Hurry up and slow down

I have a confession to make: I am terrible at waiting. If patience is a virtue, then well, I ain't got much virtue. Truth be told, this is nothing new. Patience and waiting on events and schedules to happen has always been a sore spot for me.

Almost every Christmas Eve growing up, I was the kid perched at the top of the stairs starting at 3:00 a.m. anxiously counting the minutes until the sun would begin to poke its head on the horizon so that I could finally get a glimpse of the glorious presents that awaited me. I eat the cookie dough before it goes on the baking sheet. I'm sure you do too, but I eat A LOT of it before it can be baked. I was the senior in high school that got on the phone with Wake Forest University to find out if I had been accepted because I simply couldn't wait for that letter any longer. Thankfully, they said yes.

So as I recover from my heart surgery at home, you can imagine this is not the easiest of scenarios for someone like me to play out. My doctors have told me that I cannot drive for four weeks post surgery, I am not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds, and I must rest as much a possible. Now I love sleep as much as the next guy, but I also believe there is a thing as too much rest. Yet these are the doctors orders, from the ones who basically recreated my heart as if it was a ball of clay on a potter's wheel.

My days have been filled with cardiac rehab (treadmill, stretching, and yes, rest), reading lots of books, eating like a destitute goat so that I can put weight back on, spending some amazing time with my family, and coordinating class work with the many substitute teachers that my school has lined up to take over in my absence. All of these things are good and necessary. This isn't my first rodeo – I remember having to do all of these things twenty-four years ago when I had my first heart surgery. But things are different now and this is where my struggle begins.

When I had my first heart surgery in 1996, I was single, in grad school, and was able to recover at home with my parents, who to this day are still saints for putting up with me. This time around I have a wife and kids, a career, and many more obligations that require much more immediate attention. My life is different – better – and to have to sit on the sidelines like that kid who made the team but you know coach has no intention of playing is frustrating.

I know that may seem a little over dramatized, so let me step back a little bit. In the midst of what seems like useless time wasting, I understand why the waiting is so important even though I despise it. The body takes time to heal. Getting back into the game too early can be detrimental to experiencing a fully recovery. And the fact that I am even alive to be able to type this graphically illustrates that I serve a God who has allowed me to stay on this planet for reasons I may not yet even fully realize.

So hurry up and wait is what I will do. After all, I did have pretty major heart surgery. Nobody expects me to take the field right away. And while I wait, I will do my best to enjoy each and every moment that comes my way. Wishing I was here or there and doing this or that only serves to cloud my vision for what's right in front of me. And that is what God wants me to see. Not the things that I want to conjure up for myself but rather the everyday, even mundane, things that He has placed in my path.

Jesus in the midst of instant replay

I want to go ahead and put this out there from the very beginning - Lost is the greatest television show that has ever been broadcast in the history of entertainment. If you ever attempted to watch Lost, then you know that it was a thrill ride of twists and turns that often made little sense unless you were able to go back and reevaluate just exactly what it was that you had just seen - if that was even possible. I’ve watched the series all the way through several times and each time I discover some new wrinkle of information that I never noticed the first couple of times.

In the sports world, instant replay has allowed officials - and all of those armchair officials at home - to reanalyze ad nauseam every angle of a controversial play to find out exactly what did nor did not happen so that the outcome could be properly employed. Every time that an instant replay cycles over and over again on the TV while the officials hash it out, it’s then that we see all sorts of things that we never noticed when the action was being played out in real time. Sometimes I wish that instant replay would be banished since it takes away the purity of the game, but then I instantly change my mind when I realize it sometimes benefits my team.

Rarely do you or I ever fully understand everything that we encounter the first time we see or read it. That doesn’t mean that we are unintelligent or dimwitted, but rather that our minds are capable of processing only so much before they go on overload. Instant replay, whether it is re-watching a show or reading the same book or passage numerous times, helps us to grasp what we have missed.

If you have ever tried to read the Bible, then you know that this applies. I have made it my goal to read the Bible daily and more often than not I encounter something that I either never saw before or suddenly realize that I don’t truly understand its full meaning. That happened to me this morning.

Matthew 21:18-22 is a passage that, until today, I simply read without really thinking about what it meant. In the first couple of verses, we see Jesus cursing a fig tree, which in turn withers. He does so not because He's being petty and mean but rather as an object lesson about Israel - their rejection of Him as the Messiah signals their failure to flourish as God's people. That part I get. The next part is what I struggle to understand:

When the disciples saw it, they were amazed and said, "How did the fig tree wither so quickly?" Jesus answered them and said, "I assure you: If you have faith and do not doubt, you will not only do what was done to the fig tree, but even if you tell this mountain, 'Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,' it will be done. And if you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer."

 Hmmm. Does this mean that I can do cool tricks like killing trees or moving giant obstacles great distances if I only believe that I can in Jesus' name? And if so, what is the point in that? As I sat and scratched my chin at the possible meaning of this, it suddenly hit me right between my eyes. Jesus wasn't trying to tell me about all the things that I can do if I believe, but rather He was showing me - and all of us - how amazing He is if we will simply look.

The Jews of Jesus' day missed it because they were looking for someone different - a Messiah that they wanted to craft into an image that fit their own narrative. That's why they withered like the fig tree in the story. But we - if we seek Jesus in faith with all that we have - won't wither; we'll thrive! Following Jesus taps into His incredible power, greater than anything we can imagine and certainly greater than causing a tree to be unproductive. Think moving mountains and you get the idea.

Here is the point: As you move on in life and seek out what it all means, don't miss Jesus because it's all about Him! Forget what you have heard from skeptics and overzealous Scripture-twisters. Open His book, the Bible, and see for yourself who He truly is. Ask tough questions and then dig for the answers. Ask others for help along the way while allowing Scripture and His truth to be your guide.

Keep on reading and keep on seeking the truth of Jesus. Like instant replay, the more that we dive into God's word, the more we will see all sorts of amazing things that we missed on the first couple of passes. Jesus is someone you don't want to miss.

Give me those old time relationships

When I was a kid the world around me was unique and often intimidating. The mall where my parent's shopped was this huge complex of endless stores and easy places for kids like me to get lost. Fast food restaurants were exotic stops reserved for special occasions where I could peek over the counter as the workers whipped up a milkshake for me while steaming hot fries awaited me beside a fresh made burger. Even my backyard appeared as big as a football field on which I could wear my little self out everyday running and playing with my brothers and my friends.

