A Good Friend

He passed the day after Christmas. Just three short days ago. A tough day to die in my opinion, especially for family members left behind. But better I suppose to pass on this day than passing on Christmas day itself. A strong man physically lost to a relatively brief battle against leukemia, he fought like a soldier. Though I didn't know him well, today I was honored to attend his funeral. He was appropriately and respectfully remembered by all in attendance. By all counts, a good man according to his eulogy. I left there wishing I had better known him.

Funerals have always made me pensive and tend to send my thoughts into reflective overload. Honoring the deceased takes on more significance in each of my passing years. I find myself more engaged to the funerary statements, more aware of what is being said (or what is not being said) of the one for whom the gathered mourn. At times I find the words haunting, as if I am looking to find something to be said of myself among the words spoken of another.

Funerals are to me as if, for a moment, someone turns up the volume on one's own life clock. The ticks are more pronounced than on other days, like an old grandfather clock against the wall in a quiet living room of a house in which you are merely visiting. Time ebbs onward, though we appear much more aware of it on these days. Solemn indeed, rightfully so.

It was touching to hear his closest friends share of their life together. How they met, the fun they'd shared, the fact that all four of the closest of these friends were by birth "only" children and therefore chose to "adopt" one another as surrogate "brothers and sisters." "One can't complain when you get to choose your brother and sister," was one spoken statement. "No sibling rivalry or jealousy or envy, just..." love, I presume.

Reflective as I've been on the idea of friendships of late, today further informed my thoughts and it continues to assist in the reshaping of my approach to friendship. Perhaps it has been the fear of loss that has kept my heart guarded from the closest of friendships? However, today I learned from the friends of the beloved departed man that it is as grand an honor to hurt for (or with) a friend as it is to laugh with them. I would like to think some level of chivalry has allowed me to remain safely at large from the most intimate of relationships -- not wanting my friends to hurt when I let them down or when I'm finally boxed away in the flesh -- but I then realize the arrogance of such a thought as if I were even able to maintain such a thing... to hope one would be sorely missed as I have hoped for, surely is full of ego-centric toxins.

Is this perhaps not the very glory of true friendship? To willingly allow pain to enter in and challenge the veracity of the bond between two individuals? Isn't this the point the biblical author Paul makes writing of our estrangement from God? "For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!" (Romans 5:10)

To be a friend means we will hurt and we will get hurt. But what have we if we don't take that risk? Being "friend" means we will occasionally disappoint, we will at times abuse, we will periodically neglect and yet, it is in that momentary dissonance that a true friendship has the blessed opportunity to struggle, to fight, to cry and to mourn, but also to forgive and to restore and to be reconciled. How much more a "friend" shall we be, when all this is accomplished?

I heard this truth today in the testimony of some good friends of an officer (literally -- retired Air Force) and a gentleman who is now experiencing the ultimate expression of reconciliation with God through the power of grace found only in Jesus Christ. His remaining friends stood and testified to the power of friendship as first taught us in the redeemed friendship we have with our Creator.

Jesus has cleared the way for us to live like true friends by giving us this simple command: "Love each other as I have loved you" (John 15:13). Seems simple enough, until we face the potential pain of it all. Then we must decide whether we are "in" or "out." As one who has always struggled with being fully "in," confessionallly I'm finding a new way to friendship.

Truth be told, I've kept distance in friendships not because I didn't want others to hurt (I've hurt enough people to prove that wasn't the case), but because I myself was afraid of being hurt. However, I've found that maintaining a "safe" distance in friendships only produces isolation, fear and finally, nowhere to turn when you find yourself sinking "below the waterline." To not allow one's self to be close to another is ultimately selfishness.

If Jesus thought only of his own pain, we would still be languishing in it. Instead, the day after Christmas, a good friend went on to be with the Lord at the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and the pain borne by those friends remaining on earth is an honor and privilege to bear for a life well lived as a true friend.

May the same kind of friendship be said of us all when it is our time to leave.

Closer Friendship

Friendship is precious, but is rarely appreciated for its potential. Many people in this world are blessed with close families and reap tremendous benefit from these relationships. A mitigating factor of these family relationships is the inherent lack of choice. A familial relationship is born of blood. It is a process of natural development. While it may be argued there certainly is choice in whether to deepen or magnify the relationship, there is still an inherent element of "blood being thicker than water."

What is fascinating about non-familial friendship is the root of choice. Friends make conscious choice (decision) to be together, to invest in one another, to stand in the gap for each other... to befriend. This is, at least for me, one of the most powerful aspects of being "friends."

All of my life, it could be said I had many acquaintances. Always finding myself in various roles of leadership, I have tended to find myself standing in the "middle of a crowd" rather than on the edge of it. But of all the many people I have known, I'm confident few, if any really, have known me the way a true friend would. It is important not to acquaint "companionship" with true "friendship." The difference is pronounced.

For the past 18 months or so I have been evaluating my ability to be "friend" and to "befriend." To speak frankly, I'm not terribly confident I've ever been much good at it -- being a friend., that is. I am painfully aware I have guarded fear and selfishness at the price of true intimacy. Battling a lifelong fear of rejection, I preserved pride and insecurities not only by limiting my willingness to be available to others, but also by allowing myself to take advantage of relationships in hurtful and painful ways. How can one be a true "friend" when one thinks of themselves before others? The really sad thing is that rebuilding friendships is a long and difficult task if not downright impossible.

When selfishness resides at the root of "friendship" the growth of that friendship will be forever limited and stunted. Even if thinly veiled, selfishness will restrict the eventual potential of any good friendship.

I regret the selfishness shadowing my past relationships and I am praying for the richness and valuable gift of friendships with less of the burden of my own selfishness.

"A man of many companions may come to ruin,
but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
Prov. 18:24

"The Calming of Santa"

Time is illusive. Constantly passing regardless of our awareness it remains as either faithful friend or relentless foe. Perhaps it's passing is no more evident than in the marking of holidays and of those, Christmas is likely most vulnerable. There are so many traditions and so much "at stake" (in the mind of a child) that Christmas is the "biggie" in terms of identifying how things change.

Last night there were no arguments nor even an suggestions made about when to go to bed. Both girls willingly ascended the stairs at their own bidding and under their own compulsion. The younger declared 8:00am as the appropriate time to awake on this Christmas morning. I was up at 6:30am, Mom, Nanny and Papa not far behind me. As promised, the girls came down around 8:00 and we casually made our way over to the stockings (hung by the chimney with care). That gave way to eventual gift giving.

I broke the agreement I made with my wife to put nothing in each other's stockings so she's armed to assault S'Bucks on a new gift card and will have plenty of chewing gum as well to deal with post-venti breath. As agreed, my stocking was empty.

What only a few years ago took nearly two hours to accomplished is now expedited in less than 30 minutes. Gift opening has evolved expeditiously. I don't believe we're spending any less in these growing years of life, I think it is just that the same amount of money simply doesn't go as far in the world of young fashion clothing and high-tech electronics. Alert the media, we're officially out of kid-Christmas mode. We're playing on an entirely different field now!

Rather than kids playing with toys after the ripped wrapping paper carnage, this year all the family members gathered around the family room belting out songs on the new Karaoke set up. New kinds of fun in a new stage of being family. It all seems so, I don't know... mature.

In some ways today evidenced the "calming of Santa" and as a guy who used to try to fill some semblance of his shoes, that's just fine with me. I think it is time to take nap!

Merry Christmas, one and all.

Remaining...

