Brennan Manning - April 27, 1934 – April 12, 2013

My mentor, my friend and the man who helped me experience myself as “The Beloved” is finally free. There are two people in my life who taught me the real meaning of grace, Bill Counts and Brennan Manning. Bill changed my experience of the grace of God and put me on a spiritual path that totally changed the trajectory of my life. He also taught me how to extend grace to others and how to develop communities of grace. Then, in 1995 Brennan Manning wrote about and modeled an intimate picture of God’s radical grace for me personally; and that gift molded my life, saved my life and changed hundreds of others lives’ who have been involved in our work through Barnabas. It is the reality that God is simply crazy about me and the “relentless tenderness of God” that continues to be the truth that I stand on when I believe I am unworthy and unlovable. Brennan put it this way,

“Do you believe that the God of Jesus loves you beyond worthiness and unworthiness, beyond fidelity and infidelity; that He loves you in the morning sun and the evening rain; that He loves you when your emotions refuse it and your whole being rejects it? Do you believe that God loves without condition or reservation, and He loves you this moment as you are, not as you should be?”

The first book I read by Brennan was Abba’s child. It is the most significant piece of literature I have in my library. I’ve read it over and over again and still cannot take in all the depth of its meaning. After the life changing impact from Abba’s Child, I read every book written by Brennan Manning.

Having been seduced by Brennan’s writing, I ask him to speak at a Women’s retreat. To my great surprise he said yes! Through the years he also agreed to lead a silent retreat and speak at other events. He spent time with me telling me the truth about how God views me. One afternoon I sat across from Him and confessed my deepest fears about life and about myself. He took my hands, looked me in the eyes and said, “Abba loves you perfectly, as you are. There is nothing you can do, nothing you can say, that can make God love you more or make God love you less.” I believed him.

Brennan also taught me about prayer. He taught me to breathe in with the word, “Abba” and breathe out the phrase, “I belong to you.” So when the dark voices of my mind tell me I am unworthy, when my life is falling apart, when I think it might be time to check myself in, I stop and simply breathe, “Abba, I belong to you.” With each breath I come again into the presence of the one who calls me His beloved.

If you know anything about Brennan you know that he struggled with alcohol addiction and other behaviors that hurt the people he loved. But that never kept him from believing and accepting God’s love and redemption… over and over again. It was his inability to conquer his demons that brought him to leave us with the profound message “All is Grace.”



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I Am the Rich Young Ruler

I spent most of the night yesterday at Parkland Hospital, the county hospital where the majority of the poor and uninsured go when they are sick or injured. My friend works as an OT at Parkland in the burn unit. She has been experiencing some neurological abnormalities so she went to the ER to be seen by a Parkland Neurologist. Though she was enjoying some personal benefits of being a Parkland Employee, we still had to pass through a sea of people to find her in one of the hundreds of make-shift beds lined up in the hall. There was not one square foot that did not have the word “patient” above a bed or chair in the hall. The rooms were reserved for those who needed special monitoring or those who had been admitted with traumatic injuries.

The large waiting room was full of people who knew they would be waiting for hours on end because they were down the line in the triage system. I was in the elevator with one man who said he had been up 24 hours and couldn’t wait any longer so he was going home to sleep and return the next morning. Blood pressure cuffs were handed out as those waiting had their vitals checked to see if they needed to be moved up in the line.

As a former, middle class, white female I tried to imagine being down there with one of my grandchildren or being indigent with no strings to pull and no power to take control of my health care. I saw first hand what it would be like to be at the mercy of the system. My nice north Dallas doctor’s office with nice furniture and a nice receptionist is like going to the doctor at the Ritz. And my insurance picks up the bill!

