Wanted

“I guess I’ll take T.” Those are words that you never want to hear. Especially if you are the last one picked when choosing teams. I understand that somebody has to be chosen first, and some have to be in the middle, and of course, some have to be last. But it is more than just a numbers game. It is a determination of what others think about your worth.


Now, if you are one of the lucky ones and got picked first all the time, then this does not apply to you. But, if you are like those who get picked last, who aren’t invited to the “cool” party, or who aren’t asked out or when doing the asking are rejected, this is for you.

We all want to be wanted. And when we are rejected, not chosen (or chosen by default), ignored, or, which by the way may be the worst, not noticed, it hurts and the wound from that hurt undoubtedly leaves a scar. We all want to be wanted. Because being wanted equals being loved. If somebody wants us, then they are affirming that we are loved. And being loved affirms that we are lovely.

On the other hand, feeling unwanted equals being unloved. And being unloved affirms in our minds and hearts that we are not lovely. In fact, we are ugly, not important, and of no value. You then begin to feel that you are not good enough, that there must be something wrong with you, and soon you have traversed the slippery slope and end up at the bottom of the hill with only this to show for it. You are alone. I recognize that that may not always be the case, but it is how one feels that seem to overwhelm the reality. And what a life that is.

This past weekend, our church had an event. It was the kick off to our Vacation Bible School. The community was invited to have free hot dogs, cake, and juice. They also had a Pinewood Derby race and were pre-registering for VBS. It was a nice day and all the kids were running around and having a rousing game of “Ring around the Rosie”.

All except for one.

I am guessing that he was maybe four. A friend who was invited to the event invited his mother, so he came along. As the moms were talking, this little guy, who obviously didn’t know anyone, found a spot beside the building where he could sit. Out of the way and nearly unnoticed, he watched others. But before I finish, I must take you to another time.

(Years ago, I got a call from my mom, who told me that my dad, according to the doctor, only had about two weeks to live. The cancer had progressed at a fast pace and it wasn’t going to be much longer. I was living eight hundred miles away and it was winter. Making the drive through the snow and the icy roads was difficult especially through the pass. But I was just thinking. And praying. Not about the weather or for a safe drive. I was thinking about my dad.

My dad was a strong self-reliant man. He was well liked and was good at whatever he did. A great ball player, a great bowler, and a great mechanic. Once in the winter, in our little garage, he cut a van and mounted a pickup camper, welded it up, put sides on it, and after two months, out came an RV. But for all of the things that he was, there was one thing that he wasn’t. He wasn’t a believer. He hadn’t asked Jesus to be his Savior.

For some people, that wouldn’t be that big of a deal. And some just want to make the dying person as comfortable as possible. But when Jesus is your Lord, and you believe in a heaven and a hell, there is a far greater thing at stake. And my purpose for visiting my dad was one-fold. I was for the last time, going to tell him about the wonderful saving grace of God.

When I arrived at my parent’s house, I hugged my mom, greeted my aunts, and with heart pounding, I went into the bedroom to see my dad. I told him about God, I told him about heaven, I told him about hell, I told him about sin, I told him about forgiveness, I told him about the cross, and I told him about Jesus.

My dad, in that bed, looking nothing like he used to, with a tear in his eye, said to me, “Do you think that Jesus really wants me?” “More than anything”, I said. “He died for you. That’s how much He wants you.” “Well then, I want him too.” And with that, my dad’s destiny was forever changed. And two weeks later, when my dad passed from this life to the next, I didn’t shed a tear. I just nodded. We all want to be wanted. )

And now, back to the weekend. As I looked at that little, hair tossed boy, sitting by the building, I thought, he just wants to be wanted. As I continued looking, I begin to take pictures. Because I realized that God did not only want this little boy, the little boy was sitting at the only place that matters. At the foot. And you will always be wanted at the foot.

A View from the Solstice

As today marks the first day of summer for this year, I thought it best to share “summery” stuff. The weather here has finally cooperated and is sunny and it is quite possible the temperature will hit the low 80’s. And a gentle breeze is blowing. I know that doesn’t sound like much for some of you, but it suits me just fine. Any hotter and I will be complaining.


So here I am, sitting outside. I am writing and my three year old is off on a discovery. Between picking “flowers” (one person’s weeds is another’s bouquet), throwing rocks at the rhododendrons, (who by all accounts, started it first), and making archeological digs in the dirt, I would say that it is a pretty good day.

It is probably not unlike my childhood summer days. With some exceptions, I suppose. I was the youngest of three children. Yep, I’m the baby of the family. Now I know you are thinking, “Well that explains a lot”, and I am sure that it does. Being the youngest meant that I was either the “tag along” or I found myself playing alone. As the “tag along”, your input or suggestion upon what to play, where to go, and what to do are of no consideration to the older siblings. After all, they probably didn’t want you there anyway.

When you are playing alone, you are limited to the types of games that you can participate in. Red Rover and Freeze Tag are not very satisfying when you are flying solo. But being alone a lot does give ample opportunity to pretend, imagine, wonder, and most of all dream. And that I still do, to this very day.