As easy as it is to romanticize about the "good old days," it's also easy to realize that those places and events weren't so exquisite as I once believed. I can now walk from one end of the mall to the other in a matter of minutes and there are virtually no stores in which I would choose to venture, much less get lost in. Those milkshakes, fries, and burgers are certainly not a treat anymore and the older I get the more I realize that meals from those places did not constitute special occasions; rather, they were convenience stops when life got too busy or mom had not gone grocery shopping yet. That old backyard is still pretty awesome, but it's really more the size of a tennis court than an NFL stadium.

Perspective is everything when it comes to assessing the experiences from our youth. I still choose to romanticize those early days of my existence because those times were so essential to my formation as a young man. Even when those good old days turn out to be not as sacred as I remember, I still find benefit from clinging to a version of the past that causes me to pause and smile, pondering simpler times and experiences that appeared bigger than life. No harm in that, right?

Don't you wish all of life's experiences were that way? Unfortunately, reality has a way of smacking you in the face as you approach adulthood and you realize at some point that living in the past isn't going to get you all that far. This doesn't mean that you have to grow up as a cynic - life is still pretty sweet and the new experiences that you face everyday can be just as good as the ones in your past, ones that you will probably romanticize about ten or twenty years down the road.

Some of my fondest memories are of sitting beside my grandfather on hard wooden pews in a small Baptist church as he gently nudged me to stop fidgeting during the sermon and then listening to his deep baritone voice as he belted out the chorus to I Surrender at the altar call. I don't remember all that much about the content of what I heard or the organizational structure of that little church, but I do remember the people there and how special they made my experiences in Sunday School and at church fellowships. It was those humble beginnings that fueled the fire within me to serve the Lord full-time in vocational Christian ministry.

As good as those times were, I knew that they could not last. Today, that little church is a shell of what it used to be. Most of those congregants from my early days there have either moved on or gone home to the Lord, while the church never was able to move on beyond those simpler times in the 1970's. Those traditional ways were eventually eclipsed by the inevitable shift in our culture with people today preferring a more modern approach to their Sunday experience. Debates have been raging for decades over whether the traditional style church has its place anymore or whether the contemporary structure is what we should all embrace.

Yet if we take a really close look at what is going on in the churches around us, we will see that it's not really about stye or structural changes that are getting people all worked up. Instead, it is the radical change in relationships that so many are experiencing as life gets more complicated and families have less and less time.

Today, people are hungry for real "I-get-you-and-you-get-me" relationships - but they always have been. That's what held that little Baptist church together for all those years, the men and women who "did life together" and invested so much time in each other. Having the pastor preach a sermon that was rooted in the truth of God's word was and still is essential, but even when he had an "off day" those members still had their community rooted in faith to stand upon.

Those memories of people who loved and invested in me are the ones that I cherish the most but they also remain my deepest desires. I honestly no longer have all that much of a preference of style when it comes to church because I believe that when the men and women of God are seeking His face above all else and intentionally engaging in meaningful relationships with one another, all of that pans out in the end. I'm not so sure that we need to "rethink church" or craft newer expressions of worship. Maybe it's as simple as reevaluating the relationships that we have with each other regardless of the size of our gathering. When Christ is central and we are seeking to meet the needs of each other, I will romanticize about that all day.

Broken bones, but not broken dreams

This is what a broken and dislocated forearm on a 9-year-old girls looks like. Unfortunately this belongs to my youngest daughter, Emme, who accomplished this after trying to catch herself from hitting the floor after falling off the balance beam at gymnastics. Accidents happen - and sometimes they really hurt! - but sometimes they affect more than just your physical well-being.

If you watch sports or have a child who plays sports or were an athlete yourself, then you know that injuries are often part of the game. Not everyone experiences bone-crushing fractures or career-ending injuries - most of the time it's knocks and bumps and the occasional bruise. But there are those moments where you watch an athlete's future dissipate before his or her eyes by an injury that prohibits them from coming back. And that is hard to watch.

As someone who has never really experienced any of this in the athletic arena, I've often wondered what it's like to receive the crushing news from a doctor or trainer that you might not be able to compete at the same level again. Even if you are just a weekend warrior and enjoy recreational sports leagues - which are awesome, by the way - I am sure that not being able to play at the same level as you once did can be frustrating if not even depressing.

So as I watched my budding young gymnast lie on the ground in obvious pain, my primary focus was making sure that she was okay and taken care of. But then as we were riding in the ambulance to the hospital, the inevitable thoughts came into my mind - Will she be able to do gymnastics again? And even if the physical healing is 100%, will she want to jump on that beam again after what happened? Will she even want to?

Sure, she's pretty new to the sport, but she is incredibly driven and has big dreams - she's already considering UCLA and Alabama for college because, according to her, "They have the best gymnastics teams." And she recently joined a team that will begin competition soon, which she has been working really hard to be ready for. How would she respond to the fact that even if she does make a full recovery it will still be months before she is able to even attempt the kind of moves she was doing before the accident? And what about us as parents - how will we help her through the potential disappointment of not being able to compete, both now and perhaps in the future?

It was right then and there, as these thoughts swirled through my brain, that I realized it would not matter to me one bit if my daughter ever wanted to slip on the leotard and get back to the gym. I am proud of her for trying her best and for being so brave to try a sport that I personally find pretty scary. And then she showed us more of what she is really made of.

After surgery and a brief time in recovery, she said she was ready to go home. Once there, she read out loud all of the get well cards that her classmates sent her and then she invited her friends over to hang out. She shared her Chick-Fil-A fries with them and hung out on the couch watching cheesy Disney shows with them, making sure that they were properly entertained and cared for. When she needed help from me or my wife, she was unafraid to ask for it. She also said she didn't want the pain medication that the doctor prescribed - she didn't like how it made her feel. And not once has she complained about being in pain or the fact that it could be months before she can go back in the gym again. The only disappointment she showed was not being able to go to school tomorrow.

I gotta be honest, it's times like these when I really look up to my kids and hope I can learn from them. As an adult, it's not a broken bone that concerns me but rather the potential for my dreams to be shattered. Yet here is a nine-year-old girl who is unafraid to take what life gives her and make it into something sweet.

Sometimes our dreams aren't the dreams that God has for us and sometimes we just need a little extra time before we can see our dreams fulfilled. But regardless of the circumstances, it is up to us to determine how we will handle life's ups and downs along the way. Jesus told us not to worry (Matthew 6:33) and Paul echoed that sentiment (Philippians 4:6). And they did so not because what we experience does not affect us or is unimportant but rather because God is greater than any difficulty or struggle we could ever encounter.

