Cordial

Chocolate covered cherries.  But not just any, Queen Anne artificially flavored Cordial cherries.  For as long as I could remember, my mom would buy and wrap for Christmas our own individual box of Chocolate covered cherries.  This tradition lasted deep into our adulthood. 

On Christmas Eve, as children, we would get the opportunity to select one present under the tree and open it, thus heightening the already anticipated next morning of present mania.  As I recall, we could choose whatever gift we wanted to, but in reality, it seemed the only ones ever selected were the ever famous rectangle box.  I believe now that our choice was between that gift or no gift.

Unwrapping the gift disclosed the all too familiar contents.  Yep, Queen Anne Chocolate Cherries.  Who knew?  Oh yeah, we all did.  But that in no way would dampen the Eve of Christmas.  There they were in all of their glory.  That red box with some candy images on the outside, and we must not forget the one that looked like a bite was taken out of it revealing the cherry with it sumptuous juices running from it.

And even though it was time for bed, and we were all nestled in our footie pajamas, we would request ever so humbly, “Please sir, might I have but a nibble?”  To which, the sir would gruffly respond, “It’s late, but if you think you have to, you can have one piece.” 

Well, of course we think we have to.  I mean, who puts a whole box of chocolates in front of a kid and expect them not to want any?  That would be my parents.  So, after the all clear signal, I would ever so gently open the box top, which usually would involve tearing it, because that glue they would use was pretty sticky.

And there they were, six morsels of yummy all snuggled and compartmented in that top tray of plastic.  Now the trick was trying to decide which piece would be my first.  That was the easy part.  I know that you are thinking.  Easy because they all look alike, factory made and all. 

Not correct, my friend. I failed to tell you the sad twist this plot of candy woe.  Our Queen Anne cherries weren’t just any Queen Anne cherries.  Ours were Queen Anne cherries at a discounted price because they were purchased the season before, and sat for months safely tucked away like the hidden treasure that they were.

And when that lid was opened, those individual cherries looked like they had been in a war zone.  The top of the chocolate were crushed as if a thumb had pressed down upon it, giving it that recognizable dented look.  Usually, there would be a couple that seemed to have a bit of a white waxy tint to them.  And the juices, oh those precious juices.  They appeared to have leaked out into a congealed glob of hardened goo fusing the chocolate to the plastic. And you knew that those would be extra chewy in a, “it’s still technically candy” sort of a way.

I mentioned that it was easy to decide which piece would be my first.  Because out of the two stacked trays, there was always at least one, one who made it our unscathed. And there is was, the perfect specimen of Queen Ann Chocolate covered cherries.  I pause to remember this moment, and then popped it in my mouth chewing three or four times before the anticlimactic swallow.

This tradition was played out year after year after year.  After my father passed, and we kids had grown, my mother would send us a box for Christmas.  And I am fairly certain; we got one even the last Christmas before she died. 
 
I never did have the heart to tell her that I don’t care for chocolate covered cherries too much.  But it was her tradition and she liked giving them, so I liked receiving them.  This is a great Christmas memory of mine. 

Merry Christmas Mom and Dad.  We are doing fine.  And to all, a good night.

Where Has All the Ocean Gone?

I got a reasonably early start to my day today.  After a few minutes doing some cleaning up at the church building, I drove to my “second office”.  This is the spot with a little gravel pullout and it overlooks the Pacific Ocean.  It has become my second office for a couple of reasons.  One, it is a beautiful view with the vastness of the ocean and the waves crashing onto the rocky shore.  And two, it is one of the only places that my cell phone has service. 

And as I park head in to my spot positioning my car between the two big boulders protecting people like me from Thelma and Louise-ing it over the cliff, I look up to  see a familiar site, but it looks starkly different this morning.

There is a low fog that has moved in blocking my view of the miles wide span of the ocean.  Visibility was at about twenty feet or so.  I cannot see the horizon, the sky or any of the blue that is our majestic Pacific.  I can barely make out some of the rocky parts of the shore and the white of the waves splashing over them.

It was a very bizarre sight and almost looked very foreign to me as if I was parked somewhere else.  But I was sure I was at the right spot.  There are the boulders fencing off the edge of the cliff.  There is the park bench that I sit at from time to time as weather allows.  There is the all too familiar No Camping sign.  Yep, this is the spot all right.  I just can’t see the ocean due to the fog. 

I can’t see the waves coming in.  I can’t see the calmness of the waters connecting horizontally with the blueness of the day sky.  No boats visible, no caps of white, no glimmer from the sun reflecting off of the waters.  But, all of that being said, the ocean was still out there.  It was just for the moment obstructed.

There are times in our faith when it seems that God is eerily quiet, as if He had stepped out for a bit to fetch His newspaper from the porch.  Or maybe it seems longer than that, perhaps He is taking a long overdue vacation.  Or worst case scenario, maybe He left and doesn’t want to be friends anymore, because of something offensive that we had done.  Maybe He just got bored with us.  After all I am not very interesting.

