I kept it in my wallet for years

Thirty years ago, I got a note from my dad. Unlike now, we didn't have email. We didn't even have long distance very often. What we had were letters. You know... paper, pen and a stamp that you had to lick first before it would stick to the envelope. And we wrote a lot. You see, Dad and I were on a mission. We wanted to salvage a potentially terminal relationship between a father and a son.

Growing up, Dad and I were close. We spent hours and hours either at the airport, flying somewhere or hanging out at somebody's house talking about airplanes. We hunted together and generally hung out together. I remember as a little boy crying myself to sleep after Dad broke to me the news that someday, when I hit my teen years, we wouldn't be close. I couldn't conceive it! But sure enough, it happened.

Unlike most father and son relationships, we didn't grow apart due to my rebellion. Actually, it was the other way around in a lot of ways. Dad dived off into New Age in about '71. And in '72 I gave my life to the Lord. He was into mind control and I was a Jesus Person (I never liked the term Jesus Freak).

In September of '74, I was entering my junior year. I remember the day Dad called my brother and me out on the front porch to inform us that he was moving to Houston. We were invited but Mother was not. Dad was running away from home at the age of 43. It was the eve of their 19th wedding anniversary.

My brother had graduated in the spring and was already enrolled in college. He already had a plan. Dad said he understood if I wanted to stay in El Dorado where I had friends and all but, I was welcome to join him in starting a new life down there. I chose to stay put. By this time, Dad and I weren't nearly as close due to our theological differences as well as his fairly extensive travel schedule.

Dad used to say that when he left El Dorado, he drove away bankrupt... financially, morally, spiritually, physically... every way there was. He so broke he couldn't even pay the bankruptcy fee. And he started over. Unfortunately, the chasm in our relationship only grew wider as he started a new life in Houston while I was stuck alone with Mother to pick up the pieces.

The following Thanksgiving break (of '75) I went down to see Dad in Houston. Before I left, my brother warned me to not be surprised at anything I might see. That's all he'd say. It was my first long trip in my van by myself and I remember being both excited and nervous about the almost 350 mile journey. I got in late one afternoon, following Dad's directions to his apartment right off of the Katy Freeway at Wirt Road. Shortly after we said our hello's, we were off to have supper with some of our family who lived farther out Katy Freeway.

After a good visit with kinfolk, we headed home. I noticed right away that we didn't take the same streets. "Todd, as you may have guessed, since moving down here I've been dating." I lied and said something about figuring he would. Frankly, I hadn't thought anything of it. I had gotten accustomed to my parents being married on paper but living separate lives. They hadn't had a marriage in years, if ever at all.

We ended up going to his girlfriend's apartment. Glenda was her name and she had a daughter about seven. I remember the first thing I heard out of that little girl's mouth was "And I thought you said he was supposed to be good looking!" Great. We visited a few minutes and then got ready to head back to Dad's apartment. I can remember like it was yesterday seeing the bathroom door open as Dad collected his toiletries. He wasn't living on Wirt Rd. He was living over there with this lady and her daughter.

Glenda and I got off to a rocky start, with or without her daughter's childish statement. Mother had her faults but she always had a bit of class. We were always country club members and her friends were all 'good people'. I still half joke that Glenda would have had to go to elocution lessons to become trailer trash. Later I realized it was a reflection of how Dad felt about himself. He had run away from the Club member and landed with a polar opposite.

Here I was, a teenager who loved the Lord and who was saving himself for marriage. Meanwhile, Dad was still married to Mother and slapping thighs with a tramp. It didn't sit right.

Before I headed back to El Dorado, Dad and I had breakfast and a long talk. He beat around the bush quite a while, talking about Mother's cousin who was a devout Baptist and a professor of urology at Tulane and how cousin Max said we did our bodies harm by waiting so long to have sex. Back in Jesus' day they got married by shortly after puberty. So, the bottom line was... it was OK for me to have sex.

"Dad, I appreciate that but you're not my only Father. My heavenly Father says 'no'."

Shock. That best describes his look.

