Another Man's Baby

The past several days I've been sitting with a friend's baby. It has been a long time since I've had the responsibility to care for another's. And when I have, it has only been for a few hours or maybe a day, but never for this long. We've been together for nearly a week now and that is something new for me.

As the day to take delivery arrived, I sensed a little anxiety welling in me. To care for something so precious for this period of time is a task from which many might shy away. But for me, and because of the trust my friend has put in me, I felt honored in the role.

In fact, before leaving town, he made it abundantly clear that I was the only one he would trust with his little beauty. Therefore, I feel honored indeed! I reassured him I would take care of her as if she were my own -- probably even better!

The day the carrier full of joy arrived, it was a cold, overcast and rainy day. I wanted to protect her from getting wet, but I forgot my umbrella. "Yeah," I thought self-critically. "We're off to a really great start, aren't we?" I chided myself. "Some babysitter you are!" I continued on.

Mind you, it is not that she couldn't handle the moisture, she is quite resilient. Yet, I wanted to show the care, concern and responsibility my friend knew I could provide. Though some rain got on her, I was quick on the draw with a fresh clean towel. "Good as new," I said as I wiped the last drop away. Surely she knew she was in good hands. Though unaccustomed to some things about her, I did feel a bond early on. I felt we'd soon be friends and neither of us were disappointed in that regard. What a fun time we've had together! A stroll around the neighborhood, we went shopping together and took a short drive on the Interstate. She was very well behaved every time we went out.

I noticed several people admire her while we were out. While I was proud of her as if she were mine, I was quick to say "... yeah, a friend of mine... beautiful, isn't she? Yes, he's quite proud of her!" was my response to admirers.

To take care of another's has inherent risks. What if I don't show the same care they do? What if I do something wrong? What if they judge the care I've shown as unfit? Would they ever trust me with something so valuable again? It can be a little stressful.

It makes me think of the role Jesus Christ has given to His followers to care for the church. It is a beloved child of the Father -- the "bride" of the Son. What a precious thing to care for and yet, people are so quick to criticize or even neglect her. Have we missed something of her value? Do we fail to see how incredibly diverse and yet unified she can be? It causes me deep concern when I think about it. Maybe we should stop taking care of it like it is ours, and begin taking care of it like it belongs to someone else? Would things change? Perhaps so!

Several days have passed and tomorrow the baby will be returning home into the arms of her beloved. I know he's excited to see her again. The couple of times he's called, I told him all about her and the special things I've done for her. "She's sparkling and radiant," I told him with confidence. She was sitting right in front of me the last time we talked, when I told him all about the fun we'd had while he's been gone. I wonder if he might even be a little jealous?

So, tomorrow I'll have to say, "Goodbye." I've wiped her down for the last time and filled her up with the best I could buy at the Tom Thumb and now... we wait for my trusting friend to return to pick up his "baby."

If I may speak quite frankly, she's not exactly the kind of baby I'd want for my own. She's a little slow to get going. Now, that may be because, in my humble opinion, she's a little on the chunky side even though she's only one year old. But... after spending a few days together, she's earned new respect in my eyes. I might like to have one just like her some day! My wife certainly enjoyed our time with her.

One of my babies has the same maker... so we'll just have to see if there is another "match made in heaven" out there somewhere. Who knows?

Never judge another man's "baby," until you've at least ridden a few miles in his saddle!

Welcome home my friend... nothing but open road ahead! Why don't we take our "babies" for a spin?

Changing Seasons

While the leaves have already changed in the northeastern portion of this nation, here in Dallas things are moving a bit more slowly. October is always a fickle time of year in the Lone Star state. Will it be cold? Maybe. Will it be hot? Probably. Will it rain? Possibly. Will it snow? It could...you'll just have to wait and see. October is meteorological "mystery" month in North Texas.

It has become enjoyable for me to live in a place that has some distinction of season. In my former mostly desert place of residence, there were basically two seasons: hot and hotter. While the Bermuda grass did go dormant for a few months in "winter" as it was, we were always quick to overseed with rye grass to maintain the green hues in a landscape dominantly cast in browns, tans and neutrals. Not nearly as many people overseed their lawns here. It may merely be due to the size of the lawns (everything's bigger in Texas) or it may simply have something to do with appreciating the marking of the seasons.

Some leaves have begun to change here, but a few colder nights will be required before fall really kicks into gear in North Texas. When it comes, and it will come, it will seem as if to come virtually overnight. Another ten degrees will fall off the overnight thermometer and that will be that. Fall will roll right into winter and I'll be sucking up oak leaves with a yard vac.

When winter hits in Dallas (one good ice storm can quickly get the job done) everything turns gray. Trees are stripped bare to the bark. Many days seem to have a gray lens over them but there is something appropriate about it all. A season to fit the times. Christmas fires are warmer when the leaves are gone and the grass quietly sleeps in a slightly mellow yellow tone. It is right to pause and let nature take its course. Overseeding is certainly optional and not necessarily preferred.

In the seasons of our souls, isn't it appropriate there be marks of change? When bitter cold breaks into life, the leaves turn and fall, the grass withers and sleeps, why are we often so quick to "overseed" as if to cover up the inevitable dormancy of the soul's "winter" months?

"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven..."
(Ecc. 3:1)

Observing the changes in your spiritual year, would distinctive seasons be apparent? Are you stuck in Spring where only beautiful blooms are allowed to grow? Or has winter fallen upon you with such a continuing force, there is no hope for the grass to come back or for the birds to return to nesting to bring a new generation of life?

"[God] has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the hearts of men;
yet they cannot fathom what God has done from
beginning to end"
(Ecc. 3:11)

Perhaps if we were to better mark the "seasons" of our spiritual lives, we would at least better fathom what God has done and may be doing now?

The grass has yellowed, the leaves have fallen, I now stand bare before the Lord. In His good time, the Spring will come and with it, new life.

Venti Philosophy

Sipping another Venti cup this morning, curiosity got the best of me. Why purchase a Venti, anyway? Is it a function of value? Is it evidence of a growing dependency on the bean? Is it veiled prestige? Why not a simple Grande or even a Tall? Frankly, if it isn't a hot Venti in my hand, somehow it feels like I've been jipped.

