Hope Amidst The Mess

On May 21st, 1998, I was teaching at East Linn Christian Academy when I received word that a student at Thurston high school had brought weapons to school and opened fire.  We stopped class and awaited the developing news coming out of Eugene, just 50 miles away.  I can remember the looks on the faces of the students in my Bible class.  I remember their questions and I can recall my response, "Lets Pray"...

On September 11, 2001, I was preparing to head out the door to the juvenile correctional facility where I worked when my wife told me that a plane had just hit the World Trade Center.  I saw the first footage air on the news, shocked and stunned like millions of Americans across the nation whose lives had just been altered forever.  I listened to the news as I drove to work and, upon entering the violent offender unit, gathered the youth together in the main room, located a television and sat with these young men who stared horrified as the towers fell.  We canceled the morning classes and I sat in that locked facility and struggled to answer questions from scared young men, whose tough exteriors crumbled beneath the weight of true fear.  When there was a break in the newscast, I walked out into the interior courtyard encircled by drab gray concrete walls, and I prayed...

Over the last 11 years, my children have grown, I have left one career, entered into another, left that career and returned to full-time youth ministry.  I have coached and watched hundreds of athletic events.  I have celebrated births and spoke lovingly at the funerals of saints.  I have gained and lost the same 15 lbs more than once and been dismayed as I have begun to see the face of my father look back at me from the mirror.  I have been upset over my child's playing time and outraged over poor officiating.  I have tried to raise my income and spent hours worried about bills. I have went about my busyness of living and the memories of those tragic days spent confused and questioning God, the scared faces of kids looking for answers, have slowly slipped into my distant memory....Until last week.

Suddenly, none of my life's selfish pursuits seemed so important. As word of the terror that evil had visited upon a community much like ours hit the news, the time my child had on the field was not nearly as vital as the time spent in my arms. The money I did or didn't have not so important as the time I still had, time to tell them I loved them, time to create memories.  The wrinkles on my face did not consume me as much as my desire for my children to live a long and happy life, time for them to develop wrinkles of their own... To see the face of their father looking back at them from their mirror....Because what I felt was not that it could happen here, but rather that it might happen here....

You see, the truth is scary.  We live in a broken world.  It is not as it should be, and we cannot control it. Evil is present and real, despite our desire that it not be so.  And so we shift the discussion immediately to things we can control; Gun laws, the merits of behavioral medication...Anything which can take our minds away from what haunts the recesses of our psyche and gnaws at our hearts...It might happen here, and we cannot control it.  Surely, we can take precautions.  We can use wisdom.  But how do you combat the presence of evil? The twisted darkness that desires to kill?  Despite my best efforts to create a life that is ordered and sane, this past week reminded me once again that we live in a broken world...One that cries out to be restored.  But is that not why Jesus was born in that barn, amidst the mess?  Because it is messy, this world we live in, and He came not to stay clean, pristine and unreachable. No, He came to give hope to those in the dirt, their tears darkening the ground beneath them.  He chose to be born far away from the trappings of wealth so that those who feel far away can draw near to Him.  I don't understand the thoughts of God, but I know He understands my suffering, because He endured it...All to give me hope in midst of a broken world..

Last week, my wife texted me that a schoolroom of small children had been killed.  I avoided the news, changing the channel whenever the footage of a mourning community began to roll.  I tried to push the thoughts far from my mind as I looked at my own children.  But I found myself weeping, the reality pushing in despite my efforts to keep just such thoughts at arms length...The world is broken...My heart is broken..And so I do the only thing I know to do...I pray..........

This past week, I found myself, yet again, standing frozen in the middle of a pizza parlor watching the images of a shooting at a school, this time at a college not far from my comfortable little town. I thought of my college age son, my soon to be college bound daughter, and my joy filled youngest son, so unaware of what evil exists within the world.  And, again, with my eyes misting over....I prayed. I prayed for the residents of Roseburg, for the families touched by the tragedy, for those faithful flocking to the school to offer help and encouragement.  And I prayed for God to remind me to lean into Him, to comfort the fear I felt rising within me....To remind me that while evil exists and tomorrow is uncertain, He has overcome this world.  And so,  I choose today, yet again , to hold to His promises, to not give in to fear, but rather to release myself to continue to love others as He has called me to do.  To live my life in such a way that answers the question to all those around me, the question asked by the shooter last week to those in that classroom, " Are you a christian?".

The Christmas Card Hallmark will Never Print

Last night I went to a church function and had a wonderful dinner.  After dinner, I joined a band onstage and sang carols to the crowd.  The lights in the sanctuary were dimmed and the trees behind me sparkled, the lights glowing softly and reflecting off the walls.  It was a wonderful time, filled with laughter and warmth.  I left and went to a house where the Christmas tree dominates the dining room and the stockings are indeed "hung with care".  During this Christmas season, most of our homes will be filled with the aroma of baked yummies and the sound of our favorite Christmas tunes playing in the living room.  Many of us will force our kids to sit still while their photos are taken in clothes they never actually wear and then send out Christmas cards to people we never actually see.  We will head out to parties and drink egg nog.  We will go to the fire station and take down a name from the tree so that we can buy a toy for a tot.  On the Sunday prior to Christmas, people who haven't been to church since Easter will crowd into churches all across America and sing about the birth of Jesus Christ.  In many of these churches, the pastor will open up his Bible and turn to Luke where he will read the Christmas story full of Heavenly Choirs and worshiping shepherds.  Afterwards, the masses will file out with smiling faces and look forward to opening up their presents in a few short days.

 But there is another event which accompanied the arrival of our Savior upon that dusty backwater region of Israel.  And while you will find Christmas card after Christmas card displaying beautiful angels and adorable nativity scenes, you will never see a card telling this tale nor hear a carol sung in a church.  It is the tale of  mad King Herod, driven insane with paranoia and insecurity, ordering the slaughter of every male infant beneath the age of two.  It is the tale of a legion of Roman soldiers, professional killers all, descending upon a sleepy little burg unaware of the horror coming its way.  Instead of angelic hosts singing in the moonlit sky, it is the sound of terrified parents and screaming babies as they are wrenched from their mothers arms and murdered in the dusty streets.  Instead of Christmas lights, it is the flash of torches reflecting in swords as they strike every male child beneath the age of two in Bethlehem.  It was a horrific and unspeakable act...And one that hearkened the arrival of God on the earth.  You see, God had entered the enemies territory...God had begun the rescue.( Matt. 2:16-18 )


You see, the greatest rescue attempt the universe had ever seen was met with desperate resistance from the enemy who desired nothing so much as to kill and murder all those that the king loves so dearly.  The Little town of Bethlehem did not sleep peacefully on that night.  

This season, there are many families among us sleeping restlessly themselves...They are suffering from the pain of a spouse turning their back on the promises they made,   friends and loved ones struggling with the fear and confusion which cancer has delivered into their lives, the horrible toll which the chemo has extracted from them  parents who must watch their children suffer through no fault of their own, who must now mourn all that they had thought their child would become as they face the uncertain reality of what the future now holds for them instead.  All around us are people who see the lights and festive yard ornaments promising "Peace" and feel like strangers in their own lives.  They want to scream "What Peace?!"......

But the arrival of God into the lives of men on that night so many years ago did not bring peace.  It brought HOPE!  Hope for all those who so desperately need it.  Hope for the confused.  Hope for the hurting.  Hope that they have a future.  Hope that, despite their present circumstances, God will provide.  Because what that night, long ago in that stable proved to them is that they are not forgotten, they are not alone.

I was once told by a wise man that the two most powerful forces in the universe are hope and forgiveness....Because of Christmas, we have access to both.








 

Twilight, Team Edward and my Daughter

For many years, I have felt the tension that arises from being a believer who lives in a secular world.  Growing up in the church, I can remember the heated debates over the merits of christian music versus the sensuous beat of rock and roll.  I once worked at a christian school where an administrator was outraged that we introduced drums into the chapel worship time.  During my first year of teaching, a student hid his copy of a Stephen King novel as I walked by and was shocked by my familiarity with the author.  I have read the entire Harry Potter series and yet have some people in my life whom I respect who feel that believers should avoid such things.  I have no problem listening to the opinions of other believers and I have, at times, changed an opinion that I held after just such a discussion.   The tension that arises from the freedoms we possess as Christians living under grace, free from the law, is very real and requires wisdom and prayer to reconcile.  I do not suppose to have all the answers.

