Shoe Repair Place

At this point in my life I've had the pleasure of living in quite a few different houses, in many different cities and several states. While there are vast differences in all of them, there are logically some similarities, too. I stumbled upon one this week somewhat unanticipated as I'd never really noticed it until now.

It could be said that I'm a "shoe" guy. I don't even really know exactly how many pairs of shoes I own (but I'm certainly no Imelda Marcos -- she owned 1060 pairs of shoes) but if all the specialty pairs were counted (softball, golf, cycling, motorcycling, hiking, running, cross-training, flip-flops, etc.) in addition to the usual dress and casual shoes, the number would total somewhere near 35 (I'm guessing).

One of the reasons I have so many shoes is that I'm easy on shoe wear and I tend to have them repaired rather than simply replace them (one good pair of Italian shoes can potentially last a lifetime (with repair) and if the style is "classic" enough, it is more affordable than frequently buying new shoes). Anyway... it was time this week to replace the heals on one of my favorite Italian pairs.

I noticed a shoe repair place not far from my office and took them in Tuesday. As I entered the shop I had what was close to an "out of body" experience. It seemed as if I was in a dozen places at once. Opening the door, the aroma of leather, rubber, glue and polish struck me with overwhelmingly familiarity. There was dust on every display surface; dozens of pairs dotted the front of the shop featuring tied tags with white string. A wall of wooden cubby holes hid dozens more shoes waiting to be picked up by their rightful owners. 15 or 20 year old, florescent light faded framed advertisements hung on the wall pitching shoe technology of generations gone by. A hand painted sign boasted "Elegant Shoe Repair -- since 1982." A yellowed cardboard sign warned, "Shoes left over 90 days will be sold for charges." A whining "bing-bong" sounded as I broke the electric light beam just inside the front door. For more than a brief moment, I was in the same shoe shop of a dozen times before in at least three different states... every one different... yet, every one the same! It was flat out weird, I'm telling you!

Almost predictably, as I walked to the counter for a few moments no one appeared. It seems that in every shoe repair shop I've ever patronized, no one is in the front of the store. Then, eventually a slightly hunched over shoe cobbler steps from between the split of dirty fabric drapes concealing the mysteries of the sole repair operations in the rear. This shop was clearly no exception!

Emerging from the back, a (literally) dusty old gentleman with an extremely thick accent asked "vat cun ah do fa you?" he inquired without the slightest of eye contact. "New heels, I believe," came my reply. "Nut like b'fore. No! No cut heal! Replace vit all rubba," was what I heard from the man with the gray tinged hair and completely ashen gray mustache. "Ven you vant dem?" was his final question. "How about Thursday?" I asked. "Good. $19.87" his economy of language insisted. And with that I paid the man.

On my way out the door he asked, "How much you pay for that bike?" (My sportbike was sitting just outside the front door). I hesitantly told him, though now uncomfortable at the thought that he might believe he should have charged even more for the new heels! "Too fast... (chuckle, chuckle)," was his commentary. I smiled. "Yeah... some think so," was all I could find to say.

Picking up the shoes today, it was the same "parallel universe" experience. Entering, the man was nowhere to be found. The whining "bing bong" sounded and eventually the old man emerged from behind the curtain again (I'm beginning to think shoe repair is top secret stuff). I would be fairly confident he was wearing the very same clothes as before, but I wouldn't hold him to it.

Handing him my claim ticket, he didn't even speak. Reaching into the third down from the far right cubby hole, he carefully pulled out my shoes. Placing them on the counter, he precisely unwrapped the tissue paper in which they were folded... as if they were brand new... and they looked it. "Good?" he simply inquired. "Perfect," came my response. A simple nod and slight closing of his eyes spoke volumes to me. "Another customer satisfied with his sole repair," surely must have been his thought.

If I've been in one shoe repair shop, I've been in what seems to be a thousand of them before. There is something pleasantly familiar about them all. I've concluded that fixing shoes must be a humble trade. All the shops look the same -- likely because they don't need to look any different. Each cobbler presents themselves with a quiet disposition, few spoken words and a little hunch in the back likely from years of leaning over the soles of thousands of people. Some soles are smelly, some mistreated, some cherished like a great pair of well worn jeans.