For the past few days I've been fighting some kind of a "bug." Sinus congestion, sneezing, itchy eyes, scratchy throat, body aches... just the general "yucks!" I've felt it trying to invade my chest, but I am willing it away. No southern migration for the "yucks!" It's either in the head, or nowhere at all! Doesn't it figure? Just a couple days before a two weeks of scheduled vacation and I have to get sick. I am so rarely ill that it would be up to me to get sick on a much needed vacation and at Christmas time, too!

Yesterday, I felt so badly that I couldn't even get out of bed the first half of the day. If I did happen to wake up (which I only did twice between 8am and 3pm) I quickly rolled over and went right back to sleep. Sleep always seems to help my body recover even quicker than any medicine. I love sleep and I'm actually fairly good at it -- but my 15-year-old can certainly give me a run for my money. One day this past summer I recall she pushed her slumber to the 14 hour mark! Funny thing about getting older... it seems we require less sleep. I now average about 5 hours per night.

Needing to facilitate a spiritual formation event on our church campus that evening, I found myself back in the office around 4:30pm. Starting to feel a little better physically (never underestimate the power of a S'Buck Venti), I stayed around the office late for some conversation, prayer, writing and some computer fine tuning. Arriving home a little after midnight I took some cold medicine and headed to bed. Normally taking only seconds to fall asleep, the moment my head hit the pillow, I knew I was in trouble. Sleep would be a lost commodity this night!

I spent the next two hours just lying there, letting thoughts of friends and family float through my mind. As each came to my attention, I let the thought of them "rest" in the welcomed presence of the Lord. Ebbing between engaged prayer and simply listening, I enjoyed a renewed sense of God's presence and love. The time was sweet... I felt closer to everyone in my attention, including the Lord.

Finally, about 4:00am I got out of bed, did a little work, played a couple games of online backgammon, read a little and finally went back to bed about 6:00am for "a nice winter's nap." (Not quite the night before Christmas, but we're getting close).

I awoke with the words of Jesus close to my heart, "If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing" (John 15:5). The thought of His words have remained all day.

I'm trying to discover the power of simply being still... abiding... remaining in His presence. No need for words, just presence. It takes some discipline, but without pursing it, it's like the Venti without the cream (never quite as sweet).

Quite frankly, I'd rather learn my lessons apart from this stinkin' head cold... but regardless of how it comes, the lesson is well learned.

Now, does anyone have a tissue?

Why As a Child?

He could have come in any form. Transfigured as He was high on the mountain in front of His disciples, He could have come with radiant face shining like the sun and clothes as white as light. I suppose He could have come in the form of an old wise man, replete with long beard and gnarled cane. Or, perhaps He could have majestically come in a form unlike anything we had ever seen before, something like the heavenly host John saw in his revelatory vision on the isle of Patmos. Instead, Jesus came in the form of a baby. "All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: "The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel -- which means, "God with us" (Luke 1:22-23).

Amid all the hustle and bustle of the season (how many holiday events can one individual attend?), I've been giving much thought to the Christ Child. Why did the Savior of all mankind come to earth in the form of a baby? He could have come in any form. Why a baby?

Scripture never answers the question, it merely forecasts and then records that is how it happened. So, we are left to wonder...

Perhaps it was because of His innocence? Though "he was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth" (Is. 53:9), He never lost the innocence and purity of a child. Sinless and without fault, He lived the duration of His life to absolute perfection.

Perhaps it was because of His destiny? It was Simeon who said in blessing the Christ child, "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed" (Lk. 2:34-35).

Perhaps it was because of His mission? In His home town of Nazareth, He would stand in the synagogue on a Sabbath day and proclaim reading Isaiah the prophet, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor" (Lk 4:18-19; Is. 61:1,2).

Perhaps it was simply because of us? And so Jesus grew "in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men" (Lk. 2:52) and He provided an example of what it means to be a "child" of God.

Life in the "Greenhouse" is changing. The last child is no longer a child, turning 13 last week and some of the "magic" of Christmas has changed. Certainly the love still flows as deeply as ever, but we are now much more "adult" about the gifts we exchange. Presents this year will likely not appear wrapped and under the tree until late Christmas Eve -- the fear of having "no gifts for Christmas" has given way to a rational calm. The special "Santa Cookie Plate" that for years upon which has always remained half eaten cookie and a swallow of milk on Christmas morning was accidentally dashed to pieces on the stone hearth during this year's decorating. (It will likely never be replaced (until the grandchildren make their entrance into the world, no doubt when the "magic" magically reappears). "Visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads" are now displaced by visions of MP3 players and knee-high fashion boots. Life is indeed changing, but perhaps this is the point.

Arriving as a child, Christ Jesus grew. The Christ changed and He became all the Father had called Him to be. Even the Christ child grew in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and men. And so shall we.

This Christmas, I'm giving myself the gift of self-reflection and taking an account of how I've grown and how I am still growing. Far, far from the innocence of a child and sinful to the point of shame, I'm looking for how I might grow closer to His perfection. Still searching for what it is I'm destined to be, I'm looking for how I might more fully accomplish what it is God has created me to be and to do. Asking the Creator to give me keener vision for the poor, the imprisoned, the blind and oppressed, I'm evaluating my own personal mission and how I might mature into the calling I've received.

This Christmas, I'm hoping to find a deeper meaning of Christ the child, for He is called Immanuel -- which means "God with us" and with God is where I long to be.



Note: My apologies to those who have found my blog lacking in content in the past week. Neglecting to give any notice of my brief absence, I chose to be quiet for a few days so as to let some thoughts ruminate. The two weeks following Christmas and New Years will be a time of vacation for me, but I do intend to write at least some, though I will be away from my typical duties of my ministry. Look for a consistent stream of content again the second week of the new year.

No More Kids...

Yesterday was one of those "marker" days in the cycle of life. My youngest child officially became a teenager. On the books, she is officially "no longer a child" and, officially, I no longer have "kids." Oh sure, I still have two wonderful children, but (and they are none too quick to remind me), I don't have "kids."

It is amazing how quickly the time has passed. In fact, a family friend just had her first child the day before my daughter turned 13 in the exact same LDR in which my new teen came into the world 13 years ago plus one day. For our friend it was yesterday and for me, it just feels like yesterday. Where does the time go?

Both my daughters are amazing young women. They are virtually "trouble free" (I give all glory to God and continue to pray for grace to cover a multitude of parental stupidity) and I absolutely love the life we share together. Their mother and I couldn't ask for better kids... okay, truth be told they could keep their rooms cleaner, their bathroom cleaner and it wouldn't hurt if they'd volunteer assistance doing a few chores around the house. But other than that... no complaining here!

Watching my girls grow has given me some reason to pause and take account of my own growth in the same amount of time. My waistline is pretty close to the same size as when they were born (though North Texan fare is challenging that reality), my feet are actually a half size larger than they were 15 years ago (I've heard that happens... something about your arches falling or something... and your ears keep growing, too... that's just gross) and I've grown some wrinkles and a few gray hairs.

So much for physical growth...

As my baby girl turned 13, I began looking back at my spiritual growth over the same period of time. Parenting certainly has a way of sobering life and growing us up emotionally and spiritually. There have been many other influences as well. Some wrought with pain and heartache... but no one ever said growing up was easy, did they?.

My girls still are having growing pains... the 8 foot stick we have charting their growth every six months of their lives is a priceless possession. I don't know what we'll do with it when they are done "growing up." At the rate the older one is growing, we may use every inch of that 8 feet (gee, I sure hope not... unless there is room in the WNBA)!

I've been wondering if I could have charted my spiritual growth over the same period of time and what would it look like if I did. If there was an 8 foot spiritual "stick" in my formation closet, how high up the stick could we mark?

