Preston Gillham

You pray, you read your Bible. You have a few Scriptures that are “go to” passages. You don’t lose sight of hope, and you don’t give doubt any quarter. You keep a stiff upper lip, set your jaw, grit your teeth, and hold your head up. You believe—believe God, trust God, and are determined to depend upon Him.

Now what?

You step forward, or get up, or claw your way back, or refocus. You strip away anything extraneous, jettison all non essentials (like any provision for your old ways of doing things), and run the race set before you.

Run?

Running can be a sprint, a marathon, a slog, a crawl. It can be a joy, a chore, an effort, an otherworldly demand. You can “hit the wall” when you run, but you can’t stop because then you will not be running.

Think of running as started, moving, in motion, directed—and therefore, gathering no moss; shaking off the dust; clearing your head; immersed in the momentum of movement. The only expectation is movement.

What now? That first step: taking it. This is also called faith.

What if your faith is wounded, discouraged, questioned, daunted, or otherwise seemingly overwhelmed? What now?

Ah, that is trust.

We can all use an example of how to take the next step, how to believe, and when belief is questionable, how to trust. Here’s a story that will do just that.

For five or six years I have worked with Barbados Grace Fellowship, developing their ministry model and outreach to the island community. When I am on the island, I stay with dear friends, which is where I am now, working from the veranda during a tropical rain shower.

Nanny is originally from St. Vincent, a volcanic island to the West. Of course, Nanny is not really her name, but that is what my friends call her, primarily because that’s what their children know her as.

I watched Nanny prepare dinner yesterday morning in hopes I could emulate what she did when I get home. There was a recipe that Nanny followed in large part, but the large part is not the hard part, nor the really good part. I lost track after a while, gave up, and decided to look forward to dinner.

Dinner was wonderful.

When Nanny arrived this morning, we did our customary swapping of places in the kitchen as she cleaned up from the book discussion for “No Mercy” and I made coffee. I told her dinner last night was superior.

Nanny said she knew it would be okay (a favorite, island cliché) because she had prayed on the bus, prayed over the recipe, and prayed over her preparation. She said, “I knew Father was cooking through me. It was okay.”

As I conclude my writing, Nanny is alternating between singing and whistling, “Higher Ground.”

Here is another story—a longer one—about a man who trusted God to live through him even though it seemed irrational, unlikely, and unwarranted.

Some people say my book, “No Mercy,” is outside the box.

I disagree. Oh, sure. I published it unconventionally, and I speak to issues that are not often revealed in nice company, but I had no intention of writing a book that is not relevant.

The concept of “No Mercy” is revolutionary, granted. And the literary style is outside the norm, but the story of Henry “Hank” Henderson is not uncommon. He is a normal person, living a fairly normal life, who encounters the revolutionary God of heaven.

And some say, “That’s odd: a revolutionary God. It’s outside the box. Abnormal, really.” No it’s not! That God cares, persists, and pursues is what He does, and has done, since He created mankind.

Had I written a book that was outside the box, then the concept of God I presented would have been remote, removed, indifferent, and irrelevant. I didn’t write a fantasy! I wrote about real life and a real-time, interactive God utilizing the literary elements of fiction and allegory.

Why? Because I hope Hank’s life-story sparks a revolution in our life-stories.

There are two types of revolutions: a) those fueled from outside, and b) those fueled from inside. “No Mercy” is the latter. Hank is like you and me. While fictional, he is not hypothetical. And, God is not distant. He is relevant. He is not outside the box. He is inside the box where we live. If God was outside the box, He never would have incarnated Himself. Like TR described, God is in the arena. He is active on the channel as my friend, Lamar, says. He is present and accounted for.

I’m hearing from two types of readers. The fist group encounter Hank, identify with him, generalize from his experience in “No Mercy” to their own lives, and emerge alongside him three-hundred pages later transformed. The other group appears to be afraid—scared that if they identify with Hank, their lives will be revolutionized like his. They seem fearful about transformation—as though it will take them to a place that is not OK.

Here is a thought about fear.

