Lydia has always had this allergy thing. She gets it multiple times a year and it's pretty bad. It starts as a cough and then she usually has a fever at some point. When I got home from work yesterday, she had it. I made her dinner and put her to bed by 7:30. I gave her this breathing treatment and some medicine the doctor recommended; we keep a large stash on hand.
So 3 am I hear her cry out, "Daddy!" (Which is some sick, I-need-to-be-needed kind of way, is one of the most beautiful sounds to me.) I go in and take care of her. Get her her medicine. Do the breathing treatment. Mostly, I just cuddle her and try to get her to relax so she doesn't cough as much.
As she is doing the breathing treatment, I've built us a little "nest" on the bed and she is cuddled into me. I read her a story and am stroking her head. I turn off the light. Then we sit quietly in the dark for a good 15 minutes or so...no talking... just being with each other. (One of the best times of my week.) I'm stroking her forehead (which she loves) and she is doing this thing where she strokes my arm (which doesn't exactly bother me either).
At some point, I decide that both she and I need sleep, so I gently say to her, "Lydia honey, I think you need to lay back down and get some sleep."
To which she replies, "Awwww! 'Cause this was really working for me!"
It was working for me too.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Lesson #3: "Marry Well."
To know me is to know my dad. I'm Ed's son. So much of who I am, so much of what I do, has been formed by my dad. These posts are a series of reflections on some life lessons my dad taught me. They are based out of the eulogy I did for my dad's memorial service on April 7, 2010.
________________________
Life Lesson #3 - My Dad taught me how to marry well. How to love passionately, and how to show respect to women.
My dad loved my mom deeply. He wrote her love notes, did little acts of kindness for her, bought her cards. Dad was always thinking about what mom liked or what would make her happy.
And they were very affectionate.
And I liked that. Their affection for each other always made me feel lucky to have them as parents.
Years ago, I was at an outdoor craft festival and I was standing at one of the craft booths. There was an older couple at the next booth over and they were holding hands and showing affection -– at one point they started kind of dancing with each other. I heard a person at my booth say to another – “Aw, isn’t that sweet. I love to see older newlyweds. I bet they are on their honeymoon!”
Well, those newlyweds were my parents, and they had been married longer than those people had been alive.
My dad respected my mom. Growing up, my dad always made it a point to honor my mom to me. He was never threatened by mom’s intelligence, and my mom is one smart woman. Dad would always say to me, “Paul, marry a smart woman, smarter than you. And when she corrects you – you will hate it, you will complain... but she is probably right -- so listen to her.”
Mom, don’t get a big head.
Laura, you can skip that part.
But my dad cherished my mom. He called her “the love of his life” and he said it often, and wrote it regularly, and meant it always. He he said it in front of me. And he said it to me. And he said it to mom.
And his little boy was watching.
I watched and I learned from my father what it meant to be a man. That being a man was about commitment over competence. Loyalty over luxury. That being a man had less to do with strength of body and more to do with strength of character.
My dad realized (as I realize BTW), that he married up. Our wives are both WAY out of our league. And knowing many of my married male readers -- you did too! And out of thankfulness, he lived a life of service to mom.
My dad didn’t know it, but he was imitating God.
The book of Ephesians, chapter 5 begins, “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”
Then down at verse 25 it say: “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church— for we are members of his body. "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh."
There are a lot of people who seem to focus on Ephesians 5:22 -- "Wives submit to your husbands." But that is not the central message of this text. In fact, the husband's call to submission and love is so much greater than the wive's in the passage.
Dad was not a perfect husband... but he wanted to honor mom. And he taught me an important lesson: Marry Well.
________________________
Life Lesson #3 - My Dad taught me how to marry well. How to love passionately, and how to show respect to women.
My dad loved my mom deeply. He wrote her love notes, did little acts of kindness for her, bought her cards. Dad was always thinking about what mom liked or what would make her happy. And they were very affectionate.
And I liked that. Their affection for each other always made me feel lucky to have them as parents.
Years ago, I was at an outdoor craft festival and I was standing at one of the craft booths. There was an older couple at the next booth over and they were holding hands and showing affection -– at one point they started kind of dancing with each other. I heard a person at my booth say to another – “Aw, isn’t that sweet. I love to see older newlyweds. I bet they are on their honeymoon!”
Well, those newlyweds were my parents, and they had been married longer than those people had been alive.
My dad respected my mom. Growing up, my dad always made it a point to honor my mom to me. He was never threatened by mom’s intelligence, and my mom is one smart woman. Dad would always say to me, “Paul, marry a smart woman, smarter than you. And when she corrects you – you will hate it, you will complain... but she is probably right -- so listen to her.”
Mom, don’t get a big head.
Laura, you can skip that part.
