ymbuddy

Hey dad.

2010-06-18T10:06:00.006-05:00

Why was I so unable to seek the opportunity to speak to my father when he was present and so willing now to wish I could rest in his presence now that he is away? I guess it never seemed urgent, ... rarely appeared valuable ... , and I feared a lecture (or at minimum, more information and advise than desired. Maybe I thought he would live forever. He appeared to be a near-super hero. Flawed as he was, he was my hero, and he is gone.

I could now honor him so much more appropriately with my present knowledge and experiences. How was I to know how challenging parenting was to be when I was a child myself. My station in life precluded my view of my predicament. We could laugh together, now. He could tell me stories of "me" my young mind discarded. His laughter and musing about his joy and pain over me; priceless memories, priceless artifacts forever lost. Once they were retrievable, but now they are with him in a far away place.

At the time of his death (April 15, 1980) I remember feeling a twinge of bitterness towards my siblings for the extra time they had with this man. I cried "unfair"! While I would not characterize it as bitterness, now, I am jealous of the extra moments only they had with dad.

Maybe your journey has covered a similar path.

While I would love to hear his voice, (even an occasional reprimand would be welcomed) I long more for his ominous larger-than-life presence. He really wasn't much of a hugger. Always willing but rarely pursuant. He was soft to hug (at least in the days of my childhood). His dark slacks and white starched and ironed shirts were all permeated with the smell of his "Chesterfields". Polished shoes; Floresheims! One heel always customized, "built-up" to compensate for a broken leg as an older teen leaving him 1/2" shorter on his left. Snow white hair always in place. Trifocals seemed to be permanently affixed. How I miss his raucous laughter, the feel of his rough and slightly scarred hands with thinning, blood-blotchy skin (mine is becoming more like his everyday) and the feeling I got when I followed him silently through the dairy. His hands seemed huge, like he could hold me, ...and the whole world within them. I do not ever remember him to ever exhibit any fear (even when he probably should have). He was a giant in my eyes.

Could I ever be a giant? I know my kids love me. That's a good thing. But I do wonder about where I stand in the scope of influence in their lives. I don't need to be on the top of any mountain, but I would like to know I was near the top. I just want to know I have done my job, and be sure I have done it well! Three out of the four are "raised" and independent. One is embarking upon teenager-dom and has learned the lessons of life very well to this point. They've all heard the same repetitious stories of triumph and failure. Each has seen me at my best and my worst. I pray I have honored my father and now, my own fathering profession. To have failed them would be painful indeed.

By the way, ... "Dad, ... you were the top!" Words which ring hollow in the silence of his absence.

I imagine he has saved those stories. Because I still need to hear them. Maybe, someday, I will.

Be Still My Soul

2010-04-15T14:45:00.003-05:00

On this the three decade anniversary of my father's death, I thought it appropriate to share another memory.

My dad loved music. I rarely saw him happier than when he was tapping his foot or singing along with the radio

or one of the few records he owned. It might have been Dixieland or Tennessee Ernie Ford, but if he loved it, it showed.

I remember a few times our family would sit together and sing. In the car, in the boat, or in the living room somebody

would venture across the awkwardness of starting a song and soon we would all join. I think he would like this.

So, here's to you dad. This one's for you, ... and for me, ... today

I Surrender All, Again

2010-03-10T13:44:00.001-06:00

Draw a circle.

Look at it. Its a simple form to clearly notate what is “inside” and, just as poignantly, what is “outside” the sphere. No confusion, no ambiguity, crystal clear clarity in a world of relativity.

If we put something in the circle, we know it isn’t outside the circle and vis-a-versa. How beautifully simple.

In that circle begin to write all the things you need, want and desire for life. Write what you possess, and also what possesses you. Its in your circle.

So go ahead, start to work. But this heart-searching endeavor will take some time. I want you to attempt to put everything you can think of that belongs inside that circle in that circle.

Sounds simple enough. One might say, “I know my priorities and my stuff.”

Now be careful, don’t write these possessions, characteristics, and attitudes in the place you wish them to be, but instead, where they really are, today.

As you may be beginning to see, this may take a while.

In terms of time this will not be completed in minutes, but in reality, years. As time passes you will realize other items needing to be placed inside and outside of your circle. Keep this circle near you. Put it in your Bible, or your bedside table. As you pray, refer back to it.

I remember a pastor of mine (he was the preacher for the church, but he was indeed my shepherd) commenting about the condition of his yard. I had just noted that his yard looked like it needed a little attention; maybe some water and fertilizer. He chuckled at my innocent question and my blindness.

He responded, “the more attention I give to my yard, the more of me it possesses. The more I water and fertilize, the more I have spent on it. The more it grows the more I need to mow, and then I might even need a better mower. Eventually, I spend more time edging and pampering and then even comparing to others on my block. It begins to possess me, more and more.”

I stood in stunned silence at his wisdom. Inside my head I found myself looking at my own circle; the things that I possessed and the things that had come to possess me. It was an epiphany. All the goals, desires, and aspirations of my life were laid in clear contrast and judgment against what were in other terms, the trappings of this world.

It applies to your house, your car, your memberships, your volunteer organizations, your invitations, your toys (boats, motorcycles, hobbies, recreation), and everything else. I’ve been taught to not use superlatives, but in this instance I will not refrain.

You have complete control of your circle. What gets in. What stays out. Sure circumstances come our way, not of our choosing, but we control our reaction to those circumstances. We control how much “space” they get. We control how they will linger and influence.

Corrie ten Boom’s (Hiding Place ) circle came to include even the lice and fleas inhabiting her cell. She counted the blessing as the reason the guards would not come near to torment them, as they had repeatedly, before.

My circle is often filled with soured discontent. I selfishly obsess about what others have that I don’t. At times I sing verse after verse of “poor, poor, pitiful me”. I whine and fall into angst over mindless earthly desires. And even when I do acquire what I thought I needed, the “high” is only a moment.

Rich Mullins wrote these words in his song Hold Me Jesus,

Surrender don't come natural to me at all

I'd rather fight You for something I don't really want

Than to take what You give that I need

And I've beat my head against so many walls

Now I'm falling down I'm falling on my knees

Will I finally fall to my knees and surrender?

My circle is way to big, or maybe just too encumbered my useless things.

You decide what gets in and what has to go. Nobody controls your circle. Nope, don’t make excuses. Its your circle. Neither God in all his power now Satan in all his deception has ultimate earthly authority over your circle.

What’s in your’s? Family. Spouse. Children. Education. Car (or cars). House. Habits. Preferences and prejudices. With all the veneer peeled away and the contents of your circle clear to everyone, but especially to yourself, ... what’s in your circle.

Has it happened to you yet? Have you said, “I’m gonna need a bigger circle!” Not that the statement makes us happy, its just a reality. I came to a place where I wrestled with the thought of not only being “in this world”, but potentially “of this world”! I have fought this every day! How did this happen! I’ve been fighting against Satan getting a measly foothold in my life and “lo and behold” he built a porch while I was looking the other way. The rat moved in!

In the fight for your life and soul, our Father attempts to influence our circle (not control). He calls to us to allow the indwelling Spirit to influence our circle from the inside out. Satan

But, maybe I need a smaller circle?

Simplify. Simplify!

I get so drawn up into my stuff, ... the stuff that surrounds me in this world, ... stuff I want, ... stuff that looks like fun, ... stuff that seems so stinkin’ innocent!

Andrew Petersen, sings in Land of the Free speaks of a young lady in South America living in poverty without the same temptations.

‘cause I’m just a little jealous of the nothing that you have
unfettered by the wealth of a world that we pretend is gonna last
they say God blessed us with plenty, I say you’re blessed with poverty
‘cause you never stop to wonder whether earth is just a little better than
the Land of the Free

well, I’m weary of the spoils of my ambition
and I’m shackled by the comfort of my couch
I wish I had the courage to deny these of myself
and start to store my treasure in the clouds
... ‘cause this is not my home, I do not belong
where the antelope and the buffalo roam

Words and music by Andrew Peterson.

Look at your circle, again. Its unfinished, but you’ve got at least a start. Honesty should prevail as you ponder the items. You’ll most likely move a few around as the Spirit convicts and affirms. Some will move to the inside as denial turns to confession. Some will move from inside to out, as what we hope for is smashed by the realities of our brokenness. You’ll create a longing for a few of the things outside the circle as they become non-negotiables for inclusion for the circle.

What items are in the circle that need to be outside the circle; the ones that aren’t healthy, helpful, or or in anyway spiritual?

What items outside the circle need to come in? Those things which you know you need, the ones you want and need but haven’t prioritized to a place inside the circle.

As you ponder your circle, how does it look to you. Is it as you had imagined? Is your circle (both inside and out) a depiction of Godly priority and spiritual journey or something else?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULNH9svens0

Its Hard to Believe

2010-02-18T08:52:00.003-06:00

It is my blessing today to teach for a second time a group of 50 rostered freshmen at LCU. The real number will be closer to 40 as the last few trickle into the classroom. They tell me the 4:00 p.m. class was preferable to the 8:00 a.m. option. Their surprised stare in awkward as they see my unfamiliar face in the front of the classroom. Starry eyed college newbies, and skeptical, over-churched students will take their seats to hear what this aged substitute will say. I assume I will have about 3 minutes to gain or lose their attention.

