When I was a young, hot out of the seminary oven preacher boy, I would go to the Four Season’s nursing home every Thursday morning. The fine residents of Four Seasons didn’t know it, but they were my Guinea pigs. They would get a “test run” of Sunday’s message before the congregants at the Bad Axe Church of the Nazarene got the real deal three days later. I had been using Karla as my Guinea pig, but when she didn’t like something she let me know it—the Four Seasons crowd was much more genteel or maybe their hearing aids were turned off. Either way, I didn’t have to dodge shoes and other assorted items when I preached at Four Seasons. (Of course, I’m kidding. It’s true that I used to practice my sermons on Karla, it is not true that she threw things at me when I did).
The service at Four Seasons was very simple: three songs, a prayer, and a sermon by me. The hymnbook that we used consisted of 15 songs in a super-sized font that Bartimaeus could have read-- even before he met Jesus. So we frequently sang the same songs. A half blind, half deaf lady volunteered to play the piano, the residents would choose the songs, and I (never to be confused with Bill Gaither or Steven Curtis Chapman) would lead the music. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir we were not.
One of the regulars at our little church service at Four Season’s was Tessie. Tessie had suffered a stroke when she was young and been in the nursing home for quite some time. She had trouble walking and had never had any type of speech therapy following her stroke, so she had a very difficult time speaking. Most people could not understand a word that Tessie said, but I think that was because they didn’t try. Oh, one more thing about Tessie—she loved Jesus. With all her heart, she loved Jesus.
Like the Detroit Lions losing football games, every week I could count on Tessie to lift her crippled arm and request that one of the three songs that we sing would be “What a Friend we have in Jesus.” Every week-- “What a Friend we have in Jesus.” I think she would have chosen that song if there were a thousand songs in the hymnbook and not just fifteen. She never grew tired of it. Tessie couldn’t even sing the words (not in a language that most people could understand)—but she deeply knew the friendship of Jesus.
I want to be like Tessie—no matter my difficulties and even if no one quite understands it-- I want to sing out: “What a friend I have in Jesus.”
Moreover, I hope this isn’t sacrilegious (I don’t mean it to be), I hope Jesus is singing, “What a friend I have in Rob” too. In all the best friendships I have had—it’s been a “two way street.” When I need a friend, they are with me and when they need a friend, I am there. That’s what true friendship looks like. While I am absolutely convinced that Jesus will never leave me; I want Him to know—through all the times in my life, through all the trials and all the storms, when people let me down, when church folks act like Darwin was right, when life is downright stinky—that I am not leaving Him. He can count on me to keep trusting, keep giving, keep believing, and keep expecting greater things.
Is Jesus singing, “What a friend I have in __________ (Fill in your name)”?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Stolen Pumpkins
Someone swiped the pumpkins from our front porch.
There’s a pumpkin thief in the 66062 area.
Why would someone steal our pumpkins? They were not particularly large pumpkins. They were not the $8 big boys; I think they were the $5 specials. They were not unique and home grown (I have a little trouble growing pumpkins, although I’ve tried every year for the last 15 years to grow a single pumpkin. Karla recently told me I needed to water the seeds that I planted. Wow, I wish she would have told me that fifteen years ago.). The pumpkins on our porch were Wal-Mart’s “you and a million other people in mind” pumpkins. They were not carved in the likeness of anyone famous or painted with fancy designs. In fact, if memory serves (how quickly one forgets the distinguishing characteristics of their pumpkins once they are gone) one of our pumpkins had its stem broken off. Who steals a maimed, five dollar Wal-Mart pumpkin? I don’t know who done it… but my pumpkins are gone.
Karla had gotten some hedge apples (not to be confused with road apples) from the tree behind the church and was placing them in a bucket to go alongside the pumpkins on our front porch when she made the discovery—there were no pumpkins on our front porch! She did not call 9-1-1 upon this revelation. She was just a little sad. If you know Karla I am not sure if she was sadder that the pumpkins were gone or that the $10 dollars she spent on the pumpkins was now wasted. In either case, she was sad. Me too.
On our nightly walk through the neighborhood, I noticed some of our neighbors still had pumpkins on their front porches. Obviously, the pumpkins bandits didn’t steal everyone’s pumpkins—just ours. The policeman down the road had several pumpkins on his porch, driveway, and practically everywhere. The fact that he parks his patrol car in the driveway and has a big, mean police dog in his backyard that barks at the sound of a flea jumping from his tail onto the ground might help stave off any potential pumpkin crooks from his yard. Still even neighbors that do not presumably “pack heat” did not have their pumpkins stolen. Just ours. Bummer.
While disappointing, I guess in the whole scope of life--not having pumpkins on our front porch is not too big of a deal. I’ve known people who have allowed far worse thieves steal far more. So keep watch for these thieves:
Don’t let bitterness steal your joy.
Don’t let doubt steal your hope.
Don’t let anger steal your peace.
Don’t let the past steal your present.
Don’t let circumstances steal your contentment.
Don’t let negativity steal your optimism.
Don’t let injustice steal your passion.
Don’t let a bad report steal your trust.
Don’t let gossip steal your godly conversation.
Don’t let greed steal your generosity.
Don’t let judgmental attitudes steal your zeal.
Don’t let hypocrites steal your faithfulness.
Don’t let laziness steal your service.
Don’t let hatred steal your love.
Don’t let our enemy, the great thief, steal the abundant life that our Savior, the Great Hope Provider, has for you!
There’s a pumpkin thief in the 66062 area.
Why would someone steal our pumpkins? They were not particularly large pumpkins. They were not the $8 big boys; I think they were the $5 specials. They were not unique and home grown (I have a little trouble growing pumpkins, although I’ve tried every year for the last 15 years to grow a single pumpkin. Karla recently told me I needed to water the seeds that I planted. Wow, I wish she would have told me that fifteen years ago.). The pumpkins on our porch were Wal-Mart’s “you and a million other people in mind” pumpkins. They were not carved in the likeness of anyone famous or painted with fancy designs. In fact, if memory serves (how quickly one forgets the distinguishing characteristics of their pumpkins once they are gone) one of our pumpkins had its stem broken off. Who steals a maimed, five dollar Wal-Mart pumpkin? I don’t know who done it… but my pumpkins are gone.
Karla had gotten some hedge apples (not to be confused with road apples) from the tree behind the church and was placing them in a bucket to go alongside the pumpkins on our front porch when she made the discovery—there were no pumpkins on our front porch! She did not call 9-1-1 upon this revelation. She was just a little sad. If you know Karla I am not sure if she was sadder that the pumpkins were gone or that the $10 dollars she spent on the pumpkins was now wasted. In either case, she was sad. Me too.
On our nightly walk through the neighborhood, I noticed some of our neighbors still had pumpkins on their front porches. Obviously, the pumpkins bandits didn’t steal everyone’s pumpkins—just ours. The policeman down the road had several pumpkins on his porch, driveway, and practically everywhere. The fact that he parks his patrol car in the driveway and has a big, mean police dog in his backyard that barks at the sound of a flea jumping from his tail onto the ground might help stave off any potential pumpkin crooks from his yard. Still even neighbors that do not presumably “pack heat” did not have their pumpkins stolen. Just ours. Bummer.
While disappointing, I guess in the whole scope of life--not having pumpkins on our front porch is not too big of a deal. I’ve known people who have allowed far worse thieves steal far more. So keep watch for these thieves:
Don’t let bitterness steal your joy.
Don’t let doubt steal your hope.
Don’t let anger steal your peace.
Don’t let the past steal your present.
Don’t let circumstances steal your contentment.
Don’t let negativity steal your optimism.
Don’t let injustice steal your passion.
Don’t let a bad report steal your trust.
Don’t let gossip steal your godly conversation.
Don’t let greed steal your generosity.
Don’t let judgmental attitudes steal your zeal.
Don’t let hypocrites steal your faithfulness.
Don’t let laziness steal your service.
Don’t let hatred steal your love.
Don’t let our enemy, the great thief, steal the abundant life that our Savior, the Great Hope Provider, has for you!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Hanging Out at O'Hare
I am beginning to write these words from the Chicago O’Hare Airport. Airports are great for many things (besides air travel of course). They are great places to overpay for a hamburger (oops, don’t tell Karla that I had a Big Mac for lunch. I’m not sure those tasty little morsels are in the “Mrs. Prince’s Approved Diet Plan”). They are also great places to pay for Wi-Fi. Who pays for Wi-Fi? Not this cheap, internet-less pastor. Even worse than charging for Wi-Fi, airports are places that actually charge for electricity. I could not believe that in Kansas City’s Airport one has to pay two dollars—TWO DOLLARS!!!—to plug in a laptop computer to an electrical outlet by a seat in the gate area. Are you kidding me? The notion of charging for the use of an electrical outlet was so upsetting to me, I nearly became Amish. Thomas Edison cannot be happy right now!
In spite of all that, airports are great places to watch people. As I type these words, across from me is sitting a man who looks a lot like Uncle Joe on the old, old Petticoat Junction T.V. Show. (I know I am dating myself right now, but the dude seriously looks like Uncle Joe. You have to be over 50 to remember and appreciate Petticoat Junction but it was a great show with the famous line in its theme song: “and there’s Uncle Joe, he’s a movin’ kind of slow at the junction, Petticoat Junction.”). I think the sleepy, snoring man with Velcro sneakers is a dead ringer for Uncle Joe (Probably a poor word choice of “dead ringer” since Uncle Joe has long, long gone to his Great Reward). Across from him is a man reading today’s edition of USA Today, he looks a little like Cheech (or is it Chong? Again I’m dating myself.) I can never remember who is who. There is a family with a little girl and boy. The boy is acting like the seat next to him is Indy 500 race track for his toy car. I don’t think the man that is occupying that seat is amused.
In my G-7 gate waiting area, there are people dressed in designer clothes and those of us dressed in sweatshirts. There are black people, white people, Latinos and Asian people. There are old and young people. There’s an old guy with a pony tail and a young lady without much hair at all. Interesting. There is a grey haired man who is with a young lady that I initially thought was his daughter, she is probably much younger than his daughter if he had a daughter, but from the way they are now “carrying on,” I think it is safe to assume that they are definitely not daddy and daughter. And I am pretty sure that their behavior is not acceptable, even if we were in an airport in Sodom or Gomorrah. Yuck! There are more people in this area than there are seats. It’s crowded in here. Grandpa and his wife (girlfriend?) are sharing a seat.
So what’s the point? There are tons of people in this airport. From all over the world, from different walks of life, from different socio-economic backgrounds—and all of them, I mean every single solitary one of them is loved by God.