13 will soon be 26 for my youngest offspring and I can only hope we'll need a taller stick by then, if in fact spiritual growth is a "vertical" ascent (it may be more about getting "smaller" rather than bigger -- check out John 3:30).

How do you chart your spiritual growth? I have some ideas, but I'm curious what you think...

Gift List

Every year, like clockwork, the Wish Book from Sears, Roebuck & Co. arrived at our house. This several hundred page book was filled with such magnificent things, I would sit captivated for hours in amazement and wonder. Amazement that somewhere such fantastic toys were created and wonder as to how I could ever get my hands on them! A Wish Book, to be sure!

I would sit for hours contemplating each page. Well, okay, I skipped right through the Barbie stuff and the Easy Bake ovens and anything, generally speaking, that came in hues of pink. But all the other stuff was fair game. After my initial scanning, I would begin to methodically work my way through each section, making a mental note of the items that fit my liking.

The next pass through the book was the "intent" phase of my planning. This was the stage in which I consciously chose the toys I wanted. Dog-eared pages were the indicator to all parental gift-buying units that these were the pages to which high consideration was to be given. There was no need to mark the items with ink for the drool spot on or near the picture was sufficient marking.

From the dog-eared stage, I progressed into "fantasy" phase. Here I would play with each toy with vivid imagination in my mind until it felt like I actually owned the gas-powered Cox airplane or the really cool water pressure powered rocket set (I actually was given the rockets, but they never flew as high in real life as they did in my imagination).

Eventually, I don't know if the Wish Book ceased to exist or if I simply grew out of my fascination with it. But one day I noticed its absence with curiosity and wonder. What happened to my obsession with the Wish Book and my unwritten gift list?

In this season of gift giving, I wonder what we would want for Christmas if Jesus sent out a Wish Book? If a catalogue of spiritual "wishes" arrived on your doorstep, for what would you wish the most? What section might you simply skip through with little or no regard whatsoever?

I'm curious about what we'd ask for given the opportunity. Do you know what you would wish for? What is on your grown-up (spiritual) Christmas list this year?

You showed favor to your land, O Lord;
you restored the fortunes of Jacob.
You forgave the iniquity of your people
and covered all their sins.
You set aside all your wrath
and turned from your fierce anger.
(Ps. 85:1-3)

Temper Tantrum

Standing in one of those large warehouse retail stores the other day, I witnessed something found only on the pages of a child development textbook or perhaps in the late scenes of a horror movie. I can still hear the blood-curdling screams and the way the child shook violently and rolled around on the floor, I would have cast my vote for demonic possession if anyone had asked me. Yet, I saw the whole thing transpire right before my eyes and know exactly what it was.

This young family comprised of a dad, a mom, an older sister and the "demon" (err, I mean little sister), were immediately in front of me in the check out line. Little sister didn't want to put her coat on, even though it was cold and raining outside. Mom tried to help and the child refused. Dad stepped in and that is when all "heck" broke loose. Instantaneously this child let out the most ferocious scream I've ever heard. If there was a TV show was called American Ignominy, the kid would have been a finalist! I thought this might be an isolated outburst followed by a swift parental action and all would be well with the sound waves. How wrong I was...

This kid was just getting warmed up. How that much "horror" can be stored in a six-year-old is beyond me. This kid yelled, screamed, spat, sat, kicked, hit and the parents never lost their cool. It was immediately apparent they had been down this road before. The older sister was mortified at the public disgrace, you could read it in her face. The mother wanted to melt into the cement floor as the dad forcefully yet sweetly lifted his now rigid (like a 2x6 board) daughter into his arms. Her screams filled the warehouse... I mean the entire warehouse... it was a ghastly sight. I was mortified for them.

Walking about 2o yards behind them, I began praying for their patience and long-suffering, for suffering they were! I don't know what else could have been done. They were not "giving in" to her tantrum, but this was a scene few parents would willingly endure. A lesser parent would have "popped."

I watched Dad load her into the car and shut the door. The other family members stood outside riding out the ear-piercing screams. I couldn't take any more myself as I got in my car and sped away. As I write this now, I find myself praying for them even though I don't know their names and will likely never see them again (I hope... at least in that condition, anyway).

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks... about 24 hours before... my wife and I pulled into the driveway and pushed the button to open the garage door. Rising only about eight inches, it stopped. I hit the button again, same result. Looking my wife in the eyes, she knew what I was thinking... and said it before I could. "Our front door keys are in the house, aren't they?" she queried. I sighed...

Then, from out of nowhere anger welled up inside of me so fast I didn't even see it coming. A few unsavory words and then I'm throwing my winter jacket on the hood of the car only to shimmy under the door across the freezing concrete. Successfully now in the garage, I proceed to take a few swipes at the door on my way up. A couple more choice words and I go into solution mode.

A simple repair of one roller and an adjustment to the track fixed the problem. But now I'm blaming the builder, the sub-contractors, the installer, the mailman... anyone I can find. I'm yelling and complaining about paying "so much" for a house and having a "goofy" garage door to show for it. Blah-blah-blah... It was disgraceful and I'm sorry about it!

Okay... confessions made, I now realize I'm not that far from my little "demonic" friend. While my audience was much smaller, my wife still had to deal with a husband throwing his little "temper tantrum." As the old saying goes, "Out of the mouth of babes..." Okay, I'm convicted...

Maybe someone (likely my wife) saw my sorry display of emotion and prayed for me like I prayed for that young little family. Regardless of age or packaging, temper tantrums are a waste of energy and I can only hope my Father will be patient with me, will pick me up and put me "back in the car." Eventually, I hope to learn my lesson!

Do you struggle with the same thing? What have you found helps you curb your temper? Are you willing to share?

Sacred Lottery

While some close to me are enthusiastic players, I've never been much for playing the lottery. Statistically, I look at the odds and find them just too steep for me when I have absolutely no skill invested in the game. "Scratchers" or "Quick Picks" are so unappealing to me, I can't remember ever even purchasing one. On the very rare occasions I have played the lottery, I've always chosen to pick my own numbers. Somehow it seems to me a bit more sporting than just random luck of the draw.

As the world turns attention toward the birth of Christ, there is a "young" family whom will likely miss the attention of the Christmas Masses and the masses at Christmas. This family won't be available in inexpensive poured resin nativity sets either. Nor will they appear on the cover of discounted Christmas cards come the crush of December 26th clearance sales. Instead, this family will simply remain stationed on the first page of Luke's gospel within the confines of the first couple dozen verses.

Six months prior to the miraculous conception of Jesus Christ in the womb of the Virgin Mary, Elizabeth, a relative of Mary's, was found to be miraculously with child by her husband Zechariah. This conception was miraculous because Elizabeth was barren and they were both well along in years.

News of this miraculous birth, the one that will receive no acclaim this Christmas season, was delivered when Zachariah's division was on Temple duty. Zechariah was serving as priest before the Lord, when his name came up in the lottery.

It was one of the priest's duties to keep the incense burning on the altar in front of the Most Holy Place -- the place where the presence of God remained. The priest would supply the altar with fresh incense before the morning sacrifice and again at the evening sacrifice (see Ex. 30:6-8 to read more about it). Quite infrequently would a priest have the privilege of bringing the incense and it would not be surprising if they never had this opportunity as this duty was assigned through the casting of lots (which was basically a "random" (though God seemed to intervene in the casting of lots on more than one occasion) sacred lottery).

