the.andy.boyd

The Death of a Hamster and the Birth of a Savior

2011-12-26T10:46:00.000-08:00

Alvin was Parker’s Christmas present 2 years ago. A hamster was the one thing he wanted more than anything else. And Alvin came with the whole setup, too –a two-tiered cage, a spinning wheel, chew toys, a plastic roaming ball (with stand). Alvin was hooked up. And he couldn’t have asked for a better kid. But it was more than a pet/owner thing. Alvin was Parker’s roommate. Parker would create mazes, play with Alvin as much as he could, and show him off to all his friends. Parker absolutely loved Alvin.

A few weeks ago, though, Alvin started to look, well, not so good. Our hope was that he would at least make it through Christmas. Thankfully, Parker hadn’t really noticed too much. Sure, he knew that Alvin had to get cleaned off a little more than usual (we jokingly referred to them as “Alvin’s butt showers”).

But last night, Carissa came to me and said, “Alvin’s not going to make it through the night.” This morning, Alvin was dead.

As a father, the most difficult thing I can deal with is seeing my kids get hurt. And I knew this one was going to hurt Parker. As I prepared to tell my son that his pet had died (thankfully he hadn’t discovered it yet), I knew the reaction that was coming. I knew he would break down. I knew he would cry. And I knew he would have tough questions that I’m not fully equipped to answer.

But if you know Parker, you know that you never know what’s coming next. He’ll ask questions that only God can answer. He’ll point out perspectives you never expected. He’ll think, create, joke and love in ways you never thought possible. Parker loves deeply, fully and passionately. And I was about to deliver news that would break his little heart. That wasn’t the toughest part. The toughest part was that I couldn’t take the pain away. It was something he was going to have to face.

As I prepared, I was begging God for an answer. “What can I possibly do to help him in this?!” The answer came back loud and clear. “Simply be there for him. Walk with him through it. Parker will surprise you in how he handles this.”

This morning, as Parker broke down in my arms and cried into my chest, all I could do is tell him that I love him and that I’m here for him. It was the reaction I had expected. Then, before we buried Alvin in the yard, Parker (in true Parker form) said the one thing that brought perspective to the whole situation.

With tears in his eyes, he looked up at me and said, “Dad, I wish Adam and Eve had never eaten that stupid apple! But I’m glad Jesus was born to fix it all.”

Sure, Alvin was just a hamster. And we can debate the whole “do pets go to heaven” thing. But the kid gets God’s plan in a way that I think most of us can learn from.

I know I can.

Happy 60th Birthday, Dad!

2011-12-14T09:57:00.000-08:00

Dad, I have about a million memories of you, and will undoubtedly gain a million more over the years. But on your 60^th birthday, here are just 60 things that that stand out to me—things you had, things you taught me, things we did.

Though none of these is earth-shattering, they work together to form my lifetime. I thought you would want to know some of what sticks out in my mind when I think of you.

You are an amazing father, and now grandfather. You have pushed me over my 35 years to become a man of integrity and responsibility. And while it wasn’t always easy to learn, the truth is that you have shaped me into who I am. I only hope that my sons will look back on their lives with me and have as many things to smile on as I do with you.

With that said, here are some humorous, meaningful, trivial, curious, and in a few cases, revelatory memories I have about you (in no particular order)…

1.       Your 80s mustache (For that matter, your 80s hair and glasses, too—thankfully that was only in the 80s!)
2.       Your Volkswagen Bug
3.       Tubin’ on the Guadalupe
4.       Your hardtop Jeep (that top made a perfect fort when you took it off)
5.       My 1^st dove hunt (someone winged a duck and you had to decapitate it!)
6.       Going around in the rowboat on the pond outside Grandpa’s house in Middletown
7.       Your motorcycle (I always secretly wanted a ride on that thing…)
8.       You showing me a $100 bill (I never knew anyone actually had those!)
9.       You waking us up to see Haley’s comet when we lived in San Angelo (3:30am seems worth it now.)
10.   You hanging up the basketball goal on Danley Ct.
11.   Our first propane grill and the first time you let me light it (I still emulate you on the grill)
12.   You putting up that HUGE canvas tent in the backyard in Kerrville for my birthday
13.   Boy Scout camping/meetings/fundraisers
14.   Having you as my youth soccer coach
15.   Watching you play racquetball (What was that first one about the 80s look?!)
16.   You teaching me the rope swing over the river at the Sorrells’
17.   The Turkey Trot – every year now
18.   The phone call when I told you that you were having a grandson – best, hardest phone call of my life!
19.   You teaching me to drive (Best life lesson I’ve ever had, “Don’t let the car behind you drive you.”)
20.   The paddle
21.   “Borrowing” your Ford truck to drive to school while you were in Japan—I was 15. (Sorry you’re just now learning about this one!)
22.   When you and Steve set fire to the field in Flower Mound on the 4^th of July
23.   Golfing in the Father/Son tournament with you when I was 9 or 10 (We won!)
24.   Deep sea fishing with you in Florida during Christmas
25.   Visiting you at Mooney (Coolest office ever is where you can look out and see planes!)
26.   Driving into Flower Mound for the 1^st time – you laughed when I said LHS looked like a prison
27.   Spinning out on the highway on the way home from San Antonio one winter (in the Jeep)
28.   My 1^st deer hunt (Yes, you were right, that deer was WAY too small. Glad you didn’t pull the trigger.)
29.   Spending Spring Break of my senior year with you in Galveston
30.   The time you got our Kerrville neighbors to play Santa while we were out for a night (I think I was 8 – that reignited my belief in Santa for a few more years!)
31.   You building the porch cover at the house in Kerrville
32.   Having to tell you that I had just gotten a speeding ticket (I was so afraid, but your reaction was PERFECT – grace and a second chance is what I learned there)
33.   You going to court with me to deal with said ticket
34.   Going to a Miami University homecoming game
35.   Walking through a Middletown cemetery with you, hearing about the history of our family
36.   Visiting Grandpa for that last time with you
37.   The San Angelo arts festival
38.   Laughing with you about certain relatives (I’ll just leave that one a bit generic here.)
39.   The 1^st time you let me mow the grass alone
40.   Watching you play on a company softball team
41.   Your Texas flag running shorts (not sure why I remember those)
42.   Going through some of Grandpa’s WWII stuff with you in the attic in Middletown
43.   Golfing with you in the Auggie Memorial
44.   You taking Carissa and me out after we got married for a PHENOMENAL dinner!
45.   Going to Comfort to help build Tim’s house
46.   The 1^st time you actually let me watch MTV (I hate to admit, but it wasn’t the first time I’d actually watched MTV!)
47.   Going to the Mason’s Lodge with you
48.   Riverhill Country Club – swimming, golfing, eating
49.   4^th of July at Lois Hayes Park in Kerrville
50.   Seeing you at my soccer games in high school
51.   Seeing you catch a bat that had gotten into the house on Daley Ct.
52.   Watching you meet Jackson for the 1^st time (and Parker, and Matthew)
53.   Seeing pics from your Alaska and Canada trips (although it just makes me jealous!)
54.   Driving in the Jeep at Almosta Ranch…my 1^st 4-wheeling experience (I should have buckled my seatbelt)
55.   Drive-in movies in the station wagon in Kerrville
56.   Christmas in San Angelo when you gave us the electric train set
57.   Your hat collection (And stopping to pick up “road kills” to build your collection.)
58.   Your deer rifle
59.   Your generosity
60.   The single most important memory I have: the conversation with you a few years back at Buffalo Wild Wings about your faith in Jesus (because now I know we will develop more memories for eternity!)

I love you Dad! Happy Birthday!

It's Time to Give

2011-10-16T04:59:00.000-07:00

If you’ve ever been to church, you know that time of the weekend experience. “It’s time to receive our tithes and our offerings.”
This is a time in the service when everyone falls into one of three groups (funny how many times the church crowd can be divided into three groups…)

1. Let’s see what this is all about.

2. Oh, great. I knew it. The church just wants my money.

3. YES! This is when I get to team up with God!

For the first and second groups, the only things that can change their perspective are God and time. God will move. The question is, will they stay around long enough to see it? If so, they’ll eventually move to the third group. Or they won’t. But this time in the service isn’t about those first two groups. That is, I should say, it isn't for those groups...not for them to feel bad or guilty or manipulated into giving. This is a time for the third group.

For those of us who have been rescued by the grace of God, this is the time of a worship experience that we can step up and tangibly partner with God. But I think so often we do it with misdirected reasons. See, I think we hear so often that when we give we’ll be blessed (which is true, by the way), that we focus on the wrong side of that equation. We focused on the “we’ll BE blessed.” But that’s not why we should give. The truth is that we give because we ARE blessed.

In 2 Corinthians 8-9, the apostle Paul is commending the church of Corinth for their generosity, and he’s encouraging them to essentially step up their game. And he gives them a promise:

“Because of the service by which you have proved yourselves, men will praise God for the obedience that accompanies your confession of the gospel of Christ, and for your generosity in sharing with them and with everyone else. And in their prayers for you their hearts will go out to you, because of the surpassing grace God has given you. Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!” 2 Corinthians 9:13-15

The reality is, when we give, great things will happen. But the bigger reality is, great things have already happened. THAT’S why we should give.

John 3:16 says, “For God so loved the world that he GAVE…” Then in Romans we read that it wasn’t because of anything we had done. In fact, just the opposite is true. It says that “while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”

We’ve already been given the greatest gift that could ever be given. Ever! For us to think that now we give so that we’ll be blessed is wrong. We give, because we HAVE ALREADY BEEN GIVEN TO! It’s so great a gift, Paul tells us, that it is indescribable.

Now, I know it’s not easy. Full disclosure: I’ve failed many, many times at this. I’ve looked at my situation and thought, “There’s no way I can give right now! Look at the economy. What about the bills. Blah, blah, blah.” That’s why I am taking up God’s challenge to step up my own game in this area.

But this isn't just a test about money. God wants to see where our hearts are.

In 2 Chronicles we read the account of God telling Solomon to ask for anything in the world that he wanted. Solomon was taking over as king of the country and God said, essentially, “Ask for anything and it’s yours.”

That’s our dream, isn’t it? For God to ask us what we want? Well, most Christians are familiar with the idea that Solomon asked for wisdom. But in reality, he asked for two things: wisdom AND knowledge. Solomon knew that without one, the other isn’t really as useful. He knew that wisdom is the ability to accurately discern AND apply knowledge.

God has given us all the knowledge of Christ. If you’re reading this, you’ve been exposed to that knowledge. The question now is: Do we have the wisdom to do with that knowledge what we know we should? Do we have the wisdom to take the greatest gift there is and then turn around and give it—tangibly through resources and intangibly through relationships, time, talents, etc.—to those around us in the world who desperately need it?

Because when we do, men will praise God. Not because we are so generous. But because they recognize the reality that we are all loved by a generous God.

The perfect discription of me.

2011-08-23T08:45:00.000-07:00

My Bucket List

2011-08-12T06:50:00.000-07:00

Most people have heard of a bucket list. It's that list of things someone wants to do, see, accomplish or experience before they die. The cliche list would include things like: sky dive, climb a mountain, travel to ________ (you fill in the blank), scuba dive, experience a _________ game at _________ (you fill in the sport and the venue), get a tattoo (ok, maybe that was just me)...things most people don't experience or do on a regular basis.

The idea of a bucket list is that, as the grave approaches, we have to work in all the things that make life, well, life...and not just survival.

Maybe it's because I'm in my mid-30s. Maybe it's because I saw that movie a while back. Whatever the reason, I've thought about what would be on my bucket list. But as my bride says about herself, the last thing I want to be is cliche.

So here's my bucket list: grow closer to God.

That might sound like some super-spiritual, copout answer, but think about it. Every one of those things above has something in common - it's about making life extraordinary. That's what God is all about!

In John 10:10 Jesus said himself, "I have come that they may have life and have it to the full."

If that doesn't encapsulate the idea of fulfilling a "bucket list," I don't know what does!

Sure, I'd love to experience a lot of thrills in life. And I have. Most of what's above I've done, but there are many more I still want to do. But I don't just want those moments to be what makes my life exciting. I want every day, every moment to be exciting.

I think that's what God is all about. And as I grow closer to him - through my victories, my struggles, my boredom, my failures, my anger, my joy, my love - I want to watch as he turns the mundane and ordinary into monumental and extraordinary!

I Don't Know Myself

2011-08-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

12 strangers sit in an old coffeeshop,
Not one says a word to another.
Each has a story that ticks with the clock,
Yet one doesn't know this from the others.

I can guess at who it is that is sitting around me;
I could create their stories and plotlines myself.
But I'd just be guessing at the lives all around me.
Who sits here? I don't know myself.

I sit down with paper and pen at the ready,
Struggling to capture the words and emotions.
And as every writer knows, this is the point most unsteady.
"Just write," the voice says. "Put the pen into motion!"

"But if it's not perfect" I argue and battle,
"It will forever remain unread and up on the shelf."
So what's the perfect combination of sounds and syllables?
What should I write? I don't know myself.

I finally step out, free, and head 'round the bend
And stare awestruck at what cannot be.
It's easy to look back and see where I've been,
But tomorrow, though I strain, I'll never fully see.

"But I have life under control," I pretend and I say,
"Like a book I can pull off of a shelf."
But as I step forward and into each new day,
Where'm I going? I don't know myself.

Pen and Paper.

2011-08-10T08:58:00.000-07:00

Pen and paper are two of our world's most primitive communication devices. Yet, the power that propels one onto the other, found in the deep recesses of our consciences, drives the pursuit to communicate the old and discover the new.

Pen and paper are where old meets new, where purpose meets possibility, where dream meets reality. It is through these two that ideas form legs and begin to move on their own, ever increasing speed until all of a sudden they have surpassed their own creator.

Now...go write.

The Smooth Sounds of ... Static?

2011-07-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

Lately, on my way into work, I’ve been listening to this great local jazz station. There’s something powerful about jazz. It calms the nerves. It focuses the mind. It stirs creativity. It soothes the soul.

There’s only one problem. This station has one of the lowest frequencies on the radio, so the signal gets interrupted occasionally.

This morning was particularly bad. Intertwined with the music of Ellington, Armstrong and Coltrane were the rantings of some politically-charged woman, the shrieking of a badly tuned guitar and the frustrating crackle of static. But I did my best to fight through it all, thinking I was just driving through a few dead zones and hoping the signal would clear. Eventually, it did.

But as I navigated the interruptions, something occurred to me that sent chills down my back. My relationship with God is too often like that radio station.

There are times when my connection with God is as sweet as the sounds of Dizzie Gillespie’s trumpet or Billie Holiday’s voice. It calms the nerves. It focuses the mind. It stirs creativity. It soothes the soul.

But other times, I allow distractions to interrupt what was once so pleasing, so melodious, so musical. Rather than having a strong, consistent signal with God, I turn to him with less and less frequency and instead experience the shriek of an invading world.

Whatever I say to myself to justify tuning out (I’m driving through a dead zone; the signal will clear up soon), I allow other things to interrupt my relationship with God. And instead of experiencing the joy of a relationship with him, I deal with the frustration of too many things vying for my time, my energy, my focus.

God wants a clear signal in my relationship with him. Because he knows that’s the only way (not just the best way) that I will get the most out of life. So like I have to often do in my car, I’m resetting my dial again. And I’m going to rely on him to keep the static from interrupting the tunes again.

Was I ADHD?

2011-06-09T06:19:00.000-07:00

Google “ADHD” and you get about 52,700,000 hits. Wikipedia defines it as: “a neurobehavioral developmental disorder. It is primarily characterized by ‘the co-existence of attentional problems and hyperactivity, with each behavior occurring infrequently alone’ and symptoms starting before seven years of age.”

Now, I’m new to the whole ADHD scene. Sure, my pastor (Ed Young) has a form of it that he calls EDD. But now it’s hit a lot closer to home. Matthew, our youngest son, was diagnosed with it over a year ago (we’ve had him for just under 2 weeks). Yesterday, we visited the psychiatrist who had diagnosed him and subsequently put him on a regimen of medications; a regimen that had to be adjusted and tested several times before the right combination (or concoction) of meds was found.

Before you go further, let me get something out. I’m not going on a rant about the psychiatric community. I’m not denying the existence of ADHD. And I’m not even talking about the dangers of over-medicating children.I am, though, posing a question.