A little while later, Dad walked me to the van and reached out his hand to shake mine. I took it and pulled him close into a hug. We both cried and cried and cried. I regained my composure enough to get going up Highway 59 toward Shreveport, crying along the way.

I didn't talk to Dad for about six months after that. I don't remember much of my senior year in high school. I do remember knowing that Dad was going to be coming to my graduation in May and it finally hit me: Did I want him in my life at all? He had bailed on us as a family, leaving me with Mother all alone and not contributing a penny to my support. And he was down there with that tramp. I was following Jesus with the best of my ability and as far as I was concerned back then, he was following the devil.

Graduation was somewhat less than a total disaster. I survived seeing Dad but even as I went to college, I still didn't know if I wanted him in my life. At some point in my sophomore year, we started actually talking about our relationship. We started working toward reconciliation.

We worked and worked on getting beyond the usual "hi, how're you?" crap and into really dealing with our feelings. We worked damned hard, so hard that I broke up with probably the sweetest girl I ever dated and ended up dropping out of college for a semester. I was emotionally spent from working on my relationship with my father.

It was 30 years ago that I went back to school. Dad and I started seeing some real progress. The hard work was paying off. We wrote every week, sometimes more than once a week. I remember finding a note in the envelope of one of Dad's letters. It was no more than an inch and a half high, torn off the bottom of a sheet of 8 1/2" x 11" paper. It read:
"This letter shouts I love you, I miss you, I need to be near you.
Love,
S.B."

S.B. was short for Sonny Bunny, his nickname with the family. Paul Harvey might have called this the rest of the story. The letter was nice, but the note was what it was all about.

I put that note in my wallet and would take it out and read it every so often. Finally, it started getting pretty worn after a few years so I photocopied it and carried the duplicate in my wallet.

A year and a half later I graduated from college and Dad offered me a job. He told me he had three projects scheduled for the same weekend- one in the US and two in Canada. And he was a one man show. Dad was very secretive about his formulas and processes. As his son, he could teach me what I needed to know.

And he did.

Dad and I learned that we loved each other more than our differences. We never did see eye to eye on theology, though I think we were much closer than I first imagined. He never did talk me into getting laid before marriage, something that he joked was a disappointment though his closest friends assured me deep down he was proud of my commitment to stay pure. From this rocky relationship with my father, I learned that disagreement does not mean disapproval. And that you could truly love, respect and even like someone with whom you disagreed. Easier said than done but proven possible in our relationship.

Dad and I only spent seven years working together as father and son in business together. I've now put in over three times that number of years on my own but I still think of ATP Results as "his" business and work hard to uphold his legacy in the industry. Yes, folks still remember him.

I learned to go deeper than the surface with Dad. It's a tougher route, but worth it. So, when you see me get a little frustrated when people seem satisfied with shallowness, I hope you understand it's because I have learned that going deeper is worth the effort. No wonder I had a family therapist say to me "Todd, you're a communicator and you married two women who don't want to communicate."

Sadly, I packed that note away about twenty years ago when I did some remodeling of the building and haven't seen it since. So far, I haven't run across it again in all my packing and moving from the warehouse. But, I'm sure I'll see it again.

Edwin Edwards, Fidel Castro and me

It seems everyone jokes about the corrupt nature of Louisiana politics. And who gets named more than former Governor Edwin Edwards? No question, he was a crooked politician. Some would say "crooked politician" is a redundancy. Well, that's a gross generalization and not always true.

Living in north Louisiana, the Baton Rouge crowd of political leaders were only names and images seen on the news or in the paper. They weren't real people to me. But, one of my friends down in Baton Rouge has shown me a different perspective. She agrees that so many of them are corrupt now but she and her family have known a lot of these guys when they were starting out. And they were nice guys.

She says they didn't start out bad. But that bad crept up on them.

I also read an article about the sister of Cuban dictator Fidel Castro. She said he wasn't so bad at first. His initial intention was to help, not to become some brutal ruler. But, in order to remain in power he had to get lined up with the communists. That's when the brutality really came on strong.

