So I pissed off a prophet.

Dear unknown friend whose identity will always remain a mystery,

Today, we celebrate the two week anniversary of our mystical meeting.

I'm going to assume you were following me. It's OK. I might have followed me to. But, pro tip. There were far too many of you. You have to coordinate better. Six people all following me at the same time in the middle of a Saturday Afternoon with shopping carts in the the health food section at Hy-Vee was fairly noticeable. Even for me. But, I get it. You came in in the middle of a great story. And you wanted to find out how it ended. And you really didn't get to hear either.

Where did you start listening? Fresh meat? My son called while I was getting fresh fruit. So let me start there. I was at the grocery store because my wife had sent me to buy supplies for a breakfast buffet for a friend and 22 of her family members. And on her list, she'd helpfully put things like, "fruit," Actually, let me back up a bit more.

About eight months ago, I'd had some friends over in my living room. And, it's possible I'd had a glass or two of wine. Oh? You like wine, too? I knew there was a reason we'd become fast friends. This young woman and her husband are incredible people. I wish you could meet them. Truly I do. Maybe one day you'll get the opportunity. I hope so. But anyway, I said the one word that I have worked very very hard to excise from my vocabulary. It's the word "should." Because for spiritual, psychological, emotional, and relational reasons, I don't feel it's my place to use that word in the life of another. You can. I don't But that night, I did. And I wasn't speaking with her, at that point. I was talking at her. And I told her, a busy and beautiful wife and mother of two with zero bandwidth and no margin what she should be doing. I know. And so did she. And she rounded on me. And let loose. And proceeded to tell me six things I wasn't doing in my train wreck of a life. And then she tried to pass it off as a joke. When she walked out the door, I turned to my wife, and said. Wow. She was really right about that one thing. My Bride, who is my bride, looked at me as my bride often looks at me, like she is appraising a caveman trying to work a computer. "What about the other five things?"

The sixth thing on the list, friend, is where you came in, and the story you heard taking place some eight months later. Because, part of the evening the Bride and i had spent complaining. Perhaps you didn't know that parents complained about their adult chidlren. We'd just come home from a busted vacation with our adult children. They fought with one another. No one was kind. And we were very upset with everyone. Especially our fellow Christ followers. Because they behaved the worst toward one another. But the bigger problem, and the issue that had always been there, was that I and my oldest son did not handle conflict well. For about the last 25 years. Nameless friend, have you ever read one of those stories in the Old part of the Dusty Book at your house and wondered, "How could those silly Israelites take 20 years to figure out they needed God's help? Who would be that slow?" This guy. 25 years 8 months.

The problem was this: Oldest son, I'll call him the Captain, is a leader. Simple. Skill set. Natural Bearing. Spiritually Gifted. Confirmed by just about everyone he meets. Rough edges? Sure. Arrogant? Occasionally, But a lot less than I was at 29. And when your father names you "Protector and defender of mankind" he's throwing you at the fire with a teaspoon of oil and little direction.

But here's the thing. For 25 years, whenever he'd try to lead me, I'd hear the same things:

Why don't we try it this way?

It could be so much better if we do it this way?

You know what we could do?

Why didn't you?

Did you think about?

Really?

Why?

Hey, let's go this way?

And when my tank is full, and I'm fully rested, and my life is in balance, my reaction is almost always positive. Because 98 percent of the time, he's right. Sadly, for the past 25 years, that has not been my reaction. It's been my reaction about 2 percent of the time. No, instead, because of the pace of life I'd been living, I was often exhausted. Even as a Christ follower, I was often spiritually, emotionally, and physically, or,mentally wiped out. And so, instead of receiving my son as a leader and seeing his giftedness, my brain reacted to his questions this way:Can't you just do it my way?

Can't you just be satisfied.

Would you just (expletives here redacted) shut up?

I just don't know why even try some times.

And it took more than two decades and a broken vacation for me to figure out that had nothing to do with my son. Instead, it had everything to do with me. Because he never changed. Instead, what changed was me. Energized, I allowed for, appreciated, and embraced his gifting. Tired? I shut him down and one of us stormed off. Depending on the day.