But my dad cherished my mom. He called her “the love of his life” and he said it often, and wrote it regularly, and meant it always. He he said it in front of me. And he said it to me. And he said it to mom.
And his little boy was watching.
I watched and I learned from my father what it meant to be a man. That being a man was about commitment over competence. Loyalty over luxury. That being a man had less to do with strength of body and more to do with strength of character.
My dad realized (as I realize BTW), that he married up. Our wives are both WAY out of our league. And knowing many of my married male readers -- you did too! And out of thankfulness, he lived a life of service to mom.
My dad didn’t know it, but he was imitating God.
The book of Ephesians, chapter 5 begins, “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”
Then down at verse 25 it say: “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church— for we are members of his body. "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh."
There are a lot of people who seem to focus on Ephesians 5:22 -- "Wives submit to your husbands." But that is not the central message of this text. In fact, the husband's call to submission and love is so much greater than the wive's in the passage.
Dad was not a perfect husband... but he wanted to honor mom. And he taught me an important lesson: Marry Well.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Lesson #2: "Being wanted is more significant than being needed."
To know me is to know my dad. I'm Ed's son. So much of who I am, so much of what I do, has been formed by my dad. These posts are a series of reflections on some life lessons my dad taught me. They are based out of the eulogy I did for my dad's memorial service on April 7, 2010.
________________________
Life Lesson #2 - Being wanted is more significant than being needed.
Some of you may know that I’m a magician. My dad was a big part of that aspect of my life.
Dad took me to conventions, bought me equipment, helped me create and critique my shows. He taught me the business end of magic: how do book and log shows, how do talk on the phone and interact with people. Most significanly for my life today, it was my dad who Dad taught me how to speak in front people and how to have a "presence" before a group.
I started doing paid magic shows when I was 9 years old. By the time I was 12, during the Christmas holiday, I was doing school assembly shows, weekend banquets and dinners. I often would have as many as 6 or 7 shows on a weekend.
The problem was that I needed to get to these shows. Obviously, at age 12, I couldn’t drive.
I needed my dad to drive me to the shows.
If you think about it, at that stage of my life, I was totally dependant on my dad to do the things I wanted to do.
Over the years, many times during those trips, he would say to me: “Paul, right now you NEED me to go with you to these shows. You need me to drive, to help you move equipment. You are dependant on me. But one day you won’t NEED me anymore. One day, you will be able to do it on your own. And my goal as your father is to make you independent so that you don’t need me. But then, maybe you will ASK me to go with you because you WANT me to go.”
See, being wanted is much more significant than being needed.
Being wanted involved choice.
Being needed is a kind of obligation.
Being wanted is about free will. It's an act of love. A choice of presence.
I can still remember the first time when I was able to drive and ASKED my dad to go with me. Not because I needed him... but because I wanted to spend time with him.
My dad taught me that love, isn’t really love, if it is not freely chosen. If it is simply out of obligation.
He taught me that being wanted is more significant than being needed.
________________________
Life Lesson #2 - Being wanted is more significant than being needed.
Some of you may know that I’m a magician. My dad was a big part of that aspect of my life.
Dad took me to conventions, bought me equipment, helped me create and critique my shows. He taught me the business end of magic: how do book and log shows, how do talk on the phone and interact with people. Most significanly for my life today, it was my dad who Dad taught me how to speak in front people and how to have a "presence" before a group.
I started doing paid magic shows when I was 9 years old. By the time I was 12, during the Christmas holiday, I was doing school assembly shows, weekend banquets and dinners. I often would have as many as 6 or 7 shows on a weekend.
The problem was that I needed to get to these shows. Obviously, at age 12, I couldn’t drive.
I needed my dad to drive me to the shows.
If you think about it, at that stage of my life, I was totally dependant on my dad to do the things I wanted to do.
Over the years, many times during those trips, he would say to me: “Paul, right now you NEED me to go with you to these shows. You need me to drive, to help you move equipment. You are dependant on me. But one day you won’t NEED me anymore. One day, you will be able to do it on your own. And my goal as your father is to make you independent so that you don’t need me. But then, maybe you will ASK me to go with you because you WANT me to go.”
See, being wanted is much more significant than being needed.
Being wanted involved choice.
Being needed is a kind of obligation.
Being wanted is about free will. It's an act of love. A choice of presence.
I can still remember the first time when I was able to drive and ASKED my dad to go with me. Not because I needed him... but because I wanted to spend time with him.
My dad taught me that love, isn’t really love, if it is not freely chosen. If it is simply out of obligation.
He taught me that being wanted is more significant than being needed.
Friday, April 09, 2010
Life Lesson #1 - Everyone needs a "Secret Store"
To know me is to know my dad. I'm Ed's son. So much of who I am, so much of what I do, has been formed by my dad. These posts are a series of reflections on some life lessons my dad taught me. They are based out of the eulogy I did for my dad's memorial service on April 7, 2010.
