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.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
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!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I believe... I appreciate... I enjoy
I believe: God loves me more than I can ever comprehend.
I appreciate: The law as it shows me what pleases Him... and what doesn't.
I enjoy: Doing the right thing. I believe it brings a smile to my Father's face.
I believe: God created marriage for one man and one woman.
I appreciate: The challenges of the gay community, but I just don't see it allowed in the Word.
I enjoy: The thought that someday I may get to enjoy marriage again.
I believe: Music has almost as much healing power as medicine.
I appreciate: A nicely done guitar riff, drum hit or keyboard sequence.
I enjoy: Acoustic guitar, classical rock and just about all music that has good lyrics.
I believe: We were created to work hard.
I appreciate: Seeing people who are fulfilled in their work and working with excellence.
I enjoy: Meeting my customers' needs.
I believe: Cars and trucks are made of metal, plastic, glass and rubber. They move stuff from one point to another. They have no meaning by themselves.
I appreciate: Fine sports cars and fancy luxury cars for their style and engineering.
I enjoy: Driving my truck on cooking oil and planning on taking it to half a million miles or more.
I believe: Man was created for fellowship with others and that includes accountability.
I appreciate: Small groups of believers who have loved each other for years (see also: Christian Life Fellowship in Mer Rouge)
I enjoy: Connecting with other believers on a spirit level, much deeper than just visiting.
I believe: We should be good stewards of our planet.
I appreciate: The challenge of balancing business and the environment. It CAN be a win/win.
I enjoy: Figuring new ways to use what some would consider waste.
I believe: No one is all good, no one is all bad.
I appreciate: Seeing people catch the vision that God wants their lives to be better that it has been.
I enjoy: Helping others connect with God a little better than before.
I believe: The Cross of Christ is the centerpoint of faith.
I appreciate: Other religions, but don't have to agree with them.
I enjoy: Thinking about how Jesus took my place on death row.
I believe: Sin is real... and it is deadly.
I appreciate: Folks who downplay sin, but fear they are missing the point.
I enjoy: Grace that overpowers sin.
I believe: Good quality costs money, usually more money.
I appreciate: The newest styles, but see them as fleeting and therefore not very valuable.
I enjoy: Quality and classic styles that last for a long, long time.
I believe: We buy mediocrity with excellent marketing while excellence sits in your neighbors garage due to a lack of marketing.
I appreciate: The challenges of taking a good idea to market.
I enjoy: Talking with others who look for novel ways to get things done.
I believe: Different people have different gifts.
I appreciate: Watching those who can take a small business and grow it really big. I'm just not one of those people.
I enjoy: People over profits.
I believe: Relationships take effort, but are worth it.
I appreciate: My friends, both new and old.
I enjoy: Connecting with an old friend and picking up where we left off.
I believe: Everything I need to know is in the Bible.
I appreciate: Other views such as the metaphysical and such... but if it was really important, God would have written about it in the Word.
I enjoy: Growing deeper in what I know to be true through the Word. The rest is just interesting non-essential information.
I appreciate: The law as it shows me what pleases Him... and what doesn't.
I enjoy: Doing the right thing. I believe it brings a smile to my Father's face.
I believe: God created marriage for one man and one woman.
I appreciate: The challenges of the gay community, but I just don't see it allowed in the Word.
I enjoy: The thought that someday I may get to enjoy marriage again.
I believe: Music has almost as much healing power as medicine.
I appreciate: A nicely done guitar riff, drum hit or keyboard sequence.
I enjoy: Acoustic guitar, classical rock and just about all music that has good lyrics.
I believe: We were created to work hard.
I appreciate: Seeing people who are fulfilled in their work and working with excellence.
I enjoy: Meeting my customers' needs.
I believe: Cars and trucks are made of metal, plastic, glass and rubber. They move stuff from one point to another. They have no meaning by themselves.
I appreciate: Fine sports cars and fancy luxury cars for their style and engineering.
