A world away...

I have lived a world away for some time now, like many of us have. We fear the influence of a world that does not claim to know our God, a world that does not live through the same filters that we do. I have feared this world, a world that is different than me, a world that is weird to me, a world that I have all too often declared as wrong or bad or evil. So to this evil world I have pointed my finger, declared their lack of value and then ran away to my own little world. Ran away to a little subculture, a place that plays and lives by my rules, my filters, my ideas of good and beauty. Then, when someone in my world doesn’t play my way, I kick them out. I shun them.

This is how I have lived in the past, but this is not how we were meant to live. This is not how God designed us to live. The “other” world, that bad one, is not all bad. Yes, there are some bad things, and evil is very real, but there is also great good, even good that may not put itself in the “Christian” camp. We often allow the bad we find to dismiss the good that is still there. Do you want to know why I believe there is great good in the world? Because God created it, and he declared it good. The people in it are not all bad either. Why? Because God created them and declared them good.

Good. Not evil, weird, or wrong, but good.

God declared them good. I declared them bad.

Although the expression of the image of God, the goodness of God from creation, is marred by the effects of living in a world that has been broken by sin, it still resides in each of our hearts. God’s beauty and goodness still rest in them. I may have to push past some sinful expressions before finding it, but the good is still there.

God runs to them. I ran from them.

God longs to know them. I have tried to ignore and marginalize them.

Yesterday when my brother-in-law and I where running some errands together, he shared how he was frustrated with a friend who told him that “if someone was not interested or willing to be a Christian then he did not want to waste his time to know them or be around them.” What a horrible thing to say! That type of language makes be deeply angry. Words like that are what drive culture to declare Christians as bigots, judgmental, and a long list of other things that we’re anti-.

That type of language drives our worlds apart. It drives the Kingdom apart.

God declared that he would return and restore his kingdom on this earth—not my make-believe, safety-bubble world, but this one.

I’m trying to move out of the “Christian” world into God’s world, and as I do I realized that what I believed to be the Christian world was really just a part of the rest of the world the whole time, that in reality it’s all God’s world.

So, as we move from 2007 into 2008, may our use of categories to divide, sacred and secular, holy and evil, Christian and non disappear. May we live in this world, in today, and may those of us who have experienced grace, redemption, peace, truth, forgiveness, love and all the other “good” things of God quit running to our subcultures. May we embrace our neighbors. May the Kingdom of God that we have the privilege of ushering in be brought closer not only to the hurting, the wondering, the ones looking for God, but also to the those who are not interested in God, who could care less, to those who are haters of God because even if they do not desire to know him, he desires to know them and they, because they carry the image of God, deserve to see the Kingdom of God here on earth.

Maybe if the world around me could see the good that I am for, instead of the bad that I’m scared of or against, maybe then they would want to hear about the kingdom to which I belong.

Christmas and my heart

I’ve got to be honest, I absolutely love the winter, I love snow, the crisp air, the frost on the ground, but what really makes me love this time of year are the rituals that drive us near to people we love. When Fall comes we connect with Family and look at the leaves, we do hayrides together, we drink hot cider on a cold night, then we move into Thanksgiving where we come back together eat till we just can’t move anymore, sit together, laugh together, take naps together, watch parades together, go shopping together, then Christmas finally roll into town and we celebrate together, wrap gifts together, have more parties together, celebrate some more, eat some more, and be together some more.

I think these are the reasons why I love winter; cause winter holds the rituals that bring us together.

But I’m realizing that this is not the norm across America. This morning I read a poll asking

Holidays…
A - Break your heart
B - Stress you out
C - Mess you up
D - Make you sentimental
E - Energize you
F - Cause you to dream
G - Focus you
H - Give you nightmares
I - Draw you near
J - Infuse you with hope
(more at www.intersectcommunity.com/blog)

The answers amazed me. No one said the holidays infused them with hope, draw them near, or give them nightmares. But 1% did say that the holidays caused them to dream, energized them, or made them sentimental, 2% said they messed them up, 3% reported it stresses them out, but the kicker, the one that really amazed me was that 93% said that the holidays break their heart.

93% that percentage amazes me, just for integrity I’ll let you know that only 153 have responded to the poll as I write this, but the percentage is still something to think about. What makes me stop and listen to this number even more is the fact that the vast majority of conversations I’ve had lately echoes almost verbatim what this tiny poll is saying. (Now I don’t believe that 93 % of America is heartbroken at Christmas but I am starting to wonder if my joyful view of the holiday are far from the norm.)

The young adults I’ve been talking to as of late have finally gotten to the place where they are old enough to realize just how dysfunctional their families are, just how trivial the arguments are, just how stressful it is to be at the “right places at the right time” and that now all those amazing gifts under the tree actually cost money, which they don’t have much of.

But Christmas is not lost.

