I’m so thankful for Doubting Matthew or “The Once” Doubting Matthew!  Not just because he’s another Unlikely Christian, but also because he’s come to the rescue with some good stuff for the website.  I’ve been so CRAZY BUSY lately, with all that goes along with being a first year teacher, that I just haven’t had the time to do much of anything.  How many days until summer break?

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I do have some stuff marinating in this brain of mine and I’m guessing at some point I’ll have an opportunity to share, but until then, I leave you in the oh-so-capable hands of another Unlikely Christian cut from the same cloth – Doubting Matthew.

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All in – By Doubting Matthew

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I am not a betting man.  I don’t enjoy the uncertainty of putting my hard earned cash on the line for something that is not guaranteed.  I don’t bet on football.  I don’t play the lottery and I certainly don’t hit the casinos.  It is not a judgment on anyone who enjoys a leisurely bet, I just don’t get any satisfaction from those activities.  I am simply wired to play it pretty safe…call me boring. 

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That is until you put me in or on something with some horsepower.  There is something about having a gear shift and a throttle that gives me the courage that I have nowhere else in my life.  Cars, boats, motorcycles, jet-skis, 4x4s, even Razor electric scooters:  if it moves under power you can bet I am going to test its limits.  I love being the sole captain of my vessel.  I feel at one with my machines and once I have settled in, I am willing to take some pretty big risks.  Not surprisingly, this character trait has not always played out in my favor. 

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“Is that what a 3-gear burnout does to new tires?  Sorry Dad.”

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“What do you mean officer?  Surely TxDOT would not have banked that curve so perfectly if they did not intend for it to be taken at autobahn speeds.”

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“I thought for sure we had another 10 miles worth of gas.” (Me pushing the car into the gas station with the help of two elderly ladies…no joke)

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So if you have not caught on yet, the theme of my life is I like to be in control of the outcome.  I am uncomfortable deciding whether to bet red or black at the roulette wheel.  Choosing the over/under on a Superbowl game would be unthinkable (mostly because I have no idea what an over/under is.)  And dropping even $5 a week on scratch offs just seems like a waste of perfectly  good beer money.  I don’t have the final say in any of these situations so I have a tough time taking the chance of losing.

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These same principles can be applied to my spiritual life for the last 30 some odd years.  I wanted to be in control and do all of the  driving.  I didn’t want to apologize to my Father for destroying the good things he gave me.  I didn’t want to answer to The Authority on why I wasn’t following His laws.  I didn’t want to admit that I made a mistake and needed help to get where I was going.  I wanted to do it all myself and I was placing my bets on my “good nature” to make that happen.  The thing is that when it comes to being “in  control” of my life, I had it all wrong and at times I have totally jacked it up.  I have made reckless choices and captained my ship into some pretty dangerous waters.  My “good nature” failed me and I found out the hard way that when I take the wheel and drive my life, I am the one fully responsible for the carnage left in my wake.

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So, I have just admitted to you that I am a screw up and can direct my own life about as well as I can pick winning lottery numbers.   I have tried every game in the casino and made a royal mess of my chances at coming out ahead.  I need direction.  I crave meaning.  I long for contentment.   

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At long last, I have found these things I so desperately wanted my whole life and I found them in one of the last places that I would have ever expected: Jesus Christ.  Now, there wasn’t a glorious moment of clarity and my existence hasn’t become miraculously perfect, but in small degrees, my life has taken a turn for the better.   Oddly enough, I didn’t have any input into the course it has taken.  It was decided for me long ago, I just needed to stop fighting the wheel.  Don’t think this comes easily to a guy like me because it hasn’t.  I still struggle to keep my gaze on Him.  I still mess up.  I am still not a perfect husband or father.  I still drive too fast and do burnouts in my dad’s car.  The difference is that I have someone to turn to when I am struggling with my demons and that  gives me courage.

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So where does this leave me?  What do I do with this courage?  Well, the truth is, I believe that it leaves me in prime position to bet on the sure thing. And I’m going ALL IN…  Who could lose with Jesus driving, right?

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Here’s a guest post from another Unlikely Christian – “Doubting Matthew”

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The Dirtiest Word I Ever Heard.

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There was a time that I wanted nothing to do with God or Christianity. (If you read my last post, this is not surprising.) Typically, I could put on my best face and drift through life trying not to be noticed or called out on my beliefs because having to explain myself was excruciating. The reason it was so difficult was mostly that I didn’t have a clear picture of anything related to God much less how I really felt about it. I did not grow up in church and what limited experience I had around the church turned me against anything that vaguely resembled religion. My early church life is a story all its own, so I will save that for another time. The story that I want to share with you is one that I have never told and it stands out to me as a signpost pointing at my utterly confused life. The sign over my head read “Lost,” but the truth of it would not become apparent to me for more than a decade after these events.

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I was a first year teacher in an elementary school in a well-to-do area of DFW. Anyone who has taught in a wealthier school knows the scrutiny you endure from the stay at home moms in their new Escalades and the overbearing, executive dads that have little respect or time on their Tag Heuers for a lowly teacher. I was already struggling to maintain the façade of a guy who had it all together when I was blindsided by a comment that one parent made to another within earshot of me. It sent me reeling. Her snide remark was not about my attire, my lack of experience, or even my questionable teaching methods. No, her remarks were directed straight at my character and I didn’t like what she had to say one little bit.

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So what was it she said that was so terrible? Well… she called me “A Good Christian Man.”