While trying to drive, sip and not spill on my shirt, I pull up next to a Hummer. Not the "mini me" versions H-2 and now H-3 mind you, but the original behemoth, H-1. Looking eye-to-hub level with their right front tire, I had to wonder, "Why?" Though it is raining today (something North Texas needs in desperate measure), I'm quite confident the urban princess behind the wheel will not be taking it off road today. "Does that vehicle ever get exercised to its full (amazing) off-road potential?" I wonder with a skeptics inquiry.

Are we Americans victimized by a "bigger is better" mentality? For some, the audacity of owning a Mini Cooper is unthinkable, unless of course it is for the shear novelty of it all. "Look at the cute little car," they'll say. Never acknowledging that Europeans have driven the Mini for half a century and consider it a quite viable means of transportation.

My curiosity wanders to acts of service as a follower of Christ. If "bigger is best," what values get swept away into the novelty of "mini" service? What Christ-like mercies are expeditiously dispensed as all too common place or perhaps just meaningless? A wave, a smile, a held door, a yield in traffic (even to the smaller vehicle -- today, the Hummer overtook my right-of-way and who am I to put up a mere 4-door-sedan's protest?)... do any of these mercies still have a place in being "salt" and "light" to a self-centered "bigger is best" world?

The Venti philosophy is all about what I want, that is the bottom line. I desire the larger cup, therefore I buy. Justified in my mind as the higher value -- but at what cost?

That will be $4.11 Christopher.

See you next time.

Village Expressions and My Kid

The African proverb, while full of wisdom and truth, remains rather cliche for most. Rarely does one have the pleasure of witnessing the beauty of the truth first hand, in a singular moment in space and time. Tonight, I did. "It takes a village to raise a child."

My older daughter is finding her way in the world ironically on the stage of make-believe. Drama has captivated the imagination and talents of my first born sophomore starlet and tonight a local sandwich shop generously offered the drama department at our high school 50% of the receipts from 5 to 8pm. A kind gesture from a local business owner who is willing to "give back" to his (or her) "village." Village expression #1.

Arriving about 45 minutes later than I intended (rehearsal for Robin Hood ran late, making my not-yet-to-be-driving daughter totally dependent upon parental transportation), I walked into the shop delighted to see many of our friends from the drama department hanging out and eating dinner. It is nice when a village dines together -- telling stories of the day's adventures -- dreams of the future. Laughing and carrying on -- it is a beautiful thing. Village expression #2.

Generationally, the night was interesting to observe. Three generations of family sat and ate dinner at our table. I noticed several other families having the same familial dynamic mine shared. Kids, parents, grandparents, perhaps some aunts and uncles mixed in for fun. The director's parent's showed up with friends in tow. Former drama students now since graduated and moving on to professional theater opportunities came back and visited as well. A sense of giving back to the program that helped to make them what they are becoming. Village expression #3.

This afternoon, as almost something of an afterthought, I quickly sent out an email to about 50 coworkers, church leaders and friends I thought might be looking for a way to avoid cooking dinner tonight -- and help contribute 50% of their tab to the drama program. To my amazement many of those I contacted showed up to lend their support. One friend even got his meal to go and took it home, just to lend support to my daughter's interests. Village expression #4.

One of the families responding to my email petition by coming to dinner are especially dear to my heart. Their 10 month old son and I have this little thing going. I can't explain it, but there is some kind of connection there. Tonight, I was honored to gift him with his first cup of ice cream and even got to feed him a little of it. You've not seen funny until you've seen a 10-month-old kid with "brain freeze." His eyes told the whole story -- words not necessary! Hearing him screech when his mommy took a bite was priceless as well -- but again, 50% of the proceeds went to support my "little" girl who always seems to screech when I take a bite of her ice cream! Village expression #5.

For some, it may be simply a proverb bordering on the cliche. For me, it was a night well spent and I sincerely thank all my "village people" for helping to raise my kid.

Blessings to all.

The Wisdom of Coffee

I've not always been a coffee drinker. In fact by another's experiences, it might be nearly amazing I made it through a couple master's degrees and never previously touched the stuff (however, Mt. Dew was a pretty good substitute). I'd simply never acquired a taste for the bitter bean, but will admit the smell has always drawn some attention from my nostrils.

These days, I'm beginning to wonder if there is some serious dependency going on inside of me. Freshly brewed coffee is a staple around our office -- my good friend and coworker even has his own machine in his office and mixes an incredible blend of some exotic S-brand grind with a nationally known F-brand. When it is brewing it smells strangely like someone just smoked a cigarette, but man... does it taste great! He has said, "Fill your cup any time." I'm confident I fill my cup more than even he is aware. Aren't good friends great? Especially when they can brew a mean cup of java!

Just a week or two ago, our office also added this really cool coffee system that makes individual cups of coffee through these little "pods." It is really good coffee and you never have to wonder how long that pot as been sitting there or how many "alien" creatures have practiced their backstroke through it. Lately it has been malfunctioning and spewing half its contents onto the countertop, but that is supposed to be rectified soon. I sure hope so! When my friend's brew is found wanting, I'm typically found wanting!

So, the long and short of it is, I'm now certifiably "coffee-fied." I've got my own venti sized stainless steel, hermetically sealed, caribeener clip, deep burgundy colored caraffe that keeps the best brew warm for a long season of sipping. I can fairly well discern various variety of bean (Jamaican, Colombian, African, Kona Hawaiian, etc.)... can wrangle the strongest hooch S-bucks can throw down, straight up without cream or sugar -- though a "black and white" (Venti, non-fat, 2 1/2 pump mocha, 2 1/2 pump vanilla, hold the whip, one raw sugar) can really taste great on a cool early morning. If I'm not careful, my S-bucks coffee "need" can exceed my weekly gas budget (okay, before you cast the first cup of judgment, remember I ride a motorcycle most of the time -- and gas prices are recently plummeting!). And all of this in the matter of only about four years! I only started drinking coffee through the influence of a couple Christian brother's with whom I met once per week at S-bucks. Now, I'm hooked. Does anyone know of a 12-step coffee program?