Over the past few years, the Twilight series of books and movies has become incredibly popular.  This series revolving around the love between a mortal girl Bella and her vampire lover Edward is complicated by the amorous feelings which Jacob, a young werewolf, has for her....yeah, I know...Throw in vampire babies and sparkling skin and the fact that this series gained popularity is beyond me also.  Its cheesy, poorly written, the movies are horribly acted, the plot lines are tedious....And I've read them all.

I did so because my daughter and her friends were all reading them and I wanted to be involved in the conversations that these young teenage girls were having.  I have playfully listed the merits of Jacob vs. Edward over pizza ( Jacob is much cooler, Edward is a skinny wimp ) and rented the movies, popped popcorn and subjected myself to the worst acting I have ever seen...Because I am a Dad, and that's what dads do.

But now I can confess the truth....I hate these books.  They go against every thing I believe, none of which have anything to do with vampires, werewolves, etc..  Again, I know of many people who have told me that a believer should not read such things and I will leave that for others to decide for themselves.  But as a youth pastor, the message in this series is far more subtle and dangerous than sparking vampires and shirtless werewolves.  My daughter will never meet a sparkling perpetual teenage vampire with glowing eyes and great hair.  She will never meet a dark and brooding werewolf with great abs.  But she will meet a teenage boy with great hair and a sparkling tongue, one that spews forth what she wants so much to hear.  She will meet brooding and troubled bad boys who will tell her that only she "understands" them...

Anyone who works with teenagers can tell you heartbreaking stories of young girls who so desperately wanted to be loved, to feel special, that they entered into relationships that gave birth to brokenness and heartache.  The real storyline of Twilight is not one of love but of obsession, of a teenage girl who is willing to give up her friends, her family and her life for a boy.  It is page after page outlining what in real life is not romantic but tragic for those of us who have witnessed it.  It is the re-telling of a lie older than myself.  Star crossed young lovers who the world was against...Romeo and Juliet died in a double suicide....Not love, not romantic, just tragic.

I want my daughter to know what love really looks like.  It looks like two people loving each other enough to let them be themselves.  It looks like a couple waiting til marriage to have sex because they want whats best not just for themselves but even more for each other.  It looks like a wedding in front of your friends and family, your dad crying as he walks you up the aisle.  It looks like long walks planning your future and asking God to be a part of it.  It looks like a mother holding a child for the very first time as her husband just stares, equal parts amazed and terrified.  It looks like your husband working long hours but still finding the energy to sit and play tea party with a little girl who wore her tea dress all day waiting for daddy to get home.  It looks like the day that everything goes wrong and your world is turned upside down, but this man, this father, stands in the gap, giving strength he doesn't have to his little family so that they can heal and believe.  It looks like doing shifts in the hospital tending to one child and then heading home and loving your others so that they feel safe. It looks like using all of your vacation time to support whatever season your children are in, soccer, football, cheer, baseball, track, wrestling.  Driving long hours all day only to return just in time for your husband to head to his graveyard shift.  You want to see real love?  Watch a bus as it pulls away to drive two hours to the zoo on a field trip.  You will see love scrunched up in a seat next to his or her child who's chatting a mile a minute, blissfully unaware that their parent was up all night cleaning up vomit and worse from another child who woke them up from a deep slumber with their retching.  Find a Sunday School class and watch a parent who gives of their time to give their child the one thing they need the most.  Watch a football game or a cheerleading competition and see the child decked out in all the gear they need and then scan to the smiling parent in the stands: the one holding the camera and wearing 5 year old jeans they bought at a thrift store....

Real love doesn't always sparkle.  It doesn't always have great abs.  Often it eventually loses its hair and puts on weight...But it is real.  It shows up, doesn't back down and it never leaves.  Even when the world tells it that it has no reason to stay, it does.  

You want to see real love.  Watch the old man who tends to his wife.  Cuts her food, wipes her chin, takes her to the rest room and puts her to bed. Even though he knows that this side of Heaven, she will never again remember their life together; the children they raised, the dreams they had, even his name....But he stays, and honors his vows, and he loves her.

You want to see real love, put down the book and look around...Real love is all around you.

Whats Wrong With Being So Right?

I have three children.  The first two are strong and perfect in every way that our society measures worth.  My oldest son is a gifted musician and athlete. He has thrown out 8 base runners in a baseball game, hit 7 3-pointers in a high school basketball game and had his football runs replayed on the news.  He plays the bass, lead and rhythm guitar on our church worship team and is currently getting near straight A's.  He is funny and handsome with a bright and sensitive mind that continually surprises me.  My daughter, born second, is a tremendous athlete and scholar.  Steadfast and secure in her talents and abilities, she is beautiful and possesses a mind of which her 6th grade teacher  said is fortunate for a teacher to see once in a career.  She has been a nationally ranked sprinter, scored 21 of her teams 21 points in a basketball game, thrown out 3 runners at 1st base from right field in a softball game and never gotten less than an A in her academic career. I am often the target of her biting humor.... 

My youngest son is little where his siblings are both muscular.  He struggles with keeping up with his classmates in academics where his siblings excel.  Whereas his brother and sister have strong and pleasant singing voices, he has speech issues and didn't speak until he was nearly 6 years old.  They both entered the world strong and robust, loudly announcing their arrival.  He entered sick and dying, enduring surgeries early in his life.

This past week, someone again asked me the question that I have learned to respond to without the irritation I have always felt upon hearing it.  " Whats wrong with Caden?"....

I answered with my well rehearsed response giving a brief outline of his medical journey but I was left with a vague sense that the question was somehow not the right one.  So after having some time to consider it, I have a better response...

Whats wrong with seeing the best in everyone? Making friends immediately with someone you've never met but has a smile that matches your own?

Whats wrong with being so filled with joy that everyone who meets you is drawn in and feels the warmth of the experience?

Whats wrong with loving a sport you'll never play so much that you grab a jersey, get out of school on gamedays and ride the bus with the team so you can be the ballboy?

Whats wrong with practicing for hours and days and months on end so that you can throw the perfect spiral, kick it deep from a tee and hit jump shots from deep in your driveway?

Whats wrong with having a smile that never leaves your face ( except when the day must end )?

Whats wrong with loving music so much that you sing loudly to the words you know and mumble through the rest until that chorus comes around again?

Whats wrong with dancing uninhibitedly, hitting your goofy poses until people erupt in laughter in response?

Whats wrong with having a personality so big that everyone at the football game, the basketball game and every practice field knows your name and keeps an eye out for the ball which will inevitably come their way as you unleash a perfect touchdown pass?

Whats wrong with idolizing your strong and perfect siblings?

Whats wrong with you being their hero?...Whats wrong with that?

For you created my inmost being;  you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made

Football, Kids and Matching trousers

The pre-game prayer

I'm a football coach.  Over the past 13 years, I have had the privilege to coach every age group from 5th grade to high school varsity.  This year I took over the junior high program with my primary responsibility being serving as the Head Coach of the 8th grade team.  Since mid-August, we have been preparing for our first game, sweating through wind sprints beneath the hot sun, the sound of pads popping on late afternoons. Excited parents attended practices, the air rich with expectation and possibility.  The team has some talent, kids who love the game and have been blessed with the ability to match their passion.  Yesterday, the kids put on their scarlet and white uniforms and boarded the bus for our first game.  I sat in my customary spot on the first row of the bus, feeling good in my coordinated coaching gear; red, white and black, even down to my shoes.  I had ordered new hats and shirts for the coaching staff and dictated that black slacks be worn so that we looked sharp.  We drove the hour and a half to the game, excited to play beneath the lights on a beautiful turf field.  As the sun went down and the lights came on, we came together on the field, clapping and barking.  I gave an emotional speech about relishing the moment, playing to the best of your ability.  the whistle blew, the kickoff sailed through the air.......And we lost 33-0.

