schmuckfactor

It's tough to be a girl

2010-09-15T22:11:00.003-04:00

During my first hour a young man was reading a note instead of paying attention to my instructions. His grade in my class was pretty bad, so I decided to quietly take the note from him. He wasn't trying to hide it, and he didn't seem upset when I took it.

I made my way back to my podium, finished giving instructions, and then read the note. The print was bold, blue and loopy with hearts and wavy scribbles draped across the empty spaces. I didn't need to read it to know what was going on, but of course I did anyway.

A girl in one of my later classes was asking this young man out. It was thoughtful and considerate and well written. I thought it was a very unawkward note for such an awkward request. I slipped the note into my book a few pages behind the section we were reading.

Later, just after I had sent in the roll for my next class, I noticed the girl that had written the note sitting at the back of the room. I held the note up to give it to her and before I could say anything, and I mean anything she brought both hands up to her eyes, began sobbing and ran out of the room to the counselor's office. I was shocked. The rest of the class said that she already dealt with that situation, and that it did not go well.

Of course, as soon as she returned I apologized and again I was impressed with the maturity with which she accepted my apology.

In my last class of the day one of my normally happy students had a distant expression on her face. Of course, I figured that she was sad from some other teen relationship gone awry, so I asked her if she was alright. She said, "Yes."

"Well, good," I said. "I just noticed that you looked like you were a long way away just now."

She said, "I was a long way away. Sometimes it is just difficult." There was a pause.

"What is difficult?" I asked.

"Mr. Gibson did you know that my mother died last Christmas?"

My shoulders slumped forward, and I sighed heavily and said, "I am so sorry. I had no idea."

"Yeah, Mr. Gibson, sometimes I can't help wondering what this next Christmas will be like."

I said nothing for quite a while. I didn't know what to say. Finally, I asked her if she lived with her dad and if they were making plans.

She said, "No, Mr. Gibson, I live with my grandparents. My dad's in prison. I do hope to see him soon though."

Here is what I want you to understand. Both of these young ladies have been great in my class room. I am proud of them both, but as I think about it I just realize how pleased I am to have students in my class who can teach me as much as I can teach them.

Unarmed

2010-08-24T00:56:00.007-04:00

When I was very young my family went to "Platt National Park" for a family reunion. I remember almost nothing about the trip except that it was a day when I almost died.
Platt National Park is now called Chickasaw National Recreation area and it is a wonderful place to camp and swim in the freezing cold spring water. One swimming hole there stands out above all the rest as a destination for families to escape the summer heat...Little Niagara.
Little Niagara is close to the nature center at the park and features a 6 foot waterfall that empties into a small pool. On this particular day I remember watching as all of the older kids would creep out to the middle of the Falls, motion for their families to watch and then jump into the water. Each time someone went in they would yell when they surfaced because of the cold. I had already paddled around the shallow end of the pool, but now I was focused on the falls. To be able to defy gravity for a short period of time was something I longed to try.
I pulled my pale, almost blue, shivering body out of the shallow end and waltzed toward the falls. I had no plan. I was just getting closer to the action.
A few feet from the falls I noticed that the bank was steep and rocky, and there was a single tree growing from the steep ground close to the water. Many older people were sitting in lawn chairs a few feet from the tree. Occasionally one of the adults sitting there would applaud the teenagers as they grew more and more daring leaping into the pool with twists and somersaults and dives. I was fascinated.
Then I noticed that by the tree was a submerged shelf just under the water. That would be a great observation post. I crawled down the bank and began to re accustom myself to the cold water.
I realized that the shelf was a bit deeper in the water than I thought. Once my feet were resting on it my head was barely above the water. Looking up the bank I could barely see the adults sitting in their lawn chairs watching, smiling, talking.
Suddenly, a huge splash sent a wave of water over my head. I struggled to maintain my balance and felt my feet slip from the shelf. Now I was in over my head and I couldn't swim. I must have been about 5 or 6 years old, and I was in full panic. No one could hear me scream because I was too busy taking deep breaths on the few occasions that my head popped above the water. I looked back up the banks and there were two men leaning back in their chairs looking back at me. I went under again. I bobbed back up. They were still there, smiling at me. I tried to say help, but they just smiled.
I went under again. My arms and feet were in full flail. I was unable to coordinate my movements to make any progress. Finally, the surface and another breath. I went under again. I bobbed back up with my body bouncing from the wild movements of my limbs. I went under one more time and could barely see the smiling faces of the men through the cool clear water. They were still staring at me. I was too busy moving and bobbing to think anything dreadful. I was just trying to breathe, but I do remember a hot angry feeling warming me as I watched their apathetic smiles. I was sinking and flailing and sinking. Then, miraculously to me, one of my feet struck the shelf. I was able to gain just enough traction to get my hands close enough to the bank to find an exposed root of that tree. I pulled and brought my face out of the water long enough to gasp and breathe. I looked up. The men were still there laughing now instead of smiling.
At that time time I had no idea what to do. I had no words to share with the men who enjoyed my show so thoroughly. I was anxious to get away from the falls. I wanted to be away from the laughing and smiling. As I think back I think I know what would have happened if I would have been as knowledgeable as I am now. I wouldn't have said anything, but I think I have a few gestures that I would have shared with them.
I realized recently that there was something very spiritual about that little event. If you would have seen that little show for yourself many years ago you would have probably thought about how nicely I controlled myself in a stressful situation. You may have thought that I was embarrassed and you may have even felt sorry for me, but you would have missed the point.
I was angry and I would have if I could have. I think many times we think that when we are young we are innocent, that we don't know enough to make a mess of things, but I really believe that this is a wrong perspective. when we are young we aren't innocent. We still have the feelings and attitudes that can make us despicable as adults. Just because we are young does not mean that we are innocent. It just means that we are unarmed.

A Ride?

2010-08-24T00:51:00.003-04:00

Last Friday I parked my motorcycle in front of the new performing arts center at Shawnee High School and prepared to enter the building for my first meetings of the new school year. As I entered the building I thought about how different my expectations were from a year ago. Last year I was coming back from one of the most difficult years of my life. I was convinced I had lost it as a teacher, and I was not sure if I wanted to teach anymore. I lacked confidence and was not sure that I had what it takes to be effective with today's middle schoolers. I did know that I did not want to be a terrible teacher.

So, with a terrible year behind me, I worked hard, real hard. I did everything I could to teach well, to win hearts and minds and to make a lasting impact on the lives of my students. I thought I had made a lot of progress toward becoming the effective teacher that I felt like I once was. While spending my summer at Falls Creek as the recreation director I would occasionally see one of my students. In fact, I actually looked forward to seeing them and finding out how their summer was going.

So it was with a glad heart that I walked into the beginning of my new school year. When I got through the doors I saw a colleague of mine from the 7th grade team. I was a bit surprised to see her because I was almost 20 minutes early. When she saw me she walked over to me and said, "I saw some of our students the other day and they had some wonderful things to say about you. You may even be their hero!"

In spite of my desire to yell, "TELL ME WHAT THEY SAID!!!" I played it off with an understated, "Oh, really?" I thought Yesss! Someone is going to say that I was a great teacher because I worked hard to make great lessons that inspired my students to aspire to greatness. Maybe they would say that they learned a lot, or that they felt like they understood geography a bit better. Any of those would things help to confirm that my teaching career was headed in the right direction.

My colleague smiled at me and said, "Yes Trent, I ran into several of your students and they said that you were great because when you saw them at Falls Creek this summer you gave them a ride on your golf cart."

Really?!? Great because of a golf cart ride? I was disappointed, but I was careful not let it show. I smiled at my fellow teacher and said, "Yip, they do love those golf carts." Then I began developing a new plan to make this year even better than any that had come before. I felt like it was foolproof. It might even get me teacher of the year sometime... All I need is a golf cart that fits in my classroom.

Air Freshener

2010-06-20T16:50:00.008-04:00

Last week I was listening to Car Talk on NPR. Car Talk is a call in show where people try to get advice on how to fix their car. Sometimes people call for some basic automotive advice as did the lady that is the subject of this post.

This lady was from the Midwest and was planning on taking her family on a roadtrip to the West. No real destinations were mentioned, but I assumed that she was talking about the Grand Canyon or some other incredible natural monument in the West. She had two real issues; the first was that five people were making the trip, the second was that she had two vehicles to choose from.

The first vehicle was a late model sedan that though low in miles was probably going to be too crowded for such a long trip with so many people. The second vehicle was a high miles mini-van which she felt would be more comfortable but might have some maintenance issues. The hosts of the show immediately asked her, "What kind of maintenance issues?" to which she responded, "well, the tires are bald, the brakes pull a bit to the left, it uses oil, it has a high speed shimmy, the windshield is cracked, the transmission slips occasionally, and it has a bit of an odd smell."

The hosts then asked, "So, what maintenance have you done on it lately?" She said, "I changed the air freshener last week."

I almost fell out of my car. I immediately thought, "what an insanely stupid person." It was not too long though before God began a review of the maintenance record of my "spiritual engine." The list persisted with items like, easily angered, selfish, boastful, uncaring, unmerciful, blaming, prideful, lustful, lazy, rude... and what have you done about it? I searched and examined, thought and pondered, but came away with the realization that I had done very little maintenance of my spiritual life, so I blurted out loud, "I read my Bible once in a while!" As soon as I said it I felt insanely stupid.

I thought, I will fix it. I will make my quiet time consistent. I will pray constantly. I will love the poor. I will forgive. I will quit getting angry. I will... and at that exact moment I heard the hosts of the show say, "Take the sedan."

I realized that the same was true for me. I was never going to salvage me enough to make the trip. My hope cannot be in spiritual maintenance, instead it must be in a new spiritual vehicle. Mine simply will not do. Now I am not saying that spiritual maintenance is a bad thing or that it is not worth it. No, not at all. Spiritual discipline is wonderful but we must understand where it falls short. It in and of itself does not make me new. Jesus makes me new, and thankfully he takes trade ins.

Taste

2009-12-17T22:15:00.005-05:00

Someone recently told me about a sermon where the preacher said that anyone who drinks only does it to get drunk because the stuff tastes so bad that there is no other reason to drink it. I suppose that the idea was to get people to lay off alcohol because tastes bad.

Well, I got to thinkin'. It seems to me that many believers today are rebelling against denominational stances against alcohol because they have found that the prohibition against it does not jive with conviction in the veracity of scripture. But, this has left many in an uncomfortable position of having to justify their own abstinence. This, to me, is sad.

Abstinence for a believer does not have to do with how something tastes, or how healthy it is, or its color, or even how other people feel about it. For a believer the standard is Jesus. Whether you drink or not, whether you abstain or not it is for the glory of the Lord. Taste, What other people do or the current phase of the moon does not matter.

I hope for myself that I will be able to quit saving face with man to be obedient to God.

Within You

2009-12-12T23:53:00.003-05:00

Jesus said that the kingdom of God is within you. I believe that but I don't always get it. You know what I mean?

Well, on Thursday we got 3 Netflix movies in the mail. They were Patriot Games with Harrison Ford which is a great fun movie to watch, Oh Brother Where Art Thou which is also a fun movie and Pulp Fiction, which was a surprise since no one remembered putting it in our cue. Now I have always heard Pulp Fiction was a very rough, but very good movie. To be honest I really didn't even know what it was about, so with an understanding of its rating we made arrangements with Sawyer to do something else while Sherry and I watched it.

It was very rough. The language was intense and extreme. The violence was over the top. Drug and alcohol was everywhere, but for some reason I kept watching. I can't ever recommend the movie to anyone because of that, but there was one thing in particular that made me very glad I watched it.

In the movie Vincent and Jules are two hit men who argue constantly, but they are apparently quite good at there job. In one of the first scenes these two are wearing matching black suits on their way to an apartment to work a job. When it seems like they are done, the scene cuts to them entering the establishment of their boss wearing gym shorts and t-shirts. Later in the movie the job in the apartment is revisited and completed. The job wasn't really over in the first scene. What really happened is that a guy leaped out of a room with a monstrously large hand gun and started firing at the two hit men from point blank range. The bullets never hit them. Behind them on the wall were bullet holes that made it appear that at least one or two bullets must have passed through their intended victims without damaging them at all.

Here is the part that I found intriguing. Vincent and Jules began arguing again, except this time it was about why they were spared. Vincent said it was just random luck, but Jules said that it was a miracle. Both experienced the exact same thing, but both interpreted the event differently. One, Vincent, maybe because his luck ran out was killed doing his next job. The other, Jules, performed an incredible act of mercy because he believed God had intervened in his life. I am not saying that Pulp Fiction was preaching some kind of sermon, but I do think that it illustrates a point well.

In this one vignette about disgusting gangsters, one experiences the Kingdom of God and is transformed. The other, who stands at exactly the same point, who is just as disgusting, who survives the very same shooting does not experience the Kingdom of God, and he is not transformed.

So here is what it comes to; no matter how much I beg, borrow, or steal, no matter how much I manipulate, cajole, or intimidate, I will never be able to make anyone experience the Kingdom of God. By the same token I will never be able to love, hope or believe someone into the Kingdom of God either. As uncomfortable as it truly is, the Kingdom of God really is inside of us, out of reach of anyone except ourselves and the Lord, or it isn't.

Overheard

2009-12-11T23:58:00.001-05:00

Today I overheard the following conversation; "Have you ever seen any of the Mad Max movies?"
"No, I haven't, and when I get to heaven I will be able to tell Jesus that I have never seen them."
"Well, Jesus will say you missed a good movie."

Normal Conversation Lessons Needed!

2009-12-08T19:26:00.000-05:00

Two days ago I told a student that the "repercussions of his actions could be extensive and costly." A young man on the same row looked at me, dropped his jaw and squinted his eyes at me, and then shot his hand straight up to ask me a question. I called on him and he said, "Mr. Gibson, I don't mean any disrespect, but... have you ever considered taking normal conversation lessons?"

Rhythm

2009-11-25T03:54:00.004-05:00

This past week my geography class has been studying culture. We defined culture as those rites, activities, traditions that are shared by a group of people. I know that the definition could use some work, but it worked for our purposes.

Yesterday, I had an extremely talented 7th grade student of mine do a presentation on his drum set about how different culture specific rhythms have diffused to create many of the rhythms we love in our modern music. It got pretty technical, but the students loved watching Lucas talk about something that he loved, and they were able for a period of time to share in that love for music generally and drumming particularly.

And now I can't sleep. My cold has made breathing and sleeping a chore so I am now typing until my medicine takes effect, but I am concerned about this culture thing. Lucas showed us how a simple rhythm could evolve and grow, become "shiny," until at some point it is almost impossible to pick out the original beat unless you were trained to hear it. He was really patient with us and showed us this carefully, and at the end many of us were able to see it.

But, as is my habit, I began expanding the implications of this to other areas of my life. I already knew that diffusion happens in any arena of life that is a carrier of culture like events and diet and law, but I don't always take it seriously. Academically, I know that diffusion happens in more areas than just music. I know that. In fact, I taught my students that culture as expressed in food choices is diffused as diverse groups come in contact with each other and establish restaurants and markets. Celebrations that migrate with their flesh and blood hosts grow as their hosts take up residence in new cultures. Ideas become mature as new thinkers contemplate and add to work that has been begun by others, but there is one area of my life that I don't want to admit is affected by diffusion...faith.

I want to believe that my faith is pure, straight from the gospel, perfect and true. I don't want to believe that there is any part of my faith that has been subject to any one's ideas except Christ's, but we all know that is not really true, is it?

A few minutes ago I was reading a good friend's facebook post about health care and the church. He asked why is it that Christians not only don't do anything to make sure that the poor receive better health care, but we also make sure that the government doesn't do anything about it either. 5 years ago I would have chided my friend for posting inflammatory hyperbole about the church. I would have argued personal responsibility, keep government small, and government management equals inefficiency. I would have said that I am tired of government reaching into my pocket to take care of those who will not work for themselves, and I would have said that it is not the governments job to protect people from the consequences of their actions, and I would have shown you why God wants us to think like that.

Now, I am different. I remember the story of the loaves and the fishes. When Jesus saw the crowd he had compassion on them, and he asked his disciples to do something about it. When they could only produce a couple loaves of bread and a few fish he did not say, "Okay, I guess we are off the hook." He didn't say, "Send them home to get some food." He did not say, "They will become dependent on me." Jesus did not let the size of the problem, nor the lack of resources to fix the problem prevent him from acting. The people were hungry, so he fed them.

Actually, many people did follow Jesus hoping for handouts. Beggars did want to be healed when they heard that he was close by and Jesus healed many of them. Hunger did not go away just because he fed a few of them and illness and disease did not end because he healed a few of them. In fact, I don't think that the story of the loaves and fishes has anything to do with the hungry people. No, instead I think it has everything to do with the disciples. Jesus wanted them to learn to act, to help, to see needs. To me Jesus was playing a very simple rhythm, a basic beat that he wants us to repeat and grow, and now I want to listen to it carefully. I want to listen to Jesus as he is patient with me. I want pay careful attention to him, so that in the midst of all of this conjecture and politicizing I will be able to pick out his rhythm from all of the "shiny" stuff.

Sight

2009-11-02T20:58:00.004-05:00

My uncle was a large man. His forearms were thick and hard from laying line after line of brick. I always thought that he was wild with his long hair falling down over his eyes, and his moustache hanging down over his mouth, and mostly with his eyes that danced. Framing all of this was the fact that I knew he was a marine who had fought in Vietnam, but we never spoke of this.

I was young when my aunt married him. They were both carefree and rebellious. When they would visit I used to pause before I entered a room where they were. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I would hear about some of John's exploits that were not meant for younger audiences. One time I heard about a fight that he had at a bar. John was bragging about how he threw punch after punch at what sounded like an army. I was fascinated. Now I realize that this was the cause for his long absence from my Grandfather's house. I don't know if he was in jail or the hospital, but I heard that he won the fight. It must have been something.

There was another time when he was taking my family to his new house in the country. He was excited and laughing. He said, "See this dirt road, our house is at the very end of it. Sounds crazy but it's true."

I propped my self up from the back seat and looked out the front window. A rust red stripe stretched down the hill in front of us then rose again at the next hill. Then it appeared a little to the left as it crested the next slightly taller hill, and then it did the same thing one more time. There were no more hills that I could see, but I remember thinking how large the world was.

True to his word, the house was at the end of the road. A white gravel drive twisted through two fields of corn, by a large red barn, and ended under a large pecan tree that shaded a small white house. We had dinner there. The women, my aunt, mother and grandmother ate in the small kitchen, while my uncle, father, grandfather, and another uncle sat on the porch. While they were eating, I snuck into my uncles bedroom and looked at his dresser. I never tired of it. He had all of his buttons and medals from Vietnam sitting on a small tarnished plate. On the top corner of the mirror was a beret, but I don't remember the color, and just under that, tucked into the mirror was a faded color photo of my uncle and two men. All of them were in uniform in front of a tropical jungle, and all of them were smiling. It was the only photo that I ever saw of him in Vietnam.

When I returned to the porch, My uncle was recounting a conversation he had with a blind man that he met in a bar. My uncle's hair wasn't in his eyes. I remember that he worked hard to keep it away from them, and that he was sitting in a wicker chair holding his tea, and his eyes weren't dancing. For once they were focused, but I didn't know why.

"I asked him," he said, "what's it like being blind? And he said, 'I don't know, what is it like being able to see?' I thought he was being a smart ass so I told him so. He just laughed. I asked him again, and he said, 'really, I don't know.'" My other uncle said that he had heard that blind people see black, all the time and nothing else, but John assured us that this was not what this blind man saw. We all asked, "So what did he see?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," he said.

My dad asked, "How can you see nothing. You have to see something." John said, "No, he said that he never could see, so he sees nothing." There was a long pause and then John said, "How many things do we not see because we never did see them?" John turned his head and looked at his white gravel drive.

I wish I could say that things went well for John and my aunt after that, but they didn't. His hair grew longer and his eyes danced more and more until he was no longer able to stay whereever he happened to be. I don't know where he is now, but I used to think he must be trying to see something that he might not be able to see. Now, as I get older, I think he may be trying something much harder. I think he is trying to unsee things he has seen.

2009-09-04T21:38:00.003-04:00

Beginning teachers have a lot to learn, but no lesson is more important than how to hold it, and by holding it I mean holding it. This is so important because the alternative is quite messy. Of course it is obvious how messy one outcome can be, but the other possible outcome is also quite messy. Think about it; an entire class of prurient and belligerent youngsters in the chaotic dawn of their adolescence whose whims and fancies are unmarshaled by their absent teacher who has chosen relief over duty. Yes, this is the messier of the two options.

The room in which I was forced to learn this lesson as a first year teacher was at the western end of the north hallway of building 801. Building 801 was formerly occupied by 8th graders, but had at this time been turned over to a haphazard collection of educational programs from gifted and talented to special ed. The program that employed me was the fledgling alternative program. It was supposed to educate students who were well behaved (meaning quiet) but undirected (meaning failing) in their scholastic efforts. Although the program's purpose was approved by the school board and literature was sent to all the junior high schools in the district detailing the mild mannered nature of our target student, the principals of each of those schools used this new program as an opportunity to help their own well behaved (previously defined) undirected students (also previously defined) by keeping them and sending us their poorly behaved (meaning criminal) and undirected (still meaning failing) students in spite of our many protests.

I was the only male teacher in this new program. My classroom was at the far western (deserted) end of the north hall. I thought at first that this assignment was because the decision makers trusted my keen classroom skills. I soon realized, however, that it was instead because the ladies in our program had conspired against me. You see, they tackled the "hold it" skill through cooperation and confederation whereas I would have to learn how to "hold it" through sheer bull-dogged determination. They, the ladies teaching in the program, managed to have all of their rooms in two adjacent alcoves. This allowed them to assist each other in marshaling their prurient and belligerent students and find relief all at the same time.

Two weeks into the new semester, I was doing pretty well. Of course, we know what pretty well means (I didn't have to leave my class unattended because of an emergency). This was pretty amazing to me because it was during these first two weeks of the program that I first became aware of the previously mentioned fact that the students in my room were not the well behaved, unmotivated students I had bargained for. Nope, instead these were the most difficult 7th and 8th grade students that my very large district had to offer. Well, I take that back. There were those students in police custody, but we are not counting those. With this understanding, I took great care not to have any need whatsoever to leave my room.

There was a close call, however. It began with breakfast. It apparently had a personality conflict with my stomach, and during the first two hours of my school day, I was completely uncertain whose fault it was, and I was just as uncertain about who was going to win the argument. Finally, after dismissing my students, I had a planning period and I had already planned what I was going to do.

I scurried out of the small alcove where my classroom was hidden and raced to the teacher's workroom ignoring the occasional tardy and undirected student on the way. But, as luck would have it, the room that was the target of my quest, the staff restroom, was occupied. I was a bit enraged. Well, maybe I was just peeved, but I thought, "Those ladies, now they are even late to their own class." This mental berating was because all of our plans were staggered so that none of us had a planning period at the same time as another staff. This was to cut down on conspiracies against the administration. It was ineffective.

Anyway, Plan B was engaged and I hurried further down the hall to the student restroom. The student restroom was past our own office and almost, but not quite, to the special ed classrooms that were housed in the building.

Thankfully, my planning was during a time when all of our programs were in class. In school detention, gifted and talented, alternative, all of the programs on my side of the office were in class and would be for a while. "Good," I thought, "I may need awhile.

I found a stall and locked myself in. I was quite content, not just because of my need to be there, but also because for a few brief moments I would be by myself and away from unmotivated, criminal students. It was seven minutes into my siesta when I heard it. It began faintly like a sewing machine and grew into a steady machine gun staccato. It was the sound of a couple dozen hard soled shoes tapping on the hard tiled floor. Next, I heard the faint sounds of small children laughing and talking, followed by the gentle reproving tones of a caring teacher. In my haste I had not taken into account the special ed. department's break times. Now, as I heard the sounds gathering in front of the restroom entrance I remembered how every morning on my way to my classroom I would pass the classroom filled with a dozen or so Down Syndrome boys. They all had short crewcuts, rolled up jeans and thick glasses. They were always active and always happy. It was these same children now gathering outside the restroom who were about to destroy my quiet meditation time.

They came in with purpose and determination to have as much fun as possible out of their teacher's watchful eye. They laughed and they ran and they splashed and occasionally one would use the restroom. I saw it all from the narrow cracks on either side of my stall door, and occasionally I would get a glimpse from under that same door of a pair of black leather shoes scurrying from one side of the restroom to another. Then it happened.

As one set of shoes scurried past my stall door I made contact with the magnified eyes of their owner. The shoes stopped and so did the eyes. For a full second and half we contemplated the intent of the other, then, without warning the owner large baby blues yelled, "Teacher!!" as he scurried up to the space between the door and the stall to get a better look. Suddenly the sound of rapid clicking converged on my door. I was greeted by the sight of a dozen magnified eyes fighting for their own view of the teacher on the pot. It was a silent time again. I was a paramecium struggling on a glass slide. I waved. They said, "hello," in unison.

The teacher waiting on them was apparently alarmed by the sudden outbreak of silence. She yelled, "Boys you better hurry up, or I am coming in."

I prayed, "Dear God, let them hurry!"

Suddenly they all gave up their privileged vista of the teacher on the pot and clicked their way back into the hall.

I thanked God for answered prayer.

Shadow Creek

2009-08-09T11:00:00.011-04:00

Three years ago when I worked in Moore I had to drive 35 miles to get to work. The road I took each day was a two lane county road that bounced over many short steep hills on it's way to my school. On two of these hills the steepness of going up was so abruptly followed by the steepness of going down that navigating this stretch at high speed made your belly feel like it was coming up your throat.

At the bottom of the larger of these hills was Shadow Creek, a deep creek carved by the occasional spring gully washer. The county placed white 2 foot rocks all along its banks to limit erosion. Guarding the creeks waters were five strands of rusted barbed wire and two 100 foot cottonwoods that shaded the waters below.

I never saw the creek challenge the upper reaches of its banks, but I had heard that it happened occasionally, even dangerously so. After spring rains I would slow my car as I went by Shadow Creek as if I was rubbernecking an accident. I would curiously peer into the water running below the vigilant limbs of the giant cottonwoods and then somberly head home.

One evening I had to stay at work longer than usual to grade a large pile of papers. At five o'clock I heard thunder echoing softly through the halls followed by the roar of rain hitting the roof of our metal school building. With no windows in the room, I got up to look out our front door. The sky was grey, not just with clouds, but also with an aggressive rain that hit the ground so hard that a mist hid the stripes in the parking lot.

My papers would wait; this looked like serious rain. I wanted to leave before this downpour killed my chances of getting home before nightfall. I gathered up my papers, put a trash bag over my head, said good bye to the night school staff and hurried out the door to my car.

The rain hit the roof of the car so hard I could barely hear the engine running. I maxed the volume of the radio listening for weather alerts. Instead of alerts, "Tears in Heaven," by Eric Clapton blared at me sardonically.

With my head lights gleaming and the windshield wipers beating frantically, I carefully pulled onto the street. Cars that joined me were creeping slowly. Together we all looked like a soggy funeral procession rolling out of Moore. After a few miles the other cars had turned into their own driveways leaving me alone on the rain soaked road. The rain began to relent and its angry beating on the roof of my car softened into a dirge as I approached the steep hill just before Shadow Creek.

Normally, this was the spot where I would floorboard the gas pedal and chuckle as my belly turned somersaults when I crested the steep hill. But on that day, with the rain and a possibly flooded creek, I took my time.

It was a good thing too, because at the bottom of the hill was a dripping wet boy running across the bridge that crossed Shadow Creek. He waved me down as I approached the bridge. I slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the window. I noticed that the water was higher up the banks of the creek than I had ever seen it. "Get in!" I yelled as the rain continued to fall. He complied quickly and rolled up the window.

"Thanks mister," he said. "I don't usually get in cars with strangers, but it is really wet out there."

"It sure is," I replied. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"I went to a friend's house after school and started home when I saw the clouds getting dark. I didn't make it."

"No, I guess you didn't." at this point I noticed that he had a slight bruise on his forehead and a scrape on his cheek. He was also missing a shoe. He looked miserable. "Where do you live?" I asked.

"About a half mile up the road. Mister..."

"The name's Trent," I said.

"Anyway, Trent, I sure do thank you for helping me. I am going to be in such trouble," he spoke softly only half expecting me to hear him.

"What happened to your head and cheek, and where is your shoe?"

He paused for a second and answered, "Well, I took a shortcut across the creek and hit my head when I slipped. My shoe came off and went floating down the creek. I couldn't get it."

I looked at him wondering what in the world he was doing crossing that swollen creek.

"Miste.., I mean Trent, would you take it easy over this next hill? It makes my stomach feel funny if you go too fast."

