MikePaschall.com

Can you help me get to my destiny?”

I believe it’s the wrong question. I used get asked that question a lot, and there is serious temptation to answer the question, but it’s totally the wrong question.

Here are 3 reasons why:  YOU ~ ME ~ MY

YOU – This whole destiny thing is 100% God’s business. I do believe that we are all blessed with certain abilities and potential to affect and infect those around us. We are each so unique, so divinely programmed and created, that it’s much too complicated a task for any one human to get any of us to destiny. Our choices, passions, gifts, and callings transition us from one punctilios encounter after another. Life is shifting all around us every second of every day. We just can’t orchestrate life in the way that we think we can. No one can. How you respond has everything to do with how, when, and where you land. Sure-thing decisions do not always work out the way they’re advertised. Forced decisions sometimes end up being the biggest blessing of our life. Risky/foggy decisions are laced with all sorts of potential. Again, it depends on you… not another person.

[For any person who has ever felt vibes from me that their big journey to a clearer path hinged on my involvement… PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE FORGIVE ME! At best it’s blatant arrogance. From there the description only gets uglier.]

ME / MY – Destiny is not a destination or a program. Destiny is the path you’ll realize after you’ve already gotten to where you’re going. If you possess the wild notion that reaching your destiny is like climbing the ladder of success… well, you’ve got a rude awakening on the horizon. Loss, disappointment, pain, betrayal, and ash will all play an equally important roll in uncovering who you really are. The romantics and poets can inspire you, but don’t be carried away by the sirens of charmed success. Success rarely teaches us anything productive about life.

A senior mentor reminds me constantly that I need to stop the whole destiny conversation about myself until I’m in my mid-sixties. He is an octogenarian. He says, “You haven’t lived enough life yet to make an intelligent observation.” He’s usually grinning and petting my arm like I’m his Golden-doodle puppy. It always makes me laugh, but honestly it stings a little. It makes me think that there are still some serious life courses to be taken, and I’m not a big fan of school.

If we’re called to service in any capacity, the whole me/my aspect is mostly wrapped up in self-centric thinking. How do we really give away what we have to give when WE are the most important consideration?

See? The question sets us up for bad form. Is there a different or better question?

I think so. Maybe. Try this one:

What’s the best way to add value to mankind?

This question gives anyone permission to get after a task or purpose without working for approval. Now it’s about the great “out there,” and there’s room for wisdom or inspiration to call out your greatness and release you to the masses without tethers. Now you can objectively calculate how to give yourself away without obsessing in personal care or concern for getting to the next level. (Whatever the crap that means?) Serving becomes the focus, creating for the benefit of others becomes the passion, and watching others ingest and receive the love is just the best.

One more thought and I’ll be done: Adding value can happen right here… right now… wherever you are. You don’t have to buy into any exotic notion that it’s better somewhere else. It’s not. The goodness and greatness happens wherever and whenever you spill you. I haven’t always believed that. I’m doing my best to align my head and heart to that notion now.

Love you all,

-MDP-

xo

I wrote this a couple months ago for a men’s group, but it hasn’t surfaced anywhere and I keep looking at it with thoughts that this probably isn’t an exclusive message for just guys.  Everyone might benefit.  I went “Patton” in the original copy, so I’m going to expand and soften without trying to remove the passion of conviction.  Hope it sparks some deeper searching.  MDP

Okay, so it’s a strange way of saying it, but have you come to the place in your spiritual journey to fully realize that God absolutely trusts you to screw it up? Yes, I enjoy the question immensely, but it’s imperative that we consider the ramifications.

The freedom to fail is just as important as the freedom to succeed. We’ll never get to Kingdom if we live in constant fear of failure, coercion, or eternal punishment. Us getting it right isn’t a big goal on God’s bucket list. I realize that can be a bit disconcerting, but it’s good medicine for our insatiable appetites for religious fervor. Our spiritual pursuit of God can be splendid and awesome. But, the fervor part that happens because we are still trying to get His attention or approval just blows—bigtime.

Rohr says it this way:

God allows and respects the freedom of creatures, even to the point of rebellion and blasphemy! The realm of freedom is a prerequisite of virtue, just as it is of sin. It is God’s great risk.”