I enjoy: Driving my truck on cooking oil and planning on taking it to half a million miles or more.
I believe: Man was created for fellowship with others and that includes accountability.
I appreciate: Small groups of believers who have loved each other for years (see also: Christian Life Fellowship in Mer Rouge)
I enjoy: Connecting with other believers on a spirit level, much deeper than just visiting.
I believe: We should be good stewards of our planet.
I appreciate: The challenge of balancing business and the environment. It CAN be a win/win.
I enjoy: Figuring new ways to use what some would consider waste.
I believe: No one is all good, no one is all bad.
I appreciate: Seeing people catch the vision that God wants their lives to be better that it has been.
I enjoy: Helping others connect with God a little better than before.
I believe: The Cross of Christ is the centerpoint of faith.
I appreciate: Other religions, but don't have to agree with them.
I enjoy: Thinking about how Jesus took my place on death row.
I believe: Sin is real... and it is deadly.
I appreciate: Folks who downplay sin, but fear they are missing the point.
I enjoy: Grace that overpowers sin.
I believe: Good quality costs money, usually more money.
I appreciate: The newest styles, but see them as fleeting and therefore not very valuable.
I enjoy: Quality and classic styles that last for a long, long time.
I believe: We buy mediocrity with excellent marketing while excellence sits in your neighbors garage due to a lack of marketing.
I appreciate: The challenges of taking a good idea to market.
I enjoy: Talking with others who look for novel ways to get things done.
I believe: Different people have different gifts.
I appreciate: Watching those who can take a small business and grow it really big. I'm just not one of those people.
I enjoy: People over profits.
I believe: Relationships take effort, but are worth it.
I appreciate: My friends, both new and old.
I enjoy: Connecting with an old friend and picking up where we left off.
I believe: Everything I need to know is in the Bible.
I appreciate: Other views such as the metaphysical and such... but if it was really important, God would have written about it in the Word.
I enjoy: Growing deeper in what I know to be true through the Word. The rest is just interesting non-essential information.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I kept it in my wallet for years
Thirty years ago, I got a note from my dad. Unlike now, we didn't have email. We didn't even have long distance very often. What we had were letters. You know... paper, pen and a stamp that you had to lick first before it would stick to the envelope. And we wrote a lot. You see, Dad and I were on a mission. We wanted to salvage a potentially terminal relationship between a father and a son.
Growing up, Dad and I were close. We spent hours and hours either at the airport, flying somewhere or hanging out at somebody's house talking about airplanes. We hunted together and generally hung out together. I remember as a little boy crying myself to sleep after Dad broke to me the news that someday, when I hit my teen years, we wouldn't be close. I couldn't conceive it! But sure enough, it happened.
Unlike most father and son relationships, we didn't grow apart due to my rebellion. Actually, it was the other way around in a lot of ways. Dad dived off into New Age in about '71. And in '72 I gave my life to the Lord. He was into mind control and I was a Jesus Person (I never liked the term Jesus Freak).
In September of '74, I was entering my junior year. I remember the day Dad called my brother and me out on the front porch to inform us that he was moving to Houston. We were invited but Mother was not. Dad was running away from home at the age of 43. It was the eve of their 19th wedding anniversary.
My brother had graduated in the spring and was already enrolled in college. He already had a plan. Dad said he understood if I wanted to stay in El Dorado where I had friends and all but, I was welcome to join him in starting a new life down there. I chose to stay put. By this time, Dad and I weren't nearly as close due to our theological differences as well as his fairly extensive travel schedule.
Dad used to say that when he left El Dorado, he drove away bankrupt... financially, morally, spiritually, physically... every way there was. He so broke he couldn't even pay the bankruptcy fee. And he started over. Unfortunately, the chasm in our relationship only grew wider as he started a new life in Houston while I was stuck alone with Mother to pick up the pieces.