As I sit here typing, I am also praying. I am praying that God will send someone to talk to the sleeping young man with his iPod blaring who seems quite oblivious to the things of the world. I pray that he is not oblivious to the things of God. And I pray that the business man wearing a Rolex and a very expensive suit will have someone share with him the love of Christ too. I’m praying for that family with the two kids, the Uncle Joe, Cheech and Grandpa and his young lady. And I am praying that God will give me an opportunity (maybe to someone in this waiting area or on the airplane) to be able to share the love of God.
I want to be like the Apostle Paul who said, “Live wisely among those who are not believers, and make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be gracious and attractive so that you will have the right response for everyone” (Colossians 4:5-6). I think that applies to airport waiting areas, travel mates on the airplane and any place where we find ourselves. Could it be that God has arranged a Divine appointment for someone and you and Him?
Oh my, the gate agent has just announced that my airplane is not leaving from gate G-7 after all but will be leaving from gate G-1. I’ve got to run like O.J. through this airport (like in the Avis commercial… before all of his troubles… OK if you were counting that’s three times I dated myself in this brief article. UGH! I’ve got to get on my airplane.).
(Interesting editorial note: I prayed that God would use me on the airplane—that God would set up a divine appointment. My Bible was ready. My courage was mustered. Once on the airplane, I walked to my 14-C seat and guess who was the only person on the entire airplane that did not have a fellow passenger in the next seat? Me! I’m serious. The airplane was totally booked minus one seat. A big guy sat next to me for about 15 seconds and then moved forward to sit next to his wife. Maybe God thought I needed a divine appointment with sleep instead.)
In spite of all that, airports are great places to watch people. As I type these words, across from me is sitting a man who looks a lot like Uncle Joe on the old, old Petticoat Junction T.V. Show. (I know I am dating myself right now, but the dude seriously looks like Uncle Joe. You have to be over 50 to remember and appreciate Petticoat Junction but it was a great show with the famous line in its theme song: “and there’s Uncle Joe, he’s a movin’ kind of slow at the junction, Petticoat Junction.”). I think the sleepy, snoring man with Velcro sneakers is a dead ringer for Uncle Joe (Probably a poor word choice of “dead ringer” since Uncle Joe has long, long gone to his Great Reward). Across from him is a man reading today’s edition of USA Today, he looks a little like Cheech (or is it Chong? Again I’m dating myself.) I can never remember who is who. There is a family with a little girl and boy. The boy is acting like the seat next to him is Indy 500 race track for his toy car. I don’t think the man that is occupying that seat is amused.
In my G-7 gate waiting area, there are people dressed in designer clothes and those of us dressed in sweatshirts. There are black people, white people, Latinos and Asian people. There are old and young people. There’s an old guy with a pony tail and a young lady without much hair at all. Interesting. There is a grey haired man who is with a young lady that I initially thought was his daughter, she is probably much younger than his daughter if he had a daughter, but from the way they are now “carrying on,” I think it is safe to assume that they are definitely not daddy and daughter. And I am pretty sure that their behavior is not acceptable, even if we were in an airport in Sodom or Gomorrah. Yuck! There are more people in this area than there are seats. It’s crowded in here. Grandpa and his wife (girlfriend?) are sharing a seat.
So what’s the point? There are tons of people in this airport. From all over the world, from different walks of life, from different socio-economic backgrounds—and all of them, I mean every single solitary one of them is loved by God.
As I sit here typing, I am also praying. I am praying that God will send someone to talk to the sleeping young man with his iPod blaring who seems quite oblivious to the things of the world. I pray that he is not oblivious to the things of God. And I pray that the business man wearing a Rolex and a very expensive suit will have someone share with him the love of Christ too. I’m praying for that family with the two kids, the Uncle Joe, Cheech and Grandpa and his young lady. And I am praying that God will give me an opportunity (maybe to someone in this waiting area or on the airplane) to be able to share the love of God.
I want to be like the Apostle Paul who said, “Live wisely among those who are not believers, and make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be gracious and attractive so that you will have the right response for everyone” (Colossians 4:5-6). I think that applies to airport waiting areas, travel mates on the airplane and any place where we find ourselves. Could it be that God has arranged a Divine appointment for someone and you and Him?
Oh my, the gate agent has just announced that my airplane is not leaving from gate G-7 after all but will be leaving from gate G-1. I’ve got to run like O.J. through this airport (like in the Avis commercial… before all of his troubles… OK if you were counting that’s three times I dated myself in this brief article. UGH! I’ve got to get on my airplane.).
(Interesting editorial note: I prayed that God would use me on the airplane—that God would set up a divine appointment. My Bible was ready. My courage was mustered. Once on the airplane, I walked to my 14-C seat and guess who was the only person on the entire airplane that did not have a fellow passenger in the next seat? Me! I’m serious. The airplane was totally booked minus one seat. A big guy sat next to me for about 15 seconds and then moved forward to sit next to his wife. Maybe God thought I needed a divine appointment with sleep instead.)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Man and the Restaurant… A Parable
There once was a man who found a very nice restaurant. The food was good. The service was fast. The other patrons were friendly. He decided that it was his favorite restaurant and went there every week. Every Sunday morning, he went there. “What better way to start one’s week than to have a tasty meal,” he thought as he drove to his favorite restaurant.
He liked the food so much that he ate as much of it as he could whenever he was there. As strange as it might seem to people who eat every day (and even more so for those that eat three times a day), this man only ate when he was at his favorite restaurant. Every Sunday morning he ate and ate and ate, but for the rest of the week he starved. Once in a while he would go to the restaurant on a Wednesday night where he’d get a little snack and that would help tide him over until Sunday. Some of the restaurant’s patrons would gather together, eat in their homes and talk about their favorite recipes; the man was invited but never went. He said he was much too busy for that and he wasn’t comfortable eating when just a few people were around. So for the most part, he was a once-a-week eater. And if he happened to go on vacation or if he was sick or if he simply overslept on Sunday morning, then he wouldn’t go to the restaurant for two weeks or maybe more.
If you happen to be one of those people who eat every day (or even three times a day), then you might not be aware of this fact: once-a-week eating can leave a person very hungry. Moreover, if a person skips eating all together for a week or two, then one becomes quite famished indeed. It’s hard to maintain one’s strength when you only eat one meal a week. It’s easy to become grumpy when you only eat once in a while. So not surprisingly, the man started losing his strength and getting a little grumpy.
He went to the restaurant manager and said, “Sir, I’ve been coming to this restaurant for a long time now, but I am starving! I am losing my strength and my wife says I’m getting grumpy.”
The restaurant manager was taken aback by that statement (not that he was grumpy, but surprised that he was starving). The manager told the man that the restaurant had many patrons that had been coming to the establishment for years and were quite satisfied and filled. So he asked him about his daily eating routine on the six days when he was not at the restaurant. “Do you eat a good breakfast? What do you normally eat at lunch time? Tell me about your dinner habits?”
The man quickly replied, “Oh I never eat at home--only here. And quite frankly, I am not being fed enough here. I might have to find another restaurant to eat at-- one where I can eat and eat and eat and be full all week long.”
The restaurant manager said, “I am unaware of such an eatery. There are many fine restaurants and some serve excellent food, but if you only eat once a week even if it is the best restaurant in the world, with a well-known chef and most efficient waiters, you will still be hungry by the end of the week. You really need to eat something every day.”
The man had plenty of excuses why he only ate at the restaurant once a week. He was much too busy to prepare himself a meal. His home cooking wasn’t the same as the restaurant’s entrées. He never seemed to get anything out of the cookbook when he read it on his own. And he concluded that if the restaurant manager couldn’t promise a more filling once-a-week meal, then he would have to go to the restaurant down the street.
And that is exactly what he did.
Every Sunday (when he wasn’t on vacation or sick or simply sleeping in) he woke up and went to the restaurant down the street, received a good meal and then went on his way. The man was starving most of week, getting grumpier and grumpier, losing strength and thinking if only he could find the perfect restaurant with a once-a-week meal then he would never be hungry again. A friend at work told him that the restaurant in the next town over had good meals, a nice manager and very friendly patrons; maybe he’ll try that one next week.
He liked the food so much that he ate as much of it as he could whenever he was there. As strange as it might seem to people who eat every day (and even more so for those that eat three times a day), this man only ate when he was at his favorite restaurant. Every Sunday morning he ate and ate and ate, but for the rest of the week he starved. Once in a while he would go to the restaurant on a Wednesday night where he’d get a little snack and that would help tide him over until Sunday. Some of the restaurant’s patrons would gather together, eat in their homes and talk about their favorite recipes; the man was invited but never went. He said he was much too busy for that and he wasn’t comfortable eating when just a few people were around. So for the most part, he was a once-a-week eater. And if he happened to go on vacation or if he was sick or if he simply overslept on Sunday morning, then he wouldn’t go to the restaurant for two weeks or maybe more.
If you happen to be one of those people who eat every day (or even three times a day), then you might not be aware of this fact: once-a-week eating can leave a person very hungry. Moreover, if a person skips eating all together for a week or two, then one becomes quite famished indeed. It’s hard to maintain one’s strength when you only eat one meal a week. It’s easy to become grumpy when you only eat once in a while. So not surprisingly, the man started losing his strength and getting a little grumpy.
He went to the restaurant manager and said, “Sir, I’ve been coming to this restaurant for a long time now, but I am starving! I am losing my strength and my wife says I’m getting grumpy.”
The restaurant manager was taken aback by that statement (not that he was grumpy, but surprised that he was starving). The manager told the man that the restaurant had many patrons that had been coming to the establishment for years and were quite satisfied and filled. So he asked him about his daily eating routine on the six days when he was not at the restaurant. “Do you eat a good breakfast? What do you normally eat at lunch time? Tell me about your dinner habits?”
The man quickly replied, “Oh I never eat at home--only here. And quite frankly, I am not being fed enough here. I might have to find another restaurant to eat at-- one where I can eat and eat and eat and be full all week long.”
The restaurant manager said, “I am unaware of such an eatery. There are many fine restaurants and some serve excellent food, but if you only eat once a week even if it is the best restaurant in the world, with a well-known chef and most efficient waiters, you will still be hungry by the end of the week. You really need to eat something every day.”
The man had plenty of excuses why he only ate at the restaurant once a week. He was much too busy to prepare himself a meal. His home cooking wasn’t the same as the restaurant’s entrées. He never seemed to get anything out of the cookbook when he read it on his own. And he concluded that if the restaurant manager couldn’t promise a more filling once-a-week meal, then he would have to go to the restaurant down the street.
And that is exactly what he did.
