Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world

Answers — September 14, 2019

Answers

Yesterday I received a text message that said, “Is this Chad Slabach?” What a strange, interesting text – it could be anyone, about anything, and begs so many questions. Who is this? How did you get my number, and why? It’s like a big open door leading to who knows where. How exciting! 

So, I couldn’t do what I always do when I don’t recognize a number and ignore it (there are soooo many telemarketing garbage calls). This person knew my name, which immediately placed them in a different, more personal, category than the callers who don’t know my name but have an urgent message from a random electric provider regarding my Wells Fargo account (which I don’t have) or my nonexistent Medicare eligibility. I replied with a quick “Who are you?” 

As it turns out, it was a friend from high school.

A few things about that. I haven’t really kept in touch with anyone from high school because I hated most everything about high school and decided years ago that I would leave it behind. Now that I am a bit older and wiser, I wish a little that I hadn’t made that decision. There are a handful of people with whom I would quite like to see again, and this text message came from one of them. I later told her that she was “a very good friend to me,” and that’s 100% true. In that sea of dark isolation, far more Lord Of The Flies than Acts 2, she was always a wonderfully kind, loving ray of light.

How did she get my number? Because she read my book and I put it in there!!!! So many exclamation points, because everything about that sentence is astonishing. She read my book! How did she even know about it to seek it out and order it? As fate would have it, Facebook told her about the Bridge and Chronicles, Nehemiah and Other Books Nobody Reads. How it knew to tell her – I don’t have my own account, I use my wife’s – I have no idea. Facebook, with their fancy algorithm, probably knows more about me than I do.

So, she read it, and I put my phone number in so I could continue a conversation with whoever was reading it on just how much Jesus loves us. She didn’t know if it was really my number, and if wouldn’t have been if I had taken the smart advice I was given, but Bob Goff included his number in his book Love Does, and if it’s good enough for him, it would be for me, too. I didn’t exactly anticipate my book going all over the world, either, to where I would be getting calls at all hours of the night, asking about this Jesus and His amazing love.      

And here she was, texting, asking if it was me.

I coached a legion baseball team in the neighborhood of 20 years ago and while I was doing it, I met the kind of young man who makes you stop questioning, for a second, why you’re coaching in the first place. He was cool, quirky, and had a trouble-making reputation. That year wasn’t too awesome, but he was, and when I think of him, I hope he has a great life. I hope he is happy and full of peace. 

I tell you this because last night at the high school football game – my sweet boy Samuel plays the trombone in the marching band – I saw this not-so-young-anymore man with his wife. I met his lovely wife and we all spoke for a few minutes about his 4 daughters, how he coaches their sports and the problem with travel sports. He does have a great life and is happy, peaceful.

I think most of our prayers are mostly our hearts aching for connection. We’re made for each other, made for relationship, and the reason our desires for money or things or position can’t ever satisfy our holy longings is because they don’t breathe and smile and hold our hands. 

I’ll sometimes pray for circumstances to change, illnesses or pain to stop, but when I see my wife or you and we sit together and you say “me too” or nothing at all, I can breathe again. I can see the light through the cracks. I realize that I was praying for you all along. Maybe God’s “plans to prosper [us]…plans to give [us] a hope and a future” are not big bank accounts and comfy chairs at all. Maybe they’re each other. 

Maybe these Kelly’s and Nate’s are answers to prayers we haven’t the vision to ask. They are the perfect miracles, gifts from a God Who hasn’t forgotten, Who knows exactly what we need.    

Graduation — June 8, 2019

Graduation

Today my youngest son will graduate from 6th grade and move on from the elementary school into junior high. I’ll just let that sit for a second and allow the weight of that statement to wash over me.

My oldest son is moving out of junior high into the high school, as well.

I have no children in elementary school.

Yesterday they were sleeping on my chest, or nursing, or needing a diaper change. Last night I was spoon-feeding them from a jar. And this morning, Samuel (the soon to be 9th grader) drove his shoulder into my belly (probably breaking 3 ribs,) lifting me off my feet and into the couch.

I can no longer throw him over my head and into the air, drawing the concerned gasp from their mom. As long as we’re at it, she is now “mom” exclusively, no longer “mommy.” It would be the sweetest song to hear the word “daddy” again. I tried to throw Samuel over my head like I used to at the pool last week and I’m pretty sure I tore several muscles in my back. 

I have no children in elementary school. 

[Now it’s 2 days later and the graduation is over. Summer vacation has begun!]

