The Long and Winding Road

They say that the two things you are not supposed to talk about are politics and religion.  First off, I believe that they are wrong.  Second off, here we go.

Politics is a Greek word “politikos” meaning of, for, and relating to citizens. And Wiki says that politics is “achieving and exercising positions of governance-organized control over a human community.”  Politics is the manner in which humanity is governed.  There are many kinds of political systems.  A republic, a democracy, socialist, monarchy, a dictatorship.  But they all determine and decide how we should live.  It affects everyone who lives under such rule.

Religion is a person beliefs and worship.  The definition is “people’s beliefs and opinions concerning the existence, nature, and worship of a deity or deities.  They are personal beliefs or values that someone lives by.

So, now that we have got that out of the way, it seems to me that politics and religion pretty much affect our lives as humans.  Everybody lives under some type of government and everybody lives under their own personal beliefs or values. 

It seems, in that sense, all of us are involved, and if we refrain from speaking politics and religion, then the only thing left to discuss is the weather.  How trivial and stale is that?  Boring.  Pardon me if I do not play along but I am quite capable of discerning the weather by myself.  If I need to know, I will step outside, and figure it out.  Sunny, windy, rainy, cold, snowy, stormy.  Yeah, I got this one.

Society, the ones based upon politics and religion, can be weak or strong.  They can show off the best of humanity, or sadly, the worst.  Great ones, ones with morals and good values, and those that tend to last, are those that display the following trait.  But first. . .

Our church went to a senior assisted living facility for our annual Christmas caroling and gift giving program.  We have been doing it for a few years now.  We arrive right after lunch as the residents are still in the cafeteria.  As I peer into the faces of thirty or forty people who are advanced in age and need some sort of help with their daily routine, I see not who they used to be, but all I notice is weakness.

For most of them, they are close to the end of their journey, and their contribution level to the rest of society is miniscule.  Now, before you begin to throw stones at me, hear me out.  There are societies and movement who see no value or purpose in the weak.  I am reminded of the former Colorado governor who said that the elderly, if they have a terminal illness have "a duty to die and get out of the way.  Let the other society, our kids, build a reasonable life." He is now 78.  I wonder how he is feeling.

I am getting to know a fifteen year old boy who has huge disabilities and his mental age may be around three. And he needs help with a lot of things and his parents will be caring for him all of their lives.  What will his legacy be?

Recently another country’s government voted 50-17 to extend euthanasia to children with disabilities in certain circumstances.  It also extends the right to request euthanasia for adults with dementia.  Many people call this the right to die.  It is a hot topic currently and there are those on both sides of the issue.  But the thing that both sides can agree on is that death is involved.

I’m a life guy.  M preference when it comes to hard choices is to side on the side of life.  I’m really not for the death of anyone, be it the unborn, children with disabilities, the elderly, and those in prison.  I’m just not.  I know all of the arguments on all of the issues concerning all of the sides, and I certainly haven’t had to personally wrestle with them in the midst of the circumstance, so my thoughts have yet to be tested, but that is where I stand.

But back to the trait that societies who possess them tend to last.  It is not how strength is dealt with; rather it is how those who are the weakest in society are dealt with and how they are treated.  Are they cared for?  Are they treated with respect?  Are they protected since they cannot protect themselves?  Do we see their value to exist?

When a society begins to discount life that seems useless, wasted, or a strain on the status quo, that society is destined to deteriorate.  All are valuable.  All have worth. All contribute.  And we must care.   Even if it means more work for us.  Even if it costs us something, so be it.  He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.

The Confession

Since September my son has been going to a pre-K class.  We decided that he needed to develop some skills in the social behavior area.  You know, like sitting, doing work, sharing with others.  He is so active that it is hard for him to stay focused.  If we could only harness his energy.

His school is out of a Foursquare church in the town eight miles away.  It is a small class of seven children in the late fours and early fives age range.  We thought it would be the right size for him.  When I called to inquire about it the teacher said that they learned their numbers, alphabet, math, sound of the consonants and vowels, learning to read small words, some crafts, and the Bible.

 It all sounded good and as I was reciting back to the teacher about what they would be learning, se again emphasized, “I want you to understand that we will be talking about the Bible.”  To which I said, “I am counting on that.”

Even though we would have to pay as it is a private school, the cost is worth it, because we want it to be a good successful experience for him.  And it seems to be working well for him.  He is still quite energetic which at times keeps him from finishing his work.  As his teacher told us, “He has a brilliant mind and his thoughts and creativity are going a mile a minute.  I liken him to a great chemist or physicist who has to remember to stay in the room.”

On the first day, picking him up from school we asked him how it went.  Our five year old said, “Awesome.”  And we knew that was the truth as he has wanted to go to school for about a year and a half. 

