Relentless

I stepped out of my car in a hurry. The store was closing in eight minutes. I needed to get inside quickly. As I strode through the parking lot the raking light of the setting sun set a tiny tuft of grass afire. It was as if a beam of light just grazed these few blades. The sunlight must have broken through a cloud or a gap in the buildings. I stopped and took a picture. There was something so joyful in the little tuft surrounded by a sea of stone.

The green testifies to the coming of spring and the relentless heat of summer (not a fan) that is just around the corner. The plant has been hunkered down in this crack through the dark days of winter just waiting for the world to lean again toward the sun. As the world has grown in light so the miracle of photosynthesis has begun and these tiny blades have been converting sunlight to life.

The crack does not stand a chance. This plant will relentlessly pursue life. It will push and expand. It will drink in the CO2 gather the power of the sun and grow. The asphalt will have to give way. The plant will give it no choice. I have tons of pictures of plants growing in unlikely places. I am drawn to them. I love seeing a vine stretching across a wide expanse clawing toward the sun.

Sometimes I feel like this. The world around seems dead. I teach about life, I preach about life, but the vast desert seems to keep expanding. Sometimes, I wish I could be a stick of dynamite that would, in a blast, turn the world upside down, but God seems to have called me to use the process of time and pressure to bring about change. In a world of quick fixes and the promise of easy solutions the word in the Bible that keeps rattling around in me is endurance. This is our calling- the relentless pursuit of the grace and love of Jesus. To go this downward path, this way of suffering, is to seek character and ultimately deep down, the bedrock of hope.

Don’t give up. Keep pursing the way of Jesus. It will win.

Leaning

What did you do for your birthday? That question was asked several times of me today. I was glad to get to tell them my story.

We usually go out to eat on Birthdays. The celebrant has the responsibility to choose the location. I love to go to the Cheesecake Factory. They have my all time favorite dish, Bang-Bang Chicken and Shrimp. It is a Thai dish with coconut, spices and sautéed vegetables and the the aforementioned mentioned meats. It is delicious. Cindy and I always split it because it is huge. I usually wish for more when I am eating it, but by the time I tuck the cheesecake into the corners I am right at the edge of completely full.

We drove to Dallas to met our son there who was able to come straight from work. We had a long leisurely meal and stimulating conversation- a perfect evening. Then we strolled to the book store and walked and talked among the tomes (not tombs as some people think). We selected books based solely on their covers and flipped through the pages. We picked up books inspite of their covers. We laughed at the cultural trends of which I was unaware. A second great piece of my birthday celebration.

Then we needed to start home, but I had one more request. “Can we go see the leaning tower?” We had talked about it earlier in the week and I had shared the video of the failure of the building to collapse with my family. Then we had read that it was to be finished off by an old fashioned wrecking ball last Monday. Apparently, the building laughed at that suggestion and while the workers said it would be down by mid week, it was still standing on Thursday night.

We drove down to the area and piled into one car and then drove to find a spot to get out and see the tower. It was washed in a bright light. There were people all around. It was a party. It was icing on the cake of my celebration.

I’ve wondered why it has been so popular this week. Just search for it on social media. Why has failure made it so much more famous. The old building has stood there for years and I had never noticed it. Why now? Maybe, we all are drawn to things that so clearly reveal what we so often are trying to hide-that we are a real mess, that our lives really don’t look like our curated Instagram feeds. We wear sloppy sweats at home and our hair looks more like a porcupine in the middle of the road. We wake up in the morning struggling to get to the end of the day. We are rarely the person we hoped we would be.

Looking at the crowd, looking at the tower I kept thinking people were saying, “Yes, at my core is a crooked mess. All the trappings around it might hide it, but it is still lurking on the inside. It is resistant to change. It will be in me tomorrow.” If we can love that broken part, if we can love the inner revealed part, then people can really know unconditional and complete love.

I had a great birthday because the people that know me best still love me. They have seen my wobbly core and it has not frightened them away. Instead they come and cheer me on. That’s what it is like to be loved.

Lost

This is the place. I looked at the sign last Monday morning, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end. It has been over 20 years since I stood here with tears in my eyes, my heart racing and fear overwhelming me. I thought I might be over it, but I was wrong.

We are zoo people. We love zoos. We have been to lots of zoos. Many of our vacations have a zoo prominently featured in them. Our trip to the West Coast was no different and the San Diego Zoo was given an entire day. I had grown up hearing about the zoo from the Johnny Carson show and Joan Embry’s frequent visits. It was past my bedtime, but when the zoo animals were on, the rules got bent. A lifetime of dreaming was wrapped up in our visit to the San Diego Zoo.

We arrived before opening and planned to stay through the extended hours into the night. The day before we had bought matching shirts at the Monterey Bay Aquarium featuring beautiful really cute otters. We were wearing them, proudly announcing our love for animals. We had a great day of walking and interacting with the animals. One of the highlights was the pandas. A recent birth meant we had a chance to see a real miracle. We stood in line and were able to shuffle quietly past the enclosure. A gift shop waited at the end of the journey.