"No problem," I answered and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Billy Matthews," he said.

It didn't take very long to get to his house. I pulled into his driveway and let him out. He ran up the drive, through the chain link gate and finally onto his porch. He looked at me and waved as he went into his house.

I pulled back out onto the county road, took one last look at the house and headed home thankful that the rain had slowed to a sprinkle.

The next day was beautiful. The sun was bright, and the sky was blue, and I finished all my work early. I headed out to the car squinting in the sunlight thinking about how much difference twenty four hours can make.

I gunned my car at the big hill by Shadow Creek enjoying the feeling as I crested the hill and then slowed just enough to see that the creek was still half way up the rock clad bank. I took it slow at the next hill thinking that I might see Billy as I went by his house. He wasn't there, but I did see his parents in the yard working on their flower bed, so I stopped to check on him.

Billy's parents looked at me as I got out of the car and walked toward them. I said, "Man, that was quite a rainstorm yesterday wasn't it?"

They had no idea who I was but responded politely, "It sure was."

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm Trent." Nothing but absent expressions. "The guy that dropped Billy off yesterday."

"Billy?" asked the woman rubbing her forehead with one hand and holding a small spade in the other.

"Billy Matthews," I said. "I dropped him off here yesterday afternoon. I found him down by Shadow Creek dripping wet so I brought him home. I was just..." I was cut short by the woman's husband standing a few feet behind her.

"Trent," he said, "If this is your idea of a joke, I'm not laughing."

Quickly I said, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I just was checking on... Yesterday, I... I was just wanting to check on Billy!"

The husband spoke forcefully, "Look, you need to leave now."

Confused, exasperated, agitated; I was all of them at once. I got back in my car and took off.

When I arrived at work the next day I asked Polly, our school secretary, if she had ever heard of Billy Matthews. If anyone would know, it would be her since she lived by Shadow Creek.

She said, "Yes, I have. It was so sad." She quit typing on her computer.

"Sad? What do you mean?" I asked.

She looked at me, frowned and then began, "About three years ago Billy Matthews was rushing to get home on a rainy day. In fact, it was a day a lot like yesterday. It was raining like crazy. Well, he never made it home. There was a big search, but for two days all they found was his shoe about a mile from the Shadow Creek bridge. When they did find him it was in the roots of those big cottonwoods at the bridge."

I sat down.

"Trent, what's wrong?" Polly asked.

"Nothing, its okay." I lied.

She continued. "A year ago the family moved away. They said that they couldn't handle how cruel people were about their loss. Apparently people kept saying they saw Billy or that they had given him a ride. Can you believe how cruel people can be?"

"Yeah, I can," I said.

"I know. People can be cruel. It makes me so sad. Well, Billy's parents finally had to sell. They had a hard time finding a buyer, but Mrs. Matthews' sister and brother in law bought the place." There was a bit of a pause and then, "I think they're still having some problems, even after 3 years. Can you believe it?"

"Yeah, I can." I got up and walked to my classroom.

Storm

2009-06-13T00:50:00.004-04:00

Ray is singing "Let It Be Me," in the background. I have his voice turned up so loud that I may not be able to hear our weather radio if it goes off. Hmm I better turn him down.
I has been a long time since I have written in this blog. In fact, it has been a long time since I have written anything at all. It isn't so much that I have had nothing to write about as much as I have had nothing to say. That may seem like a subtle difference, but to me it is monumental. It is huge, gigantic. It is a huge gigantic monumental obstacle, because no matter how cool something is to me, it just does not interest me if it does not mean something.
You see, for a long time I was able to peer at all of my circumstances through a lens that seemed to force everything into making sense. Regardless of the situation I was in, if I just took out my special little looking glass, it all started making sense . Well, that little looking glass hasn't worked in a while.
Many things have happened that are interesting enough to write about, but without an effective looking glass of meaning it is almost impossible for me to start tappin' on the keys. Just to illustrate, I will give you a single example of this from this past week at my camp.
On Wednesday, I noticed that the clouds were gathering, so I hustled to the office to see the radar. It was obvious that a storm was headed our way, but I didn't know how long it would take to get there, nor did I know its severity. So, while I was trying to figure those things out all of the computers at camp froze. My screen would not refresh. The animated map quit moving. The back button did nothing and of course the forward button did nothing either. Damn, after muttering some words that were unheard and inappropriate I bounded out the door to my cart to warn my staff about the storm. My best guess was 40 minutes till it hit us.
Okay, so I knew that in 40 minutes something would hit us, but I had no idea what it would look like. Would it rain out the entire day? Would it have lightning? Would it pass by quickly? I did not know. I found each one of my supervisors and told them my news. Each wanted more info. How long would it last? How severe would it be? Lightning? I did not know I told them, but I assured them I was working on it. My radio was on and I turned it to talk to the office. There was no info from them and at times I was sure I was being ignored, I wasn't, but it felt that way. As I was traveling back to the office, I stopped a girl on a rec cart and asked what information she had. She had nothing except that the busses were only shuttling students back to camp, no shuttles were taking students out of camp. That turned out to be a big something.
Well, that was all I needed. I let all of my supervisors know to not only shut down but to tear down as well. I told them to get all gear stowed away, but I still did not know what hazards this storm had. I only knew that someone, somewhere thought that it was severe enough to evacuate the rec fields. My foot mashed the accelerator on my cart and it seemed to understand my hurry because it seemed faster than usual. I went to the Amphitheater to make sure they understood to tear down as well. They did, so I started helping.
37 minutes after my first warning I walked to the ladder that my last staff member was using to get down off the course. Lightning was flashing, but the thunder was muted. Just as I grabbed the ladder to help her down the wind hit and chairs began flying across the concrete. Trash cans bounded over the stairs spilling their contents to the air. Then the rain hit, and it hurt. This wasn't some little misty rain. This was a curtain of big, giant drops driven by 60 mile an hour winds. We couldn't be heard in anything but our loudest screams. Three of us held the ladder so that it would not blow away. Sarah made it down and we all scrambled for shelter.
The skatepark staff, the amphitheater staff, a dozen or so students and myself huddled by the stage and in the skate room waiting for the storm to pass. I was frustrated. So many times I had worked hard to make sure that we were prepared for the worst weather. A couple of times we had to scramble, but we were always a team. We had always made it, and even if it was close we could say, "Yeah, alright! Praise God!" This time the worst did not happen, and I don't even think that it was the closest call we had ever had, but I felt all alone making that decision. It did not feel good.
Normally at this time I have some insight about how this is a metaphor for life or I have some sort of clincher, or I can make some quick quip and end it. Not this time. I don't know what it means and scarier still, I don't even know if it means anything.
A lot of stuff feels that way right now. A lot of stuff feels fun, or interesting, or scary, but for now, and I hope it is just for now, it does not seem to have much meaning. Maybe the only meaning it has is this, get prepared, because another storm will eventually find its way to camp, and we better be ready.

1

2008-12-28T09:53:00.001-05:00

It is not good to make decisions in the summer time. The laziness of the season contributes to a lethargy that numbs you much like tequila, slowly and seductively like a confidence man.

Such was my state of mind when I made my decision to leave my job of fifteen years to pursue ideals higher and mightier than comfort and convenience. I was convinced that I was stagnant. I knew that I had to jump out of the boat and swim for shore, and I knew that the cost of the dive might be my death, but I discounted the seriousness of the decision in my stupor. I was blinded by the prospect of personal growth and service to community.

My family encouraged the decision. I would be closer to home, they said. But I will have to work longer, I said. But you will drive less, they said. But I will work much harder, I said. But you live here… I agreed. In my application I said that I wanted the job because it is the very nature of teachers to make an impact on the community in which they live, and if the teacher lives in the community in which they teach that influence is multiplied by a power of compassionate effectiveness. A teacher that lives and walks where he or she teaches can change lives. I really believed it when I wrote it, because it was summer after all. I got the job.

The congratulations were unending. Friends were surprised that I had finally taken my own advice to be daring and to make bold uncomfortable decisions, and I noticed that none of them made similar decisions.

I was not worried. Why should I be? I was a great teacher. Everyone at my previous school said so. They said, “Don’t leave us…please.” I did anyway, anxious to show my mettle in a new field of battle. I needed to do this. I needed to grow. I needed to broaden my experiences. I needed the validation of a new medal on my breast.

In my fifteen years of teaching I had developed certain opinions about education, and I had decided that I was right, and I had decided that I needed to move into a position that would allow me to move my right opinions into right action. I wanted to become a principal and I felt that this decision was a step in that direction. It was risky to move from a job in which I excelled to a job in which I might not, but the risk was worth it. My beliefs about students were forged in a slow hot fire. I was right. I just needed…

A word. That is what I needed. A word of validation. You see, I am a person of faith, and it was this faith that almost cost me my life. I just needed a word, a promise, a whisper. I had told so many for so long that no one wanted you to know God’s will more than God that I had to act. I had to. I believed it to be the right decision. I knew that it was, but I wanted something a little more tangible than a belief. I wanted a word.

The word never came, but the first day to report did, so on the fourteenth of August I walked into Shawnee Middle School for the first time. I don’t think anyone noticed me.

Cellar

2008-12-27T10:01:00.008-05:00

I couldn't sleep last night. Sometime in the early hours of the morning my weather radio alarm went off. I stumbled out of bed to find out what catastrophe awaited us and heard that we were in a tornado watch. My family lives in Oklahoma, so that's no big deal. In Oklahoma you are either fascinated by thunder, lightning, and tornadoes, or you are terrified of them because of some close call. I have always been fascinated, but most of my family has always been terrified.

The number of times that I can remember being awakened in the early hours, hauled out of bed, and carried to the musty cellar is more than I can count. I'm not kidding. Trips to the cellar happened anywhere. At friends houses if were visiting during an alert, at relatives houses, all locales were potentially a trip to the cellar if the tornado siren sounded.

At my great grandmother's the trips to the cellar were scary. Her cellar was the size of a large shower, but her family was the size of a small army. It was dark and wet, and if it had been raining there would be boards on the floor to keep your feet out of the water. The walls were lined with shelves filled with canned vegetables and fruit. A single bare light hung from the ceiling. Its meager light never made it past the jars of canned vegetables. If it was a particularly nasty looking storm, many neighbors would drift into the cellar with us which meant that the youngest ones had to find empty spots in the shadows on the shelves. It was there on those shelves that I realized that I was far more scared of what was lurking in the shadows than what was roaring outside.

When I became a teenager I was given a little more freedom about when I would or wouldn't go to the cellar. Although I always felt like this freedom happened because I was older, I now know that the real reason was the advancement of weather radar. With the advanced doppler radar, Gary England, Oklahoma's premier weather man, would keep us advised while we were sitting in our living rooms. Instead of sitting in the cellar clutching a transistorized radio and waiting for the all clear siren, we would eat popcorn and drink Dr. Pepper while we watched the storm waltz around us. Now, we didn't have to go to the cellar unless we could see it's electronic footprints marching right at us.

One cloudy evening while I was outside watching storm clouds gather, my grandfather and grandmother pulled into our driveway. When they arrived I knew that we must be in a tornado watch. I followed them inside. They sat down on the couch, and I sat in a chair by the window. Gary England was in front of his doppler radar tracing out the expected path of the storm I had been watching outside. As ominous as the clouds appeared, we were only in a tornado watch. That didn't still my grandmother. She was shaking visibly and was chattering about needing to go to the cellar now. That was not an option I liked very much because it might mean that I had to go with her. You know how it goes; we don't want grandmother worried about her grandchild. In desperation, I told her that it was just a tornado watch, but her formative years were not spent with doppler radar. She knew that when the clouds were dark and swirling it was time to get underground.

Instead of comforting my grandmother I said something sarcastic. I don't remember the exact words, but I do remember saying them with a laugh. My grandfather stood up and said, "Marcine, we're leaving. I am not going to put up with that." They both got up and walked out as light rain began to fall. My parents didn't say anything to me. Maybe they were thinking the very thing I said, or maybe they knew that I was feeling guilty enough not to need any correction. I don't know which, but I do remember watching them leave hoping that the storm wouldn't get any stronger.

So, last night the sound of thunder and wind driven rain was echoing through my bedroom and through my head. It made me anxious, and I wasn't sure why. Now, after thinking about it for several hours, I think that I have an answer. I don't have a cellar.

Rule Number One

2008-12-13T07:59:00.004-05:00

I am about to break a rule that I had established for myself a while ago. I had said to myself that I would only post narratives that involved me. I would no longer post positions or beliefs or opinions unless they could be revealed by my experience.

So, what is this post going to be about? Well, just let me say that on one hand I am frustrated with everything theological. Why? Well, it is just that when we approach Christian Theology with a microscope we are doomed to committing some horribly grievous errors. Remember these are the opinions of one not theologically trained, so you may be wondering why all of the smoke and mirrors before I actually get to the point. The answer to that is, its complicated.

One of my dearest friends took issue with me about a book that I liked very much. There was much concern that it was not theological. There was even some concern that it was heretical. They wanted me to read a review by a theologically trained person about the weaknesses of this book. I did.

Here is what I found out, but you need to be forewarned that my discoveries had very little to do with the book review.

1. I am very glad that going to seminary was not in the cards, that it was not in the will of God, that the tea leaves didn't show up a the bottom of my cup spelling a fuzzy "if you go you will understand," primarily because I am becoming convinced that if I had gone I would understand less.
2. I have decided that my above mentioned rule was a good one, and now I am contemplating some sort act of contrition to remind me to never break that rule again.
3. I have decided that it is absolutely true that I don't understand very much, but I am just as convinced that most of those claiming to understand don't.
4. I am bewildered that in the interest of theology, and in the interest of upholding the faith, so much energy would be spilled out by those who are trained in biblical studies onto an area that they are somewhat less trained, Literature. Those who have been trained in the inerrantness of scripture have a very hard time understanding any literary devices like hyperbole, metaphor, simile, foreshadowing, or poetic language or imagery even though the Bible is filled with them. If I were to point this out, the response would be quick that those things are okay unless the topic of your literary work is faith.
5. I have decided that I do still believe in scripture. I am not checking out on God's Word, but I am going to be very careful where I go for mentoring in understanding it, however. I am not looking for some open theologian. Believe it or not, I still believe in the inerrant message of the bible.
6. I still like my book.

Jingle Bells

2008-12-06T10:36:00.006-05:00

For as long as I can remember my favorite Christmas song was "Joy to the World." I remember singing it in elementary school plays when singing such songs was legal. I also remember the first time in second grade that I wondered to myself what kind of Lord could bring such joy. It was a few years before I really understood that Lord or the joy he could bring, but a lack of understanding did not keep me from appreciating the hope that was in the song.

Sure, Joy to the World has always been my favorite Christmas song, but it has been displaced this year by a different one; one that I would have never suspected. The change in my favorite song happened two days ago on my afternoon bus route.

I pulled into the school to pick up my kids, and many of them were anxiously awaiting my arrival with their jackets buttoned and their hoods up. I would have thought that they were hopping around to stay warm if I didn't already know that they usually hop around, but today the hopping was quite exaggerated. So, With all the hopping and bouncing and yelling, I was concerned that this might be a very crazy bus ride.

I noticed that one of my kids was more hyper than the rest. He is a small 1st grader with close cut blonde hair, a bright mischievous smile, and thick glasses that make his blue eyes look like a pair of dinner plates. He bounced up the steps onto the bus and began leaping from seat to seat. I had to call him down several times, and he eventually settled two seats behind me. He leaned his body over the seat in front of him so he could see the lost and found items under the dashboard.

I whispered to him, "Drake, do you know what month this is?"

In a voice just as soft as mine, he said, "No."

I said, "December." As the rest of the bus grew strangely quiet I realized that they thought we were sharing secrets that they were not supposed to hear.

He said, "Okay."

I said, "Do you know why December is special?"

"No."

"Well, Drake, December is the month of Christmas."

No longer whispering, Drake said, "OHH!"

He sat back in his seat in a more relaxed manner. Soon, just before the buses started leaving, he began bouncing ever so slightly. Then, as I pulled the bus away from the elementary school he began whispering again. "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way." there was a slight pause and then, "jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way." Another pause and then, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. jingle bells jingle bells, jingle all the way."

He began looking around like he might find the next words written somewhere on the roof of the bus. "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way." His face drew up pensively. His bright smile lowered then got big again and a new twinkle came to his magnified eyes. He began again with more confidence but still in a whisper, "Jingle Bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh" At that moment at the top of my lungs I yelled. "HEY!" He fell back into his seat with a wide look of surprise. Every student on the bus turned to see what was wrong with the crazy bus driver, and then I started whispering, "Jingle bells, jingle bells,"

Drake caught on and he started the song as well. Soon the entire bus was whispering Jingle Bells, but every time we got to sleigh they would stop and let me yell, "HEY!" as loud as I could. The bus began a medley of favorite Christmas songs of which we were lucky to know a single line. None of that mattered as every person on that bus was singing and smiling and waving and laughing. It was then that I realized the power of the Lord that could bring joy. So, this year, and probably only for this year, my favorite Christmas song is Jingle Bells.

A Gift for Dad

2008-12-04T20:47:00.004-05:00

It happened to me again. A simple writing prompt sent shivers down my spine when it inspired a 7th grader to write a response that floored me. The prompt was simple: Who would you most like to buy for this Christmas? What would you get for them, and why would you buy for that person?

This time it did not happen until the last period of the day. I had heard my fill of things like video games for my mom, and vacations for my dad and others that involved special trips for the entire family minus the annoying little brother.

Well, I almost didn't let this young man share his, but thank God I did. He said that the person he would most like to buy for was his dad. I thought, Okay, that is about the 13th Dad today, no big deal. But I became intrigued when he said that the thing that he wanted his dad to have was a photo album of all of his pictures from when he was born to present. That sure did not seem like much of a "man" gift, so I asked him why he wanted to give his dad a photo album.

He said, "Mr. Gibson, I want my dad to have that because he left me when I was two days old, and I have not seen or heard from him since. I want him to have a chance to see his son."

I said, "But if your dad left you like that why in the world would you want him to have such a special gift?"

He answered, "Mr. Gibson, I am trying to forgive him."

Weekend!

2008-10-24T09:34:00.003-04:00

Everyday I start my classes with a "bellringer." Some teachers call it boardwork, and others call it a bell activity. On this particular day my "bellringer" was a short writing prompt. It was very simple, and I was convinced that it would be a good topic for my students to show some creativity in their writing.

On the white board at the back of the room under "Thursday's writing prompt" I wrote, "How would your life be different if there were no weekends. Please explain your answer." I began thinking of all the things that my students would say. I knew that some of them were going to say that they hated school, and if they had to go all the time they would start skipping classes to get a break. I knew that some of them would say that if there were never any weekends they would not get to go to church. I also knew that some would say that without weekends college football games and tailgate parties would come to an end, and I knew that some students would say that without weekends they would never be able to have a sleepover with their friends.

I knew all of those. They weren't that hard to predict, but it did not take long for my students to share a loss from "no weekends" that I never thought of. It happened in my first hour class. Almost all of the predicted answers came from various students. Many were excited to share a distaste of school in an approved teacher led activity. Others wanted to share a little thing about themselves with the class. Finally, I called on a small, shy, girl in the center of my classroom.

She started, "I think my life would suck if there were no weekends. I would have to go to school every day, and I don't think I could handle that for very long. I don't hate school; I would just need a break from it. I would also hate not being able to see my friends that don't go to this school. Without weekends I may not be able to see them...ever. The most terrible thing about not having weekends, though, would be that I would never be able to see my dad."

As soon as she said it several other students shot their hands up and said almost in unison, "Me too!" I was crushed. I tried to hide my concern by moving on to the next activity, but another student said, "At least you get to see your dad. Mine left me when I was only two. I have never seen him since. " After this young man shared several students nodded their heads in agreement. I paused and let the class finish the discussion. I said that I was sorry and we moved on.

The same basic scenario happened in two more classes that day. This time I was prepared to let the discussion happen. It reminded me of "The Shack." When God was asked why he presented himself to the world as Father he said "because after the fall I knew that there would be a severe shortage of good fathering." I am not bringing this up to say how terrible the world is. I am not trying to say that men are terrible, or that men are slackers or any of that. No, I am only bringing this up to say that this is the way things are. I would like to change it, but at least for the students in my room, I can't. The only thing I can do is know it. I need to know that this is how things are. I need to know that this world is not heaven, and I need to help students that don't have the blessings that I do.

Today is the first day of a 3 day weekend for the students at my school. I really hope that they are all having a good time.

Gwasshopuh!

2008-09-21T20:51:00.004-04:00

Do any of you have any idea what it takes to have 5 preschoolers simultaneously leave their bus seats screaming at the top of their lungs? Well, as of Friday I can tell you that all it takes is a single, small grasshopper.

Friday afternoon I was driving my wife's afternoon bus route. Why was I doing that? Well, it is just because I broke her leg recently, but that is another story. Anyway, as I was driving down the busiest, narrowest road on my route I saw the little green miscreant fly in through one of the open windows on the bus. It landed on the trashcan that I keep right next to my right foot. It just sat there.

I remember looking down at its compound eyes and wondering how something so small and innocent, could have such a look of mischieviousness. At that exact moment it launched itself into the air behind me. The preschoolers that I keep in the seats right behind mine began screaming, and then they began chasing, and then I began screaming, and then they began screaming lounder and of course so did I.

I was screaming, "SIT DOWN NOW!" and watching traffic for a place to pull over safely. The pre-schoolers all had a look of joyous rapture on their innocent faces. It was obvious to me that they were completely unaware of my screams and yells. They were fascinated by this mysterious, small, green visitor.

"Look at the gwasshopuh!" Shouted the smallest one.

"I almost caught it!" shouted another.

"Its GWEEN!" yelled the tallest one gleefully.

Admittedly I should have been smiling while I found a place to pull over to calm the situation, but all I could imagine was having to hit the brakes hard and having one of these little ones catapult up the aisle toward me. Thankfully just as I found a place to pull over the gwasshopuh flew out the same window he flew in. All of the children immediately went back to their seats without me saying a word and acted like nothing ever happened.

What did I do? Why I just kept driving.

Grace

2008-09-15T21:16:00.003-04:00

Last week I realized that for all of my believing life I have been mistaken about one of the most important stories in the Bible. Trust me, I was not mistaken on purpose. No, quite the contrary. I believed my little incomplete truth with all of the passion that a man can have. For all of those years, at least in my mind, I was not wrong and I would have told you. Now, thankfully, I have been corrected, but the explanation for this little spiritual faux pas is a little bit complicated.

The story that was the source of this misunderstanding is simple. Shortly before his crucifixion, Jesus gathers all of his disciples together. He is holding a basin of water and some towels. It soon becomes obvious that Jesus is about to wash their feet. The disciples are at the very least uncomfortable with this, but only Peter is able to voice what it seems to me many of them were feeling. "Jesus, you will not wash my feet. I will wash yours."

Now that seems like a reasonable statement. Hierarchy would dictate that the lesser serve the greater. It was unthinkable to Peter that this man, Jesus, would do this menial dirty job. The man that Peter followed was surely above such a humiliation, but Jesus did not see it that way. In fact, Jesus's response to Peter left no room for doubt. "Peter, if you don't allow me to do this you will have no part in me." Of course Peter repented of his resistance to Jesus's plan with great gusto, but Jesus's words, "Peter, if you don't allow me to..." have always been easy for me to understand.

It was simple really. Washing feet was like a ritual or something, kind of like baptism or the Lord's supper. Now I know that my church never claimed that it was, but to me it seemed like it was some sort of spiritual initiation that was required if you wanted to be in the "12." Of course my spiritual friends would always reserve foot washing for some pseudo religious ceremony with lit candles which did a great job of reinforcing my mistaken belief. Occasionally one of my spiritual leader friends would sit on the floor and one by one take off our shoes and socks, dip our reasonably clean feet in cold water and then dry them off with a white towel. Often the pseudo ceremony would be filled with sobs and tears, but it always appeared solemn, and I always felt that I had accumulated quite a few spiritual bonus points for my participation in the ceremony.

One disclaimer; My sarcastic tone is not meant to define the event in which I participated or those who practiced it with me, instead it is meant to define my attitude of self-righteousness that accompanied my participation in the event.

So, what is the big mistake in my belief. Well, just as simply I have come to realize that Jesus did not wash the disciples feet to start some church ordinance. He did not want us to start some candle lit ceremony with white towels. No, not any of that. Jesus wanted to wash the feet of his disciples. He wanted to submit to them. Please don't get worked up by my use of the word submit, but that is what he did. He blessed them by getting down on his knees to perform a humiliating task, one that was reserved for hired help. Jesus didn't say that Peter would have no part because it was an initiation that Peter must participate in, no. Instead, Jesus said that unless Peter allowed Jesus to wash his feet he would have not part because that is how grace works.

Hear me out for a minute. This summer I switched jobs. Not a big deal, except that it meant a large pay cut, which I was aware of, and a month without pay, that I was not aware of. Luckily we still had some little bit of emergency fund that might hold us through, but we weren't sure. Halfway to the first paycheck I broke my wife's foot in a lowspeed motorcycle accident which meant she could not work. In spite of moving to an incredibly rewarding, but challenging job, I took over her job in addition to mine. I was a little bit stretched.

Well, God happened in that stretched moment. I have been blessed like I could never describe. My incredible church family has responded in ways that can only be called miraculous. My own family has blessed me amazingly. Random people have blessed me. Like Peter, I have been reluctant to accept, but when I did the heavens opened up. I began looking at the people in my life in a whole new light. I began noticing small blessings as well as large ones. I began to be able to bless people with what I had been given. Why? because I let some very dear friends and family help me. I let them humble themselves to bless me.

No, foot washing is not about some initiation, unless...unless you want to call it an initiation into experiencing the kinship of the family of God, and if I had refused... I would have not had a chance to experience any part of it... at all. So... I am just wondering, should I break my wife's other leg?

Just kidding.

The Shack

2008-09-06T05:03:00.006-04:00

On labor day weekend I went to Colorado with my son and a few of my friends. Going on the trip was a difficult decision because my wife had just been injured in a very low speed motorcycle incident. Now, before you start thinking that I'm a callous jerk for leaving her here, you need to know that it was her idea for me to go. She had plenty of help while I was gone, and more importantly she is a loving wife that wanted her son and her husbend to have a good time. She did have on condition, however. She wanted me to read a book.

The book she wanted me to read is called "The Shack" by William Young. It is a piece of Christian fiction. Please understand that I am not usually a fan of Christian fiction. I have never and probably will never read the Left Behind series. This is because I am not sure what I believe about all that stuff. Usually, though, I don't like Christian fiction because I feel that many mediocre writers write nominal stories under the guise "Christian" that would never be published in any other setting. So it was with this bias that Christian fiction means "marginally written" that I took the book with me to Colorado.

One other introductory note; my wife wanted me to go and to read the book because she has been concerned about me. I am not sure about all of the reasons why, but it seems that she is afraid that I am angry with God because of some difficult things going on in my life. She is partly right. I do have a lot of stuff going on right now, and I suppose that I believe that God is behind it. I also suppose that I am not happy some of the stuff going on, but angry? Maybe. Angry at God? It is just that I know he can change the stuff if he wants. Maybe, just maybe, I am more concerned that God is angry with me.

After doing a bit of research I found out that this book is causing a bit of a stir. Apparently, some of our esteemed christian leaders love this book while some others have cautioned their listeners not to read it. It seems that in William Young's portrayal of God, quite a few believers have had their feathers rustled.

Well, let's be honest. The book can rustle some feathers. Why? well primarily because of the way that God is portrayed in the book. At the beginning of the novel we find out that the principal character is a grown man named Mack whose childhood was marred by a Church leader, deacon dad who had his own set issues to face in the form of alcoholism and anger.

So, Mack grew up, went to seminary, at least for a while, and found a loving wife named Nan to share his life with. She had an intimate relationship with God became a model of intimacy for Mack. In fact, her relationship with God was so intimate that in her prayerlife, her name for God was Papa. Together Mack and Nan had several children, the youngest was a precocious sweetheart named Missy.

In the book, Missy is captured and killed by a serial killer which overwhelms Mack with more anger and depression problems. Mack refers this as his Great Sadness. Well, 3 years after his loss Mack gets a note asking him meet Papa in the shack where his daughter's bloody dress was found. Although he thinks it is a cruel joke, he goes anyway.

At the Shack, Mack meets God. Here is where a lot of the problems for our Christian leaders begin. It seems that God chooses to present himself, herself, umm, it's supreme self to Mack as a large African American Woman. After Mack Meets the large Black Woman named Papa he is greeted by a Jesus who is actually portrayed as a Middle Eastern Jew and an almost Asian female representation of the Holy Spirit named Sarayu.

