Tag: Church

I Am Not Enough

D. Michl Lowe2 Comments

I’ve concluded that there is apparently something deeply unlikeable and untrustworthy about me. There is a reality of who I am that others must see, that I do not. Maybe those who truly care about me know. Maybe they have tried to tell me. Maybe they have tried to help me understand, and I have stuffed cotton in my ears and closed my eyes to their kindness. Maybe I have been willfully blind to my own shortcomings. Maybe I still am.

For the last couple of years, I had been through over twenty job interviews and had had no luck at all until just recently. For over ten years, I have been nominated for a leadership position but have never been voted into that position. And I don’t blame the voters; I believe they are voting truly and in good faith! It is myself that I see as a failure. It is an observation of my own persona. I would say I am lazy, but really, I don’t think that is it. I value being able to live with the money I make, but I struggle to see my efforts as valuable.

So, is this a depression, then? I assume so. I have heartache and am searching for passion and purpose. I would like to be a true writer, but I have never felt as though I am good enough to truly be called by the title author or writer. Am I proud of my books and writing? Yes, of course, but in the back of my mind, I continually downplay them and question their validity.

I love my family; they give me unending joy and satisfaction, but I feel inadequate at the task of being a father and husband as well. I wonder if this inadequate feeling comes from a lack of my ability to fully support them financially, but then again, maybe it goes beyond that.

I seek purpose in God but feel a failure there as well. I wrote a book in an attempt to harden my devotion and zeal for Christ, but even in all I have done, I feel a failure. As if I should have done more or not done enough. I understand there is continual growth in Christ, and I do see that growth within myself, but then I look back on where I was before. Back then, I thought I was wise, but truly, I was very foolish and didn’t know it. So how am I to believe I am now wise, knowing in ten years I may look back and see my current foolishness for what it is?

They call it a mid-life crisis, but the crisis is a realization of a lifelong inadequacy. How do you make a life worthy? How do you understand what you can change to make it better? There are some things you are locked into, some things that cannot be changed. How do you turn listlessness into motivation and purpose? I don’t trust myself to know that my answers are right.

So what am I to do? Am I meant to meander along, continuing to live in a miasma of stale living? Should I continue to be burdened by a raw and open self-inflicted wound to my ego? Or should I accept the truth, accept the truth that I am not good enough? That I am not worthy of praise? That I am not enough? Because I will never be enough. I can’t do it.

However, when I am weak—because I am weak—He is strong. When I am not enough—and I am not—He is enough. When I am lacking, and I am lacking, He is full and true. When I am down, and I have been down, He is more than enough to raise me up. When I am through with giving effort, and at times, I feel as though I am through, He is there to carry me on.

I am not enough, and I never will be. The reality is no one is enough. No one is truly able. We are all frail and slowly dying, the conscious dead. It is only through the light of Christ we become anything else. In truth, we are only ever meant to be the marionettes of God, allowing the Master to bring us to life and give us His purpose. Am I enough? Yes, but only because I am His. Do I have meaning? Yes, but only the meaning He brings to life within me?

I am the resurrected corpse, Lazarus. I’m stinking but smelling better as the light hits my gaunt face. Undecaying from my death – being brought back into the world of the living, color returning. It is not I who now lives, but Christ who has chosen to live within the destitution of my life, giving it a robust and full justification.

He is worthy, so I am worthy.

He Pulled Me In

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

My wife, Alicia was working in the two-year-old Sunday School room this past Sunday. Normally, that means I am on my own for the main service. I will either sit with friends, my mom and dad, or alone in the back. This Sunday, though, I was in a bad mood. I had a cloud hanging over my head that was causing me some severe melancholy. Over the summer, our church goes from their normal two services on Sunday morning to a single service.

They do this because attendance is sporadic during this season due to travel and vacations. However, it can also lead to some full pews as well. So, the ministry staff asked for some select regular members to sit in the choir loft behind the pulpit to make room in the pews. My family was asked to participate. So, for the last couple of weeks, we have been sitting behind the Pastor as they gave their sermons.