We browsed the shirts and picked bright red ones featuring the face of a panda. We planed to wear them the next day, but it was still early and we did not want to carry them around all day. “Its OK,” we were told, “They have them and the big gift shop near the exit.” Logan looked longingly at the stuffed pandas and asked respectfully if he could have one. We declined. He took the disappointment without dignity.

Even though the park closed at 9PM we were nearing the exit about 8:40PM so that we could get our shirts. That is when we found out that the only place to buy panda shirts was on the other side of the park at the exhibit. We had no time to argue. We ran. Lance and I took the lead and Logan and Cindy were in the back. The gap between us increased. Lance and I arrived at the shop out of breath, but before it closed. We grabbed the shirts. Just a minute later, Cindy arrived. Logan was not with her. We realized it instantly. He had lost sight of us and did not see us turn into the shop. He kept running thinking we were ahead of him. He got far away fast.

We sprang into action. We told the workers who radioed the front gate. The description was easy-we knew exactly what he was wearing. We went out on the street and headed in opposite directions. Disregarding social conventions, I yelled his name at the top of my lungs several times over. People stopped and stared and then came to me. They knew. The got the description. I continued to yell. People began to move off in different directions. People picked up his name and I could hear people calling for him like ripples in the water.

The we heard the words far in the distance. “He’s here.” We ran. We ran in that direction until we found him walking back with a stranger toward us. We dropped into an embrace and tears. It had been 5-6 minutes, but in a huge crowd, in the dark, a long way from home, they had all been filled with terror.

We walked back to the shop, which was still open, they waited for us to buy the shirts. Cindy grabbed the stuffed panda and put it on the counter, we both knew it was going home with us that night (It is still in his room). “I once was lost, but now I am found.” I never hear those words without thinking about that night. I know that God’s heart races for his children and he wants each of them to hear him calling their name and he is desperate to find them and embrace them and take them home.

The Path

I saw this on my Facebook feed. I snapped a picture of it, not wanting to actually click on the link because I did not want to dive any deeper down the rabbit hole. I looked at it for a while. I doodled it for a while, a long while. I used colored markers. I used a pencil. I used a pen. I asked my wife. I asked some friends.

One person came up with a strategy but it add a line not on the original drawing. We concluded that it is not possible if the challenge is to stay only on the original grey lines. Every permutation lead us back to the the same conclusion, there is always one line segment left untraced. I officially gave up the quest.

It took about two days for me to try and conclude that this was a waste of time. It took Cindy about five minutes. I was willing to pound on it a lot longer. She was certain much quicker.

How often in life do we waste life on the unfruitful, the impossible and the absurd. We keep trying old strategies in life and keep coming to the same conclusion—this is not working. We get in the same arguments. We are frustrated by the same behaviors. We are angry about the injustices. We are trying to fix people, change people, but the seem resistant to all change.

Knowing when to keep on trying and use the gift of perseverance or when to dust off our feet and move on seems to be a crucial bit of discernment. I think I get it right sometimes. I know I get it wrong sometimes. I’m in one of those spots right now when I am standing on the edge trying to discern a pathway and uncertain. I’m praying that God will show me the path.

A Hard Nut and a Crack

Last Friday, we were on our way to the airport. We have been trying to go skiing together as a family for several years and our schedules have been in conflict. About three weeks ago we saw a momentary opportunity to slip away to the mountains. We had a late flight on Friday night so everyone could work a full day. We jumped in the car and headed to Dallas to pick up our oldest son. I grabbed some nuts to eat on the way figuring that we would eat supper at the airport.

Between Kaufman and Seagoville, I popped a nut into my mouth and bit down. It made a crunching sound, but not the right one. It did not hurt, but it surprised me. I reached into my mouth and pulled out a fragment of my tooth. It was my right, back, bottom molar. The remaining tooth was sharp as a needle. I thought about the problem. As we neared Seagoville I had Cindy exit and head to the drug store. I grabbed some tooth filling repair compound and hoped for the best.

I got the airport and struggled to get through dinner. Each bite was accompanied by a sharp stick in my gum as if I was biting my gum every time I closed my mouth. I went and found a mirror and placed the material in my tooth and then held my mouth closed for a couple of hours. We arrived in Utah and headed to the mountains. My repair job did not work. It fell out immediately.

Breakfast was agony and I knew I could not last the 3 more days until I could get back to Athens. I went to the concierge desk and they connected me with a dentist that saw patients on Saturdays. I dressed to go ski and got to make a good run. Then, I headed back to town and my appointment. The dentist was friendly and quickly buffed my tooth and removed the sharp cutting edges. He told me to see a dentist when I got home, (which I have). Then I drove back to the slopes and continued skiing. I missed nearly three hours of skiing on what all the locals said was the best day of skiing of the season (fresh snow, bright sun and relatively warm).

The nut was not worth all the trouble and the pain. If I could have known then, what I know now, I would have avoided the nut. I think lots of trouble in life is like this. We simply don’t see the ramifications of our actions. We don’t see deeply. We don’t slow down enough to consider. I’ve too often been at the end of a long chain of events in people’s lives in which a simple choice lead to a disastrous result. Considering you choices wisely (and don’t eat any nuts on the way to the airport).