Every Sunday (when he wasn’t on vacation or sick or simply sleeping in) he woke up and went to the restaurant down the street, received a good meal and then went on his way. The man was starving most of week, getting grumpier and grumpier, losing strength and thinking if only he could find the perfect restaurant with a once-a-week meal then he would never be hungry again. A friend at work told him that the restaurant in the next town over had good meals, a nice manager and very friendly patrons; maybe he’ll try that one next week.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Parking Lots and Patience
It’s been said, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” But I say if the Roman mayor and city council had hired our parking lot repair company, then Rome would still be under construction. To say the progress on the church parking lot has been a little slow is like saying counting each grain of sand in the Sierra Desert might take a little time. If our parking lot repair guys were in the race with the turtle and the hare—they would have finished not only behind the turtle and the hare, but also behind the snail, the sloth, and the gimpy legged opossum. The job that was supposed to take one week to complete (and was supposed to have begun on August 3) is now set to be completed on August 26. If you were a betting person (a betting person in a non-gambling sanctified way, of course) then I would strongly urge you to not bet on the August 26 completion date.
I’ve been told that there are numerous reasons for the delays. Wrong sized saw blades and bad weather and a few reasons only the company knows. There is no truth to the rumor that the construction team took a day off to celebrate St. Mac Day (the patron saint of cement workers). Maybe the company only hires preachers—for the last twenty years I have heard from smart aleck parishioners that preachers only work one day a week. Of course, even if that were true (which believe me is NOT true), it would still be an improvement over the “work” being done in our parking lot. Bottom line: Our parking lot still is under construction and the East entryway is still blocked off and people are still forced to turn around in the parking lot when they are “passing through” because they discover that they can’t “pass through” after all. A fact that someone has said has caused more profanity coming from the U-turning cars in our parking lot than in the Chief’s parking lot following a loss to the Oakland Raiders. I wouldn’t know about that…
Here’s what I do know: Things don’t always happen in our desired time frames. Whether we are talking parking lots or lots of others things—our timing and the actual timing of events are not always the same.
We want the oncology reports yesterday. We want to hear about the job interview at this instant. We want the repair man to return our calls as soon as we have left the message. We want patience… NOW.
You and I both know it doesn’t always work that way. The Bible tells us that “Love is patient and love is kind.” (1 Corinthians 13:4). So there are times when our loving patience will be put to the test. Sometimes we simply must wait. That’s true when dealing with construction workers, doctors, potential employers, and it’s even true in our waiting on the Lord.
God’s timing is always perfect. He is never early; never late; He is always right on time. So we wait. Often we don’t know why we are waiting, but we wait anyway. We might wish we were not waiting. Still we wait. And in those moments, the faithful are convinced that Isaiah 40 is true when it says: “But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31 KJV). In other words, when the period of waiting is over—whether the outcome is as we would have liked or not— through God’s power we will be stronger, better, and closer to Him than ever.
Are you waiting for something in your life a lot more serious than a messy parking lot? Keep trusting in God. He knows what you need, when you need it. You can always trust in His timing. And together you and God will always win! You might not get to park your car in the west parking lot, but you will win.
I’ve been told that there are numerous reasons for the delays. Wrong sized saw blades and bad weather and a few reasons only the company knows. There is no truth to the rumor that the construction team took a day off to celebrate St. Mac Day (the patron saint of cement workers). Maybe the company only hires preachers—for the last twenty years I have heard from smart aleck parishioners that preachers only work one day a week. Of course, even if that were true (which believe me is NOT true), it would still be an improvement over the “work” being done in our parking lot. Bottom line: Our parking lot still is under construction and the East entryway is still blocked off and people are still forced to turn around in the parking lot when they are “passing through” because they discover that they can’t “pass through” after all. A fact that someone has said has caused more profanity coming from the U-turning cars in our parking lot than in the Chief’s parking lot following a loss to the Oakland Raiders. I wouldn’t know about that…
Here’s what I do know: Things don’t always happen in our desired time frames. Whether we are talking parking lots or lots of others things—our timing and the actual timing of events are not always the same.
We want the oncology reports yesterday. We want to hear about the job interview at this instant. We want the repair man to return our calls as soon as we have left the message. We want patience… NOW.
You and I both know it doesn’t always work that way. The Bible tells us that “Love is patient and love is kind.” (1 Corinthians 13:4). So there are times when our loving patience will be put to the test. Sometimes we simply must wait. That’s true when dealing with construction workers, doctors, potential employers, and it’s even true in our waiting on the Lord.
God’s timing is always perfect. He is never early; never late; He is always right on time. So we wait. Often we don’t know why we are waiting, but we wait anyway. We might wish we were not waiting. Still we wait. And in those moments, the faithful are convinced that Isaiah 40 is true when it says: “But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31 KJV). In other words, when the period of waiting is over—whether the outcome is as we would have liked or not— through God’s power we will be stronger, better, and closer to Him than ever.
Are you waiting for something in your life a lot more serious than a messy parking lot? Keep trusting in God. He knows what you need, when you need it. You can always trust in His timing. And together you and God will always win! You might not get to park your car in the west parking lot, but you will win.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Endure and buy a mac
From the time the OU hat-wearing, probably 19 but looked 12, AT&T guy entered my home to “fix” my non-broken computer until now (in other words, in the last 9 months), my computer has experienced a series of unfortunate events. Here’s the list: the hard drive completely and totally went kapoot (by the way, the good folks at the AT & T have still not compensated me for that loss— I have called and called and called, I believe U-verse really means “Universe,” as in “they must be in another Universe, because they do not contact people living on planet earth.”); the internal wireless thingy went ka-pooey; the built in mouse pad has a rodent mind of its own and will without warning send the curser to places unknown (which has tempted this normally mild-mannered pastor to want to “curser” too); the battery lasts about as long as it takes to my dog Maggie to eat a rebel hot dog that has rolled off the grill (read: no time at all); and this week’s latest computer catastrophe, the internal video card went belly up leaving my screen in total darkness.
Many friends have offered me advice about this situation. I’ve heard everything from “getamac” to “get a gun and shoot it.” I’ve been told that my computer brand name HP actually stands for Hardly Performs. I’ve been tempted to see what my dear sweet mother did with the manual Remington typewriter we used to have (For all of those under twenty reading this: A typewriter was kind of like a computer without a memory and no video screen. One would type letters directly onto a sheet of paper, and if the person typing wanted to have music while he or she worked at this typewriter, then the only options were to hum a happy tune or play music on a thing called an 8 track machine or record player).
The fine tech team at the church has decided enough is enough and it’s time for my computer go to the great computer lab in the sky— or more than likely, because of all the frustration it has caused, it may be traveling to another place. I find it hard to believe that my little anxiety producing machine is going to be taking the elevator up (if you know what I mean). In any event, my trials should soon be over.
Unfortunately, more times than not the sources of our frustrations are not so easily remedied. We can’t just start over. We can’t simply say “out with the old and in with the new”. Instead, we have to do the hard work of working on the relationship, mending the broken fences, apologizing or forgiving. Frequently, all we can do is endure. Endurance is a Christ-like quality that too few of us want to cultivate. But Jesus said, “if we endure to the end we will be saved” (Matthew 10:22). Moreover, the Apostle Paul who knew a thing or two about enduring in difficult situations (he frequently found himself in a rat infested prison for the cause of Jesus Christ) wrote these words, “Endurance produces character and character produces hope” (Romans 5:4).
Our choice is to have some kind of Star Trek-like teleporter remove us from all the frustrations and sticky situations of life, but maybe what’s needed is some God-empowered endurance. Hear this from James: Anyone who meets a testing challenge head-on and manages to stick it out is mighty fortunate. For such persons loyally in love with God, the reward is life and more life. (James 1:12 The Message) So the lesson learned is endure… and buy a mac!
Many friends have offered me advice about this situation. I’ve heard everything from “getamac” to “get a gun and shoot it.” I’ve been told that my computer brand name HP actually stands for Hardly Performs. I’ve been tempted to see what my dear sweet mother did with the manual Remington typewriter we used to have (For all of those under twenty reading this: A typewriter was kind of like a computer without a memory and no video screen. One would type letters directly onto a sheet of paper, and if the person typing wanted to have music while he or she worked at this typewriter, then the only options were to hum a happy tune or play music on a thing called an 8 track machine or record player).
The fine tech team at the church has decided enough is enough and it’s time for my computer go to the great computer lab in the sky— or more than likely, because of all the frustration it has caused, it may be traveling to another place. I find it hard to believe that my little anxiety producing machine is going to be taking the elevator up (if you know what I mean). In any event, my trials should soon be over.
Unfortunately, more times than not the sources of our frustrations are not so easily remedied. We can’t just start over. We can’t simply say “out with the old and in with the new”. Instead, we have to do the hard work of working on the relationship, mending the broken fences, apologizing or forgiving. Frequently, all we can do is endure. Endurance is a Christ-like quality that too few of us want to cultivate. But Jesus said, “if we endure to the end we will be saved” (Matthew 10:22). Moreover, the Apostle Paul who knew a thing or two about enduring in difficult situations (he frequently found himself in a rat infested prison for the cause of Jesus Christ) wrote these words, “Endurance produces character and character produces hope” (Romans 5:4).
Our choice is to have some kind of Star Trek-like teleporter remove us from all the frustrations and sticky situations of life, but maybe what’s needed is some God-empowered endurance. Hear this from James: Anyone who meets a testing challenge head-on and manages to stick it out is mighty fortunate. For such persons loyally in love with God, the reward is life and more life. (James 1:12 The Message) So the lesson learned is endure… and buy a mac!
I scream. You scream. We all Scream for Ice Cream
A mantra that has done me well through the years is this: “I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream!” I love ice cream. My favorite is Blue Bell. Although Karla says we can’t have it unless the price comes down or Hen House puts it on a crazy three-for-one sale. Karla doesn’t know how important good ice cream is. She thinks the no-named ice cream that comes in a clear plastic tub is just as good Blue Bell. For an ice cream connoisseur (she says “ice cream snob.”) like me, I say, “Blaspheme!”
So why did I throw away four cartons of ice cream yesterday morning? (In case you are wondering: three Breyers and one Blue Bell. I think the Blue Bell carton happened to find its way into the cart when Karla sent me to the grocery store for milk or eggs or something. But I digress….). Someone left the freezer door just slightly ajar. I am not a Maytag repair man, nor the son of a Maytag repairman, but I do know this: Freezer doors need to be closed to keep things frozen. When I discovered the slightly opened door, the ice cream was more like a chilled smoothie. I like ice cream, but only when it is frozen. As if I even have to write this, re-frozen ice cream (even when it is Blue Bell) is just plain gross. So, yesterday morning with a tear in my eye I said, “Goodbye mint chocolate chip! So long cookie dough! Adios rocky road! Sayonara Neapolitan. Good bye, my dear friends” as I tossed them into the trash bin and then took it to the curb.
Ice cream that’s not frozen is no good at all.
Jesus said similar things about salt that is not salty (see Matthew 5:13), water that is lukewarm (See Revelation 3:16) and plants that produce no fruit (see John 15).
I think the point in all of this is that we are to fulfill our purpose. Just as ice cream is to be a refreshing frozen treat on a hot summer day, we believers are to be a welcomed refreshing delight to our world. We were created to bring glory to God. We were fashioned to bring praise to His name. We were designed to live holy lives. We were made to ooze the love of Jesus with those we encounter.