The following Thanksgiving break (of '75) I went down to see Dad in Houston. Before I left, my brother warned me to not be surprised at anything I might see. That's all he'd say. It was my first long trip in my van by myself and I remember being both excited and nervous about the almost 350 mile journey. I got in late one afternoon, following Dad's directions to his apartment right off of the Katy Freeway at Wirt Road. Shortly after we said our hello's, we were off to have supper with some of our family who lived farther out Katy Freeway.
After a good visit with kinfolk, we headed home. I noticed right away that we didn't take the same streets. "Todd, as you may have guessed, since moving down here I've been dating." I lied and said something about figuring he would. Frankly, I hadn't thought anything of it. I had gotten accustomed to my parents being married on paper but living separate lives. They hadn't had a marriage in years, if ever at all.
We ended up going to his girlfriend's apartment. Glenda was her name and she had a daughter about seven. I remember the first thing I heard out of that little girl's mouth was "And I thought you said he was supposed to be good looking!" Great. We visited a few minutes and then got ready to head back to Dad's apartment. I can remember like it was yesterday seeing the bathroom door open as Dad collected his toiletries. He wasn't living on Wirt Rd. He was living over there with this lady and her daughter.
Glenda and I got off to a rocky start, with or without her daughter's childish statement. Mother had her faults but she always had a bit of class. We were always country club members and her friends were all 'good people'. I still half joke that Glenda would have had to go to elocution lessons to become trailer trash. Later I realized it was a reflection of how Dad felt about himself. He had run away from the Club member and landed with a polar opposite.
Here I was, a teenager who loved the Lord and who was saving himself for marriage. Meanwhile, Dad was still married to Mother and slapping thighs with a tramp. It didn't sit right.
Before I headed back to El Dorado, Dad and I had breakfast and a long talk. He beat around the bush quite a while, talking about Mother's cousin who was a devout Baptist and a professor of urology at Tulane and how cousin Max said we did our bodies harm by waiting so long to have sex. Back in Jesus' day they got married by shortly after puberty. So, the bottom line was... it was OK for me to have sex.
"Dad, I appreciate that but you're not my only Father. My heavenly Father says 'no'."
Shock. That best describes his look.
A little while later, Dad walked me to the van and reached out his hand to shake mine. I took it and pulled him close into a hug. We both cried and cried and cried. I regained my composure enough to get going up Highway 59 toward Shreveport, crying along the way.
I didn't talk to Dad for about six months after that. I don't remember much of my senior year in high school. I do remember knowing that Dad was going to be coming to my graduation in May and it finally hit me: Did I want him in my life at all? He had bailed on us as a family, leaving me with Mother all alone and not contributing a penny to my support. And he was down there with that tramp. I was following Jesus with the best of my ability and as far as I was concerned back then, he was following the devil.
Graduation was somewhat less than a total disaster. I survived seeing Dad but even as I went to college, I still didn't know if I wanted him in my life. At some point in my sophomore year, we started actually talking about our relationship. We started working toward reconciliation.
We worked and worked on getting beyond the usual "hi, how're you?" crap and into really dealing with our feelings. We worked damned hard, so hard that I broke up with probably the sweetest girl I ever dated and ended up dropping out of college for a semester. I was emotionally spent from working on my relationship with my father.
It was 30 years ago that I went back to school. Dad and I started seeing some real progress. The hard work was paying off. We wrote every week, sometimes more than once a week. I remember finding a note in the envelope of one of Dad's letters. It was no more than an inch and a half high, torn off the bottom of a sheet of 8 1/2" x 11" paper. It read:
"This letter shouts I love you, I miss you, I need to be near you.
Love,
S.B."
S.B. was short for Sonny Bunny, his nickname with the family. Paul Harvey might have called this the rest of the story. The letter was nice, but the note was what it was all about.
I put that note in my wallet and would take it out and read it every so often. Finally, it started getting pretty worn after a few years so I photocopied it and carried the duplicate in my wallet.