The subject; Jesus and the Gospels. This week I get to cover Mark's account of Jesus. On Tuesday I asked how many had even read Mark's Gospel. The response was mixed. Some said yes, others offered the truth of their laziness. Still others watched to see what others said before offering their hand to answer for themselves. Then I asked them to read for about 8 minutes. Some did not have a Bible. They joined with others who brought their text book. So they began to read chapters 3-7. It was encouraging to see frustration on some faces when time did not allow them to finish.

The Bible doesn't deserve to be boring, or even terribly predictable. No, I don't expect that the words have changed, but that the words are changing me, ... unpredictably. When I read about this man, Jesus, I should expect that He can always surprise me, challenge me, change my mind about him and what he wants from me.

Jesus isn't easy to believe. There was a time when I thought He was easy to accept, to follow. But the truth of the matter is He expects a lot. Not an unreasonable obedience, but hard. Actually impossible. (I assume you agree, unless you have mysteriously and erroneously avoided a need for grace.) So, why should I be frustrated if these students look at me with the same skepticism read about in Mark's gospel. Even those disciples tossed about by the waves and then see the calm waters still wondered who he was. Those who watched the strong man living in the tombs, naked, and possessed by many demons come to his right mind, questioned sensibility and sanity of both Jesus and the other crazy man.

I told the students on Tuesday, "The gospels weren't written as merely a news account, nor a physical history of Jesus. These words were written to work on the hearts and minds of real people, wrestling with what to do with, and what to believe about a man named Jesus."

I told them they should do the same. Today, the assignment was simple. they will

God, be with me today, in every hour. I offer myself to you and to Jesus; in whom I truly believe. Help me to offer to these students the authentic Jesus. To help them encounter him as he really is. May I offer them a view of Jesus with all of the intended difficulty to believe and inspire them to believe with all of the commitment it will take to believe in Jesus in this world.

2010-02-09T09:31:00.000-06:00

The LORD is still teaching me patience. Even this statement tells me that his patience endures through example. Michael Taylor, a longtime friend, mentor, and confidant posted a video recently which has been wearing on me. You can read more from Michael at http://michaeltaylor.cc/

I am unable to discern any single purpose for posting this item. I have been affected on many levels. Was I patient with my children as their youthful exuberance repeated questions, not so much to be answered, but as a cry for my attention? Am I listening when others speak, or am I already forming my response, as they speak. Are others as important as "me"? What does my life say to "them"? Are others (thoughts, needs, hurts, desires) not just as pressing as my own?

Ann Voskamp, another of my electronic mentors, (http://www.aholyexperience.com/) relays her thought that every bush is ablaze with the glory of God, if we would but notice. This thought slows me down (on my good days) enough to allow me to see the miracles around me, to hear the magic of sound and explore the unending myriad of color. And see life!

LORD, forgive my selfish impatience. Help me to see the sparrows. Help me to hear and see others. May I embrace the moment, live in the moment, celebrate you in each moment.

Matt 10:28Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. 29Are not two sparrows sold for a pennyd]" style="line-height: 0.5em; ">[d]? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. 30And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 31So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

Kari Jobe - Absolutely Angelic

2009-10-05T10:43:00.004-05:00

While I am sure the angels in heaven are never jealous, ... I'll bet they are anxiously anticipating the arrival of this girl! Wow!

Father God,
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart, sound as pure, good, and Godly to you the she sounds to me.

Max Lucado :: Don't be Afraid

2009-09-21T08:05:00.001-05:00

DON'T FEAR "THE SMALL GROUP"
Max Lucado :: Don't be Afraid

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John Burke :: What if there's a conflict in my group?

2009-09-21T08:03:00.001-05:00

CONFLICTS IN SMALL GROUPS
John Burke :: What if there's a conflict in my group?

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Slow me down, Lord

2009-07-27T15:40:00.001-05:00

So much to do. So many roadblocks. Stress mounts. Incompetency, failure, and unmet goals fill my thoughts. Then from within, my heart desires to cry out in pain. But I must be still. Still and quiet. I must do the difficult task of soothing the urge to do more. I must cease, instead of pushing myself to labor. I must refrain from the urge for self pity, and hush the push to justify.

And then even before I can hear God's voice I can hear the silence that comes from within this peace. While bowed down the world races over me and in an instant, I am in the presence of God. I grasp in that moment I have hurried ahead and left God behind.

Forgive me, Oh God for thinking I have more (for me) to do, ... than you have for me to do. May I stay near and hear your voice to guide me.

May I find no greater joy than to know I have done your will.

Will my faith sustain me?

2009-04-06T08:53:00.002-05:00

Recently this question haunts me. From the the darkness createdby the present challenges I am burdened with despair (at least in my mind and my ability to understand my circumstances) . Hopelessness is upon me to a point of a feeling of potential physical collapse. I am crying out for direction. Crying out for help. Crying out in feelings of failure. I am weary of praying for patience and seek solution, ... resolve, even if not to my expectation and satisfaction.

Hold on, ...

I don't go to bed hungry. I have fresh water to drink. I have a house that in many countries would be considered worthy of royalty. I don't live in fear of malaria. I am mentally capable and emotionally healthy (yeah, I know what you're thinking). My children are healthy. I have two healthy grandchildren. My wife and I love each other. Just like everybody else, I lost most of my retirement in the recent stock market crash, but feel I can recover some or most of that loss. I have a job. I know I whine too much.

So why can I not seem to balance these matters in a healthy spiritual fashion? Such is the struggle of our earthbound human existence. I am reminded this world is not my home. "In this world you will have trouble" or maybe, "this world is not my home", needs to be my tattoo.

I am spending this morning praying through the congregations "response forms from yesterday's lament service. I was tearful throughout my reading and my prayers. There's a lot of hurting out there. I am not alone. Its not just my faith through which I will endure, ... but, if you will allow it, I will survive with the help of your faith as well.

God forgive me of my faithlessness. YOU are FAITHFUL. I am yours.

Getting older and Parenting

2009-03-16T10:55:00.003-05:00

Last week was a difficult week. I came home from a ski trip realizing that I was skiing with guys ten to twenty years younger (never a good idea, unless you are only twenty). Undeniable and harsh realizations of my own mortality were upon me. Now just so you know ... the mountains around Pagosa were fantastic. The drive and the fellowship while at the lodge were second to none. The snow at Wolf Creek was like I had never seen, twelve inches of powder the day we arrived. My 10 year old F-250 ran like a top and exceeded my expectations on fuel economy. We stayed in a condo arranged my Eric Babb at no cost to us. I had a queen sized bed all to my self. The view out the window was a Colorado postcard. It was the least expensive ski trip I have ever taken.

But then I tried to ski ... I didn't fall much ... I didn't miss the lift ... I was plenty warm, but just going downhill was painful. My geriatric knees and under exercised thighs seemed to make enough noise I was surprised ski-patrol didn't respond. At times I wished they had. Powder alone was bearable, but as the morning progressed the ruts and bumps brought new challenges. Every dip and hump brought unsolicited audible responses to my lips. I tried to keep up, but to no avail. By the time lunch rolled around, another wave of the white powder recovered the mountain in a fresh layer. I returned to the top of the mountain and headed to the bottom again. By the time we had made it half way down, I was toast. I went to the lodge to wait for the super-humans with my tail between my legs. At the end of the day I was spent for the weekend. I only skied one of the two planed days. The worst part was realizing I was in the worst condition of my life.

Part two
Raising children. I could have ended that sentence in any number of ways. Question mark ... Exclamation point ... or a string of nondescript markings denoting words I can not utter (or type). I hate to admit it. But it has been true for a while. I hear other parents alluding to the same feelings. I am tired of raising my children. There, I said it. I don't feel (very) guilty about it, either. terry and I have busted our butts and shortened our lives in the endeavor of training up our children in the way they should go (according to the way we have interpreted scripture). We know we aren't perfect, but we feel we have done a good job at being faithful to this quest.

I remember the day my dad said the fateful words to me. "Son. I've spent the last 18 years of my life telling you everything I knew about what was right, and good, and Godly. Telling you again at this point would be a waste of my time and of yours. He implied that I was always welcome to come to him with questions or for a request for a refresher. He was merely saying repetition at this point in my life was pointless. He was done.

It was a turning pint in my life. Somehow (in some twisted satanic adolescent terms) I had allowed my father's inputs to me about how I should live had clouded my ability to do or to think about what I should be deciding about my own life and choices. I still remember "grounding" myself whereby I "made myself" walk to work for a few days. Never told my friends about that. They just thought it was another installment from my dad.

After a few days of my self imposed punishment I began to realize I had a life to live and to give an answer for. It was the start of good things. Not immediately, but gradually I would consider one habit/indulgence/social interaction at a time and began to structure my life for myself. Notice I did not say "re"-structure. The only structure I had previously erected was my propensity to argue against my parents when I disagreed. I now was coming to the knowledge that my parents were just a small part of all the world was ask me to make a decision about.

I hope my kids understand that.

Its not that I am done being a dad, a father, a provider in times of need, a shoulder for consolation, or even a forgiver when the time arises. Its just that I've said everything I know to say multiple (or "thousands", according to my kids) times and don't want to waste their time, nor my efforts, anymore.

Ben, ... You still have a few things to hear.

Dad

PS I am still available upon request for continuing education.

I'm a Christ Follower (Mac vs PC) (We're probably not ready to hear this!)