Dreams are great and we should keep on striving to live the dreams that God has placed in our hearts. Sometimes life will throw a wrench in our plans and derail these dreams, even if only temporarily. But if we keep our eyes on Jesus - "Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness" - then we can know that regardless of the outcome that we desired, God will always give us exactly what we need - "and all of these things will be added unto you."

Open hands and letting go

Several weeks ago I ran across an article that described the kind of person that I am to the letter. The writer described a group of people that he referred to as "introverted extroverts," those who are outgoing and not shy about being in the public eye yet are just as comfortable being alone with a book or sitting in a quiet place.  If you know me, then you know how much I love to talk and be with people, but it might surprise you just how much alone time I prefer (and need).
In spite of my hidden extrovertedness, I realize that life is not meant to be lived alone. We were made for relationships, first with God and then each other. Consider God's words to us in the Old Testament book of Genesis:

So God created man in His own image; He created him in the image of God; He created them male and female. (Genesis 1:27)

Then the Lord God said, "It is not good for man to be alone. I will make a helper as his compliment." (Genesis 2:18)

So the Lord God called out to the man and said to him, "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9)

From these verses we know that God created us in His image so that we could know Him in a real and personal way and that as human beings we are better together. In particular, the family unit includes those kinds of relationships that God had in mind from the beginning. My wife is absolutely my best friend and closest confidant and my children bring great joy and satisfaction to my life.

Which is why this past week has been such a challenging week for the Griggs' family. On Thursday, my wife and I moved our second oldest daughter, who is only fourteen, into the University of North Carolina School of the Arts High School, almost four hours away. The school itself is amazing and the academics are top notch. She has a super cool roommate and the students are well taken care of on a very secure campus. This is an unbelievable opportunity for her to grow not only as an artist but also as young woman.

The struggle for me is not how she will do away at school or whether or not she will be okay. Instead, my biggest concern is how I will do at home with her so far away. As a family of six, we are all so very different from one another, yet we also have shared a unique relational rhythm for the past eighteen years. With the addition of each child to the mix, my wife and I were able to adjust to a new normal and we thrived a little bit more as our family grew. Now that we have subtracted a child at least for a season, the gap in our family dynamics feels like a gaping hole at times.

As I begin to adjust to a newer kind of normal with my daughter away at school, I am keenly aware of just how precious relationships are to me. I am grateful that our family is so close and that we can allow our kids to go and experience the world with open hands, even if they are more ready to go than we are to let them go. This experience has also reinforced just how important my other relationships with friends and co-laborers are.

It is hard to let others that are close to you move on so that they can flourish. Yet it is so rewarding to see them ready to go, knowing that you have invested as much as you can in their lives to prepare them for these moments. Life is indeed better lived together.

Underwear is meant to be comfortable. Life, not so much.

I am serving as camp pastor at a placed called Laurel Ridge in the NC moutains this week, so today I decided to go hiking on some trails in an effort to keep from gaining 15 pounds from all the camp food I’m going to be consuming. These trails aren’t new to me - I’ve hiked them countless times over the years as I have been up here as a camper, counselor, and pastor, so when I approached the trail head I was more than ready to get my sweat on and burn some calories.

There are four different trails and they are labeled according to color. Yellow is the longest, red is the steepest, green is not as challenging, and blue takes you to some scenic overlooks. I decided to start at the red/yellow point and then venture down the red trail. I thought about the yellow trail because it’s the one I remember the best from years past, but I wanted to give myself a bit of a challenge since I am such an outdoorsman (cue the sarcasm).

The initial decent on the red trail was pretty steep and I new that when it looped back around I would have to come back up, and I was already dreading the burn that I would experience. After about a quarter of a mile on the red trail, I noticed that the footpath that I was on was no longer clearly defined. It honestly looked like no one had hiked this trail in years. Was I lost? No, because the red markers were clearly visible along the trees at the trail wound along the side of the mountain.

As I continued on this trail, the actual path itself ceased to exist. Instead of hiking, I found myself bush whacking, tramping through patches of ferns, hopping over downed trees, and jumping small creeks. Every step I took felt as if I was pioneer trail blazer, minus the covered wagon and team of mules. Yet every step I took was with a purpose, because the entire time I was following this series of red markers spaced evenly on the trees.

Then things got a bit sketchy. At one point, I completely lost sight of the red ribbons and I was standing in the middle of a patch of brush and downed limbs. I continued to walk forward when suddenly I spotted a red ribbon on a tree in the distance. This happened to me on several occasions. It dawned on me that if I died out there, no one would find me for years. I would be nature’s compost. Then I began to wonder if someone had placed these ribbons on these trees just to see if anyone was a sucker enough to actually follow them. They say there is one born every minute…

Drenched in sweat and realizing that the shoes I had worn were woefully inadequate for such a trek, I finally looped back around to a piece of ground that looked vaguely familiar. The red ribbons had led me into a circuit that ended almost where they began. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to their placement, yet someone had taken the time to put them there knowing that eventually they would lead whoever followed them back to their starting point.

The whole time that I was hiking this oddly marked trail, two thoughts continue to go through my mind. First, I hope I can find my way out of here before I starve to death. And second, walking along a trail like this reminds me of how so many people traverse their spiritual journey through life.

Think about this for a minute. How easy is it for us to take the yellow trail, the one that we know best? Yes it’s long but it’s also safe. The red trail is the one the we often avoid because even though it’s marked for us, we seem to take every step with uncertainty because the path is not always clear.

If you are a follower of Jesus, then you know that God has not called you to safety or comfort but rather to share the good news of Jesus with the rest of the world. Yet doing so seems an awful lot like the red path. You can see the objective ahead of you - the people that you know you need to pull alongside of - but getting to where they are seems awful difficult if not just downright scary.

Underwear is meant to be comfortable. If it’s not, you put on a new pair. Life, however, holds no such guarantees. There are times when you will wonder if you are on the right path and more than once you will be tempted to turn around and call it quits. But that is not what Jesus did and that is not what we are called to do either. Take the red path. Sure it’s hard and it might hurt your feet, but there are people along the way on the red path that otherwise would never understand the meaning of life's journey if you don't meet them on it.

Dream shots and hitting the mark

My goal in life has never been to be rich and famous and so far that goal is well within my grasp. Compared to the billions of people on this planet, my world is relatively small, but I still long to make an impact for someone greater than myself. But there was this one time when the world around me stopped to take notice. At least the guys in one of the basketball gyms at Wake Forest University did anyway.