So, buddy, did you make any friends?”  “Oh, yes!”  And he proceeded to name off his fellow classmates who all had normal names.  And then he said, “And there is my friend Omelet.”  Even though we live in a community known for its liberalness and interesting characters, we were pretty sure he had gotten the name wrong.  The boy’s name did start with an O, but for the sake of anonymity and for the fun of the story, we’ll just call him Omelet.

I picked my son up from school the other day and was greeted by his words.  “Hi, Omelet hit me in the face.”  And he did have a red mark on his cheek just below the eye. The teacher said,  “Yes, but we are going to sit down and discuss it.”

Teacher:           “I. where is your chair?”

I:                      “Over there.” (pointing to his left)
Teacher:           “And Omelet, where is your chair?”
O:                    “Over there.”  (pointing to the right)
Teacher:           “So, here is where I am having a hard time.  O. if you were sitting in your chair over there, and you I. were sitting in your chair over here, how is it that you could hit him and how is it that you could have gotten hit?  The chairs are pretty far apart.  If you were sitting where you are supposed to be, I can’t understand how you reach him.”

And good old Omelet replied as he outstretched his arms, said, “It was easy, I have really long arms.”  And busted.  Good old Omelet, grinning away with “egg on his face.”

Sometimes the Title is True

I started my blog in July of 2010, right before I was going to quit my job and stop, at least for awhile, working in off-price retail management.  It was also as I wrote “an attempt to take a risk and live out in faith." 

The title of my blog is Sometimes the Grass is Greener.  It is a play off of the phrase “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”.  This means, as you know, that we naively assume that someone else’s life, someone else’s world is better than our life or situation in which we find ourselves. If only I were on the other side of the fence, or if I had what they had, then all “my trials Lord, soon be over.”

But as soon as we are on the other side and look back, there seems to be this optical illusion of sorts, and all of a sudden our former grass appears to be a sharper shade of green than we had previously thought. It becomes an exercise in futility, of coveting other people’s stuff and world and we end up living in an atmosphere of excuses, raw deals and not being content with what has been unfairly forced upon us in our little corner of the universe.

But my friends, sometimes the grass is greener.  It just is.  Not from a coveting standpoint, not from a yearning standpoint, or from non-contentment, but from an objective look at reality.  Sometimes the grass is greener.  It then gives clarity into certain situations, scenarios, and circumstances.  And now for my revelation.

It is the day after Thanksgiving, the morning after to be exact.  We are spending the holiday with my wife’s brother at his house in the city.  Not a huge city as it is only about 150,000 in population; and also it is the place where we lived before moving to the little town on the coast.

I like living on the coast.  There are many reasons for that, but the main one is pretty obvious.  We live a block from the Pacific Ocean.  So that’s pretty cool.  The town itself likes to be called a village and has 700 residents.  We have one little grocery market, used to have a gas station, but it closed recently.  There are just a few shops and one flashing yellow light

There is a lot that the town lacks when it comes to amenities.   To shop at a department store (Walmart or Fred Meyer) one has to drive twenty-five miles to the next decent small coastal town.  That also goes for the nearest hospital.  But for whatever this village doesn’t have, it does have the Pacific Ocean, so there you go.

Here I am at 7:30 in the morning, and while everybody is sleeping, I grab my coffee and step outside of my brother-in-law’s house and onto a city block.  There is some frost on the ground, trees, and cars.  There are houses to the left, houses to the right, and houses on the other side of the street.

I am watching cars drive by and as I take a few steps down the sidewalk I hear the whistle of a train, a couple of police sirens, the neighbors outside having an early morning conversation before they head out shopping.

Looking down the street, I can see the signs and lights of local businesses.  And as all of this imagery hits me full in the face, I realize I am witnessing the hustle and bustle of living.  Don’t see that much in my town.

It is interesting that most people travel to the coast and especially to the village where I live in order to get away from the city life, the rat race, the populous of people.  And that is certainly understandable.

There is a calm, a slowness of everyday experience at the coast.  The long walks on the beach, the reading of a good book relaxing on an Adirondack, and even running to the little marker for some last minute groceries.  At our market the selection is easy.  You either buy the item or you don’t.  There is no deciding between like products, it is this one or nothing. Then there is the stroll to the only ice cream shop for a double scoop of Tillamook’s finest and then a slow jaunt to wherever or nowhere.  Ah, this is the life.

But, the city, as I absorb all of it at once, I miss it.  And it is because of the people.  Not necessarily the people that I know.  It’s just the people.  And every time that I see someone, I am reminded of how much my God loves them.  I don’t know them, and I have never seen them before, and I may never see them again, but I see their need, I see their loneliness, I see their poor decisions that have beaten them to the ground.  I see the resigned unhappiness that is their life, and I hold in my heart and head the answer, the solution, the cure.  Jesus.

There are people in need everywhere.  I know that.  Whether it is in my town of 700 or in his city of 150,000 people have the same ache.  It is just more pronounced in a larger city where anonymity is the rule and not the exception.  In a small town, everybody knows you and your business, whether you wish them to or not.