So when our blood boils at needless things, when we get hot under the collar about non essentials, when we burn with a little sanctimonious self-righteousness it’s like leaving the freezer door open on a hot day. We become mushy, yucky un-frozen ice cream—what was intended to be a treat is a treat no more.
Let that never be said of us. Our world desperately needs the followers of Jesus to bring refreshment and delight—like a Blue Bell double dipped cookies and cream cone on a hot July day. Yum!
So why did I throw away four cartons of ice cream yesterday morning? (In case you are wondering: three Breyers and one Blue Bell. I think the Blue Bell carton happened to find its way into the cart when Karla sent me to the grocery store for milk or eggs or something. But I digress….). Someone left the freezer door just slightly ajar. I am not a Maytag repair man, nor the son of a Maytag repairman, but I do know this: Freezer doors need to be closed to keep things frozen. When I discovered the slightly opened door, the ice cream was more like a chilled smoothie. I like ice cream, but only when it is frozen. As if I even have to write this, re-frozen ice cream (even when it is Blue Bell) is just plain gross. So, yesterday morning with a tear in my eye I said, “Goodbye mint chocolate chip! So long cookie dough! Adios rocky road! Sayonara Neapolitan. Good bye, my dear friends” as I tossed them into the trash bin and then took it to the curb.
Ice cream that’s not frozen is no good at all.
Jesus said similar things about salt that is not salty (see Matthew 5:13), water that is lukewarm (See Revelation 3:16) and plants that produce no fruit (see John 15).
I think the point in all of this is that we are to fulfill our purpose. Just as ice cream is to be a refreshing frozen treat on a hot summer day, we believers are to be a welcomed refreshing delight to our world. We were created to bring glory to God. We were fashioned to bring praise to His name. We were designed to live holy lives. We were made to ooze the love of Jesus with those we encounter.
So when our blood boils at needless things, when we get hot under the collar about non essentials, when we burn with a little sanctimonious self-righteousness it’s like leaving the freezer door open on a hot day. We become mushy, yucky un-frozen ice cream—what was intended to be a treat is a treat no more.
Let that never be said of us. Our world desperately needs the followers of Jesus to bring refreshment and delight—like a Blue Bell double dipped cookies and cream cone on a hot July day. Yum!
God says, “I hate divorce” and so do I.
I read a letter recently written from a person to their ex-spouse. The letter contained harsh accusatory language. There was selfishness and brokenness oozing from each word. I am not exactly sure why the letter was sent. I know it caused more pain and more hurt. It showed again the ugly side of divorce (is there ever a “pretty side” in divorce?) that seems to happen all too often when a marital relationship ends and children are left hanging in the balance. It made me sad reading the letter.
Not too long ago, I met with a person who informed me that this person had never (never ever) loved his/her spouse. The marriage was a mistake from the beginning, I was told, and divorce was the only option. I left that conversation feeling the same way as I did when I was done reading the letter. Sad. Very Sad.
Last night I met with two couples preparing to get married. I asked them the simple question that I ask every couple I meet with before they get married. “Do you love one another?” (Seems like a downright silly question to ask a couple a few months before their wedding day, doesn’t it?)
Both couples convinced me. They told me that they really love one another. They looked in each other’s eyes. They smiled and held hands. They told me how when separated they can’t wait to see one other and how they look forward to talking to the other person. They told me how they care for one another, how they love to surprise the other one, and how they enjoy being together. I believed them—I think they love each other.
My guess is that if I had met with the couples from paragraphs #1 and #2 before they got married and asked them that same simple question, “Do you love each other?” I think their answers would have been just like last night. Holding hands, looking happy, “Yes!” they would have said. “We love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together.” I think they would have convinced me too.
I know the person in paragraph #2 said that there was no love between husband and the wife and never had been. Quite frankly I didn’t believe it. Nor have I believed it the bazillion other times when someone trying to justify his or her reasons for getting a divorce have looked me straight in the eye and said, “Pastor we have never loved each other.”
Contrary to those statements, I think most people are in love when they get married. Remember I get the best “seat” in the house at most of the weddings I attend. I am standing right in front of the groom as he gets that first glimpse of his bride walking down the aisle. I see the look in his eye as he sees her holding onto her daddy’s arm. I am just a couple of feet away when they stand face to face, holding hands and stating those most important promises: I will ALWAYS be there… for better or worse, for richer or poorer… til death do us part.” I believe they mean it.
Oh, I know it happens occasionally (that two people not in love get married)— and maybe if I was one of those mail order preachers that operated an Always-open Wedding Chapel in Vegas I would have a different opinion. But for the weddings I officiate in Kansas, I think most of the couples do love each other. I think most couples mean it when they say, “Whether we are rich or not, healthy or not, whatever may happen-- you can count on me.”
So what happens in between those lofty promises and looking all lovey dovey into each other’s eyes and those who abruptly announce, “I wanna divorce”?
My answer is pretty simplistic. Too simplistic some would say. But take this from a guy that has counseled hundreds of couples down through the years and have witnessed a reoccurring theme when it comes to divorce—it’s selfishness. One way or another, selfishness is involved. Either from the selfish one who is “looking out for #1” and ready to move on to something (or someone) “better” or from the one who is fed up living with a self-centered one. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I have heard one or all of the following: “I want my way. I don’t care about the line “for better or worse.” I’ve had it. I’m out. I don’t care about my spouse. I don’t care about my kids.” (By the way in last week’s Time Magazine there is an article making the case that children of divorced people are always negatively affected by the divorce). “I am done!” They say in one form or another.
Moreover, as far as I know—there is still only one sure fire remedy for self-centeredness. It’s Jesus Christ. If one or both in the relationship are displaying self-centered tendencies—what is needed is not a self-help class or two hours of watching Dr. Phil episodes. Jesus Christ is needed. Jesus needs to fill the husband or wife or both with a healthy dose of the Fruit of the Spirit. What marriage could not use more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:21-22)? We used to believe that God provided that fruit to those who sought them—I still think He does. And I think if every marital partner displayed the fruit of the spirit in their homes—there would be far less divorces.
I told you it is simplistic: Our homes need more of Jesus and more of the fruit of the Spirit that only He gives. Simple.
Listen, I’ve been at this pastoring gig for a long enough time to know that sometimes some really wonderful people endure divorce. Sometimes, some fantastic people experience the reason why the Bible says, “God hates divorce.” It’s because divorce is painful and it hurts. (By the way, the Bible says “God hates divorce” it does not say, “God hates divorced people.” God loves everybody—even the most self centered of us. Always has. Always will). Still, there have been plenty of times I have wished there were a magic wand that I could wave that would take the pain and the heartache from the mostly innocent victims in divorce. But I there is no such invention.
I know that there are some reading this that have been victims of divorce and others reading this who have a selfish past that led to a divorce and that has since been gloriously forgiven-- please know, this letter is not meant to heap any needless guilt on anyone—it is simply to say from the perspective of one pastor in Kansas: I am tired of divorce. I am tired of the pain it causes. I am tired of Satan rearing his ugly head in our homes. I am tired of kids suffering; extended families grieving; all the while two hurting individuals with broken hearts and broken dreams saying “we’re through.” God says, “I hate divorce” and so do I.
Not too long ago, I met with a person who informed me that this person had never (never ever) loved his/her spouse. The marriage was a mistake from the beginning, I was told, and divorce was the only option. I left that conversation feeling the same way as I did when I was done reading the letter. Sad. Very Sad.
Last night I met with two couples preparing to get married. I asked them the simple question that I ask every couple I meet with before they get married. “Do you love one another?” (Seems like a downright silly question to ask a couple a few months before their wedding day, doesn’t it?)
Both couples convinced me. They told me that they really love one another. They looked in each other’s eyes. They smiled and held hands. They told me how when separated they can’t wait to see one other and how they look forward to talking to the other person. They told me how they care for one another, how they love to surprise the other one, and how they enjoy being together. I believed them—I think they love each other.
My guess is that if I had met with the couples from paragraphs #1 and #2 before they got married and asked them that same simple question, “Do you love each other?” I think their answers would have been just like last night. Holding hands, looking happy, “Yes!” they would have said. “We love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together.” I think they would have convinced me too.
I know the person in paragraph #2 said that there was no love between husband and the wife and never had been. Quite frankly I didn’t believe it. Nor have I believed it the bazillion other times when someone trying to justify his or her reasons for getting a divorce have looked me straight in the eye and said, “Pastor we have never loved each other.”
Contrary to those statements, I think most people are in love when they get married. Remember I get the best “seat” in the house at most of the weddings I attend. I am standing right in front of the groom as he gets that first glimpse of his bride walking down the aisle. I see the look in his eye as he sees her holding onto her daddy’s arm. I am just a couple of feet away when they stand face to face, holding hands and stating those most important promises: I will ALWAYS be there… for better or worse, for richer or poorer… til death do us part.” I believe they mean it.
Oh, I know it happens occasionally (that two people not in love get married)— and maybe if I was one of those mail order preachers that operated an Always-open Wedding Chapel in Vegas I would have a different opinion. But for the weddings I officiate in Kansas, I think most of the couples do love each other. I think most couples mean it when they say, “Whether we are rich or not, healthy or not, whatever may happen-- you can count on me.”
So what happens in between those lofty promises and looking all lovey dovey into each other’s eyes and those who abruptly announce, “I wanna divorce”?
My answer is pretty simplistic. Too simplistic some would say. But take this from a guy that has counseled hundreds of couples down through the years and have witnessed a reoccurring theme when it comes to divorce—it’s selfishness. One way or another, selfishness is involved. Either from the selfish one who is “looking out for #1” and ready to move on to something (or someone) “better” or from the one who is fed up living with a self-centered one. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I have heard one or all of the following: “I want my way. I don’t care about the line “for better or worse.” I’ve had it. I’m out. I don’t care about my spouse. I don’t care about my kids.” (By the way in last week’s Time Magazine there is an article making the case that children of divorced people are always negatively affected by the divorce). “I am done!” They say in one form or another.
Moreover, as far as I know—there is still only one sure fire remedy for self-centeredness. It’s Jesus Christ. If one or both in the relationship are displaying self-centered tendencies—what is needed is not a self-help class or two hours of watching Dr. Phil episodes. Jesus Christ is needed. Jesus needs to fill the husband or wife or both with a healthy dose of the Fruit of the Spirit. What marriage could not use more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:21-22)? We used to believe that God provided that fruit to those who sought them—I still think He does. And I think if every marital partner displayed the fruit of the spirit in their homes—there would be far less divorces.
I told you it is simplistic: Our homes need more of Jesus and more of the fruit of the Spirit that only He gives. Simple.