Christmas does not have to be a time of heartbreak. Christmas is deeply rooted in joy, peace, and love and I must believe that the Christmas that I know, the winter season that I love, can still be had, that young adults can turn the tide of what they have grown up with, and that future polls will reflect high percentages of hope, love, dreams, refocusing, and joy.

I must believe what I know, others can as well.

But how…?

But until then, here are some pics from my time with the fam.


PS. Merry Christmas

I judge you.

I judge people. Really I do. I mean I don’t start off trying to size people up or rank them, but somehow or another I can slip into this mindset of calling their shots as good or bad, smart or stupid, wise or way immature. I don’t mean to do this, but it’s kind of like when saying good bye to someone and you get into that annoying back and forth game of goodbye, blah blah blah, goodbye, blah blah blah, goodbye, and you take 10 more minutes to actually leave; know what I mean, does anyone else do that? Well judging for me is often like that. I hate doing the “goodbye dance” but there are times I get sucked in, and judging is the same way.

Here’s why all these thoughts are happening. The other day Pearl and I needed to go help someone and I didn’t want to. The person didn’t need us to give an organ or anything; they just needed a ride, A RIDE, nothing big, just a ride from the airport. We had nothing keeping us from doing it, our schedules where free, all it would have cost me was not getting to sit my sorry butt on my comfy coach and watching mind numbing TV, but if I came up with one excuse I had 40, and my excuses where so good that they actually put blame on who should be doing this instead of me. I felt good about my debating skills, I had the case won, I knew my wife would have to fold under the insurmountable weight of my argument, but she didn’t fold; she just pulled my plug, she deflated everything I said in one little sentence, “Matt, stop judging them, you don’t know all the details and this is not right.” (Enter sound of a gavel slamming down)

She was right

I tried to deny it

But she was

I was caught red handed, I was guilty…

I had passed up an opportunity to bless someone, to love someone, to help someone out and instead had decided put myself first, to make more of me then them, to judge someone and in the process make myself look like a total a*# at the same time.

May I learn a lesson from “the Pearl” and hold my comments, suspend my judgment, and put others first, even if I don’t understand the big picture.

God, thank you for my wife and her ability to swing a big gavel of truth

PS – it’s rain/ice/snow ING outside, have I said lately that I LOVE the snow!

Old traditions...new meaning

Snow.Rain.Snow
I love snow! I don’t know if it’s cause I’m from the south and we associate snow with normal life standing still, buying all the milk and bread you could possible think of, and camping out in the living room waiting for the power to kick back on or if I just like the white stuff. For you Northerns, we had to wait for the power to come back, not because of our massive snow fall but because instead of snow storms we would get ice storms, but when you’re a kid snow and ice are about the same, they both get you out of school! But needless to say it snowed this past week and I absolutely loved it!
But all things must go away, the rains came and the snow has slowly been disappearing.
Today was just a great day! I love my church and am so proud of what is happening with in this community. God is working and moving and it’s so cool to watch and be a part of. This morning Pearl and I where late to the service (like usual, we’re never early to anything) and had to set in the nosebleed seats. We usually don’t sit up high, but when we do it’s a visual treat. We normally sit closer to the stage, but when you’re up high you are able to see everything, all the screens, lights, staging, and my favorite everyone else. Today as we expressed our love of God through music, one of the songs really hit me. This song is not new and to be honest I’ve been singing it literally most of my life; but as we sang this song I realize that I may never look at it the same again. The song was the Christmas carol “O come let us adore Him.” I’ve always enjoyed this song but I picture it being sing next to a live nativity, or Christmas play, or portrayed by a Norman Rockwell painting. But today as I stood in the nosebleed seats and joined in with another thousand people singing our lungs out, the words took a new meaning. This song is not only about a baby in a manger and some sheep, but it’s about broken people, people who’s lives are full of stories of pain, regret, shame, disappointment, and a list of other adjectives. It’s about families, students, senior citizens, divorced couples, golden couples, engaged couples, singles, and all those in between. It’s about heterosexuals, homosexuals, pro-war and anti-war advocates, it’s about musicians, and those who serve the world by keeping their mouth shut.

It’s a song about all kinds of people, from all kinds of backgrounds getting the fact that the God of the universe loves us so deeply and longs so hard for us to know him and for us to find pleasure in each other. As this sunk in, I stopped singing and just watched, as people from all over the spectrum said yes, let’s come together and adore Him. Let’s adore the one worthy of our affections. It was a cool moment, then I felt something in my pocket, a camera, so I sunk a picture, and went back to adoring.
Last couple of thoughts
We had a wonderful lunch with some dear friends, Clay and Lindsey. They grilled out and I ate up, I have a weakness for grilled meat. We had a ton of fun reconnecting and swapping stories about life but the center of attention was not the four humans in the room but the year old Rottweiler and 4 month old Coonhound (who look like twins)
playing their hearts out.
I think Zuri now has a life long friend, but needless to say shortly after coming home she found a bed and crashed.
Blessings to you and your house, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and that you find new meaning in old traditions.

the heart of Christmas

Well, here’s the next set of thoughts and pictures.