Although I was never a fan of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, I have a feeling they started out wanting to share the Gospel with people. Making gazillions of dollars and living a truly rude lifestyle (including gold plated bathroom fixtures and an air conditioned dog house) wasn't part of their life plan when the young couple was in college. They were probably doing revivals and retreats, ministering wherever they could. But, they got bigger and bigger and somewhere along the way, they got off track. Way off track... but I contend with at least a sliver of good intentions still hanging on.

The same could probably be said of Jimmy Swaggart, Larry Lea and a host of other preachers who grew a bit big for their britches. Bob Tilton, I don't know. I get the feeling he's always been a crook. But, that's just me.

Looking from the outside in, I get the picture these people of power (political or religious) probably started out heading in the right direction. But somewhere along the way, all that power and prestige took over and decadence crept in.

I'm no gardener, but it's like they kept growing their garden bigger and bigger. And while they were expanding they didn't notice the weeds starting to grow. Before long they were growing more weeds than anything good like fruit and vegetables.

So, was all that growth worth it?

In looking at these public figures, I have a feeling they became surrounded by people wanting to ride the wave of their notoriety for a slice of fame as well. And the adrenalin rush of power closed their ears to reason. Pride is a tough act to follow.

Does that mean we can't grow our business, career, ministry or life big time? Not at all. It's just a tougher gig. The bigger you get, the harder it is to juggle all those balls in the air. Through a series of hard times, I've found out rather painfully my limit on items I can juggle. But, that doesn't mean you can't juggle a load more than me.

I look at stories about the minister and author Joyce Meyer. The St. Louis Post Dispatch did a scathing series of articles on the lavish lifestyle and general lack of accountability by those closest to Joyce. If half of what they wrote was true, they had big problems. And what happened? From what I can gather, Joyce and her family realized they were screwing up. They cleaned up their act and Ive heard they brought in some accountability into their program.

And they got back to the business of preaching and teaching and helping people. Sounds like a plan to me.

I've heard Benny Hinn has done somewhat the same. Frankly, I haven't heard anything out of him in a while. No problem there, his hair always gave me the creeps. And I'll go ahead and say it... I didn't like his style. We may be brothers in the Lord, but his shows repulsed me.

From what I've read about Billy Graham, he always surrounded himself with people of integrity with the purpose of holding him accountable for his actions. He invited godly perspective to keep him in line. I've heard he wouldn't even be in an elevator alone with a woman. Nor would he be seen having dinner with a woman who wasn't his wife or immediate family. He set a course and didn't stray.

I see one word making the difference: accountability. We need an outside set of eyes to look at our lives and our business operations. Not as a judge or control but as a healthy mirror. It's easy to cheat on our diets when you see all that candy at the checkout counter. But, knowing you've asked someone to check out your receipts for items not on your diet can be a healthy motivation to resist the temptation.

In ministry, they have an organization called ECFA- the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability. Members invite independent auditors to come in and look at their books to make sure they aren't getting off track. Sometime go to www.ecfa.org and look for your favorite big time ministries. Looking over the member list, I'm not surprised by many I see. Dallas Theological Seminary, Billy Graham, Luis Palau and others. But, I'm often surprised when I can't find folks on there. Do they have something to hide?

Even those of us who are not in the limelight can learn from these high profile blunders. But accountability is easier said than done. Thanks to Promisekeepers, a lot of men started accountability groups where they were challenged to get gut level honest with each other in hopes of keeping each other on the right path. I've heard some great testimonies out of accountability groups. But, I've also experienced a bunch that never got any deeper than dinner party conversation. I know it takes time but I think it also takes something most men don't have... a willingness to be seen as stupid from time to time. Or evil. Or sneaky. Our we don't want anyone to know about our secret sin(s).

Without full disclosure, there can't be real accountability. You can't have two sets of books. But you can't be afraid of showing your good sides and your bad sides as a person. It's tough. But I think it's worth it.

I think an attitude of grace is needed. My ex-wife was of the attitude that you were either all good or all bad. I started out all good. And, in time I shifted over to the "all bad" designation. I don't agree. I contend that we're a mix of good and bad. We're in the process of being renewed and some days we do better than others.

