One More Post About Babies Then I Promise I Will Stop..

“For God has not given us the spirit of fear..” II Tim.2:17

Have you ever met someone who talked endlessly about their kids? They can be very annoying. I never thought that I would become “that guy” and yet…here we are.

It’s true though, having a child really changes a person. Mostly for the better I think. However, lately I’ve found myself dwelling on some pretty dark things. I don’t worry about most things but I have found myself worrying quite a bit about the health and safety of my three month old son.

I’m not talking about practical concerns like making sure his diapers are changed regularly or locking the front door at night. I’m talking about the minds tendency to gravitate towards  negativity. If you have kids, then you probably know what I mean. In my case, it usually starts with a flash in my mind, just a whisp of a thought. However, if I don’t address that idea, pretty soon it will work itself into an episode of some terrible news magazine type television show constantly playing in my mind. You know the ones where they make it seem like the creepy loner from down the street who drives the windowless van stole the couples baby, when actually it was the sweet and responsible but secretly pshychotic teenage babysitter who did it.

I don’t like those shows.

Sometimes worry seems to come as naturally as breathing. But it’s deceptive. It makes us imagine that we are being responsible. Eventually, we can even trick ourselves into believing that by imagining every possible negative scenario, we will somehow be able to prevent anything bad from happening. But that’s not the case. In fact, the opposite may be true.

Here’s why: Belief is a connector (I know this sounds nutty but stick with me) If you happen to be a Christian, then you are already familiar with this concept. God offers the gift of salvaton to every human being. It is free and readily available. But in order to recieve that gift, we must as Romans 10:9 says “Confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead and you will be saved.” Faith connects us to salvation.

Belief + confession = recieving. This is a spiritual law that is always at work in all facets of our lives.

Fear then, is really just faith going in the wrong direction. Instead of meditating on the promises of God, we are believing and confessing destruction. This is not a good place to be for a few reasons: First, it takes us out of the perfect will of God for our lives and leads us to make decisions based on our desire for self-preservation, rather than obedience to Him. Also, it hinders the power of God to bring change in our lives (see Mark 6:5-6)

The really Good News though, is that God has made abundant provision for every season and every need in our lives. There is no need to look anywhere else. His Word confirms this to be true, as does my own life experience. He is completely trustworthy.

So here’s what I have learned from all this: it has become easier for me to trust God with my own life because I can look back on all of the times He has come through in the past and that gives me the boost that I need to trust that He will come through again. The tricky part is, most of us have something or someone in our lives that is so precious that we are slow in learning to trust God fully with it. For me, it was my son. All I want is the best for him. But trusting the care that I could provide for my son over the care that his Heavenly Father provides was a mistake.

There will come a time when Caleb will no longer fit in my arms. I won’t be awakened at night by little grunts and coos from the little bassinet just two feet from where I sleep. In fact, one day my son will leave this house altogether and go out into the world to do whatever God has called him to do. And when that day comes I will realize:

I can’t protect him.

I can’t heal him.

I can’t save him.

But I believe according to God’s Word, that He is able, willing and faithful to perform all of these things and so much more in the life of my son.

I realize that maintaining your faith when your son or daughter is living outside of God’s best for their lives is very difficult. But cirumstances do not have the final word in our lives. If God made promises concerning our children in His Word (and He has! Pr.22:6, Isaiah 54:13) then standing in faith on those promises will bring them to pass. 

No matter how things look right now.

 No matter how things feel.

I don’t want anyone reading this to start worrying about their worry. It know that sounds silly but when you realize the things that you believe in your heart and confess with your mouth actually do matter, it can be scary. It’ll be okay though, don’t panic. Just repent (change your mind) and beginning believing and speaking the Word of God over your life. Here are some great places to start: Ps.91, Ps.112, Ps.103:1-5, Pr.22:6, Isaiah 54:13

What I Learned From My Newborn

I’ve been blogging for the past few months about a 1,000 mile hike I went on with my friend Todd. I think right now we are stuck on an Indian Reservation just outside of Big Cypress Preserve. I didn’t want to break up the story to write about anything else but something pretty significant has happened in my life and I wanted to tell you about it.

You’ve probably already figured it out.

The little guy pictured above is my son Caleb. He was born at St.Vincent’s hospital on February 17th. Tiffany and I had been anticipating this day since last June. During the nine months leading up to his birth, countless people told me that having a baby was going to change my life forever. And I believed them. But nothing could have prepared me for the moment that I first saw him.