Listen, I’ve been at this pastoring gig for a long enough time to know that sometimes some really wonderful people endure divorce. Sometimes, some fantastic people experience the reason why the Bible says, “God hates divorce.” It’s because divorce is painful and it hurts. (By the way, the Bible says “God hates divorce” it does not say, “God hates divorced people.” God loves everybody—even the most self centered of us. Always has. Always will). Still, there have been plenty of times I have wished there were a magic wand that I could wave that would take the pain and the heartache from the mostly innocent victims in divorce. But I there is no such invention.
I know that there are some reading this that have been victims of divorce and others reading this who have a selfish past that led to a divorce and that has since been gloriously forgiven-- please know, this letter is not meant to heap any needless guilt on anyone—it is simply to say from the perspective of one pastor in Kansas: I am tired of divorce. I am tired of the pain it causes. I am tired of Satan rearing his ugly head in our homes. I am tired of kids suffering; extended families grieving; all the while two hurting individuals with broken hearts and broken dreams saying “we’re through.” God says, “I hate divorce” and so do I.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Tonight's Chicken Nugget Eating Contest
On July 4th at Coney Island in New York an event will take place—as it has every year since 1914. While it occurs on the holiday known for flags, parades, fireworks and barbeques, this event does not include bottle rockets or John Philip Sousa songs. Still some have said it is “Americana” at its best (or worst).
Last year, over 30,000 spectators (and a TV audience of 1.5 million) watched as Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs conducted a hot dog eating contest – where the contestants had ten minutes to eat as many hot dogs as they could stuff down their pie holes. I guess nothing says “patriotism” and “independence” like a gluttonous adventure into the land of hot dogs. Maybe way back in 1914 when the idea of a hot dog eating contest arose, someone sighed, “only in America” and the rest is 4th of July history.
The winner the past two years has been a guy named Joey Chestnut (you’d think with a name like that he would be gorging himself with Christmas cookies over an open fire, not Independence Day wieners on Coney Island). In last year’s “glutton fest,” after ten minutes and 59 hotdogs (That is not a typo-- Joey ate nearly five dozen hot dogs in 600 seconds. For you non-Phi Beta Kappa’s that’s just about one hot dog wolfed down every 10 seconds. Burp.), Mr. Chestnut was tied with the six-time champion Takeru "Tsunami" Kobayashi. In order to determine the winner, the two men then had an “eat off” where each one was given a plate of five additional hot dogs to see who could eat them the fastest. As the wiener eating winner, having consumed 64 hot dogs in less time than it usually takes for me to get my order from the arched burger joint down the street, Mr. Chestnut received a trophy, two cases of Nathan's Famous hot dogs (he should have been given two cases of Pepto Bismol), the famous Nathan's Mustard Belt (whatever that is), and $10,000 (that might help pay for the quadruple by-pass surgery that is surely coming down the road). Double burp.
Having written all of that, tonight (thanks to Pastor Cory and his “volunteering” me in both services last Sunday morning), I will be participating in an eating contest too. There will be no hot dogs and no $10,000 prize. As far as I know, my competition will not include Mr. Chestnut or his Japanese rival. (Although our brand spanking new children’s pastor, Rev. Andy Foster will be there joining in the contest… he is in town looking for a house). Still, against my better judgment and with strong protests from my sensitive tummy, I will belly up to the counter to see how many chicken nuggets I can consume without hardening an artery, tossing my cookies and/or losing all dignity. Can one be in an eating contest and be free from the afore mentioned hazards? We’ll see.
The Olathe Chick-fil-A (at 119th and Blackbob) is sponsoring a fundraiser for our youth mission trip tonight between 6 and 8 PM. Simply mention that you are from Central Church and 15% of your meal cost will be donated to our youth mission trip. Throughout the evening, there will be lots of fun, prizes and of course the dreaded nugget eating contest. I hope you can come and join in the fun and support our students as they prepare to minister in Indianapolis this summer. I also hope that I can consume just enough nuggets to satisfy my hunger, but not enough to be embarrassing.
So as I prepare for tonight’s eating adventure, I have been trying to think if there might be some spiritual lesson I can glean from this experience. I know heaven is sometimes describes as “feasting at the banquet table,” but will it be like munching down a mountain of chicken nuggets from Chick-fil-A? Probably not. I used to sing in church the old song, “Come and Dine” but honestly, I don’t think the hymn writer had the deliciously slightly battered chicken morsels and tasty waffle fries in mind. Moreover, I am fully aware that during the Middle Ages gluttony was listed as one of the seven deadly sins, ummm… I will do my best to not step over the line. So what can I learn from tonight?
I think the best thing I can glean is that tonight is about having fun and raising money for missions. It’s about being together as a family and enjoying one another’s company. It’s really not about chicken nuggets. It’s more about community. I am thankful that Chick-fil-A has generously offered their facilities and will donate 15% of the proceeds to our youth. I am thankful for a youth program that recognizes the need to get our students involved early and often in missions. And I am thankful that Karla is out of town this week, so I don’t have to hear that “chicken nugget eating contests” are dumb.
As I reflect upon Barbie Q (the cow that was given to us by the Swazi chief in Africa) and how she gave her life to those who came to our free medical clinic day. Then surely, I can give my tummy to help raise a few extra dollars for the youth mission trip.
See you tonight!
Last year, over 30,000 spectators (and a TV audience of 1.5 million) watched as Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs conducted a hot dog eating contest – where the contestants had ten minutes to eat as many hot dogs as they could stuff down their pie holes. I guess nothing says “patriotism” and “independence” like a gluttonous adventure into the land of hot dogs. Maybe way back in 1914 when the idea of a hot dog eating contest arose, someone sighed, “only in America” and the rest is 4th of July history.
The winner the past two years has been a guy named Joey Chestnut (you’d think with a name like that he would be gorging himself with Christmas cookies over an open fire, not Independence Day wieners on Coney Island). In last year’s “glutton fest,” after ten minutes and 59 hotdogs (That is not a typo-- Joey ate nearly five dozen hot dogs in 600 seconds. For you non-Phi Beta Kappa’s that’s just about one hot dog wolfed down every 10 seconds. Burp.), Mr. Chestnut was tied with the six-time champion Takeru "Tsunami" Kobayashi. In order to determine the winner, the two men then had an “eat off” where each one was given a plate of five additional hot dogs to see who could eat them the fastest. As the wiener eating winner, having consumed 64 hot dogs in less time than it usually takes for me to get my order from the arched burger joint down the street, Mr. Chestnut received a trophy, two cases of Nathan's Famous hot dogs (he should have been given two cases of Pepto Bismol), the famous Nathan's Mustard Belt (whatever that is), and $10,000 (that might help pay for the quadruple by-pass surgery that is surely coming down the road). Double burp.
Having written all of that, tonight (thanks to Pastor Cory and his “volunteering” me in both services last Sunday morning), I will be participating in an eating contest too. There will be no hot dogs and no $10,000 prize. As far as I know, my competition will not include Mr. Chestnut or his Japanese rival. (Although our brand spanking new children’s pastor, Rev. Andy Foster will be there joining in the contest… he is in town looking for a house). Still, against my better judgment and with strong protests from my sensitive tummy, I will belly up to the counter to see how many chicken nuggets I can consume without hardening an artery, tossing my cookies and/or losing all dignity. Can one be in an eating contest and be free from the afore mentioned hazards? We’ll see.
The Olathe Chick-fil-A (at 119th and Blackbob) is sponsoring a fundraiser for our youth mission trip tonight between 6 and 8 PM. Simply mention that you are from Central Church and 15% of your meal cost will be donated to our youth mission trip. Throughout the evening, there will be lots of fun, prizes and of course the dreaded nugget eating contest. I hope you can come and join in the fun and support our students as they prepare to minister in Indianapolis this summer. I also hope that I can consume just enough nuggets to satisfy my hunger, but not enough to be embarrassing.
So as I prepare for tonight’s eating adventure, I have been trying to think if there might be some spiritual lesson I can glean from this experience. I know heaven is sometimes describes as “feasting at the banquet table,” but will it be like munching down a mountain of chicken nuggets from Chick-fil-A? Probably not. I used to sing in church the old song, “Come and Dine” but honestly, I don’t think the hymn writer had the deliciously slightly battered chicken morsels and tasty waffle fries in mind. Moreover, I am fully aware that during the Middle Ages gluttony was listed as one of the seven deadly sins, ummm… I will do my best to not step over the line. So what can I learn from tonight?
I think the best thing I can glean is that tonight is about having fun and raising money for missions. It’s about being together as a family and enjoying one another’s company. It’s really not about chicken nuggets. It’s more about community. I am thankful that Chick-fil-A has generously offered their facilities and will donate 15% of the proceeds to our youth. I am thankful for a youth program that recognizes the need to get our students involved early and often in missions. And I am thankful that Karla is out of town this week, so I don’t have to hear that “chicken nugget eating contests” are dumb.
As I reflect upon Barbie Q (the cow that was given to us by the Swazi chief in Africa) and how she gave her life to those who came to our free medical clinic day. Then surely, I can give my tummy to help raise a few extra dollars for the youth mission trip.
See you tonight!
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Next to Last Day in Africa
We have had such a wonderful time in Africa.
Yesterday we left Swaziland and headed to South Africa-- to Kruger National Park more specifically. We went into the park and began to look for wild animals. We saw Elephants (lots of elephants), giraffes, water buffalo, hippos, crocodile, lots of impala, kudu, and a few other things. We will go back today for a more guided tour-- and then tomorrow its back to Jo-burg and heading for home.
All are enjoying the sites and I think all are getting ready to head back home-- but we have had a wonderful time in Africa.
Yesterday we left Swaziland and headed to South Africa-- to Kruger National Park more specifically. We went into the park and began to look for wild animals. We saw Elephants (lots of elephants), giraffes, water buffalo, hippos, crocodile, lots of impala, kudu, and a few other things. We will go back today for a more guided tour-- and then tomorrow its back to Jo-burg and heading for home.
All are enjoying the sites and I think all are getting ready to head back home-- but we have had a wonderful time in Africa.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Africa Day Ten
Saturday's Highlights in Africa include:
1) On the way to the work site we discovered that "Click it or Ticket" applies in Swaziland. One of our vehicles was pulled over by the police-- and since the passenger did not have a seat belt on-- we were ticketed. We had to pay on the spot 60 rand (about $7.50). When trying to get out of the ticket the "nameless team member" said, "I did not know it was the law in Swaziland." To which the officer replied, "Is it a law in your country?" Honestly admitting it was-- he then received his ticket. Now we know..
2) In the afternoon many from the team went to a traditional dance given on our behalf-- provided by the local chief (the chief that also gave us a cow). We were afraid that it might be a "little too traditional" but we were also afraid we would offend the chief and hinder the work of the church if we did not attend. So we decided to have some of our team attend but not our minors and some others of us-- it ended up being the G rated traditional service (All the women were wearing T-Shirts.) All enjoyed the cultural experience.