2009-03-02T10:41:00.003-06:00

Small Groups (Mac VS PC, parodies)

2009-03-02T10:21:00.002-06:00

As our church prepares to re-tool our approach to small groups and expand our definition of what will constitute a small group at Broadway I have run across some great resources. Here are four videos from a group called RealLife. Enjoy.

Speed Up and Slow Down - Read the signs

2009-02-10T13:52:00.003-06:00

As I enter this Lenten season I am determined to be focused. I am determined to be engaged. I am set on being both at utter peace and absolutely becoming more than I have been recently. I've had a lazy season, filled with self-pity, allowing others to affect my mental attitude, and complaining about my outcomes.

I need to both speed up and slow down during this season. Speed up to do the things I am called to do and slow down to access the power and direction for my life.

I love what the video (below says about two words; immediately and solitary. The two seem unrelated as we see them typed. They are only marginally connected as they are explained. I believe they are integral to living the life Jesus calls us to. Jesus was immediate in many of his actions. He took personal responsibility and acted without fear. Second, he found his strength in his solitary times. Before almost every major decision, trial filled day, and as his days became more and more filled with the world's pressures upon him, he went out to pray. Early in the morning, late at night, and sometimes, all night long, he prayed.

Be immediately where you are called of God to be. Find times of solitude to gain the strength to carry out tomorrows calling.

The real question is ... Who will die first?

2009-01-21T12:01:00.002-06:00

A couple from Colorado made a pact to be intimate for 101 days in a row (actually, they said "have sex" for 101 days). Amazingly it was the wife who suggested the little project. That certainly doesn't fit with our cultural norms. The interviews are both enlightening and a bit comical, just because of the subject matter.

I love the idea of 101 days of intimacy. Don't misunderstand, I'm intrigued by the thought of 101 days of sex, but wonder about, ... a lot of things like; just the time it would require each and every day, the creativity to keep it interesting, the stamina required to complete the day's assignment, ... it boggles my mind.

I think 101 days of planned, intentional, mutual, deliberate INTIMACY could transform many stale or even (nearly) dead marriages.

I over heard a conversation between two 50-ish ladies a while back. One remarked that she had heard that a husband that had sex three times a week was predicted to live much longer than a man who did not have sex as often. The two ladies shared a silent thought filled stare for a moment and then the other lady said, " Neh, its just not worth it!"

While the sentiment shared above is obviously true for some, I've got this feeling that if a couple starts this "project" the guy will be ecstatic, ... for about a week, or maybe optimistically a month. At that point my money says the girl will be the only one interested and the guy will be crying for some rest, ... if he's still alive.

PS If you and your wife (or husband) decide to "Just Do It" (the couple's new book title), please do not call me to report.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Locked in my memory

2009-01-15T10:02:00.003-06:00

Laredo, Texas. Summer Youth Mission Trip. Hot as blazes. Hard work. Trips to the "colonias" of the Mexican border town of Nuevo Laredo. Poverty. Hunger. Despair. Brown eyed children. Distributing rice, beans, and water. In the evenings we'd return to our cheap, but clean motel and air conditioning. Each evening the teens would lead the devotional time. On this night on of the boys asked to sing a song, a duet he was working on with my daughter.

That moment is frozen in time.I was blessed.

Hallelujah from the heavens
Hallelujah in the heights above the earth
Hallelujah all His angels
Hallelujah for the last will be first
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord

Hallelujah in the morning
Hallelujah for the beauty of His scars
Hallelujah in the twilight
Hallelujah sun and moon and shining stars
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord

When the night seems so long (throw your hands to the sky)
You can sing a new song (wipe the tears from your eyes)
When you're weak, He is strong
He can heal your wounded soul
And calm the storm inside

For all your times of laughter
In every hopeful prayer
When the world weighs on your shoulders
Through sorrow and your despair
With everything, with every breath, praise the Lord
Let everything, let every breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything, let every breath praise the Lord

When the night seems so long (throw your hands to the sky)
You can sing a new song (wipe the tears from your eyes)
When you're weak, He is strong
He can heal your wounded soul
And calm the storm inside

Thoughts on “Contribution”

2008-12-22T15:20:00.001-06:00

(a conversation between a father and his son)

Son, this contribution thing that we do was one of the first things I remember about church. It was one of the first places I remember getting to participate. The time would come and my mom or dad would pass along a dollar or two to me from their money, sometimes just some change. I would then try my best to place it in the plate as it passed being careful not to drop it. I remember seeing all those folded checks and bills of $1, $5, and even $20’s. Later as I reached my teen years and had a job I began to take part in this weekly ritual and began to put my own money in the plate.
I didn’t really understand what all this (contribution stuff) meant till years later. In fact, I’m still learning and I learn more every year I live.

There are a couple of things I have learned about this collection: You can’t really fake it. (You can sometimes get away with faking it at singing or listening or praying or even talking to friends about God).

Second: Others can’t judge it. Oh, they might have an opinion. Others may join us in holding us accountable, but this is between you and God. Contribution is truly between God and … your heart and your soul. But its weird, we can’t avoid judging it for ourselves (Mom said, “a true judgment of ones character is when … you can’t lie to yourself”). We should really think about our contribution. It says a lot to God about us.

Third: It is our opportunity for joy (not shame) The God who created our blessings allows me to give it back, as a gift. I love giving money to my kids to see what they will do with it … to see what they value … to see where they bless with their gifts.
Jesus taught more said about riches (possessions, money, treasure; things we value, hold dear and strive for) than about any other single subject in the New Testament. He said over and over that how we value our possessions says a lot about our relationship to him. If we value our “stuff” over our relationship with God, they have become our idols. Plain and simple; if it isn’t a sacrifice … it is not a gift and it is not pleasing to God. Giving, without sacrifice, is not what we are called to!

“Ben, I’ve got a question. Sacrifice … what is that?”

He gives a simple answer, “Sacrifice is when you give up something. And it usually hurts, … at least a little.”

I continue, “How much money do you get each week for chores and allowance?” Ben answers, “$5”.

“Who gave you your talents?” His humble voice states the truth, “God did.”

“How much would you need to give each week for it to be a real sacrifice? But don’t need to answer, it’s our decision?”

So, my advice and council on this is to give till it hurts a bit, then give a little more.

The question for each of us is what exactly are we willing to sacrifice for? That newest game for Xbox, fishing pole, new outfit, a new car, new house, $6 popcorn and $5 sodas at sporting events and movies, season tickets to our favorite sporting events? More/better/newer/ STUFF.

Remember … It’s not so much about making the budget (bulletin). That’s important but inarguably secondary. Its about personal sacrifice made from a perspective of what God has given us. If we give sacrificially, the budget is met and there is money to spare. If we all gave, as God gives to us, we’d never need to worry about a budget. The elders and finance committee would have to meet extra times just to figure out where God wanted us to extend these additional blessings.
There will always be stuff we want, trips we plan, and expenses to life, but they should never interfere with what we have dedicated to God as our sacrificial return to the one who gave it all for us.

Your mom and I decided early-on in our marriage that we would set aside, first, what we would contribute. That’s what we are taught in scripture … to give our first fruits, … to give first to what we value most, …, That’s not always easy, but if you move your sacrifice to God anywhere else down the list, it says something about your priorities. If you can move giving back to God, who gave you everything … to anywhere on the list but first, … you’ll have a hard time sacrificially giving to back God at all

So remember, its not about the amount you give … its about the personal sacrifice your giving represents. For you (Ben)… your sacrifice is as pleasing (as valuable) to God as my giving … or frankly, the gift given by any person in this room, even though the amount may be different. God is as pleased with a sacrificial gift from you as he is with the biggest check in the plate (and more so if you have been more sacrificial (remember the story of the widow’s mite?)

He wants your life, (sure) and your sacrifice, just like he wants mine and just like he wants everyone’s. Heart, mind, body, soul … then the treasures will become very easy to give, sacrificially.

PRAYER
Father, Repair our hearts from the selfish, consumptive people the world leads us to be.

Restore the joy of sacrificial giving. May we open our hearts to you and let our gifts flow freely. May our joy over flow as we give.

You have given so much to us, … for us. We can never repay. But we ask that our gifts to you on this day will glorify you, because of our sacrifice, much in the way that your sacrifice saved us.

Converted to church .... or ... converted to Christ

2008-11-06T09:15:00.005-06:00

Church is messy. A friend of mine (Eddie Sharp) said that years ago. He humbly denies being the originator of the statement, but said it none the less. I guess I'm wallowing through some of that ... mess.

Around this church and around churches across my experience I am confronted with an unanswered question; are people converted to church or converted to Christ. I do not believe the phrases are synonymous. Actually, I believe in this present age, they are antonymous*.

*an⋅to⋅nym [an-tuh-nim] –noun
a word opposite in meaning to another. Fast is an antonym of slow.
antonymous - adjective
of words: having opposite meanings [ant: synonymous]

Not that I believe Jesus intended it that way, but in the sense of conversion I believe they are very different.

I look around and watch as we protect our churches, our boundaries, our differences, our addresses, and our membership numbers while giving less attention to protecting Jesus' teachings, ways, examples, and lifestyle I am smitten with irrefutable evidence.

And its no surprise, then, when those within the walls of our buildings have become (are becoming) blind to the transformation from Jesus followers to church followers. We demand our songs (my songs), my style of preaching, my length of a service, and my ... (you get the picture).