Could it be that our society has too easily diagnosed a child

to have ADHD because we are afraid of the

WORK it takes to parent that child?

In CPS, nearly 90 percent of the children are diagnosed with ADHD and on some kind of medication. As Carissa and I sat in that waiting room yesterday, I looked around at children who were dazed, distant and distracted rather than being engaged in conversation, looking at books (yes, actual books) or simply using their imagination to dream and play. And I would bet that every one of those kids was on medication, and most of them for ADHD.

The drugs (because that’s what they are) that Matthew has to take for his ADHD no doubt effect his personality. But how? No one knows. Even the flier we got at the doctor’s office says, “The way ADHD medications work is not exactly known.” I’m sorry. WHAT? And you want me to continue putting my child through that? No thank you.

So Carissa and I are going to begin the process of taking Matthew off those medications. We don’t think he has ADHD. Active? Yes. Distracted at times? Yes. But hey…HE’S SIX! We base our belief not on naiveté, but instead on some very pointed and alarming factors that have become clear through the process of adopting him.

We believe strongly that God can continue to work in and through our lives to get Matthew clear of those medications. We aren’t some weird “faith over medicine” kind of people. Trust me. Medical miracles have saved my family more than one time. But I DO believe fully that with some direction, guidance, creative outlets and yes, even discipline (a word too many parents are afraid of), a lot of children who were once thought to be ADHD will in fact be found to be curious, energetic boys and girls…just like we all were when we were growing up!

Where it All Started

2011-05-23T14:37:00.000-07:00

Just a few days ago, our youngest son, Matthew, walked into his new home and his new world for the first time.

Lately, several people have mentioned that I should write about all this. I’m sure when someone suggests that, they are hoping to read about the heartwarming moments and the amazing experiences and emotions that accompany each step of this journey we are on. They probably want to hear about things like the first time we met Matthew, the first time he saw Jackson and Parker, his reaction to our two crazy dogs and his new room.

And I’m sure, over time, I will begin to write about a lot of that (somewhere other than my journals). But I can’t write about any of it. Not here. Not yet. Not until I share the very foundation of this entire journey.

It’s easy, I think, to look at this whole situation from the perspective that this is a huge blessing—for us and for Matthew.

Now…if you know me, then you know my heart. And you know I don’t say that to brag. I don’t say that boasting how we have everything to offer this little boy who has nothing. I say that only because I am fully confident in God. I see every day what He has already done for me and my family.

I think to be blessed by God and then to deny those blessings in front of people is to spit in the face of God. So yes, I see that we have a blessed family. We are simply opening up what we have been given to a little boy who needs a home. “We’re blessed to be a blessing.”

That’s so true. But that’s also the “easy preach,” as my pastor would say. And it’s not the impetus of our journey. Not by a long shot.

That may sound strange to some. After all, adoption is about having the heart to extend love and grace and open your home, right? Maybe. But under all of that is a word a lot of people don’t talk about. What some people may not see or know is that every second of our journey has been taken with one thing in mind. And it isn’t to be a blessing. It is simply to be obedient.

Those of you who have prayed with us have been praying for something you may not even realize. You have prayed strength into our family to continue taking steps of obedience. But here’s the great thing about it all. This is the part that brings tears to my eyes and causes me to stare heavenward in absolute amazement.

God, in His infinite goodness and love, cannot help but bless our obedience. And I’m not just talking about the Boyds anymore. And I’m not just talking about adoption anymore either. I’m talking about every single person on earth, in every realm of life. We don’t obey God to be blessed; we are blessed because we obey.

So on our journey of adoption, that’s simply what we are doing. We are continuing to seek God’s will and move forward one step at a time. And because of that, we are seeing the culmination of obedience…which is the blessing of another son to call us “Mommy” and “Daddy.”

There Really Are No Words... Happy Mother's Day!

2011-05-08T05:15:00.000-07:00

What do you get the woman who is the strength of every day?
What do you say to the woman who brought your children into the world
and helps them to make it through each day they walk?
What do you say to your wife, when she gives color to the world
simply because she is here?

There really are no words.

No card, no candy, no gift
can thank her enough.
The meaning she holds,
the hope she brings,
the love she gives,
the beauty she possess…

There really are no words.

When she walks into the room,
we all notice…and we all smile.
When she smiles, our hearts melt
and our worries disappear, even if just for a while.
To say “Thank you” isn’t enough, because…

There really are no words.

Peace. Joy. Love.
When God created these, he had her in mind.
Beauty. Grace. Style.
What the world longs to see, we see all the time.
Strength. Hope. Art.
There are a million words we could write, but…

There really are no words. Other than, “Mom.”

We love you, Carissa! Happy Mother’s Day!

Love,
Andy, Jackson and Parker

GOD. IS. LOVE.

2011-05-01T05:56:00.000-07:00

So vast is his love that the only possible release
Was the creation of its very object—you and me—humanity.
Pure beyond understanding, full beyond comprehension,
The emotion and feeling we know and have is but a cheap imitation.
Cleansing like the morning rain on a meadow in Spring,
God’s love washes our souls and offers us eternity.

GOD IS LOVE.

But to think that, like the meadow, God’s love is all beauty,
Is to ignore the thorns and weeds and what we’ve done with it.
For our sin is the murder of our love towards God,
And our rejection of him exists because we fell for the fraud.
We chose our own path as the roads of love and rebellion converged,
But still God points to the cross where love and sin re-merged.

GOD IS LOVE.

See, love needs an object if it’s really love at all.
And we were the focus eternal of God’s love—before and after the fall.
So living a sinless life so that we may not remain lifeless in sin,
Christ laid himself out on the cross and welcomed the nails in.

GOD IS LOVE.

While his heart was still, without a pulse beating,
The full force of his love for us was right there, waiting.
And on that 3rd fateful day love showed its true might,
For the stone rolled away and Christ emerged into the light.
And as he burst from the grave and looked to the sky above,
He must have smiled knowing the world would surely see now…

GOD IS LOVE.

While we prepare...

2011-04-06T07:16:00.000-07:00

It’s a simple sign posted outside the worship center doors at Fellowship Church. It lets people know that while they wait, work is being done to prepare for them. But in reality, this sign is so much more—it is a sign of intentionality, direction and purpose.

Yesterday, as a staff, we were challenged by our pastors Ed and Lisa Young to think hard about what we are doing and who we are reaching. That challenge has reawakened me to the reason I do what I do….and it has forced me to ask myself the hard questions.

As I passed this sign this morning (for the one-gazillionth time in the last 9 years), I saw it for the first time in a new light. It is a microcosm of the challenge that was laid down yesterday.

This sign isn’t just about what is happening minutes or even hours before Fellowship Church’s experience times. This sign is a reminder to each of us that every moment of every day, we are preparing for people to meet with Jesus Christ face-to-face.

No matter what you are doing (and you may not be part of a church staff), you must be preparing for someone to meet Jesus. Every action, every word, every thought must be intentional, direct and purposeful.

While we prepare…
our hearts.
our minds.
our homes.
our families.
our neighbors.
our friends.
our lives…

People are waiting. Are you prepared?

Isaiah 53

2011-03-18T05:34:00.000-07:00

Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?

He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground.

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

and by his wounds we are healed.

We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth;

he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. By oppression and judgment he was taken away.

Yet who of his generation protested? For he was cut off from the land of the living; for the transgression of my people he was punished.

He was assigned a grave with the wicked, ad with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth.
Yet it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer, and though the LORD makes his life an offering for sin, he will see his offspring and prolong his days, and the will of the LORD will prosper in his hand.

After he has suffered, he will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many, and he will bear their iniquities.

Therefore I will give him a portion among the great, and he will divide the spoils with the strong, because he poured out his life unto death, and was numbered with the transgressors.

For he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.

Brutal Transparency

2011-02-19T06:02:00.000-08:00

Just a few hours ago, I drove off of the campus of my church having experienced two and a half days of the most powerful, profound, spiritually-awakening days of my life. For nearly 72 hours, C3 2011 welcomed leaders from around the world, creative geniuses from nearly every continent and pastors from more churches than I know.

I have the amazing opportunity to serve on staff at the church that hosts this world-shaking conference. I have for nearly 9 years. And during that time, I have had the humbling opportunity to witness firsthand the leadership, direction, and vision of my pastors Ed and Lisa Young, along with so many others, to open up the veins of our church and welcome in these leaders to see what church truly can be and do.

I cannot put into adequate words the influence it all has on my life. There’s no formula of letters and punctuation that would suffice. But in a moment of honest reflection, I have to be brutally transparent before my God and myself.

I don’t know how to process what just happened.

How do you process the power of an anointing, the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit? How do you process the prevailing sense of God’s hand on a place and a people? How do you process weeping tears of repentance and joy knowing that the God of the universe is right there, looking at you eye-to-eye, willing to walk into tomorrow with you.

See, I’m an answer guy. I like to seek out the answer, research the answer, put the answer down in a neat little outline with three main points, each with 2 corresponding subpoints. I’m a linear thinker (that is not to say I’m not creative; I’m just different creative). And standing on this point of my little line, I want to know what lies four, five or six stops ahead. I want to address the questions and get the answers.

And then something like C3 happens. And the answers are so insanely overwhelming that I cannot even begin to fathom their depth and height and width. There are no lines around something like that. There’s no way to define it, no way to truly explain it, no way to…process it.

For me, it was a time of spiritual empowerment. But it was not something I will be able to process in the next week, the next year or even the next decade. I believe what God did over the last two and a half days will take a lifetime to embrace, and an eternity to visualize.

But I do know this. I don’t have to process it. I don’t have to have all the answers. I simply have to stand in awe of the God who is here, standing by me. And I have to obediently and willingly follow him as he continues to enlighten me and empower me on every step of my line.

I Think God Is Too Big

2011-01-26T18:26:00.000-08:00

What do you think of when you think of God?

Some people think that God is too big; that he’s impersonal, detached, removed. They say he spun the world into existence and left us on our own to figure it all out.

Some people think that God is too small. If he did exist, they argue, then why is there evil in the world? What’s with all the disease, abuse, corruption, anger and hate? To them, if God is real, then he’s too small to handle what we deal with every day.

Some people think it doesn’t matter. They don’t really care either way. This existence, this reality is all there is. We live. We die. That’s it. No more.

Some people think he is the Savior of the world. That even in our depravity he provided a way back to him. That way is Jesus Christ. And what we do with him is up to us.

What do I think of when I think of God?

I do believe he’s the Savior. I owe him everything for the saving grace he has given to me through Jesus. I was lost; now I’m found. In other words…I was headed to hell; now I’m headed to heaven.

I do think he’s too small. Too many times in my life, I don’t make a relationship with him a big enough deal. I need to place more urgency in pursuing him.

And ultimately, I do think God is too big. Because he will never fit into any box I create. He is God. I am not.

C.S. Lewis once said (in my paraphrased words) that if the Christian faith is all for nothing, then nothing has been lost. But if our faith is for everything, then everything matters.

Is God too big? Big doesn’t even begin to cover it!

I Want to Be Me. Only Different.

2010-12-14T11:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I want to be someone else. Wait. That’s not exactly right. Sometimes I want to be me…only different. Yeah. That’s more along the lines of what I mean.

There are times that I take a look at my life and think about the things that I wish would change.

I wish I was better at __________.
I would love to do more ____________.
Maybe I could have more ____________.

You know…I’d still be me. Just, different.

But here are some questions I have to ask myself.

If I really want __________, am I willing to do what it takes to get there?
Am I willing to put in the work to achieve it?
Am I willing to make the sacrifices necessary to elevate that aspect of my life?
Or am I just wishfully hoping that God will somehow magically get me there…no work involved on my part?

See, the danger I face in hoping I was instantaneously ___________ is that if I don’t put in the work, take the time, or make the sacrifices it takes, I won’t be me when I get there. Not really.

I am a result of all my experiences. And if I don’t do my part in getting somewhere or achieving something, then I’m cheating myself out of opportunity to grow, stretch and become.

So here’s the challenge. If I want to change, I need to go about doing the work of changing. It does no good to hope for something I am unwilling to work for.

Yes, I must follow God’s lead in my life. I must rely on Him to reveal the path before me. But it comes down to my willingness to then take the steps to get to where He wants me to go.

Because otherwise, I may arrive somewhere I was hoping to go, only to realize that I left my true self way back at the beginning.

She Really Was The Best Dog

2010-11-30T20:01:00.000-08:00

Courtney Rae 1999-2010

If you know us, then you probably knew her. And chances are you loved her. She was the big dog that had an even bigger heart. She was a part of Carissa’s life since before I was a part of Carissa’s life. But over the years, she became my dog. I say that, of course knowing that she was never solely my dog.

But she was the absolute best dog I have ever known. Patient. Understanding. Kind. Tolerant. Eager to please. And above all, Courtney displayed what it truly means to be part of a family.

In life, things change. Circumstances shift. That certainly was true for her. At first it was just her and Carissa. Then I was added to the mix. Then 2 little boys entered the fray and became big boys. And then 2 more dogs invaded Courtney’s life. But through it all, Courtney’s capacity to welcome others into the family only grew.

She reminded me time and time again that when it’s all said and done, where you live doesn’t matter (she moved with us six times). The stuff you have means nothing (to remind me of that, she chewed everything up as a puppy!) Only the ones you love truly count.

It’s a difficult thing to lose a pet you’ve had for over 11 years. For some, it seems weird to love an animal so deeply. For others, it seems weird not to. For me, Courtney was a part of our family. And I couldn’t help but love her.

And tonight, as I say goodbye to her, I can’t help but be reminded of all that she taught me about being in a family.

Goodbye, Court. I’ll miss you. But I will never forget you.

Point Blank Range

2010-11-24T07:19:00.000-08:00

As a rifle range coach, I had the opportunity to work with some of the most highly trained, professional shooters in the United States Marine Corps and Navy. Snipers, recon Marines, MPs. I was honored to serve with them all. Part of my job also included working with Marines who weren’t as practiced with high powered weaponry—cooks, motor-T mechanics, communications gurus—POGs (people other than grunts). Over the 18 months that I served on the range, I probably coached over 2,000 Marines.

Only once did I ever feel like my life was in danger.

During qualification week, Marines go through a regimen of rifle safety classes, classroom instruction, and in-field exercises. One exercise includes some standing position, rapid fire drills. Targets up, safety off, three shots, safety on, targets down.

Now, when you fire in the standing position, your collar tends to stretch out a bit, leaving a gap along the back of your neck. And since the rounds from an M-16 eject to the right, with a Marine standing approximately 4 feet to your left, there is a slight possibility that one of those hot casings can find its way to that gap. In fact, in my experience, only 1 in about 2,000 shooters ever deals with it. I was there for the one.

As this Marine, (I’ll call her ‘Smith’) fired with her collar stretched out, a casing flew into the gap at the back of her neck. Now, the single biggest rule on the range is that when you are not firing, you put the safety on, for obvious reasons. That’s not what Smith did.

Instead, she spun 180 degrees directly toward me. With her rifle in the firing position, aimed chest high, her finger on the trigger, and screaming from the pain of the hot casing, she pointed the barrel directly at my chest. Point blank range. One miniscule jerk of her right index finger, and my life would have ended then and there. Needless to say, I was not happy. I immediately grabbed her rifle and kicked her off the range for the year.
_________

As I look at my calling here at Fellowship Church, there are so many things I have the opportunity to do. I have the chance to work in one of the most influential and on-point churches in the entire world. You could say I get to work with some of the most highly trained, professional shooters in the Christian world! And part of my job here is working with different ministries at different times and on a variety of projects. I’ve had thousands of opportunities to be used by God here. It is a truly humbling experience every day.

Lately, though, I faced a threat. There had been this one opportunity that I was missing out on. And doubt began to creep into my mind. Fear began to swell up in my heart. I was asking myself why I didn’t get the chance to do this thing.

And as I thought about it more and more, I began to have the same feeling as when that Marine’s rifle was pointed straight at my chest. Satan was aiming his rifle of doubt and fear straight at my chest. And one miniscule pull of the trigger and …

But this past weekend, my pastor challenged our church not to focus on the opportunities we lack, but to focus instead on the ones we can leverage. That was my wake up to snap me out of the doubt and fear.

See, I had started to shift my focus away from the things God wanted me to do and toward the things He wanted someone else to do. That’s a dangerous way to live. God doesn’t want me to live that way. He doesn’t want me to go through life with the rifle of doubt and uncertainty aimed point blank at my chest. Because if I go through life that way, then I miss out on all the other chances He has for me.