Delight

I stumbled across Charlie Mackesy’s delightful book, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse during the holidays and it has quickly become one of my favorites. Its as if Christopher Robin had a cousin who could also talk to animals. I got the book for Christmas, it was added to my list at the last second, but still found its way under our tree. The characters are fully formed and I found them like dear old friends. The ink sketches are just solid enough to communicate and porous enough to allow for my imagination. I found the process of reading the book to be like climbing into an adventure.

The themes throbbing through the book are hope and friendship. It’s as if they already live in the world we all wish we could live in. Its a world we we take care of each other. A place where we help in each other’s weaknesses instead pointing them out to feel superior. It’s a place where the voiceless are not ignored and the fearful don’t have to lash out. I read it in one sitting. Now, I keep reading it over and over.

The author has already given all the images that make up the book away on his instagram feed. It’s as if he published each page in advance and the book is just a collection of those moments. You don’t need the book, but I already treasure mine. I’ve already given one away. I’ve recommended it to others. I have looked at most of the images online, but I love the feel of the book and think everyone should experience it in that tangible form.

After finishing the book, I went to find out about the author. I read his bio. I got sucked into his Instagram. Then toward the bottom after hundreds of images and a long journey I saw another picture. I stopped and starred at it. Like a time traveler I shot back to 2002. We were visiting a church in London, Holy Trinity Brompton. In the foyer of the church was a huge canvas. On it was a painting of the prodigal son. I instantly loved it. I bought a copy of the image. I cherish it. It’s what I feel when I read the story. It’s what I feel that love looks like, that home looks like. Charlie painted it years ago.

I fell in love with the artist years ago because his images touch me in a deep and profound way. When I saw the book, I was drawn instantly to it. I didn’t yet know it was by the same hand, but it certainly embodied the same spirit. That is why when we see beauty we are drawn toward God because under it all it is God who is the true author.

Beckon

We arrived at the wedding on the edge of Toledo Bend, just across the state line in Louisiana. It was my Dad’s favorite place to fish. I have recently been going over old photos and I found one of my Dad and my father-in-law and an ice chest of fish they had pulled out of that lake. I was thinking about him as we walked to the shore of the lake and waited for the wedding.

The sun was warm and the lake covered with tiny ripples as the couple declared their love and commitment and we all smiled and celebrated. Then it was time for the reception. We moved just about forty feet to the big white tent festooned with ribbons and bows and filled with music and laughter. We were well into the meal when I saw the boat. I had been in a conversation with our table-mates as we got to know each other and told stories of how we were connected with the bride’s family. As the sun was setting, it caught the side of the boat and the green flashed like a jewel.

I waited until the meal was finished and there was a lull in the conversation. Then I excused myself and walked down to the shore and followed it until I reached the boat. A paddle thrust out of the front like the bowsprit of a mighty sailing ship. I looked at the ground and measured whether I would sink in if I stepped into the boat. For some strange reason I wanted to get in the boat and and paddle out into the lake.

I think the amber glow of the light and the memories filling me with nostalgia were transporting me back to my childhood. My grandad had a boat just like this. We used to ride with him as he worked his trotline on Possum Kingdom Lake. The second to the last time I went fishing with him it was in his little boat with a small motor on the back. My dad was with us. My grandad was old. I was the youngest of all the grandkids. I don’t remember anything but the ending of the day. We pulled the boat up to the shore to get the trailer. We pulled up the collapsable metal mesh fish basket. It was empty. A hole in the bottom had let all the fish slide back out into the lake. Words were spoken.

The last time I went fishing with him there were five us in the boat. Dad, grandad, my two brothers and me. The trip ended quickly when one brother hooked another brother in the head with a treble hook on a lure. There was blood and tears. The adults wanted to push the hook through and cut it off and then reverse the course of the hook. Words were spoken. We turned the boat back to the shore.

Gandad died not long after that. I was so young and he was so old and I never got to have a really great day with him. Its something I’m looking forward to one day when I greet him again on the beautiful shore.

Jesus is in the Parking Lot

I stepped out of the church and into our parking lot right after church on Sunday and found Jesus in the parking lot. It was after church, so I’m assuming Jesus had been in the service, but now was relaxing outside in the warm sun. He looked so happy and snug all swaddled in his blanket. The hay was bright and clean. He was tiny-about the size of my big toe, (OK not so tiny, but look how big the tip of my shoe is in comparison). He was alone in a vast ocean of rocks, sand and concrete.

I walked right past him. Like the Levite on the way to the temple stepped over the wounded man on the road. I noticed him for an instant, but kept walking. Then I stopped and thought about it for a second. I spun on my heels (well turned slowly around, spinning seems way to dangerous to me and the friction of the parking lot is too much to spin on anyway) and headed back to see Jesus in the parking lot.

I stood and looked. I took his picture and then considered my next steps. He was right outside the door. He must have fallen as a child came out of the building. Maybe they would be back to retrieve him. Should I leave him in hopes of their return? Should I move him to a more protected spot? Would they be able to find him, if I moved him? Would he get run over in the parking lot? Would the rain was him away? Should I protect him?

The double nature of all these questions was not lost on me. It might be that our evaluation of Jesus in the Parking Lot is more important than what we think of Jesus in the Worship Center.