3) We completed most of the work on the nurse’s quarters. They were so happy-- even moved in some brand new furniture that we provided. They loved it.
4) Had a celebration service with all the Swazis that have helped us this week. We ate a little more of Barbie Q, our cow. She was a tough lady.
Now today will be church with our friends! I will be calling to our services. Have a blessed Sunday.
1) On the way to the work site we discovered that "Click it or Ticket" applies in Swaziland. One of our vehicles was pulled over by the police-- and since the passenger did not have a seat belt on-- we were ticketed. We had to pay on the spot 60 rand (about $7.50). When trying to get out of the ticket the "nameless team member" said, "I did not know it was the law in Swaziland." To which the officer replied, "Is it a law in your country?" Honestly admitting it was-- he then received his ticket. Now we know..
2) In the afternoon many from the team went to a traditional dance given on our behalf-- provided by the local chief (the chief that also gave us a cow). We were afraid that it might be a "little too traditional" but we were also afraid we would offend the chief and hinder the work of the church if we did not attend. So we decided to have some of our team attend but not our minors and some others of us-- it ended up being the G rated traditional service (All the women were wearing T-Shirts.) All enjoyed the cultural experience.
3) We completed most of the work on the nurse’s quarters. They were so happy-- even moved in some brand new furniture that we provided. They loved it.
4) Had a celebration service with all the Swazis that have helped us this week. We ate a little more of Barbie Q, our cow. She was a tough lady.
Now today will be church with our friends! I will be calling to our services. Have a blessed Sunday.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Africa Day Nine
Yesterday the Luke Commission-- led by Nazarene Mission Corp doctor Harry and Echo Vanderwal came to Endzingini with there team of nurses and helpers to give a free clinic.
People started lining up before 5AM to see the doctor-- and the lines lasted all day. Hundreds of people were treated; many tested for HIV, screened for other diseases, fitted for glasses, and prayed over. Members from our team worked alongside the Luke Commission medical personnel and the local Swazi nurses.
As people waited in line-- our cow (Barbie Q) who yesterday met her demise-- was put to good use as 100's of people were fed with a meal of beef and "mealie meal" (a corn meal entree that looks like masked potatoes). They all seemed to like "barbie" very much.
The construction crew made great progress again on the nurse quarters. Today will be the last day of work and so we will do our best to get it done and "Move in Condition."
The team is still doing well-- although we are getting a bit tired. I think we wil welcome the lighter schedule today.
Keep us in your prayers. I hope to call back to both the 8:30 and 11:00 services tomorrow.
People started lining up before 5AM to see the doctor-- and the lines lasted all day. Hundreds of people were treated; many tested for HIV, screened for other diseases, fitted for glasses, and prayed over. Members from our team worked alongside the Luke Commission medical personnel and the local Swazi nurses.
As people waited in line-- our cow (Barbie Q) who yesterday met her demise-- was put to good use as 100's of people were fed with a meal of beef and "mealie meal" (a corn meal entree that looks like masked potatoes). They all seemed to like "barbie" very much.
The construction crew made great progress again on the nurse quarters. Today will be the last day of work and so we will do our best to get it done and "Move in Condition."
The team is still doing well-- although we are getting a bit tired. I think we wil welcome the lighter schedule today.
Keep us in your prayers. I hope to call back to both the 8:30 and 11:00 services tomorrow.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Day Eight in Africa
Sany-bo-nani (Spelling is wrong but it means "Hello Everyone!")
Our trip continues to be going quite well. Yesterday here's what happened:
The Construction team made great progress on the nurse’s quarters. The nurses are currently living is a rat and bat and bug invested house-- these renovated quarters will allow the critters to stay out-- while a new place is being built. Later these temporary quarters will be use by the clinic. The construction team has been doing electrical, plumbing, painting-- you name it. We really want to get it done by Saturday before we leave... pray that we can.
The Medical Team went to Piggs Peak to work at the clinic there-- they were busier than in previous days-- seeing several people.
Rev. Micheale (pronounced McHale like in McHale's Navy) Lavigne and Yona Schroeder, and I met with the Pastors of the Hho Hho Region. What a great group of men and women. We sang together and prayed together and Rev. Lavigne and I led in a teaching time-- then we went to lunch at the Highlands Inn. The restaurant was OK-- certainly not a five star place-- but many of the pastors indicated that they had never eaten in a restaurant in their lives before-- they were so thankful that we had bought their lunch. We also gave them books and Yona had taken a picture of the group and of them individually-- which we were able to print out and given them. They were so thankful.
There was no VBS yesterday because there was no school for the younger children.
Last night we showed the Jesus film. Over 400 people showed up-- we printed 200 response cards and everyone was taken and that does not include the 70 children that moved forward. The say the response was overwhelming would be an understatement! God moved in a powerful way. Isn't that why we came? To see God heal and work and bring peace and salvation! It's happening!
I must report some sad news... our cow (That we named Barbie Q) met her demise yesterday. Dan Rexroth and several from the team had to travel to pick out the cow and then she came to a bitter end. She is dinner tonight (gulp!)
Also there was a three or four foot tree snake that wanted to come to the Jesus film last night. Just prior to her entrance the Rev. Dlaminni sent her to Snake heaven (Is there such a place? Probably not).
Today is the free medical clinic day. We are expecting over 1,000 people. It will be so busy--please pray that we minister in Jesus name.
Our trip continues to be going quite well. Yesterday here's what happened:
The Construction team made great progress on the nurse’s quarters. The nurses are currently living is a rat and bat and bug invested house-- these renovated quarters will allow the critters to stay out-- while a new place is being built. Later these temporary quarters will be use by the clinic. The construction team has been doing electrical, plumbing, painting-- you name it. We really want to get it done by Saturday before we leave... pray that we can.
The Medical Team went to Piggs Peak to work at the clinic there-- they were busier than in previous days-- seeing several people.
Rev. Micheale (pronounced McHale like in McHale's Navy) Lavigne and Yona Schroeder, and I met with the Pastors of the Hho Hho Region. What a great group of men and women. We sang together and prayed together and Rev. Lavigne and I led in a teaching time-- then we went to lunch at the Highlands Inn. The restaurant was OK-- certainly not a five star place-- but many of the pastors indicated that they had never eaten in a restaurant in their lives before-- they were so thankful that we had bought their lunch. We also gave them books and Yona had taken a picture of the group and of them individually-- which we were able to print out and given them. They were so thankful.
There was no VBS yesterday because there was no school for the younger children.
Last night we showed the Jesus film. Over 400 people showed up-- we printed 200 response cards and everyone was taken and that does not include the 70 children that moved forward. The say the response was overwhelming would be an understatement! God moved in a powerful way. Isn't that why we came? To see God heal and work and bring peace and salvation! It's happening!
I must report some sad news... our cow (That we named Barbie Q) met her demise yesterday. Dan Rexroth and several from the team had to travel to pick out the cow and then she came to a bitter end. She is dinner tonight (gulp!)
Also there was a three or four foot tree snake that wanted to come to the Jesus film last night. Just prior to her entrance the Rev. Dlaminni sent her to Snake heaven (Is there such a place? Probably not).
Today is the free medical clinic day. We are expecting over 1,000 people. It will be so busy--please pray that we minister in Jesus name.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Day Seven in Africa
Yesterday was a big day as the Prime Minister from the Kingdom of Swaziland came in the morning. This was a very big deal-- for it wasn't "just" the Prime Minister but there were several members of Parliament, chiefs (not the Kansas City variety), other ministers.
The Prime Minister is a Nazarene (and a Preacher's kid... maybe there is hope for my boys!). He was also born in the Endzingeni Clinic where we were working. They put a plaque on the wall of the clinic honoring his birth. He gave a speech as did other officials-- and Dan Rexroth represented the group-- and gave greetings to everyone. I closed the morning with a prayer for the health of the Prime Minister and the well being of the Swaziland. Following the speeches the Prime Minister left-- but he provided wonderful lunch for everyone to share.
Oh, I almost forgot-- one of the area chiefs (not the Kansas City variety) was glad that we have come to work that he gave us a cow! Central Nazarene has a cow. Well not for long-- as is their custom the cow will be um... invited to dinner for everyone on Friday night. I have learned they cook every part of her-- from head to hoofs. I am hoping for something in between the head and the hoofs.
After all the hoopla, we got back to work. The construction team has a long way to go if we are going to be done with the nurse’s quarters before we leave-- pray that we get it done. The Medical clinic saw a few more patients (many people are waiting to come until Friday when there will be a free clinic day), and the compassion team held another VBS-- this time for the 5, 6, and 7 grades. Between 300 and 400 children were there. I wish you could have heard them sing-- to say Awesome is not good enough. It was so beautiful.
Today-- more construction will be happening, I will meet with the pastors of the Hho Hho Region and the nurses will work in the Piggs Peak Clinic. Tonight we will be showing the Jesus film (pray that it goes well!).
Again forgive all spelling errors-- there is no spell check.
Everyone is doing well-- there have been no injuries, no troubles, no problems of any kind. We have a great team!
The Prime Minister is a Nazarene (and a Preacher's kid... maybe there is hope for my boys!). He was also born in the Endzingeni Clinic where we were working. They put a plaque on the wall of the clinic honoring his birth. He gave a speech as did other officials-- and Dan Rexroth represented the group-- and gave greetings to everyone. I closed the morning with a prayer for the health of the Prime Minister and the well being of the Swaziland. Following the speeches the Prime Minister left-- but he provided wonderful lunch for everyone to share.
Oh, I almost forgot-- one of the area chiefs (not the Kansas City variety) was glad that we have come to work that he gave us a cow! Central Nazarene has a cow. Well not for long-- as is their custom the cow will be um... invited to dinner for everyone on Friday night. I have learned they cook every part of her-- from head to hoofs. I am hoping for something in between the head and the hoofs.
After all the hoopla, we got back to work. The construction team has a long way to go if we are going to be done with the nurse’s quarters before we leave-- pray that we get it done. The Medical clinic saw a few more patients (many people are waiting to come until Friday when there will be a free clinic day), and the compassion team held another VBS-- this time for the 5, 6, and 7 grades. Between 300 and 400 children were there. I wish you could have heard them sing-- to say Awesome is not good enough. It was so beautiful.
Today-- more construction will be happening, I will meet with the pastors of the Hho Hho Region and the nurses will work in the Piggs Peak Clinic. Tonight we will be showing the Jesus film (pray that it goes well!).
Again forgive all spelling errors-- there is no spell check.
Everyone is doing well-- there have been no injuries, no troubles, no problems of any kind. We have a great team!
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Day five and six in Africa
I am typing from the Maguga Lodge before we head out for our Wednesday Activities. It's been a busy few days while I haven't been able to Blog (this computer is a dial up one-- it's been a while since I've used dial up-- hope it works).