This is a real question, worthy of our very real contemplation. Would we let Jesus, the King himself, preach in our pulpits? Would he be too radical? Would he run off our most influential members? Would he care? What if attacked some of our most sacred holdings; our building, our ministries, our ministers, our missions, our YOUR most precious spiritual connection. Would you be ready to escort him to the door so that we could continue to protect what we have and continue in OUR (not his) direction? What if he told us to give up what we have for the poor, what then? Oh, wait, ... he already did.

What will it take for the church to be His, again? His instead of belonging to ourselves, a hideous misrepresentation of what He died to start and lives until He returns to see bringing him glory.

I used to listen to and sing a song by Keith Green every week before I would preach or teach. It would not take long before I was reduced to tears. It seemed to transform me from whatever I had thought I might have created, into a being charged and moved my the Spirit of God. I hope I will begin to listen to the song again as I speak, teach, and worship.

Under the Stars - Renew Your Glory

2008-11-06T09:11:00.002-06:00

Friday night I will go with a crew of dads and their kids to a pecan orchard south of Lubbock. There wil be the common boat load of details, I'm sure. In the midst of it all I hope to recapture the glory of God in the sky. In the cold night air I hope to see a clear sky filled with stars and spend time just recapturing the glory of God in creation.

Home

2008-10-20T11:59:00.002-05:00

I hear people talk about home. Most talk of obviously flawed places of a combination of peaceful familiarity and predictable conflict. It must be true. Houses filled with flawed people, must inherently be flawed.

But my earthly realities don't keep me from longing for the place of warmth, the place of peace, and the place of belonging to which my thoughts climb. For me, the idea of home brings to mind, not those broken or thwarted memories, but a magical place filled with joy, true joy. Heck, no! Its not real. But a guy can dream, can't he.

I'll dream that my kids always agree with me. Heck I'll believe they even think I'm smart, all the time. I'll believe there's always enough of everything I need and to spare. I'll dream that the church is the perfect embodiment of Jesus ... and when it isn't it falls to its knees.

Wow, some days the thought of heaven on the horizon sounds good to me. Take me home!

Homeless in Lubbock

2008-10-15T14:50:00.004-05:00

Broadway and the entire Lubbock community are banding together to bring awareness to the breadth of the homeless dilemma in Lubbock.

Join us if you can.

www.innercitylubbock.org

This is a reminder and an update on the movement to provide shelter for our homeless friends in Lubbock, TX this winter.

Reminder: Prayer Vigil for the Homeless this Saturday, Oct. 18th from 8-9pm at the Mahon Library downtown (1306 9th St). Participants are also invited to spend the night on the sidewalk alongside the homeless.

The Point: Together we will ask God to provide shelter for the homeless of Lubbock, TX this winter and in the future.

Logistics:
From 8-9pm we will have a focused time of prayer during which several community leaders as well as some of our homeless and formerly homeless friends will lead prayers asking God to hear our cries and respond.
There will be access to toilets.
The ground is concrete and will be cold and hard! Participants are invited to make this experience as real as they like (e.g., sleep on cardboard, newspaper, etc.), but if you need sleeping pads they are also welcome.
During the night participants are invited to sleep, pray and get to know each other. But please be aware of those who need to sleep! Those wanting to pray or talk are asked to do so in the parking lot west of the Library.
Safety: Come in peace and expect to stand (or lie down) alongside our friends. There is no reason to fear this community or the idea of spending the night. There will be plenty of people around, we will have Police proximity and the area is well lit. But please be wise about how you participate. Here are a few tips to ensure safety:
Please stay in groups and do not go anywhere with people you do not know.
PLEASE DO NOT GO ANYWHERE ALONE WITH SOMEONE OF THE OPPOSITE SEX.
Please keep track of your valuables! Do not leave purses, cell phones or other items unattended.
If you are spending the night, try to sleep next to a few people you know.
Please do not give cash to the people on the streets; if there is a need you want to meet please try and meet the need directly (i.e., if they're hungry, give them food or a gift card)
Creativity: Most of us will be guests to the Library which has served as a "home" to many homeless people over the years. As guests we want to be a positive presence. Feel free to bring food, bottled water, hot chocolate, breakfast burritos! or anything else to share with those in need.

Shelter: Currently we do not have a facility to use as a shelter this winter! This is our main concern this winter: finding a facility with floor space, toilets and a heater. For information concerning a facility, property or donation for a shelter facility please contact Dale Milhauser at 1745@suddenlink.net or (806)368-7334.

Backup: Carpenter's church has decided to continue the prayer vigil on a nightly basis starting Nov. 1st through March 15th. We will continue to ask God to provide shelter for the homeless and we will invite our homeless friends to join us in prayer each night from 8pm to 8am until that happens. All of those who are interest in volunteering to be on a rotation for prayer and supervision please contact volunteers@innercitylubbock.org or call Chad Wheeler at (806)543-0526.

Standing together with God we can do anything! Let us stand together with the marginalized and forgotten of our society and we will house the homeless!

Check out this video produced by Aldersgate about homelessness in Lubbock: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8CeCoj-kP0

Let me know if you have any questions and see you Saturday night!

Chad Wheeler
Carpenter's Church
chadwheeler@innercitylubbock.org
(806)543-0526

One line blog updates

2008-10-14T09:02:00.002-05:00

Often, especially recently, I find I must make a difficult choice. My heart finds incessant opportunities for ministry. Truth be known the opportunities are beyond incessant, they are overwhelming. But the choice in the balance is to be engaged in these ministry opportunities or to take the time away from the ministries to report, blog, reflect, and share what these experiences are doing for me, to me, and around me.

I even feel guilty writing this, but felt my heart would explode if I did not vent just a bit.

How about you? Does your involvement in ministry preclude your opportunity to tell the stories?

Lord, show me balance, give me strength.

Come walk with me.

2008-05-19T10:42:00.002-05:00

Sunday I arrived a little later than usual to the building. As I hurried to my last minute preparations for my class I was interrupted by a sweet lady who with a man twice her size in tow was coming down the hall toward me. "This guy needs to talk to a minister, or somebody" she spouted as she released his arm like a child learning to ride a bike. Indeed his momentum carried him a few feet more and I was face to face with my interruption. I said, "come walk with me". We went into my office and the very large, very angry, very-tattoed, self admitting colors toting CRIPS gang member told me through his tears that he had nearly been killed my his wife (baby-mama) the night before, and nearly killed her in the same moment, that he had considered going back to prison an easier path, wanted to just go "rob somethin" and did not know if he could stay clean till his parole was up.

Ok, how do you do anything worth while with an intake that starts with such ferocity? I sat quietly trying to look smart. The mammoth tattooed man sat crying through one tissue at a time. He's got a huge marijuana leaf tattooed on the top of his bald head, several chinese symbols around his neck, a few crude prison "tats" here and there. His monochromatic blue shirt and pants bespeak his gang affiliation. His hands are cut and scabbed from combat during the night and his right eye is swollen nearly shut. He's not completely sober from a night of sleeping and drinking in the streets of Lubbock. He smells of bad booze and poor hygiene. Frankly, I'm a little scared. If he gets angry I have no escape.

I offered comfort and hope in a package that I wasn't sure would even work for this troubled man, at least not very quickly. He humbly thanked me for listening. He really didn't expect me to fix it, but thanked me for my time and even apologized for his unannounced arrival. Through the time of our conversation he apologized over and over for his semi-drunken state, for his occasionally colorful language, his actions toward his wife, and twenty other of his crimes. This man was broken.

I offered that he could stay by my side through class and church. That would be awkward and uncomfortable. Not only for him, but even for well meaning folks. I offered the comfort of our "outreach church" called Carpenter's Church, but then remembered they now meet in the afternoon. Then I told him about a soup kitchen we run across the street and asked if he wanted to go there. He said he would. I also said that if he would come back at 11:30 I would gladly take him to lunch. He said he'd like that. I proceeded to class where we prayed for my new friend and then to worship where I sat in the back looking at our congregation wondering what that assembly would have felt like for him. I was sad.

After church I took another family to help me translate and to help share conversation with this new friend to lunch. It was pleasant and awkward in equal amounts. Afterwards I knew that I might not ever really see this guy again. As we talked about his plan to ride a bus back to South Central LA I told him, "take hope, my brother. You're just the kind of guy that God can use." (I'm thanking Eddie Sharp for that line)

Today I have wondered where my friend is. Supposedly he boarded a bus and headed off with all he owns in two small duffles for a place where he believes he may find his mom, some peace, a new job and I pray as he said he would, find Jesus. So now he's busted his parole, left his girlfried and his son behind, and looking for a fresh start. He said he'd call me in a few weeks. I pray he does.

Remembering while I can (Final)

2008-04-14T15:19:00.000-05:00

At a quarter of noon the announcement interrupted the talk in the waiting room. It was a temporary hold on the scheduled noon visitation. Everyone was silent. The intensive care waiting room veterans looked around the room, knowing the inevitable outcome for some family was potentially, an outcome of loss.

With the announcement neither mom nor I said a word. I don’t even remember looking her in the eye. I reached out, as did she, and our hands were joined looking toward the entrance of the ICU area. Mom and I knew the end was very likely near. We had tried to talk about how we disliked seeing dad suffer. We were weary of his suffering. He was weary. We knew this visit would be even more difficult than the 8 o’clock visit.