But be of good cheer.  He has not left, He has not abandoned, He still wants us, and He still likes us.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, He seems quiet.  And sometimes, His quietness seems to coincide with our needing Him the most.  What’s that all about?

But quietness doesn’t mean that He is gone.  Just because you can’t see Him, Just because you can’t feel Him, just because you don’t sense His presence or His direction for your life, does not mean that He has vanished or He is apathetic to your situation.

He is there, just as I knew the ocean was there.  Even if I couldn’t see it.  I knew the ocean was there because the place I was at was where I have seen it many times over.  I knew because all of the indicators were there. The pull out, the boulders, the sign, the rocky cliff and the beached waves.

My advice for you is this.  Whenever you can’t seem to see God and His working in your life, check your surroundings.  Make sure you are in the place where you know you have experienced Him before.  Are the things around you those indicators that this is where you have met Him before?  If not, then go to that spot. He will be there.  Is so, and visibility seems limited, you may have to wait until the fog has lifted.

Up All Night

So, I am here in my office praying without ceasing and writing this blog post.  Yes I can do both, as we are called to be in an always state of worship and communication with God. It is more of a constant attitude of living than an actual all the time on your knees.  Although, I will admit, that wouldn’t be half bad, but I don’t think I am that spiritual.

But tonight, I am praying and reading, praying and listening to music, praying and writing.  Our church is having a 24 Hours of Prayer for our nation, our leaders, and for the upcoming election.

We designated half hour increments where people could sign up and either come to the building to pray or to pray at home.  The idea was to have a continual prayer being lifted up to God for His will for our country.

I am pleased that we had twenty people sign up for this event.  And as you could guess, the majority of the time slots left empty were in the wee hours of the night and morning.  We do have, however someone in the 10:30pm-11:00pm and the 1:30am-2:00am slot taken.  And we start off bright and early beginning at 4:00am.

Left empty were about eight and a half hours in between those times.  Which is why you have me, here at the church, camped out to fill those times.  And that is why I am praying and writing.   I have my cot to rest, my music to contemplate, my reading to inspire, and my writing to inform.

This is an important time.  While I will concede that all elections are important, this one seems more so.  It is true that this one is about ideologies, it is about direction, it is about differences. 

This country is seemingly split right down the middle, with half of the people on one side and half on the other. And it is apparent that each side doesn’t like the other side at all.  And to me, it sort of looks like hate.

So what is a person to do?  What is the Christian to do? And specifically what am I, a Christian, to do?  Most candidates on each side talk about out good of a practicing “insert your faith here” they are, but seem to also discount certain views their faith may have for the sake of the party line.  And I am talking both sides.

But as Christians, we are told to be involved. We are to be an example of subjecting to government authorities (Romans 13:1).  We are to pay our taxes (Romans 13:6).  We are to render to all what is due them (Romans 13:7).  Okay, just read Romans 13 yourselves.  And so we are to participate and vote.  But for who?

All I can say is that you should, as a Christian, vote for those whose values and morals line up with the Bible.  And for those whose values line up with your own.  I know what mine are.  And that is how I vote.

But we are never called to hate, cast disparaging remarks, toss insults and disrespect.  Instead, we are to pray for our leaders.  And that is what our church is doing. And that is what I am doing. I am praying. And writing.

Struggles

So here I sit and am trying to work on my sermon for this week and I am really struggling. . .  This is how I am going to introduce my sermon on Sunday, and yes I am struggling.  And the irony of it has not gone unnoticed as the message is on Romans 7 about Paul’s struggles.

I want to present the issue, not in an expository fashion, and not in a doctrinal fashion, but in a practical fashion.  Because in reality, it is how we live out what we believe that makes what we believe believable. 

There are some Christians who know a lot when it comes to verses of the Bible, and doctrines, and muse deep in theology.  And on the outset, one would make the assumption that because of that knowledge they life and lifestyle would be “rock” solid.  But as it turns out, I got a completely different realization of how young in the faith these pillars really are with some seemingly insignificant issues. And it has taken me aback a bit. 

And then I visited with a family who are the sweetest, most loving people, living out their exemplary faith so spot on, I am a bit envious.  And then we started talking doctrine, and wow, there were some “out in left field” beliefs.  And these were the basics that all believers, even young ones, should have a grasp in, even if only a simple understanding.

Which brings me to my struggle.  I recognize that I am not a saint, in the I’ve got life and doctrine and holiness all figured out, and I also recognize that people are people and we’re not perfect, but still it makes me wonder if we are getting it.

Are my remarks, the studies I have been leading, the sermons that I have preached, merely words that people hear and then file in the brain, but they never find their way into application and practice into daily living?  Knowledge is fine, and understanding is good, but if it doesn’t change our lifestyle and grow us to be more like Him, then it seems our speaking is in vain.

But in some, I have seen change.  Many are serving and doing in a manner that has warmed my heart.  They are actively growing and are sharing their faith with friends and with the community.  And the conversations that we have had have been encouraging and refreshing as well. And we, I hope, are becoming good friends.

