I gave her a bag of rocks as a Christmas gift. True story. I have to shake my head just typing it.
‘A bag of rocks, Don? Were you ran over by the short bus? Were you often dropped on your head as a child?’

I’m not entirely clear on what I was thinking. In my defense, they were uncut emeralds, but yeah…it’s…no…it’s just awful. I am not a great gift giver. A bag of rocks is a gift a cartoon caveman would give.
‘Me give pretty rock. You girl. Me like girl. Girl take rocks.’ It was an honest to goodness bag of dirty rocks.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. In my mind it made sense. It was romantic. But if you’ve read more than one of my blogs, you can probably see where the foundation of ‘making sense in my mind’ is a strange foundation to build upon. One minute you’re building on top of a concrete slab, and the next minute that slab turns into chocolate chip cookies and the theme song to The Dukes of Hazzard starts playing.

My wife and I were newly married. And I have to stress that in my head it was super romantic. I imagined it as one of those stories she would tell our grandchildren about: Grandpa was one romantic stone cold fox. That was the dream. The reality was a hairy little caveman presenting a bag of rocks for a Christmas gift. A bag of rocks that I spent way too much money on, nonetheless.

She was kind, gracious even. And, let’s get real for a second. I mean, she chose to marry me, so somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that a tame and normal man I am not. She knew what she was getting into. Left to my own devices, I am a mongoose. I am a monkey with a hammer. A feral cat. Me caveman.

Cavemen bring rocks and sticks and dead animals as gifts. I mean well, but this is what I do. I bring rocks. I bring dead animals. And when I do these things, I think that I’m doing something awesome. While she would argue that cavemen never existed, I look back on all the gifts I’ve given her, and I’m convinced that we still exist. I love her.

1 Corinthians 16:14 “Do everything in love.”

She loves me. She loves me anyway, or maybe even because of my feral catlike qualities. At some point you quit trying to analyze why something is and you just enjoy that it is. It’s amazing what you’ll do, and what you’ll accept when you love someone.

On this holiday commemorating love, I’m again dumbfounded that not only would my God create an amazing woman who digs my mongoose-monkey-caveman-cat-man strangeness, but also that this God of all creation would love me even more than she does.

Let’s get real, again: God is so powerful that his act of speaking words caused planets and galaxies to form out of nothing. It caused nuclear fusion to explode forth into stars when there was nothing. That’s freaky, man. I mean that respectfully, but still. That’s freaky. God is so big that time itself isn’t big enough to encompass Him. That’s weird and terrifying. This wonderful, amazing, beautiful, holy, good, and terrifyingly powerful God loves us. He loves us. Everything He did, everything he does, is because He loves us. And we are most like Him when everything we do is done in love. Even if it’s giving someone a bag of rocks.

“The toilet is stopped up. I can’t get it,” she said.
That, my friends, is how it started. It was more of an SOS than an email. A cry for help. No, it was a cry for deliverance against the tyranny of only one working toilet. I can abide many things, but this thing I can not abide. I will not abide this. I am a fixer; I fix things; it’s literally what I get paid to do. My wife will have two functioning toilets by nightfall.

Full Disclosure: I do get paid to fix things. That’s a true story. However I should mention that those things are Information Technology things- web servers, PC and Server Operating Systems, coding issues tackled, coding solutions provided, technical questions answered, and technical problems solved. It’s not bragging if it’s true, and it’s true that me and God can fix some IT stuff. That fact has bred overconfidence in my abilities beyond IT and has gotten me into more than a couple sticky situations. Because when it comes to home repairs, I’m a monkey hitting things with a hammer and screaming into the night. I’m a mongoose with a reciprocating saw trying to screw in a nail.

“I’ll get it when I get home. No biggie,” I said. I mean, you take the plunger, you do your thing, boom. You’re a hero. Easy win. I’ve done it before. I’ve got this. I am the right tool for this job. I will not be defeated by a stew of toilet sadness.

