Sitting in the gym at Tucker Prison, I'm amazed at what I'm seeing just a few feet away. An inmate with shaved head is holding his eight week old grandchild in his tattooed arms... and smiling from ear to ear. Over the past few years of visiting my brother in prison, this other inmate has become casual friends with Mother and me. It doesn't take much to imagine him as one bad dude. But that was then.
If not for his ever preset smile, he'd be an intimidating guy. But, these days he's almost always smiling. He's not the guy who got sentenced to prison years ago. My brother and this friend are both involved in the Kairos ministry at the prison. While there are a lot of guys who go to various prison ministries, I get a sense that this guy is different. His smile isn't fake. It comes up from his toes. The change is real.
I once asked my brother what our friend was in for. "Let's just say he had anger issues" was the reply. But, that was then. This is now.
Our friend got married a year or so ago. Yes, he got married while in prison. His wife visits every weekend and his daughter comes fairly often as well. Showing off her newborn baby, they were all smiles- our friend, his wife, his daughter, his pre-school aged grand-daughter and the newest addition to the family... an eight week old sleeping beauty. I don't know when he'll get out but have a feeling he'll be quite a different daddy than when he went in.
That gets me thinking about my own father. While he was never sent to prison, he wasn't a perfect dad either. Mother and Dad never had a happy marriage. As he put it, "We had a pretty good marriage 'til Tuesday." They had just gotten married on Saturday. Years later, both of them admitted that even while on their honeymoon they realized they had made a mistake. Dad tried to make it work. Both of them did. But on the eve of their 19th anniversary, he couldn't take it anymore. He literally "ran away from home" at the age of 42.
Dad dropped the ball as a provider, husband, father and anything else. It took a few years but he rebuilt his life and worked hard to make up for lost time. No, he never asked to get back with Mother but he did try to make amends for walking out on her.
I've never been a dad but I have tasted my share of failure. I've been at that point where I didn't know how I'd ever recover from the low places. But I have learned that as long as there is breath in a chest, there really is hope for change. It won't come overnight, but it can come. Just get ready for slow progress. And lots of time on your knees.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
"And He took them in His arms and began blessing them, laying His hands on them."
I was reading in the book of Mark this morning, chapter ten in particular, and ran across verse 13. The disciples were keeping the little kids away from Jesus and he busted them on it. Instead of telling the little children to go off and play somewhere else, Jesus took them in His arms. And he loved them.
I look at verse 16, "And He took them in His arms and began blessing them, laying His hands on them." At first, I imagined Jesus doing some sort of official "laying on of hands" type thing. You know... one at a time, touching their heads, praying intently- like you see at special services at church. I couldn't see Him doing a slam-bam Benny Hinn style but it was still a formal "laying on of hands".
But was it?
Instead, I let my mind imagine the Jesus of compassion I know, the Jesus who loves purely and unconditionally. And the Jesus who wants kids to be kids. I have a feeling this verse may be describing Jesus just loving on these kids, inviting them to crawl all over Him, and holding them close.
His "laying on of hands" may have been more a cuddle than a ceremony. I can easily imagine Him as a snuggler, holding kids close to His chest. What could bring peace to a kid faster than to be held, to experience the warmth of His embrace and to feel His running fingers through their hair? To lay their head on His chest and hear His heartbeat, soothing and never stopping. Boy, that paints a picture of peace to me!
I can imagine His hand on their backs as they tried to tell Him about something in their lives. I remember being a kid and having an adult actually want to listen to me. I'd get nervous and stammer about, repeated my words and struggling to get a complete thought out. All of a sudden, the spotlight was on me and I couldn't come up with any words. I can see the same for those kids until Jesus put His hand on their backs and whispered "It's OK, just tell Me what's on your heart. I want to hear what you have to say."
Imagine what that did to a kid's self image? I can feel courage welling up inside of these kids in the story.
Jesus and I have one thing in common. We never had kids. And when I was in my early 30's, the same age as Jesus when he was loving on those kids described in Mark 10, I had lots of friends having kids. I enjoyed being "Uncle Todd" to these children. I loved having them crawl all over me and enjoyed listening intently to their stories. I especially loved it when they'd fall asleep on my chest as I stroked their hair and rubbed their backs. The kids didn't remember it a week later but I sure did. Those are precious memories.
Growing up in the '60s and early '70s, I still remember a teacher's touch. Back when I was in school it was common to see a teacher hugging a kid who may have gotten struck by a stray kickball or disappointed about getting knocked out of the spelling bee over a really easy word. I remember teachers giving us hugs when we did something great and can still feel their steadying hand on my back as they stood to next to my desk as I struggled to understand multiplication and division.
Sadly, we don't have much of that these days. After the McMartin Daycare trial of the early '80s where they discovered workers molesting children and so many horrible reports of sexual abuse of children, touching fell out of favor.Teachers are careful to avoid physical contact of any type. I got married in '93 and inherited a pre-teen step daughter. Although we were extremely close, I felt inhibited in showing her much physical affection. I knew what was in my heart but that's not what mattered. How she perceived it was what counted. And I couldn't risk doing anything that might be taken as improper.
Sadly, sin got in the way. One end result is kids grow up starved for physical contact. It's easy to see how young people, starved for affection, get their desires met in unhealthy ways.
I remember when guys hugging was just unheard of in public. As I recall, John Denver seemed to start it all back in the early '70s. He'd come on the Johnny Carson Show and the silver haired host would extend his hand for a shake and the shaggy haired musician would give him a big bear hug instead. Back then, I was a young Christian and us "brothers in the Lord" would hug as a greeting. Not quite "greet your brethren with a holy kiss" stuff, but hearty hugs between guys as well as with the girls. Nowadays, it's fairly common to see guys hug. And I see that as a good thing. But, it's still just a momentary greeting.
One of my favorite memories with my grandmother was when she was in her 90's (she's 99 1/2 now) and was staying with my aunt and uncle in Benton. They went out to a Christmas party and left my grandmother and me piled up on their king size bed watching TV. Pauline and I sat there and talked more than watched. We held hands and just spent time together.
I love praying with friends. In most cases, we hold hands as we pray. It is common to hold hands as family and friends say grace over a meal. Even now, I'm sitting in my bed with my back propped up on a pile of pillows. My 15 year old dachshund is glued to my left hip. She likes physical contact. Me, too. There's something about touch. So, where do we strike a balance?
It seems to me sin has gotten in and messed things up. Too often, physical touch has a sexual overtone to it. It's either part of a planned conquest or part of some perverted molestation. Rarely just touch for the sake of sincere affection. But I still long for it.
So, what is the message I'm trying to get across? Not much, really. I just want to celebrate the healing power of touch and to encourage more of it. Not in order to "get" anything but rather to give, just as our Lord did.
I look at verse 16, "And He took them in His arms and began blessing them, laying His hands on them." At first, I imagined Jesus doing some sort of official "laying on of hands" type thing. You know... one at a time, touching their heads, praying intently- like you see at special services at church. I couldn't see Him doing a slam-bam Benny Hinn style but it was still a formal "laying on of hands".
But was it?
Instead, I let my mind imagine the Jesus of compassion I know, the Jesus who loves purely and unconditionally. And the Jesus who wants kids to be kids. I have a feeling this verse may be describing Jesus just loving on these kids, inviting them to crawl all over Him, and holding them close.
His "laying on of hands" may have been more a cuddle than a ceremony. I can easily imagine Him as a snuggler, holding kids close to His chest. What could bring peace to a kid faster than to be held, to experience the warmth of His embrace and to feel His running fingers through their hair? To lay their head on His chest and hear His heartbeat, soothing and never stopping. Boy, that paints a picture of peace to me!
I can imagine His hand on their backs as they tried to tell Him about something in their lives. I remember being a kid and having an adult actually want to listen to me. I'd get nervous and stammer about, repeated my words and struggling to get a complete thought out. All of a sudden, the spotlight was on me and I couldn't come up with any words. I can see the same for those kids until Jesus put His hand on their backs and whispered "It's OK, just tell Me what's on your heart. I want to hear what you have to say."
Imagine what that did to a kid's self image? I can feel courage welling up inside of these kids in the story.
Jesus and I have one thing in common. We never had kids. And when I was in my early 30's, the same age as Jesus when he was loving on those kids described in Mark 10, I had lots of friends having kids. I enjoyed being "Uncle Todd" to these children. I loved having them crawl all over me and enjoyed listening intently to their stories. I especially loved it when they'd fall asleep on my chest as I stroked their hair and rubbed their backs. The kids didn't remember it a week later but I sure did. Those are precious memories.
Growing up in the '60s and early '70s, I still remember a teacher's touch. Back when I was in school it was common to see a teacher hugging a kid who may have gotten struck by a stray kickball or disappointed about getting knocked out of the spelling bee over a really easy word. I remember teachers giving us hugs when we did something great and can still feel their steadying hand on my back as they stood to next to my desk as I struggled to understand multiplication and division.
Sadly, we don't have much of that these days. After the McMartin Daycare trial of the early '80s where they discovered workers molesting children and so many horrible reports of sexual abuse of children, touching fell out of favor.Teachers are careful to avoid physical contact of any type. I got married in '93 and inherited a pre-teen step daughter. Although we were extremely close, I felt inhibited in showing her much physical affection. I knew what was in my heart but that's not what mattered. How she perceived it was what counted. And I couldn't risk doing anything that might be taken as improper.
Sadly, sin got in the way. One end result is kids grow up starved for physical contact. It's easy to see how young people, starved for affection, get their desires met in unhealthy ways.
I remember when guys hugging was just unheard of in public. As I recall, John Denver seemed to start it all back in the early '70s. He'd come on the Johnny Carson Show and the silver haired host would extend his hand for a shake and the shaggy haired musician would give him a big bear hug instead. Back then, I was a young Christian and us "brothers in the Lord" would hug as a greeting. Not quite "greet your brethren with a holy kiss" stuff, but hearty hugs between guys as well as with the girls. Nowadays, it's fairly common to see guys hug. And I see that as a good thing. But, it's still just a momentary greeting.
One of my favorite memories with my grandmother was when she was in her 90's (she's 99 1/2 now) and was staying with my aunt and uncle in Benton. They went out to a Christmas party and left my grandmother and me piled up on their king size bed watching TV. Pauline and I sat there and talked more than watched. We held hands and just spent time together.
I love praying with friends. In most cases, we hold hands as we pray. It is common to hold hands as family and friends say grace over a meal. Even now, I'm sitting in my bed with my back propped up on a pile of pillows. My 15 year old dachshund is glued to my left hip. She likes physical contact. Me, too. There's something about touch. So, where do we strike a balance?
It seems to me sin has gotten in and messed things up. Too often, physical touch has a sexual overtone to it. It's either part of a planned conquest or part of some perverted molestation. Rarely just touch for the sake of sincere affection. But I still long for it.
So, what is the message I'm trying to get across? Not much, really. I just want to celebrate the healing power of touch and to encourage more of it. Not in order to "get" anything but rather to give, just as our Lord did.
"Law of Attraction" magazine at Wally World?
Hello, my name is Todd and I'm an addict. My drug of choice is magazines.
OK, there, I said it. I admit that I am hooked on magazines.I once added up eighteen different paid subscriptions plus a dozen or more freebie magazines coming to my door each month. Look inside my briefcase on a cross country flight and you will likely see a couple on home repair, another on diesel trucks, a Christian magazine or two and probably one on solar energy. Then in my suitcase you'll find the juicy ones on dirt bikes, airplanes, writing, municipal waste recycling, electroplating, safety and environmental stuff. Oh yeah... as my friends in Minnesota would say: them are good!
My attention span isn't usually long enough to read many books. Most of the time it seems like authors beat around the bush in order to crank out enough pages to separate their stuff as a book instead of a magazine article. That way they make more money and get to go on tour selling their books. Me? Give me a magazine any day. And, I'm proud to say I've written quite a few magazine articles through the years. It was neat to pull the latest issue of Dirt Rider off the shelf of a 7-11 and find my name printed in there. Of all the things I miss from living in Monroe, I think the mile long magazine rack at Books A Million tops the list.
So, cruising through Wal-Mart yesterday I ran past the magazine rack. Not the ones on the ends of the checkout lanes. I'm talking about the magazine and book section. They have the best magazine selection in El Dorado. The far end gets my attention: the automotive magazines. Sitting on the top shelf next to the latest issue of Diesel World, I spotted a cover I've never seen before. It was "Law of Attraction" magazine.
Huh?
Wasn't that the stuff Oprah was touting a few years ago? I picked up the magazine and read the cover articles. "Get Happy Now" was their main article. The cover had a circle, kind of like a button, with apparently the magazine's primary focus: "Happy, Wealthy, Healthy". Hey, who wouldn't want that? Being a magazine junkie, I picked up the magazine and looked for their website. This deserved more research back at the house.
"Law of Attraction" magazine has a really slick looking website. You can peruse all sorts of feature articles with titles such as:
What is Your Body Telling You?
Defeating the Odds
Letting "Luck" In
Ten Tips to Get What You Want... Fast
Find Joy in Your Work
I also found other magazines and websites based on the whole "law of attraction" line of thought. This is right along the same lines as what Oprah spotlighted. She was talking about a book and movie titled “The Secret".
In a nutshell, this line of thought says that we create what we want to experience. Think it... and it appears. Want to get married? Think about the things that would make up your dream spouse. Want a better job? Visualize yourself being productive in the perfect working environment for you. Get the idea? Many would call this type stuff "metaphysical". That's a term I was raised with. Dad was always into stuff like that. It started with Edgar Cayce books. Then he found Silva Mind Control in the early '70s. When he ran away from home at the age of 42, he moved to Houston where he found Unity Church and eventually the "Course in Miracles". He gave away cases of that book set.
Dad was always going to what he called "Super Kook" meetings. "You know, in life you have kooks and then you have super kooks" he'd say. His metaphysical buddies were kooks in an entirely different category.
During the charismatic movement of the '70s through the '90s (and even now) I heard preachers shouting the same stuff Dad's friends were saying. There is a lot of cross-over. Jesus talked about sowing and reaping. I've heard preachers go on and on about how our faith heals us. What's the difference between that and what I read on the "Law of Attraction" website? Not much. Oh, the church folks will say theirs has Jesus' name attached to it. True. And for sure, there is power in His name.
Neither sits quite right with me.
What I find lacking in both is the Person of Jesus Christ. The metaphysical folks frequently consider themselves Christians and can quickly sprinkle a little Jesus on top of their core beliefs when asked to. The "faith movement" Christians are clearly more Christ-focused but even then, their messages seem more about "getting your miracle" and how God wants us to prosper.
Me? I consider myself "Cross-centric". It is all about what Jesus did on the Cross. I boil the Cross down to two things: eternal life and the offer of a relationship with God right now. Note that I said the offer. We come to Jesus and he offers to be our savior. That's eternal life. But is He our Lord? Are we in a personal relationship with Him? He not only offers it but longs for it!
Billy Graham's daughter, Anne Graham Lotz, wrote a book titled "Just Give Me Jesus". I think I bought it but never read it. To me, the title says it all.
One of my best friends is also a real prayer partner. We really enjoy getting together either in person or on the phone to pray. Within that context, we also share about what God seems to be teaching us along the way. A word that comes up in our conversations pretty frequently is "abide". We both seemed focused on "abiding in Him". And I think this is what I find lacking in the "Law of Attraction" stuff as well as some in the faith movement. They may have Jesus mentioned but is the focus on abiding in Him? Is the main thing about having a personal, one on one relationship with Jesus?
Well, it is for me.
What sounds better... nice ideas with a little Jesus sprinkled on top or an abiding relationship with the King of Kings and Lord of Lords where everything else just pours out. I like the story in the fourth chapter of John where Jesus is talking with the woman at the well. She wants water. You know... H2O to quench her physical thirst. But Jesus offers her "living water". A few pages later, in chapter 7, Jesus says: "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”
His words paint a picture of living water flowing naturally out of our lives. It starts with an intimate, personal relationship with Him and the rest is just gravity.
Are there nuggets of truth in the "Law of Attraction" magazines? Sure! Did Dad's "super kook" friends hit on some real stuff from time to time? Quite frankly, probably more than I see in the typical mainline denomination church service on Sunday morning. And while that's all fine and good, I find it lacking. It seems far short of what has been offered to us in a relationship with Jesus Christ. Like Anne Graham Lotz writes... just give me Jesus.
Here's something to chew on. When I abide in Him, my focus is rarely on me. Instead, it's on serving others. It's on feeding the hungry. It's on listening to someone who is hurting and then praying together. Oh, there is also focus on work, buying stuff and the same topics as the others talk about. But the focus is much less on me and a whole lot more on helping others; on being His hands and His feet in the world today. Before that though, my focus is on Him. The Lord's Prayer starts out with "Our Father, hallowed be thy Name..." That's talking about how great God is.
When I sit and ponder how great He is, it puts my stuff into perspective. My needs? No problem. I serve a big and powerful God. And what's even better... He knows me by name. The rest is just gravity.
OK, there, I said it. I admit that I am hooked on magazines.I once added up eighteen different paid subscriptions plus a dozen or more freebie magazines coming to my door each month. Look inside my briefcase on a cross country flight and you will likely see a couple on home repair, another on diesel trucks, a Christian magazine or two and probably one on solar energy. Then in my suitcase you'll find the juicy ones on dirt bikes, airplanes, writing, municipal waste recycling, electroplating, safety and environmental stuff. Oh yeah... as my friends in Minnesota would say: them are good!
My attention span isn't usually long enough to read many books. Most of the time it seems like authors beat around the bush in order to crank out enough pages to separate their stuff as a book instead of a magazine article. That way they make more money and get to go on tour selling their books. Me? Give me a magazine any day. And, I'm proud to say I've written quite a few magazine articles through the years. It was neat to pull the latest issue of Dirt Rider off the shelf of a 7-11 and find my name printed in there. Of all the things I miss from living in Monroe, I think the mile long magazine rack at Books A Million tops the list.