This past weekend, God grabbed the barrel of the rifle, kicked Satan off the range and told me to get back to work.

My Ride On This Pale Blue Dot

2010-11-14T12:43:00.000-08:00

I just watched Carl Sagan’s The Pale Blue Dot. And as I did, I was moved. How can you not be? To think of the vastness of the galaxies; to consider the endlessness of space; to recognize the sheer power it took to create it all. It is humbling to say the least.

But then, I began to ponder some other aspects of our existence: our arrogance in thinking we are the rulers of it all; our self-appointed divinity; our brazen belief that we are it…it’s sad, really.

Yes, God has given us dominion over the earth (Genesis 1:26). But why do we think we are the rulers of the entire galaxy…and beyond? Because that is what we so often think, even if subconsciously. I think the short film awakens us to that danger.

Yet, as I watched it again, I began to think not of humanity in general, but of me. How often do I get so wrapped up in my little corner of this piece of dirt that I forget all that is out there? How often do I come to a point in my life where I think I’m the only one who matters?

I pray that I don’t go through life that way anymore. I pray that, instead, I go through life taking full advantage of the opportunities I have to make sure others see that they matter. I am valued by the One who created this ball off dirt. And I’m here to make sure others realize that they are as well.

Faith. Family. Friends.

These are what truly matter in my life. It’s not about the vastness of my influence. Because the truth is that my influence will never be vast. It will, though, be valued by those closest to me. That’s what I must focus on as I continue my ride on this pale blue dot.

Where We Are In Our Journey

2010-11-08T10:52:00.000-08:00

Random.

2010-11-02T12:12:00.000-07:00

It's raining outside right now.

My wife is absolutely stunning.

I'm only writing this to get the creativity going.

I never thought of Albert Einstein riding a bike before.

My youngest son hates to wrestle...unless it's with me.

My oldest son throws a wicked fast baseball.

Both of my sons are crazy smart.

I just said "both of my sons"...soon that statement won't apply.

Do you think it's easier to read something that is left justified? Or right justified?

Seriously...my wife is smokin' hot.

There are 2 pens on my desk. One doesn't work. I should probably throw it away.

French press coffee is the best.

A friend of mine's father passed away yesterday. My heart hurts for him.

I think I would like to take up photography.

Or guitar.

Or poetry.

Another friend of mine loaned me two books. It's going to be hard to give them back.

Back. Time to get back to work.

The Yankees Lost. And I Smiled.

2010-10-23T05:53:00.000-07:00

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;

But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

— From“Casey at Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, 1888

The ALCS is over. And for my team, the season is over. The Yankees lost and are headed home. The Rangers won and are headed to the Fall Classic that little boys dream of—the World Series.

Yet, as the umpire signaled “Strike Three!” to end the game; as the home crowd erupted in a celebration never before heard in this town; and as my beloved Yankees simply walked off the field defeated, I had a smile on my face. Not because of the outcome of the game or the series, but because of what this has done for so many people around this town.

Weeks ago, many of the people now cheering for the Rangers would have told you that baseball is a boring sport. That there’s not enough action to it. That it just doesn’t have the appeal that a basketball or football or hockey game has.

And I can understand that argument. People say that because there’s no 60-yard HD screen hanging from the rafters. There are no half-nude dancers running onto the field during every break. There’s no obnoxious announcer working the crowd into a frenzy. No crazy strobe lights. No ridiculously loud music during play. It’s simply about the game.

Oh sure, in today’s society, we try to trick it up. We add dot races and lights around the stadium. We think bringing in high-tech instant replay will make the game better (although that then takes away the human element of baseball—something that is both infuriating and invigorating at the same time…but something that makes baseball, baseball).

But baseball is, and will always be, a slow game that requires patience…both to play and to watch. Baseball is the only sport of the “big 4” where strength of will and wit will often pay greater dividends than brute power.

But the excitement of anticipating a 3-2 pitch; the fervor that comes with ducks on the pond and nobody out; the intensity of waiting for your favorite player to make his way from the on-deck circle to the batter’s box in the bottom of the 9th—these are the things about baseball that draw me in. This is what I love about the game.

You see, it’s not just about wins and losses. Yes, I have a favorite team. Yes, I cheer for them to win. But there’s more to it than that. There’s something magical about going to the ballpark and watching BP. There’s something intoxicating about pouring over the stats and numbers, trying to figure out who plays best in what situation. There’s something innocent and pure about remembering my childhood and talking baseball with my grandfather.

Over the last few weeks, this is what baseball has become to a lot of people in this town. And when the Yankees lost last night, baseball won even more fans.

I just hope that continues next year…when the Yankees win again!

How Babe Ruth Helped Me Understand Jesus

2010-10-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

A lot of people don't know this, but my grandfather gave me Babe Ruth's autograph when I was 11 years old. It was the single greatest gift I've ever been given - for obvious reasons and not-so-obvious reasons.

Yes, possessing one of the sport's world's most coveted authographs is amazing. There are times that I just stare at it in sheer disbelief. But there's more to it. When I got that autograph, I began a love affair with the New York Yankees and Babe Ruth - a love affair that continues to this day. I know, I know. You either love 'em or hate 'em. And I love 'em.

Because of that, I've read countless books and articles on both the Yankees and Babe Ruth. And in all the reading on Babe Ruth, one thing seemed to come up more than anything else. People, reporters, fans everywhere wanted to know his secret to hitting homeruns. They asked him about it all the time. This is one of his answers:

"I swing as hard as I can, and I try to swing right through the ball. The harder you grip the bat, the more you can swing it through the ball, and the farther the ball will go. I swing big, with everything I've got. I hit big or I miss big. I like to live as big as I can."

I've thought about that answer before. But I never really connected the dots with why that answer meant so much to me. But as I reflect on that statement now, it makes me think of another statement spoken many years ago. Only this statement is more than an answer to the secret of hitting homeruns. It's the secret to living "as big as I can."

Jesus said in John 10:10, "I have come that they may have life and have it abundantly."

You want to live big? You want to hit homeruns every day? Then hold on with faith to Christ as hard as you can. And let him do the swinging for you.

And whether the Yankees or Rangers win, realize that life is about more than a baseball game.

The Journey We're On

2010-09-29T04:51:00.000-07:00

The Security of Insecurity

2010-09-17T13:43:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been walking through life when all of a sudden you can't see around the bend? Is there any greater feeling of inadequacy than realizing you don't have it all figured out...you don't have everything under control...you don't see every step clearly?

At times like that, I tend to stop down and determine to figure it out. To get everything under control. To strain my eyes and discover where the path leads.

But maybe we aren't meant to have it all down.

Maybe we're supposed to realize that we aren't omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent.

Maybe our feeling of inadequacy is the very thing that ushers in the reality that there is a God who is much bigger, much more powerful, much more in control than we are.

And maybe that feeling is the very thing that affords us the security to move forward. Even when we may not see exactly where the path leads.

Reaching - The Vision and Passion Behind Fellowship Church

2010-09-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

change

2010-09-04T05:29:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wish things would change?

As you ponder your life, you know something should be...

different.

You aren't looking for

alterations.

You don't want to encounter

s i m c

e s i

shifts.

But you just want some kind of change?

That desire for change, I believe, comes from God.

He is constantly...

Creating.

Innovating.

Altering.

Shifting.

Moving.

Changing.

The ESSENCE of who he is remains CONSTANT.

But the way he reveals himself is never the same.

I believe God wants us to constantly look for ways to change.

I don't think he wants our lives to end up as ruts worn into the path.

Don't change the essence of who you are.

But change the way you reveal yourself.

Remain consistently inconsistent.

And continually challenge yourself to...

Parker Lays Out the Gospel!

2010-08-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

Something Bigger than Me

2010-07-31T06:12:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 5 am to the sound of Reveille blasting over the loud speaker, just as I had every morning for three straight months. The difference was that, on that day, I wasn’t going to roll out of the rack for training or inspection. On that morning, I would march across the parade deck with hundreds of other guys and finally earn the title “Marine”. The three months leading up to that were just a proving ground. That morning was the payoff.

No one earns the privilege of being part of the world’s greatest fighting force flippantly. You pay for it. With blood, sweat, pain (otherwise known as weakness leaving the body), and honestly, a part of your identity. When I left the parade deck of MCRD San Diego, I was no longer the same person I was when I arrived. I couldn’t be.

Along with that reality comes a gamut of emotion that is easy to recall, yet difficult to express. Those who have been there know what I mean. On the day you become a Marine, and every day following it, there is a sense of pride. There is a sense of entitlement. There is a sense of security in my abilities and an astute sense that I can do anything.

But more than that, I believe, is a sense of truly, and finally, belonging to something much bigger than me.

Today, fifteen years later, I’m again part of something bigger than me. But this time, it’s not something I earned. I didn’t pay for it with my blood, sweat or pain. This time, I’m experiencing what Jesus paid for with his own blood, sweat and pain. And because of that, I’m no longer the person I was before I met him. I can’t be. Now, my identity is wrapped up in who he is. And there is no greater security than that!

In the Corps, I had a sense of entitlement and pride for what I had earned. As a Christian, I have a sense of humility and thankfulness for what Christ did for me.

Books

2010-07-29T04:51:00.001-07:00

There's just something special about books. I don't even care which books. Good books. Bad books. Thick books. Thin books. Old books. New books. (this is starting to sound a lot like Dr. Seuss’s “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish”! )

They can be books that are fiction or not. Books about people or the past or business management or dead athletes or corrupt politicians or extinct empires or farming or mountain climbing. There's something powerful that happens when I'm immersed in the words and thoughts of other writers. Even the ones that aren't from writers. It's hard to explain, really.

There are times when I walk the aisles of a bookstore and become almost melancholy because there's not enough time to read them all. But at the same time I'm excited that there are so many opportunities to discover new thoughts, study different perspectives or examine unique angles on old, familiar topics.

But there's one book that captures all of the emotions, desires, needs, cares, hopes and fears I can ever have. It's a collection of thoughts, perspectives, angles, words, sentences and paragraphs that is unmatched by any other book. It's the book that changes me every time I read it.

No other book gives me the hope and promise of life like this one. None of the characters and stories found on the shelves of a bookstore compare to those found in the pages of this book. And no book scares me as much. Because it's the book that shows me who I really am. And no book inspires me more. Because it’s the book that shows me who I am meant to be.

It's the one book that equips me and challenges me and reminds me and defines me—all at the same time. If you haven't read this book lately, I would challenge you to pick it up... again, or for the first time. Start “in the beginning” and read all the way through, “Amen.” Because it's written by the greatest author there could be; and there is so much there for you to discover. I'm pretty sure you know which one it is...

I want to live, thank you.

2010-07-28T06:07:00.000-07:00

We were 13,500 feet above the surface of the earth in an airplane that resembled little more than a metal can with indoor/outdoor carpet on the floor. No seats. No friendly flight attendants offering $3 beverages. No pressurized cabin or in-flight movie. Just an opening on the side that was the size of a single-car garage door.

There was a tap on the shoulder, a 3-count, and then…

When I decided to go skydiving, a friend of mine asked me if I was going through some kind of midlife crisis. It was an understandable question. But I wouldn’t say that’s what my freefall from the sky was about. It was more the product of a realization.

The last few years I’ve begun to see more and more that I’ve only been given one life. Sure, I’ve always had an intellectual awareness of that fact. We all do. But through several circumstances and situations, I’ve really begun to see that life is a gift. And I’ve started to ask myself if I’m making the most of it.

As I sit here looking at all that God has blessed me with, I have to wonder: have I done all I can to thank him for it? I mean really thank him. Not just with words, but with actions.

We would all admit that it’s important to say “Thank you.” But I believe the true essence of thanks is found in action. It’s when we appreciate something so much that we are willing to squeeze every drop out of it.

In his first letter to the Thessalonians, the apostle Paul challenged them, “…in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

In everything. Not just in words, but in actions as well. In other words, we’re to make the most out of life.

Think of a hot summer day. You’ve just walked inside after hours of doing yard work. And there on the counter is an ice-cold glass of clear, refreshing water. And standing next to it is your wife, smiling. Of course you say “thank you.” But you don’t stop there. You pick up the glass and gulp it down. You don’t take a little sip, nod your head and then walk away. You enjoy every single drop.

Am I saying that the only way to show appreciation for life is to strap a parachute to your back and jump from 2.5 miles above the earth? No! But I think we do need to ask ourselves, “What am I doing to show my appreciation for this life?”

Are we simply trying to skate by, looking at each day as something we have to endure? Or are we looking to attack every moment as voraciously as we can and show others that what God has given us is a precious gift to be thoroughly enjoyed?

I don’t want to just say “thank you.” I want to live, thank you.

Do You Ever...

2010-07-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

... meet people who challenge you to become a better person?
... wonder what dogs think when you throw a ball for them?
... ask God what the meaning of life is?
... marvel at the reality that you’ll never really know it all?
... burn your tongue so bad that the rest of the drink is ruined?
... think you’re just one big thought away from a breakthrough?
... want a second chance?
... change your shirt 5 times before you leave the house?
... say something so dumb that it astounds yourself?
... wish you lived somewhere else?
... drive too fast?
... dream so big that it’s impossible to accomplish it on your own?
... dream so small that it’s not worth accomplishing at all?
... look at a mountain and think, “I can climb that.”
... sit and stare at the grass or trees or trash blowing in the wind?
... wonder what people in Beijing or London or Montreal are doing right now?
... want to ask a question, but don't know how?
... doodle during a meeting?
... hope your kids will be happier than you are?
... walk around downtown just for a different perspective?
... eat too many Oreos too late at night?
... laugh out loud in public because of a thought you had?
... think the dog looks at you and thinks, “What were you thinking?”

Sometimes I do.

Willing to Write

2010-07-23T16:46:00.000-07:00

When people ask me what I do and I respond that I’m a writer, I often wonder if they really get what I’m saying. After all, what is writing?

Webster defines writing as, “the act of a person or thing that writes.” Not sure about you, but I think that’s a cop out. That’s like saying that running is the activity of a person or thing that runs. Or that breathing is the action of a person or thing that breathes.

Writing is much more emotionally charged and spiritually driven than that traditional, scholastic explanation. It’s more than simply the act of one who writes, because it’s more organic, more fluid, more alive.

I think a better definition of writing is: the desperate attempt of a confused craftsman to communicate his (or her) emotions, beliefs, experiences, convictions, sense of humor, imagination or perspectives in such a way that anyone willing to read it can actually begin to feel it.

When someone writes, they are opening up their soul and displaying the very nature of their being on the page. And it doesn’t matter what they write – blogs, blurbs, novels, poems, plays, songs.

To move an idea from your head to the page takes courage and a willingness to subject yourself to any number of reactions – from praise to ridicule to apathy (which is worse that ridicule). It’s a humbling act that either results in clarity or cloudiness. And it’s a desperate plea to communicate something so intimate and personal that most people shy away from ever really writing anything at all.

The reality is that all of us could be writers. The question is, are we willing?

The Few. The Proud. The Marines.

2010-07-05T11:32:00.000-07:00

Remember the Price of Freedom

2010-07-04T05:07:00.000-07:00

What Do You Expect?

2010-06-17T19:50:00.000-07:00

Think about the millions of expectations that come with living. When we're children, we're expected to sit quietly, do our work, mind our manners and not pick our noses (at least not in public).

When we're teenagers, we're expected to follow the rules, listen to those who are wiser than we are, hold our tongues and (at least try to) make it home by curfew. And on the other hand, the unspoken expectation is that we'll rebel.

When we're young adults, we're expected to decide our life's destination, follow the standard protocol for reaching that goal and not speed or let the grass get too tall in the front yard.

And as we get older, we're expected to have learned from life and pass those lessons on to others, even though they probably won't listen because they know so much more than we did at that age.

I was thinking about all those expectations. And I boiled it down to this. The goal of all of those is for us to blend in. We're expected to be one of the crowd. Somewhere, somehow, we become convinced that we must meet everyone else's expectations in order to make it through life. Because if we don't, we just might stick out. And when we stick out, we run the risk of too many terrible things. Things we don't dare subject ourselves to. Things like being made fun of, being talked about, and actually being ... noticed.

But as I think about all the expectations that I've met in my life, and even those I haven't, I wonder: how much of my life is the sum total of expectations of other people?

