I’m not really sure how to start this post…  Just be warned; it’s a bit confessional and characteristically not short.

We just returned from a company retreat that was held over the weekend.  The funny thing about retreats is that I am never sure how they are qualified to be called such.  It’s such an anachronistic term I think.  We didn’t even leave the city.  We stayed at a hotel located about 15 minutes away by taxi.  And we didn’t even sit outside by a heated pool reading sci-fi novels (which is an activity I think that goes hand in hand with the idea of retreat in my mind.)

Anyway, when we found out about this retreat, I have to admit I was less than enthused.  We have only been living in our (nearly) fully furnished apartment for about three weeks.  Prior to that we were living in other people’s homes (bless them!) and hotels for the past 3 months!

So the idea of packing the familiar green duffel bag and moving back into a rent-by-the-night establishment was not my idea of "retreating" in the least.  I considered it a mild form of torture.

On the other hand I knew that as a family we needed it.  I knew we would enjoy the fellowship and dedicated time to focus on our King.  The last few weeks have felt especially stressful–even though we have had a break from language learning (or maybe because of that break??)

On top of the cultural hurdles / language barriers which I’ve painstakingly detailed throughout this blog, last week Anna fell from the ladder of her bunk bed sustaining a nice goose egg on her brow and a slight concussion in the process.  (No worries.  She quickly recovered.  After Anna threw up I pointed out that Christa was now the only family member who hadn’t puked on Chinese soil.  She reminded me that I hadn’t, but I argued that Chinese airspace had to qualify.)

The day after the concussion I wasted about four hours of my day trying to "get things done".  Some people never learn…First, I went up the street to get some keys made (since we’re down to only one set!)  Having found an actual vendor who could duplicate my keys, I felt pretty lucky.  I went ahead and had three sets made.

From there I went to the Bank.  After a twenty minute wait my number was called.  When I handed the clerk my American Express card and personal check (another Xining story I can’t go into) she looked at me in dismay.

"Do you speak / understand Chinese?" she asked me in Chinese.

"Not too much," I replied in perfect English. (Real genius)

As she waved over another clerk I knew it was a no-go. The other clerk delivered the news I expected, as she handed my check/card back through the plexiglass window.

"We can not do this business today.  Please come back tomorrow and go to window 13."

"Tomorrow," I replied stoically.

And of course tomorrow was the retreat.

And of course none of my 3 new keys worked.

And of course my attitude has been bottoming out lately.

And of course I’ve been snapping at my poor daughters whenever they whine or poop on the floor.

And of course my wife is right there with me–going through a depression she’s not accustomed to as a very social type person who suddenly can’t communicate to people freely and fluidly.

And of course the complaining has gotten a little inflated and out of hand…even on the blog.

So I guess you could say a retreat was in order.  In many ways the retreat was very typical.  Very expected.  A lot of great things many of us have experienced in similar settings.

I spent a lot of time dragging my feet and floating through it.  To be honest, I’m quite drained in the area of motivation, especially socially and spiritually.  I really wanted to get something out of the weekend, but I found myself unable to exert the effort I thought was required for the outcome I desired.  There are often internal barriers that we see and can sense in ourselves that we know hinder us from experiencing the freedom we desire.  I know my hindrances well and I just wasn’t sure the Spirit could break through the walls that routinely crowd in on me–especially since I didn’t feel I had the strength to help push the walls from the inside.

Most of all I guess I just wanted to hunger and thirst for the intimacy with the King that I’ve experienced in the past.  I wanted that passionate desire (fire) to pull me through the apathy I felt as if I were being swallowed in.

At the retreat there was no instant epiphany.  No column of cumulus or blazing shrubs.  But in the same way seeds patiently grow, through the course of the weekend a sprout of truth pushed through the soil.  The truth was so simple (in many ways) it flattened me.

If I have to boil it down to one sentence, this is what I realized:  Christ love for me is unearned.

Duh.  It sounds so basic, but as this truth saturated in the furrowed soil of worship, prayer, and meditation, the roots stretched down deep into my soil/soul.  I focused my attention on a significiant truth about Christ’ love for me.

It has nothing (absolutely zilch) to do with me.  I am the object of His love (from before the foundation of the earth…) I am chosen for love.