I must confess that in my machismo I found it diffucult to fathom anything other than a masculine God, but trust me, William Young's story is not heretical. I read most of the story on the long drive back from Colorado and I often found myself staring out my window at the scenery not to watch the mountains fade from view, but instead to hide the tears forming in my eyes.

You see, this story let me know that I really was angry with God. I really do blame Him for much of my current situation. Now, I still blame God for the crap in my life, but this book helped frame the idea that a loving God really can allow crap to happen to someme that He loves. Crap in my life does not mean that God loves me less.

Dungeon Master

2008-08-10T08:38:00.004-04:00

As a young christian there were a few "don'ts" that were pounded into my head. This list of "don'ts" consisted of activities that if experienced would cause severe consequences to my life. Admittedly, I would not lose my salvation, but the Lord might take me home early so that I wouldn't screw up his work here on earth. The list wasn't very long but it was enforced with resolute passion.

The list began with drinking and drugs. Experience either one of these things and I would be on a "Highway to Hell," which leads me to another one of the "don'ts." Rock Music. Rock music was seriously forbidden. If I listened to its pagan syncopated rhythms long enough I would grow long hair, sacrifice my neighbors cat, and become a serial killer. Many of my christian friends had documented evidence of all these things happening to people who listened too long to the Devil's music.

Another no no on the list was the Monty Python movie "Life of Brian" and the movie "Last Temptation of Christ." The propaganda against both of these movies was so strong that I have still seen neither of them.

The last don't was more of a category. Into this last "don't" category were thrown numerous occultic activities. Actually, I can only remember three of these. The first was Ouija boards. They were of the Devil, and led directly to demonic possession. The second was Halloween. This activity required proactive steps. Instead of going out to accumulate candy with your pagan friends, good christians went to the church dressed up like scary bible characters for a "Harvest Festival." The last activity that I was to never participate in was.... Dungeons and Dragons. If I were to participate in this role playing game the dungeon master would hypnotize me and make me drink the blood of my neighbor's sacrificed cat.

Well, I have a confession to make. I played D and D last night with my son and some friends. It turns out that some of my Christian friends were closet D and D players. These are people that I love and respect. When I found out that they participated in such devilish nonsense I was quite... put out.

Eventually, I had to rethink my position. Was it possible that these loving caring individuals, people who had the love of Christ all over them, were actually agents of the devil? Well, I seriously doubted. I finally agreed to check it out for myself. Yes, I was suspicious. I looked for hidden motives in everything that happened. I was planning to yank a cross off the wall and ward off the players after they transformed into werewolves, or is it shoot their vampire hearts with a silver bullet, or...? Sorry, about that digression.

But anyway, I was skeptical, but you know what I found? I found a bunch of likeable, kind, odd guys playing a game that allowed them to laugh together, have fun together, and be together. Okay, maybe they were imagining way too much, but maybe some of us other types imagine way too little. I don't know, but I do know that I plan on playing again. I didn't see anything wrong with any of it. Maybe I was suffering from some kind of charm that befuddled my senses and made me unaware of the devilish snare that was being place around me. Maybe it was my first step on a "Highway to...," but I don't think so.

Disciple

2008-07-27T23:39:00.004-04:00

Most believers think they know what "Disciple" means. I used to know. It was pretty simple really. It went like this; Follow Jesus by reading the Bible, memorizing scripture, praying, fasting (if you're really serious,) avoiding alcohol and bars, not smoking, and staying sexually pure. I heard this over and over.

I continue to hear this being taught. I have heard people talk about discipling their friends by making sure that they do these things, and they are very careful not to leave out any of them. So, if we are really discipling people, why are there so few people that we can quickly recognize as believers? None of what was listed in my description is bad... not one single thing, but I have met people who did everyone of those things and still gave Jesus a bad name.

There was this one guy I knew in high school that had more scripture memorized than there was in the bible. (That was an example of hyperbole, so chill) He read his bible every day at lunch. He prayed in every class. He did not drink, and he did not date, so why is it that no one liked him? Was it just that he was suffering for Jesus? No, it wasn't any of that. You see, this young man was a total jerk. He was judgemental and uncaring. He wanted to argue and tear down. He was mean. Sure this guy took the command to "go and tell" seriously, but he forgot about some others.

In the end this young man became a male stripper. Apparently the work of disciple is a bit more difficult than he thought. In fact, it is impossible.

Here is what I mean. Most discipleship that I have seen focuses more on the work of memorization and reading and prayer and... But, what has happened to being transformed into the image Christ? What happened to feeding people? What has happened to loving your enemy? What has happened to being a friend of sinners?

I really need to make something clear. I am not in any way saying that we need not study scripture, or memorize it, or pray, or be pure, or... What I am saying though is that none of that is enough. When we disciple people we need to call people out when they are arrogant. We need to call people out when they are judgemental, when they are uncaring, when they are mean. We need to learn to encourage each other in love.

When I look back at the scripture I see that Jesus did this with his guys constantly. In fact, this is the kind of stuff scripture records about His discipleship program. It records him saying "feed my sheep," and "they will know you by your love," and "who is your neighbor," and "love your enemy." Jesus told us to forgive more times than was really practical. He said to give if asked. He was nuts and what he asks us to do is totally impossible.

Maybe it is because it is so impossible that we have neglected these things. Maybe it is because we can memorize, and we can read, and we can do all of that other stuff that we concentrate on it instead of love. Well, here is what I know; it really is impossible for me, but by Him and because of Him; you know what I mean? This stuff really is important to me. Besides, I would be a terrible stripper.

Change

2008-07-20T00:48:00.003-04:00

I really don't like change. I don't know why. I really don't, but I know that there is a great deal of change in my life right now. For example; I am changing jobs this school year. Instead of teaching in Moore, I will be teaching in Shawnee. That is actually a very large change, since it has some salary and extra duty issues attached to it.

Not only is my school year job changing, but my summer job will be changing too. For a long time, 10 years in fact, I have been able to run my little part of my summer camp with almost no outside interference. Well, that is going to change. You see, I turned down the opportunity to move up in my responsibilities at this camp, which means that someone else has taken that position. I turned down the offer primarily because I did not want to change the location of my abode. Davis, Oklahoma is great during the summer and all when there is so much to do that I can barely see straight, but it is a bit boring from September to May, at least to me. So, anyway, my decision to decrease change in one area of my life, home, has resulted in a great deal of potential change in another area of my life, work.

Now, of course I know that change can be good, and it can also be bad. In this case I think that the changes, whatever they may be, will be good for the camp. In spite of knowing this I still don't like change. I prefer status quo. I like stasis. I like waking up the same way every morning. I don't want to change.

Well, I was talking about this change with an important leader at my camp. I said that it looks like a lot of change is coming. I told him that I am not making any value judgements, but that change in and of itself makes me uncomfortable. Right in the middle of this discussion, a student camper walked up to us and spoke to my friend. She told him, "Hey, guess what! I was saved tonight." My friend and I looked at each other, smiled and said, if that continues to happen the changes will be worth it.

Here is what I don't get. Why is it that even if I know a change will help me, or it will help someone else, or it will help the world, why is that it still makes me feel so uncomfortable? I know it does not make any sense. That is why I want to change.

Distractions

2008-07-15T10:44:00.004-04:00

This last week I was again reading, "Prayer" by Phillip Yancey. In it Yancey said that Martin Luther occasionally struggled with the discipline of prayer. According to Yancey, Luther said that at the moment he earnestly begins to spend a season of time in prayer he would be besieged by every imaginable stray thought you could imagine.
I know that this is not only true for Martin Luther, it is also true for me. The moment that I engage my mind in prayer to the almighty creator of the universe, the moment that I bow down low to him, the moment that I beseech, beg, proclaim, petition or pray, an awesome avalanche of unrequested thoughts assail me. I wonder about my new job. I wonder about my old job. I wonder about my son, my wife, my staff, my church, my finances...all of it comes crashing down on top of me like a ton of...well, like an avalanche.
Of course these are the very things that I should be submitting to God in prayer; I know that. But you must understand that these thoughts are not prayers. They are worries and anxieties born out of the idea that I am master of my fate. If my finances are in a mess I must be the one to fix them. If my marriage is in a mess I must fix that as well.
It is these very efforts to solve my own problems that ruin my prayer life. Martin Luther blamed the devil. Usually I shy away from such mystical explanations. Instead, I choose to believe in an omnipotent God, one who gives the devil his marching orders, one who knows every step of wily one and counters it with beneficence for his children.
This time, however, I think that Luther is right. It is in this very area of prayer that Satan does his most serious damage. This is exactly what happened to Adam and Eve. "Did God really say?" "But you could be like him, you know?" "You could control your own destiny."
I must admit that I almost always buy the devil's argument. I rush to solve the things vexing me with ineffective mental effort and poorly laid plans at the expense of time with God.
I am Adam again. "God, I must handle this. It requires my immediate attention."
Somehow I must realize that problems and anxieties are not randomly cast into my path to test my character or endurance. Instead, they are opportunities to be who I was created to be, a companion of the living God.

Tim

2008-07-10T10:39:00.003-04:00

Last week I met a young man named Tim. He is 13, and he seems like a very pleasant young man. I was touring all of the ropes course elements in my golf cart when I stopped at the climbing wall and listened as my instructors gave their instructions to the students who were waiting for their turn. My lead instructor said, "If you know where you are going, go ahead and get in line behind the belay bench where you want to climb."

Tim, who had climbed onto the rear seat of my cart, said, "I know where I am going."

I responded, "To heaven?" thinking that Tim would appreciate this question at church camp.

Tim said, "I'm not sure."

Talk about divine encounters. I spent a great deal of time talking to Tim. I tried to find out what made him so unsure about his eternal destiny, but I did not get very far. I asked him if we could pray. He said no as his eyes reddened and tears began to slide down his cheek. I became quite concerned about Tim. I asked about getting one of the sponsors from his church involved in our conversation. His answer was again, "No."

As long as our conversation was on spiritual matters he was very distraught. When we talked about climbing or camp or puppies his eyes would brighten. After talking to him for 15 minutes I tried one more time to talk about his spiritual condition. Immediately his expression saddened and tears began to form again. He said, "I don't know if I can go through this again."

As difficult as it was I honored his requests. I did not pray with him. I did not tell any of his sponsors about his trouble and I did not go to his cabin to talk to his youth minister. He had flatly denied my requests to do all of these things.

The next morning I told the story to my staff in our morning meeting, and the climbing wall staff said that Tim climbed there every day. They promised me that they would look out for him. That afternoon when I drove up to check he was half way up the wall. He saw me and smiled. He said, "In 5 years when I am old enough I am going to work for you."

I said, "I hope so Tim." I got in my golf cart and drove off. Since that day last week I have prayed for Tim every day, and I have had to trust that God is more concerned about Tim than I am. Maybe I should have disregarded Tim's requests and talked to someone, but I decided not to. It just seems to me that it is a bit hypocritical to disrespect someone's wishes as I am encouraging someone to respect the wishes of their creator.

So what do I do now? Well, although I have been quite skeptical of prayer lately I have been running into many signs and symptoms in my life that are pointing me back to the discipline of prayer. One of those signs is a book that I have been reading, "Prayer," by Philip Yancey. This book has been moving me along in my understanding of prayer and its purpose and power. It isn't so much that the book is answering all of my questions, but it is letting me know that I am not the only one with questions.

Through this book I am realizing that the purpose of prayer is not more stuff. The purpose of prayer is not the imposition of my will on the universe. That would make God my servant, which is not so. Prayer is a time when my heart and will and mind can be opened up to the heart and will and mind of the Almighty. I can share my concerns with Him and I can have His concerns poured into me.

So what do I do now? Well, God, I met this kid last week. His name was Tim and...

Incomprehensible

2008-05-17T01:38:00.004-04:00

I suppose that there must be something wrong with me. It isn't that I am dying, or that I have noticed some physical symptom creeping into my consciousness from some small distant speck of a complaint. No, it isn't any of that at all. Instead, it is that I have noticed an unwillingness in my spirit that is troubling, but to be honest, I doubt it will change anytime soon.

You see, there is this place on the inside of me that is aching to express itself. It wants to yell and scream. It wants to make enough noise to be noticed, but even worse it wants to be understood, and it is this need to be understood that keeps it quiet because it is terrified of just being the meandering mental gymnastics of a philosophical fool. Occasionally, a quiet little clue will creep out, but the clues aren't understood. To be honest they are incomprehensible.

This place doesn't want to face a torrent of criticism about its very existence. It knows that it should not be. It knows that very well. But, inspite of all the shoulds, there is no disputing the fact that lurking just beneath the surface is a well of doubt and suspicion.

I know that is sounds like a guy ready to renounce his faith, but that is not it at all.

I remember this one episode of Star Trek that really intrigued me as a teenager. The Federation and the Klingons were fighting over this planet of pacifists. They seemed weak and fragile and stupid. The Klingons, evil planet grabbers that they were, were killing the pacifists for not submitting to their Imperial rule. The Federation was trying to protect the pacifists by killing the Klingons. Well, eventually the weak, stupid, fragile pacifists said, "Stop!"

It turns out that they weren't stupid, weak or fragile. They were more powerful than either the Klingons or the Federation could imagine. Even Spock didn't see it coming. These powerful pacifiststs took control of both of the beligerent space vessels. The problem is that they didn't just reprove the Klingons for their aggressive behavior, they reproved the Federation for their violent protectionism. The powerful pacifists were in no need of protection from the puny Federation and were appalled at the methods that the Federation was using to promote justice.

I feel like I am part of the Federation. No, I have not been trying to save a bunch of pacifists, but I have been trying to protect the name and image of a God that I have horribly underestimated. Now don't get me wrong. I am not saying that I should just laugh when His name is blasphemed...Not at all. What I am saying though, is that I have missed the point.

This is the spot that is crying out constantly wanting to be noticed and understood. I want to emphatically and clearly ask God, "So, what is the point?"

Here is what I know so far.

The point is not about protecting the image of God with my vote.

Yelling at people doesn't help.

Yelling at God doesn't help either, but I do feel better.

Bumperstickers only make matters worse.

Most Christian music takes complex things and trivializes them to uselessness.

Praise music only praises God if I am already praising Him with my life. If I am not, praise music is nothing more than spiritual alcohol.

Jesus may be the answer, but it seems that most people aren't asking questions anymore.

So there it is. I have spoken it as clearly as I can. I hope it isn't incomprehensible.

Rain

2008-04-29T21:53:00.006-04:00

I live on 20 acres of beautiful pasture. My family and I have lived on this piece of land for 2 years. Our house is set at the back of the property, over a creek and up a slight hill. The view from our living room window is to the west, so every evening we are treated to an explosion of color as the sun sets below the horizon. Many times I have sat down transfixed at the neon shades of purple, pink, blue and yellow thrown into the sky around the setting sun as if the supply of color was limitless.

I wish I could say that this view is free. You see, I wish I could say that this view was easy to get and inexpensive to maintain. Well, it isn't. I am not saying it isn't worth it. I am just saying that it has a cost. You see to get this view my house is set on top of the hill farthest from the road. If it were closer to the road, the trees that grow along the border of the road would block my view of the western sky. Dust from the traffic on the gravel road would settle on my windows spoiling the already limited view. That is why we could not build closer to the road. Aesthetics would simply not allow it.

But you see, to get to the top of that far hill I have to cross an innocent shallow creek that is dry far more that it is wet. In fact, we built our house during a drought, so I almost never saw water running through this little hazard. It would only be a minor problem. I mean look at it. Dry, shallow, innocent, sleepy, it was all of these things.

Yes, it was all of these things until last summer. The spring and summer of 07 marked a violent end to the drought of 06. Our sleepy, innocent creek flooded at least a half dozen times because of rainstorms that would pour multiple inches of rain on our area in just a few hours. Each time one of these freaks of nature happened, the gravel that we had used to construct our creek crossing went rushing into Shawnee Lake. In between storms it was all we could do to keep our 1/4 mile long drive drivable.

Gravel is not cheap. It seems like it ought to be but it is not. The gravel that we put on our drive has to be hauled from a quarry and stored at a gravel lot. Then it has to be loaded onto large trucks and hauled to my drive. I say to this only to explain why it took us so long to replace the gravel that we lost. In fact, it was only 3 weeks ago that we decided to splurge to buy a single load of gravel to place on the most woeful place in our driveway. This spot was a large mudhole just before the actual creek crossing. Everytime we crossed it in one of our vehicles we thought we would have to be hauled out of it with a tractor, but everytime we we beat the odds and made it to work, or to school, or to church or just out of there.

Before we bought the gravel we made careful preparations. We wanted the ground to be dry enough to get the tractor in to spread the gravel where it needed to go. We wanted to make sure we would have a decent weather window so that we would be able to get our work done without a storm interfering in the work. We thought all was well. The gravel truck dumped the gravel, and then I got on my tractor and spread it where it needed to go. All was well until the unpredictable Oklahoma weather stepped in. All of the weather reports said, "light rain." Well, inspite of being in the middle of the weather prediction universe they got it wrong.

You see, within two days of dumping gravel a supercell thunderstorm formed and parked its precipitation laden backside right over my property. I watched thinking, "It will pass. It must pass soon. These freaks of nature surely can't happen all the time." Well, truth be told they don't. Neighbors told me that in all of the 50 plus years that they had lived on my road they had never seen the number and intensity of rainstorms that we had seen this past year. The rareness of the event did not move me to awe. It move me to anger. What do I do when I experience righteous anger over events like this. Well, I'll tell you. I pray.

I wish I could tell you that I pray a nice submitted prayer like, "Thank you God for blessing us with your merciful gift of rain." Nope. My prayer was a whining, complaining, frustrated mess. "God, I just put gravel down. Could you be merciful to me and move this storm on its way? Don't let it park here and wash my gravel away. I am your servant. Don't you care that I bought this property to honor you?" This I prayed in the middle of the night listening to heavy raindrops pound into my roof and blow onto my windowpanes. I was frustrated. God, was quick to answer. As soon as my last prayerful request passed my lips, the weather radio began a loud monotonous wail. I got up to check. It said, "Attention: Bethel Acres, you are under a flash flood warning. You have already recieved a lot of rain but you aint seen nothin' yet!"

I cursed under my breath, but apparently louder than thought because it awakened my wife. She said, "What was that for?" I explained my problem with gravel and the elements and God's quick answer to my prayer. Her only response was, "You better be careful."

Well, let me tell you. I was tired of being careful... Sick and tired of being careful. My whining became an angry rant because I knew that I had just received my answer from the Lord. "Trent, shut up your whining. If I want to flood the world I can. You chose this place to build your house. Your a smart guy. You knew what creeks do when it rains, so don't build your house under a mountain and complain about the avalanche. Don't build your house in the flood zone and whine about the rain. Don't..."

Believe me I got the point.

Last night I was sitting in my living room. Believe it or not the pinks were little more electric, and the blues were just a little brighter and...

SUVs Are Good!?!

2008-04-02T21:27:00.006-04:00

Belief is scary. Belief is dangerous. Belief divides us and transforms us. Sure it sounds all nice and pretty, but it isn't. It seems like it would be a such a peaceful helpful thing, but I am sure that the internal combustion engine seemed all great at one time as well.

Let me tell you how all of this came up. I was listening to a an NPR program about John McCain's view on "aggressive interrogation techniques," and I had this thought. To be honest I have no clue what John McCain said because my mental taxi driver took me to a different street than I expected to go. When the meter quit ticking I found myself at another NPR program in my memory, but this program was about Hillary Clinton not John McCain. She was asked if there was any situation that she could foresee that would convince her to condone the use of torture. She said that there was absolutely no circumstance that could. The questioner then said another influential person stated that if he believed, no knew that a person in custody had information that could save an American city he would have to consider every means possible to get that information to save hundreds of thousands of lives. The questioner then told Hillary that the person he just quoted was her husband Bill. Hillary said, "Well, he isn't here, is he?"

Now don't go thinking I am some torture monger, but I must admit that if I found myself in that situation torture, truth serum, water boarding, and any other unspeakable act that might motivate a stubborn terrorist to talk would at least cross my mind. Of course, I would have to believe that the terrorist had information that would save lives.

And that is the problem isn't it. Belief. Belief changes what I will and will not consider. I mean if I believed that God had an intimate bond with the soul of the unborn fetus wouldn't I be more vocal about the termination of that life? Others who have believed such have gone to far greater lengths than that to protest abortion. I mean if I believed that a fiery burning hell awaited all who rejected Christ wouldn't I yell and cry and persuade? Wouldn't I be more interested in the lives of the people around me than squeezing a few more mpgs out of my old car?

What if I believed that this world was shortly going to be subject to a violent and catastrophic end, and that at the conclusion of that event a new and better world would begin? Would I get a scooter for my long trip to work to save gas and cut down my contribution to Global Warming? No, of course not, instead I would burn every carbon containing molecule I could find and yell bring on Global Warming! Let the End come so that a new earth, a better one can begin!

What if I believed that no matter how hard I worked I would never be successful. I encounter this one every day. Students who have failed and failed and failed again come to my classroom not ready to quit, but having already quit. I have found that until I deal with the faulty belief, nothing will help that student succeed.

What if I had a dying child and I believed that Jesus Christ had the answer to my child's desperate condition. What would I do? I would seek him out. I would beg him, plead with him, promise him anything he wanted, give him all that I had to gain his favor toward my child, and then... then he would ask me if I believe.

I am not saying that I want to destroy abortion clinics, or drive SUV's until we can sunbathe nude at Christmas. No, I am not saying any of that. I am saying that at this point in my life I am unsure about many of the beliefs that I have held since my acceptance of Christ's lordship of my life. I am unsure because if I really believed those things I would behave in a manner very much unlike how I currently behave. I am not saying that my current life is completely contrary to the will of God. Actually, what I am trying to say is that my efforts to follow God intimately are taking me to places that do not make sense to the beliefs that I have held for so long.

I am having to resort, reexamine, refocus my life based on what I am finding out was the real message of Christ; Make this place like heaven.

Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief.

Reward

2008-03-12T19:21:00.006-05:00

I have this idea in my head about who Jesus is. Admittedly, it changes quite a lot, but that doesn't keep me from creating elaborate images of who I think He is. Of course the more elaborate the image that I create, the more crushed I am when the house of cards that held this elaborate image comes crashing down. I am in pretty good company, however.

I mean if you read the gospels they are filled with instances when Jesus took great delight in blowing down the house of cards that the disciples were building about who He, Jesus, is. It happened when the rich young ruler came along, and it happened when a few children decided that they wanted to see Jesus. In each case the disciples were left wondering, "What in the world is this guy about."

In one particular story this idea becomes painfully apparent. The story I am talking about is the story of the workers in the vineyard. You see this guy needs to get all of his grapes harvested, so he hires a few guys to work for a day. He promises them a certain wage and they agree. Apparently the master of the vineyard is concerned that they will not get done in time, so he hires a few more workers a couple hours later. A few hours after that the master hires some more people, and a couple of hours after that he does it again. Curious hiring practices in my opinion.

Well, the time comes to pay up and the master of the vineyard begins with the workers that have been there the shortest amount of time. He gives them the amount that was promised to the workers that started in the wee hours of the morning. Of course they, the workers that have been there since dawn, think that this is going to be their lucky day. I am sure they were already counting their chickens before the sun goes down... or someting like that.

Instead of paying the workers a premium, he merely fulfills his contract. He pays them what they agreed to. Of course they cry, "Foul! It is not fair."

"But you agreed, didn't you?"

Recently I was involved in a discussion about this story. One comment I heard was sure, all of us who trust in Jesus are saved whether we believe in our youth or in our deathbed, but our reward in heaven, surely our reward in heaven is determined by our faithfulness here on earth. Another said that even Jesus said to store up for yourselves treasure in heaven. This must be what he is talking about.

To all of this I profoundly and thoroughly disagreed. You see, when Jesus talked about storing up for yourself treasure in heaven he also talked a great deal about what treasure is. He talked about the Pearl of Great Price, and the Treasure on Trespassed Land. In each of these the treasure is worth more than anything else the seeker has ever had or hoped for. Treasure is what you give everything for. Treasure is what your heart longs for.

When asked what the reward is that Jesus gives to all those who follow him from youth or from the deathbed someone said, "eternal life." I said that is not good enough for me. Boy did that get me in trouble. I said that if we believe in the resurrection of souls, we believe in eternal life whether we like it or not. Even hell is eternal. No, I think that for eternal life to be special enough to be a reward there must be something else to it. Prolonged eternal existence with no purpose seems incredibly boring to me, but then again I have been diagnose with Adult ADD.

Anyway, whatever this something else is, it has to be a reward, and it has to be undiminished by time. I mean that this reward must be something that we can enter into here in the present because Jesus spent a lot of time talking about living in the kingdom now. After I thought about all of this, there was only one thing that met all of these conditions; Jesus.

This is the part that scares me. It seems that for the longest time I was convinced that heaven was going to be a place where I got to do what I wanted. I thought that if I deprived myself of enough stuff here, then Jesus would reward me with better stuff later. Basically, heaven was just a really cool, FDIC, behavioral bank account. If that is true then of course the guys who get started early are going to be irritated. I mean, why give up booze, movies, women, parties and coffee if I can renounce it all on my deathbed and get heaven too?

We believe this more than we want to admit. Seriously, did any of you think, "but Trent, what if we don't get a deathbed experience? What if we hit a tree at 80 miles an hour? If that happens then we will miss out on all the stuff in heaven." You see what I mean?

What if heaven isn't about fishing, or hiking, or doing whatever we want. What if heaven is about fulfilling our original created purpose of having fellowship with our maker? What if the reward of heaven is Jesus? Would that mean that if I am nice I get more Jesus than the guy that sticks the kick me sign on the nerd's back? What if we run out of Jesus? If that happens I want to make sure that I get mine first.

All of that is really silly. I experience Jesus now. There isn't more later. If I regret not being able to booze it up and drink too much coffee, then my heart isn't set on Jesus. He isn't my reward, and heaven won't be any fun.

Maybe, just maybe we need to be sad that the person that makes the deathbed decision had to wait so long to get his reward. Maybe the reward in heaven is the same for all. Maybe.

Grumpy

2008-03-11T21:52:00.002-05:00

The other night my family was returning home from a friend’s birthday party. It was late, so I was able to keep the high beams on almost the entire way home. As we got closer to home and the pavement changed to gravel my son began talking about a friend of his. He said, “You know what, I think my friend is changing.”

I was intrigued, so I asked him why he thought so. He gave me a very detailed and thoughtful response. I was impressed. His thoughtful analysis piqued my interest so I asked him, “What is your perception of me?”

He paused and then said, “Well, I guess I would say that you are a grumpy guy that tries to be funny.”

My wife laughed. I looked from the road to her, and she shrugged her shoulders, but she couldn’t hide her grin. I said to my son, “What do you mean? Do you really think that I’m not funny?”

He said, “No, dad, you are very funny, just not when you try to be. I mean your jokes aren’t very good, but when you are just talking you can say some pretty funny things.”
My wife whispered, “Your son knows you better than I thought.”
I grinned at her.

I pulled in front of our gate and as he was getting out of the car to open it I said, “Son, I hope you never say anything like that about me again.” He just stared at me. After a pause I said, “I was just kidding.”

He said, “See what I mean?” and then he opened the gate.

Life of Pi

2008-02-23T22:18:00.005-05:00

Recently I told my pastor that I tend to get more spiritual insight out of narratives and fiction than I do the typical christian literature. To make matters worse, the fiction that seems to move me the most is stuff that many evangelicals frown upon. It is literature that questions easy answers. It is like a flashlight in a dark room. Sometimes you feel safer if you turn the light off.

Some of the stories that made an impact on me in the past include Geek Love, Heart of Darkness, Blue Like Jazz, Lord of the Flies and now Life of Pi. Stories like these provide me with an intimate peek into what it means to be alive, to be human.

Life of Pi is the best book that I have touched in over a year. It is the story of a deeply religious teenager from a small province in India that loses everything dear to him in a shipwreck somewhere in the Pacific. In the 277 days that he spends in the lifeboat he finds the strength to continue to survive in a unusual source, a dangerous, adult Bengal tiger that shares the boat with him.

Don't be fooled into thinking that this is just some simple story about a kid that is thirsty in the middle of a giant ocean. It is not. The narrator of the story says that this is a story that will make you believe in God. Maybe, but I already do. What I do know is this; if you read this story you will see our need for God maybe just because it is the better story.

Heaven

2008-02-19T22:11:00.004-05:00

I will not let fear of hell motivate me. I will not let fear of hell motivate me. I will not let... You get the picture. Right now I am struggling with the idea that fear motivates me much of the time.

When it is not motivating me, I am expecting it to motivate others. I expect people to cringe at the thought of hell, to change because of it, to be transformed rather than suffer it. Deep down though, I know that this is a really stupid idea if God is anything other than a raving mad man bent on raining death and destruction on all who oppose him. At least I am aware of the futility of having the prospect of hell move me to any real relationship with God. At least I am aware of the futility of the prospect of hell moving anyone to a deeper understanding of God. At least I am aware.