Before he was born, my strongest emotion about having a child was fear. Honestly, I was afraid that I was going to have to give some things up. The pie chart of my time was about to be split into three segments instead of two and I didn’t like it. Of course I kept those thoughts to myself. It’s dangerous to let on to your wife that you are a selfish jerk while she is pregant and loaded with baby-making-hormones. My fear was born out of ignornace though. I knew what I was giving up but I had no idea what I was gaining.

But when the nurse lifted up Caleb and I saw him for the first time, all of those selfish thoughts disappeared. I didn’t have room for them anymore. There was a resevoir of love hidden in my heart  just for him – this tiny person who I’d never met. The instant I laid eyes on him those waters began to stir, pressure started to build and in a moment of holiness the dam in my heart suddenly burst. He was blue and screaming and otherwordly and I loved him so much. I cried, pretty uncontrollably. It’s embarassing to tell you this now but in that moment I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. Crying was as invlountary as breathing.

It’s been seven weeks since that day. I’ve managed to stop crying, which is good. He still amazes me though. When he smiles (and he does that a lot these days) it is totally impossible not to smile back. His eyes are the purest blue that you could ever hope to see. He even smells good. He’s got that new baby smell. I don’t want to romanticize things too much: he poops himself and cries a lot too. But he’s a baby. He’s just doing his thing.

I was holding him just the other day when I was struck with this thought:

My son has no past.

He has never done anything to hurt anyone.

He doesn’t know things that he wishes he didn’t.

He doesn’t have any bad habits.

He’s never been addicted to anything.

He has no emotional baggage.

No regrets.

And in that moment I was overwhelmed with a sudden grief. I realized with great clarity that I can never be like him again – ever. I can’t go back and undo the things that I’ve done. And I mourned that loss.

But in that place of brokeness God spoke to me. He said “Because of the blood of Jesus, I see you in the same way that you see your son.” New. Pure. I can’t tell you how comforting that was to me. And the best part is, it’s available to us all. 2 Corinthians 5:17 says ” Therefore, if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature: old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” When we are born again, God births His Sprirt into ours. And that sprirt, that eternal part of us, is as pure and perfect now as it will be in heaven. This is what it means to be “born again”. It is surrendering our futile attempts to redeem ourselves with religion, education, careers and relationships and realizing that our glory comes from God. It is dying to who we were and letting God raise up into a new and beautiful life.

Even though we can’t go back and undo the hurtful things we’ve done, we don’t have to let those mistakes define our future. If you want that kind of life, this prayer is where it all begins. Saying words won’t change your life but trusting that God will be true to His Word, will.

” Heavenly Father, I come to You in the Name of Jesus. Your Word says, ‘Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved’ (Acts 2:21). I am calling on You. I pray and ask Jesus to come into my heart and be Lord over my life according to Romans 10:9-10: ‘If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God has raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.’ I do that now. I confess that Jesus is Lord, and I believe in my heart that God raised Him from the dead.

I am now reborn. I am a Christian—a child of Almighty God. Thank You Lord for saving me.”

The Hike: Feb 19th II

Nearly ten years ago today, my buddy Todd and I began making plans to hike the Florida Trail, a one-thousand mile system of trails that begins in the Evergaldes and ends in Pensecola Beach. Part of the plan was to keep a John Muir type journal of my thoughts. Tiffany bought a leatherbound journal for me before the trip. When I came home two months later it contained exactly four entries. This is an effort to make good on that previous attempt.

Feb 19th II

Todd frantically clawed his way to the bottom of his backpack. Socks, duct tape and packets of dehydrated food were tossed aside. “What are you looking —-” my question was interrupted by a deep, guttural roar. Todd paused for a second, oddly looked off into the distance as if he had heard a dog whistle and then continued his search. For the past twenty minutes the rumblings of a black bear had been echoing through the pines. Now, he so close his warnings were rattling our chests.

“Here it is!” Todd said, holding up a tiny can of something called Bear Spray. Really, it was just a can of normal pepper spray with a picture of a grizzly bear on the label. But having the can close by gave us some sense of control. It was our garlic, our silver bullet.

The bear was very close now, hidden in the dense undergrowth just off the trail. After a brief debate, it was decied that Todd would be manning the bear spray. He walked a few paces in front of me, his left thumb poised over the red button on top of the can. We moved cautiously, our eyes darting from shadow to dark shadow.

 After a few minutes passed, the swamp fell silent. And it stayed that way. We never heard anything from the bear again.

” I knew this stuff would work ” Todd said, mostly to himself.

 ” What do you mean? You didn’t even use it. ” I said.