A year and a half later I graduated from college and Dad offered me a job. He told me he had three projects scheduled for the same weekend- one in the US and two in Canada. And he was a one man show. Dad was very secretive about his formulas and processes. As his son, he could teach me what I needed to know.
And he did.
Dad and I learned that we loved each other more than our differences. We never did see eye to eye on theology, though I think we were much closer than I first imagined. He never did talk me into getting laid before marriage, something that he joked was a disappointment though his closest friends assured me deep down he was proud of my commitment to stay pure. From this rocky relationship with my father, I learned that disagreement does not mean disapproval. And that you could truly love, respect and even like someone with whom you disagreed. Easier said than done but proven possible in our relationship.
Dad and I only spent seven years working together as father and son in business together. I've now put in over three times that number of years on my own but I still think of ATP Results as "his" business and work hard to uphold his legacy in the industry. Yes, folks still remember him.
I learned to go deeper than the surface with Dad. It's a tougher route, but worth it. So, when you see me get a little frustrated when people seem satisfied with shallowness, I hope you understand it's because I have learned that going deeper is worth the effort. No wonder I had a family therapist say to me "Todd, you're a communicator and you married two women who don't want to communicate."
Sadly, I packed that note away about twenty years ago when I did some remodeling of the building and haven't seen it since. So far, I haven't run across it again in all my packing and moving from the warehouse. But, I'm sure I'll see it again.
Growing up, Dad and I were close. We spent hours and hours either at the airport, flying somewhere or hanging out at somebody's house talking about airplanes. We hunted together and generally hung out together. I remember as a little boy crying myself to sleep after Dad broke to me the news that someday, when I hit my teen years, we wouldn't be close. I couldn't conceive it! But sure enough, it happened.
Unlike most father and son relationships, we didn't grow apart due to my rebellion. Actually, it was the other way around in a lot of ways. Dad dived off into New Age in about '71. And in '72 I gave my life to the Lord. He was into mind control and I was a Jesus Person (I never liked the term Jesus Freak).
In September of '74, I was entering my junior year. I remember the day Dad called my brother and me out on the front porch to inform us that he was moving to Houston. We were invited but Mother was not. Dad was running away from home at the age of 43. It was the eve of their 19th wedding anniversary.
My brother had graduated in the spring and was already enrolled in college. He already had a plan. Dad said he understood if I wanted to stay in El Dorado where I had friends and all but, I was welcome to join him in starting a new life down there. I chose to stay put. By this time, Dad and I weren't nearly as close due to our theological differences as well as his fairly extensive travel schedule.
Dad used to say that when he left El Dorado, he drove away bankrupt... financially, morally, spiritually, physically... every way there was. He so broke he couldn't even pay the bankruptcy fee. And he started over. Unfortunately, the chasm in our relationship only grew wider as he started a new life in Houston while I was stuck alone with Mother to pick up the pieces.
The following Thanksgiving break (of '75) I went down to see Dad in Houston. Before I left, my brother warned me to not be surprised at anything I might see. That's all he'd say. It was my first long trip in my van by myself and I remember being both excited and nervous about the almost 350 mile journey. I got in late one afternoon, following Dad's directions to his apartment right off of the Katy Freeway at Wirt Road. Shortly after we said our hello's, we were off to have supper with some of our family who lived farther out Katy Freeway.
After a good visit with kinfolk, we headed home. I noticed right away that we didn't take the same streets. "Todd, as you may have guessed, since moving down here I've been dating." I lied and said something about figuring he would. Frankly, I hadn't thought anything of it. I had gotten accustomed to my parents being married on paper but living separate lives. They hadn't had a marriage in years, if ever at all.
We ended up going to his girlfriend's apartment. Glenda was her name and she had a daughter about seven. I remember the first thing I heard out of that little girl's mouth was "And I thought you said he was supposed to be good looking!" Great. We visited a few minutes and then got ready to head back to Dad's apartment. I can remember like it was yesterday seeing the bathroom door open as Dad collected his toiletries. He wasn't living on Wirt Rd. He was living over there with this lady and her daughter.