This does not mean that I don't believe in hell. I do. The problem is that I have absolutely no idea what it is other than a bad place that I don't want to visit. There is another problem in my belief in the afterlife that I have just realized that is much more dangerous for my spiritual growth. You see, not only is my idea of hell motivating people to have a richer more full relationship with God ludicrous, my idea of being motivated by the promise of a better life in heaven is just as ludicrous as my idea of hell.

Here is what I mean. I am afraid that many times believers give up on working to make this world a better place because, "this world will never be like heaven." We decide that justice for all is a pipe dream. We decide that we will always have the poor with us, shoot even Jesus said that, so why fight poverty? We decide that we don't need to clean up our environment because this world is temporary anyway. I am afraid that my belief in Heaven, as wonderful as I am sure that it is, is helping me to make this world more like hell.

My guess is that I am not alone. The promise of heaven allows me to put off things that I know I should do. I suspect that it does for others too. It allows me to tolerate much more than I should. I think that this is also true for others. Heaven, at least my belief in heaven, allows me to rest on my laurels. Wow, isn't a total misunderstanding on my part! I know that I must not be alone. I see evangelicals vote for people who will allow us to maintain our high standard of living even if it means the poorest of this planet get poorer. I continue to see evangelicals bless God for the wealth that allows them to drive a Lincoln Navigator to the post office, alone.

I don't mean to sound judgemental, and please forgive me if I do. It just seems a hard pill to swallow to realize that the life that Jesus calls me to is radically different from the life I choose to live. It is very convicting. I am getting better though. I am starting to make decisions that I hope will help to make God's will happen here just like it does in heaven. I have even started a new mantra... I will not wait on the promise of heaven. I will not wait on the promise of heaven...

rank

2008-02-19T22:01:00.002-05:00

Men are really simple creatures. We're not that hard to figure out. In fact, the most common trait of all men is that we love to rank things. We men have taken this compulsion and turned it into art.
You see, not only do we rank things, we get esteem from where we rank on lists, and we also get esteem from affiliating with things that are highly ranked on lists. This may explain the current state of depression among so many Patriot's fans. Almost the best ever... how hard it must be to almost be on top of the list.

The problem is that ranking and sorting is found in more things than football, or 70's rock bands. Ranking is also prevalent in faith. Much of our perceived esteem and value come from our spiritual rank among our brethren rather than from our savior.

Jesus understood this very well. He tried over and over to let us know that the Kingdom is not about who sits on His left or His right. It is not about who is greatest or least. It is not about rank. You don't get rank by being a priest, pastor, rabbi, or pope. There is no rank. The greatest is the least and the least is the greatest. There is Jesus and there is no second.

I am reminded of something I heard the dog whisperer say. Once when he was gently rebuking a lady for letting her dog control her, the lady asked, "So, who is the number one dog at your house."

He replied, "I am."

"So," the woman continued, "which dog is number two?"

"All of them."

Jesus says that when you do alms for the least it as for Him. Jesus gives up his rank willingly to bestow blessing on those around him. Jesus gives up rank to set people free.

I recently heard a man talk about how he left the Christian faith because it could not adequately explain suffering. He was very smart and had some very important sounding words that seemed plausible, but somehow it seemed like he was saying that since there was suffering then there could not be a "good" God. If the game won't play by my rules, I'll go home.

I started thinking about it. If there were no suffering. If all were happy and content and fed and sheltered, I would not have an opportunity to participate in the Kingdom by giving up rank. Sadly, we are more inclined to boast about our spiritual rank with those who question the magnificent sovereignty of our God. We deride them and persecute them, thinking that surely God is pleased with our defense of His nature when in fact our defense merely shows our doubt in our own beliefs.

In a book I am reading, Life of Pi, the author questions the faithful for running faster to defend our God than we run to serve the oppressed. I think he is on to something.

Dictator

2008-02-18T07:26:00.003-05:00

I saved the world last night from a megalomaniacal dictator wearing a black and gray uniform who spoke with a Scottish accent. The details are sketchy, but it does seem like I am a hero...at least in my dreams.

I seldom remember my dreams, but when I do... In this dream I knew that I had vanquished the evil man, but he came back. This is the part that is worth writing. When he came back, from where and to where and for what purpose I have no idea, he was wearing new pants. His uniform had been updated, sort of like a stylin' Fidel. His pants, which had been black in the front and gray in the back, had a wide, bright yellow stripe sewn in between the front and rear panels.

My dream ends with a very short monologue spoken by dictator. In his heavily rolling accent he said, "I'm back and I have new pants. I sewed them myself don't you know. They are louder than the day I was born, Ha Ha Ha."

Why this dream on this night I don't know. It may have been because I am fascinated with a new book, The Life of Pi, which is about a multi-faith, teenage Indian boy who survives a shipwreck with a man eating tiger named Richard that he converts to be a vegetarian hindu. Either that or I spent most of the cold nasty weekend feeling under the weather playing Star Wars Battlefront.

In the Shadow of the Galilean

2008-02-06T22:31:00.000-05:00

I just finished this book. It took me a while to read it because I was busy reading other stuff like the entire Harry Potter series and the Hobbit. Yeah, I know. I have read the Hobbit about 5 times already, but I was not wanting to read any book that might have a substantial purpose. I was after fluff.

I did find this book to be a good way to get a glimpse into the world that Jesus walked in, but there were times that I was quite uncomfortable. You see, there are some religious books, writings and movies that I don't like because the make me feel like my relationship with Jesus is cheapened. It is for this very reason that I have never watched the Passion of Christ. I have always felt that if I watch this movie I will no longer be able to see the passion of Christ through the window in my mind. I am afraid that it will no longer be as personal.

I suppose that this book did that to me in a way. I felt like its emphasis on the historical took a little bit of the mystery away. In fact, I realized that while I am profoundly interested in Theology, I am not very interested in biblical history, at least not the kind that turns Jesus into a two dimensional figment of someone elses imagination. I don't want to hear that the miracles of Christ were not miracles, but instead they were just some out of control rumor that people without much hope believed and spread like some holy telephone game. You know the kind of game I am talking about, don't you? I whisper in your ear, then you whisper in someone else's ear and eventually what is being whispered is nothing like what I originally said.

Does that make me a gullible, unthinking, religious groupie? I hope not. I really like the Jesus that walked on water and fed 5,000 with a sack lunch. You know what I mean?

Blame

2008-02-04T22:09:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago I was sitting with a friend listening to music. After an hour of listening and discussing and then listening some more I said to him, "You know, I consider it a travesty that someone could love music as much as I do and be so unable to perform any of it." My friend, who is very accomplished musically said, "I was just thinking the same thing."

For a very long time I looked for excuses for my low musical IQ. I looked everywhere. Eventually, I asked another musically talented friend if his family sang all the time. He said, "No, not really." Ok, then, certainly they forced you to practice..."No, not really." Then you had lessons..."No, not really." I was dumbfounded. All of this "No, not really," meant that there was only one place left to cast my blame. I didn't want to, but what choice did I have?

Yes, it was at that time that I realized that there was no one left to blame but God. You may be cringing that I would even use the term blame in reference to God, but you must understand that I mean it in the most reverential manner possible. In fact, it is really a compliment to His nature and sovereignty.

You see, I believe the ability to perform music a beautiful and substantial gift, and yet if there is a gift there must also be a giver. In fact, if the giver gives the gift universally, the gift becomes a little bit less special, although it is still precious. Therefore my appreciation of the musical giftedness of my friends is due in large part to my lack of giftedness. The fact that I am several standard deviations below the mean is somewhat essential to their lofty perch on the bell curve.

All of this really does have a point. You see, I have learned that it does not do me well to blame the innocent. They did not earn the gift. It was freely given by a great and glorious benefactor. No, I have learned that it is truly appropriate to acknowledge that my lack or my abundance is due to the Lord God. This is a truly liberating conclusion.

Please do me a favor, however. Please realize that this acknowledgement of the divine nature of the dispensation of gifts is not limited to music. No, it is most certainly not. It is true of the ability to write, to read, to create beautiful objects, to ...Even the entrepreneurial spirit is a gift of God.

We must be very careful, though. You see, if we are not careful we could use this premise as an excuse for not doing anything. I don't mean it that way. No, not at all. What I mean is that we need to be more grateful for the gifts that we have. We need to take less credit for what we have and look more kindly on those without. We need to remember that the wonders of our gifts say much more about the giver than about the receiver of the gifts.

I think...that we should be more thankful.

Implications

2008-01-02T20:52:00.000-05:00

This is a first for me. I usually avoid anything political, but some very dear friends did not find my feeble reasons for avoiding it convincing. I hope I have maintained a certain amount of vagueness about my beliefs, but...

Why is it that I have such a trouble with understanding the implications of faith. I am not sure that I have said that correctly, but it really is difficult for me to express.

I will give you an example. If I believe a friend really cares about me, then I will know that if he does not call for a while there is a good reason for it. I don’t become frustrated or concerned until I first suffer a chink in the armor of security in my friends love. The implication of my belief in my friend’s love is trust. Complicated? Yeah, tell me about it. Welcome to my world.

I guess what I am saying is that the implication of faith is the action that results from it. The problem is that implication of faith should be more like a chain than a link, contrary to my previous opinion. I will explain. If by faith I believe that a fetus is a human being from conception, then I will behave in a way that honors that unborn child from that point on. For many years that duty of honor for an unborn child ended when it wasn’t unborn anymore. The implication of my faith was more like a link than a chain. I was terribly wrong.

Let’s face it. The social footprint of those facing the decision of honoring an unborn child with birth or destroying it with abortion is somewhat consistent: young, poor, scared, uncertain. If I choose to tell a young woman not to abort but have the child, If I choose to support a candidate that says that abortion is wrong, if I proclaim to the world that my God does not condone the murdering of the innocent, but I then back away from this child born poor, to young, inexperienced, scared and uncertain parents I have…completely dishonored the gospel of Christ.

For too many years I have supported a certain party because I felt that they stood for the implications of my faith. They don’t. I am not condemning them because if the voice of the people is loud enough a candidate will emerge to grease the squeak. I am instead saying that we (those who try to live by a similar faith) have sold our vote short. We have decided that being against abortion is enough which makes us look callous and uncaring when confronted with the portrait of poverty and underage pregnancy.

How dare we shout out that abortion is wrong and then turn our heads and whisper insults and sneers at single young women doing the best they can with their children? How dare we say that mothers brave enough to follow through with what we say is right are to be abandoned to find their own way.

Please understand that I am not saying we need more welfare so that mothers can unzip their wombs and pull out lots of meal tickets, but I am saying that their should never be a child born in the richest country in the world that cannot have access to health care. I don’t care what economic, social argument you put out to suggest otherwise; it is wrong.

Post Holes

2007-12-08T22:48:00.000-05:00

Digging post holes requires a rudimentary rhythm. Lift the post hole digger as high as your arms will allow, drive it into the ground with as much force as you can, spread the handles so that the blades pinch and grab dirt, then lift as much earth as you can out of the hole and drop it a foot or so away from the hole you are digging. A couple of weeks ago I was in this rhythm digging a few post holes for a friend who needed a fence for a horse.

In the middle of this effort the friend came to me and said, “Trent, I really need to ask you a question.”

I answered, “Okay,” as I pulled up a digger full of dirt.

They said, “This has to do with a difficult decision that I have to make, and I was wondering what you thought.”

I stopped digging and began to focus on the situation that was being described to me. When they had finished narrating the predicament my friend said, “Wait, there is another.”

After listening to my friend’s questions I was suddenly and completely exhausted, not by the labor of post holes, but rather I was exhausted by the complications and implications of my friend’s stories and questions.

The questions were moral questions. One had to do with a brother who was living in an unseemly manner that wanted to have dinner with the friend that was talking to me. My friend was trying to listen carefully to scripture, but they were having a hard time squaring the “Jesus, friend of sinners” gospel with the “expel the immoral brother from your midst” gospel. I was really tempted to give my friend a quick answer, but wisdom won out for once, thank God. I just listened to the struggle to find the right path that would honor God and show love to someone who, though bound up in a mess, was still a friend.

The second one was much harder for me to listen to. In fact, this one has bound up my brain for quite a long while. It is almost single handedly responsible for the absence of any blog posts for over a month. You may ask, “What was it? What could your friend describe that could bind you up with spiritual constipation for over a month?”

Well, I’ll tell you. The second situation involves a family that we both know, although my friend knows them much better than do I. This family has been a paragon of Christian family virtue for as long as any of us can remember. We are talking about elder, deacon, minister, wonderful children, mission trips and all the rest of the trappings that one would associate with a Christian family that has it together. They have mentored other families. They were models of what we were all supposed to be doing.

Now I know that all humanity is fallible. I know this well, but this is not the part of the story that burdens me. No, that is yet to come. You see, 10 or so years ago one of the members of this family approached their minister about resigning because they were struggling. Their work for the church was not giving life like it once was, and their family life was very strained. The minister said that sometimes we have to put our feelings aside and do the job that we are called to do.

That last sentence is what has me troubled. So, after receiving that advice this person kept on trudging along. Apparently they did not do anything to regain the life and joy that they once had. They lived for 10 years in a state of spiritual anesthesia, and when the opportunity came to feel again they took it. I am not minimizing a person’s responsibility to seek and find the treasure that is Christ. I am not saying that this person was right in what they did. I am just saying that 10 years is a long time to be numb.

It troubles me that I have given that advice; be of good cheer and keep trudging on; life is hard; don’t expect life to be fair because it isn’t. I have taken that advice; I have trudged on through difficult situations when I could not feel anything; I have kept going by rote and by habit when I really wanted to quit. In fact there are things in my life right now that I am doing because I am duty bound to do them. They aren’t bringing life to me right now and there are parts of my life that are under severe strain. Do I quit some of those things? Which ones? Or, do I just keep trudging on hoping that things will suddenly get better. Do I keep driving the post hole digger into the ground in a rudimentary rhythm?

This advice to keep trudging along seems like it comes up short. I suppose that I feel this way because I am very suspicious of spiritual numbness. I don’t think we were ever created to be unfeeling and spiritually anesthetized. We were never created to be numb.

Okay, so we are not created to be numb. So what? Now what? Nothing in any of what I have said is new. It is obvious that numbness is not what God wants from his children, but what happens when the only options we can see are either obey and be numb or disobey and feel? I know that this is an artificial situation with a great big fallacy right in the middle of it. I know in my heart of hearts that these are not our only options, but sometimes I am unable to see the other options. Apparently, I am not the only one that can be blinded to a third option.

It seems to me that believers ought to be people of a third option. Life in Christ ought to be vibrant and vivid. It ought to make us cry out with joy. So, why do so few of us find that treasure, and fewer still can show others where to find it?

Here is where I stop. This frustrates my friends because they say that this is where the sermon ought to start. All I can say to them is this; remember, that when you are finished working your post hole digger in that rudimentary rhythm all you have is a hole.

CliffsNotes

2007-11-06T20:15:00.000-05:00

Dr. Laura Crouch’s eyes were of the piercing and intense variety. I don’t remember their color, but I do remember how she could make freshmen shake in their boots when she looked at them. She was an incredible teacher, however, and I still have fond memories of her.

I don’t think that Dr. Crouch’s effectiveness as a teacher was so much a result of any particular talent for teaching that she had. Instead, I think that her effectiveness sprang almost completely from her passion for the written word, and it was this passion that made her an awesome teacher for the class that all OBU sophomores love to hate, Western Civ.

Western Civ was a requirement for every sophomore that attended OBU, and OBU had its own method of perpetuating this academic madness on its students. OBU's civ class was a total of 12 hours split into two semesters of 6 hours. The class was team taught by a literature professor and a history professor. We studied western civilization from Charlemagne to World War I, and it seemed like no literary stone was left unturned as we dredged our way through the social DNA of the western world.

Civ professors taught the class in one of two large rooms in Shawnee Hall. The chairs were arranged in a long horseshoe around the central lectern, and each row farther from the lectern was raised a foot or so above the row in front of it. I know that this may sound like an ordinary lecture hall, but this room had not been built this way originally. The risers were made of plywood, covered with carpet with cut out niches for the large windows that looked out onto the OBU oval. Even when I was there, the room had the appearance of being worn out.

Although the rooms we met in were ancient, the expectations of the professors for the students were thin air high. When I was taking Civ I always tried to get to class early, so that I could head up into the farthest reaches of the horseshoe. I hoped that this strategy would keep me out of the watchful gaze of Dr. Laura Crouch, and it was from here that Dr. Laura Crouch put on one of her best performances.

It began with a lecture on the Divine Comedy. I was underprepared for the class as usual, and I was attempting to disappear into the white textured walls behind me. Dr. Crouch was in full swing when her gaze fell upon an unsuspecting student in the first row. Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. She pulled her shoulders back and stepped out from behind the lectern. She strode over to the young man and in a long swinging motion, snatched a small yellow book from the young man's hands. She turned quickly and returned to her spot behind the lectern and held up the book as if it was Goliath's head, and she was David.

She had the entire class's attention. I don't remember all of what she said since the memory of the event is dominated by the visual drama that had just unfolded, but I do recall a few things. She seemed genuinely offended that someone would be satisfied with someone else's interpretations without having duly searched out a text on their own, and she was trying to make the point that what made the book we were studying a work of art was not just its plot, or its theme, but its structure and texture; its complexity and passion. She said that there was no way a yellow, fifty page paperback magazine could connect you with the passion that the author had so painfully poured into the printed pages of this or any other book.

At the time I doubted her. For one thing I could not see the thing that she was talking about. I didn't see the structure, the texture, the complexity or the passion. All I saw was an ancient fairy tale that I doubted could do anything for me other than make Western Civ wearisome. It took me a while, but I can now say that I am a convert. I now understand that the things that make a book a classic cannot be fully disclosed in a yellow, fifty page, paperback magazine. I now know that the entire work is to be treasured. It is kind of like looking at a picture of a first class meal or tasting it. The picture just doesn't satisfy.

Although I now understand that literature by proxy just doesn't work, I have discovered that I still use cliff notes (well, at least a metaphorical version) in one very important area of my life: salvation. You see, in Sunday School the other day we were talking bout how our group of believers has taken this incredibly complex concept and reduced it to a paragraph long prayer. Here we have access the complete story with all of its structure, texture, complexity and passion and we are satisfied with sharing the Cliff's Notes version; pray this prayer and voila! You're a believer.

I am not saying that there is no merit in such a prayer, and I am sensitive to the idea that the prayer is to be first step in a life long pilgrimmage. It just seems to me that in reducing the miracle of redemption like this we are cheapening it if we don't commit to walking with those who pray that prayer by constantly urging them on.

Instead, it seems that we are more interested in ushering the lost onto the "Fast, Trusted, Proven," road of salvation. We seem to cringe at the words of Jesus about the way being narrow and few walking it. If we can just condense the plot, and outline the characters, and address the major themes then we will get more converts. Really Jesus, just trust us. What you are talking about is really structured, really textured, really complex and really passionate. We will just give them a simpler version. I mean, do you really think people will be able to commit every thing to something as grand as what you are describing?

I am just beginning to discover the complexity and passion of the plan that Jesus has for me. I am still working on getting through this masterpiece he is creating, but there is more here than I will ever understand. Thank God there are no Cliff's Notes for this one.

NPR

2007-10-25T19:08:00.000-04:00

It seems that I will never learn. It happened to me again just the other night.

I was picking up my son from football practice while listening to an interview with Valerie Plame on NPR. I listen to NPR all the time. Some of my conservative friends are quite sure that I will be brainwashed into a mass of liberal jelly if I continue to listen. I always counter that I will be able to withstand the onslaught of leftist propaganda. They doubt me.

Anyway, my son plays football for the Bethel little league, and this area is not known as a haven for Oklahoma liberals. In fact, in and around the Bethel area I see my fair share of mullets and tattoos. Now don't think that I have a problem with mullets or tattoos; many of my best friends have them. It is just that I tend to have some ideas about what I expect people with mullets and tattoos to be doing. Usually that involves driving pickup trucks, going hunting and fishing and watching football. I like all of those things and would consider a mullet, but the best I would be able to manage is a skullet, and I think a tattoo would hurt way too much.

So, when I got to my son's football practice, I parked next to a small blue Chevy with its interior lights on. When I looked over into the car, I saw that in the drivers seat there was a large man with a mullet and a goatee in a wife beater reading the paper. I noticed that on his right arm there was a large tattoo of a cross wrapped in an American flag. Nothing unusual so far, but then I got out of my car, and do you know what I heard? Gimme Three Steps? Statesboro Blues? Some song by Toby Keith? Nope.

No, the sound I heard coming from this small blue Chevy was Valerie Plame answering questions about being outed as a spy. Yet again I had made assumptions based on appearances. I really thought that I was doing better.

STUFF

2007-10-20T22:36:00.000-04:00

Stuff. I have plenty of it. In fact, I have spent my entire fall break reorganizing my stuff so that I might know better where it is. And there is the issue isn't it. I mean it just begs to be compared to the scene in City Slickers where Jack Palance tells Billy Crystal about his finger. Jack says that he knows what the meaning of life is, and then he holds up his finger.

Of course Jack is saying that the meaning of life is just one thing and you have to figure out what that one thing is. As I was reorganizing my stuff I realized how far I am from understanding the wisdom in Jack's statement. I have 4 wheelers and scooters, fishing equipment and firearms, bicycles and horses. One would think that a bible believing christian could be satisfied with less. And I should be satisfied with less, but I am not.

I am working on it though. There is nothing like a good fall break cleaning to let you know that regardless of what you accumulate, nothing can satisfy the empty spot in your soul like good friends who share your dependance on the person of Christ. I will treasure the trip to Chandler to eat at Papa's Barbecue where Gary Smalley prepared some of the best brisket I have ever had. After we ate, he came out of the kitchen and shared some stories with us about his days in high school. At our age those high school stories become more an interpretation of memory than fact, but I am not complaining.

I was also able to spend one of my evenings with a couple of friends watching the DaVinci Code. The DVD quit working halfway through, but it did not keep us from enjoying our friendship. Some might say that the Lord was gracious in interrupting such a godless movie. Okay, but the point is that the people that I chose to spend my evening with made the evening worth remembering.

This afternoon, I took a break to watch my son's football game. He did not get to play because he missed some practices this week, but he understands the lesson. Who could ask for more from their son?

Then there is the fact that things are better. My stuff is easier to find and easier to use. There must be some benefit in that? Right?

Tomorrow I am going to church and I need to remember that when I am old and tired, I will remember my time with my friends more than I will will remember my times with my stuff.

This has been one of the best Fall breaks that I can remember, even though nothing went according to plan.

Never Give Up

2007-10-16T23:02:00.000-04:00

It is not often that I am ready to give up on a student. It is a defensive action. It happens when I feel like if I give anymore of myself to the student, I will pop like a balloon hit by a dart.

I was ready to give up today. The student in question had been suspended several times. When they were in class, they did not do the work. They did not respond to any of my interventions. They were failing, and I felt powerless to change it. In fact, I was prepared to tell the parents of this young man that very thing at our parent teacher conference. "Ma'am, I am sorry, but I have done all I know to do. I don't think he is going to make it."

I talked to the other teachers. I told them that barring a miracle, there was nothing I could do to help him pass. They felt the same way.

Okay, this is the part where it quits being about my student, and it starts being about me. When I met with the parents, they knew the situation. The problem had been getting worse for several years. It began with not turning in any assignments, and it turned into not giving a s**t about school. They were also ready to give up, but they could not bring themselves to do it. This young man was their own flesh and blood after all. I pitied them. I really did.

Then one of the parents said something that caught my attention. The said, "I told him he has to study. I told him it is important. I told him that he needs an education to get a job since he will never be able to do physical labor with his condition." Condition? What condition? I didn't know anything about any condition.

It turns out that this young man has a debilitating degenerative condition. It is progressive, and it is severe. The prognosis is not good, and he knows it. Remember when I said that this is where it is more about me than about him? You see, when I heard that I put myself in his shoes. If I had that condition what would I do? Would I do any better? I don't know if I would. In fact, I am afraid that if I knew about me what he knows about himself, I would not care about anything. It is very plausible that depression would rob me of my motivation for school. It is plausible that I would feel like giving up, and I very likely would do just that.

You see, I remembered at that time how my Lord reacted to me in my sin condition. Love and grace abounded to the point of immeasurable self sacrifice. No, it was not hard for me to realize my duty in this situation. I needed to let the love and grace that has been shown to me overflow onto this young man.

Will he pass? I have no idea, but I do know that I will not give up.

Time Machine

2007-10-14T22:38:00.000-04:00

Eat your heart out H.G. Wells, because I have my very own time machine. Admittedly, it is not as dependable as yours, and it doesn't have spinning wheels and fancy knobs, but it does fit in my pocket.

When I first bought it, I thought that it was just a fancy mp3 player, but yesterday, at my son's football game it transported me 14 years into the past. Those folks at Apple are so smart.

My interdecade experience began when I got my son to the game right on time which meant that I had an hour before his game would start. With a lot of time on my hands, I decided to find a comfortable place to sit. I strolled to the visitor's stands, climbed to the top row and found a seat against the top rail. With the sun bright and warm and the wind strong and gusty, I reached into my pocket and took out the Ipod. It was the first time I had listened to it in a long time, so it took me a while to decide what I wanted to listen to. After several minutes scrolling through what seemed like a countless number of songs, I decided to start from the beginning.

The first song I heard was "8 Miles" by Leo Kottke, followed by "A Horse With No Name," then "A Little More" by Jennifer Knapp. These were songs I hadn't listened to in a long time, not because I didn't like them, but rather because I have been using the few moments of music time I have had lately to listen to Lucinda Williams, Amos Lee and Ray Lamontagne.

As the list of "A" songs proceeded I found myself trying to guess what the next one would be. I never got it right, but I was also never disappointed. Then it happened. I guess that the sun and moon slid into some special alignment, or the temperature and humidity was just perfect, or maybe I was abducted by aliens. I really don't know, but at that exact moment two things happened. A very special song began playing and I was immediately transported back in time.

I was sitting in my brand new 1993 Ford Ranger pick up truck with my friend Jeff. Earlier that day he had asked me to get a coke with him so we could talk. My wife had just left me and I am sure that he was concerned, but I was still a little bit surprised that anyone would want to listen to a newly divorced man whine about their uncertainties with life, women, God and the stock market, so of course I agreed. That evening Jeff did a wonderful job listening to my rant. I am sure it must have been hard for him to listen as long as he did, but he did not complain.

Finally, when I as through. Jeff said, "Hey, I have some music that you have got to hear." With that he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cassette by a guy named John Gorka. I had never heard of him, but I was willing to give it a listen. If you haven't heard "Armed With a Broken Heart," you need to. Until you do the lyrics will have to suffice.

Take this as a warning

To stay away from me

Because the man that you used to know

Is not the man that you're going to see

Someday we may laugh at this

Someday we may be friends

But for now you can keep your distance

Stay away till the pieces mend

This sudden lonliness has made me dangerous

Please don't watch me while I fall apart

'Cause I'm sad and I'm angry And armed with a broken heart

And what will get me through the night

Is what I'll use with all my might

And to some peace I have a right But I pay so dearly

And at my age I should be wise

Now I'm untying all those ties

The evidence is in the eyes

That should see so clearly

I once saw so clearly

You know I will say anything

If it will keep you away

But I don't know what I would do

If you said you were gonna stay

Don't do me any favors

Don't try to ease the pain

Won't you please let me hate you now

So I won't fall for you again

I was mesmerized. Here was this baritone voice belting out lyrics that resonated with what I felt. I was dumbfouned. Then Jeff said, "I have another one." To which I said, "Great."

Now remember that this was the age of AMS cassette players, so it took Jeff awhile to find the song he wanted. When he did, this is what I heard.

Life is full of disappointment

Yes and I am full of life

Standing here without illusions

You know I almost had a wife

It could be the path I've chosen

Just leaves no room for someone else

Or the woman who could stand me

Is somewhere keeping to herself

I can't say that I blame her

I think that I could take that ride

When love is worse than being lonely

It leaves you twisted up inside

So on the outside you'll seem normal

But that only lasts a little while

Before you wear it in your bearing

It's in the way before you smile

You see couples who seem happy

And wonder how they got that way

Are they blind or kinda stupid

Or are they having a good day

Standing here without illusions

You know I almost had a wife

But life is full of disappointment

Yes and I am full of life

Life is full of disappointment

Yes and I am full of life

After this I took Jeff home. I found later that his wife Debbie was also concerned about me and was therefore curious about Jeff's visit with me. He told her that it went well and that we just talked and listened to music. Deb nervously asked Jeff, "What music?"