Dwight Moody, the great evangelist, when he felt the need to go to London to present the gospel was asked this, “Why go there when there is need here?”  His reply was, “I go where I can do the most good.  That is what I am after.  It is souls I want – it is souls I want.”  Why did he want to go to London?  That was where the people were.

Sometimes the grass is greener.

An Amazon Birthday

My wife’s birthday was coming up and, now days, I shop online.  One, because it is easy, and two, living in a little town on the coast, the drive time to a variety of stores (i.e. malls), is one and a half hours.

So, with my Amazon account in hand, I begin the search.  First on my list is a CD, yep CD.  I haven’t gone completely digital yet.  It is by MercyMe and it has a song called “Here for You” and it seems to be only recorded once.  Add to cart.

I went for a Robin Jones Gunn book called “Victims of Grace”.   My wife enjoys her books and has attended a conference where she was the main speaker.  Add to cart. 

Finally, a book that she used to have called “Why We Say It”.  It is about how common expression and phrases came to be in the English language.  She is an English major, so you know.  Add to cart.  And after purchasing, all that is left is the waiting.

Amazon is awesome.  I order from home; get it delivered at home (well, for us, at the Post Office) and all I have to do is point and click.  And then between five and seven business days, I have mail!  In this case, I have box! And I am just days away from wrapping her presents.

One great thing about having a post office box, regardless of the fact that we all have to have one, because there is no street delivery in our town, is when there is the bonus card.

Grabbing my keys, locating my box, turn the key and there it is!  Along with a couple of bills, there is an approximate  4 inch by 10 inch yellow card with numbers written and with each of those numbers scratched off  with ink.  Except for one.  My number.   It means that I have a package.  And now, I get to go to the front desk and retrieve my item.  Yep, I am special.

This is not a just “open box and grab some letters and head home kind of day.  No, my friend, this is much bigger than that.  This card tells me that I have something too big for my Post Office box.  No longer is it just getting the mail.  This has now become sort of like a super spy transaction, where I give the secret code, in this case a yellow card with a number on it, and then the other spy goes into the back room and returns with a box containing what I need for my next assignment.

Taking the cardboard box home, I stealthily head up the stairs before the wife finds out, and with anticipation I cut open the “Amazon tape” and peer into the box for its contents.  One Mercy Me CD, check.  One Robin Jones Gunn book, check.  And one “The Dean Koontz Companion” book, che. . .  What?  No, no, no!  It is supposed to by “What We Say It”.

I have not read any books by Dean Koontz and neither has my wife, so I am pretty sure that we will not be needing his “Companion Book”.   They have sent me the wrong thing.

One other time, I have experienced receiving the wrong item.  While Amazon and their individual distributor’s have a pretty good success rate, the first time I received the wrong order turned out to be quite entertaining. 

After attending a concert and the singer sang that great folk song, “If I had a Hammer”, I decided to order a CD from the performer who wrote that song, Tim Hardin.  So I order the Tim Hardin CD and five days later I receive my package.  I open the envelope and pull out, not Tim Hardin’s Reason to Believe CD.  Instead I am holding in my hands The Barrio Boyzz  “That’s How We Roll” CD.

Yes, Barrio Boyzz, with not just one Z, but two Z’s.  They look like a morphing of ‘NSYNC and gangsta street thugs.  They are considered the first Latin American R & B, pop boy band.  Well, there you go.

While I have nothing against the Barrio Boyzz, and they certainly may choose to roll however they want to roll, I would have preferred Tim Hardin.  So, I hesitantly write an E-mail to the distributor.

“Dear Sir or Madam,  I ordered Tim Hardin’s “Reason to Believe”  CD with the order number # ……. and I did not receive it.  Instead I received The Barrio Boyzz “That’s How We Roll”.  I do not want the Barrio Boyzz “That’s How We Roll”.  How may I receive the CD that I ordered?”

It wasn’t too long before I got an apologetic reply.  They would be sending, right away, the  CD that I had ordered and upon receipt, I could return the other CD, on their dime. Sigh of relief on my end.

And sure enough, only two days later, my replacement CD arrived.  Opening the envelope and inserting two fingers and my thumb, I pull out. . .yep. . . The Barrio Boyzz  “That’s How We Roll”.  You have got to be kidding me.   Back to square one.

I called this time and spoke to a human who figured out that the wrong code has been attached.  Which means, that no matter how many times I order Tim Hardin, I will receive The Barrio Boyzz.  They assure me that they will find the CD that I want and send it to me.  In the meantime, I may do whatever I wish with the wrong CD’s.

While I have no need for two Barrio Boyzz CD’s, I decided to send one back and keep one for, well, because you just never know.  And eventually I did receive the correct CD and I listened to Tim Hardin once or twice. It was okay, but it was not as great as I had hoped.  The Barrio Boyzz is still sealed in its original packaging, even to this day.