Finishing one of those "black and whites" the other night -- yeah, not smart, I was up until 3 am as a result -- I noticed on the side of my cup printed "The Way I See It #158" and thought it profound enough I ripped it off the cup and have been meditating on it for several days over additional cups 'o "joe." The quote has stuck with me enough, I thought I'd share it with you...

"It's tragic that extremists co-opt the notion of God,
and that hipsters and artists reject spirituality out of hand.
I don't have a fixed idea of God.
But I feel that it's us -- the messed-up, the half-crazy, the burning, the questing --
that need God, a lot more than the goody-two-shoes do."
-- Mike Doughty, musician

I'm thinking the thought applies to this coffee-head quite well.

Just wondering what your reaction might be? Care to share?

I'll pour.

Everpresent

What I choose to do for "fun" is clearly dangerous. Admitting the obvious isn't too difficult, especially in light of an incident that occurred a few weeks ago. As the old motorcycling adage goes, "It's not 'if' but 'when' (details are merely details at this point -- and courage need not dwell on details)." But, by mysterious compulsion, all is back to normal and I'm riding again.

Yesterday's ride to the office was shrouded in surreal ambiance. Fog was heavy, near the ground and thick. Traveling from our home on the "outskirts" of town allowed the fog to gather heavily around acreage, small lakes and residential ponds. Riding ever cautiously (perhaps even more so, now) ambient transitions were quite pronounced. Enveloped from one fog bank to another provoked a strong sense of gathering in me as if I were being welcomed in by the morning mist. Was this a taunting by the sirens of danger? A quick flash of doubt beckoned the question, "Why do I do this, again?" "Back you tremptress of fear and boring transportation!" was my quick reply.

Collecting all over the front of my bike and on the helmet's faceshield, the misty experience was bordering on nuisance until a thought hit me like a 100 mph gust." He is with you -- the Lord is as everpresent as this mist." Suddenly, though nothing around me had changed, it was as if everything within me did. A rush of Divine presence swept through me as swiftly as a well executed turn. Effortlessly smooth... He is this close, always!

The envelopment of fog took on new meaning. Still riding with caution, my spirit relaxed in the present awareness that God is always this close -- I'm just too often not this aware of His presence. As fog elevates the need for a rider's attention, so does the presence of the Lord. Wider eyed, quicker to respond, God's presence should call out the best of one's heart, skills and abilities.

He is not far from any one of us. Recognizing His voice with increasing frequency requires discipline. Sensing His presence requires an ever-developing awareness. He is present -- the Everpresent -- and His love for you is "everlasting to everlasting" (Ps. 103).

Closer to the heart of the city, the mist and fog began to rise -- but I am left with this reminder: He remains everpresent.

Praise His holy name.

Countdown to Worship

Each week, approximately 5 minutes before worship begins at my home church, a cool video begins playing with a clock counting down to zero. It is intended to alert the congregation that it is time to find seats and settle in as worship is about to begin (yes, I know we are always to be "worshipping" but I reference the formal "assembling of the saints").

Each Sunday morning, I give some considerable effort to preparing myself for worship. From my first conscious breath, on Sunday mornings I begin praying God will prepare my heart for an encounter with Him. Yesterday, I was met with a new feeling of anticipation as the clock ticked down.

Like many others, I enjoy going to sporting events and at some, like the Maverick games, there is a countdown clock before tip-off. The energy always tends to grow as the crowd anticipates the beginning of the game. The money for the tickets has already been spent, more will be spent on concessions and souvenirs, the only thing left to determine will be whether it is a "great" game (our team wins) or just an "okay" game (our team lost, but at least we got to see our favorite players).

Tens of thousands of people still gather at Cape Canaveral, Florida to watch Space Shuttle rockets launch into the sky. The countdown runs for hours, then minutes (sometimes suspending the anticipation with a "holding pattern" due to weather or mechanical problems), then finally, seconds... we hold our breath and then the massive rockets ignite with expertly programmed precision. People's cheers can't be heard over the roaring of the massive rocket blast. I don't think that ever gets boring or routine, though it is virtually the same procedure every time.

Yesterday, as the worship clock counted down, I had a greater than usual sense of God's arrival. It felt highly personal and He seemed very close to my heart. No, he didn't come running out of a tunnel into an arena full of laser lights and artificial smoke. His arrival didn't come with a cheesy announcer's voice stretching out the words... and heeeeerrrrrreeeessssss the AlllllllllllMightyyyyyyyyyyyy Godddddddddd!!!!

By my best calculations, the Almighty entered quietly and sat close to those who were really hoping to see Him. He humbly entered through a Spiritual portal and spoke through song and scripture, prayer and proclamation. He could be seen in the face of others who sought His presence. He was very much in the room.

"Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened..."

5, 4, 3, 2... 1.

Now... now is the time to worship. Are you ready?

The countdown has already begun.

Opening Night

From the time she was in her mother's womb, we had the sense she would be on stage. Anytime we played music, she reacted in some form or fashion. "What was she doing in there, anyway?" was our primary question. Huey Lewis and the News made her settle down and go to sleep. Classical, especially Dvorak, would really get her going. We knew her name would have to have some musical connection. "Melodious Lady" (Bevin) was born to us over 15 years ago and talent has always been part of her inborn "stuff." She has just enough "ham" in her to make it fun as well.

By the time she was 3, she found the fireplace hearth to be a suitable stage. Climbing up on the two foot "stage," she did a mean sing along with Wynonna Judd's "No One Else On Earth" -- which sounded more like "No one is enough... to ever hurt me." I wish you could see the video... It'll crack you up!

Finding a "stage" has never been an issue for her and she proved it last year as a Freshman in high school, being co-named "Best Newcoming Actress" (along with a very good friend -- way to go "Zinga") from voting among her peers. A couple roles last year really got the theatrical blood pumping in her veins.

Last night, stepping out on stage in her first female leading role ever, it was evident to family and friends she is naturally "in her element" when she is on the stage. Though still quite inexperienced, she seems so naturally suited to entertain. Similar to when she was 3-years-old singing her heart out, but now certainly more refined and mature, it is as if she gains more confidence with each performance. I suppose she comes by some of it honestly -- both parents have been on stages of varying kinds most of their lives. But, tonight was her night and she is officially off to find her own way on the road of talent, giftedness and desire.