A nurse’s voice came from behind us, “ Mrs. Mills?” We both spun around. “Would you come with us?”

One of dad’s doctors stood a few feet away beside a consultation room near the ICU hallway. We arose as the nurse held my mom’s arm and ushered us respectfully into the comfortable, but small room. As the nurse closed the door the doctor relayed what we knew, already. Dad had been very, very sick. The cancer was not one that could be treated effectively. He had valiantly fought the fight for a month. He lost the battle a few moments ago. I’m sorry.

I remember a few tears. My lips were pressed together in an effort to squelch some of my emotion. I held my mom’s hand. She asked a few more questions. I wondered what the loss of my father at 24 years old would mean for me. I wondered how many children of mine, he would not ever hold, or laugh with. I had so wanted him to see me fully recover from my adolescence. (I still remember the day I told him I was going to study ministry. I thought he was either going to laugh, because he thought it was a joke, or reprimand me for not thinking through my decision.)

After a few moments we were invited back to the ICU where the flesh that once held the spirit of my father lay, now in peace. IV’s removed, still like a sleeping child, the body of my dad. We cried … as I do even today.

No set of days in my life have shaped me as those in the three months of February to April of 1980. My father surely shaped me all of my life and even today, some 28 years after he left his body behind.

Thanks dad! I love you!

Remembering while I can (part 4)

2008-04-14T15:18:00.001-05:00

At 7:45 a.m. on April 15 my mom and I had readied ourselves for our visit. I remember us both taking deliberate deep breaths as we prepared to go for a visit. We knew this visit would be difficult. As the doors opened we made our way through the now familiar white hallways leading to the ICU. A center island of nurses stations, computers, doctors making notes, and IV carts were unaffected by our entry. It was business as usual. All around this square room were cubicles of rooms with glass fronts and sliding glass doors facing the center nurses station (dad’s room was on the south, fourth room on our left).

We entered to see a very tired man infused with oxygen through that dreaded ventilator and his trecheotomy. He could not speak. At first his eyes barely gave indication that we were present. After mom had checked on his comfort and carried her smile as far as she could carry it, she stepped back and urged me to the front so she could gather herself. I gently held my father’s swollen left hand. I wanted to squeeze it to indicate my concern and love, but didn’t dare in his fragile and pain filled state. I let the strength of his squeeze determine mine. His right hand came across his torso. He turned my hand face up in his. Then with his right hand he made a sign, then another. Two simple signs. At first two fingers and then three fingers. He repeated the signs gently landing the back of his hand into mine. My brow wrinkled as I tried to figure out what he was trying to communicate to us. Over and over as my mother looked on he continued. Knowing that my dad knew a little sign language I thought “VW”, but that made no sense. Maybe 2 plus 3, that made no sense, either. He could have just said “5” with a full hand of fingers. Was he hallucinating? Then my mom with great clarity asked my dad, “Lester, do you want him to read the 23rd Psalm?” Immediately, he squeezed my hand and then relaxed but did not let go. My mom asked me to read the psalm. Obviously I wasn’t carrying a Bible. And at that moment I wasn’t capable of quoting Mk 11:32 (“Jesus wept.”) My mother prompted me with, “The Lord is my shepherd … and I took it from there. I know it wasn’t perfect but with all I had I worked my way through those words. My shirt soaked with the tears of what was now my Psalm, I finished. My dad released his gentle grip and turned his hand over mine, as to comfort me. You see, I thought I was reciting it for him, but now I’m sure he had me recite it for mom and me. The visit was soon over. The little bell gently tolled for us to return to the waiting room. Mom and I told dad that we loved him. He responded with a small squeeze. With tear filled eyes we retreated until on next appointed time.

Remembering while I can (part 3)

2008-04-14T15:16:00.002-05:00

I grew up a lot in those three weeks. I was the baby, afterall. What did I know? For years I had tried to grow up, to gain influence and maturity with marginal success. Now I sat with my mother making what were possibly life and death decisions concerning my father’s health. After each discussion she and I would attempt to communicate al we knew to both my brother and sister over the phone. It was incomplete at best. I tried to be strong for mom and attempted to appear mature for my siblings. Inside I was shaking like a leaf.

The vigil wore on. Once dad was moved from a regular room to ICU the levels of care for him and our concern about him both increased. In those days family visited the ICU on 4 hour intervals for a 15 minute visit each interval. Each day on an 8, 12, and 4 o’clock round the clock rotation we would visit. In an ICU waiting room a family evolves. They are strangers thrown together by their need for the highest level of medical care. You get to know one another very quickly in that place. A new family arrives and takes an open seat and immediately they are asking about the way things work in this sanitized city of couches, blankets, and soft lighting. You become accustomed to the faces of happiness as a family packs up to move to a “regular room” and also to the faces of silence as a family walks out of the hospital forever without the company of the one they brought in for care. It was a holy place. Mom and I would plan our time with dad carefully. She would always check to see if he needed anything. We would confirm what he had heard from doctors and he would confirm what we had heard from outside the ICU about his condition.

Fifteen minutes before each visit to the ICU they would quietly announce the upcoming opportunity. People would begin to gather belongings, use the restroom, sanitize their hands, and scurry about in quiet activity before being allowed to enter the ICU. From time to time there would be a much different announcement. If as the time for visiting came and there was difficulty with a patient or a “code blue” the visitation would be postponed and in rare cases cancelled until the next appointed time. Those were silent times, filled with prayer. No one knew whose family was to be touched by the delay, but we shared the time in prayer knowing it was one of “us”.

One of the most difficult decisions my mom and I wrestled with was about a ventilator. Even in the offer to place my dad on a ventilator was the inference that he would likely not ever come off of it. His lungs were filling with fluid. His breathing was labored. He would soon either die or have to recover, if we did not consent. He was drowning. To this day I question our decision. With each visit the hope in his eyes was waning. His strength was diminishing. It became obvious that he was holding on for our benefit.

Remembering while I can (part 2)

2008-04-14T15:15:00.000-05:00

Over the next four weekends mom and dad traveled a little and otherwise worked at getting their house in order for the stay at the hospital. They talked about all the things they wanted to do now that dad was retired. He wanted an RV. One he could drive from coast to coast. A buddy of his in California had one and he thought it was just the thing. My dad loved to travel, especially my car.

The family all made plans to gather pre-surgery to rally hope and push optimistically through the difficult silences. We wanted mom to feel our support and to show our father that we had learned well from his most important lessons on family responsibility. My siblings and I spent the night together at the hospital-run motel. We told stories and stayed up way too late. Not sure if we couldn’t sleep or just realized how behind we were in catching up on one another’s lives. I don’t remember much of the day of the surgery, just taking turns staying and leaving. I remember the optimism we all regained when dad came through the surgery and was walking, albeit gently, up and down the hall with mom at his side, IV pole in tow. For seven days he seemed to improve. Siblings returned home, as did I. Our lives were all busy and dad appeared to be on the road to recovery.

On what I remember to be the seventh morning mom arrived to my dad’s room to a very different picture. Several doctors had been called in. His thin weathered skin had turned red. His face had begun to swell. Mom called me (I was the closest geographically) and I returned to Little Rock mid-day. The doctors relayed that they weren’t sure what was happening but there would be a battery of tests to discern the origin of this new anomaly. It was not long before the gravity of the diagnosis required a call to both siblings and a quick return to Baptist Medical Center for them.

The next three weeks are a blur. The cancer had moved to his blood stream. Medical professionals fell short of answers. There were optimistic hopes, but no ideas for healing. In my mind the ups and downs of my father’s physical demise are uncharted. As the days turned to week’s we shared the role of being optimistic. Alone, it was more than any one of us could bear. I remember one poignant call from my brother as he talked of this dilemma of time off. He was pressed to decide whether he would potentially come and see dad again, now, or save his few remaining days for the looming potential of a funeral service. I still remember the silence after those words were first spoken.

Remembering, while I can (part 1)

2008-04-14T08:49:00.004-05:00

I guess April 15 will always loom vividly and large in my memory. I keep waiting for the year when it will pass without turbulence. I also dread the day the significance wanes enough to allow that date to be unnoticed. Each year, as the day grows nigh, I begin to recall stories from my past. Some make me smile, while others remind me of regret and sorrow. Each recurrent memory brings additional clarity for my life.

I have to back up a little.

My mother called me one morning in early February of 1980. Odd because my dad was usually the one who called. I don't remember her words, just that dad had been diagnosed with a lung tumor that would require surgery and the prognosis for that potential surgery and his recovery was not good. I could tell that she had told me all she knew. I did not ask for more.

She encouraged me to come and see him ... soon. I remember the urgency in her voice. For the first time in my life I realized my father was a mere mortal. That one day I would lose him. It hit me like a brick. I tried to "be a man about it" and suck it up, but I had no context on which to lean for this experience. I began to make plans to go see my dad. It started with a phone call to him later that same day. I often called my dad. Now, I realize how often I was asking for something when I called. This time I asked that we just get together and hang out, do whatever he wanted. "Heck, why don't we go fishing". I had NEVER said those words. I hated fishing. Still do.