“Your brother tried it, but he couldn’t get it either,” she replied warningly. ‘Woman, I’ve got this,’ I thought. I’m going to show that toilet what’s what. Get it. You’re about to see how a toilet gets plunged, suckers.

Staring into the murky abyss, I marveled, “Wow, that joker is really full.” And really full it was. Undeterred and accompanied by my brother, I grabbed the plunger and went to work. No dice. I was plunging slowly and gently so as not to breach the rim of the bowl with the sorrowful salmagundi it contained, and nothing good was happening.

“Maybe I need the other plunger,” I said. That was my rationale. It has to be that I have the wrong tool for the job. It’s not me. I need a different plunger, and then I’ll get this thing done. Moments later, instead of two working toilets, I had two disgusting plungers and a filled to the brim toilet of disappointment. Time to go nuclear.

“What are we going to do now, Don?” my brother David asked.
“We’re going to take it to the limit, little brother. Let’s get the toilet snake,” I replied. Side note: when you start quoting song lyrics from The Eagles in response to a question concerning fecal matter, you’re only setting yourself up for disaster. There was a drain snake in the laundry room. Never mind that I’d never used one. Never mind that I had to search YouTube on how to use one. This was the obvious solution.

I put the end of the snake into the goulash of suffering that was the toilet, applied some downward pressure, and started twisting the end of the snake just like I saw on the YouTube video. It went in a good bit, then stopped.

‘Ha! Victory!’ I thought. The guy on the video said that’s what would happen. Now, you twist this bit and you slowly pull back on the end of the snake to release the obstruction.

You remember those scenes in movies where something awful is happening and it goes slow motion for a bit so you see every horrible detail? That’s not just a cool movie technique. That really happens. Because the toilet was obscured with a melange of previous activities, I couldn’t see the fate that awaited me and the fate that I was about to inflict on others.

Instead of going down into the toilet drain, the toilet snake was a tangled cobra of potential energy sitting under the surface of the melancholy brew, ready to strike at an opportune time. And now was that time. I saw the end of the snake peer above the filth before me, and before I could react to the confounding information my eyes gave me, it started to unravel itself with much gusto.

The Hissing Cobra of Shame. That’s what we call it. It was flailing uncontrollably, dancing and spewing the worst things you can imagine. I closed my eyes and my mouth just in time before I was face slapped with sadness and filth. My brother, though a couple feet away, was not safe. The walls were not safe. Nothing was safe. No one escaped.

“MMMMMMMMM!!,” was all I could vocalize, as I dared not open my mouth or my eyes. It was a closed mouth scream of defeat. I’d been hit. I’d taken a direct shot. I’d been in a bad spot before, but this was a new low.
“UGHH, oh, God! It got on me!” my brother screamed.
“MMMMMMMMM!!,” I replied.
“Ahhhghck, is it on your face?” he screamed.
Indeed it was.

1 Corinthians 1:27 (NIV) “But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.”

Caked in overwhelming defeat, we did what any reasonable men would do: we slung the toilet snake out the window (left it there in the rain for a while so we could pretend nothing ever happened), cleaned up, and called a plumber. I was defeated. I was not the right tool for the job. I wasn’t the fixer.

I want to remind you that you very likely aren’t the right tool for the job, this week. Good for you. Seriously. God doesn’t call the wise to lead the way; God doesn’t call the strong to win the victory. God calls the foolish. God calls the weak. And He does it to prove a universal truth: The Victory is His Alone.

If you’re in over your head, you’re probably right where He wants you to be. That’s a tough spot to be in, and it may even look like a toilet stew of disappointment. But, He uses us to shame our enemy, much in the same way the Hissing Cobra inflicted shame and disappointment upon us. And the wall. And the shower curtain. And the floor. God proves over and over that He is more than capable, and He does it by winning victories, ministering, loving, and providing hope and the gospel through inadequate vessels like you and me.