“ Didn’t have to. He must have heard me take the cap off. Bears have a really good sense of hearing you know. “

” So you think the bear heard you take the cap off the can, knew what was coming next and took off? “

” Exactly! ” Todd said, with a bright sarcasm.

” I guess that kind of makes you a hero. “

” Yeah….yeah, I guess it kind of does “

With a fresh adrenaline boost and dry trail under our feet, we finally started covering some ground. Our park ranger friend had dropped us off at a rest area earlier that morning. After hopping a fence marked No Trespassing, we made our way to an old gravel road. We would follow this road through the swamp for the next ten miles until we reached the Big Cypress Indian Reservation. We would then head east, following some roads through the reservation.

The terrain around us was beginning to change. Cypress-dotted swamps gave way to drier, pine forest. It was still beautiful but not pristine. Deep tire ruts scarred much of the remaining prairie and we began to see other signs of civilization.

After a half day of hiking, we emerged from the forest and onto a black top road. In front of us was a massive tract of farmland. Open fields sprawled as far as we could see. We took a moment to get our bearing, then headed east, walking along the narrow shoulder of the road. A mile later, we came to an intersection with a Stop sign that had been peppered  by shotgun fire. As we began crossing the street a car pulled up next to us. It was a red, late 1980′s model Camaro. The driver, a man with deep set eyes, stopped to investigate us. He wore a sleevless denim shirt and had a perfect mullet. Business in ther front, party in the back. He didn’t speak a word. After what seemed like a very long time, he turned the corner and sped away – his long dark hair flapping in the wind.

It was weird.

The probing look that the man in the Camaro gave us would be repeated several times over the next hour by other motorists. We were visitors here and it was subtly communicated that we should behave ourselves as such.

It was a strange feeling, being an outisder. I had lived in an insular community for most of my life. “We” talked the same, ate the same things and believed the same. I viewed the world through a tiny lense. But that was about to change.

The Hike: Feb 19th

Nearly ten years ago today, my buddy Todd and I began making plans to hike the Florida Trail, a one-thousand mile system of trails that begins in the Evergaldes and ends in Pensecola Beach. Part of the plan was to keep a John Muir type journal of my thoughts. Tiffany bought a leatherbound journal for me before the trip. When I came home two months later it contained exactly four entries. This is an effort to make good on that previous attempt.

Feb 19th

The next morning I woke up and sleepily shuffled fifty yards to a Porta-Potty. We spent last night camped just behind Big Cypress Visitor Center. I thought I should make use of the facilities while I still could. I opened the plastic door slowly, looking like the butler from the Addam’s Family on downers. I stepped inside, turned, and stepped right back out. I shuffled the half-football field back to our tent, grabbed my trowel and headed for the trees. Three days ago defecating in the woods seemed uncivilized but I was an outisde cat now.

I finished my business and shuffled back ot the tent. Todd was sitting outside in his Crazy Creek chair looking over some maps. Neither of us were eager to relive yesterday’s hike, so we were taking our time. We decided to walk over to the visitor’s center to see if anyone there could tell us what conditions were like on the remaining miles of the Big Cypress Trail.

Once inside the center, I immediately became self-conscience. We hadn’t been on the trail for long but it had been long enough to make us stick out like two sore thumbs in this crowd of “normals” (You know the type, those guys that shower and put on clean clothes everyday…think they’re so great) Todd struck up a conversation with the attendant at the information desk, asking if there were any dry campsites on the twenty-five mile leg that lay ahead of us. The man behind the desk said that he didn’t know but he would ask. A minute or so later he returned and told us that there was a dry campsite around mile thirteen but the majority of the path was submerged.

Perfect.

During a normal winter this segment of the trail would be relatively dry but unusually heavy rainfall had kept water levels up. We were not prepared for this. Neither of us had waterproof boots or extra shoes – a big mistake on our part. Nonetheless, before we left home we had promised ourselves that we wouldn’t give up. No matter what obstacles got in our way we would adapt and overcome. So that’s what we did….sort of. We found out later that one of the park rangers ws heading up to Naples for a Jimmy Buffett concert and he agreed to drop us off at the next trailhead.

An hour later we were making a mile a minute in a weathered Toyota Camry. I was sitting in the front passenger’s seat and I tried to make small talk with the ranger. He was in his thirties, roundish and wearing a flowery, Hawaiian shirt. Things got off to a slow start. I’m pretty sure he thought we were a couple of pansies for skipping the next leg of the trail (we were). But he loosened up a bit when we started telling him about the gator and the leeches and a large snapping turtle we had encountered the day before.