I downloaded the pictures from our camera and found two shots form up in the UP that I felt where worth sharing. The first is of Zuri sitting in the snow and the second is of Pearl’s street.




But it’s nice to be home and back in our own world. This past weekend we where able to help a friend who has really helped us in the past, it felt so good to be able to tangibly return through physical labor a little bit of the blessing they have been to us.

The house officially kicked off the holidays this weekend. We picked out a tree,



put up the lights and



had a wonderful dinner together.



Christmas is one of my most favorite times of the year. I love having the world slow down a little, taking the time to look one another in the eye and smile, I love to see neighbors and homes show beauty through their decorations, I love to see families come together, just to name a few.

I guess these are some of the things in life I love the most.

But Christmas as American’s know it is just a system we’ve put into place over time, it’s just another day, with the same amount of hours, seconds, and minutes as every other day of the year, but the amazing piece to the 25th of December is the heart that has been attached to this day. This heart is attacked every year by the materialist pleas of our TV’s, magazines and world, but this heart is not so easily defeated. The Heart of Christmas, the piece that rings true and good even in the darkest of Scrooge’s heart, is the piece I long to hold close. To let this nugget of truth become a part not only of my December 25th rhythms, but apart of the Rhythms I live with day in and day out.

So what is the heart of Christmas for you? What is beautiful and good about this day in your world?

As I answer those questions for me, and as I set the patterns for my life and home, may this heart not only be found on the 25th but everyday till next 25th.

finding my heart...

Over the past few weeks a consistent theme has been coming before my attention.

The theme has been centered around the idea of moving my everyday focus from me and my desires, and my goals, and my wants, and my dreams, and my skills, and my insecurities, and my… and my… and my… (it seems like the list of “my’s” could go on and on) to a focus that rest in God’s character, God’s nature, God’s history, God’s desires, God’s heart, basically moving my focus from my heart to God’s.

From May of 05 to September of 05 I had several major life transitions. Now each of these transitions are natural, needed, and good, but to have them all with in a span of 4 months was
a little hard to take. With in those few fast months I:
- Graduating collage (Praise God that is over!)

- “Lost” 98% of all my friends (I was glad to get rid of couple, but I really do miss Dorm Halo at 3am)

- Getting married (just a minor life change … SARCASM!)

- Moved across the country (18 hrs from Pearl’s family and 12 from mine)

- Started my first full time job (What am I doing again?)

- Learned a different culture (it may be the same country but where’s the sweet tea?)


These transitions where pretty major for me, but if you where to see me around work or the house you would have thought I was handling all of this change with ease (at least I think that’s what you’d see). But what was happening on my inside was a major identity crisis. The question of “who the heck am I” was screaming loud and clear. “Am I a college student? Or this weird thing called “an adult”?” “Do I still have ANY friends? Where did they all go?” “I now get to sleep with my girlfriend and not feel guilty after making out, but am I a good husband?” “Am I a bad son for leaving my family? Can I live with the guilt of not being near my elderly grandpa?” “Am I good at what I do for a living? What is it that I actually do again? Do I really want to do this? Forever?” “Just how different are the North and South? I’m fully southern, so do I look stupid when in public up here?”

These questions where the daily questions running through my mind; I’ve seen these guys hundreds of times, from hundreds of different angles, with hundreds of different faces. These questions are good and we all need to address them (they may look different but you get the point), but I fell in a trap of living in them.

So back to the theme that has been consistently whispering in my ear as of late, a whisper that is saying “Matt, you’re ok, you’re where I want you, you’re doing what I designed you for, quit fighting where you’re at, you are where you are because I’ve put you there, do something, don’t miss where I’ve got you, don’t stress so much about tomorrow or next year or next century that you miss your purpose for today, find my heart, find my character, don’t worry about how you will express it just find it, you have nothing to say unless you’ve got a hold of my heart, in finding my heart you’ll find yours.”

That’s it! The original identity questions are still in the back of my mind, I’ve found peace for the moment, but to find peace for life, to find direction of what I was originally designed for, I must know my designer, His intentions, His heart.

So what’s my focus, hopefully a little less of me and a little more of Him. A little less focused on my heart, and a little more searching for His, a little less worrying about my name and a little more of making more of his.

Jesus is record in John 5:30 to say “My judgment is just, because I carry out the will of the one who sent me, not my own will.”

May I put this is my own words?

“I know my life is lived right when I focus on the will of the one who made me and not my own”

God, move my focus from me to you, my searching’s from my heart to yours. May I find your heart, and in the process discover my own.

Road trippin' for Turkey day!