Obviously that’s not an invitation to go bat-ass crazy with stupid decisions. We know better so don’t even go there, but our ash heap can become the invitation to our ultimate healing and restoration. We all have an ash pile. To think otherwise is blatant arrogance (1 John1:8), but that pile of ash doesn’t summarize our identity. It’s our failure that sparks that ever so important refocusing on the brilliance of grace. Free will and freedom of conscience are the key components of the doctrine of grace. Freedom is home base of all our morality. It is the mysterious quality that you feel when you get around a person who is totally secure in God’s love and full acceptance. You won’t feel like you’re being sold something by a desperate vacuum cleaner salesman. You won’t succumb to performance because you’re a member of the club. Rather, you’ll be drawn in because that kind of freedom is deep, secure, and the next destination doesn’t really seem to be all that important.  Right now seems to be as vital as what’s next. Wild-eyed fervor usually won’t allow you to taste the brilliance of ash or wine right now. Don’t be rushed by that spirit.

So, if we’re freer (from God’s perspective) than what we probably realize, how do we make proper choices for ourselves? I know this dumbs it down a bit, but just ask yourself two simple questions: First, does this add value and confirm my life objectives? Second, does this add value to others? If you can be honest in your response to those questions, you’ll usually choose well. Remember, you have permission to screw it up or make it great. Just figure out which one is a priority to you.

Michael D Paschall © 2016

YES…BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND!

RAW TALKS WITH WISDOM – Not Your Grandma’s Devo

RETURNS 1 . 1. 16

OKAY!  That might be a little over-inflated.  So, just hold your horses for a minute. In all honesty we’ve felt that we have a lot of new friends who know nothing about the devo, and it’s not doing anyone any good just sitting in the Kindle store waiting for you to purchase it…  so, we’ve decided to make it available again to anyone who wants to sign-up for it—for FREE—for real. Yeah, you heard me right!

RAW TALKS WITH WISDOM- Not Your Grandma’s Devo is now available via a daily email from our friends at the Chimp.  All you gotta do is sign-up and opt in to get a devo everyday in your email inbox.

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Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 

We love you all!

Mike & Patti  xo

I’m pretty sure I was dreaming this morning.  But before I could even get my eyes open, I became aware that I had been processing the words and the visit.  Even though that probably seems strange to you, it’s actually a pretty normal occurrence for me.  I am a mystic.  While I make no apologies for that, I try my best to keep the cuckoo in the clock.  The words landed with concussion.  I felt them.  There was nothing mean-spirited or condemning in the encounter, but I sensed it was serious. I can’t stop thinking about it, mainly because it applies to me.  I feel obligated to share what I heard, so I’m going to try my best to relay some of what He said.  It’s up to you what you do with it.  I know what it means for me.  I know where I am exposed.

You take my Name, but you don’t look like me.

You fuss and fight and glory over your doctrines, your beliefs, your positions, your need to be right, your formations and alliances, your insights, your opinions, and your self-righteous indignation.

You take my Name, but you don’t look like me.

You formulate, pick and choose your friends based upon your standards of acceptance.  In truth, you’re jealous and petty over things that really don’t matter.  You are easily offended, easily irritated, easily wounded.  You formulate yourselves into packs, tribes, and groups that exclude and isolate.  You do that because you are afraid, yet you will not trust in my protection or favor.

You take my Name, but you don’t look like me.

You are prideful in what you have, what you possess, what you have accomplished, what you represent, whom you represent, where you represent, and how you appear to be.  Yet…

You take my Name, but you don’t look like me.

You love in tiny parcels.  You love only when you are secure that there will be a return. You won’t risk loving anyone who doesn’t meet your values, standards, governance, or tolerance. You dole out treats of love as you would treats to your pets for good behavior.  Where is the extension to the poor, the broken, the needy, the uncovered, the failed, the outcast, and the unbecoming?

You take my Name, but you don’t look like me.

Think about the things I have shown you.  Grace.  Mercy.  Unmitigated acceptance and embrace for every single person.  You are too quick to judge, slow to mercy, slothful to repent, and unaware that true beauty starts on the inside.