I'm a youth pastor.  Over my adult life, I have had the privilege to serve as a juvenile counselor for kids who have been damaged by life and loved ones.  I have been in the living rooms of families dealing with tragedy and been at the altar as a child I ministered to as a teen has asked me to be a part of their wedding day.  My wife and I have held teenagers in our arms on our couch as they collapsed beneath the shame and regret of a decision they can never take back.  I have given my Sundays, Wednesdays, Mondays as an investment in the lives of those I feel are so precious to God.  I have driven miles to sit and sweat in gyms so that a kid on a bench can look in the stands and feel support.  I have crowded into swimming pools thick with humidity and humanity so that a teenager, shaved hairless and stuffed into a speedo can introduce me to his parents and give me an uncomfortable wet hug.  I have sat and listened to parents as they wept over a child and rejoiced with them years later as their child found Christ.

Last night, as the bus travelled through the darkness, I sat alone in the front row and wondered what went wrong. I had let down the kids, their parents.  I texted my wife and kids the game results and responded to the encouraging texts from parents with a cheerfulness which I did not feel.  My matching ensemble gave me no comfort in the aftermath of such a beating.  After I got home, I sat alone in the living room and replayed the game; what could I have done differently?!..Around midnight, I threw my color coordinated black slacks in the hamper and trudged off to bed.


This morning, I walked into the church office still embarrassed about my failure to win an 8th grade football game.  Before I could make it to my office, my co-workers asked how the game went.  I recounted how I had lost, the kids played listless, we missed tackles and blew assignments.  My mood was evident as they listened to my sad tale.  Our office manager listened the entire time with a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.   As I finished, she said, " Well, you might want to hear this...She told me how she had went on a walk with the mother of one of my players last night and recounted the question the mom had asked her, "Do you know Don Knight?” I told her I did and that I didn’t care for him…..just kidding…..anyway she went on to say that it was an answer to prayer and a relief to know that her junior high son was being coached by a “real man” who would teach him not only football, but what good men look like....

It is so easy to be distracted from our calling, to let the enemy conspire with our flesh to make us doubt the role we play as believers.  We are more than coaches, or teachers, or businessmen and loggers.  We are ministers of the Gospel.  Both in word and deed, we have an impact upon every individual that crosses our path.

I'm a football coach. I'm a minister...So are you.

Sunday Morning: The Stories You Never Hear

Somewhere this weekend, these are the stories a visitor to your church will not tell you.....

"I made the decision this week to visit your church.  My life is so hard right now.  Everything is going wrong.  Over the past year, my marriage has crumbled.  This past month, my husband moved out.  He told me that he had never even loved me.  How can a person say that?!  We have three beautiful children and now I'm supposed to tell them their parents are getting a divorce?...  It breaks my heart.  I can see they are trying to not make me sad, but I can feel their pain.  I'm so scared. "


"I came to your church this past week.  It was all I could do to stay in the service.  I haven't been in church for over a year, my wife was too sick.  The cancer came on last year and within a year she was gone.  Everywhere I go there are reminders of her.  Her clothes are still in our closet,  the bathroom is filled with her makeup, her hair stuff.  The house smells like the lotion she wore, her perfume...  I haven't slept in our bed since she passed.  I sleep on the couch if I sleep at all.  I find myself talking to her in the kitchen and then realize she's not here.  And then at church, it happened again.  You took an offering.  For 30 years, my wife wrote our tithe check every month.  When I saw the bag coming down the aisle, it all hit me again.  She is gone.  And I am so lonely."


"I visited your church last Sunday.  I had seen all the verses and quotes that so many of your church goers posted on Facebook so I figured I'd give it a try.  I have a really hard time around people.  I just feel like everyone is looking at me and judging me.  Its hard to make a mistake in a small town.  I feel like everyone knows what I did and is talking about me behind my back.  After the affair, I tried to stay away from people.  It was so hard.  I lost my kids, my home, even most of my friends stopped coming around.  But this past week, I saw those verses on Facebook and something happened inside of me. I wanted...something.  When I got to your church, I walked alone into your lobby.  All around me, people were talking with their friends.  A man said hello and gave me a bulletin and then resumed talking with his buddy.  I overheard something about football.  I went into the sanctuary and sat alone.  A few people smiled at me as they walked by.  You guys sang some songs, but I felt self conscience sitting alone.  When the pastor told people to say hi to people, the couple with their kids in front of me turned and awkwardly said hello.  I didn't know it would be the last time anyone spoke to me that Sunday.  After the service, I tried to say hello to the pastor, but he was laughing with someone up front.  I walked out of the sanctuary and had to navigate around groups of people talking to their friends.  I walked alone to my car and drove home.  What do I do now?"






‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? ³⁸ And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? ³⁹ When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ ⁴⁰ The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’

40 Pieces of Fatherly Advice

  In my minds eye, my children are still little, playing with their bikes and stuffed animals, bringing me Dr.Seuss books to read at bedtime while they snuggle close against my shoulder.  They used to drop everything and run to meet my car when I pulled into the driveway.  Now my oldest is driving my car. My daughter entered high school today.  My first born only has two more years before he heads out to college and my baby boy hits junior high next year.  The time has flown by. I sound like all the fathers who went before me as I ask people, "Where did the time go?!".  But within my melancholy lies a deeper question...Have I taught them what they need to know?  I'm not sure, so here is a partial list.....

1.Your direction, not your intentions, determine your destination.
2. Never burn your bridges
3. Keep your receipts.
4. Look people in the eye when you have a conversation.
5. Remember to eat at the table, those are the meals you remember.
6. Always speak clearly at the drive-thru.
7. That horrible haircut that stressed you out?  You will laugh about it later.
8. TATTOOS ARE PERMANENT!
9. Treasure your time with your siblings...I know, I know, just trust me....
10. Get off the computer, stop texting and go play catch outside.
11. That one person who always tells you the truth, even when it hurts, is your best friend.
12.Josie...Boys are stupid.
13. Jesus loves everybody...Treat them accordingly.
14.  The only way to avoid a broken heart is to never love anything.
15. Others are looking to you for strength, stand firm for what you believe. You may find out years later that you made a difference in someones life.
16. Never lie to yourself, ask God to search your heart, and listen for His response.
17. Spencer... Girls want to be treasured, not groped.  Be a Godly example for all of them, not just your girlfriend.
18. Theres no such thing as " Easy Payments"!
19. Never be afraid to take the last shot.
20. Its true, always wear clean underwear, you just feel better.
21. That person mocking you for your beliefs wished that they felt as strongly about something.  Years from now they will tell you they always respected you....Don't let them down.
22. Josie..Every boy thinks he's the hero of his story.
23. Josie and Spencer...You are the heroes of your little brothers story.
24. Always use your gifts to lift others up, never to push them down.
25. There will come a time when you must bear the consequences of following your conscience. Do so without complaint.
26. I'm sorry, but one day you will act just like me...Again, I'm sorry.
27. Watch old married couples who hold hands.  They will teach you more about love than a lifetime of sappy songs and facebook quotes.
28. No matter where, no matter when, your dad will come get you if you need him.
29. Spencer, one day you will marry someone like your mother...And be blessed because of it.
30. Turn up the music, laugh and dance with your Dad....
31. Never miss an opportunity to tell someone how much they mean to you.
32. Have at least one great pair of jeans.
33. Only date those people who already have what you're looking for. Don't expect to change those who don't.  It may be you who changes.
34. Learn at least one cool skill; spinning a ball, juggling, armpit noises, anything that will surprise your kids later.
35. Seek the career that honors your unique design.
36. Go to college
37. Know that your Dad made many mistakes, but marrying your mother was the smartest thing he ever did.
38. Life is hard, people are difficult.  How you respond is your choice, not their fault.
39. Get a dog, give him a cool name...Like Tebow.
40. Never ever use money to measure wealth!

Support Your Local Pastor ( Heaven knows He Needs It )

Pete Drucker was a brilliant business innovator who has been largely given credit for the development of modern management theories and strategies.  His work has been universally lauded as responsible for the creation of modern business management.  He once took it upon himself to rank the most difficult management jobs in America and his top 4 at first glance seem to hold no surprises.  But much like the old Sesame Street ditty from my childhood, " One of these things is not like the other "...In no particular order, they are...
1. The President of the United States
2. University President
3. Hospital CEO
4. Wait for it.......Pastor

Pastor?!...How could this be true?  If you believe most of the people in my life, a pastor sets his own hours, does no heavy lifting and only works one day a week.  The most strenuous activity a pastor engages in involves flappin' his gums.  A friend recently told me that he had encountered someone who knew me from years ago.  When he discovered that I had become a pastor his response was " well, he oughta be good at that, he loves to talk!".  While that certainly validated that he did indeed know me, the pleasure I get from teaching has not insulated me from the hints of the difficulties to come.  And the statistics are alarming....

