A Place For The God-Hungry

Why Should I Bother to Read This?

I think about the people who read this blog.  People like you.  Normal.  Everyday.  Coffee drinking/Diet Coke sipping kind of people who are just trying to deal with life.  Maybe just trying to deal with the day.

From the outside, some of us appear to be people who are whole.  That is, we appear to have it together.  Others of us appear to be struggling.  Still others of us may appear to be a mess.

The truth?  What you see on the outside can be deceiving.  Regardless of the way we may appear on the outside, on the inside, we all are lacking.  We have fears and inadequacies that many of us go to great lengths to mask.  At the core of our being is a great need for God. 

Yet, we often try our best to make it on our own.

So I want you to know that when I post each day (about four to five days a week), I am thinking about people just like you.  In fact, I sometimes picture people just like you, turning on their computer and finding this blog.

You may be single.
You may be a young father or mother.
You may be a widow.
You may be a church leader.
You may not see yourself as very "religious."
You may feel very connected with some special people in your life.
You may feel very alone.

Regardless, we have much in common.

What we have in common, however, may not be what you see on the outside.  What we have in common is what is real and what may be lacking on the inside.

Some days you might read this blog and come away encouraged or helped in some way.  Some days--well, it just didn't do much for you.  Regardless, I really pray that in some way God would bless and provide just what you need. 

Making the Most of an Ordinary Day

Tomorrow, I will drive my parents to Arkansas.  We will go to Wilmar/Monticello, the southeastern part of the state where my mother grew up.  It has been years since I have been there.  But I look forward to going.  I have a lot of very good memories of going there as a child.  In particular, I enjoyed being there on Christmas. 

My grandparents lived in a white frame house on a two lane highway coming into Monticello.  They had a garden, a barn, a shed--all sorts of places where a city boy could explore.  I have wonderful memories of riding on the tractor with my grandpa.  At other times, he would take us to the woods.  He ran a lumber mill and seemed to know about every kind of tree.  I remember cold Decembers, riding in his pickup truck.  With the deaths of my grandparents, all of those memories seemed to come to an abrupt stop.

At the time, I did not realize that we were making important and significant memories.  I did not realize that one day I would look back and wistfully long to experience these moments again.  No--at the time I was just living.

Today, I suspect the same is happening.  Today I will just be living.  But--it could be that I will make some memories as well.  It could be that some of this "ordinary living" will actually turn out to be very significant.

As I think about today, I don't want to be overly focused on the past or consumed by what will happen in my future life on this earth.  I do want to be very present in ordinary life.

As I think about the last few weeks, they have been ordinary in many ways.   That is, they are very similar to many other weeks:

• Time spent in conversations with people about their children, their aging parents, sicknesses, etc.  I've talked in my office with a number of people.  On the telephone with a concerned parent.  A number of e-mails in which people expressed concerns and issues that were deeply personal
• Time spent being with Charlotte.  Talking on the telephone with Christine, Phillip, and Jamie (my children and son-in-law).  Being with special friends.
• Time spent mowing, weed-eating, dealing with loose insulation in the attic, and paying bills.

Ordinary stuff.

At the moment, I am sitting at my desk at home.  I am looking at a small clock on my desk.  The second hand sweeps around the face of the clock every 60 seconds.  At some point, the clock in my life will come to a halt.  Life on this earth will be over for me.  I know--we all know this.  Many of us just don't think about it very much. 

How will I live in the meantime?  How will I deal with the ordinary moments of life?  Will I consciously live in the presence of God, even in the most mundane moments?  Will I be open to however God wishes to redeem the ordinary moments of my life?

Just thinking about this today...

 

Better Than Manipulation

Master manipulators are not necessarily big, ugly, frightening people.  No, sometimes they are smooth, really smooth.  They have a way of wanting you to know they are with you, on your side, and think and feel as you do.  Unfortunately, manipulation can be disguised as friendship.   This can make it even more difficult to deal with. 

Watch a manipulator work a room.  The manipulator may be a male.  She may be female.  For the sake of example, let's suppose the person is female.  She panders, flatters, and knows where the soft spot in each person is.  She knows how to get to you.  She shows interest in your children.  She shows interest in your favorite hobby.  She might have a way of making you feel as if you have a friend. 

Yet, after seeing this person work, you may begin to wonder: Who is this person?  What does she really think?  What does she really feel?  How can she communicate to person after person "I think like you"?  Who is she anyway?