Pearl and I have a unique honor in our marriage. Our families live literally on the opposite ends of the country. My folks live the in south, Northeast Georgia to be exact, and Pearl’s family lives north of 40% of Canada’s population in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

This years Thanksgiving was to be spent in the UP. Our plan was to leave Lancaster by 4:30 am on Wednesday, but as the alarm screamed in our ears we decided a couple of hours of extra sleep would be worth the delayed arrival. So our 4am departure plans quickly turned into an 8am departure. We had smooth travels till a little ways into Ohio where we hit the biggest rain cloud known to man, mixed with half the north traveling to family, which collided to make the perfect conditions for accidents, traffic, more accidents, and simply a ton of delays. We battled the crazy rain until about half why through the lower part of Michigan, where it braked (we thought we had made it), then it turned to snow (AKA “death to good traveling conditions”). As the weather worsened, our spirits and desire for “adventure” left.

Memories of last year’s “flying-off-the-road-adventure” during a similar snowstorm on our way north had left us pretty skittish this year. We battled until about 45 minutes south of the Mackinaw Bridge and found a motel. Our location of refuge was “Timberly Motel”. If we were in a third world country this would have been luxury, but in the states it was a little sub-par. Let’s just say it’s been a while since my motel room came equipped with it’s on ashtray, pubic hairs around the bathroom, and plenty of parking spaces in the empty parking lot except for my car and 2 others. I shouldn’t knock the place too bad, it was much nicer than an icy grave, or being flipped in a ditch.

It snowed about 4-5 inches during the night and left a beautiful sight for us in the morning. Zuri (our 12 week old coonhound) loved the snow and would often only stand on three legs to keep at least one foot out of the cold.

Zuri was great to travel with, we made her a bed in the back of the car and that is where she stayed for 98% of the trip. I’ve never seen her sleep so much.

Once on the road again Pearl and I quickly discovered a beautiful sight; the sight that all travels love and pray for. A sight the stirs feelings of warmed and coziness, of being known (even through you’ve never been to this actual place) and of knowing, a place where Pearl and I officially declared our love through engagement. Yes, I’m talking about the beautiful place known as Starbucks. It’s like family hugs all mixed in a cup, which is especially nice after hauling snow and ice off your car.

After picking up “the bucks” we had smooth travels. We arrived in the Keweenaw around 4:30pm. The past few hours have been delightful. To be with family, share stories, be able to help with small projects, share Thanksgiving dinner, and to simply be together.

Well, it’s now night, I’m the last one up, and I should get to bed (cause we’re going black Friday shopping tomorrow! Yeah!)

Happy Thanksgiving to you all

PS – I’m incredibly blessed beyond what my words can express. To have such amazing friends, family and faith community decorating the days of my life leave me being truly grateful and thankful.

Blessings to all

one busy weekend...

This weekend was a full couple of days!

InsideOut
Saturday was our LIFE group’s inside out project. Incase you’re not familiar with the term “inside out” this is where LIFE groups (small groups at our church) are partnered with different families in our communities. The families we are partnered with are either elderly couple, single parent homes, handicapped homes, or homes with a member currently active in the military.

Our Group was partnered with a sweet couple from Mt Joy. The husband had survived something like 5 life-threatening events with in the past 4 years. He has seen strokes, a heart attack, a growth on his brain, and some really nasty infections, and also all the complications of surviving these elements. He is left with obvious side effects from each of his trials, but despite all the pain this couple has seen, they were so thankful to be celebrating one year with no hospital stays.

I was humbled by this man’s perseverance through such challenging times and life changing events and I left amazed at the amount of love and sacrifice the wife had and gives to her husband.

It was an honor to do simple yard chores for them.

Zuri – aka a coonhound
Our search to find Captain, our massive Newfoundland dog, a friend has come to an end. As of Saturday afternoon Captain was being introduced to a 13 week old coonhound puppy named Zuri.

As Pearl and I were driving home with our new family member we glanced at each other with a look of fear and excitement that said, “what in the heck have we just gotten ourselves into?” We have quickly grown to love Zuri and laugh at her often. She will one day grow into her oversized paws, head and ears, but for now she’s a bumbling furry of energy and chaos.

By the way “Zuri” is Swahili for Beautiful.

3rd Annual Lydic Thanksgiving Bocce Ball Tournament
Sunday held the 3rd annual Lydic Thanksgiving Bocce ball tournament. Pretty much this is a time where a lot of friends get together at The Lydics’ house (who have unknowing adopted all of us) for an early run at a Thanksgiving meal, then a cut throat match of Bocce ball, and finally a lazy evening on their coach watching what ever is on the tube. To the victor goes much pride, some goofy award from Garry’s carport or basement, and their name on the official bocce ball tournament plaque. Yes, this is a little crazy, but it’s a whole lot of fun. By the way, it was a delightful 34 degrees and raining/sleeting during yesterday’s play.

To add some zest to this year’s games, Garry borrowed matching wind suits for us to wear. I felt like I had eating the “Bad gum” from Willy Wonka. I'll let you guess why we're holding the plaque.