 And now back to the wife’s birthday.  She opened up her presents.  First, MercyMe.  “Thank you.”  Second, Robin Jones Gunn.  “Thank you again.”  And finally, The Dean Koontz Companion.    As the stunned look of “What the heck?”   came over her face, I simply replied, “This is your own personal version of The Barrio Boyzz.  Koontz, with a Z.  “Cuz, that’s how I roll.”  Word.

Guy's Only Weekend Part C

Off we are heading up the old highway for the adventure of a lifetime.  Or at least, as adventurous as me and my five-year old can be.  And with a few wrong turns here and there, I find myself back on to the interstate.  Oh well, at least it is a known route for me.

Once I get up to the proper speed of sixty-five miles per hour, yes, I am not a speeder, I settle in for the rest of the drive to our destination. My boy and I are engaged in a rousing game of “Who can fake burp the loudest and the longest.”  For the record, he stated it. 

Periodically looking back at him, in the rear view mirror and on occasion a quick turn of the head, to see how he is doing, I notice that he is attempting to drink from his milk container.  It still has the foil on it with just a small hole for the straw.

My remedy for the situation is to retrieve the container from him and place another straw in the hole.  But, alas, no straw is to be found anywhere.  So I tell him to hand me the milk and I will pull off the rest of the foil.

And at 65 MPH, I reach my right hand a backward trying to contort it in position to grab said container.  I do not know how my wife can do that.  She has no problem reaching back and touching him or grabbing her purse from the rear seat.

 It is as if she can dislocate her arm at the elbow and twist it to reach directly behind her and grab with two fingers any item she desires. I believe it is a mom thing and a trade secret kept from the guys.

I place my hand in baton receiving position and can feel with my fingertips only the outer plastic of the container.  To which my son seems that if I can touch it I should be able to grab it, similar to the pee-wee league football coach who barks, “If you can touch the ball, you had better catch the ball.” And he lets go.

The over half full container of 2% white milk from McDonald’s has now spilled all over the floor of the back seat.  And me on the freeway with no pull off in sight! 

I take the nearest exit, which happens to be a rest stop, turn off the motor and grab the two napkins provided to me by McDonald’s and head to the back seat.  The milk has conveniently already soaked into the floorboards and is not only mixing with the other dirt and gunk and spills since the car had been last detailed. Uh never.  Vacuumed, yes, but shampooed, nope.  And the milk is rapidly reaching room temperature.

We chalk it up to a casualty of war and back on the road to our destination.  We go shopping, we play in a park, we go to our friends, have dinner, spend the night, wake up the next day, and in the afternoon jump in the car for our next overnight stop. 

And what is that smell?  Oh yeah, spoiled milk. Ahhh!  Not good.  Not good at all.  I drive to the nearest store and purchase two “Fresh Linen Car Air Fresheners” at a higher price than I would normally pay, but this is an emergency. 

We arrive at my in law’s house for the evening and to spend the night.  Her mom went to the funeral as well, so for the night, three generations of men.  Grandfather, father, and son.

After visiting for a bit, I am ready to bring in our gear for the night and….   There is that smell.  And it is not getting better, just more spoiled.  Back in the house I am on a hunt for Febreze.  Not having any luck, I do happen to find a lavender or some sort of scented dryer sheet.  Grabbing that, I head back in, unprotected, to face the horror.

I find myself wiping the floorboard over and over again with the dryer sheet.  And as it disintegrates in front of me I am left with a putrid smell of rotten milk, linens and lavender.  I have only made matters worse by combining smells.  It is like Tuesday night at the buffet during the early bird special.

The next morning I locate some Lysol and spray away.  The Lysol has seemed to remove at least some of the smell, plus giving a nice Lysol aroma.  Just in time to pick up my wife from the airport.

Remain calm.  Stick to our story and maybe she won’t notice.  And as she opens the car door her nose crinkles.  And I can’t be sure because I was avoiding eye contact but I believe she “teared” up a little bit.  I am assuming that it was because she was glad to see me.

Guys Only Weekend part 2

So, where was I?  Oh, yeah, we dropped my wife off at the airport and my boy and I were off and running for our man weekend road trip.  And first destination, lunch.

 

Being the adventurous type, I decided to head an alternate route and bypass the freeway and drive up the old highway.  With maps in hand, his and mine, we head for the next town for a quick bite to eat.

One thing about our family is that our navigational skills during a visit or vacation involving other towns and cities are based on the landmarks of restaurants.  We may not know how to get to the University’s football stadium, but we can make a no detour beeline to the Mexican restaurant on Sixth Street. And it is right next to the infamous 7-11.  I’ll get to that story later.

We like to try places where we wouldn’t generally eat.  We like trying new places.  Although that trend has seemed to have had a slight adjustment since moving to a little village off of the Oregon coast.  In our vicinity of easy access, there aren’t very many chain restaurants available.  So, we find ourselves at times when we are in a bigger city, eating at the restaurants that are available only in larger towns and cities.