Perhaps one problem with the manipulator is that he or she is not living as an authentic self.  This person is a pretender, pandering to people in order to use people for his own purposes.  The manipulator puts a lot of energy into trying to manage relations (Dallas Willard's words) instead of genuinely relating to people as a mature human being.

Before going any further with this, I need to first look at myself (and maybe you will consider looking at yourself).

• What do I really think?  (At times have I been more concerned about being liked rather than being authentic?)
• How do I really feel?  (Do I express what I really feel?)
• What would I do if I knew no one would see me?  (Do I avoid immorality just because I wouldn't want to be caught?)

The answers to those questions reveal what is in my heart.  These answers reveal the true me.  As Dallas Willard notes in his fine book The Great Omission, "duplicity" has become second nature to so many of us.  After all, we live in a world where we try to "manage" our relationships.  Consequently, we have to hide what we really think, what we really feel, and how we might act if we knew we wouldn't get caught.

Duplicity takes a lot of energy.

• Would those closest to me (my wife, my children, my friends) be surprised if they knew what I was really thinking?
• Would those closest to me be surprised if they knew what I was really feeling?
• Would I behave in a sinful or immoral way if I knew I would be out of the watchful eye of those who know me?

Some of us would say, "Just be authentic.  Be real.  Say what you really think!  Express the way you really feel!"  Some might even say regarding behavior, "Do what is right for you."

I want to be authentic.  I want to be real.  But--I want to be more than this.  I want to become what Jesus wants.  Right now, I am reading Dallas Willard's book The Great Omission, and he is causing me to think through this.

...only avid discipleship to Christ through the Spirit brings the inward transformation of thought, feeling, and character that "cleans the inside of the cup" (Matthew 23:25) and "makes the tree good" (Matthew 13:33).  As we study with Jesus we increasingly become on the inside--with the "Father who is in secret" (Matthew 6:6)--exactly what we are on the outside, where actions and moods and attitudes visibly play over our body, alive in its social contest.  An amazing simplicity will take over our lives--a simplicity that is really just transparency. (p. 15)

9/11

A nice piece in the Christian Chronicle has been written regarding blogger Bill William's experience at the scene of the disaster of 9/11.  The following is from the Chronicle.

The events of Sept. 11, 2001, are more than a series of television images for Bill Williams. He still remembers the smell — even the taste — of Ground Zero, after the twin towers of the World Trade Center collapsed. Nearly 1 million tons of steel and concrete became a giant incinerator for the bodies of more than 2,000 people. The smell of burned flesh and jet fuel was heavy in the air.

It’s not something he likes to talk about — even five years later.

Williams, senior minister for the Cedars church in Wilmington, Del., served as a volunteer chaplain at the site of the attacks. Offering comfort and prayers for hundreds of emergency responders and recovery workers, the minister listened to stories from people struggling to cope with the evil they had seen firsthand.

“Not a day goes by that I am not affected by the events of Sept. 11,” Williams said.

The experience has made him more sensitive to people dealing with smaller-scale, personal disasters.

“Because we witness these sorts of disasters so frequently, we’ve become somewhat desensitized to the pain,” he said. “I hope that I’m able to be more compassionate to others as a result of having been in the belly of the abyss.”

(You can find the remainder of the article here.)

9/11 is one of those important markers in our lives.  I can remember where I was and what I was doing the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.  I suspect I will always remember where I was and what I was doing when I heard that two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center.

Our House Is Too Quiet

Last night, we drove away, leaving our daughter in Oklahoma City.  She is about to begin her sophomore year in college.  The weekend was a swirl. 

There is nothing quite like moving into a dorm room when the temperature is 105 degrees outside.  We moved all of her "stuff" in.  Lots of stuff.  Shoes.  OK--I know--I'm a guy.  But I don't even begin to understand all these shoes.  I've got black shoes.  I've got brown shoes.  I've got casual shoes.  I've got running shoes.  That doesn't begin to describe the shoes I brought into that dorm room.  My sweet girl has variety.

The cousins were there.  She is actually going to college with three cousins.  Amazing.   We met lots of friends.  Her new roommate, with whom we were very impressed.  And--the girls next door (who were in our home not long ago).   Yet, we were impressed with you as well.

This morning, I have been thinking about her.  What would I like for her to know?  (By the way, I think these are important for all of our children.)

1.  I want her to know I have great confidence in her.   I believe in her.  I believe she loves God and desires to live in his will.  I believe her heart is right.  Perfect?  No.  Neither is her daddy's.  But I do believe in her.  (I also believe we all need for someone to believe in us.)    

