I’ve had a lot of good influencers in my life:

• Friends
• Parents
• An encouraging soccer coach
• Teachers

I would also say that most of the leaders who’ve done wrong in my life were distant figures who didn’t really hurt me personally with their actions. In fact, as I reflect, one of the most vivid betrayals I can think of is from the 5th grade, when Bill Clinton’s immoral actions led to his impeachment.

So you might say that my willingness to trust others is abnormally high, making me a bit naive. That’s especially true in our current culture, where the news and entertainment seems to want to dig into every leader’s life to find some huge betrayal, or at least a past that makes them less remarkable than the average Joe. The world I see is full of skeptics, and it’s not without good reason in many respects:

• We do tend to focus on the positive legacy of heros of the past, and often gloss over their unsavory traits. I recently became aware of some saddening aspects of Martin Luther King, Jr’s life that would not make it into his museum or most history books.
• We have experienced betrayal from quite a few high level leaders and their immoral actions: businesses like Enron, religious leaders like Catholic priests, movie executives. People manipulating people or numbers for their own personal gain.
• We now live in a culture where with our phones or computers, we can instantly be the smartest person in the room and can fact check everything. We don’t ever feel like we are consulting an expert, because the internet has made us one.

The problem with this mindset is: our belief’s about a person have a huge influence on how that person chooses to act! Time and time again, I’ve seen people work harder, perform at a high level, and make great moral choices because someone close to them believed them to be more than they believed themselves to be capable of. And I’ve also seen too many people give up or make a compromising choice in a way that seemed out of character, but that fit the condemnations and character protrayal they felt they were receiving from someone in their life.

If what I believe about others can make them better people, I’d like to think I will always seek to put that influence out there for their benefit. Betrayal is inevitable. People will prove us wrong and we will often wish we had known a person’s true nature before hurt became a factor in the equation. I’m also all about building trust over time, rather than handing out large amounts of it without knowing a person well. Believing the best about others doesn’t mean we hand them a blank check or give them all access into our lives.

I just wish more people understood the power their attitude and assumptions have over others. Like good coaches, I wish they would make their words count, building others up and pushing them through affirmation, to be the best version of themselves.

Up until the age of 11, my exposure to church was very mixed. My mom was from a catholic background, my Dad grew up as the son of a bi-vocational Wesleyan preacher who worked on repairing vehicles more than he repaired the heart. Our family went to church on Easter, Christmas, and the odd Sunday or camp meeting visit to support my grandfather. Church for me during that time didn’t make a strong impression. I just remember a long time spent in a hard wooden pew, trying to sit still enough to avoid prompting my Mom or Dad to tell me to calm down.

During that time, we built a home in a new neighborhood, and the builder–was a bivocational pastor who helped my Mom to get serious about her faith, leading to her baptism and nightly devotions at bedtime for us for a season. I remember the short season of engagement in her life, and my older brother’s subsequent baptism. The devotional books: Daily Bread and Keys to Life were very good stories to me, and I kept them and read them on my own after our nightly tradition stopped.

It was at the age of 11 that these spiritual seeds finally sprouted for the first time. Leading up to Easter Sunday, I had gotten into more trouble than usual and I vividly remember tossing a shoe at the wall of my room after I was sent there to await my father’s return from work. Then on Easter, hearing about Jesus on the cross, the preacher explained our need to ask Jesus to save us. I left the service convicted, certain of what I must do. Our church didn’t do alter calls or walk people through a sinner’s prayer, so I simply found a private spot in the garage after we arrived home to “ask Jesus into my heart” as I often heard it called then.

What I know for certain is that God really intervened in my life that day. I felt a newfound passion for God, for the Bible, and for church. I would even ask every week if we were going to church, sometimes waking my parents to do so, in order to stay more connected. Armed with my comic book Children’s Bible, the devotional books, and a spiral notepad, I would have a nightly conversation with God at bedtime on paper, reading and writing my thoughts down.

I didn’t really have anyone to share my new connection with Christ with, aside from Him, but it spurred a desire for holiness in my life and created in me a strong private desire to honor Him in everything.

It also fueled my involvement in Bible quizzing for a few years, where I did build some Christian relationships with peers and memorize a lot of Bible verses and facts. However, none of the facts or verses really got connected to practical living and all the community I built at church was unconnected to my school and sports involvement, so I ended up with two entirely different worlds of friends to live in.

Years ago, one of my favorite friendships grew out of a difficult question we got during a weekend message where I was a part of a panel of pastors who answered questions from the audience. The big question was about homosexuality. I promised that day a response to every question, and I intentionally didn’t address the question that day, because I didn’t want the response to be incomplete since our format necessitated short answers. I later met the person for coffee…and the conversation wasn’t perfect, but it was far better than a monologue. That’s my first advice for you: anytime you get a faith question that’s complicated, try to always have a conversation where you do as much listening as you do talking.