Don’t get caught up on ‘am I good enough, or smart enough or capable enough.’ God is enough, and He wants to use you. Let Him use you to sling some poo on the enemy this week. Put yourself out there. Believe not in your ability, but believe in His ability to get the job done.

Honest sharing time: I’m a Potterite. I’ll save you the time and danger of looking that up on your own. The internet is a dangerous place, kids. Just say no. Kidding. Eh, only kind of. Anyway. I dig Harry Potter. Yes, I’ve read the books. Yes, I’m a grown man; I read books. I’ve watched the movies. Yes, I’ll probably watch them again, and watch them sometime soon. I’ve even been to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando FL with my wife and kids, and I had a blast. And yes, I understand that I have no more street cred. At all. I’m ok with it.

One of the coolest things in Harry Potter is The Cloak of Invisibility. I won’t go too far down the rabbit hole with you on it, so for those of you who are unfamiliar, it’s basically this garment that renders the wearer invisible. With the Cloak of Invisibility, Harry Potter and his friends get into, and get out of, all kinds of hijinks and adventures. Can you imagine how awesome that would be?

“Hey, where’s Donnie?” they’d ask. “We want him to come to this completely pointless meeting that will make him want to rip out his own eyes and throw them at us.”- Boom. I throw on the Cloak and I’m out, suckers. Catch me if you can.
“We need some volunteers to carry some awkwardly heavy stuff.”- Get wrecked, jokers. I’m invisible.
“Sir, do you know why I pulled you over today?”- Do you know why you can’t see me anymore? Get some, that’s why. I’m invisible.

Matthew 6:6 (NASB) “But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”

Given the chance at invisibility, I’d cause mayhem. I wouldn’t do it on purpose. It would just happen. Mayhem would be the byproduct of giving me the power to be invisible or to act in complete secrecy. But does that have to be bad? What if we cause some good kind of mayhem?

What if instead of trying to handle a situation at work my way, I went into secret and invisible battle through prayer? What if instead of giving someone a piece of my mind, I went invisible and went to my Father in secret and prayed for His will to be done? What if instead of trying to fix that other person, I caused some godly-spiritual mayhem by going invisible to the enemy and praying for them and for myself? What if I trusted God enough to go to Him quietly instead of going on social media, and talk to Him about any number of topics?

I think that would cause some mayhem. I think my workplace, my commute, my town, my church, my family- everything would get wrecked, and it would be a beautiful and holy thing. The mayhem it would cause- it might even be enough to break down prison walls and set someone free. Can you imagine putting on the Cloak of Invisibility and busting someone out of prison?

Before the hate mail comes rolling in, don’t be silly. I’m not saying ‘capitulate.’ I’m saying, ‘Go to war. Braveheart that thing. But you have to go the right way or you’re just going to get cut.’

I’ve never won a fight by shouting louder or even by being right. To the contrary, I’ve been right, and lost the battle because ‘I got loud’ instead of ‘I got holy.’ Instead of trying to show them (whoever ‘them’ may be at the moment) who I really am and what I stand for…maybe I just need to trust God enough to keep His word and see if He won’t reward me. Go to war and wreck some stuff. Get all Braveheart on it and put on that blue facepaint. Cause some mayhem. Put on that cloak of invisibility. Go into the secret place where God is and pray.

‘I have a whole pack of Oreos at home, I have a whole pack of Oreos at home.’ It was the only thing getting me through the day. I kept repeating it to myself: a sugary cream filled mantra of defeat, just over and over and over. ‘Oreos. At five o’clock, I’ll go home and I’m going to eat that whole pack of Oreos.’

It was a pretty crummy day among many crummy days in a crummy week. I can’t remember any one particular thing about that work day that was so awful; it was more a culmination of things breaking and ‘Donnie can you look at this.’ To steal from Tolkien, I was feeling like butter scraped over too much bread.