In the meantime, Hank’s story (i.e., “No Mercy”) is intended to instigate change through personal identification.

Revolutions are not driven purely by intellectual ascent, but by passionate identification, and collaboration resulting in true transformation from inside the box—inside the box of life.

Everyone needs private space, but leaders realize their private lives shrink as their responsibility increases. This is a burden of leadership—but it is also a privilege.

Leaders live in fishbowls. Good leaders understand this and use this transparency to their benefit and others’ good.

A friend of mine who runs a large company tells me he takes note of when he coughs during a meeting. Some would say he is obsessed. I would say he is a leader who comprehends the weight of leadership.

People are watching. They are looking for clues and indicators, anything that will help them feel secure, aware, confident, and informed.

Leadership is a privilege. It is a humbling honor to know people manage their lives by gauging theirs by yours.

Leaders cannot lead private lives in the same way the rest of us do. They are on display, whether they like it or not. Their lives are a barometer and field guide.

This means leaders must be deeply rooted in something greater than themselves.

Leaders who are selfish and self-centered, miscue. Leaders who are not anchored, drift. Leaders who believe their lives are private, behave irresponsibly. And the people who follow suffer.

But the leader who is anchored, the leader who is self-assured, and the leader who is self-aware has the opportunity to lead people well. Of course, this begs the question: Anchored to what? Self-assured about what? Self-aware in what way?

Scripture says about Believers that our souls are anchored in Christ. It says we are confident in Him. It declares that our identity is secure in His identity. These are fundamental truths for every follower of Christ.

Relating this to leadership, if a leader is organized and focused spiritually, then the foundation is laid to be transparent—deliberately; to put his life and leadership on the table for examination. Like Paul (and Jesus) say, “Imitate me.” Every one of us—including leaders—needs to be led in some way.

Leadership that begins with that transparency embraces the burden and beauty of leadership knowing that those who follow will do so with a sense of security.

We all imitate. Leaders have the opportunity to demonstrate what others will emulate.

Here is a transparent look into a leader’s life. He has gone to the trouble to write his experience down for our observation and imitation.

Dictionary.com says joy is an emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good. In secondary meanings, it uses: pleasure, delight, glad feeling, and festive.

Then there is this verse from the Bible referencing Jesus’ and joy: “…who for the joy set before Him endured the cross…and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Are Dictionary.com and the Bible at odds?

I’ve heard a thousand sermons on the horrors of crucifixion. You have too, and even the most eloquent minister cannot capture what Jesus endured on the cross. It was hardly a delight, a happy occasion, or a festive mood. Yet, the verse says He had joy.

Why does this matter? Trying to put ourselves in Jesus’ place and comprehend His joy is conjecture. It presumes that we can know what He felt, endure what He felt, and do so without being crucified.

Here is why this is important: The Bible says that not only Jesus had joy, but you and I have joy as well. It is one of the fruits of the Spirit, in fact.

This is good news at a high level. If Jesus had joy midst crucifixion, I must have joy midst the trials that plague me. And while I can’t feel what Jesus felt during crucifixion, I do possess the self-awareness to emote during my angst. However, joy is not the first descriptive word that leaps to mind to describe my emotional state. What gives day-to-day?

There is compatibility between Dictionary.com and Hebrews 12:2. The compatibility is between “something exceptionally good” and “sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” It is exceptionally good that Jesus is seated at God’s right hand, not only for Him, but for us as well. In fact, our joy is anchored in the fact that Jesus is seated at the right hand of God.

Joy is ours absolutely because joy is not circumstantial. (Better read that again.) Joy is visionary and retroactively applicable today.

It is religious tripe that we are supposed to display placid smiles and utter spiritual sounding dismissals in the face of difficulty. Joy is not denial.

On the contrary! Joy enables us to embrace whatever life dishes out because of the vision of joy: that Christ is seated at God’s right hand and advocates and encourages us on higher ideals; that the Spirit lives in us and exudes joy; and that we live beyond and therefore have confidence in the midst.