So, cruising through Wal-Mart yesterday I ran past the magazine rack. Not the ones on the ends of the checkout lanes. I'm talking about the magazine and book section. They have the best magazine selection in El Dorado. The far end gets my attention: the automotive magazines. Sitting on the top shelf next to the latest issue of Diesel World, I spotted a cover I've never seen before. It was "Law of Attraction" magazine.
Huh?
Wasn't that the stuff Oprah was touting a few years ago? I picked up the magazine and read the cover articles. "Get Happy Now" was their main article. The cover had a circle, kind of like a button, with apparently the magazine's primary focus: "Happy, Wealthy, Healthy". Hey, who wouldn't want that? Being a magazine junkie, I picked up the magazine and looked for their website. This deserved more research back at the house.
"Law of Attraction" magazine has a really slick looking website. You can peruse all sorts of feature articles with titles such as:
What is Your Body Telling You?
Defeating the Odds
Letting "Luck" In
Ten Tips to Get What You Want... Fast
Find Joy in Your Work
I also found other magazines and websites based on the whole "law of attraction" line of thought. This is right along the same lines as what Oprah spotlighted. She was talking about a book and movie titled “The Secret".
In a nutshell, this line of thought says that we create what we want to experience. Think it... and it appears. Want to get married? Think about the things that would make up your dream spouse. Want a better job? Visualize yourself being productive in the perfect working environment for you. Get the idea? Many would call this type stuff "metaphysical". That's a term I was raised with. Dad was always into stuff like that. It started with Edgar Cayce books. Then he found Silva Mind Control in the early '70s. When he ran away from home at the age of 42, he moved to Houston where he found Unity Church and eventually the "Course in Miracles". He gave away cases of that book set.
Dad was always going to what he called "Super Kook" meetings. "You know, in life you have kooks and then you have super kooks" he'd say. His metaphysical buddies were kooks in an entirely different category.
During the charismatic movement of the '70s through the '90s (and even now) I heard preachers shouting the same stuff Dad's friends were saying. There is a lot of cross-over. Jesus talked about sowing and reaping. I've heard preachers go on and on about how our faith heals us. What's the difference between that and what I read on the "Law of Attraction" website? Not much. Oh, the church folks will say theirs has Jesus' name attached to it. True. And for sure, there is power in His name.
Neither sits quite right with me.
What I find lacking in both is the Person of Jesus Christ. The metaphysical folks frequently consider themselves Christians and can quickly sprinkle a little Jesus on top of their core beliefs when asked to. The "faith movement" Christians are clearly more Christ-focused but even then, their messages seem more about "getting your miracle" and how God wants us to prosper.
Me? I consider myself "Cross-centric". It is all about what Jesus did on the Cross. I boil the Cross down to two things: eternal life and the offer of a relationship with God right now. Note that I said the offer. We come to Jesus and he offers to be our savior. That's eternal life. But is He our Lord? Are we in a personal relationship with Him? He not only offers it but longs for it!
Billy Graham's daughter, Anne Graham Lotz, wrote a book titled "Just Give Me Jesus". I think I bought it but never read it. To me, the title says it all.
One of my best friends is also a real prayer partner. We really enjoy getting together either in person or on the phone to pray. Within that context, we also share about what God seems to be teaching us along the way. A word that comes up in our conversations pretty frequently is "abide". We both seemed focused on "abiding in Him". And I think this is what I find lacking in the "Law of Attraction" stuff as well as some in the faith movement. They may have Jesus mentioned but is the focus on abiding in Him? Is the main thing about having a personal, one on one relationship with Jesus?
Well, it is for me.
What sounds better... nice ideas with a little Jesus sprinkled on top or an abiding relationship with the King of Kings and Lord of Lords where everything else just pours out. I like the story in the fourth chapter of John where Jesus is talking with the woman at the well. She wants water. You know... H2O to quench her physical thirst. But Jesus offers her "living water". A few pages later, in chapter 7, Jesus says: "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”
His words paint a picture of living water flowing naturally out of our lives. It starts with an intimate, personal relationship with Him and the rest is just gravity.
Are there nuggets of truth in the "Law of Attraction" magazines? Sure! Did Dad's "super kook" friends hit on some real stuff from time to time? Quite frankly, probably more than I see in the typical mainline denomination church service on Sunday morning. And while that's all fine and good, I find it lacking. It seems far short of what has been offered to us in a relationship with Jesus Christ. Like Anne Graham Lotz writes... just give me Jesus.
Here's something to chew on. When I abide in Him, my focus is rarely on me. Instead, it's on serving others. It's on feeding the hungry. It's on listening to someone who is hurting and then praying together. Oh, there is also focus on work, buying stuff and the same topics as the others talk about. But the focus is much less on me and a whole lot more on helping others; on being His hands and His feet in the world today. Before that though, my focus is on Him. The Lord's Prayer starts out with "Our Father, hallowed be thy Name..." That's talking about how great God is.
When I sit and ponder how great He is, it puts my stuff into perspective. My needs? No problem. I serve a big and powerful God. And what's even better... He knows me by name. The rest is just gravity.
To Know and To Be Known
Driving to work this morning I stopped at the convenience store for my Baptist mixed drink (1/3 diet Dr. Pepper and 2/3 diet Coke). I noticed a guy pretty much like most guys. Heading to work, getting a cup of coffee and maybe a pack of cigarettes, expressionless face. He just looked like the silent type. No time for nonsense. No desire for chit chat. I could see him on a deer stand or tossing back a brewski in a bass boat. A man of few words.
And that's when it started. My mind started running through all sorts of ideas. Why did he choose to be so silent? What caused him to pull away from communicating?
Then I thought about a friend who is a marriage & family counselor. When my soon-to-be ex-wife Unit #2 and I were seeing our fourth marriage counselor (yeah... four, she found issues with all but the last one), I asked my counselor friend for help. This new therapist and I didn't know each other beyond 50 minutes every other week and I wanted to get real help. I didn't want to waste any time. So... was there anything my lifelong friend could share to enlighten my therapist? Well, nothing but one very telling statement. “Todd, you're a communicator and you married two women who don't wan to communicate.” I know, not normal for guys to be communicators. Hey, I was born that way. But, I also have worked hard to truly communicate and not just run off at the mouth like some.
Remembering that opened the floodgates. My mind was off to the races.
So many folks fall into one of two camps: non-verbal or hyper-verbal. Either they don't talk much at all or they talk all the time. And in a lot of cases, neither is really communicating. For the non-talkers, I see a lot of them trapped inside. They tried talking in the past. They tried opening up and sharing themselves. But somewhere along the way, they got hurt. Bad. To venture out of their emotional turtle shell is too painful to consider. You can try to get them to talk but for some, it's been so long that I wonder if they remember how. It's like that part of their brain atrophied over time. While I understand that not all people are as verbal as me, I don't believe God wire us to never relate at all. That looks like damage from the journey.
On the other hand, I see a lot of folks who go overboard on talking. The constant chatter keeps the focus bouncing on everything except the stuff that matters. These are the types who talk incessantly about this and that and the other thing... always avoiding their true hearts. Sure, they may talk about themselves a lot. Many are pretty self-centered. But, do they ever really talk about the stuff that matters?
People hide behind masks. We want to protect our 'real selves' from being hurt so we put out a mask, a 'modified self'. But what is really going on? What is it we really want? What are we trying to avoid? I think it can be summed up with our desire to know and to be known. I think this is at the core of every soul born.
OK, remember this was all part of my train of thought while driving to the shop, a 40 minute drive.
When a conversation appears to be heading toward touchy territory, you may hear someone say “don't go there!” Whatever it is, it's off limits to discussion. A tragedy, a reminder of a painful past, a secret... something is hidden and we think should remain that way. But, to me, hiding anything sounds like bondage. Freedom means having nothing to hide. But, easier said than done.
What type stuff am I talking about? I think it all comes down to being accepted- to being known. We feel insecure about something...so we hide it. We feel shame about something... so we hide it. We have been hurt by something in our past and don't want to go through that again... so we hide from it. The bottom line is... there's something about us we don't want known for fear we will be rejected.
Deep down, I truly feel we long to be known... and still accepted. I frequently joke that my former girlfriend, a Franciscan nun, knows me better than either ex-wife... and she still loves me! And that means all the world to me! I revealed myself to two women and was rejected both times. But not with 'the nun'. I revealed my true self to her and she accepted me. Easier said than done.
We long to know and be known but that's impossible if we aren't dealing with truth. If I put on a mask to hide my imperfections, you aren't knowing the real me. You're knowing a layer of something added on top. You can't build on that. It's like in building a house. You have to scrape down to something solid before you can build a foundation. Otherwise, everything you build may come crumbling down in time, built on other stuff. What I see are a lot of people building relationships on masks. And knowing that what we see isn't real, deep down we know that we can't put our full weight on that relationship. It won't hold up. When we try to trust and get hurt in the process, we quickly learn to not count on relationships.
What will hold up? What in life is solid enough to build a life on it?
In John 14:6, Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” To know and to be known, it is important to be dealing with the truth. He is the Truth. Simple as that. When we boil it down to just Him and me... God the Creator and His created... we as humans have our first taste of knowing and being known.
When I think about my relationship with the Lord these days, it's all about getting to know Him. As I know Him, I learn to trust. It's about building a relationship more than just learning facts and scriptures. And I don't have to understand everything... I trust Him.
Now, follow me here... this is where it gets exciting to me.
Knowing God means I'm also known by Him. That means bringing it all out into the open with Him. I know we all understand God sees all and knows all, but emotionally we still try to hide a lot from Him. But, how liberating it is when we finally realize at a core level that He truly loves us through and through. Even the stuff we'd rather hide from Him! Now, we have the foundation for a relationship. We are already known by Him and we are getting to know Him as well. In the process, I feel we also get to know ourselves better.
Based on the freedom of this relationship, not having to hide anything anymore, we can grow in relationships with others. This is where I feel God wants to do a special work within Christians. If we are all enjoying open and free relationships with our Father, that sets the stage for some pretty open and free relationships with fellow believers. Well, at least on paper.
I've seen it in practice from time to time. I think about the folks who used to gather at The Barn in Mer Rouge. Here we saw a group of believers come together to know Him and know each other. Through the years they became family. It wasn't a church, but it sure functioned like one. It started as a Bible study at my cousin Molly's house. The crowd outgrew the living room so they took over a barn out at the farm, thus the name “The Barn”. Actually, old timers probably still remember it as “The Glory Barn”.
When I think of my times at The Barn, I first think of the worship. There was always great teaching but there was first a whole lotta praise and worship. The focus was on Him... celebrating how wonderful our God is! Building on this foundation of worship and solid Bible teaching, relationships were built that in many cases were closer than family. After a while, the folks of The Barn formed Christian Life Fellowship, an official ministry. That grew to include a Christian summer camp for kids.
Most folks refer to the folks out at The Barn as “The Fellowship”. And that's really what it was. But not in the sense of what I see at most churches. Fellowship usually means food spread out on a table and folks eating too much while smiling and always making sure their emotional masks don't slide down and inadvertently reveal too much. Not so with The Fellowship. These folks were truly involved in each others' lives. They shared a common heartbeat.
This can be illustrated in running the summer camp. As the older generation literally started dying off, new folks came in and started taking on responsibility. One of the biggest challenges was that little stuff was written down. The people involved initially were so connected on a heart level that they didn't have policy manuals or procedures written down. They just knew what the others would want to be done... and they did it. They communicated on a regular basis and worked through the inevitable issues. But most of all... they knew and were known. And based on this knowing “in Christ”, they trusted each other.
Nowadays, new blood has come in and while that's a good thing, they don't have the history of the old gang. Policies and procedures rightfully need to be written down. It's a new chapter. But, the old one sure was a great example of relationships as the body of Christ.
Watching folks in the Fellowship, I saw people feeling safe to be known. As relationships grew, masks weren't just taken off but thrown away entirely. As fellow believers, I saw them love and accept each other within a context of grace. I saw true authenticity displayed in the friendships and close relationships of the folks involved in the Fellowship. They truly knew each other.
While true fellowship is great, it is only as good as the individual relationships of the folks involved with their Lord. I confess, I was a slow learner on this one. I always enjoyed a passionate relationship with Jesus as a single guy. In that relationship, I found my identity. I found acceptance and grace. But, it didn't take long after getting married to try that same stuff from my spouse in lieu of my relationship with Him. Not just “not good”. Disastrous.
By not going to Him first, I wasn't getting my essential needs met... core stuff that can only come from a relationship with Him. And, by going to a fallible person instead of Him for my identity, I clearly set myself up for a fall. They couldn't deliver the goods, no matter how hard they tried.
Hopefully, I've learned that the most essential relationship in life is the one on one time I have with my Lord... with my heavenly Father. Based on that, I'm not only equipped to serve others but I'm not looking for something out of them they can't provide. Now we're just free to be... real. Being known by Him first, and knowing Him as a result, we can now enjoy knowing and being known by others. We can relax and be real. Friendships are now within the context of Jesus Christ making a way for each of us to cry out to our heavenly Father “Abba... Papa!”
Knowing and being known by Him also takes the pressure off of our other relationships. Secure in our identity in Him, we can now feel more free to just enjoy other folks and to also be used to touch them on His behalf. We aren't the solution. We are only part of His provision in the situation.
This seed of thought has spun off into some other side shoots which I'll write about more. But for now, enjoy thinking about how God knows you better than you know yourself. And He loves you just as you are. And as a result of Jesus taking our place on the Cross, we can now know God as well. What a deal!
And that's when it started. My mind started running through all sorts of ideas. Why did he choose to be so silent? What caused him to pull away from communicating?
Then I thought about a friend who is a marriage & family counselor. When my soon-to-be ex-wife Unit #2 and I were seeing our fourth marriage counselor (yeah... four, she found issues with all but the last one), I asked my counselor friend for help. This new therapist and I didn't know each other beyond 50 minutes every other week and I wanted to get real help. I didn't want to waste any time. So... was there anything my lifelong friend could share to enlighten my therapist? Well, nothing but one very telling statement. “Todd, you're a communicator and you married two women who don't wan to communicate.” I know, not normal for guys to be communicators. Hey, I was born that way. But, I also have worked hard to truly communicate and not just run off at the mouth like some.
Remembering that opened the floodgates. My mind was off to the races.
So many folks fall into one of two camps: non-verbal or hyper-verbal. Either they don't talk much at all or they talk all the time. And in a lot of cases, neither is really communicating. For the non-talkers, I see a lot of them trapped inside. They tried talking in the past. They tried opening up and sharing themselves. But somewhere along the way, they got hurt. Bad. To venture out of their emotional turtle shell is too painful to consider. You can try to get them to talk but for some, it's been so long that I wonder if they remember how. It's like that part of their brain atrophied over time. While I understand that not all people are as verbal as me, I don't believe God wire us to never relate at all. That looks like damage from the journey.
On the other hand, I see a lot of folks who go overboard on talking. The constant chatter keeps the focus bouncing on everything except the stuff that matters. These are the types who talk incessantly about this and that and the other thing... always avoiding their true hearts. Sure, they may talk about themselves a lot. Many are pretty self-centered. But, do they ever really talk about the stuff that matters?
People hide behind masks. We want to protect our 'real selves' from being hurt so we put out a mask, a 'modified self'. But what is really going on? What is it we really want? What are we trying to avoid? I think it can be summed up with our desire to know and to be known. I think this is at the core of every soul born.
OK, remember this was all part of my train of thought while driving to the shop, a 40 minute drive.
When a conversation appears to be heading toward touchy territory, you may hear someone say “don't go there!” Whatever it is, it's off limits to discussion. A tragedy, a reminder of a painful past, a secret... something is hidden and we think should remain that way. But, to me, hiding anything sounds like bondage. Freedom means having nothing to hide. But, easier said than done.
What type stuff am I talking about? I think it all comes down to being accepted- to being known. We feel insecure about something...so we hide it. We feel shame about something... so we hide it. We have been hurt by something in our past and don't want to go through that again... so we hide from it. The bottom line is... there's something about us we don't want known for fear we will be rejected.
Deep down, I truly feel we long to be known... and still accepted. I frequently joke that my former girlfriend, a Franciscan nun, knows me better than either ex-wife... and she still loves me! And that means all the world to me! I revealed myself to two women and was rejected both times. But not with 'the nun'. I revealed my true self to her and she accepted me. Easier said than done.
We long to know and be known but that's impossible if we aren't dealing with truth. If I put on a mask to hide my imperfections, you aren't knowing the real me. You're knowing a layer of something added on top. You can't build on that. It's like in building a house. You have to scrape down to something solid before you can build a foundation. Otherwise, everything you build may come crumbling down in time, built on other stuff. What I see are a lot of people building relationships on masks. And knowing that what we see isn't real, deep down we know that we can't put our full weight on that relationship. It won't hold up. When we try to trust and get hurt in the process, we quickly learn to not count on relationships.
What will hold up? What in life is solid enough to build a life on it?
In John 14:6, Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” To know and to be known, it is important to be dealing with the truth. He is the Truth. Simple as that. When we boil it down to just Him and me... God the Creator and His created... we as humans have our first taste of knowing and being known.
When I think about my relationship with the Lord these days, it's all about getting to know Him. As I know Him, I learn to trust. It's about building a relationship more than just learning facts and scriptures. And I don't have to understand everything... I trust Him.
Now, follow me here... this is where it gets exciting to me.
Knowing God means I'm also known by Him. That means bringing it all out into the open with Him. I know we all understand God sees all and knows all, but emotionally we still try to hide a lot from Him. But, how liberating it is when we finally realize at a core level that He truly loves us through and through. Even the stuff we'd rather hide from Him! Now, we have the foundation for a relationship. We are already known by Him and we are getting to know Him as well. In the process, I feel we also get to know ourselves better.
Based on the freedom of this relationship, not having to hide anything anymore, we can grow in relationships with others. This is where I feel God wants to do a special work within Christians. If we are all enjoying open and free relationships with our Father, that sets the stage for some pretty open and free relationships with fellow believers. Well, at least on paper.
I've seen it in practice from time to time. I think about the folks who used to gather at The Barn in Mer Rouge. Here we saw a group of believers come together to know Him and know each other. Through the years they became family. It wasn't a church, but it sure functioned like one. It started as a Bible study at my cousin Molly's house. The crowd outgrew the living room so they took over a barn out at the farm, thus the name “The Barn”. Actually, old timers probably still remember it as “The Glory Barn”.
