You can measure one’s faith by their ability to move on. Jesus encountered many people who fawned and queried Him, looking to work out some kind of bargain, complete with caveats and clauses. He presents each follower with a moment. These moments connect us to a point of decision. When that moment comes, you’d better grab it because it’s singular in transcendence.It transports you into both adventure and holy consequence. In Luke 9, we see three symbolic responses to the Jesus call. Each representing different ways

During times of hardships

The first declaring voice makes an enormous claim. The would-be follower meets Jesus on the road and says, “I will follow you wherever you go.” Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

So often I have longed for a 10 year plan. I’ve dreamed of putting down roots and knowing exactly where I will find myself at the end of every day. I hate surprises and Uncle Murphy who shows up when everything that can go wrong does. He enters the arena of my personal world in force and fanfare. I don’t like it. I hate it. I hate surprises. And I HATE MOVING BOXES. What will happen next? Only God knows and He won’t tell. Sometimes life is void of parachutes, exit plans, and emergency funds. Sometimes we exit the scene of the fire, smelling like soot and hopping in the car of a loved one with little explanation, because life is just that unpredictable. Don’t feel abandoned because you lack the certainty of addresses and schedules. He’s there. He’s just silent.

When we anticipate grief

Some of us see grief just around the corner instead of 10 years down the road. We catastrophize tomorrow and we say like Jesus’ next potential follower, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” The context is probably not a hospice situation. Burying your father in that culture is committing to be there to the very end for your earthly community. This person’s father could have been in perfect health and 40 years old. Jesus’ response would seem terse and unsympathetic if the dad was presently at death’s door but probably that was not the case. Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

We love to be tidy, even obligatory in life. But with Jesus, we don’t loiter in the obituaries of our mind. We hug their necks, bid farewell and trust God. No one has funerals on their calendar months in advance. Life goes on and Jesus calls us into life which, at its core, can’t be tethered to future sackcloths.

When we have to leave home

Still another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.” Jesus replied, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”

Sometimes our exits are protracted. We don’t know how to hang up the phone or walk out the door. We do postmortems where we look at our past and wonder if we could have left later. We burden ourselves with feeling of guilt for not being with the same people in the same town, facing the same problems. We have to stop rubbernecking our history and move forward. Sometimes you have to cry the tears, hug the necks, and pack it in- all on the same day. We don’t have time to worry about what will happen in our wake.

There has never been a time when I left a ministry, job or town that everything suddenly fell apart because I left. I can’t think that much of me. None of us are indispensable. You’ll be missed but the people you have to leave will be fine. Don’t idolize your importance to an organization or a community. To do so limits your perspective on the sovereignty of God.

So when you are faced with a sad, yet mandatory farewell and you find your beloved friends questioning, speculating and bargaining regarding your departure, here’s a good response: “I love you. I must be going.”

Our trust in God’s plan should be:

• Unconditional

• Unwavering

• Undaunted

• Undeniable

• Unadulterated

It means giving God a blank check.

I’ve asked myself this question for years now and I still see through a glass darkly. I am guided and shaped in the midst of my own perplexities. One fact counters the next, but this list is true. Everything else is still on the table.

I am loved by Christ . . .
often wrong
rarely strong
seduced by grace
fixed in place
soaked in tears
racked in fears
a mix of duality
I long for centrality
homesick
heaven bent
wounded, limping
yet surprisingly steady and quite unrelenting
rebel some days
deceived by the haze
this maddening, saddening, dazzling maze.
sick and then healed
with mercy revealed
faithful, bold, and perfectly formed
wandering, timid, disfigured and scorned
enigma, riddle, mystery, clue
firm, unchanging, promised, and true.