So on what the Pissed off Prophet still calls Spaghetti Night, her parting shot was "You always talk about reconciliation. Why don't you just do it? It's not that hard." So yeah. I got right on that. Like a melting glacier, moving backwards faster than forwards. No action for eight more months. Until last week.

Last week was different. I had been making my way through the list. OK. Back up. I had been being dragged, by the God of the Galaxies, through what some might call circumstance, through the list. Because-- you're seen me, right? Been working on a diet for the last forty years. Even if I wasn't down with getting through the list, God wasn't letting me forget. Oh that he would have. Painful changes, but good change.

But, my nameless friend now way too old to be looking at different sizes of diapers again another pro tip: be subtle, think long and hard between the difference between large and extra large diapers as if you are studying for the LSAT. Don't push your cart back and forth back and forth between the preemies and the pull ups. Too obvious.

Unnamed friend, you, and I, were witnessing the end of a tough week. Because for the first time in almost a year, I was living life like I did in the Old Times. Not for the same reasons. But with the same results. And at the same frenetic pace.

When did we see each other? Saturday afternoon? By that point, since Monday at 1500- 3 pm perhaps your time, I'd had 15 hours of sleep. Yes. Seriously. I was beyond tired. Thursday night at work I'd been Forrest Gump tired. Stupid tired. So tired one of my young co-workers was sending me Amazon screenshots for Velcro shoes and dribble cups. Several times I heard young men I love calling back drivers I'd spoken with and tell them, "Hey, I know what my boss just told you, but he's super tired. And super wrong. So here's whats right." The power of a good team where the coach is the weakest link cannot be understated. Can it Bill Belichick? (Too soon?)

But on Saturday, I was no filter tired. Oh, you gathered that? So did everyone else. In case you missed any of the conversation with my son when you pulled back and pretended to check out which size of diapers to buy, I'll catch you up.

"Hey Captain, just wanted to let you know, over the last couple of months, we've been talking about spiritual gifts with our Body, and I've been in the lives of other Millennials and Z's that I love, and I've been having the same conversation with them and I've been telling them about the story about God and you and me.

And the Captain, has me on speaker phone because he wanted to include his wife, and I have the Captain on speaker phone because I can't push the cart and hold the cell phone at the same time, even though I've got an ear bud in, because they never really covered how to use ear buds in my cave in France when I was busy painting us throwing spears at Woolly Mammoths.. The Captain, because he's the Captain, is incredibly terse, and says, "Which story are you telling them dad? Are you telling them the story of when I was 12, and it was 104 degrees, and I'd broken my thumb, but you made me put the catcher's gear back on and finish the game?" No, son, not that story? "Are you telling them the story of when I was in middle school and we both agreed I'd given less than 100 percent, so after the game you made me go for a 6 1/2 run with the dog?" No son, not that story, either.

I'd like to point out, friend with the empty cart, two things. Another pro tip: First, if you are going to make a career of following people in the Hy-Vee, you're going to have to throw a few things in the cart. You're going to be tempted on your first few ventures just to buy non perishables, but no one goes to Hy-Vee and just buys toilet paper and Kleenex, so you're going to have to throw in some perishables. Just throw in a couple of bananas, and actually buy them, so that some poor employee doesn't have to put them back. Especially after she's had a trauma inducing conversation with a bald old man while she was just doing her job.

Second, and more importantly, and there is no way you could know this, there are the only two points of agreement that my beautiful Christ following daughter-in-law and I had before the moments that transpired next. The Captain would still like to hang to the idea that might be good parenting. Absolute arrogance on my part. I and his beautiful bride both agree about that.

"OK, Dad, which story?" Either I'd stumped the Captain, or like his two Golden Retrievers, he knew he was about to see a squirrel and needed to get ready. I've been telling them the story of us, completely without your permission, by the way,  and it's been incredibly life giving because they've been like "Oh. Ohhhh. Ohhhhhh" And our struggles have been a life giving gift for them. And I just wanted to let you know.