After that we got all kinds of great swamp stories. One was about a ranger who just last week stumbled upon a panther eating a dead deer. Startled by the man, the panther crouched low to the ground, ears folded back and let out a series of growls. The terrified ranger spoke calmly to the animal and backed slowly away until he was out of sight.

I imagined myself as that ranger: going about my daily routine only to stumble upon an angry, six-foot long, carnivorous cat. It was pretty intense but then I got distracted at the thought of myself wearing those little green shorts and high socks. I was a tall, bearded, slightly overweight, cub scout. Some guys can pull it off. Not me.

Our ranger friend made an abrupt right turn and I lost  my train of thought. We were heading north now and the roads were lined on each side by canals. These roadside ditches were so choked with alligators that I eventually lost count of how many we passed. The ranger explained that alligators prefer deep water and an encounter like the one we had on the prairie was rare.

“I guess we’re just lucky” I said with a laugh.

The ranger kept his eyes on the road. And I slipped back into my daydreams.

Thirty minutes later, we arrived at a rest area off of I-75. This was the next trailhead. We thanked our driver profusely for the ride and stood there for a moment, watching as he drove away. I pushed thoughts of cheeseburgers in paradise out of my mind and strapped on my pack. Todd and I walked under the busy highway and back into the swamp.

The Hike:Feb 18th II

Nearly ten years ago today, my buddy Todd and I began making plans to hike the Florida Trail, a one-thousand mile system of trails that begins in the Evergaldes and ends in Pensecola Beach. Part of the plan was to keep a John Muir type journal of my thoughts. Tiffany bought a leatherbound journal for me before the trip. When I came home two months later it contained exactly four entries. This is an effort to make good on that previous attempt.

Feb 18th II

 …there in the middle of the path, just twenty feet in front of me, was a large alligator. She was facing our direction, mouth wide open, displaying her many teeth. For a moment I just stood there - frozen. After what seemed like an hour I began moving slowly off the trail. She studied my every move and with each step I took, let out a weird, airy, hiss.

“What are we going to do?” Todd whispered.

 I didn’t answer. Not because I was ignoring him: I had no idea what we were going to do. Living in Florida, I had seen hundreds of alligators; they are slightly less common than pigeons. All of my previous observations led me to believe that gators spend 99% of their time doing absolutely nothing. We were fortuante I guess, to have stumbled upon a big female who was about to show us what they do the other 1% of the time. But turning back was not an option. We had endured this much and no ornery gator was going to push us around.

Except that it was…

She was getting more agitated by the second, thrashing her tail and speaking in low, angry hisses. Our only choice was to head off trail, far into the swamp, giving her a wide berth until we passed by. The water here was shin deep. Jagged limestone peaks and submerged tree limbs gnawed at our feet. It was rough going to be sure but an aggressive alligator happens to be a very good motivator. After walking in a large “U” we linked back up with the trail. The gator was behind us now, out of sight. Between sloshing footsteps though, we could still hear her angry hiss.

For the next half hour, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being followed. I kept looking over my shoulder, half expecting to see that toothy grin about to clamp down on my knee. Instead, moments later, I saw something coming towards me - someone coming towards me. It was a man, a hundred feet or so up the trail and he was heading our way. He moved quickly, with purposeful strides, like he was late for work or something. His clothes were neat and unsoiled – a good sign.

The man approached us with a friendly greeting. He explained that he was a photographer and asked if we had seen anything interesting. When we told him about our alligator encounter less than a mile back, his eyes began to light up. That was all he needed to hear. He thanked us for the tip and turned to continue on. While he was still within earshot I asked him how far we were from the road. “Half a mile, maybe less” he said over his shoulder.

At that moment, hearing I had hit the lotto wouldn’t have been better news. My fully loaded pack felt like it was amputating my arms at the shoulders. My feet had been wet for way to long and seemed to be slowly disintegrating. Yesterday all I wanted was to leave civilizaton behind. Now, just twenty-four hours later, all I wanted was to see it again. What had I gotten myself into?

Not long after that, we began to hear the unmistakable sound of traffic, Hwy 41. With one final push, we burst out of the swamp and onto the grassy shoulder. We threw off our packs, sprawling out on the warm grass like beached whales. I lay there in euphoric agony, my muscles burning. I was just beginning to relax when Todd, lying just a few feet away, suddenly shot to his feet.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Leeches!” Todd blurted.