Being a proud father is never easy. Holding back the "button-busting" takes a guarded tongue and the ever open eye that sees others are kindly gifted as well. What fun, though, watching your own child step onto the stage of "life." What will she become remains to be seen.

I do know a Father, of a heavenly variety, that knows all too well the stages unfolding before this child and all others as well (Ps. 139; Acts 17:26). He has known from the beginning, from before the time we watched her in the womb sleeping to Huey and awakening to Dvorak what she will become. He knew about this role and all the other life roles to come. He knows, He cares and He loves far greater than we as parents ever will. Even for a proud parent, that thought is superlative! Could life get much better than that?

What "stage" is the Father leading you toward? If "the world is a stage" then let's dim the lights, call the cast into place, and raise that curtain... for surely this is "opening night!"

Together again

A relatively long awaited day has arrived for our clan. We're altogether again, not only in the same city, but even in the same house! My parents arrived yesterday, my sister, her husband and their kids arrived tonight. We'll all be together for several days, or at least until we can't stand it any longer and we start yanking each other's hair out -- whichever comes first! What's that old cliche? After a few days fish and visiting relatives share something in common... and it ain't gills!

We'll choose to accentuate the positive and are always happy to be together! Mother, father, sister, brother, niece, nephew, cousins, in-laws (or outlaws)... it's all good! My wife's brother and his wife arrive this Friday, though we are concluding ten guests are enough for our home. The other's will stay at her parent's house.

Cousins are excited and already planning out their days. Tee times are already anticipated. Favorite restaurants are being targeted. A day at the fair is on its way! It is going to be a great visit.

All of this reminds me of what our eternal reunion might be. When we see saints long since departed how sweet will that be? It will be a visit to anticipate and no danger of ever overstaying our welcome.

Welcome to all our guests. Mi casa es su casa.

Perspective

Somewhat of an individualist, I realize true individualism comes with a price and that price is that one simply isn't going to fit into another's mold of liking with much frequency. That's okay -- I don't expect everyone to understand my "style" or get why I choose to wear what I wear or why I risk life and limb on the back of a fast motorcycle. As the old cliche' goes... "to each their own." I'm just fine with that.

What does disturb me is when people (particularly non-Christians) circumstantially receive a misrepresentation of who Jesus is by the way Christians portray Him. It is a dilemma facing Christianity since the beginning and one for which there is no eminent answer. Well, the easy answer is to simply "act like Jesus" but even that is open to vast subjectivity. I guess it all really comes down to perspective, doesn't it?

Julian Beever, a European artist whose talents impress me, has an uncanny ability to work with chalk on city sidewalks with amazing attention to perspective. The photo below is an example of his use of perspective. From this angle, you will likely not be able to discern the image. It just looks kind of weird -- colorful, but flat and not terribly engaging.



To achieve his "illusions" of art, Beever must work in incredible proportion to obtain the 3-D perspective for which his art has become known. Some of his pieces of art are as much as 20 feet in length in one directional angle! Like this one above. The portion of the chalk drawing protruding toward you is several times the height of the people standing next to it. It is necessary to draw at this length to achieve the desired effect.

When people watch Christians in culture (and I tend to think non-Christians watch Christians more than Christians care to think they do), they may take one individual's behavior "out of context" and interpret that behavior as "generally applicable" to the vast Christian community at large. Worse yet, they may generally apply that perspective to Christ himself! It is likely the observing party is only looking at Christianity from one perspective and hasn't "walked around" enough to get the whole picture. Subjective observation is often lacking when it comes to matters of faith.

If the previous perspective were the only angle of Beever's work you saw, you likely wouldn't be impressed and perhaps rightly so. But if you see the work from another angle... and the artist's engagement in the work... I'm guessing the image will stick with you. Now look from the proper angle...


Now that you see it from the intended angle, the perspective of everything changes! Isn't his work impressive?

While a Christian perhaps can't avoid the unintentional (or even intentional) misrepresentation of Jesus in our culture, we can at least be aware enough of another's perspective that we work diligently at exposing people to Jesus the way the Christ intended for us to represent Him. It should be a part of our daily faith walk to be aware of how behaviors, attitudes, dispositions, language choice, whatever... represents the Lord. We need to work at presenting Christ in an authentic manner so people see the "real" Jesus. That requires continual reformation of my character and likeness to the "Jesus life." If I merely rely on my own preferences or perspectives, it will skew the view of the true Image.

For some, it may only be a matter of proper perspective, to see the real amazing image of Jesus. If you are a Christ follower, be aware of another's perspective and represent an authentic perspective. When we don't (and we've all been there) the image is flat. But when we do... it is an amazing thing to see!

Squirrel School

On the ledge outside my office window, a "local" has been hanging out for some time now. Not of the homosapien genus, but more of the rodent order, he has my curiosity because he is not portraying typical squirrel-like behaviors. Not scurrying around, not defying gravity by hanging upside down, not clinging to the stuccoed walls, not flying from launching pad to landing strip, instead, he just sits. Quite contemplative is he with one paw slung over the edge of the ledge, chin resting flat, eyes half closed. He nearly lulls me to sleep just watching.

I have to wonder, what kind of night did he have last night? Was he up late like I was? Did a squirrel friend drop in and did they go for a late night snack at Chili's like we did? Like me, he's definitely a tired little buddy. I think I caught him with his eyes fully closed a second ago. At least he's safe from any predatory creatures up here. Even I couldn't get to him if I chose to -- our windows don't open. What a great life it must be being a squirrel -- though you've really got to watch crossing those streets. I see far too many of these speed demons meet their doom somewhere along the center stripe!

In the time I've occupied this office space (over a year, now), I've never seen one of my wall-climbing buddies hang out this long. Strange behavior for the little guy, indeed. I hope he's not ill! For someone typically so "busy" to slow down and take time to simply "be still" is strange enough, but others will find it stranger still. Imagine all the other squirrels running around looking way up here at the little "contemplative" up on the ledge. What must they be thinking?