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I know, right?!? I was immediately sick.

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How could she call me such a thing?

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Why would she even think that???

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I had never shared my faith (or lack thereof) with anyone at school. Separation of church and state in my mind went to the extreme and I avoided the topic like kids avoid beets… I pretty much didn’t touch it. I wondered what she saw in me that made her think I was a Christian. To make things worse, the one who called me such a wretched name was just the kind of “Christian” that I despised most: haughty, judgmental, nosy, and a gossip to boot. I wanted nothing to do with her attempt at a compliment. I saw no compliment in being put in the same category with others I knew that praised Jesus from one side of their mouths and spit venom from the other. I would rather her have called me a stupid kid. I could accept that. I was a stupid kid and was aware of it, but just hoped that no one else had figured me out yet.

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I wish that there was some brilliant and redeeming ending to this story, but there is not. I had no idea what to do with her accusation. I wanted to tell her that I was not, in fact, a Christian, but that I was just a good person. Not surprisingly, I found that there is really no good way to denounce Christianity without besmirching your own reputation. So I did what I had to do… I decided to grin and bear it. Mentally, I changed her statement to fit what I could accept as a compliment: He is kind, and thoughtful, and caring, and giving, and all of those pie in the sky, idealistic notions that “Christians” say they want to be and that this Jesus fellow was purported to be.

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I have never mentioned the exchange between these two parents to anyone. For many years, I recounted the words she spoke with indignation. Until recently, the label she placed on me and all that I perceived it to mean felt like an assault on my character. Honestly, I still have trouble calling myself a Christian. The term still evokes an internal defiance that I have to choke down at times. That difficulty has waned as I become more comfortable with what being a Christian really means. I no longer see it as a label or a box in which I am being pigeon-holed. This word is not a descriptor of what I am but rather a direction that my life has taken. Of course, I wish that I understood then what I do now. I am sure that I would have spared myself a lot of internal turmoil and heartache if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in being the boss of me. Letting go of one’s illusion of control is very freeing.

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This “Christian direction” is exposing me to sides of myself that I never believed existed, igniting passions in me that I never knew I had and exposing opportunities to turn my fears into triumphs. I used to fear life, but with God leading the way, it now feels like an adventure. Every situation provides me an opportunity to be useful and to share God’s love. A few years ago, “sharing God’s love” would have been just too cheesy for me to say, but I am letting go of my hang-ups slowly but surely. And it feels really good to let go.

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Good stuff Doubting Matthew!  Keep them coming!

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Here’s a guest post from another Unlikely Christian – “Doubting Matthew”

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I Want to Give God the Finger!

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Yeah, you read that right… I said it. I want to give God the finger.

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Two years ago, I would have meant this in the way that we usually mean when we say we are “giving someone the finger.” (See “flipping Him the bird”.) I loathed everything that God was (or wasn’t) to me. Here’s a little peek into my old head: “I don’t understand why people need Jesus. He was just a good man. I am a good person. As a matter of fact, I am good all on my own without Jesus. If there really is a God, surely he will recognize how good I am. If He doesn’t see it, then He doesn’t deserve me anyway.” (I may have had some issues…)

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I tried the prayer thing. The typical dialogue in my prayers (if you can call them that) consisted of a lot of unanswered questions:

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Why don’t I have everything I desire?

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Why does he/she deserve that and not me?

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What can I do to make you give me what I want?

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When is it my turn to be the hero/exalted one?

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Why am I so sad all the time?

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Why won’t you just show yourself to me so I can believe?

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Why are you not answering me?

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Secretly, I wanted to believe in Him, but the genie in my “God-Bottle” rarely did my bidding and never as I would have it done. This was all the more reason to write Him off. I didn’t need Him anyway!

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Over the last few years, through loving people in my life (not the least of which is my wife), I have come to see God and myself with new eyes. My heart has changed and so has the finger I want to show Him. I used to hate this finger and every representation of it. You know… the God is #1 finger.

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We see athletes use it all the time on ESPN. Here is how it usually goes:

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Home Run! – (Point to God as you drop the bat on your way to first base.)

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Drafted to the NBA – (“First, I just want to thank God…”)

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Quarterback Sack! – (Double fist smash on the chest, kiss the fingers and throw them up to God)

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GOOOOAAAAALLLLLL! – (Make sign of the cross on chest, and fold hands to God.)

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In my eyes, it was all so cliché, and trite, and just plain lame. Over and over, these hypocrites put on this show to make people think that they were so thankful for what God had given them. Gag me. (Did I mention that I had issues?)

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Then… (again through amazing people and their work in my life) my problem with God became abundantly clear. The hypocrisy was my own. In retrospect, I realize that what I was doing was giving God the finger on a regular basis and with more and more animosity. I wasn’t able to recognize that the answers to my questions were obvious and that I couldn’t hear him, because I was too busy yelling “F-You!” to hear what he had to say.

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So here I am with the choice of two powerful fingers to throw up at God and I know I can give Him one or the other, but not both. I still struggle with the old me that speaks into the back of my head telling me it is cliché and lame to use my God is # 1 finger. What would it be like to use it proudly like those athletes on TV in my daily life: pointing to God as the One that gives me hope, joy, and success?

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What am I supposed to do?

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I know the answer. God has spoken loud and clear on that one and I actually shut up long enough to hear it this time. The only question left is… Am I bold enough to sport a huge “God is #1” foam finger?

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Great stuff!  I look forward to your next post.  In the meantime - BE BOLD!

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