I was overwhelmed. ‘Oreos. I have a whole pack of Oreos at home.’ If we can pause here and let that sink in for a second. If the hope of Oreos is what is getting you through your day, you’re in a bad spot. There are many forms of ‘in a bad spot’ that we’ll face in life. Health issues, financial issues, etc. ‘Oreos are the only thing getting me through my day’ is a particularly bad spot.

‘These jokers can’t eat me; they can’t kill me. And at five o’clock I’m going home and I’m eating that whole pack of Oreos.’ As bad as my day was going, it was nothing compared to the heart ripping anguish that would befall me later.

Five o’clock rolls around. Where’s Donnie? Get some, jokers. I left at 4:55. Donnie Lopez, Victorious Human Being. I roll into my parking spot at our home. What a day. I walk in, give everybody hug, and head straight into the kitchen. I know exactly where the Oreos are. I’ve waited for this moment all day. This is my moment. This is my sad little victory over a crummy week.

I rip open the top flap. This is what winning looks like. Oreos, baby. Oreos.
‘Wait, no, no no, this is wrong,’ I thought. My head was spinning. It didn’t make sense. ‘No, no no, what’s ..whaaa…no. Mice? But..how?’ Mice were the only thing I could think of. What other vile verminous creature would do such a thing. They were desecrated. They were profaned. Where’s the cream centers? How is every cookie missing the cream center!! If this were a movie, this is where the camera would spin around in circles. How could this happen?

“Ah, man!” I said, right as my wife walks into the kitchen. “BLAGHHH! I think we have mice or something.” People, we didn’t have mice. The cookie outsides of the Oreos were lined up perfectly in their slots in the package. Every cookie had been stripped of its cream center, reassembled, and then put back into its individual slot in the package.

Let’s pause again for a second and let this fully sink in. I like to think of myself as a reasonably intelligent man. The hellscape of my Oreos laid out before me scrambled my brain enough that I thought mice used their little freaky vermin hands to open the package of cookies, eat only the centers, and then reassemble the cookies and close the package. Ratatouille was real and conspiring against me. I was in a bad spot. My wife giggled. She giggled in my face, people. This is not winning. This is nowhere near what winning looks like.

Matthew 6:14-15 (NLT) “If you forgive those who sin against you, your heavenly Father will forgive you. But if you refuse to forgive others, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

“I don’t think it was mice, baby,” she said and looked towards the living room where our kids were playing. My own family. My own flesh and blood! Betrayed. Horribly, hilariously betrayed. I took the package in the dining room area.
“Hey, guys. What happened to the Oreos?” Even I had to admit by this point that that junk was funny. Those jokers.
“Oh,” my sweet little baby angel daughter said. ‘Oh’. That joker.
“It’s ok, baby,” I said. No one else could have done such a thing and survived. That girl.

I hope you have more to keep you going than just Oreos this week. I hope nobody eats your Oreos, but that kind of thing happens all the time, doesn’t it? Small little injuries and injustices can build up and if we’re not careful they can imprison us. What are you going to do when that happens? What are you going to do about those times it’s happened in the past?

There’s more at stake than just Oreos. You’ll soul is at stake. Your heart is at stake. Forgive. Forgive yourself. Forgive the other person, your family, your friend. Forgive so that you can be forgiven. Then go out to the store and buy another pack of Oreos and eat them like an animal in your car on the way home. Win. Happy Monday, folks. Hope you have a great week.

Related to this morning’s post about laying things down, or being all done carrying burdens alone. I also have to mention that there are some things that Jesus is all done with and things He is not all done with.

God said in Genesis 9:11 that never again would He flood the whole earth to destroy it. He’s all done with that. Jesus said in John 19:30 that ‘It is finished.’ He did the job He came to do. He was sacrificed once for all men. He’s not going keep coming back to Earth to be sacrificed over and over again. He’s all done with that.

What is God not all done with?
Us. Hebrews 13:5 says “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Healing: Matthew 4:23-25. I’ve never read where Jesus said, “Yeah, sorry about that folks but healing is all done.”
Hearing our prayers: John 9:31 says, “…if anyone is a worshiper of God and does His will, He hears him.”