Not sleeping well the past few nights, I hit "the wall" as I hit the floor this morning feeling exhausted. There is so much to be done -- pre-empted by an early breakfast -- I've been running "Mach II with my tail on fire" since before I hit the office door. There is no time today to sit and "be still." I've got too much to do rolling the wheel in my own squirrel cage! I've got to keep this thing going you know -- squeaking on every revolution -- the squeak helps me to know that I'm valid and important for goodness sake! You just gotta have the squeak! Faster... faster... faster!

Tired? Of course I'm tired. Fatigue is a badge of honor and a crammed schedule is competency exemplified in our culture, isn't it? What do you think Prof. Squirrel? Give me some instruction, please!

After what appears to be a cat nap (did someone say "cat?" Doesn't one know we don't use that word around these guys, it makes them nervous) moving to the end of the ledge... bright eyed and bushy tailed, Prof. Squirrel appears ready to go now. He's prepared to get on with the important squirrel business of the day. Rested and restored, he's a new squirrel for the relatively short time invested in rest and contemplation.

Looking back at me through the window, he is posed for a question. "What do you have for me today, sir?" I ask?

He seems to say, "Don't forget the value of time with your Creator. Slow down, even if it is in your nature to only go fast. Take the time, even if everyone else thinks you are strange for doing so. Realize the value of "being still" and simply "knowing..." for it is in the knowing you will realize you are truly known. You're a "squirrel" after all, not a machine." Take time to make time and you will find the time to fulfill your time.

I think I understand. Another lesson learned in "squirrel school." And now my instructor has moved on...

"Next student, please."

Every Minute Counts

A dear friend rolled into town unexpectedly earlier this week and asked if we could get together. I always enjoy it when that kind of thing happens. Tending toward the spontaneous end of things myself, I'm generally always up for a spur of the moment outing. Some people are like recepticles of energy and they have the blessed gift of dispensing it liberally. These friends are this way in wonderful fashion.

Six of us enjoyed an incredible evening of rich dining and even richer conversation. My friend's generosity (he insisted on picking up the tab -- "thank you, again, my friend") -- was only exceeded by the magnitude of friendship and meaningful conversation shared. Our friendship runs only a few years back, but the bond is quite strong.

When we first met, my friend was struggling. I was too, but he at least had the character to let someone know about it. I remember the first night we met at a mutual friend's house. Conversation was instantly easy and remains so to this day. It was his pure heart and honesty about his pain and the willingness to get "better" that drew me in so quickly. It is weird, when you are positioned to help someone else who is really struggling but, as the "helper" you find yourself wishing you could discover the same level of honesty as the "helpee" so that you could level out your own life as much as they are trying. There is something powerful about being a "wounded healer" but the willingness to admit the woundedness is critical.

Nearly broken every way but free, my friend had fallen on some hard times. Financially, relationally, emotionally... "broken" could have been his middle name. I promised myself to stick with him regardless of the cost. Sometimes people just need a friend they can trust and rely on regardless. Friends like those are in short supply and difficult to find. If you have one, hang on to them!

Now, only a few years later, things are quite different for my friend. Financially, relationally, emotionally... "put together" could be his middle name. Deliriously successful in business, engaged to be married to a lovely lady, emotionally as sound as a symphony orchestra, it is great to hear him laugh and to see him smile. As we talked, our mutual appreciation was expressive. Thanking him for our dinner, he said, "You know, people need a friend they can trust and rely on regardless. Friends like those are hard to find."

I couldn't have agreed more.

I'll confess I've not always been the best at friendship. For that I'm sorry. Too often, I thought of myself before others or hid behind my veil of ministry. I've asked my Creator to reveal my faults and to guide me into deeper and more meaningful relationships and progress is well on the way.

One principle I'm finding to be true is "every minute counts." If you are blessed with good friends today, remember that people need a friend they can trust and rely on regardless. Friends like those are hard to find and every minute spent together counts!

Imagination Required

I have to be somewhat apologetic about apologetics -- I've never much cared for them. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't appreciate being able to scientifically provide evidences for Truth or creation or any other matter of faith. The discipline, I suppose, has rightful place in our quest to understand issues of divine relevance and my thanks goes out to those men and women who dedicate their lives to the pursuit. Personally, it really just doesn't push my buttons.

As driven as some are by the need to "prove" something, I am equally moved and inspired by that which I "can't" know. It is necessary to qualify the "can't" because in a sense I long to know and one day will know as I am fully known but for now, I'm okay with not knowing.

Mystery necessarily surrounds matters of faith and relationship with the Creator. For some, a cliffhanger story never resolving drives them crazy. For others, we can finish the book or walk out of the movie and never know what happened to the "cliffhung" character and just love it! For weeks, we'll run various endings through our imagination and feel completely at home in the dissonance of not knowing.

Being raised on a theology that had to know (or worse yet, virtually claimed to know) I find it sometimes difficult to let go and have Mystery take over. Letting go though, opens doors of the heart and soul. It allows us to truly begin to imagine again.

Remember being a child and how you enjoyed the power of imagination? Imagination got me through countless hours of shooting baskets until well past dark (I loved that streetlight near our house for that very reason). In my imagination I was in the NBA finals more times than Jerry West, Kareem Abdul Jabbar and Michael Jordan combined. If I didn't make the final shot to win the game... my imagination simply ran the clock back another 3 seconds and I got to try all over again. It was great!

I rode countless miles of cement "sidewalk surfing" (skateboards) pretending to be in the big waves, when Mom couldn't take me to the beach. Eventually, driving myself to the waves allowed dust to collect on the old skateboard -- closing an era for me and perhaps the end of youthful imagination as well.

Somewhere along the way, most adults forget how to imagine. Sometimes we'll call it responsibility, but that just might be a cop out. Our inability to think "immeasurably more" is likely a critical commentary on our faith. Childlike faith still dreams... and it dreams big! Some will call it is impossible. Others will suggest it irresponsible. But a few will imagine it "faithful." What will you say? One of the keys to finding God's mystery is releasing any need for personal glory, credit or recognition. When we quit letting it be about us, we begin to dream again -- we're not afraid to imagine.

Currently, I feel poured into a spiritual tide on the move. Disconcerting and comforting at the same time, it is sometimes difficult to know whether to float, swim toward something specific or just simply hang on and enjoy the wonder of it all. Hard to say, because it is mystery, right? But how incredibly amazing is the work of the Lord and Master of mystery! I'm in the current and there is nowhere else I'd rather be! Where God is leading is difficult to completely articulate and yet, God is moving with faithful force! I am trusting... waiting... watching.