Glenda and I got off to a rocky start, with or without her daughter's childish statement. Mother had her faults but she always had a bit of class. We were always country club members and her friends were all 'good people'. I still half joke that Glenda would have had to go to elocution lessons to become trailer trash. Later I realized it was a reflection of how Dad felt about himself. He had run away from the Club member and landed with a polar opposite.
Here I was, a teenager who loved the Lord and who was saving himself for marriage. Meanwhile, Dad was still married to Mother and slapping thighs with a tramp. It didn't sit right.
Before I headed back to El Dorado, Dad and I had breakfast and a long talk. He beat around the bush quite a while, talking about Mother's cousin who was a devout Baptist and a professor of urology at Tulane and how cousin Max said we did our bodies harm by waiting so long to have sex. Back in Jesus' day they got married by shortly after puberty. So, the bottom line was... it was OK for me to have sex.
"Dad, I appreciate that but you're not my only Father. My heavenly Father says 'no'."
Shock. That best describes his look.
A little while later, Dad walked me to the van and reached out his hand to shake mine. I took it and pulled him close into a hug. We both cried and cried and cried. I regained my composure enough to get going up Highway 59 toward Shreveport, crying along the way.
I didn't talk to Dad for about six months after that. I don't remember much of my senior year in high school. I do remember knowing that Dad was going to be coming to my graduation in May and it finally hit me: Did I want him in my life at all? He had bailed on us as a family, leaving me with Mother all alone and not contributing a penny to my support. And he was down there with that tramp. I was following Jesus with the best of my ability and as far as I was concerned back then, he was following the devil.
Graduation was somewhat less than a total disaster. I survived seeing Dad but even as I went to college, I still didn't know if I wanted him in my life. At some point in my sophomore year, we started actually talking about our relationship. We started working toward reconciliation.
We worked and worked on getting beyond the usual "hi, how're you?" crap and into really dealing with our feelings. We worked damned hard, so hard that I broke up with probably the sweetest girl I ever dated and ended up dropping out of college for a semester. I was emotionally spent from working on my relationship with my father.
It was 30 years ago that I went back to school. Dad and I started seeing some real progress. The hard work was paying off. We wrote every week, sometimes more than once a week. I remember finding a note in the envelope of one of Dad's letters. It was no more than an inch and a half high, torn off the bottom of a sheet of 8 1/2" x 11" paper. It read:
"This letter shouts I love you, I miss you, I need to be near you.
Love,
S.B."
S.B. was short for Sonny Bunny, his nickname with the family. Paul Harvey might have called this the rest of the story. The letter was nice, but the note was what it was all about.
I put that note in my wallet and would take it out and read it every so often. Finally, it started getting pretty worn after a few years so I photocopied it and carried the duplicate in my wallet.
A year and a half later I graduated from college and Dad offered me a job. He told me he had three projects scheduled for the same weekend- one in the US and two in Canada. And he was a one man show. Dad was very secretive about his formulas and processes. As his son, he could teach me what I needed to know.
And he did.
Dad and I learned that we loved each other more than our differences. We never did see eye to eye on theology, though I think we were much closer than I first imagined. He never did talk me into getting laid before marriage, something that he joked was a disappointment though his closest friends assured me deep down he was proud of my commitment to stay pure. From this rocky relationship with my father, I learned that disagreement does not mean disapproval. And that you could truly love, respect and even like someone with whom you disagreed. Easier said than done but proven possible in our relationship.
Dad and I only spent seven years working together as father and son in business together. I've now put in over three times that number of years on my own but I still think of ATP Results as "his" business and work hard to uphold his legacy in the industry. Yes, folks still remember him.