-70 % of pastors say that they do not have a close friend.  Does this ring true in my own life?  With only one year behind me, have I seen this condition begin to manifest itself within my life?...Sadly, yes.  I have seen too many pastors feel the sting of betrayal from those who used private conversations for some personal vendetta to not feel the pull to hide my flaws, my insecurities from the people in my life.  But the consequences of succumbing to that fear is isolation, loneliness.

-70 % of pastors said they have a lower self-image now than when they first started.  If I am honest, has this transformation begun within me? Well, it depends upon the day.  I have discovered that ministering to the sick and hurting is more difficult than I could have possibly known.  I have felt the shame of putting off a visit to the dying because I have no words of comfort that spring to my mind.  I have wept tears of guilt that I did not have the words to convince an unbeliever that his greatest need was Christ.  I am disgusted that the old sins of pride and self-centeredness  still rage within me.  But I am quicker now to weep before God, to look to him to meet my need to matter, to count for something.

-90 % of pastors say that the ministry was completely different than what they thought it would be like before they entered the ministry.  Well, in a word, yes.  The busyness of ministry has been a surprise.  Planning a Sunday service, coordinating a volunteer staff, vision setting, writing mission statements.  Planning message series, mass e-mailings and fliers, organizing youth outings, keeping financial accountability.  And then oftentimes, after praying, planning, long hours spent away from family, to be met with complaints about music, the length of the message...Yes, being in the ministry has been a bit different than I imagined.  But then to feel Gods Presence, His Spirit move amongst the body, to receive the hugs, the texts, the thank yous and encouragement as God uses me......I never could have envisioned such a thing.

- 40 % of pastors say that they have considered leaving the ministry within the last 3 months.  To this, I respond as Peter did to Jesus, " To whom would I go?!"...I have attempted life outside of Gods will, it didn't work.  The blessings that I have been given as I have given in to Him far outweigh any momentary inconvenience. I have thrown away my nets to follow Christ.  I will not return to pick them up again unless so directed by Him.

But what of my future in the ministry?  Again the statistics can give us pause

- 50 % of pastors feel so discouraged that they would leave the ministry if they could, but they have no other way to make a living.
- 45.5 % of pastors say that they've experienced depression to the extent that they needed to take a leave of absence from ministry.
- 50 % of pastors starting out will not last 5 years.

Sadly, this results in an even greater tragedy, one that diminishes our impact upon the unbelieving world..

- Over 1700 pastors left the ministry every month last year.
- 4000 churches begin each year and 7000 churches close.

Pray for your pastors, lift up their families.  If we are indeed in the midst of spiritual warfare, then I can attest to the difficulty of standing on the front lines... The casualty rate in any battle is highest among those who stand in the front, leading the charge.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places."  Ephesians 6:12

"Us" and "Them"

My home town was invaded this past week.  Every year, for the past 20 years, my little community has played host to one of the largest country music festivals in America.  Our population triples and every patch of ground where you can squeeze a campsite is filled to overflow with tents, campers and RVs.  Roads are cordoned off, parks are made off limits, every available downtown parking spot is taken as thousands of people hit our town for 3 days of revelry.  Up until last year, I celebrated this event with an annual tradition of my own; I stayed inside my house for the entire time.  You see, I don't particularly enjoy country music.  I don't hate it, its just not my thing.  But more than that, if I were being completely honest, the overwhelming majority of these invaders to my peaceful little burg are in many ways alien to me.  Even in the best of circumstances, I have never enjoyed crowds, being squeezed in and jostled all about.  But add in the foreign elements of big trucks, cowboy hats, and tight Wranglers and I have always felt a little like an outsider in my own hometown for those three hot August days every summer.  So I have typically sequestered myself within my home and waited for the hordes to depart

But more than that, there is an element within those campers and concert goers that I have tended to distance myself from.  It is not the vast number of music lovers who bring their families and friends, enjoying the shows and respecting each other but rather those individuals who view the weekend as an opportunity to throw off the restraints of their everyday existence and get drunk and get loud.  The shirtless partiers heading into the grocery stores for more ice and beer.  The kids piled into a truck and flying through my neighborhood late at night, music blaring.  The ladies seemingly competing to see who can push the boundaries of good taste the furthest.  My discomfort in their presence led me to isolate myself from their presence...Until last year...

My church has nearly 80 acres of land.  The campus portion of our property is beautiful.  Manicured grounds, palm trees, flowers and lush greenery, an amazing amphitheater with a shimmering pond as a backdrop. Horseshoe pits, picnic tables, walking trails throughout the woods.  But the rest of the property is mainly fields.  Like the rest of the community, our fields are used as campgrounds for those attending the concert.  The last 3 years, we have rented portable showers as a fundraiser for our ministries and set them up next to the church.  For a small 3 dollar fee, campers can grab a hot shower in the morning as they rouse from their campsites.  Last year, I reluctantly agreed to man the showers as there were no volunteers.  I got up at 5:30am and trudged off to the church, turned on the hot water, unlocked the doors and sat in my folding chair, eager to be through with the whole thing...then something happened.  As the campers began to show up, the line becoming long, I began to have conversations with them.  They began to comment on how beautiful the campus was, ask what kind if church we were. As they stood in line, we spoke about music, how far they had traveled, our little community.  As I sat in that chair, I invited each one of them to attend our Sunday outdoor service.  Many said they just might.  The next day, I made them coffee, I brought them doughnuts, and I invited them to church.  By Sunday morning, an amazing transformation was complete.  I was not manning showers, I was spending time with friends.

I was speaking on that Sunday so after I made them coffee and visited with the early risers, I left the shower line and headed over to the amphitheater.  When the worship was complete,  I stood and moved to the stage my eyes scanned the crowd ...and I saw them...Older couples, families, and young men who had stood shirtless in line smelling like beer just the day before.  By my estimation, nearly 30 people who had taken me up on my invitation were now sitting awaiting to hear what God had to say to them in that beautiful amphitheater, on those beautifully manicured grounds.

As I left church that day, I considered how often we within the church define our world as "us" and "them".  We speak about them as our ministry.  We speak about Jesus love for them.  But what happens when "they" show up at "our" church?  What happens when they interrupt the peace of our lives, threatening our peaceful circumstances? What happens when our ministry shows up at our church?

My home town was invaded this past week.  Every patch of ground where you could squeeze a campsite was filled to overflow with tents, campers and RVs.  Roads were cordoned off, parks were off limits, every available downtown parking spot was taken.  But I was not hiding within my house.  I have started a new tradition.  I was making coffee and handing out Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

The Threads That Bind

The cute little blond, Grandma Debbie and my beautiful niece

I said goodbye yesterday to a piece of my childhood.



I was raised in a small town, the kind of place where moms let us ride our bikes in the summertime until the streetlights came on which was our signal to head home.  On warm summer Friday nights, my friends and I would walk down to the Rio theater and then walk home along tree lined streets, soft light pouring out of the windows of homes as we passed by.  We slept out in our sleeping bags in the yard and knew it was time to quiet down when my dad would pull into the driveway around midnight, returning from his shift at the paper mill.  I rode my bike to the baseball field and watched my friends play all afternoon, racing to retrieve foul balls to trade for a free snow cone at the concession stand.  We played football on the lawn of the Methodist church until " touch " evolved into " shove ", at which point we would head to the nearest home for lunch.

In the winter, if it snowed enough, our house became home base for all our friends.  The hill we lived on was blocked off by the city allowing everyone to slide down it until late at night.  We would slide down and over homemade jumps until our hands were red and numb, our hair matted with melting snow.  At that point, we would retreat to our carport where my mom kept the hot chocolate in a thermos for everyone to enjoy.

And through it all, church was a constant.  We would play Risk after church in the fellowship hall, a board game that lasted for hours.  We had winter hayrides and summer potlucks.  My brother met his wife at church when I was 12.  He was 15 and she was a cute blond with freckles.  He was quickly smitten and began to spend a lot of time at her home.  Since I pretty much went wherever he went in those days, I became friends with her family also.  Her father, a barber, cut my hair in the utility room. Her mom put a plate out for me at dinner time.  I learned to play cards around their dining room table.  Her brother Ted and I would pile our skis into the back of his little orange truck and head up the mountain.  Their home became a regular holiday stop for me as I met their cousins, aunts and uncles.  I called their grandmother Grandma Debbie.  Eventually, Ted and I became groomsmen in each others weddings.  Their family became my family.