You take my Name, but you don’t look like me.

Yet, my hope for your transformation has never been higher.  I believe you will live who you are.  You will become what I have spoken over you. You will manifest the glory that I have set upon each of you.  You are the plan.  You are the touch of my grace upon mankind.  All you have to do is decide to be who you are.  You have my Name.  Now be Who I was, Who I am, and Who I will be for all eternity.

So much for the fluffy Christmas message.

Love you all!

-MDP-

My apologies.  I feel like I’ve punk’d you for the past couple months with advertisements for the book.  Your gracious response to all of that has been overwhelming.  Patti and I really appreciate you all.  Thank you so much! -MDP-

You’ve seen the images on social media, right? The devo-selfie. There might be a beach or a fireplace in the back ground, but the gist is always the same: Bible (check), pen (check), coffee (check), journal (check), a lavender candle (for the more artistic types), and the special highlighted focus on some verse or thought that is doing it for the person who has posted the image. It always makes me chuckle when I see it, because I too really appreciate those incredible moments of laying low in liminal space.

When I was much younger, I probably enjoyed the pursuit of the moment much more than the intimacy of the connection. I was proud and zealous—a man on a mission. I was probably more of the proverbial bull in the china closet when it came to my handling of sacred space. Taking notes and reading the requirements are tasks that all serious God-people undertake and I was one of the serious. There were dues to pay, so I did my allotment. As I mentioned, I was very devout about it all. But, I must admit that I’m now less concerned about what I do in that space and much more desirous to just sit in His presence. Let me briefly try to make sense of what that means.

I think it’s right to say that God probably speaks to each of us in a way that flows with our sensitivities and temperaments. The where and the how is probably the least significant aspect of this thought, but the condition of our internal sensitivities has everything to do with our connection with the divine. I don’t think God is waiting on us to do our daily spiritual constitution before He’s willing to download to us. Us performing for God is not demanded or required. I think the meat of “devotion” is our willingness to sit in spiritual nakedness before the One who knows us like no other. I’m talking about real exposure. I’m talking about sitting before God (on purpose) and exposing our whole selves to His loving eyes. Of course He sees us, but there is something that rattles us to the core when we’ve stilled ourselves long enough to know that we’ve invited Him to look at us. Nose to nose. Heart to heart.

Have you ever watched someone while he or she was looking at you, measuring you, trying to peek behind the curtain of your façades? How we respond to that is usually a good indicator of how comfortable we are in that moment. It’s hard to explain, but there is a tangible pressure in that exchange. I’m trying to incorporate my exposure into less refined and dramatic settings. It’s an exercise of synchronizing my head and heart to His gaze throughout the normal day. I’m no expert and I don’t always have my A-game, but I’m trying to be more consciously astute and let Him look. For some reason, I believe He really enjoys my appreciation and ease when I see the love in His eyes while He’s looking at me. Yeah, I don’t get it, but it’s pretty much always wonderful.

Maybe… just maybe… it would be good to blow out the candle, close your Bible, the devo, the journal, and just sit still. Take it off. Whatever it is that you’re all wrapped up in (fear, anxiety, the pursuit of being noticed and appreciated, longing for something sensational, wild, exotic, and exciting) and take it off. Invite Him to look at you. Trust Him enough to expose your self. I think you’ll connect at a whole new level.

Oh, I almost forgot, pictures of THIS moment aren’t really necessary. ; )

Love you all,

-MDP-  xo

Almost virtually everywhere.

Til Death Do Us Part  (electronic and paperback) are available in a few of the online bookstores.  I double-checked Amazon this morning and the paperback is for sale.  The Kindle version isn’t up yet… but it will be soon.  CORRECTION:  HERE IS YOUR LINK FOR AMAZON EBOOK!  KINDLE CLICK

The iTunes bookstore does have the iBooks version ready to go!

Barnes and Noble does offer the paperback verson online.  Nook has not uploaded yet.

OR, If you like the challenge and you’re fairly tech-savy, you can go to the Bookbaby download site and get the electronic version that your eReader requires.  I tried it for myself and it it’s pretty easy to do.  Click Rudolph’s nose and you’ll be redirected to that site:

If you don’t mind, please go to the Amazon site and offer your review of the book! 

