I’ve always been amazed at the epic things God does in our world! It’s only with the advent of computer-aided design that I feel our dreams might be exceeding His in their vastness and creativity…and even then, that’s probably only because I haven’t seen what He’s up to in Heaven.

From the earliest day, God has been writing epic stories and giving men epic dreams:

• Noah must have been intimidated by the size of the boat project God sent his way.
• Abraham must have given up counting the stars after only moments of looking them over…not to mention the sand on the sea shore.
• and the Prophets, including the disciple John must have wondered if all they had seen of God’s heavenly creations could really be more than fanciful dreams.

I love that capacity to believe in the immense, the unattainable, and the impossible. I believe it’s why men like Martin Luther King, Jr. shot for the stars with his movement for equality and the people he led could believe in that same dream. And why a good Christian man like Jerry Falwell Sr. could dream of a school that was as big as Notre Dame, yet teach from an evangelical Christian perspective in every subject…a school I benefited from in my own education.

But those great dreams more often than not, come with a catch that’s hard to accept. God’s timing is often not a part of the promise. He delivers dreams that often exceed the dreamers lifetimes. As Hebrews 11 says so eloquently,

“These all died in faith without having received the promises, but they saw them from a distance.” ~ Hebrews 11:13

That was certainly true of Martin Luther King Jr and Jerry Falwell Sr, as well as Abraham and the Prophets. The gift in the dream that they were given was really for the generations that would follow them.

And I find it to be true of thousands of others on a slightly smaller scale: good Christian people who dream of a business or ministry that changes lives in their city or world on a scale that addresses the need that has overwhelmed them in their own work.

This Holy Tension: to dream, and yet walk with patience that waits on God’s timing is one that is lacking in the lives of many dreamers. It breaks my heart to see churches now struggling, ministries and businesses that have closed their doors because they built their dream too quickly or without sharing it with a generation that could continue it. It’s God’s timing that can really help dreamers remain humble and push them to make sure their dream lands in the hands of capable leaders when they are gone.

The dreams that I find span 2-3 generations are the ones that make the greatest difference in our world: churches who build a strong core of believers that can support the next pastor to come (like Andy Stanley’s NorthPoint ministry born out of FBC Atlanta). Ministries that have earned the trust of their community and are able to partner with in at a deeper level. Pastors equipped in ministry for success by a seasoned leader (like Craig Groschel’s development in the Methodist church, or the strong church and university under the leadership of Jerry Falwell’s two sons). In Scripture, we even see this example in the way leadership remained strong from Moses to Joshua in the Old Testament, and from Jesus to His disciples in the New Testament.

Too many dreamers get caught marrying the dream to their reputation, and they fail to trust another to carry on their work. It’s not without good reason: many a dreamer has handed off a healthy organization only to have their successor drive it into failure or abuse the influence they were given. However, I truly believe it’s worth the risk–the potential future impact far outweighs the risk. And I believe it’s God’s desire that we play the long game–shooting to build things that have multi-generational impact.

I love being a part of a ministry that is equipping future leaders and sending them into ministry as well as resourcing other ministries with tools for free. And I hope that for my kids, I can leave them as trained, capable leaders, who will build on my work or the work of others. I would love to leave them my home, and an inheritance, that will hopefully allow them to do great ministry in our world without having to pay all the bills I have had over the years.

Standing next to the chicken house, the young boy could not believe his eyes: a bear had emerged from the woods just feet away from him! It lumbered lazily toward the chicken house, but paid no attention to him. He didn’t think bears lived in Oklahoma!

Then he felt a sense of panic, because just on the other side of the chicken house was his sister, checking the nesting boxes for eggs. She was too preoccupied with her task even look at him so he could warn her. What should he do? he wondered.

Then the better question came to mind: what would Steve do? Steve was the bear whisperer elsewhere in the country, and Eli has watched his show dozens of times, learning how Steve managed bears to keep them out of trouble.

With a greater sense of confidence, Eli rushed to his sister’s side and snatched one of the eggs from the nest just as the bear rounded the other corner of the chicken house to face them. “What are you doing, you bad bear?” he shouted, trying to sound fierce. When the bear stood its ground as his rebuke, he angrily tossed the egg into the bear’s face. It shattered across his forehead, covering his eyes and nose in gooey egg slime. The shock and sudden blast of moisture on his face shocked the bear, and he beat a hasty retreat into the woods where he had first appeared.

