My journey through the jungle begins today.

Upwards by Max Lucado

What would it take to restore your hope?

What would you need to reenergize your journey?

Though the answers are abundant, three come quickly to mind.

The first would be a person. Not just any person. You don't need someone equally confused. You need someone who knows the way out.

And from him you need some vision. You need someone to lift your spirits. You need someone to look you in the face and say, "This isn't the end. Don't give up. There is a better place than this. And I'll lead you there."

And, perhaps most important, you need direction. If you have only a person but no renewed vision, all you have is company. If he has a vision but no direction, you have a dreamer for company. But if you have a person with direction--who can take you from this place to the right place--ah, then you have one who can restore your hope.

Or, to use David's words, "He restores my soul." Our Shepherd majors in restoring hope to the soul. Whether you are a lamb lost on a craggy ledge or a city slicker alone in a deep jungle, everything changes when your rescuer appears.

Your loneliness diminishes, because you have fellowship.

Your despair decreases, because you have vision.

Your confusion begins to lift, because you have direction.

Please note: You haven't left the jungle. The trees still eclipse the sky, and the thorns still cut the skin. Animals lurk and rodents scurry. The jungle is still a jungle. It hasn't changed, but you have. You have changed because you have hope. And you have hope because you have met someone who can lead you out.

Your Shepherd knows that you were not made for this place. He knows you are not equipped for this place. So he has come to guide you out.


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Unless I become consumed by an unlikely nervous breakdown, I will not lose hope. And unless, in a much more unlikely circumstance, I lose my faith, I will not lose my vision. Unfortunately though, unless a (very possible) miracle happens, I will lack direction tomorrow. I am in the jungle Max speaks of, but because I have hope, I do not fear what is to come. I can look up and see His light shine through the trees, and I can look around me and see His beauty in everything, but I do not see the way out. More likely, I refuse to firmly grasp the hand of the only One who knows the correct path to take. Opportunities come, only to fall by the wayside. Sometimes I feel that way about my spiritual journey. There were probably so many opportunities to develop a relationship with Him, and I refused to see them. It seems like one day last year He said "I'M RIGHT HERE!!!".

Occasionally, someone will enter my jungle, lend a helping hand, and leave the way they came. I could probably follow most of them out, but I am too used to being lost and know the way out is probably an uphill climb that I have no intent in undertaking. As I said, it is not scary here, but it is certainly lonely. I have heard too many sermons telling me that is not true and talked to too many great people to know I do not speak the truth, but at the end of the day, when it's just me here, it feels like exactly that--just me and no One else.

I was told a short story today about a married couple. She was a teacher and he was a mechanic except she no longer had kids to teach and he no longer had cars to work on. They and their three kids were forced to move out of the suburbs in Davison, and into a small apartment above some shop. Soon, they may have to leave the state and move in with family. His point was to remember there are others that have it worse than any situation most of us are in. I don't usually forget that. I don't feel sorry for myself or the situation I've put my family and I in. God has great plans for us. Much like Andrew's deeds from the sermon today, they may not seem great at the time, but if they're His plans, then they're great. Whenever I choose to see the light in the darkness within the trees before me, I will find out what they are. Until then, I will remain lost, and deservedly so.

Take me out to the ball game...

There's a runner in, but nobody on base. The score is 7-6. Last time the pitcher had two strikes on a kid was just two batters ago. The batter swung and missed, but the catcher dropped the ball. The throw to first was late and the run would eventually score in a game that had been tight all evening. The pitcher seems to be tiring, but the home crowd cheers him on. He hunkers down with the ball and glove against his chest and takes the obligatory deep breath. His leg goes up and in, torquing his body with the force we see in Nascar. His arm goes over the top and this ball is going right over the heart of the plate. It's either going to get nailed or end the game, but it's going to get swung at for sure. Strike three! The home part of the crowd goes wild! The disconsolate batter walks back to the dugout with his head down, but his coach is quick to console him. The winning pitcher pumps his fist, and then, almost immediately, gets in line. Several "Good games." can be heard at once as skin meets skin on walk-by high fives. One team picks up their equipment and walks back to the dugout. The other team bounces back to the bench like there's a invisible jump rope competition going on.

As the pitcher begins to walk my way, I stop, turn around as he passes me, and put my arm around him. "Great job, Colton.", I tell him. "Thanks.", he says with all the enthusiasm of the ball that now lies quietly on the pitchers mound. "You feeling ok?", I ask. "I'm a little dizzy", he says as he holds on to what remains of his Gatorade. After playing third base, then pitching through the third and fourth innings, going back to third, then pitching the sixth and final inning, there seems to be too much Gatorade left. I guess that may be the problem, he agrees like a good kid, and then heads over to the picnic area for snacks, drinks and handouts. Later on, he says the dizziness had turned into a dull headache.

He says he loves baseball, and I love that he loves baseball. It's the only sport I know a little about. I never played myself and I don't think I ever played catch with my dad, so I'm able to live vicariously through his every pitch, although that may not be wholeheartedly true. I just want him happy. Once he's done with baseball, he'll be done. We'll still play catch and stress the importance of God, exercise and a good education. I just worry about him sometimes, you know? He has the same headaches his mom has gotten all her life. Good, happy people like them don't deserve that sort of thing. I worry about Gabrielle, but in a different way. She's got my clumsiness. Poor thing. I worry about Noah just cause he's so little.

I just try to put it all in God's hands. He's got a plan for all of us. I'm not sure if that includes Gabrielle playing softball again next year, but we'll see. We'll see if Noah has the same look of calmness and intensity out on the mound. Until I find out, I'll continue to enjoy the outdoors and going somewhere where the children seem to outnumber the adults three to one, but everyone feels like an active participant. Hands clap, babies cry and everyone smiles. The boys of summer are back.