Losing Control

I never really considered myself a “control freak.” I rather pride myself on the ability to play it cool and roll with whatever punches fly at me. God knows how wrong I am, and was fully ready to teach me.
The past few days whipped me around in a whirlwind of activity. A road trip to Galveston for a wedding (with mini road trips between Houston and Galveston to sleep), dozens of phone calls for support, and multiple meetings later, I’m now sitting on my fourth day away from work, and wondering how I ever thought I could control anything.

Last Thursday I woke up excited for the day. By the time Steph and I had driven to Galveston, gone through the wedding rehearsal and dinner, driven back to Houston, and arrived where we intended to stay for the night, most of my eager anticipation had skittered away. In place of it, a deep frustration snaked itself into my brain. I felt out of place at this celebration of the union of two people I’d only just met. I knew that, as Stephanie bounced around the island going from gorgeous to jaw-droppingly adorable, I would be either “stuck” somewhere alone, just waiting to burden her again when it came time to come pick me up, or slowing her down at each step of the beautification process. On top of that, I’d left my phone charger in Dallas by mistake, meaning I would be nearly impossible to reach if not within earshot. No matter what, I saw myself as extraneous and irksome. I wanted nothing more than to control the situation and make my anxiousness stop.

Unfortunately for my psyche, I intended to start making support raising phone calls during the free time I knew I’d have. In case you were wondering, calling people, even close friends and family, to ask them to give money will not reduce anxiety. It does quite the opposite. Things went fairly well, and most of the calls I made were either well received, or went to voicemail. Even so, I couldn’t help but wish I could rig the situation to turn out how I wanted it to.
The rest of the weekend went similarly: me wanting to fix things, but having no power to do so.
On Monday, I missed work due to sickness, and, after refusing to let go of the plans I’d made that day, spent most of today feeling sick as well. And while the situation should be adding to my frustrations, I realized something God has been trying to teach me.
The more I try to control a situation, the more out of control I feel. The more I choose to let go of control and trust God, the more at peace I am with life.
So now I’m here, sitting in bed, still feeling sick, knowing I can’t afford to miss more work, not sure what will happen with my support raising situation, not sure of anything at all… except that I’m losing control, in the best possible way.

2 Fathers, 2 Sons

As today is Father’s Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about fathers and sons, and wanted to share a bit of it here. I remember a riddle that I first heard in junior high, in which two fathers and two sons go fishing, and each catches a fish, totaling just three fish. I don’t remember if I figured it out on my own or had to be told the answer, but it’s a fairly clever puzzle. SPOILER ALERT: the three fish were caught by three people: a grandfather, his son, and his grandson. The grandson and his father are the two sons, the grandfather and his son are the two fathers; like any brain-teaser, it’s tricky, but makes sense (though technically the grandfather is someone’s son too, even if that man isn’t with them fishing, so it should be two fathers and three sons). My life, like this conundrum, is defined by the identities of two fathers and two sons.

I’m not sure if I’m the only person who went through stages in how I viewed my dad, but I’m guessing not. I can remember being a little kid, somewhere between 4-10 years old, and thinking that my dad was basically a superhero. He was the strongest, smartest, fastest, bravest, richest, coolest… and he was my dad! My dad would wrestle with me, help me with homework, give me hugs when I was sad, let me sit on his shoulders to see over crowds, let me wear his t-shirts to sleep in or his shoes to tromp around the house in, and he taught me to ride a bike. When I was a boy I couldn’t wait for him to get home from work, and I couldn’t wait to be just like him.

Then I got older, and more knowledgeable about the world. I noticed things I didn’t before… mistakes, quirks, hurts, fears, frustrations, and habits all tainting the reputation of my hero, if only in my own mind. I learned that my dad wasn’t perfect… he wasn’t the strongest or the smartest or the fastest, and certainly not the richest. Realizing your dad is a flawed person for the first time can be hard, at least it was for me. I remember feeling disappointed and a little upset; though he may not have ever told me he was perfect, he allowed me to see him that way, right?  Now his jokes seemed tired, his mannerisms irritating and embarrassing. I became a bit ashamed of my dad. And suddenly I didn’t want to be anything like him.

