family

A Few Thoughts on the Sh*thole Countries and a Response

MigrantsIn the midst of figuring out a road forward on DACA and comprehensive immigration reform, President Trump made a statement about countries who had the most need for support/relief in the form of the United States granting immigration status to their citizens. He called them “shithole countries.” A few thoughts:
  1. We can’t let our political paralysis keep us from speaking up and out against hateful, racism when we hear it. Often times in the name of “not getting political” good intentioned people (who are deeply disturbed by the language coming out of the White House) remain silent. I get it. There are implications to saying stuff that may be interpreted as “political” or as jumping off the party line, but that’s no excuse to passively perpetuate hateful rhetoric and action at the expense of those on the receiving end of it. If we’re honest, that paralysis is a fear rooted in an assumption that our political allegiance is more important that our kingdom allegiance. Let’s choose the latter EVERY time. After all, the king of our kingdom came from Nazareth…a “sh*thole” town that wasn’t supposed to have anything good come from it. 
  2. There is always more to the story and we have to become students of the nuance, not the soundbites. For example, if we did a collective study on the story of these sh*tholecountries, we’d need to pay attention to the way US foreign policy and militarism is marbled into their destabilization. It’s easy to point fingers as if we aren’t part of the problem. It’s much harder to become students of conflict and ask necessary questions of our contribution or perpetuation of it. Speaking specifically of Central America, it important we remember that US policy/violence in 80’s led to refugees coming to US without support…which led to gangs…which led to their deportation back to Central America…which led to civil war…which then led to current crisis. This information isn’t hidden in a vault, we just have to be willing to dig into the discomfort.
  3. I have four little kids who we are giving our lives to invite into the generous, compassionate, faithful and countercultural way of Jesus. Because the language and actions of our President, my very young kids are being exposed to words and realities as a pace we can’t control. Even if they don’t read the tweets or hear the interviews, it still makes it way to them at school or overhearing our adult discussion or walking down the street. On one hand, I lament that in any given moment, I can never expose my kids to the words of the President without fear of what they may hear. On the other, this is a dynamic moment in history that can be used an opportunity to form our children into a generation with tools of discernment, actions of justice and a healthy distrust of the assumed integrity of those in leadership. Rather than isolating our kiddos from our societal brokenness, let’s expose them to it in a way that invites them to be part of it’s healing. For us, it’ll start by taking our kids down to Mexico to spend some time in a migrant shelter to hang out with the beautiful, brave and heroic Central American mothers and kids on the move. 
  4. In this moment, what are creative ways we can celebrate the humanity, dignity and image of God in our sisters and brothers from Africa, Haiti and Central America? Let’s not get even by lowing ourselves to the same game of name calling, but get creative in love by building uncommon friendships and partnership across borders. 
On the journey together may we go…

The Opportunity of Raising Kids in This Crazy World

kidsHaving spent the last couple days getting solo time with my kiddos, I’ve never been more convinced that the way we raise the next generation will be our greatest contribution to healing a broken world. The stakes are high. 

Let’s not shelter our kids, but invite them into the beautiful and broken realities of our world.

Let’s not hide them from the darkness, but accompany them into the midst of it.

Let’s teach them to lead with curiosity, ask great questions and be discontent with the status quo.

Let’s help them not be color blind, but color competent. 

Let’s give them the gift of community that keep them rooted in an interdependent network of relationships and specific place that shapes their view of God and others. 

Let’s teach them to have their lives marked by what they’re for rather than what they’re against. 

Let’s teach them to identify their inherited privilege and choose to leverage or give it away for the flourishing of those who don’t have it. 

Let’s give them the freedom to question, doubt and wrestle with their faith and inherited narratives.

Let’s create a safe space for them to identify our blind spots and help us reframe, reform and renew the stories we tell ourselves. 

Most importantly, let’s live the kind of lives we would want our kids to live by not only passing along a set of ideals, but modeling a set of practices in every day life. 

And, in the end, when we inevitably screw up, may we have the kind of grace on ourselves as has been given to us. 

This is a our best “weapon” against the pain, violence and division of our world.

Raising Girls in the Image of a Male God?

