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.