I learned from the shoe repair place that in many ways churches need to be somewhat similar. Though located all over the world, wearing different denominational names, established at different dates and though staffed with different titles... there should always be something reassuringly familiar about them. They are places where souls get fixed. Maybe, as "repair people," ministers don't even need to say much. Maybe ministers just need to do their work, not charge more than they should, be sure to wrap things up with care as if they were new (because they are in the mercy of God) and then simply be satisfied with a job well done.

I've got more shoes that need repair... I think I know where I'll be taking them, again. You see, I've been there before, lots of times, in lots of different places.

Robin's Egg Blue

Today as I left the driveway, I captured a glimpse of one of nature's wonders... a Robin's egg. The beauty of a Robin's egg rests in its unique color -- namely, Robin's Egg Blue. (I think even Ralph Lauren has a paint that will match it perfectly, if you are so inclined).

This half-egg shell was lying broken side down, forming a little symmetrical dome just outside the double-car garage door. Had my daughter parked the car in the garage last night, it would have been crushed to pieces during the morning rush. But instead, I was blessed to take in a brief moment of God's glory.

Though initially disappointed it was only half an egg, I quickly realized what this meant... there was some young Robin now on the loose (well, at least hatched) and ready to face the next phase of life. Mrs. Robin is likely still bringing home the Gerber's Baby Worms for Junior and the early days of flight lessons are still to come, but I quickly realized I should rejoice that I'd only found half an egg. I wish the mom and her newborn all the best.

Sometimes life is fragile enough that we might think it nothing more strong than a mere shell. We take our shot, we get cracked and then wonder what life will be like after we try and pick up all the pieces. Though initially disappointed, the hope of faith is that there may be more good ahead -- even when it feels like we're all to pieces.

When we get our shell cracked, it is good to just hang out in the nest for a while and try to get over the initial trauma. The light is bright, we might feel a bit chilly, too. We may be a bit hungry and just wish someone else would take over for a while. But we must always remember we have comfort close by and eventually we're going to venture out and learn to fly (either truly for the first time, or we're going to fly better than we ever did before).

More than a matter of perspective, I believe this is a function of true reality when we have true authentic relationship with the Creator. Creator is mightier than any one of us, any group of us, and any... thing (quite frankly) that can stand between us and rare beauty.

I'm thankful I saw the egg this morning... it is a good reminder that things aren't always as they appear.

Longevity

I just returned home from an area-wide worship experience featuring ministers of various sorts leading worship and reading scripture. The event actually had its roots in the church where I currently serve, but in recent years it has grown into something rather grand in scope and size, meeting in a local events center.

Tonight, as part of the event, brothers in the Lord were honored who have 50 or more years invested in preaching. Some of these men have over 70 years notched into their "preaching belt." That alone is impressive. I'm honored and blessed to know some of these men personally and count them as good friends and mentors. I can only hope to one day stand in their legacy.

Tonight, at a reception honoring these preachers of longevity, a friend and I had the opportunity to ask one of these legends what the secret to preaching so long is. Among the things he told us, one of the first was "Have thick skin." How true that is!

Preaching is no easy gig. I'm not saying it because at one time in my life I did it on a weekly basis and somehow want to revel in the "glory days." I'm saying it because it is true. Any time a mortal and sinful man stands to deliver a message that is eternal and morally perfect, somethings gotta give in the equation and usually it is the "skin" of the preacher.

We also asked one of these blessed brothers what its like to be in a room with so many "veteran" preachers. In all his wisdom and experience, he said, "Only one thing can describe a room full of preachers: A mess!" he said. I'd have to "Amen" that one, too. I loved his candor, his humor and his wise insight. This legendary preacher knew of which he spoke.

To stand in front of people laying your "guts" out there week in and week out takes its toll on body and spirit. I've made more mistakes in my ministry than I care to report here and I pray God's grace on every one of them, but as weekly listeners to preachers, we need to give our brothers who get up every week a little "grace," too.

Unless you've done it, you can't imagine the burden that resides in the position of preaching. Regardless of what "brand" of Christianity it is, preaching is a hard life. I've read the autobiographies of many a "done" preacher... and the "body count" is staggering of those who "used to preach, but don't any more." (In fact, I just recently finished an excellent book by a former female preacher who has left her post... her story is the same. So it is not gender specific, either).