I will be the first one to confess that my skills as a basketball player have never been much to brag about. Pick-up ball games at the church gym with the fellas that I grew up with were pretty much my only experience with the game, and every once in while I would chuck up a deep ball and see it tickle the twine, but that was not the norm. Being a short guy who could only dribble with his left hand, my specialty was playing annoying defense and fouling the opposing players, which I became pretty adept at doing. But my church buddies didn't seem to care all that much - I guess all that teaching on grace had begun to sink in by then and they quickly forgave my erratic performance.

Fast forward to my junior year in college and my game had actually improved quite a bit. I still couldn't do much with my right hand, but I was quick and could knock down a jumper or two, although I preferred (and still do to this day) to dish out a dime to a teammate whom I knew could make the shot. Pick-up games at Wake Forest were usually pretty intense, with the first team to eleven remaining on the court until they were jousted by a more talented  - or less fatigued - group of five, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Waiting to play in a game was almost as bad as trying to find a team to get on that would last more than one round of play, but every once in a blue moon I was able to weasel my way onto a pretty decent team. One spring afternoon in 1991 I believed I had finally hit the jackpot.

The games had just begun that afternoon and my team had a Wake Forest basketball player on it, a guy named David Rasmussen who had just transferred in from another college. He was tall and could shoot from anywhere on the court, which meant that all I would need to do was get him the ball and hang back on defense. I at last might be able to stay on the court for a few sessions before languishing on the sidelines awaiting my next opportunity to play.

As David gathered our team together, I noticed that another team was assembling that made my knees shake just a little. There was Chris King, the starting power forward for Wake Forest who would play several years in the NBA, and he was standing alongside Derrick McQueen, the starting point guard for Wake Forest, putting together a unit of their own. My first thought was that those two could beat the five of us on their own, but at the same time I was excited about being on the court with a few Wake Forest players. When was that ever going to happen again?

We took the court and play began. There was nothing formal about pick-up ball in the gyms at Wake Forest. The action was fast-paced and fouls were rarely called unless someone came up bleeding. I was matched up against Derrick McQueen, who didn't seem too impressed with my lack of physical acumen and thus paid little attention to me when my team was on offense.

Early in the game my teammate David Rasmussen found me on the fast break around the free throw line, and I floated up a jumper that went in. Of course, we could do little to stop the other team from scoring but it felt nice to contribute a little. A few possessions later is when the magic kicked in for me, forging memories that my mind can see just as clearly today as if they happened yesterday. You see, I got the hot hand and nailed a few deep baskets.

The first long shot came after the other team had scored. Chris King could routinely pull up from half court on those side courts and hit shots, and today was no different. After a basket by King, one of my teammates inbounded the ball to me and no sooner had I taken a step or two past half court, I launched a deep three point shot. Swish. The next time that we had the ball I did the exact same thing, launching a three point shot that barely moved the net as it passed through. I would never dare compare myself to an elite basketball player, but in that moment I truly believe I was in what athletes call "the zone," even if it only last for a few minutes.

My teammates were looking at me like, "Who is this short guy with the receding hairline hitting these shots like he's Larry Bird?" David Rasmussen gave me a knowing look and confidently said, "Keep getting open and I'll get you the ball." Seriously. Did they know that I could never hit those shots again in a million years? Besides, McQueen wasn't even playing defense on me, so I was open as I could hope to be each time down the court. All that would soon change.

During the stretch of our game, I noticed as a rather large muscular guy strolled into the gym and stood on the sidelines to watch our game. It didn't take me long to realize that this was super freshman Rodney Rogers, a McDonald's All-American - the first one I believe that Wake had ever signed - who was known as the Durham Bull. Rodney was an absolute beast on the court and we had all watched the Wake games in awe earlier in the year as he took over time and again, scoring with monster dunks and unguardable post moves while making opponents look downright silly. And here was Rodney Rogers, watching the pick-up game in which I was nailing shots against his varsity teammates.

It was after my third basket ripped the nets that I heard those words I will never forget. "Yo Derrick, white boy is showing you up!" shouted Rodney, aiming his words at his point guard teammate who up until now had paid little attention to me. In that moment, something came over Derrick McQueen. He had been called out and there was no way he was going to take that, especially from a teammate who, even though he was everybody's All American, was still the new kid on the block. Now it was on.

As we jogged down the court, the sting of Rogers' comment still ringing in his ears, McQueen looked at me and said, "Man, you need to slow down. You're gonna hurt yourself!" I feebly muttered back something to the effect that this was just a fluke and I'm sure it won't happen again, but I'm pretty sure he didn't listen. All I know is that suddenly Derrick McQueen was paying more attention to me than I could ever desire.

Any time I get near the ball, McQueen was in my grill. When he had the ball on offense he went straight at me, daring me to stop him. There were times when he actually tried to post me up in the paint, bullying me with his larger frame in an attempt to show me that he would not be taken lightly. All the while the game is continuing to be played by the other players who were shooting and missing and rebounding in spite of this personal battle that was now being waged.

A few minutes later it was all over. My team had lost by a few baskets and I had not so much as sniffed the leather on the ball once Rodney Rogers had uttered those fateful words. But I did outscore Derrick McQueen in that game three baskets to two, a point of satisfaction that still stays with me to this day.

Walking off the court, I thought that surely my MVP performance had been noticed by my teammates and they would present me with some sort of trophy for attempting to slay the monster of playing against Division One college players, but that was not the case. There were no post game handshakes or good game back slaps, just another round of first-team-to-eleven and waiting again for another chance to play.

Nevertheless I was feeling a bit euphoric and couldn't wait to get out on the court again. That's when I noticed that Rodney Rogers was still standing there on the sidelines and that no one was around him. Did this mean that he was available for the next game? Would I actually be able to play on the same team as Rodney Rogers?

Visions of lobbing ally oop passes for slam dunks and post-game fist bumps with the Durham Bull raced through my head. I had to make sure that no one else had approached him to be on their team. This was MY dream day and I was determined to keep on living it.

I sheepishly made my way over to where Rodney was standing, his giant frame casually dribbling a ball between his legs. With a faux wave of confidence, I asked him if he wanted to call next game with me and to my surprise he looked down at me and simply said, "Yeah." I was so overjoyed that you would have thought that he had just accepted an invitation to be my BFF, but I played it cool, not wanting him to know just how much of a homer I was.

The current game was drawing to a close, King and McQueen's team again ruling the court. "Not for long, suckas!" was all I could think as I eagerly awaited my turn to take the court with who at the time had been the most sought after freshman to ever don a Wake Forest basketball jersey. It was game point, and in the next few minutes my road to greatness was going to widen from a two lane back road to a four lane highway.