I looked down at Todd’s feet and then at my own; they were covered in one-inch long, purple, bloodsuckers. Feverishly, we began pulling them off, leeches flying in all directions. We hopped and hollered, doing a dance that only those who have been attacked by parasites know. Tourists speeding down 41 tapped there brakes at the sight of us. Children pointed and giggled, while their parents no doubt muttered something about the nation’s growing drug problem from the front seat. It didn’t matter – I’d never been so uninhibited. Todd and I just kept dancing and clawing away until the last of the leeches was sent flying into the swamp.

I sat back down while Todd continued to inspect his pitiful feet. “None of this was in the brochure you know” I said. “If it had been, would you be sitting here right now?” Todd replied. “Probably not”

I dried my feet with a t-shirt and then rummaged though my pack until I found a pair of clean wool socks. I slid them onto my feet and lay back down on the grass. I closed my eyes, moving only enough to breathe and I stayed there for a long time.

The Hike: Feb 18th

Me and Todd at the Glades' Seven Eleven. Our last taste of civilization before hitting the trail.

Nearly ten years ago today, my buddy Todd and I began making plans to hike the Florida Trail, a one-thousand mile system of trails that begins in the Evergaldes and ends in Pensecola Beach. Part of the plan was to keep a John Muir type journal of my thoughts. Tiffany bought a leatherbound journal for me before the trip. When I came home two months later it contained exactly four entries. This is an effort to make good on that previous attempt.

 February 18th

I slowly sporked the last bit of rice from my bowl and set it down with a smile. Food tasted better out here. And after laying down I realized that my tiny camp pillow felt much more comfortable than it did when I tried it out back home. If luxury had dulled my senses over the years, they were awakening here in the swamp. The tick and fidget of living grass underneath our tent  fell heavy on my ears. And the swamp smelled like life itself, not muddy or sulfuric but rather the scent of clean freshwater, flowing over an ancient bed of limestone, filtered by miles of sawgrass.

The Everglades are the result of a steady flow of water from Lake Okeechobee, north of here. The water moves southward at a glacial pace creating a shallow river, roughly sixty miles wide and one-hundred miles long. Our tent was pitched somewhere in the middle of that river; flanked on all sides by a subtropical forest of bromeliads, orchids, cypress and palms.

Todd settled into his sleeping bag and opened up a book. In the timid glow of lantern light I could just make out the title “The Ragamuffin Gospel”. I opend up a leatherbound journal my girlfriend had given me before I left. I tried to write for a bit but got distracted. Inside there was a photo of us together and she had had filled the journal with encouraging quotes. I flipped a few pages and stopped. This definition was written at the top of the page : Persevere – to persist in any purpose or idea, to strive in spite of difficulties.

I hadn’t know a great deal of difficulty in my life. Not physical difficulty anyway. There was that one time in sixth grade when I had to do a chinup to pass gym class. And once I was attacked by a duck (it’s true, I have the scar to prove it) But mostly I stayed away from physical challenges. Honestly, I had avoided most things that didn’t come easily. But as I lay there in the darkness, I began to roll that definition around in my mind. And wondered as my eyelids grew heavy, why glory seems to always be proceeded by pain. And what sort of difficulties I might have to face tomorrow.

Light was streaming in through the dome of the tent. I rolled over in my sleeping bag and slowly opened my eyes. Todd’s inanimate face was just six inched from mine. That awkwardness was all the motivation I needed to get out of bed. We both slept soundly through the night and the sun was now high in the sky.

The wind had freshened over night and the morning air was rich with oxygen. This was perfect Florida weather: low humidity, cool temperatures,with the bluest sky overhead. The surrounding landscape was at once starkly beautiful and intimidating in it’s vastness. I felt like a sailor adrift in an ocean of grass, no land in sight.

After a near failed attempt to cram our tent back into the tiny bag it came in, we took off our socks and hit the trail. The path was under water, so instead of hiking in wet boots for days, we opted to go barefooted. Which presented a new problem: the ground here was rocky, not muddy as we had expected. The soil was compromised of jagged limestone which made barefoot hiking completely ridiculous. We staggered awkwardly under the weight of our packs, like a couple of cats with tape on their paws.

According to our map, we started our day no more than five miles from the Big Cypress ranger station, which under normal circumstances would only take an hour and a half to reach. But sloshing through shin deep water and carrying heavy packs made progress very slow. Honestly, I was in no shape to being doing this hike but at this point there was no going back.

After several hours of hiking, I heard some sort of engine sputtering faintly in the distance. I was sure we were getting close to the road and the ranger station. But we weren’t close and after a while the mysterious engine noise faded away.

