I've begun to ask myself a question the past three nights at about 8pm. By then, Eden is asleep, the daily damage to the house has been cleaned up, I've made some fundraising phone calls, and it's time to relax. You see, I've earned it. Every day of the week includes a rigorous schedule that involves a full-time job, a family, and work that goes toward my future job. By 8pm every evening I can feel very content that I gave the day an honest effort and it's time to bring it in for the night. 5:50 AM the next morning seems incredibly early to me.

Yet, every night at about 8pm I get this sneaking suspicion that I feel incredibly empty and bored. I surf the web, and there's emptiness and boredom. The same happens with TV. Again, the same thing happens with a video game. Somewhere in the midst of taking my earned break, I feel like I'm dying instead of restoring myself.

I've begun to ask myself the past three nights, "Is the point of resting to get as close to death as possible?" The answer has to be "no." The body knows this. It restores itself as it rests (assuming that "rest" implies that it was preceded by "work"). We do not rest so that our body may slip into a useless, brain killing coma, but rather that it may fix what must be fixed in order to prepare us for the next day. Jesus certainly understood this. His restoration came in prayer and his sustenance was to do the will of His Father.

So what does restorative rest look like? How can 8pm look like a chance to better prepare myself for 5:50am and less like time to turn into a zombie? For one, it begins and ends with Scripture. Nothing restores like Scripture. Secondly, it's improving the relationship with the family. 8pm-10pm is quality time with my wife. And Third, it should look like a hobby. As I was complaining to my wife the other day that I feel like I don't do any of the things I like anymore, she asked me how long it had been since I'd written a song. It's been at least six months. And why? TV? Visual media? What a waste of time. The parts of me that are holy die with video games and too much Sportscenter. The things that I need to learn stay unknown with cubs.com and The Office.

Am I against all visual media? No. Am I against mind-numbing activity? Yes. At least, I'm beginning to be. Rest is for restoration, not temporary death.

The question becomes, are you getting ready for tomorrow, or just putting it off?

At 9:35 last night I hopped back out of bed after talking with my wife, realizing that sleep wasn't going to come soon. We had just had a discussion about all the possible impending changes in our life, all the current struggles, and all the typical things that come up in life as spouses and parents. Right before bed is a bad time for me to talk about these things, since my head needs time to find some sort of peace and sleep will not come until peace does.

As I shot out of bed and into the living room I flipped all the lights back on in the house and turned on the television to watch the end of the Angels vs. Red Sox game. Soon, I wasn't paying any attention to the game, and instead was trying to put a finger on what my heart was feeling that my words and actions have failed to express. For over a year, in periods and degrees, I have had this underlying, spiritual groaning that has been a friend and a shadow. What is this feeling?

Eventually I flipped the tv off, went and checked my e-mail (a good thing, since I got an important one), then went back to bed and quickly fell asleep. As I was falling asleep, I knew that the same questions and confusion would be waiting for me upon awakening since nothing had been resolved. I knew it was going to weigh especially heavy on me in the morning because I knew I was falling asleep and was trying to resist it, yet was overcome. Darn. Sweet dreams, Joe Beck.

I woke this morning with the same sense of weightiness and wishing I could sleep for several more hours. It's dark now when I wake up, which makes the feeling of sleepiness worse, and almost inevitably I fell asleep in the shower and ran late. All of this served as a distraction from the issue, as did sports radio and a rain storm on the way in to work.

When I arrived at my desk, I realized that it was going to be a slow day and I'd have to sit for awhile. There was no more avoiding the matter at hand. I called Pastor Richard and unloaded on him, which he always handles with grace and admonition. I love him dearly. At the end of that conversation, I knew exactly what I was feeling: grief.

I'm grieved that I've had to learn so many things the hard way.

Grieved that I take so many things for granted and have wished so many great things away.

Grieved that the world is a wicked, crooked place that's under a curse, and grieved that I don't do more to give people the cure.

Grieved that so much Christianity today hates Christianity and is doing everything it can to look as much like the world as possible.

Grieved that these people call looking like the world "holiness."

Grieved that the modernists think that the glory days of the faith were in the 50s, and grieved that the emergents think the glory days are here now.

Grieved that churches divide over the things of this world and not the things from above, then self-righteously proclaim to agree to disagree.

Grieved that I cannot give grace as I have received it.

Grieved that I do not love my wife and child with my entire being, much more my God.

Grieved that I am cynical so often towards the church.

Grieved that I do not trust God to provide for my needs.

Grieved that I relate better to Lot than to Peter and Paul.

And yet what of this grief? Where is my hope in all this despair? To what does it all amount?

"Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."