When I think of my times at The Barn, I first think of the worship. There was always great teaching but there was first a whole lotta praise and worship. The focus was on Him... celebrating how wonderful our God is! Building on this foundation of worship and solid Bible teaching, relationships were built that in many cases were closer than family. After a while, the folks of The Barn formed Christian Life Fellowship, an official ministry. That grew to include a Christian summer camp for kids.
Most folks refer to the folks out at The Barn as “The Fellowship”. And that's really what it was. But not in the sense of what I see at most churches. Fellowship usually means food spread out on a table and folks eating too much while smiling and always making sure their emotional masks don't slide down and inadvertently reveal too much. Not so with The Fellowship. These folks were truly involved in each others' lives. They shared a common heartbeat.
This can be illustrated in running the summer camp. As the older generation literally started dying off, new folks came in and started taking on responsibility. One of the biggest challenges was that little stuff was written down. The people involved initially were so connected on a heart level that they didn't have policy manuals or procedures written down. They just knew what the others would want to be done... and they did it. They communicated on a regular basis and worked through the inevitable issues. But most of all... they knew and were known. And based on this knowing “in Christ”, they trusted each other.
Nowadays, new blood has come in and while that's a good thing, they don't have the history of the old gang. Policies and procedures rightfully need to be written down. It's a new chapter. But, the old one sure was a great example of relationships as the body of Christ.
Watching folks in the Fellowship, I saw people feeling safe to be known. As relationships grew, masks weren't just taken off but thrown away entirely. As fellow believers, I saw them love and accept each other within a context of grace. I saw true authenticity displayed in the friendships and close relationships of the folks involved in the Fellowship. They truly knew each other.
While true fellowship is great, it is only as good as the individual relationships of the folks involved with their Lord. I confess, I was a slow learner on this one. I always enjoyed a passionate relationship with Jesus as a single guy. In that relationship, I found my identity. I found acceptance and grace. But, it didn't take long after getting married to try that same stuff from my spouse in lieu of my relationship with Him. Not just “not good”. Disastrous.
By not going to Him first, I wasn't getting my essential needs met... core stuff that can only come from a relationship with Him. And, by going to a fallible person instead of Him for my identity, I clearly set myself up for a fall. They couldn't deliver the goods, no matter how hard they tried.
Hopefully, I've learned that the most essential relationship in life is the one on one time I have with my Lord... with my heavenly Father. Based on that, I'm not only equipped to serve others but I'm not looking for something out of them they can't provide. Now we're just free to be... real. Being known by Him first, and knowing Him as a result, we can now enjoy knowing and being known by others. We can relax and be real. Friendships are now within the context of Jesus Christ making a way for each of us to cry out to our heavenly Father “Abba... Papa!”
Knowing and being known by Him also takes the pressure off of our other relationships. Secure in our identity in Him, we can now feel more free to just enjoy other folks and to also be used to touch them on His behalf. We aren't the solution. We are only part of His provision in the situation.
This seed of thought has spun off into some other side shoots which I'll write about more. But for now, enjoy thinking about how God knows you better than you know yourself. And He loves you just as you are. And as a result of Jesus taking our place on the Cross, we can now know God as well. What a deal!
Monday, July 4, 2011
They've been visiting at the prison for over thirty years.
Standing in front of the coin operated snack machine looking over a rather dismal choice of nukable (microwave) meals, another inmate's father said "We've been reminiscing about the thirty years we've been coming here. Back then, it wasn't air conditioned and there were big roll up doors along this wall. They had some screens up there but they didn't do much good. We spent all our time battling mosquitoes." My mind bounced between two thoughts. On the one hand, I was so thankful for the air conditioning we have in the prison visitation area (the gym) these days. On the other hand, I couldn't grasp the idea that they had been coming to visit their son in prison every other Sunday for over 30 years.
That's over eight hundred Sundays. Added together, their visits equal over two years worth of Sundays.
This inmate and his folks have become friends of ours. I confess that of all the folks at visitation, this family is more like ours than the rest. Looking out across the gymnasium on any given Sunday, I see a lot of different type people. Quite a few remind me of the old saying that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Some look like good old country folk visiting their loved one who went astray. Most look like a lot of Arkansas... poor.
Even though the inmates all wear the same white pants and the same white shirts and even though none are allowed to have beards or mustaches, this inmate somehow looks more respectable. Maybe it's his lack of tattoos and that he walks like a normal person; not strutting or shuffling. He is about my age though he has a lot more gray hair. His folks are probably the best dressed in the place. Not fancy, mind you. But sharp. They look like they shop at Dillard's more than Walmart. And he is their only child.
My brother has shared that the inmate's father retired from a high up position with the city. Not just one with workers under him but one where me might get quoted in the paper. They live in a nice part of town and even know some of our friends. They look like respectable folk.
Mother asked if our friend would ever be released. My brother replied that isn't an option. He's serving not one but two life sentences without the possibility of parole. It seems that back when he was in high school he killed his girlfriend in a rather brutal manner. Looking at him today, you'd never know it. His 30 plus years behind bars don't seem to have hardened him. He comes across as a really nice guy.
Then I think about the past three decades and all the things I've seen and experienced. A couple of failed marriages. A few dating relationships that yielded dear friends for life. Trips where I saw the Canadian Rockies and the Normandy coast of France and pretty much everything in between. I've dipped my toes in the sand of the Gulf of Mexico more times than I can remember. Meanwhile, this guy has worn the same white pants and the same white shirts for over ten thousand days.
He has seen other inmates come and go. He and a few others are there to stay. Today, he has spent well over half of his life in prison. In a couple of years, he will have spent two thirds of his entire life behind bars. I find that hard to grasp.
Meanwhile, he smiles and goes back to visiting with his folks. And we go back to our group of chairs in the air conditioned gymnasium to visit with my brother. But I can't get him out of my mind. Thirty-plus years.
Just then I'm remind of Jesus' words from Matthew 25: “Then the King will say to those on His right, ‘Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.’ Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’
Years before my brother became an inmate, it hit me that Jesus didn't mention guilt or innocence in this verse. He didn't specify visiting only Christians thrown in jail for the sake of God's Kingdom like Paul and the guys were in the years to come. No. Jesus calls us to compassion, even for the guilty ones.
It paints for me a picture we are to love people right where they are. To remind them that they are not forgotten. Society may have put them in a warehouse and lost the key but they are still people with feelings. And they still matter. Jesus died for them, too.
Driving home, Mother and I talked about how my brother will be out in about two and a half years. We discussed where he might end up living, knowing he doesn't need to move back to El Dorado for fear of getting dragged back into the same crowd of drug users. Meanwhile, that other inmate will be marking off another year in prison. Then another. Then another. I may just keep on going to inmate visitation after my brother is gone.
That's over eight hundred Sundays. Added together, their visits equal over two years worth of Sundays.
This inmate and his folks have become friends of ours. I confess that of all the folks at visitation, this family is more like ours than the rest. Looking out across the gymnasium on any given Sunday, I see a lot of different type people. Quite a few remind me of the old saying that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Some look like good old country folk visiting their loved one who went astray. Most look like a lot of Arkansas... poor.
Even though the inmates all wear the same white pants and the same white shirts and even though none are allowed to have beards or mustaches, this inmate somehow looks more respectable. Maybe it's his lack of tattoos and that he walks like a normal person; not strutting or shuffling. He is about my age though he has a lot more gray hair. His folks are probably the best dressed in the place. Not fancy, mind you. But sharp. They look like they shop at Dillard's more than Walmart. And he is their only child.
My brother has shared that the inmate's father retired from a high up position with the city. Not just one with workers under him but one where me might get quoted in the paper. They live in a nice part of town and even know some of our friends. They look like respectable folk.
Mother asked if our friend would ever be released. My brother replied that isn't an option. He's serving not one but two life sentences without the possibility of parole. It seems that back when he was in high school he killed his girlfriend in a rather brutal manner. Looking at him today, you'd never know it. His 30 plus years behind bars don't seem to have hardened him. He comes across as a really nice guy.
Then I think about the past three decades and all the things I've seen and experienced. A couple of failed marriages. A few dating relationships that yielded dear friends for life. Trips where I saw the Canadian Rockies and the Normandy coast of France and pretty much everything in between. I've dipped my toes in the sand of the Gulf of Mexico more times than I can remember. Meanwhile, this guy has worn the same white pants and the same white shirts for over ten thousand days.
He has seen other inmates come and go. He and a few others are there to stay. Today, he has spent well over half of his life in prison. In a couple of years, he will have spent two thirds of his entire life behind bars. I find that hard to grasp.
Meanwhile, he smiles and goes back to visiting with his folks. And we go back to our group of chairs in the air conditioned gymnasium to visit with my brother. But I can't get him out of my mind. Thirty-plus years.
Just then I'm remind of Jesus' words from Matthew 25: “Then the King will say to those on His right, ‘Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.’ Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’
Years before my brother became an inmate, it hit me that Jesus didn't mention guilt or innocence in this verse. He didn't specify visiting only Christians thrown in jail for the sake of God's Kingdom like Paul and the guys were in the years to come. No. Jesus calls us to compassion, even for the guilty ones.
It paints for me a picture we are to love people right where they are. To remind them that they are not forgotten. Society may have put them in a warehouse and lost the key but they are still people with feelings. And they still matter. Jesus died for them, too.
Driving home, Mother and I talked about how my brother will be out in about two and a half years. We discussed where he might end up living, knowing he doesn't need to move back to El Dorado for fear of getting dragged back into the same crowd of drug users. Meanwhile, that other inmate will be marking off another year in prison. Then another. Then another. I may just keep on going to inmate visitation after my brother is gone.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Small Town Cafe
I've written more than once about how I enjoy small town cafes. There's something about sitting down for a meal in a place with no more tables than fingers to count them on one hand. At least around here, folks will strike up a conversation regardless of whether or not you're a regular. I like that.
Today, I had lunch in downtown Spearsville, LA. Big city. There's a stop sign and everything! The local cafe is also a gas station and general store. Not a convenience store but more like the small town grocery from half a century ago. They have burgers and such but I elected to go with their “meat and two” plate lunch. This time, it was a choice of meats and then corn plus rice'n'gravy. Yes, a starch and a starch topped with more carbs. For a low carb guy I looked at it and gobbled it up knowing I'll pay for it later. Oh, and fresh banana pie. I ate a bite or two but had a feeling I'd overdose on carbs and left a bunch on my plate.
When I walked in there was only one other guy already seated eating lunch. Kinda scary looking at first. Long hair, ZZ-top style beard, overalls and a T-shirt. We smiled and I sat at the other table. At this cafe there are only two tables. Both of them the six foot folding tables like in the church fellowship hall. It was clear that folks come here to eat and visit.
No surprise to those who know me, I struck up a conversation with the bearded mountain man (he looked the part). One thing led to another and we started talking about another favorite cafe on the opposite end of the parish, on the east bank of the Ouachita River in Sterlington. That one is Marvin Simpson's One Stop, home of some kick butt french fries back when I lived across the river over on Bayou Bartholomew.
As it turns out, this rural wild man leads the Thursday night Bible study at Marvin's cafe! Marvin had told me about it but I never have been able to make it. Small world. We both agreed that Marvin is “good people”. This study leader is also active at the Biker Church on Highway 165 North in Monroe. No surprise there, either. He looks the part.
We chatted about what the Lord was doing in each of our lives for a while before he had to get back to work driving a garbage truck for the parish.
Some other older men came in and we visited about the auto repair shop that used to be across the street. It was operated by a really nice guy but had closed recently. One of the local dealerships offered him a job he couldn't refuse. It was agreed that he was a top notch mechanic. That opened the door for discussing the merits of computers on tractors. Something about a farm implement relying on computer sensors to run just didn't seem right. I agreed and commented that I was in my 26 year old one ton Ford that didn't have any type of electronics on it beyond a radio and that didn't even work.
When I went to check out, I noticed the lady behind the counter was wearing a church T-shirt. Nice. We talked about the Lord and she explained that her church in Bernice was non-denominational, choosing to emphasize points we Christians have in common rather than the ones where we disagree. I agreed.
She commented that as times look grim in the country we'll need to rely on each other. That opened the door for sharing about my work with renewable energy and how I have friends who are into the “preparedness movement”. That means being prepared for natural, political or social upheaval. Not survivalists... but being prepared as a good steward of what God has given us. She said she's already canning her own food and wants to learn about local vegetation for food. Before we could talk about the new move toward permaculture (using nature to work with nature instead of using a bunch of chemicals), she need to answer a phone call and I needed to get back to the shop. We exchanged email addresses to swap tips on being prepared for the big “what if” our society seems to be heading toward.
With that, I hopped back into my one-ton flatbed truck, easing off from a stop in second. Nobody uses granny-low first gear unless you've got a load. I clicked on up through the gears to fourth and cruised back to my shop at a brisk 35 miles an hour. A two lane road, sunshine, full belly and my arm hanging out the window. Oh, and my Ray Ban aviation type sunshades, of course. Life is good. Nice folks, too. I have a feeling I've found a new favorite spot for lunch.
Today, I had lunch in downtown Spearsville, LA. Big city. There's a stop sign and everything! The local cafe is also a gas station and general store. Not a convenience store but more like the small town grocery from half a century ago. They have burgers and such but I elected to go with their “meat and two” plate lunch. This time, it was a choice of meats and then corn plus rice'n'gravy. Yes, a starch and a starch topped with more carbs. For a low carb guy I looked at it and gobbled it up knowing I'll pay for it later. Oh, and fresh banana pie. I ate a bite or two but had a feeling I'd overdose on carbs and left a bunch on my plate.
When I walked in there was only one other guy already seated eating lunch. Kinda scary looking at first. Long hair, ZZ-top style beard, overalls and a T-shirt. We smiled and I sat at the other table. At this cafe there are only two tables. Both of them the six foot folding tables like in the church fellowship hall. It was clear that folks come here to eat and visit.
No surprise to those who know me, I struck up a conversation with the bearded mountain man (he looked the part). One thing led to another and we started talking about another favorite cafe on the opposite end of the parish, on the east bank of the Ouachita River in Sterlington. That one is Marvin Simpson's One Stop, home of some kick butt french fries back when I lived across the river over on Bayou Bartholomew.
As it turns out, this rural wild man leads the Thursday night Bible study at Marvin's cafe! Marvin had told me about it but I never have been able to make it. Small world. We both agreed that Marvin is “good people”. This study leader is also active at the Biker Church on Highway 165 North in Monroe. No surprise there, either. He looks the part.
We chatted about what the Lord was doing in each of our lives for a while before he had to get back to work driving a garbage truck for the parish.
Some other older men came in and we visited about the auto repair shop that used to be across the street. It was operated by a really nice guy but had closed recently. One of the local dealerships offered him a job he couldn't refuse. It was agreed that he was a top notch mechanic. That opened the door for discussing the merits of computers on tractors. Something about a farm implement relying on computer sensors to run just didn't seem right. I agreed and commented that I was in my 26 year old one ton Ford that didn't have any type of electronics on it beyond a radio and that didn't even work.
When I went to check out, I noticed the lady behind the counter was wearing a church T-shirt. Nice. We talked about the Lord and she explained that her church in Bernice was non-denominational, choosing to emphasize points we Christians have in common rather than the ones where we disagree. I agreed.
She commented that as times look grim in the country we'll need to rely on each other. That opened the door for sharing about my work with renewable energy and how I have friends who are into the “preparedness movement”. That means being prepared for natural, political or social upheaval. Not survivalists... but being prepared as a good steward of what God has given us. She said she's already canning her own food and wants to learn about local vegetation for food. Before we could talk about the new move toward permaculture (using nature to work with nature instead of using a bunch of chemicals), she need to answer a phone call and I needed to get back to the shop. We exchanged email addresses to swap tips on being prepared for the big “what if” our society seems to be heading toward.
With that, I hopped back into my one-ton flatbed truck, easing off from a stop in second. Nobody uses granny-low first gear unless you've got a load. I clicked on up through the gears to fourth and cruised back to my shop at a brisk 35 miles an hour. A two lane road, sunshine, full belly and my arm hanging out the window. Oh, and my Ray Ban aviation type sunshades, of course. Life is good. Nice folks, too. I have a feeling I've found a new favorite spot for lunch.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
To Be Special To Someone
I've been single most of my adult life. Let's do the math. For a few more weeks, I'll still be 52 years old. Let's say “adulthood” starts at 21. I didn't get married until I was in my mid-30s and that only lasted four years. Then I rebounded into a horrible marriage that blew up in about three years. That means out of 31 years as an adult, I wore a wedding ring for only seven of those years. To get technical, that's 22.6 percent of my adult life. Or put another way- about a day and a half out of one week, less than one week out of a full month.
Next month will wrap up a full decade of being “single again”... again.
I never set out to be what some would call a “confirmed bachelor”. All I ever really wanted was to have a wife, a couple of kids and a mortgage. Life just didn't turn out that way.
Today, I have some really great female friends. I'm truly thankful for them. But at the end of the day, I go home alone. I'll admit that sometimes I'd like to have a romantic relationship. But, I struggle with the same stuff that gave me an ache in my heart back in high school and college. Female friendships are great but when they start dating, guess who takes a back seat? That other guy is “special” and I go home alone.
Thinking this through, I realized that what I am longing for is not so much the holding hands and kissing. Don't get me wrong, I love the sound of that tune! But that's not what defines a “special relationship” to me. And I definitely am not longing for the internal battle to stay celibate when the kissing moves to... well... more kissing. Yeah, call me old fashioned but I believe some things are left to “licensed adults” only. And not until then. What I really long for is to be “special” in one person's heart. To be set apart from the rest. Not just a friend but that “special person” in her life. Don't get me wrong, I cherish my friendships. And I know they appreciate me. But I'm not that “special one”. I'm not the last one they say “good night” to at the end of the day, albeit over the phone.