2.  I want her to know I pray for her every day and usually several times a day.  I believe that God is at work in her life as a result of my prayers and the prayers of many others.  I believe God causes things to happen in her life that I have prayed for.  (By the way, moms and dads, if you are not praying for your children every day, who is?  I believe that praying for my children is one the most important things I do as a parent).

3.  I want her to know I pray for her friends and for her professors.   I know some of the names and faces.  Others, I just know the names.  I pray for them as well.   Today, I will begin by praying for her new roommate and the girls next door.

4.  I want her to know she is not alone.  God, in his tender mercy, is with her.  She will not have to be alone--not for a single moment.  He is faithful and will never leave her or forsake her.   She may feel stress, pressure, disappointment, or anxiety, but his reassuring presence gives hope.   His love for her is constant and forever.

A special time of life?  Yes.  For that I'm grateful.

But today, I already miss her.  Today, the house is a little too quiet.

An Afternoon in Prison

Yesterday, I spent three and a half hours in the Gatesville prison.  I was there to speak about "family" as a part of their educational track.   (I talked about family as it was always meant to be.)   I spoke to two different classes in two different prison units.   These classes were composed of about thirty women in each class.  My time with each class was about an hour and fifteen minutes per class.

What was it like?   These women were courteous, appreciative, and very attentive.  Lots of discussion and interaction.    What I remember most is their facial expressions.   They were alive and engaging.

In each class, after I finished speaking, they asked questions.   My host, their regular teacher, (all of these women are a part of an educational program in the prison) asked them, "Do you have any questions?"  Immediately (in each class), five or six hands were raised.    They asked questions about my children, the church, my work (I mentioned that I once drove a UPS truck right after college).   They asked more questions about their own family situations.   "What do you think about...?"

This was the first time I had ever spoken in a women's prison.   Some years ago, I spoke in Leavenworth Penitentiary.  Did that a few times.   (I spoke in their chapel on a Sunday.)   In Leavenworth, I spoke to men.   I remember those occasions as being powerful moments as well.

A couple of observations:    

1. I left the prison energized.  Why?  I think it was the energy in the room coupled with their interest in this topic ("family").    

2. I came away feeling thankful.  Thankful I could spend an afternoon in such an encouraging, engaging atmosphere. 

3. I drove away from the prison with a real concern.  I began to think about the difference in listeners who are engaged and in those whose minds seem to be a million miles away.  (I've been there--often.)  Unfortunately, all too often, many of us have a dull glaze over our faces (and perhaps our hearts as well).  We are not fully engaged with God.  Maybe it is too familiar.  Maybe we are distracted by our idols.

Living With a Secret?

A lot of people are looking for someone to listen.  Really listen.

I've talked with many people through the years who have secrets.  Some people carry these secrets for many years before they tell anyone else.  These secrets often have a variety of themes: mishandling money, physical abuse, sexual immorality, formerly in prison, and on and on.

Many of these secrets are from the past, tucked away in a dark closet of the mind.  ("Maybe if I just don't think or talk about it, it won't be real.")  Often there is much embarrassment and shame that goes along with these secrets.

Right now, I am thinking about another category of secrets.  I am thinking about men and women who (for whatever reason) are keeping secrets about their family.   

Some examples:

• The husband who is keeping a secret about his wife.  She has had several affairs through the years.  He keeps very quiet about this.  Only the family knows.  Meanwhile, he aches inside.
• The mom and dad who never mention their son to church members.  He lives in another city, in another state.  He lives a gay lifestyle.
• The couple whose drug addicted son turned violent, leaving several mild bruises on his mom and dad.  While their bruises are mild, their humiliation is severe.  They say nothing to anyone.
• The woman who was molested by her mother's boyfriend when she was very small.  Her mother acted as if she were to blame.  For years she has kept this a secret.
• A young man checks into a drug/alcohol treatment center.  His parents had no idea he had been using drugs.  They don't want anyone at their church to know.

Over the years, I've had many conversations with people as they've shared secrets.  Years ago (while I was still living in another state), a woman called the office one day and asked if she could talk to me on the telephone.  She was the wife of a minister in our area.  She asked if we could have this conversation without her giving her name or the name of her husband.  I agreed.  She then began to tell me her secret.