Imagination required!

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more
than all we ask or imagine
according to his power that is at work within us
to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout
all generations forever and ever, amen."
Eph. 3:20

A Shield About Me

Some kids have special blankets, maybe a teddy bear or some other trinket of comfort. At the risk of being perceived as completely "loopy," you might be interested to know that as a child I had the incredible ability to avoid all trouble in a moments notice. I had an invincible force that was always with me and provided reliable comfort and protection in most any situation. I was so reliant upon this source of security it was never more than an arm's length away. It was my thumb.

You see, if I were being readied for discipline and I didn't want to bear the rebuke, I'd simply hold my thumb up in the air, pull it very close to my face, proceed to close one eye (that is the really important point and critical to the effectiveness -- with both eyes open, there's no protection!!!) and then "hide" behind my thumb. If no one else is around as you are reading, go ahead and try it. That's pretty cool, isn't it? It takes much practice to block out all peripheral attacks and concerns. Most people will find they can still see a little around the edges of the faithful protector, but with practice you can be really good at it. In fact, closing both eyes works well, too, but can be seen as a form of denial.

It wasn't long before people were on to me, especially my parents, and the power of "the thumb" diminished shortly. Today, I will rarely break it out and deploy it again, but only for my own amusement.

Once upon a time, King David had reason to flee from his son Absalom (you can read about it in 2 Samuel 15:13-37). It was an extremely emotional and vulnerable time for David and he sought solace and peace from a constant and reliable source.

O Lord, how many are my foes!
How many rise up against me!
Many are saying of me, "God will not deliver him."
But you are a shield around me, O Lord;
you bestow glory on me and lift up my head.
Ps. 3

When, even if for a moment, we think we have to handle the strains, stresses and struggles of life alone, it would be good to stop and believe David's opening words to this Psalm. So often I know God is there for me, but I forget that He is there for me! God is in the moment and on location in the middle of my pain.

Thinking we are alone produces all kinds of dysfunctional reactions and behaviors, but trusting God's presence and relying on His deliverance is one of the greatest blessings known to any human being.

Next time you feel alone against your struggle, hold up your invincible "thumb" and see just how silly relying on yourself can be. Remember the words of David, because "from the Lord comes deliverance."

A Generation (or two) Apart

Four years shy of being twice my age, in the 60's they would have called what we share a "generation gap." He preached for 60 years, 16 years longer than I've been alive. He still has the opportunity to speak on behalf of the Lord, though generally now it is at the funeral of a friend and there aren't many more his age left running around. He's a modernist through and through. I'm a post-modernist who's still trying to figure out exactly what that means.

He is still greatly passionate about the Lord and preaching the Word. If you care to listen long enough, you'll hear it in his voice. Though the eyes are weak, the ears harbor double hearing aids and his hands clearly show the wear of years, his gentle spirit shines through. He still gets around fairly well, is still able to safely drive his car (someone rear ended him the other day -- no fault of his own) and is still driven to stand for what is right. He is a great big man in a rather diminutive vessel.

In many ways we might as well live on different planets, he and I. His style of preaching radically differs from mine. His audience was much more linear, much more driven by the need to be "right" rather than experience and a good narrative. He would rather write a letter or pay you a visit... I'd likely call, email or send a text message. He'll tell you how it is, I'll likely try to show you. We're different to be sure. From a worldly measure, we're miles apart and yet there is something that draws very little distance between the two.

He's an 84-year-old , I'm 44 and we both live every day in light of a profound truth: "For God so loved the world that He gave His One and only Son..."

Frankly, I love spending time with him. He thinks I'm just being nice when we share an extended conversation, but I'm really not merely being nice. Truth be told, I'm probably being selfish. I love hearing how preaching was "in the old days." I love the fact that he still gets excited when he talks about the power of God's word. I love seeing the emotion his generation typically tries to hide, when his eyes fill with tears as he speaks of his sweet late wife. I love that he cares enough about truth to question me when he wants to assure I'm staying true to Scripture. I love it when he struggles to understand the role of contemporary storytelling and exercises in spiritual formation. He often apologizes and stresses that he's not criticizing. But even if he were, it would be okay with me, because I know his heart. There is no malice, only love.

Love is a natural consequence when you've spent as much time with the Savior has he has. Though the world around him changes, Jesus Christ is the "same yesterday, today and forever."

Too often the "ancient" preachers of our day get brushed aside. They're not "hip" anymore and are thought to be irrelevant. While they've maybe lost a step or two, too often they get marginalized and discarded and I find that sad and tragic. They may no longer command attention on today's biggest stages, but they are still good godly men who served long and faithfully. They have my honor and humble appreciation.

I'm thankful for my "old" friend and pray that if God gives me the years, when I'm 84, maybe some "forty something" will still be willing to give me the time of day.

God, please bless my dear friend. I thank You for the blessing he is to my life.

Fulfilled

Not quite the same as a child looking forward to his first-time visit to Disneyland, I did have strong anticipation for my first opportunity to sit in the presence of one of my heroes. Periodically on the drive down, I found myself quietly preparing for what God might have waiting for those who had elected to meet at the Renovare Conference in Austin and benefit from the wisdom and experience of author Emilie Griffin and renowned spiritual formation author Richard Foster.

The conversation with my friend on the 3 1/2 hour drive was rich enough to merit the time and expense of our trip but upon arrival I knew a blessing would await us. I found this church campus where we met to be quite inviting and full of spiritual intention. Fine art, much created by the children of the hosting congregation, adorned the walls of several hallways. Thoughtful architecture, textures and finishes were welcoming and serene. Walking into the space, I realized my spirit was in need of rest and renewal.

Griffin spoke first and her gentle spirit was most striking to me. She does not possess an impressive oratory style, yet her wisdom and depth of knowledge are evident. What speaks most profoundly is her familiarity with God. Though a Roman Catholic, she fit well in this mainstream gathering. Foster was second to speak... also a gentle spirit, a Quaker by affiliation. Unassuming, save a disclaimer of his mid-back length salt and pepper colored ponytailed hair. He has native American in his bloodline and grew his hair as a means of honoring part of his earthly heritage. I have similar bloodlines and have always had a strong affinity for the native American nations.