Nothing has changed in the world, still I rest. My flesh demands wickedness and would exhaust me in the search for it, yet I must rest in Him who gives me His righteousness. There is work to be done, and in His power, as I work, I must rest. Though my heart is heavy with the cares of this world, there is indeed rest. There is love to be given, and I rest in Christ's love.

Any Given Sunday

I arrived at church at 8:15 yesterday morning to an empty sanctuary and a lot of silence. It was exactly what I was hoping for. It was sort of a vintage Sunday for me, since there was a ton for me to do during the actual service, and I showed up feeling rather unprepared. After fumbling into the small congregation hall with my Bible and my guitar, I plugged up on the music platform that sits off in left corner and began to look over the sheet music of the songs for worship. David Ask picked out 4 songs I'm really comfortable with, which I'm thankful for, since he wasn't entirely sure how much of the service he'd be around for. I'd be relieved later to know he would be there for the first three songs. My only responsibilites would be offertory music and the benediction hymn.

After figuring out what channel my guitar was plugged in to and turning up the microphone, I start going through offertory. Rather nasally. Darn. I was hoping the congestion was gone enough to be able to sing clearly. I continue through the song, making eye contact with empty seats to remind myself to project my voice, then fumble through the songs for worship, making sure I remember all the songs as well as I had assumed I would. With this level of comfort, the only question is whether I should finger pick or strum, or both, and where to provide volume breaks to stop songs with lots of verses from seeming repetitive. I love playing guitar.

After the half-hour it took to feel comfortable with the material, I sit down to the baby grand piano long enough to remind myself that I still stink at piano, but that i've gotten substantially better since I first started. I've hit a major wall with guitar, and am hoping that piano becomes my new favorite instrument.

Eventually I return back to the Bible and start looking over my text for the adult Sunday school class. I've been looking forward to this one. I've known exactly what I'm going to say for over a week, which is rare for me. This message, though, is too close to my heart. It's about contentment and not seeking comfort and wealth. 1 Thessalonians 4 and 5 spoke to me again as I read through both chapters and mentally re-divide the weeks that i'll be spending with them. About this time, everyone starts piling in, and I make the conscious effort to get up and start talking to people.

After assembly, class starts. Within a few seconds I realize that it was going to be a special day for Sunday school. Everyone responds to the text in an appropriate way, with confession mixed in with discussion mixed in with moments of convicted silence. Something so endearing about the Church is that when done right, you've got a group of people coming to learn how to grow closer to God and willing to admit that there are areas where they've hurt their ability to reach forward. I sincerely have missed facilitating these sorts of moments, and for about 45 minutes I get a strong sense of being right in the middle of something I naturally love doing. It puts everything into perspective and even gives me a renewed sense of purpose in doing the things I don't naturally enjoy. Moments like this, even though they are work, are in their own way a form of rest.

Just now, upon writing the word "rest," I realize how it felt to be back at Faith Presbyterian Church, doing the things that God has called me to do for that church. The work was in the preparation and the joy was in the participation. Though so much talking and singing and playing goes on, it is all simply my part in partcipating. Everyone comes to participate and everyone has the way they are called to participate. This Sunday morning, in participating very busily in the morning worship, I rested.

Realizing My Potential: Update

This week was good and bad. I'm just now today deciding on a Bible reading plan (I'm going to go through the History books and Major Prophets of the OT throughout the day at work, 3 chapters a day, and 3 chapters of the NT letters in the evening). So, my Bible reading has been sporadic.

I only worked out three days last week, so that needs to come up to six this week.

On the positive side, I completed both of my household tasks I sought out to accomplish. The weight equipment was brought out of the garage, cleaned, and placed upstairs in the bonus room. I had a pair of 10 pound weights that I forgot about that's good for cardio stuff.

I also cleared out and cleaned up the screened-in back porch. This was a more daunting task. To be honest, we hadn't cleaned it since we lived there. We've also started putting the dog out there during the day in the past few months. You know what that means. It's also doubled as a catch all (which is why we haven't cleaned it) and there were dozens of tiki torches of which I don't know the origen, brooms, mops, a propane tank, Eden's baby pool, and about a million spiders, eggs sacks and bugs that I can't identify. Add this on top of all the leaves and the dirt that needed to be scrubbed off, and I had quite a task ahead. After a few hours of sweat, it's now a livable space with a scrubbed floor, no cobwebs on the walls, two chairs and a table for drinks. It's a nice space now. On top of that, I cleared off the patio so we've got an unobstructed view of the yard and the sunset. Beautiful.

My weight last Tuesday was 183.5. This week it's 181. 5. Next week my goal is to hit the 170's.

For the two household projects, I have chosen to clean out the garage (yikes!) and take care of two dead spots in the front yard, which will entail digging out rocks and putting down new soil and straw.