We really appreciate your help!

To get your signed-copy of Til Death Do Us Part, click the button below.  You’ll be redirected to the ETI Paypal site where you can order as many books as you want!  Thanks for helping make our launch AWESOME!

If you want a case of 24-books, signed or unsigned, email me and we’ll get you the discounted price.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE AND SUPPORT!

When I’m not in McGregor, there are two places that feel like home to me. The first is anywhere in the UK. I’m not sure why, but it always feels like I’ve only been away for a bit. It’s home. Yeah, I can’t explain that, it’s just what I feel. The other place is Fayetteville, Arkansas. That little village is where I went to school when I left home in August 1976. There are some things there that have changed drastically, but mostly it still feels like it did when I first moved there. Nine months after becoming a student at the U of A, I took my new bride to Fayetteville. We lived all over that campus. We didn’t have money to do anything so we walked and played throughout the beauty all around us. It was magical, and obviously it left a deep imprint in my spirit. It’s home.

I got another chance to return to Fayetteville a couple weekends ago for a football game. Tailgating in the Ozarks under blue-filled October skies is breathtaking. Hanging out with my best college buddy and just taking it all in is total refreshment. It didn’t hurt that we beat Auburn, but that was just cake. Being there is usually enough for me. Memories and nostalgia hangs everywhere like gaudy drapes. I genuinely love it.

On that particular Saturday it was an 11:00am kickoff. That’s early for heavy tailgating, but we managed a few goodies before we headed to the gate. My buddy was waiting to meet some cousins from out of town, so we were delayed getting into the stadium for all the pregame activities. I was smiling, but internally I was agitated because I wanted to watch Troy Allison (a McGregor boy and a Freshman QB at Arkansas) warm up with the Hogs. We were sitting in the parents section so we all had to go in at the same time, so I was stuck outside the stadium until about a minute before kickoff. Grrrrrrrrr.

While waiting, I decided to walk over to an overview area just outside of the stadium. People sometimes sit there on the grass when the stadium is packed out. From that viewpoint you can see the field clear enough, but you’re a long way off. You can see the player’s jersey numbers, but that’s about all the detail you can get.

So, I’m watching Troy warm up when I notice a guy sitting on a blanket right in front of me. He had a cooler and a pink Hello Kitty backpack. I don’t really want to profile the people I’m about to talk about, but I kind of sensed when I talked to him that something might have been off a little bit. I couldn’t really tell with him, but it was a bit more obvious when his girl (she was probably 50ish) came and sat on the pallet with him. She had the mannerism of an old addict. I don’t have to explain that if you’ve ever been around someone who used to live that lifestyle. I spoke to him and mentioned that he might have one of the better seats to watch the game. In a heavy country accent, he informed me that they had been at the stadium since 5:00am. He wanted to make sure that he got the seat he had on the lawn. There was only one blanket on the lawn. The one they were sitting on.

College football across America is big-time show-time! It’s a general gathering of the beautiful and privileged. Tickets are expensive, concessions are outrageous, parking is ridiculous, and the overall cost of merchandise is exorbitant. We gladly dish it out, but rooting for the home team isn’t cheap. So, to say that the couple on that blanket was out of place might be an understatement. Both were missing most of their teeth, he hadn’t shaved in days, she probably cut her own hair, and the clothes they had on didn’t come from Old Navy or Dillard’s. Goodwill is more probable. As I said, you could just tell.

All of the sudden, a soft-speaking senior adult gentleman brushed past me and stooped near the couple on their parcel of paradise. He said, “Listen, these tickets aren’t the best, but I’d like for you to have them if you want them.” The guy on the blanket just stared in disbelief. The woman popped up like a gopher on fire! She squealed in loud delight, “I’ve never been in that stadium! Never! I’ve seen a lot of games here, but I’ve never been in that stadium! Not one time! Ever!” She was literally jumping up and down—clapping her hands. I will not repeat the conversation going on in my head, but I was messed up. So the tickets changed hands and the gentleman slid out of the scene quietly and quickly.

