobi on the first night and also for my last night before returning home I stayed with an American missionary couple at a guesthouse—think sparsely furnished Airbnb apartment.

As I had one free day before the travel home I wanted to get some good, morning coffee and swing in to an authentic Ethiopian restaurant for lunch. Lunch like that, my friends, is a cultural experience. It’s communal. It’s ALL finger food. There are no utensils as you use Injera, a rice based sponge-y bread—think light pancake or crepe—as a means of scooping up the meat, vegetables and lentils. There’s a huge tray, lazy-Susan-like; each person gets a roll of Injera and you tear a piece big enough to dip up a bite. And no one rushes. And any ya-hoo who leaves an Ethiopian meal hungry is...a ya-hoo, because there’s always more than enough.

Tradition comes in to the meal with both pre- and post-meal hand washing and after-meal coffee. My friends and I went restauranting for the meal but an Ethiopian missionary couple wanted to host us for coffee that afternoon in their home.

The British do tea; Ethiopians do coffee. Ethiopians are my kind of people.

As we entered, the wife (we’ll just go with the initial T) was roasting her own coffee beans! A tradition (I did not know and westernly-flubbed) was observed once the coffee beans were sufficiently roasted and still steaming: T brought the pan into the living room to allow each person a moment to waft the aroma towards themselves with their hands. I managed to just stick my face near the pan of beans and wispiness as I had no clue what she was doing.
There was a gracious chuckle and she moved on to bean grinding.

But while grinding and boiling the water, I heard something popping...like popcorn?
Do Africans do buttery popcorn with black coffee?

That would be a NO, Starbucks. No marketing angle there. Whether it’s an always-kinda-thing or just generous hosting us that day, I tasted a bit of the Ethiopian flavor—they do lightly sweetened popcorn. Not-buttered, simply sugared, enjoyable. 

Then as G (initialed husband) chatted with us, his guests, T set up her real deal sit-on-stool-next-to-it, proper tea set in a box. As there were 7 adults present, 7 tea cups, 7 saucers and 7 spoons were carefully laid out. Each cup was sugared, raw sugared, and the pouring began. T let a few drops go into one cup then abruptly stopped as the mixture was not as steeped as she wished. Three minutes later, as she knew I wanted a picture, she told me to get my phone ready. The pouring of the blackest coffee re-commenced from her wooden pot and the most powerful sweet coffee was served. A single cup would be poured then she’d get up from her stool and deliver it to the oldest guests first. I was third in line and G and T as hosts were the last.
Very traditional.

Then in a wink, T was out of the room only to return 3 minutes later with a basket full of sweet bread (visually similar to cornbread) uniquely and secretly spiced.

So, if your keeping score of my afternoon calorie consumption, I ate my fill at the restaurant (because I’m no ya-hoo) to then be handed a full bowl of sweet popcorn to then be served a cup of SWEET, rich, thick coffee, to then be expectantly handed-and-watched-to-eat a wedge of sweet bread. Yep, it was getting hard to breathe. The belt needed a notch loosened, but the traditional ceremonial nature of it demanded I accept and enjoy each element.

At that point, from the moment we entered G and T’s home it had probably been one and a half hours and the conversation continued with zero rush. Then there was a brief lull as everyone reclined on the couch they were on, which then sent T into round two of coffee prep and pouring. Of course, we all obliged.

Ethiopian hospitality.

So attentive to their guests. 

So relaxed with 5 adults and 2 children as their guests, filling their space. 

There was no “gotta get other things done”. 

There was just caring for guests in their home.

The twist of the service moment came as we finished our time at about the two hour mark. One of the guests suggested G, our husband host, “pray for Joal as he travels home”.
He was momentarily reluctant then willing.

He sensed the reluctance caught us all off guard so he went on to explain that in their culture the Guest prays for the Host; I was to pray for G and T. 

What a tradition! 

You come to be served and you return it with prayers of blessing over the hosts!! 

I gladly bowed and prayed.

I don’t know all their story, but I know some of the backdrop. T was widowed very, very young. I met her first husband one time before he feel ill on the mission field and quickly stepped into glory. She went home to her family and people in Ethiopia and years later God brought G into her life. These years later yet they are in missions service again now with 2 beautiful children. They trust God to be their all in all.

