When I was growing up in Lake Havasu City (Arizona), I used to hang out with a few close friends who shared a couple things in common: we were all in band and we were all pastors’ kids. Neither of those two criteria put us very high on the social ladder in high school, but we figured we could at least gain some credibility around town by being the coolest of the band nerds. After all, there are social orders within every social order, right?

We looked up to the upperclassmen in band and considered it the highest honor to be invited into their circle, even if their motives were less than pure. Well, that’s the context for how my high school friend and I found ourselves stranded on the second-story balcony of a hotel room in the middle of the night in Southern California, with no choice but to scale the wall and inch our way back to our own room.

We were two naive young guys who found solace in the fact that we both knew what it was like to grow up under the searing heat of the spotlight constantly cast upon us as the sons of small-town preachers. Neither of us wanted to do anything that would make our fathers look bad. We both wanted to be witnesses in our school, but, if I’m being honest, there were a few things we wanted more.

We bonded over wanting to make first chair in band. We bonded over our shared hope that we’d both be selected for the venerated jazz band (where all the upperclassmen solidified their reputations as the coolest of the cool). We bonded over who the cute girls were and how brave we had to be in order to ask them on a date. Most important, we bonded over our shared obsession with a really cool band from Ireland called U2. The Joshua Tree Album was EVERYTHING!

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30 The Message)

July 2023 was a much needed month of Sabbatical rest after nearly 30 years of serving in ministry. I was, and continue to be, grateful for the gift extended to me by Jesus to “get away and recover my life.” Fueled by a desire to say yes to whatever the Holy Spirit was doing in my soul, I set out each day to “keep company” with God and cooperate with the inner-work that leads to life.

My place of sojourn was Rocky Mountain National Park, just over an hour to the west of my home in North Denver. Armed with my camera and curiosity, I regularly left my house in the dark and beelined it to the majestic peaks and quiet trails where I could return to listening and receiving. That posture sounds a lot healthier than striving and constantly pouring out, doesn’t it?

Ten days into my adventure of being with Jesus I came around a corner on the trail to Sky Pond and saw a couple guys standing quietly and staring at a couple medium-sized elk right next to the trail. It’s a good thing those guys were there because I was trucking pretty fast and might’ve spooked the elk. As it turns out, we quietly watched as these magnificent Elk slowly crossed the trail and lept up on some boulders for a different view.

As great as that moment was, the best was yet to come. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t trucking along any more. I was alert, paying attention, hoping I would see more wildlife around the next turn. My curiosity was on full tilt and my soul was soaring as I thanked Jesus for the amazing gift of his loving presence in creation.

Walking in a more relaxed manner now, I came into a clearing and saw about 10 elk, including a couple spotted calves, quietly resting and eating. The image above felt like a gift as one of the elk deigned to pose for my photo.

The invitation to slow down and be with Jesus is more than just a nice idea. It’s actually possible. We must pay attention, become curious, and turn aside to what God wants to show us. This is what cooperation looks like. In healthy relationships, we choose to work together (co-operate) toward a common goal. For me, the goal has been to recognize God’s faithfulness in my life and in the world and to remain in his loving gaze.

My favorite song is “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” I grew up in a small church in Arizona where my dad preached and led the singing while my mom played the piano, so this particular hymn has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.

Fast forward from those early days in the desert.

Our family moved to Colorado Springs in the summer of 2009 and quickly connected with a soul care ministry called “The Potter’s Inn.” Located about 45 minutes to the west of the Springs, The Potter’s Inn provided a space for much needed retreat for those on the frontlines of ministry. I came to love going up to the retreat center and walking the prayer trail, which is also where I realized just how much the lyrics of “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” had been forming and speaking into the depths of my soul all these years. It was on the prayer trail in the mountains outside of Divide, Colorado, that I opened my mouth and allowed the lyrics and melody of this song to bear witness to what felt most true in my soul.

“Great is Thy faithfulness, Oh God, my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not. As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be. Great is Thy faithfulness. Great is Thy faithfulness. Morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed Thy hands have provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.”

Whether sitting at a piano and leading worship in a church, or walking a mountain road in Nepal, or standing in a prayer labyrinth in Malibu, or waking up in a tent in Zimbabwe, or standing on the roof of a compound in Haiti, or overlooking the city of Antigua in Guatelala, I’ve continued singing these lyrics in countless spaces and places all around the world. And when my time on earth comes to an end, I hope these words will once again be lifted up in remembrance of a life fully surrendered to God.

The passage of scripture most closely connected to the words of my soul’s song is Lamentations 3:23-24.

“The steadfast love of the Lord NEVER ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new EVERY morning; great is your faithfulness.” (NRSV)

The context of this hopeful refrain is a lament by the ““weeping prophet,” Jeremiah, who feels alone in his calling and regularly struggles to see how his ministry makes a difference. Jeremiah regularly spoke out against the people of Judah for their penchant toward wickedness and a general failure to trust Yahweh’s commitment toward them. It’s easy to imagine how isolated and defeated he must have felt as he spoke up against corruption and pleaded with his people to return to their covenantal relationship.

One of the highlights of my sabbatical was hiking at the break of dawn in the mountains of Colorado and enjoying hours and hours of conversation with Jesus along the paths. Whether talking out loud or silently contemplating the love of God, it felt as if God’s goodness and faithfulness were lifting me to higher heights than I could’ve ever imagined. Heaven felt close and my troubles seemed like little ant hills.