1st Snow of Winter 08!
And last but not least, the first snow of the year fall last night. YEAH!

peanuts...boiled goodness

What makes the south so good? There's many answers to that question, but one sticks out above the rest for me, THE FOOD!

So in case any of you have been wondering what could be declared the best food in the south, here's a picture.
If you are not familiar with this goodness, it's called hot boiled peanuts.

they are amazing!

Fornicators...grace?

I must check myself, before I start saying what I’m about to say. I cannot judge. I cannot place myself as better than others. I cannot withhold grace.

Now with that said, may I walk this tightrope while expressing these thoughts.

Pearl and I are now in the good ol’South. We flew in on Thursday and we’ll be spending about a week relaxing and reconnecting with Family. It is so very nice to be back home, to be around family, and to share together all the stories of life.

For this story I must focus on one member of this crazy tribe, there will be other stories later of the rest but for now, this one starts with my older sister, Jen. I have one sister, she’s 3 years older, has a great husband, and an adorable little son. Now, my sister really does amaze me. She somehow got most of the brains in the family, she’s OCD when it comes to details, which I’m a little jealous of as my head is floating through the clouds, and she is a very committed loving person. Now don’t get me wrong there are things and times that she drives me nuts, and I am positive she could say the same, but I overall I have a very deep respect and appreciation for her, and of course she just adores her baby brother (well at least I hope she does).

Now, on with the story.

A little over a year ago she finished her masters in psychology and took a position at a State Correctional facility as the “Senior Mental Health Counselor.” She is responsible for the mental health and emotional healing of some 200 prisoners. So as we visited together she naturally wanted to show us her new office and give us a quick tour of the prison. Which, did I mention, was an all male prison, so here’s my sister and 200 men who haven’t seen a lady in months and I’ll leave it at that and let you imagine so of the crazy stories she has to share.

As Pearl and I arrive at the prison, Jen greeted us just past the gates and introduced us to most of her co-workers and walked us around the facilities, giving us the nickel tour. The tour and experience was something I’ve never seen before, and I could write a long blog about my feelings from that, but that’s another day’s topic.

Jen shard with us about how the guys live and some of the different “privileges” they are given. She said that each prisoner is rated 1-4 based on the level of offense they had committed. Those who are seen as a 3 or 4 will never leave the campus, but those who are just a 1 or 2 may be given outside privileges on work detail based on behavior. As we walked out to the car, a group of the “privileged” was being reintroduced to the facilities after a day of work detail around the community.

As Pearl and I drove back home and talked about our experience, we where blindsided by one of the most repulsive, horrible signs I have ever read. Within a mile of the facilities, along the main corridor, we read one of the most hateful signs that can be read.

This sign was one that men who are being punished for the mistakes they had made, who are left to sit on a bunk by themselves for hours rotting within their thoughts, a sign that the “lucky” ones, the “good” one have to read. Men that might feel broken, beaten, shamed, and degraded because of what they had done must read.

This sign was not hung outside of a KKK hall or an angry landowners home, but outside of a place that should be looked to as a place of hope, grace, healing, and acceptance. This sign was seen on a local church’s marquee.

The words “Fornicators shall not inherit the kingdom of God, 1 Cor 6:9-10” hung for all the world to see, but also conveniently hung for these men to read everyday as they go in and out to work detail.

These men no doubt are broken, hurt, and needing the redeeming restoring truth that God offers. Men who are needing a community that will extend unknown grace, acceptance, and love. Men who need to know that they were not designed to be evil, that remnants of good still lay with in them, that the image of the Divine can still be called out of them, that they are not trash, that they are not hopeless, that they can still be called good and noble.

I long to see broken men healed, to come to know God as I do and even better, to know the grace and acceptance that can restore one’s world.

I long to see local churches empowering people to stand with arms wide, hands reaching, hearts longing to help others into our communities. To be about what Jesus declared was the most important thing in this world, loving Him and loving others.

I long to see members of the church stop bickering over the unessential. To stop fighting over the small things and to start living the major things of scripture, hopefully starting first with figuring out what it means to love God and love others. (Matthew 22:38-39)

I looked a little deeper into this church’s declaration of 1 Corinthians 6:9-10.

The way the NLT translation reads is “don’t you know that those who do wrong will not inherit the kingdom of God? Don’t fool yourselves. Those who practice in…. will not inherit the kingdom of God”

The writer of this text lists 10 people who will not inherit the kingdom of God, beyond those in the general statement of “those who have done wrong.” Of these ten the Church likes to point out the “big ones” like idols, adultery, being a prostitute, being homosexuals or an alcoholic. But lets read the entire list including which includes those who have sexual sin, who have been thieves, who live greedy lives, are abusive, and have cheated others.

