The Heart Exchange

My definition of a true friend: When you can unload a pile of garbage in front of them and they climb over the heap to get to you instead of focusing on, cleaning up, or trying to organize the mess.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I prefer friends that are really screwed up.  Not because it makes me look better, but because I know it’s authentic. Now if you are one of my friends don’t think I’m saying you’re screwed up in a bad way.  I am saying that in you, I see a genuine person with a good heart that is trying to navigate the pressures of life best you can and doesn’t always get it right.  That we don’t need to put on a good face in front of each other and appear to be altogether. That we can unload garbage and not try to clean it up. That we don’t fear being judged for our emotions, actions, or words.

I want friends where  I can pour all my garbage on the table and not have them try to put it into neat piles.  I want that friend to climb over the mountains of crap to get to me and bear with me through the mess.  I want to be that friend for other people.

Sitting with friends last night, we each had a chance to pour stuff from our hearts.  Stuff that we’ve been dealing with together for a while. I love that we get to honestly share messes with people we sincerely love, and not have one urge to try and fix anything or expect them to so the same.

3 years ago as Matt was going through some major stuff, I remember being naive enough to think I had the power (and the right) to provide him answers.  I’d listen to his issues, ponder them, and begin to prescribe solutions.  What an arrogant ass I was!  No wonder he kept telling me, “I don’t need you to fix this, I just need to vent”.

I know people are being sincere when they offer up their words of encouragement or start to try and fix things.  I’m pretty sure they feel like they have to respond, so it sounds really holy to say, “We’re praying for you.”  It’s almost like we’re saying, “Wow, that’s messed up.  I’m not really sure I want to get involved with that.” (Now seriously, when you’ve ever said that to someone, do you really?  Ok, so as you offer your response, you go, “God, please be with Bob”.  Then you go about your day.  Mostly, we don’t ever even pray that lazy prayer.)

I’ve just learned that it’s not cool to provide solutions, rote prayers, or quote random scripture to a friend.  These “answers” or responses have not been earned, and they are cheap bandaids that fall off in 5 minutes.

I’ve learned that there’s a cost to be able to sit in front of someone and walk through their garbage pile.  That cost is your heart.

I don’t believe until you exchange hearts with someone, you will ever get the right to stand in their garbage pile, or look them in the eye and tell them they are full of crap or wrong, or seriously celebrate a breakthrough and share the joy.  The currency of humankind is hearts.  Until you exchange your heart with someone else’s, you don’t have an authentic relationship.

If you know me, you know I have been building an authentic relationship with Father.  I just realized something.  In order to have an authentic relationship with me, he had to give me his heart, because until I got his heart, I could never trust him with mine.  Contrary to popular belief, I did not choose to give my heart to him first.  God chose to give me his heart first, and then I saw it was safe to give mine to him.  This life is about releasing your heart to him, and then doing that for those around you.

So with Arlene, with my girls, with Matt, and a few good friends – we’ve invested in each other. We’ve exchanged hearts.  We can choose to value this investment or not.  It’s risky to hand over your heart to someone because it might not get taken care of, but you haven’t lived until you’ve exchanged hearts with someone and taken that risk.

I’m so glad that in this past year, and very much so in the last couple weeks, I’ve had the pleasure of sitting around piles of garbage with people I’ve exchanged hearts with.  I enjoy the authenticity of the relationships and the lack of pressure to solve every problem.  I want to do this more, and I hope the new path we’e stepping onto allows this to happen even more.

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He’s Rooting For Me

My Father cannot play the game for me. He cannot step up to the mound and pitch for me. What fun would that be for me? What reward would I get by letting him strike every one out? Would I ever learn to pitch if Father threw for me every time? Why even play the game?

No, Father instead takes me into the backyard and puts on the mitt and sits down behind a makeshift home plate and tells me to throw. He catches pitch after pitch and watches me practice. After several dozen pitches, we take a break and He suggests some changes in my mechanics. He shows me the delivery and grip, and I mirror His movements. He even steps behind me, takes my hand in his and we do the motion over and over in slow motion, all the time He’s asking, “You see? How does that feel? Do you understand how this is better?”