As Zechariah brought the incense to the Most Holy Place, all the assembled worshippers were outside praying to the Lord. As they prayed, an angel of the Lord appeared to Zechariah, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was surprised and "gripped with fear" (Lk 1:12). The angel replied, "Don't be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. He will be a joy and delight to you and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord... to make ready a people prepared for the Lord" (1:13-17).

John (you'll know him as John the Baptist), did become great in the sight of the Lord and was the "voice of one calling in the desert" (3:4) that prepared the way for the ministry of Jesus.

Though the Christmas season rightly brings the world's attention to the birth of Jesus, we must not forget the miracle of only a few months before. From the same bloodlines came the faithful acceptance of God's miraculous calling even through the "chance" of a sacred "lottery" pick. That was a winning pick that day and that lottery still pays off in heavenly dividends even to this day and into all eternity.

So, if at the office Christmas party you receive a "scratcher" or "quick pick" in your bonus check, don't be too quick to discard it. Who knows? There might be a divine assignment associated with it and you'll certainly want to be prepared for that which the Lord might have planned!

A Merry Christmas, indeed!

Giving Peace a Chance

On May 31, 1969, Beatles band member John Lennon and his wife Yoko Ono began staying "in bed" for several days in front of a world stage of press and media. The "Bed-In" in Room 1742 at the Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal, Canada, became an icon of 1960's non-violent protesting for world peace.

When asked by a reporter why they were staging such an event, John Lennon calmly replied, "All we are saying is give peace a chance." Lennon liked the phrase so much, days later it became a lyric heard worldwide as he and several artists recorded the song from that very room on a rented 8-track recording machine. For those hip to music trivia, you might be amused that Tommy Smothers (of the Smothers Brothers TV Show fame) played acoustic guitar along with Lennon on the recording.

Here we are, nearly 40 years later and from my perspective the world is no closer to "world peace" than we were then. Did the "Bed-In" and the recording have no effect at all? The song can still be heard on "oldies" radio occasionally and sounds as good (subjectively) and relevant as it did when it was recorded. If we are no closer to peace as a world community, perhaps the issue is in our understanding of "peace" and not the music we produce.

The Bible references peace in a broader sense and with much deeper meaning than our common usage. Our tendency is to define peace in limited terms. We consider "peace" to be existence "without conflict." But the concept of peace appearing in Scripture is much deeper and more profound.

The Hebrew concept of "peace" (shalom) refers more to a state of well-being, wholeness and harmony involving all of a person's relationships rather than merely personal peace in my own personal space. Biblical peace is, in essence, having "peace on every side" in the community in which an individual exists. To have "peace" only within one's personal space or psyche isn't really "peace" as Scripture sees it. Instead, Scripture speaks of peace more as a "way of life" (see Is. 59:8; Lk. 1:79; Rom. 3:17).

God establishes peace and is the sustaining Force behind peace for all creatures. One of the effects of being in relationship with God is that He purifies us from all sin. Within that purification comes the ability (and willingness) to live "at peace." "May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body, be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it" (1 Thes. 5:23-24). Also consider what Jesus had to say about "Peacemakers" and what becomes of them (Matt. 5:9).

It stands to reason that when we submit to the cleansing of God, we find the ability to "give peace a chance." God is the sustaining power of peace. He first reconciles us to Himself which brings us peace with Him. We then translate that peace afforded by His grace into a peace that becomes substantially authentic with our neighbor. The result moves us much closer to "shalom" for all people (world peace).

We can talk (or sing) about peace all day long, but eventually something must be done about it. Rather than merely singing, "give peace a chance," perhaps someone ought to write a new lyric... "all we are saying, is give God a chance" and then do something about pursuing Him.

Do you have a line to add? I'm thinking about going back to bed... calling the papers and news channels... we're looking to launch a new campaign for peace. But before I do that, I'm going to keep looking for God because I think He has something to say about it all.

Peace, out.

Inhabited Praise

Hanging on the cross, Jesus chose as His last words, the words of the Psalmist David, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Ps. 22:1). David would continue writing, "Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent" (22:1-2).

As the cliche goes, "separation makes the heart grow fonder." It boggles the mind to think of God being "separated" from Himself. That the Father could even "forsake" His Son is difficult for us to conceive. Yet for me, there are times when I feel quite removed from God though I am saved by grace through faith in Christ Jesus (Eph. 2:8).

When feeling distance from the Creator, it is not unreasonable to lament it. Though we may still reside in His grace, it is possible for us to feel a "distance" from His presence. To share our distance with a spiritually-minded friend who may understand what we mean by the term "distance" is an appropriate response when we feel far away. Or we may prefer to seclude and salve our distance in quiet and solitude. But these will rarely draw us immediately back into the presence of the One who knows us better than we know ourselves.

When distance is felt, the most natural and meaningful response is to simply praise the One for whom we long to be near. David's psalm continues, "Yet, you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the praise of Israel. In you our fathers put their trust; they trusted and you delivered them. They cried to you and were saved; in you they trusted and were not disappointed" (22:3-5).

Enthroned in holiness, we who are not holy by nature, cannot simply storm the gates of heaven and expect an audience with the Holy One. By His grace, extended through the sacrifice of Christ, we enter in the context of praise. Effectively, the Lord inhabits praise and in praise I find a sense of His presence unparalleled in any other experience.

To offer praise is to perhaps speak the purest words we can find. There is no guile, no shadows of presumption, but merely the recognition and pronouncement of His glory and majesty.

When the Lord inhabits our praise, we are perhaps closer than we will ever be in this fleshly existence.

Surrender any "distance" you may feel today and allow the Lord to inhabit your praise.

The Karma of Chewing Gum

Central to Hinduism, Sikhism, Buddhism and Jainism, the law of Karma suggests all living creatures are responsible for their Karma or the collective sum of all behavior a being has done. Literally meaning "the fruits of action," Karma is the complete cycle of "cause and effect" whose deeds create past, present and future experiences. Those adhering to Karma see themselves as responsible for their own behavior and the pain or joy that behavior brings to others.

In the 24 years my wife and I have known one another, I've always struggled with her general method of disposing chewing gum. Though, to her defense, she is typically quite good about throwing it into hedges, bushes or flowerbeds where it will likely never be detected by another human until it realizes its "half-life" and disappears into the crust of the earth, still I've never been comfortable with disposing of chewing gum anywhere but in a trash can.

My sweet wife has always defended her practice and I've always complained about it because I have a frustrating habit of stepping on "improperly" disposed chewing gum. I've always contended that I'm reaping her bad "Karma" because she refuses to dispose of her gum where someone will most assuredly never contact it. She typically replies, "Get over it!" Or "watch where you're stepping." She rarely steps in gum. But my point is I rarely find my foot in the bottom of a trash can, but I do seem to step in gum with obnoxious regularity!

Recently, I've admitted to giving in to my spouse's disposal preferences -- I guess to see how the "other half" lives. In the past week or so, I've thrown my discarded gum into a hedge, a patch of ground covering and once, out the window on the freeway at about 70 mph. Well... last night, walking through the parking garage of a high-end business tower downtown, I stepped into a sticky "executive" wad of gum. Now... who's "karma" am I reaping this time? I don't know! The "executive's," my wife's, I don't pretend to know. That is a mystery! But one thing I do know is, I'm giving up...

Forget "Karma"... I'm going to stick (pardon the pun) with the words of Jesus, "So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets" (Matt. 7:12).

From now on, I'm throwing my gum away in the trash can! If everyone else does the same thing... I'll never have to worry about stepping in gum again! I've seen interesting collections of discarded gum under tables and chairs the world over. Is that better or worse? At least another person doesn't step in it!