Lizzy was still standing in shock at the sight of the bear, but Eli didn’t waste a moment. He knew the bear could come back. He quickly slammed the chicken coop shut and took her hand. They ran back to the house together, and slammed the door closed behind them.

“Dad, Dad,” they both shouted. “We saw a bear!”

“Bears don’t live in Oklahoma,” Dad responded without looking up from his book.

“This one does!” Eli retorted, “and he was gonna eat the chickens.”

“Let me see.” Dad replied, getting out of his chair.

(to be continued…)

In middle school, I spent a great deal of time in the group of kids commonly referred to as nerds. I was ridiculed for my glasses, my off-brand shoes, and my sack lunches. So when I got into high school and found I had some pretty strong talent for soccer and running, I became fairly obsessed with proving myself as good as popular kids…even if I was never welcomed into their circles. I especially wanted to be a varsity player and earn my letter. The thought of sporting the letterman jacket felt like the ultimate achievement to solidify my worth to the other kids.

Then came tragedy. In the prime of my rise to significance: killing our fall preseason soccer training and on my way to claiming my position as a started for the varsity team, I locked legs with one of the biggest guys on the team, and lost the battle. A broken leg not only set me back from soccer plans, it killed my soaring spirit of achievement. And worse, it refused to heal. What the doctor told me would take weeks, ended up taking months. Months on crutches or in a boot hobbling around the halls of the high school…in front of the same kids I wanted to impress.

If God had not have gotten my attention, I expect that year would have felt like a complete failure, and my attitude and involvement would have dropped pretty low. But having no ability to play sports, I accepted a friend’s invitation to a weekend retreat. And hobbling around the camp for three days, I encountered God in a new and powerful way.

I knew God as the one who died on the cross and who I had asked to save me. But all around me on the retreat, I met men and kids my own age who were taking their faith seriously every day: reading the Bible and praying, meeting with others to discuss their struggles, and working to see others come to know Jesus too. I fell in love with the ministry of the people of God, and it was there that my desire to be popular died, giving way to a desire to be useful to God.

A broken leg cost me a personal dream…but gave birth to God’s dream for me and in me. It was a worthy trade.

I later heard a speaker say that a shepherd will sometimes break a sheep’s leg if he can’t get it to stop wandering off. The sheep learns as it heals to stay close by. Though it sounds cruel, the harsh action is the best way to protect a teach that can’t learn to heed his warnings.

I think the Good Shepherd used that method on me.

I noticed a trend in the heros of writing that’s different than heros in TV and movies. On screen, heros tends to be more action-oriented. Slashing, punching, and maneuvering their way out of sticky situations and against enemies of great strength and agility.

In print, the hero tends to be much more of a superior intellectual, beating his enemies with a better strategy or wit.

Obviously dramatic action is much easier to portray on screen than in words, whereas the thoughts on the enemies are easier to expound upon in print, so this difference is really linked to the strengths and weaknesses of the medium, rather than just a bias in the industries.

However, it led to an insightful conclusion in a recent discussion I had among writers: the best writing quite often has both. Women favor the intellectual hero, while men tend to favor the action-oriented one. If you choose to only write about one, or gloss over the details of an action sequence in favor of a characters thoughts, you may be missing the opportunity to connect with a significant portion of your audience.

Do you favor one over the other? Does this strike you of true in your own experience? I would love to know your thoughts.

A good example of a writer portraying both in recent writing is JK Rowling and the Harry Potter series. While many love Harry’s impulsiveness, others are drawn most to Hermione Granger’s wit and extensive knowledge. Some wish she’d leave out the brutality of games and scenes like the games of Quiddich, while others cling to the pages in these key moments of action.

Driving home from college for the summer was quite a process. You basically have to move out, and I tend to have a lot of stuff. The nice part about having a pickup with a topper on it, though, is that you can pack it all in the back. At least, that’s what I would do. I loaded up my 1992 (I think that’s the year) extended cab S10 with my stuff, and a girls from Brazil who was catching a ride from Virginia to Kentucky with me, and we set off across the 9 hour drive.

About halfway through the drive, you pass through the mountains of West Virginia through Charleston, and the road goes up and down as it twists and turns, it’s a fun drive. The roads were excellent, having 3-4 lanes on each side of the highway and great pavement, but the inclines and traffic can occasionally make it a challenge.