When I was a new Christian back in '72, I attended a Campus Crusade event up at the University of Arkansas campus. They compared our hearts to a South Pacific island during WWII. The Marines landed and established a beachhead. They would advance from there. Some days they gained territory. Some days they lost. But they never lost that beachhead. That's the way it is for us who have invited Jesus to be Lord. The Holy Spirit comes to live inside our hearts and He won't leave. But, we have a choice as to how much of our hearts goes to Him and how much is still controlled by ourselves or by the enemy.

An attitude of grace and accountability understands that we WILL drop the ball along the way. The point is to learn from yesterday's mistakes and keep moving on. After sneaking that one candy bar, don't end up parked in front of the candy aisle at Wal-Mart. Learn and move on.

Grace and accountability. They are partners I want in my life.

Wanted: Christian Nudists!

Picture a small group of believers, all regular attendees of an accountability group, seated in the leader's living room. Some are old, some are young. Two are on the couch, one on the piano bench and a few in some chairs pulled in from the dining room. They have gathered together like they've done countless times before. They like each other. They trust each other. Now imagine the looks of shock and nervousness when the leader says “This week, I'd like for us to try a new group exercise. I want everyone to stand up and get undressed. Yes, we're going to become Christian nudists! Now remember, no pointing or giggling! We're ALL going to get naked together. Charlie, lock the door! Nobody is going to wimp out on us!”

At that point, the leader stands up, starts to undo a few buttons and stops everybody before it gets out of hand. “No, I'm not talking about being naked physically. I'm talking about choosing to be naked spiritually.”

And all of God's people said: “Whew!”

Right before my second marriage blew up in my face, I told my then wife I'd rather be intimate with her spiritually than physically. Our relationship of the heart, both emotional and spiritual, meant everything to me and I felt she had ruled me out. Then again, did she ever let me in from the start? It dawned on me that she couldn't handle spiritual intimacy. Scared the hell out of her!

This is the woman who chewed me out for asking God to heal our marriage. We were on our third marriage counselor and were praying alone in the bedroom, just the two of us sitting on the side of the bed. She never really liked praying together. Meanwhile, my nickname to some back in high school was Camel Knees as I was always asking friends to stop, drop and pray together. There was more praying than kissing going on in the back of my Ford hippie van!

Back to praying with my wife, after we ended with the prerequisite “in your name we pray, amen” closing, she told me in no uncertain terms that I should take up any issues about our marriage difficulties with God on my own time. Not with her. What? Yep, I was informed that I shouldn't ask for our Father to heal our marriage while praying with her. I told her that I really believe that 'two or more gathered' stuff. Didn't matter. I guess she was trying to keep our hellish marriage a secret from Him. Hate to break it to her, but it hadn't slipped past His gaze.

The more I thought about it, I realized she was fairly comfortable in physical intimacy. I was probably more of a prude due to my inexperience. She was moderately comfortable with emotional intimacy. And not very comfortable at all with spiritual intimacy. Why not? I contend she wasn't comfortable being naked before the Lord, before herself or before anyone else.

By being 'spiritually naked' I'm talking about laying your heart bare before Him to accept you as you are, where you are and for who you are. Easier said than done. I don't think she was that open within herself. And for sure, she wasn't open with me or others. She didn't have many long term friends. Lots of acquaintances. Few really close friends. I don't know if she could get “real” with anyone. Maybe at first, but not after there was any failure on the other person's fault. Seems it was a family trait. You're wonderful until you're not. And no in between.

So, what is so scary about being naked spiritually? First off, it means facing your own stuff. It means not turning away from areas that aren't so pretty. It means no more hiding from anything. It's all laid out bare right in front of you. And the Lord.

Don't get me wrong, my wife had some really beautiful sides to her. Physically, she was a knockout. Those eyes... absolutely stunning. And emotionally, she was creative and kind, always serving someone. Even on some levels, she was solid spiritually. She knew the Word. She was a faithful church member. Good stuff. But surface stuff. I don't remember her getting very deep or intimate with me or anyone else regarding spiritual matters. She knew stuff but I don't know if she owned any of it. There's a difference.