I am to be with the group in 15 minutes-- so this will be brief:
Sunday: We worshipped in the Sharpe Memorial Church in the morning with around 1,000 of our Swazi brothers and sisters. It was a good morning. Following services, we ate dinner with Dr. Samuel Hind-- a pioneer missionary and medical doctor who came to Swaziland in 1925 as a baby-- he is 84 years old and is still seeing patients. We also met his daughter-- Dr. Elizabeth Hind and grand daughter. Dr. Elizabeth runs the orphanage that we visited on Monday. In the evening we met with more Swazi leaders.
Monday: We broke into two groups-- half went on a tour of the hospital and half went with the AIDS Task Force for home visits (and then we switched). I learned a lot about the medical care in Swaziland. They have many dedicated and qualified workers—with very difficult conditions to work in. For instance, there is not an MRI machine in the country. There are only a couple of CT scans (the hospital is hoping to get one later this year). The hospital average 25 births a day! They see so many patients it’s unbelievable for the small staff.
The in home AIDS visits were humbling. To pray with someone dying of AIDS is something I will ever forget-- we visited (all total) probably around 20 homes. We also took a bag of groceries-- the people were so very thankful. Some received medicines. Pray for Swaziland and the AIDs epidemic-- 42% of the population has HIV/AIDs.
We then went to the New Hope Center-- the orphanage. What a joy to see these children happy and singing. It is a wonderful place of love and acceptance. They currently house about 40 children-- but they are making plans for many many more. We planted gardens in the plots that Central Church provided-- my group planted onions, beats, spinach.
Tuesday: Our work began on the medical clinic-- much construction was done. The medical workers saw a few patients, and the VBS crew got ready for the afternoon VBS-- we were anticipating 50 children on the first day-- 500 showed up! Had to go to plan "B" but all was good.
Our accommodations have been nice-- we will be here for a few more days working, seeing sick folks and holding the VBS.
Oh yes, today-- the Prime Minister of Swaziland is suppose to join us! WOW!
I'll try to write more later. Sorry for the spelling errors-- I am five minutes late!
I am to be with the group in 15 minutes-- so this will be brief:
Sunday: We worshipped in the Sharpe Memorial Church in the morning with around 1,000 of our Swazi brothers and sisters. It was a good morning. Following services, we ate dinner with Dr. Samuel Hind-- a pioneer missionary and medical doctor who came to Swaziland in 1925 as a baby-- he is 84 years old and is still seeing patients. We also met his daughter-- Dr. Elizabeth Hind and grand daughter. Dr. Elizabeth runs the orphanage that we visited on Monday. In the evening we met with more Swazi leaders.
Monday: We broke into two groups-- half went on a tour of the hospital and half went with the AIDS Task Force for home visits (and then we switched). I learned a lot about the medical care in Swaziland. They have many dedicated and qualified workers—with very difficult conditions to work in. For instance, there is not an MRI machine in the country. There are only a couple of CT scans (the hospital is hoping to get one later this year). The hospital average 25 births a day! They see so many patients it’s unbelievable for the small staff.
The in home AIDS visits were humbling. To pray with someone dying of AIDS is something I will ever forget-- we visited (all total) probably around 20 homes. We also took a bag of groceries-- the people were so very thankful. Some received medicines. Pray for Swaziland and the AIDs epidemic-- 42% of the population has HIV/AIDs.
We then went to the New Hope Center-- the orphanage. What a joy to see these children happy and singing. It is a wonderful place of love and acceptance. They currently house about 40 children-- but they are making plans for many many more. We planted gardens in the plots that Central Church provided-- my group planted onions, beats, spinach.
Tuesday: Our work began on the medical clinic-- much construction was done. The medical workers saw a few patients, and the VBS crew got ready for the afternoon VBS-- we were anticipating 50 children on the first day-- 500 showed up! Had to go to plan "B" but all was good.
Our accommodations have been nice-- we will be here for a few more days working, seeing sick folks and holding the VBS.
Oh yes, today-- the Prime Minister of Swaziland is suppose to join us! WOW!
I'll try to write more later. Sorry for the spelling errors-- I am five minutes late!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Africa Day 3
We arrived yesterday at the Tums George Hotel (sounds like an antacid doesn't it? But its a relatively nice place) in Manzini. After a nice dinner (chicken, a meat I think was beef, and fish) we met with an amazing couple-- Dr. Harry and Echo Vanderwal. They are doctors who have been in Swaziland for five years. Last year alone, they saw over (hold on to your hat) over 50,000 patients. There is such great need here in Swaziland. We will be working with them on Friday-- when over 500 patients are expected to arrive. The Vanderwal’s will take the 2,000 pair of glasses that we brought with us and distribute them in the coming weeks.
God has been using the Vanderhooks in great ways-- in fact the only fault I could find with them is their love for the Ohio State Buckeyes. Once again proving, no one is perfect.
Today, after breakfast we will head over to the Sharp Memorial Church of the Nazarene for church services. We will meet other leaders and begin to plan out our week ahead.
It's going to be a very busy week--working with HIV patients, planting gardens at the orphanage, holding medical clinics and training pastors, and construction on the nursing quarters. Again the needs are great... but God is greater!
The team is doing remarkably well. All are enjoying the sights and sounds of Swaziland. I will write more later... if I am able!
God has been using the Vanderhooks in great ways-- in fact the only fault I could find with them is their love for the Ohio State Buckeyes. Once again proving, no one is perfect.
Today, after breakfast we will head over to the Sharp Memorial Church of the Nazarene for church services. We will meet other leaders and begin to plan out our week ahead.
It's going to be a very busy week--working with HIV patients, planting gardens at the orphanage, holding medical clinics and training pastors, and construction on the nursing quarters. Again the needs are great... but God is greater!
The team is doing remarkably well. All are enjoying the sights and sounds of Swaziland. I will write more later... if I am able!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Africa after a night of sleep
Africa Day 2
OK, I’ve had a little sleep (so maybe I’m a little more coherent). Here’s what I learned after being on an airplane for more than a day:
1) You know it’s a long flight when you are served three meals. My three were pancakes, a chicken and potato mix, and some kind of meat sandwich. It wasn’t Cheesecake Factory but not bad.
2) On our flight was Billy Donovan (the head basketball coach of the University of Florida). Maybe there is a young man down here that is as tall as a giraffe and runs like a gazelle—or maybe Billy wanted to hang out in Johannesburg.
3) The flight also allowed one to pick their choice of movies to view. My choices were:
1) Escape to Witch Mountain (staring the Rock). A word of advice—if the Rock is starring in the movie, it’s probably not going to win an Oscar.
2) Marley and Me. Sad, very sad. (Karla if you are reading this: DO NOT RENT THIS MOVIE)
3) 12 Rounds. It was a guy movie: guns and car chases. Dumb.
4) All the luggage made it! This is a first for me in several mission type trips. Yipppeeee! Thank you Delta baggage handlers!
5) The hotel is nice- the best I’ve stayed at on a mission trip. But it was just for the night. We will leave idlers—you n a few hours for Swaziland. I don’t think we will have the same accommodations.
6) I brought a long a little book on prayer written by John Wesley to use as my devotions for the trip. This morning Wesley was writing on making sure we are up-to-date in our relationship with God. How I long to always be current. I hope this trip stretches me and calls me to be a better pastor, husband, dad, friend, and fellow citizen of the planet.
7) Keep Praying. So Far so good!
OK, I’ve had a little sleep (so maybe I’m a little more coherent). Here’s what I learned after being on an airplane for more than a day:
1) You know it’s a long flight when you are served three meals. My three were pancakes, a chicken and potato mix, and some kind of meat sandwich. It wasn’t Cheesecake Factory but not bad.
2) On our flight was Billy Donovan (the head basketball coach of the University of Florida). Maybe there is a young man down here that is as tall as a giraffe and runs like a gazelle—or maybe Billy wanted to hang out in Johannesburg.
3) The flight also allowed one to pick their choice of movies to view. My choices were:
1) Escape to Witch Mountain (staring the Rock). A word of advice—if the Rock is starring in the movie, it’s probably not going to win an Oscar.
2) Marley and Me. Sad, very sad. (Karla if you are reading this: DO NOT RENT THIS MOVIE)
3) 12 Rounds. It was a guy movie: guns and car chases. Dumb.
4) All the luggage made it! This is a first for me in several mission type trips. Yipppeeee! Thank you Delta baggage handlers!
5) The hotel is nice- the best I’ve stayed at on a mission trip. But it was just for the night. We will leave idlers—you n a few hours for Swaziland. I don’t think we will have the same accommodations.
6) I brought a long a little book on prayer written by John Wesley to use as my devotions for the trip. This morning Wesley was writing on making sure we are up-to-date in our relationship with God. How I long to always be current. I hope this trip stretches me and calls me to be a better pastor, husband, dad, friend, and fellow citizen of the planet.
7) Keep Praying. So Far so good!
Friday, May 29, 2009
We are in Africa
We made it safe and sound to Africa and are right now getting ready for bed at the City Lodge in Johannesburg. After over 24 hours of travel—I don’t know if a shower ever felt better.
No funny stories or inspirational ones...just thankful for a safe trip.
Tomorrow we leave for Swaziland—it’s a five hour trip.
So far everything is going great.
I am not sure how much I will be able to blog in Swaziland—or how many pictures I will be able to post—but if I can…. You’ll see them here first.
OK Let’s see… I left the house yesterday morning at 6:30 AM it is now Friday Night at 9 PM. I’m a little sleepy. Keep praying for us.
No funny stories or inspirational ones...just thankful for a safe trip.
Tomorrow we leave for Swaziland—it’s a five hour trip.
So far everything is going great.
I am not sure how much I will be able to blog in Swaziland—or how many pictures I will be able to post—but if I can…. You’ll see them here first.
OK Let’s see… I left the house yesterday morning at 6:30 AM it is now Friday Night at 9 PM. I’m a little sleepy. Keep praying for us.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Garden City is not my home
Last week, my siblings and I helped my mom sort through 56 years of living in our house on Rosslyn Street in Garden City, Michigan. In all likelihood, it was the last time I’ll sleep in my hometown and the last time I’ll set foot in the house. My mom will be moving to a senior citizen condominium complex in a few weeks.
As far as I know, Garden City, Michigan is known for the following things:
1) The very first K-Mart
2) The very first Little Caesar’s Pizza Parlor
3) The birth place of leadership guru John Maxwell
But, I know Garden City for my first 17 years of life. There were baseball games at Moeller Field and attending school at Marquette Elementary (since torn down), Radcliffe Jr. High (it closed too) and Garden City West High School (apparently West was not best—as our chant indicated, because – you guessed it, West closed after my graduation. So, if you are keeping score—every school I attended prior to college has shut down, even the church where I went to Sunday School for most of those years is a doctor’s office now… I am a little worried for Olivet and the Nazarene Seminary). I marched in the hometown Thanksgiving Day parades as a cub scout and later as a member of the Fighting Tigers Marching band (If you’ve seen my clapping “skills” in one of our services it may come as a surprise that I was a percussionist—a bad percussionist, but a percussionist none the less). I hunted for Easter candy and watched fireworks at the Garden City Park. As I drove out of town last Wednesday, I wondered if I would ever be back.