Ministering to people is hard enough in itself. But preaching weekly is by far the hardest thing I've ever attempted to do in my life and the number of really great guys I know who don't do it anymore is a telling commentary on just what it can do to a person. If you have a good preacher in your life, please tell him what he means to your life.

How someone can have a record of 70+ years of preaching, is a testimony to the power and faithfulness of God and to their ability to wear "thick skin." Until you've stood in those brother's shoes, you might want to take a look at yourself, your character and whether you could stand for a single sermon (let alone 70 years worth) before casting a single disparity your preacher's way. I know some people who "think" they could do a better job, but given the chance, I wonder!

How beautiful are the feet of those who bring the good news (Rom. 10:15). My good brothers who are still preaching... sit a while and take a rest in the Lord! Thanks for what you do! May God continue to give you the strength to carry on!

Growing Up, Parents

It would be great if children came with some kind of instruction manual or handy thumb indexed reference guide. But they don’t. It would be great if as parents we could look into the future and get a glimpse of what life holds for us as parents and for our children. But we can’t (and that might be a really good thing). Because if, as parents, we had some accurate sense of how much we would feel for our offspring and how deeply we would care, worry, pray, hope, fear, long for, enjoy and hurt over them… we might never venture into the realm of parenting at all. Investing that much into another human being is necessarily a risky proposition… eventually, somebody’s gonna get hurt!

Raising children simply isn’t easy! Never has there been a venture in my life for which I’ve worked so hard and in the very moment of working so hard at it realized I’m “not doing it right!” Is there ever a “right way” to be a parent? The mere fact that the parent/child interchange involves two independent human beings makes the relational equation so variable, the odds against doing it “right” are enormous.

Maybe part of what makes it so difficult is because the final product of parenting is so delayed. It’s not like making a nice cake and eating it a few hours later. The proof is in the pudding, as the old saying goes. But in parenting, there is little immediate gratification. Oh sure, there is the first recognizable smile from an infant. A toddler’s first unsolicited “Thank you” or “I love you” melting the parent’s heart. There is the first non-parent funded Christmas gift from the part-time employed adolescent or the profoundly simple “I’ll miss you” from a college-bound child. These are relatively immediate returns on the investment of parenting.

Parents knock themselves out for so long but the ultimate “final verdict” on how well they have done remains out for a long, long time. The investment of countless hours, days, weeks, years (truly a 24-7-365-lifetime proposition) may never be fully realized. This alone makes parenting one of the riskiest propositions in the human condition. Do we ever really do it right?

Giving space for your kids to grow up isn’t easy either. Being a parent ultimately means being vulnerable. A good parent allows themselves room to get hurt. Even for those who have really great relationship with their kids (of which I consider myself blessed to be one), there must be accommodation made to get your feelings dinged. It is all part of the process of growing up.

Parents often forget how hard growing up is. This may partially be due to the fact that as parents, we are still growing up. But as a child, especially as a teen, finding your way in the world isn’t easy. Trial and error is the course of the day. Nights are filled with sleepless insecurity, concern and curiosity as we try to discover “who am I, anyway?” Every morning is met with a different view in the bathroom mirror because we are changing so quickly. And as parents, we wonder why our child might not give us the attention we so deeply long for and are sometimes denied. As parents, we need to keep growing as our children do as well.

I wonder if the heavenly Father has a similar issue with us. Does he “get hurt” when we don’t respond in the manner He desires? (Genesis 6 indicates He can be “grieved” by our choices). In a sense, God invests eternity in us and our “return on His investment” is sometimes a long time coming. One thing I’m trying to remember as a parent is that God keeps on loving, keeps on supporting, keeps on giving, keeps on waiting for us to simply love Him as best we can. If anyone is doing parenting right, He is!

Spared

Last night, one of the strongest spring storms I've ever seen in a while rolled through north Texas. I had been watching the radar all night (I'm sort of a meteorologic buff) and I could see the last line of the storms we've had nearly all week was going to be a powerful storm. There had already been tornado activity and wind damage in the west and it was clear this line was picking up steam as it rolled eastward.