As the years have passed, our lives are still entwined.  We share two nephews and a beautiful niece.  I have become a pastor at the church where they attend.  When I speak on a Sunday, I always get a sense of security as I spot them in the congregation.  Our children attend the same youth group.  I am their youth pastor.  Their family is my family.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to a piece of my childhood.  I went to the hospital to see Grandma Debbie.  At nearly 95 years of age, God is calling her home.  When I saw her lying on the bed, frail and fading, I expected her to be disconnected and remote, unaware and distant.  She was not.  She was full of energy and very much the Grandma Debbie of my childhood.  Her granddaughter, my friend, was combing through her hair gently with her fingers.  She had to lean in close and shout to Grandma Debbie who I was, and even though I'm fairly sure that she didn't recognize me, she gave me a hard time at my expense, the same person I remembered. In the hallway,  I had the privilege of hugging my niece, on the week of her wedding, as her tears began to fall before she went in to say goodbye to her great grandmother. I had the honor of standing in a hospital room with people who had invited me into their lives as a child as they said goodbye to someone they love.

As I was preparing to leave, Grandma Debbie told me to make sure to come visit her.  Holding her hand, I kissed her on the forehead and told her that I would definitely see her soon.


As I grow older, I understand that my life resembles the quilts that my grandmother used to make, some of which are displayed in my home.  Separate patches seemingly different but  when viewed from above revealing a beautiful design. Each patch is connected to the other by thread.  And so is my life.  All of my life experiences are seemingly disconnected from each other.  But as I view them from a higher perspective, they reveal a beautiful design. And as I left that hospital room yesterday, I thanked God for my family and the threads that bind us.

Ignoring Warnings

I heard the sound in the distance growing louder so  I walked out the front door and saw the helicopter as it zoomed over the housetops.  My young son was standing on the sidewalk filled with excitement at the sight of the blades flashing in the sunlight. But my heart immediately grew nervous.  It was the first day of summer vacation in our little town and the aircraft was heading towards the lake that lay in the distance.  I hoped that this was not evidence of tragedy, but too many times just such a sight had led me into the house of mourning; the teenagers huddled in the waiting room unable to believe that their friends had died on that corner.  The young man in tears sitting in his bedroom as he remembered his best friends last words before he jumped into the lake, only to hit the log that was submerged just below the surface. The church filled to overflow with high schoolers, still numb over losing their friend who had slipped off the boat deck into the water, his body retrieved later by rescue divers. As a youth pastor, the sounds of sirens in the distance clutch at my heart, and always bring forth from the recesses of my memory seasons of mourning for lives cut too short.

As I sit here writing these words, the 14 year old passenger is still in the hospital with numerous injuries.  The other young passenger in the car escaped serious injuries and the16 year old driver is waiting to hear if he will face charges of some kind.  They are fortunate....For they ignored the warnings.

The road around the lake cuts along the hillside and contains many curves and dips in the road.  Each corner is clearly marked by an obvious sign which gives directions as to what is coming and the proper speed at which to take it.  The dips and bumps are also clearly marked and painted in such a way as to be readily seen.  The corner they missed was marked in just such a fashion....But the greatest warning can be found just off the roadside among the grass.  On the very same corner that these three teenagers went off the road sits three small crosses marking the spot where three teenagers previously  lost their lives.  Over the years since their deaths, I have pointed out these crosses to my children, along with the story of one of the girls who was dear to my heart.  Not just as a reminder to drive carefully, but as a reminder to heed the warnings in life.

I see marriages fail.  I see children hating their parents and parents angry towards their children.  I see relationships crumble and people turning to addictive lifestyles to numb the pain.  I see warnings all around me. In the hurts that I witness, I hear the sirens calling out to be heard and am reminded of the words found in Jeremiah..

"I appointed watchmen over you and said,
    ‘Listen to the sound of the trumpet!’Jer. 6:17

I drive around the lake and slowly round the corner past the recent tiremarks and weather worn crosses and wonder how these kids could have ignored all the signs, the warnings.  But I am reminded that most of us ignore signs and warnings everyday.  Signs of relational weakness.  Signs of impending financial disaster.  All around us are memorials marking paths that have led to heartache and yet these paths are filled with people convinced that they will be the exception, merrily marching to their death. 

So many times as I have tried to comfort people who have experienced the heartache that lies at the end of the paths they have taken, they have asked in some form, " How could God allow this to happen?".  In those times, I want to remind them of the warnings that they ignored, warnings that God gave them.  And I want them to know that we warn those that we love. 

 Its why I drove my kids to that corner that I hate once again and slowed so that they could take in the scene.  A tragedy narrowly averted next to three crosses marking a tragedy occurred.  Warnings from a father to the children he loves.

Where Are You Going?

When I was around 8 or 9 years old, my dad decided to take the family on a nice and relaxing hike.  So my parents loaded my two brothers, my sister and I into our '76 Blazer and we headed across the mountains to Smith Rock State Park. I remember how hot and thick with dust the trail was as we set out on our little hike.  Thinking the trails would be clearly marked, my dad had not saw it necessary to bring a trail map. As we meandered throughout the towering peaks deeper and deeper into more and more rugged terrain, it became slowly obvious that his lack of foresight had been a mistake.  As the afternoon drug on, my father led us all around that park, choosing paths at random with the hope that the next turn would lead us out.  As I recall, we had not packed enough water to last much more than a quick hike in and out, something which was causing no small amount of irritation amongst my parents.  Finally, late in the afternoon, we saw a group of hikers on a ridge and my dad was able to get their attention through a series of screams, gutteral grunts and calisthenics.  They  were able to provide directions as to how we could escape our plight.  I do not recall the hike out nor the drive to Redmond.  But I do remember sitting on an open tailgate in the parking lot at Safeway and the delicious feel of an ice cold grape soda as it trickled down my parched throat....

Standing in the middle of those towering cliffs, my father did not need a solution to a problem.  He was not looking for an answer as his eyes searched the ridge.  What he needed was the right direction.  He had led his family down the wrong path and now he was standing where every wrong path leads..The wrong destination.  He knew that only the right path would lead us to where we wanted to go.  Lately, that truth has been becoming more apparent every day as I observe people all around me moving quickly and hastily down paths that all lead to well established outcomes.  But even more painfully, I find myself on paths that I do not even recall choosing, but well on my way to the wrong destination.  I have relationships that mean more to me than my own life which, seemingly overnight, became strained.  My reactions becoming steps down a path that is well worn with the regrets of those who walked it before me. But what to do?!...

When I was 18 years old, my girlfriend and I drove down to Eugene to go shopping.  We took Brush Creek Road, a winding highway that cut through the hills.  It was a particularly desolate stretch of road, marked occasionally by ramshackle houses and crumbling outbuildings.  It was upon our return trip that my car broke down.  In the age before cell phones, my car sputtered to a shuddering stop on the side of an unlit stretch of country road, far from anyone we knew.  As the evening grew inky black, we waited and hoped that someone would stop, but the few cars that were on the road that night seemed to be in a hurry to escape the very stretch of road which we found ourselves stranded upon.  Finally, I saw dim headlights approaching.  As the car drew near, it slowed down  and I was able to identify an old beat-up Honda cvcc.  As It slowly drew past, I noticed it was missing its rear window, more room for the pit-bull to stick his head through.  The car drove past us and then slowly turned around and parked behind us.  I got out of the car and walked to meet the man who emerged from the Honda. 

He was a gaunt looking man wearing camo pants and a sleeveless shirt.  His greasy hair hung long from beneath his stained trucker hat.  As he approached, my eyes were drawn to his belt, where a .38 sat in a holster.  He asked if we needed help and, as I stood in the dark alone and scared, I told him yes.  He returned to his car and pulled it in front of mine.  Getting out, he reached into the back of his car past the dog which was staring at me, and pulled a length of chain out which he attached to the front of my car and the rear of his.  He returned to his car and with a jolt we began to slowly move. After a bit, as we slowly lurched along that lonely highway, the unthinkable happened.  His car suddenly swerved onto a road leading into the darkness away from the highway which led home....