Here's to a better next week.

At around 9:30 tonight the last of the students left the youth house, and my job at Faith Presbyterian Church as youth pastor came to an official end. It was an evening filled with fun. There was the game of Ultimate (a tradition of sorts), table tennis, Catch Phrase, an impromptu "Joe Beck Trivia" by Rory Brown, and the usual pictures, cards, hugs, and goodbyes that usually accompany a moment like this. At a couple of points I tried to express sentimentality only to fail miserably (I'm good at being vulnerable until it comes to my emotions), and everyone left smiling and satisfied.

After the last of the students left the building I laid on one of the couches and read the card that the students had signed. It reminded me of my high school yearbooks, which makes me happy in the sense that I felt like these students and I really had relationships. After going over a few of the messages again, I laid there looking up at the ceiling, saddened that, for me, this is the end of an era. In reality, these students will have a much longer lasting impact on me than I ever will on them. Whereas they'll all have other youth directors who will impart valuable things to them, they will forever be my first youth group that God placed under my watch care.

I look around the room and see the rows of chairs. I always set out about twice as many as we needed, half hoping that more students would miraculously show up, and half doing it to send a message to the students that we should be looking for more people to witness to. I see the big-screen tv that was always used for powerpoint, and observe all the items around the old house that I rarely ever cared for before. This large, hollowed out room holds so many memories for me.

There's all the different sermon series we went through. The series on JI Packer's Knowing God was the first time I felt like I really did something well. There's the conversations. Outside the kitchen is where Allen Porter came to the Lord. Inside there are all the conversations with the students, specifically the ones of trying to make Nathan laugh, or trying to make Natalie see God's beauty inside of herself, or trying to reel in "The Five," as they've always been in my mind, and to which Allen became a part, making it more than just "The Four."

Thinking of all the students that were there tonight makes me smile bittersweetly. There's memories with each one, jokes with each one, expectations, hopes, love, prayers. I know them much better than they realize, and, sadly, I feel as if I've gone the past two and a half years very guarded. I hope that they have intuition into me as I have had into them.

As I realize I've been daydreaming, I decide to hop up from the couch and get home to my wife, who is probably fast asleep by now. I shut out all the lights for the last time as youth director and leave the house behind, no longer employed by my first job in ministry. It was a good run, and I'm proud of much. Allen is outside waiting for a ride. It's stuff like that about this job that I love. I make a point to tell him that he means much to me, and we don't say much else. His mom shows up, and I tell her that if I don't see her again that it was nice to have met her. I feel sincerely about this, as she has allowed me an extensive amount of freedom in the life of her son. I then realize how much freedom I earned in the lives of all of these students, and how much trust was given and earned from their parents. I hope this means that I was doing something right.

To the youth group at Faith Presbyterian Church: You are to me a group of special, wonderful young men and women. I'm sorry I've been so hard on you and so intentionally distant. I think of you in the same way as I do my wife and daughter in this sense: it is impossible for me to know if you truly are wonderful and special or if you just seem that way to me, because I cannot separate my love for you all from my view of you. To me, you will always be special and I will always see Christ in you.

The Tragedy Of Potential

Potential. It's one of those words that can convey so many different things depending on who it's being said to. For the one who is just breaking through the ranks of a business or as an athlete, his or her potential becomes a selling point to greatness ("We are excited by his potential"). For the one in the middle or at the end of a career, the word "potential" becomes the scarlet letter of he who could have known greatness but never really did ("He had so much potential!"). At other times, of course, we use the term "potential" to describe those who had their greatness interrupted by tragedy, but this entry is not directed at those moments. Instead, we'll talk about potential in terms of what the individual can realize through his own efforts and through his God-given abilities and talents.

To use atheletes as examples, two different people come to mind who represent the positive and negative of potential. On the positive side, there's Blake Griffin, the number one pick in this year's NBA draft. NBA teams fawned over his physical giftings and basketball IQ. It was also his work ethic that impressed. His "potential" was seen in his ability plus his ability to learn. There is little doubt that he's going to excell at the next level. Others who fit into this category were Lebron James when he first came through, Albert Pujols in the minors, and Tim Lincecum.

On the negative side, I think of Vince Carter. It's not that Vince Carter is a bad player, because he's certainly not. It's that he could've been one of the all-time greats, but simply didn't want it bad enough. Any analyst who watches him play realizes he could be so much better, which is a wild thought. Instead, he seems very content to simply be good and have everyone know how good he could really be. This was true of several players in the late 1990s and early 2000s, which is what I believe led to the USA basketball team not winning the gold in the 2004 Olympics.