Do we take Jesus with us or leave him at the door? Do we find the people who need Jesus or just hope they find him? Should we protect Jesus-that is-try to clean Jesus up, make him more acceptable to others? Should we try to keep Jesus inside the church we he does not cause us much problem or in our cars, in our daily living where following him can lead to complicated situations and a change of my priorities. Can trouble just wash him away or are we with him for the long haul?

I left him in the parking lot and have been praying ever since that Jesus will go home with every one of us when we leave church and that he would be born in us new every day.

Hit or miss

It was the perfect gift. It wiggles, vibrates and barks! it does all three. Not only that, it is made of high impact plastic that dogs are not supposed to be able to chew through. Even better, you can buy new covers for it, to add additional interest. I could see my dogs playing with it.

I ordered it from amazon and waited for it to arrive. Then I placed it in a bag and waited for Christmas morning to see the joy on their faces. We put the sack down in front of them and they sniffed it with interest. Then they walked away. We called them back. We got the box out of the sack and got the same response. We helped them open the box (they do not have opposable thumbs and were not getting any traction).

Then we had to find a screwdriver with the right sized tip. The first was too big. The second too small. The third was flat and we needed Philips head, but we made it work. The dogs would have no chance of getting these batteries in the slot. Finally, the moment of truth.

The button to activate the “Hyper Pet Doggie Tail Interactive Plush Dog Toy” was depressed. As promised it wiggled, it vibrated and it made a sad distressed barking sound. On the ground, it rapidly moved back and forth finding its way under the Christmas tree. We retrieved it after asking the dogs to do that and them turning us down flat. We tried again in a more open area-nothing. It did all it was supposed to do. They were not interested at all. One was alternating between hiding from it and ignoring it. The other acted like it did not exist. Late that night we took it to our son’s house and tried it on his cat. Tato was aloof. We ruled it an epic fail. The gift we thought was going to be received with joy was not. They were just not interested in wiggling, vibrating or barking.

On the other hand, they loved the bits of paper that fell on the floor. They stuck their heads in all the Christmas sacks. They sniffed around the empty boxes. They ran in and out of the door and played with leaves. I read an article that described the 5 best toys: stick, box, string, cardboard tube and dirt. I think the author was right.

Christmas makes me anxious when I can’t find the right gift to say what I mean, which is usually, “I love you.” “I want you to feel treasured.” I think its because the first Christmas gift said that so well that we want all Christmas gifts to be connected to that first gift.

Praying that you all have the perfect gift and it fills you with strength for the coming year.

Have you seen it?

The bright orange squares represent my set of seats to see the “final” Star Wars movie. I saw it on opening night. This makes the ninth Star Wars movie I have seen on opening night. The first was back in 1977. I was still in Junior High. I had just turned 15 years old. I had my learners permit. I went with my older brother Brett. He was a senior in High School he drove a white mustang with red interior and an 8-track tape player. We saw the the trailer three months before. He had taken me to the movie for my birthday. We saw an animated film, Wizards at the Forum 303 Mall (it is now torn down, plowed over and turned into warehouses). Before the movie started the trailer came on. The first Star Wars trailer was grainy, unfinished and melodramatic, but we were mesmerized. We put it on our calendars. We were some of the first to see it. It was so amazing.

The next film came out two weeks before I graduated from High School (May 1980). I had a car and a serious girlfriend. We went to an Italian food restaurant for dinner then and we went and stood in line to see it at the Ridglea Theater in Fort Worth. We emerged from the theater shaken by the twist at the end. We debated and argued if it was true or a lie. By then, I had a collection of memorabelia that is still legendary in our family. It was so amazing.

The third movie came out 2 weeks after I married Cindy (May 1983). We were living in Waco and saw it there. It was the first movie we saw in the theater as a married couple. It brought to a close a significant chapter of my adolescence and helped launch me into drama, film and photography. It was filled with the depictions of men who were real heroes who sacrificed themselves for other. It spoke of honor and values and adventrue. It was so amazing.

The stories lay dormant for 16 years and then exploded on the screen in 1999. We got tickets to the midnight movie in Dallas (the closest place showing it at midnight). By now I had two children. We woke the kids up for their first midnight movie and drove to see Episode #1. We made them lay down in the car after it was over and sleep on the way home. Our rule was if you go to the midnight movie, then you have to go to school the next day. Our oldest was 12 our youngest was 9. It was so amazing.

The next installment (Episode #2) followed in 2002. So many things had changed. The attack on NYC had changed the world-it was darker and more frightening. We had gotten deeply immersed in reading about the movies and my boys had their own amazing collection of Star Wars toys. We went to see the movie just 6 weeks before traveling to NYC to see fireworks for July 4th and attend a Star Wars Museum exhibit in Brooklyn. Our oldest was the same age we were when the first movie came out. It was so amazing.

Episode #3 came out in 2005. Our oldest was 18 and about to start his Sr. year. Our youngest was on the cusp of getting a drivers license. We headed to Dallas again for the midnight showing, mostly for nostalgia reason as Tyler was now showing them. We were frustrated that the originals were so much better than the prequels. We argued and debated the ending, the anger, the motivations. It was so amazing.