My girlfriend began screaming, my thoughts raced to my parents and friends who would find out about our deaths from the newspaper... My heart beating, pounding, my nose running, I knew I did not want to go down that path!...So I hit my brakes with all my strength and I ground that Honda to a stop!!  I yelled at my girlfriend to stay in the car, opened the door and stepped out into the darkness to meet the man who was approaching our car.  I walked quickly to close the space between us as he reached towards his belt....

I will stop my story there to let my point sink in...I knew I did not want to go down that path so I used all my strength to STOP!! I did not have a car problem, I was going in the wrong direction; away from safety, away from home, towards destruction....


So I find myself today on a path that is leading away from where I want to go.  What do I do?  I first  must STOP.  And then, much like my father that day standing on that dusty trail, his eyes searching the ridge, I look for direction, from The One who always offers it.

What path are you on today? What is its natural destination? Is it leading away from safey, towards destruction?...Stop and return to the path that leads home..


Hear, my son, and accept my sayings
And the years of your life will be many.
I have directed you in the way of wisdom;
I have led you in upright paths.
When you walk, your steps will not be impeded;
And if you run, you will not stumble.
Take hold of instruction; do not let go.
Guard her, for she is your life.
Do not enter the path of the wicked
And do not proceed in the way of evil men.
Avoid it, do not pass by it;
Turn away from it and pass on.
-Proverbs 4:10-15

When my Heart is Dark, I Still Have Hope

I was raised within the church.  In a sense, quite literally raised.  I can not recall a childhood memory that is not somehow bookended by my time spent there.  Sunday school was followed by listening to Brother Allen's sermon at First Baptist Church. All the while, I sat next to my mother on a wooden pew trying to distinguish the patterns on the stained glass windows.  As soon as the final prayer ended, we kids would run down the steps and play in the large expanse of yard, often making it as far as Ames Creek to look for Crawdads beneath the mossy rocks.  Later that evening we would head back to church to listen to another sermon and then play tag to the dim glow cast by the streetlights.  As I got older, Wednesday Awanas was replaced by Royal Ambassadors .
Arts and craft times in the basement of our old church.  Youth sleepovers and afternoon potlucks.  The sound of the choir, never entirely on pitch, but resplendent in their scarlet robes.  Mr. Shockey shuffling  down the middle aisle, sitting in a chair beneath the pulpit and pulling out his accordion as my friends and I would muffle giggles beneath the disapproving gaze of our moms.   These are the memories of my childhood.  But there  are even more.
Summer mornings filling the hot sanctuary with squirmy children as we began Vacation Bible School.  Standing to the procession of the flags. The third floor of our church transformed into a walk of terror on Halloween as adults would pop out of darkened doorways eliciting screams from me and my church friends.  Being hauled out of church by my mother, my toes barely scraping the floor, for some offense deemed too severe to ignore.  The swift and painful discipline administered as soon as the heavy door swung shut behind us. Stepping out from my pew and walking down the aisle, feeling all the eyes upon me, to the strains of " Just As I Am".  Brother Allen leaning into my nine year old ear and whispering, " Hold your breath" as he baptized me in the baptismal behind the stage.  The sound of the applause of our little church family.

 I have taken wonderful memories with me as I left that old church and began a life that has ultimately led me to ministry.  But I also took something else, an affliction that has stayed with me throughout these years. As I listened to those sermons on sin, I began to focus on my behaviors and and took my eyes off of my Savior.  "How am I doing" became more important to me than what Jesus had already done. Consequently my faith became a lifestyle, a series of rules and guidelines dictating which behaviors were acceptable and which were not.  I lost sight of what I knew at nine, that Christ forgave my sins, and put all my effort into becoming more righteous.  As I grew older, I became even more accustomed to looking within my self for the strength to navigate the shifting sands of this life. The work of Christ on the cross became an afterthought, not the center of my faith.

But As I have grown older, I have faced circumstances beyond my strength.  Beat down, discouraged and weary, I looked inward, not to my faith, but to the strength I brought to my faith, and discovered that all my best efforts collapsed beneath the weight of my circumstances.     

Romans 5:1 says, “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”.  It goes on to say in verse 10  that we’ve already been “reconciled to God by the death of his Son".  As I have looked down at my circumstances, I have looked inward for strength.  Discovering I lack it, I have looked up and found that the strength I need is present in the finished work of Christ. Where my heart lacks peace, the promises of Christ abound with it.  Even in my darkest seasons, when my heart is weak and my faith seems small, I still have hope. Not because of who I am, but because of what He did.

"True faith takes its character and quality from its object and not from itself. Faith gets a man out of himself and into Christ. Its strength therefore depends on the character of Christ. Even those of us who have weak faith have the same strong Christ as others"!-Sinclair Fergusen

As I write these words, my mind goes back to the small church of my childhood...And I can picture Brother Allen smiling.

Set Your Sights For The Shore

Florence Chadwick preparing for her first attempt

On August 8, 1950, Florence Chadwick crossed the English Channel in 13 hours and 20 minutes, breaking the  world record. One year later, Chadwick crossed the English Channel yet again, from England to France making her the first woman to swim the English Channel in both directions.  But she had even more goals in mind.  So it was that Florence found herself  two years later, at the age of 34, preparing to become the first woman to swim the 26 miles between Catalina Island and the California coastline.  On the fourth of July 1952, Florence waded into the frigid water and began her journey.  She was flanked by small boats whose job was to watch for sharks and offer assistance if necessary.  Several times the boats fired upon sharks that swam alarmingly close to Florence. Hour after hour Florence swam, but after about 15 hours, as a thick, heavy fog set in, Florence began to doubt her ability.   She told her mother, who was in one of the nearby boats, shrouded in fog, that she didn’t think she could make it.  Both her mother and  trainer  offered encouragement. They told her it couldn't be much further, but she continued to grow discouraged.   They urged her not to quit, something she had never done . . . Until that day.

As she sat in the boat, Florence found out she had stopped swimming less than one mile away from the California shoreline. It was not the frigid water, not the sharks nor the exhaustion that caused her to lose hope.  Florence explained that she stopped swimming because she could no longer see the coastline.  There was simply too much fog. Having lost sight of her goal, she had quit.

Does that seem somehow familiar?  We live in a world that competes for our attention.  It tells us how we should look, how we should speak, what to drive, whether we are attractive or not.  Every commercial and magazine is communicating a message as to what we should focus upon. On top of that, we often give our best: to school, sports, relationships, only to experience heartache in return.  Even for the most ardent of believers, the temptation to lose focus is nearly overwhelming when it seems our efforts never seem to work out as we had hoped.  Life is hard, and the fog can be overwhelming.

But where is the shoreline?  For a parent, it is the vision of their child fully grown and living for Christ.  For a spouse, its a lifetime of faithfulness 'till death do they part.  For a teenager, its standing pure before his bride on his wedding day.  As life hurls its slings and arrows at all of us, it is the clear vision of our goal that keeps us moving forward.  But it is not just a vision of a future, but the future rewards that give us the strength to persevere, to carry on despite the troubles that attempt to weight us down.  Its why athletes put in the work, the time, and never call it a sacrifice.  They believe that the completion of their goal will bring a reward which outweighs anything they may have "given up".

"..I count all things loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my lord.."  -Philippians 3:8

The surpassing value of knowing Christ as our Lord, Savior and friend should be the north star that pulls us home.  Even as the fog grows thick and our hearts grow weak, it is the knowledge that His promises are true that serves as a beacon.

Two months after Florence Chadwick climbed into the boat, she tried again. This time, despite the same dense fog, she swam with her faith intact and her goal clearly pictured in her mind. She knew that somewhere behind that fog was land and this time she made it! Florence Chadwick became the first woman to swim the Catalina Channel, eclipsing the men’s record by two hours.