Not only am I struggling to put into words a message that helps us live out that which we know, but I as well wonder how far I have come since this grand experiment of simply trusting God and not man for my needs started some two and a half years ago.

In every way he has been true to His promise of provision.  We have never missed a bill payment or a meal(although it wouldn’t hurt if we skipped some desserts now and then). And when decisions needed to be made, He certainly provided seamless answers.  With all of that, one would think that I was just coasting with this faith thing right into glory. 

But when you submit to Him for meeting daily needs, He does just that.  He meets them daily.  Just enough.  Sometimes I wish it were more.  I wish we were in a better position to save some money for a rainy day, which happens a lot here.  But that wasn’t the promise.  No, the key word in the promise is “daily”.  By the way, my wife, being an English major, really hates it when I use quotation marks. 

So, daily I must trust, daily I must seek, daily I must rest, and daily I must place my hope in the Ancient of Days. He has seen us through me quitting my job. He has seen us through my wife getting a job.  He has seen us through me accepting the call to pastor.  He has seen us through my wife quitting her job.  He has seen us through our life in the “yellow house”, in the “blue house” and in the “gray house”, as my son calls them.

He has seen us through leaving a church we love for another church we have come to love.  He has seen us through leaving old friends for but a season and He has seen us through the making of new friends for hopefully a lifetime. 

So I struggle, because I’m human, and yet I still press on and trust that the One who has seen us through will continue.

From My View

I am sitting here in my office at church finishing up some thoughts for next week’s message. Looking out the window, I can’t help but notice another gorgeous day at the coast.  The sun is out, a coastal breeze is blowing.

From my vantage point, I am also watching all of the vehicles traveling either north or south on the Pacific Coast Highway.  The town that we now live in is small, about 750 people.  And we are right in the middle between two larger and touristier towns.  We must drive the half hour in either direction to go grocery shopping, to a hospital, to shop at a chain department store, and for haircuts, office supplies, home supplies, etc. 

And so it is with these cars, trucks, RV’s, motorcycles, and bicycles that I am watching today.  They are all going somewhere and somewhere else.  This isn’t necessarily a place to stop; it is more a place to drive through.  While we do have six or so motels, and six or so restaurants, and six or so specialty shops, and six or so major events or festivals (from the Celtic festival to the mushroom festival), in general it is a point on their GPS to mark how much farther they have left to go on their travels.

Which brings me back to my main point of thought.  They are all going somewhere.  They are coming from and heading to a destination.  And as I watch all of the different style of automobiles and the different colors, and different shapes I might add, they do all have some things in common.  The first is, as I have already pointed out, they are all going somewhere.

The second, and most important, those driving and/or riding in these wheeled means of transportation, are people.  And as Christians, we are in the people business.  I will never forget what my pastor in Washington said as he came to church well before the service on a dark winter morning.  He said that he was taking a drive and noticed all of the houses on the hill with all of their porch lights on or a couple of lights on in the house as they were getting ready for their day.  And then he said, “I was struck by the fact that each one of those light represented people living there, people for whom my Lord died for.”

And today, I sit here watching the cars go by and recognize that in each of them is someone that my God thought enough of to send His Son to die for them, in order that they may have a forever life with Him.  And if they are that important to God, ought not they be important to us?  So I take a moment and pray for those people containers zipping by, okay moving at twenty-five miles per hour by, knowing that in them sit people who need to know and to hear the Love of God.

??????

Today, as we ponder, remember and pause to pray for all the people affected by 9/11, let us never forget these two things.

1.  God loves life.  He loved it so much that He provided a way that we who are made of dust, could spend forever with Him.  We call that eternal life.  He created all things and through Him all things are sustained.  When tragedies happened resulting in the loss of human life, we also should recognize that sadness and the sorrow.  We, as believers, have a wonderful opportunity to spread to the world that God love them and God desires them and will give them not only forgiveness of sins but life, abundant life, eternal life.

 2.  God is in control.  Though things may seem to be crashing in around us, we can have the confidence that all that happens does not go unnoticed by God.  He sees, He knows, He cares, and He is in control.  While we may never be able to answer the whys regarding horrible events, we can, however, remember and rejoice that our God, our King, our Savior still and will forever be seated on the Throne and He reigns.  He reigns. He reigns. He reigns.  Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

When we are struggling ourselves, let us remember that God loves us and He is in control.  Even when we are having a hard time “seeing” that, He is there, and He cares.

Twenty Days

It has been twenty days since we made the move to the coast.  Well, three quarters of a move.  My wife is still finishing up her job at the University this month.  She has been doing the weekend commute like we used to.  Starting in September, we will all be here and just here.  One house and one church to serve in.  My assumption is that we will still be quite busy, but we will only be busy in one direction.

Moving in has been quite interesting.  First, we had to determine what we were going to bring over here and what we were going to put in storage.  Going from a four-bedroom house to a two-bedroom house had its challenges.  Downsizing.  Significant downsizing.  It is quite alarming to know how much “stuff” one has and, for all intents and purposes, one doesn’t need.