So, I turn my attention away from the potential of athletes and turn it to myself. If I reflect honestly upon my life, I'd have to say that I'm more like Vince Carter than I am like Blake Griffin. It's not that I've done poorly, but rather that I've not done as well as I could. Things in life, for the most part, have always come easy to me. I think of all the things I'm servicable at and realize if I had picked one and worked really hard I could be great at something, instead of simply decent at many things. Please don't mistake saying I'm decent at lots of things as arrogance; really, it's a tragedy that I've never excelled at any and a point of shame.

What has my barrier been to overachieving and success? I believe it comes down to fear of expectations and an inconsistent work ethic. Once you have achieved greatness, it defines you from thence forward. People expect great things out of the great. This expectation is terrifying to most, and is a shame in the lives of those who intentionally avoid greatness to avoid the expectations. There are many who work hard who would love to have the opportunities of those to whom things come easy. To run from greatness is a slap in the face of those who would do all to achieve it and never catch the break.

An inconsistent work ethic has also plagued me. It's not that i've never worked hard, but rather that I do not sustain my efforts over the long haul. In the words of one man who recently called me out, I'm either all in or all out. This amounts to not enough. It's time that I'm honest about that.

As I'm writing this I realize how similar this post is to my last post. I'm assuming from that that God is trying to tell me something. So to that end, I'm going to set three goals for myself to help improve my work ethic.

First of all, I'm going to commit to reading my Bible everyday as part of a plan. My reading is sporadic in frequency and in direction. That needs to change. Secondly, I'm going to do cardiovascular exercise and weight training six days a week. Once again, it's not that I'm terribly out of shape, just not in as good a shape as a perfectly healthy young man should be. Thirdly, I'm going to knock out at least two house projects every single week. This week it will be scrubbing down and clearing out the screened-in back porch and, out of necessity, pulling out the weight equipment and making a spot for it in the bonus room.

For accountability's sake, I'll post my results each week, good or bad. I hope this spurs you on to do all of what you are capable of.

The other night I was flipping through the channels and came across the movie The Rookie starring Dennis Quaid as 37-year old rookie relief pitcher Jim Morris, who was the oldest rookie ever to play in the MLB. It's a decent movie that I saw in the theater and have watched a few times since.

The most moving scene in the movie, for me, is when Morris learns he's being called up from AAA Durham to meet the Tampa Bay Rays team in Arlington for a game against the Rangers. Quaid's facials and voice really sell the importance of the moment and sum up well the accomplishment of a life-long dream. While watching it again over the weekend, I realized that I've never felt that sense of accomplishment. The feeling that Dennis Quaid was emoting through his acting was a foreign one to me, as it came to me that my trouble with relating to the moment came from my never having experienced an instance of great achievment and recognition. The real-life Jim Morris must have felt a sense of disbelief, even as he knew that moment was nothing more than the equation of a summary of actions. "Living his dream" occured as a result of killing the dream and using the sacrifice as a catalyst to create the reality.

So where is my sense of achievment? Where are the moments where my dreams met reality? One could say, with validity, that at 25 I'm still young and that my best days are ahead of me. I sure hope this is true. For many, though, dreams have already died by age 25. Life can beat you down in a hurry. I've met many people who had quit dreaming by their teenage years, subjecting their minds and hearts to a sort of gross existentiallism that they cannot put their fingers on. This often happens for those who grow up in an environment where dreams had also died early for their caregivers. It is a shame to me to think about children who have no desire to make more of themselves then what they are.

On the flip side, there are people who, by 25, are already living out their dreams. Athletes immediately come to mind. Lebron James is a year younger than me. Artists come to mind. Taylor Swift was considered a prolific songwriter at 17 in a music genre that rarely allows artists to write their own material. Mechanics come to mind. Carpenters come to mind. Contractors come to mind, as well as architects, business owners, etc.

So where do I fit in the grand scheme of things? On one side, I have never quit dreaming. On the other side, I have never put in the hard work and dedication to live out my dreams. I think my never feeling a sense of accomplishment attests more to a lack of dedication to get the job done than it does to a string of bad luck or bad nurturing. My parents never killed my dreams and never tried to. I got a free ride education on my way to a bachelor's degree. I've never had too much trouble finding work and finding my wife was an obvious choice for me. So much has come easy that I've never strived for my life to be over the edge.

I believe this applies to my relationship with God, as well. Those who seek godliness will suffer, and it's not the godliness that scares me off, but rather the suffering. It's the work.

Do you have what it takes to live a life that is beyond simply functional? I believe boredom, especially for the priviledged, is a self-inflicted misery. As for me, I will pursue the things that are hard, because from those things comes the moment of disbelief where I realize that everything I went through was worth it.