Back when I was married, I was typically on the road about a hundred nights out of the year. Most trips were four or five days long. For years, I'd watched how other guys would hit the road and forget to call in. More importantly, I heard wives complain about it. Not me! Sometimes I'd call during the day and for sure at the end of the day. I love my work and was typically excited about seeing old friends on the different projects I visited. And I wanted to hear about my wife's day. I knew that relationships on the road were tough and I worked hard to maintain connection while I was away. More than anything, I wanted to connect with my “special one”. I wanted to be reminded that somewhere in the world, there was one person who was glad I was safe that night. Someone who was glad I was in their life.
One of the loneliest feelings for me is when I'm on the road and pull off at some motel next to yet another interstate somewhere. They all look the same. Checking in and settling in for the night is pretty much on autopilot. Then as I wind down for the night, I realize there is no one on the face of the planet who knows where I am. I'm all alone. It's not that none of my friends care. I'm secure in that. But their lives spin on their own. And when I'm part of their lives, that's great. But we're not in touch every day.
Maybe that's what I long for even after all these years.. an “every day” relationship. More than anything, I long to be considered truly special by someone. Set apart, unique, cherished differently than the rest.
Then it dawns on me that I already have that and have had it all along. But it's not a girl somewhere on the other end of the phone. It's a Him. It's my personal relationship with my Heavenly Father. What I'm longing for is what He wants with me right now... an intimate relationship. To my Father, I am set apart, unique and cherished differently than the rest. He does think of me as special.
Yesterday, I wrote that until I can abide in a relationship with my Lord, I can't fully love and appreciate someone else. Now I'm thinking my whole yearning for connection with someone is really a longing to be connected with Him. It's deeper than a guy and a girl on the phone. More importantly, it's about being connected at a deeper level than is possible in a relationship with another human being.
I want to grow in my experience of how He's crazy about me. How He's excited to hear my voice on the other end of the phone line. How He can't wait to hear about my day. Hey, He even knows the names of all the construction workers I was glad to see and even remembers what projects we worked on in the past. I want to learn to a deeper level that He's glad I called. I've tasted that type of relationship and know it to some degree. But I hear Him calling me to move deeper in it.
I'm reminded of a magazine interview from almost thirty years ago with author Sheldon VanAuken, a friend of CS Lewis's. In that interview, he shared about how we long to climb the mountain. We take the climbing lessons, buy the gear and study the maps. Day after day, week after week, month after month, we look forward to our climbing expedition. Then finally, one day, we make the climb. But when we get to the top, we find it's just a bunch of rocks. What we're longing for is joy- the kind of joy that only comes from a relationship with Jesus Christ.
I frequently use Pascal's great quote: “Man is created with a God-shaped vacuum that can only be filled by the Person of Jesus Christ.” That's very applicable to a person first coming to Jesus. But I'm seeing that it goes a lot deeper than an initial introduction. That vacuum and His filling it extends throughout life. Again, I'm reminded that it can only be filled with Him. Anything else is just a poor substitute.
And just as my relationships with others are only as good as my relationship with Him, I have a feeling that my desire to be “special” to someone else is only a dim reflection of the relationship He wants to enjoy with me. Again, if I'm getting my needs met by Him first and foremost, it takes the pressure off the rest of life. It sets the stage for stuff to flow more naturally, like water in a stream.
Will I ever find that “special someone”? I sure hope so. But for now, I see I need to pour myself more into my relationship with Someone else first and foremost. And let the future flow naturally from Him.
Next month will wrap up a full decade of being “single again”... again.
I never set out to be what some would call a “confirmed bachelor”. All I ever really wanted was to have a wife, a couple of kids and a mortgage. Life just didn't turn out that way.
Today, I have some really great female friends. I'm truly thankful for them. But at the end of the day, I go home alone. I'll admit that sometimes I'd like to have a romantic relationship. But, I struggle with the same stuff that gave me an ache in my heart back in high school and college. Female friendships are great but when they start dating, guess who takes a back seat? That other guy is “special” and I go home alone.
Thinking this through, I realized that what I am longing for is not so much the holding hands and kissing. Don't get me wrong, I love the sound of that tune! But that's not what defines a “special relationship” to me. And I definitely am not longing for the internal battle to stay celibate when the kissing moves to... well... more kissing. Yeah, call me old fashioned but I believe some things are left to “licensed adults” only. And not until then. What I really long for is to be “special” in one person's heart. To be set apart from the rest. Not just a friend but that “special person” in her life. Don't get me wrong, I cherish my friendships. And I know they appreciate me. But I'm not that “special one”. I'm not the last one they say “good night” to at the end of the day, albeit over the phone.
Back when I was married, I was typically on the road about a hundred nights out of the year. Most trips were four or five days long. For years, I'd watched how other guys would hit the road and forget to call in. More importantly, I heard wives complain about it. Not me! Sometimes I'd call during the day and for sure at the end of the day. I love my work and was typically excited about seeing old friends on the different projects I visited. And I wanted to hear about my wife's day. I knew that relationships on the road were tough and I worked hard to maintain connection while I was away. More than anything, I wanted to connect with my “special one”. I wanted to be reminded that somewhere in the world, there was one person who was glad I was safe that night. Someone who was glad I was in their life.
One of the loneliest feelings for me is when I'm on the road and pull off at some motel next to yet another interstate somewhere. They all look the same. Checking in and settling in for the night is pretty much on autopilot. Then as I wind down for the night, I realize there is no one on the face of the planet who knows where I am. I'm all alone. It's not that none of my friends care. I'm secure in that. But their lives spin on their own. And when I'm part of their lives, that's great. But we're not in touch every day.
Maybe that's what I long for even after all these years.. an “every day” relationship. More than anything, I long to be considered truly special by someone. Set apart, unique, cherished differently than the rest.
Then it dawns on me that I already have that and have had it all along. But it's not a girl somewhere on the other end of the phone. It's a Him. It's my personal relationship with my Heavenly Father. What I'm longing for is what He wants with me right now... an intimate relationship. To my Father, I am set apart, unique and cherished differently than the rest. He does think of me as special.
Yesterday, I wrote that until I can abide in a relationship with my Lord, I can't fully love and appreciate someone else. Now I'm thinking my whole yearning for connection with someone is really a longing to be connected with Him. It's deeper than a guy and a girl on the phone. More importantly, it's about being connected at a deeper level than is possible in a relationship with another human being.
I want to grow in my experience of how He's crazy about me. How He's excited to hear my voice on the other end of the phone line. How He can't wait to hear about my day. Hey, He even knows the names of all the construction workers I was glad to see and even remembers what projects we worked on in the past. I want to learn to a deeper level that He's glad I called. I've tasted that type of relationship and know it to some degree. But I hear Him calling me to move deeper in it.
I'm reminded of a magazine interview from almost thirty years ago with author Sheldon VanAuken, a friend of CS Lewis's. In that interview, he shared about how we long to climb the mountain. We take the climbing lessons, buy the gear and study the maps. Day after day, week after week, month after month, we look forward to our climbing expedition. Then finally, one day, we make the climb. But when we get to the top, we find it's just a bunch of rocks. What we're longing for is joy- the kind of joy that only comes from a relationship with Jesus Christ.
I frequently use Pascal's great quote: “Man is created with a God-shaped vacuum that can only be filled by the Person of Jesus Christ.” That's very applicable to a person first coming to Jesus. But I'm seeing that it goes a lot deeper than an initial introduction. That vacuum and His filling it extends throughout life. Again, I'm reminded that it can only be filled with Him. Anything else is just a poor substitute.
And just as my relationships with others are only as good as my relationship with Him, I have a feeling that my desire to be “special” to someone else is only a dim reflection of the relationship He wants to enjoy with me. Again, if I'm getting my needs met by Him first and foremost, it takes the pressure off the rest of life. It sets the stage for stuff to flow more naturally, like water in a stream.
Will I ever find that “special someone”? I sure hope so. But for now, I see I need to pour myself more into my relationship with Someone else first and foremost. And let the future flow naturally from Him.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Abiding... What Does It Mean?
A friend and I were talking about abiding in God the other day. We both love the book of John and how the central theme seems to be abiding in Jesus. Good stuff. But, what does it mean? What does abiding look like? Or maybe better, what does it not look like?
Well, I take some cues from this friendship. We're really great friends but like most adult friendships, we don't get to see each other that often. Texts and brief emails are great. Short phone calls are OK and long phone calls are better. But truly abiding as a friend involves some concentrated one on one time. No TV. No problem solving session or any other "work" type thing. Just two friends sharing from the heart. Talking... relating... connecting. This is the stuff of real relationship, not just being an acquaintance.
Being a relational junkie, I never can seem to get enough of our one-on-one time, what some would call "quality time". But, that's not reality. We both have lives to lead. This is where the text messages, phone calls and emails fill the gap. If that's all we had, I wouldn't really call us close friends. All of this in the mix is what defines a relationship.
Abiding also means being there for the long haul. I'm fortunate to have close friends I've known for decades; many of them for well over half my life. They've known me through the good times and the bad times... and we're still friends. Again, we may not get to see each other as often as we'd like, but there's never a moment's doubt as to whether their friendship is real. That's not to say you can't consider new friends "true" friends. It's just that there's nothing like long term friends, those with whom you've been through thick and thin.
Frequency and intimacy aren't anywhere close to the same thing. I sometimes wonder if the young people today understand that there's a lot more to communicating than texts and tweets. A lot more. They may have frequency but do they have depth?
Likewise, I wonder if folks understand that a relationship with God is much more than just prayer that seems like texts or tweets. Or, as Bob Bennett called them in a song: shotgun prayers. Don't get me wrong, I believe God hears all prayers. But, is there any real intimacy going on with a prayer that sounds like a tweet? Is there any intimacy if the prayer is only one-sided? I've had friends whose prayers sounded more like ordering lunch at the drive through window at Wendy's than an intimate exchange between a Father and a son.
I've often said that the biggest area where I failed as a husband and step-father was losing my intimacy with my heavenly Father. As a single guy, I had a relationship with Him that really was abiding. My life was filled with quick shotgun prayers as well as deep times of one-on-one prayer. My prayer life was a lot more than just a one way conversation. It was rich and true. And shortly after moving in to an existing family I found that it was really hard to maintain with other people in the house.
Before long, I started looking to my spouse for the stuff I used to get from Him. Call it "meaning" or whatever, I looked to her to fill the holes in my heart that only He could fill. OK, I admit it... I'm lazy. I could see her whereas I couldn't truly see God.
Here's what I've been learning lately: it's easier to have a relationship with someone you can see, touch, hear and smell. But that relationship is only as good as my relationship first with Him. Do I come to my Father first or do I run to my friends first? Big question and the answer says a lot. Ultimately, who is my source of identity? My source in life? If it is anything or anyone but God, I'm heading in the wrong direction and headed for a fall.
But here's where life starts moving beyond existence. An abiding relationship with my Lord means a real openness where I can come clean with Him, confessing my sins and honestly wanting to turn away. Being in a relationship with Him means consistently being blown away at how great He is... and reminding Him that's how I feel about Him. Abiding in Him means talking as well as listening. Hearing what He says about me is what gives me true identity, for His words are truth, based on perfect love.
Abiding means being honest and spending quality time together. I wish I could say that I'm at a point where I feel I'm spending all the quality time as I'd like with God, but I'm not there yet. But my quiet time with Him is growing. My time in the Word is coming back. As we study the Word, it's about learning all the facts about Him but even more, learning about His heart. As we grow and abide in Him, we truly do get a glimpse of God's heart.
I'm seeing more than ever before that my ability to have a quality relationship with any person is only as strong as my relationship first with Him. By abiding in Him first, I'm coming to the relationship complete. Not fixed, mind you. But complete in that I have everything I need in Him. Of course, there's a really good chance that God may provide what I need through those close friendships... but it grows out of me coming to Him first and then Him providing through the friends.
OK, once again I've sidetracked my own blog. It happens a lot. What I'm now seeing is that abiding in Him (being in a passionate and growing relationship with my Heavenly Father) must come first and foremost. Not just knowing about Him but knowing Him! And until I can be at a place where my relationship with Him is solid enough to be unaffected by my relationships with other people, I'm not able to be a true friend. This is especially true of a romantic relationship. As soon as I start looking to them for stuff that I can only find in Him, I'm doomed.
I've been single again almost a decade. I've worked hard to learn from my mistakes. I've also worked hard to become the man He'd have me be, regardless of my marital status. But, I'll be really honest- I'd love to have a partner for life. I'd love it more than almost anything- except for an abiding relationship with Him. Until I'm at a place where my intimacy with Him is unwavering, I really don't have a lot to offer a woman. Sure, I might look alright at first but going even a short distance on my strength, it turns ugly really fast. But remaining first and foremost in that abiding walk with Him, I can bring to the relationship more than I need to take out. I come with a belly full of living water (John 4:10).
I ain't there yet... but I'm heading in the right direction.
Well, I take some cues from this friendship. We're really great friends but like most adult friendships, we don't get to see each other that often. Texts and brief emails are great. Short phone calls are OK and long phone calls are better. But truly abiding as a friend involves some concentrated one on one time. No TV. No problem solving session or any other "work" type thing. Just two friends sharing from the heart. Talking... relating... connecting. This is the stuff of real relationship, not just being an acquaintance.
Being a relational junkie, I never can seem to get enough of our one-on-one time, what some would call "quality time". But, that's not reality. We both have lives to lead. This is where the text messages, phone calls and emails fill the gap. If that's all we had, I wouldn't really call us close friends. All of this in the mix is what defines a relationship.
Abiding also means being there for the long haul. I'm fortunate to have close friends I've known for decades; many of them for well over half my life. They've known me through the good times and the bad times... and we're still friends. Again, we may not get to see each other as often as we'd like, but there's never a moment's doubt as to whether their friendship is real. That's not to say you can't consider new friends "true" friends. It's just that there's nothing like long term friends, those with whom you've been through thick and thin.
Frequency and intimacy aren't anywhere close to the same thing. I sometimes wonder if the young people today understand that there's a lot more to communicating than texts and tweets. A lot more. They may have frequency but do they have depth?
Likewise, I wonder if folks understand that a relationship with God is much more than just prayer that seems like texts or tweets. Or, as Bob Bennett called them in a song: shotgun prayers. Don't get me wrong, I believe God hears all prayers. But, is there any real intimacy going on with a prayer that sounds like a tweet? Is there any intimacy if the prayer is only one-sided? I've had friends whose prayers sounded more like ordering lunch at the drive through window at Wendy's than an intimate exchange between a Father and a son.
I've often said that the biggest area where I failed as a husband and step-father was losing my intimacy with my heavenly Father. As a single guy, I had a relationship with Him that really was abiding. My life was filled with quick shotgun prayers as well as deep times of one-on-one prayer. My prayer life was a lot more than just a one way conversation. It was rich and true. And shortly after moving in to an existing family I found that it was really hard to maintain with other people in the house.
Before long, I started looking to my spouse for the stuff I used to get from Him. Call it "meaning" or whatever, I looked to her to fill the holes in my heart that only He could fill. OK, I admit it... I'm lazy. I could see her whereas I couldn't truly see God.
Here's what I've been learning lately: it's easier to have a relationship with someone you can see, touch, hear and smell. But that relationship is only as good as my relationship first with Him. Do I come to my Father first or do I run to my friends first? Big question and the answer says a lot. Ultimately, who is my source of identity? My source in life? If it is anything or anyone but God, I'm heading in the wrong direction and headed for a fall.
But here's where life starts moving beyond existence. An abiding relationship with my Lord means a real openness where I can come clean with Him, confessing my sins and honestly wanting to turn away. Being in a relationship with Him means consistently being blown away at how great He is... and reminding Him that's how I feel about Him. Abiding in Him means talking as well as listening. Hearing what He says about me is what gives me true identity, for His words are truth, based on perfect love.
Abiding means being honest and spending quality time together. I wish I could say that I'm at a point where I feel I'm spending all the quality time as I'd like with God, but I'm not there yet. But my quiet time with Him is growing. My time in the Word is coming back. As we study the Word, it's about learning all the facts about Him but even more, learning about His heart. As we grow and abide in Him, we truly do get a glimpse of God's heart.
I'm seeing more than ever before that my ability to have a quality relationship with any person is only as strong as my relationship first with Him. By abiding in Him first, I'm coming to the relationship complete. Not fixed, mind you. But complete in that I have everything I need in Him. Of course, there's a really good chance that God may provide what I need through those close friendships... but it grows out of me coming to Him first and then Him providing through the friends.
OK, once again I've sidetracked my own blog. It happens a lot. What I'm now seeing is that abiding in Him (being in a passionate and growing relationship with my Heavenly Father) must come first and foremost. Not just knowing about Him but knowing Him! And until I can be at a place where my relationship with Him is solid enough to be unaffected by my relationships with other people, I'm not able to be a true friend. This is especially true of a romantic relationship. As soon as I start looking to them for stuff that I can only find in Him, I'm doomed.
I've been single again almost a decade. I've worked hard to learn from my mistakes. I've also worked hard to become the man He'd have me be, regardless of my marital status. But, I'll be really honest- I'd love to have a partner for life. I'd love it more than almost anything- except for an abiding relationship with Him. Until I'm at a place where my intimacy with Him is unwavering, I really don't have a lot to offer a woman. Sure, I might look alright at first but going even a short distance on my strength, it turns ugly really fast. But remaining first and foremost in that abiding walk with Him, I can bring to the relationship more than I need to take out. I come with a belly full of living water (John 4:10).
I ain't there yet... but I'm heading in the right direction.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
No One Is All Good Nor All Bad
I was thinking about my mother this morning. On the one hand, she can be bitter and mean. Uptight and abrupt. She holds grudges against people who have been dead for decades. Yet when we go visit my brother in prison, she'll slip off and visit with her "other sons", a couple of inmate workers who don't have visitors. She'll go over and sit down at their station where they serve coffee and popcorn so they can visit. She asks them questions about this and that, not so much because she is nosy but because she wants to connect with them.
Her humor is biting and sometimes it's not fully in jest. Yes, she can act like a total a bitch but then turn around and cry when she hears a friend has lost a loved one in a car accident. She even remembers my best friend's birthday from when he and I were in Mrs. Garrison's class in Hugh Goodwin Elementary, not to mention all of her own elementary school friends. She's not all good nor all bad.