I don't want to live based on other people's expectations. Because when I do, sure, I fit in. But I also lose who I'm designed to be. And then others dictate where I go, what I do, how I live. I don't want to live that way.

I want to live based on God's expectations, because He doesn't have the same expectations for me that others have. Oh, sure, He expects me to grow and learn and be responsible and not speed and pay my taxes and not pick my nose.

But I think His biggest expectation for me is that I look to Him first. Not second. Not forty-fourth. And certainly not last. So every day, I want to start off not looking to the expectations of others. I want to look to God and ask Him, "What do you expect?"

A Little About a Lot? Or a Lot about a little?

2010-05-12T07:04:00.000-07:00

Would you rather know a lot about a little? Or a little about a lot?
I think I would rather know a lot about a little. Because I've been designed that way by God. It’s the essentiality of putting your all into something.

Each of us could go through life simply

            p      i      e      c      i     n      g

ou      rse      lve    s

                                                                                    o

                                                                                             u

                                                                                                      t.

Or…

We could fully commit to something; devoting our time, energy and strength to it.

The same thing works with our relationships. We can fully give ourselves to a precious few; those in life who will be there in the good times and the bad ... no matter what.

Or...

We can give out portions of ourselves to a large number of people, showing them only what we want them to see and hiding what really makes us who we are. But when we do that; when we shatter our own essence in hopes of being accepted, we aren’t ever really known. Not the way we’re meant to be known anyway.

So me? I’d rather know a lot about a little…and be known a lot by a little.

She is Everything. And More.

2010-05-09T04:43:00.000-07:00

When I met her, she was the force in life that knocked everything off its course. Until that point, I knew what I wanted; I knew where I was headed. When I met her, I realized that all needed to change.

There are so many words that describe who she is to me. Lover. Friend. Companion. Shelter. Gift. I have the privilege of seeing everything that no one else sees, hearing what no one else hears, understanding what no one else understands. And all that is for me and me alone.

But there's one word that causes her to rise higher in the eyes of two little boys: mother.

When they need her, she is there.
When they call for her, she comes running.
When they cry, she holds them.
When they laugh, she laughs with them.
When they are wrong, she corrects them.
Through it all, she prays for them.

She loves them. She guides them. She helps them. She is their sounding board of hope, sympathy and emotion.

Without her, I could not do what I do. She is my wife. She is their mother. She is the source of our strength and courage.

She is the one who brings color to our lives.

Carissa, I love you. Happy Mother's Day!

The Power of Cussing

2010-05-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

Do you remember that scene in “A Christmas Story” where Ralphie helps his dad change the flat tire? Remember how that scene ends? Yep. With an f-bomb and a bar of soap.

Until just a few days ago, I saw myself from Ralphie’s perspective. I remember what it was like to discover the power of cussing. And I remember vividly the first time I heard the f-bomb. I was in the 2nd grade.

My friend Trey told a joke about the good side and the bad side of the hill (yes, I still remember the joke). We laughed so hard that the teacher in the cafeteria finally came over to find out what was so funny. It was very much my Ralphie moment. I hadn’t actually said the word myself. Not then at least. But I got my first lesson in guilt by association. The teacher didn’t call my parents. And if they’re reading this, this is most likely the first time they’ve ever heard this story.

The point is that I remember the power of discovering a forbidden word. And I used it. Often. Loudly. Proudly. I don’t remember ever getting caught. But I definitely know it was part of my verbal arsenal.

Now, I look at things from a completely different angle, because I’m no longer Ralphie. I’m Ralphie’s dad. And sadly, real life isn’t as funny as the movies.

Jackson has recently learned the power of the f-bomb…and the repercussions it brings. Who knows when he actually learned it for the first time? But in the past 96 hours, he’s dropped it twice (that we know of). The first time, he was at a friend’s. There was an … incident. But he came home and fessed up. Said he lost his temper and it just came out.

In that moment, I was so proud of his honesty and could tell he was truly sorry. Because I want him to feel comfortable coming to me in the future, I told him I was disappointed in his actions, but proud that he had the guts to be honest. No punishment.

Yesterday, he dropped the bomb at school. I know because the principal called my wife, who called me. Grace period? Over. Creative discipline begins. And soap? Pfff. That’s child’s play. The list of consequences* on this one is long and distinguished.

It’s not about the power of a forbidden word. This is an opportunity to teach Jackson about the power of choosing your words carefully.

* The list of consequences:

• Call and apologize to the kids he cussed out, and to their parents.
• Write a letter of apology to the principal and the teacher.
• Miss the lock-in at church.
• Call the Pastor to explain why he missed the lock-in.
• No screens (t.v., DS, Wii) for a week.
• No friends over for a week.
• No going to friends’ houses for a week.
• No more riding the bus home from school.
• No more riding bikes with the kid he learned the word from.

Dad, I have a question...

2010-04-23T19:17:00.000-07:00

Have you ever experienced a moment that you think is going to be profound? The time is right. The atmosphere is primed. And you just know this moment is going to hold some deep meaning, far beyond the moment itself. I just had one.

I was tucking the boys into bed while Carissa is at Flavour 2010. We've had a great night as just the boys. We ordered pizza. Played a little hoops. Even got in some video game time. Just hung out.

And as I kissed Parker good night and turned to walk out of his room, he stopped me.

"Dad?"

Yes, P?

"I have a question I've been thinking about that I just can't answer..." (Those were his exact words.)

Now, let me explain something. Parker is the one of our two boys who will drop some seriously deep questions on you when you least expect it. He's the one who contemplates the most difficult aspects of life, spirituality and the meaning of it all...in his seven year old way, of course.

So when he stopped me tonight with that question, I was poised and ready to tackle another philosophical discussion or theological conversation about what God might look like or how it's possible for Jesus to be physically alive in heaven right now (both of which I've had with him at some point).

"I have a question I've been thinking about that I just can't answer..."

Yes, P?

"Just how can you defeat the final Bowser on Super Mario Bros.?"

I wanted to write tonight...

2010-04-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write tonight. Nothing too big; nothing life changing. Just...write. But honestly, I don't feel like writing anymore. And as I think about that, I can't help but think of a blog post by Michael Hyatt . It's actually written by P.J. O'Rourke. But it pretty much nails it.

"Usually, writers will do anything to avoid writing. For instance, the previous sentence was written at one o’clock this afternoon. It is now a quarter to four. I have spent the past two hours and forty-five minutes sorting my neckties by width, looking up the word “paisly” in three dictionaries, attempting to find the town of that name on The New York Times Atlas of the World map of Scotland, sorting my reference books by width, trying to get the bookcase to stop wobbling by stuffing a matchbook cover under its corner, dialing the telephone number on the matchbook cover to see if I should take computer courses at night, looking at the computer ads in the newspaper and deciding to buy a computer because writing seems to be so difficult on my old Remington, reading an interesting article on sorghum farming in Uruguay that was in the newspaper next to the computer ads, cutting that and other interesting articles out of the newspaper, sorting—by width—all the interesting articles I’ve cut out of newspapers recently, fastening them neatly together with paper clips and making a very attractive paper clip necklace and bracelet set, which I will present to my girlfriend as soon as she comes home from the three-hour low-impact aerobic workout that I made her go to so I could have some time alone to write.”

— P. J. O’Rourke

I Wonder...Do You Know Him?

2010-04-20T15:00:00.001-07:00

The Silence of the Empty Tomb

2010-03-31T10:24:00.000-07:00

In the silence of the empty tomb the wind rushes past an opening that leads to a place where the cool damp air hovers over a cold, lifeless stone where my Savior once lay, torn and tattered, bruised and beaten—dead—as His blood clotted and pooled on the ground that He once strode boldly over, carrying a message that was born in a lowly shepherd’s village and established in a humble barnyard manger but that eventually erupted in shouts of joy and praise before the crowds of Jerusalem and ultimately threatened an entire religious system by bringing a new hope, not only for the righteous but for all mankind, that they could be saved from death, healed from brokenness, freed from the pit and forgiven of the sins that forced Him to the cross to be nailed to the beam by soldiers who knew no better, for they were simply doing the job they were called to do, while He called out to God as some stood by and laughed and mocked, but others of them knew then that, though this man who was suspended in the air and cried out in terror and pain would be dead before long, brought down and buried, He would soon burst forth from the grave and then all that would be left behind would be the silence of the empty tomb…and the rejoicing of all the heavens.

I want to climb mountains

2010-03-24T19:45:00.000-07:00

My desire to stand on top of some of the highest points on earth isn't new. It's something that has been building in me for the last 2 years or so. In reality, it's probably been boiling under the surface even longer than that. But recently, it's become what some might call an obsession. (Just talk to my bride for a list of books I've read, websites I've visited and people I've talked to about this whole thing.)

Most people who are into mountaineering start their love for the peaks at a very early age. I'm not at a "very early age." Of course, I'm not decrepit either. So I've got that going for me. But my love for the mountains is no less real than that of someone who grew up staring at one from the back porch. My approach and timing may just be different.

Now, for those of you who live in or near the mountains, you'll undoubtedly think, "Why not just start climbing?" But when you live in a place where the highest elevation is the roof of a structure made of steel and glass, there's a lot of thought about climbing that happens before you actually get to climb. And there's a lot of living that happens beforehand too.

For those who have been climbing as long as they can remember, they probably spent their teens and 20s pushing the limits, testing themselves beyond the point of intelligence. I don't have that luxury. I've lived long enough to have some of those edges of naivete chipped away. I know I have limits. I also know that my dreams affect more than just me.

I have a wife and two young sons. I have friends and family who count on me. I'm not going to run off to the wilderness and pretend that my life would be better if I could just climb the Devil's Thumb or scale the north face of the Eiger.

I live in the real world. So when I finally do have the opportunity and availability to climb, I won't be stupid. I won't knowingly put myself in positions that jeopordize what God has blessed me with.

However...

I want to climb mountains. And inherent within that desire is the expectation that I will take risks. I plan on pushing the limits of my physical abilities and testing myself when and where I can. I think my bride understands that. In fact, I know she does because she hopes to be on those mountains with me.

But as I think about it, I think it's crucial to do that in any aspect of life. It's vital in order to feel alive. And I think that's true for anyone, whatever they want to do.

I want to climb mountains. But before I ever make it to the summit of a large pile of rocks, I want every day to become a new mountain, a new adventure, a new summit I strive to reach.

Priceless

2010-03-18T05:40:00.000-07:00

This painting hangs in my office, just above my desk. The woman who painted it is a relatively unknown artist. Her work isn't displayed in museums or galleries. If her art was up for auction, it wouldn't tempt the uber-rich to drop millions of dollars (though it wouldn't surprise me). Unlike the world's iconic works of art, this painting has only been seen by maybe 50 people. Yet, this one canvas means more to me than any other painting I've ever seen. And it's not just because the artist is my bride.

When I look at the marks of the brushstokes, the shading of the colors, the layers of paint and gloss; and when I think of the story behind the painting, I see something so much more than a mixture of chemicals on a canvas. I see love. But more than a reminder of being loved, I see a challenge to love.

See, Carissa doesn't paint for the love of the viewer. She paints because of her love for the viewer, whoever that may be.

I've urged her on several occasions to use her talent to get paid, to paint for money. But each time, she says she can't. It's not that faux-modesty, oh-I-don't-have-any-talent kind of thing. It's that her talent, her creativity, her brilliance in this realm comes from a place so deep, so rich, so full, that the only way to describe it is an expression of love.

And you can't put a price on that.

It Really Does Matter

2010-03-04T09:54:00.000-08:00

My first conversation with Tim was exactly a month ago. It was a call that absolutely rocked my spirit and reawakened me to the fight I am in, along with so many others.

In a perfect world, that phone call would have led to an immediate change in Tim. After all, as Christians, isn't that what we want - to see that instant change in people and to know that what we say and what we pray actually matters?

But that's not exactly how it worked. After all, we don't live in a perfect world.

Since that first call with Tim, he has lost his job and found himself again on the verge of suicide - complete with bottle in one hand, gun in the other. And on more than one occasion he has called me with doubts, questions, fears and a feeling of hopelessness.

God, though, never abandoned Tim.

My latest phone call with Tim was just about 15 minutes ago. To say that there has been a change in his life would be an understatement. Because the man I just spoke with is literally on his way to becoming a new person!

Over the last four weeks, Tim has begun to find his way to God. He's found a new job, gotten rid of the gun, and begun to dive into God's Word. He's understanding things about God that never made sense to him before. He's asking questions that never occured to him before (and not the "why me" questions, but the "what now" questions.) And he's planning on coming to church this weekend - expecting God to move in a big way in his life...and I'm sure He will.

Tim wanted to thank me for my prayers. And he wanted me to thank you for yours. He feels them, almost literally. And he is on the verge of making the single greatest decision any of us can ever make. God is so good!

And just in case you needed a reminder: what you pray actually does matter.

Deadly Serious

2010-02-06T05:03:00.000-08:00

The day ended with one last phone call. I was pretty exhausted from a day of fielding phone calls, responding to emails and watching all the talk over the internet. Not to mention the fact that one of the most important written pieces of the year is in the works. The work load wasn't bad. It was the emotional toll of the spiritual fighting.

Now, let me be clear. I'm not complaining. I have what I think is the greatest calling and opportunity of anyone I know. I just really didn't want to take that one last phone call, especially at the end of the day. But something in the guy's tone on the voicemail told me I needed to make this call. So I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

Right away, I found out that this man, Tim, was in trouble. He used phrases like "end of my rope" and "don't know where to turn." And I got it, I told him. We've all been there. Sometimes we just need to talk it through. But then it turned deadly serious...no. It turned eternally serious. This man was on the edge of committing suicide.

Immediately, I flagged down some other staff members, although I didn't know what they were going to do. I was the one on the phone with him. And on the other hand, I didn't know what I was going to do. I'd never been in that situation before.

But then, I asked Tim a simple question. Well, I thought it was simple. I was just trying to keep him on the line and talking. I said, "Tim, are you a Christian?" The answer was immediate and short. "No."

And for the next 2 hours, I had the opportunity to share with this man the fact that God loves him, no matter what he is facing right now. Tim had no idea about Jesus, the Bible, prayer...none of it. How he got to me is a miracle itself. But he was on the phone. God had orchestrated the conversation for a reason. So I started at the beginning in the Garden and worked my way all the way through Tim's life and how Christ is the answer he's looking for. He had a lot of questions. I had some answers. But as I talked with him, I felt a peace and focus that only comes from God. Although Tim was on the edge, God's hand began working in his life and brought him back a little bit.

I don't say all this to put a notch in my Christian belt. You can have that belt if you think that's what this is about. Tim is still far away. He's still hurting. He's still doubting. But he's asking the questions. He's seeking God. And the Scriptures tell us that when you seek God, you will find him. Tim will find God. He will find the peace that surpasses all understanding.

But as I reflect back on that call, I realize something else. In the middle of what feels like an enormous battle, it can be easy to say we want to quit. But there's a reason we're fighting. And last night, I was reminded of that reason. While Tim is the one seeking God, that conversation helped me rediscover the passion I have for the fight.

My prayer now if for Tim. He is the civilian that is often caught up in the throws of a war - a war he doesn't necessarily understand, but a war that is being fought for him.

And for those of you fighting in that same war with me, I encourage you to stay focused. Don't quit the fight. It's not easy. But when lives and eternities are at stake, it is definitely worth the cost.

Creative Consequences

2010-02-03T07:18:00.000-08:00

(*Warning: there may be a high level of sarcasm peppered throughout this post.)

Sometimes the Boyd children aren't perfectly well-behaved. I know; it shocks me too. You'd think a 9 year old and a 7 year old who live in a house where the behavioral expectations are clear would just get it, especially having been raised in the same system for all these years. But alas, such is not the case. So, from time to time, discipline is a part of life. We don't "punish" our children. We allow them to face the consequences for their choices. Some of those consequences are good. Some are bad. But we try to make all of them, well, creative.

Over the years, we've done our best to take a cue from our Pastor and be as creative as we can when it comes to teaching our children and correcting their behavior. Many people have asked us about some of those adventures in discipline, so I thought I'd share just a few of the more effective (and let's be honest, amusing) consequences our boys have faced.

