One of my favorite games to play with my two year old son, Theo, is a game we’ve affectionately called “Ready Set”.

Basically, he stands on our couch while I hold his hands and say “Ready…Set…” and then swing him into the air while spinning in a circle and land him safely back on the couch. 

He loves it, I love it, and even my 7 year old will get in on it from time to time (our 15 year old has understandably decided to sit this one out).

The only problem I have with the game is how big Theo has gotten.

We call him our big-little-man for a reason!

He’s weighing in right now around 30-35 pounds.  He’s solid.  And because he’s such a little tank, I can only swing him around so many times before my shoulders are ready to call it quits. 

Unfortunately for Theo, my shoulders give out way before he’s ready to give up.  When I’m ready to call it a day, he’s just getting started.

So, when I tell Theo it’s time to wrap things up, he always responds with the same two words: Last one. 

Last one, Daddy.  Last one.

The problem with those two words?  They’re a lie.  For that boy, the last one is never the last one.  Every time I do the “last one” Theo gleefully shouts out, “Last one!  Last one!”

“Last one” has come to mean something very different than what it’s supposed to mean.  “Last one” really means, “Again!  More!  Another!”

Now as much as I want to stop here and teach him a lesson about patience and the power of honoring his word (like a 2 year old is ready for that - ha!), there’s one huge problem:  His face. 

Even though I’ve told him that this “last one” really is the last one, and even though my shoulders are begging for a break, I make the mistake of looking into his sweet little face, see him grinning from ear to ear, hear him giggling with joy, and I give in again, and again, and again. 

I just can’t help it.  Do I eventually have to stop the game?  Of course, I do.  It’s usually when the lactic acid screaming in my shoulders has exceeded what I experience during most of my gym workouts.  There’s eventually an end, but those words, “Last one, Daddy.  Last one.” keep me going much longer than my arms would prefer. 

Those two words “Last one” remind me of something God spoke over me many, many years ago. 

At a time in my life when I was really wrestling with who God is and questioning what it means to be a part of this thing called the church, I was struggling through a time of worship. 

The band was playing.  The congregation was singing.  Hands we’re raised and voices were loud. 

All the contemporary boxes required for a great time of worship (what do we even mean by that, right?  Isn’t worship for God?  That’s another blog for another day…) were checked and yet my heart was a million miles from that place. 

I had questions about God that still had no answers.  As good as the music was, it felt stale, fake even.  Haven’t we done this song a million times?  It felt as though I were on autopilot and I began to wonder to myself, “Is this it?  Is this all there is?  Is this all we do as Christians?  There has got to be more.”

No sooner had I prayed those questions, then I heard God respond.

It wasn’t audible – no one around me heard anything – but as surely as you hear yourself reading these words, I heard God speak to me in that moment. 

I know for some of you that will sound strange and even crazy, but I assure you, I know my voice.  I know what I sound like and this wasn’t me.  In that moment, I heard God speak these words:

“Bobby, as long as I am who I am, there is always more.”

Those words saved me from a hopelessness I was dangerously close to traveling.

Did I have questions that were still without answers?  Absolutely. 

Did the music suddenly change, or the service appear different?  Nope, not at all. 

However, even though nothing around me changed, something within me changed. 

If God is God, there is always more – more to discover, more to know, more to worship, more to love, more to follow, more to find.  If God is God, my feelings toward the music are irrelevant.  If God is God, the conditions of my circumstances are not the basis for my worship.  If God is God, then even my questions are things I was to bring before God.  God didn’t just want my songs, he wanted my questions, he wanted my uncertainty – He  invited me to bring my whole self before him - broken places and all. 

As long as God is God, there is always more. 

Looking back, it’s as if God was speaking those same two words I hear so often from my toddler these days: Last one.

Only just like today, last one doesn’t actually mean last one – it means again, another, more. 

So, for the person whose faith feels stale – there is more.

For the person whose life with God feels empty – there is more.

For the person who feels as though they have no reason to sing – there is more.

For the person who is thinking about giving up and walking away from all this – there is more. 

For the person whose rhythms that once felt like freedom have begun to feel more like chains – there is more. 

The author of Hebrews encourages us, “to fix our eyes on Jesus” (Hebrews 12:2).  The book of Colossians instructs us to “set our minds on the things above.” (Colossians 3:2)

When I’m playing “Ready Set” with my son, if my mind is set on the pain in my shoulders, then the “last one” has to really be just that – the last one.  When my mind is set solely on the pain in my shoulders, I don’t have anything left.  But when I set my mind on his face and upon the joy in his laughter, only then can the “last one” mean more, another, again. 

What we set our eyes and minds upon will inevitably determine the dexterity of our endurance. 

Set your mind on the things below, on the things of this world, and there will never be enough.  But set your mind on Jesus and the things above, and there will always be one last one – there will always be more.