About a month ago I took a swing at the diet phenomenon of intermittent fasting. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s the practice of going 16 hours without eating anything. I’d start at around 9 pm and eat precisely 1 pm. It works, but the people who know me best have encouraged me to give it up. I’ve lost weight but it’s best not to interact with me around noon. My personality changes and I say things that are just plain out of character and none of them nice. My hangryness kicks in. I have little patience for anything or anyone. They would much prefer the slightly overweight, jolly, patient, kind person that I am on a full stomach than the skinny, twitchy, crass, impatient, grumpy guy that watches the clock like an astronaut, waiting to blast off toward any loaded platter of complex carbohydrates at 1PM. I have come to the sober realization that I am a broken man with an incredible aptitude for pizza. 

12:30 PM is about the time when coworkers scatter to distant cubicals and watercoolers far from my workstation.  Yes, they know. I try to avoid making any important decisions from noon to 1pm. Decision making on an empty stomach is dangerous. Just ask Esau. I think he invented intermittent fasting and paid a high price for it. After a morning of hunting on an empty stomach he caught the scent of Jacob’s stew and he made a stupid decision: 

He said to Jacob, “Let me eat some of that red stuff, because I’m exhausted.” That is why he was also named Edom. (Genesis 25:30 CSB). 

It doesn’t sound he knew what the dish was!  “Give that uh…. RED STUFF!” And on top of that, he got a nickname: Edom, meaning “red.”  When you get a nickname for something you ate, it’s always bad.  If I were Esau, the scripture might have read: “’I’m starving! Let me have some of those crunchy things!’ That is why they called him, ‘Doritos’.”

It’s just not safe for me to continue intermittent fasting. I’ll stick to fasting for spiritual growth, not weight loss. It’s just not worth it. Appetites are a part of life but just think of all the people who made bad choices because they let their appetites get the best of them. Take it from a recovering sinner, when you’re hungry for food, power, sex, or notoriety, you tend to make stupid choices. You might even sell your birthright. 

60 years

most of them (I would claim) lagniappe

something extra, but never promised.

I could have found my resting place in 1983

as a log truck (sans lights),

barreled down Hwy 165 in North Louisiana.

I pulled onto the road, and for some odd reason on a moonless night,

I hit the brakes as the phantom monster barreled two feet from the fender

A 2 AM miracle as glorious as the parting of waters outside the corporation limits of Egypt.

Later on, it was the guy line of a telephone pole that snared the bushhog.

Rising high like a killer whale breaching the surface on the water.

Gravity ensued, slamming the engine block to the ground inches from my head as a lay on the ground.

These are just two of many instances that I have slipped through the crooks and crannies between life and death.

In other words, I have played with house-money for years.

(Or so it would seem)

but I contend that I have had a guiding unseen Hand, be it angelic intervention, supernatural consequence, or dumb luck. Although I doubt the latter.

No one could ever be that lucky so often.

But even more so I have been drawn into grace and every sudden rescue reminds me that Jesus is Sustainer, and the degree of difficulty has been mighty high in sustaining me. And I am mercifully still alive after 60 years.

I have lived in the company of saints.

I was raised by two glorious, creative, passionate, flawed saints, Mark and Lillie Tullos. I still dwell under the shadow of their faith. Dad was a force of nature. He was bold. Total extravert. A musical savant. Play a line of music and he could replicate it, without looking at a note. He never met a stranger especially at Walmart. And mom never stopped pressing me. And that’s a good thing. She wasn’t a touchy-feely mom but touch me and you’d feel the force of a thousand Samurai warriors.

My favorite storyteller and theologian is my older sister, Melodye. She is a second mom.

My favorite artist is my brother, Mark. I’ve never met someone so creative and yet so entrepreneurial. He’s built a handful of museums and I’m convinced his paintings will reside in many more after he leaves the planet.’

And the most encouraging, in-my-corner, got your-back-little sister on earth is mine. Her name is Melinda.

I am the one in the family, most uncomfortable in my own skin, often dreaming, rarely sure of myself but still on the hunt for the Great Divine. I am still the little one, dreams are my minions along with a few drunken stragglers I call obsessions.