It seemed like that there was always a family that my parent’s were friends with who had kids about the same age as our little sibling tribe. That works out well as you always have someone to “hang” with. But even then, the oldest ones were the bosses, the middle ones were the aggrieved, and us “babies” were the spoiled “tag alongs”.

One particular friends of the family lived next door right next door. Their kids were the same ages as us, but they were all girls. This was during the days when girls were “icky”. Not to play with, that was fine, but there was no “magic” back then. We lived in a small house on the corner. Across the street in one direction was the friend’s house. They had in their possession, well yard that is, a big rusted out ship. It was our play area.

There is, my friend, nothing better than a ship with all of its compartments where spiders and bugs and slugs and a snake or two reside. Not to mention rusted out metal with sharp jagged edges coated with tetanus. We just didn’t concern ourselves with the possibility of getting bit, scratched or infections as we played. After all, the sea is a dangerous lady.  And we had worlds to explore.

Across the street in the other direction was the Skagit River. I would just walk across the small two-lane road and up a little embankment and there I was, after the 100-foot stroll, face to face with the great river. Keep in mind that my family moved from there the year when I was in the second grade. I am not sure how long I would spend just gazing at the water’s movement. From a five year olds perspective,  it was probably hours. But nevertheless, I dreamed.

I am not much of a swimmer and I am not much of a sailor, but I love to look out upon the water, be it a river or an ocean. It is there that I am everything that I think I am. It is there that I dream. It is there that I “be”.

Yeah, I am sitting outside on this first day of summer writing and remembering. And my boy is with me. Right now, he is trying to eat a flower. I am with my boy who, like me, dreams. And who, like me, can just “be”.

The Last New Thing

It seemed appropriate that I should, at the start of this article make my disclaimer. As I write about certain events, topics, things and even books, I will, up front say that I am in no way condemning or calling them out. In fact many of the things below I have personally read or did. Some I agree with and some I do not, but that is not the point. My point will make itself evident.


We as a people, or at least here in America, like new. Or perhaps, we just like the “latest”. For instant we like the latest fad, the latest sensational news story, the latest gadget. It seems that we crave the new latest "new" thing. And the media sells it something like this.

“Here it is, the newest, best, latest, most innovating thing around. It’s the ___________(insert thing here). This will satisfy your every senses. If you do this, try this, eat this, read this, plug this in, play this, you will never need anything else!” Until of course, the next new last thing arrives on the scene.

If you have kids, and even if you don’t, it is best to be informed on that newest “must have’ toy. If it’s technology, as long as you have the highest current number available with a “G” behind it, you’re in the HTGC (Hi-Tech Geek Club). And we can’t forget fashion. You just have to stay up to date with what the models and celebrities are wearing, and after you squeeze into them, you my friend, are a “fashionista”. You can not, however, go wrong with a dark colored T-shirt or button shirt and blue jeans (my personal favorite).

And we cannot forget about the scandalous news. The only good thing for that celebrity, politician, mogul, or “Joe” from the neighborhood has going for them when their dirty laundry, figuratively and literally in some cases, comes out, is that in a couple of weeks the news will replace their headlines with the latest new “train wreck” out there.

In the Christian circle, it is no different. As far of the latest new thing is concerned, I mean. For a while the “in” thing was demons. Then it moved to angels and spiritual warfare. Then, there was the buzz about “The Prayer of Jabez”. We are now in the socially emerging church phase. In the past there was “Evangelism Explosion”, followed by “Experiencing God”. Then came “The Purpose Driven Life”.

Church worship style, or at least the “in” ones, moved from “Spirit-filled” experiences, to contemporary, to blended, to “seeker sensitive”, and now we find “artistic interpretive”. Yes, we too, gravitate to the latest “new”. (Please see disclaimer above).

So, it is nutshell time for this article. As believers, we have the “Last New Thing”. It is fine to creatively express, innovatively proclaim, and artistically illuminate this “Last New Thing”, but it is wrong to replace it. Or should I say Him.
The “Last New Thing (and by thing, I mean no disrespect)” there was or is, is Jesus.

The writer of Hebrews put it like this.
“In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets. He spoke to them many times and in many different ways. And now in these last days God has spoken to us through His Son. God has chosen His Son to own all things.”

I was reminded of a story. Years ago, living in the Seattle area, I was driving on the freeway in the early morning hours, back home from my job. On the side of the road there was a car with its emergency flashers blinking. Now these were the days before the popularity of cell phones. I stopped and approached the woman in the car. I asked her if she needed help. She told me that she had run out of gas. I offered to take her to a station or I could just go and bring the gas back. She decided to let me give her a ride. I immediately felt compelled to tell her that I was a Christian. Which was a tension reliever. She said that she was praying that a “fellow believer” would stop and not a crazed kidnapper. I assured her that I was the former and not the latter. So off we went to the closest gas station.

She asked me what church I attended.
“The Church at Palisades”, I said.
“Oh. What denomination is it?” she asked.
“It’s a Baptist church.” I replied.
“I used to go to a Baptist church, but all they wanted to talk about was Jesus.” she said.
“What else is there?” I responded.