Our house here at the coast is a two-story house with one big area upstairs, which has become my son’s bedroom and play area.  Oh yeah, and the closets are upstairs as well.  My wife has one and I have the other.  They are both four feet wide by three feet deep.  Downstairs, there is our bedroom, which our full size bed fits nicely with about twenty inches to spare on each side.

 Our front room has enough space for a love seat and a chair.  And a little wood stove in the corner.  The kitchen is about eight feet by thirteen feet.  Bathroom small, but has a claw foot tub. Which sounds neat until you shower, and the curtain begins to close in on you.

There is a little deck on the outside and a small yard, and by small I mean smaller than one side of our old house.  Square footage for the entire house is 1200.  600 sq. feet upstairs and 600 sq. feet downstairs.  That footage also includes the little garage slash laundry room slash storage room.

Then we have the sun room.  Ah, the sun room.  Small and slanted, but housing the kitchen table, two sitting chairs and a plant table.  But the sun room was the selling point of the whole place.  That, and the natural lighting throughout the house.  Oh, and all of the flowers and foliage. 

Our house from the outside looks like a little barn or garage, but inside, it is becoming our home.  We are learning to make due with small and are trying to develop a simple lifestyle.  The town of 750 we are in has one grocery store, which is a bit expensive, so our main shopping trips are twenty-five miles away going either north or south. 

 

But, here we are.  And here is where we truly believe God wants us to be in this season of our lives.  we already miss our friends terribly, but soon our little cottage house here will be open for guests.  You just have to like being close, crowded, and cramped.  But here is home.  Welcome.

 

 

Eighteen

Two years ago I quit my job.  I wanted to get away from off-price retail for a while.  I wanted to spend more time with my son and wife.  I wanted to try to do my own business of some sort.  And I really wanted to step out in faith and trust God for our needs.

So how did all of that work out?  Well, it has been two years and I am ready to start a new phase of life, trust, and adventure. Since October, we have been commuting to our little coastal church every weekend.  And after taking July off, we are about to embark on a new season of ministry and move there to pastor full time.

As exciting as that may be, and as much as I am anticipating serving there, a reality is nagging at me.  And it is my house.  Our house.  For almost six years, my lovely T. and I have lived here as husband and wife.  And as she would say, she has spent that time re-doing the place and decorating the place and it was just starting to come together the way that she was enjoying.  So I know it will be a little strange for her to leave it and move in to a new place, a new town, a new environment, and, even though we have been there for a bit, a new church.

For me, this house and I go back a little longer, eighteen years in fact.  And as we are getting ready to move there is both excitement and trepidation.  First, moving is hard.  Physically.  There are a lot of things to pack.  Over the years it seems like “stuff” keeps accumulating.  Eighteen years of “stuff”.  Not only “stuff”, but life as well.  Eighteen years worth.

This house is the longest place I have ever called home in my life.  Many things have happened here.  This house has seen a lot.  I am glad the walls can’t talk, but here is what this house has witnessed.

The removal of 70’s style orange shag carpets with just a Leatherman.   The sanding and staining of hardwood floors.  Twice.  A new roof.  Twice.  Wallpaper up and wallpaper down.  A red wall in the front room and a yellow wall in the kitchen.  The remodeling of a bathroom and a guest room.  A wall put up for my studio.

Apple and apple juice.  Grapes and grape juice.  66 rose bushes and the removal of 66 rose bushes.  Dogs, cats, a bass fish, and a rooster.  Saturn cars, Ford Ranger trucks, new Ford Focus, new Honda Civic, new Audi A3, Honda CRV, and Nissan Altima.  Plus a Mustang II, and other sundry vehicles, both running and not.

This house has witnessed three children grow up into adulthood, three children married and three grandchildren.  And one on the way. 

And the sudden death of my wife. And months of a sad and lonely man. 

And God’s grace and redemption for that sad and lonely man in finding true love with my precious T.  Our marriage almost six years ago.  New curtains, brightly colored walls.  And a nursery. 

A tough pregnancy and emergency surgery.   My beloved, ten minutes away from dying. A doctor who saved my wife’s life, and the life of my little boy.  Born two months early and three pounds.  And his near death twice during the first week of his life. 

And now he’s a loud, energetic and lap running four year old.  And she’s my wife for the rest of my days.  Laughter, love, comfortable and grateful.  Friends.

Bible studies, prayers, rejoicing and weeping.  All in the name of Jesus.  Oh yeah, and He has been here.  The whole time.  Eighteen years.  This was His house.  He used it and its occupants the way He wanted.  There are a lot of memories here.  There is a lot I am going to miss.  I love this house.  It was my home.

And as we are packing up and getting ready to move to the coast to a new place, I can’t help but become a television show in its final episode, with one last look before I turn out the light and close the door.  Thanks.

Eighteen years.  That’s a long time.  I have more packing to do.  And I need to get ready for the next eighteen years.

The Saga of the Red Balloon

After accepting the call to be the full time pastor at the church of a small coastal town, my wife and son and I will be settling down for a month back at our home before moving.  We were planning to take July off no matter what, as we needed to get some things done and see some friends.  Which brought us to Klamath Falls.  Which bring me to our story.

