We All Stutter

Good movies are built on good stories. These stories remind us why movies are made, why they are worth hours of story-boards, script-writing and re-writes, scrambling for funds, searching for perfect casting and locations, shooting and re-shooting scenes, editing and--finally--promotional campaigns designed to make them all seem phenomenal.


Great movies remind us why our life stories are written. While we may never own a horse named Secretariat, outstanding movies remind us not to give up. They tell us why it is worth the time it takes to process through our past pain to find healing; sort through our random longings to find our true passions; then take step after step in an effort to live out the dreams that spring from our crop of core values. The values hold, letting the dreams bend and morph and hold on and let go and wait and then burst into breakthrough--often when we're on the edge of  cliff, holding on to a clump of hope with our fingernails. A great movie ends with a win that lifts our sights and our spirits.


For my money, "The King's Speech" is one of the greats, the exceptional period piece that actually deserves about a dozen Oscars. It is based on the true story of King George VI of England and his relationship with the man who helped him overcome a severe speech impediment. The acting is superb, dialogue spot-on, every detail true to the feel of the story's place in history. 

But for me, this movie is also a story demonstrating the reason I live and breathe. After listening to hundreds of brief biographies in my office, at Panera over bagels, in my living room, in hotel rooms in far-away countries, one truth has become crystal clear...

We are all handicapped in some way. It's just that some of our battles are more hidden than others.


We are all working around, over, and through places inside us that hide our insecurities, our inadequacies. We are all working against a media-driven river of thought that says that if we're just rich enough and thin enough and educated enough, we will be happy and successful. It's just not true.


When I first started doing a lot of pastoral counseling, I remember sitting in a grocery-story parking lot with a beautiful young lady who lived in a nice house with a handsome husband and two great kids. I wasn't even sure why I felt such a strong urge that morning to pick her up and try to build a bridge into her heart until suddenly God showed my a picture of that well-made-up, carefully guarded heart of hers. It looked like someone had taken a knitting needle and pierced it. Again and again and again. Her handicap was a bleeding heart. 


Like the rest of us, she needed someone like the coach in "The King's Speech". Someone to look her in the eye, to see the reality, to believe, to help her believe. 


Realizing that all of us have handicaps like these has shaped my values. I pour my life into encouragement, with a specialty in training prophetic encouragement: the craft of seeing and calling out the treasures locked inside each person. No matter how close or far away God seems to be, we need actual, physical pictures of love that expects the best and looks us in the eye with hope. 

Gifted people help us form tangible photo albums of the Way God Really Is, albums we can leaf through we no one else is around; I added another visual to my album today. I don't know exactly how yours works. My friend Susie creates vivid word pictures of God who dances with her, romancing her, while I sometimes picture a big African-American angel who walks behind me, speaking encouragement in a deep, growling voice. Tonight, he's an Australian speech coach with a clear gaze who knows I am royalty and won't let me forget it. 


Our handicaps are our miracles waiting to happen. Let's help each other remember.


February 13, 2011