Pick up the phone. When our boys decide that their extra-curricular activities are rights rather than privileges, the results can sometimes be seen in their behavior. When it escalates to the point of ridiculousness, the ECA for the day is out of the question. But it doesn't stop with not getting to go. They then have to pick up the phone and call the coach themselves to explain why they won't be at practice. For some reason, having to talk about poor behavior choices with another authority figure outside the family brings it home or them. (The latest situation will have Jackson writing a letter of apology to his teacher, which is an adaptation of the phone thing.)
The 5 Minute Rule. Our boys dawdle. A lot! And for some reason, it's worse during shower time. So we've employed the 5 minute rule. We allow them 5 minutes of hot water during their showers. After that, the hot water gets shut off. The kicker is that they still have to finish their shower. Cold, I know. But effective.

Anyone with more than one child knows that, although they can be sweet to each other, the peace and harmony can just as easily give way to bickering and quarrelling. And just like in any multi-child household, our boys fight. What we've done in those cases has varied. It really depends on what we feel like putting up with. Some of the things they've had to do as the result of a brotherly battle have been:

Write down 10 things they like about each other. After that, they have to sit facing one another and read the list to one another. This always results in laughter and smiles, which is a nice bonus.
Work together. The one I have in mind is the time they had to pick up the dog poop from the back yard. What should have taken about 30 minutes ended up taking 5 1/2 hours. That's right. They spent the entire Saturday picking up dog poop. (I told you they dawdle a lot.) But by the end, they were goofing around and having a great time with each other.
Just sit there. Once at NRH2O, they got into that bickering, back-and-forth fighting that is always so fun to deal with in public. But, rather than hauling them off to some corner to discipline them while trying to maintain some level of dignity in the eyes of compelte strangers, we decided not to deal with it at all. We simply told them to go sit at a table. The killer part was that we stayed in the pool where we could see them and they could see us. I can't imagine what was going on in their minds while they watched Mom and Dad have a blast in the wave pool, but I can tell you that the rest of the day we didn't have a single problem.
Just lay there. One of my favorite so far was one Carissa came up with in the spur of the moment. They were treating each other terribly one day after school. And she had just had it. But she didn't yell. She didn't scream. She just had them stop what they were doing, go into the dining room and lay down. On their backs. Staring at the ceiling. Did I mention we have concrete floors? I'm not sure how long they laid there, but it left enough of an impression on them that they still talk about it today.

These are just a few of the things we've done to help our children learn the right behavior. Has it helped? I hope so. But I'm sure there will be many more situations over the coming years. But my prayer is that through it all they come to understand that, while we got some amusement out of the creative ways we discipline, the point is always that we love them.

Do not withhold discipline from a child... Proverbs 23:13

When the sun rises again

2010-01-25T05:40:00.000-08:00

The hardest part of writing, to me, is always the first few words. I've heard it said that in speaking, the first 30-45 seconds are crucial to capturing the audience. I believe in writing it's the first 5-10 words. Because it's the those few precious words that can capture the reader and draw them in. It's also those first few words that set the tone. They can lay a foundation for hope, or set the tone for something completely different.

If you're still reading this, then those intial words worked. Or perhaps you're still reading because you know me and you wanted to know what I find to be the most difficult aspect of what I do. Either way, thank you. And hang in there...this really is going somewhere.

The last few weeks, no...the last few months (and in some cases years) have been challenging for a lot of people close to me. Some would say it's "just life," but there have been circumstances and situations that have been especially difficult to process. Some of them avoidable; others not. But no matter who or what caused them, they are happening.

As I have faced the latest of these, something came to mind that I'd never really considered. The hardest part of facing a difficult situation, for me, is the very beginning. It's that first thunderclap that rattles me the most. It's not that the repercussions aren't hard to handle. There are lives affected, questions unanswerd and pieces scattered, left to pick up. But it's those initial moments that are the hardest, because it's then that the memory of how things "used to be" is still too fresh. And the prospect of life taking a different direction after the storm is simply foreign.

But I've also thought about something else. It's in those initial moments that God seems the closest. Those "initial moments" might be a few days; they might be a few years. But no matter how long they are, that's when God's power, his love and his grace are most evident.

I say that because, as the situation becomes more distant; as the storm calms, I have a tendency to allow life to become the routine that can so often make God's omniscience and omnipotence seem less, well, omni. It's not that I don't recognize the fact that God is God. But I get to a point that, in my mind, even he becomes somewhat routine.

Not any more.

I've gone through enough...let me rephrase that. He's brought me through enough that I don't want him to be routine in my life. Ever. So as I draw further from the last difficult situation and closer to the next one, I am approaching each day as the adventure it was intended to be. Because it's through adventure that I can recognize my own frailty and God's ultimate power. It's only by wathcing the thunderstorm roll in and then out again that I see the majesty of my maker and fully enjoy the peace that comes when the sun rises again.

A Different Kind of Christmas Poem

2009-12-10T06:54:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine forwarded this to me. For obvious reasons, I wanted to post it here for you...

A Different Kind of Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed 'round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts.
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said, "It’s really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night.

"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers.
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

"I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile."

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.

"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother.
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least?
Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

"For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Skeptic? I doubt it.

2009-11-17T18:04:00.000-08:00

Life has a funny way of changing your perspective on things. You start off as a kid with an eternal hope about everything. You truly believe that when you grow up you can become anything you want to be. You truly believe that your heroes are just that...heroes. You truly believe what people tell you, because why would anyone tell you anything other than the truth?

But somewhere along the path, things change. You begin to have doubts about what you can do, who you can become. You begin to see that people are people and they make mistakes, no matter how many homeruns they hit, symphonies they compose or best-selling novels they write. And you experience the pain of lies and deception from other people, causing you to build walls that keep the truth from penetrating your heart, even when the truth is there. And over time, skepticism sets in.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think being a skeptic is all bad. I think it’s even necessary in order to keep from getting hurt too much. But there’s a difference between skepticism and hopelessness.

What I pray is that I don’t allow the skepticism that has developed over years of life to keep hope out. I pray that being realistic (a synonym for skeptical) doesn’t keep me from finding a glimmer of possibility in every situation, every day. And I pray that, although I’ve faced my own lies and deception just as much as those of others, I don’t lose sight of the power of God to use anything for his good.

If anyone can turn the tide of my skepticism, it’s God. Because only he can turn pain into joy, hurt into smiles, and a skeptic’s heart to one that beats loudly and quickly for him.

Rock 'n' Roll

2009-11-16T07:07:00.000-08:00

Blank Pages, New Words

2009-10-29T11:40:00.000-07:00

I write. It's what I do. Sometimes what I write is worth reading. Sometimes the greatest hope I have is found on the next blank page. Because on that page is one more chance to get it, well, right.

But over the last several years, there has been an underlying sense in my soul that I'm missing it. I've written I don't know how many words, sentences, paragraphs, pages. Yet, through them all, I have yet to find the perfect combination of vowels and consonants and punctuation marks that will somehow, someway fully define my life.

It all pays out so well in my mind; so poetic.

I'm sitting in a cabin overlooking a pond or a lake. Maybe I'm on the porch. Maybe I'm at a desk next to the fireplace. Either way, I'm definitely in the mountains. It’s all very Walden Pond.

Yet, unlike Thoreau, I'm not writing. Not yet. I'm just sitting there thinking, waiting for that perfect phrase to come to mind. As I wait, memories flood my mind. Relationships, experiences, prayers, successes, failures. But in my mind, I don’t actually write anything. Because all the while I’m still searching.

Maybe in my mind I never actually get that phrase or sentence written down because that’s not what it’s all about. Maybe it’s about discovering those things that God has placed deep in my soul. And slowly, through the ups and down of life, the victories and struggles, the mountaintop adventures and the valleys of defeat, I’m discovering more and more of who I was made to be. And it’s only through discovering that I can begin defining.

Maybe in all the searching, the key is not to miss one thing in hopes of discovering another. Maybe it’s not so much about finding that perfect combination of words as much as it is experiencing the journey, the struggle, the excitement of learning new ones.

Facebook Brought My Friend Back to Life

2009-10-14T18:48:00.000-07:00

I'd asked her if she knew what ever happened to Trey. I had lost touch with him and couldn't seem to find him, though I'd tried several times throughout the years.

"Oh, you hadn't heard? I hate to be the one to tell you, but Trey died in a car accident just after high school. I'm sorry no one called you."

It was one of those moments in life when time stopped.

Trey had been one of my childhood friends. Probably my best. I hadn't talked to him since I was 12 or 13, but nearly every memory I have as a child includes Trey.

I left the restaurant that day in a daze, walked blankly into our apartment and cried on Carissa's shoulder, probably for hours. For the next several days, I went through the process of mourning the loss of a close friend.

All the typical feelings came flooding in. Guilt for having lost touch. Anger for having been moved out of my hometown. Sorrow for not ever having the chance to talk with him again.

Over the next 10 years, Trey became a memory. I thought about him all the time. I talked about him with my wife. I remembered him every time I watched A&M play football. (We were going to be roommates and study law together, neither of which ever happened.) I laughed, often to myself, as I became a father and thought of all the stupid things we had done as kids that I'm sure my sons will do.

I would search occassionally for him, going as far as looking for his name online in obituaries from the mid-90s. And I had every intention of calling his parents. But after so many years, what would I possibly say?

Ultimately, I came to accept the fact that he was gone.

Then, I got an email on Facebook. And time stopped again.

Trey was (is) alive! A mix up in names was all it comes down to.

And this past weekend, I had the opportunity to see my friend who isn't dead. We spend about 5 hours catching up. I went to his parents' house and ate lunch with him in my old hometown. It was the most surreal experience of my life. I can't begin to explain the emotions of thinking a friend is dead, only to find out they are alive.

Now, I know Facebook didn't really bring Trey back to life. God has been watching over him ever since the last time Trey and I talked (and every moment before, too). And who knows? God may have thought it was funny that I thought Trey was dead, because He certainly knew we'd get back in touch.

God works in mysterious ways. Cliche? Maybe. True? Definitely. But all I can say is that I am thankful to have my friend back. Thankful mostly to God. And yes, a little thankful to Facebook too.

God in a Box

2009-09-29T09:22:00.000-07:00

God fits in a box. Let me rephrase that.

I try to make God fit in a box.

I hate to admit it, but sometimes I try to crease, fold and then shove God into a metaphorical 6-sided contraption (there are 6 sides to a box, right?)

Don't get me wrong. I know I can’t possibly do that. After all, God is omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent. But no matter how omni-whatever I know he is, I still try my hardest to put him into something I can manipulate, handle and understand.

For the most part, when I go to God, I have my little mental checklist of things to cover with him. But this morning, as I was going thorough my list of "things to talk with God about," I realized exactly what I was doing. I was trying to fit God into a neat little package.

I guess another way to say it is that I was limiting, in my own mind at least, who God is, what he can see, how much he loves and what he can do in my life.

I know I'm not actually limiting him. But the reality is that so often I don’t open myself up enough to see that there's so much more to God than what I can understand.

I think too often I get in a routine with God. And when you get routine with the supernatural, it can become something you try to tame. But God is untamable. He’s, well, un-boxable.

So I’m thankful that, even though I try, God will never fit into the box I try to put him in. And I’m even more thankful that he’ll forgive me for even trying.

He's Just a Little Boy

2009-09-05T10:09:00.000-07:00

Jackson is starting his 3rd season of baseball next week. Little League baseball. But the word "little" doesn't describe his excitement. He's at the stage right now that, if you asked him what he wants to do when he grows up, he'd say, "I'm going to be a professional baseball player!" And to that I say, "Go for it!"

But for now, I have to remind myself that he's just just a little boy. It's hard, because when he's on the field (and actually paying attention) he seems so much older. He focuses. He hustles. He swings with all he's got. And he dives for ground balls like he's Derek Jeter. But again, he's still just a little boy.

I came across this poem this morning that hopefully will help me remember that. I don't know who wrote it. But I think it's something every parent needs to keep in mind.

So If you're going to be in the stands at any little league games - from baseball to football and everything in between - keep these words in mind. And remember...

He stands at the plate with heart pounding fast.
The bases are loaded; the die has been cast.
Mom and Dad cannot help him, he stands all alone.
A hit at this moment, would send the team home.
The ball nears the plate; he swings and he misses.
There's a groan from the crowd, wiith some boos and hisses.

A thoughtless voice yells out, "Strike Out the bum!"
Tears fill his eys; the game is no longer FUN.
Remember - He is just a little boy who stands all alone.

So open your heart and give him a break,
for it's at moments like this, a man you can make.
Keep this in mind when someones forgets,
he's just a little boy, not a man...yet.

Jesus Was 33 Once, Too

2009-08-31T17:54:00.000-07:00

I turned 33 yesterday. Not really a milestone birthday. No fanfare. No big party. Just time away with my wife, alone on Friday and Saturday. And then time with the family yesterday. I can't remember a better birthday.

And then I got to thinking. I'm now the same age Jesus was when he died. I mentioned that fact to a friend of mine today and he asked, jokingly, "And do you feel bad because you haven't accomplished as much as him?"

Now, I know there is no way I could ever accomplish what Jesus did. That's not the point.

I don't know what it is about birthdays that make you start considering what you've done, where you've been and who you are. But that's how it is with me, especially as I get "older" (I know 33 isn't that old). Another friend of mine told me today that it's in your mid-30s that you start really contemplating what life is all about, where you place priority and what holds value - real value. Not the value you place on a car when you're 16. I guess she's right.

Over the last several weeks I've spent a lot of time just ... thinking. About life. About God. About where he has me and about what holds value for me. I've thought about a lot of things. But one thing I thought of just tonight. And this is one I'll spend a lot of time pondering in the days and weeks to come.

I'm not sure if Jesus celebrated his birthdays or not. But if he did, 33 was the last one. And that got me thinking even more. (thoughts lead to thoughts in my world)

What if this is the last birthday I have on earth? Have I done all I can to show people what - and more importantly, who I truly value? Because I know Jesus did. And while I can't accomplish what he did (that's why I need him), I can follow his example and live for the things that truly matter.

Simply Putting the Pieces Together

2009-08-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

"In building the temple, only blocks dressed at the quarry were used, and no hammer, chisel or any other iron tool was heard at the temple site while it was being built" (1 Kings 6:7).

Think about that. The quarry this verse is talking about wasn't around the corner, or even down the street. It was in another country! Yet, the preparation was so thought out; the planning was so precise, that all that was left to be done at the actual site of the temple was simply putting the pieces together.

No on site adjusting.
No on site tweaking.
No on site hammering.

All that was left was to put together what God had in mind on the site God had chosen with the plans God had laid out.

How often, though, do I try to hammer, tweak and adjust things on site because I failed to plan sufficiently, because I thought I could do it on my own with my own plans? And how much better would things go if I would take the time to study God's plan, prepare in advance and then follow his lead?

God, help me to prepare for the things you have in store for me with the plans you have laid out. Help me to remain humble enough to see that your ways are better than mine. And help me show others how, if they would continue to follow you, all that's left is simply putting the pieces together.

It's A Hard Question To Ask

2009-08-14T14:44:00.000-07:00

Would I sacrifice my relationship with God in order to be more comfortable in this lifetime?

I ran across this question the other day. And immediately I thought, "Of course not!"

That was before I really thought about it.

Most of my relationship with God is contingent upon the fact that I need him. In fact, my entire relationship with God is contingent on that fact.

I need his Son.
I need his love.
I need his grace.
I need his guidance.
I need his hope.
I need his patience.
And I need his forgiveness ... forgiveness for things that are in my life that I know shouldn't be. And if those things were gone and no longer needed forgiving; if he somehow magically fixed them, would it change my relationship with him?

There are behaviors, actions, and thoughts that I ask God to remove from my life all the time. They are struggles for me. I know they aren't good for me. I know they keep me from experiencing the most out of life. So, I often ask him, beg him and plead for him to just remove them. I want God to clear them out of the way of that path he wants me to take.

But there's another aspect to the things I struggle with. I think they help keep me tethered to God.

I'm not saying those things are good in any way. They aren't. They are, simply put, sin. But if those things were magically gone, I have to ask myself, would I still remain as tethered to him as I am? Maybe. Maybe not. Or maybe the answer is that I would, just in a different way. Maybe God allows me to struggle with certain things now in order to remain tethered to him so that when they aren't a part of my life, I'll remain tethered to him for other reasons.

I don't pretend to have it all figured out. And if anyone does, they're lying to you. It's just something that got me thinking.