Then I got old enough to realize that all the things I thought I understood about the world, the knowledge I thought I had, was pretty shallow and wholly untested. I learned even more about Dad as I left my teenage years and entered young adulthood. This new information didn’t undo the things I’d judged him so harshly for as a teen, but put it all in better context. Growing up, my dad used to pray over my siblings and I while we slept; He’s worked multiple jobs (from bus driver to teacher to pool guy to valet) and consistently took part time positions during the summer to provide extra income (and ways for my mom to stay home with us kids growing up). He plugged himself into a church to be sharpened, encouraged, disciplined and challenged by other godly men. He volunteered in our youth group to have more time and opportunities to exemplify servanthood and spend with us. I still recognize my father as limited. In fact, it’s entirely possible he has more weaknesses than strengths… even so, when I see the way my father embodies the ideas written about by Paul in 2 Corinthians 12, I see that the biggest reason my dad can be one of my heroes is that he isn’t perfect; the fact that he knows he needs Christ, and strives to impart that lesson to me daily, makes him ten times more super than I used to think he was when I was a child. Now I know I’ll be lucky to be half the man Kelly O’Neil is; both because I see him as twice the dad any boy could ask for, and because the less of a man I am, the more opportunity I’ll have to rely on God to fill me and use me.

You see, it’s easy, especially on Father’s Day, to focus on our earthly understanding of father and son relationships. We can praise the parents who provided half our DNA for the ways they came through for us, we can curse them for the ways we feel they have failed us, or we can fall somewhere else on the spectrum of judging their efforts, but until we learn to focus everything on the Father/Son relationship that matters most, we can’t begin to make sense of the other father/son (or daughter) relationships we experience on earth. If I try to identify my father without first having some knowledge of the identity of the Father, I will invariably feel consumed by disappointment or appeased by naiveté. If I try to identify myself as a son without first acknowledging the identity of the Son, I will inevitably feel condemned by shame or swollen with arrogance. So instead of posting ridiculous superlatives about my earthly father, I just want to thank him for how frequently he directed me to how ridiculously superlative God is. Instead of claiming he is the best dad in the world, I want to applaud him for pointing me to the God who really is.

John 10:25-30, NASB
25 Jesus answered them, “I told you, and you do not believe; the works that I do in My Father’s name, these testify of Me. 26 But you do not believe because you are not of My sheep. 27 My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; 28 and I give eternal life to them, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. 29 My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. 30 I and the Father are one.

In the beginning… A Genesis story.

Ages after the Lord created the heavens and the earth and millennia since the Word, who was with God and was God, became flesh, my God continues scripting beginnings for His children. This is one such story.

Ever since the summer after my freshmen year at Texas A&M, God has been developing in me a desire to serve in vocational ministry. When I graduated, the doors that I believed I should walk through were shut, one by one, as God directed my steps to Dallas.

At first I was disappointed, a bit angry, and even distrustful of His purposes, but as I began to pray honestly and tell him about my fears and frustrations, He provided me with a growing sense of peace and patience. Soon I was plugging in to a church in Dallas (Watermark Community Church) serving with their children’s ministry, meeting weekly with a community group, and attending leadership training classes. I began to see how much maturing I needed to do, and how much of my own passions God needed to reveal to me.

Suddenly, it was the time of year when applications for ministry internships appear online. Much like last year, I applied with a sense of certainty and eagerness. And much like last year, the opportunities I most wanted slipped away. This time I was wiser for the ware. I knew God would direct me perfectly regardless of how closely my plans matched up with His. The next thing I knew, an old friend and former manager from my days rolling fatties (burritos, y’all…) contacted me about an opportunity that was God ordained in just about every sense of the phrase.

Brendan, I knew, had been interning with Austin Stone Community Church for the past two years, but due to busy schedules and different cities, we (to some extent) lost contact over the years since we forged our friendship in the fires of the Freebird’s grill. When he emailed and asked me what I was up to, it was more than a coincidence that I’d been looking for a job in children’s ministry and he’d just been invited to join up with Austin Stone as the West Campus Kid’s Director. I was excited, but also nervous. We scheduled time to talk, and soon I was filling out an application for a very unexpected opportunity.

When I visited Austin about a week later over the first weekend in June, I had already been informed that I was a bit late; most of the other interns had been interviewed and accepted and begun raising support. Before the interview, a multitude of anxieties settled in my heart. What if I wasn’t accepted and had to continue working a job that I find asinine and boring? What if I was accepted and couldn’t raise support fast enough? What would I do without my community group? Would the amazing girl I’d just started dating be willing to “do long distance”? What would my family think about me leaving Dallas again? As I shared these insecurities with Brendan and also with Stephanie (see “amazing girl I’d just started dating” above) and submitting them to the Lord (by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, of course) I truly did have waves of peace flow over me to guard my heart and my mind.

A few days (and hundreds of prayers) later, I was listening to a voicemail from Brendan inviting me to join their team as a Level 1 intern! I accepted almost immediately, and now the adventure has begun!

I’m starting this blog to share the vision God has placed in my heart and to communicate what I am learning, what I am doing, and how I am growing as I pursue this calling.

Stay tuned! This is the first of many posts, and I am hoping that those of you reading it will be blessed by seeing how God is humbling me and rebuilding me to be more and more like Christ.