The first film, of the final set of three films, premiered near Christmas in 2015. Our sons were scattered to work and college, but we managed to all get together and drive to Austin to meet a former intern who lived in our home and see the opening showing at the IMAX theater there. It was like a family reunion. It was before reserved seats so we had gone to stand in line for 8 hours to get mediocre seats, but It was so amazing.

Christmas 2017 brought us episode 8 and we were back in mesquite, and the movies was in IMAX 3D. We no longer had to wait until midnight, but got to see it at 9:15PM. We had a group of friends who met us at the theater. It was so amazing.

Last night we saw the final installment. It started at 7 PM. We wanted a Dolby Digital Sound theater and the best one we could find was in far north Dallas. Our sons are launched into life. Our lawyer son met us in Dallas our media director son joined the group in Austin. It was so amazing.

I started the journey at 15 and finished it last night at 57. My car was a Dodge 440 (which I called Luke in honor of the movie character) with push button transmission when I started. I have driven 5 cars in the interim— a yellow Mercury Capri, a silver Nissan Sentra, a tan Nissan Stanza, a blue Scion XB and a green Subaru Outback, but none of them are as cool as Luke’s land speeder.

People have asked me about the movie. It does not matter how good or bad it was, what matters is that it has helped tell the story of my life and I’m thankful that a long time ago, not so very far away my brother took me to see a movie an ushered me into a fantastic world of joy and wonder. I miss him.

Clothed Alike

Last Sunday night, I put my new Christmas jacket on for the North Pole. I stepped out into the hall and immediately got the response I was looking for—people noticed. Usually, at the North Pole, I am volunteering in a specific spot and I have to wait for people to come to where I am. Last year, I got to be the reindeer cam and travel from place to place live streaming the event. This year I wanted to focus on photography and problem solving. I wanted to see volunteers in action and help where I could.

I saw the jacket in Walmart. It was perfect. I bought it immediately. A person came up to me and said, “I can’t hear you, your jacket is too loud.” I accessorized the look with a huge set of jingle bells. I shook the bells as I traveled from place to place. About halfway through the night I came down the Treehouse corridor and saw my jacket on Jim Campbell. He was helping in Christmas Around the World. I jumped at the chance to get our picture taken together. It is not too often that I meet someone who has my particular flair in clothing. Most people would turn and run from this coat. Jim and I bought them and wore them!

Last summer, I was worshipping at Emmanuel AMC in Charleston, SC. At the end of the service a man walked up to me and said, “I have that exact same shirt.” We both said in unison, “Walmart!” I have several shirts from Walmart that are identical to the shirts of men in our church. Occasionally, we are wearing them at the same time. I have over 30 church shirts from ski trip, youth camp, VBS, DNow and other events that hang in my closet. Sometimes I’ll meet someone in town wearing the same shirt.

When we wear the same clothes, adopt the same looks, we sometimes feel kinship. At others times, we feel a little sad that we lost our special find. These two urges pull inside of us—to feel connected and to feel unique.

The call to Christian community is the call to “put on Christ” (Gal 3:27). It means that we are supposed to look like each other. We should bear in our lives, the authentic marks of Jesus. People ought to immediately know where we got our look, our ideas, our values, because they should look like Jesus. The internal problem of sin is that following Christ leads us on a path of self-emptying. The true path leads us away from self-promotion. We have to die to ourselves to follow Jesus. Rebellion is clothed in self and pride. The way of Jesus is dressed in humility. To put on Christ, we have to take off self (Rom 13:14).

Hammers and Grace

It is a very busy time of the year. The tension in the office was mounting as we were approaching numerous deadlines. I was trying to create a community invitation for the parade. Too many things were happening at the same moment. Then my computer froze. I would click and the monitor would not even blink at me. I shuffled the mouse, but the arrow stayed fixed on the screen. I seethed. I sat back and took a deep breath. I tried interacting with the beast and got the same result. I ground my teeth.

I got up and walked away. I told Connie that I was going to take a break and then get a hammer and fix my computer. She had one in her office and handed it to me. I laid it on the desk near my computer. My computer started to work. I decided to keep the hammer on my desk for awhile.

I thought of hammers, and force and power and coercion. What are you willing to do to get your way?

We got contacted by someone, not from our church, who was unhappy with our church, but never bothered to talk to any of us about the issue. Instead, they went for a metaphorical hammer. The lost art of reason, of talking, of gentleness seems to be lost in a world of anger, easy offense and outrage. There is no room for mistakes and no forgiveness, just judgment, harshness and categorical decisions.

One of the reasons Jesus came was to give us more options on how we responded to the world. He gives us “turn the other cheek,” he gives us “love your enemies,” and “lay down your life.” When Jesus is in charge he shapes a new world and reserves the hammer for his own hands-that is, he receives the blows intend for us. “By his wounds we are healed” it says in Isaiah.

The next time you are in “power up” mode, why not try the downward path of Jesus to servanthood, death to self and grace.

We stepped into the courtyard and looked around. a building was emerging from the ground and we had been invited to look at it. It was a Bible School and the builders we so proud. We mounted the steps and climbed to the top floor. A beautiful melodious song filled the cavernous space. A bird nesting near the unfinished roof had made the sounds. We asked if we could slip past the construction materials and go out on the roof. Eventually a deal was stuck and we headed up. The bird flew away and we squeezed out onto the roof.