In “No Mercy,” Hank wrestles through this concept, but he lives it. Sometimes it is really helpful to have a guide. You can pick up a copy of the book here.

Because our enemy is described as the “prince of the power of the air,” anything that has to do with the air is his domain. That means most forms of communication travel through/via his domain.

Whew. Ever wonder where that nonsensical confusion comes from during a discussion that turns into a fight? Ever done a test on dropped calls and then watched the Tech’s eyes as you report your findings?

Cell is not working. Home computer unstable. Land line not working reliably. And, no one knows why. All new SIM cards, new phone, new cable lines, new modems, new land line phones…. No progress. Hours and hours of time.

If you go out to meet the enemy and don’t encounter resistance, you’ve only gone for a walk. Done enough walking. I received a text from my friend Kevin a few days before he died of cancer. His text came early in the morning—like about 2:00 AM—stating that he had a broken beer bottle and was going after the enemy in an all-out brawl. Of course, it was a figure of speech that he and I had discussed, but I knew what he meant, and it all occurred in his hospital room.

Like Hank says in “No Mercy” at one point, “I’m not a knight. I’m a knife fighter, a barroom brawler.” He’s thinking there is more nobility in being a knight than a knife fighter, but the knights around him correct his opinion.

It should be encouraging that we have an opportunity to engage the battle. But, it is essential that we understand: warriors do not go into battle alone. Thus, the reason for the Prayer Tribe: to link us all together in a common cause that takes life and light into the enemy’s territory and strongholds.

Enough of holding our ground. Countries hold ground. Warriors seize territory, which in this case, is the hearts and lives of those caught in darkness who long to walk in the light.

For more about walking in the light, check this out.

I’m not a fan of satisfaction, and I’m not in pursuit of satisfaction.

Of course, there are lots of definitions for satisfaction, but what I’m referencing is the complacency of being comfortable—satisfied with good enough—whether referencing business, product development, physical conditioning…or spirituality. In these arenas, satisfied is synonymous with complacent, stagnant, apathetic, flat, or tepid.

Anyone who is not growing and pursuing—who is satisfied—is in danger. Were we to be confronted by Rocky Balboa’s trainer about being satisfied, he would tell us, “You’ve lost the eye of the tiger.”

I’m not talking about the misconstrued, biblical concept of rest. The Bible’s concept of rest is an active pursuit of what Father has placed before us while trusting His life inside us to push forward through us. Resting is active. Trusting is tenacious. Faith is motivated.

Relationships cannot be static. Ideas can be. Concepts can be. But not relationships.

If you are standing still, you are regressing. You are relational. Your Father in heaven is relational. If you are satisfied, you are complacent. If you have fallen prey to taking your relationship with Christ Jesus for granted, you are now susceptible to the temptation of entitlement.

Entitlement sours the soul.

Satisfaction is exactly what our enemy would love to see us adopt, and once we do, he then persuades that our satisfaction is spirituality. Before we know it, we are soured. Before we know it, our spirituality is soured.

Love, a fire, a wellspring, the wind—these are never satisfied, and each is a biblical picture of our Heavenly Father’s disposition. Further, these are fueled by Father’s furious grace and mercy that will not be satisfied until our hearts are connected to His…and we know it, don’t doubt it, and live like it, love like it, and carry ourselves (i.e., literally our physical comportment and mental posture) like it.

“No Mercy” is a story about a man who recovered his fiery passion for life, love, adventure, and spirituality.

Fear is the belief that you will find yourself someplace where God is not—that you can do something that will take you to a place that is apart from God.

You are not that powerful.

Your actions—good, bad, or indifferent—are no surprise to God.

God promised to never leave you or abandon you, and He made this promise far in advance of you entering life’s stage, with full knowledge of your faults, foibles, and failures. Considering all your propensities, in conjunction with His heart’s desire, He declared numerous times, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.”

In the book, “No Mercy,” the main character (Hank) contends against fear. At one point he is talking with his brother, Vassar, who is representative of Jesus Christ. Hank is skeptical, finding it difficult to believe he should not be abandoned, and says, “Alright. What’s your promise, Vassar?”