In the light of this truth, I re-realized a few important things about myself.  I am the firstborn son in my family.  That means I have always put pressure on myself to perform.  Performance is key, right?  Whether I say it or admit (even to myself) spoken or unspoken, I long for the approval of parents, wife, mentors, friends, peers, enemies, bacterial life-forms, fast-food mascots, and a whole cast of others.  I want to be liked.  I want to be given the OK sign in the eyes of man.  I want to be on Donald Miller’s lifeboat.  I want the "well-done-my-good-and-faithful-servant" stamp on my spiritual report card.  I want the center stage on awards night.  I want back-pats and congrats.  I want a post-humous J.R.R. to immortalize me in an epic elivish mythology.  I want to know I’m on the right track and feel comfortable with the tread.

So how do I get all these self-esteem goodies and feel that sense of security?  That’s the question I asked myself this weekend.  I concluded that I get the approval required either from things I do or from who I think I am (which in essence can be tied back to the things I do).  It’s the whole doing vs. being dichotomy all over again.  Is it more important what we do or who we are becoming?  Either way you answer this question (doing/becoming) you are defining where you derive your status from.

And then it hit me…  Whether I derive my importance from my actions or from my character, it still boils down to the wrong thing entirely.  If I feel a sense of worth because of a talent or skill; for example an ability to string letters and sentences together in a meaningful way OR if I feel a sense of worth because my friends say those words touched them, I’ve still got it all wrong.  If I feel a sense of identity because I’ve migrated to another continent as an act of compassion OR if I can pat myself on the back because that act shows some virtue of character, I’m still missing it.  Is it possible that my Christian service or Christian character can become a "brownie point" system that filters Christ out of the equation entirely?  As I thought about our recent life change and how it has disrupted all my norms and stripped away all the things I once derived status from, I kept thinking to myself:

Jesus just loves me because…

Jesus just loves Todd…

No questions, no invoice, no reciprocation required.

He just does…and He’s not going to stop.  I’m not sure He even can.

It’s a blind, self-less, consuming passion of His.  To love me completely.  To hold me in the palm of His hand.  To become vulnerability for the sake of love.

He just loves me entirely.

That truth has just been burning through my mind, my limbs, my spirit today.  He loves me in my worst possible state, too.  That’s what’s so incomprehensible to the human mind.

Before the foundation of the earth, he loved me as a liar, manipulator, coward, and thief.  He loves me, intrinsically, when I’m being a disgracefully bad father and husband.  He loved me when I cursed His name.  He loves me when my thoughts are sewage.  He loves me when I fail Him, when I don’t brush my teeth before I go to bed, when I give in to apathy and depression, when I whine like a toddler.  He loves me when I spew ingratitude with the mouth and mind he artfully fashioned for my benefit.

It’s all (all the love that’s possible in the universe) unearned.

What really rocked my thinking was the realization that after all this time of knowing this truth, I still try to buy my way in.  I still want to do something…to find my worth in that small act of obedience or devotion.

"No, Lord, please let me get the bill this time…  You always pay.  No, well then let’s at least go Dutch, ‘kay?"

So much well-meaning self deception.  And knowing that He just loves me without qualms took all the pressure off.  All the stress I’ve been feeling–the need to prove something to myself, to those I’m trying to gain approval from, to Him–just drained out of me like an over-inflated tire suddenly punctured.  Knowing that He will continue to love me no matter how badly I fail Him, betray Him, embarrass Him (can He even be embarrassed by a child He loves so dearly?) gave me an unexpected hope and courage.  It made me want to follow Him more and love Him back.  Not to gain His approval…already taken care of–for some reason only He understands He approves!–but to find that intimate love again.  I want to walk with Christ closely again so that I can capture even the slightest traces of that radioactively unconditional love and contaminate others with it.

To sum it up in another way:  this weekend it was as if the Spirit sat me down to let me know that I’m not on the payroll anymore (and never actually was…)  I don’t have to show up for work anymore.  I won the lottery!

I’m not sure if I’m touching on the heart of what went on inside me.   What’s still going on… My malady was not necessarily one of legalism as much as it was a misunderstanding of God’s perception and expectation of me.  He delights in me (even when I’m being the worst kind of idiot and sinner).  He delights in you, too.  And that’s the gospel.

All of His love (so amazing) is a precious bundle that awaits anxious opening hands.  Unearned, often unexpected,  please, open.