We need to stop looking and desiring something else, something better, or something different. Jesus is the First and Last, the Beginning and End. And He’s everything in between.

He is the last “New” we will ever need.

Sandy Parts

We went to the beach last week while the Kansas B’s were here. The Kansas B’s are a trio consisting of my son, my daughter in law, and my granddaughter. Yes, I know what you are thinking. “You’re are far too young to have a grandchild.” And, “Don’t you have a three year old?” The answer is yes, yes, and yes. Details about the specifics, and how this all came to be, is a story for another time. And now back to the beach.

There we are on a sunny but windy day at the Oregon Coast. My little guy is doing what he does best on the sandy beaches. Digging.
His tiny fingers clawing at the sand and periodically he would throw wet sand in the air above his head. He can stay in one spot and dig for hours. I sometimes wonder if he notices the water just feet from him. But then he will stand up and look out towards Hawaii for a second or two, then it’s back to digging. I have found that we all go to the coast to do and experience different things.

For instance, my wife likes to build a “sand compound for the dissenters”. Most people would just build a castle.

She likes to collect rocks and sticks as well. Some people like the Kansas B’s, at least the son and granddaughter, wade right into the water. Kansas is a dry place after all. The daughter in law helped with the “compound” and enjoyed strolling with her hubby. For me, it is alternating between taking pictures and staring out into the ocean and being mesmerized by its beauty, power, and vastness. It makes me wonder. It makes me ponder. And it makes me dream.

And before we knew it, it was time for lunch. So everyone was brushing the sand off of his or her bodies. My wife was wiping the boy down. He had sand in his fingernails, in between his fingers, on his neck, in his hair, in his back, in his ears, inside the hood of his jacket, and in the corners of his mouth. He seemed to clean up good, though.

We went to one of our favorite restaurants in the area. It was about ten miles from the beach we were at, in a little town south of Lincoln City. Our little guy had exerted so much energy, that by the time we had driven that short distance he was fast asleep. Instead of waking him up, T. carried him into the restaurant and held him until he woke up and then he ate his noodles.

As we were loading ourselves back into the car for the ride back to the beach, my wife decided she should go ahead and change his diaper. We know, and we are working on the potty training. Don’t judge. Off went his pants and then off with the diaper. And there, in between his diaper and his skin, my son had smuggled half of the beach. His bottom and his little front area were covered with a layer of sand that was surprisingly in the shape of a size #5 diaper.

So we stand him up in the middle of the parking area, out in the windy elements and brush off the sand from his rump and the other spot. And all the while he is saying, “That tickles”. Yes it does. I am not sure how he could have slept or sat in that condition. It couldn’t have been comfortable in his sandy pants. He didn’t seem to mind though. He was just enjoying life so much that he couldn’t be bothered with a little rock granules on his body parts.

Here is what I have learned from this. Life is precious. And as believers, the Lord has been so wonderful and gracious to us. Let us not be bothered so much by small irritations that it robs us of the joy of life. Sure, there is stuff that can get to us, but compared to what He has given to us, we really shouldn’t mind.

Jesus said, “I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly.” What’s a little sand in the pants compared to that? There’s a great big ocean out there.

All Out

So, here is what a typical Sunday morning looks like at our house.

The alarm goes off at 7:30am. T. gets up and takes a shower. When she is done, I get up and take mine. The light comes on in the boy’s bedroom in order to get him stirring. The TV is turned on to either watch or tape “Thomas the Tank Engine”. Coffee is brewing and toast is toasting. Once everybody is up, dressed and fed, we then gather together in the car and off we go to worship with our fellow believers.

Once we get to the building, my wife will take our Bibles, coffee, and lesson plan to our classrooms while I take the boy to his two and three year old room. And this is his journey.

My son will turn the corner into the hallway where he will make a beeline as fast as his little feet will take him heading straight to the check in area. As he arrives there, he is ready to give a big hug to his first favorite person Ms. Fran, the registrar. It is a moment that I have been honored to witness every Sunday. Ms. Fran’s eyes light up as they embrace. Though there is a span between their ages, their meeting and hug is timeless. I think we all look toward this weekly moment.

It is a great feeling to know that my little boy loves going to church! This place and these people, for him, are family. It is a place of safety for him. It is also a place for him, where he does not question his right to be there. He never thinks that he should not belong there. His right to hug and be hugged by Ms. Fran is not, in his mind, something that he is not entitled to experience.

So when he arrives at that hallway, he “boldly” goes where he “boldly” goes. Right into Ms. Fran’s arms. And when that happens this verse pops in my mind.

“Therefore, let us approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us at the proper time.”    Heb 4:16 (hcsb)

That is how we should approach our God’s throne with boldness. It means to draw close with confidence that He loves us and wants us to be close to Him.

I hope my son never tires of his love for going to church and his love for the people who are there. I hope he never tires of knowing that it is a place where he is loved, where he is free, where he is with family, and most of all where he worships God. And I hope he never tires of “going bold”.