Jeff told her, "Land of the Bottom Line."

Deb said, "Jeff, how could you!?!"

When I came to my senses, I was watching my 10 year old son's team warm up, and I was listening to Jack Johnson's "Better Together."

Taqueria

2007-10-12T17:56:00.000-04:00

While I was on vacation I ate some incredible food. I had an octopus cocktail, capressi salad, and a Mexican filet mignon, but my most memorable meal was at a small taqueria 15 feet off of highway 307 between Playa del Carmen and Tulum.

It was mid afternoon, and I was there with a group of 4 couples and our driver, Daniel. We had spent the morning at Tulum, where we looked at Mayan ruins, and the early afternoon at an out of the way beach ravaged by a recent hurricane into a beachcomber’s paradise. At this beach we found hundreds of conch shells and vast amounts of coral. After such a long and eventful morning and afternoon, we were very hungry. Daniel loaded us in the van and took us to a restaurant that he liked. It was closed, so he took us to another one. It was also closed. In fact, every restaurant that we came to had been shut down because of the same hurricane that made our beachcombing so productive.

Finally, we saw a small taqueria just off of the highway. We asked our driver if we could eat there. He looked surprised at our choice but said weakly, “sure.”

Daniel made a u-turn and pulled the van up next to the taqueria. 10 feet to the left of the taco stand there was a small ravine that opened up away from the stand. The ravine was filled with boxes, an old toilet seat and parts of bicycles. A small awning projected out from a concrete and metal shed and covered the eating area. Under the awning, there were several small tables overlooking the small ravine. Beside the tables was a long bar filled with 10 to 12 large brown ceramic bowls covered with plastic cling wrap.

Various sauces and soups and stews filled each of the large bowls on the bar. Behind the bar were 3 people. An older lady slight of frame with graying temples ran a tortilla press and passed off her production to a small teenage boy. The boy then fried the tortillas on a large griddle. When fried to perfection the boy passed the tortillas on to a 30 something woman with confident eyes who filled our tortillas with our choice of goodies from the brown bowls. To the right of the all of this was a small parking area that stretched past the stand and down a small hill to the shed that supported the awning which covered our tables.

I had 4 tacos that afternoon. I picked several items from the brown bowls, but I had no idea what any of it was, but it was all delicious and spicy. My drink was a glass of a wonderful white beverage. I wish I could remember it’s name, but I don’t. Our entire crew ate as many tacos as we could while 60 mile per hour traffic zoomed past us 15 feet away. Soon, however, I had to use the restroom. Little did I know that using the restroom was going to be the most memorable part of my lunch.

To get to the restroom, I had to go to the right of the stand, through the small parking area, down the hill and back around to shed that supported the awning. This shed had a large galvanized sliding door covering most of the entrance. The door was open just enough for me to walk in. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed a middle aged man wearing old running shorts and a stained t-shirt sleeping in a hammock suspended between two large posts jutting up through the gray concrete floor. A small dog was tied to the post closest to the center of the room.

I felt like I had encroached upon a personal space and thought seriously about making a quiet retreat. I spent several seconds hesitating, until I realized that I was a guest. Emboldened, I charted a path through the family’s belongings, past the dog, around the man in the hammock, to the restroom at the back of the room. When I reached my destination, I quietly opened a plywood door and went inside.

The restroom itself was more of a stall. It was painted completely white, even the exposed pipes, and most of it was filled by a giant cistern. As I stood there I heard a noise. It was the sound of Spanish television mixed with the laughter of children playing. It was coming through the wall separating the restroom from the family’s living quarters. I almost panicked when I realized that the only thing between my business and their playtime was a ¼ inch sheet of plywood. I realized that if I could hear them then they would be able to hear me. Nervously, I made every effort to do my business as quietly as possible, hoping that I would not be detected, praying that there were no holes in the thin plywood. Almost mercifully, I did not have to worry about the sound of the flush because the toilet was broken.

When I was done I opened the door and saw that the man had switched positions. He now had one foot on the concrete which he used to gently rock the hammock in a sleepy, steady rhythm. The dog was lying on the concrete with hits head on its paws. Only its eyes followed me as I retraced my earlier path out of the shed. When I got back to the tables everyone was looking at me. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. It turns out that while I had been gulping down my tacos several other members of our party had already made their trip to the restroom.

One of them asked, “Interesting?”

To which I replied, “Absolutely.”

I am not sure why, but on our way back to the hotel, the restroom at the taqueria occupied more of our conversation than Tulum or the beach. The only thing I can figure is that during our entire stay in Playa del Carmen, no other incident made us feel more like we were in a foreign country.

Grammar Nazi

2007-10-03T22:15:00.001-04:00

Okay, Okay, I'll tell you, but please don't laugh. I am an English teacher. Remember now, you promised not to laugh.

You may be thinking, "I would never laugh at such things. I am sure you are sensitive and I am way to kind to laugh."

Well, I appreciate the kindness. Really, I do. You see, Every time I post something to this little blog of mine I face a serious dilemma. The dilemma is pretty simple. Do I review every little comma and every little piece of grammar to make sure that everything is spot on perfect, as one would expect from someone who holds the esteemed title, English Teacher? Or do I just write what pops into my head and "damn the torpedoes?"

As you can tell, the latter argument wins most times. In fact, it is that reluctance to proof and edit and revise and edit some more that has kept me from divulging my occupation before now. It is sort of like the reason that I have absolutely no Christian bumper stickers on my car. I don't want you to catch me speeding and then claim that I don't represent Christ very well. I have always felt that if I kept my occupation secret, you would forgive all of my little and large grammar mistakes. To be honest, I still hope you forgive all of my grammar mistakes.

You may be wondering why I decided to come out of the closet at this particular time. Well, a bit of history first. For as long as I can remember I have never done a bang up good job getting along with English teachers. Seriously, I haven't. When I was working on my M.Ed. the only Bs I recieved were from professors who were formerly English teachers. When I was working on my B.A. I had similar difficulties. In fact, the whole reason I became an English teacher was for the challenge of it, and it has been a lot of fun.

So much for the history. The real reason that I decided to come out today is simple. This morning I attended a workshop for English teachers. This workshop was to help us understand how the state mandated writing tests are scored. It helped me quite a bit too. In spite of myself, I was learning a lot from the workshop. All would have been roses if only the presenters hadn't let us ask questions.

Well, sadly, they did let us ask questions. It did not take long before I realized what really bugged me about English teachers. Grammar Nazis. Yep, Many English Teachers are Grammar Nazis. Now, let's be honest. Grammar is important. It really is, but it is not important for the same reasons that Grammar Nazis think that it is. You see, grammar simply provides us with a set of commonly held conventions that allow us to communicate more clearly with those who read our documents. Basically then, grammar is nothing more than a common courtesy for readers that enables the reader to glean as much meaning as possible from a written text.

Sadly, this is not the opinion of the Grammar Nazis. They feel that if they do not protect the grammar of our language we will all soon be using grunts and gestures to communicate to one another. I think that they are afraid of the entire world becoming a giant football practice. They also feel that regardless of the validity of your argument, regardless of the quality of the organization of your ideas, if you have a single instance of subject verb disagreement, you is stupid.

This realization came when several GNs (Grammar Nazis) decided to voice their loud opinion that the test was way too soft on grammar. After 20 minutes of arguing the importance of grammar for 8th graders on an "On Demand Writing Test," I lowered my head in shame. Every face of every English teacher I ever had flashed across the screen of my memory. I rememered the good and the bad. The GNs and the TWUTBPs, (teachers who understand the big picture). I chanted to myself grammar is not the end. It is a means to the end. Grammar is not the end. It is a means to the end.

I just want you to remember that not all English teachers judge you by the correctness of your commas or, the number of participles you dangle, or his correct use of pronouns. Nope we don't all judge you by such things, but we do all judge you.

Confusion

2007-10-01T11:24:00.000-04:00

If you promise not to tell anyone, I will let you in on a little secret. I will whisper. I am really confused right now.

To be honest, if you have read my blog or if you know me, you will not be surprised by that statement at all. Most of you have probably suspected it for a long time. You may have thought that I veil all of my ideas and thoughts in a shroud of confusion to cover up the fact that I am more confused than you are. Well, you are correct.

A while back I committed to going to seminary. I applied at SWBTS and planned on taking classes there this fall. The admission process took longer than I expected, and soon, I was looking at the prospect of missing the first 3 weeks of Greek. Knowing that getting caught up was going to be a pain in the arse, I decided to wait a semester.

Admittedly, if that was the only thing that was confusing me about seminary, I would be one pathetic soul. Well, it isn't the only thing. It is just the easiest thing to talk about.

You see, I am confused because things are not turning out like I expected. I thought that if I said, "Yes, God. I will," that everything would fall neatly into place, like concrete being poured into a form. I thought that if I said yes to God I would go into the form all liquid like and come out all formed and solid, exactly what God wanted me to become. It isn't working out like that.

Now don't get me wrong, I will still work on seminary, but I am no longer in a big rush. I can't be. If I try to rush it, I will go insane. I don't mind rushing myself, but things are not that simple. I am not a single man trying to pursue what God wants for me. I am pursuing what God wants for us. That is the part that is confusing. Why would God not reveal himself the same way to everyone? I don't know. I mean I am willing after all.

Our pastor talked to me about this in sunday school yesterday. Actually, he was talking to the whole class, but I was the one that the lesson was for. I am not confused about that...at all. He was talking to us about John the Baptist, and how when John was in prison, he sent some of his disciples to find out if Jesus was really the Christ. There were lots of reasons that John may have done this. He may have done it because John wanted his disciples to understand that it was time to begin following Jesus. It may have been because John was wanting some sort of encouraging sign since he was himself in prison. It may have been something completely different, but what really bugs me is what Jesus says to John.

Jesus said that the people who are not offended by Him will be blessed, and those who are offended by him will not be blessed. "So John, you are a great guy and all, but are you going to quit following me if things don't go like you expected?"

It isn't that I am offended. It really isn't, but I really did expect things to go smoother, easier, more placidly. Now I am faced with this prospect of pursuing something that will not go as I expected. I will have to continue down an unknown path regardless of how confusing it becomes. Sometimes I feel like I want to quit. I would too if it weren't for that voice that keeps haunting me, "So Trent, you're a great guy and all, but are you going to quit following me if things don't go like you expect?"

No, I guess not.

15,000 Tons of Hola!

2007-09-19T22:13:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I went to the Yucatan with several friends. I was not very excited about the trip...at first.

You see, I have always been partial to mountains. The variations of the scenery seduce me with the promise of new vista around every bend, over the next rise, or through the next clearing. The cool air makes me aware of my lungs. I feel alive.

But for this vacation we were going to white beaches. Beaches. You look to the right, beach. You look to the left, beach. I thought that I would prefer mountains.

When we arrived I took a quick look at the beach, and it was beautiful. It really was. I knew that it was just sand and water, but one of my favorite artists is Kandinsky. He is an absolute master of color, but in this instance God kicked his butt with nothing more than subtle variations of the color blue. The color was electric. It was as if through some tropical wizardry the water was casting its light on the sky instead of radiating the light of the sun.

A good distance off the beach there was a large vessel. I don't know how far because I am not any good at judging distances over the water. I thought that it may have been a half mile off the beach, maybe a mile.

Later, I found some kayaks that were for the hotel guests. Soon, Jeff, Rick and myself were about a mile off the shore heading out to investigate this ship. It was called the Cable Innovator. It didn't seem like a creative name to me, but who am I to judge? As we got closer, the water beneath my tiny boat was swelling up, then relaxing, causing my friends to temporarily disappear from my view.

I was just a little nervous. When I looked under the water I couldn't see anything but the endless blue of the sea. I was determined, however, to get a look at the water beyond the vessel. I began inching my banana colored kayak in front of the Cable Innovator. Some 50 feet above my head I saw one of its crew members peering down at me. He did not wave. Suddenly, I heard a blast of sound that seemed like it would capsize me. It was the Cable Innovator, honking at me. I didn't understand why it was honking since it was anchored, but I could take a hint, especially from a 15,000 ton vessel.

I turned my little boat around and headed toward the shore. Once I was with Rick and Jeff, The Cable Innovator turned on a siren. Then, a man's voice rang out over the loudspeaker. I felt like I was being verbally assaulted, but I can't be sure since I don't speak Spanish. I simply headed toward the shore with my friends.

Imagination is a funny thing. I began imagining how the as soon as I got back to shore, a group of camo clad Federales were going to pick me up and take me in for questioning. I was wondering if I would ever see Oklahoma or mountains again. I paddled persistently, resigned to whatever fate awaited me.

When I finally got to shore, I put up my life jacket, paddle and boat, and then I tried to blend into the scenery. I never did see any Federales. I guess I got away.

Sandals

2007-09-07T11:06:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning at 4:40 a.m. I took my wife to the hospital for a scheduled surgery. My son, wife and I piled into my car and took off.

We are a family of scavengers. We regularly stop the car for garage sales, kittens, turtles, and even tarantulas. We don't always keep them. We are just intensely curious. Sometimes we do find treasures that make it back to our house, but not always. Recently, our treasures have included bungie cords, pieces of chain, a watch and even lawn furniture.

Yesterday morning we added to our collection of treasures. Just as we turned from Gaddy Road onto Clear Pond road we saw a conspicuous pile of brown in the middle of the road.

Sherry asked, "Was that horse poo?"

As I drove past the pile, I braked and then put the car into reverse. I replied, "I don't know, but I am going to check."

Okay, you may be wondering why in the world a sane person would interrupt a trip to the hospital at 4:40 in the morning to check on brown horse poo. To be honest, I don't know why we did, but we did. Maybe it was just that the pile didn't look right. Well, it really didn't look right.

When I backed up to see what it was, my wife and I found that the conspicuous pile of brown was not horse poo. Instead, it was a brand new pair of men's sandals. I opened my door, picked them up, and then I handed them to my son, Sawyer. He complained a bit, but it was incomprehensible, so I drove on.

I began imagining how this pair of shoes ended up in the middle of a country road. In my mind, some tired fisherman put them on the tailgate of his pickup truck, drove off and then they just happened to fall right here on this smooth section of rural pavement. I was going to find out how wrong I was.

When we got to the hospital we got Sherry checked in and by 8:00 am Sherry was having her surgery. Everything went well. Dr. Wiens came out to the waiting room and told us that there was no sign of cancer. According to him the growth in her thyroid was a benign follicular adenoma. I was grateful.

Later, after Sherry made it out of recovery and back into her room, I went home to feed. I strolled out to my car, unlocked the door and climbed in. I was greeted by a thick, musty odor. I thought that I must have left the window down in the previous night's rainstorm. It smelled like hot, wet car.

I started out of the parking lot on my way to find some lunch. The car's unpleasant aroma became an all out, olfactory, frontal assault. It was pounding and insistent, growing with insidious intent. Suddenly, the incomprehensible comment that my son made early that morning became clear. "They're going to stink up the car." Apparently, he got a whiff of those mysterious brown sandals that my wife and I missed. I now understood why these nice brown sandals were sitting neatly in the middle of the road.

I knew that before I could eat I would have to do something about the smell, so at a deserted stop sign, I opened my door and deposited the offending sandals in a neat pile right there in the middle of the road.

It is amazing how sometimes the treasures that we seek, or even the treasures that we stumble upon end up costing us in ways that we never anticipate.

S**t

2007-08-24T11:42:00.000-04:00

We started school recently and on the first day I met one of our new 7th graders. When I say "new" it is kind of misleading because this is his third time in the 7th grade. I asked him what he thought about school and he just shrugged his shoulders. Then, I asked him what he didn't like about school and his expression changed from apathy to daring.

He looked me right in my eyes and said, "I'll be sitting in class trying to figure out something and I will raise my hand. I'll keep my hand raised as long as I can and when the teachers come by they don't tell me s**t."

I kept a straight face and said, "Well, I guess that is a good reason." To myself I was thinking that I will have to keep an eye on this one.

So, Whenever he raised his hand in my class I made an extra effort to see what he needed. Yesterday I noticed a change. I noticed that this guy was really making an effort in my class. He responded, he really did. In fact, I have absolutely no trouble from this young man, and although he is behind, I think he will make it. I wonder what would have happened if I would have hammered him on that first day like he wanted me to? I was tempted, to be sure, but I didn't. I do wonder.

I also wonder about the people in the world around me. If I asked them what they don't like about church I wonder if they would say, "I'll be sitting in church trying to figure out something and I will raise my hand. I'll keep my hand raised as long as I can and when the christians come by they don't tell me s**t." I wonder what would happen if we actually tried to notice and answer the next time they raised their hand?

Soldier

2007-08-16T08:25:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, I was talking to Cody right after church. We were standing around with some of our friends when he said, "I learned something today." He said it in that tone of voice that says, "This is serious."

Maybe I was afraid of how serious it was going to be because I tried to make light of it. He would not allow it at all. As I kept interrupting him in a vain attempt to keep things light, he said firmly, "Let me finish." So, I did.

He said, "I've been preparing to leave for Iraq and I am not afraid. Nope, I am not afraid or reluctant to fight and die for my country and the cause of freedom." He had my complete attention. He continued, "But, I am apparently unwilling to give anything near that kind of sacrifice for my God and my faith."

Wow, this kind of transparency right after church caught me completely by surprise. Maybe I should expect it from friends, and maybe I should be willing to be transparent, but the truth of the matter is that neither is true. I was humbled, and I knew I needed to focus on these words that were an expression of his trust. I listened as carefully as I could to honor this act.

When Cody finished, I realized that he was under conviction about this difference between his bravery in defending his country and his complacency in defending his faith. Conviction like this is kind of messy, so it is no surprise that some of it got on me. I told Cody that the only difference between us was that I wasn't brave enough to defend my country, but I was at least as complacent as he was. I soon discovered that he was not nearly as complacent as he thought that he was.

After finally getting to share his lesson uninterrupted, I asked Cody, "So now what?" He began telling me about how in Iraq he had to be willing to quickly pull the trigger in some difficult situations. These were terrible situations. Situations that change people whether they want to be changed or not, and these were the kinds of situations that no training or preparation could completely prepare a person to meet. He knew that this was a crossroads in his life, and he was concerned about what kind of person he would be on the other side of the intersection.

I asked Cody again, "So, now what?"

He said, "Trent when I pull that trigger I know that people will die and they will go to hell. I know it, but I am going to protect my men, regardless. A bigger problem for me is that there are men, my men, all around me who, when they get hit, will go to hell too."

One more time I asked, "So, now what are you going to do about the thing you learned today?"

He said, "Do you have any idea how many parties they, my men, have invited me too? They found out that I am a 24 year old virgin and they don't think that any man should go to Iraq as a virgin."

I asked him, "Do they know why you are a virgin?"

He said, "Yes, and it has made them more determined. Some of them are doing everything they can to get me drunk and then get me laid. And you know what? I am seriously thinking about it.

"In fact, the other night I was going with them. I knew that I was going, but my brother called me at the last minute and began asking me questions until he figured out what my plans were. He told me that I had an emergency family meeting at his house, and I had to be there. I told him about my plans, and he just said again, 'get over here or I will come over there and get you.'

"You see, if I don't get some guys to help me, I'm going to fall. One guy, though, came up to me and said, 'Hey, you are one of the few really righteous people I know.' I told him that's great and all but I am really tempted. He said, 'That's what makes me think you're righteous."

Cody and I continued talking for a while, but I don't remember the rest. None of it was nearly as important as this part. I thought about it for a while and realized that he may be going to Iraq to fight, but he is already in a fire fight of faith right here and it sure doesn't seem complacent to me.

How to Read the Bible for All lt's Worth

2007-08-12T15:37:00.000-04:00

This wonderful book gets my top rating of 5 diamonds. It is very easy to read, and it is incredibly valuable.

The authors of this book attempt to let everyone in on some of the disciplines that serious bible scholars use in order to determine what the scripture is saying to them. It informs the reader about how to pick a translation, how to do proper exegesis, how to consider the genre of the book you're studying, and how to use all of that information to help you determine what the Bible has to say to you.

Sing it Ray

2007-08-09T21:04:00.000-04:00

Okay, I have decided that Ray Lamontagne is the best singer/songwriter out there at the present time. Of course this decision was reached by myself and my astute panel of judges, so all I can say is that is just the way it is.

Admittedly, the competition is amazingly tight. Greg Brown, Jason Harrod, Bruce Cockburn and John Gorka are all up there on my list, especially Bruce and John, but in my opinion the raw emotional intensity of Ray's voice, coupled with some of the most beautiful lyrics I have ever heard in song put him over the top.

Some of you may be thinking what about the ladies. Well, I have not forgotten them. My favorites are still Lucinda, Bonnie, Claire Holley and Mindy Smith, but at the present time I like Ray more. So if you know of some upstart that can challenge these front runners, let me know. I would love to check them out, with the approval of my panel of judgers that is.

Pounding

2007-08-06T15:15:00.000-04:00

"Remember, there are no miracle steels. There are only known steels with known weaknesses and we must work with those known steels to minimize its weaknesses." These words were spoken by a tall thin gentleman in his 60s. He wore a large leather western hat that shaded large wire framed glasses and a wrinkled face. His long sleeve denim shirt was tucked into jeans and on his right boot he had an 18" Bowie knife in a scabbard.

Ray Johnson, Silver Dollar City's Master knife maker, eloquently and persistently shared his views on knife making with a focused crowd of onlookers. His speech was a mixture of warning, "knife making is dangerous, costly and definitely more than a hobby," and philosophy, "you may forgive a commercial knife makers mistake when you can earn the cash to buy it in an hour or two, but you will not forgive a custom knife maker who charges you a weeks salary for one of his knives." All through his speech Ray would reach down and draw his 18 inch Bowie out of the scabbard, plunge it into a steel barrel, then hold up a piece of hemp rope and slice an inch or two off the loose end of the rope.

Ray said that consistency is what every craftsman should shoot for. A clientele will expect a certain standard of performance from their craftsman and that craftsman should do his best to meet that standard every time. He said, "I can build a flexible knife or a stiff knife but once I start selling, they all need to be the same, every time, so that the customer will know what they are getting."

Toward the end of his demonstration I noticed that every time he pounded his hammer onto the glowing steel sweat would fly off of his face. I realized that this was real work.

I thought about how I feel like that glowing steel, getting pounded by a hammer by a master craftsman. If I listen carefully I can hear, "Remember, there are no miracle people. There are only known people with known weaknesses and I must work with those known people to minimize their weaknesses." I know that the pounding will continue until I am pounded into the image of likeness of Christ.

I have often thought about this image, but I have always thought about it from the viewpoint of me. I have always thought about the difficulty of being heated and pounded over and over. From now on I will also think about the sweat dripping off the nose of my maker as he continues to pound and work, relentlessly, until I am in the image of his son.

Here's Johnny

2007-07-31T14:32:00.000-04:00

I knew that Falls Creek 07 was coming to an end. The staff cafeteria (staffeteria) was undergoing a transformation from staff cafe to VIP restaurant. That night there was going to be a dedication service for the auditorium in the new tabernacle. They were going to name the ausitorium after some rich dude. It sounded interesting, but the pounding in my head was going to keep me from attending.

To be honest, I was not that disappointed. Fancy doin's are hard on me. I feel uncomfortable and wierd watching some rich guy talk about how he is glad to help. I am glad he helped too, but I just don't like pomp and circumstance. In fact, When I recieved my Master's Degree I refused to attend the event. I was just not into it.

So, instead of going to the service, I went to my room, took as much pain reliever as my wife would let me and tried to get some sleep. I guess I did get some sleep because I was awakened by one of my staff members talking to my wife about how gross it was. In my groggy state I was confused about what "it" could be.

Well, apparently the 80 something guest of honor french kissed his wife of 50 years right there on the stage, in front of 7,000 teenagers, for over 10 seconds! Apparently they got into because she supposedly wrapped one leg around him during the kiss. I thought to myself, "What rich dude would be daring enough to pull off something like that?" I was actually happy about what I heard. I mean how could you not be happy about 80 year olds still in love with each other like that. It gave me hope.

The next morning I had to use my truck to move the ropes equipment trailer. When I was done I drove back to my parking spot and found it occupied by a very large Lincoln Continental. I thought first they kiss on stage, then they take my parking spot. What's next?

Well, Nate, a staff member that was in the truck with me said it didn't surprise him. He said that the guy used to play trumpet in some crazy places so he figured it ought to be expected. I thought for a moment. Plays the trumpet? French kisses his wife of 50 plus years on stage in front of 7,000 teenagers? I said, "Hey, that sounds like Johnny Bisagno!"

Nate replied, "Yeah, I think that was the guys name."

I was dumbstruck. Totally dumbstruck, but not so dumbstruck as to keep me from telling Nate all about Johnny Bisagno.

You see, Bisagno was the camp pastor at Falls Creek when I made some of the biggest decisions of my life. He could get a teenagers attention and keep it, partly because he always got right to the point and partly because he never took too long preaching. I used to love listening to this guy preach, not just because it was some new theological truth, but rather because he sort of new what we were going through. He managed to take me and all the other teens there with me to where God was. His preaching, his love for God, his love for people profoundly affected me.

That is when I realized that this was the rich guy that was eating with us in the staff cafeteria. But you see, Johnny Bisagno isn't some rich guy, well maybe he is, but that is not why he had his name put on the auditorium. He had his name put on the auditorium because of the way he loved teenagers, and because of that the way that he loved Falls Creek.

I remember one time when he was preaching. He was telling us about a time when he had just returned to his church after preaching at a week long revival. When he got back to his church one of his deacons asked him how it went. He said, "Great, 3 1/2 people were saved." The deacon asked, "You mean 3 adults and one teenager?" Bisagno replied, "Nope, 3 teenagers and one adult. The adult has already wasted half of his life." You gotta understand how it felt as a teenager to have a guy preach like you mattered as much an adult.

So, here it was the last day at Falls Creek and Johnny Bisagno had left and I did not even realize he was there until he was gone. I wish I had known it was him because I would have thanked him for loving God and loving kids.

Vacuum Salesman

2007-07-23T00:43:00.000-04:00

Our new Pastor, Jay Samson, was preaching out of Matthew 9 this morning. He said something in that sermon that I thought was very interesting. He said that concerning Jesus, the Pharisees were impressed and all with his miracles, but they just didn't buy it that this guy might be the Lord.

It reminded me of a time in my far distant past...

As I was about to go out my door for a 30 mile bike ride I got a phone call. This was the era before cell phones, so I had to go back inside and answer the phone. When I answered the lady on the other end asked me if I would take part in a survey. I told her that I would, but only if it did not take too long. Of course she assured me that it would not. I was relieved.

To be fair it really was brief. She asked me if I owned or rented, if I had carpet or wood floors and several other questions that I don't remember. She then asked if I would be interested in a "risk free" demonstration of a home air purifying system. She told me that since dust was a big probem in my part of the country this would be a good idea. I hesitated. She said, "Oh, by the way you will receive a free gift for the trouble of hosting a demonstration." Well, that settled it. I wasn't busy that evening, my air could use some cleaning, and hey, I was going to get a free gift, so I told her I would be glad to help her out.

Later that evening, 3 minutes before the appointed time, there was a knock on the door. When I opened the door I was greeted by a tall, thin, hyperactive gentleman in his 30s carrying a large case and wearing a white sweater with polyester slacks. He shook my hand and quickly strolled in through the door and sat down on my couch. He sat his case down next to him and proceeded to tell me about the dangers of dust borne particulate matter. I really was listening intently when he asked if I would like to see his product in action. I said, "that's why your here." He began unbuckling cases and opening folders and showing me maps and charts and graphs and slides and even medical testimonials. When he finally took his machine out of the case, I said, "Hey, that's a Rainbow Vacuum Cleaner. My mom has one."

I did not mean to be offensive. I promise I didn't, but he stopped fiddling with his equipment, turned his head toward me, and slowly and emphatically said, "It is not a VACUUM Cleaner. It is a complete Rainbow Air Quality Management System."

I said, "sorry, I didn't know."

He said, "Don't worry about it," and immediately got into the demonstration. He took it apart and showed me every moving piece that it had. He filled it with water and turned it on. The industrial strength motor began pulling air from the room and pushing it through the water at the bottom of the machine. It was like a giant Turkish Hookah Pipe but without the smoke or tobacco. He put chemicals in the machine that made the air smell like pine, then like cinnamon, then like lemon, then I said I get the picture.

I assumed that the demonstration was over but I was wrong. he took some attachments out of the case and plugged them into the Rainbow Air Quality Management System. He then took the attachments and moved them across the floor in a vacuuming motion. I said, "I thought you said it wasn't a vacuum?"