"I've been telling them the story of 25 years and a busted vacation.

"Hey Dad. About that. It wasn't just you. It was both of us."

"Son hush." I'm telling this story. When you tell the story you can tell the story. But I'm telling the story. And I've been telling them, son, that everywhere I go, people know you're a leader. You came into my office. Five people had a conversation with me in the next 24 hours about what a tremendous young leader you were."

"Dad I only spoke to Five people."

"Son, I know. But son, this is not that. Because this was a problem 25 years in the making." And I went on to tell him how I'd been in so many conversations where so many people were so tired and they weren't able to see people's giftedness, and instead all they saw was their own tiredness and frustration and pain. And because God had finally, through the words of a pissed off prophet, woken me up in a whole new way, and I'd lived a week where I was beyond filter tired, again, -- and maybe here, understanding that I was beyond filter tired is for us both to understand that I was also beyond the filter of fear. Because what I said next brought tears on both ends of the line, and still does.

Son, "I'm sorry. I need your forgiveness. My life was a train wreck for almost all of your life. Even after I became a Christ follower. And sadly, I never had or allowed anyone to speak into my life to tell me my life was out of alignment. Even when I was finally leaving Jesus as was my Lord, Time was my Master. Remember what Jesus says about "You can't serve both time and Mammon? Mammon was the Aramaic word for the currency for the day. Ours isn't the Dollar, or Crypto. It's the clock. And because even after I woke up to Jesus I was a slave to time, I was still a wreck. Because I was still a slave.

And I can't promise you it's going to be perfect from here. But I can promise you it's going to be different. But I'm at a different place. And there are people around me to hold me in check. So 98 percent of the time, I'm going to follow your lead. It might not be immediate. I might need some time to embrace your idea. I might need to come back and tell you that you are right and I am wrong. And the other 2 percent? Those are going to be the times it is a really big deal and the car is on fire and we're inside with the doors locked and you just need to trust that when I speak in those times it is going to be mission critical.

And then silence. For less than a minute. And then I got to hear exactly what you got to hear.

"Dad. I'm here and my Bride is here. And I love you and she loves you. And I forgive you and she forgives you." I know. Must have been the sudden dust storm near the pharmacy. I was crying too.

And then, because we were men. I said, "So what do you think about the Packers?"

"Hey, It's probably sad that I know this, but they are only 1 1/2 point underdogs. "

"Not at all son. Unless it's sadder I know that the line started at -4 1/2."

That's when you peeled off, Friend. I took you for a Bears fan. Hey. I loved The Sweetness back in the day. And I know the joy of a conversion experience. So no judgement. Steve McMichael, Julius Peppers and Jim McMahon all experienced a conversion experience in their last days. So I'm not worried. And Walter? CTE's are real. We just didn't know then what we know now.

But you missed out on dessert. When I was checking out, with my cart full of "fruit" because for God's sake I wasn't going to make a second trip, the young lady who was cashiering made serious eye contact, as if she was about to explain Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, and asked with all the seriousness she could muster, and asked, "Have you had anyone check your eggs for you today, sir?" No filter tired, mouth engaged drive. "That really seems like a conversation I ought to have have with my doctor." College girl bagging my groceries is loosing it. Now my friend at the cash register is red faced, and oversharing, and says in a loud stage whisper to me and Bagging Girl, "You know, I used to work at Fareway, but I had to quit, because it was so dirty, and it made me feel gross, and I had to go right home and take a shower. Still no filter. Wasn't growing back. "Hey. Fareway makes me feel gross too, But for totally different reasons. I'm a 55 year old bald man. I can't have a 14 year old boy push my cart out to my car, or I am terrified I might mistakenly end up on a watch list."

So, Friend who's name I'll probably never no. Reconciliation can be really real. Just go piss off a prophet. But before you check out? Check ID's. Comedy is hilarious. But you don't want to have to stop midway through re-telling the story and think, "I pray to God that cashier girl was a college freshman and not a high school freshman. Or I am going to end up on a watch list.n

thus spake,

me.