It's a hard question to ask. It's a even harder question to answer.

It Wasn't That High. Or Was It?

2009-08-14T05:14:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my family and I were at Possum Kingdom Lake for the day. Boat rides, rope swings and swimming were on the agenda. What wasn't on the agenda, but ended up happening, was the one memory I'll take from that day.

It wasn't that high, really. Maybe 12-15 feet. But when you're 4 feet tall, 12 feet is huge! Especially when you're jumping from the height into the water. But that's what he wanted to do. The only things he knew were that he wanted to jump and that I was down in the water waiting for him. So, without hesitation, Parker jumped.

It was his first cliff diving experience. And his reaction said it all.

Exhiliration at first, standing there looking down. Just the possibility of hurdling through the air was enough to put a smile on his little face. Then, sheer panic a moment after he jumped. All of a sudden he realized there's nothing that's going to stop him now. No turning back. And then, pure excitement and thrill as he hit the water and came back up.

"That was AWESOME!"

Yes, Parker, it was. Great job, kiddo.

It's Never Always

2009-07-31T19:42:00.000-07:00

Have you ever realized how everyone you meet describes everything they talk about? I mean, I never realized how much everyone use absolutes all the time. Everyone is always talking about how everything is the greatest or least or most or best or worst. It's like they've never considered the fact that there are always things in between extremes. In fact, when you think about it, everything is in the in between...except for the two things that actually would be the extremes of any given situation or circumstance.

Hang with me here.

It's not that nothing is ever always. And it's not that nothing is ever never. But nothing short of God is always, always. And nothing is never, never. (I feel like the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland.)

God is always. This I know is true. As for the rest? Well. Never say never. Because that's not necessarily true. And never say always. Because that's not the case either.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: when you decide to talk about something or think about something, don't limit it to extremes. Instead, get the right perspective and realize that most of life is lived in the middle. Because when you focus on that, the possibilities are endless.

More Than Meets the Eye?

2009-07-20T18:01:00.000-07:00

Transformers - more than meets the eye! Long before it was a multi-million dollar industry, Transformers was just a cheesy cartoon. But the toys? Man, those things were IT! They really were more than met the eye.

Now, I want you to know that I never wanted to be one of those "when I was growing up" kind of people. But I'm finding myself quickly turning that way. It's not that I think life was so much better "way back" then. But there are two areas that I think it definitely was. Cartoons and toys. This post is about (one of) the toys (I really don't want to spend as much time as it would take to go into my cartoons-aren't-what-they-used-to-be rant.)

The one Transformer I remember most was Optimus Prime - commander of the Autobots. Iron cast. Nearly indestructible. In fact, I remember throwing him high into the air and watching him bounce off the concrete driveway, seconds before I ran over him with my Mongoose bicycle. And yet, he would stand strong, with nothing more than a few scrapes. It took a curious 10 year old and a Philips head screwdriver to finally get the best of him.

So when Transformers came out a few years ago, I was excited. I knew they would pull out all the marketing stops with this one. We were bound to be inundated with the movie/toy/lunchbox/t-shirt/temproary tattoo/anything-they-can-get-the-brand-on kind of marketing. But the toys were what excited me. Because finally, my sons would be able to play with a toy I had known and loved. Finally, they would discover something that was more than meets the eye.

Then, Jackson bought his first Transformer. He saved his allowance and "patiently" waited until he could buy...Bumblebee. Bumblebee?! Ok, so that one wasn't around when I played with them. No big deal. At least it's still the car/robot concept. And at least Jackson would know the greatness that is Transformers.

Well, he still doesn't. And he never fully will. When we opened the package, we didn't discover the strong, nearly indestructible iron cast toy I played with; the one I had for years. What we found was a cheap plastic mess of gears and pieces that fall off and will no doubt break if even dropped.

So I'm making this prediction now. I predict that this toy will last maybe until the end of the summer. Sorry, dude. You probably won't even remember that you had this cheap little thing.

More than meets the eye? Try, less than advertised.

Thanks for the Reminder

2009-07-18T05:13:00.000-07:00

This past week I had an opportunity to get out to our church's camp, Allaso Ranch. I went there for work - to find stories of life change in some students' lives. God had something else he also wanted me to see while I was there.

As I arrived at the camp, I pretty much knew what to expect.

I expected the camp itself to be phenomenal, which it is! (Do you know of any other camp that has five-star quality food and lodging AND two zip lines, a full swim center and a high ropes course?)

I expected the energy of the staff and students to be busting the walls of every building, which it was!

I expected to hear stories of how God is moving and breathing and working in students' lives for eternity, which I did.

But as I sat backstage with Pace before he spoke last Tuesday night, God reminded me of something. My expectations don't mean a whole lot. And in fact, they can be very dangerous.

Pace was running through his talk and he said, "There's a fine line between expecting God to show up and disrespecting God."

He wasn't necessarily talking about my expectations of the camp. He wasn't even talking directly about me at all. He was talking about how dangerous it is for any of us to expect God to show up and honor what we do.

Too often, we can get to a point of almost demanding God to show up. But the truth is, we must stand in awe of who he is and praise his name, even when...scratch that...especially when we don't know what to expect.

Pace has a phenomenal way of challenging people not only to be better at what they do for God, but also to be better at recognizing the importance of honoring God through what they do.

When I left camp last week, yes, I had captured some great stories of life change. Sure, I had a chance to relax and play a little. But what I really walked away with was a reminder that I must honor God by what I do, not just expect him to show up and honor what I do.

Thanks for the reminder. I needed it.

Does it show?

2009-07-03T04:57:00.000-07:00

The other day Carissa had the boys write down three things they would do if they had nothing. See, we've been struggling, as every parent does, with a little bit of greed around our house. And when I saw those lists, it got me thinking. What would I do if I had nothing?

And as I thought about it, another question popped into my head (questions lead to questions in my mind). I know it was God asking me. "If you had nothing, would you still be thankful?"

That's a question that I think I know the answer to. I hope I do. I think I would still be thankful. Because after all, the best things in life are free, right? That means that they aren't things you can have; rather, they are things that are given to you, often unearned. Things like love and freedom and peace and friendships and hope.

But really. If I didn't have any thing, would I still be thankful? Or would I, in my egocentric kind of way, be ungrateful for what I don't have? It's a hard question to ask, and an even harder one to answer.

But as I sit here surrounded by all that God has blessed me with, material and otherwise, I think the real question isn't "What would I do if I had nothing?" The real question that God asks me everyday is, "Are you thankful for what you do have?" And that I am.

But again, that leads to another question. Does it show?

I'm not that old and you're not that fast...

2009-06-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

As kids, my friends and I were never deliberately bad. Sure, we roamed the neighborhood. But we didn't want to cause permanent damage to people's homes or property. We were just kids with not much on our minds. Of course, that doesn't mean we didn't do our fair share of toilet papering, egging and forking. (If you don't know what that is, then good. You shouldn't.) But I never really thought much of it. Until I owned my first house.

Now, I have become one of those people I remember running from as a kid. But there's a difference between me and all those "old people" from my childhood. And the difference was clearly evident this evening.

I had just finished cutting the grass and was about to close the garage when I saw two kids walking by my neighbor's house. They didn't see me. And more importantly, they didn't see me see them draw on my neighbor's mailbox with a Sharpie. That kind of stuff drives me nuts! After all, what homeowner wants their mailbox desicrated? (*Side note: Sigmund Freud would have a strong theory as to why these kids drew this certain object.)

So I whistled. And they stopped dead in their tracks ... at first. But as I walked up to them and talked to them about how they were going to knock on my neighbor's door and explain what they did, they took off down the street.

Now, that is completely understandable. I remember doing that. And I remember getting away every time (except for the time I ran head first into a tree at night. But that's another story.) So I'm sure these kids thought they would just run around the corner and everything would be fine. One problem for them, though. I took off too. And I caught up to them.

The look on their face said it all. "How in the world did this 'old man' catch us."

"You know what?" I said to them. "I'm not that old and you're not that fast."

And right now, they're busy cleaning the mailbox under the supervision of my neighbor.

You need to watch the road.

2009-06-11T12:47:00.000-07:00

It was quite a storm. Winds up to 80 mph. Downed trees and power outages everywhere. But in the middle of it, we were safe. Our entire family was over at Carissa's grandmother's house for dinner.

After the storm calmed down, it was time to go home. We had both vehicles (I had met them there after work), so on the way home, each of us took one of the boys. Carissa got Jackson. I got Parker.

You never know what you're going to get with Parker.

On the ride back we talked about how delicious the cake was. Pointed to the downed trees in the road. Shared stories about our day. And talked about how delicious the cake was (yeah, that was a popular topic). Then we saw it.

There was a truck completely upside down on the side of the highway. This wasn't one of those big semi trailers. It was more like a Uhaul type truck. And it was demolished. Nothing left but a charred frame and some broken glass. All that was at the scene by the time we arrived was one police cruiser.

As we passed, Parker asked, "Daddy, was someone driving that truck?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Then, after about 3 miuntes of complete silence, he said something that I didn't expect. Like I said, you never know what to expect with Parker. He said, "Daddy, I think tonight we should pray for that driver."

Wow! So we did. Right then and there, out loud, we prayed for God to protect and heal the driver of the truck and to help him feel the love God has for him. Knowing that my little man was genuinely concerned about someone he will never even meet is one of those moments that I will cherish forever. But in true Parker form, the moment wasn't over.

After we said, "Amen," we sat in silence for another minute or so. And then he said, "Daddy, when you prayed, were your eyes closed?"

"No."

"Good. Because you need to watch the road."

Beauty in the Sky

2009-06-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

I'm no professional photographer. But then again, with God providing the subjects, it doesn't take a professional to capture the beauty.

Socially Awkward

2009-06-01T18:14:00.000-07:00

We've all had those moments. It's responding with "You too," when the ticket agent tells you to have a good flight or the pizza delivery girl tells you to enjoy your pizza. Well, it happened to me today (again).

I went to Quizno's to grab a sandwich for lunch. And despite the slight language barrier between me and the guy making the sandwich, I ordered without any problems. Mesquite chicken, whole wheat bread, no tomatoes, extra cheese.

Then I got to the checkout. New guy there. And this time, the accent was almost too much. As I told him I'd like chips and a drink with my sandwich, he asked, "Do you want a sucker?"

Confused, I asked him to please repeat his question.

"Do you want a sucker?"

Yep, I thought, he asked if I wanted a sucker. "No, thank you." A completely normal, appropriate response to that question, right? After all, I did not want a sucker. But the look on his face didn't match the situation. He was confused; a little too confused. Maybe it's just him, I thought.

Then, as I got to the door, I realized what happened. It wasn't just him. He hadn't asked me if I wanted a sucker. See, I was wearing this shirt...

In case you don't know, that's a Juventus soccer club jersey. The guy didn't ask me if I want a sucker. He asked if I watch soccer! No wonder, "No, thank you," brought about the confusion on his part.

So often, that's the problem between the Church and the world. People are asking us (the Church) questions that they really need answers to. But we misunderstand and answer what we think they need to hear. We don't take the time to find out what they are really saying.

My prayer is that as I go through each day, God opens my eyes (and ears) to the real needs of people; and that I don't go around answering "No, thank you" to people who are asking me to introduce them to Jesus just because I didn't take the time to really hear them.

Thank You Doesn't Seem Like Enough

2009-05-25T06:37:00.000-07:00

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

2009-05-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

I don't normally enter a season of the year with a specific prayer. I think life is more fluid than that. But I am walking into this summer with a specific prayer in my heart and mind. My prayer is that God shows me the light at the end of the tunnel. Let me explain.

The light is a renewed, refreshed and refocused relationship with Jackson. The tunnel is the difficult times we've been having lately. Ok. Maybe that sounds a little harsh. It's not like we're estranged. We still play ball together, wrestle around and laugh at all the bathroom humor that is part of our family. He even asked me today when we could go down that bike path again together.

But there have been those times. You know. Those times. (Carissa says that we don't butt heads. She says we are buttheads.)

So this summer I'm praying for God to help me be the father Jackson needs, because the father he needs now isn't necessarily the father he's needed up to this point in his life. I'm praying that I can be the father who can continue to teach him discipline without being overbearing. The father who can be stern without being a jerk. The father he can turn to for anything at anytime and know that nothing will change my love for him.

Essentially, I'm praying that God uses me to show Jackson a little glimpse of Him. I guess it's really the same prayer I've had since the day he was born, when the light was all I could see.

And right now, he (Jackson, though I'm pretty sure God is there too) is in the living room playing a game with Carissa. And the laughter that is coming from that room is a reminder that he's still the sweet boy I've always known. He's still the one that I'm called to raise into manhood. And right now, God is showing me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

I'm Not a Fan of Jesus

2009-05-23T04:33:00.000-07:00

I was asked on Facebook the other day if I wanted to be a fan of Jesus. Now, normally, when stuff like that pops up, I just click 'ignore' and go on. I've been invited to stop global warming, abolish abortion, honor our fallen veterans, end hunger, protect marriage and even save the great British pub. As if by clicking a button on a mouse I will somehow help any of this.

No thanks. Move on. I want to make a real difference in a real life somehow, someway. (Or at least I want to check all my friends' updates without interruption!)

But when this one came up, 'Become a fan of Jesus,' I hesitated. For a split second I thought, "If I ignore this, am I ignoring Jesus? Conversely, if I click 'yes' then everyone who sees me on Facebook will know I'm a fan of Jesus. And isn't that the point anyway?"

Then I remembered something. Jesus doesn't need me to be a fan. He doesn't want me to be a fan. Fans change their loyalties. They stick with a team or a celebrity when things are good. But when things go south, they find something else to cheer for.

Another word for fan is supporter. Jesus doesn't need support. He's the Almighty! What he wants is devoted followers who are willing to walk behind him no matter what.

What I came to realize (or rather remember) is that my faith isn't based on something someone else says or suggests. It's based on Christ, not a group of his 'fans.' Not clicking that button doesn't lessen my faith or negate the reality that Christ lives in and through me each day.

So no, Facebook, I do not wish to become a fan of Jesus. Instead, I'll do my best to be a follower of Christ, obey his word and live out his love in my life. And hopefully, I'll make a real difference by being an example of what a relationship with Jesus can do.

I'm Letting My Son Fail

2009-05-12T07:33:00.000-07:00

Today, Carissa and I are letting Jackson fail, and it's one of the hardest things we've ever had to do.

See, this past year or so we've been working on teaching him responsiblity. But so far, not much has worked. Yes, I know he's a 9 year old boy and responsibility may be a foreign concept, right behind trigonometry and the combustible engine. But I believe God is calling us to at least start teaching those tough lessons now (as we have been for a few years). Because if I wait too long, nothing will work.

I've only been a parent for 9 years, but I've seen plenty of parents of older kids who waited way too long to actually be a parent, to teach those lessons. And I don't want to end up where they are. So today is one of those tough lessons. And it's all about schoolwork.

Now, if you know Jackson, that may sound a little shocking. Let me explain.

He's gotten phenomenal grades all year. He's aced spelling and reading tests, blown math quizzes out of the water and told the TAKS test right where to stick it. No. It's not the big things he has a problem with. It's the daily tasks.

So today, he's turning in not one, but two failing grades - on six-week long homework projects he should have aced. It's not that he hasn't done the work. It's that he hasn't recorded the work. There's a big difference. And the hardest part is letting it happen.

I want to rush in and save him. I want to sit down with him, do the work side-by-side, and show him what it means to be responsible in the daily tasks. But that's not going to do any good.

So we're going to let Jackson turn in those failing grades. We're going to stick with the consequences that we've set out (and trust me, they're pretty extreme). We're going to pray that he begins to finally see what we've been trying to teach him.

But most importantly, we're going to continue to trust God to lead us down the hardest path we've had to walk so far. And we're going to thank Him every day that we get to walk it.

Out of the Slump

2009-05-06T13:41:00.000-07:00

2 months. It's been exactly 2 months since I wrote anything here. I got to a point, in my mind, where everything cyber was taking up too much time, too much energy. So I went all self-righteious and stopped most of it. I quit Twitter and stopped blogging. (I apologize for the high and mighty attitude that accompanied my decision.)

See, I'd fallen into a kind of slump as far as writing and I thought going cyber-silent would do the trick to get me out of it. Maybe others couldn't see it. But I could. And I could certainly feel it.