He ignored my question and began a 10 minute rant about how air quality begins in the carpet. I thought I could see sweat forming on his forehead. I thought I could hear him begin to breathe more deeply. I thought he was tiring. Apparently he had great endurance. He ran the machine over all the carpet in the room and showed me how much dirt was in the water now. He asked me to get my vacuum cleaner and he put it into a head to head battle with his Rainbow Air Quality Management System. It certainly appeared that mine was the loser.

Finally, he sat back on the couch, this time he was slouching back against the cushions with a big grin on his face. He said, "So what do you think about my Rainbow Air Quality Management System?"

I told him that it was certainly very impressive. Impressive must have been the word that told him he had made a sale because he took out another folder, found a contract and began talking me through the payment plan to purchase the Rainbow Air Quality Management System.

I asked him to wait a minute. He didn't. I said again, "Hold up sir." He stopped and looked at me.

I told him I needed to know how much this impressive machine was going to cost me. He told me. I was suddenly much less impressed. When he realized that he was not going to make a sale the grin faded from his face. He packed up all of his stuff, and started for the door. I stopped him and asked, "What about my free gift for the trouble of hosting this demonstration?"

He said, "Oh, I almost forgot." He reached into one of his bags and pulled out a cardboard box. In it were some plastic handled steak knives. He grinned again and said, "thanks for letting me show you the Rainbow Ail Quality Management System."

I said, "No problem, thanks for the steak knives."

He hurried out the door and I watched him put all of his stuff into his subcompact stationwagon and back out of my drive.

I felt bad about not getting the machine you know, but it just cost way too much.

I think the Pharisees felt the same.

Perfect Love?

2007-07-22T23:52:00.000-04:00

Recently, I bought a book by Erwin Raphael McManus. Man, that is a cool name. The name of the book is "Soul Cravings." I honestly think that the reason that I bought this book was the cover. It is solid black with red fingerprints...The cover is way cool.

In this book McManus claimed that we as humans don't love enough. He says that our soul craves love and craves to love, and that the biggest problem with the human condition is that this just does not happen enough. It is hard to argue with that, but I really don't completely agree. In my opinion the problem is that we love way too much.

If you think I am a little crazy you may be a little correct, but give me just a minute, would ya? You see, I think that a much bigger problem than loving others too little is that we love ourselves too much. We as modern, post modern, or even ancient humanity are racked with selfishness. In my opinion that selfish desire was the main reason for the fall of man. We saw it. We wanted it, so we took it.

This problem happens all the time. In fact the other day I got into a fight with my wife. It happened because I did not want to talk to her about the direction that I felt I was being led by God. If I told her, then she might see that the 20 acres we live on might have to be sold. Keeping this line of thinking stressed me out because I did not want to get into an argument with her. Of course that is exactly what happened. For your sake I will leave out all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I could lie about this argument. I could say that it happened because I was afraid that she would think that I loved her less. I could say that it happened because I was trying to protect her. The truth is, however, that it happened because I was trying to protect myself. I was much more concerned with peace in my marriage than I was in peace with my God, so I hid my feelings and concerns from my wife. Am I the only one that sees the stupid irony in that situation? There are times when the density of my thick skull surprises me. This was one of those times.

Don't be too quick to judge me. Sure, I was incredibly stupid, but I will bet a dollar to a doughnut (not as good a bet as it used to be) that many of you have lied at times to make yourselves look less selfish too. How many times have we said, "Look God, It was not my fault. This woman you put here with me. She can be really persuasive." Even in those moments when we are caught redhanded we love ourselves more than those around us, and because of that we lie.

Once the fight got going do you know what happened? Other than blood and hair flying, do you? Of course not, but I'll tell you. Progress is what happened. When she found out what had been stressing me out she was very understanding. The scary thing is she already knew most of my concerns about selling the property. In fact, she said that she loved me more than the property so if we had to sell, we would. Of course we both agreed to beg God to spare us such a fate (loving ourselves again).

You know, if I would have been honest with my wife and myself my life would have been a bit less eventful on that day. If I would have loved me less I would have had the courage to talk to my best friend about something that was on my heart. If I had loved myself less I would have had less to fear. Maybe that is why the scripture says that perfect love casts out fear. I suppose that perfect love is unselfish love. Well, if that is the case, I suppose McManus was right.

Go Hard

2007-07-20T01:03:00.000-04:00

In a previous episode I let you guys know that I was jumping into the lake of seminary and would be seeking ordination. I figured that the fall would be swift and that the treading of water would be prolonged and painful. I am afraid that I am going to have to amend that assessment.

So Kristy, I appreciate the floaties that you gave me and I thought that I would me metaphorically using them now. The problem is that I have yet to hit the lake. Let me explain. When I made the commitment to seminary and ordination, my assumption was that I would take online courses and that this would have a minimal effect on my life. I figured that I could squeeze God into the margins of my life and therefore leave the rest of my life unaffected. Oh Contrare.

John Randles is the speaker this week at Falls Creek, and I decided that I would ask him his opinion about this 40 something going to seminary. I told him quite a bit. I told him about being "called" when I was 16. I told him about my plan for missions. I told him about my marriage. I told him about how my wife said no to missions and then I told him about how I had already attended seminary but that the previous visit lasted only one day. Then I told him how my wife left me after I quit trusting God to use me in spite of missing out on the mission field. I told him that for a long time I felt disqualified from vocational service.

He asked a lot of questions about my marriage situation. I told him that I was remarried (12 years), and that I had no children from my previous marriage and some other stuff that I don't remember. He then assured me that I was not disqualified but that I did need to choose a seminary carefully. When I told him that I had planned on taking classes online he got a puzzled look on his face and asked me what I wanted to do. I said, "I think that I want to teach and write, but right now I am just trying to be obedient , so who knows what the future holds."

If you don't know John Randles let me tell you that I have never heard him give easy answers, so when I saw his eyebrows scrunch together a little bit I thought that I might be in for it. Instead, he talked for a while about how at my age I needed to be careful not to confuse a shortcut with a detour.

I spent the rest of the day contemplating my conversation with John, and then I heard him say something in the service that really hit home. He said that no one could ever expect to get maximum return from minimum effort. He may as well have looked directly at me and said "Go hard or Go home Trent," or "put up or shut up," or some other thing about getting off the toilet. I realized at that time that I have not even hit the water in the lake yet. I am still falling.

Now I really don't know what to expect. If I go hard I may not have a home. If I put up I may want to shut up. I am just beginning to realize that my commitment was bigger than I expected. I thought I had everything figured out and could start treading water. At this rate I am unsure about even surviving the fall.

Archtop

2007-07-18T00:54:00.000-04:00

Tonight I ate empress chicken, yat gat mein, and an egg roll. I did this in the company of my ropes course staff at the Golden Lin Chinese Restaurant in Sulphur, Oklahoma. It was nice to get away for a little while.

After we were done eating I came back to camp and was settling in to read when a friend called me from the coffee shop in Davis. Yes, Davis, Oklahoma has its own coffee shop, and those who appreciate such things tell me it’s pretty good. This friend said that I needed to show up there because another friend had met some musicians and that they were going to jam… Live music? Friends? I was there pretty quickly.

When I got there, I found them in an alcove off the main part of the shop. My friend, the one who called, was listening to Steven, my musician friend, play some tunes with the fiddle player they had just met. Neither of them knew a whole lot of what the other one knew, so they were just messing around.

Then the other guy showed up. The other guy was a bald 40 something who had fingers bent from years of abuse. He carried his guitar in a black fabric case. When he removed it, I saw that it was an archtop of unknown origin with a sticker that said something about the "Human Family" stuck on the side.

I went to the coffee bar and ordered an iced coffee drink because the only coffee I care for tastes more like ice cream than coffee. While I was ordering, the bald guys companion showed up at the bar. She was a blonde woman of about the same age. We both heard the trio plucking around in the alcove just across from us, and then we heard the new guy, her companion, start in on some blues tune. She cocked her head to one side and listened. When he began to sing, she said, "Okay, he wrote that one." I listened close and I heard magic. The bald guy’s guitar was punching out some amazing blues, and his voice… His voice was strong, loud and raw.

I wandered back into the alcove, and Steven and the fiddle player were going at it. Nate, Joy and the rest of the caffeine addicted portion of the ropes crew had there eyes fixed on the hands of this bald, blues wonder. I found a seat on the stairway behind them and smiled.

On the way back Steven and I talked. We talked about how God is interested in our entire lives, not just our talents and abilities. This was significant because Steven was asked to come back to play and record tomorrow night. Steven said that he knows that God wants him to use music to bring honor and glory to Jesus, and that this will be an opportunity for Jesus to be seen in Steven’s life. I absolutely agree.

I can’t be there tomorrow night, but I am going to ask Steven to do two things for me. First, if there is a recording, I want a copy. Second, find out if the bald guy wears black socks.

Audience

2007-07-15T15:35:00.000-04:00

I don't sing well. My ear, though it appreciates music, does not discriminate notes well enough to allow me to be a musician. In spite of this, I am going to try to play guitar. It is quite possibly the stupidest thing for me to do since I think I was created to be in the audience.

My friend Jeff sings better than anyone I have ever heard. He sings high and clear like a mountain morning. There is no doubt that he is a master vocalist, but that is not what makes him so great.

There are lots of guys who can sing well, but they don't compare. That's because they don't sing from the gut. When I hear Jeff sing I don't just hear his voice, I feel it. I feel it in my heart. When that happens the strings of my heart begin to vibrate with his as he takes me to some hidden, precious vista that overlooks whatever it is that is human. It is truly precious to me.

Now part of me would love to sing out loud with him, or play guitar with him, or beat out some rhythm with him, but I can't. There is no sound I can make that can compare to the sounds his singing creates inside me.

Therefore I am in the audience. I am an onlooker. It isn't that bad though. You see, I know that at some level Jeff sings for me because I am his friend. He is singing for me. Sometimes when I visit Jeff he will sing a song that he knows I love. Most times he sings it better than the original artist. He sings for me because I am his friend.

Donald Miller alludes to this very idea in "Through Painted Deserts." On page 244 he says, "that life is a story told to him." I agree. This beautiful pageant of life is a gift to us. A performance played out by a master musician to me, a friend in the audience.

Truth

2007-07-10T00:43:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish that the Christian faith was easier. I don't mean that I wish it was less work or that I wish it demanded less of me, instead I mean that I wish it was less controversial. I wish that it was easier to know what work to do or what demands to meet. Do you know what I mean?

As you know I love Donald Miller and Rob Bell. Of the two I think I like Donald Miller more because he teaches with narrative. I like the way that you can be laughing at his stories or you can be crying at his stories or maybe even getting angry at his stories and then all at once like a bell on a microwave oven it is done, and you have something brand new, something you never really saw coming.

Now I like Rob Bell too. Mostly I like Rob Bell because I have thought many of the things that he has said. It is almost like we are in a boat together and he is describing the shore that we both see. Now I am not sure that I agree with everything that they both say, but I agree with their direction. You see, it seems to me that they both want to go into the room with me.

When I say that they want to go into the room with me, I don’t mean anything weird or nothin’. No, nothing like that at all… I just mean that they want to go into the room that God is in with me. (Remember, this is just to make a point so don’t go sayin’ that I believe God is only in a certain room. I am just trying to make a point.) You see, I feel like many religious leaders don't want me to go into the room that God is in. They want to go in there and then come back and tell me what they have found. I think it is because they don’t want me to get God wrong or anything. Maybe they are just trying to protect God’s image from guys like me. Who knows what heresies I could get into if I didn’t have the proper permission to go in there?

I guess that it is great to protect God like that and all, but it doesn't seem very scriptural. It seems to me like they are trying to be a priest rather than a shepherd, but it also seems to me that Jesus is our high priest and we don’t really need someone else to do that kind of thing for us anymore.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that any of the people that are acting like a priest instead of shepherd even know that this is what they are doing. I think that they are trying to be a shepherd, but something has just gone wrong. Maybe they have control issues or something, but one thing I know for sure is that I want to go into that room. You see, I want to know Him for who He is and I really don’t think that hearsay will ever get me there. It even seems to me that God created me to go into that room with Him.

Now here is where the controversial thing comes in. I recently read an introduction to a book that seemed like it was telling me that they had to tell me what the truth was that was in that room. I felt like if I disagreed with anything that they said about the God that was in that room, then I would be really, really bad. I felt like if I did not agree with them, then I would be contributing to the downfall of Christendom. I don’t think that this guy meant it this way, or maybe he did, but I know that I felt all yucky inside.

You see, this guy called out Rob Bell in particular. He said that Rob Bell was a leader of this religious movement called the “emerging church.” He said that this movement was dangerous, and that it could cause real a problem for Christianity because this movement was saying that truth was not knowable. I didn’t even know what the emerging church was, let alone that it was preaching a bunch of lies.

You know, I never really thought that Rob Bell was saying anything like truth was unknowable. I thought that he was saying that it is important to understand what the writers of the Bible were trying to say at the time that the Bible was written. I thought that he was saying that there is no way to get around interpretation, and that as a believer I must be careful to understand the intent and purpose of what was written, so that I could then apply the scripture to the time that I live in now. If I am wrong please let me know, but if you do comment on this please do not bring up page 26 unless you then bring up the pages after it as well, deal?

You know, I do believe that we can know the truth. In fact, I think that Bell would agree with that. Jesus said “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” and I know Jesus, so yeah, truth is knowable. But maybe the truth is bigger, more beautiful, more profound, more amazing than I will ever be able to know completely. This thought does not scare me. No, I take comfort in it. Please understand that nothing scares me more than a God I can know completely, and nothing delights me more than the prospect of exploring the nature of God and His truth for Eternity and still having places to search. Can you imagine the adventure of such a thing? I can’t.

Now I know that this is probably not what this guy meant. He was probably talking about doctrine. But even here he has to understand that doctrine is meant to lead us to God, not to fence us off from Him. To be fair I know that there are some things that are essential for proper belief, but I never felt like they were threatened in Bell’s work. Now remember our deal, ok?

Jump

2007-07-06T00:50:00.000-04:00

Tonight I decided to jump. I don't mean that I am looking for a bridge or anything like that, but it kind of feels that way.

Yesterday I was talking to some of my close friends about something that I feel God calling me to. I use the term "calling" only because I don't know of a word that works better. In fact, now that I think about it I feel that the word "called" should go in my previous post. I mean how does one know if they are "called" to do anything. In my opinion we are all called. Everyone of us is called, so a fair question would be why did I feel a calling.

To be honest I think that I just knew that there was a certain something that I was supposed to do. That thing had or has to do with seminary classes and ordination stuff. Other than that I don't really know how to explain it except that it felt like I was on a giant cliff getting ready to dive into the water. I knew I should dive but I am afraid of high places.

I asked my friends about it. I said what would you do if you were on a cliff and you felt like you were supposed to jump into a lake. I thought I was being so subtle. I thought I was so sneaky, but I am afraid that they all knew what I was talking about.

Well anyway, tonight I decided to jump. To be honest I am afraid that there will not be any water at the bottom, only rocks. Be that as it may, I have to stay faithful to what I am supposed to do. If any of you have any specific questions about what this means I will only tell you that I am sorting it out. I will also say that I am not going to let fear keep me from obeying in this area, but I will probably ask some of you something like this. Let's say you are treading water in the middle of a lake...

Words

2007-07-03T12:50:00.000-04:00

Some words just tick me off. I know that I should be more mature than that, but I am not. The thing that is interesting is that it is not the "bad" words that cause me the most grief. It is the "good" words that bug me, mainly Christian words.

Here is the deal. I am going to write down a Christian word that I don't like and then explain why I don't like it. What I ask of you is to do the same thing in the comments section. This is risky for me because it means that I may find that no one cares or wants to comment. I guess that I might even find out that no ones reads this, except Tim. He is the only one that ever comments.

This fear of finding out that no one reads this explains why I don't keep a counter on the blog anymore. I just could not stand the revelation that I am irrelevant to so many. But enough whining. On to the topic at hand. Oh, Chris C., make sure you leave a comment, ok?

The word that I don't like is ministry. I don't like it because it seems like believers use it whenever they want to cover up something that they know is selfish. I am going to buy a new backpack because I need one for my climbing ministry. Why do we need a word that compartmentalizes our life into Christian and secular. Why can't we be one or the other? I think that we should get a backpack if we need one, but at the same time we need to be careful about expecting god to endorse our consumerism. There are lots of other reasons that I don't like this word but time runs short. I need to eat lunch so that I will have enough energy to support my ministry, um, sorry...job.

Delight

2007-06-26T00:52:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been blindsided? I don't mean the kind of blindsided that happens when you are out driving and you get plowed into by a driver that wasn't paying attention. I mean the kind of blindsided that happens when you are at a table with a bunch of friends and pretty soon the topic of conversation turns to something you had not planned on talking about, and now a question has been asked and everyone turns to you to see how you will answer it.

I guess that it is pretty obvious that this is what happened to me recently. The question was pretty simple. Trent, how will I know the person that God has called to be my mate? My answer was basically that there is a large assumption there that God even wants you to have a mate. I am not sure how that response was received. I hope that it was taken in the manner that I meant it: with love.

The more I study scripture and the more that I try to get my mind around the person that Jesus is, the more I realize that our questions are not that difficult to answer. They are just difficult to answer to our liking. I don't know how many times I have asked God a simple question in my "little plastic telescope time" and then I find that the answer is simply not what I wanted to hear. Of course, instead of realizing that my desire is out of line with my "Lord," I rephrase the question. Surely, my Lord wants me to have what I want. Surely, my Lord will give me my desires. Surely, he wants me to have a new camera, phone, house, car, boyfriend, diagnosis, spouse, job, church, pastor, guitar... Surely he will give me the desires of my heart. I mean, doesn't it say that in scripture?

Yeah, well, sort of. It says that if I delight myself in Him I will get the desires of my heart. But Lord don't you know how much that new job would delight me? Don't you know how much it would delight me to know that I would have a new job or to cruise to work in a new car. I am sure that the Lord does know how much that would delight me and I am afraid that it makes him sad.

Seriously, what does it mean to delight myself in Him and His ways? Why doesn't it delight me to share a meal with a hungry person or to be a friend to a lonely person? I don't know. I do know that God is patient with me though, and his love for me does not depend on me returning it to Him. For that I am grateful. I am grateful that He delights more in me than I do in Him.

Careful

2007-06-20T23:59:00.000-04:00

I have got to learn to be careful. I was just in a service at Falls Creek listening to a powerful evangelistic sermon thinking that I hope some of the students around me get this message.

Toward the end of the message I noticed a young man about 3 rows up from me that I was especially concerned about. This young man had long dark hair parted in the middle. His black t-shirt was emblazoned on the front with a white skull with red lightning shaped letters around it. He wore black "bondage" pants with straps and chains all over them. This kid needed this message...BAD.

When the invitation came I kept my eye on him. I don't know if I was concerned about the security of the camp or this young man's soul, but I did watch out. Another young man on the same row began moving toward the aisle in response to the speaker's call, but he had to pass the kid in black to get to the aisle.

Maybe, I thought, this kids response to the message will help the kid in black have the courage to react to the holy spirit's call on his life. Maybe this will be a good thing. Maybe this will work. Finally, the second kid passed the kid in black and made it into the aisle. He took a step and then the kid in black reached out and grabbed the second kid, keeping him from progressing any further down toward the front of the tabernacle.

I sensed danger. Why was this kid stopping someone from responding to God's call. I could not understand it. I was confused. It was at that moment of confusion that I saw the kid in black give the second kid a great big hug and then pat him on the back to send him on down the aisle to the front. The kid in black then turned to his group, gave a big victory punch to the sky and yelled, "Yesss!" to the rest of his group. This kid then grabbed several other students that were still standing there and began praying.

As I watched this young man lead his group in a prayer of thanksgiving for his friend, I humbly and quietly asked God to help me be more careful about judging from appearances.

Wine

2007-06-13T11:11:00.000-04:00

I just learned something very important. I learned that it is possible for me to be a follower of Jesus and not have my faith in Him. The idea is still hard for me to grasp but I do believe it is true.

You see, I was reading the story about Jesus changing the water into wine at a wedding. In John's account of this I noticed that Jesus's disciples were there with him. John specifically says that Jesus and his disciples were invited to the wedding. My guess is that it is a wedding for some annoying nephew or niece on Mary's side of the family. I say Mary's side of the family because she seems to me to be very involved in the preparations for this wedding.

Like I said earlier, the bible says that Jesus and his disciples were invited. Now, if I were one of the disciples I would think twice about going to a wedding of someone I did not know. That is probably because most of the people that I know that get married are Baptists, and we all know that their weddings are not nearly as much fun.

I suppose that the disciples were not Baptists because it looks like they were planning on having a good time at the wedding. The formula seems pretty simple to me. Meet an awesome, charismatic mentor type dude and follow him to a party with lots of wine and have a great time. It looks like that is what they did. In fact, it looks like they had such a great time that they exhausted the party's supply of wine.

This did not make Mary very happy. I mean she has invested a great deal of time to help this wedding turn out well and her son and his rowdy friends drink up all the wine. If it happened like this it would go a long way to explaining why she went to Jesus and said, "They are out of wine, take care of it." John does not tell us the tone of her voice like he should, so we are left wondering how she says this to Jesus. I think she said it with exasperation. She was exhausted and her son's friends were making her look foolish. What is really cool is that Jesus takes care of it. I know that most people talk about why he took care of this when His time had not yet come but I just think that it is cool that he took care of it.

Oh, I heard someone say that there is no way that people at this party could get drunk on this wine because it was biblical wine. Everyone knows that biblical wine has no alcohol, wink, wink.

Here is the thing. Jesus had not at this time done any of his miracles and yet he still had a respectable following. I guess that the disciples followed him at this time because he was cool, because he was radical, because he had wisdom. I guess that they just liked this guy.

The thing that is really interesting though is that apparently they did not have faith in him until this miracle. It seems a bit odd to me. These guys put their faith in Jesus not because of his teaching, or his insight, or his wisdom, but instead they put their faith in Jesus because he makes sure a party turns out well. Oh, I know that all of those things contributed, but still, this miracle helps the disciples go beyond being just followers of Jesus.

I think that the biggest question that I have is am I a follower or do I really have my faith in Him? Apparently there is a bigger difference than I thought.

Zoo

2007-05-24T11:41:00.000-04:00

This last week I went with my son's class to the zoo. In order to do this I had to take off from work, and my son was grateful for my sacrifice. What he did not know was that the OKC zoo is one of my favorite places, so it was no sacrifice for me at all.

We got to visit the Great EscApe with its gorillas and chimps, the Cat Forest with its lions and tigers and the newly completed Oklahoma Trails which has a collection of animals native and formerly native to Oklahoma including bears, oh my. All of the boys in my sons group were well behaved and we had ourselves a great time.

One thing that I thought was interesting was when my son decided that he needed a souvenir. He went into one of the many gift shops and picked out several post cards and a grab bag surprise. It cost 3.50 and was filled with who knows what. My son likes surprises so he was excited about opening it up.

When he did, he found a stuffed puffer fish, a plastic telescope and a magnifying glass. He was overjoyed. He made me proud with the way that he shared all his newfound wealth with all of his classmates. In fact, everytime we would get to a new cage the boys would take turns looking at the animal with the plastic telescope.

Eventually I got a turn. Actually, I was excited about looking at the Bontebok with the little telescope because the antelope was quite a ways off. I expected to be able to count his eyelashes by the way the boys kept clamoring for their turn with the telescope. When I got my turn I was very disappointed. Not only could I not count the eyelashes, but I couldn't even see it's eyes. This little telescope had almost no magnification. All it did was provide a peep hole that was filled only with the Bonteboks profile.

A few days later I was thinking about "quiet times." I hate that word, "quiet time." I am not sure why but I have always thought about how my best "quiet times" are not very quiet. I am yelling or crying or talking or muttering or whatever, but I am rarely quiet. Oh, I know I am supposed to be listening to what he has to say to me, and I do a lot of the time. In fact, maybe that is what happened here.

I was thinking about how I don't like the term "quiet time" and I began remembering the little telescope story. You see, I had always thought of those times with God as times when He was very close to me. I realized that He was actually never "closer" to me. He is always there if I just take the time to notice. I then realized that quiet times are not about closer, they are about getting rid of all the background clutter, about taking out all the distractions and focusing only on Him. So if I say I need to have my "Little Plastic Telescope Time," hopefully you will understand.

Talent

2007-05-21T15:20:00.000-04:00

Last night I went to the Leo Kottke concert in Norman, and I was absolutely dumbstruck by his talent. You must understand, however, that I am not the person who could tell you whether or not he is one of the most technically correct guitar players or not, but I certainly was amazed at how much music this one guy got out of one guitar.

One thing that I thought was odd was Leo himself. Here was this undisputed master of the guitar playing in an outdoor venue, alone on a concrete stage, in front of a large ampitheater filled with a menagerie of people. Out in front of young hip musician types wearing pony tails, clean cut middle aged yuppies in birkenstocks, and fringe types wearing almost anything you can imagine strolled Kottke sporting a modest haircut, wearing a white button up shirt, untucked, with blue jeans and saucony jogging shoes.

But when he sat down, I saw the thing that surprised me. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. Apparently they did not. They all had their eyes glued to the 12 string guitar that Leo was playing. Not one person seemed to notice, not the tattooed people on the front row, not the bluegrass musicians to my left, not the middle aged people behind me, no one noticed that Leo Kottke was wearing black crew socks with his jogging shoes.

Last year at Falls Creek where I supervise the ropes course, I tried wearing black socks with my Merrels. My socks weren't crew socks; they were cool ankle socks that were supposed to be sporty. But in spite of this I still caught a lot of grief because of my sock color. Eventually, I gave in, and went back to white socks.

As I sat watching Leo play while wearing his black socks I started thinking about how much I wished that I had talent.

LINK

2007-05-14T16:35:00.000-04:00

I found some interesting reading in a place that I would have never expected. It is the website of a very accomplished musician. I am not sure why I would not expect to find a good read at a musician's site, but I think that I must be prejudiced. I don't mean to be; it only makes sense that musicians be literate and interesting.
Anyway, I was going to check to see when he was going to be close by and I stumbled on this section of his site. I have not finished reading it so enter at your own risk. Remember my disclaimer; Websites are vast emcompassing places, reading them can result in depression and anxiety. http://www.leokottke.com/output/notes.html

empathy

2007-05-08T11:36:00.000-04:00

Raising someone from the dead is a big deal. I think that if it happened today there would be an article in the newspaper about it. I don't mean those newspapers by the checkout stands of the grocery store like the Weekly World News. I mean big time papers like the New York Times and the Daily Oklahoman. Okay, maybe I should have said USA Today instead of Daily Oklahoman. But seriously, We would hear about if it were to happen.

In Jesus' time it was a big deal too. In fact, according to John, Jesus' raising of Lazarus was the straw that broke the camel's back for the Jews. After this, the Jews were dedicated to making Jesus' crucifixion happen. One of them said, "This is not working, look how the whole world follows after him." In fact getting rid of Jesus was not going to be enough. Lazarus had to go as well.

In John's gospel, this story and the implications of it are almost a chapter and a half and it flows seamlessly right into the triumphal entry and the passion. It seems to me that John wants us to know that this story is a very big deal. I agree. It is a big deal. But I am troubled about part of it.
Why is it that this story is only in John? I don't think that we can say that the other disciples were not present at the time because John records that Thomas said, "Well lets follow Jesus back to Bethany so that we can die with him." It definitely appears that they were all at the meal where Mary poured the nard on Jesus' feet out of thankfulness for what she did for her brother. So why is it that the other gospel's don't record this? They all record the feeding of the 5000 and they have varying accounts of Mary's tearful cleansing of Jesus' feet, but they do not have the story of Lazarus.

I know that John's gospel is quite different from the others in terms of style and purpose, but I am still surprised that this big big thing would not be in there. When read in John it provides and excellent understanding about what was going on during the passion.

I can understand why maybe Luke and Mark don't include this story. For them it would have been written second hand. Maybe they thought that this story is too incredible for anyone to believe from anyone except an eyewitness.

Matthew's reason for leaving it out? Maybe it did not fit into his purpose for the book. I don't know.

I am glad it was recorded by John though. It is almost like John was some little middle school brother to the high school star Jesus. No matter how hard Jesus tries, he cannot shake the little pest. John is right there wherever Jesus is. He hears the little things that the others might miss. He sees the tears of Jesus when he is talking to the sisters of Lazarus. John nails it.

I think the thing I like most about this passage is the message of hope that it gives me. I don't mean the resurrection or anything, but instead it is the tears of Jesus that give me hope. You see, Jesus delayed his travel to Lazarus on purpose. He could have gone to help him immediately, but he did not. Jesus could have healed Lazarus from a distance like he did with the official's son, but he did not. Instead he waited till Lazarus was dead and gone. He did it for our own good, so we could see the amazing power of God. He did it to begin the process for which he came, to redeem us.