We had a little bit of time on Saturday to look around the town before going over to our friends house and having a barbeque, so we found ourselves downtown for a look.  They were having a Saturday Farmer’s Market and we got out to peak at the booths and the items for sale.  It was a typical market with produce, hand made crafts, candles, scarves, honey, etc.

At some point my four year old marches up to the herbs and spices booth and says, as matter of factly, to the seller of said herbs and spices, “I would like a green balloon please.” 

This was sweet on many levels.  One, he was so polite in his asking.  Two, he knows the difference between customers and those employees who are in charge.  Three, he was quite decisive and specific. 

Oh yeah, and four, there were no balloons anywhere at the booth, let alone green ones.  The kind lady said, “You do, do you?”  She then excused herself and went to some to the other booths before coming back and telling my son, “They have some balloons at the far booth with the red awning.”

So off we went to find a balloon.  Arriving at the “Balloon” booth, my son again asks politely, “I would like a green balloon, please.”’  “All we have are red ones.  Would you like a red one?”  “Oh yes, please.”  We do have a polite little guy.

The lady proceeded to tie the balloon on to his wrist, and after a “Thank you” off we went heading back to our car.  Walking though the market, our son a couple of times exclaimed to those passing by, “See my red balloon?” 

As we got to the sidewalk, my boy no longer wanted the red balloon tied to his wrist.  He wanted to hold the ribbon in his hand.  My wife was explaining to him that he would have to be very careful and to hold on tight and not let go of the ribbon.  And there he was, ever so carefully, holding the ribbon that held the red balloon in his tiny little hand.  So excited was he.  And then. . . .

It all happened so fast.  His little fingers on his little hand opened.  The red balloon with the ribbon began to lift in the air.  My wife did make a valiant attempt to grab the ribbon as it floated up.  But, to no avail.  The red balloon went higher and higher into the air.

My son’s face said it all.  First, there was a look of “what just happened?”  Then there was shock.  And then, the tears.  “My balloon!  It’s in the air!  Get it!  Can you get it please!  Up there!” 

My son is known for his pathos, and this was no exception.  His weeping and wailing and moaning and mourning were too much for any parent with a conscience to handle.  My wife knelt down by our sobbing and grieving son doing her best to console him and to also remind him of what she had said about holding tightly the ribbon. 

The tears, however, continued.  And continued.  And continued with the intermittent, “My balloon!  My red balloon!  It’s gone!  Up in the air!”

 Prior to getting into the car, we made our way to Safeway to buy some water and juice as the temperature was approaching the 90’s.  At the register, my boy explained his plight to the cashier.  “I lost my red balloon.  It went up in the sky.  It’s gone.”

“Well, we will just have to get you another one.  Would you like another balloon?”  He responded, “Yes, please.”   Taking a red balloon from a display and tying it to his wrist, she said, “There you go.”  “Thank you,” he said. (I told you he was polite).  And off we went.  And everybody was happy.  Wait. . . .

Though he seemed happy to have another red balloon, he was, for the next half hour, still sad and weepy about his other red balloon that was lost.  I am not going to lie when I say that I was getting a bit frustrated at his continual mention of his lost red balloon when he had a perfectly good, new and better looking balloon on his wrist.   My wife mentioned that he seems to have real concern over the lost red balloon.  Then things seem to settle back down again.

The next night, he woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.  No doubt it was due to being in a motel and it was still hot, he snuggled into our bed.  And for the next forty-five minutes, he and I had some wonderful conversation with each other and performed some skits with his teddy bear.  Then, almost out of the blue, he began to softly quiver and said in the saddest whisper I have ever heard, “My red balloon is up in the sky and it is lost.”

It became as clear as it could be to me at that very moment.  My boy was sad, distressed, and troubled over a lost red balloon.  It was not because he lost it.  It was not because he no longer had it.  It was not because it had floated away. 

My boy was concerned about the well being of the red balloon.  It was far away from anybody.  It was all alone.  My wife was right that he was concerned because the balloon was lost. Out there in the air and nobody was able to get it.  Poor little red balloon all by itself.

 Jesus said that, “the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.

My son of me, desired to save that which was lost.

  In Jesus’ case, He was speaking about people.  My son was speaking of a red balloon.  And if my son has such concern over lost little red balloon, how much more should I or we be concerned over people who are just as lost?

That'll preach.  And I will, on August 5th, at the coast.

Drum Roll

At this point I would like to give you an update.  No bells, no whistles, no fanfare.  Well, maybe just a bit of fare.  But as most of you know, we have been wrestling with the decision whether to stay at our home and end the interim pastoral position, or whether we should continue pastoring at the little coastal church.

So, here is it.  The ultimate deciding factor as mentioned in the last blog, was this question. “Which decision is the riskiest step of faith?”  And there apparently was a follow-up question.  “Is there more to do there?”

The answer to the last question seemed to be “yes”.  We always sensed that we were supposed to be there for a season.  And that has not changed.  But it seemed like we weren’t quite finished yet.  So apparently we are entering another season.  And that season places us full-time at the coast. 