 

And on this day, as the scenic countryside subsides and we enter the first town on our tour, I begin to scout for a place to eat.  Hopefully, I can find a place we haven’t tried before and that is suitable for a five year old appetite.

And there on the right, is our destination all light up with the angelic aura around it.  McDonald’s!  I’m lovin’ it.  Well, at least we haven’t ever eaten at this one.  There is no play area at this one, so a bathroom stop and then, time to eat. 

 

My son is having the usual.  One Chicken Nugget Happy Meal (4 nuggets, small fries, apple slices, on round bottle of white milk).  Plus a Halloween bucket with a sheet of self assemble stickers.  My turn.  I settle for the number 1, a Big Mac meal, that I know will look nothing like the picture. 

 
Finding a window seat with the view of the parking lot, I say grace and begin to consume  my 1,130 calorie with a side of 1,320 mg of salt intake meal that will sit heavy in my stomach for days. I did satisfy 15% of my daily need of Vitamin C and will no doubt keep my girlish figure and waistline, if by figure, I am comparing myself to a woman nine months pregnant with twins.

Unable to finish his milk before it is time to roll, I grab the container and proceed to drop the straw that I had inserted into the foil covering of the milk for less spillage on the road.  But no worries, because I always have a spare straw.  So with a buckle of the belt over the boy and his car seat, it’s time to head out.  Get your motor running. . . .

Guys Only Weekend

So this past week my wife T. had to fly to Arizona for her grandmother’s funeral which left my 5 year old and me on our own.  She was leaving Thursday and coming back on Saturday. 

The closest airport is a couple of hours away, so I thought my boy and I would go on a mini-road trip.  The plan was to head up to the town we used to live and visit some friends and then on Saturday drive back to pick up T. 

When you are spending two nights away at two different houses, well, you have to make sure you have all the essentials needed.  We divvied up the packing list.

My list included, two sleeping bags (one for me and one for him), two pillows, on cot, two spare blankets, a bag full of shirts, pants, underwear, pajamas, socks (three days worth for the boy and for me), various toiletries, my camera bag, my computer, my Bible and paper for notes.  Not to mention a few snacks. Check. And check.

My boy’s list.  One kid sized backpack full of alphabet blocks, a Veggie Tales lunchbox full of small Thomas the Tank engine toys (also included were Gordon, Percy, James, Edward, Toby, and Bertie the Bus), one Paddington Bear book of colors, one stuffed bunny for the ride, stuffed Henry the dog and Nemo the fish for sleeping. Check and Checkmate.

Well, we each have our own set of priorities.  Nonetheless, we were ready for whatever the road had in store.  With the back of the SUV loaded and not to mention T. with her purse and backpack for her trip we were almost ready. 

Usually the boy sits behind the driver’s seat in his booster seat, but on this trip I had moved him behind the passenger seat so I could easily have access to him for important things like picking up stuff he dropped, handing out fruit snacks, and juice.

Gas tank is full, bags are packed, and we have just dropped T. off at the airport and we are ready to roll.  We do not have t be at our next destination until evening, so the world is our oyster.  What to do first.  I am checking out my analog GPS (paper map), and the boy is checking his laminated map and after serious calculations we settle on our first spot. 

Lunch! To be continued. . .

If Tomorrow Never Comes

³ Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” ¹⁴ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. ¹⁵ Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”   James 4 NIV 

This journey that I have been on officially had its start a little over three years ago. If someone would have told me then, that today I would be living at the coast in a small cottage in a town of seven hundred and fifty people and that I was the pastor of a church with a community of fifty to sixty attendees,  I would not have necessarily  believed them.  This current situation of ours was certainly not one that I had envisioned.

 But, it hasn’t completely been a surprise. Because part of this “grand experiment” all along was to place my trust in God and let Him lead and provide.  And He definitely has done that.  My fourfold goal from the beginning was to get away from working off-price retail for awhile; to spend more time with my wife and little son; to maybe pursue some sort of business; and to trust God for needs and not ask of anyone but Him.

And I would have sot say that for the most part, these past three years those goals have been accomplished.  Sometimes quite different than I imagined, but that is kind of the point.  And so begins my three year update.

We have just signed a renewal lease for this cottage that we are renting.  So, it appears that for the next year, we will be staying here at the coast and pastoring this church.  We were hoping to find a place a little bit bigger and a little bit cheaper, since that did not occur, as opportunity after opportunity fell through, it became clear that the Lord desired us to stay put.

I have learned and am still learning that the plans that I make, the things that I desire, the dreams that I dream will either coincide with the will of the Lord or He overrides them to accomplish that which He wants.  And I am good with that.

That is the point of the verse in James printed above.  The point was that we should not make plans, but rather pencil them in until the Lord writes them in ink.  We must live moment by moment knowing that He might have something for us to do. 

And since the lease has been signed for another year, I can assume that here is where we are. At least for one more year.  So, here I am, send me.

The Past and the Present (Travel part one)

I am sitting in an airport waiting to board because I am heading to Kansas City.  My entire flight will cover about 1500 miles, with a six hour start to finish total travel time.