As with both Griffin and Foster, both fit well into the by-gone era of "Hippie-dom" as well as would the majority of those in attendance. The 20-30 year old demographic was obviously absent. My friend and I represented the "younger set," both in our early 40's. But I saw this as benefit for the amount of life experience in the room was palpable and I've grown to appreciate those who have more mileage on them than I.

What did I find at the feet of a hero? Difficult to quantify, I would suggest one of the important lessons for which I was reminded is that God is full of love and grace. Grace defined as "unmerited favor" (of course), but practically as "God working in us." God's grace affords us the opportunity and ability to experience that which is far beyond what we can do alone. How true! Listening to Foster, I gained the sense he only spoke of what God lead him to say... but there was much more "in the tank" that he did not feel "at liberty" to dispense at the moment.

So often I've attended conferences and the lead speakers present like a blasting fire hose and seem to empty their depth in one or two addresses. Foster gave only from the overflow -- only what God commissioned for the moment.

Foster confessed he'd spent an entire day in prayer over our time together shortly before his arrival to the conference. Offering a prayer over the audience at the close of the first night, he invited those to come forward for whom God had laid particular prayer needs on his heart. Not calling individuals by name, I still sensed he possessed a strong awareness of whom would come. It was a powerful time of prayer.

That was followed by a Julliard-trained worship leader who played an emotional rendition of It Is Well With My Soul on solo violin. Coming from a tradition that typically worships with words sans instruments, it was striking to have the opposite -- instrument sans words. Nonetheless, the "words," "my sin not in part, but the whole" struck my heart strings with crescendo as the strings were bowed. Not just the sins I think are worthy to be forgiven, but the WHOLE of them are "nailed to the cross and I bear them no more. Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!"

So much gained by only a few hours with a "hero" of faith, many more thoughts and observations than I could have anticipated and more than I should post here. The reaffirmation that spiritual formation is a process that simply takes time - and lots of it - simply can't be rushed. The power of being in Christian community with people whom previously one has never met was refreshing. The value of experiencing things different than what is accustomed was unifying. The reality that Foster's mother was a member of the same fellowship in which I have been raised gave the two of us an interesting connection. Shaking hands and exchanging words with a sincere follower of God who's own writings have indelibly shaped my spiritual walk was in a word, priceless!

Were my expectations fulfilled? Yes, fulfilled! It is blessed to sit at the feet of a "hero."

Expectant

Today promises to be an exciting, if not compelling, day in my spiritual journey. In a few hours, I will be honored and priviledged to be in the presence of a spiritual icon in the realm of Spiritual Formation. Richard Foster, author of Celebration of Discipline (link), one of the most significant books on spiritual formation in the twentieth century, is participating in a conference I am humbled to attend.

I have no idea what to expect by this Renovare Conference. I believe by faith there is no measure to what God can do in an instant when His will and providential circumstances collide. Moses at the burning bush. Isaiah with a vision of God seated on the throne. Paul on the road to Damascus. Will this be one of those occasions to change a life forever? We shall see. I am certainly going to arrive with my heart and mind as open to the opportunity as possible.

I figure it to be a burden to be so influencial an author and have people arriving to hear you speak with high expectations. Yet, I've been around long enough to know that for someone to write so influencial a book and have it influence so many lives, the power isn't their own but belongs to a Spirit of inspiration. I'm also realistic enough to know that sometimes one's giftedness in writing does not equate to excellence in speech. Yet again, it is God exercising the power, not the individual. I pray brother Foster arrives as an empty vessel in the hands of God.

A friend and I will arrive (God willing) with expectancy... but the expectancy will be to encounter the Lord first and foremost. We just might get to meet a great author or two along the way, as well.

Shalom.

Too long gone

Apologies for those who have been coming to this blog spot the last few days only to find the last post being over a week old! Where does the time go? The longer I live, the more aware I seem to be that time passes much too quickly. Of course that is quite the misnomer as time passes at the same rate regardless of age. I grapple with the reality of space and time.

Too often life occurs like a continuous confluence of routines and cycles. Last Thursday seems like yesterday as life is consistently marked by the rolling of trash cans out to the curb and the cycle of lawn sprinklers running their course. Which reminds me it is Thursday and I need to roll the trash can to the curb again. Please don't let me forget!

What is the pace of life supposed to be? Writing this, I realize I've not spent an evening at home since last Thursday which may account for part of my life being lived at "blur speed." At times one has to wonder if we're living a life by divine design or if life is somehow designing us. Allowing the tyranny of life's routines and cycles to press us into something other than what we are created to be is more frequently the case. I often grapple with the balance between "being" and "doing."

Does Jesus have an intended "pace" for our lives? The OT prophet Isaiah indicates there is certainly room for silence in our relationship with the Creator ("Be silent before me, you islands! Let the nations renew their strength! Let them come forward and speak; let us meet together at the pace of judgment" -- Is. 41:1). The Psalmist exhorts toward periods of contemplation in urging the reader to "Be still and know" that God is the One who will be exalted among the nations and in the earth (Ps. 46:10).

Yet, it would be a mischaracterization to think all Jesus and His disciples did each day was to sit around and meditate or merely discuss spirituality. Just one occasion during Jesus' earthly ministry, the feeding of some 5,000 people, would have likely been no "easy day at the office." For Jesus to invest in that many lives with the creative energy necessary to feed that many people with only "five loaves and two fish," you can assume it was a significant outlay of emotional and spiritual energy. How did He and His disciples do it on a consistent and repeatable basis?

In Mark 6:31, the text indicates there were "so many people coming and going" that Jesus and the disciples didn't even have enough time to eat. Have you been there? I certainly have! Jesus says to His disciples, "Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest." For me, that is a great picture... the disciples and Jesus perhaps rolling out a spot on a big boulder and catching a few "z's" in the warm afternoon sun. How cool is that?

"Peter, what did you do this afternoon?" "Ah, not much really, just took a little siesta with Jesus and the boys over near Gethsemane."