Today however, I will attempt to write a response (moreso to challenge myself as a writer than to provide a perfect answer) and at the end, I’ll also share the question and answer from years ago:

Why do you (as a Christian) not accept my being gay?

Thank you, for such and honest question! My closest friends in this world are people I don’t see eye-to-eye with on issues big and small. Please don’t take our difference in perspective as any indication that I view you negatively, because I don’t. I am glad that it’s important to you that we discuss this issue together. But let’s agree now to take our time talking through it. I value you too much to give you a short conclusion without walking you through my thought process, and I want very much to hear your thoughts and the experiences that have led you to your current mindset. You are God’s creation, He loves you, and you’ll find that my behavior will reflect that. Let’s start with you. Why do you feel differently that I do. Tell me about the experiences and information you’ve processed to come to your conclusions!

Before I explain my reasoning, let me first apologize for the actions of others in my camp. I know that some Christians have been outspoken and offensive in their opposition to your lifestyle, and I’m sorry. We all tend to want to fixate on some things in life, and several groups chose to fixate and make a big deal out of this issue, killing conversation and communicating that Christians don’t value people who see relationships differently than they do.

Personally, I really struggle to want to judge a different set of things that are socially acceptable. My struggle with judging others is biggest in the areas of alcohol, parents who’s kids are always on tablets, and with guys who father but don’t parent their children. Society is ok with things like that, but I’ve seen the worst of those things, so it’s hard for me not to be angry or devalue those people. Given too much influence, I would lead a movement to abolish alcohol, or get too involved in a campaign to outlaw phones and tablets for kids under 21.

Not only do we all have our fixations on who or what behaviors we would judge, we also have our own weak areas that we are tempted and drawn into bad behaviors more easily than others. It’s easy for me to judge alcohol, because I’m not tempted or addicted to it. It is harder for me to judge lust and infidelity because I enjoy the little spikes of adrenaline that come with physical attraction and society has made us think that its normal through their movies, tv, and advertising. The average person would even argue that we are genetically programmed to lust, and that genetic predisposition justifies our behavior. “God created us that way,” many would argue. I, on the other hand, would have to agree with my pastor friend, who said that although, “I have a genetic predisposition to want to have sex with every attractive woman I meet, that is just my flesh (a sinful inpulse in my life I’m responsible to deny).”

I don’t believe that just because our genetics cause us to be bent toward alcoholism, lust, or same sex attraction, it makes it acceptable. In most cases, it just makes following God really hard! And although I want everyone to be happy and healthy spiritually, relationally, and emotionally, I believe that happiness is only truly found to it’s fullest in the way God designed the world to function. Unfortunately in our broken world with a broken genetic code, that means often fighting our own nature to follow God’s design. The Bible very plainly calls out sex and marriage as only belonging between a man and a woman. I do believe it’s wrong to live a same sex lifestyle, in the same way it’s wrong for me to lust, or pursue sex outside of marriage.

Your struggle and your sin doesn’t alienate you from God any more than mine. It does not deserve public condemnation or excommunication from the church any more than other sins. In fact, I’d readily vote that there are far more damaging behaviors that people engage in. That sin won’t keep you from heaven. And it’s fine to be a Christian–to be trusting Christ to save you and change you–and be working out your perspective on this, struggling with it, or even actively living in opposition to it. Trusting Christ and believing in God doesn’t mean we have everything worked out. God has us on a journey, and I’ve found He leads us in a way that helps us see as He sees one step at a time.

More than anything, I want you to know and walk with God so that you have eternal life. If that’s all the two of us ever see eye to eye on, I would be thrilled…and we can always ask God to sort out the rest for us when we get to heaven. However, I believe that if you will trust Christ and read the Bible, God will convict you, change you, and lead you to a place of greater joy by living according to His design in this life too. I’m living proof of how amazing that lifestyle is, which is why I want it so bad for you. I want something HUGE for you: God’s best.

If you feel you need to solve this issue now and you’d be open to looking through the Bible at all the Scripture on this topic, I’d be happy to do that with you. If there’s a more pressing issue, or you need time to think about it, then I’m hoping you’ll keep our present disagreement from being a barrier to friendship. I would love to get to know you better. I would love to encourage you in your faith. And I promise not to make this a topic that we have to solve or agree upon.

Can we pray together for God to give us both a heart of understanding?

It took the better part of the day to clean up all the dust and drywall bits that the shotgun had left in the kitchen, but after cleaning everything enough to be functional, the whole family sat down and enjoyed the apple pie that had luckily remained untouched and under it’s wrapping paper the whole time.

With calmer nerves and a better arsenal of tools, Dad was more than ready to make sure the bear would not be returning again. He called up two of neighbors and they quickly put together a plan to follow the bear while the sun was still up. Assuring his wife and kids that it would be ok, and explaining to his son that this would not be a trip he could come along on, Dad grabbed the keys to the Suburban, the black car he had urged the kids to hide in, and slipped out the door to pickup his partners in this venture. The rear passenger door to the car was still ajar from when he had urged the kids to take shelter there, so he tossed his rifle in the floor through it.