Today I am embarrassed to acknowledge that I live in an isolated world. I don’t have to face people who can’t pay their bills. I don’t have to see people who are powerless over their basic needs. I don’t see people who were born into a system of poverty with very little chance of breaking free. I don’t see people who are sick and have to walk or find public transportation to a crowded ER. I don’t see anything but my comfortable home, with my comfortable life style and all of the “things” I use to keep me busy and put me in situations where I don’t have to see. God forgive me for not doing anything for people in my community who need my help. Surely, this is what Jesus calls us to do. But I’ve become the rich young ruler.
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Yelling and Pleading with God

Many of you know that I have a severely disabled son, Ricardo. When I first adopted him at age five, I prayed and prayed for God to heal him of his past that tormented him and caused aggressive behaviors born out of his survival for self protection. Through the years, his mental limitations and emotional struggles were attributed to much more than his past. Several years ago he was finally diagnosed with a rare genetic disease that progresses as he gets older. Watching him decline is sad beyond words. Most days, I can get by with gratitude for the life we’ve shared or the small window of light that still finds a way to occasionally shine in his eyes. There are rare times that he perks up when he sees old friends or he’s in a room full of people.

But most days, he is trapped in an anxious, weakened body that only finds relief when he sleeps.

On Sunday, I heard a song called, “I Will Be Free.”

I will be free,
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain…

And I'll dance on silver moonlight
And I'll walk through velvet fields
And I'll run into the arms that set me free
For I will be free

I burst into tears as I saw Ricardo whole, healed and running up the mountain. Then I began begging, yelling and pleading with God to heal him. As I pictured him running again as he did when he was five or smiling and laughing as he did only a few years ago, I woke up from the miracle of his healing to the reality that only in death will Ricardo be healed. But I am not ready to let him go! If I entertain those pictures, I feel like I’m giving in to death.

There is no answer! There is no relief for him, outside of God intervening. And with over twenty years of praying for healing I just don’t believe that is going to happen in this life. So on day three of longing for my son from years past, I watch him sleep and stare at his face. I’m grateful for each breath he takes and I’m lost in my thoughts of what could have been, if only….

• Think of a time in your life when your heart was breaking and it appeared as though God was silent.
• Have you allowed time, expressed sadness and grief to help you heal or have you lived in denial, pushing down hurt and pain?
• Do you have a safe community that will allow you to be broken and allow God the time and space to prepare you for living with loss?

I could have ended this story with the truth of God’s comfort and presence in the pain. But there are times when the story must be told in the midst of our deepest sadness before we move on to acceptance.
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Who Cares about Who The President Is When....

I’ve spent the last two days in Houston at Texas Children’s hospital with my son Ricardo. He has a genetic disorder that is progressive and untreatable. We met with two new specialists who are going to try to help him walk again.

On the way to the hospital, in the hotel shuttle, there was a woman in her second round of breast cancer going to MD Anderson for treatment. She makes the trip every three months but she probably won’t survive. When we got back to the hotel, the talk overheard in the lobby and on the news was all about the Republican National Convention. After spending the day with other parents at a hospital that specializes in research and the treatment of very sick kids, it was no surprise that a multi-billion dollar campaign didn’t make much sense to me.

So what I wish I had told my youth group thirty-five years later is: few things matter when you hear the words, “You have breast cancer.” Or,“I’m sorry but your child is going to die.” Few things matter when you leave your father at an Alzheimer’s facility and he looks out the door wondering where he is and why you’re leaving him.

There are other tragedies you have endured such as finally giving up on your dream of a happy marriage as you sit in unbearable pain knowing your spouse is not in love with you anymore, hearing the news that your child took his life, seeing the test results that confirm you have AIDS or the initial shock that your son was not born perfect like all the other kids and is going to be disabled his entire life. He will never marry, graduate from high school, or have children.

Notice what all of these situations have in common. They are all about relationships. The most beautiful and the most painful moments in life are ALWAYS about relationships. So why do we spend most of our time trying to gain power, success and large bank accounts? Though politics, church, making a living and even standing for values that you believe in are a part of life, everything stands still when sorrow and suffering take your hand.

In 2009 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. At different times through my surgery and treatment, it was as if time stood still and God gave me eyes to see what mattered most to me. What mattered during breast cancer had little to do with where I had been spending the majority of my time, energy and money. Once I was diagnosed, making an impact in the world became less about my ego and more about the grace of God. I suddenly had time for the people who meant the most to me. I wanted to hold my children and live a simple, quiet life. I wanted to sit with Jesus as only He could comfort me and calm my fears.