Too often we take some kind of sadistic approach to our schedules thinking that if we find our tongue hanging out and our bodies collapsing at the end of the day we have found "higher" ground. I'm finding my tongue hanging out and waking up at 2:30am on the living room sofa where I dozed off before finishing the chapter I was reading as a low spot in my week. There is much "higher" ground to be found, if we are but only willing to seek it.

While even just a week is too long gone from this blog, perhaps it is time I really get disciplined about my spiritual schedule before I'm too long gone? Being disciplined even two or three weeks in a row just simply isn't enough. I must find that longing to "rest in the Lord" as part of daily life, even when I'm most busy.

How is your schedule and what do you think Jesus might feel about it?

Wordless

I will admit to having a thing for words. They simply fascinate me as each one is filled with intrigue and wonder. When speaking, words paint simultaneous pictures (word pictures) in my head. Not being terribly artistic with brush, charcoal or clay, words become for me canvas and paint, color and pad, scalpel and mud. They are most often the tools of my trade.

When observed over the span of space and time, languages evolve and/or die. Even in my life span, the English language has undergone tremendous flux and change. Recently at dinner with my family, I used a word which in my youth meant something to me. My daughters looked at each other and then started laughing at me because the word now has "ghetto meaning" and it was "stupid" for a middle-aged white dad to be speaking street vernacular. Ahh... I see I've officially obtained "geek" status in the eyes of my children! Brilliant!

Greek (not geek) is a beautiful language but difficult to translate into English. The ancient Greeks had several distinct words for "love" but in English we have basically only one. Therefore we "love" our cheeseburgers and we "love" our spouse. We "know" there is a difference between the two. However, I don't recommend you telling your sweetheart you love them and cheeseburgers in the same sentence. You may find yourself eating your next one alone!

When Greek is translated, much of the beauty and reality of the original language is lost. I've read that even the word for the Olympic "games" isn't accurately translated into English. Barbara Brown Taylor relates in one of her books a conversation she once had with a lamenting Greek man who explained his language is dying. He recalled, "These [Olympic] events are not play... they are not sport... the Greek word for what happens at the Olympics has no English equivalent."

Interesting, isn't it? To have a reality within your awareness and have no reasonable way to communicate it. Could there be a frustration greater? To have a thought or feeling and have no "word" to communicate it! Ahh... welcome to my nightmare! Particularly when I'm tired or stressed, I have difficulty attaching the right "word" with the "word picture" in my mind. It really irritates me, to be "word less."

Today, in a prayer session, I was praying with a friend and was struck anew by an old experience. Praying together, we spent nearly as much time in silence as we did in verbal prayer. Neither of us were at all uncomfortable with the silence and words just didn't seem appropriate. I could feel his prayerful intensity and I believe he could sense mine as well. In some manner, it seemed as if the silence was as powerful as the words, if not more so. In fact, my friend confessed verbally to the Lord that he simply "didn't have the words" to express all he felt. When I did speak, I felt like an infant trying to form words for an experience beyond my comprehension. It was blessedly weird.

Being "word less" is appropriate in numerous circumstances. Sometimes a grieving friend needs only for one to sit with them saying nothing. Sometimes love between a married couple is so profound, all that can be said must be said without words. Sometimes tears will replace verbiage. Sometimes holiness demands silence. (See Hab. 2:20-3:2; Ps. 46:10)

Why do we typically feel our prayers must be filled with words? Even Jesus cautioned against the use of too many words (Matt. 6:5-8). Perhaps silence is simply too deafening for our spiritual ears? If I continue making noise, I may not have to listen to what the Lord has to say. But if I am silent, it leaves me vulnerable to the sounds, words and experiences I perhaps have yet to hear.

If languages must die (and they certainly do when there exists no words in the dominant language for which to translate them) then perhaps we would do well to let our own words occasionally "die" as well. Perhaps we need to become "wordless?"

What do you think?

If you are willing, perhaps you will use words to communicate how you feel about it.

What about forgiveness...

Here we are, five years later to the day, and tears still flow. Not only from the eyes of the survivors but from the eyes of the average citizen as well. We are still moved by grief beyond words and a sorrow that will never leave our memories all our days. Tonight, the President addresses a nation as two blue beams of light thrust their way through the New York night skyline where two majestic towers once stood. It is, in part, a memorial to what we've lost.

Five years ago we tragically lost more than the lives of those who perished at Ground Zero, the Pentagon and Flight 93. We lost our innocence. We lost illusions of moving carelessly through the skies even within our own boundaries. We lost something we likely will never recover, even if all the terrorists around the globe are brought to justice tomorrow. We lost so much.

Fittingly, on this fifth anniversary of the United States' single-most tragic day, we've stopped long enough to remember. The media carefully prepares memorial broadcasts and news features of how the families are doing now, five years later. Some are still deeply grieving and can't speak without tears. Others are necessarily moving on... remarrying, rebuilding with the pieces of life that were left behind.

We've heard a lot about grief this weekend. We've heard much about heroism and patriotism. Anthems are played, memorials either created or visited as the nation itself attempts to pick up the pieces and move on. Yet, with all that has been said, I've not heard even a single word spoken of what might be our greatest loss of all.

Commentators disclaim the radical leftist extremism that brought the planes and towers down. They declare the need for a more moderate view to be held for those who inhabit the "mainstream" of eastern faith. Much is said about human beings understanding one another, but nothing is said of "forgiveness." What about forgiveness?

"Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; O Lord hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared."
(Ps. 130:1-4)

How much is being spent on overcoming this tragedy? War efforts, memorials, new towers to prove the resilience of the American people and our political assistance to bring democracy to oppressed peoples. Perhaps all is appropriately spent and worthy to every last dime. But can we recover our greatest loss?

When we truly assess what was lost that day, it will add up to more than thousands of innocent lives, symbols of freedom or even our innocence. We are quick to acknowledge our losses on that day but I pray "forgiveness" isn't one of them.

Lord... will we ever forgive? Can we ever forgive those who apparently have no remorse for what they have done? Can we forgive people who would do the very same thing again, given even half a chance? Can we forgive those who themselves don't seek forgiveness? Lord... can we ever forgive?

If God kept a record of sins, I'd be lost and so would you be. And so will they be.

Lord... please forgive and teach us to begin to forgive.