Their conversation quickly moved to: “What do we do with our stuff?” I suggested that they move the small cooler over behind a merchandise cart and just go on to their seats. While holding hands and grinning like persimmon eating possums they bolted for their gate. It still messes me up when I tarry thinking about it for too long.

The older gentleman took the time to stoop. He stepped out of the normal flow and stooped. He made their day! I suspect considerably more. That’s all I got to say about this. You can figure out the rest for yourself.

Love you all,

Mike

xo

Without getting into an exhaustive litany of character flaws hovering around the ancient yet reverenced King David, there are some pretty cool encounters that are definitely worth noting. Even though Jesse’s youngest mostly turned out to be a hot mess, he undoubtedly had some God juice on his life. David’s story begins with a season of innocence that’s quite remarkable. There are notable examples within the text that give some indication of David’s innate ability to connect with other people’s pain and plight. Although he could be a real tool in his adulthood, there are moments of his younger life that are surreal.

Yes, he toppled giants, and tigers, and bears oh no! But, David could also bring the Lord’s presence into deafening pain. The book of Psalms is full of his music, and David’s tabernacle was the lab where most of his finer stuff was birthed, but way back before the glory days there was the soothing of Saul. Talk about a tough audience—holy shamoly! Saul had serious issues and in today’s culture he would have probably been institutionalized, overly medicated, and possibly gained great notoriety on the Jerry Springer show. He would have definitely been a candidate for seasoned psychotherapy. I bring all that up because it was Saul’s personal hell that summoned David to release his ministry. The hidden beast between Saul’s ears couldn’t be quieted any other way. David sang to his God and the effects brought tranquility and peace into Saul’s vacuum of peace.

I bring all of that up only to legitimize something I witness regularly these days. I don’t know how much personal knowledge you have about Alzheimer’s, but if it’s touched your family at any level then you have an understanding about the need for tranquility and peace. I’ve watched my girl minister to her mother over the past couple of years. Patti’s mom is a genuine sweetie and real lover, but that razor sharp mind and life skills functionality is all gone. There isn’t one detail of her life that she can manage alone anymore. So my girl, or her sisters, or Traday, dish out the daily directives that are pretty common with any toddler: “Sit here Mom,” “Yes, this is your house Mom,” “Let me help you with that mom,” “Yes, this is your house,” “Do you need to potty?” “Those are your grandchildren Mom,” “Yes, this is your house Mom,” and it pretty much cycles constantly like that unless she’s napping during the day. Her ability to call names and nouns are quickly diminishing. Yes, it’s brutal as you’re imagining.

There is a look in the eyes of an Alzheimer’s patient that will haunt you. It’s the stare of unfamiliarity. The loss of memory has to be torment. I know my own personal irritation when I can’t remember where I left my car keys. But, I can remember the first time I made love to my wife. I remember the birth of my kids and grandkids. I remember the day I graduated from college and seminary. I remember what I had for dinner last night and breakfast this morning. To lose all of that? Hell on earth.

What is fun to watch is a tactic my girl uses to reel in the mom she used to have. The morning ritual begins in front of a mirror. Although Mom rarely leaves the house anymore, my girl insists that Mom have on her makeup and that her hair be prepared for the day. Mom looks in the mirror and sees a person she no longer recognizes: herself. So that prompts a bit of personal irritation. It’s then that my girl draws out her own David. The choir cranks up,

O victory in Jesus,

My Savior, forever.

He sought me and bought me

With His redeeming blood;

He loved me ere I knew Him

And all my love is due Him,

He plunged me to victory,

Beneath the cleansing flood.

Yes, Mom used to sing in the choir at church—years and years of faithful attendance and dedicated participation. Knowing that, my girl now taps into a litany of songs and stanzas that calms the air and clears that head.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus

There’s just something about that name

Master, Savior, Jesus

Like the fragrance after the rain

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus

Let all heaven and earth proclaim

Kings and kingdoms shall all pass away

But there’s something about that name.

Does Mom just listen? Absolutely not! This is choir baby! She knows and sings every single word and she’s much more concerned with harmonizing her alto than anything else. It’s an amazing phenomenon to witness, and as clear as a bell Mom rings out her truths. It’s like sucking on a piece of ice in the July sun. Refreshment and memory flourish in the ancient hymns of hope. Mom reappears. All is calm. All is bright.