Early February in north Arkansas is not typically ideal fishing weather. My dad saw through my words, giggled under his breath and said sure. Also, note that if its not fishing weather, its most likely not motorcycle weather, either. But off I went on a sub-30° Saturday morning on a 100 mile ride. I remember seeing thick frost on the car's windshield as I backed my bike out of the carport. The ride was brutally cold. At one point I stopped at a country store in Strawberry, Arkansas to stand next to a potbelly stove to encourage my blood to move again. The flannel and overall crowd at the store was amused at my idiocy. I got to my family home about 8:30 a.m. to find my dad ready to talk me out of my fishing plan, due to the weather. But for all the times he had asked me, and I had turned him down, I felt a deep yearning and obligation to be on the water with my dad on this day. After a brief discussion we loaded the car, pulling the familiar red and white 14 ft Alumicraft boat (dad had customized the boat over the years with many personalized featured) and we headed off for a nearby lake (Lake Hogue, south of Jonesboro and near Wiener, Arkansas) with the frigid winter wind howling. Dad asked me to drive. The two tone blue cadillac hummed down the road in style. Conversation was sparse, but extremely cordial. I think we were both nervous about today meant for us.

At the lake, dad didn't have to ask me to jump out and ready the boat for launching. Not this time, anyway. I braved the cold and helped nurture the boat into the choppy water. Neither did he criticize of try to improve upon my ineptitude. Shortly, we were on the water. Bundled up like eskimos we tied off to a big tree and through a line into the fog resting atop the water. Plop. Now, only the sound of the wind was breaking the silence. We made several attempts to make small talk. It wasn't working. My dad offered more than once to head back to the shelter of the shore and the heater in the car. I was saddened and even a bit angry that my ill-fated plans were disintegrating before my watering eyes. I gave in. My dad chuckled (quietly and respectfully) as we headed back across the waves to the shore. The ride home was filled with laughter punctuated with silence. Several times I apologized for the foolishness of my winter fishing expedition idea. I also found places to interject apologies for some of my greater sins and disrespect from my adolescence. He was more than gracious to receive my confessions and apologies. I thanked him for going with me. He thanked me for asking. We laughed about the weather. I felt childish and innocent. I welcomed the comfort of my father's acceptance. It had been a long time since I had allowed myself to experience his warmth. Once we were home I quickly began to transition for the cold and lonely ride home on the bike.

While the chill in the air numbed my toes on the way home, the ride proved to be cathartic. I longed for the warmth of my home and my father. The scream and chatter of the two-stroke engine revving up and down provided an uninterrupted backdrop for my thoughts as I negotiated the hills and corners of rural Arkansas. I remember nothing of the ride home except a patch of ice encountered in a shaded spot as I crested a knoll. I had thirty more days before the surgery would take place. The silence of somber consideration would be my companion till then. (more tomorrow)

Running after Jesus and my desire to dance for him.

2008-03-19T14:19:00.003-05:00

I find myself running after Jesus and marveling at those who never seem to run after him at all, but finding him, all the same. They find him so brilliantly, so vividly. And I strain and stretch, run and fret. I want to be Mary at his feet but find myself Martha sweating the details in the kitchen. One of my goals in this move to Lubbock was to recapture some of the calm. It all worked for a while, but now my struggle has returned. Why does seeking God with my whole heart seem so frenzied, so chaotic. Are my internal mechanisms that messy. I love the quiet of the mountains, the peace of a star-lit sky, and I feel the presence of God and even feel that I hear his voice more clearly in the stillness.

Why is that simplicity, silence, solitude and solemnity are so hard to achieve. (Where did all those "s"-es come from?) Achieve? Attain? Acquire? Seems those very active words are even counter to my goal. They all involve me doing something, maybe even something more, not less. Those four elusive ladies of spiritual peace dance ever beyond by grasp. I try to learn the steps of the intimate dance of deepening communion with my God, but find my earthly coordination leaves me short of mastering a dance I love to watch but can not emulate. Seems the harder I try the more practice remains before I will master the dance.

I know, I know. Quit fretting. Slow down. But I want to dance a dance of joy before him. A beautiful, slow, unhurried, glorious dance, before Him. I feel that my dance is not very pretty, neither handsome nor smooth. I trip a lot, I fear. I pray he sees me differently. I really can't see him watching me dance at all. But maybe, I will rest in the hope that he always helps my dance bring honor to his name.

So I dance ..., and try not to run.

I was pointed to a beautiful peaceful place by Nan Camp and Amy Cary, who serve as our co-children's ministers. I have found yet another pilgrim who has found our Savior in a quiet place. http://aholyexperience.com (do not do a google search for it, just copy this link, trust me. Some days I hate the internet more than others)

Lord, I want to dance. Dance for you. Dance in your presence, dance with all who seek you... Dance to the song you sing... Dance to the music of heaven... Dance beneath and between the angels... Dance at the song that brings us into your eternal presence and your glory. Lord let me dance for you.

What are you doing next week

2008-02-02T21:56:00.000-06:00

If you know me, you can see me drool about tis kind of a trip. Pack my bags ... I'm outta here. (I wish)

Worship

2008-01-30T21:06:00.000-06:00

We've been in a study of Micah 6 for a while at Broadway. It has blessed me.

Micah 6:8
He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

The part that still stirs me and still is not completely absorbed are the deeper meanings we have discovered behind these simple and powerful words.

Acting justly is a demand for advocacy. Helping those who can not help themselves. Using our influence, gifts, time, resources, and whatever else we have to help others have a more equitable life.

Loving mercy is acting out in the faithful loving kindness of God. Remembering who we are, what we have been redeemed from. It requires forgiving others as we hope to be forgiven. (this is not about justice, at all)

Walking humbly is a strange piece. this is the only place this word appears in the Hebrew. It seems to say that we are to live in understanding of God's role and our role in life itself.

Josh Haynes said it well today at lunch, "Its always about worship (being constantly awed by God and expressing that sentiment".

I fopund a great video that talks about worship. Enjoy!

Shame on me

2007-11-26T21:50:00.000-06:00

Sunday went well, I thought. I made it through class with only a small puddle forming beneath me. And my voice only cracked and faded a few times. I can only pray that my words were heard but now only time will tell if they are heeded.

It was odd. The whole thing. Last class. Same kids. Familiar surroundings. Regular time slot. A passionate voice sharing his last words with a group of teens he has called his own for over 13 years. I imagine that 90% plus of the kids in the room could not even remember the name of the youth minister who preceded me. I must have a tremendous influence on these kids. Some weren't even born when I arrived here. I changed their diapers. They've puked on my shoulder and peed in my lap. Surely they are listening to me! Its my last day, for heaven's sake. Right?!

I know this may sound really grandiose, but I'll risk it. I felt like I got a shot at feeling a little like Jesus for just a moment. I was trying with al my might to convince the gathered group to sign on to the "Great Adventure" and they looked at me like I was just a few fries short of a Happy Meal. I poured out the Gospel News that changes everything with what I felt was the eternal undying passion of God and they looked like I was reading yesterday's news in monotone.

Lord, I am soooooo sorry. I can't even begin to fathom what it must have been for you on those days. I'm such a wiener, I complain about everything.

On a lighter note; I watched Evan Almighty today (twice). Its much more a family movie than Bruce Almighty with its sexual innuendo and rawer humor. While still a stretch to absorb all the stuff in the flick, I was still struck with one unavoidable lesson. I can not imagine what life must have been like for Noah as he labored for years to build the Ark when it had never rained. The ridicule, and jeering must have been immense.

So many have done so much to provide me an easier path for my faith. May I find the strength to plow a path for those who might follow me on this journey.

One last post ...

2007-11-24T22:40:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow will be my last official Sunday as a youth minister. I don't know where to start with my feelings or thoughts. Emotionally I feel somewhat stable, in control, and all the right things, I think. Inside I also feel very fragile. Really ready to break. So much of what is to be done is still undone. Lives that still cry out. Unfinished business. Incomplete projects. Lessons to be taught. Lessons to be learned.

Tomorrow will be less than all I want it to be. I must face that fact. I want everyone here to know Jesus, to respond to Jesus, to be changed by Jesus. That sounds either terribly selfish or self promoting, but is not intended that way.

I'm reminded of a scene from a favorite movie of mine (Monty Python and the Holy Grail). A man with a cart is roaming the medieval streets collecting the bodies, found recently dead. He cries out, "bring out your dead" and strikes his gong as he manages his cart of corpses through the street. A man emerges from a home carrying an elderly man calling to the man with the cart. The elderly man is obviously not dead, and protesting loudly, "I ain't dead, yet".

I feel like I have so much left to give. I hope to continue in my "not dead, yet" state for a long time to come.

To quote my elderly friend from the movie one more time, "I'm feeling better. I think I'll go for a walk!"

Roll in the carts

2007-11-05T12:05:00.000-06:00

I was thrilled to be asked to the communion devotional at UCC yesterday. I had been planning what I wanted to do for many months. Being the Sunday that we changed our clocks or "fall back" an hour just made it better.

Communion is a time of remembering and of reflection. I wanted to invite the gathered group to take a litte extra time to decipher the meanings of communion. I would have liked to have prepared four carts for the ocassion. Each would have been loaded with hot loaves of freshly baked bread. I would have left them in the back foyer to intice us deeply into an anticipatted moment. Also there would have been pitcher after pitcher of grape juice or some really fine wine still corked in its bottles (I'm not a partaker, but I would have loved to have had a "fine wine" (do they cork, wine?) In any case, instead of the guys coming to the front, they would have entered from the back ala' fight attendants and begun to serve each row with a steaming fresh loaf of bread and a freshly poured glass of fine wine.