Ask, seek, knock. Don’t give up. There are some things He’s not all done with.

“I’m all done with this,” he said as he stood up and walked away.
And that was that. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, how do you just lay it down and walk away? Was there something wrong? What’s the deal?

“But, Bud,” I countered, “you only took two bites.”
Two bites out of a warm from the oven gooey chocolate brownie. Who just gets up and walks away from that? Especially a kid. I’m a grown man and I’ll finish my brownie, and probably another one, even if it means I’ll feel gross later. My son is a savage.

Donnie’s Law of Finishing What You Start: When it comes to brownies or chocolate chip cookies, finish what you start. Kidding. Mostly.

He did this a lot when he was little. When he decided he was done with something, he was done. Talking to his grandma and he decides he’s done: “I’m all done talking to you.” Eating a cookie: “I’m all done with this.” Watching a TV show: “I’m all done.” He was off the chain. There was no chain. It was completely counter to how I lived, maybe even how I still live.

It’s like I feel like I have to finish, once I start in on something. Be it a brownie, or a bowl of spaghetti, or a task at work: I will see it through even if it kills me. I’ll see it through out of spite, just to prove I can. I’ll hold on when I should let go. I’ll carry what I should lay down.

Psalm 55:22 (NKJV) “Cast your burden on the Lord, And He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved.”

We weren’t created to carry our burdens alone. I’m stubborn. No, if I’m honest with you, it’s not being stubborn. It’s being prideful. I’m too proud to admit that I’m burdened, so I carry them myself. I’m too proud to admit that I’m not strong enough, so I try to power through and end up hurting myself. I’m too proud to admit that I don’t have the solution to all the problems, so I end up breaking things further.

Brothers and Sisters, I want to give you something to start your weekend off on the right foot. Permission. Sometimes all we need is permission to do the things we know we should be doing anyway, so here it is for all of us. I give you permission to lay your burdens on Jesus.

The family members you’re worried about, the lost, the one’s who are sick, your own pain and fear and doubt: not only is it ok to lay those down at Jesus feet, it is commanded. Psalm 55:22 doesn’t say, ‘If you want to, cast your burdens on the Lord…’. No, it says ‘Cast your burden on the Lord…’.

Take a vacation from your burdens this weekend by casting them on Jesus. He’s big enough. He can handle it. He can handle you being real with him. He can handle your pain, and tears, and fear, and pride, and sickness. Just like the world wouldn’t explode if I only ate half my brownie, the world won’t explode if you lay your burdens on Jesus. Every time I start to worry, every time I start trying to fix it myself, every time I start getting scared about what could happen, I’m going to give it to Jesus. “I’m all done with this.” You have permission to do the same. Have a great weekend.

“NO! OH NO! IT’S HAPPENING!”
I wasn’t really sure what it was, but whatever ‘it’ was, ‘it’ was definitely happening. I was surrounded by light. Unreal light. Piercing into my mind, my soul- a piercing light. That’s the only way to describe it.

I was awakened from a deep sleep by a faint sound, and this piercing light. Was this ‘the light’, the ‘walk into the light-you’re deadsky-it’s all over’ kind of light? Oh man, please not that. I haven’t done near enough cool stuff to clock out yet.

There I am standing at the pearly gates. The line is long. ‘Man, even in heaven we haven’t figured out the long line problem? All these people and there’s only one guy working the gate?’
There are books. Large books, small books, thick books, thin books. Looks like the gate attendant has a separate book for everybody. The line moves surprisingly fast. That dude hustles. I respect that. It get’s to be my turn, and the attendant pulls out half a piece of notebook paper and an old napkin with some scribbles on one side.
Note to self: do more cool things.