If you're a writer (or just like writing), then you know what I'm talking about. There are seasons when I just plain don't feel like writing. But I realized something over the past few weeks.

The other day my pastor said to me, "Andy, you've been writing a lot lately." My response, "Yes sir. It's what God has called me to do." As those words came out of my mouth, it hit me.

I love writing. Sometimes it's good. Other times, eh. But I love to do it. It's what God has gifted me to do. So to stop using that gift in any way is to thumb my nose at what God wants me to do.

I don't want to do that. Ever. In any way. So I'm going to continue using this blog as an avenue to practice the thing God gifted me to do. I hope you continue to read it. But if not, that's okay too. Because honestly, this is for God. And I'm glad he's bringing me out of the slump.

We should all apologize to the Baby Jesus...

2009-03-07T05:27:00.000-08:00

I read an interesting article the other day titled, "An Apology from a Remorseful Atheist to the Baby Jesus." Basically, the guy was ranting about how much he hates religion, specifically Christianity, but that he's sorry for everything he'd every said bad about Jesus. Because really, according to this guy, Jesus wasn't a bad dude. It's the people who follow Jesus that he had a problem with. You know, Christians.

It got me thinking. In today's world, faith isn't a problem. People want to have faith in something. In fact, I would argue that most people would say faith is necessary to survive. And it's certainly necessary to live.

Faith isn't the problem. Religion is. Or rather, the stigma that comes with religion because of years of abuse, misuse and misunderstanding. I have people very close to me who are turned off because of religion, not because of faith.

But think about this for a while. Your faith isn't a stumbling block to anyone coming to Christ. But how often do you look at someone who doesn't have your faith and think, "I don't want to alienate so-and-so by talking about my faith"? When in reality, your faith may be the one thing that attracts them.

Don't be afraid to talk about Jesus, the Church, God or any other aspect of your faith under the guise of not wanting to turn someone off. Instead, use your faith in Christ and your love for his Church to blow the doors off of the stereotypes and show people that being a Christian isn't about following a religion. It's about having a relationship with the true Savior of the world.

Some Things are Worth the Fight

2009-02-28T05:14:00.000-08:00

Last night I planned on surprising Carissa with a date. I had arranged for babysitters, thought about what to do, changed plans at the last second and bought tickets to the symphony. I thought it would be a great way to end the week - relaxing, new, fun.

Carissa knew we had a date. She just didn't know what we were doing. All I told her was to dress up a bit. The babysitters would be here at 6, which would leave plenty of time to get something to eat and then find our seats before down beat (not sure that's what they call it in the symphony, but anyway...)

6:15 p.m. The phone rings. The babysitters were in a car wreck. My first thought, "Oh no! Are they ok?" Answer: yes. Whew.

Now my second thought, "Crap! How in the world are we going to find someone to watch the kids? We have to leave NOW if we're going to be on time!" (By the way, my pet peave is being late.)

So we start the frantic cell phone calls. Each call led to more and more stress on my part. Out of town. Sick kid. Not home. Voice mail. AHHH!

Then, the saviors. I love you, Nick and Alecia. They were willing (and able) to watch the boys. The only problem is, now it's 6:30 and they live 25 minutes away. But we thought, let's try it anyway. So we hop in the truck and head out.

Now, at some point in the drive, I'm literally thinking, "This isn't worth it. Besides, there's no way we'll make it!" (Oh, and at this point Carissa still doesn't know what we're doing.)

Yet, we still drive. And the longer we drive, the more stressed I'm getting. But I'm doing my very best to just shut my mouth, because I don't want to make this evening any worse than it is apparently becoming. Then I think, "Maybe I can call Will Call and have the tickets transferred to tomorrow night." No dice. No refunds. No transfers. Grrrr!

Then I tell Carissa what we're doing. But I also say, "It's not worth it. We aren't going to make it anyway," to which she responds, in the perfect pitch, tone and tenor that only my bride can have, "Andy, let's try anyway. Because I really want to do this."

It completely changed my perspective on the whole situation. And now, as I look back at last night and hear her in my mind again, I think, "Maybe some things are worth the fight." Because to make a long story...well, too late. But we made it. And by the time we actually found our seats, we had only missed part of the first number. Sure we were a little late. But we had a great time. Relaxing, enjoyable, new.

Whatever you are facing, remember something. You may just have to gain the right perspective. Step back from the emotion of the ordeal. And see that in the end, while you may miss a little bit of the first number, overall, some things are worth the fight.

Parker's Lists

2009-02-24T16:55:00.000-08:00

Conversation around the dinner table at our house can follow any number of paths. It can range from what happened at school that day to how hot the sun is to how bad the dog smells. Tonight's topic? Parker's "weeee list."

Now, I know what you're already thinking. And no. This isn't a list about the most exciting places to go #1. Although with two boys, God knows we have plenty of those conversations.

No, this is a list of names. More specifically, it's a list of Parker's "worst enemy enemy enemy enemies".

Every boy, I guess, has a list of enemies. I had one, though I never articulated it. Parker's list isn't long. In fact, there are only four names on it. But it's well thought out. If you ask him, he has very specific reasons for having these names on the list.

Three of the names don't really surprise me (although two are essentially the same person). The fourth name, however, caught me off guard. It's a name that many of you won't know. But if you do know her, you'll think, "What?!" just like I did. But again, if you ask him, there's a reason she made it onto the list. Apparently there was an incident on the playground.

So here they are. According to Parker, his "worst enemy enemy enemy enemies" are (in order):

1) The Devil
2) Satan
3) Gavin
4) Teagan

Now, if you are the parents of any of these people, I would like to point out that we did talk about God's command for us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us (or kick at us on the playground). So hopefully, one day, the bottom two can move from the "weeee" list to the "f" "bf" or "bff" list. And yes, he has those all worked out in his mind too.

Ghetto Phones

2009-02-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

We have two landline phones in our house. One in the kitchen; one in our bedroom. And they used to both work. Emphasis on 'used to'. Now, the one in the kitchen can't dial out. If someone calls in; if the connection already exists, that's a different story. The other one (the phone in the bedroom) dials out, but you can't hear anything. Oh you can talk to the other person; but you can't hear them talking to you.

So if you actually want to make a phone call and talk to the person on the other end, you have to dial with the bedroom phone and then run to the kitchen phone. See? Ghetto phones.

It got me thinking. So often, that's a picture of my relationship with God. There are two kinds of "phone calls" I will have with him. And sadly, rather than using a fully functioning phone, I'll use one of my two ghetto phones.

When life is going great, I'll use the kitchen phone. It's like I don't even need to dial. The connection is already there. I simply pick it up and start having a conversation. And man, it would be so easy if all of life was this way. Just have God on stand by waiting to telling us clearly what we need to hear.

But it doesn't always work that way. There are times when I have to call him up. It's part of having relationship. It's true with God, just like it's true with people. I can't always expect someone to call me. As they say, the phone works two ways (if it's not ghetto).

With God, I'll come to a point where I know I need to call him. So I'll walk to the bedroom, pick up the phone and dial. But then, I'll just start talking. And I get so busy talking and telling him what I think he needs to hear that I can't hear what he is saying back to me.

But then I remember something like the passage my pastor preached on just a few weeks ago. 1 Kings 19:10-12. Go read it. Basically, this is a fully functioning phone. Elijah had just gone off, telling God all of his "problems." And then, God spoke back. And Elijah must have had to take a breath or something, because he actually heard what God said.

You see, if I'm going to make it through life, I can't rely on a ghetto phone. I do that too often. Yes, there are times that I can unleash all my frustration and emotion on God. But there comes a point where I have to shut up and listen. Because so often God will be in that still small voice, telling me about his plan, his love, his forgiveness. And only by having a fully functioning phone, a fully functioning relationship with him, will I be able to actually hear him.

New Site; Same Blog

2009-02-14T15:04:00.000-08:00

I'm moving my blog from wordpress to blogspot. Why? Several reasons. Ease. Reliability. Maybe I like the colors more here. Whatever the reason, this is going to be the new one. So I hope you follow me here and continue to pick up what I put down.

If not, and you check in on the old one, you'll probably get pretty bored reading the same post over and over. But if you're into that sort of thing...

Following Todd Through Unfamiliar Waters

2009-02-14T15:03:00.000-08:00

Todd Hamilton, Jimmy's best friend, is starting a blog called "Unfamiliar Waters". I can't think of a better person to give us insight on lessons that Jimmy taught through his example, his words, his life.

Jimmy's legacy will continue to live on in so many ways. This will be one of the best and most personal. Whether you knew Jimmy or not, follow Todd into the unfamiliar waters ahead and learn some great lessons about faith, family and friendship (and probably fishing).

A Reminder in the Valley

2009-02-14T15:00:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 2/12/2009)

Yesterday was a great day! We all celebrated the life of our friend Jimmy York. And for those of us who heard it, Todd's eulogy for Jimmy was absolutely perfect. I don't know exactly how hard that was for him, but I know it was the hardest thing he's had to do. But God used him during that message, and it spoke volumes about Jimmy. I am so proud of the job Todd did in remembering his friend. What an honor to hear it!

Yesterday was also a very crappy day. Because for many, it marked the beginning of a life without a friend who meant so much to each of us. That beginning actually occured Saturday night. But yesterday, it became real for a lot of people.

Yes, Jimmy is home in heaven. Yes, we can have joy in knowing that he is on that mountaintop. But now, there is going to be a valley for us. For some, that valley is going to be easily traversed. For others, that valley is going to be deep and dark.

For Tricia, Braxton, Auston, Jimmy's parents and family; for Todd and Trena, Jeff and Ginger, Steve and Kim, Wayne and Jill, Mark and Libba, Carissa and me, Ray and Jazen; for Josh, Dan, Justin, Tianne, Sara, Kara, Mark, Deana, Carlotta, Terry and the entire Fellowship family; and for countless, countless others - the valley is going to be rough.

But I want to encourage all of you to continue looking up, even in the midst of the shadows; especailly in the midst of those shadows. That's not something that I think you need to be told. But a reminder can't hurt. Because each of us will greive in our own way, in our own time. Maybe you've gotten to the point of beginning that process for yourself. But as you face each day in this new life, trust that God will lead you. Because, as the Scriptures say:

He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me... (Psalm 23:3-4).

Jimmy and Todd

2009-02-14T14:59:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 2/8/2009)

I was supposed to go hunting today with Todd. The day was going to hopefully end with a cooler full of meat and some good memories of a nice hunt. Instead, I'm ending this day praying hard for Todd. Because last night, Jimmy died.

Maybe you know the story. Maybe you don't. But Jimmy and Todd were great friends. They worked together, ministered together, fished together, and (if there had been indoor plumbing at Todd's lease), they might have ended up hunting together. Though Jimmy probably would have just shown up to tell jokes more than actually hunt.

I can't put into words what this feels like tonight. Jimmy and Todd. To me, you don't get one without the other. They were together when I met them over 6 years ago. They were together when they took the chance to hire Carissa over 4 years ago. They were together when they led. Together when they laughed and joked. They were always together. Even when job responsibilities changed, they made the time to be together. They were the picture perfect definition of close friends.

And now, Jimmy's gone.

Although, Todd would be the first to tell you that Jimmy isn't gone. He's home. It's a shocking statement to say about someone who was just 33. And for the first time, as I write this, the tears are flowing. I guess I've been in shock. But I cry, not for Jimmy. He's better off than any of us. I cry for his wife, Tricia, and his two sons, Braxton and Auston. Of course. But I also cry for Todd and the many, many people who had a relationship with Jimmy that was just as special.

Jimmy was one of the most generous, caring people I've ever known. He was willing to open up and share anything with anyone. He was a great leader. A great man. A great example of what a deep, personal, intimate relationship with Jesus can do.

Jimmy will be missed. By Todd and so many others. But there's no doubt about it. The friendships that he left behind will continue to shine light on a dark world. And Jimmy's influence will continue to resonate through Fellowship Church and every single life he touched.

And although there won't be any more Jimmy and Todd together on earth, there's a special fishing hole in heaven waiting for Todd. And I bet Jimmy's got a line in the water already.

I Have a Dream

2009-02-14T14:55:00.001-08:00

(Originally posted 1/20/2009)

Jackson's class has been studying Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his dream. (*side note. Does it drive anyone else crazy when someone calls him Martin Luther King?) Anyway. The kids were given the assignment of writing a letter to their teacher talking about their own dreams.

And then, the teacher assigned the parents the greatest assignment I've ever been given as a parent. We were tasked with writing a letter to our children about our dreams for them.

So Carissa and I, late last night, sat down to write a letter to our oldest son explaining our dreams for his future. It was something that I thought wouldn't mean much, really. After all, this was just a school assignment, right? Wrong.

As we wrote the letter, all of the (for lack of a better word) crap that goes along with being the parent of an 8 year old boy disappeared. I wasn't concerned about the attitude, the eye rolls, the sarcasm. All I was concerned with was Jackson's future, and where I hope...no, scratch that. Where I know he can go and what he can accomplish.

As we wrote the letter, I was reminded of my call as a father, my responsiblity as a parent. And it made me reflect on my heavenly Father's role as the dreamer in my life.

God puts up with a lot of (for lack of a better word) crap from me. But He never, ever stops dreaming for me. I hope the same goes for me. I hope I never stop dreaming for Jackson. And I pray he never stops dreaming for himself.

Living. Together.

2009-02-14T14:55:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 1/28/2009)

I thought a quick game of friendly checkers before bed tonight would help. After all, we've hit a rough patch lately. Jackson and me that is. And tonight, the game was going really well. He was doing better than he's ever done before.

But in his eyes, getting better wasn't enough. He could only focus on the fact that, at one point during the game, he "could only move back and forth to one spot, Dad!"

Reminding him that the point of the game is to stay alive didn't help. In fact, that only added fuel to the fire. Because to him, staying alive is boring. There's more to the game than jumping back and forth between one spot. And that's when it hit me.

My son is just like me. To him, it's not enough to just stay alive.

Of course, that's something I knew about him. After all, I've had almost nine years with the kid. I'm pretty sure I know him by now. But the more I get to know him, the more I get to know myself. And maybe, just maybe, that's what is getting in the way of him and me lately. We've just been staying alive lately. So I think it's time that he and I start really living. Together.

Think It Doesn't Matter? Think Again.

2009-02-14T14:53:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 1/14/2009)

If you don't think one simple act of kindness and faith matters, check out this video.
You never know what God will use to reach even the person furthest away from Him!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JHS8adO3hM&hl=en&fs=1]

Laughing at God

2009-02-14T14:52:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 1/13/2009)

Genesis 17:17 - "Abraham fell facedown; he laughed...."

Sometimes God says or does or promises something that to us seems so completely ridiculous and impossible that the only response we have is to laugh. It's not a mocking laugh. It's not an insulting laugh. It's not a laugh of unbelief or skepticism. It's a laugh of sheer amazement.

Nothing is impossible with God. And right now, that is such an encouragement to me. Nothing is impossible with God. So when God says He can or will do something, I can believe that it can or will be done. And just because I may not understand it doesn't mean it won't happen. Instead of scoffing or mocking Him, I can trust Him at His word. And the only response I may have is to fall down at His feet in awe and laugh in complete amazement.

When's the last time you laughed at God?

www.iamsecond.com - Are You?

2009-02-14T14:51:00.001-08:00

So I stumbled across this website. I saw a billboard for it, but forgot about it until this morning. Then, as I went through the testimonies, I was shocked and happy to see these two. Check them out. And tell me you don't root for these guys! And then, check out some of the other testmonies. And share them with people you know...

http://www.iamsecond.com/#/seconds/Greg_Ellis/

http://www.iamsecond.com/#/seconds/Josh_Hamilton/

Split Second Living

2009-02-14T14:51:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 1/7/2009)

I've heard that when someone is faced with impending danger, their life can flash before their eyes. In a split second. But how is it that an entire lifetime can be seen in a single second? Perhaps it's because all of life is lived in a split second. Not to say that a lifetime is lived in a single second. But every life is punctuated by split second moments of really living.

It's the living moments of life that come and go in the blink of an eye. And the reverberations from those moments are felt for a lifetime, and often beyond. To the uninterested party, those moments mean very little - until those moments happen to them.

Most of these split second moments are highlighted by a phrase, a string of just a few words that alone wouldn't have near the significance that they have together. They are the phrases that forever change the course of our lives, the phrases that echo in the canyon of existence and change the balance of who we are, where we're headed, and what we truly live for.