I have had other guardians. Including:

Obed and Linda Kirkpatrick, Phillip Willis, Dennis Phelps, Benjamin Harlan, Ed and Patsy Sutton, Debi Morris and Eugene Morris, Frank David Bennet, George Clark, Marjorie Radcliffe, Jean Woodye, Vivian Bush, Brooks Faulkner, Henry Webb, Ed and Patsy Sutton, Larry and Jan Payne—and too many more to remember but these are some of the ones I thanked God for yesterday.

I have heroes that shaped my journey Welby Boseman, Ron Brown, John Kyle, Randy Davis, Dennis Parrish, Jimmy Draper, Bill Choate (The guy I want to be like)

Jonathans arrived in every city, job and chapter of my life,

Justin Bufkin (Master Cinematographer), Roger Craig (Savant), Chris Johnson (My yoda), GB Howell (my reality check), Tim Shamburger (My oldest friend…47 Years!) Chris Turner (My Mars Hill companion), Derick Pindroh (My moving buddy), Jeff Wash (My West Texas kindred spirit) and Gavin Stevens (It’s in the movie) Roc Collin (Preach)

This is all stream of consciousness and I’m missing about half of my Jonathans on this post. And I pray I’ve been a Jonathan to others.

A glorious, beautiful collection of guttersnipe brothers called TAK.

I’m also thankful for Elavil. I have taken this one med for 30 years and the one time I tried to taper I ended up in the psychiatric hospital. So every night I say grace, a word of thanks for this old fashioned antidepressant and take the pill.

I share secrets, some kept well and others less cloistered. Steve Holt is the custodian of most these days. He knows where my “jacked up jars” are buried. He knows enough to write a hit piece on me but he has mercifully resisted.

I was blessed with an additional sister, Johanna Leonard. Still to this day, I don’t think she really knows how much confidence she poured into my life in high school. She typed my first play that I wrote by hand and counseled me when my faith hit the rocks of the storm-tossed sea of doubt.

In 2006, I conducted the funeral of my best friend, Danny Dean. In one day, a thousand memories and shared dreams were transported to the unknown country. I didn’t really cry until I drove from the graveside and then I wept for days. There are days when I can’t see his face and it’s in those times that I look at his son’s profile picture and it’s as clear as day. Danny had the force of personality and vision I both admired and coveted. Brutally honest. Fiercely loyal. Everyone knew Danny and I were inseparable, but he took the lead. When left ,(in Frostian terms) I became closely acquainted with the night.

In the building I work, three godly women keep me in line on our corner of the building, Sharlyn, Cynthia, and Tammy. They put up with a lot of disorganization and video editing noise, and they’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment over the past five years.

And of course there is Darlene Tullos

She’s my girl. Darlene has taught me so much about life and I am so glad we didn’t give up on each other during difficult times. She’s helped me find keys, wallets and rental trucks. The beauty married a dyslexic ragamuffin. Her compassion is unfathomable. I’m inspired by her heaven-and-earth moving faith. She and the guys have put up with my inability to say no, my codependency, and the crooked paths we traveled. Never have two more different people married but as the great mystic philosopher Rocky Balboa once said, “She’s got gaps, I’ve got gaps, together we fill gaps.” We are still enjoying the journey. I know the best is yet to come.

God blessed me with four men, Isaac, Jacob, Nathan and Caleb. They are my prizes in my old age. Each one, teaching me so much and giving me reasons to live if only to see what happens next. They are masterpieces with a fierceness of love so great that it overwhelms me.

As I say often:

I am constantly amazed by the faithful love of Jesus.

And as I reflect on the life I’ve lived here, mostly fearful of everything, I realize that I never,

**EVER**

had anything to fear. He has been and always will be, relentlessly faithful, continuously sufficient, and absolutely available. I am still captivated by this lowly carpenter and faithful redeemer- I’m still struggling awkwardly to construct the right syntax and composition of words to describe the One who is truly indescribable. I will continue to try until the book is closed and my time comes.

King Jesus, your presence is palpable, your depth is dependable and your grace undeniable.