Here is a guest post by my favorite person in the world; Jan Huckins (my wife). I learn from and am challenged by her everyday, so I’m thrilled she put pen to paper to offer up this incredibly important piece to us all. She is often so busy living the life I talk about that she doesn’t have time to do this silly blog stuff…

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At seven months pregnant, I remember walk-waddling through the narrow, congested streets of the Old City of Jerusalem as it brimmed with life, scent and color. Between my protruding baby bump and the wildly hospitable shopkeepers, I was regularly stopped and asked, “It is a boy?” Those who didn’t know English as well would just say, “Boy?!”

Each time I would answer, “No, just a sweet little girl,” and each time their eyebrows would fall in a look of pity and say, “Oh well, she’ll be a helper.” This became such a common question that before they could ask, I nearly started responding, “I’m having a girl and she’ll be an amazing helper!”

This encounter in blatant gender preference led down an eye opening and transformational path where it became clear that this reality wasn’t reserved to the Middle East, but extended around the globe. As a mother of three precious girls, my experience in the Middle East -- and the learnings that followed -- have made me cling even more to how much I value raising girls.

Having been born in the early 80’s, I loved listening to Adventures in Odyssey, knew every Keith Green song, believed every word out the mouth of my male pastor and youth pastor, supported our predominately male military and pledged my allegiance to our male presidents as we watched males play all the professional sports that ever made it to our TV screen.

It wasn’t that any of these men were inherently wrong or bad, it’s that I rarely ever had the opportunity to be exposed to females with significant influence. And when I did, it was often in our shared attempt to unpack Proverbs 31 and its implications on our biblical womanhood. I would patiently wait for my “Todd” (Christy Miller series) to be my spiritual leader and finally bring me to completion.

When I closed my eyes in church, I would always envision God being in the form of a loving and accepting father. Again, this is a good and beautiful vision, but I’ve had to begin asking the questions, “Is this the only image of God that is acceptable and true? Does seeing God only as male somehow lessen the value and significance of women who were also created in God’s image?”

As I continually wrestle through these questions while raising three girls, the implications of our image of God has become much more tangible. Will my husband and I only introduce our children to a male image of God or begin to offer a more nuanced picture of the One we follow?

For the last three decades the male pronoun of God is all I’ve ever known, but that won’t be the story for our girls. It’d be like living your whole life only knowing and loving the sun but not discovering the moon and all the purpose and glory it brings.

When I think of the image of God as mother, I think of my mother-in-law in silent strength next to women as they navigate the trauma of cancer. I think of our local midwife who has empowered and accompanied the women in our community through the beauty and challenge of childbirth. I think of the single moms who are heroically raising their kids against all odds. I think of my friends who are yearning for children of their own even as they celebrate the new life of those around them. I think of my community of women who come around soon-to-be mothers to prepare and champion their efforts during labor. I think of my own mother who gives herself to the flourishing of societies’ marginalized as a way to reassign them dignity.

These experiences have given me an expanded image of who God is, but in ways I never thought possible. They are re-birthing a vision of life, hope and liberation.

I have nothing against men and am incredibly grateful for my present, involved, and loving husband. In fact, I don’t have anything I’m trying to prove or argue. I simply want Ruby, Rosie and Lou to believe in a gospel story that celebrates both the sun and the moon. And in doing so, maybe my girls won’t only find fulfillment as wives and mothers, but as liberated, compassionate and strong girls who see their own faces in the One who gave birth to all creation.

Embracing the Greatest Challenge of My Life as Opportunity

IMG_2280Having taken paternity leave with the arrival of our twins, I haven’t “worked” in nearly two months. With that said, there has been no time for reading deep, reflective books on spiritually. No time to engage world issues. No time to be active and seek the healing of systemic injustices in our neighborhood.

No, there has been time for one thing and one thing only; being a dad

If I’m honest, it’s been a struggle. The same exhausting, under appreciated, sleepless, messy and relentless grind of parenting four kids, all of whom are four years old or younger. There are certainly moments of joy, pride and gratitude, but they are far less frequent than the ones of discouragement and delirium. 

In the midst of the fog, I had a bit of an epiphany a couple weeks ago. I found myself thinking about how I would find time for spiritual practices to be reintegrated into my life and dreaming about the intellectual growth I would experience when I go back to “work.” It was as though I was telling myself, “If you just survive this season, then you can finally get back to attending to your spirituality and formation.” 