Its not about the leaven in the bread, nor about the fermentation of the wine. Its about the time required to partake of these hugely significant representations of our Lord.

I wanted us to take time to ponder, like at a coffee shop sitting with a friend. talking about important, significant issues and putting the world and its trouble behind us.

I wanted to commune … not just partake.

Amazing Grace - My Chains Are Gone

2007-10-31T10:45:00.000-05:00

As I prepare for my last X-files devotional as a full time youth minster my heart has been heavy with ... everything. Moving, a new church, making new friends, leaving many good friends behind. The dissappointment caused by my leaving, the excitement of moving. The finality of closing this (very long, and productive) chapter in my career. Moving my 11 year-old boy in the middle of his 5th grade year. Requiring a job change for my sweet wife when she loves her job and it makes her feel good about herself. Knowing that this last devotional will be the last deeply serious words that many of these teens will hear from me.

All of this has colored my preparation for Sunday night. I'm excited. I'm also overwhelmed with a form of grief I cannot explain. As I was looking for resources for the upcoming devotional and choosing the songs I want performed by Colter Hettich, sung in worship by the gathered group of students and the ones I want to play for ambient input, I ran across this video my Chris Tomlin. I simplifies it all. No matter how complicated the world may become, this really addresses everything of any real value. Enjoy! Be blessed. Take heart! We've been set free!

Amazing Grace - No Kidding!

2007-10-29T16:26:00.000-05:00

A while back a friend shared this video with me. The story and passion with which this song is shared is inspirational.

As I listen I am reminded of a visit to New Orleans. The youth group and I were traveling back from a mission trip and our night's stay was in this colorful city. As we charted our course through the historic district (ok, I took the group to the French Quarter, before it got dark). We found a restaurant we could afford on our budget and we went in. Maspero's welcomed our troupe of about 25 teens and adults. I scanned the menu and passed along the limits to the kids so we could expedite our ordering. Before long the hurriedness of the day turned to nearly a calm. At least in comparison to travelling with all of us in one vehicle. I bega to peruse the menu and found some history on the back cover. Maspero's had been a slave trading house.

It was this place that spawned the thoughts that grew into my class called Auction Block. Below is an excerpt from a dining guide website referencing Maspero's.

“And on my left, the Slave Exchange.” — So say the carriage drivers as they pass by one of the French Quarter's tastier landmarks. Inside the bar-restaurant, where people once bid for slaves, you can now order some of the thickest, juiciest, meatiest sandwiches in town, and some of the hottest chili. ...

It was here that Andrew Jackson plotted the battle of New Orleans and later on conspirators met to foment revolutions in neighboring countries. It was also here that thousands of human beings, fresh off the slave ships, found themselves in the entresol (the hidden room tucked between the present restaurant and the spacious apartments above) awaiting their fates in the slave exchange below, where they would be sold to the highest bidder.

As Phipps sings the song my being is carried into the bowels of a ship. I am transported below deck to the smells and sounds of those imprisoned there. I sit among the captives. My shackles burn me as the flesh is raw from the salt water and sweat. I am stripped of my rights and my dignity. I am among strangers and friends, yet we all feel very alone as we hear the constant waves against the the boat for more than a month. I sit in the darkness wondering where I am going, what my life will be, wondering about my family, my wife, my children.

I can't help but wonder what the words may have been to this old hymn/spiritual. What deep spiritual sentiment of suffering and loss it must be meant to convey.

Resigned from Youth Ministry today ... gulp!

2007-10-21T20:17:00.000-05:00

Today I announced that I was leaving University Church of Christ after more than 13 years and was moving to Lubbock (Broadway Church of Christ). Wow! What a day. It is still settling in.

Here's what I said.

In April of 1994 the University Church of Christ embarked upon a new journey with my family and I that has blessed us immensely. It was a move more clearly prompted by God's leading than anything I had ever experienced. That journey has blessed me, my family, and my ministry.

But this fall, along with the changing of the seasons has come a time of change. I have faith God's hand is guiding, again.

Beginning December 1, I will begin the next part of my ministry journey. Terry and I have agreed to accept a position with the Broadway Church of Christ in Lubbock where I will serve as the minister of "church life and outreach". This decision has come slowly. Only after a year and a half of prayerful consideration has it become clear that the Lubbock opportunity was something to which I should give serious consideration. Being a 52 year old youth minister creates an ever-narrowing passageway to other opportunities. I have always known that the end was "out there", somewhere. I remarked over the past several years that I was sure there was a date stamped on my backside, just out of my view that says "best if used by" ... with a date tattooed, indelibly. Neither I nor anyone else can see it, but no one denies its existence. It has always been my plan (or desire) to remove myself from youth ministry at a time BEFORE a group of teens, or elders, or parents, or even my own family decided for me. This demands that I remove myself from Youth Ministry somewhat prematurely, but I want to assure you that my passion for youth ministry remains undiminished. However, my opportunities to continue in this area of ministry, dominated by young men and women half my age, are just by nature of the way our churches do youth ministry, ever-diminishing.

This also points to the opportunity in Lubbock. I believe provides the next natural step for me. It will allow me to use my God-given gifts in areas I feel called in a church setting as well as to teach Youth Ministry classes at Lubbock Christian University. I look forward to mentoring and training those who will step into the paths I have walked. It is a humbling and invigorating thought.

I'd like to say thank you to everyone. Its not practical and it would take longer than the "elder's prayer". So instead of thanking individuals, here, I will say thank you to a few groups of folks. I want to thank the leadership of this church as well as all of those who have worked within the youth ministry (teaching huddles, traveling on mission trips, shuttling students to school after Thursday morning breakfast, those who have worked with LTC, fixed food, mopped up afterwards). Those who have prayed for me. The group of gray-haired saints who have encouraged me. Those who have gently corrected me. Those who have served alongside me. And those who have sharpened be as iron sharpens iron, not fearful to let the sparks fly.

You have loved, and blessed us. You have made it possible for my family and I to call this place home. I have spent half of all my youth ministry years at this church, and nearly half of my entire full time ministry has been here. Leaving is NOT easy. Remembering the goodness and warmth of the people of this church will be much easier. Please pray for my family in this transition and know that we are praying for you. I will pray this prayer:

• May we always be more focused and more concerned about the lost than the saved.

• May we seek the new and emerging stories of faith among the young and allow them to have a place above the accounts of those of us who have become comfortable with our completed stories.

• May our church life and future be driven by a reckless faith in an Almighty God, and nothing else.

• May we always seek to please and honor God, above people.

• May our hope be in the all-surpassing Grace of Jesus, and not in ourselves, our abilities, our past accomplishments, or our future plans.

I will continue to pray for University Church as I always have. For her future. For her health. For her deepening faith. For her leadership. For her ministers. For the body of people who are her arms and legs, and of course her heart. May her heart beat strongly with the rhythm of our Savior. May her course be set by the faith driven dreams of those who seek Christ unabashedly, in a world clamoring to be comfortable. May she be a beacon of hope to the world and to a generation of people who will follow us in this journey of faith.

As Paul said in Philippians 1 - "It is right for me to feel this way about you, because I have you in my heart."

I'm glad I'm not a middle school girl!

2007-10-18T08:36:00.000-05:00

Not that I've ever wanted to be, but it struck me as I listened and watched a group of middle school females as they were inflamed into dramatic frenzy over ... everything (I started to make a list, but it was too, long). Bless their hearts. There's more going on inside their heads than in a Walmart on the Friday after Thanksgiving.

Today I pray that God will give some peace to those frazzled places in the hearts of little girls, who are becoming young ladies. Prayer seems to be the only thing I really know what to do for them, besides to just stand near them when they need to cry.

Everything must change

2007-10-17T13:34:00.000-05:00

Brian McLaren has always challenged me with his writing. His latest book is no exception. Everything Must Change does not leave one in a comfortable, complacent, or traditional state of mind.

I told someone yesterday that I enjoy reading things that make me argue, think, wrestle, and reapproach the status quo. Its not that I enjoy it, but it is stimulating. It often leaves me troubled. At other times my reading allows me to re-assess my priorities.

McLaren quotes a young woman from Burundi (taught by American missionaries, the traditional ways of American church) to say, "I don't know if anyone else here sees it, but I do. I see it. Today is the first time, I see what Jesus meant by the Kingdom of God. I see that it's about changing the world, not just escaping it and retreating into our churches. If Jesus' message of the Kingdom of God is true. Everything must change."

McLaren said of the Kingdom of God, "... we described the Kingdom of God in terms of God's dreams com ing true for this earth, of God's justice and peace replacing earth's injustice and disharmony."

Lord, heal my heart of its hard-ness. Open my heart to your will for me on this earth.

Even a fool like me can look good ...(ok, maybe just better)

2007-10-17T11:26:00.000-05:00

Lance Tolar is a visionary and Matt Maxwell is a stickin' magician. Lance's idea and Matt's videography have yielded a rough draft of a piece that has excited me. We hope it will serve as a lead-in for the World Bible School iternet site. Matt took the 7 or 8 "takes" and frankenstined this piece together. Let me know what you think.

http://web.mac.com/acandleburns/Lance/BuddyPencil.html

Paul Potts. You Rock!