The storm line hit our place around 4 am. There were periods of 3" per hour rain and strong winds. Turning the TV on to get up-to-the-minute reports, I heard reports of wind gusts around 75 mph. In Plano, one caller (who is way more meteorological geek than me - the guy has his own weather station at home) reported a wind gust at his house near 90 mph. That is some powerful non-tornado related wind!

As my wife and I lay in bed, she was anticipating a tornado. I wasn't as concerned because there were fewer signs in my opinion (though we were under a "warning" at one point). I did wonder however about all those people who were likely sleeping through the storm (my two kids never even bothered to come down stairs). Nighttime tornadoes have to be some of the most frightening natural disasters out there.

Everyone in our area got through it apparently unscathed. But my thoughts turned to the east, as I rolled over and tried to get some sleep. It always seems Louisiana and Arkansas take the brunt of our meteorologic "leftovers." And, as usual, things got me to thinking...

What should our response be for those circumstances when we personally are released from any burden, pain or suffering, but then the burden falls to someone else? What about the car in the intersection that gets hit immediately behind you? (That's actually happened to me a couple of times). Or the storm that passes over your house without damage but then blasts the people in the next town and does devastating damage? Or the investment you choose not to make at the last minute and those that do invest wind up losing everything? What should our response be?

Clearly being thankful is one appropriate response. There is nothing wrong with being thankful something tragic doesn't happen to you. But is there another, perhaps even more mature response available to us?

In a culture too often dominated by entitlement, we may not think much of it. "Boy, I'm sure glad that didn't happen to me," will be our response and we never take it a step further. We might even pray a prayer of thanksgiving that it wasn't us! Which is fine, overall. But, again, I'm just thinking out loud here...

Of course, compassion informs us of what to do in the event tragedy does strike the car immediately behind us or to offer aid to the person who loses everything in a bad investment, or whatever. But what should our response be otherwise? What should our response be before tragedy strikes the "other" guy?

Last night I whispered a prayer of "thanks" that the storm passed us without incident (other than a huge "lake" outside our back fence), but I was also praying that those eastward of us were also given the same grace we were. It was the only thing that seem reasonable to do in light of the blessing we had just received. Somehow, it didn't seem right to merely take our blessing and not do something to try and be helpful to the next guy down the storm front.

I guess what we're considering is proactive compassion. What are your thoughts?

Today

As a result of what I would consider a "faulty" weather forecast, my day has been altered in manners now manifesting themselves in down-right resentment on my part. What are typically my most reliable sources for weather forecasting have totally let me down today and I'm flat-out hacked and bummed about it.

Early this morning the forecast called for 70% rain. 70%! In north Texas that's a pretty good shot at rain. In Phoenix, where I once lived, 70% are betting odds... you could take 70% to the bank!

Today, in the time between leaving the house and walking into my office (following morning coffee and a power bagel) that likelihood had dropped from 70% to 40%. After being in the office for about an hour, I saw approximately half a dozen drops fall outside my office window on a spot covering about 70% the size of a piece of notebook paper! Now, as I sit here at the laptop at the end of the work day, the sun is shining, a cool breeze is blowing and I think I just saw two love birds sunbathing in bikinis and sharing a bird bath in a puddle left over from last night's sprinkler run! (Okay...maybe I've been inside too long and had one too many cups of coffee!)

Rain? What rain?!?

Here is why I'm hacked! Because of that "fake" forecast, this is how my day was regretfully altered... Let me enumerate...

1) I neglected my daughter's exuberant joy and independent freedom by driving the car she usually takes to school, thus significantly altering her day and unilaterally cramping her style.

2) Driving a car meant I wasn't riding one of my beloved motorcycles (for avid motorcyclists... a day when you could ride and then you don't ride is like asking a duck to walk everywhere he needs to go. Sure, he can go that way, but swimming, trolling or flying are way better alternatives -- because you're built to do them)!

3) Because I drove the car, and consequently thought I would have to pick my daughter up from school when she was done, I turned down a ticket to the Rangers' Home Opener (baseball, for the lesser informed) with a good friend because I "would not be able to get back to school in time to pick up my daughter."(In my opinion, there is nothing much better in all of sports than "opening day" -- even for a mediocre team-- being at the ballpark live on opening day is the best! There is just something "spiritual" about the whole experience.