Yesterday, during the music/photo montage at graduation,  I had absolutely no hope of holding back tears as I saw that sweet 1st grade boy smiling and running and laughing. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to, either.

Elisha (the graduate) is growing into a really wonderful human being, I love who he is and watching him become who he will be is overwhelming. He is kind (mostly;) and polite and self-assured and grounded and hilarious and has moves on a basketball court that only show me how old and slow I’m getting. He’s so handsome and lovely it would break your heart. He gets the haircut and wears whatever he wants – which only the most stylish can/will do – and sings out loud. He reads, tells jokes he makes up, can run like a deer and would rather eat nails than let you win. At anything. He’s not always nice and he’s not always concerned with your feelings; He has rough edges, which only makes me like him more. 

The boy that he was is gone and isn’t coming back, and that fact must be mourned, an offering of salty tears. But the young man that he is becoming, and the man that he will become, are worthy of euphoric celebration, also an offering of salty tears. Both of these are 100% true.

My heart works exactly as it should. In that graduation, I was fully present, engaged, feeling all of the emotions of this beautiful gift of life. I am so, so thankful. How could I not weep?? Why would I hold anything in? 

2 of my favorite people in the world gave birth to twins this week. All four of them are unbelievably lucky and blessed. And I know the tears they will cry as the pictures of babies in car seats will transform into teenagers in the drivers seat, the cribs into graduations, and the loss and the hope and the mourning and dancing and the times for weeping and laughing and the times for tearing down and building. And I wish them everything. I hope nothing more for them than that they are there for all of it and hold nothing in.

Rest 2019 — January 1, 2019

Rest 2019

I know resolutions don’t usually work, so I won’t be making one.

What I will do, on the other hand, is use this time to look back, reflect, consider what, who and where I’ve been while giving some attention as to where I’d like to go, who I’d like to be. As the Cheshire Cat said, “if you don’t know where you’re going, it doesn’t matter what path you take,” (or something like that. You get the point.)

I choose a focus word every year and for several years it has been some variation on letting go, releasing. This year it’s rest. What I mean by that is not that I am super busy and working myself to death. In fact, if you saw my life – routine, schedule, etc – you’d rudely laugh at my word. Instead, my study has led me to a belief that ‘rest’ is essentially synonymous with ‘trust.’ Can we trust enough to stop, to cease, to be unproductive? It’s a hard question. And where it gets tough for me is; can I trust enough to release you? You see, I create (these posts, sermons, a book you’d just love, my life, and on and on) and the important thing about creating is that you do it, right? The second most important thing is that you’re honest – that the work comes from a place of authenticity, and it’s very difficult to do that if my concern is if somebody else likes it, if it’s valuable to him or her, if it elicits some form of positive response. Those things are not for me to decide, and once they supersede the simple beauty of the offering, then they stop being honest and turn into pandering, needy drivel. And there’s enough of that, isn’t there?

I faithfully give everything I have to the work, and then offer it up, and where it goes from there is anyone’s guess. The second ‘where it goes’ becomes the point, the offering is ego-driven and selfish, and the ‘offering’ drifts into control, and that’s gross. The big question is, will I trust enough to release my grip on expectations and control?

The truth is, I don’t know. I hope so. I know I’ll sleep better if I do. But today is January 1 and I’ll try to rest/trust today – I’m doing ok so far – and then I’ll try again tomorrow. Happy New Year!

A New Thing — December 29, 2018

A New Thing

Well, good morning! This is a new thing – I think I know what it is, I guess we’ll see.

It’s interesting to think that you have something new to offer the world, something of value. The impulse can appear vain and self-aggrandizing, and that’ll be something I work through (probably here… out loud), because it is also an expression of a gift. We are all gifted in certain ways – being created in the image of a wildly creative God makes us wildly creative. Only, so many of us have decided that, though this may be true for others, it is not for us. We say things like, “I’m just (whatever)” or “I’m not the creative type,” and we are wrong.

Because we are gifted, it is vital for our growth and development that we use these gifts before they atrophy and we forget that we have the image of God on us. Namaste, right?

So.

I write for the faith community I pastor, and recently published a book. This space is different. I mean, it’s virtually impossible that I see the world any type of way other than through a spiritual lens, through a prism of love, but those avenues have a structure this one will not have. I love music and movies and culture, opinions on religion and politics and art – this is where I will explore those things any way I choose.

It’s pretty exciting to see where we go, right?