Where does your discarded gum wind up? Let me know because I'm fairly certain to find it!

When Old Music Becomes New Again

Channel surfing only a few days ago, I stumbled on a concert by one of my all-time favorite bands. Styx, named after the mythical river of fire separating purgatory and hell, was one of those bands that purist rockers loved to hate but generally everyone else loved. Truth be told, even those purist rockers would have to admit to some good songs (though they would hide behind the veil of accused commercialism).

Only 2 1/2 of the original band members are left (the 1/2 is the remaining Panozzo brother (Chuck) who only comes out on stage occasionally to play a song or two when he feels up to it -- the other brother (John) tragically died from alcoholism).

For this televised concert, the band teamed up with a 115 member youth orchestra (Contemporary Youth Orchestra of Cleveland and a large youth chorus). I must admit that at first sight, I thought the gig would be lame. Just a bunch of washed up rockers trying to live off the music that made them famous some 30 years ago. Happily, I was quite surprised.

The quality of blending "old rockers" with amazing young musicians was well worth the two hours I invested in watching. Tommy Shaw and James "JY" Young can still "bring it" vocally and instrumentally, but the energy coming from those young musicians (all 13 - 19 years old) was inspiring. Following the concert Tommy Shaw stated "that may be the most fun Styx has ever had on stage. Ever!"

That made me think of something Paul once wrote to Timothy... "Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity" (1 Tim 4:12). Though referencing an entirely different aspect of life, there is a helpful parallel.

When the young and the old come together, they can make beautiful "music," but success may largely be dependent upon the young accepting the old guy's songs and the old guys letting the "youth" play it their way!

To hear more...(click here)

What examples do you have of generational cooperation?

Dime For Your Thought

What with inflation over the years, certainly the thoughts of another are worth more than a penny. Let's blow right past the nickel and go straight to a dime! So, "a dime for your thoughts on this one."

Early this morning in the gym I was working triceps in front of the dumbbells (not the people, the weights) and down around the 45, 50 and 55 lbs assortment, I saw a dime lying face-down on the floor. In between the first and second sets, I began to wonder what the "righteous" thing to do would be regarding the dime. I've heard it said that one should never pick up a coin face-down due to "bad luck" coming upon the coin or the possessor. I don't believe in that kind of stuff so it was easily discounted (pardon the pun).

But my thoughts were toward whether it would be "right" to pick up the dime or is it more "righteous" to leave it there? I tried the WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) and couldn't resolve the matter. To me, there is righteousness in leaving it there -- my thought being someone else who might really need it would find it (but a person who really needs a dime probably isn't paying $28+ per month to work out at a gym!

I thought about the person who lost it and perhaps they would come back for it. It was still there when I left the workout floor.

I thought about righteously taking the dime and putting it toward something useful or beneficial for the sake of others. But I didn't do that either.

Could it be that what we do with a "dime" is reflective of what we would do with much more?

A dime for your thoughts...

Calling the Name

This morning, at the funeral of a friend and coworker's father, I heard the attending minister several times reference the phrase, "We call his name" and it caught my attention.

I'm familiar with the phrase as it refers to calling upon the name of the Lord as when Samuel called "upon the Lord" for thunder and rain (1 Sam 15:17) but I'm not familiar with it in regard to those of us who have gone on to be with the Lord. The "calling" the name of the deceased is something I'd not thought of previously. This idea has had me thinking the rest of the day. Not knowing if this is a phrase particular to the Christian fellowship to which this man was a member, I find it full of interesting thought and wrought with consideration.

The number of our days are known by the Lord before one of them comes into being (Ps. 139:16) and if we live conscienciously, we find ourselves therefore constantly "becoming" more of what God has created us to be. Daily we are part of a community of "becomings" and the degree to which we each "become" is the degree to which the entire community comes closer to God's intended reality.

I never knew the gentleman for whom we gathered to "call his name" today. But though I never knew him personally, I do feel that now, having "called his name," I feel more as though I do know him. As we collectively "called his name," others who did personally know the man stood and testified to his life and his "becoming." He was a God-lover, a humble man of humble means who served God, his fellow man and his church. In his passing, he is honored and revered by those who knew him well.

When the number of our days has come to a close, the one thing that remains is our name. Last night, while catching up on an old rock band I once followed, I "googled" one of the band member's names to see what ever became of him. I found that he died some 10 years ago and left little of a favorable legacy. He suffered from significant addictions that, ultimately, were responsible for his death in the flesh. "Calling on his name" (electronically) produced only a sad commentary on the 80's lifestyle of "sex, drugs and rock and roll."

"Calling the name" is the one thing that will exist far beyond our days. "Calling the name" will be a legacy and testimony to the degree of our becoming. Paul reminds his readers that "at the name of Jesus every knee will bow... and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (Phil. 2:10-11). There is something inherently powerful in "calling" His name.

We are all becoming, but what will be the word (or the confession), when they "call the name" that we have been given to wear?

When they "call my name" I pray it will look something like Jesus and will be at least something of what God intends me to be, becoming more and more like Jesus.

Missing Icons

Maybe ours were stolen? Maybe we couldn't afford them? Maybe they told a story about which we didn't agree? I just didn't know.

But I do remember when I was a kid I visited a Catholic mass with my next door neighbor friend. I think it must have been an obligatory visit because he had come to VBS all week with me and my family and his mom asked my mom if I could go to church with them the next Sunday. My mom said I "had to go because it was the polite thing to do." So, I went. It was a Sunday morning mass, too. It seemed I got a "full dose" of Catholicism at a tender young age.

At the time I wasn't really comfortable there. These people knelt on these little benches when they prayed. Everyone seemed to have known a "script" that I didn't know and so they knew when to speak to the guy up front in what appeared to be the coolest bath robe I had ever seen!

Just arriving there was an experience. The parking lot was full of cars and there were lots of people coming into the church. Our parking lot at my home church was rarely "full" and there definitely wasn't "standing room only" like there was here! I saw another friend from school there, he didn't look any more comfortable than I did, but he knew when to do that "thing" on his forehead and across his chest and I didn't. So, I didn't wave at him (because I didn't want to inadvertently commit to something or make a gesture that might imply I had come there for some kind of spiritual business I wasn't ready for -- I didn't really want to be one of those boys in the "junior" bath robes). Therefore, keeping my hands close to my sides, I just tried to look like I fit in.

Keeping my hands still wasn't easy from the start though. Walking in through the lobby, there was a bowl of water on a pedestal. My friend's parents put their hands in the bowl, then my friend's brother and sister and then he did, too. I used to play in the drinking fountain at the lobby of my church, but this wasn't a drinking fountain and everyone was doing it. Mom would have scolded me for not washing my hands long enough, but I guessed it wasn't about getting clean. I heard someone whisper something about "holy" water, but all I knew was it was cold and now my hands were wet. Left pant leg... end of problem!

When the "parade" started, I thought that was cool. Some little guys, a little older than me were walking into the church with a guy carrying something smoking. That was the coolest! I didn't know what it was, so I leaned toward the aisle to see if I could smell it. No good, but I followed it with my eyes all the way down the aisle. They also carried these big banners with pictures and words written on them. The words didn't make any sense to me, but I do remember beautiful rich colors and gold and silver lettering. They looked like curtains I'd seen in a really nice theater.

I checked out when the guy with the cool bathrobe started speaking a different language. Everyone else who knew the "script" spoke back in English, but I didn't know the script so I just knelt when they did, but the rest of the time I was looking at statues, stained glass window pictures and still trying to figure out what the smoking pot was all about.

Nearly 40 years later, the images are still there. Appreciated now with a far greater sense of understanding and purpose.