I know this is a common occurrence.  Every day people fly all over the world and arrive thousands of miles later and within a few hours are stepping off into a different city, a different state, and sometimes a different country.  Yes, it is common, but it still baffles me and boggles this mind of mine.

I woke up this morning, got out of my own bed, drank some coffee, spent some time with my family, drove to the airport and six hours later, I have arrived here to visit my children for a few days.  And with their children.
Having said all of that, I will tell you this. 

With the ability to be in a town of 750 persons, and then travel to the airport of a city of 156,000 residents, board a plane with 170 other travelers, and arrive in my destination city of 460,000 people, I am surprised and somewhat embarrassed (with a good dosage of guilt) that we, Christians, aren’t more influential and effective to a lost and dying world.  It seems that there should be more of us, doesn’t it?

Then I think of the apostle Paul, who is not only my hero, but is at times, a thorn in my side.   As to my hero, I am struck and motivated by his passion to preach Christ.  Jesus Christ crucified and alive again.

Someone once asked the Christian singer and composer Rich Mullins (my all time favorite), who his hero was.  They were taken aback when he didn’t say Jesus.  To which Mullins replied, “He’s not my hero.  He is my Savior.”  So no disrespect at all to my Savior Jesus, Paul is my hero.

As to Paul being a thorn in my side, same reason for him being my hero.  His passion was to preach Christ, whenever, wherever, however.  I, (he shamefully says) am not that bold.  I want to be.  But I’m not.  I desire to.  But I don’t.

And I have it easy.  I can be anywhere in the world in a day.  I can come in contact with myriads of people.  I have numerous Bibles, books, songs, and devotionals at my disposal.  I can even send out mass e-mails and post something on Facebook and Twitter.  And yet…. Lame.

Which brings me to Paul.  He traveled by foot, by animal, by ship, and went all over Asia taking days, weeks, and months to get there.  And all the while preaching, teaching, sharing the hope of forgiveness of sins and eternal life through the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So hated was he in one town for preaching Jesus, they stoned him with rocks and left him for dead.  What did Paul do?  Once he regained consciousness the next morning, he got up and headed back into the city to preach Jesus!

That is so not me.  I would have collected my purple heart and been on
the next donkey home.  But not Paul.  Because he was so grateful to Jesus for saving him, and so dedicated to Jesus for calling him, referring to himself as Christ’s bond-servant, and he knew his purpose in life.  To exalt Jesus.

I can’t help but think that if Paul lived on our time, he would be going everywhere he could; he would be on every social and entertaining media outlet, utilizing every type of resource that would be of value to him.  Why?  Not because he was a techno-new gadget geek, but he was unequivocally a “Jesus freak”.  To him, it was all about Jesus.

His love, his passion, his purpose was Jesus and preaching Jesus and teaching Jesus.  I think he would be admonishing us for our lack of aggression and would be encouraging us to stay true to that which has brought us to this point.  That, being Jesus Christ and the magnificent grace of God.

No doubt, you can see why I bow my head in disappointment as I, time and time again get so caught up in my own life and fail to press on for the upward call.

And if that isn’t enough to have “loser” painted on my forehead, I recall those years when Paul was on house arrest.  You know, being shackled 24/7 to a Roman guard?  And what’s my hero doing? 

He’s writing letters to churches he started, to people he brought to Christ and those he had discipled.  He would receive visitors and good old Paul would be doing the same thing he had always done.  He preached Jesus Christ, crucified and alive again.

There is no doubt in my mind that Paul was also sharing his faith with those guards who were chained to him.  And when one guard was relieved from his assignment and the next one was clamped on, I can almost hear Paul, “Permit me to introduce you to Jesus.”

I’ll bet many a guard, when the orders for the day came down, were going, “please, not him.  Not Paul.  I’ll go fight in the frontlines, but not Paul.  Anything but that.”

Me?  I can’t even make small talk.  Sitting here on a plane for the first two hour leg of my flight, it takes everything in me to acknowledge the guy sitting next to me with small talk, in order to have opportunity to share.  But I am determined.

Me:   So, you live in Denver?

Him:  No, Corvallis
(Silence)

Me:  Are you visiting Denver?

Him: No, going to Dallas.
(Silence)

Me:  Oh, I am going to Kansas City.

He nods his head and looks down.
(Awkward silence)

 

He then grabs a book and begins reading.  The title of the book that he was reading is “The Quiet”.  I think that’s a hint.

So, I look out the window of the plane and see the wonders of God’s creation, listen to a little Rich Mullins and head to my destination hoping to have another go at sharing my Savior Jesus.  Just like my hero Paul.  Just like him.  Kind of.

Stretch (Travel part two)

So, I am going to blog out of order regarding my recent trip to the Midwest, or the Great Plains states as some of them like to be called, distinguishing themselves from the rest of the middle states.