As she wasn't comfortable being spiritually naked with herself, she surely wasn't comfortable with me, her most definitely flawed husband. Being spiritually naked demands we face the question of forgiveness. No one has perfection. We all have areas that don't look nearly as good without a nice layer of clothing to protect us. But, being naked means seeing both the good and the bad. And about that bad... God's forgiveness is pretty much set. We are comfortable with that and we ask those blanket “forgive me Lord” type prayers on a regular basis. Yawn. (Note: I think God wants us to go a lot deeper than making a list and checking it twice). But, what about forgiving that flawed husband when he dropped the ball? What about forgiving herself for when she dropped the ball? This is different. You can't get comfortable being naked unless you know how to walk in forgiveness and with tons of grace. Toward yourself as well as toward others.

But what do you do with these not-so-pretty areas we find? Ignore them and shut the door to real intimacy? Or harden your heart, refusing to forgive, refusing to look at it any more? I'm talking about to yourself as well as to others. It's a tough one.

In talking with a friend about this, I mentioned that my ex could get unclothed spiritually. She could take off her blouse and pants. But, it was like she never took off her bra and panties. Shame. Pride. I'm sure I didn't do a great job of creating a safe atmosphere, either. It all added up to us keeping the most private parts hidden. And that prevented real peace from being any sort of foundation. It was a big barrier in taking our relationship from mediocre to beyond measure.

I contend that God wants us all to be spiritual nudists. I believe He wants us to choose to be naked with each other as members of the body of Christ.

Thinking back to various Sunday school classes (now given catchy names like Life Groups and others), small groups and other places where folks gather together in Jesus' name for some really close fellowship, how far did they go toward getting undressed in front of the others? In my minds eye, I visualize Christians I've known, sitting in a circle and sharing from the heart. I can see some folks parked in their chair with a full hazmat suit complete with gauntlet gloves, full face respirator and a lifeline hooked to their five point body harness in case they needed to get pulled out of a tight situation. No bare skin is visible anywhere! Others are sitting there with a heavy overcoat suitable for the Yukon even though it's 75 degrees in the room. I can see others who look really great in their three piece suits, perfect hair and nicely trimmed nails. You only see what they want you to see, and it's probably had some work done on it. Can you say “elective surgery” as in augmentations, nips, tucks and other modifications? And I see a few who have chosen to take off their shirts but are still in shorts. Better, but not completely there.

As a ragamuffin, I've gotten fairly comfortable with my own spiritual nakedness. When you've kissed pavement for a while, almost being mistaken for roadkill (it's not a dead armadillo...it's possum on the half shell!), it's not difficult at all baring your heart in the right setting. When you've pretty well lost everything, there really isn't much left to hide. No time for shame.

And I think that's where God wants us. Nothing left to hide. That goes for our relationship with Him. It goes for us getting real with ourselves. And for sure, it goes for our relationships with others.

I contend that we should be careful with our new found Christian nudism experience. Unfortunately, just because a person is at a church, it doesn't mean they are family nor that they should be trusted with something so sensitive as your complete vulnerability. I don't feel we should let it all hang out with anyone and everyone. That's just dumb. But, I do believe we are not going as far as He calls us when it comes to being completely open and real and vulnerable with each other as parts of the same body of Christ.

I think this is what being accountable is all about. It's what real, true fellowship is all about. And I think it's at this point where the Holy Spirit longs to take us as believers.

Just think for a moment about how nice it would feel to be free of all encumbrances. Free from anything holding us back. Free to just be. Nothing to hide. Open and honest. Authentic. And accepted. Sounds tempting, doesn't it?

This Old House or Any Old House?

Twenty five years ago, I took off a couple of years from work to remodel Mother's house, the same house I now call home. It was in dire need of repair and I wanted Mother to have a nice home for he retirement years. My grandmother paid for the supplies and I provided the labor. I didn't have much experience at stuff like this. I'd put in half a dozen different interiors in my blue Ford van and I worked for an interior decorator while in high school... but there aren't many dashboards in a house. And I couldn't afford decorator style treatments for over a dozen windows.