There were numerous moments in which I sensed God’s still, small voice - not audible words, but the sense of a loving and clear response followed by an increase of peace, hope, and joy. Those conversations were captured in many pictures and journal pages. I want to remember the things God showed me, but I can’t rely on those moments to sustain me forever.

Healthy relationships are dependent upon ongoing, effective communication.

My son and daughter-in-law have recently experienced the reality of military life in which families are separated by thousands of miles for months on end. Thankfully, they were able to make good use of technology, thereby allowing them the ability to communicate nearly every day of his nine-month deployment. My son was able to see and hear his girls, they were able to talk to their daddy and hear his voice, and their mom was able to be reassured of his love and care, and (God-willing) his eventual return.

Thankfully, he did return home. Oh, the joy of this young family’s long-awaited reunion. Now they can finally be together and communicate in person - flesh and blood, no screens!

Whether we’re engaging in a face-to-face conversation in the same room, or we’re regularly communicating through other means, we are experiencing one of the hallmarks of God’s incredible design. We were created for relationship by a relational God, and our relationships are strengthened when we are truly seen, heard, understood, accepted and loved.

This is certainly true when we think about our relationship with God. Being with Jesus involves ongoing, effective communication. In their book, Joyful Journey: Listening to Immanuel, Jim Wilder and co-authors propose a method for strengthening our communication with Jesus called Interactive Gratitude. Their premise is that we miss God’s presence and fail to experience God’s shalom because we don’t recognize the ways in which God is regularly communicating with us. “Shalom is a state of harmony where everything works together, makes sense and is good. Shalom is the ‘peace of Christ.’” (p.3)

Thanks to incredible advancements in brain science we now know that “neural pathways in our brains have relational circuits that may be open, alert or impaired.” Our brains are designed to thrive in a relational state in which we are “receptive to interaction with God and people.” (p.2)

“The structure in the brain called the cingulate cortex makes it possible for meaningful communication to occur between two different minds by establishing a mutual-mind state. When establishing a mutual-mind state, we learn to think and feel the way people we love think and feel… As we have been raised with Jesus and set our minds on things above, our thoughts will naturally rhyme with God’s thoughts through our growing intimacy with him.” (pp.3-4)

In other words, learning to think God’s thoughts will help us remain in ongoing, effective communication, resulting in peace and growing intimacy.

Standing at the top of Andrews Glacier in Rocky Mountain National Park is both exhilarating and daunting. My day turned into a much longer adventure when I decided to hike over to this glacier instead of returning on the same trail I originally ascended hours earlier. Thankful for cell service, I took a picture from the top and sent it to Rebekah. “Just want you to know I’m attempting to descend Andrews Glacier. So you know where I am.”

Rebekah later told me she could tell I was nervous just from my message. She was right.

It’s an incredible gift to know that someone cares whenever we’re facing hard or scary things. Healthy relationships, in fact, are built on our shared human desire to know and be known by someone. In fact, it’s said that we’re looking for someone looking for us.

Even though I was hiking alone, I was glad to know that Rebekah cared about where I was and what I was facing. She wasn’t too sure about my sanity, but she cared, nonetheless. If I didn’t come home that night, Rebekah would be looking for me.

Reflecting on that final day of my Sabbatical, I remember a pervasive feeling of being “hemmed in” and surrounded by God’s love. I wasn’t alone at all - my friend, Jesus, was hiking with me. There was a deep delight and joy in sensing that I was known and cared for by the God who knit me together in my mother’s womb.

You might recall a time when you felt the loving presence of God so real and tangible that you could practically touch it, taste it, and take it in. Do you remember how comforting and freeing it was to know that the God of the Universe truly cares for you?

You also might know what it’s like to move directly from those consolations to feelings of hopelessness, abandonment, disillusionment, desolation and discouragement. How quickly we forget what we just experienced as good and beautiful and true. The struggles and questions of our real world experience leave us feeling as if we have been forgotten. And in our despair we cry out to Jesus, “Do you care?”

I know quite a few married couples who have not only survived but thrived in their relationships with the frequent use of a “Honey-Do” list. I’m always impressed to hear how they negotiate the countless things that need to be done in and around the house by simply writing them out and getting to work.

“Honey-Do” lists don’t really work in our home. I think I have a lifelong aversion to chore lists. Thankfully, Rebekah and I have managed to work through my issues and have found other ways to share what needs to be done.

It’s not a question of our desire to serve one another. There’s nothing better than Rebekah coming home after several days out of town and learning that I watered her flowers while she was gone. She could’ve asked, and I probably would’ve complied, but it’s so much sweeter when we recognize and participate in little acts of service with great love…without being asked or told.

Because we are relational beings, created in the image of a relationally constituted God, we are always engaged in the process of navigating and negotiating the conditions of what we consider healthy relationships. We instinctively know what loving relationships entail - care, communication, commitment, cooperation and companionship. Equally true, we all have more than our fair share of unhealthy relationships to, hopefully, learn from. In the process of healing and growth we discover the kind of people we want to be and the kind of people we want to be with. Our “doing for” comes freely and naturally when we finally know who we are and who we’re with.

The same is true in our relationships with God. There’s a big difference between doing a lot of good work for God and learning how to consistently “be with” God and live out of the overflow. It’s a different posture, to be sure. One I’m not sure we’re comfortable naming, let alone practicing.