The next week -- Sunday -- in my home church, I was (confessedly) bored. The preacher didn't say anything funny that week and Mom didn't wear that bracelet I liked to play with. So... I just sat there, swinging my feet off the end of the pew pretending in my mind my legs were like that big carnival ride I saw in the parking lot of my friend's church a few weeks before. My church didn't do cool carnivals either. Something about not "fundraising" or something... my dad said when I asked him if we could have one, too.

So I just sat there... wondering what it would be like if my church had statues I could look at, stained glass pictures and other things that might tell a story or make me wonder more about God like I did at my friend's church.

I still wonder... are there missing icons?

What about you? Isn't it beneficial to sometimes have something to look at to help you understand the things you can't see? I'm glad I visited my friend's church that day, though at the time I didn't want to. It helped me to see then and helps me to see today the value of "seeing" things.

I wonder how much I'd miss if I couldn't see?

Icons.

Shadow of the Cross

This past Sunday morning, during the worship gathering in my home church, the worship planners had a graphic slide which really caught my attention. I tend to be a visual person and appreciate the thoughtful preparation those involved in the weekly planning of our worship experiences invest into each week's service by providing thoughtful visual content.

The slide catching my attention this week was the shadow of a cross being cast onto a polished stone wall (maybe marble). It was the kind of stone wall I've seen at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles (one of my favorite places to go in the L.A. area). Polished but yet still having character, rough spots and crevices throughout, the stone has its own unique character. The stone and its finishing is truly a work of art in itself.

What really grabbed my attention in this moment though was not the stone, however beautiful in appearance, but the figure of the cross. I've heard the phrase the "shadow of the cross" of many years. In fact, I have used the phrase both in written and sermonic content and have utilized those words in my prayer life on countless occasions. But something struck with profound newness for me during worship... "What shadow do I cast?"

I've always taken the phrase to mean "living in the shadow of the cross of Jesus." By doing such, I am reminded of the atoning sacrifice of my Lord and the price that was paid for my straying heart. I've thought of it as a shield from the wrath of the Creator and a comfort and cooling protection from the scorch of the tempters flaming arrows. I'd never thought of it in terms of the shadow I cast before this moment.

Perhaps it was the angle of the photo? Maybe it was the use of light that caught my eye? Or, more likely, it was God calling me to reconsider a piece of my life that needs the attention of "Calvary's tree." What shadow am I casting?

If we "walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another" (1 John 1:7). Fellowship with God is more than mere affiliation. It has a necessary element of reflection as well. Walking in the light of Christ will necessarily cast some shadow. I can't help but think of the occasion recorded in Acts 5:15 when people brought the sick into the streets and laid them on beds and mats so that at least Peter's shadow might fall on some of them as he passed by.

That, at least in my mind, is so pretty powerful "shadow casting!" Since Sunday morning I've been meditating, praying and wondering what kind of a shadow I'm casting. I'm asking God to reveal to me more of what other people see and I'm wondering if it looks "cross-like."

What does your shadow look like?

Of Cathedrals and Water Walking

I've heard it said that life and culture in the United States runs not far behind that of Europe and generally speaking, I believe it. Dotted across Europe stand centuries old cathedrals that Sunday after Sunday go empty and unused. Abandoned decades (if not centuries) ago, some are converted for alternative usage. Many are not, left to ruin. Recently, one cathedral was invovled in an interesting transformation. In Southwark Park, London, England artist Michael Cross (interesting coincidental surname) recently exhibited a site-specific commissioned work entitled "Bridge."

While the artist's surname may be coincidence, that fact the exhibit takes place in a discarded church building I doubt is any coincidence at all. The following is a brief write-up I found:

Housed in a former church, (one of the earliest examples of poured concrete construction and a Grade II listed building), the piece comprises submerging two thirds of the inside of the church in water, and producing a series of steps which rise out of the apparently empty man-made lake’ as you walk across them. Each step emerges one step in front of you and disappears back underneath behind you as you go. This bridge is purely mechanical, the weight of the person on it depresses each step a little, this force activates a submerged mechanism which raises the next step.

The public are invited to walk out on it as if walking on water, eventually reaching the middle of the lake, thirty steps and twelve meters from the shore. There they will stand alone and detached, stranded in the middle of a plane of water until they choose to return the way they came. For some people this experience of being cut off and surrounded by water will be peaceful, for others terrifying. For some walking across the water will be pure childish joy, whilst others will be too scared to try.

Honestly speaking, I have mixed emotions when I see this. I am impressed by the artistry and the engineering, but my heart sinks when considering if this is what is to become of churches in the US. Churches in this country are closing by the day. On the way to the church building in which I work, I pass several discarded church buildings now occupied by businesses or day care/schools. That alone is disturbing enough. How far are we from following in Europe's footsteps?

I guess what really troubles me is the interest, inquiry and the magnificent effort put forth to emulate an occurrance that Christ Jesus actually achieved in the flesh. Though magnificent in design and execution, isn't this art exhibit like handing a child a Stratavarius and expecting them to play Mozart? Something will fall miserably short in the process. It may feel like walking on water, but the most important experience is still left wanting!

I sincerely appreciate the asthetic experientialcial value of solitude and contemplation in a setting such as this. In fact, had I been in England during the run of this exhibition, I would have likely made a point of going and experiencing the "Bridge" myself. I'm all about tactile experience, especially ones that promote my continuing relationship with Jesus Christ. Merely being in a church building of that vintage does things to me anyway. It is emotionally stirring to stand gazing up into those flying buttresses and "hearing" the worship of saints long since departed.

What I have to wonder is why must we pursue the experience allegedly apart from the One who accomplished it. That chime of clarity rings as loudly as carillion bells in my awareness of getting experience before relationship. Shouldn't we realize our desperate need to experience the "Man" long before we experience the "experience" itself. While I'm not suggesting a relationship with Jesus Christ will result in the experience of walking on water, I do believe we will experience more than we can ask or imagine (1 Cor. 2:6-16; Eph. 3:20).

There is a "bridge" to cross the great distance between where we are and where Jesus is. It is not found imitating His miraculous journey across water, it is found in knowing Him and being aware of how well we are known by Him. The "bridge" is relationship and that is something even a man named Cross can not achieve for his own. He too, finds it in submission to the One who is known by the Cross in order that we might begin "walking on water" with the One who actually did it in the first place.

Creation's Confetti

The Creator's canvas across the Dallas County skyline is changing -- beautifying with each passing morning. While it will never rival the masterpiece that is New England in the Fall, both native and newcomer to North Texas will appreciate what relative volume of autumn's leaves befall us this time each year.

On this morning's ride into the office, the beauty was appreciable. Brilliant splashes of yellows and golds accented by rich hues of red and burnt amber. Color is such an amazing thing when one takes the time to let it saturate the field of vision. The courtyard below my office window is exploding today in brilliant red. Wishing I could stay and watch long enough to actually see the colors change, I realistically return to the tasks of the day.

Riding at a brisk pace through the backroads from my residence to the trappings of the city early this morning, the leaves were beginning their annual descent to the ground. What a marvelous celebration of creation and the cycles of life! It was glorious having the leafs fall around me and to stir those already resting on the pavement with a quick twist of the throttle. Ah, how blessed the choreography of the foliage under the direction of the stirring acceleration. A merited encore is cheered for the wondrous dance in my side mirrors.