Eventually, the grassy horizon became jagged with distant trees. The change in scenery was a relief, it gave me hope that we might find some dry place where we could ditch our packs and rest for awhile. I fixed my eyes on those trees wondering what we might find. I imagined discovering a Swiss Family Robinson type treehouse hidden in its canopy. An everglades oasis, equipted with a coconut radio and a team of monkey butlers who would rub my feet and bring me cheeseburgers. I think I was hallucinating or something. 

When we finally reached the treeline I didn’t find any of those things; just a swamp river under a dark canopy of cypress and palm. The water on the prairie had been a near constant six inches since we started walking yesterday. But what lay in front us was deep and wide - good gator habitat. The water was clear but as it began to rise past my knees and up to my belt, I felt a wave of panic form in my gut. I had to get out of there. Submerged logs and old deadfall shifted under my bare feet creating tiny whirlpools on the surface. I had almost reached the other side when I lost my footing and took a spill. I regained my balance just short of getting completely soaked.

“You okay?” Todd asked from behind.

I was quiet.

“That John Anderson is full of crap you know”  Todd said jokingly.

I nodded, emotionally unable to acknowledge the awesomeness of his quip.

Once in more shallow water, we stopped to catch our breath. We were quiet now. Todd is not the kind of guy who goes around complaining when things get tough but I could tell by the look on his face that he was in pain. He shifted the weight of his fifty pound pack upwards, giving his shoulders some much needed relief. After a moment’s rest, we kept moving.

The canopy here was dense, making the trail ahead look like a tunnel through green and gray. More than once, the normally clear water on the trail became murky in front of us. Disturbed by some swamp creature, an alligator snapping turtle or maybe a wild boar. Usually the water would clear up after fifty feet or so but not this one. We were following something. After several hundred feet we caught up with it: there in the middle of the path, just twenty feet in front of me, was a large alligator. She was facing our direction, mouth wide open, displaying her many teeth. For a moment I just stood there - frozen. After what seemed like an hour I began moving slowly off the trail. She studied my every move and with each step I took, let out a weird, airy, hiss.

“What are we going to do?” Todd whispered.

 

 

The Hike

 

Nearly ten years ago today, my buddy Todd and I began making plans to hike the Florida Trail, a one-thousand mile system of trails that begins in the Evergaldes and ends in Pensecola Beach. Part of the plan was to keep a John Muir type journal of my thoughts. Tiffany bought a leatherbound journal for me before the trip. When I came home two months later it contained exactly four entries. This is an effort to make good on that previous attempt.

Feb. 17th, 2002

The last glowing embers of dusk were fading over the western sky. Shadows chased the light from the sawgrass and cypress out to some mangrove island in the Gulf. With one final shove, the light retreated behind the tree line and a thick, blue coolness flooded in. For the past few hours, the swamp had been eerily quiet, except for the sloshing sound made by the movement of our bare feet. Now a choir of crickets and frogs had come out to sing their ancient liturgies “hallelujah” and “amen”.

Todd and I hit the trail several hours ago, thinking we would find some island, some scrubby patch of dry land to make camp before nightfall. But night had come and there was no dry land in sight.  “Do you think we should just stop here?” I asked Todd, pointing to a thick bed of sawgrass. “Sounds good” he said.

I had imagined this night for weeks, rehearsing it in my mind; I was enjoying the comfort of a campfire and gazing up at a perfect Milky Way. But travel was getting more difficult and several minutes earlier I almost stepped on a large snake – I was willing to compromise.

The sawgrass was alive with a thousand tiny shrieks as we smashed down a four by seven foot rectangle for our tent. We laid down a plastic tarp and then pitched our tent on top of it. This was the first time I had seen the tent standing. Todd had picked it up a week earlier, suckered in by its lightweight and promise that it would accomodate two adults comfortably. Really, it looked more like something my nephew would use for hosting tiny, indoor campouts. “We’re both sleeping in there?” I asked suspiciously. “This is it. Hope you like to snuggle” Todd said this was a certain grin that made me wonder if he was serious. I stood there for a moment, weighing my options, shin deep in an ecosystem of biting things…for the first time in my life spooning with a dude seemed to be the best choice available to me.

The tent was actually more spacious than it appeared from outside, sort of like a Japanese car. Once inside, Todd and I established our own living quarters, seperated by an imaginary wall, that offered a measure of imaginary privacy.

 It was only about seven pm but it felt more like midnight. My internal clock was spinning, trying to reset to its natural rythym. In the absence of schedules and civilization, my perception of time and distance were quickly becoming scrambled. It felt as though we had slipped into another dimension. Some other world ruled by water and reptiles and unidentifiable creatures that called and answered out in the blackness.