The view was amazing. This was our first time in Mekelle, Ethiopia. High in the mountains in the far north of the country, the town was surrounded by rolling hills and lush farmland. The horizon was dominated by a cross. Recently added, this 10 story cross is illuminated at night and can be seen for miles around. The people we met were excited that their town was become known as a the town under the cross.

After visiting the founder of the school and listening to their amazing testimonies, we headed back down to the courtyard to head to our responsibilities. That is when I saw the bike. It was leaned against the wall. At first I was drawn to the vibrant colors. Then I really noticed the seat on the back. A small childrens chair had been lashed to the rack. I’m sure that it would be deemed unsafe, but it looked like so much fun. I can think of a hundred things that could go wrong, but I can also picture the kid urging her mother on as she pumped the pedals or the child squealing with glee as her dad raced down a hill.

The more I travel the more I know that people are all the same. People want the best for their families. They want the best for their kids. They might not speak our language, but they speak the same heart language. They are not monsters, are villains are lazy. They often live in places with less resources than we have. They struggle with unrelenting poverty. I also notice that so many people I meet traveling are filled with unreasonable joy. Their circumstances are often bleak, but their attitudes are let you know they feel blessed. I keep looking at this bike and thinking about the family that is using it. It keeps making me smile.

I walked out of the courtyard and looked up to see the cross. The more I travel the more I know that everyone needs to hear about the love of Jesus and it makes the whole world my neighbor. We are all members of one family.

Open Wide

I went to the Texas Baptist Annual meeting in Waco this last week. Baptists gather from all over Texas to vote on budgets and resolutions and hear reports from the different agencies attempting to reach Texas with the Gospel. I used to be one of the young ministers at the meeting. Now, I am one of the seasoned veterans. There was a time when ten thousand showed up for the meeting and there was lots of enthusiasm. Now, there is barley a thousand in attendance and the halls were filled with quiet conversations.

On Tuesday night, the intramural flag football finals were going to be played. They were going to be played on the field of Baylor’s stadium. One of my pastor friends had a son that was going to play in the game and invited us out for the fun. it was cold and we were unprepared, but we put on extra clothes and grab blankets from the house we were staying in and headed to the football field. We entered through a side door that took us down into the interior of the building and after snaking around eventually led us to the field. About 300 college student stood on the sidelines and cheered on the teams. The first game was between the last two girl’s teams. They had an exciting, high-scoring, enthusiastic game. When the final whistle sounded, girls rushed the field cheering and screaming. It was a party.

The boys final, the last game of the night, started about 9PM. It was a one score hard fought game. The huge stadium felt empty. Maybe it was the soccer like score or the draining of the cold weather, but the crowd was subdued. Occasionally someone would yell a word of encouragement, but mostly it was silent. When the game was over, the referee blew the whistle. The teams shook hands and circled for prayer. The crowd moved like penguins on the ice, like one big slow mass. Everyone shuffled off of the field and headed to their cars. There was no outburst and hardly any congratulations. There was almost no enthusiasm. I wondered about it. Why such different responses to the game?

I attended the preaching conference attached to the Baptist meeting. The preachers were fantastic. Beth Moore did an especially good job. Several of the preachers brought choirs. Some of the choirs sang in a beautiful, calm and dignified way. It was nice. One of the other choirs sang with reckless enthusiastic abandon. it was exhilarating.

As we walked off the Baylor football field, I dropped down on the turf for a photo. It has been 36b years since I have been on the Baylor football turf. I was remembering days gone by. My freshman year, I was the President of the Baylor Line, a spirit organization. Our goal was to inject enthusiasm into the stadium, to energize the crowd and support the team. I wore bright green pants and yelled and jumped and screamed. I was enthusiastic.

When I see the bear on the TV it looks much smaller, up close, it is overwhelming. I realized I would fit into mouth. I positioned myself between the teeth of the bear because that is the way life often feels. Pressure is bearing down-troubles are all around. What we need from each other so often is an infusion of energy to give us the boost of hope we need to survive. I think I’m in lots of places that need people to stop shuffling around looking at their feet and instead raise their faces and voices in enthusiastic joy.

When you come to church, be a person that builds others up. When we sing, sing loud. When it time to laugh, laugh out loud. Pat someone on the back. Smile a little bigger. Enjoy yourself a little more and bring someone along. Let’s turn up the energy a bit.

Not as advertised

I love audio books. I have tons of them. I went into a book store recently and high above the bookshelves I saw the section marked, “audio books.” It was like a magnet drawing me across the huge expanse of books. I love that I can “read” a book while I am exercising or driving. I especially love listening to fiction books because I typically am reading non-fiction as I study each week for sermons.

This particular book store sells older books for a cheaper price, so I was hoping to pick something up that was deeply discounted.

From across the store it looked like they had a huge amount of boxed sets of audios books. I imagined it would be a great deal-2 or 3 books wrapped together. They put a popular book with a less well known book (ie something that did not sell). I have sometimes bought sets like this and listened to the reject book and been very pleasantly surprised.

As my feet slid across the carpet my eyes kept trying to make out the different books. Eventually, distance and eyesight met and I could see everything that was on the shelf. There was not an audio book anywhere. Insead, a battalion of bobble heads stared intently at me. I was disappointed. Then I was amazed. There was a lot of bobbleheads.