Enjoying this natural confetti, I began to reflect on the things for which the Divine may be celebrating today. Perhaps the spiritual rebirth of countless numbers who today have given their devotion to the risen Christ or maybe an expression of justice and mercy to one who is impoverished or downtrodden. The poor are not far from the heart of God. He would rejoice for the prodigal come home or the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

There is so much for which the Divine might rejoice! (Limited in the depth of meditation allowed on the back of a motorcycle, I dare not think of many more instances on the point, for safe riding demands much attention and coordination. "Hey, look out for that tree... !).

A breeze has blown all afternoon, thus accelerating the descent of Fall's beauty. Before all color is gone and Creation's celebration moves to another phase of partying, may I recommend you take time to soak in the festivities? Creation's "confetti" is flying and the big thunderous noisemakers are likely not too far away (cooler weather and potential storms are forecast for the weekend) to be followed eventually by the hush of snow's blanketed stillness.

Take in the glory and celebrate with the One who has made it all! This is a glorious time of year!

Life is an amazing party with the Creator, isn't it?

How have you responded to His invitation?

Sacred Space

"Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the desert and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Moses thought, "I will go over and see this strange sight -- why the bush does not burn up."

When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And Moses said, "Here I am." "Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground." (Ex. 3:1-5)

One has to love Moses' curiosity. Did he react any differently than we might? I don't believe so. He was going to simply check out why a bush could burn from within and not be consumed by the fire. That is honest curiosity, isn't it? Curiousity overcame any moment of fear or judgement and Moses found an encounter that changed his personal life and the life of his people forever.

For a good part of my childhood, we removed our shoes when we came into the house. Although quite common across the world (it has been suggested as much as 80% of the world's population remove outdoor shoes before entering a private home), this custom gets away from many Americans. Beyond merely soiling the floors of the home (especially in a region with frequent rain and subsequent mud), there is a custom of humility and honor present in removing one's shoes. When I visit homes that practice this, I instantly feel more welcomed and a part of the home itself.

For Moses that day, he'd been tending the flock near Horeb, perhaps for some time when an angel of the Lord appeared in the bush. I wonder if Moses had seen that bush before (pre-ignition)? Was it recognized? It easily could have been a bush he'd seen many times before. Familiarity might explain Moses' innocence in approaching with his sandals on. He'd likely been there before -- only this time, things were different; much different!

What made the space sacred that day was not the fire in the bush, it was the presence of the Lord. Once the reality of things hit his awareness, Moses hid his face, "because he was afraid to look at God" (3:6). That space would be forever changed in the life of Moses. What did he experience the next time he saw the bush? Was he tempted to take the bush with him? No... in leading the Israelites out of slavery, he went with the One who was in the bush. He didn't need the bush itself, only the God present in the bush!

The Arrowhead Water Bottling Company owns a series of wells in the mountains of So. California. On a little private hike while attending a conference center located close to those wells, I had a particularly clarifying experience with God at the well simply named "#1." The well, though clearly remembered as the sight of my encounter is not nearly as important to me as the encounter itself. The ground around the well and the rock I sat upon has little to do with the sacred part of the experience. The sacred element was being in the presence of God and that He cared enough to meet me there.

Do you have a sacred space? Too often in seeking God we concern ourselves with finding the "space" rather than finding the One who is willing to occupy the space. Our behavior is more as if Moses had been looking for an enflamed bush rather than merely being open and willing to hear from God when He appeared. Perhaps our "pre-ignited" spaces are too tight or too restrictive for God's presence? It would serve us well to merely welcome His presence wherever He may choose to arrive.

Are you concentrating more on looking for a sacred place or on looking for the One who makes all space sacred?

Integral Creation

A friend was once so consumed with working in her yard that if she were not able to get her hands "dirty" every few days, things just didn't seem right with her. Expressed on more than one occasion, she spoke of the fact she, "loved the feeling of dirt." She'd also comment on the "aroma" of newly tilled soil and how much she loved smelling it. Not quite on a par with obsession, I would still suggest her to be somewhat consumed by it all.

Flowers were her thing. If I recall, Sweet Pea was one of her favorites. The way she spoke of them was almost as if they were beloved friends. Beautiful in color and texture, she had quite an affinity for them. Knowing what I now know of her life then, it seems as though time in the garden and among those flowers was something of a refuge for her. A heartsick soul at that time in her life, the floral beauty of Sweet Pea may have been the grandest beauty around her.

Christianity's earliest theologians spoke often and well of creation. They saw creation as a physical representation of God's presence among them. Creation was more than a sign, it was a sacrament -- a divine language -- by which God reaches out and communicates with the humanity living in creation. As Christians, we should be the first among many who find resonance with creation. But sadly, such often is not the case. Ironically, it even appears we may be among the last!

Christians today are more suspicious of people who worship through nature than those who (actually) worship titles, positions and objects of human creation. Mankind's own greed and selfishness allows the "steamrolling and bulldozing" of creation in order to build our "temples" of capitalist "worship." Where is the disconnect? Maybe it is in the dirt?

Not yet to the level of my dirt-loving friend, one day I was cleaning a flower bed around my house and I smelled it -- that aroma with which my friend was quite familiar. It seemed as though very familiar with dirt (I loved playing in dirt as a kid -- the more grass stains the better, too), I had smelled it (again) for the first time. The smell came in through my nostrils but reached deeply and touched my heart. It was as if I had made a connection with something profound...

"...the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground
and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life,
and the man became a living being."
(Gen. 2:7)

So much of human life today is spent "doing" rather than "being." So much is this the case, some people express difficulty in even knowing how to merely "be." If attempted, time spent "being" is typically held under the suspicious scrutiny of "time management" and questioned for its validity and purposefulness. "Being" falls victim to the tyranny of "doing" and we miss the integral link to creation itself. Can an hour on a bench in a park really be productive or is it merely a ruse for the lazy?

How can we appreciate the breath of life breathed into each one of us, if we never appreciate the "dirt" from which we've come, into which that breath is wonderfully blown? We must stop and contemplate the "dirt" if we're ever to appreciate the "breath."

Winter is coming. Fall is a great time to plant a tree. Perhaps more than providing future shade for a moment of springtime contemplation, perhaps the mere planting will bring a sense of meaning to your soul? We are, after all, but of breath, dirt and life.

Your thoughts?

Listening...

It's late as rain rolls off the roof and onto the drive outside our home office window. Eyes closed, I imagine hearing the muffled drums of revolutionary war soldiers marching on to yet another battle. "Blat; blat; rat-tatta-tat-tat-tat."

I hear the "splishing-splashing" of my kids only a few years ago, when they were so young, as evening hours fell in the waning moments of bath time... "Splish... splish...splat!" "Time for bed little ones," would come the call. Nestled, secure, safe and off to dreamland they would go.

Falling harder now... Imagine the rolling of fingers and thumbs on a waiting room side table as the patient sits, awaiting the news from the medical test. The pattern is steady, not loud enough to offend or irritate, but certainly present to all close by. Nervous tension is broken only by the sound itself. Waiting... waiting... what will they say?

A brilliant flash of light... now an instantaneous "crack" as thunder peals across the North Texas sky. No metaphor. No simile. No imagination. The sound is altogether unique.

Is it He who rides the ancient skies above?

"Sing to God, O kingdoms of the earth,
sing praise to the Lord,
to him who rides the ancient skies above,
who thunders with mighty voice."
(Ps. 68:32-33)

Shhhh... listen, now. Listen.

He speaks, but would we be among those who listen?

"Then the Lord spoke to Job out of the storm...
...Do you have an arm like God's,
and can your voice thunder like his?"
Job. 40:6,9

Listen. Listening...