And just as quickly as my joy was about to reach its pinnacle, it all came crashing down. "Hey guys, coach wants all of you in a team meeting. Now!" I turned to see an assistant basketball coaching peering through the doors of the gym, the messenger for the Wake Forest head basketball coach who unknowingly was crushing my dreams.

Within seconds all of the varsity players were heading toward the door, Rodney Rogers included. "No! This isn't fair! I was about to play a game with Rodney Rogers. You can't have a team meeting now. I'm about to meet my destiny!"  I'm not sure if I actually said those things out loud or just thought them in my head at a maximum decibel level, but at that moment my heart sank as I realized my glory days as a baller were ending just as quickly as they had begun. The dream was over.

Now obviously my life was not ruined just because I never had the chance to play a pick-up basketball game with Rodney Rogers. Besides, hitting those big baskets against the point guard from a Division One school was exciting enough, even if it was a bit of a fluke. But here is one thing that I do know: Had I not thrown those shots up there, then there was zero chance that they would have gone in.

What is true in basketball is also true in life. Sometimes you just gotta throw it up there. I like to joke with my son whenever he plays recreation league basketball that he has never seen a shot he wouldn't take. And while no one likes a ball hog, there are also many times when you are be open yet will be too afraid to pull the trigger. Sometimes you just gotta take the shot!

How many times have you missed opportunities because you doubted your own abilities or you assumed that someone else was more qualified than you? Did you not take on that leadership role in part because you were scared of letting others down if you failed? Or maybe you are driven more by the fear of failure than you are a desire to success and be a change agent in this world?

Whatever the circumstances, God has not placed you here to simply settle for average. Think about the men and women of the Bible who took the big shot despite the odds that were stacked against them:

• Abraham, an obscure guy who didn't even closely follow God, yet went by faith when he was called by God to go to a land where he had never been before so that he could be the beginning of a great nation (Genesis 12:1-5)
• Rahab was a prostitute, yet she gambled her own life to honor God and as a result found herself in the royal bloodline of King Jesus (Joshua 2; Matthew 1:5)
• David was the youngest of several sons and spent his days watching sheep, yet he stepped up to the line to defeat a giant and subsequently lead a great nation (1 Samuel 17; 2 Samuel 5)
• Then there is Paul, a former Jewish leader who placed his faith in Jesus, risking his life to spread the gospel throughout the known world (The Book of Acts)

If you take that big shot are you guaranteed to make it? No, but you will never make it if you do not even try. We are able to dream big dreams because we have a God who is all about big dreams. As an image bearer of the God who knows no limits or boundaries, the ball is in your hands and it is your turn to take the big shot.

That spare tire isn't such a bad thing

When I was a kid growing up, I used to hear adults complain all the time about how hard it was to keep their bodies in shape as they aged. Everyone once in awhile, one of them would look at me and my friends and say something like, "You kids have it made. While you keep growing up, all I seem to be able to do is grow out. It looks like I've got a spare tire around my waist!"  As cheesy as this statement is, it holds a lot of truth for today's churches.

Ask any pastor or church leader if expanding the kingdom of God is priority, and he or she will unequivocally say, "Yes!" Ask those same leaders what strategy they have in place to make that happen, and the answers you get probably won't be so emphatic or unified. How do we expand the kingdom of God while we are here on earth?

I realize that this is a theologically loaded question, so let me narrow the scope a bit. What can churches do today that will effectively increase their impact and influence for Jesus? Having heard variations of that question asked over the years, I have heard lots of conflicting answers:

• We need to build another building. That's one sure way to grow.
• More programs are what we need. People will flock to our church if we can offer them more.
• We can go to two or three or four services to accommodate all the people we want to reach.

While none of these suggestions is inherently bad, they do miss the point. If all we do is add to what we already have, then the only direction we are going to grow is upward, not outward. In other words, we will limit our reach to those who need to hear the gospel in favor of strengthening our base so that they have to come to us. I'm pretty sure that's not how Jesus intended it to be. Churches need to be more like the old guy who keeps having to buy size larger pants - continuing to grow outward.

Kings of old did not expand their territory simply by building bigger castles. They went out to conquer and acquire land. When Jesus gave His disciples - and us - the Great Commission charge in Matthew 28:19-20, His words were ones of expectation. "Go therefore" is better translated "as you are going," spoken with the assumption that we advance the kingdom not by building upward but rather by focusing outward.

If you want to be part of advancing the kingdom of God, make sure you spend less time building castles and more time beginning new villages and communities.

Follow the Leader

Throughout my life I have never had much trouble believing in things. The tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and at one point the Easter Bunny were are all factual figures in my life upon whom I knew I could rely. As I grew older and maturity and reality dawned on me, I abandoned belief in those entities because they weren't real. Sure, they are still real to children across the world and I would never dream of breaking one of their hearts by giving up the goods (so don't let them read this!), but I can remember the disappointment mixed with relief when I found out that there were other reasons for all the candy, presents, and money.

Why was I relieved to find out these characters were not actually real? I believe it was because I had come to rely on them for so many years for momentary things, not long-term solutions. Once I ran out of teeth then I was out of luck. Santa only came once a year, but what if he somehow forgot? And the Easter Bunny was always very odd to me, nevertheless he was a constant source of those amazing Cadbury Eggs that I loved so much. There was always this fear that one of these guys or girls would not deliver and that I would be left with nothing to show for my belief.

Belief is a good thing. The foundation of belief is faith, that unwavering understanding that what you can't see will truly deliver when you need it most. But much of what we say we believe is not really build on faith at all, but rather on the shaky legs of convenience. For instance, I believe a chair will hold me up when I sit in it, not because I put such value in the chair but rather because it's what chairs are supposed to do. I don't trust chairs for anything. Instead, I have expectations of them.

True belief leads to something more costly. That is because when you or I are ready to fully invest ourselves into the person or idea in which we believe, we step into a whole new realm of reality and identity: We become followers.

Belief is the easy part. All we have to do is say it and no one may know otherwise. But in order to follow, there has to be movement toward that which we believe. And when there is movement, there is evidence that what we say we believe as fully a reality.

When it comes to Jesus, followers are who He wants. Those who, once they put their hand to the plow, never look back (Luke 9:62). Believers pack the pews at set times and then leave their beliefs at the door until the next gathering. Followers have their faith with them always because they live that faith - indeed it is just as strong whether in the assembly of other followers or at work or in line at the grocery store.