“Hank, I will not in any way fail you nor give you up nor leave you without support. I will not, I will not, I will not—I cannot—in any degree leave you helpless, nor alone, nor let you down, nor relax my hold on you. You’re my brother, my family” (ref).

Their exchange continues: Hank studied his brother. “You know, you didn’t leave yourself much room to mess up, Vassar.”
“No, I didn’t, did I?”

“Look, Vassar. You don’t need to do this. It’s not worth it.”

“You mean, you’re not worth it,” Vassar corrected.

And there is the point of fear for Hank: He feared he was not worth Vassar staying with him, loving him, caring for him, and vowing allegiance to him.

Your heart, like Hank’s, was not designed to fear. Your heart desires to live courageously with the confident conviction that God is never far away. Rather, that He is in you, as close as your own heart.

Here is a link to Hank’s story. Sometimes it is immeasurably helpful to see how someone else gets down the road of life.

Getting started is the hardest part. The passage from no momentum to having momentum is remarkably difficult, especially if initiating momentum signals that you are embracing a foreboding change. The greater the change, the harder it is to take the first step.

Even if the status quo is not working very well, or is completely bankrupt, change can be threatening. Familiar routines, habits, and predictable outcomes are appealing. In fact, many people opt for the familiar even though it is broken. Covey has noted that doing again today, what you did yesterday, while believing you will get a different outcome tomorrow is a form of insanity. I don’t think he literally means “insane,” but when you sit down to think about it, such behavior is irrational at best.

Everywhere I look there is change occurring in the Believing community, and not just a little bit. The changes occurring are disruptive. Disruptive change is change that is so fundamental that returning to the status quo will never occur.

While there are convulsive reactions to these spiritual changes, I believe the disruption is a good thing. In fact, I think it is quite possible the disruption in the status quo is being driven by God.

All the indicators point to stagnation inside the church. Anecdotally, committed Believers are longing for their faith to be more relevant in their daily lives and are frustrated that they are not finding the organized church more facilitative of this desire. The disruption has already begun.

God wants to take us to a new place—His place. He wants to refocus us. He wants to disrupt the abnormalcy of spiritual apathy and return us to what Nee called the normal Christian life—a life of heart-to-heart connection with God that disrupts the status quo and propels us toward our spiritual desire to walk with God in His light.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? It’s the first step that is the hardest.

And what does the first step look like?

It is a prayer: “Father, take me where you are going. Tell me about yourself. I want to walk in the light.”

Here is a story about a man who stepped into the light.

Envision two rivers: one is moderately fast, the other flows fast and furious. In both instances, envision yourself standing on the bank, studying the flow rate, weighing the risk of crossing to the other side, but knowing that if you opt to do nothing—to stay on your side of the river—you will die a pitiable death.

Crossing the river is a visual image conveying the disruption involved in changing.

The first river, the one with the moderate current, represents those changes that require you to adjust. Entering the river will most certainly change you, but in time, you will cope and manage, and regain your footing on the other side. You can see it, and can imagine what crossing will mean to you.

The second river, the torrent, represents disruptive change. Crossing this river will revolutionize your life, and this sounds really cool. The trick is, the revolution and its risks are uncertain. You can wade into the raging current, swim for all you’re worth, believe you will survive the experience, but there is no guarantee where you will land on the other side. Crossing could be ruinous or glorious. Your life will most certainly be transformed radically, so profoundly you will never be able to return to the status quo of the river bank where you stand now.

Staying where you are—on this side of the river—is an option, but a poor one. This side of the river is heart-degree dissatisfaction. Either quickly, or after a passage of time, you will suffer the loss of courage, possibility, honor, and determination. All these are things your soul needs to live a robust life.

This parable applies to all change. But with the portrayal of the second river, I’m specifically thinking about spiritual change. Revolution. Return to a fiery heart-disposition akin to your Heavenly Father’s fiery heart-passion.

God’s intent is evident, but there is a torrent between where you are and what can be. Where do you begin?

To read a story about the journey–and adventure–of crossing over, click here.