Lets ask all who have ever looked at pornography, or lusted at an attractive woman walking by or seen on TV, those who have ever stolen something, even someone’s time, affection, or trust, those who have been abusive, even to those working in sweat shops around the world by buying the cheaper item, or by contaminating and introducing disease to others by the amount of trash they produce from their self indulgence in the newspaper, packaged food, or paper products, let those who have ever cheated on a test, a tax, a truth, let all of these people stand up, and walk out of the church, cause only those left sitting according to this church’s proclamation of truth can inherit the Kingdom of God.

This passage is not a hateful passage, it provides hope and healing, but this church did not point to that. Let us know forget the closing words of this writer; “Some of you were once like that. But you were cleansed; you were made holy; you were made right with God.”

“Some of us”, today it seems like most of us, are in some way like the people in the list. We are all broken missed up people; none of us deserving to inherit the Kingdom of God.

BUT!!! That is not who we now are, we have been cleaned, we have been made holy, we have been made right with God!!

This is what the church sign should have read. This is what I long to see broken man reading, a hurting world engaging, Christians living and extending.

Screwed up? Messed up? We all are, but God’s grace is real, the acceptance is true. I don’t see you as hopeless, I don’t want to see you as the sum of your mistakes, I want to see you as fixable, redeemable, hopeful. God’s image and fingerprint can be found on you.

World, I am sorry for hateful messages like the one found on this sign, this is not the full message of Jesus, this is not what the church is to be about.

May I, may you, may the church be people who extend grace, who love God and love others. May we love justice, but may we also love mercy.

Yes, fornicators will not inherit the kingdom of God, but through grace they will.

Time flies

Wow, it's been over a month since I've wrote on here. The rhythm was broken, I missed a week and a month sneaks by. Speaking of time fling. I've realized that days can go by without me reflecting, pausing, being still and saying that a unreflective life is not worth living. I too often get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of life that I miss life in the craziness.

May I be a man who pauses, who refuses to let society and life determine my steps. May I direct my day, not the other way around.

Homeless, needy, poverty, and me

I remember the first time I had to walk past a homeless man. I say, “Had to walk past” because my family was on vacation and we had “important” dinner plans to attend. I don’t remember his exact cloths or colors, or smells, but I do remember walking past. I remember as an 11 or 12 year old feeling something deep inside of me scream. A scream of pain; a scream for my attention. I knew I needed to see him; I needed to recognize him, to look deep into his eyes. I remember fighting this, thinking, “what will happen if I do, what will take place next?” The unknown of this moment terrified me! But I had to look, and as I looked at him, the image of this broken, needy man looked deep, deep into my soul. As I said I don’t remember the exact man, but his image, the street, the town, this feeling was burned deep in my being.

I paused for a moment, hesitating in my step, looking, thinking, trying to figure out how to respond, and then the nudge, the gentle pull of my dad’s hand, reminding me of our destination. A destination that that man, the one sitting there could not be apart of.

As our steps continued down the street this man’s image was still before my mind. As we ate a gourmet meal and enjoyed the beauty of the town we were visiting all I remember was not the sights to be seen but this man’s image. That night as the bellhop greeted us, and made our way through the luxurious hotel lobby, my Dad realized my mind was elsewhere. In his gentle way he asked if I was ok. I waited to say I was, that I was fine, that the thoughts in my head where on the wonderful food that he had just provided, or on the amazing sights and experiences we were having, on the street trolley that I had just ridden like Dick Tracy, but I couldn’t lie, and Dad knew, so I asked “how do we help that man,” and he knew immediately who man “that man” was. My Dad is a great man, a godly man, a man who I have much respect for, but I don’t think he was ready that that question, I don’t think he had an answer.

He tried to share how God does want us to help, but how we’ve got to be wise in who and how and when we help. Because we don’t want to provide drug money or booze money or lady money. He tried his best, I’ll give him that, but if it was boiled down to the root of what he was saying it could have been “we should help, but we can’t help, the need is too great, we are too small, and wisdom says take care of your own.”

As the years went by, as I tried to forget that man’s image, as I became better at “just walking by,” “looking the other way,” and “not helping continue their unhealthy habits” my heart silently and slowing became hard. I continued to go on trips; mission trips, trips to the cities, trips to local “poor places,” trips all over the place. But each face I saw, each situation I observed, each eye I looked into, the scream in my heart would still be there, still screaming for my attention. The scream continued, yet softer and fainter as my experiences of “walking by” grew.

As I said my Dad is a godly man, and over time God has continue to mold him and shape him into a reflection of His heart. I don’t think my Dad has forgotten that day in the hotel, the piercing question, and his honest attempt to respond. A few years ago, Dad brought this old conversation up again. He shared how his response has haunted him, that he now disagrees with his response, that he was wrong in his answer. He shared that he is yet to find the correct answer. He has played out different scenes in his mind, looking from different angles, and trying to connect the words of scripture with the streets of today. The best thing he said, what he admits he wished he had said, was “son, don’t harden your heart, they need you and God has called us do something, keeping searching for how.”