She explained that she loved her husband, deeply respected him, but felt burdened by her past.  She explained that her past was littered with broken relationships.  She had been sexually intimate with a number of guys.  Now she was married to a wonderful man.   Her husband knew nothing about her past.  At times, the shame she felt from her past behavior was overwhelming.  I spoke to her about God's incredible mercy.  Yes, she was forgiven.  She said she just needed that assurance.

I mention this because I think a lot of people are holding on to secrets. 
Let me make a few suggestions:

• Thank God if you have found a friend who is trustworthy (and who will keep to herself/himself what you share).  Many people have no such friend.
• Know that God knows every secret in your past and in the life of your family and his love and mercy for you is constant.
• Watch out for false guilt.  Some people will carry the secret of their mother/daddy's sin and wonder if it might not be their fault.  I am responsible for my own behavior--not the behavior of my dad, son, daughter, etc.

Maybe this connects with some of you.  Perhaps it does not.  Nevertheless, I do think many, many people relate to this.

The Best Is Yet To Come

Today, I looked in the mirror.  The gray hair appears to be doing battle with the brown.  I looked again.  Apparently, the gray is winning.  OK--it has won.

Does it really matter?  Is this such a big deal?  Maybe--and then, maybe not.

OK--we all get a little older with every birthday.  But sometimes, it is more difficult for me to deal with the idea of my children growing up.  Sunday, after church, we came home and sat down to eat lunch.  We all bowed as I began to give thanks for our food.  As we bowed, it hit me that this was Jamie's last Sunday home--her last Sunday lunch--before leaving for college.  As I prayed, I said Jamie's name and then...

I teared up--started blubbering.  Oh brother...

I know--watching children grow up is a part of life.  Growing up.  Coming and going.  Leaving home.  Most of the time, I don't mind.  You know how it is, you adjust and move on. 

I will tell you what bothers me.

• I get bothered when people (maybe 40 or 45 years of age) begin to tell everyone they are getting "old" and then act as if they are.
• I get bothered when people act as if one's weight, figure, size, etc. are more important than anything else about a person.
• I get bothered when people begin to shut down at 50 or 60.  They begin to act as if the best of life has happened and now they are just along for the ride.
• I get bothered when people assume the worst about a younger or older person due to their age even though they don't know them.
• I get bothered when a person stops thinking, dreaming, and looking to the future.  That person really is "old."  She lives as if the best has already happened.

When I was in college at the University of North Texas, I took a communications class.  I noticed this girl the first day she walked through the door.  Stunning.  Very attractive.  Then after a few weeks of being in class, I heard her talk.  One day, just before class began, she turned around in her seat to talk to someone else in the class.  She loudly used the "f" word a few times as she talked about her weekend with her boyfriend.  Things went down from there.  The more she talked, the less attractive she seemed.  Apparently being attractive and being beautiful aren't always the same thing.

A lot of people try their best to defy age.  A plastic surgeon  may help wrinkles or sagging skin disappear.  Perhaps this surgeon can enhance this or that on your body.  But a plastic surgeon cannot give a person real life.  He or she can't impart the life that can only come through Jesus. 

The truth?  It is OK to be 20 years old, 30 years old, 40, 50, 60, or whatever--if the best is yet to come.  Isn't that what Christians believe because of the Gospel?  Doesn't the Gospel give us real life that can't be touched or impacted by a biological clock?

For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.  If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me, and I do not know which I prefer.  I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better (Philippians 1:21-23).

The best is yet to come!  Knowing this makes all the difference to me.  Knowing this makes it possible to live with contentment (Phil. 4:11-13).  Maybe, just maybe, He is enough--no matter what age you happen to be.  This is how I want to live. 

This is not meant to just be an encouraging post.  I'm telling you what is making a difference in my life.  What about you?

Will You Live or Just Settle?

This month, I began my fourteenth year with the Crestview Church in Waco, Texas.  Amazing!  I have been with this church for thirteen years of my life (and theirs!).  When I reflect on the complexities and challenges of pastoral ministry, longevity is a plus.  Yet, the other day I saw something that disturbed me.  I read an article in which the author said that those ministers who are with one church past twenty years are very often averse to risk.  Do you think that is true?

I do have some years to go before I reach my twentieth year.  Yet, I need to be honest and admit that I am nervous about the possibility of "settling."  I've seen church leaders do this in churches.  At first they have hopes and dreams about what God could do through these people.  Now, after being around for a long time, they have settled.  Why?  Maybe they are in a seemingly secure situation and just don't want to upset their security.  Maybe they have just chosen an easier path.