The bottom line is don’t live and die for the next job, the “right" church, America “like it used to be,” enough money to retire or the illusion that you have any power at all. Instead, tell your kids over and over that you love being their mom or dad. Don’t let a day go by without stopping your spouse in the hall, embracing them and whispering in their ear that you are STILL crazy about them. Make time for life long friends, sitting on the back porch or talking around the kitchen table. SLOW DOWN long enough to make homemade ice cream and don’t be afraid to use the good china on Tuesday night. Click on the envelope below to send to a friend.

Using the "S" Word in Prayer

My 5 & 6 year old grandsons came home from summer camp last week with a few new words in their vocabulary. We talked about “good words” and “inappropriate words.” (Of course, now that’s a set up for Mimi when I use my own “grown-up” words.:-)) After we discussed the two words in question, Ben came back with, “Ommmm, Mimi, Adam said the “S” word at camp today.” I looked at Adam and said, Adam what did you say? Before Adam could speak a word, Ben shouted back, “HE SAID SHUT UP!”

After gently reminding Adam that it was unkind to say that to someone I thought about the word and realized it is perhaps the best word to describe my prayer life when I am truly connecting to God. For the first half of my life I talked to God a lot and actually considered it a pretty good barometer of my spiritual growth.

At some point in the last twenty years I got tired of hearing myself talk and realized I was spending a lot of time telling God things he already knew. After adopting my disabled son, I prayed so hard and thought perhaps if I could say just the right word, my son might be healed. I prayed the blood of Christ over him and under Him. For months, I prayed the Lords prayer over his bed after he went to sleep. I turned the table on God and started using His own words against him… “Lord,, YOU SAID, if three or more are gathered…, Lord, YOU SAID, all things will work together for good…, Lord, YOU SAID, if we asked, we would receive… and so on and on. Ultimately I had to come to grips with the fact that the God I believed in would not be so cruel as to have a magic word or phrase that I had to find in order for him to heal a little boys life. My words were not convincing God of anything.

A few years later I was in so much pain I couldn’t even speak to God. It was then that I learned how to pray. I “shut up” and listened. I had talked to God for years but never slowed down enough to listen. I’m not talking about a 5 minute meditation during a scheduled “quiet time.” I’m talking about an hour or two or three of opening myself up in the presence of God believing he was present and wanted to speak to my heart. This meant I had to get away and be silent. It usually took a while to rid my mind of my “to do list” and sit long enough for the voices in my head to stop talking. Once I “shut up” lots of things changed. I saw prayer as being all about God, not so much about me. That eliminated any pride or praise of self because I was clearly the recipient, not the self righteous Pharisee.

In 1995 I went on my first silent retreat at a catholic retreat center in Denton. We were silent for four days and those four days turned my prayer life inside out. It took one full day to be able to settle into the silence but after I did, I experienced God in ways I cannot fully explain. I didn’t speak to anyone for four days and I said very little to God. As a result, I heard God and I basked in His presence. It was as though I met him for the very first time.

Mike Yaconelli, a former youth minister expressed it perfectly after just spending a few hours in silence. He said,

“For years God tried to shout over the noisiness of my life, and I couldn’t hear him. It only took a few hours of silence before I began to hear my soul speaking. It only took being alone for a short period of time for me to discover I wasn’t alone. In the stillness and solitude, His whispers shouted from my soul, Michael, I am here. I have been calling you, but you haven’t been listening. Can you hear me Michael? I love you. I have always loved you. And I have been waiting for you to hear me say that to you. But you have been so busy trying to prove to yourself you are loved that you have not heard me.”

That last sentence nailed me. “But you have been so busy trying to prove to yourself you are loved that you have not heard me.” During my best days, I stop the chaos and business of life and listen for Jesus who tells me, “Connie, I love you. I love you. Be still and rest in my arms of grace.”

1. How much time do you spend talking to God and how much time do you spend listening to God?

2. Are you willing to start meeting God in silence? It’s scary when you think about sitting somewhere in silence. Other than sleeping, when is the last time you were silent for over an hour?

3. Have you heard God and experienced His presence in solitude? Try it!

In January, we will be offering a three day silent retreat. Let me know if you would like to be put on the list. Click on the envelope below to send to a friend.