It only took a few minutes to swing by and pickup Knute and Ray, which was good, because the pungent odor of the bear from their earlier encounter seemed to fill the car as he drove. Dad tried to recount their encounter to the men as they drove back to the house, minimizing the description of the home damage, which he was renting from Knute. But as they pulled into the driveway again, all three men saw and heard the bear for themselves, this time, from the rear cargo area of their vehicle. Dad looked in the rear view mirror to see the bear’s head rise up and look over the third row headrests. Knute, who was seated behind him, leapt from the car without looking, as did Ray, from the passenger seat.

Bringing the car to a quick halt, Dad exited the car to see that both men had managed to hang onto their weapons and were now aiming them at the vehicle’s remaining occupant. Assured that he had some protection, Dad ran around and opened the back hatch of the suburban. The bear seemed to be just as anxious to exit as the three men had been, and he tore off into the woods next to the road in a flash.

Still trying to process their experience, none of the men managed to pull the trigger of their weapons in that instant. Instead, they dropped them down as soon as the bear was out of sight, with breaths of relief. I can only imagine that the bear must have stopped just out of sight, to breathe his own sigh of relief. What a day!

Dad lazily stumbled to the windows at the back of the house to look toward the chickens, but instead of viewing the hen house, there staring back at him on the other side of the glass, was the head of a huge bear! It sat looking expectantly toward his two oldest kids, licking egg off it’s face. Apparently, after the shock had worn off, the bear had discovered that it’s face was covered with a delicious egg! He had followed the kids back to the house for a second helping.

“Wow,” Dad exclaimed, “you were right, that IS a Bear!”

“I think he wants to come in,” Eli replied.

“Well, he’s not allowed!” said Lizzy in response.

“Too late,” Eli shouted, pointing to the door as the bear pushed it open, “we forgot to close the door all the way!”

“Everybody get back!” Dad ordered, as they beat a hasty retreat through the house. “Head for the front door.”

The bear charged through the house right behind them, equally excited at the expectation of more food. Dad and the kids ran without looking back, out the front door and around into the garage. Dad was hoping that with a little luck, they might lead the bear back out of the house and trap him outside. Unfortunately, looking back from the garage, they watched as the bear stopped in the doorway, sniffed the air, and noticing the scents coming from the kitchen behind, turned back into the house.

“That bear better not eat my apple pie!” Lizzy remarked angrily.

“He’s got plenty of choices, for sure.” Dad said in a concerned tone, but his mind was on more pressing matter. They weren’t the only ones in the house today: Mom and their youngest girl were fast asleep in the bedrooms at the back of the house.

“Lock yourselves in the black car!” Dad shouted to his two oldest, opening the vehicle door, then running the opposite direction into the garage. Peeking through the garage door, he saw the bear curiously examining the kitchen countertops. Quickly he loaded a shell into the single shot twenty gauge rifle on the rack, cursing his luck for placing the more formidable weapons above the kitchen cabinets. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to hitting him with one shot!” He thought to himself.

Locked and loaded, Dad took the shotgun in one hand and a board in the other. Slipping silently around the kitchen toward the bedrooms, he noticed his wife groggily leaving the bedroom after a long nap. Before he could say anything, she turned and entered the hall bathroom, still half awake and totally unaware of the chaos ensuing a few yards further down the hall.

Dad blocked the hallway with some chairs, hoping to deter the bear from going that way. Back at the front door, he noticed Eli and Lizzy had failed to follow his directions and were watching anxiously as the bear sniffed at the apple pie.

Rapping on the floor with the board, Dad quickly caught the bear’s attention. “You Bad Bear!” he shouted loudly, “Go home!” He brought the board up and gave the bear a stout pop in the nose, hoping to elicit the same shot as the egg had gotten initially. But the bear’s hunger was in charge now, it wasn’t going to leave without some satisfaction. It roared back a challenge.

Dad knew that if the bear stayed, everyone was in grave danger, so he did his best to look and sound intimidating, banging the board on everything and yelling, but the bear only challenged back, this time, standing on it’s back legs to roar back the challenge. Now he could hear his wife and kids behind him, panic-ing at the unfolding battle.

Down to his last resort, Dad took aim into the bear’s chest with the shotgun and squeezed the trigger, but at that very moment the bear’s movement sent the board in his other hand flying upward into the rifle. The gun fired into the ceiling with a deafening sound, raining down pieces of drywall onto the bear and covering everything with fine white dust. Fearing the worst, Dad snapped the gun open and reloaded, but when he looked up through the dust, the only remaining trace of the bear was white footprints leading back through the house and out the back door.

Locking the door behind the bear, he called the kids back in, calmed the confused and crying Abby down, and hugged everyone.

“That, was the end of that,” he thought.