If I don't see my need for Jesus, then simple belief is enough. Anyone can say that they believe in something or someone as long as it is convenient and gets them things that they want. When I choose to follow and not simply believe, I do so expecting to see God move and work in my life because that is what I truly want and need so desperately. I believe in Jesus and therefore I choose to follow Him with everything I have and all that I am.

Growing up Griggs

Sarcasm and cynicism is something I come by honest. Perhaps it's because I'm the youngest of three boys, all separated by a mere two and half years, and my place on the food chain was well established from day one. Or maybe it was all the comments that me and my brothers got when mom dressed us up all alike and people would stare for a second and then exclaim, "Oh my! Are they triplets?"

It was at this point that I usually got into trouble. Before my mom could explain our ages, I would step up, hands on my hips, and ask, "Do we look like triplets?" I mean, come on! We were stair stepped in height and, other than a crop of blonde hair on top of our heads, we really didn't look all that much alike. Those early lessons that I learned after the fact about manners should have stuck with me longer than they did.

Growing up in a house full of boys wasn't always easy, but it most certainly was fun. From the beginning the outdoors was our playground. When the summer months hit and school mercifully released its hold on us, darkness was the only boundary for being home that we knew. We had neighborhood boys up the street and one street over, so we never lacked for playmates or friends to dare us to do the next stupid thing that brought out the band-aids at best or grounding at worst. Life seemed so simple and slow then.

My parents were and still are amazing parents. They both worked ridiculous hours at more than one job to feed and clothe us, their work ethic still etched in my soul. I can remember my dad dragging in after a long day's work as a contract draftsman only to change clothes and run off to a church softball game or another sporting event that we were involved in. My middle brother made the high school soccer team as a freshman, an unheard of feat in the 1980's, and he started all four years. To my knowledge my dad only missed one game, home or away.

Mom was that constant presence in our house. Whether it was making sure we had breakfast in our bellies or everything we needed before running to the school bus, she always seemed to save the day just in the nick of time. I can remember one day forgetting to grab the paper bag that my lunch was packed in and having to call home to see if she could run it up to school. This happened to be one of those days when laziness trumped responsibility and all I had packed was a quarter bag of nacho cheese Doritos. When my name was called to come pick up my lunch at the office, I found a bag filled with a sandwich, chips, fruit, and a cookie. She never did fuss at me when I got home either, for I figure she knew I had learned not to slack-pack again.

We were fortunate to all have our separate bedrooms, my brothers and I. That split-level house on Winslow Lane in Winston-Salem, NC, looked kind of like a barn, but in my eyes that place was a castle. On the bottom level joining the garage was a room we called the playroom. It was where all of our gear and toys were stored in bins and shelves and where I would retreat to help G.I. Joe save the day or make a test run of the Millennium Falcon. Sometimes at night we would turn off the lights in that room and play what we called "The Game," which was nothing more than hide-and-seek in the pitch dark. The thrill of waiting for that hand to accidentally tag you was often more than I could stand.

By the time my second year in high school rolled around we were living in another house located in a different school district on the other side of town. Not far away from us was the prestigious neighborhood of Buena Vista, marked not so much by boundary lines as it was the sheer size of the homes and quality of the cars in the driveways. Many of my friends lived there and I cut through there all the time on my way to school and their houses, yet I knew that I wasn't quite up to the social standing that they had been born into. That never really bothered me and no one ever made me feel that way, it was just something I knew and appreciated. I was proud to be in the middle class.

Sophomore year in high school marked a new era for my family. My oldest brother was now a collegian, even though he was living just ten minutes down the road at Wake Forest University. Still, it was odd having one less body in the house and one less role model to lean on. Two years later I was the only bird left in the nest, my next oldest brother having retreated to that state university in Chapel Hill. I thought I would enjoy the freedom of being the only child and of not having to share the car during those years, but the truth is I felt more loneliness than I cared to admit.

You could say that going off to college began the final transition into manhood for me, and you would be right if I had stayed gone, but I didn't. Home was what I knew. Even though my grades and degree predicted a decent future for me, those thoughts were put on hold as I wound up back home for a few years before I was able to finally grow my permanent wings that helped me to leave the nest. I know that I am not alone.

Growing up Griggs wasn't always perfect but it was wonderful for me. It is so tempting to romanticize those days of coming home covered in dirt after catching crawdads in the creek or scoring the winning touchdown in a no-holds-barred game of tackle football in the backyard, but I find that I don't need to embellish a thing. The memories I have are fond and most of those people in my life who helped to form who I am are still doing so today.

Honestly, I don't call my brothers as much as I should and my parents hear from me less that a faithful son should admit. Yet not a day goes by that I am not ridiculously grateful for my family and how they helped to shape me into the husband and father that I am today.

And now I have four kids of my own who are living their own version of Growing up Griggs.

What the 1980's are teaching us about our future

What is going on with all this retro stuff that America is going crazy with? Everywhere you look, someone is trying to kick it old school and go back in time. There is the 1980's-ET-sythesizer-inspired Stranger Things show on Netflix (which is awesome, by the way) that pretty much everyone I know who graduated high school in the 1980's is gaga about. The newer Progressive insurance commercials are all now filmed as retro 1970's spots. Then there are movies - how many remakes of older movies are we gonna see? Hello Ghostbusters and Poltergeist, not to mention War Games, Commando, and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids which are just a few that are in the process of being remade.

And oh my word, there are the clothing and music styles. The 1980's absolutely haunt me at times, not because it was such a bad decade but because my style was so pitiful. I had hair then, amazing blonde hair with a natural wave to it. But I parted that hair down the middle and heavily hair sprayed it, preserving for decades horrific yearbook images that I still can't escape.

And yes, I owned and often wore a pair of acid washed jeans. I even tight rolled them at the bottom as I paired them with my favorite Stan Smith Adidas shoes. And yes, my musical tastes were often driven by synthesizers, although I did buck the trend by dabbling in some punk rock music and what became known as early alternative rock. Sounds and looks a lot like today, huh?

Why do find ourselves coming to roost in the nostalgia of the past so often? When we get all caught up in reminiscing about how amazing the past was, what we are doing is looking negatively at our NOW while believing that we really had it figured out in our PAST. And there is nothing wrong with reveling in the past, as long as you don't convince yourself that nothing in the future could ever be better. If we can't do that, then we are guilty of violating the golden rule of history: Learn from it or you are doomed to repeat it.

Nostalgia should fuel our desire to do greater things, not keep up mired in mediocrity. I sincerely believe that many of us are paralyzed by the shrines of the past that we so readily build. But what if we could take what the past has taught us and use it to propel us to make our future memories better than what history could ever teach us? Can we even do this?