The Lord has promised good to me,
His Word my hope secures;
He will my Shield and Portion be,
As long as life endures.

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

Let there be choir! Sing it baby! I’m so proud of you. The days of connection are fleeing.

-MDP-

xo

About the time the Market was doing its 1,000 point skydive yesterday morning, I was considering some stuff that Rohr was laying out in one of his devos. I find the parallel and timing sort of weird, but maybe not.

The conversation was centered on the philosophy and lifestyle of St. Francis of Assisi. One of the things that I found humorous in Rohr’s ramblings was the thought that the church in America has a sentimental view of what Francis represents. Rohr calls it (this is brilliant): birdbath Franciscanism. Honestly, that is a pretty funny description of how we are about things. Rarely do we get the real depth and meaning of the images we revere. The suggestion is that no one chooses (especially here in America) to live without our comforts and conveniences. Us, embrace, moderation or inconvenience at any level? No frikk’n way!

Birdbath Franciscanism. Clever.

Rohr’s overall point was that Francis ultimately chose freedom and love—not just blatant poverty. Because he chose love, he was free to empty himself so that others could be full. Obviously Francis did make choices. He did turn his back on affluence. Yeah, that had to be tough at some level. He totally identified with the poor and broken. Again, that put him in a minor category. And, Francis chose to be (his words not mine) the “idiot of God.” Wow. Sign me up coach!

These are radical ideas, but every now and then we probably need to reassess ourselves again. I don’t feel that we have to take some sort of vow of poverty in order to truly flow in the Kingdom river, but, am I, are we, really free to love at the levels that the Spirit might impress upon us? How secure are we because of what we have? Do we have to possess in order to be settled and happy? Listen, I adore comfort as much as anyone (I’m currently sitting in a family member’s house, on a plush couch, as the AC cools my blubbery body), but there isn’t much testing inside our tents of total comfort. It says little about our internals, our values, or our resolve to stay in peace no matter what… or does it? Do I have the stuff inside of me that births pools of grateful rest and contented peace regardless of the world’s volatile economy?

The prophets of our doom are always barking. You can hear them, right? “Be afraid. Yea verily, be very afraid.” Yeah, it’s pretty annoying, but I hope you don’t hear that tone with any of this. Maybe the question isn’t do you embrace minimalism or conservative protection. The greater question is probably, do you embrace God IS love? That is actually deeper than accepting the fact that God loves us. It’s a very different discussion to consider that God IS love. I honestly believe that our paradigms have to shift in our world when we honestly evaluate the thought that: God IS love. Freedom explodes from every direction. Our compulsive attachment to every certitude we possess seems to dissolve on a regular basis. It’s there that we have to submit to how secure we really are—regardless of the free-falls inside of this whacky world we live in. Geronimo!

“Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap; they have no storeroom nor barn, and yet God feeds them; how much more valuable you are than the birds!”   God with skin.

Mike

xo

I realize it’s not always convenient or possible to sit down and view a 45 min video.  I know that we have been conditioned by media to give-way to our spastic attention span, but sometimes we need to absorb a much needed readjustment. Absorption is a process.  It doesn’t happen in an instant.  It takes a little time.

I don’t know what your default reaction is to life’s storms, but I know mine, or at least how I’ve reacted at most things that are scary and uncomfortable.  I have been one to rally the troops for prayer and support when I didn’t like the threat of waves that hovered above the edge of my dingy.  I’ll admit, I’ve hollered and squealed with the best of them.  Looking back at all that, I can see how hopeless and faithless my flesh has reacted to the negs of life. I had forgotten some very solid truths. Yes, I too need adjustment from time to time.

Let me offer a great word to get into your spirit.  It’s not mine, but a friend’s.  Anth Chapman recently spoke a great word in his home church in York, UK.  It is a fabulous reminder about real peace in the midst of real storms. It is something that we all need to take to heart.  I hope you’ll find the time to let this word wash over you. It’s a great adjustment to our soggy boat.

Mike

xo