What I Wish I had Told My Youth Group 35 Years Later - post #2

Richard Rohr makes a great distinction between the “first half of life” and the “second half of life.” He calls the first half of life our “survival journey” and the second half of life our “sacred journey.”

He says, “The task of the first half of life is to create a proper container for one’s life and to answer the first essential questions: What makes me significant? How can I support myself? …And, who will go with me?,” He goes on to say, “the first half of life is about creating identity, finding some boundary markers (spiritual traditions and beliefs, cultural traditions, trustworthy authorities and structures), making some money, getting an education, marrying, and raising children.”

For me it meant making my mark in the world (adopting children & becoming a minister), supporting myself, developing significant relationships and deepening my spiritual beliefs about God. I also spent the first half of my life believing I was right; right about church, right about God and right about how people should live. If others didn’t agree with me, I prayed for their salvation and hoped to somehow influence them to believe as I do so they wouldn’t spend eternity in hell. And, I was nice about it. :)

In my early fifty’s I began to see a larger world outside of life in my “container.” I could finally see the arrogance in my “know it all” spirituality. I questioned some of the structures I built with my superior moral high ground. I wept and grieved over the woundedness of my own heart and the pain of others. I had to make a decision, would I rather be right or would I rather be loving? Did I really have all the answers about the God of all creation? It was then that I stopped studying about God and began to look at God. Though the Bible taught me about God (which I still believe), God spoke the loudest about who he was/is through the person of Jesus.

So what can Jesus teach me? He certainly didn’t live the way I lived the first half of my life. He wasn’t interested in storing up money, power or even significance. He saw the God given essence in people who were rejected and abused in religious circles. Jesus spoke over and over again about the poor and our responsibility in caring for them. He wasn’t overly concerned with Caesar and the decisions of the government. I’ll say it again and again, Jesus narrowed it down to two priorities; “Love God and love others.” If anything gets in the way of me following those two laws, I am not living the sacred journey.

What about you?

Are you still doing the survival dance storing up money, power and significance?

What might God be calling you to do in order to follow Jesus' example of love?

Do you spend more time and energy defending your presidential candidate than you do in finding ways to help the poor?

Are you spending time with Jesus or simply talking about Him?

These are questions that get my attention because my answers remind me that I am only a beginner on the sacred journey.
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What I Wish I had said to my Youth Group 35 Years Later

Thirty five years ago I stepped out of college into my first job in full time ministry. I was young, full of energy and couldn’t believe I was getting paid for what I would have done for free. I was living out my dream of being a Youth Director and it was more than I ever imagined it would be.

Last weekend we all came back together, and as with most close friends, we picked up right where we left off. My “kids” survived adolescence to become executives, entrepreneurs, ministers and people doing fascinating work. They are faithful husbands and wives and committed parents. It was like going back to “Mayberry.”

As I’ve reflected on the weekend, which was fabulous, I found myself wishing I would have taken the time to say things I didn’t understand thirty-five years ago. During the first half of my life, answers seemed easy for me. And that’s what I modeled for my youth group. During this last half of my life, pain and loss have become my teachers and what matters most to me no longer fits in a black and white world. My theology continues to change as I break the gospel down to two commandments, love God and love others.

I’m not sure why I didn’t speak up about these changes. Perhaps I was caught up in the glory of our memories and didn’t want to bring any mention of pain into the discussion. I suspect, like me, many of my kids have not been spared from hurt and loss. If I could, I would go back and be a little more honest about navigating the hard places in life and asking the hard questions about God.

I’m going to dedicate the next 5-6 posts to “What I didn’t say when I was a Baptist Youth Minister.” Here is one of the things I didn’t understand thirty-five years ago.

Try not to be defined by what you’re against. We are a religion that continues to divide ourselves over issues that probably aren’t on God’s Top Ten list. In other words, “pull out the log in your own eye before you start picking at the splinter in mine.” I’ve been trying to pull that log out of my eye for years. God has used it to humble me more than I want to admit. Many more people will see the true Christ if we stop judging and simply love one another. Surely we can model the love of Jesus in more effective ways than going or not going to Chic-fil-a.

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