I looked at the sign. It was taped on to the frame at the top and curling at the bottom. The “audio books” was covering up what had been underneath. No one had bothered to update this sign.

The gap between what we say and who we really are is important to monitor. We say that we are Christians, but does our life give the evidence that we really are following his ways? We put up signs telling people we are a church, but do we give evidence of being the community of Christ? If people came looking from what we had advertised, would they find the words of faith coming to life or empty bobble heads? Sometimes I wonder.

Just Spinning

I love my vacuum cleaner. I am not ashamed to say it. It is the best vacuum cleaner ever. I grew up being the vacuum cleaner kid. It was one of my chores. We had a Hoover. It had a bag. I never remember changing the bag. I would turn it on. The bag would inflate. I would push it around the house.

I never felt any satisfaction in the process. Occasionally, I would enjoy making the slight sweeping patterns in our green sag carpet, but mostly it just seemed pointless. Sometimes I got to dust. Armed with a white rag and a yellow toped can of furniture polish I would glide my had over the furniture like an ice skater in the winter Olympics. Then with a pop and flourish I would turn the old T-shirt over and start again. The dark black stain testifying to my mastery of the sport.

Cindy and I married and I still did lots of the vacuuming. I learned to change the bag. I still did not like the process. Eventually, our wedding gift vaccum fell silent. In the interim a new breed of vacuums appeared on the market. They did not have bags, but clear cylinders. The dirt appeared in the chamber. The operator could see immediate progress.

We invested the money. I loved my new vacuum cleaner. It turned the process of gathering hair and dirt into a game. I win every time I fill the canister and dump it into the trash. I love that I can see the bits of flotsam and that my efforts are so immediately rewarded.

Over the last few months, by vacuum has been failing. Increasingly, I have been down on my knees with a lint brush combing the carpet so that the vacuum can pick up the little piles I create. I thought that my dogs were just going through a phase and that the soft undercoat they seem to be shedding was just too fine for the vacuum to collect. I began to work for the vacuum instead of it working for me.

I got home from Ethiopia and Cindy had been doing my chores and she commented that the vacuum was broken. Something inside of me clicked. I had checked its sucking power on numerous occasions. That was not the problem. I looked at the brush bar. It spun with ease. The red brushes stuck out like they were supposed to. Then it suddenly hit me. They were too short. The years had worn them down to the point that they no longer agitate the carpet, they do not sweep at all. Amazon sent me a new bar and I replaced it. Its like having an old friend back. The rug looked brushed and clean and new. The canister had captured the dog hair. I was winning again.

Sometimes in life we need a new brush bar. For too long we have gotten used to the wind currents around us. The confronting, scouring power of the Word of God seems to no longer even touch us. Instead, its provocative words pass over us while we barley notice. It’s time to replace the brush bar. Pick up a new translation, read it slower, think through its implications, but whatever you do, don’t get so used to the Bible that its radical call to love the enemy, to forgive, and the call to holiness no longer even touches your soul.

Oh, what a beautiful day.

We slipped into the back entrance of the State Fair. We waited for a few minutes for the birthing barn to open. It is a great way to start a day at the fair. The first case was filled with small oval shaped eggs. Some were rocking every so slightly. A few had the tell tale signs of life within. On one, the shell was cracked and the chick was actively trying to escape its white prison. Four or five dirty, wet and exhausted chicks lay in the wood chips. Occasionally one would rally and take a step and flay its wings.

The next case held fluffy little chicks scurrying from one side the other side. People wandered around looking a smiling and it was hard to tell who was having more fun. The sounds of contents peeping and the chattering of people all blended into a cacophony of joy.

Then our eyes rose to the surrounding pens. A mama cow was so ready to give birth. Her tail swished and the body was stretched and she waited. Any day or probably any moment the calf would make the journey. In the very next stall, an attentive mama licked her 22 min old calf. She nudged it. She moved down one side and then the other. Then the calf stretched out it’s legs and slowly stood. Then with an exhausted wobble fell back into the wood chips. The mom kept licking and the calf kept struggling trying to find its feet.

We headed for the door and the rest of the fair, but honestly I could have left right then. It was so refreshing, so enlivening, so encouraging. The fresh, the new, the excited surrounded us in that room. It made me drink in hope and love and support.

The rest of the day was filled with pleasure (fried food winners and corny dogs!) and friendship as we wandered from the Strong Man to the Butter sculptor on to the food sampling circuit and to the Texas Hall of State and then finishing up with the car show and the bird show. It was a great day.

We should start every day asking God for the new creation that is promised to us.

“God make me new today. Love me like a mother hen or a mama cow. Give strength to my feeble legs. Fill me with wonder and joy and let me share it with my friends.”

I pulled into the parking lot and saw it sitting right by the curb. It was a car seat. The orientation meant that I could not see into the seat until I got a little passed it, I braced myself as I pulled next to it. Thankfully, it was empty. I scanned the area. There was no one near.

I drove on to the store and conducted my shopping and then headed out passed the car seat. Some other people were bringing it into the gas station. They had also been bothered by its presence in the lot.