I throw several dozen more pitches and see more strikes. As the ball pops the mitt, Father yells, “Yeah son! Great pitch, you’re getting it! Do it again!” I continue to throw, but I soon get tired, and He stands up and walks over, puts His arm around me and says, “Son, good job. You’re really improving. You’re going to do great tomorrow. Just remember what we’ve worked on. I can’t wait for tomorrow’s game, can you?”.

Tired and happy, I lean under His arm and just smile. Looking over, I didn’t notice, but my big Brother is standing there, big smile on His face. My Brother has gone through this before. He’s played the game, worked with Father in the yard, and went all the championship and won the game. Defeated our rival and humbled him for good. Cost Him everything, but He did it with love because He wanted to see me win the game too.

The game is a lot more intense than I thought. Every hitter wants to knock one over the wall on me, and they all look intense. Every inning has it’s own challenge, and the game is so back and forth. One batter I dominate, the next one hits one up the middle. They even score on me, but I seem to be doing better than the last game. In fact, I seem to be getting better as the season progresses.

The best part is my Father is sitting there, totally focused on me and cheering me on. He’s never criticizing me, just yelling out encouragement. There’s my Brother, right there behind the backstop, hands on the fence, peering through the wire. He seems to know exactly what I’m going through, and I know He’s been there before, so that’s providing me motivation. In fact, I can feel Him inside me. I can’t explain it, but I just sense He’s in my every movement and thought and it makes pitching in this game so much easier for some reason.

My Coach is constantly encouraging me. I have a direct connection with Him, and I look to Him before every pitch. He’s been working with me all season too, and He’s such a good teacher and instructor. I’ve learned the in’s and out’s of the game from Him and the best part is that He’s right on the field with me. He never seems to contradict what Father says, and He sounds and speaks just like my Brother, reminding me of things we’ve worked on and done in the past, and showing me how to face situations when they come up during the game that I haven’t faced before.

With the bases loaded and the count at 3-2, I’m scared to death. The stress of this game is intense and I don’t want to mess this up. I need to throw a strike or I lose this game. I’m sweating, I’m tired. My arm is a little sore and the sun is just beating down on my head.

I look to my Coach and He’s clapping His hands together, “You can do it Bobby. Dig in. Take your time. Focus on the mitt. Trust your arm. Just throw it like you practiced.”

My big Brother is pressed against the fence, big smile, clapping his hands. Looks me right in the eyes and doesn’t say a word. His look was all I needed. That look of confidence says it all for me. He believes in me more than I do. It calms me.

Father is there in his chair, big smile on His face. I know He’s watching the game and everything going around the field, but to me, He only seems to be focusing on me. He doesn’t look nervous. He’s looking at me and He says, “Just remember what we practiced, Bob. Just like the backyard. You can do it. I’m proud of you, son. Just throw it to the mitt.”

As the batter swings and misses, my Coach, my Brother, and my Father are cheering like no one else. They are hi-fiving each other and bragging about me. They all 3 grab me off my feet and swing me around, hugging me and telling me how proud they are of me. It’s only one game in a long season, but after all the bad games I’ve been having lately, this was needed.

It means everything that they cheer me on, especially given the last few games I’ve been plain awful. I’ve gave up a ton of runs, walked a lot of hitters, threw balls in the dirt, and hit a bunch of kids who didn’t have time to jump out of the way. I just couldn’t seem to do anything right, but they didn’t give up on me. I can’t believe they stand by me as much as I screw up in the game. But whether I pitch well or pitch poorly, they are all 3 there game after game, inning after inning, pitch after pitch. When I’m struggling, They are providing encouragement and coaching. When I succeed, they are happier than I am and proud as can be. They are focused during all practices on me and my success. They don’t ever seem to tire of teaching me, encouraging me, or kicking me in the butt when I’m dragging along. There have been many times I got so tired of the game, that I asked to sit out. I even asked my Father and Brother at times to go pitch for me. They didn’t make fun of me for such a silly request, instead they helped get me back out there and keep pitching.

But after today’s success, I got to savor the victory. I got to see the fruit of all that hard work in the backyard. I got to see my Father and Brother bragging about me. I got to see my Coach smile and see His hard work in me pay off. I’m ready for the next game.

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