So, I watched every This Old House episode and bought lots of books.This was before the days of HGTV, the DIY Network or any of those other great shows on cable. I didn't have the internet for research. There was Timmons Hardware, Ken's Lumber and not much more in El Do. So, I talked with carpenters, plumbers and electricians I knew. Best of all, I had friends like Steve Rogers who got dirty right along with me, teaching me the tricks learned along the way in the real world, stuff you can't read about in books. I didn't know much when I started but I sure learned a lot along the way.

It was tough work, too. One of my projects was to re-wire the house. That meant spending days working in the crawlspace beneath the house, crawling on my belly like a reptile pulling electrical wire, phone lines and cable. I lost count of the splinters pulled out of my fingers. And the sheetrock dust! I thought I was going to sneeze up a cinder block at one point. But, I kept on working on that house.

I never quite finished it. Dad needed me back full time in the chemical company so I moved back to Monroe in January of '87. Now, I'm back working living in that same house, catching up for a few lost years and making even more improvements.

And yes, I like it.

I enjoy making plans, working hard and seeing an improvement. I like looking at how it has been and figuring a better way to get something done. I lost count of how many notebooks I went through redesigning the kitchen. But, it's fun.

In thinking about it, relationships are a lot like houses. You can go find a spec house that looks a lot like all the other houses in the neighborhood, personalize it with your choice of wallpaper and carpet, and call it home. Or, you can find a neat older home, probably neglected and in much need of repair. Most spec houses can be built in three months. I invested two years in Mother's house and only got two thirds of the way done.

I cringe when I hear an older woman say of her husband of forty or fifty years "Well, he's been good to me." What? I know guys who say the same about their hunting dog. Where's the passion? Where's the life? That sounds like someone who settled for a spec house, slapped a fresh coat of paint on it every few years and did little more than exist along the way.

Boring.

But, I think some folks are happy with that kind of life. I don't get it. And it doesn't sound like much abundance in life. Jesus said "I came that you might have life and have it abundantly." That's what I want.

It's like they never get deeper into their homes than the surface of the sheetrock, the kitchen sink or the thermostat. Changing air conditioning filters is big time maintenance for them. They wouldn't consider tearing out a few walls or doing my next project... crawling underneath to support some sagging joists in the foundation. They wouldn't know a stud from a joist from a rafter. And they are happy to live in their ignorance. They are happy with just "OK". They seem to be satisfied with a home that looks just like every other one on the block. They are fine with "any old house".

Besides, they'll be moving in a few years anyway. A house is just a place to sleep and get your mail, right?

Not me.

I want a neat home that has character. And I'm not afraid to learn how to make the repairs necessary to keep it around for generations to come. When I get over my head, I'm not afraid to call in the pros for help. And I'm willing to invest the time, the energy and even accept a fair bit of pain along the way in order to create a showpiece instead of a spec house.

I'm also an energy efficiency nut. I'm all about saving energy and will do all sorts of little things to save a kilowatt here or there. And it pays off. In twenty years down in Monroe I cut the utility bills by two thirds. It definitely is worth the effort.

And relationships are worth the effort, too. This metaphor applies easily to marriage but I think it has merit for family relationships, close friends and maybe even our own relationships with the Lord. It even applies to our own lives.

I see some folks who are barely living, more existing. They go from day to day much the same. I can't tell if they are in some sort of fog or just don't care. Maybe they don't know anything better is possible. Maybe they were hurt while working on a house years ago and get nervous around construction sites. I find it all very sad.

Me? I enjoy a challenge. I enjoy always looking at ways to improve, even if it is a good thing to start with. I enjoy knowing how something works before it breaks... on the weekend when there is no one around to call in for repairs. And I like having options... like a backup generator, solar water heat and such.

And I'd rather have a well built cottage than a fancy big house that is only a facade. I've had the big house. And they are nice. But I find it easier to create a real home in the smaller cottage than the big fine house.

What are you investing in? Any old house? Or "This Old House"?