Today, though, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to sit alone and wallow in my bitterness. Tromping up the steps, I went to the balcony. It wasn’t long, though, before I was spotted. Our lead Pastor happened to be walking past the balcony door (his office is near by) and stopped.

“Hey, Michl! Are you coming to sit up front this morning?” He asked.

I paused, trying to think up a good excuse. “I… well, Alicia is in twos this morning, so I was just going to sit up here.”

“She needs tube’s? Like in her ears?” He said, mishearing me.

“No, no, she has the ‘twos’ Sunday School room this morning,” I clarified, emphasizing the word.

He squinted his eyes, seeing right through me. “Come sit with me up on the platform!” He said, smiling.

Giving up the argument I knew wouldn’t stand any form of scrutiny, I followed him up on the platform and sat in my regular space, minus Alicia. The Holy Spirit immediately began working on me as the music began. I knew from the moment the songs started that I would go to the altar. 

The weight on my heart, that hidden issue that had taken hold of my mind, was not just apparent but hammering on my soul. Let me rephrase; the Lord was speaking to me. The sermon today was on allowing God to give you rest. Before the sermon was even preached, though, God called me to lay down the burden and give it to him.

There were arguments in my mind. The same old lies the Devil tells every Christian before they head to the altar. I’m sure you know them.

You will look foolish.

People will wonder what is wrong with you.

Only people who are actively sinning go to the altar.

This just proves how weak you are.

You just feel like you need to go to the altar because it’s what people do in church.

It isn’t God speaking to you, it’s just your own mind.

I saw the lies for what they were, but it took me until the third song to muster up the gumption to actually move my feet. As I did, I actually stumbled a little bit walking down from the loft. It was embarrassing. I had to walk between the band who was still singing.

My mind foolishly made up thoughts for the people in the congregation. I wondered if they thought I was going to sing. They wouldn’t have appreciated that if it were true. Making it to the closest edge of the altar, I knelt and continued the crying I had started in my seat.

You might wonder if the Lord solved the issue I had been weighed down with. Did I hear God’s voice in my ear or mind, providing me with the solution to that problem? No. He didn’t offer a solution. There was no magic vending machine that gave out answers. Life and, in turn, life in Christ is not often that simple. No, in this case, as the sermon would soon lay out in front of me, He provided me rest—a calming of my heart and mind. It was what I needed.

My own desires and thoughts; my own idea to be alone was not what was good for me. God had other plans for me. Plans to prosper me and give me rest. He used one of our ministers to lead me out of my own darkness and into what God had planned for me. It was a little uncomfortable. It was a little embarrassing. I didn’t feel safe; I didn’t feel comfortable. I felt a little like Susan from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when she was talking to Mrs. and Mr. Beaver. 

Is he quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver. “If there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ’Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.

God is like that, I think. He’s not safe, and he’s not comfortable, but he is good.

D. Michl Lowe

P.S. Thank you, Pastor Kent, for allowing God to work through you.

The Effect of a Good Church

D. Michl Lowe1 Comment

This past Saturday, my family and I went down to the local IHOP for some breakfast. This is a relatively normal thing for us to do on the weekend. As we walked into the restaurant, my youngest daughter tripped and fell to her knees. An older gentleman reached down to help her up. He smiled and asked her if she was okay. She said yes, I thanked him, and we walked on to our table.

As we sat down to order and later eat breakfast, it became apparent that this older man was sitting alone. He was seated in the middle of our section, and nearly every table around him got a smile and brief conversation. Before long, it was our turn. He asked about the kids and commented on the current state of politics and some other things.

“My kids won’t have anything to do with me,” he commented. “I had open heart surgery and they didn’t even come to visit. No phone call to check on me, nothing.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“They did come to talk to me once though,” he continued. “To ask me about their inheritance. I ain’t given them nothin!”

He laughed at that and, soon after, smiled and said goodbye. As he walked out, I thought about this man. He was so lonely that he obviously came to the local IHOP so he could talk to random folks. It was clear that this was why he was there; he didn’t order any food, just a coffee.