I saw this even more pronounced in my grandmother. Yep, Mother's mother. We called her Mom. As much as I loved her, Mom was a controlling, uptight woman who could worry the bark off a tree. Look up the word "nag" in Webster's Dictionary and it has her picture! Yet I was the recipient of her love more times than I can count. When Dad ran away from home at the age of 42, Mom kept us afloat as Mother was starting a new career as a single mom. She wasn't all good nor all bad.
I think about my father, too. Yes, he really did run away from home. He left us high and dry. No financial support. Walked away from all of his responsibilities. After he moved to Houston, he lived with a woman who (in my rather jaded opinion) needed to go to elocution lessons just to rise 'white trash' status, all while he was still married to Mother. Dad used to say that when he left El Dorado in '74, he was "financially, emotionally, spiritually, morally and physically bankrupt." Yet, he still cared. In the years that followed, Dad worked on his bankrupt condition. He worked on it hard. And even though he never wanted to be married again to Mother, he still cared for her. He even offered to anonymously pay for her to go to the doctor when she couldn't afford insurance. He wasn't all good, nor all bad.
Through the years, I've known some pretty bad people. Drug dealers, addicts, drunks, adulterers, cheats and generally folks with some pretty major moral flaws. Yet, as I've gotten to know them on a heart level, I've without fail found a compassionate side to them. They may have been mean in one way but they were tender in others. I'm reminded of when I was driving trucks for a drilling company during a semester away from college back in the '70s. One time I was sent to Utah with a driller who had a reputation for drinking and then fighting. That was just part of his routine. Drink... then fight. Tomorrow night, drink... then fight. Repeat as necessary.
I was literally fearing for my safety when we had to share a motel room in Farmington, New Mexico, on our drive out west. Yet when we got settled in from a long day driving big trucks across the desert, what did he do first? He called his wife, a lady he married when she was just 13 years old! Before long, I overheard him tell his wife to tell one son that he was proud of him for dong something good at school or on the baseball team or something. "And tell him I love him. And I love you, too." He paused while she apparently replied. "I love you!" She replied again. "I love you, too!" The volley of I love you's continued for a while. Eventually, I headed out the door for an errand while they were still saying "I love you" to each other. Rough and tumble but deeply in love with his wife. He wasn't all bad nor all good.
On the other hand, how many "good" people do we know who have fallen to some "bad" sin? The list of TV preachers caught getting a little action on the side (with male or female hookers) is long. Drugs have taken down a lot of them, too. One of my all-time favorite pastors fell to adultery, breaking apart not one but two homes. I know of one Baptist preacher who was also a bootlegger and at one time smuggled illegal aliens from Mexico... all while filling a pulpit on Sunday morning! Go figure.
I believe none of us is either all good nor all bad. My ex-wife didn't agree. In her world, you were one or the other. And once you were deemed "bad", you could not recover your "good" status. And my temper secured for me a place on the "bad" list- banished from the "good" list forever. What she didn't know is that I had been working on my temper long before I ever met her. I saw it as a character flaw and was actively taking it to God for healing. But, I was still a work in progress.
After she kicked me to the curb almost a decade ago, I continued to work on my temper. I'm sad to say, remnants of the "old Todd" still linger. I'm still a work in progress. But I think she'd be pretty amazed at how much I've grown in this area. Stuff still gets under my skin. And yes, I still blow up sometime. Rarely, but sometime. When I do, I am immediately reminded of Galatians 5:19: "Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are:... outbursts of anger..." Busted!
I read that and I come face to face with the fact that I'm not yet completely in His control. As much as I want to do the right thing, it is still a bit fleeting. Nope, I'm not there yet. But I'm not giving up.
While we're looking at Galatians, let's take a peek at the full list of what one version of the Bible called the "evidence of the flesh". By that, I take it as evidence that we are being controlled by our own fleshly (selfish, not of God) desires. "Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are: immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, envying, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these, of which I forewarn you, just as I have forewarned you, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God."
Whoa! I didn't see any of the biggie sins listed in there! No drugs, stealing or driving over the speed limit! I guess adultery is covered in immorality, impurity and sensuality... a sin trifecta of sorts. What I do see are a lot of things I also see in the average church member. They seem to be more about internal attitudes and decisions we make throughout each day.
I believe God created in each of us the capacity to do good and the capacity to do evil. And He gave us the free will to choose for ourselves. In addition, I believe we who have come to trust Jesus as our Savior now have the Holy Spirit living inside our hearts. As we trust Him not only as Savior (for eternity) but also as Lord (for the here and now) we also have the Holy Spirit working inside, calling us toward doing more and more good and by default, less evil. To me, it's more about doing His stuff with the natural byproduct of doing less evil stuff. Then again, I'm more grace focused than sin focused. If I walk toward Him, my back is naturally turned against evil stuff, things that would separate me from my Father.
Still, it's a struggle. It always will be. We will always be a mix of good and bad.
It's like being on a big field with homes on opposite ends. One is all good and one is all evil. Which one are we walking toward? Which one have we set as our goal? Better yet, it's like two houses next door to each other, separated by a fence. We tend to want to play in both yards, jumping back and forth over the fence.
Sadly, I see a lot of folks who give up trying. They find it is easier to just live one one side or to perpetually ride that fence. There's a definite element of safety in continuing to do what we know, the stuff we're comfortable doing already. But I love God! I really love Him! And the more I get to know and love Him, the less I want to even get close to that fence. I choose to turn my back on the fence that represents a compromised life at best, and a rebellious life at worst. I choose to walk toward His house where I'll enjoy fellowship with Him.
The good news is we have God living inside us. He sees our desires and pours out grace to keep moving toward God's house. Sure, we sometimes stumble and hop back across the fence but hopefully those times are less and less frequent as we are moving toward Him.
By the way, the world has probably painted for us a picture of God's house as being drab and boring filled with rules and stuff we can't touch. That's a lie. The only true joy in life is only found in His house. Jesus promised us that "living water" would flow from our bellies, overflowing joy. That also means fun and peace and a whole list of good things. Plus fewer and fewer of the things listed in Galatians 5:19 - 21.
None of us is all good nor all bad. We are all facing the same question every minute of every day: which way are we pointed? Are we growing toward the good or sliding by gravity toward the bad? Thanks to the Holy Spirit, I don't have to face that challenge alone.
Her humor is biting and sometimes it's not fully in jest. Yes, she can act like a total a bitch but then turn around and cry when she hears a friend has lost a loved one in a car accident. She even remembers my best friend's birthday from when he and I were in Mrs. Garrison's class in Hugh Goodwin Elementary, not to mention all of her own elementary school friends. She's not all good nor all bad.
I saw this even more pronounced in my grandmother. Yep, Mother's mother. We called her Mom. As much as I loved her, Mom was a controlling, uptight woman who could worry the bark off a tree. Look up the word "nag" in Webster's Dictionary and it has her picture! Yet I was the recipient of her love more times than I can count. When Dad ran away from home at the age of 42, Mom kept us afloat as Mother was starting a new career as a single mom. She wasn't all good nor all bad.
I think about my father, too. Yes, he really did run away from home. He left us high and dry. No financial support. Walked away from all of his responsibilities. After he moved to Houston, he lived with a woman who (in my rather jaded opinion) needed to go to elocution lessons just to rise 'white trash' status, all while he was still married to Mother. Dad used to say that when he left El Dorado in '74, he was "financially, emotionally, spiritually, morally and physically bankrupt." Yet, he still cared. In the years that followed, Dad worked on his bankrupt condition. He worked on it hard. And even though he never wanted to be married again to Mother, he still cared for her. He even offered to anonymously pay for her to go to the doctor when she couldn't afford insurance. He wasn't all good, nor all bad.
Through the years, I've known some pretty bad people. Drug dealers, addicts, drunks, adulterers, cheats and generally folks with some pretty major moral flaws. Yet, as I've gotten to know them on a heart level, I've without fail found a compassionate side to them. They may have been mean in one way but they were tender in others. I'm reminded of when I was driving trucks for a drilling company during a semester away from college back in the '70s. One time I was sent to Utah with a driller who had a reputation for drinking and then fighting. That was just part of his routine. Drink... then fight. Tomorrow night, drink... then fight. Repeat as necessary.
I was literally fearing for my safety when we had to share a motel room in Farmington, New Mexico, on our drive out west. Yet when we got settled in from a long day driving big trucks across the desert, what did he do first? He called his wife, a lady he married when she was just 13 years old! Before long, I overheard him tell his wife to tell one son that he was proud of him for dong something good at school or on the baseball team or something. "And tell him I love him. And I love you, too." He paused while she apparently replied. "I love you!" She replied again. "I love you, too!" The volley of I love you's continued for a while. Eventually, I headed out the door for an errand while they were still saying "I love you" to each other. Rough and tumble but deeply in love with his wife. He wasn't all bad nor all good.
On the other hand, how many "good" people do we know who have fallen to some "bad" sin? The list of TV preachers caught getting a little action on the side (with male or female hookers) is long. Drugs have taken down a lot of them, too. One of my all-time favorite pastors fell to adultery, breaking apart not one but two homes. I know of one Baptist preacher who was also a bootlegger and at one time smuggled illegal aliens from Mexico... all while filling a pulpit on Sunday morning! Go figure.
I believe none of us is either all good nor all bad. My ex-wife didn't agree. In her world, you were one or the other. And once you were deemed "bad", you could not recover your "good" status. And my temper secured for me a place on the "bad" list- banished from the "good" list forever. What she didn't know is that I had been working on my temper long before I ever met her. I saw it as a character flaw and was actively taking it to God for healing. But, I was still a work in progress.
After she kicked me to the curb almost a decade ago, I continued to work on my temper. I'm sad to say, remnants of the "old Todd" still linger. I'm still a work in progress. But I think she'd be pretty amazed at how much I've grown in this area. Stuff still gets under my skin. And yes, I still blow up sometime. Rarely, but sometime. When I do, I am immediately reminded of Galatians 5:19: "Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are:... outbursts of anger..." Busted!
I read that and I come face to face with the fact that I'm not yet completely in His control. As much as I want to do the right thing, it is still a bit fleeting. Nope, I'm not there yet. But I'm not giving up.
While we're looking at Galatians, let's take a peek at the full list of what one version of the Bible called the "evidence of the flesh". By that, I take it as evidence that we are being controlled by our own fleshly (selfish, not of God) desires. "Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are: immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, envying, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these, of which I forewarn you, just as I have forewarned you, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God."
Whoa! I didn't see any of the biggie sins listed in there! No drugs, stealing or driving over the speed limit! I guess adultery is covered in immorality, impurity and sensuality... a sin trifecta of sorts. What I do see are a lot of things I also see in the average church member. They seem to be more about internal attitudes and decisions we make throughout each day.
I believe God created in each of us the capacity to do good and the capacity to do evil. And He gave us the free will to choose for ourselves. In addition, I believe we who have come to trust Jesus as our Savior now have the Holy Spirit living inside our hearts. As we trust Him not only as Savior (for eternity) but also as Lord (for the here and now) we also have the Holy Spirit working inside, calling us toward doing more and more good and by default, less evil. To me, it's more about doing His stuff with the natural byproduct of doing less evil stuff. Then again, I'm more grace focused than sin focused. If I walk toward Him, my back is naturally turned against evil stuff, things that would separate me from my Father.
Still, it's a struggle. It always will be. We will always be a mix of good and bad.
It's like being on a big field with homes on opposite ends. One is all good and one is all evil. Which one are we walking toward? Which one have we set as our goal? Better yet, it's like two houses next door to each other, separated by a fence. We tend to want to play in both yards, jumping back and forth over the fence.
Sadly, I see a lot of folks who give up trying. They find it is easier to just live one one side or to perpetually ride that fence. There's a definite element of safety in continuing to do what we know, the stuff we're comfortable doing already. But I love God! I really love Him! And the more I get to know and love Him, the less I want to even get close to that fence. I choose to turn my back on the fence that represents a compromised life at best, and a rebellious life at worst. I choose to walk toward His house where I'll enjoy fellowship with Him.
The good news is we have God living inside us. He sees our desires and pours out grace to keep moving toward God's house. Sure, we sometimes stumble and hop back across the fence but hopefully those times are less and less frequent as we are moving toward Him.
By the way, the world has probably painted for us a picture of God's house as being drab and boring filled with rules and stuff we can't touch. That's a lie. The only true joy in life is only found in His house. Jesus promised us that "living water" would flow from our bellies, overflowing joy. That also means fun and peace and a whole list of good things. Plus fewer and fewer of the things listed in Galatians 5:19 - 21.
None of us is all good nor all bad. We are all facing the same question every minute of every day: which way are we pointed? Are we growing toward the good or sliding by gravity toward the bad? Thanks to the Holy Spirit, I don't have to face that challenge alone.
Friday, March 18, 2011
A Chance Meeting in the Desert
A friend and I were talking about missions the other day when I was reminded of a chance meeting I had while on my way to start my life as a missionary. It was June of '83. I had worked with Dad a couple of years but it just wasn't working for me. I had a passion for ministry that just wasn't being satisfied wearing a hardhat and steel toes. So, being a "good Baptist" I went down front at church and "surrendered to the ministry". Yes, I did think about going down and raising my hands in a "don't shoot!" gesture but I didn't think the folks at First Baptist of Monroe would get the joke.
In any case, I applied and was accepted to seminary in Fort Worth. But, before I got to seminary, I was invited to be the PR guy at the Baptist ministry to the Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. The only rub: no salary. I was considered Mission Service Corp and raised my own support. OK, no problem. If God calls, God also equips. I made a list of folks I thought might be interested in supporting my work, prayed over the list and started knocking on doors. All but one were happy to invest. The only one I asked who couldn't was a single dad with kids to raise. I didn't think he'd be able to anyway. My monthly income was cut by 90% but that's a story for a different blog.
Driving in my '69 Ford van towing a couple of dirt bikes, I took three days to make the drive west. Now, picture the van. It was jam packed with everything I'd need for a year and a half. That meant books, more books, stereo speakers, amp, turntable, my "essential" albums (a few dozen), clothes and a few more books. Oh, and a couple of Nikon cameras and a bag full of lenses. And slide show equipment including two projectors, an electronic controller and a projection screen. And I bought a few books along the way. I had built a couple of storage compartments on my motorcycle trailer so all my tools and riding gear stayed outside. I had my racing bike and a street legal dirt bike. What? You mean not every missionary doesn't have a couple of dirt bikes?
I guess it was late on my second day out that I got tired of I-40 and decided to take a little detour. I ended up in Tuba City, Arizona. It was getting late and I needed to park the van for the night. I stopped at a little store for a snack and struck up a conversation with a man outside. He seemed like a nice guy as we talked about this and that. As the conversation winded down, I told him that I was a Baptist missionary on my way to the west coast and asked if he knew of a church or someplace safe where I could park for the night.
"Well, I'm a Baptist missionary, too. I pastor a church just over that hill. You're welcome to park in my church parking lot for the night. Follow me."
Uhh... really? Can you imagine how this blew me away? Keep in mind, this was in the early '70s when we didn't even use long distance credit cards. It was quarters in pay phones with exorbitant rates. I had left my family in Monroe and El Dorado and was heading out to a new life in California. Beyond casual chit chat, I hadn't talked with a soul in almost three days. I missed home and longed for true fellowship. And I met a pastor in a convenience store!
I followed him to the church where I stopped the van in the parking lot. He lived in the parsonage next door. His younger son came out and really thought the dirt bikes were cool. I felt like a big man, I admit it. "Yeah... this one is for playing but this one is for racing!" The next morning, the missionary sent his son out to the van to invite me in for breakfast with the family. The parsonage was modest and I remember being served what I figured was some sort of traditional Native American meal. They were these flat round cake type things. I asked him what they were called. "Pancakes... it's the altitude." We all laughed at my ignorance and then they pulled out the latest copy of Missions USA, the Home Mission Board's monthly magazine.
I loved reading Missions USA for the great articles. Solid writing and world class photography, it was a real favorite. But they went to the back of the magazine where I never bothered to look very much. They found that day's date and read aloud the missionaries who were celebrating birthdays as well as I think a missionary of the day to pray for. And then we prayed. Over those high altitude pancakes, the missionary told me about how God called him to the mission field as an adult with a family and an already established career.
He said he started having an unexplainable passion for the American Indians. He couldn't read enough about them. Teaching boys Sunday School, he would break down in tears when the lesson involved reaching the Indians. I can't remember what he did for work before becoming a missionary but it wasn't a "ministerial" type job. He was just like the rest of us... working. Then God changed everything.
I kept up with this missionary family for a few years. Just now, I pulled down my "analog address book". That's an old fashioned pen and paper address book for the younger crowd, how we did things before computers. Sure enough, I still have that missionary's address. A quick internet search and it appears he's still working in missions... now ministering to Indians in New Mexico. I think I'll drop him a note.
In any case, I applied and was accepted to seminary in Fort Worth. But, before I got to seminary, I was invited to be the PR guy at the Baptist ministry to the Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. The only rub: no salary. I was considered Mission Service Corp and raised my own support. OK, no problem. If God calls, God also equips. I made a list of folks I thought might be interested in supporting my work, prayed over the list and started knocking on doors. All but one were happy to invest. The only one I asked who couldn't was a single dad with kids to raise. I didn't think he'd be able to anyway. My monthly income was cut by 90% but that's a story for a different blog.
Driving in my '69 Ford van towing a couple of dirt bikes, I took three days to make the drive west. Now, picture the van. It was jam packed with everything I'd need for a year and a half. That meant books, more books, stereo speakers, amp, turntable, my "essential" albums (a few dozen), clothes and a few more books. Oh, and a couple of Nikon cameras and a bag full of lenses. And slide show equipment including two projectors, an electronic controller and a projection screen. And I bought a few books along the way. I had built a couple of storage compartments on my motorcycle trailer so all my tools and riding gear stayed outside. I had my racing bike and a street legal dirt bike. What? You mean not every missionary doesn't have a couple of dirt bikes?