Not Jesus--he never settled.  Read the Sermon on the Mount.  Listen to his call to discipleship as he heads toward the cross (three of these death predictions are in the Gospel of Mark).  Jesus never settled.  After all, he was fulfilling a purpose larger than himself.

Have you ever known someone who settled for so little?

• The A-B student who settles for C’s.
•  The young woman who settles for a guy who does not treat her very well.
• The man who will not put out any effort to upgrade his skills.  He settles for what he learned years ago.
• The young person who is not willing to put out the effort to excel athletically and settles for getting by.
• The young couple who is interested in missions but is not willing to put out the effort to raise the money.  They settle for staying home.
• The man or woman who used to teach Bible classes, serve as a volunteer to help the poor, or serve as a life group leader but no longer is willing to do anything.  He or she has settled.
• The minister who at one time was full of hopes and dreams for his ministry but who now has settled and has few expectations of brighter days ahead.

Some of us procrastinate and put off the work of God saying, “The time is not right” (Haggai 1:2). You may remember in Haggai that the Israelites were not rebuilding the temple as God desired.  They said the timing just wasn't right.  Yet in the meantime, they built their own "paneled" houses.  These people had settled.

I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life procrastinating.  I don't want to just settle for an easy life that is centered around my self-interest. 

Unfortunately, some people spend years making excuses that keep them in their present rut.  Do these sound familiar?

• It’s not time to start this ministry.
• It’s not time to stop this ministry.
• It’s not time for me to serve in this role.
• It’s not time to go through this process.
• It’s not time to preach about this or that.
• It’s not time for me to volunteer.
• It’s not time for me to give the way I know I should.
• It’s not time for us to make these changes.
• It’s not time for us to challenge people more.
• It’s not time for us to risk.
• It’s not time for us to raise the level of expectations for our church and for our leadership.

And on and on.  But--it doesn't have to be this way.

"Daddy" (Part two of four)

The other night, Jamie and I sat in section 12, row 21, seats 9 and 10.  We were at Ameriquest Field watching the Texas Rangers play the Kansas City Royals.  Vendors were coming up and down the stairs.  "Cold drinks!  Gitch yer cold drinks!"  It was a hot Texas evening and we were enjoying the game.

Did that game ever bring back memories!  I thought about those years in Kansas City.  Two little girls (usually one at a time) and I would sit in Kauffman Stadium, watching the Kansas City Royals.  (We were living in Kansas City at the time.)  Jamie was about four years old when I first took her to the ballpark.  At the age of four, of course, the game was only incidental.  She was there for the singing of "Take me out to the ball game" and the Polish sausage (another story) rather than the game itself.  Those are wonderful memories.

That brings me to Tim Russert's book Wisdom of Our Fathers.  Russert is the long time moderator of Meet the Press.  Several years ago, he wrote the story of his relationship with his dad, Big Russ and Me.  As a result of that book, he received thousands of letters from people across the nation about their relationships with their own dads.  All of these are written by adult children about their dads.  Some of these dads are still living.  Others have long been deceased.  This book consists of a number of these letters.

Last night, I finished the book.   I have been reading it slowly over the past month.  As I finished the book, I found myself wanting to read some of these letters again.  Maybe I will.   

The letters are organized under chapter headings such as:

• Small moments
• Daddy's Girl
• Honor
• The Teacher
• The Character
• Mr. Mom
• Hands (and Feet)
• Being There
• Loss
• Baseball

There are a number of other headings as well. 

Some of these letters speak of warm relationships with dads.  A few others reveal cold, indifferent relationships.  Some letters are written by those who have close relationships with their dads.  Others are written by those who long for close relationships.  Some of these letters are very funny.  Others are very moving.  A few of these brought tears to my eyes.

I read some of these letters twice, such as the following from the "Baseball" chapter:

One night, when I was seven or eight, my dad (a former minor league pitcher for the South Phillies) took me to a ball game in Shibe Park in Philadelphia.  The wooden seats had just been painted red, and they were still a bit sticky.  In the fourth inning, a foul ball came into our section in the upper level along first base.  This was the closest I had ever been to a real baseball.  There was mass chaos as a multitude of bodies dove for the ball, which caromed off a seat before it disappeared.  Because nobody emerged with it, I asked Dad what had happened.  "Wow, that was close," he said.

That night, I went in to kiss him good night and to thank him for taking me to the game.  When I came back, I noticed a lump in my pillow.  Under it was a Major League baseball--with a streak of red paint on it.  (pp. 133-134)