This might sound odd, but it made me think of my church. This coming year, my wife and I will have been at our church for 20 years now. It is the longest I have spent at a single church in my entire life. Nearly half of my life has been spent around my church family. Sunday after Sunday, we come to this house of worship to spend time with these people and the God we serve.

Sometimes, I am grim in my thoughts about the future, but this time, I was uplifted. God forbid I would end up alone like the man at the IHOP, but if I am, I would not need to go down to my local eatery just to get a human connection. I know that for a certainty. The family of God would be attending to me. I have seen it over and over in our church. Tragedy strikes, or there is a need and the people of God respond.

I wouldn’t need to attend IHOP; I could just attend church. It’s like God understood the need for fellowship in humans. Go figure.

D. Michl Lowe

Kicking the Back of My Chair

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

Occasionally, I find an article or a video about a person on an airplane and the struggle with having a child behind them on the plane that kicks their chair. I don’t know what it is, but there is deep seeded primal annoyance with chair kicking. I’m not sure there is a person alive who this wouldn’t bother. However, there is a valuable lesson in chair-kicking etiquette that I would like to share with you. Our church combines the two services we usually have during the year into one service during the summer. As such, that one service is often full. So it was this morning. My wife and I came in just as the service started and sat in one of the back rows.

As the service continued, a newer family sat behind us. Throughout the service, the youngest son consistently kicked the back of my wife and I’s chairs. She wrote on the bulletin that he was kicking her chair, and I nodded. It’s tough to learn about Noah, while every couple of minutes, you get bumped. However, I thought about that new family in our church and their young children. That family needs Jesus. Their kids are sitting in our pews and listening to our Pastor talk about living life in dedication to Christ. Isn’t that worth a distraction? Of course, it is! I want nothing more than to have more kids kicking my chair. Of course, it is.

A week or so later, a friend sat in front of us at church. Throughout the entire message, she whispered to the young man beside her. Now, when I say whispering to him, I mean constantly! An almost neverending stream of whispers. You might be thinking, “How rude.” However, again, there is more at work here. My friend is translating (as quietly and unobtrusively as she can) so that this young man can hear the word of God. Is it distracting? Maybe, but it’s not a big deal to me. This young man is being fed the truth of all the universe through a loving and compassionate woman who wants nothing more than to allow this young man access to the gospel.

Years ago, a minister told me a story about a hotdog get-together his church was having. They were having hotdogs and advertised it throughout the surrounding neighborhood. “Come out for free hotdogs and Gospel singing!” the signs read. Many new people showed up. After the hotdogs, the people piled into the sanctuary for the singing. In the back, the minister watched a little boy come into the sanctuary carrying two hotdogs, one in each fist.

He was dirty, his hair a mess, and he had clearly dressed himself that day. His hotdogs were loaded down with mustard. That’s how he liked them; he had prepared them just right. But as he walked to a seat in the front pew, he dripped little spots of mustard up the aisle. He sat on the front pew, happily munching his hotdogs, singing along with the choir, spraying hotdog and mustard the entire time.

The service ended, and several people approached the minister and complained. He merely walked to the custodian’s closet, took out the rug cleaner, and got down on his hands and knees to clean the floor. He smiled at those complaining and said, “That little boy was fed tonight. And he had fun singing songs he didn’t know yet. Mustard on the carpet is worth a soul.” That’s how I want to be. That’s the kind of church I want to help create for the masses.

Please, give me more families. Please, give me more children. Please, give me all the people, the multitudes. Give me the single mothers with the crying babies. Bring them all into MY church because it’s not MY church; it’s Jesus’ Church. Swell the walls, make it hard to find a seat, give me the kicking on the back of my chair, and the kid dripping and spraying mustard on the carpet. Give me all of it. Make my church a destination of discomfort for those who regularly attend so that those who do not regularly attend will feel welcomed and loved. God make me uncomfortable until I am willing to realize that it’s not about me.

D. Michl Lowe