Lynch / McNicol / Thrall Cure

What If God Isn't Who You Think He Is And Neither Are You
1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-0-9847577-1-8
Verlag: Cross Section Ventures, Inc.
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 122 Seiten

The Cure comes to us the refreshingly re-imagined second edition to the bestselling book TrueFaced. With brand new storytelling and grittier expression, The Cure is the Original Good News. But God's cures rarely come in the form we expect. What if, indeed, God is not who we think he is... and neither are we?

Autoren/Hrsg.

Lynch, John

McNicol, Bruce

Thrall, Bill

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE | TWO ROADS "The Law makes rebels of people who want to love and be loved." When you're young, the life ahead of you is a pristine, never-opened book. It has that intoxicating new-book smell. You've just cracked the cover, the pages are white and clean, and you absolutely know there's a grand story ahead. When you're very young, you could be a cowboy or a ballerina. In the glory of youth, you and your friends are dread pirates, widely-adored pop stars, superstar athletes, gallant knights, or a queen whose rule is just and kind. Later, the fantasies fade, but the dreams become more focused. Maybe you'll be the first human being on Mars, or the doctor who cures breast cancer. The story is whatever you want it to be, and you're still in the opening pages of your great novel. You know, though, that the story will be great. You know you have a destiny, a purpose in this life. Some of those dreams are your own, it's true. But some of those dreams, those hopes of destiny, are from God. As we grow older, some of those dreams begin to fade, washed in pain, cynicism and failure. The edges tatter, the thread grows bare, and sometimes the fabric falls away completely. Something unnamed repaints the horizon. The mundane, agonizing details of life build and build like bricks. Soon we are too weary of wrestling with our everyday existence to entertain grand visions of destiny. Even our relationship with God, which seemed so wonderfully beautiful and life-giving at first, dims. We don't stop walking, but we may as well. What toxin is this that can turn a wide-eyed dream into a grinding drudge? It's as if we all woke up one morning under a curse we couldn't shake. We push on, one foot in front of the other, but we stop wondering why. The next thing we know, we've got rocks in our shoes and lungs lined with dust. The curse is not a metaphor, though. The curse is a lie all of us buy into, sometimes suddenly, sometimes slowly, like a frog in a pot. The lie breaks our hearts, and it scatters us in different ways. Some of us find shelter in religious discipline. Some seek solace in cynicism and unchecked deconstruction. Some are driven away completely. Then we place blame: On ourselves, others close to us, our religious systems, the government, fluoridated water, or God Himself. Some of this blame is valid, for sure. Some of the places that should have been safest perpetuated the lie the loudest. Here is the lie, in two parts: WE DO NOT SEE GOD AS HE IS, AND WE DO NOT SEE OURSELVES AS WE ARE. We all believe the lie to some degree. Suddenly, the road we've been journeying along splits. Which path do we choose? Well, that's tricky. Throughout all of history, the cure has never ever come in the form we expected. I don't even notice at first. But suddenly the ten feet in front of me are going different ways. And, I realize I have no idea which way to go. I'm staring at the intersection, like this could make it go away. That's when I notice the tall pole with two arrows at the top pointing down each fork. What's written on them is even more confusing than the fork. One arrow, pointing left, reads Pleasing God. The one leading right reads TRUSTING GOD. YOU 're kidding. I'm supposed to choose between these two? I'm not doing that. Choosing one means not choosing the other. It's like being asked to choose between your heart and lungs. What I want is a bypass. But there is no bypass. I look up at the TRUSTING GOD. sign. This has to be a trap, a trick question. It sounds good, but it doesn't give me anything to do. It's too passive. How will I make a difference? If God and I are going to be in sync, there's got to be something more than trust. If the issue is me, I'm probably not going to figure out my destiny simply by trusting God can be trusted! I move over to the PLEASING GOD sign, pointing down the path to the left. This has to be it! After all He's done for me, the very least I can do is please Him. So I set off on the path of pleasing God, shaded by towering oaks. I'm encouraged to see this path is well- traveled, beat level with the feet of a million travelers. Many of them, in fact, are still on the path. The first group I pass is a trio of buskers, strumming guitars and a mandolin. We nod to each other politely. A little while