There are a lot of memories within the walls of the house on Rosslyn Street. In that house we had a “Party Line” with our neighbor which has nothing to do with dancing the conga, and everything to do with one phone line for two houses. We also had one bathroom for six people (my folks added a bathroom after all of the kids moved out. I guess one bathroom was OK for six people but not adequate for two). There were memories of my sister’s cooking experiments which to this day, to coin the cliché, have left a bad taste in my mouth, and seeing her smooch her boyfriend in the hallway which prompted me to make kissing noises and prompted her to get really, really angry. There were Wiffle ball and basketball games on the driveway, football in the front yard and “curb ball” games in the street. The back yard served as a pitching mound where I pretended to be Mickey Lolich throwing a ball against the garage (As you could probably guess, the Tigers always won those pretend games.), the home to our dogs Chester, Tramp and Goober, and the “final resting place” for at least one hamster. It was on Rosslyn Street that my brother learned that diving head first into cement curbs can really hurt, my dad learned you shouldn’t jump “incorrectly” off garages onto cement driveways (that hurts too, apparently jumping the “correct” way does not), and I learned if the garage door was a wee bit wider (or if I was a wee bit better driver), the side-view mirror wouldn’t get ripped-off my dad’s car.
As I stepped out of the side door and into my car—I knew I was leaving those memories behind.
32701 Rosslyn was my parent’s home and my childhood home, but it’s not my home. Jesus said it best: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3 NLT). I’ll be going home one day, but not to Rosslyn Street. My home is in the Father’s House, it’s a wonderful place of which Paul wrote: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.” (2 Corinthians 2:9) I am not exactly sure what Paul meant by all of that—but I think it means that my heavenly home will not need a window air conditioning unit to keep the upstairs cool in the summertime nor will it need the blanket supply of Fort Riley in order to stay warm in the basement. I think Paul meant, heaven will be more than a house, as you and I will finally be home.
Admittedly, I was a little sad driving away from my childhood house, but I can’t wait to get to my heavenly home.
As far as I know, Garden City, Michigan is known for the following things:
1) The very first K-Mart
2) The very first Little Caesar’s Pizza Parlor
3) The birth place of leadership guru John Maxwell
But, I know Garden City for my first 17 years of life. There were baseball games at Moeller Field and attending school at Marquette Elementary (since torn down), Radcliffe Jr. High (it closed too) and Garden City West High School (apparently West was not best—as our chant indicated, because – you guessed it, West closed after my graduation. So, if you are keeping score—every school I attended prior to college has shut down, even the church where I went to Sunday School for most of those years is a doctor’s office now… I am a little worried for Olivet and the Nazarene Seminary). I marched in the hometown Thanksgiving Day parades as a cub scout and later as a member of the Fighting Tigers Marching band (If you’ve seen my clapping “skills” in one of our services it may come as a surprise that I was a percussionist—a bad percussionist, but a percussionist none the less). I hunted for Easter candy and watched fireworks at the Garden City Park. As I drove out of town last Wednesday, I wondered if I would ever be back.
There are a lot of memories within the walls of the house on Rosslyn Street. In that house we had a “Party Line” with our neighbor which has nothing to do with dancing the conga, and everything to do with one phone line for two houses. We also had one bathroom for six people (my folks added a bathroom after all of the kids moved out. I guess one bathroom was OK for six people but not adequate for two). There were memories of my sister’s cooking experiments which to this day, to coin the cliché, have left a bad taste in my mouth, and seeing her smooch her boyfriend in the hallway which prompted me to make kissing noises and prompted her to get really, really angry. There were Wiffle ball and basketball games on the driveway, football in the front yard and “curb ball” games in the street. The back yard served as a pitching mound where I pretended to be Mickey Lolich throwing a ball against the garage (As you could probably guess, the Tigers always won those pretend games.), the home to our dogs Chester, Tramp and Goober, and the “final resting place” for at least one hamster. It was on Rosslyn Street that my brother learned that diving head first into cement curbs can really hurt, my dad learned you shouldn’t jump “incorrectly” off garages onto cement driveways (that hurts too, apparently jumping the “correct” way does not), and I learned if the garage door was a wee bit wider (or if I was a wee bit better driver), the side-view mirror wouldn’t get ripped-off my dad’s car.
As I stepped out of the side door and into my car—I knew I was leaving those memories behind.
32701 Rosslyn was my parent’s home and my childhood home, but it’s not my home. Jesus said it best: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3 NLT). I’ll be going home one day, but not to Rosslyn Street. My home is in the Father’s House, it’s a wonderful place of which Paul wrote: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.” (2 Corinthians 2:9) I am not exactly sure what Paul meant by all of that—but I think it means that my heavenly home will not need a window air conditioning unit to keep the upstairs cool in the summertime nor will it need the blanket supply of Fort Riley in order to stay warm in the basement. I think Paul meant, heaven will be more than a house, as you and I will finally be home.
Admittedly, I was a little sad driving away from my childhood house, but I can’t wait to get to my heavenly home.
Friday, May 08, 2009
My Mom and the Rubber Rat
As a high school trumpet player in the Garden City West Marching Band my brother went to New York City one year. Being the fine big brother that he is—Fred brought me back a souvenir from his trip. He did not bring be back a miniature statue of liberty or a hated Yankees’ baseball cap—instead having heard that one might find a rodent or two within the city limits of the Big Apple, he returned with a rubbery life-sized rat. He could not have given this fourth grade brother a better gift.
I loved the rat. My mom hated it. There is something you should know about my dear, sweet mother. While from time to time she may have sung at church the great hymn “All creatures of our God and King…” I don’t believe she meant it. The truth is she hates God’s critters. She hates mice. She hates lice. She hates rats. She hates bats. She hates snakes. She hates bugs. She hates creepy things that hide under the rugs. (I feel like Dr. Seuss ).
Knowing this fact, did not prevent me from strategically placing my New York Souvenir throughout the house. For instance, I would place my rat in the cheese tray of our refrigerator (a perfectly legitimate storage place for a rodent) or occasionally I would place my rubbery friend in a cereal box and then I would wait for my mom to get some shredded cheddar or her morning Cheerios. At those moments of discovery, my mom would let loose a scream that would make the producers of any cheap horror flick proud. While this hasn’t been scientifically proven, I believe the noise level of one of her hollers would compare to a 747 takeoff. Upon hearing the noises being raised in the kitchen, the windows rattling and the house shaking, I knew my rat had been found, as did half of the population in the Lower Peninsula of Michigan. My mom knew the rat was rubber, that it was not a real rat still she would scream every time as if she encountered a living and breathing cousin of Willard.
One day my rubber rat went “a missing,” and while she never claimed responsibility for the disappearance, looking back now I do recall a hint of a smile whenever I inquired about the whereabouts of my rubbery friend.
My poor mother endured much more than the “old hidden rubbery rat trick.” In the days before video games and cable TV, before microwaves and all of our time saving devises (we had a ringer washing machine, for crying out loud—and the “dryer” was a clothes line in the back yard) my mom raised four kids. There were trips to emergency rooms (my brother found himself there more than the rest of us); sibling arguments for her to referee (as punishment one time she made my sister and brother hold hands and smile at each other—talk about cruel and unusual); meals to prepare (she still makes a yummy stuffed cabbage); sporting events and concerts to attend; cleaning, laundry and all the other household duties; and while not loving the critters she still welcomed into her home pet dogs, hamsters, turtles, fish and a salamander named Sam. (One lesson learned: Don’t play with a pet turtle in the driveway, at the same moment that your mom is returning home from the grocery store. That story does not have a happy ending.). All this to say my mom earned each and every white hair on her head.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day! It’s a day to honor all our moms (white haired and otherwise) and to tell them thanks for all they have done. So take time to say “Thanks”-- even if your mom accidently squished your pet turtle or in some other way was less than perfect. Don’t let Mother’s Day pass without thinking of and/or praying for the lady that brought you into the world and in most cases did so much more.
I loved the rat. My mom hated it. There is something you should know about my dear, sweet mother. While from time to time she may have sung at church the great hymn “All creatures of our God and King…” I don’t believe she meant it. The truth is she hates God’s critters. She hates mice. She hates lice. She hates rats. She hates bats. She hates snakes. She hates bugs. She hates creepy things that hide under the rugs. (I feel like Dr. Seuss ).
Knowing this fact, did not prevent me from strategically placing my New York Souvenir throughout the house. For instance, I would place my rat in the cheese tray of our refrigerator (a perfectly legitimate storage place for a rodent) or occasionally I would place my rubbery friend in a cereal box and then I would wait for my mom to get some shredded cheddar or her morning Cheerios. At those moments of discovery, my mom would let loose a scream that would make the producers of any cheap horror flick proud. While this hasn’t been scientifically proven, I believe the noise level of one of her hollers would compare to a 747 takeoff. Upon hearing the noises being raised in the kitchen, the windows rattling and the house shaking, I knew my rat had been found, as did half of the population in the Lower Peninsula of Michigan. My mom knew the rat was rubber, that it was not a real rat still she would scream every time as if she encountered a living and breathing cousin of Willard.
One day my rubber rat went “a missing,” and while she never claimed responsibility for the disappearance, looking back now I do recall a hint of a smile whenever I inquired about the whereabouts of my rubbery friend.
My poor mother endured much more than the “old hidden rubbery rat trick.” In the days before video games and cable TV, before microwaves and all of our time saving devises (we had a ringer washing machine, for crying out loud—and the “dryer” was a clothes line in the back yard) my mom raised four kids. There were trips to emergency rooms (my brother found himself there more than the rest of us); sibling arguments for her to referee (as punishment one time she made my sister and brother hold hands and smile at each other—talk about cruel and unusual); meals to prepare (she still makes a yummy stuffed cabbage); sporting events and concerts to attend; cleaning, laundry and all the other household duties; and while not loving the critters she still welcomed into her home pet dogs, hamsters, turtles, fish and a salamander named Sam. (One lesson learned: Don’t play with a pet turtle in the driveway, at the same moment that your mom is returning home from the grocery store. That story does not have a happy ending.). All this to say my mom earned each and every white hair on her head.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day! It’s a day to honor all our moms (white haired and otherwise) and to tell them thanks for all they have done. So take time to say “Thanks”-- even if your mom accidently squished your pet turtle or in some other way was less than perfect. Don’t let Mother’s Day pass without thinking of and/or praying for the lady that brought you into the world and in most cases did so much more.
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