Aliens? I briefly entertained the idea of E.T hobbling across my bedroom with his little creepy glowing finger. I’m sorry. I know it wouldn’t be good interplanetary alien relations, but I would break that joker. After I’ve had my coffee and had time to wake up, I can have a semi-coherent conversation. Maybe even with a gross wrinkly alien creature. “Let’s talk little weird wrinkly alien dude.” But waking me up in the middle of the night? He’s asking for trouble. I’d start some weird alien war, causing the destruction of the entire planet, just because I’m a grouchy old man who broke E.T’s finger off and beat him to death with it ’cause he couldn’t wait ’til after breakfast.

Matthew 5:16 (NLT) “In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.”

“Daddy, I have a headache and I need some medicine.” Her voice was sweet and a little shaky. She sniffed and it sounded like she may have been crying. She had her little flashlight turned on.
“Baby, are you ok?” I ask.
Silly question, I know. But give me a break, people- minutes ago I was beating E.T to death with his own finger and criticizing heaven for only having one lane open.
“Let’s get you some medicine,” I say. We headed into the kitchen and get some ibuprofen. Her little light lit the way for both of us.

It’s amazing how much light one little flashlight can put out. The darker it is, it seems like the more light it will put out. Go outside at 2 p.m on a bright sunny day, and turn on a flashlight. Nothing: no impact at all. We live out in the country. We live in ‘how in the world did you even find this place’ kind of country. At night, it gets dark. ‘See every star God ever made’ kind of dark. That same flashlight that did nothing at 2 p.m would light up a huge amount of land at 2 a.m. It would overwhelm the darkness.

It may be dark out there, friends. Shine. You have a light, so shine that sucker. Be kind, love, give, pray, bless- do good. It’s easy to look around and be discouraged by the darkness. But it’s in the darkness that our little lights shine the brightest.

And if you shine your light for me, I’ll try not to break off your finger and beat you with it. But no guarantees. Just kidding. Mostly.

Did you know that children’s ears are incapable of hearing certain sounds? Sounds and frequencies that adults can hear clear as day are inaudible to children. True story.

A sampling of phrases and sounds that children can’t hear:
“Hey, I need you guys to empty the dishwasher.”
“Take out the trash, and then you can play your game.”
“Who’s turn is it to take a bath first?”
“Time to turn off your devices.”
“Who made this mess?”

I mean, it must be that they can’t hear those sounds. Otherwise they’re just messing with me and playing chess level mind games and plotting my downfall while I think it’s just about the chores. Nah, I wouldn’t have to say these sorts of things multiple times if they were capable of receiving those sounds into their little baby ear canals.

As a parent, as a grown up, as a leader, you may have to repeat yourself. In fact, it’s a good idea to use repetition (Scholarly article from Dartmouth college on the benefits of repetition. No, in case you’re wondering, I didn’t read the whole article. The title kind of sums it up. If you read the whole thing, give yourself Five Donnie Bucks- not legal tender/not redeemable for cash).

John 20:19-26 (NLT) “Peace be with you…Peace be with you…Peace be with you…”

Is it any wonder that God repeats himself? After His resurrection, Jesus tells His disciples three times, ‘Peace be with you.’ They were scared. Peace be with you. They were confused. Peace be with you. They thought He’d failed them. Peace be with you. He hadn’t failed them- He’s alive.

Allow me the honor of echoing our Savior: Peace be with you- Our God raises the dead. Peace be with you- Our God provides. Peace be with you- Our God hears us. Our God always comes through. Peace be with you. His peace. God level peace. You’re not in this alone, so you can have peace. It’s not easy. I get it. Peace be with you anyway. He won’t fail you- He comes through in weird ways, sometimes. But he always comes through. Peace be with you.

“There’s some sandwich stuff in the fridge, if you’re hungry,” she said. From the outside looking in, I could see how you’d think this was a normal statement. A kind offer, even. However, you’re forgetting one crucial fact: sandwiches are gross. If you see me eating a sandwich, something has gone horribly awry.