on, there's a family of five camping Just thirty yards off the path, next to a brook. Even further, a middle-aged couple basks in the sun by the side of the road. "Hello!" I wave. "Will I see you later on?" "Nope." The man is smiling, but firm. "We left the Room of Good Intentions some time ago. We can't see going back." "Okay" I respond, confused. I'm not sure what the "Room of Good Intentions" is, but not everyone wants to please God, I guess. After a long while, passing many more travelers by the wayside, I see a giant building looming in the distance. It looks like a hotel. As I get closer, I can see there's writing in bronze lettering across the front: STRIVING HARD TO BE ALL GOD WANTS ME TO BE.1 Finally. Something for me to do. I strive after success in my career. I strive after keeping fit. Why would it be any less with God? I draw closer and notice a door. Above the doorknob, a small, ornate plaque is bolted to the heavy wooden door. SELF-EFFORT it reads. Of course! God does His part, and I do mine. It's about time someone said it. I turn the handle and walk in. I'm stunned to find a huge open room filled with thousands of people. I scan the group, trying to take it all in. "So, these are the people really living for Jesus." Soon I notice there's a woman, a hostess maybe, standing next to me. She is immaculately groomed. Every hair is perfectly in place, her makeup accentuating her features, her smile is wide and toothy. Nothing about her seems out of place. "Welcome to the Room of Good Intentions." She says it clean and cool, like she's been greeting people all her life. There's just the tiniest little shred about it that's unsettling, but I'm so excited to finally be here I don't think much of it. "You have no idea how long I've waited to find this place!" I return her smile, grasping her primly outstretched hand. I call out to the crowd, almost involuntarily, "Hey, how's everyone doing?" The room goes silent. It's full of beautiful people, smiling people. Some of them wear elaborately crafted mash, which is great because I love masquerades. This looks like my kind of place. One man steps forward. His smile, like the hostess, is broad. His bleached white teeth look as if they had been lined up by a ruler. "Welcome," he begins, shaking my hand firmly. "We're fine. Thank you for asking. Just fine. Aren 't we everyone?" A few in the crowd behind him nod, smiling along. "My kids are doing great and... um... I'm about to close some very lucrative deals at work. More fit than when I was in high school, I'm telling you. I'm doing just fine. Everyone here is." Before I can reflect on how strange that sounded, the hostess asks how I'm doing. "Me? Well, to be honest, I've been struggling with some stuff. That's partly why I'm here. I'm trying to figure out..." "Shhhhh," she interrupts me, putting a flawlessly manicured index finger to her lips. She reaches behind a podium and pulls out a mask, handing it to me. She nods her head with a curt smile, indicating I should put it on. I stare at it for a moment. Others in the room are excitedly motioning for me to do so. Slowly, I slide the mask over my face. My next thought is it might be best to back off on the self-revelation. I find myself answering, as if from somewhere far away, "You know, I'm great. I'm doing fine!" And everyone in the room smiles before returning to their conversations.2 This is the Room of Good Intentions. The main entrance hall is massive and ornate. Winding stairways lead to upper levels, where cascading fountains are ringed with beautifully upholstered sofas and chairs. There are doorways leading to ballrooms, dining halls, and fancily appointed living quarters. Everything is white marble and gold leaf. It's gorgeous and opulent. Across the back wall, there's a huge, embroidered banner. WORKING ON MY SIN TO ACHIEVE AN INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD, it reads.3 Finally, someone's saying what I've experienced all these years. Early on, when I first believed, He and I were so close. Then over time I kept failing. I'd do something stupid. I'd promise I wouldn't do it anymore. Then I'd fail at the same thing again. Before long, it felt like He was on the other side of an evergrowing pile of the garbage I'd created. I imagined Him further away each day, with His arms folded, shaking His head, thinking, "I had so much hope for this kid, but he's let me down so many times." But looking across this room, I know now I can change all that. This room—it's impressive. The decorations are nice enough, but you can feel the courage and diligence. You can almost taste the full-hearted fervency, the accomplishment, the head-on determination There's the Fortune 500 executive who has given away ninety percent of his wealth to charity. There is the lead pastor of a thriving network of churches, a dynamic communicator whose theological insights are heard the world over. I meet a girl, elegant even in her...