4) Finally, as it turned out, my daughter stayed after school with some fellow drama students and their director completely alleviating my need to provide transportation. So as it turns out, I could have gone to the game after all -- where it didn't rain there, either! (Is the whining apparent at this point?)

5) I still didn't get to ride my motorcycle (have I already mentioned this?)!

The only positive thing I can see from today's whole meteorological fiasco is that I actually was able to accomplish a lot of productive work today -- which I would not have done sitting in The Ballpark at Arlington -- but, boy, would a hot dog or two and a good ballgame with a friend have been great? Need I even answer?

At our church, we are currently looking at the Genesis account of the seven days of creation. In our study of this biblical text, one of the theological truths that has struck me is how Sovereign the Creator is over all that has been made. He is the One who separates light from darkness. He is the One who establishes the boundaries of the sea and the land. He is the One who creates all vegetation and all creatures simply by speaking a word... and it was so!

Yes, I will fully admit my complaint is petty and generally irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. But is is funny how the truth in "little" matters can bring clarity in the "big" ones, as well. I think of how often I kick against God's creative power when things don't go the way I think they should. Whether "big" or "small," God still has His hand on things and He is the great "Re-organizer" of life either when things don't go the way we think they should or when, frankly, we mess up. It is a good thing God is always Sovereign.

For the rest of the day, I'm going to merely try and enjoy the beauty just outside my office window and when I leave this moment, I'm going to step out into the remainder of the day believing it is "good" and that everything is just the way it ought to be. "And there was evening, and there was morning...", today!

One Shining Moment

There was a time in my life when I once followed men’s college basketball fairly closely. It may have stemmed from the fact that my Alma Mater once made it to the Elite Eight shortly before my arrival at the school and there still were residual “Cal State, who?” t-shirts being worn on campus my first day there. I later had a class with one of the players from that team and the aura of legend was memorable just having him in the room.

These days, life does not permit me the time I once invested in following any sport, let alone college hoops. However, I still try to keep a casual eye alert to catch an occasional game here and there. Last night was one of those games I would have made room in my schedule to watch (though my viewing was preempted by playing in a softball game – I figure I need to keep playing sports while I can before all I have left to do is watch them). Last night was definitely a game worth watching.

Kansas and Memphis played for the NCAA National Championship in San Antonio, TX. 42,000 spectators crowded the arena to watch two very well matched teams go at it. Nearly 40 hard-fought games through the entire season brought these two teams to this “one shining moment” (a theme song by the same title brought tears to my eyes in years past at the close of the championship game’s broadcast – now, I don’t even know if they play the song anymore -- that's how disconnected I am to college ball).

Last night’s game was a thriller -- what little I heard on the radio and then caught on TV in the last few minutes. Memphis had it all but won with about four minutes to play, but nerves got the best of them. They repeatedly choked consecutive free-throw attempts and allowed Kansas back into the game. A last second three-pointer from Kansas sent the game into overtime. From that point on, the momentum shift was so severe, Memphis would not recover. For Kansas, their “one shining moment” was etched into the history books. For Memphis, it became a moment of loss they will painfully remember for a very long time.

Bill Self, the Kansas coach, is reported as telling his players in his final speech before the game, “You will remember this night for the remainder of your life – now go play like it.” Those young men certainly took him at his word. Self has been regarded as a "good coach." But after last night's victory, he may have opened the door to be considered a "great coach."

My thought this morning is what if we all lived our lives like we would remember each day for the remainder of our life? What if we entered each day with a mind toward making it a "day to remember?" Would it temper the choices we make (who wants to remember a mistake for the remainder of one’s life)? Would it cause us to work just a little bit harder? Would it inspire us to go an “extra mile” in kindness toward another? Would we be just a bit more patient with the next person we hope to influence for good? The possibilities are endless… aren't they?

For a while, I’m going to adopt Coach Self's philosophy and head into each day's “game” with the mind that I will remember it for the rest of my life. At the end of the day, hopefully God will get some glory for a “win” and in my own mind (and perhaps the mind of another) it will be “one shining moment.”