Florence completing the swim

Shackled By Shame

I heard a story as a child of a Mafia Don.  He was offering " protection " to several businesses in the city but was having trouble with his collections as the local police would pick up his collectors and easily get the information from them regarding  the payments and the whereabouts of the money.  After much deliberation, he decided to hire a deaf mute named Tony to pick up the cash from the various businesses.  His thinking was that if Tony were ever picked up by the police, they would have a difficult time extracting information from him.  So Tony began  picking up the payments for the Mafia Don from the numerous businesses he was extorting.  Day after day, Tony made his rounds.  At the end of the first week, as Tony was preparing to take the money to the Don, he counted the cash and discovered he was holding over half a million dollars.  Feeling greedy, he hid the money where only he could find it and began to plan his getaway. But the Don, becoming nervous when Tony had been late in delivering the money, had sent his henchmen to find him.  They quickly located him and brought him to the Mafia Don.  The Don summoned an interpreter from his gang and had him sign to Tony," Where is my money?".  Tony signed back," What money?".  The interpreter told the Don, " He says 'what money?'".  The Don pulled a pistol from his jacket, pointed it and shot a vase sitting inches from Tonys head. He then put the pistol in Tony's ear and told the interpreter, " Ask him again".  Again, the interpreter signed to Tony, " Wheres the money?".  Quickly, Tony's hands began to fly through the air.  " The money is hidden in Central park 100 paces from the big oak tree at the northern entrance.  There you will find a rose bush.  Behind it are three rocks pointing east.  Walk 10 paces to a large metal garbage can and lift it.  The money is buried there in a small canvas backpack".  With that, Tony's hands fell into his lap and he slumped in his chair.  The interpreter paused for a moment, turned towards the Don and told him, " He says you don't have the guts to pull that trigger"....

While this story never fails to elicit chuckles, it demonstrates a larger point.  A lie believed is as powerful as the truth. So many of us live out our days believing lies that steal the fullness of joy promised in Jesus.  Many of these untruths are spoken in the tapes that replay within our own heads. For many of us, it is our past failures that haunt our thoughts and speak a lie into our lives.  For others of us, it is our present pain that becomes our focus.  As the tape in your head plays on and on, nothing less than your very self-identity is at stake.  You see, the question at hand is this; Are you a product of your sins, your failures, your pains? Do they define who you are? Or... Are are you something much, much greater?

Many of us live our lives imprisoned by shame and guilt; shame over the the things we have done and the things done to us, guilt over our inability to be who we want to be.  If left unchecked, our guilt slowly becomes our identity, and we die slowly and privately, shackled by our shame. But to hide our shame is to embrace a lie. Shame over a behavior is a call to repent.  Romans 6:14 tells us that "Sin shall not be master over you".  Hiding our shame is to believe that the grace God promises, while available to others,  is not sufficient to redeem our sin.

Tragically, there is another type of shame too many of us carry around.  It is a burden not of our own making.  It is the shame of the victim, it is false shame.  Those wounded by the actions of others are in their own battle for their identity as their self-worth is distorted by the lie, that they are what has been done to them.   The abandoned spouse, the abused child, they often keep their pain secret.  But it keeps them from genuine relationships as they live without a true sense of who they are in Christ.

BUT...You are not what you have done nor what others have done to you.  God doesn't love you because you deserve it.  Nor does He love you because its just what He does.  He loves you because its who He is.  And because of that, we can take our shame and guilt, without fear, and lay them at the cross.  But many of us have lived with shame or guilt for so long that removing it leaves us struggling to know who we are apart from it.  Well, let me summarize....

You are wonderfully and fearfully made. You are His masterpiece, a poem.  He sings over you, a child of the living God.  You are a light on a hill , salt to the earth. You are saved through the limitless love of God!  You are a new creation( 2 Cor. 5:17)
We are not imprisoned, we are empowered to break down every stronghold whether they be past pains or present addictions.  

" For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things to come, nor powers, nor heighth, nor depth, nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God!"- Romans 8:38


“The great thing to remember is that though our feelings come and go Gods love for us does not.” - C.S. Lewis

Tokyo Rose Whispers in Your Ear

During World War II, American GI's stationed in the Pacific were living and fighting in strange and inhospitable conditions.  Dense jungle foliage, thick muggy air and the ever present hum of insects with a taste for blood were the backdrop of their lives as they fought bloody battles against a brutal enemy.  With an average age of 26 years old, these American soldiers had left girlfriends, wives and new families behind.  Careers, just begun, were abandoned as they were sent thousands of miles away and placed in harms way.  There, lonely, homesick and longing for something familiar, they gathered in groups around a radio and searched the dial for sounds reminiscent of the life they had left at home.  And they found them, for deep within the South Pacific, their hungry ears were treated to the sound of American music.  Song after song would crackle from the radio, taking them back, in their minds, to the warm embrace of home, the voices of their loved ones filling their thoughts. But then... Another voice began to speak.  This lovely, lilting female voice began to make suggestive comments about what their wives and girlfriends were doing back home without them. She referred to the GI's as the "Orphans of the Pacific" and lamented the tragedy of their plight.  While they were valiantly fighting, she told them,  those men too scared to fight were at home taking their women, their jobs, their futures.   Furthermore, this seductress even seemed to know the locations of key American ships and troops.  This temptress urged them to abandon the lost cause.  The GI's named this voice Tokyo Rose.

Over the years, I have seen men abandon the brides of their youth for a momentary affair.  I have seen women run off with a co-worker, leaving their families adrift and broken.  I have witnessed children turn to drugs and alcohol to escape the harsh realities of life.  I have seen ministers caught in financial immorality.
 I have also seen people leave the church and their faith over the pain delivered upon them by other people.  I have seen marriages crumble and the participants abandon their faith, angry at God.  I have watched as people have slowly slipped into bitterness and rage over the tragedies in their lives. All of these scenarios, seemingly so different, had a common thread.  They believed the lies.

Those individuals who made decisions which led to relational tragedy believed the lie that they should focus upon themselves, their needs, their wants, their desires, their happiness. Those who abandoned the faith did not believe that God could bring about healing, thereby believing the lie that He doesn't care.  What they did not believe was the truth.  And what is the Truth?

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."-John 10:10...The truth is, Christ offers a life of blessings greater than your petty desires could ever deliver...

"For I know the plans that I have for you, declares the LORD, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope".- Jeremiah 29:11.. You see,  God does care.  He cares intimately about your life and has plans to bring prosperity into it despite the wounds which this world delivers..

Yet even as I write this, I am struck by my own inadequacies,  the mistakes I have made.  A voice, much like Tokyo Rose crackling from that radio, assails me with doubts. It vies for my attention as the enemy of my soul conspires with my flesh to undermine my determination to hold true to Gods promises.  Does He love me?  Will He bless me?  Can I trust Him when all seems lost?  The seductress in my ear tells me no.  She whispers that He has left me.  But is that the truth?  As it turns out, Tokyo Rose had no real information about troops or ships.  She was the desperate brainchild of an enemy who knew the power of the force it faced.  And so it is with the father of lies.  As he whispers falsehoods into our ears, tempting and seducing, the greatest weapon we have is the truth....

And I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse, and He who sat on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He judges and wages war. ¹² His eyes are a flame of fire, and on His head are many diadems; and He has a name written on Him which no one knows except Himself. ¹³ He is clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God.- Revelation 19:11-13



We win.....

Choosing to Weep

Some years ago, my wife and I were going through a period where it seemed as if every phone call or conversation brought fresh news of some tragedy or relational failing in the lives of people we cared about.  During that time, I was teaching a class on Wednesdays at our church on various Old Testament books.  The majority of the attendees were older than myself, many of them in their retired years.  At the end of one particular evening, I asked for prayer as I felt that our community was under a unique attack from the enemy.  I was feeling overwhelmed by the weight of so many stories of hurt and loss, the likes of which I had never previously experienced.  We prayed as a class and then milled about in conversation as people began to move towards the door.  One older gentleman approached me and put his arm around me in a hug.  As the others trickled out of the classroom, he shared that what I was experiencing was not unique, nor was it new, I was just getting older.

When my wife and I got married, many of our friends were in the same season of their lives.  We all entered this exciting time with visions of how our futures would unfold.  In our dreams, our kids were always healthy, our jobs fulfilling and our marriages strong.  But over the years, our best plans were often sidetracked.  Many of my friends gave themselves over to sin, costing them their families.  Others were forced to come to grips with the reality of sick children and the uncertain futures they must now face.  Even others worked long hours and made plans to become financially secure only to discover that their security disappeared seemingly overnight.   As my older friend lovingly shared with me that night  in an empty church classroom, the passing years have simply provided me more opportunities  to witness peoples pains and failings.  But my friend went on to share that as I became older, perhaps even wiser, I would find that my response to these tragedies would change. 