I prayed for that family. 

I prayed God’s favor, blessing, protection and provision for them. 

I then was blessed to hear G pray over me in that beautiful African English.

Good food.

Good coffee.

Good people.

A Good, Good Father, who is perfect in all of His ways.

In the Flow of Ordinary May 2019

When you’re IN the flow, you know it.

You just know it.

Athletes talk about being “in the zone”.

Musicians, when playing well together, speak about how “tight” the sound was.

There is a true and good spiritual life corollary, but often a false humility hinders the honest voicing of being in THAT flow.

What’s worth noting with the three examples above is that there is no guarantee IT will happen, ever. The IT, the moment when you know, you just KNOW that it’s all clicking, that IT—there’s no way to perfectly reproduce it. But again you know when it’s there. You know when you’re in that moment. You know exactly what to do. It’s intuitive.

And all three examples require two things of the participant, actor, experiencer, athlete, musician and believer: first Practice and then Doing. Athletes wouldn’t be able to have that transcendent game if they hadn’t run the drills, caught a thousand passes or shot 50 three pointers everyday. Musicians wouldn’t have that perfect show, the “Eric Clapton Unplugged” kind of perfect show, without countless hours of personal scale running, years of

collaborative songwriting and full band rehearsals, plural, all before any single fan arrives with their one-night-only ticket anticipating something, a something a fan can’t even name.

And so with the spiritual life (more specifically so it doesn’t get watered down by any PC police appeasers), so it is with the life hid with Christ in God that the Holy Scriptures promise is applied to believers by faith in the blood of Jesus through the sealing work of the Holy Ghost. The New Testament epistle of Hebrews speaks specifically to our need to be active participants, regular practicers and doers, “holding on to our courage and the hope of which we boast” and “making every effort to enter the rest of God”. 

There will be little-to-no opportunity to experience the IN the flow moments of God-on-the-move without first experiencing quiet, study, prayer, worship, reflection and meditation to, on, of and with the Lord God. Friends, if you’ve read this far and you claim no personal dynamic belief and faith in Jesus, this must all sound preposterous.

What?...Kobe draining 81 pts in a single game or the aforementioned Yardbird, Domino, bit of Cream and blues guitar master Clapton AND Jesus all find a common connection with Joal?

They do in this sense: Kobe and Eric were studied, prepared and expectant when their IT moment arrived. It wasn’t surprising. So it is with the Christian life. It is not one of religious duty that drags on to no tangible advantage. Instead it’s a dynamic personal relationship that steadies in the normal and explodes in supernaturally natural ways.

Lately I’ve  been mulling on a quote from Pastor Matt Chandler of The Village Church. In a sermon a while back, referencing spiritual growth and development,  Matt said “By the grace of God, almost all of the really beautiful, profound things God is going to do in your life He is going to accomplish over a long period of time through a lot of ordinary.” 

That spoke to me because I regularly feel uninspired, drab, rote. 

Pondering and memorizing Scripture can be hum-drum. Ordinary. 

Prayer for the same people, relatives, friends, colleagues and life circumstances can be repetitive. Ordinary. 

Going to work consistently, loving the same woman and children better every day, attending the weekly worship of Jesus with the same posse of believers, can seem good and right while simultaneously circular and never “accomplishing” anything. And that feeling is ordinary.

The mystery of the life hid with Christ is that it is in precisely those ordinary functions and habits that muscles and

reflexes are being formed awaiting the IT moment of a missional serving opportunity or a sharing situation that calls out of the believer the extraordinary Holy Ghost fueled capabilities. And “suddenly” you’re IN the flow using your gifting AND developed preparations. Not for your stardom on the court, diamond or pitch and not for your wealth and fame of a multi-platinum recording but rather for the glory and renown of the only One worthy of that attention. It’s just that the glory and renown was being discovered and understood in those ordinary, quiet and endless moments.

God’s work in us, by the blood of Jesus, through the guidance of the Holy Ghost takes time and moments. And the resulting life-long change is far from ordinary.