Sandwiches are what grown ups think they should like, and what they say they like: like salads, or sardines, or jazz music. It’s time we stop lying to each other, people. You know you don’t like sandwiches. You know you don’t understand jazz. I’m a grown man and I eat grown man food, not sandwiches. Sandwiches are fit only for small children who don’t know any better. Kids eat all kinds of gross stuff. They also eat sandwiches. I rest my case.

‘But Donnie,’ you may say. ‘Didn’t you say hamburgers are a great and beautiful thing, not a week or two ago? Aren’t hamburgers sandwiches?’
Nah. Hamburgers aren’t sandwiches, folks. The presence of two pieces of bread does not a sandwich make. I have a whole loaf of bread in my pantry; that does not make my pantry a collection of sandwiches.

Matthew 5:6 (NKJV) “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.”

I was hungry. I was grouchy hungry. But I wasn’t hungry enough to eat a sandwich. I hadn’t given up on life, so I wasn’t going to eat a sandwich. I was hungry, but I wasn’t willing to compromise for something less. I’m not an animal…

And yet, I’ve compromised in far more important ways. We all have. I’ve gone along with the crowd when I should have spoken up or walked away. I’ve said things I shouldn’t have said; I’ve done things I shouldn’t have done. I’ve eaten a spiritual sandwich instead of holding out for the meat and potatoes that God offers. He’s offered to fill me up if I’ll just be hungry for a little bit. And I’ve wimped out. I’ve eaten a sandwich instead. We all have.

But, take heart. That doesn’t mean we’re stuck eating spiritual sandwiches for the rest of our lives. Just because you ate a sandwich before, you think that means you’re doomed to a life of sandwiches? Nah.

God still offers righteousness. God still offers to fill you up with good things. God still offers living water, and the bread of life. You can put down the sandwich. That’s His offer. That’s the gospel. If you hold out, if you hunger, He will satisfy you. I’ve experienced it, and if He’ll do it for me, He’ll do it for you.

To borrow from the Dos Equis commercials: Stay thirsty my friends. And not just thirsty. Stay hungry. Righteousness is available for those who hunger and thirst for it. This is the same righteousness that Abraham had. Put down the sandwich; it’s not too late. Take up what will satisfy you. Those that hunger and thirst will be filled. It’s a promise. It’s a sure thing.

“You want to try the trail around the lake?” That’s how it all started. It was a perfect day. Sunny but not hot; birds were singing. It was a perfect spring morning. We drive our car to the start of our trail.

Maybe that’s how most terrifying adventures start. They have to start out beautiful. If it started out terrifying, you’d never go anywhere; it has to start out fantastic, otherwise you’d just go back inside and sit on the couch and eat a hot dog.

My wife and I were on our first vacation in close to a decade without the kids. A vacation without kids meant we got to do grown up things: sleep in, read books, go hiking, sit on the swing and watch the barn swallows fly by- all without interruption or complaints of “I’m bored.”

“Yeah, let’s do it. That’ll be fun.” Fun. Mountains. Beautiful green mountains. Baby blue sky. The smell of generations of fall leaves carpeting the forest. The sounds of an alive silence that you can’t find anywhere else: birds, and bugs, and squirrels, and wind.

We were talking, laughing, enjoying the gift that the day was. The trail had narrowed so we were unable to walk side by side. I was in the lead.

‘What’s that?’ I thought. Something unfamiliar caught my eye up ahead. It was big. It was like a shadow, but not quite; I couldn’t see through it.

Bear.

“Whoa, whoa, stop,” I said. It was close. My poor wife was behind me and no idea what was ahead. It was coming toward us.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Bear. Back up baby, back up,” I said. I was Jason Bourne. I was like some Jason Bourne/Clint Eastwood/007 freaky love baby unruffled by a huge bear walking towards him. I was unafraid. Ok, that’s not true. I was afraid, but it was the kind of fear that focuses you, not the kind that turns you into mush. So when you imagine me saying ‘Bear, back up baby, back up,’ imagine it with Clint Eastwood’s voice and the cool determination of a Bourne or a Bond. I was in beast mode. I was calm. I was in control.