________________________
Life Lesson #1 - Everyone needs a “secret store.”
When I was little, dad would take me to a convenience store. It was about a 10-minute drive from home... out of town, over a bunch of windy roads. The funny thing is that we actually drove by several stores to get to it; I always thought that was strange.
But this wasn’t any store.
This was the “secret store.”
Now, there really was nothing secret about it. Of course, Mom knew about it. She also knew when we were going and how long we would be there, what we would buy (usually chocolate Yohoo and something called a "Slim Jim" – an oddly-flavored meat product with a shelf-life just 15 years shy of a Twinkie). So the secret store wasn’t really much of a secret to anyone.
But, of course, to a 7-year old boy, everything is much cooler if it is a secret.
In fact, we had secret stores, secret snacks, secret sandwiches, secret adventures – which I honestly only realized the other day that our "secret adventures" now seem remarkably like pulling weeds on the back patio of our house. (Wow, our secret adventures were actually my dad violating child labor laws. But at the time it seemed fascinating! And it was a secret!)
So Dad and I went to the secret store... because everyone needs a secret store.
Of course, only in college did I discover the real secret.
The real secret was not the store.
The real secret was the 10-minute drive from home; out of town, over windy roads. Just my dad and me. I found out later that the store was partially chosen for that very reason. Another investment of his life into mine. A break in our lives where, for 30 minutes or so, a dad had the undivided attention of his little boy.
And so now, every Saturday morning, the tradition continues.
Now, every Saturday morning that I’m in town, since my now-5-year-old daughter was 3-months-old, I’ve taken her out to breakfast.
She calls it the “House of Breakfast.”
It's really a secret store.
And the secret is, of course, that it’s a 15-minute walk.
And I grab my daughter’s hand... and I feel that little hand in mine. And I pray that time would stand still.
She jabbers on about squirrels and worms and about her pretend friends...
At least that is what she talks about for now.
But one day it will be about boys, and body image; peer pressure and life plans. One day she may need to talk to her dad about hard things and will need an opportunity for that to happen.
And it was my dad who taught me how to create the kind of space for that kind of conversation to happen.
One of the things I appreciated about my relationship with my dad is that we lived with no regrets. When my dad died, there wasn’t a single thing I needed to say to him that I hadn’t said a dozen times. There wasn't a single thing I needed to hear from him that I hadn’t heard over and over.
Maybe that was the real secret of the secret store.
________________________
Life Lesson #1 - Everyone needs a “secret store.”
When I was little, dad would take me to a convenience store. It was about a 10-minute drive from home... out of town, over a bunch of windy roads. The funny thing is that we actually drove by several stores to get to it; I always thought that was strange.
But this wasn’t any store.
This was the “secret store.”
Now, there really was nothing secret about it. Of course, Mom knew about it. She also knew when we were going and how long we would be there, what we would buy (usually chocolate Yohoo and something called a "Slim Jim" – an oddly-flavored meat product with a shelf-life just 15 years shy of a Twinkie). So the secret store wasn’t really much of a secret to anyone. But, of course, to a 7-year old boy, everything is much cooler if it is a secret.
In fact, we had secret stores, secret snacks, secret sandwiches, secret adventures – which I honestly only realized the other day that our "secret adventures" now seem remarkably like pulling weeds on the back patio of our house. (Wow, our secret adventures were actually my dad violating child labor laws. But at the time it seemed fascinating! And it was a secret!)
So Dad and I went to the secret store... because everyone needs a secret store.
Of course, only in college did I discover the real secret.
The real secret was not the store.
The real secret was the 10-minute drive from home; out of town, over windy roads. Just my dad and me. I found out later that the store was partially chosen for that very reason. Another investment of his life into mine. A break in our lives where, for 30 minutes or so, a dad had the undivided attention of his little boy.
And so now, every Saturday morning, the tradition continues.
Now, every Saturday morning that I’m in town, since my now-5-year-old daughter was 3-months-old, I’ve taken her out to breakfast.
She calls it the “House of Breakfast.”
It's really a secret store.
And the secret is, of course, that it’s a 15-minute walk.And I grab my daughter’s hand... and I feel that little hand in mine. And I pray that time would stand still.
She jabbers on about squirrels and worms and about her pretend friends...
At least that is what she talks about for now.
But one day it will be about boys, and body image; peer pressure and life plans. One day she may need to talk to her dad about hard things and will need an opportunity for that to happen.
And it was my dad who taught me how to create the kind of space for that kind of conversation to happen.
One of the things I appreciated about my relationship with my dad is that we lived with no regrets. When my dad died, there wasn’t a single thing I needed to say to him that I hadn’t said a dozen times. There wasn't a single thing I needed to hear from him that I hadn’t heard over and over.