In my life, there have only been a few of those moments and phrases that truly stick out in my mind. And my life hasn't flashed before my eyes. But there are moments that God has allowed to happen in order to reveal much of who He is in my life and uncover many of the gifts that He has blessed me with. Now, these aren't necessarily in order of importance of occurence. But they are the moments that I thank God for. I hope they make you think of your own split second life...

"I do." (this one only happened once.)
"I love you." (this happens every day.)
"It's a boy." (this one happened twice!)
"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." (again, only once.)
"She'll be fine." (this one is being reinforced by God every moment and through every prayer right now.)
"If you need anything, let me know." (thank you to all of you for repeating this one in my life...)

Top 10 Favorite Christmas Movies

2009-02-14T14:50:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 12/16/2008)

It's that time of year: time for the Christmas classics to be played over and over on the tube. In that spirit, here's a list of my favorite Christmastime movies, new and old. This isn't necessarily in order (other than #1). Just movies I hope to catch over the next few weeks:

1. A Christmas Story
2. Elf
3. Home Alone
4. A Wonderful Life
5. A Charlie Brown Christmas
6. A Christmas Carol
7. The Polar Express
8. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
9. Frosty the Snowman
10. A Christmas Story (Yeah, I know I put that twice. But it's totally worth it!)

A True Know-It-All

2009-02-14T14:49:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 12/6/2008)

My son Jackson is 8 years old. And he knows everything. At least, that's how it is in his own mind. But more than an average of once a day, I find myself reminding him that he does not, indeed, know everything. Yet, he continues to tell Carissa and me (and Parker) how the world works.

Sometimes, he's right. Sometimes, he's not. But it's not so much the fact that he thinks he knows everything. I want him to be confident in his knowledge. I want him to think he can know anything, that he can learn anything, that he can do anything. What gets to me is the prideful attitude that often accompanies that knowledge.

And as I look at him now, I finally understand the frustration my dad had when I was 8 (and 9, and 10, and 11, and...). And to a very, very small degree, I think I understand the frustration that God must feel every day with every one of us.

But here's the deal that I have to remind myself (not just my 8 year old son). No matter where I am in life; no matter how much life experience I have, I don't know it all. None of us does. We don't have the slightest clue.

Yet, at least in my own life, I think I know. I think I know what's best for me. I think I know how to please God (as if pleasing God was some noble pursuit that could earn me points with him). I think I know where I need to be and what I need to do.

But if I were completely honest, the only things I know are those things God has shown me. Some of that knowledge comes from life experience - through relationships and successes and failures. Some of that knowledge comes from learning - through reading and studying and observing. But ALL of that knowledge is only possible through God - through the opportunities that he gives me and what he shows me.

So as I go through life, I don't want to act like a know-it-all. Instead, I want to remain thankful for the knowledge God gives me. Because there isn't a know-it-all in the world (not even one who's 8 years old) that can give me what God can.

All Day, Baby! All Day...

2009-02-14T14:47:00.001-08:00

(Originally posted 11/16/2008)

You hear about this kind of thing. You never really witness it yourself. Well, almost never. We have. Twice. Once was during basketball season, which I'll have to fill you in on at some later date. And I would have written about this latest episode sooner, but it took a while to wrap my brain around it.

We were leaving one of Jackson's baseball practices, which were held at a park that also hosts Pop Warner football. On this particular day, there was a game on one of those fields. And as we walked past it, we saw one of the teams score a touchdown. It was a "long" run play (maybe 15 or 20 yards at most). And the parents celebrated. Great.

But then, what we heard after the general celebration rivaled even the most boisterous and fanatical of college football celebrations on ESPN. I don't remember which teams were playing. It doesn't really matter. Because the kids are maybe 10 years old. But all of a sudden, as this kid crossed the goal line, the sideline erupted. Literally.

Now, I'm all for celebrating the successes of our children. Heck, I cheered louder than anyone each time Jackson had a hit this season. But there comes a point... a tipping point... when the celebration becomes, shall I say, a little much.

That tipping point may vary as kids get older and the level of competition increases. But I'd definitely have to say it's gone overboard at this age when the celebration erupts into a cacophony of yells, high-fives, bullhorn sirens and chest bumps (oh, yeah... chest bumps).

But the icing on the cake was what I heard shouted from (I'm assuming) one of the coaches as he glared across the field at his opposition. After bumping chests with another full grown man, this man, who may well have been the kid's father, yelled at the top of his lungs, "All day, baby! All day!" (Picture this complete with a red face and veins popping out of his neck.)

Now, maybe it's just me. But when did pee-wee leagues become acceptable platforms on which to display the most idiotic behavior on the part of parents? But more importantly, how in the world can anyone expect kids to display good sportsmanship if the people raising those kids can't even hold it together themselves?!

Where I Need to Be

2009-02-14T14:47:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 12/2/2008)

I worry. It's just something I do. I worry about my family. I worry about my friends. I worry about my job. I worry about money. But I don't think I'm the only one. And today, when "they" "officially" announced that the country is in a recession, worry once again came knocking at the door.

What if I lose my job?
What if we have to sell our house?
What if I can't provide for my family?
What if...
What if...
What if...
(I hate those kind of what ifs.)

But then I picked up the Bible - the best place to turn in any situation, especially when I worry. And the first thing I read was Psalm 135:15-21. I've been reading the Psalms lately, mostly because I find comfort in knowing that I'm not the only one who feels what I feel. I need to know that. And God knows I need to know it.

He knows when I worry. He knows why I worry. And he knows exactly what I need to hear when I do. And so he reminded me this morning of something. The energy I use when I worry is wasted energy. It does little...no. That's not right. It does no good.

What I need to do is refocus that energy on praising God. Because only he can help me overcome my fear. Worry leads only to more worry. Praising God, however, leads to trust. Which leads to hope. Which leads me away from worry and back home, to him. Which is exactly where I need to be.

Amazing Sex!

2009-02-14T14:46:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 11/13/2008)

The press coverage for Ed Young's 7 Days of Sex challenge has been amazing. But it doesn't compare with the work God will do in so many marriages!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPOhQ-nHNfI&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b]

A Change in Perspective

2009-02-14T14:43:00.001-08:00

(Originally posted 11/4/2008)

I took a walk today down a trail that I've walked and run hundreds of times. It's a beautiful, 3/4 of a mile path around the lake at church that winds through trees and bushes and disguises the reality that I'm in the middle of one of the country's largest metropolitan areas.

I've been on that trail so often that I know what's coming. I remember what's around each corner. I know what to expect. But as I walked around the first bend today, I began to see it differently than I ever had before.

I don't know if it's because I walked slower or because the leaves were falling or because the light in the atmosphere was a different hue than usual. But whatever it was, something suddenly became clear.

All of a sudden I wasn't just seeing a gravel path. What I was seeing was a picture of life.

This wasn't some weird, mystical experience that gave me a new take on the direction or meaning of my life. But it was a moment in which God revealed, or rather reminded me of something.

Life is all about perspective.

See, a lot of the time, I know what to expect in life. After doing the same things day in and day out, everything becomes routine. The danger in that, though, is that the routine can become monotonous. And when that happens, life loses it's excitement.

But that's the exact opposite of what I've been striving for over the past 2 years. See, I want to make every day life an adventure. And the first step is getting back to seeing things differently, from God's eyes.

No Greater Love

2009-02-14T14:43:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 11/10/2008)

It's been more than 10 years since I was in the Marine Corps. And since that time, a lot of people have asked me a lot of questions about it. And they usually ask the typical questions. "What did you do? Where did you live? Did you travel? Was it difficult? Would you do it again? Do you keep in touch with the guys you knew? Did you get any tattoos? Is that where you met Carissa?"

But the question people rarely ask, if ever, is, "What's the most valuable lesson you learned from your time in the Corps?"

I think most people expect Marines to learn things like how to shoot a fully automatic machine gun, hike a million miles, eat crappy food in thirty seconds or less, shave your head and salute officers. And while they look at the guys in the picture above proudly, they don't have a full understanding of what's under the uniform.

I think it comes down to the fact that while most people can recognize the aspects of the Corps, they so often miss the essence of the Corps. And that's fine. It's difficult to appreciate all that is involved in something you haven't done or been yourself. But I want to try to answer the question so you can have a deeper understanding and appreciation the next time you see a Marine in uniform at the airport coming home from war...or headed to war.

What I learned (besides how to shoot a fully automatic machine gun, hike a million miles, eat crappy food in thirty seconds or less, shave my head and salute officers) is that there still exists such a thing as selfless love and devotion for country.

If you listen to the media, you'll hear how our country is tired of fighting "other people's" wars. If you read what the "experts" have to say, you may convince yourself that the best thing to do is pull the troops out of harm's way now. But if you ask the men and women serving, I'm convinced that you would get a very different picture.

See, every person in the Corps wakes up each day, whether they are in a war zone or not, ready to fight and die if needed for their friends and their country. Sure, they quarrel amongst themselves. What family doesn't? Sure, they may complain about what they're doing while they're doing it. You would too if you lived in the desert without seeing your family for months at a time.

But when it comes down to it, every Marine is there, willing to lay down his life for someone else in order to serve the greater good. And I'm pretty sure there's no greater love than that (John 15:13).

No Matter Who Wins

2009-02-14T14:42:00.000-08:00

(Origianlly posted 11/3/2009)

I have to get this out there. I'm tired of all the Eddie Vedders, Robert Redfords, Rush Limbaughs, Bill O'Reillys, Bill Mahers, Jane Fondas, Barbara Streisands and all the others out there who are ripping this country apart. And I'm especially sick of the ones who threaten to leave the country if a certain candidate wins.

You're going to leave the country that made you filthy rich because a certain politician may be put in place? Really? Well, so far, none of them have fulfilled their promises from four years ago to leave. Guess they saw the light...or at least they saw another check arrive at their American address. I'm sorry. But it's ridiculous. I wonder:

What hope does our country have of getting back on track after the election if we continue to completely derail one another before the election?

We have different political parties in this country for a reason. And that reason is not to rip apart or degrade some other group of people because they don't have the same opinion as we do. It's not to point fingers and blame the other. It's not to threaten to move if we don't get our way. (How much does that sound like the behavior of a two year old?) And it's not to instill fear about what might happen if....

What it comes down to is this. We're choosing between two men who have different experiences, different qualifications, different backgrounds and different opinions on how to best run the country. And the one who identifies with the most people wins. Period.

But here's the rub. What if your candidate doesn't win? Where are you going to put your trust then? Are you going to throw up your hands and scream that the world is coming to an end (which, if you're a Christian, will be a good thing anyway).

Or are you going to continue to put your faith in the fact that God's truth will not ever change, no matter who wins tomorrow.

A Growing Trend

2009-02-14T14:41:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 10/31/2008)

We've been taking the boys to the pumpkin patch since they were tiny. And we did all the typical stuff when they were little:

Sat them on top of a pile of pumpkins;
sat them in our laps while we sat on a pile of pumpkins.

Sat them on top of a pile of hay;
sat them on our laps while we sat on top of a pile of hay.

Sat them on a tractor;
sat them on our laps while we sat on the tractor.

Notice a trend? Well, that trend is over in our family.

This year, the only reason we went to the pumpkin patch was because of the corn maze. See, we tried to go last year, but we didn't have any cash on us. And we didn't realize that they charge you $5 a pop to walk through their torn up corn field (yeah, yeah, we should've known).

Well, this year, we showed up with cash in hand. And I have to say, the corn maze wasn't half bad. Not sure it was worth $20, but the kids had fun. At least in the maze.

But when we got out of the maze, that's when Carissa and I realized it. We aren't the typical family at that place anymore. Our kids were bigger than most there. And they got bored quickly.

Of the 28 photo op spots (yes, I counted), exactly one was of any interest to the boys - the actual tractor. At least that was the case until we started letting them jump off of the photo op spots. And sadly, I'm pretty sure that's losing its allure quickly.

So I started thinking: does this mean next year it's a haunted house instead of the pumpkin patch? Guess we'll see...

It May Be Little League, But...

2009-02-14T14:39:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 10/29/2008)

Jackson's first season of Little League baseball is winding down. We (as if I played) were 7-1-1 during the "regular" season and are 1-0 in the playoffs so far. We won last night 11-1.

Throughout this season, I've kept up with Jackson's stats at the plate. (For the record, he's 10 for 20 with 3 homeruns, two of which were legit). Maybe I took it a little too far. But the kid's good; I just wanted to track how good.

Now I don't have delusions of him starting one day at center field for the Yankees or anything (maybe the Rangers, but not the Yankees). But this is a sport that just seems to come naturally to him. And he enjoys it.

But last night, as I watched him step up to bat in the 2nd inning, something dawned on me. I saw something more than a kid enjoying a game. As he walked up to the batter's box, all of a sudden, my little boy wasn't so little anymore. He stood there at the plate, eyes focused on the ball, and he swung the bat. Hard. This wasn't the swing of a little kid hoping against hope to hit the ball. This was a swing of a boy who's becoming something...bigger.

Yes, there are many times that he still resembles that little boy who used to say, "Moot me, Nootney" rather than, "Excuse me, Courtney." Yes, there are still many times that the immaturity rings loud and true through the hallway.

But last night, as he focused on that ball, I saw a glimpse of a strong, determined, focused, driven young... man, I can't believe I'm saying this... man.

32 Things

2009-02-14T14:38:00.000-08:00

(Originally posted 10/28/2008)

1. I love dogs.
2. I once got hit in the nose by a baseball.
3. I've been shaving my head for 12 1/2 years.
4. I want to climb Mt. Rainier and Denali in the next 3-5 years.
5. I once met a man who was literally left for dead on Mt. Everest.
6. I like hip-hop music.
7. I once did a break dancing skit for a talent show with my best friend (we were 10).
8. My favorite moment in the day is the moment my wife hugs me.
9. I'm eating a turkey sandwich.
10. I love cutting the grass (a little too much.)
11. I have 9 first cousins and 4 second cousins.
12. I once owned a motorcycle. A Kawasaki Ninja.
13. I used to wrorry that my knees were knobby.
14. I love Mountain Dew.
15. I want to make a difference.
16. I once hit my brother in the face with a rock (it was an accident).
17. I want my kids to have more than I did.
18. I was baptized on 1/20/02 (with my wife).
19. I want to live in the Northwest.
20. I have 5 tattoos.
21. I played the piano for 10 years.
22. My parents are divorced.
23. I'm SCUBA certified (though it's expired).
24. I want to learn to play the guitar.
25. Sometimes I wish I had hair.
26. I collect journals.
27. I probably have typos in this list.
28. I never played organized football.
29. I'm writing a class on Acts.
30. I run the Turkey Trot each year with my dad.
31. If I was stranded on an island and could only have one thing, it would be a fully charged satellite phone.
32. I'm done eating the turkey sandwich, which means it's time to get back to work.

Base

2009-02-14T14:37:00.001-08:00

(Originally posted 10/28/2008)

You think you've found the perfect spot. And while you're there, your heart starts racing, your breath quickens and your eyes bug out, straining to see in the dark. Then you hear the words.

"...8...9...10. Ready or not, here I come!"

But you've found the perfect spot to hide; no need to worry. After all, no one would EVER think to look inside your closet (or under your covers, or behind the bathtub curtain, or...). You're safe.

But then they open the door (or pull back the covers or tear open the curtain). And that's when it begins. The race back to base.

Anyone who's played hide 'n' seek knows the value of base. It's a place of security, assurance, safety.

I was reading Ecclesiastes this morning. (how's that for a transition?) And 35 times in that book, Solomon uses the word "meaningless." According to Solomon, everything is meaningless. In other words, it doesn't matter where we hide.

And then, in the middle of his rant about how meaningless everything is, he writes, "...everything God does will endure forever..." (Ecc. 3:14).

I think what Solomon was saying is that God is base. And without that base, there is no security. There is no assurance. There is no safety. There is no point.

If God is not my base, I end up living every day with my heart pounding out of fear, my breath shortened by anxiety and my eyes bugging out, straining to see any hint of light in a dark world.

But I'm thankful, because I have been found. Christ has opened the door, pulled back the covers and torn open the curtain. And although he's had to chase me around corners and down halls sometimes, he's delivered me back to base. And I've discovered security, assurance, safety, and a point. And the point isn't me.

It's God.