2007-10-17T11:11:00.000-05:00

On a day when I was full of self doubt and frustration I received an email with a link to watch BRITIANS GOT TALENT and a guy that brought a surprise to the stage. As I watched the first time, I heard the man say, like thousands of others, that he thought he was called to do this. I watched as the judges and audience braced for another mediocre (or worst) performance. I was reduced to tears as I heard the voice, saw the passion and watched the faces of judges and audience transformed.

He left nothing behind. He put it all on the stage and blew them away!

When the world doubts you, go ahead and give it your best, anyway.

Thanks Paul Potts! You Rock!

I just watched it again! I think I will try a little harder today ... tomorrow, too!

The Hard Stuff

2007-10-17T11:00:00.001-05:00

October marked the beginning of a new study for the teens (and for me). I guess the curriculum folks decided that October was an appropriate month for a study of Satan, Demons, and Angels. (did I mention my disdain for this month due entirely to the dark-side celebration we continue to support with our money, our children, and our laughter?) What are we thinking. Now I fear someone will think me an old fart for my views.

In any case, class on Sunday went well. The students were engaged as well as one would expect for our early Sunday gathering. At the end of class I showed a Winterfest video of a drama. It used the video to drive home the powers of temptation.

Later that day I encountered a young lady who is struggling with cutting herself. She's early in the game, but has fallen into the cycle of repetitive episodes. I confronted her. She says wants to stop. I am sending her to get help.

Some things I can not carry on my own.

A friend, truly.

2007-10-17T10:46:00.000-05:00

I've just deleted two long paragraphs that meandered through too many words. All I wanted to say was, friendships are valuable. Keep them strong. Spend the money, set aside the time, be vulnerable, and you will be blessed. If you don't "get it", call me for the longer version.

Thank you Jeff, Ron, Kris, Lance, Lane, and Mark for for being friends.

Be sure to quit blogging, surfing, and meandering long enough to speak to one of your friends today.

Reflecting requires shining

2007-09-05T16:14:00.000-05:00

The summer has been incredible. Fot the first summer in 14 years I did it without an intern. I missed the camaraderie, the humor, the late-night company, the opportunities to mentor, the HELP when everyone else had gone home. It was a hard summer, but it substantiated that I can still do "it", while some seem to wonder if that is true. I don't mean that to sound arrogant, but to those who wondered if I still had "a fire in my belly" for youth ministry, nanny, nanny, boo-boo.

Summer was easier in some ways. It doesn't take as long to plan a trip well. Parents have a higher degree of trust (most of the time). Kids don't try to be as sneaky. I don't sweat the small stuff as much.

I miss Camp Promise. The outreach to the needy, the unchurched, and the really good kids was a shot in the arm. Its a pain in the backside sometimes as well, but well worth it. I hope God raises up someone who will catch a vision for this camp. I hope it comes back and this time from within University.

We had a great talk among our staff this past week

Reflection requires something to shine. I need to seek shiny things. I need to shine for others.

a year later

2006-12-06T18:11:00.000-06:00

A year has passed since my last entry. Maybe I'm not a blogger. I thought I was. I wanted to be. I want to be.

I leave in a few days to go get my grandson for a few days of grandparent heaven. Tim and Andrea have consented to allowing me to fly to Nashville to get Caleb about a week before they arrive here for a brief Chrsitmas visit. We'll have Caleb for about 9 days (happy face) and Tim and Andrea for about three days (sad face).

Being in ministry and being 850 miles apart has tested me.

Ministry in the past 12 months has been .... better. Last year at this time I was unsure if I would still be here ... and tentative about whether I would be a youth minister at all. Most of that has passed. Ministry seems healthier and better thought of around the home church than before.

I attribute much of that change to the presence of two of the new elders (maybe three). Mark Tate, Kris Southward, and maybe Tom Milholland have brought new life to the elders and a higher profile to the youth ministry and my work.

I put up the lights for Christmas this year. I swear the evil demon of Christmas lives in those boxes with the lights. My son Jon helped this year. It nearly killed us both.

Vacation and a ministry project

2005-12-28T01:42:00.000-06:00

What can I say. 1100 miles east of Abilene and with my g-baby Caleb. How sweet it is.

Ministry is still messy. It always will be. Vivian needs your prayers. Four weeks ago she was abandoned by her three-year live-in boy friend. He came with her to Abilene for Thanksgiving, went to the convenience store for some smokes and never came back. Left her with three kids and nothing else. And as if that isn't bad enough, she was forced into living with her alcoholic mom and step dad and now got kicked out of that house. She's back in Arlington, staying wit a friend. Her life is very tough right now!

Melanie Shaffer has worked diligently to help this family. I pray that her heart will see the good she has done through even the mess that life has thrown at these folks.

A scare

2005-12-09T17:03:00.000-06:00

Today started wierd. Somehow my watch was an hour ahead of real time. I started out thinking I was late. Then after a rush of activity I found out I was early. Oh well, that's better that the other way around.

I arrived at the office to the news of the Palmers being in the ER with carbon monoxide poisoning. After 5 hours in the ER everyone was released. Today could have been very different.

I had a long talk with Jonathan Reding today. He's great! He bought a 600 Honda and will be returning to school with it in January.

Company tonight. Must help my sweetie get ready. I'm cookin' tonight! I smell steak! UMMMMMMMMM Good!

Rejuvenation

2005-12-08T16:27:00.000-06:00

The past year has been full of new challenges. I have REALLY felt the clock ticking this year. Elders are asking about "when I am planning to transition" or what are you planning after youth ministry. They have already warned me that I may be "already at the peak of my financial earning ability at this church". Another asked me, "do you still think you have a fire in your belly for youth ministry?" The same elder said that the youth ministry annual plan looked "stale". I asked if it was effective. He said yes, but stale. Geez! Others have been asking how my completion of the Masters program at ACU was going and when I was going to start teaching. Geez! I think there is some "continuing education in my future. I may get a prize for the longest time taken to finish a masters level degree.

It seems that the median age of youth ministers is far enough away from my present age that questions are being raised. And to make matters worse, they hired me for the same reason they seem to be frustrated… age, experience, and maturity. Now there's a two edged sword that will definitely leave a mark.

I remarked to a good friend today that I felt like a dog at the pound. A while back, I might have been the pick of the litter, they made sacrifices to get me. I have been a faithful hound, even when neglected. Now I wake up and I'm at the pound. Some are remarking that no one should ever pay that much for a dog (I'm not sure they ever liked having a dog). I'm stuck in this cage, hoping my owner would remember that I had been a good dog, not pee'd on the carpet often, never bit anyone who didn't deserve it, and did not mean to have run off, but might possibly be feeling a little neglected. And that's why I'm at the pound. I was cute and fuzzy at one time. Not so much anymore. Somebody may have to claim me soon. My euthanization may only be a few days away. (tick tock, tick tock)

Did you ever see that scene in Monty Python, Search for the Holy Grail, where the guy is going through the streets calling out, "bring out your dead, … bring out your dead". And this guy comes out of the house asking the cart of bodies to wait while carrying his elderly father over his shoulder. The father is obviously not dead. In fact, he's protesting and saying he's not dead, yet, and as a matter of fact he proclaims that all of a sudden he's feeling better. Yeah, that's me! Put me down! I ain't dead yet. I'm sure they could hire a guy half my age at half the salary.

In all seriousness, I believe that one of the kisses of death that is the ACU salary survey. The reason I say this is because my guys (leadership) read the thing, like many folks do. So, they look and assume (no comment) that there is a good (±100%) representation on the list. I believe that anyone with a good salary is hesitant to put the fiancial information on the survey. So anyone with a salary packet that bespeaks tenure, longevity, and career, gets (potentially) hammered. I doesn't matter whether I answer the survey or not, they obviously know what I make. Plus I guess its easy to find me when you look at the data requested (How long at present congregation - 12 years; How long in ministry - 24 years; Present age - 50) A stranger with three fingers and a ten year old computer, could locate me with his eyes closed.

Another friend asked where 50 year old youth ministers went… I thought there was a punch line to follow. He was stinkin' serious! I coulda' killed him! HA

April 15th 2006 will mark the completion of my 25th year in full time youth ministry. The only time I wasn't doing youth ministry in that time was between jobs from October of 1993-March of 1994. I wonder if that's the train at the end of the tunnel that I hear?

I'm not dead yet!

2005-12-08T16:08:00.000-06:00

Dave Blanchard and jonathan Reding have both applied for some form of internship here at UCC. Both guys are visionary in their own right. Dave is a seasoned youth minister from Portland, now at ACU to do grad work. Jonathan is a gifted student with a heart and reputation for ministry. Only God knows what we need. Maybe both?

I attended a luncheon today for the upcoming "Reality Conference" that will take place in February. Jeff Berry is the guy behind the plan and last year's conference was incredible. Last year I was asked by some kids from Jim Ned High School to lead their group in discussion and process after the main sessions. I was blown away. So honored to be asked. Jeff Berry rocked the house. Wes Hamilton brought the wood from the Word. Awesome. February 3-4 of 2006 will be even better. I hope we can muster a group.

After two additional conversations with my leadership I am feeling beter about the prospect of my future. My shepherds are great. I've been redeemed from the pound. I'm excited about ministry. Never lost that thought. But was afraid others thought I had.

Working on the Christmas spirit. Really don't want to hang lights this year.