Jesus tells us that believers are to “go into all the world and make disciples”.  And He says at the end of that great commission, “and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” 

So for us, the call seems to have been, “and lo, I am with you always, even at the edge of the ocean.”

Looks like we have some packing to do.

Finally

So, I have had a lot of friends tell me that my posts and blogs regarding our ministry and the future of it as the “interim” time is concluding, are quite cryptic.  And that I am placing the carrot in front of them controlling the anticipation with my every tug of the carrot string.  Kidding, sort of.

The truth is, and they know it, my writing is the result of the conversations and struggle that is going on inside of our minds, hearts, and soul.  The inconclusiveness of the decision is because we had not come to a resolution.  So, I apologize for any mystery.

The dilemma that we have encountered is in the tug of our hearts while at both locations.  When we are home, there is the desire to stay rooted and enjoy friends and ministry.  When we are at the coast, there is the desire toward the new possibilities and the enjoyment of new friends and ministry. 

There is also the pull between making what we have come to call the “easy” choice and the “safe” choice.

So, as we whittle down the pros and cons of each option, more questions seem to arise.  And I will spare you many of the details, and the intimately personal ones, but converse with you the following.

Questions we ask.

Do we make the easy choice or do we make the safe choice?

Do we want to stay here?
Do we want to move to the coast?
What will we be giving up?
What will we be gaining?
Will it be a positive experience?
Will it be a negative experience?
Will we find a house that is suitable?
Can we rent or sell our house?
What about T.’s job?
What about I.’s education?
What about this?
What about that?
Do you want us to go, God?
Do you want us to stay, God?

And on and on and on.

We been asking questions, but the hints or clues or fleeces or answers were always ambiguous, or so it seemed.

The book of James says that “You do not have, because you do not ask.”  That is certainly not the case for us.  We have asked.  And asked and asked.  And asked.

 James follows with “You ask but do not receive, because you ask amiss.”  Now I recognize that “asking amiss” here really means asking with or for the wrong motives.  And I don’t believe we have ever done that.  But the word “amiss” got me to thinking.

Perhaps we have not had an obvious answer, not because we haven’t asked, not because we asked with the wrong motives, but because we have been asking the wrong question.  And there it is.

The proper question we should be asking God seemed to be, “Which choice requires the most faith in You ?”  If we are to walk by faith, then what is the one that will necessitate the most trust and dependency upon Him?

And then the answer became, I believe, most apparent.  My blog “Sometime the Grass is Greener”, was an attempt to take a risk and live out in faith.  And with that, there came conclusion.  Are we staying? Are we leaving?

And now without further ado (yes that is the correct spelling), our decision is. . . . . .

We are __ __ __ __ __ __ __!

  (enter your own encryption here).  Okay, just a bit further ado. 

Rolling On

Just when you think everything is just progressing along, you get this twinge of memory that takes you back.  This memory of mine is both pleasantly reminiscent, yet with a dollop of stinging pain.  Either way, it caused me to ponder in places I generally don’t ponder.

Today would have been my Dad’s birthday.  He’s been gone now for twenty-seven years, but the date still sticks.  He was relatively young when he died.  As a matter of fact, I am just about the age he was, and just about the age of his father when he passed away.  So, you can see the cause for my introspection.

My dad was a decent guy, as dads go, I suppose.  I certainly see some of his personality and traits in myself, both for the good and for the bad.  He didn’t become a Christian until two weeks before he died.  I am thankful that God has no probationary period for believers. 

I sometimes wonder what he would have, could have, and should have taught me if he would have lived longer.  I don’t fret about it too much, but I still think about the things I may have missed out on by not having him around as I aged through life.  I am not much for the “what ifs”, since we always tend to think about the great and noble possibilities. But the fact of the matter is, there could have been some awkward and even ugly times.  So I must live in reflective contentment and just point out that, I remember.

And I also pause to remember that the previous year before he died, about the same time, is when I finally yielded my heart and mind to my Savior and entered into a forever relationship with Him, forgiven and free.  I would like to say that I have been completely obedient and faithful to Him all of these years, but come on, who can?  But I know that Jesus has been completely faithful to me.  He has seen me through many things and I am grateful.

Which comes to my second point of memories, good and somewhat bittersweet.  As of this time May 2012, I have officially been a Christian longer than not in my life.  Not sure what others will think about that, or even care, but for me, this is a big milestone.  It was a hope of mine that I would walk this earth longer as a servant to the One who created it, than as an unaware and uncaring person who was lost and dead in sin.

Like I had said, it isn’t like I have been perfect all these years on the other side of grace, but I have been His.  And that is fine by me.  Because it is grace that makes me stand, it is grace that gives me speech; it is grace that lights my walk, and it is grace that picks me up when I fall.

And for these past two years of attempting to “take a risk and live out in faith”, I have noticed the grass.  Sometimes it is greener.  And it has been wonderful.  I wish that I could stand here and say to you that in my entire Christian walk, I have given my all and been filled with so much of His passion, but I cannot.  But this one thing I do, “forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

My dad died a long time ago, but my Father God lives forever.  Praise be!