But, in spite of how good it was for us for him to wait, Jesus understood the pain that this caused Mary and Martha. He knew that their grief was real. He understood them and their loss. Because of that I can believe that he understands me when His will hurts.

Wow.

2007-05-07T16:37:00.001-04:00

Just watch this.

http://my.break.com/media/view.aspx?ContentID=289373

rubber

2007-05-01T10:27:00.000-04:00

I recently gave this advice to someone who was concerned that they may have to give up something if they committed to a serious relationship. Part of my advice was of course you will have to give up something. You will have to give part of yourself. I tried to let them know that this is not a bad thing and that giving up yourself to someone you love is a good thing. It is what Jesus did for us. I know that this could be taken too far, but it seems that there is more danger in not taking it far enough. Anyway, This small bit was given in response to the concern that someone may have to give up a dream to which the point was made, "perhaps but only if they are not the same dreams.

If you are up front with yourself and with your partner things will be easier when the time comes to decide whether or not to continue. Talk about your dreams when the time comes. Don't rush anything, but don't neglect the important conversations either. If you are honest with yourself and with them you will be saving a lot of heartache."

My final response was that you have to protect your heart. Be rubber, not glass. Bounce, don't break.

Tough questions, any suggestions?

comfort

2007-04-25T10:21:00.000-04:00

I attended a memorial service for a family member recently. It was not a sad experience for me because I was aware of the person's suffering and therefore their newfound freedom. This did not, however, keep me from being somewhat cynical.

The service was wonderful. All of the friends and family that were present commented on how they thought the service was beautiful and moving. I suppose it was, but I had a hard time not noticing some other things that reminded me of the story of Lazarus. You see, I learned from Rob Bell, I think it was him, that it was normal culture for the time to hire professional mourners. They were to accompany you in your grief by sobbing and crying for your loss. I suppose they were paid.

I also remember how after this event Mary anointed Jesus with some sort of perfume that was very expensive. I have heard some say that this was a perfume that was used in burials and I have heard others say that it was used by prostitutes. I am assuming here it was for burials.

I guess that the place for the burial was expensive as well. How long do you think it would take to chisel a cave out of solid rock? How many people would it take to seal up the tomb with a giant rock.

All of that is to say that I suppose that expense and acting have always been a part of how the living deal with death. In our case the service was held in a beautiful room that had exposed beams in the ceiling that were covered in a plywood veneer. The plates that held the beams together were not thick cast iron. Instead, they were paper thin copper sheets with bolt heads screwed on to the sheet. It took me quite a while to determine that the bolts were not actually going all the way through the beams.

Faux curtains were painted between posts made out of decorative one by lumber. A truly astounding rendition of Amazing Grace was played through loudspeakers in the cieling. The staff of the funeral home were very helpful and they constantly maintained a pleasant comforting smile that must have taken a while to perfect.

After attending this event, I have made some decisions. I have decided that I will be cremated when I die. I will not have any music at my memorial service unless it is sung or performed by someone I know. If there is no one who knows me that feels comfortable saying any kind words about me then please don't hire someone to do it. Instead just get together and talk.

This may sound like I am very upset with this funeral home. I am not. It is just that I never really understood what you pay for at these places. You are paying for a peaceful image. You are paying for professional guidance, and you are paying for someone to smile and comfort you. You are paying to have someone help you grieve and in many cases you are paying to get rid of guilt you may feel for not loving the deceased more while they were here.

When I pass from this life into the next I want those who love me to honor me with pleasant memories and genuine smiles. If you really need to pay someone to comfort you with a smile, go ahead, but make sure you get your money's worth.

Dream

2007-04-12T10:10:00.000-04:00

Last night I stumbled out of bed to use the restroom. When I came back to bed I realized that the bizarre thoughts running through my head were a dream. It was the most bizarre dream that I have ever had. The dream played out in several acts. I don't know why it happened like this except that maybe my subconscious was unable to come up with decent transitions between the scenes.

The dream began with me flying through space in a small spaceship toward a small distant planet. On the approach all of the instruments in the ship went haywire and I knew that we were in trouble. Somehow, I can't explain how, I knew that our problems were related to satellites orbiting this planet.

On the planet I found myself in a great convention area with numerous young twenty somethings. I felt like everyone was ignoring me because I could see conversations going on around me, but I was not a part of any of them.

I overheard one conversation. In it one of the twenty somethings that looked like a blonde version of the cool hip guy on the apple commercials said to another less distinct person that he was having a hard time creating the hearts of the animals in his world. Somehow, I don't know how, I knew that he was not talking about the hearts that pump blood but something else. That is when I realized that I must be at some sort of god convention.

I finally got someone to notice me and I pointed out that I did not belong here. They looked at my finger and pulled out a long thin wire which they (I really don't know who they is) examined under some microscope thing. I know it's getting wierd but it's almost over. They found some code on the wire and then the bizarre things started to happen.

They, whoever they was, found some sort of numeric code on the wire. From under a shelf they pulled out a full Gideon's Bible and sorted through the pages and layed the book flat. Then they took out something that looked like a framing square and oriented it on the bible while paying careful attention to the code that they got from the wire that came out of my finger.

The point of the framing square landed on two words, "Most High." They all looked at me and apologized for keeping me and set me on my way. It ended with me in my small spacecraft cruising through the galaxy again.

Wow. I feel really wierd.

Doctrine

2007-04-02T08:17:00.000-04:00

When I read stories about Jesus I like to imagine myself as the good guy. I don't mean that I like to imagine myself as Jesus, but I mean that I like to imagine myself as the good follower that gets it right.

This was true when I was reading about the healing of the guy that was blind since birth. I want to imagine that I am that guy that Jesus heals so he can display his power to all the people around. Admittedly, the mud spit balls might be a little much, but other than that I would like to think that I fit quite nicely in the mold of the guy that was blind from birth.

You see, I want to be the guy that has the amazing spiritual experience. I want to be the guy that says "All I know is that I was blind, but now I see." I want to be able to tell religous people how ridiculous they are when they criticize my devotion to my leader. I really do want all that.

The problem is that it is not very easy do live that way even if you really want to. I find myself more like the pharisees. If someone that is a "marginal" person in my book has an amazing spiritual miracle to celebrate I tend to be the bucket of cold criticizing water. "So, how are you going to make sure you make this relationship fit with God's plan for your life?" "You mean you had this amazing conversation during the church service?" "You were talking about Jesus with friends in a bar?" Seriously, the more of the gospels I read and take seriously, the more I become convinced that I have had absolutely no clue about who Jesus is or what he wants from me.

Now don't take this the wrong way. I am not saying I am ready to give up on Jesus, but I am saying I am ready to give up on my preconceived, plastic, fit in my pocket and do what I want Jesus. The one positive in this whole mess is that my view of Jesus is getting more and more rich, textured and complex. You see up until now I have been in love with doctrinal Jesus.

Doctrinal Jesus is the Jesus that sets up rules and regulations for who can and who cannot know God. I have subconsciously loved all of these rules and regulations because they kept me in the elite category of God Knower. Of course these same rules kept you out of that category, but your absence from the list benefitted my self esteem so it was tolerable.

I discovered in this passage about the man born blind that doctrinal Jesus is a myth. Doctrinal Jesus is my perversion of the Gospel's depiction of the messiah. It is a very dangerous perversion. I have since realized that doctrine can be just as dangerous as it can be helpful. It is dangerous when it used by religious people to eliminate people from the presence of God or to intimidate them into staying away from the God places of our lives. It is helpful when it is used to usher people into the presence of God. The difference between the two is not marked by a large red boundary marker. Instead, it is subtle and easy to miss. I have been missing it a lot lately.

Miracle

2007-03-12T15:51:00.000-04:00

Yesterday a few of my friends were talking during the evening church service. I am sure we were supposed to be somewhere, but somehow we ended up in the hall in front of the auditorium. The children were using the auditorium, so instead of looking for the place we were supposed to be we just stood there talking about whatever popped into our heads. I really enjoyed that time with my friends. It was very spiritual.

I don't really remember how it happened, but somehow the topic of conversation turned to miracles. One of my friends said that recently he had a discussion that was centered on the definition of miracle. He said that in this discussion he and another friend decided that a miracle is any event that transcends physical laws of nature. It sounded like a good idea, but the more I thought about it the less it worked for me.

My first problem with this definition is that what would be a miracle in one century may just be a curious technological phenomenon in another century. Penicillin was a miracle drug, for a while, until more people began to understand how it functioned and we began to take it for granted. For a while society talked about the miracle of flight, but now people stand in long lines waiting to board planes headed around the world while complaining about inefficient security measures. I guess what I am trying to say is that saying a miracle is any event that we don't understand scientifically is a cop out.

My second issue with my friends idea is that there are some totally normal, everyday, miraculous events that happen all the time. Sunsets, Autumn and babies being first on a long list that comes to mind. I have heard the optical explanation for the dazzling colors that are displayed on the horizon at sunset. To be honest, I don't care how you explain it scientifically, it is still miraculous. The amazing colors of fall in the Ozarks, miraculous. My grandson smiling. To me these everyday normal things are more miraculous than many of the great miracles of the Bible.

You may say that I am only arguing semantically. Maybe, but my point here is that the ability to perceive the miraculous is just as supernatural as the performance of the miraculous. I hope that makes sense to you because it does to me. It was with this in mind that I responded to my friend's statement about what makes a miracle. I said, "You know, I think miracles happen all the time, but we just don't notice them."

Hammered. That is how I would describe the reaction of my friends to my statement. "Yeah, somehow I just didn't notice the water in the lake being separated so that people could cross on dry land." "Why don't we feed the whole church, I have a package of cheese crackers in the car." "I am going to follow that pillar of fire on my way home tonight." I tried to explain what I was saying. I tried to explain the miracle of a believer's perception. The problem was that I was unable to explain it in a manner that they could perceive.

After that I spent some time in thought. Was I wrong? I really didn't think that I was. I still don't. I was watching the Naked Archaeologist on the t.v. the other night and the narrator guy was explaining how the wall's of Jericho could have been leveled because of an earthquake and the crossing of the Jordan River could be explained by a landslide. I was wishing I could find this guy and talk to him. I wanted to talk to him about the miracle of perception.

Blame

2007-03-05T11:30:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I wish I could put Jesus in a bottle, a special, magic bottle. Then when I really needed him I could rub the bottle a few times with a special Lord's Supper Linen while chanting "I am desperate, please hear me. I am desperate, please hear me."

Please don't judge me too harshly. I think many of us want to have a Jesus that will do our bidding. In fact, we have all sorts of books on the market that provide us with all the tools we need to get our Jesus to come out of our bottles to do our will. I thought for a while that I was above such formulaic reductions of Jesus's intervention in the lives of believers. I wasn't and I aint. I do it all the time.

My latest attempt to reduce Jesus to a genie in a bottle happened when I read about him healing the official's son. I noticed that the man was truly desperate and I thought that desperation must be the key to get my Jesus out of my bottle. Oh, I did not think it out that clearly, but that's what I did. I found myself encouraging people to be "desperate" for Jesus while hoping that my own prayer life reflected an adequate degree of desperation.

The problem is that immediately after healing the desperate official's son, Jesus then goes to Jerusalem and heals that lame guy by the pool. Now for a long time I thought that this guy was desperate too. I don't think so anymore. Oh, I know what your thinking. "Trent, you've gone off the deep end this time. This guy was lame for over 30 years. He must be desperate."

Think about this. If you were lame and bedridden for over 30 years what would you say to someone who asked if you wanted to be better? I would like to think that decades would never rob me of the hope that one day I would be better. I would not want to become resigned to my handicapped status. I want to think that I would say, "Yes I want to get better. I am just afraid to hope for it anymore."

This guy didn't say that. He said, "all these others get in the water before I can. I mean it is not my fault that I am like this. If only these others cared for an old invalid like me I would be on my way." What did he say then? Wellm, He did not say he wanted to be healed. Maybe he was afraid to hope, but when Jesus asked him if he wanted to get better he blamed others.

Now get this, Jesus healed him anyway. Jesus healed him and did not even make him beg like he made the official. Sometimes I don't get it Jesus. First you heal a guy one way and then you go and heal someone else in a completely different manner and for an entirely different reason.

What shocked me most about this story was that when this man was getting up Jesus told this guy to take up his bed. Why would Jesus do that? I mean the mat was probably valuable and this guy would need it wherever he ended up. Interesting isn't it. Apparently this guy would have left the bed there if Jesus did not explicitly tell him to take it. Reasons? A few possible reasons in my opinion.

First, Jesus just wanted to pick a fight with the Pharisees. He knew it was the sabbath and he knew that the Pharisees would make a big deal out of someone carrying their bed on the Sabbath. Second, this guy knew it was the sabbath and he knew he was going to catch "hell" from the pharisees for carrying it, so he needed a little extra push. Third, Jesus knew that this guy would prefer to stay where he was. Jesus wanted this guy to leave this place for invalids and not return.

I think it was a combination of these reasons. Look at what happened when the Pharisees found this guy carrying his bed. They hammered him for breaking their rules for the Sabbath. I don't suppose that there was any real surprise in that. That was pretty much their modus operandi. The thing that I find interesting is the man's response to their hammering. He says, "Hey, don't blame me. It is not my fault. I was minding my own business being crippled when this nosey dude came up to me and healed me. I didn't even tell him I wanted to be healed. It is the sabbath after all." The Pharisees probably stroked their chins and nodded their heads.

Later Jesus finds this guy. Jesus tells him that he better be careful and stop sinning or something worse is going to happen to him. What could be worse than being crippled for 30 some years? Apparently something could. Maybe that worse thing was disbelief in the person who just healed you. I don't know, just a thought.

Guess what this guy does when Jesus gives him this warning. He takes off and rats out Jesus to the Pharisees. Can you believe that? It is this part of the story that made me realize that this guy was not desperate for healing. This guy was desperate for sympathy. He wanted sympathy from others for not being able to make it into the pool. He wanted sympathy from the Pharisees for being wronged on the Sabbath. He wanted sympathy from Jesus, but he did not want to be healed. When he is healed what does he do? He blames.

Now here is where I struggle. Why then did Jesus heal this guy? Was it just to show me thousands of years later that he should not be put in a bottle to be rubbed and chanted over at the right time to intervene in a desperate situation? I don't know. All I know is that Jesus does help desperate people but he also chooses not to sometimes. I also know that Jesus helps people who are not desperate sometimes and sometimes he doesn't. He is a hard guy to figure out.

Maybe Jesus just wants to stay out of our bottles.

Power

2007-02-21T11:10:00.000-05:00

My son and I have recently found a program on the Discovery Channel, other than Mythbusters, that we enjoy. The program is called Futureweapons. On this show an ex Navy Seal gives viewers a tour of some of the newest state of the art weapons in the US arsenal. Many of these weapons are quite impressive. I am not sure what we like most about the show but I might have a clue.

That clue involves something I heard a friend of mine say recently about how boys tend to be impressed with power. I never really thought about it before, but I think that they are right. If true, it would explain my son’s fascination with history and warfare,and It would certainly explain his fascination with Futureweapons. The one thing that I am certain about is that this show is about power, pure military power.

While watching an episode about missiles that could hit a postage stamp from 50 miles, I began to contemplate the power it takes to accomplish such an amazing task. Then, being the ADD person that I am, my mind began expanding its review of power until I was rummaging through mental topics that had almost no resemblance to television program that got this train of thought going in the first place.

I began thinking about how power is all around me. My computer is running on power. My Bluetooth stereo headphones are running on power. In the morning I will drive to work using power. Nuclear weapons have an incredible amount of power as do power plants, duh. But what is it about all of these that makes them powerful? I think that it has to do with something very simple, but also intimidating. That something is change.

Think about it. In every instance power allows someone or something to change their environment. In some instances, Bluetooth headphones for example, that change is very small. In other instances, like nuclear energy, that change is profound. Recently, I chanced upon another type of power that though profound, is exceptionally subtle. That power is belief.

This subtle form of power revealed itself to me while I was reading about the life of Jesus. It happened when I came upon a story that seems insignificant at first. Basically, Jesus had just succeeded in running off many of his disciples by saying that they must be nourished by his body and blood. I don’t think Jesus was recommending cannibalism. If so, I am sure I would check out as well.

Instead, I think that Jesus was saying something important about what should nourish us. He was telling us that when you get right down to it the thing that should give us life is him. His body, His blood, they should provide us with purpose and meaning. Do you remember when Jesus was encouraged by his disciples to eat because he appeared weak? His disciples were emphatic. “Jesus, you’ve got to eat,” they said.

He replied, “I’ve got food to eat that you don’t know anything about.” Jesus then said that the food that he was talking about was doing the will of His father. Amazing isn’t it? Jesus said that in fulfilling his purpose on earth He was getting more sustenance than eating at an all you can eat Chinese buffet.

It was in this context that I realized Jesus was expecting his followers to be sustained by doing the will of Lord God that most of them left. They realized that there is little room for personal agendas when following this guy.

So, after being deserted by most of his followers, Jesus is hanging out with the few remaining disciples that he has, and is waiting on the upcoming feast in Jerusalem. Now things get complicated because Jesus has some brothers. Can you imagine how hard life would be if Jesus was in your family? Talk about the world’s worst big brother. You would absolutely never get by with anything, ever.

In the story Jesus’ brothers say hey big brother, why don’t you take your few remaining followers and go down to Jerusalem and show them some of your cool tricks? Seriously brother, if you have political plans you are going to have to get out where the people are.

You see, they said this because they did not understand who their big brother was. I mean really, can you imagine the awkwardness around the family dining table when conversations inevitably came to birthdays? Seriously, what did Joseph and Mary say about the birth of Jesus to his siblings? I don’t know what they said, but that is a conversation that I would have loved to have heard.

So it is not without sympathy that I bring up Jesus' brothers. They were in a tough situation. If you read the story you find that John, the writer of the story, says that the big problem with Jesus’ brothers was that they did not believe. After thinking about the complications of actually having the Savior of the World in your own family, I am not sure that I can blame them. I guess that it is understandable that they did not believe who Jesus was or what He was about, especially after watching him grow up. They could not comprehend that this big brother was the messiah, nor could they have had any idea what kind of messiah he would turn out to be.

The fact that they did not believe is significant, but more importantly look at what Jesus says to their invitation to go to the feast. Jesus says, “You go on ahead. It is not my time to go. You can go when ever you want, but I have to wait for the right time to go.” What would Jesus have said to them if they had believed? Would he have said wait with me? Would he have given them an explanation to the cryptic statement that he left them with? I don’t know.

Here is what I think, though. I think the significance of the story is that Jesus said that he had to wait. It is not as significant that his brothers could go whenever they wanted, but rather that Jesus had to wait because he had a purpose. Think about it. On Saturdays I get to sleep late because there is no one telling me what to do. I have no boss expecting me to punch the clock at the right time. I don’t have to do anything that I don’t want to do on Saturdays and I usually don’t, but when Monday morning comes I have to change my plan. I have a purpose on Monday morning. I have to get to work and get that purpose done. There is a right time for this, and a wrong time as well.

If Jesus’ brothers had believed, they would have been unable to do whatever they wanted. Why? Simple, belief is powerful. Belief changes your agenda and gives you a purpose that is foreign to your normal status quo. Belief changes things, not the least of which is your schedule. Seriously, how can you believe that Jesus is the son of God and not change? How can you believe that Jesus is who he says he is and not be moved to action in response to the needs of people all around you?

I am afraid that the answer to this question is also simple. I still walk past hungry people, I continue to neglect hurting people, and I do what I want like it is a Saturday. Why? I don’t believe. Lord, help thou my unbelief.

Cool is not good enough

2007-02-16T11:14:00.000-05:00

Last week I talked to several people at my church and I asked them to meet early on Sunday to discuss a few things. This was going to be an important strategy meeting. We had a lot to talk about. We really did.

Skip to Sunday morning. As I am getting ready to go I get a phone call. It was one of the people I was supposed to be meeting with asking me where I was. I looked at the clock and saw that it was only nine o'clock. "What was the problem?" I asked. The meeting that you called; we are here for the meeting you called. Panic, despair and anxiety all mixed inside my head like a smoothie. I was late for my own meeting.

This should have never happened. My wife had given me a new Samsung Blackjack that has a powerful calendar and appointment function with several high tech alarms, but I learned the hard way that they don't work unless they are programmed. I had forgotten to put the appointment in the phone. No matter what kind of smartphone I have, it is only as smart as I am.

Scared

2007-02-16T10:31:00.001-05:00

I recently received this email from a friend. It describes a situation that I find myself in all the time. That situation where I realize that something that I want may not be what God wants me to have.

I don't know how to "give it up." I want what God has for me if it's better than what I dream of. You tell me that what God has for me is much better than what I dream of and want. I have heard that but never really thought about it. I thought God would just give it to me when it was time. This is wrong. I never thought I would have to give up my dreams in order to for God to give me what he has for me. It will be so hard to give up my dreams. My dreams are everything I hope for... everything I want... they are everything. Giving up my dreams is giving up everything I have. It's scary. It's like walking with your eyes closed and you can't feel the next step... the people around you say that it's a bigger platform and very sturdy... better than the shaky one you are standing on at the moment... you can stay on the platform you are on or you can take the risk and step out for the next one... but there's no halfway... once you step out for the next one you can't go back to the other one... you have to sell out to the idea that there is indeed another platform on which you will end up if you just take the step to get there, but all you have to go on is what other people are telling you. That's what I feel like. You are telling me that if I give up MY dreams, God will give me something so much better. You are telling me that I have to sell out to something that I'm not totally sure is there.

I just realized what I want, and I got it from a TV show. I want to be wanted. I want someone to wonder what I'm doing when we aren't together... to smile when they just hear my name... to actually tell me the truth... to love God more than anything else... to challenge me... to be there when I feel nothing else is... to lead me... to live life with me... I want him. I don't know who he is, but I know he will be great. He is one of my dreams. You are telling me that I have to give him up. Giving him up and not knowing what God will give me in return seems impossible. Tears are welling up in my eyes b/c I don't know how or if I can do that. I know that I must give up my dreams in order to receive what God has for me. My dreams are what I want. I must give up what I want, but I don't know how. I can't explain how scared I am. This is one of the most frightening things I think I have ever had to do. I don't know what is in the future. What is going to happen? Where will I end up? What will my dreams become when I give up the ones I have now? I am afraid.

I think it is scary too, but I rarely hear believers talk about it this way.

centerfold

2007-02-12T11:11:00.000-05:00

I am human. More human than I would ever like to admit. No, really, I mean it. You see when I started this blog I figured that it would be an opportunity for me to share what is going on inside me. That is why I like to describe it as faith from the inside out. By that I mean that by my descriptions of what I see from the inside, hopefully you will be able to see what faith means to me from the outside. I suppose I also thought it would be interesting to some people.

By sharing these internal observations I feel like I am baring my soul. Baring is not something that I do well. I was married for five years before I would unlock the bathroom door. Donald Miller says something that makes me think we are soul mates. He says that if he could wear clothes while showering, he would. I know what you mean, Donald.

Now Donald was talking about physical nakedness, but emotional and spiritual nakedness is just as real, and just as scary. This would be meaningless to me if it were not for the fact that I decided to put a counter on my blog. I suppose that this was so that I could see how many people were choosing to peek at my emotional and spiritual vulnerability. From the looks of my counter I can leave the shades up and the lights on.

Maybe that is what has me bummed. Being vulnerable is not something that I do well but I hoped that if I did, someone would want to see. I guess I figured that my vulnerability would be of interest to someone. Surely my emotional being is centerfold quality.

I kind of sucks to think that middle age and pudgy applies to more than just my body.

Desperate

2007-02-05T13:10:00.000-05:00

Jesus is a hard guy to understand. But in spite of that there are times when I get this feeling that I have Him all figured out. This last week I got that "got ya figured" feeling as I read about Him healing the official's son.

I noticed that Jesus did not respond at all like I would have expected. You see, when this official says please heal my son, I would have expected immediate compassion. It did not happen. I know that there must be more to that than meets the eye.

The interesting thing to me in this is that after Jesus says, "You guys will just never believe until you see a miracle." The official responds by saying, (my interpretation) "This is not about belief, this is about my son's life." It is almost like the official is trying let Jesus know that he has run out of options, that he is desperate.

Because of this I thought, Aha! Jesus responds when people get desperate. I started thinking of all the times when desperate people approached Jesus and got what they were asking for. Maybe I have this guy figured out after all. If we can only get desperate enough, Jesus will act in our lives! I was thinking about a title for a book about desperate people meeting Jesus, "Jesus Lives on a Dead End Street." I thought that would be a great title. It would have been too, if only I had not continued reading.

Need

2007-02-05T13:05:00.000-05:00

Lately, I have been quite convicted about only loving and caring for people who will love me back. Unlike myself, Jesus loved unconditionally and he blessed people because of their membership in humanity rather than their likelihood of returning blessings. In order to develop this spiritual muscle, I decided I would do something nice for someone who probably would not return the favor.

When I talked to several of my friends about this, they wanted to do it too. It turns out that many believers struggle to love people unconditionally.

So, last Sunday afternoon 4 of my friends and I went downtown to buy lunch for a homeless person. We were anxious to find someone and get to know them. We were hoping to establish an ongoing relationship with this person.

On the way we imagined what it would be like if we were homeless. Then we thought about what we would do if two car loads of young men and one short, bald guy got out of their cars and started walking up to us. I figured that I would think I was about to be abducted as part of a secret medical experiment. I tend to think like that because I have an active conspiratorial imagination. We amended our plan. We were going to do this in smaller groups.

Even with our amended plan, all we found out that day was that Sunday afternoons are not good times to find homeless people in our town. The only man out that day had already eaten a hamburger just before we invited him to lunch. Either that or he preferred hunger to being in a medical experiment.

The five of us went to eat by ourselves licking our wounds. We were concerned because we knew that our motives were right on. As a group we decided to get help from people who care for society's cast offs all the time. We assigned a group member to talk to some representatives of a community agency about how we could help and report back to us.

Being the impatient person that I am, I decided not to wait. So, one afternoon last week I went to the library to grade papers and to meet people. Although libraries may be great places to find homeless people, they are not great places to meet them. I saw one man sitting reading a magazine and thought about interrupting his reading to have a conversation, but we were in a library. Conversations were not allowed. I had not considered this in my plans.

After I finished grading my papers, I went out in the main hallway and waited for a while. My 10 year old son was with me and was quite curious about why I wanted to just sit in the lobby of the library. Just as I was about to explain everything to my son, the man I had seen earlier got up and began walking to leave the library.

I waited, hoping I would have the opportunity to start a conversation with this man. He came out and stood right in front of me. I wondered, "what would Jesus say?" All I could manage was a weak, "hows it goin'." He looked at me suspiciously as my son was saying, "Dad, can we leave?" I just stood there wondering what do I have in common with this man?

He reached into a pocket on his jacket, pulled out a package of tobacco and rolled a cigarette. My son's eyes grew wide with curiosity. I stammered again, "how's it goin'?"

"Fine," he said as he finished rolling his cigarette. He turned and walked out the door.

I looked at my son and realized that I had a lot of explaining to do. I spent a good part of that evening explaining to my son that I felt like I had to learn to love people like Jesus loved them. My son said that he understood and I was grateful for that.

Here is the funny thing about this situation. After being convicted about the need to love people who won't love me back some wierd, unexplainable things began to happen. The students at my school began to behave better and we were able to get more things done in our class time. I began to notice more opportunities to help people. I began to get more excited about spending time in fellowship with believers. All of this even though I was unsuccessful buying lunch for a person in need.

Too Big for Me

2007-02-05T10:33:00.000-05:00

The other day a friend of mine was telling me about some of his recent car problems. They were quite significant. He had the head gasket replaced, the catalytic converter replaced and then several other repairs that totalled 1,700 dollars. His emergency fund was gone.

It got worse. He found out that all of those repairs did not fix his car. He was going to need a new engine. I felt really sorry for him. He really is a great guy, but in the end I did nothing. I mean, how could I? The problem was too big for me, and I did not have the resources to fix it.

Enter my wonderful wife. Yes, the same person who bought me my cool phone, SD card, and bluetooth headphones. She asked why the church could not help my friend with his financial difficulty. It was at that point that I realized that I had sinned.

You see, a couple weeks prior to that I had read the story of the loaves and the fishes, and I realized that one of the lessons of the story is that we should not let our lack of resources, or the enormity of the problem keep us from responding. The problem was that I had just done that. I had let my lack of resources prevent me from acting in response to a big problem.

I began calling people to see if they could help my friend. Almost everyone I called said that they could do something to help. The last person I called knew the situation very well, and he said that my friend's mother was going to foot the entire bill.