I am here waiting for my return flight from Kansas City to Denver.  I picked up my ticket and got my seating assignment.  It is an aisle seat and a few rows back from the front.  I have arrived well before takeoff and for a while, I am one of the few for this early morning flight. However, at time nears, more and more people are arriving. 

So many, that waiting seats are few, and we begin to hear these announcements.  “Folks we have a full flight this morning and almost all seats will be occupied.  We need some room for carry-on baggage.  If some of you would like to check your bag to ease the space issue it will be appreciated and at no cost (checked bags are $20 for this airline).”

I must have heard this message four or five times.  I only had a backpack that would slip under the seat and not in the compartment above, so it really did not apply to me.  As it got nearer and nearer the time to board, the counter was also calling out passenger’s names to, I assumed, find out if they had arrived and had checked in.

Until I heard my name being called.  They were asking me to come to the counter.  So, up I got, losing my coveted waiting chair and headed to the counter.  After confirming that it was me, the airline person said, “As you know, we have a very full flight with 168 passengers (uh-oh, I can almost hear what’s coming), we were wondering if it would be okay to upgrade your seat to out Stretch seating.  I has a lot more legroom and is quite comfortable.  Would that be fine?”

In my whirling mind, I am replaying this conversation with my own twists. “I know you ordered the grilled cheese, but would you mind if we switched that to our full prime rib dinner with all of the trimmings?” Um, yeah.  Do you really have to ask?

I turn in my regular ticket and the give me the new one.  Stretch seating.  In addition, I get to be one of the first ones to board.  And, suddenly the title Mr. and Sir is being thrown my way.  I find my seat “3C” and I place my backpack under the one in front of me and stretch those legs out.  I can barely touch the seat in front of me.  Now this is living. Or flying.

As the other people board, my I notice a severely distraught woman, eyes puffy from crying, and little drops of water still oozing from both eyes. I am thinking, it must have been a bad breakup.

The man behind her, her husband, kisses her and sits next to me as his teary eyed wife moves past our seating towards the rear of the plane.  As we were getting ready to taxi onto the runway and the doors of the plane are closing, he asks me if I wouldn’t mind switching seats with her as she is terrified or flying.  “She a few rows back and will be the one clutching on tightly to her sweatshirt.”  I am glad it wasn’t a breakup. It was just agonizing fear.

I said sure and asked a flight attendant if it would be all right if I switched with her as she was very frightened.  She replied, “If you want to.”  And off I go to my new seat.  Good-bye stretch seating.  Hello, tighter space.  As his wife sobs uncontrollably and thanks me profusely, I squeeze my backpack and myself into my several rows from the front aisle accommodations.

During the flight, another flight attendant came to me and said, “I heard you gave up your stretch seating for that woman.  That was so kind of you.  We want to offer you free TV for your flight or a complementary drink on us.”

I politely say no to the TV and to the drink.  One, because neither of those options sounded good to me, and two, the woman sitting next to me called me nice and generous man.  How could I profit from my gesture?  While I am grateful for being called nice and for the flight attendant to think me chivalrous, I could not accept any praises whatsoever.  For the following reasons.

First, I had been upgraded to seat 3C with the stretch seating only minutes before I boarded the airline.  Second, I got to spend seven minutes with fully extended legs.  And third, the seat that I had switched with the woman was, in fact, the original seat that I had had in the first place.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Between Here and There

I am pondering the events of the night before.  Getting the news that our good friend died yesterday certainly caused great swings of emotions.  There was sadness, of course, and yet there was relief as he was finally made whole in Jesus.  Which leads to joy, knowing that he was a child of God. 

But if you have experienced the death of one whom you loved, it is never easy.  I know some of those moments of grief, remembering, laughter, tears, and even silence.  I am praying for the family and friends of this man who called Jesus His Lord.

As a beautiful spring morning here at the coast emerges, with little wind, no clouds and the sun shining warmly across the ocean coast, I am struck by the odd contrast.  Primarily, of how this day must look depending upon where you see it from. 

This first morning without her husband, their dad, their grandpa, with the sun breaking into their rooms, slowly waking them from an evening of restless and draining sleep.  Their morning will be different than mine. 

I am sitting in my study preparing for a Sunday worship service.  They are waking to the stark memory of the night before.  Alone.  They will worship, yes, but it will be dissimilar to what they are accustomed to.  Here on earth, we awake to face the day, to battle the tears, to grasp onto hope, and the reality and temporalness of life.

He, on the other hand, when he awoke (pardon the poor theology and the use of poetic freedom), awoke this morning to glory.  No sun, just the presence of the Son.  Waking refreshed, waking praising, waking complete.  Another gorgeous day in eternity!

Words fail, but God is.  And because we are His, we are.  Good morning all.  Between here and there.  Here between heaven and earth.

My Friend Died

A friend of mine died tonight.  Just about an hour ago.  I hadn’t seen him much as he lived in Arizona.  But he was a friend none the less.  In fact, he came to our wedding.  Even at that time he was suffering from a terminal brain disease.