God's word says that we can. Psalm 119:92-93 tells us, "If Your instruction had not been my delight, I would have died in my affliction. I will never forget Your precepts, for You have given me life through them." The guy who wrote this is happily reminded just how much he has learned from the past and how grateful he is that what God had formulated in eternity had changed the course of his life in the future. The past can be awesome, but only if it causes us to go further and deeper and greater into the future. If not, then all we are left with are just some stale memories and an inability to move beyond the equivalent of high school greatness.

Brush the dust off of your letter jacket and put your cassette player away. Stop waiting for MTV to actually play music videos again. What God has in mind for your future could be amazing if you will only let Him have his way.

Don't sing it, bring it!

Several years ago I became the new youth pastor at a church in Yadkinville, NC. In case you've never heard of Yadkinville or you have no idea how to pronounce it, the "d" is silent and the "i" is more like a hard "u", so it's pronounced "Ya-kun-vull" by those who really know who to speak Yadkin-ese, the local dialect there. Anyhow, the students there were all awesome and a little on the country side, which was cool because it challenged me to be a little less "city" and uptight about certain things.

Early on in my time of service there, I realized that I had a group of guys that were gifted at talking junk. You know, the kind where you playfully goad other people verbally to engage in physical challenges, all the while strutting like a peacock and "bowing up" to them. If you don't understand, then you have to accept that it's a guy thing and it's just what we do at times.

There was one kid in the group who was small for his age, but he made up for it with his vocal abilities. And boy, was he country. When he spoke, you could almost see the syrup dripping from the air. His one liners were classic as well - he would threaten to "Put a knot on the side of your head so big a calf could suck on it!" or "Knock your teeth so far down your throat you've got to drop your breeches to chew your food!" This kid was funny with his junk talking, but also a bit annoying at times because he just never seemed to stop. I loved him anyway. Most of the time.

One of this young man's favorite sayings, however, was in response to junk talk that other people delivered to him. If I ever called his bluff or threatened to hang him out of the window by his toes - not that I ever did threaten to do that, necessarily - he would come back with this line: "Don't sing it, bring it!" In other words, put your money where your mouth is. Funny how he never backed up his bravado but, then again, he was all bark and no bite himself.

Don't sing it, bring it! This is a call to action to stop talking and start doing. It's easy to talk about all sorts of things that you are going to do in your life - do better in school, make necessary lifestyle changes, be a more committed spouse, make more of a difference in this world for Jesus - but when it actually comes down to fulfilling those words, well, that's when it gets hard. It's easy to say it, yet much harder to do it. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Think about politicians. Okay, don't think about them if you can, but that's gonna be hard because that's all we see and hear on the news today. Where was I? Oh yeah, politicians. They are the masters at saying whatever it is that they think you want to hear just so that they can win your vote, and then when they take office they are notorious for not delivering on their promises. They know how to sing it but not bring it.

The same is true of many of us who are followers of Jesus. Have you ever read something in the Bible or been given a challenge in a message that truly stirred your heart and you committed right then and there to live out that truth, only to fizzle out later in the day? I have. Or how many times have you lifted your voice in worship to an amazing God who you had no trouble praising with your lips yet never could seem to glorify with your actions? Been there, done that.

Why is it so hard to back up the words that we say? It might be because we overestimate our own abilities while at the same time underestimating the power and nature of God. You see, our God is a God of action, not merely words. When He proclaimed something in the Bible, it was always because He was about to act. There was no doubt that when He said it, those things would happen.

James knew this about God and he also knew that we were weak in the area of faithfully doing what we said we were going to do. Look at what he so skillfully writes in James 2:14-27

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

Do you see what James is saying? If we say it but don't do it, then our faith is essentially useless. It's dead. That puts most of us in a bit of a pickle, because we've said and committed to certain things for God in our faith that in the end we've failed to actually do. And when we "sing it but don't bring it" for God, then it affects not just our relationship with Him, but our relationships with others suffer as well because they miss out on the work that God wants to do through us for their benefit.

Since it's almost election season, I vote that we commit to be people of action and not merely words. If you don't think you can follow through, then don't say that you'll do it. But if you do lift up your voice to the Lord in praise, or have your heart stirred by the Holy Spirit to make changes in your life, or you believe that you are being compelled to live that life on mission that God has called you to, then don't sit on that. Do it.

Acknowledge that a living faith is one that is backed up by action. Change your ways. Repent of the inaction of your past. And do what you know you should do for the glory of God. Bring it, don't just sing it. 

If you said THAT, this it's time to gain some weight

As soon as the words left my lips, I knew that what I had uttered was not true. I was trying to make a point about what it meant to be responsible for our own actions, but what came out didn't exactly match up with the truth I was trying to convey. What I had said was along the lines of, "God only helps those who can help themselves," and I'm sure that I had crossed far more egregious lines with my words before in a more private setting, but this time I was far from being in a one-on-one conversation with a patient friend. I was preaching a message from the Bible in front of the people of my church.

Now let me set the stage a little bit better for you. At the time that I spoke these poorly chosen words, I was in my young 20's and serving as a youth director at a small church on the outskirts of an even smaller town. It was my first solo church gig. The pastor there was a really awesome guy who, in the few months that we served together, took me under his wing and made it a point to give me opportunities to preach as often as he could (or that he would dare).

Not quite ready for the Sunday morning showcase, I typically sharpened my craft in the Sunday evening service, where more often than not there would be a few dozen in attendance at best. In case you didn't know, Sunday evening services at small churches are typically reserved for faithful church goers who never miss an opportunity to sit in their favorite pew no matter what the occasion. It was on such a Sunday night service that I made my biblical blunder, and the stammering and stuttering that followed only made it more awkward for me to recover.

Now to their credit, the church members that were in attendance that night didn't seemed phased. It's probably because they weren't truly listening to me in the first place, and who could blame them - my nerves had caused me to speak so rapidly that I could barely follow along! But I did get to have a time to debrief with the pastor and I highlighted my error before he could, which resulted in a few good-natured laughs and an admonishment from him to weigh my words more carefully before they ever reached my tongue.

If you buy an article of clothing at the store and it doesn't fit, you can take it back. Unfortunately, poorly spoken words can't be returned, even if they can be forgiven. What you say has instantly been put on the record books, and no amount of hemming and hawing is going to change that. In a world where politicians are constantly trying to deny saying what has been captured on digital media for the world to hear, you would think that we would be much more careful on the front end with what we say before we get royally burned on the back end.