The smell of sulphur and propane filled the tent as Todd lit our tiny propane stove. Tonight we would celebrate over dehydrated Sante Fe Chicken. “Three miles down… one-thousand-sixty-seven miles to go” I said lifting my Nalgene bottle.

Todd and I had only known each other for about a year, which could have made the idea of spending nearly every moment of the next two months together a little unnerving. But I took some comfort in the thought that if he were secretly a serial killer I would probably be dead by now. Besides, we had a lot in common: We both loved the outdoors. We were both taking a semester off from college. And both of us seemed to be stuck in a sort of adolescent purgatory; unable to move on to the next phase of our lives. Which led us to where we were now: one night into a one-thousand mile walk across the state of Florida.

Just hours ago our friend David dropped us off at the beginning of the Florida Trail in Big Cypress Preserve, the Everglades. From here we would travel north through swamps, sawgrass prairie, orange groves, scrubby plains, planted pines and hardwood forest. We would hike through national forests, historic sites, small towns, backyards and Gulf beaches. Tonight our destination, Ft.Pickens in Pensecola Beach, was over a thousand miles away.

We didn’t know exactly how long it would take to get there or how much money we would need. But we had a destination – a goal. And it felt good. We had pointed towards a horizon and said ” That’s where we’re going ” We had little idea at the time that the horizon would point back at us with such defiance.

Burying Your Talents (The Worst [and longest running] Investment Strategy)

Jesus told a story in John chapter 25 about a businessman and three of his employees. The businessman was going away for a long time so he called in his employess and gave each of them some money to put to work while he was gone. Each employee recieved a different amount: to the first he gave five talents, the next two talents and the last was given one talent. It says they were given these amounts “in proportion to their abilities”.

Jesus continued: He said the employee with five talents invested his master’s money and gained back five more talents. The man with two talents did the same and gained back two talents. But the man who recieved one talent did something different with the money entrusted to him – he took a shovel, dug a hole and buried it.

After a long time, the businessman came back home and called in his employees to pony up. The first two men presented the money they had gained through their investments. The business man was pleased. He said ” You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness! ” Then he gave them some more money.

When the time came for the man given one talent to present his earnings, he brought a single talent, the same one the businessman had given him so long ago. The man’s reason for his lack of productivity was less than impressive. Essentially, he told his master that he was afraid of what would happen to him if he lost the money. This may not be relevant but I imagine he was very sweaty at this point, with nervous eyes and stammering speech.

He was probably sincere in his actions, just sincerly wrong.

The businessman was not pleased. He said, You could have a least taken it to the bank and then I would’ve gained interest. After that things took a pretty ugly turn. The businessman took the man’s single talent and gave it to the employee who had invested well. Then the man was “cast into the outer darkness” .

What?

This whole deal seems pretty harsh at first glance. I mean, what was this guy’s crime really? Yes, he was a poor steward of his master’s resources but that was only because he was afraid. And even that would be forgivable but it went deeper. The man allowed his fear to drive a wedge between him and his master, saying ” I knew you were a harsh man…and I was afraid “

He didn’t trust his Master.

Instead he listened to the voice of fear that wooed him into believing that doing nothing was somehow safer than trying and failing. Subsequently, he lost everything.

” To those who use well what they are given, even more will be given, and they will have an abundance. But from those who do nothing, even what little they have will be taken away. ” Matt 25:29

I believe that God is calling all of us to higher places of obedience this year. That may mean doing some things that are uncomfortable, scary at first. It may require us to give some things up or to start something new.Honestly, I think the latter frightens us the most.

However, all of us have been entrusted with good ideas, places of influence, really beautiful giftings. They were given to us by our Master; the One Who has gone away for awhile. Are we investing them? Or are we burying them?

Right now may be a good time to dig up some of those old ideas. You probably know the ones I’m talking about. They usually begin with phrases like ” If I had the money…” or ” If only had time..” It’s easy to be bury these ideas in the name of being ” realistic “. But being realistic is often just a good cover for giving up.

I’ve seen God move mightily on behalf of people who have surrendered their lives to His will. I’ve seen them accomplish things that everyone else said was impossible. But we will never see those kind of results until we do what they have done – invest.

I’m not suggesting that you do anything risky...

….except that I am!

I’m not suggesting however that you do something impulsive. Here are a few ways to help discern the difference:

1) Is what I’m planning to do in harmony with scripture?

2) Beneath the turbulent surface of my emotions, is there an inner peace regarding this decision?