I learned to go deeper than the surface with Dad. It's a tougher route, but worth it. So, when you see me get a little frustrated when people seem satisfied with shallowness, I hope you understand it's because I have learned that going deeper is worth the effort. No wonder I had a family therapist say to me "Todd, you're a communicator and you married two women who don't want to communicate."
Sadly, I packed that note away about twenty years ago when I did some remodeling of the building and haven't seen it since. So far, I haven't run across it again in all my packing and moving from the warehouse. But, I'm sure I'll see it again.
Edwin Edwards, Fidel Castro and me
It seems everyone jokes about the corrupt nature of Louisiana politics. And who gets named more than former Governor Edwin Edwards? No question, he was a crooked politician. Some would say "crooked politician" is a redundancy. Well, that's a gross generalization and not always true.
Living in north Louisiana, the Baton Rouge crowd of political leaders were only names and images seen on the news or in the paper. They weren't real people to me. But, one of my friends down in Baton Rouge has shown me a different perspective. She agrees that so many of them are corrupt now but she and her family have known a lot of these guys when they were starting out. And they were nice guys.
She says they didn't start out bad. But that bad crept up on them.
I also read an article about the sister of Cuban dictator Fidel Castro. She said he wasn't so bad at first. His initial intention was to help, not to become some brutal ruler. But, in order to remain in power he had to get lined up with the communists. That's when the brutality really came on strong.
Although I was never a fan of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, I have a feeling they started out wanting to share the Gospel with people. Making gazillions of dollars and living a truly rude lifestyle (including gold plated bathroom fixtures and an air conditioned dog house) wasn't part of their life plan when the young couple was in college. They were probably doing revivals and retreats, ministering wherever they could. But, they got bigger and bigger and somewhere along the way, they got off track. Way off track... but I contend with at least a sliver of good intentions still hanging on.
The same could probably be said of Jimmy Swaggart, Larry Lea and a host of other preachers who grew a bit big for their britches. Bob Tilton, I don't know. I get the feeling he's always been a crook. But, that's just me.
Looking from the outside in, I get the picture these people of power (political or religious) probably started out heading in the right direction. But somewhere along the way, all that power and prestige took over and decadence crept in.
I'm no gardener, but it's like they kept growing their garden bigger and bigger. And while they were expanding they didn't notice the weeds starting to grow. Before long they were growing more weeds than anything good like fruit and vegetables.
So, was all that growth worth it?
In looking at these public figures, I have a feeling they became surrounded by people wanting to ride the wave of their notoriety for a slice of fame as well. And the adrenalin rush of power closed their ears to reason. Pride is a tough act to follow.
Does that mean we can't grow our business, career, ministry or life big time? Not at all. It's just a tougher gig. The bigger you get, the harder it is to juggle all those balls in the air. Through a series of hard times, I've found out rather painfully my limit on items I can juggle. But, that doesn't mean you can't juggle a load more than me.
I look at stories about the minister and author Joyce Meyer. The St. Louis Post Dispatch did a scathing series of articles on the lavish lifestyle and general lack of accountability by those closest to Joyce. If half of what they wrote was true, they had big problems. And what happened? From what I can gather, Joyce and her family realized they were screwing up. They cleaned up their act and Ive heard they brought in some accountability into their program.
And they got back to the business of preaching and teaching and helping people. Sounds like a plan to me.
I've heard Benny Hinn has done somewhat the same. Frankly, I haven't heard anything out of him in a while. No problem there, his hair always gave me the creeps. And I'll go ahead and say it... I didn't like his style. We may be brothers in the Lord, but his shows repulsed me.
From what I've read about Billy Graham, he always surrounded himself with people of integrity with the purpose of holding him accountable for his actions. He invited godly perspective to keep him in line. I've heard he wouldn't even be in an elevator alone with a woman. Nor would he be seen having dinner with a woman who wasn't his wife or immediate family. He set a course and didn't stray.