How does a car seat get left in a parking lot? It did not looked damaged and if it had been, then why not put it in the nearby dumpster? The store did not sell car seats, and then nearest store that did was a mile away, so it was not someone looking to trade up and had no room for the old car seat. Why was it in the lot of a home improvement center? it was very confusing.

I still have not come up with a good explanation for the abandoned car seat. It’s an item that does not just wear out on the side of the road. It implies that it had a passenger when it go to that gas station. If it had been a booster seat, then maybe it was the moment the child out grew it, but this was seat for a young child. What would cause person to drag it out and dump it? What happened to the loving feeling, the family together, the safety and embrace around this child?

I don’t know the information, but I can tell you the feelings it gave me. I made me feel that someone must have been hopeless—”I don’t need this anymore.” They must have felt overwhelmed—”I don’t know what else to do but abandon this here.” Or maybe it was an accident. it was in the back of a truck and wind caught it just right and when they got home they were just so thankful that it was empty the whole time. It represents the disintegration of something.

Recently have seen several empty and abandoned churches. This seems as incongruous to me. A place built for hope and protection and joy and worship has become cold and dark an abandoned. Somehow the seats which had been filled became empty. People grew up and decided they no longer needed God or community and walked away. They no longer told the story of Jesus.

God desires you to fill your seat in the family of God. God desires that we watch over each other. God desires that you be surround by love. Please get back into the car.

Look Up

On the last day of vacation, we stopped in South Bend to see the campus of Notre Dame. We have done this at several “famous” schools just to get feel for a place. We stumbled on to the Purdue campus while visiting g a Frank Lloyd Wright House in Indiana. After leaving Cincinnati we stopped by the campus of Kent State to see the memorial to the shooting of the students protesting the Vietnam War. We were headed to the airport in Chicago Notre Dame was right on the way.

We headed over to the book store and then a visitor center. I knew I wanted to see “touchdown Jesus” and the football field (have you see Rudy?). They gave us a nice map and suggested an hour long walking tour which we took. One of the stops was the beautiful gothic chapel in the middle of campus.

Inside we met a very friendly guide who told about his long association with the school. He was rightly proud of his university. We looked at the beautiful stained glass windows. Most catholic churches have a nativity window, so we went looking for the baby Jesus. Then it was time to go. The parking meter was ticking and we had places left to visit.

We headed to an exit, but our path was blocked. Two men stood transfixed looking up in a 10 foot by 4 foot lobby. Their fixed stare turned our eyes upward. Suspended from the ceiling was a hanging light. It took a second for our eyes to adjust and then we saw it. It was a helmet from WW1 that had been tuned upside down. The doorway was a memorial to those who had served in that terrible war. It was a remembrance of life lost and service rendered.

Many people walk in and out of that door and never look up. They never see the object which so personalizes the sacrifice. They walk past it without noticing.

I was standing at Kent State with tears in my eyes. We had listened to a person who shot that terrible day. We had watched a film. We had read the words of the grieving parents who lost their children that day. I was standing a bit overwhelmed on the sidewalk and watched as college students strolled around the campus who were not thinking about what I was thinking about. They were light, I was sad.

It’s so easy to miss the moment, to miss each other, to exist on a surface level. I think God is asking us to step closer to each other and look up and stand for a while in the awesome wonder of his sacrifice and love for us.

I saw the book on vacation. It’s all about the word, “OK.” The subtitle of the book is, “The improbable story of America’s Greatest Word.” I bought it from a used book store when I got home.

I read a bunch of the book standing in a tiny book store in Upstate New York. It was the book store, ranger station, headquarters for the Martin Van Buren National Historical Site. It was his home. It is a beautiful place high above the Hudson River. It is covered with trees and long sweeping drive. He served as president in 1837-1841. He was trying to get re-elected in 1840. He was born in Kinderhook, New York.

Just the year before, a popular parlor game involved misspelling words on purpose and then abbreviating them and then making fun of people who did not get the joke (the spelling elites are a barrel of fun). Like KG stood for “no go” because of the play on the word “no” which sounds like the word “know.” See what I mean, really fun game. OK stood for “all correct,” but spelled “oll korrect.” This hilarious game did not last long, but the artifact OK lurked around. By the end of 1839 it had been used a dozen times in the newspapers of the area.

Then came the election. Van Buren was running against William “Tippecanoe and Tyler too” Harrison. Van Buren needed a catchy slogan. They settled on Van Buren was “OK.” He was the “Old Kinderhook” (see birthplace) and he was kinda hip because the young people liked the word game so it was kind making fun of him for being old while saying he was in touch with the modern world.

The voters did not return him to the presidency, they did however keep the “OK.” It spread to every corner of the country. It was repeated in newspapers around the world. One linguist claims that the only English word to spread more widely is Coke.

As words go, I hear it frequently, but for me OK is not good enough. OK is middle, bland and acceptable. It’s another version of “fine.” I want the world to be “fantastic,” “excellent,” or “amazing.” I wonder if the word spread so rapidly because so many people in the world really expereince the world as disappointing. Jesus wants us to have more than an OK life. He promises, “I Have come that you might have life and have it more abundantly (Jn 10:10). I’m going to adopt the phrase, I’m AOK. “Abundantly Outstandingly Kyle.” How about you?