Jabbok

To keep you all up to date on the very fluid nomadic life that we have been living, the resolve is coming soon.  As I had said in previous blogs, I have been interim pastor for a small church on the coast.  We commute over on Thursdays and come back home on Sunday evening so T. can go to work at the university.  We have lived with the four days here and three days there since October.  Our official interim contract ends on July 1.

 And as I previously noted, their need for a full time pastor didn’t include me as an option.  But, as it turns out, I believe they would want me to stay.  As one mentioned, “If we need a full time pastor, and I think we do, it might as well be you.”  And for that I am honored.  And we sat, and talked about possibilities and decisions and numbers.  So much so, that my assumption is that they will discuss and come up with a figure to offer.

Which brings us to decision-making time.  Is that a clue for us to continue pastoring at the coast, or do we end the interim and stay where our roots are?  And once again T. and I find ourselves “wrestling with God” like Jacob at the river Jabbok.  We obviously want to do that which God wants us to, but the choices seem not to be choices of right or wrong, good or bad, wise or foolish.  I wish it were such the case.

But the decision seems to be a decision between two good things, and both with equal blessings and opportunities.  As my wife so profoundly put it, “the choices are between the easy choice and the safe choice.”  So on we wrestle.  Moment by moment.  Day by day.

 The “easy” choice would be to come back and settled again into our home, our home church, and our home town.  Here, we have a house, friends, contacts, T.’s job, and the familiar.  We have been here for quite a while and longevity brings about a support web of comfort and trust.

The “safe” choice would be to accept a full time position and serve the church as pastor and continue on seeing all of the growth, opportunities, and somewhat security of an income that would completely cover our budget.  For we have been living off of savings and T.’s part time income, due to our stepping out in faith and trusting God’s provision.  And this opportunity at the coast could very well be a way of such provision.

So we recognize that at some point we will need to supplement our income as the savings is running out.  We also recognize the importance of T. being at the University and her collection of supporting friends and women of counsel.  And we recognize the draw of the coast.  And we recognize the great ministry success that we have been having there, with baptisms, changed lives, and growth in maturity.

 
So we, like Jacob, wrestle through the night, not wanting to let go until we hear, until we are blessed by the One whose name is Wonderful.  So, we wrestle on, between the “easy” and the “safe”.  We wrestle and wait. 

We wait for our hip to be dislocated.

Time and Time Again

So, as I sit here at the coast, I ponder.  My wife and son stayed home this weekend.  She had to work and there was a baby shower for a good friend of hers.  It has given me some time to think about the next move in our lives.

To update the neat things that have been happening at the coastal church I have been pastoring since October, there have been two more baptisms and it looks like at least two addition baptisms for the end of April or May.  It is thrilling and humbling to see so much growth.   We also have seen more growth in the month of April than at any other time.

Last Sunday night, I shared with the church my observations and recommendations regarding the future of this church and the potential impact upon its community.

I shared with them five areas that, I believe, should be invested in and that would strengthened and help make this little “light” in the community more effective.

1. Have aggressive outreach and ministry programs.  (To reach the residents of the community)
2. A quality Children’s ministry expansion. (There are more young families with children than realized)
3. Develop quality new servant-leadership. (Have younger and more leaders to effectively do ministry)
4. Have worship services conducive to all ages. (Blended, focused, smooth)
5. To strengthen current youth ministries. (To reach current teens and develop for future teens)

There are many ways, ministries, and programs that could be utilized to accomplish this, but first the church as a whole needed to determine its vision, its purpose, and its desire so that it could follow where and how they felt God was leading.

After presented facts, data, ideas and thoughts on all of these matters, I was asked my thoughts on how that all could be accomplished.  Simply put, I told them that we should engage in a discipleship strategy for growth and service, to grow our own leadership, and there is a need for a full-time on site pastor.

But, that pastor is not me.  While we have been blessed serving here in our circuit riding experience, while the church has experienced physical growth and spiritual growth, and while there is an expectant excitement that is the pulse of this church now, I am uncertain if I am the one who could successfully lead them into the next phase of their ministries.

This is a difficulty thing for us, as my wife and I have gone over the pluses and the minuses of serving here.  We see avenues of opportunity and possibilities being full time at this coastal church.  And the draw and desire of living beside the ocean is quite attractive.  Not to mention the friends that have been made here.

Ultimately it will boil down to where God is leading the church and us, and what He wants to do.  I believe that this church benefits from a humble, wise, energetic man of God, who sees the same vision that is being formulated and discovered by this church.

And I am good with that.  Living in two places has seemed to hone us in wanting to be where God wants us and we realize that we can serve Him anywhere.  I do wonder what role I will find myself as we leave here and “come home”.

But part of this whole life of ours and the writing of this blog, was the "search for the elusive dream", and an "attempt to take a risk and live out in faith".  So off we go.  Time and time again.