I see one word making the difference: accountability. We need an outside set of eyes to look at our lives and our business operations. Not as a judge or control but as a healthy mirror. It's easy to cheat on our diets when you see all that candy at the checkout counter. But, knowing you've asked someone to check out your receipts for items not on your diet can be a healthy motivation to resist the temptation.
In ministry, they have an organization called ECFA- the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability. Members invite independent auditors to come in and look at their books to make sure they aren't getting off track. Sometime go to www.ecfa.org and look for your favorite big time ministries. Looking over the member list, I'm not surprised by many I see. Dallas Theological Seminary, Billy Graham, Luis Palau and others. But, I'm often surprised when I can't find folks on there. Do they have something to hide?
Even those of us who are not in the limelight can learn from these high profile blunders. But accountability is easier said than done. Thanks to Promisekeepers, a lot of men started accountability groups where they were challenged to get gut level honest with each other in hopes of keeping each other on the right path. I've heard some great testimonies out of accountability groups. But, I've also experienced a bunch that never got any deeper than dinner party conversation. I know it takes time but I think it also takes something most men don't have... a willingness to be seen as stupid from time to time. Or evil. Or sneaky. Our we don't want anyone to know about our secret sin(s).
Without full disclosure, there can't be real accountability. You can't have two sets of books. But you can't be afraid of showing your good sides and your bad sides as a person. It's tough. But I think it's worth it.
I think an attitude of grace is needed. My ex-wife was of the attitude that you were either all good or all bad. I started out all good. And, in time I shifted over to the "all bad" designation. I don't agree. I contend that we're a mix of good and bad. We're in the process of being renewed and some days we do better than others.
When I was a new Christian back in '72, I attended a Campus Crusade event up at the University of Arkansas campus. They compared our hearts to a South Pacific island during WWII. The Marines landed and established a beachhead. They would advance from there. Some days they gained territory. Some days they lost. But they never lost that beachhead. That's the way it is for us who have invited Jesus to be Lord. The Holy Spirit comes to live inside our hearts and He won't leave. But, we have a choice as to how much of our hearts goes to Him and how much is still controlled by ourselves or by the enemy.
An attitude of grace and accountability understands that we WILL drop the ball along the way. The point is to learn from yesterday's mistakes and keep moving on. After sneaking that one candy bar, don't end up parked in front of the candy aisle at Wal-Mart. Learn and move on.
Grace and accountability. They are partners I want in my life.
Living in north Louisiana, the Baton Rouge crowd of political leaders were only names and images seen on the news or in the paper. They weren't real people to me. But, one of my friends down in Baton Rouge has shown me a different perspective. She agrees that so many of them are corrupt now but she and her family have known a lot of these guys when they were starting out. And they were nice guys.
She says they didn't start out bad. But that bad crept up on them.
I also read an article about the sister of Cuban dictator Fidel Castro. She said he wasn't so bad at first. His initial intention was to help, not to become some brutal ruler. But, in order to remain in power he had to get lined up with the communists. That's when the brutality really came on strong.
Although I was never a fan of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, I have a feeling they started out wanting to share the Gospel with people. Making gazillions of dollars and living a truly rude lifestyle (including gold plated bathroom fixtures and an air conditioned dog house) wasn't part of their life plan when the young couple was in college. They were probably doing revivals and retreats, ministering wherever they could. But, they got bigger and bigger and somewhere along the way, they got off track. Way off track... but I contend with at least a sliver of good intentions still hanging on.
The same could probably be said of Jimmy Swaggart, Larry Lea and a host of other preachers who grew a bit big for their britches. Bob Tilton, I don't know. I get the feeling he's always been a crook. But, that's just me.
Looking from the outside in, I get the picture these people of power (political or religious) probably started out heading in the right direction. But somewhere along the way, all that power and prestige took over and decadence crept in.
I'm no gardener, but it's like they kept growing their garden bigger and bigger. And while they were expanding they didn't notice the weeds starting to grow. Before long they were growing more weeds than anything good like fruit and vegetables.
So, was all that growth worth it?