I guess it was late on my second day out that I got tired of I-40 and decided to take a little detour. I ended up in Tuba City, Arizona. It was getting late and I needed to park the van for the night. I stopped at a little store for a snack and struck up a conversation with a man outside. He seemed like a nice guy as we talked about this and that. As the conversation winded down, I told him that I was a Baptist missionary on my way to the west coast and asked if he knew of a church or someplace safe where I could park for the night.
"Well, I'm a Baptist missionary, too. I pastor a church just over that hill. You're welcome to park in my church parking lot for the night. Follow me."
Uhh... really? Can you imagine how this blew me away? Keep in mind, this was in the early '70s when we didn't even use long distance credit cards. It was quarters in pay phones with exorbitant rates. I had left my family in Monroe and El Dorado and was heading out to a new life in California. Beyond casual chit chat, I hadn't talked with a soul in almost three days. I missed home and longed for true fellowship. And I met a pastor in a convenience store!
I followed him to the church where I stopped the van in the parking lot. He lived in the parsonage next door. His younger son came out and really thought the dirt bikes were cool. I felt like a big man, I admit it. "Yeah... this one is for playing but this one is for racing!" The next morning, the missionary sent his son out to the van to invite me in for breakfast with the family. The parsonage was modest and I remember being served what I figured was some sort of traditional Native American meal. They were these flat round cake type things. I asked him what they were called. "Pancakes... it's the altitude." We all laughed at my ignorance and then they pulled out the latest copy of Missions USA, the Home Mission Board's monthly magazine.
I loved reading Missions USA for the great articles. Solid writing and world class photography, it was a real favorite. But they went to the back of the magazine where I never bothered to look very much. They found that day's date and read aloud the missionaries who were celebrating birthdays as well as I think a missionary of the day to pray for. And then we prayed. Over those high altitude pancakes, the missionary told me about how God called him to the mission field as an adult with a family and an already established career.
He said he started having an unexplainable passion for the American Indians. He couldn't read enough about them. Teaching boys Sunday School, he would break down in tears when the lesson involved reaching the Indians. I can't remember what he did for work before becoming a missionary but it wasn't a "ministerial" type job. He was just like the rest of us... working. Then God changed everything.
I kept up with this missionary family for a few years. Just now, I pulled down my "analog address book". That's an old fashioned pen and paper address book for the younger crowd, how we did things before computers. Sure enough, I still have that missionary's address. A quick internet search and it appears he's still working in missions... now ministering to Indians in New Mexico. I think I'll drop him a note.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Feeding the Hungry One Bag At a Time
Last night I was at a friend's and we bounced around a lot of ministry ideas. One of them was a passion we share: feeding the hungry. We both feel giving them money almost always only serves to feed some addiction. I don't want to fund their next drug purchase or pave the way for their next drunken haze. But, I am commanded to feed the hungry.
For years, I've put together food packets for the homeless. A gallon-size baggie works well. Last night, we bounced around ideas on what to include in these food packets. Tonight, I was thinking about it again and it dawned on me that this could be a great teaching tool for us to get a better handle on what it means to be without a home.
The next time you go to the grocery store, look for things you could eat if you were homeless. Remember, you wouldn't have a stove or refrigerator. Minimal food prep means hopefully some water. Probably not even a place to wash your hands.
As you walk down each aisle, look for items that would apply. No canned soup. Even if it has a pop top, they probably have no means to heat it up. Bread would only last a few days. Fruit would be nice but would you eat fruit offered by a stranger? Horror stories of nutcases spiking Halloween candy come to mind. Nope. I prefer factory sealed packaged food items.
OK, now let's carry this mindset around through the rest of the store. Like over in the toiletries department. Deodorant, soap, shampoo, lip balm, sun block... they are in our bathroom medicine cabinet. The homeless don't have a bathroom, much less a medicine cabinet.
Last night we tossed around some questions such as how far do we help the homeless? How do we balance grace and accountability? As I read my New Testament, I only hear Jesus commanding us to feed the hungry. No limit to those outside of the family of faith. Ah... but for our fellow church member, we're given the charge of: if you don't work, you don't eat! The implication to me is that a believer should get off his butt and work. But, what if he isn't able? What if he isn't functional whether by mental illness or some sort of substance abuse of his own making? At that point, I feel compelled to feed them.
Jesus never said to donate to the hungry. He did say to feed them. And love them, possibly one gallon baggie at a time.
For years, I've put together food packets for the homeless. A gallon-size baggie works well. Last night, we bounced around ideas on what to include in these food packets. Tonight, I was thinking about it again and it dawned on me that this could be a great teaching tool for us to get a better handle on what it means to be without a home.
The next time you go to the grocery store, look for things you could eat if you were homeless. Remember, you wouldn't have a stove or refrigerator. Minimal food prep means hopefully some water. Probably not even a place to wash your hands.
As you walk down each aisle, look for items that would apply. No canned soup. Even if it has a pop top, they probably have no means to heat it up. Bread would only last a few days. Fruit would be nice but would you eat fruit offered by a stranger? Horror stories of nutcases spiking Halloween candy come to mind. Nope. I prefer factory sealed packaged food items.
OK, now let's carry this mindset around through the rest of the store. Like over in the toiletries department. Deodorant, soap, shampoo, lip balm, sun block... they are in our bathroom medicine cabinet. The homeless don't have a bathroom, much less a medicine cabinet.
Last night we tossed around some questions such as how far do we help the homeless? How do we balance grace and accountability? As I read my New Testament, I only hear Jesus commanding us to feed the hungry. No limit to those outside of the family of faith. Ah... but for our fellow church member, we're given the charge of: if you don't work, you don't eat! The implication to me is that a believer should get off his butt and work. But, what if he isn't able? What if he isn't functional whether by mental illness or some sort of substance abuse of his own making? At that point, I feel compelled to feed them.
Jesus never said to donate to the hungry. He did say to feed them. And love them, possibly one gallon baggie at a time.
Homeless With Beautiful Blue Eyes
A good friend is helping organize an outreach to Monroe's homeless population this weekend. Over the past few days we've bounced around all sorts of ideas for non-perishable food and personal items to include in "Survival Sacks" they'll be handing out. All this talk of the homeless brought back memories of when I had a homeless couple living in my van out back behind my building in Monroe.
Back then, I had a building directly on the river and next to the railroad bridge that crosses over to West Monroe. It was right in downtown Monroe. I lived in a loft apartment upstairs and had my business downstairs. My "yard" had lots of foot traffic with folks either crossing the railroad bridge or getting to the other side of the seawall. Quite a few homeless lived on the other side of the seawall when the water wasn't too high. For years, I'd given food packets to the homeless. Not wanting to enable any addiction, I couldn't give them money but was always ready to give them food.
As I saw it, I was called by my Lord to feed them. That meant either giving them food or taking them somewhere to eat. One or the other. Some of the regular homeless guys in downtown Monroe came back from time to time asking for more food. I could tell they were hungry and sincere. They were really appreciative, too.
Downtown Monroe at night isn't the safest place in Ouachita Parish. Even though I hadn't had any problems at my building, it was still creepy sometimes. One evening, just past sundown, I headed out to get a bite for supper. I parked my truck around back and headed out the shop door, out of view from the street. Maybe twenty five or thirty feet outside my shop door was my old Ford van. It was my hippie van from high school and college days, saved in hopes of swapping the engine and other stuff into a street rod. Stepping outside through the rear dock door, I saw a dark figure of someone stepping out of my van.
Crap!!!!
The van was supposed to be locked! I was unarmed and just a few feet away from a fairly large stranger getting out of my van. And it was getting dark. Just then, I heard a man's voice. "I'm not a bad man. I'm just down on my luck and need a place to stay."
Somewhat calmed but still a bit cautious, I moved closer as the guy stepped out of the van, introducing himself as Roger. He stood a couple of inches taller than me and was slender with dark, wavy hair. With a quiet voice, Roger told me he was working but just didn't have enough money for rent yet. I explained that I had just lost the building to bankruptcy and that I'd be moving soon, too. Back then I was running back and forth between Monroe and El Dorado taking care of my mother whose health had started to fail.
"Hey, in a way, I'm homeless, too!" I joked and we both laughed. "All I ask is that y'all keep an eye on the place when I'm gone. You're welcome to stay." It was fall and the nights had begun to get a bit chilly. I asked if he needed a blanket or anything. He said he'd be fine.
The next morning, I assembled a bigger than usual packet of non-perishable food... Vienna sausages, raisins, fruit cups, crackers, bottled water and moistened towelettes. Stuff like that. It felt funny knocking on the door to my own van, but Roger opened the door. I handed him the food and he said "We really appreciate it." We? Just then, he opened the other door and I met Crystal.
I'd seen her walking around downtown before, usually carrying a styrofoam box, the kind you get with take-out food, always coming from the direction of the Salvation Army and heading across the seawall. She appeared to be in her 40's, a bit plump with medium length blond hair. I'd always tried to make eye contact and wave but here eyes were always glued to the street a few feet in front of her.
She moved forward closer to the door and for the first time, I saw her beautiful blue eyes. She wasn't necessarily pretty but here eyes were piercing blue. Whoever named her Crystal pegged the name in describing her eyes. She thanked me for the food and then asked with deep compassion in her voice about my mother. I guess Roger had told her my story as well. We chatted a while and I headed on out for the day.
I'm still haunted by those beautiful blue eyes.
Roger and Crystal stayed in the van for a few months. We'd wave and exchange pleasantries as I'd see them coming and going. We never hung out or anything, but they really did take care of the place. In time, I guess he saved up enough to get a place of their own and they moved out of the van.
No longer were they just two homeless people. They were Roger and Crystal. And in a small way, they looked out for me and I looked out for them. Nice neighbors.
Back then, I had a building directly on the river and next to the railroad bridge that crosses over to West Monroe. It was right in downtown Monroe. I lived in a loft apartment upstairs and had my business downstairs. My "yard" had lots of foot traffic with folks either crossing the railroad bridge or getting to the other side of the seawall. Quite a few homeless lived on the other side of the seawall when the water wasn't too high. For years, I'd given food packets to the homeless. Not wanting to enable any addiction, I couldn't give them money but was always ready to give them food.
As I saw it, I was called by my Lord to feed them. That meant either giving them food or taking them somewhere to eat. One or the other. Some of the regular homeless guys in downtown Monroe came back from time to time asking for more food. I could tell they were hungry and sincere. They were really appreciative, too.
Downtown Monroe at night isn't the safest place in Ouachita Parish. Even though I hadn't had any problems at my building, it was still creepy sometimes. One evening, just past sundown, I headed out to get a bite for supper. I parked my truck around back and headed out the shop door, out of view from the street. Maybe twenty five or thirty feet outside my shop door was my old Ford van. It was my hippie van from high school and college days, saved in hopes of swapping the engine and other stuff into a street rod. Stepping outside through the rear dock door, I saw a dark figure of someone stepping out of my van.
Crap!!!!
The van was supposed to be locked! I was unarmed and just a few feet away from a fairly large stranger getting out of my van. And it was getting dark. Just then, I heard a man's voice. "I'm not a bad man. I'm just down on my luck and need a place to stay."
Somewhat calmed but still a bit cautious, I moved closer as the guy stepped out of the van, introducing himself as Roger. He stood a couple of inches taller than me and was slender with dark, wavy hair. With a quiet voice, Roger told me he was working but just didn't have enough money for rent yet. I explained that I had just lost the building to bankruptcy and that I'd be moving soon, too. Back then I was running back and forth between Monroe and El Dorado taking care of my mother whose health had started to fail.
"Hey, in a way, I'm homeless, too!" I joked and we both laughed. "All I ask is that y'all keep an eye on the place when I'm gone. You're welcome to stay." It was fall and the nights had begun to get a bit chilly. I asked if he needed a blanket or anything. He said he'd be fine.
The next morning, I assembled a bigger than usual packet of non-perishable food... Vienna sausages, raisins, fruit cups, crackers, bottled water and moistened towelettes. Stuff like that. It felt funny knocking on the door to my own van, but Roger opened the door. I handed him the food and he said "We really appreciate it." We? Just then, he opened the other door and I met Crystal.
I'd seen her walking around downtown before, usually carrying a styrofoam box, the kind you get with take-out food, always coming from the direction of the Salvation Army and heading across the seawall. She appeared to be in her 40's, a bit plump with medium length blond hair. I'd always tried to make eye contact and wave but here eyes were always glued to the street a few feet in front of her.
She moved forward closer to the door and for the first time, I saw her beautiful blue eyes. She wasn't necessarily pretty but here eyes were piercing blue. Whoever named her Crystal pegged the name in describing her eyes. She thanked me for the food and then asked with deep compassion in her voice about my mother. I guess Roger had told her my story as well. We chatted a while and I headed on out for the day.
I'm still haunted by those beautiful blue eyes.
Roger and Crystal stayed in the van for a few months. We'd wave and exchange pleasantries as I'd see them coming and going. We never hung out or anything, but they really did take care of the place. In time, I guess he saved up enough to get a place of their own and they moved out of the van.
No longer were they just two homeless people. They were Roger and Crystal. And in a small way, they looked out for me and I looked out for them. Nice neighbors.
We Built a House But Not a Home
Eighteen years ago this week, I was on my honeymoon. Today, that life seems a million miles away. I didn't get married until I was almost 35 and barely survived four years. Looking back, I'm still trying to learn from my mistakes and share them with you in hopes I can save you some heartache. Or, in the case of marriage and divorce... a lot of heartache.
I had a good life as a single guy. I owned a couple of businesses, had everything paid off including my home, office and warehouse, airplane, motorhome and a couple of trucks. Money wasn't what drove me though. Working hard was. Even more, spending quality time in an intimate relationship with my Lord meant everything to me. My office manager knew that if I didn't show up until 9:30 some mornings, it was because I was having an intense time in Bible study and worship out at my little cottage on the lake. I found out back then that I could get more done in five hours in an intimate walk with Him than what I could get done in twelve hours going on my own strength. Yes, it was a good life.
I always longed for a family, to have a partner and to build a life together. I married a widow with a 12 year old. Looked great going into the relationship. But, the picture changed real quick.
Discussing any of her issues is pointless. Actually, I think a lot about something I heard from one of her favorite counselors at her old church in Tennessee: "What is my sin in the situation?" The other person's stuff ain't my problem. I can only deal with my stuff.
Soon after we said "I do" I started dropping the ball. I was used to living alone and a quiet home where I could read and pray and worship whenever I wanted to. Moving in to a home with two others was a big change. And I simply never created a place in my new world to include private time for growing in my relationship with Him. Don't get me wrong, we went to church regularly. We were definitely a "Christian couple". No question about it. But most of the time I was doing it under my own strength. I yearned for a close relationship with my new family more than anything. Didn't happen.
Soon, the pressures of life started taking a toll on me. I had always traveled, typically a hundred nights a year. Not my idea of the life of a family man. So, I tried to diversify my business in not one but two ways. First, I started up a small business not at all related to my regular work. It was something I was interested in and something I needed as a business service. I was my own first customer. But, it took a lot of work and never really got off the ground. Second, I brought on a local salesman and expanded into some heavy industry type service work. My goal was to make money in the local market instead of bouncing all over North America and beyond. My overhead went through the roof and that hot shot salesman never sold enough to cover his draw on commission.
Meanwhile, I designed a new home for my lovely bride and stepdaughter. We tore down my one bedroom cottage on the lake and built a house four times larger. I served as the contractor. It was a lovely house. But it never was a home.
So, where did I go wrong? The biggest blunder as I see it was failing to maintain the intimacy I had once known with my heavenly Father. My prayer life went from passionate and sweet to shotgun prayers while driving to the office. Being still and knowing He was God (Ps. 46:10) was replaced with juggling a gazillion details, most of them demanding immediate attention. Soon, I was running on empty. No matter how much I wanted to be a good husband, I had very little to offer. Meanwhile, she was pretty needy. She had major surgery only a few months before our wedding and the recovery was a bit more intensive than either of us expected. She needed me and I wasn't there for her. I failed her.
Or, more accurately, I was there for her, but there was nothing inside.
I learned the hard way that I can't handle nearly as much as I thought I could. And more than anything, I learned that I really can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Phil 4:13)... so long as I'm spending time with Him for the strengthening.
Will I ever find a partner for life? Will I ever say "I do" in front of family and friends? Maybe. Hopefully. But I can assure you one thing, I won't make that step unless I'm secure in an intimate, daily relationship with my heavenly Father. And, that I feel confident she and I can maintain that intimacy as a team. Not only maintain, I can do that on my own. To grow in Him while holding hands with another... that would be the stuff a future could be built upon. I could enjoy that!
Until then, I really like being able to pray whenever and wherever I want to. Frankly, I'm not even where I want to be in my spiritual life... yet. But, I'm heading in that direction.
I had a good life as a single guy. I owned a couple of businesses, had everything paid off including my home, office and warehouse, airplane, motorhome and a couple of trucks. Money wasn't what drove me though. Working hard was. Even more, spending quality time in an intimate relationship with my Lord meant everything to me. My office manager knew that if I didn't show up until 9:30 some mornings, it was because I was having an intense time in Bible study and worship out at my little cottage on the lake. I found out back then that I could get more done in five hours in an intimate walk with Him than what I could get done in twelve hours going on my own strength. Yes, it was a good life.
I always longed for a family, to have a partner and to build a life together. I married a widow with a 12 year old. Looked great going into the relationship. But, the picture changed real quick.
Discussing any of her issues is pointless. Actually, I think a lot about something I heard from one of her favorite counselors at her old church in Tennessee: "What is my sin in the situation?" The other person's stuff ain't my problem. I can only deal with my stuff.
Soon after we said "I do" I started dropping the ball. I was used to living alone and a quiet home where I could read and pray and worship whenever I wanted to. Moving in to a home with two others was a big change. And I simply never created a place in my new world to include private time for growing in my relationship with Him. Don't get me wrong, we went to church regularly. We were definitely a "Christian couple". No question about it. But most of the time I was doing it under my own strength. I yearned for a close relationship with my new family more than anything. Didn't happen.