Just the other day a well-known pastor of a megachurch - a man whose ministry I admire greatly - said something in his Sunday morning sermon that rankled a whole lot of feathers (just in case you don't want to watch the clip, he said that if you don't go to a church big enough to provide certain environments for your kids, then you are being selfish and you don't care about your kids and their spiritual future). The response on social media - at least among those I know who are in the ministry - was swift and one-sided. True, many had been waiting a long time to take a nice swing at this guy, but most could not get over the fact that this man, who has an audience quite possibly in the millions when you count those who tune in online, would be careless enough to say what he said.

Did he really mean it? I mean, as many times as he's preached in his life and as careful as he must be with his sermon preparation, would he have said such a thing if he didn't weigh it out first? To this man's credit he took to social media a couple of days later to apologize, stating that once he took the time to listen to what he had said that he, too, was offended by it. For some, his apology will be enough for them to move on under his leadership but for others it will be the final straw.

I don't think I have to tell you this by now but I will anyway - the words that you say are so incredibly important! As a father of four kids I can't tell you how many times I have put my foot in my mouth with some of the words that I have said to them, and please don't bring up all of the misguided and just plain stupid things that I have said to my wife over the years. When you and I neglect to weigh the words that we are about to speak, we can expect to encounter some pretty awkward and painful moments.

But there is good new for us who are prone to foot-in-mouth disease! The Bible has lots of great wisdom to offer about the words that we say, especially in the Old Testament book of Proverbs:

The lips of the righteous feed many, but fools die for lack of sense. (Proverbs 10:21)

The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. (Proverbs 12:18)

The heart of the righteous weighs its answers, but the mouth of the wicked gushes evil. (Proverbs 15:28)

Do you see the trend here? There is direct connection between wisdom and the words that we say. In other words, if we take the time to think about what we say before we say it - if we carefully weigh our words - chances are we won't have to take to social media to publicly apologize for our blunders.

I was fortunate enough when I was in my young 20's that the careless words I said before my little congregation did not have many ears to irritate. From that circumstance and others like it, I was able to grow and move on as a more careful communicator, a craft that I still work at diligently today. As a pastor I understand the awesome privilege I have to preach God's word and the accountability that goes with that. But I also know that no matter what you do in life - whether your stage is small or grand - the words that you say will always influence other people.

Learn to weigh your words on the scale of truth and common sense before you speak them. It's always better to take extra time on the front end to formulate what you are going to say than to have to spend lots of time and energy on the back end trying to explain what you actually meant to say in the first place. 

Stay in your own lane, but it's okay to be curious and take some detours along the way

As a kid growing up, I had the privilege of sitting in the shadows of some great examples. My grandfather fought in WW2 and afterwards worked as a mail carrier before opening a family grocery store with his wife, my grandmother, that they both operated until he died in 1990. My father went to a technical school after he graduated from high school and he has had the same career as a contract draftsman since the early 1970's, a job that he's pretty stinkin' good at too.

No one told me growing up that I had to pick one thing and strive to do it to the best of my ability, but there was some outside pressure that pushed me in that direction. Ever since high school I knew that God was calling me into the ministry, and student ministry was always at the heart of what I wanted to do. So it just seemed natural that I would pursue student ministry alone and then, when I became older and more seasoned, I could transition out into other areas of ministry. The only problem was that, while I did have a passion for student ministry, I also had strong desires to do other things such as preach, teach, write, and oversee other ministries.

While that may not seem like a problem to you - and it didn't seem like such a big deal to me - I did have others in my life telling me that I needed to pick one thing and focus on being excellent with it. There was actually a time when someone I considered a mentor told me that I was being wishy-washy and that what I wanted to do didn't exist in the ministry setting. "You need to figure out what it is you want to do and then pursue that one thing. Narrow it down and stop being so all over the place with your ideas and desires. You won't get hired that way."

Now I truly don't believe that those who gave me that advice were out to squelch my passion or discourage me in any way. I had living examples set before me of men and women in the ministry and other fields who had faithfully stayed in their lane for decades and not once thought of bailing out. I knew that they were only trying to guide me along a path that they believed would allow me to succeed by focusing on one area of greatest need. The only problem was that I just couldn't seem to do that. I wasn't wired that way. I'm still not.

The idea of staying in your own lane IS an important concept that I do seek to practice in my own life because, if I don't focus on what it is that I am called to do right now, then the results will be half-hearted and nothing will be excellent. But what I've also learned is that I can't be afraid to take some detours along the way. It's okay - actually, it's healthy and normal - to want to pursue other interests that exist beyond the responsibilities that know you must accomplish on your every day list of things to do.

Bottom line: Don't run from what interests you. The ideal scenario is that you are working or serving in an area that satisfies your greatest passions, yet it is also probably true that you have other interests in different areas. Shoot, you might even realize that where you are working or serving right now is NOT in the area of your greatest passion and that it might be time to consider a career move. I would rather be treated by a doctor who is passionate about medicine than one who believes he's missed his calling as a landscaper!

How do we fulfill our daily obligations yet still fill the gaps of other interests that keep knocking on our doors? You feed the need. For instance, find a book on some off-topic that interests you and then read it. Before I went to be last night I read a few chapters on the Rastafari way of life (I was going to type that it was a religion but after reading a few chapters I learned that, to those who practice Rastafarianism, that it is more than that). Before that I read a book on true crime. What do these have to do with working with students? Nothing! But I believe that I am a more well-rounded leader and thinker when I allow myself to read up on areas that interest me. And reading these books also confirmed to me that I was most certainly in the right lane for my life.

And you can do more than just read books. Take a class that will allow you to learn and explore the depths of a new subject that fascinates you. Go on a personal field trip to see the lighthouses or learn about another culture. Make friends with someone from another country and practice learning their language. Spend time with people who hold different views than yours and learn from them - listen to what they have to say, even if you don't agree. 

As children we ask the question "Why?" at least a million times a week, yet as adults we often settle for not knowing the things that continue to gnaw at us. It's okay to have your curiosity peaked well into adult life! Curiosity grows the mind and will make you into a more effective and well-rounded leader. I used to feel bad about having so many varied interests when friends of mine were already settled into their field for multiple years, but not anymore. I've allowed myself to feed those other interests that continue to knock at my door while not neglecting the most important tasks that are set before me. I agree with what Brad Lomenick wrote in his book H3 Leadership:

If you're not growing, you're not going. If you're not learning, you're not leading. And while it is great to be interesting, it's more important to be interested. Stay curious.