Hello Again, Hello

If anybody still cares, I am still here.  Yes, I realize that I have not written here in two months, and then only twice in four months.  But here on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day, I couldn’t sleep so I thought I would fire something off.

I am here in the morning at our coastal cottage preparing for what will be another busy, whirlwind weekend of ministry.  If you recall, our lives are quite busy with T. working Monday-Thursday at the University.  Then we leave Thursday afternoon for a Friday-Sunday stay at the coast where I am the interim pastor for a little church. 

We are busy.  And tired.  Not here to complain as many of you are busy as well, but just to let you know we are stretched pretty thin.  One of the reasons that I have not written much here is due to that busyness.  And I have been writing sermons and Bible studies.  It leaves little time for much else. 

Another reason is that since I am “technically” an interim, I thought it unfair to talk much in detail about our life here, as we have not determined if my ministry service would continue after the interim agreement was over.  We agreed to commute and pastor here on Friday-Sunday until July 1, 2012, which now is about three months away.  At that time, or perhaps before, the decision would be made on our part and the pat of the church what the next step would be.  The options seem to be; 1) continue to serve on the weekends and make the commute, 2) move here to the coast and live full-time, or 3) end our time here and stay in our house and go back to the church we were attending.

I believe a decision has been made on our part, unless we get a strong indication from God to the contrary.  Not going to tell you what that is yet, but would like to share some of the events of the past five months.  Some will be numbers, some are successes, and some are requiring me into deep contemplation.

When we started at this church on October 23^rd, these were the numbers as given to us:

Average worship attendance- 40
Average adult Sunday School- 12
Average youth attendance- 3
Average children attendance- 4
Last baptism- 1 in July 2010

As of today:

Average worship attendance- 52
Average adult Sunday School- 21
Average youth attendance- 3 to 4 (about the same
Average children attendance- 8
Baptisms- 4
New members-6
Rededication- 1

Highest attendance- 78 (thanks to a college group having a retreat in the area)

Second highest attendance- 66
Lowest attendance- 45

We have also seen an excitement and eagerness in the members as they have seen growth, not only numerically but spiritually.

Looking at the numbers may seem like a small increase, but when the town is a vacation/retirement type of community of about 752 people, the percentage is significant.

We had a Christmas Eve candle service. My lovely T.  put together one of her best ones to date.  Many of them had never attended such a service.  This Saturday, my wife is also throwing one of her infamous St. Patrick’s Day party.  

So, all in all, it has been a very exciting and positive experience, with good statistics, I might add.  But, it is a traditional church, with traditional thinking.  That, in and of itself, is not necessarily bad, but it can lead to a safe and comfortable feeling, which keeps numerical growth to a minimum.  Change is difficult, but it is necessary.

I have been strategically preaching and teaching about how we, as the church of God, need to reach our community, and take down any “barriers” we have erected that hinders people from coming and desiring to become part of His kingdom.  All “barriers” except for the cross. 

This is a church body that does well when people come to them.  They care for them, truly love them, and try to meet their needs, be it food, shelter, clothing, care, assistance, a ride, prayer, counsel, or direction.  It does, however, lack in the going out in outreach and “invading” the community with the gospel.  This is critical for the life of any church.  And it is commanded.

My deep contemplation comes from an event that happened just one week ago on Saturday.  Right next door to the church building is a business. Ten feet away.  And last Saturday, the owner had determined that life just wasn’t worth living anymore.  Ten feet away.  I have met some owners of various retail businesses, and met with employees, and talked with many a transient, vacationer, and town residents regarding our church, Jesus, and my ministry here. 

But not at that business. Not him. Not just ten feet away.  Ten feet away from a building that houses people who have come into a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.  Ten feet away from Christians, whose purpose here on earth is to love God and love their neighbor.  Ten feet away from people who have the message of good news and hope and life eternal. 

I am so sorry. 

Our church, our churches must be relevant. And for you, look ten feet away.  Who do you see?

What Matters

Well, it has been over a month since I have posted anything.  It is not because I have run out of words.  On the contrary, there is much vocabulary in my mind.  And I have been writing other things.  Sermons.  Since I have taken on this coastal pastorate, there has been little time to write any thing else.  Even though it is part time, two sermons a week are needed, one for the morning service and one for the evening service.  And then there is a Bible study to prepare.  I am not complaining, but is has left me short on time to write my posts.  And to take pictures.  I have not done much with my photography website either. 

But I have enjoyed preparing messages.  And messages that matter.  Millions of words are written, spoken, and sung every day, but only some that are lasting.  It is enjoyable to laugh and tell amusing stories, and even to sing current songs, but very few words will make a difference in the lives of people.  And that is what I want to do. Give, speak, and write words that effect change, or the potential to change people’s lives.

Now it doesn’t mean that I won’t write funny stuff and still post humorous things on the old social network and all, but for the most part, it’s time to be serious.  I have been quite stirred in my mind and heart since I have resumed pastoring.  It has helped me to see the need in humanity.  The need to be loved, the need to matter, and the need for meaning.  And I want to be a part of that.

Gotta go.