Here is where you need some background. My friend's relationship with his mother was strained at best. There was a complete history there that I only knew a small bit about, so when I did find out that she was going to help her son, I was quite surprised.

The problem I had is that not only was I surprised, I was also offended. Really, I was. No, I was not offended at my friend. I was offended at God. I talked to Him about it. "Why did you get me off my butt if you had the situation solved?" I asked. Not knowing what else I could do, I read the story about the loaves and the fishes again.

This time I looked to see who fed the 5,000 and was shocked to see that it was not the boy, or the disciples. It was Jesus. I realized that my story about my friend's car and my waking up to the need to act was totally in line with the story. Even the part about who did the fixing.

Bar Ministry

2007-02-01T20:23:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine recently received this story in email from his dad. He showed it to me and I liked it so...

I thought you might like this story, since you were (are) involved in the "bar ministry"!!

Love, Dad

I recently listed to Dr. Adrian Rogers' message entitled "The Dangers of Extremism" (which Art Rogers linked to here). Dr. Rogers (Adrian, not yet Art) does his usual masterful job of pointing our problems with those who ignore the plain text of Scripture in favor of their zealous going beyond it.

One statement he made, and I'm paraphrasing, had to do with looking into a cafe and seeing Jesus eating with a pimp and a drug pusher. Of course, he was updating the gospel's reference to Jesus being called a "friend of tax collectors and sinners." (Matthew 11:19)This reminded me of a story from my own ministry.

Several years ago, I had been frequenting the same local eating establishment in our community and befriended one of the waitresses there who was exceptional in her work. Each time I ate there I asked to be seated in her service area, and without even asking she always brought a glass of water with a lemon and a bowl of chips and salsa. I had several opportunities to speak with her about the things of God, to ask about prayer needs and, though I never was blessed to lead her to Christ, some seeds were planted.

Eventually I showed up to eat one day and asked to be seated in her service area. I was told, "Oh. She works over at the bar now. Do you want to sit there?" Shoot. My inner pharisee rose up and began to debate with the Spirit of God over what to do. Eventually I caved in to fears of reputation and sat in the regular part of the restaurant. But, my conviction allowed little enjoyment of my meal.

A week or so later while preaching, I told that story. In tears I shared with my congregation my sorrow over that decision and warned them that at a future point they might possibly see me seated at a bar if it gave me the opportunity to share the love of Christ. Following the service on of our faithful members came up to me and said, "Pastor, if you had done that 5 years ago, you might have sat down next to me. I think you ought to do it and not worry about what people think."

I've often considered what it means to be called a friend of sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes, gluttons, politicians and fools. It means that Christians have to do more than pray for them. It means that we have to more than not hate them. It means that we have to spend time with them. We have to get to know them. We have to laugh and tell stories with them. We have to enjoy their company. And they have to enjoy ours.What is the number one excuse people give for not living this kind of life? "I don't want to harm the reputation of Jesus by associating with people like that." DO WHAT!? In case you didn't notice, Jesus already has that reputation and it was well earned.

No wonder His favorite title for Himself was "the Son of Man." Jesus was a culture-chaser if ever there was one.This morning I was reading Romans 5:10, "For if when we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, much more, having been reconciled, we shall be saved by His life." [Emphasis obviously mine.] While thinking on this it dawned on me that I had always considered the term "His life" to refer to the resurrection. But, the resurrection did not instill any new character or deity to Christ. Even His glory was only temporarily hidden while on earth and was not "created" at His ascension, only "returned" to Him (John 17). This means, I think, that Jesus earthly life was not an aberration of action, only of location. How, precisely, would the Almighty God have lived if He had become a human being? To the very thought, breath and action just as Jesus Christ did. There was no differential.

Why then have we come to believe that isolation from sinners is Christlike, when, in fact, it is anti-Christlike. The reason we fear what "other believers" will think about us is because far too many Christians, like the Pharisees of old, have lost Jesus in His word, and we haven't taught the Jesus of the Word."You say you believe the Scripture? Well, these are they that testify of Me."What similar stories have you experienced and how did it turn out?

Perception

2007-01-30T15:18:00.000-05:00

I really like the story about Jesus meeting Nathaniel. In fact, I really like Nathaniel. He seems like a cynic to me. Maybe it is because I consider myself a bit of a closet cynic.

Now, whereas Nathaniel cynically wondered what good could ever come out of Nazareth, I cynically wonder what good could ever come out of almost anything I am aware of. I find myself saying things like, "What good could ever come out of a deacon's meeting," or "what good could ever come from the administration building," or even, "what good could ever come from seminary."

I can even imagine Nathaniel being dragged along by Philip to meet this mystery, messiah man, Jesus of Nazareth, "Baah! Humbug Philip, leave me alone." I can imagine Nathaniel saying, "Philip, I am so tired of your lame stories and fantastic ideas. Don't you have anything better to do with your time?"

Thank goodness that Philip didn't do the normal thing and say, "Fine you moron, go ahead and miss out on the greatest thing that could ever happen to you." Thank goodness Nathaniel went ahead and met Jesus. You see, it is in this meeting that I find something really fascinating.

When Nathaniel got close enough to hear Jesus, Jesus said, "Now here comes an Israelite in whome there is nothing false." I have no idea what Jesus meant by that. I don't even care very much if I ever know the full implication of that statement because Nathaniel's response carries all the implication that I need for a very long time.

Nathaniel said, "How do you know me?" Here is where it gets strange. All Jesus said was one simple line about a truthful Israelite and all of a sudden Nathaniel is ready to follow him anywhere. How is that?

I think it has to do with something pretty simple. We all want people to know who we are. We want people to understand what we are about. We want people to know our heart and still accept us. You see, I don't know if there really wasn't anything false in Nathaniel or not, but I do know that Nathaniel did not want there to be anything false in himself. I know that Nathaniel wanted more than anything to be what Jesus just said about him.

If this was just a simple one time event I could just move on and call it a scriptural anomaly, but it is not a one time event. There are many instances where Jesus speaks what is in someone's heart and they have to react. Sometimes the reaction is one of humility and thankfulness like Nathaniel's. Sometimes the reactions are angry and vindictive.

This is all very humbling because I am not blessed with Jesus's ability to peer into the human heart. I have to know someone first. In fact, I have to know them pretty well, and even then I stand a good chance of getting it wrong. I even struggle with knowing my own heart much of time.

Nevertheless, speaking to the heart of the man was the Jesus strategy. He did it all the time and He did it well. He did it to crowds and to individuals, over and over. It seems like speaking to people's hearts is something that we should do all the time. But how? I mean how do you speak to someone's heart when unlike Jesus it can take us a lifetime of vulnerability and dedication to grow a relationship strong enough to let someone give us a glimpse past the facade and into the heart?

I am afraid that the implications are obvious.

Off The Wagon

2007-01-25T11:36:00.000-05:00

Yes, I am perfectly aware of the slippery slope that I am precariously clinging too. I feel a bit like an addict leaving rehab, suddenly aware of temptation stalking him. I suppose that the only path I have available to me is honesty. Gulp, here goes.

I thought that I had recently come to grips with my materialism relapse. Not so. I have begun to describe my fall off the wagon as my post BJ-day. That doesn’t look right. Ooops, I don’t mean it that way. You see, it means my post Blackjack day.

After my wonderful wife bought me my Samsung Blackjack cell phone for Christmas my materialism came back to me like the Olsen twins Thanksgiving dinner. I knew that my materialism had become unmanageable. I knew something needed to be done.

I thought I was doing much better. I was taking deep breaths and confessing my sudden infatuation with all things Bluetooth. I was making progress, really. I had even told my friends that I no longer wanted a Jabra Bluetooth stereo headphone for my Blackjack. Excellent progress don’t you think? No, I told them that I would be quite satisfied with the normal corded earbuds. I could feel the contentment wash over me like a wave of frustrated dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, I had set my course. I was on the way to recovery.

But, what you don’t know is that January 15th is my anniversary. Again, my loving wife came to the rescue. We braved the ice storm and traveled into town that day. We ate lunch at Abuelita’s Mexican Restaurant where I had the Mexican Tacos and she had the… What did she have?

Anyway, she took me to the Cingular store there in town and threw me to the floor, twisted my arm and made me take a brand new set of Jabra Bluetooth stereo headphones as my anniversary gift. I made a valiant effort, but the tenacity and strength of my wife’s assault overcame my steely resolve.

I must say that these things are like the coolest headphones in the world. The sound quality is exquisite and the convenience, amazing. I really don’t understand how life was possible without them. Really.

For all of you out there who are concerned about my condition and possible relapse, I can honestly say that now that I have the Jabra Bluetooth stereo headphone set, I am back on the wagon. I am content. I am content. No, really I am content.
The one thing I would ask is that you don’t look at my Internet favorites right now. You see, although I am content, I have been browsing Bluetooth accessory websites. Did you know that there is actually a Bluetooth device that lets you wirelessly connect your phone’s mp3 player to a real home stereo? Not only that, but there are GPS devices that I can attach to my phone that will tell me my exact location and the best route to get where I want to go. And…

Whispering Pakistani Psychiatrist

2007-01-24T11:13:00.000-05:00

Many years ago, I was employed at an adolescent for-profit psychiatric hospital. While working there I met a whispering Pakistani psychiatrist. I was quite suspicious of him at first. When he came on to my unit he would ask us about his patients so quietly that we could barely hear him.

I could never understand why his volume did not change. If the kids were in group therapy in another room, he spoke softly. If they were outside, he spoke softly. If they were in the dayroom running and playing, he still spoke softly. If the unit was so loud that he could not be heard, he would leave and come back at a different time.

One day, after I knew him better, I asked him why he always used such a soft voice. He told me that in his country the volume of your voice was indicative of your social status. The louder your voice, the lower your status, and the softer your voice, the higher your status. He said that status, not volume, was what gave weight to the things you said.

I was intrigued. I began thinking about how I need to pay attention to the still small voice when I pray. You know the one I am talking about don’t you? It’s the one that goes away if my life is too busy to pay attention to it. It's the one that never forces itself on me by yelling and screaming. It is the one whose volume seldom changes. I realized at that time why there are times when I need to be quiet and still.

Lately, I have thought that this whispering mess is a good thing. To be honest, I can scarcely think of something scarier than a God that yells at me.

Oh, I am not saying that God is a whispering Pakistani psychiatrist.

Action

2007-01-22T11:07:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine loaned me a book the other day. It is called “Under the Overpass.” I have read the first couple of chapters and I am convinced that it is going to be a great read. Now, you must understand that I don’t mean that it is a masterpiece of American fiction like “Geek Love,” but it is turning out to be very amazing book for my understanding of who Jesus is and what He wants from me.

Basically, the book is about a young man who decided to take his pastor’s sermon seriously. The sermon was about being content with nothing, so he decided he would spend some time living homeless. I am a bit concerned that I am going to realize that faith is more than just attending church once a week. Faith may actually mean action.

It is funny, but as I was reading the first two chapters of this book I kept thinking about Jesus feeding the 5,000. Here is why. You see, Jesus looked out on the crowd and was concerned about all of those hungry people, right? So he decides that they need to be fed. Here is where I need to chase a rabbit for just a moment.

A while back I heard a religious person say that Jesus did not really feed this large crowd with just few loaves and fishes. Actually, He just got the disciples off their lazy butts and had them go and take care of something that they thought was too big a job to be done. He said that the miracle of the loaves and fishes was just getting people to tackle jobs bigger than they thought they could handle. Frankly, my dear…

You see two huge points keep jumping out at me. The first one is this. In this account you see that just a few verses later most of these people fall out on Jesus when they realize that they are not going to get a free meal from then on. Actually, they leave when Jesus says that who ever would follow him must eat his body and drink his blood. “Whoa there Savior dude!” was what they said. Well, maybe not exactly, but that is sort of what was going on. Anyway, the scripture says that many of these guys quit Jesus then and there.

Okay, here is my problem. Jesus is like omniscient, right? Thought so. So, if Jesus knew that all of these guys were going to bail, why did he work a miracle for their benefit? I don’t know. I suspect, however, that if the church were omniscient like Christ we would make sure we did not work our social miracles for those who were going to bail pretty soon. Oh, sorry, do we already do that? Hmmmm.

The second point seems to be in line with the rabbit I had to chase a minute ago. There was a huge benefit in this miracle for the disciples. Maybe that religious dude was partly right. Maybe it is a giant miracle to get us off of our lazy butts and do something when we see a problem. Maybe the when a Christian sees a problem they are then and therefore commissioned to step out on faith to do something about it, even if it won’t result in a larger Sunday School role.
I am afraid that this may be the lesson I learn as I read “Under the Overpass.” Maybe my suspicion that someone will bail on Jesus does not grant me license to deny them my Christian service. Hmmmm.

Shortlived

2007-01-10T15:26:00.000-05:00

Today was a sad day. It has only been a little over 2 weeks that I have been able to gloat about how my phone was better than yours. It was too. I mean I just wanted a phone with an MP3 player. There are many of them out there, but my wonderful wife wanted me to have the best, so she got me the Samsung Blackjack.

All of a sudden, I had the coolest phone in the communication universe, and I didn't even know what it was. When I did find out what it was, I started to gloat. I had people say things to me like, "Wow, you have the blackjack...Cool!"

I was beginning to enjoy having such a popular item and was forgetting my resolution to do my best to decrease the hold that materialism has on my life. I started thinking about ways to get a 1 or 2 gig SD card for the phone, necessary to take advantage of its mp3 capabilities, which thankfully was another gift from my wife. Then I wanted a good case, which I also got a few days later on my birthday. Now, I want a Jabra stereo bluetooth headset. And next, it will be...

Thankfully God intervened. Today when I got to work I saw it in the Daily Oklahoma, the new pinnacle device in the phone universe, the Apple i-phone. When I read about how cool it was, I realized that progress had passed my by. Now when people find out that I have a Blackjack they will say, "A Blackjack, that is so last month."

Surrender

2006-12-29T09:24:00.000-05:00

Back to the subject of a previous post that I did not finish. How to have a change of heart. The answer is not so easy because it involves death. I don't mean it's time to commit suicide, or maybe I do, spiritually, that is

I have been thinking about this post for quite a while and I have been intimidated by trying to describe what evangelicals would call salvation. That is what a Christian change of heart is afterall. The place that I have been coming back to over and over is Jesus' admonition to take up his yoke. Now I have read Velvet Elvis so I know that Rob Bell talks about this, but my copy is out on loan so I will have to remember. His point was, as I recall, that the yoke was the teachings of a particular rabbi. A lot more to it I know, but that is my starting point.

I have come to the conclusion that there is an awful lot more to the Christian life than just believing. I am not trying to say anything about who has or who has not experienced salvation. I am only trying to say that believing misses most of the boat. Jesus talked mostly about following and it was only with his closest followers that he discussed what they believed. When Jesus asked Peter if Peter loved him, Jesus made it clear that Peter's love for Jesus must result in an action of selflessness. Peter must feed Jesus' followers. Now the thing that seems odd about this to me is that Peter seems the one least likely to get this message from Jesus because Peter is the one who seems bent on competing with the others for Jesus' attention. Now he is going to have to go back and help them?

Following Jesus is an essential part of a change of heart because it will result in things that we would never do on our own, and that is exactly the point. Remember that yoke that Jesus talked about. It is such a beautiful illustration of following. If we are yoked to Him we will go where he goes and do what he does. Everything is cool until we realize that being yoked to Jesus and doing what He does and going where He goes means that we don't go where we want or do what we want to do. We have to sacrifice the selfish pursuits of our hearts to be yoked to the purposes and plans of Jesus.

Taking up that yoke is how we change our heart. Basically, we surrender.

Surrender.

contentment

2006-12-28T22:16:00.000-05:00

What a wonderful and extraordinary week this has been. My family has had a great time contributing to the western world's commercialization of Christmas, of which I was the recipient of some really sweet gifts. My wife bought me a new Samsung Blackjack cell phone. I just wanted a phone that would double as an MP3 player, so the Blackjack is overkill for my purposes, but I am actually finding out that I needed one all along. I kind of feel like the Bushmen in the "God's Must Be Crazy."

If you remember they were quite content in their world finding that all their needs for shelter, food, water and friendship were met by living in harmony with the desert around them. Discontentment happened when a littering bushpilot discarded an empty Coke bottle over the village of bushmen. It seems that this introduction of American Capitalism caused quite a stir in this quiet little community in the Kalahari.

I think that the reason it created such a stir is because there was only one empty bottle discarded. Please don't interpret this to mean to litter more.

Recently, I have been doing my best to see if I can do without. I don't really mean fasting because I am not spiritual enough to be any good at that, but I mean just not wanting stuff. I am tired of stuff, and yet stuff has this appeal to me that just intoxicates me.

Here is what I mean. I may have needed a new phone. My old one was so scratched that I could not read the screen anymore. The call end button on it was getting to be very unreliable, and it had been lost in the pasture overnight in the rain recently. But still this phone was all I needed. I was practicing contentment, that is until Christmas came along. My wife being the loving gift giver that she is wanted me to have the best, and since I was long overdue for an upgrade, the best was reasonably affordable.

You see, it is not just that I got a great phone. I got a really cool phone. And by the way, I am not sure who runs the foundation that determines the coolness of all objects, but there is a foundation that does this kind of thing. How else can you explain the cool factor of things like Mini Coopers, Samsung Blackjacks, and Waverunners. Anyway, It is not just that I got a cool phone. I got one that is better than yours. That is what made me so gleeful. I had something cool that was cool partly because you did not have one.

The problem is that as a believer I am now going to have to square this new feeling of exclusiveness with my Lord's mandate of love for all people. Now, I am not saying that you are a sinner if you have a Blackjack cell phone. I am just saying that you are a sinner if you want to gloat in your newfound coolness and say na na na boo boo.

I suppose that I can be content as long as you don't get a phone cooler than mine.

Oh, Christmas pictures will requre some editing.

Treasure

2006-12-17T21:18:00.000-05:00

Loving something with your heart is what I have been doing a lot of thinking about lately. Specifically, I have been trying to figure out what this heart thing is that does all of the loving. It is a big deal because it seems to me that the heart is the thing that is responsible for making me miss out on being young and cool. (see entry "It's Late, Could You Please Leave")

So how did I go about trying to figure out what this heart is? I started off with something a little weird. Please go along with me. I realized that I could make my finger, I was careful about which one, do finger thrusts even though I was verbally telling it to stop. This told me that there is something deeper than my voice or spoken command that tells my finger what to do.
When I did this it made me realize that there was something deep inside of me that made me do things. It troubled me that I could speak, “Stop,” and yet my finger kept on going. Now I don’t know if it is my heart keeping my finger going or not, but it is closer to being the heart than my voice is.

What I have decided is that the heart is that thing that moves me. It motivates me. It makes me go after things. When I move my finger and say stop something deep down keeps it going. This heart thing has a lot of power, and it does not always play fair. I mean it manipulates and schemes to get what it wants. We have all seen the guy that loves some girl, “with all his heart,” and he won’t let go when she sees that it is going nowhere. If he is not very careful he can follow his heart into all sorts of manipulations, contemplations and orchestrations. When that happens it is not very pretty.

I guess that is why the scripture says that the heart is deceitful above all things. Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” I guess this deceitfulness has to do with the idea that you can keep your finger moving while telling it to stop. It goes even deeper than that. You can tell your mother that the dress she is wearing looks good when in fact you think it makes her look old. You can hate your brother while you are telling him that you love him, and you can entertain a lustful thought while sitting in Sunday school. See what I mean. The heart really is deceitful.

In a way this is the idea behind the Sermon on the Mount. You see, Jesus said that he came to fulfill the law and not to abolish it. He then talked about how if you harbor a hateful thought it is the same as murder, and if you lust it is the same as adultery. You see, what he was saying was that this deceitful organ, the human spiritual heart, was the primary spiritual battleground. Of course we can control our fist so that we don’t pound our little brother when he makes us mad. We can pretend we don’t have lustful thoughts in Sunday school. We can sit on the outside while we are standing on the inside, and we can tell our finger to quit moving when something deep inside us is telling it to keep going. We can do all of that and believe that we are doing a good job, but Jesus wants us to know better. He wants us to know that the battleground for genuine spirituality is not our fists, or our appearances, or our finger. It is the heart.

In World War II countless planes were sent into Germany to bomb their ball bearing factories. When I was a kid I thought that was really stupid. If I was a General, I would have bombed the tank factories and the machine gun factories and the plane factories, and we would have lost the war. In a lot of ways I do that now. I bomb my fists for hitting and my eyes for looking and my appearances for appearing, while my heart is still manufacturing the raw material for spiritual war. I keep bombing, but raw material is still being manufactured. I just can’t seem to get ahead.

At some point I need to find the ball bearing factory inside me and bomb the living daylights out of it. Look at Jeremiah 17:9 again. It says that the deceitful heart is incurable and beyond understanding. Pretty terrible prognosis if you ask me. It is especially troubling when we look at what Jesus said the greatest command was. Namely, “love God with all of your heart.” It seems kind of stupid to me to love God with something deceitful. If you think about it that is what James means when he talks about being double minded. Remember? A double minded man is unstable in all his ways. Our human heart is easily distracted because at its raw bottom reality it is an organ bent on self-preservation. I don’t mean that in a good way. I mean that in a prideful way. It wants to elevate us and make us the object of the praise of others. It wants us to be number one. It wants to love itself with all that it has. So you see bombing the heck out of it is probably the best solution.

There are a couple of places in scripture that make this puzzling command (loving God with all your heart) more understandable. Ezekiel 11:19 is a good place to find some understanding. In these verses, starting with 16, Ezekiel is passing a message on to the Jews in exile. He says,
"This is what the Sovereign Lord says, I will gather you from the nations and bring you back from the countries where you have been scattered, and I will give you back the land of Israel again. They will return to it and remove all its vile images and detestable idols. I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them. I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh. Then they will follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. They will be my people, and I will be their God. But as for those whose hearts are devoted to their vile images and detestable idols, I will bring down on their own heads what they have done, declares the Sovereign Lord.”

The old heart will never do. We are in desperate need of a new one, a better one, a heart of flesh instead of stone. Look very carefully however at the dangerous alternative, which is what happens when our hearts are devoted to our own… I know the scripture specifically says vile images and detestable idols, but I think that almost any words after “own” will be the same. For example, our own way, our own treasures, our own girlfriend, our own boyfriend, our own education, our own plan, our own car, our own career, our own etc.

Our heart pursues our own treasure. It pursues it fanatically. That is its job. It will manipulate, orchestrate, conjugate, irrigate, and sublimate whatever it can to get treasure. Remember that the scripture says that where a man’s treasure is, there will his heart be also. This is found in Matthew 6:19-24, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is there your heart will be also. The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness, how great is that darkness! No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.

These verses are really bad to the bone to me. This is where the whole idea of what the heart is gets crystal. Look at what happens when I take the word treasure and use it as a verb instead of a noun. Do not treasure your stores here on earth. Treasure your stores that are in heaven because your heart is what treasures things so make sure you treasure heaven.

Do you remember earlier when I said that the heart is what moves and motivates me? It really does. It is because the heart is the part of me that values things. I move away from things I do not value and toward things that I do value. It casts a new light on the great commandment. Love God with ALL your heart could be said like this, treasure God alone, and value Him above all else.

As many of you know I teach for money. Anyway, for awhile in the past I had a principal who wanted me to put up rules in my classroom. You know those silly things like raise your hand to talk and don’t cheat and learn everything you are taught. I became rather obstinate about refusing to post any rules. It was assumed that if I had more rules my class would run better. I refused to believe it.

I explained to my prinicipal that my classroom runs very smoothly in spite of the fact that I don't have a giant poster of rules hanging up on my wall, and I really do have rules that every student knows. She wanted to know what they were, and I said it depends on the situation. I went ahead and explained. I said my rules are very simple. Don’t embarrass me. Don’t be mean to others or me and do everything you can to make me happy. Sometimes I only have one rule, do what I want before I ask. She thought I was kidding. I wasn’t.

I think my classroom runs smoothly because I understand that controlling the symptoms is not very effective. The student has to know in his heart what I want and be willing to do it. Too many rules mean too many loopholes. Don’t forget that the heart is manipulative and conniving. It loves rules and guidelines that it can manipulate to its own ends. Remember, following rules does not make a student learn. In fact, sometimes rules provide all the distraction a student needs to avoid learning, and rules do not seem effective at controlling behavior believe it or not.

Not only are rules poor changers of a student’s conduct they don’t do a slapout good job for me either. Following all the Church rules does not make me love God with all my heart. It does not make me treasure Him above all else. It makes me resent Him. It makes me feel that our goals are not the same. Now we come to a new question. If following Christ is about having a radical change in our heart rather than following rules, how do we get that changed heart? That is a profoundly important question, but that will have to wait for another day.

It's Late, Could You Please Leave?

2006-12-16T01:41:00.000-05:00

I have always enjoyed hanging out with college students. When I was a college student I thought it was pretty cool to be around younger people and it never wore off. I think part of it is that once you pass a certain age most people quit having fun. You know what happens to them. They get all responsible and everything.
I don’t want you to think that there is anything in the world wrong with being responsible. I know it is a good thing. It is just that sometimes being responsible can get all in the way of a good time. Now don’t go saying that I am advocating fun over responsibility. It is just that having fun is more …pleasurable than being responsible. Well it is for me anyway.
Now, when I say that most people my age have quit having fun, I really mean that they won’t go to movies with me, and they won’t go on a road trip with me or anything like that. When my wife and I go to other people’s houses to visit we have to be careful not stay too long. If we do they will say things like, “Wife, lets go to bed so these good people can leave,” or “please come again when you can’t stay so long.” We weren’t trying to be rude. We just wanted to have a good time. You see what I mean? Something happens when you get older.
The other night we had a whole lot of people over at our house. We were having a great time. We had some sort of chicken curry and rice dish. We just went up to the giant pots and got out what we wanted. We had enough for everybody. We really did. It was amazing how we all ate and talked and ate some more. I was having a really good time and then I looked up at the clock. It was ten, and I remember thinking, “Oh my, its really late.” That’s when I realized I had crossed over the divide. You know the divide between young and cool and old and boring; the one that says that 10 o’clock is really late. I don’t really know when I crossed it, but I did.
It kind of reminds me of a story my friend Jeff told me about the time he went skiing with some of his friends. Apparently they were cruising through Kansas listening to some really cool 70s music like Grand Funk Railroad and missed the left turn to Colorado. They were just having a good time singing and talking and having a great time. It wasn’t too terribly bad. When they crossed into Nebraska they fixed the mistake.
Anyway, that is how I feel. I feel like I crossed the line between young and cool and old and boring and I didn’t even realize it until I looked at the clock and thought that 10 o’clock was late. I mean as a kid there used to be these commercials that said, “It’s 10 o’clock, do you know where your children are?” I thought it was kind of silly because I was right there in the living room with my parents so I didn’t see what the big deal was. It was a big deal though because that was when I felt like I had really scored a big one by tricking my parents into letting me stay up till a really cool time. Of course at that time in my life they just sent me to bed. I didn’t want to go to bed. I was really young and staying up was fun. If I stayed up just a little bit longer I would be able to see Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show. That did not happen very often and when it did I never got to stay up past the monologue.
Anymore, when I see that it is 10 o’clock I get really anxious if I am not sleepy. I don’t care if I get to see the Tonight Show or not. Partly that is because I liked Johnny Carson better than Jay Leno, and the other part is that I would rather go to sleep if I can. If I have to stay up that late I watch David Letterman. I don’t stay up that late very often anymore because I really just hope I can get up in the morning without too much of a fuss.
This all really does have a point. A really important point, at least to me. You see I wanted to know when things had changed. When did I miss the turn that would keep me young and cool and avoid old and boring? I had to know. So I asked Jeff. Yes, it was the same Jeff that got lost on his way to Colorado. I know it may not be smart to ask a guy for directions that ends up in Nebraska instead of Colorado but that’s what friends are for. He said “I don’t know when you took the turn away from being young and cool but I missed that turn too.” Then he said something really important; “I don’t worry about that anymore. All I know is that of all the places I could be, none are as pleasing to me as being here at home with my wife and the girls.” Yes, that is when the epiphany happened.
All of a sudden I knew when I got off the young and cool highway. It happened when I got a boring job to support a family that I loved with all my heart. I wasn’t just that 10’clock was late. I was tired. I had to get up at 5:30 the next morning. Being late was not the big deal. It was getting up early. I had changed my focus. It is easy to stay out late when you are the most important thing in your life. I mean when it is all about you, you can get up late if you want just cause you want to. You can miss work if you want to just because you can. You can even get fired without having a nervous breakdown because you know you can always go live with mom and dad in a pinch. But then you go and love something with all your heart. And you have children you love with all your heart and they spoil all your fun. But you don’t miss it, because you have a love that fills the gaps better than staying out late ever could.