Soon, the pressures of life started taking a toll on me. I had always traveled, typically a hundred nights a year. Not my idea of the life of a family man. So, I tried to diversify my business in not one but two ways. First, I started up a small business not at all related to my regular work. It was something I was interested in and something I needed as a business service. I was my own first customer. But, it took a lot of work and never really got off the ground. Second, I brought on a local salesman and expanded into some heavy industry type service work. My goal was to make money in the local market instead of bouncing all over North America and beyond. My overhead went through the roof and that hot shot salesman never sold enough to cover his draw on commission.
Meanwhile, I designed a new home for my lovely bride and stepdaughter. We tore down my one bedroom cottage on the lake and built a house four times larger. I served as the contractor. It was a lovely house. But it never was a home.
So, where did I go wrong? The biggest blunder as I see it was failing to maintain the intimacy I had once known with my heavenly Father. My prayer life went from passionate and sweet to shotgun prayers while driving to the office. Being still and knowing He was God (Ps. 46:10) was replaced with juggling a gazillion details, most of them demanding immediate attention. Soon, I was running on empty. No matter how much I wanted to be a good husband, I had very little to offer. Meanwhile, she was pretty needy. She had major surgery only a few months before our wedding and the recovery was a bit more intensive than either of us expected. She needed me and I wasn't there for her. I failed her.
Or, more accurately, I was there for her, but there was nothing inside.
I learned the hard way that I can't handle nearly as much as I thought I could. And more than anything, I learned that I really can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Phil 4:13)... so long as I'm spending time with Him for the strengthening.
Will I ever find a partner for life? Will I ever say "I do" in front of family and friends? Maybe. Hopefully. But I can assure you one thing, I won't make that step unless I'm secure in an intimate, daily relationship with my heavenly Father. And, that I feel confident she and I can maintain that intimacy as a team. Not only maintain, I can do that on my own. To grow in Him while holding hands with another... that would be the stuff a future could be built upon. I could enjoy that!
Until then, I really like being able to pray whenever and wherever I want to. Frankly, I'm not even where I want to be in my spiritual life... yet. But, I'm heading in that direction.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Four Foot Vinyl Jesus
I visited a friend's apartment the other day, your typical one bedroom apartment, and noticed a four foot vinyl patch of floor right inside the front door. The apartment has wall to wall carpeting in all areas except for the kitchen, bathroom and this "entry area" by the front door. It got me to thinking about Rev. 3:20: "Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man will hear my voice, I will come in and dine with him."
Jesus is a gentleman and I feel He only moves into areas where He is first invited. So, we hear a knock. And we open the door. But how far do we let Him into our homes?
Do we treat Him like the door to door salesman or the neighbor down the street? We may hear him on the front porch so frequently that we think we have invited him into our homes. We open the door and go out on the front porch to talk. We may even have a friendly conversation. But, have we invited him inside? Has he crossed the threshold into our home?
For others, we may truly invite Jesus into our lives but never let him get beyond that little vinyl patch. Is he technically in our lives? Yes. Does he have free reign? No. Is he really welcome? Yes, but with limitations. Our limitations. Our locked doors. He will only come inside as far as we invite him.
Let's go to the next level of inviting someone into our homes. Say we get a visit from an casual friend from church. Not a really good buddy but somewhat of a friend. Maybe even a new friend. In this case, we invite them into the living room. Look around the room. Everything in here stays nice and tidy. There may be a newspaper on the floor plus a few things out of place; but its generally presentable. We've got the Bible on the coffee table (though probably dusty) right under the remote controls for the TV, VCR, DVD and cable box. Generally, everything in this room stays pretty and "appropriate." Granted, you can have some good visits, maybe even share a laugh or two. But, we generally stay on our best behavior in this setting. We may get to know somebody on the surface but its not at any sort of level of intimacy.
Where do we go from here? How about being invited into the dining room for a home cooked meal? It is a natural progression of the preliminary living room experience. There seems to be enough substance for a relationship to move beyond nice, polite talk to move toward a sharing a meal together. At first, a meal with a new friend is limited to remembering our manners and generally behaving ourselves.
Before long, the walls start coming down. We relax enough to put our elbows on the table. We start to enjoy the company.
OK, so we shared a meal or two. No disasters yet. Generally acceptable behavior. Nothing weird. After a few times together we may even ask our new friend to help out in the kitchen. Now we are getting into "real relationship" territory… we feel close enough to ask for them to help. Granted, the 'help' may only be getting something out of the oven or setting the table. But, it is still growth for the relationship.
And, our meals may not be quite as fancy as the first ones. We are enjoying the company so much that we no longer feel the need to try to impress with our culinary skills. Take out pizza or a burger on the grill is enough as we move to a new level of intimacy. We even let them help out with the dishes. Hanging out together is the point, not the display on the table. Fellowship is getting sweet.
As a friendship grows, we will even ask them to help on special projects like building a deck or doing some remodeling. There is something special about working side by side with a friend… a special type of bonding. But, this is a real test of friendship. Are you going to ask anyone but a real friend to help you doing something that involves sweating in the summer sun? Not likely. Sometimes it is easier to just hire help to do something tough like moving or heavy landscaping. Only the tightest of friends would feel free to ask some one to work that hard for no pay beyond a nice meal. But to share an experience like this takes friendships to a decidedly deeper level.
Do we invite our new friends into all the rooms in our home? While they may get more and more free reign, there are usually a few areas where the doors stay shut. For some, it may be a spare room that acts as a "catch all" for everything that doesn't seem to fit elsewhere. For others, it may be a closet where we hide things that aren't acceptable for every one to see.
Few people are really good at housekeeping. As we go through the work week, it is easy to let a few things slip. But, most of us can kick in and do some quick cleaning to keep the house presentable. For some, though, it goes beyond being a little messy. For some, it is a real challenge. Sure, they can keep the front rooms pretty clean but no one is allowed to go through their rooms past a certain point. It may be their bedroom, a spare bedroom or "that" closet. Keeping the front of the house clean takes just about all the strength they have. The back of the house is neglected with a promise to get more organized "someday." But that someday never comes. It becomes more and more of a mess until cleaning it is well beyond our reach.
Their mess gets so bad they wouldn't even allow a close friend to help them clean it up. It's too shameful for them to even hire help to get it done. They are simply embarrassed that things have gotten that far out of control. Before long, it becomes a deep bondage without anybody to help. They are drowning in something of their own design. In time, the clutter can creep into more and more rooms until finally, no one is allowed inside. These people have become prisoners in their own homes. Maybe it is a defense mechanism. Maybe it is a sickness. Maybe they have been told they weren't any good at housekeeping. Whatever the case, they need help.
We can have lives like that as well. A little mess gets bigger and bigger until we turn around one day to realize we are all alone and ashamed to ask a friend for help. But, that is precisely the point where Jesus rolls up his sleeves and offers to dive in and help in the really tough stuff. We have to ask but he is ready and eager to help.
One of the neat things about Jesus' help is there is no shame. He took all that on the Cross. There is love and acceptance as we work with him toward health and restoration. Granted, it may take some time. The house didn't get cluttered overnight. It may take a while to get it back in order. But, we have a Lord who is patient and will work with us a lifetime if that is what it takes. He has a purpose and that purpose is restoration, peace and health.
My point is, Jesus longs to be the kind of intimate friend to us who would roll up His sleeves and do the dishes or help clean out the closet. He wants to be much closer than just a "living room friend" but only as we allow it. He's a gentleman and won't go anywhere without an invitation. Our invitation. Yes, it can be scary... but it's worth it.
I'm going to break this up into more than one part in order to make it a bit easier to take in. I hope you enjoy thinking of your relationship with Him as a house guest.
Jesus is a gentleman and I feel He only moves into areas where He is first invited. So, we hear a knock. And we open the door. But how far do we let Him into our homes?
Do we treat Him like the door to door salesman or the neighbor down the street? We may hear him on the front porch so frequently that we think we have invited him into our homes. We open the door and go out on the front porch to talk. We may even have a friendly conversation. But, have we invited him inside? Has he crossed the threshold into our home?
For others, we may truly invite Jesus into our lives but never let him get beyond that little vinyl patch. Is he technically in our lives? Yes. Does he have free reign? No. Is he really welcome? Yes, but with limitations. Our limitations. Our locked doors. He will only come inside as far as we invite him.
Let's go to the next level of inviting someone into our homes. Say we get a visit from an casual friend from church. Not a really good buddy but somewhat of a friend. Maybe even a new friend. In this case, we invite them into the living room. Look around the room. Everything in here stays nice and tidy. There may be a newspaper on the floor plus a few things out of place; but its generally presentable. We've got the Bible on the coffee table (though probably dusty) right under the remote controls for the TV, VCR, DVD and cable box. Generally, everything in this room stays pretty and "appropriate." Granted, you can have some good visits, maybe even share a laugh or two. But, we generally stay on our best behavior in this setting. We may get to know somebody on the surface but its not at any sort of level of intimacy.
Where do we go from here? How about being invited into the dining room for a home cooked meal? It is a natural progression of the preliminary living room experience. There seems to be enough substance for a relationship to move beyond nice, polite talk to move toward a sharing a meal together. At first, a meal with a new friend is limited to remembering our manners and generally behaving ourselves.
Before long, the walls start coming down. We relax enough to put our elbows on the table. We start to enjoy the company.
OK, so we shared a meal or two. No disasters yet. Generally acceptable behavior. Nothing weird. After a few times together we may even ask our new friend to help out in the kitchen. Now we are getting into "real relationship" territory… we feel close enough to ask for them to help. Granted, the 'help' may only be getting something out of the oven or setting the table. But, it is still growth for the relationship.
And, our meals may not be quite as fancy as the first ones. We are enjoying the company so much that we no longer feel the need to try to impress with our culinary skills. Take out pizza or a burger on the grill is enough as we move to a new level of intimacy. We even let them help out with the dishes. Hanging out together is the point, not the display on the table. Fellowship is getting sweet.
As a friendship grows, we will even ask them to help on special projects like building a deck or doing some remodeling. There is something special about working side by side with a friend… a special type of bonding. But, this is a real test of friendship. Are you going to ask anyone but a real friend to help you doing something that involves sweating in the summer sun? Not likely. Sometimes it is easier to just hire help to do something tough like moving or heavy landscaping. Only the tightest of friends would feel free to ask some one to work that hard for no pay beyond a nice meal. But to share an experience like this takes friendships to a decidedly deeper level.
Do we invite our new friends into all the rooms in our home? While they may get more and more free reign, there are usually a few areas where the doors stay shut. For some, it may be a spare room that acts as a "catch all" for everything that doesn't seem to fit elsewhere. For others, it may be a closet where we hide things that aren't acceptable for every one to see.
Few people are really good at housekeeping. As we go through the work week, it is easy to let a few things slip. But, most of us can kick in and do some quick cleaning to keep the house presentable. For some, though, it goes beyond being a little messy. For some, it is a real challenge. Sure, they can keep the front rooms pretty clean but no one is allowed to go through their rooms past a certain point. It may be their bedroom, a spare bedroom or "that" closet. Keeping the front of the house clean takes just about all the strength they have. The back of the house is neglected with a promise to get more organized "someday." But that someday never comes. It becomes more and more of a mess until cleaning it is well beyond our reach.
Their mess gets so bad they wouldn't even allow a close friend to help them clean it up. It's too shameful for them to even hire help to get it done. They are simply embarrassed that things have gotten that far out of control. Before long, it becomes a deep bondage without anybody to help. They are drowning in something of their own design. In time, the clutter can creep into more and more rooms until finally, no one is allowed inside. These people have become prisoners in their own homes. Maybe it is a defense mechanism. Maybe it is a sickness. Maybe they have been told they weren't any good at housekeeping. Whatever the case, they need help.
We can have lives like that as well. A little mess gets bigger and bigger until we turn around one day to realize we are all alone and ashamed to ask a friend for help. But, that is precisely the point where Jesus rolls up his sleeves and offers to dive in and help in the really tough stuff. We have to ask but he is ready and eager to help.
One of the neat things about Jesus' help is there is no shame. He took all that on the Cross. There is love and acceptance as we work with him toward health and restoration. Granted, it may take some time. The house didn't get cluttered overnight. It may take a while to get it back in order. But, we have a Lord who is patient and will work with us a lifetime if that is what it takes. He has a purpose and that purpose is restoration, peace and health.
My point is, Jesus longs to be the kind of intimate friend to us who would roll up His sleeves and do the dishes or help clean out the closet. He wants to be much closer than just a "living room friend" but only as we allow it. He's a gentleman and won't go anywhere without an invitation. Our invitation. Yes, it can be scary... but it's worth it.
I'm going to break this up into more than one part in order to make it a bit easier to take in. I hope you enjoy thinking of your relationship with Him as a house guest.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Snow and the Bitter Cold
Note: Originally written Feb 9, 2011
El Dorado has a nice blanket of fluffy white snow tonight. It's kind of pretty. What makes it really nice is that it didn't bring with it any ice and the lights are still on. Driving through the snow today I was reminded of my first trip up north. Waaaay up north. And I remembered cold like I'd never known before.
It was the winter of '82, maybe February. Dad and I had a cleaning project at a paper mill in Amos, Quebec, about four hundred miles north of Montreal. When we got there they were enjoying a heat wave. Yep, just a few days prior it had been 56 below zero. It had warmed all the way up to 30 below when we showed up.
The mill was actually out from town. There were no motels anywhere near so we stayed in the "man camp". These are temporary housing units set up for the duration of the construction project. Imagine a bunch of single-wide house trailers coupled together into a maze of halls. Our bedrooms were spartan, to say the least. Twin bed, plastic chair with chrome plated legs and that's it. No TV. No radio. Nothing. Tile floors, wood paneled walls. Not even a window. Oh, it did have a gray metal trash can.
The eating is good up in these man camps. They have to feed the workers well or else they may not stay! Years later, I worked up near Mackenzie, almost 600 miles north of Vancouver. Up there they told me the average construction worker gained something like 35 pounds working on these remote projects. Being that far from home, guys may not go home for months.
I remember feeling like the first day at college walking into the cafeteria. We didn't know our way around and no one knew us. Everybody looked around at the two new guys. We didn't look like the Canadians. For one, we were clean shaven. Everybody has beards that far north. Besides, there are no women. Who cares what they look like? And two, we wore "consultant clothes". Back in those days, superintendents and specialists like us wore slacks, not jeans. I still don't wear jeans at work very much.
Bored to tears, I remember walking to the TV room where a bunch of French-speaking construction workers were watching the only channel available... Canadian public TV. In French, of course. No one spoke English. No one! Going back to my room, I read my Bible for a while though it was hard to concentrate. It was Friday night (we worked weekends) and the guy next door had apparently been doing some hard drinking.
That's when I found out that throwing up in French sounds just like throwing up in English. Not a bit of difference.
It was maybe a hundred yards from the man camp to the paper machine building. Opening the door, the cold hit hard and we didn't waste any time getting from point A to point B. Once inside the paper machine room, it was a nice 70 degrees as we had specified. Our chemicals need at least that temperature, higher is better.
It was a brand new paper mill. That meant a lot of the equipment hadn't been started up yet, including the firefighting equipment. We were spraying a solvent, a combustible chemical. While it was hard to get our solvent to catch fire, if it ever did, it would burn pretty well. It was safer than diesel or kerosene, but still able to ignite. They had to bring fire hoses from outside the building. This meant the exterior doors were ajar by about four inches. In no time at all, ice grew up the hose about four or five feet. In the end, those doors were frozen closed.
The only other door was big enough for an 18-wheeler to drive through. Just imagine. Seventy degrees inside. Thirty below outside. That's a one hundred degree difference. Opening that big door pulled in a blast of cold air that was enough to knock you down, if not take away your breath. It was truly hard to breathe for a few seconds.
As it turned out, that project was a particularly tough one. We were removing a temporary coating from some big rolls. Unfortunately, they had heated the rolls with steam before we got there. It baked the coating onto the surface of the metal. It was burnt to a crisp. I think we worked for 30 hours straight on that project.
I had never worked through an interpreter before. That far up into Quebec, we only found one guy who could speak English. He did a great job translating, too. Unfortunately, he only had one leg so he climb the ladder to go inside the paper machine. It was on this project that I learned how to point in French. Since then, I've learned to point in five other languages as well.
At some point during the first day, a guy came up with a menu from a local cafe. They were going to bring meals in for us so we didn't have to shut down work to eat. I was hungry for a hamburger. I pointed at something and asked if it was a hamburger. The French-speaking construction worker agreed. Little did I know, he'd have agreed had I asked if it was a Volkswagen. I was hungry so I motioned that I wanted two. That's pretty universal... two fingers held up.
A little while later, our meals showed up. And, sure enough, I had two of them. What did I get? Half a baked chicken... in each box! As I recall, it was really good, though.
Hey, that was better than braving the cold and walking across to the dining hall!
El Dorado has a nice blanket of fluffy white snow tonight. It's kind of pretty. What makes it really nice is that it didn't bring with it any ice and the lights are still on. Driving through the snow today I was reminded of my first trip up north. Waaaay up north. And I remembered cold like I'd never known before.
It was the winter of '82, maybe February. Dad and I had a cleaning project at a paper mill in Amos, Quebec, about four hundred miles north of Montreal. When we got there they were enjoying a heat wave. Yep, just a few days prior it had been 56 below zero. It had warmed all the way up to 30 below when we showed up.
The mill was actually out from town. There were no motels anywhere near so we stayed in the "man camp". These are temporary housing units set up for the duration of the construction project. Imagine a bunch of single-wide house trailers coupled together into a maze of halls. Our bedrooms were spartan, to say the least. Twin bed, plastic chair with chrome plated legs and that's it. No TV. No radio. Nothing. Tile floors, wood paneled walls. Not even a window. Oh, it did have a gray metal trash can.
The eating is good up in these man camps. They have to feed the workers well or else they may not stay! Years later, I worked up near Mackenzie, almost 600 miles north of Vancouver. Up there they told me the average construction worker gained something like 35 pounds working on these remote projects. Being that far from home, guys may not go home for months.