“They need you and God has called us to do something, keeping searching for how.”

I’m still seeing the needs, though only a sliver of the needs, those that can be seen on my commute to work, or from the window of my house, or the rumors of a neighbor. But may I really SEE the needs, to not just notice them but to see them, the feel them, to let then sink deep, to not just notice and extend my pity, but to notice and extend my hand. “To extend my hand,” how? I don’t know, but may I do something.

I don’t want to be an extension of cheap charity, of charity that is needed; yet that does not restore. May I give, but give in such a way that extends honor, and respect, and value, and communicates to the recipient that “I don’t see them as homeless, or helpless, or beggar, or worthless, but that I see them as valuable, as having something that MY life needs, as having a place in MY community, in MY world, not across the tracks or around the corner, but next to me?

God, teach me how to be a giver of value, a giver of hope, a giver that not only meets needs but also builds into. Use me in such a way as to fix the problem not just give quick fixes. Let the images sink deep, sink hard, and let them be combined with a stirring in my heart from you.

Help me to stop walking by.

reading

Books can be like a nasty car wreck. You want to look so bad but with ever fiber that screaming, “look” theirs an equal fiber begging “no don’t, just drive.” Now, I know that’s a weird way to look at reading, but once we read we are accountable to what we’ve read? What will I do with what I now know? How will I respond? Do I really believe what this person is saying? Do I believe enough to actually change something about my life? As I said reading is like a car wreck. You want to see what’s in the pages, what ideas, what stories, what truths, yet you know that if you look you have to respond. I hope I’d never leave someone hurting on the side of the road, but I fear I do that with what I read, getting some sick fix on the facts, but not letting the facts become real enough to believe.

So may we as readers, be brave enough to look, to read, but may we also be brave enough to respond, to change, to let truth sink in, and not just look and point.

May we not be a reading “rubber-neckers”

PS. here's the book I'm currently reading

friends

So I've recently joined the facebook fan club. It's fun to see friends from High School, where they're at, what they're doing, what's happened in their life. I'm feeling a little old right now. I'm being reminded to actually enjoy the days that seem to fly by, not just try to get my to do list done.

dirty dancing

Ok, I’ve got to confess, Pearl has been watching “Dirty Dancing” and I’m currently fighting to not get sucked in. I don’t know if I could tell the guys at work that’s how I spent my evening. Anyway, enough of the 80’s highlights.



Thoughts:
We are all a statistic in some way or another. Some of us fall in the big numbers, some on the small. Statistics about how we will live, how we believe, how we drive, how we learn, the list can go on and on. Some of our statistics we are proud of, some we are not, some we hope that we will be a part of, and others we’ll pay big money to stay out of. But what happens when those we care for become the statistic we don’t like. When life and choices all of a sudden play out and we’re left asking how. How them? Not them? Someone else? Not my friend? It these moments, these moments of great shame, pain, and disappointment, these are the moments when the Statistics must be forgotten, when what we are or what we’re not must be tossed to the side and the heart pulled to the front.

May I, as a living statistic, remember that you and that person over there, and the one around the corner, are a statistic, someone who has experienced life, its ups and downs, but may I also remember that I and them and you are also a human, a reflection of God’s creation who’s heart is far more important then what they’ve done or not done.

hands, feet, life?

The young adult ministry that I am apart of is doing a series in the fall about social injustice, and our need to be restoring the world and being active in bring God's kingdom here. I heard Bono say that "Africa is sexy” basically that it's now pop culture to care for Africa and the aids issue, but the need is more then just pop culture, it is God given. If we are to be the hands and feet of Christ, what are my hands and feet doing? It's one thing to spend a buck and get a ONE bracelet; it's other to say how do I love my neighbor? The kids in the city school who's parents are crap? The single mom down the street? God has called us to love and to be known by our love, but I'm often more known by my mouth then my hands, my sweat, my time. I believe that redemption lives in us, because God resides in us, so we can be vessels of redemption, hope, restoration. I'm just trying to figure out what baby steps I personally can take, and what steps can I make available to those in my faith community. So we cannot only wear a bracket, but also a tool belt or whatever the need may call for.

homelife

The move has happened, the job change is underway, now it’s time to do all those things I said I’d do once August came. Like exercise, walk my dog, blog, develop rhythms that connect me with God, etc. Well, here’s the moment of truth, it’s time to get started.


The house is coming along, we’ll have projects to work on, paint on, organize on, and repair on, till my birthday in March if not later. There always seems to be one more thing to do. For about a week now we’ve worked till around midnight unpacking, painting, and moving. Last night we made some big steps; our bedroom is finally clear of boxes and looks half ordered, the study and kitchen are almost done, so once we dig through the remaining boxes in the living room, hallway and those boxes still hiding in random corners we can start working in the disaster zone formally known as the basement. But after all of that, I must confess that I simple love our new home. It’s the kind of home I’ve dreamed of, the way I feel sitting in the living room, the way the study connects to the bedroom, the twisting staircase, the old woodwork wrapping around the floor, the list could go on, but I’m realizing that at times I’m going to have to really work to keep this house in it’s proper place, people before property, cause who knows, with my electrical skills and the age of this place (built 1905) it could be up in smoke at the drop of hat.