Donnie’s Law of Going Out Like a Man: Simple. Everyone is going to die, so when given two options like running away screaming like a child or face it and go out like a man: go out like a man. In the grand scheme of things, fighting a bear to my certain death in order to save my wife and give her time to get away, live another day, and write songs, beautiful songs about me- that’s a heck of a way to go out.

“Did you hear about Donnie?”
“I know, can you believe it? He fought a bear to the death, well, his death, but still.”
“Did you hear the song she wrote?”
“Now, that’s love.”
Yes, yes it is. That’s love folks, and I was pretty sure that’s how this was all about to go down. All in all, not a bad way to go out.

We weren’t being quiet and that joker was still ambling towards us. Shouldn’t he be scared or run away when he heard us? I could see the white in his teeth, the pink of his gums. If you haven’t seen it, bears in the wild have a goofy way of walking. It looks like they could trip and fall at any second.

“It’s time to move. It’s time to move, baby.” Again, Clint Eastwood. Jason-‘Say My Name’-Bourne.
“Run, baby. Don’t wait for me. Just go. I’m right behind you. Just go.”

She did. Honestly, I thought she’d put up a bit more of a fight to stay with me. Kidding. Mostly. I get her moving away from the bear while I walk backwards keeping an eye out for the bear. I have a pocket knife (this will be a short fight to the death). I have a .22 single action pocket revolver loaded with snake shot (maybe the sound will scare him away, or at least alert people to the general location of my bear mangled body- this is going to be a short fight). Nothing. He disappeared.

Honestly, that was the scariest part. How does a huge black bear just disappear. It’s as big as one of those stupid smart cars. You’d think you’d notice one of those puttering away from you in the woods, but this joker was gone. He was casper.

We make it out of the woods. Fear laughing kicks in. We walk around a bit, happy to be alive. We’re alive and unmangled by a bear. No songs will be written about my bravery today, but we’ve got bacon back at the house, so I’m still winning. So we head back to the car.

“SNAAAAKE!” I screamed at the top of my voice. I lost my mind. I may have accidentally hit my wife on the arm when I slung my hands out screaming like a child.
“OH MY GOD IT’S A RATTLESNAKE!” I screamed. This is the same man who just stared down a bear like Jason Bourne staring down a Russian hitman. The same man that songs would be written about, that man just lost his ever loving mind over a snake in the road.

“It’s ok,” she replied.
“It’s on the other side of the road,” she said.
Was she insane? I mean really. There’s an honest to goodness 6ft rattlesnake on the road, the same road we’re walking down, and she says ‘it’s ok’? No, everything is not ok. Snakes are not ok. I’m not ok.

Give me bears any day. Fight a bear to the death- yep, I’d do that. Skydiving? Yep, let’s get whacky. Walk on a road that a snake has been on at any time during the roads existence? Nope, I’m out. Sometimes, our perfect day takes a turn. The path we’re on leads to danger, discomfort, and sometimes screaming like an ill mannered child.

This is not how I want to go out. Screaming. Terrified. Trying to climb up my wife like she’s a tree. Songs are not written about such things. This is unacceptable.

Matthew 16:24 (NLT) “Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me.”

I don’t know where Jesus will lead you this week. Jamie and I were following the trail and it lead to a bear. We were following the road and it lead to a rattlesnake. It also lead to some beautiful scenery. If you follow Jesus, it may get uncomfortable.

There may be spiritual bears that you stare down. You are Clint Eastwood. Good for you. Celebrate that. Write songs about it. The next second, you may fall apart screaming and trying to climb up your spouse like they’re a tree because there’s a snake in the road. Shake it off. Keep moving. Don’t stand still. A stationary target is the easiest target to hit. Don’t give the enemy an easy target.