On this particular day, it started raining quite hard as we came through the mountains, but seeing as I had a lot of weight in the truck, I didn’t think much of it. However, on one of our significant declines, the front wheels of the truck hydroplaned. I started drifting across lanes of traffic without the ability to steer at 65ish miles an hour. I’m not one to panic, but it was unnerving. We drifted from a center lane on our side of the highway toward the large grassy median that separates the highway. Afraid of making matters worse, I did my best to nudge the wheel slightly in the opposite direction in hopes of straightening out. We did change direction, only too far. We headed across all three lanes of the road in the opposite direction. Again, I nudged us back, and we made the trip across the road a third time. To this day, I am astounded that no one was in the path of our drifting, as my adrenaline made those trips feel like they took hours, rather than merely seconds.

Unable to correct our course, we entered the gravely and grassy center median of the road, at a slightly slower speed than we started. Still praying that we would regain our traction, my prayer was answered only too well, the wet soggy ground absorbed the front tire of the truck and sent us rolling across the side of the truck, not once, but twice. I braced the passenger as we watched the world turn upside down and marveled as we miraculously landed upright and intact. For a brief moment, we just stopped and sat together in silence, processing our own panic through the looks on each others faces.

We were interrupted by a sudden face at the window asking if we were alright. It was then that I saw that the passenger window was broken and that LeAnne’s arm was bleeding from the broken glass. I quickly pulled off my button up shirt and wrapped it around her arm, relieved to see only superficial cuts. Aside from that, the cab of the truck was intact, and the engine sat running. I turned off the car, and we both exited out my door.

Surveying the scene in the pouring rain, it was a site to behold. Two college student’s possessions lay strewn in a 50 foot trail between the truck bed topper, which came off on our initial roll, and the truck itself, which was wrinkled on every exterior panel, but looked largely intact and driveable, with all it’s tires still inflated.

Distressed at the site of our many possessions lying in the mud, I immediately turned and began piling them under the truck topper. LeAnne stood standing in the rain, her face still working to process all that had just occurred. Looking back on the memory now, she was in a state of shock. As I worked, an ambulance arrived. Workers rushed to the truck and immediately began tending to LeAnne.

It took me a few more minutes, but I managed to gather most of the contents from the truck under the topper, only to look back and see them loading LeAnne into the ambulance on a stretcher. It was then that I began to panic. LeAnne was from Brazil. Neither of us had cell phones. And I had no idea where we were or where the ambulance was headed. In their haste to tend to her, the ambulance workers hadn’t even realized that I was a participant, rather than a bystander.

I got to the driver just as he opened his door. “I need to go with her!” I shouted. A bit surprised, he looked me up and down momentarily and then pointed to his passenger seat. He was obviously a lot more concerned about the passenger in the back of the truck. I was too out of my element to worry, I had never been in a situation like this before. I had no idea what the paramedics would actually do. All I knew was, it would be easier to find the truck than to find her, so I jumped inside.

Moments later, sirens blaring, we sped off on the highway in the rain once more. All the attention LeAnne was receiving had me worried. Had I missed some injury? I looked back into the ambulance as we sped off, but the first glimpse I caught was of the other paramedic cutting away her clothes. “Leave it to the professional!” I thought to myself, snapping back into my seat. I kept my eyes forward for the rest of the trip.

The rest of the day felt quite slow after that. Arriving at the hospital, LeAnne was quickly cleared of any concerns. Removing her clothes, I was later told, is standard procedure in those circumstances to look for internal bleeding. She rejoined me in the waiting area shortly after our arrival in a pair of hospital scrubs. A bit unhappy at losing her outfit and being the only one with wounds, she swatted me a couple times, telling me I needed a bruise or two. We took up a post in the waiting area and called my parents and her host family to explain the events. My dad and mom immediately set off to pick us up.

Tired and hungry, we managed to find the hospital cafeteria and spent the next several hours there. My parents arrived later that day, and with a bit of rest, we got up the next day, loaded my truck and our possessions onto a trailer from the wrecker yard, and finished our trip.

Looking back, the fact that we were as fortunate as we were: we didn’t hit any other cars, or flip on the hard surface of the highway in the path of traffic, and we didn’t sustain any major injuries, is quite miraculous to me. We were also sent a savior: someone who appeared to check on us and call an ambulance. And even the safety of our possessions: I still read some of the books and my computer still worked after all that rain…it’s a reminder to me of what our college president, Jerry Falwell Sr. used to say, “You are untouchable, indestructible until you’ve finished the work God has for you to do on this earth.” That is just one of the more obvious times that I know, God protected me and saved me for a purpose!