Now to the heart stuff, I long for our home to be a stepping-stone for people. A place that whatever the next step they need in life they can find it in this house. If it’s a caring ear, I pray there’s someone here to listen, if it’s a friend, that a friend can be found, if it’s direction, that wisdom will be in this place, if it’s honestly, the truth will be told with boldness yet humility and grace. I do long for this home to not become my kingdom, my comfort zone, my treasure, but a safe place, a place of love, a place of grace, a place where you simple know there’s something different, and that something different being the reflection of the God who calls us his friend. This home must never be mine, must never be held more closely than people, but I do love this house of brick and sticks, and long for this stinkin old place to be a modern day sanctuary for those who enter.

the journey home

Pearl and I are now safely home and resting from a wild 10 day trip to southern California / Northern Mexico. We co-lead a team of 20 down to El Centro, CA. where we partnered with a local church in building a pastor in Mexicali, Mexico a new home. The Pastor from Mexico emotionally shared with us on our last day that he had just seen a miracle before his very eyes as a 20-year-old prayer was just being answered. See, the Pastor married when he was 18 and shortly after started in vocational ministry; God was using him in his community but the community, due to cultural issues, had not stepped out to support him with their money. This left him finically in a tough spot. He was able to find a “5th wheel” RV where he, his wife, and their 4 kids have lived for the past 20 years. Through random “God events” this pastor became friends with our pastor friend in Southern Cal. and through more “God Events” our student ministry was able to adopt this project as one of our summer trips. A father of one of our kids organized a truck of lumber to be shipped out, a team of students and adults formed, and before long a team of 20 was heading across country on what would soon become a modern miracle. The trip and construction went great, wonderful progress on the home took place, but all that is not the point of this blog.

On the plane ride there and back I was able to read “the Organic God” by Margaret Feinberg. This is a wonderful book and would recommend it to many. The Chapter that has sat in my mind the longest is chapter 7 titled “outrageously generous.” Margaret, who I have had the honor of meeting is a feisty little woman who can’t be much taller then 5’ 1” and despite social awkwardness married a 6’8” Norwegian named Leif, centered the chapter after great humor and story around the idea of God loving a cheerful giver. But instead of heaping on the guilt of me being materialist and selfish focused on a lifestyle of giving; giving money, things, time, love, patience, life, etc.

So here I am, recouping from a wild trip, seeing the financial disparity of our brothers in Mexico and on the verge of signing a 30-year mortgage for a new house. I’m looking at my abundance of wealth trying to pack it all into a 24 foot truck, which by the way is larger then most of our Mexican Pastor’s neighbor’s homes, but I still would label myself poor in the context of my community, and trying to figure out how to be a cheerful giver. How do these worlds coexist? How can I look at the needs of the world around me, look at my “vast” wealth, look at my increasing wish list, and then find harmony around the idea of being a cheerful giver? How do I balance my wish list and “basic” needs of life and live knowing what needs are screaming for attention in the world?

May I as a liver of the faith learn to co-exist in multiple worlds. One leg in the world of my “rich” community being a living example of Jesus, yet one leg in the world of reality, the world of the needy, the world that I often try to forget.

May I as a liver of the faith inspire my rich brothers and sisters to remember our brothers and sisters who do not have as much as we.

May I as a liver of the faith give. Give when it’s comfortable, and give when it’s not. May I give smiles, hugs, kind words, time, energy, skills, things, money, and whatever else may be asked for that I can release.

May my life be a source of life, a giver of life.

keeping the mystery

So, where does the magic of life go? What sneaks into our days that zaps the mystery the wonder, the awe. The dreams of a child is replace with the worry of an adult, the playful love of teenagers become the nagging of a spouse, the grace of God’s embrace becomes the law of religion. How do we as practiceners of the Faith help to keep faith living, swirling, moving, mystical. We long to find our ourselves caught in a adventure, a mission, a story that has evil yet good, despair yet hope, failure yet victory, a place that I can see myself in my worst and myself as I was created to be, and the bridge of hope to join the two worlds. How do we spin stories that invite, that engage the imagination, that makes us see something beautiful and long for that day to come near?

May I as a co-reader protect my heart, my mind, and my soul as I interact with this story, never letting the mystery become boredom, the adventure become proofs, the beauty become law.

May we as teachers protect the hearts we care for, the minds we help shape, and the souls we fight for.

May the story live? May the words of Scripture be as a movie screen before our eyes, vivid with color and movement.