In looking at these public figures, I have a feeling they became surrounded by people wanting to ride the wave of their notoriety for a slice of fame as well. And the adrenalin rush of power closed their ears to reason. Pride is a tough act to follow.
Does that mean we can't grow our business, career, ministry or life big time? Not at all. It's just a tougher gig. The bigger you get, the harder it is to juggle all those balls in the air. Through a series of hard times, I've found out rather painfully my limit on items I can juggle. But, that doesn't mean you can't juggle a load more than me.
I look at stories about the minister and author Joyce Meyer. The St. Louis Post Dispatch did a scathing series of articles on the lavish lifestyle and general lack of accountability by those closest to Joyce. If half of what they wrote was true, they had big problems. And what happened? From what I can gather, Joyce and her family realized they were screwing up. They cleaned up their act and Ive heard they brought in some accountability into their program.
And they got back to the business of preaching and teaching and helping people. Sounds like a plan to me.
I've heard Benny Hinn has done somewhat the same. Frankly, I haven't heard anything out of him in a while. No problem there, his hair always gave me the creeps. And I'll go ahead and say it... I didn't like his style. We may be brothers in the Lord, but his shows repulsed me.
From what I've read about Billy Graham, he always surrounded himself with people of integrity with the purpose of holding him accountable for his actions. He invited godly perspective to keep him in line. I've heard he wouldn't even be in an elevator alone with a woman. Nor would he be seen having dinner with a woman who wasn't his wife or immediate family. He set a course and didn't stray.
I see one word making the difference: accountability. We need an outside set of eyes to look at our lives and our business operations. Not as a judge or control but as a healthy mirror. It's easy to cheat on our diets when you see all that candy at the checkout counter. But, knowing you've asked someone to check out your receipts for items not on your diet can be a healthy motivation to resist the temptation.
In ministry, they have an organization called ECFA- the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability. Members invite independent auditors to come in and look at their books to make sure they aren't getting off track. Sometime go to www.ecfa.org and look for your favorite big time ministries. Looking over the member list, I'm not surprised by many I see. Dallas Theological Seminary, Billy Graham, Luis Palau and others. But, I'm often surprised when I can't find folks on there. Do they have something to hide?
Even those of us who are not in the limelight can learn from these high profile blunders. But accountability is easier said than done. Thanks to Promisekeepers, a lot of men started accountability groups where they were challenged to get gut level honest with each other in hopes of keeping each other on the right path. I've heard some great testimonies out of accountability groups. But, I've also experienced a bunch that never got any deeper than dinner party conversation. I know it takes time but I think it also takes something most men don't have... a willingness to be seen as stupid from time to time. Or evil. Or sneaky. Our we don't want anyone to know about our secret sin(s).
Without full disclosure, there can't be real accountability. You can't have two sets of books. But you can't be afraid of showing your good sides and your bad sides as a person. It's tough. But I think it's worth it.
I think an attitude of grace is needed. My ex-wife was of the attitude that you were either all good or all bad. I started out all good. And, in time I shifted over to the "all bad" designation. I don't agree. I contend that we're a mix of good and bad. We're in the process of being renewed and some days we do better than others.
When I was a new Christian back in '72, I attended a Campus Crusade event up at the University of Arkansas campus. They compared our hearts to a South Pacific island during WWII. The Marines landed and established a beachhead. They would advance from there. Some days they gained territory. Some days they lost. But they never lost that beachhead. That's the way it is for us who have invited Jesus to be Lord. The Holy Spirit comes to live inside our hearts and He won't leave. But, we have a choice as to how much of our hearts goes to Him and how much is still controlled by ourselves or by the enemy.
An attitude of grace and accountability understands that we WILL drop the ball along the way. The point is to learn from yesterday's mistakes and keep moving on. After sneaking that one candy bar, don't end up parked in front of the candy aisle at Wal-Mart. Learn and move on.
Grace and accountability. They are partners I want in my life.
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