Crossing Over

Up late last night, channel surfing seemed like the right amount of exercise before retiring from a long week. Catching a channel or two of innane TV (in my opinion it is difficult to find much substance these days on the airwaves), I came across an episode featuring a man I've seen before. His claim is to have the ability to "cross over" and communicate with those who have departed life in the flesh. If lacking authenticity, he and his audience members do a convincing job of playing out their scripts. If authentic, it is interesting observing how much effort is taken (both on this side and the other side) to instill peace and comfort for those who are left remaining on this earth.

Typically, this TV personality is communicating to remaining family members from his "readings" of the departed. Sometimes the departed are quite animated and emphatic to stress that everything "over here" is fine! Fascinating, really.

The most difficult audience members for me to watch are the parents of children who have "gone out of season." The "medium" often says the same thing, "I know this is difficult for you because what has happened to you isn't the way it is supposed to be. A parent is supposed to die before the child," he suggests.

To watch these parents not only struggle with the loss of child(ren), but to deal with their own guilt, questions of parenting, etc. is a heart rending thing. Authentic or not, the burden these people carry is worthy of attention,prayer and is quite authentic. Having personally never lost a child, and praying I never do, I appreciate we all live in the reality that it could happen (either as child or as parent). (Note: as my first child approaches the driving age, this is why I'd like to buy her a Sherman Tank as her first vehicle, but I can't afford one and I've heard the gas mileage and maintenance costs are horrible!).

In a couple hours, my family will attend the funeral of someone we've only met once. A lovely lady who lived to the ripe age of 95, we are attending to "mourn with those who mourn" (Romans 12:15) and are honored to do so. Closer to her grandchildren and great grandchildren than we were to her, we go to gather by their sides and renew old friendships in the process.

Though we go to mourn, I anticipate there will be less mourning and more rejoicing. The lady's son has already sent out email notices to this point. LuLu "crossed over" confident in her relationship with the Creator. A lifelong follower of Christ, she lived out her time faithfully and well. Crossing over for her seems to be as natural as turning off the TV and going to bed, only to rise in a far, far better place where there shouldn't be any difficulty finding something Good to "watch."

Blessings to her 95 years and to her family who celebrate them.

Sacred Little... Venti Philosophy, Part 2

Life is certainly not about coffee, but coffee can certainly be about life and is most definitely part of mine. Strange how but only a few years ago, I merely admired the aroma of the bean. Now, I can objectively say while free from addiction, I do enjoy it as much as any other consumable. Ahh coffee... tis a good thing!

Imagine my shock and dismay this morning when S'bucks was out of venti cups! I mean... how does that happen? What manager slipped a cog and arranged this fiasco! Oh, the humanity... this is upheaval of epic proportion! What is a venti guy supposed to do? I mean, they didn't even offer to throw my venti into two tall cups... venti wasn't an option this morning and if I sound a bit cranky, well... let's just appreciate that I'm a "shot" low off my normal intake! I mean... is a Grande really going to get the job done! C'mon... who forgets to order cups? It's not like there was a run on venti this morning, was there?

Later that day...

(Okay... group let's begin... Christopher: "Hi, I'm Christopher and I'm a venti addict." Group: "Hi, Christopher").

Surely I jest... however... One of last week's entries queried this issue of "bigger being better." We all fall victim to"bigger is better" ("more is best") eventually and then, once coming to our senses, we wonder how we can handle such a big "thing" (over-extended debt; keeping up a house so large; pumping even more fossil fuel into such a vehicular beast; ridding the moths feasting on clothes we haven't worn in ages; etc.). We begin to wonder where the "bigger is better" ("more is best") mentality even originates.

The point of origination might be a matter of perspective or disposition. I've known "depression babies" who justify excess as compensation for doing without for so many years. I've heard "boomers" express an almost innate need to "keep up" with their neighbors. I've observed others who simply justify it because they can "afford" it.

Exposing the "reason" may be as difficult as turning a lump of coal into a diamond in your bare hands, but one thing aiding any realization in the matter is to simply concentrate on the "little"... the sacred little.

All around us, every day of our existence, thanksgiving awaits in the "little" things. For example, before finishing this sentence, simply hold your breath and don't take another. It's okay... I'll wait............


You didn't pass out, did you? The reason: you needed that next breath. We all do. Anyone who has suffered with respiritory illness understands the value of a clear full breath. Too often, "bigger is better" ("more is best") is not a function of "need" but of "want." Eventually, we come to realize that we can trust our "needs" much more than we can trust our "wants."

Becoming aware of our language, we often convolute our "needs" with our "wants." How many times do we stand at the ice cream counter and say, "I need a double strawberry and cream on a waffle cone." Do we really "need" it? Is it a function of our survival? We may think so, but I reckon not.

What if you chose to live the rest of the day conscious of every breath. Would it transform your awareness of the "little" things? Breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... being aware of every single one. How precious are the little things! There are days I'm completely unaware of my breath. Imagine missing such a "little" thing that is so incredibly "big!"

While you may not be ready to sell the car, or downsize the new house... try being aware of your breath. Breathe (please do), but breathe with an appreciation for the "sacred little" and let it transform your perspective on the "venti" matters of life.

Next breath...

Trick or Treat?

Surely the energy will run out on the dressing up, knocking doors and asking for candy, won't it? As a culture, we've long since dispensed of the practice of offering the "trick" and merely gone for the "treat." These days, the "trick" takes much too much effort in a hectic, non-stop culture to work very hard on a "trick" and so the "treat" is an easy payoff... about $2.50 per bag as I figure it. A couple bags will "git er done."

At this point in the lives of my two kids, the candy isn't even a motivation anymore. It is merely about being with friends, dressing up and living out the last years of adolescence. As a parent, it is strange to watch the whole process begin to go away. Cute little girls once dressed as princesses or ladybugs or fairies have given way to young women, dressed as women, playing out one of the last chapters of childhood. It seems like only yesterday...

Long after the door-to-door candy runs are a thing of the past, costumes will still be worn. Their mother and I went to a business event this past weekend. Everyone was festively festooned... some costumes were surely rented and I'm guessing for a handsome price, too. One doesn't come decked out to the nines as the Pope without shelling out some cash! Our "candy" that night? A fully catered meal from Culpeppers... a regularly featured restauant in "D" Magazine and an upper-crust Dallas favorite. If you haven't had the stuffed crab legs, well... "trick or treat" for those and take the trick if you have to!

I believe there is still some innocence left in my girls... the younger dressed tonight as a football player complete with glare block on her cheeks. Oh, she could have been "Miss Arizona" or "Miss Texas" like her big sister and close neighbor friend, but she's still hanging more closely to her youth. But for all of them, it is a process of moving on that even they don't really recognize. One day they will realize it though, and everything will have changed. Good thing I imagine. Life will be complicated soon enough, they need not rush for the world pushes them fast enough.

Today, circumstances called for me to look again into the mirror of self-reflection. Do we ever stop growing up? My adolescent growing pains were painful (leg cramps were the worst!). Spiritual growing pains are nonetheless severe even in mid-life. By now, (for the most part) our behaviors themselves are mostly righteous and good. What is really painful is when we begin looking at our true self and try to ascertain the deepest portions of who we are. If we are willing to go there, it won't be long before we long for childhood again, the days where merely wearing a costume would change our dispositions and (for a moment) we could be someone else. Adults can still pick some good costumes.

Getting to the depths of who we really are is what growing up is really all about. We may wander for a long time, "costumed" and falling victim to the "trick." Or, we can remove the mask, resist the denial, wrestle with the truth and perhaps, through it all, find the "treat."

We never stop growing up, do we?

Trick or treat?

Yes, trick or treat!