3) Are those closest to me (i.e. spouse, parents, godly friends) in agreement with this decision?

If the answer to these questions is “yes” then there’s a good chance it’s time to move forward. Take that first step and see how goes. Did any doors open? Is there a grace on your life to do this work? Evaluate. Adjust. And take another step.

Your calling and gifts don’t exist soley for your personal fulfillment. We need you to do what God has called you to do.

Why I Would Make A Terrible Hobo…

One of my earliest memories of being afraid happened when I was about five years old. My Uncle Ronnie took me and my cousins down to the railroad track near their house. It was late at night and my mind was racing with anticipation. My uncle knew the train schedule and was taking us to the tracks just in time to get a front row seat of the next train going by. He parked the truck on the dirt road about thirty feet from the tracks.

The train wasn’ t there yet. My cousins hopped out of the truck and scurried to grab fistfuls of gravel. They took aim at the tracks and threw the stones as hard as they could, making tiny white explosions. So far this was shaping up to be a pretty great night for a five year old. I was up way past my bedtime and throwing rocks at stuff.

But then I head something.

Rather, I felt something.

A low rumble began to bounce around in my tiny chest cavity. Seconds later, the ground beneath me began to quake and I nearly peed my pants. My uncle tried to calm me down, explaining that we were perfectly safe and that everything would be okay. He probably said some other stuff too but I don’t remember. I ran back to the truck and hid under the dashboard.

After a moment I gathered the courage to take a peek at the passing train. And this part I remember vividly: My cousins were hollering and laughing as a blur of boxcars thundered past them. I could see their faces illuminated in the truck headlights, they were all smiles, all joy. And immediately I knew that I was missing something special. The only thing keeping me from joining them was an invisible barrier called fear.

I’d like to tell you that some twenty-five years later I’m not constrained by fear anymore but that would probably be a lie. Since that night, this same basic scenario has repeated itself over and over again. Not so much with trains (although they still make me nervous) but in a thousand other ways, many of them much more subtle.

Honestly I’m pretty tired of letting exaggerated, imagined consequences push me around. And there’s a good chance that you are too. Somewhere along the line, most of us accepted that fear was just a normal and necessary part of our lives – a handy survival mechanism hard wired into us by God Himself.

But is it?

II Timothy 1:7 tells us ” God has not given us the spirit of fear”

I think that’s worth repeating: God has not given us the spirit of fear.

What’s more, I John 5:18 says “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear” God is Love. And according to the Bible “in Love, there is no fear”. Which means the fear, anxiety and worry that we’re so accustomed to in our lives is not coming from God. And I don’t know about you but if it’s not from Him, I don’t want it.

Fear is faith going in the wrong direction. It works against everything that is progressive, life giving and Kingdom building. I think if we took an honest look at own lives we would be suprised by the number of ideas we’re not moving on, relationships we’re not building and changes we’re not making, all because of fear.

Fear is a comfortable excuse for doing nothing. It makes us feel like we’re being responsible and tricks us into thinking we’re in a safe place. But the paralyzing indecision that fear brings will not keep us safe. It won’t stop time. Life is not static, eventually we have to move or die. And it’s in these times that we need to keep our cool. We need wisdom guiding our decisions and driving our actions – not fear.

Wisdom is beneficial.

Fear is not.

They are not the same thing.

All of this is easier said than done. One of the most repeated commandments in the Bible is “fear not”. Which tells me that fear is something we have to reject but also that it is something that we’re going to be faced with a lot in this life.

I hope to talk about this a bit more in the coming weeks. If you have any stories about struggling with or overcoming fear, I’d love to hear them. In the meantime, here is the best remedy for beating fear that I know: Joshua 1, Psalms 91, John 4:15-18

Free Christmas Album

Good day friends! A few weeks back I started recording some Christmas tunes with the hopes of bringing the songs that we like to sing around the fire at Christmas time to you and yours. And today I’m happy to tell you that you can download all five of these songs for free! If you’re a Facebook user you can find them here http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Alan-Willis/165367286823786 If you’re one of the few holdouts who does not have a Facebook account (I salute you!) you can download it here: http://www.reverbnation.com/alanwillisband#! 

 If you’re not so keen on downloading your music off the interweb (again, I salute you!) and you would like a cd, just send email your name, mailing address and the number of copies you’d like to alanwillismusic@gmail.com and we will send them out free and post paid.

Special thanks goes out to David Andrews for recording these songs and lending his guitar riffage. And to Jenny Meaders for singing and playing bass and for a being a pretty great big sister.

Thanks for listening and have a Merry Christmas!