I remember feeling like the first day at college walking into the cafeteria. We didn't know our way around and no one knew us. Everybody looked around at the two new guys. We didn't look like the Canadians. For one, we were clean shaven. Everybody has beards that far north. Besides, there are no women. Who cares what they look like? And two, we wore "consultant clothes". Back in those days, superintendents and specialists like us wore slacks, not jeans. I still don't wear jeans at work very much.
Bored to tears, I remember walking to the TV room where a bunch of French-speaking construction workers were watching the only channel available... Canadian public TV. In French, of course. No one spoke English. No one! Going back to my room, I read my Bible for a while though it was hard to concentrate. It was Friday night (we worked weekends) and the guy next door had apparently been doing some hard drinking.
That's when I found out that throwing up in French sounds just like throwing up in English. Not a bit of difference.
It was maybe a hundred yards from the man camp to the paper machine building. Opening the door, the cold hit hard and we didn't waste any time getting from point A to point B. Once inside the paper machine room, it was a nice 70 degrees as we had specified. Our chemicals need at least that temperature, higher is better.
It was a brand new paper mill. That meant a lot of the equipment hadn't been started up yet, including the firefighting equipment. We were spraying a solvent, a combustible chemical. While it was hard to get our solvent to catch fire, if it ever did, it would burn pretty well. It was safer than diesel or kerosene, but still able to ignite. They had to bring fire hoses from outside the building. This meant the exterior doors were ajar by about four inches. In no time at all, ice grew up the hose about four or five feet. In the end, those doors were frozen closed.
The only other door was big enough for an 18-wheeler to drive through. Just imagine. Seventy degrees inside. Thirty below outside. That's a one hundred degree difference. Opening that big door pulled in a blast of cold air that was enough to knock you down, if not take away your breath. It was truly hard to breathe for a few seconds.
As it turned out, that project was a particularly tough one. We were removing a temporary coating from some big rolls. Unfortunately, they had heated the rolls with steam before we got there. It baked the coating onto the surface of the metal. It was burnt to a crisp. I think we worked for 30 hours straight on that project.
I had never worked through an interpreter before. That far up into Quebec, we only found one guy who could speak English. He did a great job translating, too. Unfortunately, he only had one leg so he climb the ladder to go inside the paper machine. It was on this project that I learned how to point in French. Since then, I've learned to point in five other languages as well.
At some point during the first day, a guy came up with a menu from a local cafe. They were going to bring meals in for us so we didn't have to shut down work to eat. I was hungry for a hamburger. I pointed at something and asked if it was a hamburger. The French-speaking construction worker agreed. Little did I know, he'd have agreed had I asked if it was a Volkswagen. I was hungry so I motioned that I wanted two. That's pretty universal... two fingers held up.
A little while later, our meals showed up. And, sure enough, I had two of them. What did I get? Half a baked chicken... in each box! As I recall, it was really good, though.
Hey, that was better than braving the cold and walking across to the dining hall!
Rules for Doing Business With Christians
Visiting today with another business owner who I know to be a Christian, he mentioned a guy I only know as an acquaintance. I met this other guy a few years ago when he was one of four partners in a business; a supposedly "Christian" business. I confess that when I run into a company waving the Christian flag high and mighty, warning bells go off inside.
Their website talked about how they operated on Christian principles and how they were going to donate money to missions. Blah, blah, blah. Back then, another friend told me that this guy was a brand new Christian. He had given his life to the Lord as a guy in his 40's before going into business with these other so-called "brothers in the Lord". And he got the financial screwing of his life. Yep, sure enough, those warning bells rang true. The main guy (president) royally ripped off the others.
When all of this came down, I prayed for this young Christian that he wouldn't become bitter against God. The failure of that business left him broke but he eventually found a good job. My friend today didn't know that this guy had ever had claimed to be a Christian. Let's just say that his vocabulary and temper on the job these days doesn't reflect a Christ-like behavior.
Still, I hurt for this guy. As an outsider looking in, it appears he trusted in the Lord and then trusted some guys who said they were brothers in Him. I wish I could pull him off to the side and encourage him to not judge Jesus by how His people behave.
How many times do we see this played out? I'm not talking about crooked preachers. I'm talking about business owners or managers who claim to love God but are liars, cheats and anything but Christ-like in their business dealings. Quite frankly, I am more careful around those who wave the Christian flag the highest. I'd rather do business with moral guy who doesn't mention God than most of those who belong to the "God loves you and wants me in a Cadillac crowd.
So, with that in mind, let me lay out a few rules for dealing with those who claimed to be Christians in a business setting.
Rule One: Not all who claim to know Him actually do. Oh, they may say the right stuff and will likely be deacons. But they don't have a clue as to what it means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Nor do they really want to. They just want to have enough Jesus to look good in business. It's all about making the deal.
Rule Two: None of those who claim to know Him are finished products. I know a lot of guys who truly love the Lord but they may not have known Him very long. As a result, the momentum of their old BC ways (Before Christ) sometimes mean they don't entirely act like they should. It's not that they don't want to get it right. They just dropped the ball.
Rule Three: Not all of the folks who don't say a word about Him are godless heathen. They might be very intent on walking honorably before their Father in heaven. They may be like me, guys who don't advertise being a Christian, hoping instead that God might open the door for discussion but only after I have served Him faithful by doing a good job. No, make that... doing a great job.
I take Colossians 3:23 very seriously where it says "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord..." I work for God, not a paycheck.
And finally, Rule Four: Some guys don't have a relationship with God but are still honorable folks to do business with. They may have many of the same positive ideals as Christians are supposed to have and may well do a better job of it than those who claim to love God. Hey, I really like doing business with these guys. I find a lot of these in m work with renewable energy as well as in m hardhat and steeltoes type work. These are guys where a handshake still means something. They are good guys.
In closing, please don't judge my Lord on the behavior of either His people who drop the ball or the behavior of people who claim to be His and are liars.
Their website talked about how they operated on Christian principles and how they were going to donate money to missions. Blah, blah, blah. Back then, another friend told me that this guy was a brand new Christian. He had given his life to the Lord as a guy in his 40's before going into business with these other so-called "brothers in the Lord". And he got the financial screwing of his life. Yep, sure enough, those warning bells rang true. The main guy (president) royally ripped off the others.
When all of this came down, I prayed for this young Christian that he wouldn't become bitter against God. The failure of that business left him broke but he eventually found a good job. My friend today didn't know that this guy had ever had claimed to be a Christian. Let's just say that his vocabulary and temper on the job these days doesn't reflect a Christ-like behavior.
Still, I hurt for this guy. As an outsider looking in, it appears he trusted in the Lord and then trusted some guys who said they were brothers in Him. I wish I could pull him off to the side and encourage him to not judge Jesus by how His people behave.
How many times do we see this played out? I'm not talking about crooked preachers. I'm talking about business owners or managers who claim to love God but are liars, cheats and anything but Christ-like in their business dealings. Quite frankly, I am more careful around those who wave the Christian flag the highest. I'd rather do business with moral guy who doesn't mention God than most of those who belong to the "God loves you and wants me in a Cadillac crowd.
So, with that in mind, let me lay out a few rules for dealing with those who claimed to be Christians in a business setting.
Rule One: Not all who claim to know Him actually do. Oh, they may say the right stuff and will likely be deacons. But they don't have a clue as to what it means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Nor do they really want to. They just want to have enough Jesus to look good in business. It's all about making the deal.
Rule Two: None of those who claim to know Him are finished products. I know a lot of guys who truly love the Lord but they may not have known Him very long. As a result, the momentum of their old BC ways (Before Christ) sometimes mean they don't entirely act like they should. It's not that they don't want to get it right. They just dropped the ball.
Rule Three: Not all of the folks who don't say a word about Him are godless heathen. They might be very intent on walking honorably before their Father in heaven. They may be like me, guys who don't advertise being a Christian, hoping instead that God might open the door for discussion but only after I have served Him faithful by doing a good job. No, make that... doing a great job.
I take Colossians 3:23 very seriously where it says "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord..." I work for God, not a paycheck.
And finally, Rule Four: Some guys don't have a relationship with God but are still honorable folks to do business with. They may have many of the same positive ideals as Christians are supposed to have and may well do a better job of it than those who claim to love God. Hey, I really like doing business with these guys. I find a lot of these in m work with renewable energy as well as in m hardhat and steeltoes type work. These are guys where a handshake still means something. They are good guys.
In closing, please don't judge my Lord on the behavior of either His people who drop the ball or the behavior of people who claim to be His and are liars.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Praying With Friends
I was struggling yesterday. Nothing specifically, just struggling. It was like I was trying to walk through knee-high jello. I bumped into a good friend and we had a chance to visit. Not a 'counseling session' or anything, just two friends visiting. But, as is often the case, our talk came around to spiritual stuff. We're both Christians and He is first and foremost in our lives. That's what makes our friendship so special and so strong. Before I headed home, we prayed together. I went from slogging through the jello to riding a lightweight racing bike on smooth asphalt. My spirit was refreshed and I felt alive again. I was flying!
I came to the Lord in the early 70s when "conversational prayer" was just catching on. It was radical stuff back in those days! One person would pray, then another, then another... and finally one person would close. Sometimes we'd stand in a circle holding hands. Folks would pray, one after the other around the circle. If you didn't feel comfortable praying out loud, you just had to squeeze the person next in line to indicate you chose to pass. I remember having my fingers crushed a few times back then. The person next to me wanted to make darned sure I knew they weren't going to say anything out loud in our prayer circle. Message received. The feeling in my fingers returned later. And of course, we had one person to "close" our prayer by adding the magic 'in Jesus' Name' at the end!
It was like a bunch of folks signing the same birthday card. We each made our contribution but it wasn't really conversational. It was nice, but only the start. Granted, it was a big improvement over one boring dude in front of a crowd of Christians filling his prayer up with a bunch of thee's and thou's, it doesn't compare to two or more close friends praying together. But again, only the start.
There's something about praying with friends. Back in high school, I remember praying with anyone about anything just about anytime of the day or night. I drove a custom van and as a Christian guy, I can assure you there was a lot more holding hands in prayer than any lip-lock action back "in the back" of that van. Some friends called me Camel Knees. I remember one time a buddy and I prayed for another buddy who was about to preach a revival. Kneeling down in the back of the van I heard a definite rrrrriiiiiippp sound. Yep. Split my jeans to where if I didn't end up walking like an Asian woman in traditional attire I'd have looked like a whitetail deer. Really short strides. Those were fun days.
The same was true in college. Lots of good memories praying together with friends. I seem to remember praying together on dates. Hmmm... maybe that's why I didn't get married until I was almost 35! But I've always felt spiritual intimacy was more important than physical or even emotional intimacy.
For a couple of summers I made money for school selling a boat hull cleaner that Dad designed. Working through northeast Louisiana, I was needing some prayer. All this learning how to sell as a teenager in a van full of cleaning chemicals was eating my lunch! It was like I was drowning and needed a big gulp of air. I went to see my cousins Baby and Clare in Mer Rouge with one thing on my mind... prayer!
I hit the door, got a couple of hugs and blurted out that I needed us to pray together. They were still in "visiting mode" but before we even sat down to catch up as kinfolk, we prayed together. Standing there in the doorway between the breakfast room and the den, the three of us held hands and prayed. And I got a big gulp of air. Yep... I was gonna live!
Yesterday I was reminded of a time just after graduation from OBU when I was working in Wichita Falls. I really needed to spend some time praying with friends. No specific prayer need or anything. I just longed to come together as friends in prayer. I flew over 400 miles just to get to pray with a buddy.
Yeah, it meant that much.
Somewhere along the way, times in prayer with friends got fewer and fewer. My biggest dream of marriage was having an instant "two or mother gathered in My Name". To have a prayer partner pretty much anytime was a dream to me!
But marriage seemed to change things. Living together put life in a different light. I found it harder to ask her to pray with me after I had just behaved like a jerk. And as the walls grew in each of our hearts, prayer together just didn't happen. I tried a few times but it was forced and stiff. It wasn't free anymore. It was harder and harder to become vulnerable in our spirits. Getting naked spiritually was scary in that I realized I wasn't too pretty to look at.
In my rebound marriage from hell, we prayed some before saying "I do" but after I moved in and the upheaval of day to day life started to overwhelm us, prayer together was like pulling teeth.
I contend that without that spiritual intimacy our marriage was doomed. Even if we had remained husband and wife, we would have never really become even half of what He intended. More co-habitating than true partners in life. To me, that's when a marriage becomes something dynamic... when two people can experience a real adventure in praying together. When they can be "naked and unafraid". I found to be naked spiritually was scarier than to get undressed physically.
I'll be quite frank, praying together in recent years has been tough. I was flat out rejected in prayer by my ex (my second ex-wife, the one from the rebound marriage from hell!) To be rejected physically is one thing but to be rejected spiritually is even tougher. For a long time I didn't even feel like praying with my friend "the nun". And she's the type to stop in the middle of Home Depot and pray for someone who needs it. Yet, it felt too risky for me to even pray with her for a while. It touched on wounds that were still healing.
It took a while but for me to risk praying together again but God has given me some friends who enjoy praying. I'm learning again the joy of laying my heart bare before the Lord, with another Christian there in agreement that Jesus is Lord over both of our lives. I'm again enjoying sharing not just our needs but our praise and worship and thanksgiving and adoration and everything else on our hearts... as well as listening to Him. That's when prayer takes off and really soars to me. It's when we chat like a regular conversation, something one person says sparking something for the other. Not just the old 'you start and I'll close' type prayer.
To me, it is living. Really living.
As adults, it doesn't come naturally to get that "real" in prayer. But, it is worth the effort. Give it a try!
I came to the Lord in the early 70s when "conversational prayer" was just catching on. It was radical stuff back in those days! One person would pray, then another, then another... and finally one person would close. Sometimes we'd stand in a circle holding hands. Folks would pray, one after the other around the circle. If you didn't feel comfortable praying out loud, you just had to squeeze the person next in line to indicate you chose to pass. I remember having my fingers crushed a few times back then. The person next to me wanted to make darned sure I knew they weren't going to say anything out loud in our prayer circle. Message received. The feeling in my fingers returned later. And of course, we had one person to "close" our prayer by adding the magic 'in Jesus' Name' at the end!
It was like a bunch of folks signing the same birthday card. We each made our contribution but it wasn't really conversational. It was nice, but only the start. Granted, it was a big improvement over one boring dude in front of a crowd of Christians filling his prayer up with a bunch of thee's and thou's, it doesn't compare to two or more close friends praying together. But again, only the start.
There's something about praying with friends. Back in high school, I remember praying with anyone about anything just about anytime of the day or night. I drove a custom van and as a Christian guy, I can assure you there was a lot more holding hands in prayer than any lip-lock action back "in the back" of that van. Some friends called me Camel Knees. I remember one time a buddy and I prayed for another buddy who was about to preach a revival. Kneeling down in the back of the van I heard a definite rrrrriiiiiippp sound. Yep. Split my jeans to where if I didn't end up walking like an Asian woman in traditional attire I'd have looked like a whitetail deer. Really short strides. Those were fun days.
The same was true in college. Lots of good memories praying together with friends. I seem to remember praying together on dates. Hmmm... maybe that's why I didn't get married until I was almost 35! But I've always felt spiritual intimacy was more important than physical or even emotional intimacy.
For a couple of summers I made money for school selling a boat hull cleaner that Dad designed. Working through northeast Louisiana, I was needing some prayer. All this learning how to sell as a teenager in a van full of cleaning chemicals was eating my lunch! It was like I was drowning and needed a big gulp of air. I went to see my cousins Baby and Clare in Mer Rouge with one thing on my mind... prayer!
I hit the door, got a couple of hugs and blurted out that I needed us to pray together. They were still in "visiting mode" but before we even sat down to catch up as kinfolk, we prayed together. Standing there in the doorway between the breakfast room and the den, the three of us held hands and prayed. And I got a big gulp of air. Yep... I was gonna live!
Yesterday I was reminded of a time just after graduation from OBU when I was working in Wichita Falls. I really needed to spend some time praying with friends. No specific prayer need or anything. I just longed to come together as friends in prayer. I flew over 400 miles just to get to pray with a buddy.
Yeah, it meant that much.
Somewhere along the way, times in prayer with friends got fewer and fewer. My biggest dream of marriage was having an instant "two or mother gathered in My Name". To have a prayer partner pretty much anytime was a dream to me!
But marriage seemed to change things. Living together put life in a different light. I found it harder to ask her to pray with me after I had just behaved like a jerk. And as the walls grew in each of our hearts, prayer together just didn't happen. I tried a few times but it was forced and stiff. It wasn't free anymore. It was harder and harder to become vulnerable in our spirits. Getting naked spiritually was scary in that I realized I wasn't too pretty to look at.
In my rebound marriage from hell, we prayed some before saying "I do" but after I moved in and the upheaval of day to day life started to overwhelm us, prayer together was like pulling teeth.
I contend that without that spiritual intimacy our marriage was doomed. Even if we had remained husband and wife, we would have never really become even half of what He intended. More co-habitating than true partners in life. To me, that's when a marriage becomes something dynamic... when two people can experience a real adventure in praying together. When they can be "naked and unafraid". I found to be naked spiritually was scarier than to get undressed physically.
I'll be quite frank, praying together in recent years has been tough. I was flat out rejected in prayer by my ex (my second ex-wife, the one from the rebound marriage from hell!) To be rejected physically is one thing but to be rejected spiritually is even tougher. For a long time I didn't even feel like praying with my friend "the nun". And she's the type to stop in the middle of Home Depot and pray for someone who needs it. Yet, it felt too risky for me to even pray with her for a while. It touched on wounds that were still healing.
It took a while but for me to risk praying together again but God has given me some friends who enjoy praying. I'm learning again the joy of laying my heart bare before the Lord, with another Christian there in agreement that Jesus is Lord over both of our lives. I'm again enjoying sharing not just our needs but our praise and worship and thanksgiving and adoration and everything else on our hearts... as well as listening to Him. That's when prayer takes off and really soars to me. It's when we chat like a regular conversation, something one person says sparking something for the other. Not just the old 'you start and I'll close' type prayer.
To me, it is living. Really living.
As adults, it doesn't come naturally to get that "real" in prayer. But, it is worth the effort. Give it a try!
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