Early in our marriage, the news of peoples personal failings would prompt me to condemn them.  " How could they?!" was a common response, followed closely by " I would never!"...Over the years, I have rushed to share someones failings with others under some thinly veiled pretense or another.  Looking back, pointing out their mistakes was easier than looking at my own.  The more public the failing, the better to make me feel superior as it was played out in every corner of our small community.  As it turned out, focusing on their failings was easier than focusing on my own desperate need for grace.

But my friend was correct.  As my body has changed over the years, so has my response to the failings in the lives of others.  My heart breaks with the news of a family in the throes of pain and shame.  My heart breaks when I consider a spouse dealing with the fallout of decisions not their own.  My heart breaks over the news of relationships hanging by a thread.  And  the more public their failing, the more fervently I pray for God to provide strength...  I choose to weep alongside them..

15Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.   ¹⁶Be of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation.  Romans 15-16


I see within other peoples struggles and failings the overwhelming Grace of God in my own life, poured out so freely while I did not deserve it.  In light of that, I realize my own brokenness as I see it in others.  How then can I feel superior, "haughty"? With the memory of my own failings, I weep for their pain. With the knowledge of the grace I so desperately needed,  I pray for their restoration. 

¹ Brethren, even if anyone is caught in any trespass, you who are spiritual, restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness; each one looking to yourself, so that you too will not be tempted. ² Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ. - Galatians 6:1-2

" I am a Wizard and King"

I am a wizard....I must be.  When I awake in the morning, I call forth light to illuminate my surroundings.  I summon forth water to bathe my body.  I create, with the touch of my finger, the wonderful morning elixir which has the magical effect upon my body of arousing my senses.  I command the very air in my home to bend to my will, to heat itself until I am sufficiently warmed.  I sit before the mystical box and call forth disembodied images to entertain me.  With the simple tapping of my finger, I am able to communicate with anyone I desire wherever they may reside.  I sit within my magical chariot and float along the surface of the world to whatever destination I choose...I must be a wizard!

I am a King...I must be.  I walk into a room and people I do not know rush to serve me.  They are careful to choose pleasing tones lest I become agitated.  They offer to serve me whatever delicacy I desire and prepare it to my preferences.  They stand at a distance,  eyes focused upon me, and move quickly to attend to my needs before they even arise. Within my estate I have many rooms, each with their own specific purpose.  I have a sleeping quarters designed to provide the optimum environment conducive to my slumber.  I have a room designed for the storage and preparation of my meals.  I have a dining room that stands empty, but which can entertain my  royal guests when I so desire.  I have an opulently furnished room specifically for lounging, with plush seating made of fine animal skins.  My royal offspring each have their own living quarters designed to their particular preference.  I have a room within my quarters for the storage of my royal garments, the number of which cannot be estimated.  Even my chariot has its own room within my palace...I must be a king!

While this may sound far fetched, upon closer examination most of us would agree that such statements ring true.  But within such a world, when does our need for God surface?  As we rush to and fro, convinced of our own importance and self sufficiency, when do we recognize that we are small and helpless?  When the truth cannot be ignored.  Last week we had a sudden snow storm in the middle of march.  7 inches in one day hit a region that is ill-prepared for such an event.  We were left without power, sitting in the dark, shivering, without warm water.  All the white noise of our lives went suddenly silent and we were left alone with the realization that long before the electricity went out, we were already powerless.  Despite all of our attempts to keep the wolves at bay, we are not in control.  This is a truth that every heartbroken parent can attest to.  The despondent spouse, the suddenly homeless, the unemployed, all have had to confront the truth that, ultimately, we are neither  wizard nor  king.  Instead, we are weak, vulnerable and needy.  But is that bad news?


Jesus said "... it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”Matt. 19:24.  But why is that?  It is not the riches that are the obstacle, it is the need they hide.  Our need for God.  When our lives are going well, we seldom feel the pull of the broken, the needy, the sick.  Sadly, it is only when our lives have been turned upside down, when the truth of our dire predicament cannot be ignored, that many of us turn to God.  However, it is in just such situations that Christ is closer than ever.  Stripped of our comforts, the ever present hum of our daily lives receding in the distance, we are able to hear the voice of God...Yet..

The power is back on, the storm has left.  I am again tempted to trust in myself.  Will I so quickly forget how I sat in the dark, shivering and praying for the light?  Or will I strive to listen beyond the noise, the whine and the hum? To listen for the voice that commanded the waters to be still, that called forth Lazarus from the tomb, that spoke the words of truth and light.  My hearts desire is to look beyond the blessings in my life and  focus on the One who provided them, because another storm is always on its way.




“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” - C.S. Lewis

Outraged or Engaged?..

My day today has been like almost every other day.  I woke up on my couch ( OK, not like every day. Trying not to infect my wife with my cold).  I took a shower, got dressed and came to work.  I made a coffee, talked with my co-workers and sat down in front of my computer to check my e-mail.  I went home for lunch and said hello to my kids who were enjoying a snow day off from school.  Tonight I will return home and enjoy a meal with my family, sit down in the living room, watch my favorite shows and then head off to bed.  All in all, a pretty good life.  But what did I miss today?

How many children were disappointed today that there was no school because school is the one place where they feel safe, are fed and kept warm?  While my children fight over who gets the laptop next, how many families are unsure as to where they will sleep next week?  While I drink my coffee in my warmly decorated office, how many parents have just walked from their childs bedside down the hospital corridor to pour  coffee from the pot at the nurses station?

 Last night, I rushed downtown to get toilet paper, left my car running, and headed into the store where I grabbed what I needed, paid quickly and rushed home.  But who did I miss? I cannot tell you who was in that store.  I didn't make eye contact if possible and nodded my hellos to those who looked familiar.  I may have been in that store, but I was not present.  Did I miss an opportunity to offer a smile, a word of encouragement to someone who desperately needed it?  Did someone see the pastor and look for an opportunity to speak with me only to be greeted by my back as I rushed out into the darkness?  I look at people all the time without ever truly seeing them.

In Jesus' day, they had a litany of rules regarding the washing of your hands and avoiding defilement.  Known sinners, menstruating women, the physically deformed or impaired; all were forbidden to enter the temple.  The Levitical system prescribed a day of purification after simply touching a sick person.  The law decreed that a person suffering from leprosy live outside of town and keep a 6 ft distance from everyone.  They were forced to wear the rag clothes of a mourner who was going to a funeral.  Women were rarely allowed to speak to men outside of their family and a woman was to touch no man but her husband.  Into this scene stepped Jesus...Who turned the religious world upside down....In one instance, as all were watching, a leper approached Jesus.." and He touched him..." Matt. 8:3.  In that short passage, the radical message of Christ can be seen. Can you imagine the shock on the faces of those in the crowd as Jesus did not flinch or move away  from the "unclean" man but instead reached toward the leper?! 

Matt. 20:29 tells the story of two blind men crying out to Christ.  Jesus heard them over the protests of the crowd and was "moved with compassion".  The word used is the same word used to describe what a mother feels for her child in the womb.  Time and time again, we see Jesus, moved with compassion,  witnessing to those people who crossed His path.  Whether He was tired, or busy, or hungry..He never failed to see those people who were hurting. ......And those He saw, He touched.

I see the people as I pass them, many of them dirty and unkempt.  I hear the stories of the families tore apart by the foolish decisions of a parent. And I am angered by their sin and selfishness.  I watch as coaches and teachers act out in a manner that hurts children and I speak of it indignantly within the confines of my car.  I am outraged by their actions.

But is it enough to be outraged?  Should I not be engaged?... In the lives of those hurting individuals whose lives intersect mine?  It is easy for me to point out how wrong they are, but do I want to make a point  or make a difference?  Jesus provided the example...To open my eyes, to slow down and look around, to prayerfully consider what my role is in a community that is hurting and needs healing.  To touch the lives of people.

I have been blessed.  My life is comfortable.  But I pray that my comfort does not lead to complacency, and my complacency to arrogance. Instead, give me eyes for the hurting. give me a heart for the wounded.  Give me lips that speak words of life and affirmation....Amen