We went to seminary together and stayed at the same house for the overnight times.  He was the youth pastor at the church my wife attended.  And that is kind of how we met.  If I hadn’t asked him to bring his group to be counselors for our church’s children’s camp, well. . .

Now I know death happens.   I have experienced it painful finality several times in my life, a wife, a dad, a mom, a member of our youth group, but still the news always hits you hard.  Not as hard at his immediate family, though.  I cannot begin to understand the sorrow that they are experiencing, a mere sixty minutes later.

He certainly wasn’t old; in fact he was the same age as me.  At a time when he should be still serving in a church, going on dates with his wife, spending time with his kids and grandkids, his life was slowing dripping from him like a paper cup with a hole in the bottom.  Seems so sad, so senseless.  Too soon.

Unless you knew him.  And unless you knew his God.  My friend loves Jesus.  Yes, loves.  In the present tense.  Just because he has “left” this earth, doesn’t mean he’s gone.  He is just continuing on with his relationship with the God of the Universe.  Just, as his son wrote, at a new address.  However, we look at it, he finished the race.  He did what he was called by God to do.  Be a witness for Him.

Though we will never, on this side of heaven, understand the Lord’s perfect will and timing, we rest, we trust in the fact that it is so.  God has the things of our temporal and natural world, in His complete and capable hands.

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, ^and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?”

 I believe.  My friend believes.

So, my friend, welcome home. 

Humble

I have a very specific routine for Sunday mornings.  Pastoring a small church in a little town on the coast, I have found it important for me to follow this routine as much as possible.  I am not sure how my wife feels about it, as she has to carry most, if not all, of the burden that Sundays bring.  I know that she understands and expects me to do what I deem necessary to prepare for the morning.

That leaves her to get not only her, but our five year old son, up, cleaned, dressed, fed, out the door and into the church building, to the right classroom.  It is not like she doesn’t have anything to do once she gets there.  She teaches a Sunday school class with one youth attending.  Sounds so easy, until one realizes how specialized and specifically directed the lesson has to be.  Did I mention that she I also the worship leader?

But enough about her, because the story is about me and my routine.  After waking up and getting ready, I kiss her goodbye and head to the building.  Whether walking or driving, I now follow the road at the edge of the Pacific Ocean.  It is only about five blocks to the church building.

Arriving at the building, I will turn on the lights and the heat, if needed, in the sanctuary and the other class rooms.  I will then go into my office keeping the lights off and turn up my music compilation as loud as I choose.  I will look over my notes for the day and just listen, praise, worship.

I like music loud.  I like music that either drives me to my knees, or brings me to my feet.  I like a more rock beat and words that challenge me and lines that pierce deep into my heart and soul.  (As I write this, Rich Mullins “I See You” is blaring.)  I have never been one for the fluffy, la-la-la everything is great kind of song.  I seem to have a bent for the desperate.

I have served in or been on the pastoral staff of every church I have been a part of since becoming a Christ follower.  They have been contemporary.  They have been traditional.  They have been cutting edge. (I personally like cutting edge, but timing is everything there). 

In all of those, I have seen eager and willing workers.  I have seen quality and professional workers. I have seen old hometown and “it’s good enough” workers.  I have prayed for God to bring the energetic and younger workers when needed.  I have prayed for the technical perfect musicians and artists when needed.  I have prayed for those with knowledge and capable and able teachers when needed.

And let me tell you, when you get those, and sometimes all of those in your church, well, look out world!  And what church wouldn’t want energy, youth, willingness, quality, technical, knowledge and capable?  Just imagine what we could do!

So, pondering my routine, that I have done for about a year,  reflecting on my message, listening to music that I have chosen, and praying for this little church, and imploring the Lord to bring the qualified to us, I realized that that there is an awful lot of us, we, and I going around.

In reflection, the better prayer is for humility.  For myself, first.  Then for the congregation.  And then, for God to bring humble workers, humble servants, humble leaders.  Now that’s an ability to desire in people.

Humility is not achieved by doing it, by learning how to do it, by reading books on it.  The only way to achieve humility is to not focus on it.  But rather, focus on Jesus and focus on others.  As long as us, we, and I are more important than Him and you, it matters not what other qualities and talents are brought to the table.

Think of those whom God used.  A shepherd, a maiden, a fisherman, a man hiding from the enemy army, a prisoner.  Humility is the strongest weakness that one can possess. It can’t be earned.  It can be learned, however.  It does grow in us, as the Lord transforms us. 

We too quickly forget that our salvation is a grace gift given by the Most Gracous One.  We also forget that our spiritual maturity is up to Him as well.  Our part in all of it is to humbly receive.  As we submit and subject ourselves to His Lordship and control, He makes us into a “little Christ”.  And that term is called Christian or Christ follower.

The first church I was a part of as a follower had for it slogan “Share His Adventure”.  That occurs by following.