This is when the epiphany hit; If I don’t connect my parenting with my spirituality and formation, I’m missing out on potentially the most important season of my discipleship journey. 

Changing diapers at 3am = Opportunity to choose selfless sacrifice. 

Responding to yet another 2 year old melt down = Opportunity to model grace and understanding.

Chaos of everyday life = Opportunity to embrace and live into an everyday spirituality.

Weeks/months between dates with my wife = Opportunity for me to get creative in what love and intentionality look like. 

These are all opportunities for me to choose to grow in my personal formation and live more like the One I follow. I can’t see these as hurdles to jump so I can then get back to my spirituality and formation. No, these are the very experiences that are forming me into who I am created to be. To be fully human. To be connected to the gift of life that is pulsating in every moment of everyday. To choose to live a life of self-sacrifice for the flourishing of others. 

I don’t have this figured out in the least, but I do want to give it a shot. I don’t have to wait. We don’t have to wait. We just have to wake up to what is right in front of us and be fully present there.

Maybe that is what love looks like and what the gift of discipleship means in the midst of the mundane and unglamorous realities of daily life.

 

 

To My Four Kids, From Dad

IMG_1571After five days in the hospital filled with overwhelming joy, paralyzing fear and complete exhaustion in the wake of the birth of our twins, I finally found a moment to walk outside the florescent lights and sit under the bright moon. Sitting on a small patch of grass outside the hospital doors, the reality of being a father to four kids finally hit me. 

I was both overwhelmed and overjoyed by the gift and responsibility of raising four kids in a world so desperately in need of mustard seeds of hope that one day blossom into healing and beauty.

As I sit in relative comfort and begin to dream big dreams for my kids, I was struck by the reality that most father’s around the globe are forced to welcome their kids into a world where there is no “ladder” to climb because it has been knocked out from under them by broken systems that are breaking people. 

A world where many kids are born into families fleeing violent persecution and being nursed on the trauma of war in battered refugee camps; places where the thought of hope is a distant second to simply fighting to survive.

A world where one’s value is more closely associated with gender (male) than with the beautiful uniqueness inherent in every new life.  

But it is also a world pregnant with possibilities. A world where former enemies move beyond their past, share tables and begin to imagine a future together. 

A world where the blossoms of new life begin to sprout in the shadowy corners of forgotten neighborhoods.  

A world where the diversity of God’s kingdom begins to awaken our eyes and hearts to the new world God is making. 

It is in this world -- a world that is both beautiful and broken -- that I offer this prayer over my four kids. 

May you see the humanity, dignity and image of God in everyone. Regardless of documentation, orientation or association, may you choose to see the face of Jesus in all those put in your path. May you see those who are different than you not through the lens of judgment, but with a spirit of curiosity and posture of invitation. 

May you immerse into the the muck and messiness of everyday life seeking to understand rather than be understood. May you move toward broken people and places catalyzed by hope rather than paralyzed by fear. And, finally, as you move deeper into relationship with these people and places, may you stick around for the long haul offering radical presence in a world of hurry.  

My dear ones, may your relative comfort and inherited privilege not lead to complacency, but instead be used to contend for the flourishing of others. May you be willing to sacrifice your reputation, finances and time in order to stand in front of any bulldozer that is flattening people. Like the Jesus we follow, may you return evil with good and choose not to get even, but get creative in love.  

May you lead out of your identity as ones first and foremost loved by God, so you can give yourselves fully to God and others. If you get anything, please get this: your identity is not based on what you do, but who you are. All is grace dear ones and you are God’s beloved. As such, your mother and me will always love you, contend for you, pray for you and stand with you no matter what choices you make or what you “do” or don’t do.  

Whether you join God’s mission of reconciliation in the halls of power or the back allys of forgotten neighborhoods, may you see and participate in the restoration made real in Jesus death and resurrection. May you taste, feel, see and experience a Kingdom where the last will be first and the first will be last. For it is there that love lives. 

And, day in and day out, may we be parents who live and model the kind of lives we are inviting you to live. 

Much love to each of you; Ruby, Rosie, Hank & Lou. 

Dad

 

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