Maybe that was the real secret of the secret store.
Life Lessons from My Dad: An Introduction
So this week I did my dad's funeral.
Yeah, that was strange to write.
To know me is to know my dad. I'm Ed's son. So much of who I am, so much of what I do, has been formed by my dad. He was my best man at our wedding. He was my greatest cheerleader. My dad was my hero.
As I write these words, I'm sitting alone in a hotel room, wearing one of his favorite shirts. Honestly, one of my hopes in writing these posts is simply to grieve. To make my dad's death (and life) real. To process with my words.
Because my dad died on April 2, 2010 (Good Friday), I really haven't had the chance to let it sink in. Between Easter services, caring for my mom, doing the funeral, officiating a wedding this weekend (and having to be "on" for all of this stuff), I'm not sure I have really grieved. Who knows, maybe I won't grieve in the way I expect. I've been around death enough to know that everyone grieves differently. But, for as much as I was honored to be the "pastor" at my dad's funeral, in some ways I felt cheated from just being "son."
So I write these words as Paul: Ed's son.
First, let me put this out there: Eulogies, of course, are meant to accentuate the positive. It only makes sense. Even the word, “eulogy” is from the Greek meaning, “Good Words.”
So to begin with...
I just want you to know that I’m not going to write about the time when I was 9 and he lobbed a shoe across the room at me to get my attention (I had drawn on the wall with a marker). Or the way he repeated himself over and over - giving the same instructions; telling the same stories. Or that dad could be a bit stubborn at times. Or that he labeled everything – I mean everything - with blue painter's tape (notebooks, bottles, boxes, antifreeze, detergents -- you really have to see it to believe it).
And I’m certainly not going to talk about my dad having at least 100 spiral notebooks laying around the house in various locations -- with random phone numbers, maps, drawings of things he wanted to build, rough drafts of letters he was writing or cards he was sending, lists of medications, restaurant recommendations, newspapers clippings... all often in the same book, but neatly written with little tabs on the sides to section everything off; tabs usually made of blue painter's tape.
I’m not going to talk about those things.
Okay, a few of those idiosyncrasies might sneak in every now and then.
So I want to start by writing the obvious: my dad wasn’t a perfect man. He had his faults. He had imperfections. I'm sure he didn't always treat my mom as she deserved. I’m sure many people could even look at the way he parented me and find fault. He wasn’t a perfect man, a perfect husband, a perfect father...
But he was perfect for me.
I believe that, in my dad, God gave me what I needed to be the man I am now. In profound ways, much of the best of who I am, came from my dad. My dad was God's first act of grace to me.
So I invite you to give me some of what is the most important thing you have: your precious time. The moments you spend reading these posts over the coming weeks you will never get back. They will be lost forever.
But my hope is your life will be enriched by me giving you glimpse of my dad and what he taught me about life.
Yeah, that was strange to write.
To know me is to know my dad. I'm Ed's son. So much of who I am, so much of what I do, has been formed by my dad. He was my best man at our wedding. He was my greatest cheerleader. My dad was my hero.
As I write these words, I'm sitting alone in a hotel room, wearing one of his favorite shirts. Honestly, one of my hopes in writing these posts is simply to grieve. To make my dad's death (and life) real. To process with my words.
Because my dad died on April 2, 2010 (Good Friday), I really haven't had the chance to let it sink in. Between Easter services, caring for my mom, doing the funeral, officiating a wedding this weekend (and having to be "on" for all of this stuff), I'm not sure I have really grieved. Who knows, maybe I won't grieve in the way I expect. I've been around death enough to know that everyone grieves differently. But, for as much as I was honored to be the "pastor" at my dad's funeral, in some ways I felt cheated from just being "son."
So I write these words as Paul: Ed's son.
First, let me put this out there: Eulogies, of course, are meant to accentuate the positive. It only makes sense. Even the word, “eulogy” is from the Greek meaning, “Good Words.”
So to begin with...
I just want you to know that I’m not going to write about the time when I was 9 and he lobbed a shoe across the room at me to get my attention (I had drawn on the wall with a marker). Or the way he repeated himself over and over - giving the same instructions; telling the same stories. Or that dad could be a bit stubborn at times. Or that he labeled everything – I mean everything - with blue painter's tape (notebooks, bottles, boxes, antifreeze, detergents -- you really have to see it to believe it). And I’m certainly not going to talk about my dad having at least 100 spiral notebooks laying around the house in various locations -- with random phone numbers, maps, drawings of things he wanted to build, rough drafts of letters he was writing or cards he was sending, lists of medications, restaurant recommendations, newspapers clippings... all often in the same book, but neatly written with little tabs on the sides to section everything off; tabs usually made of blue painter's tape.
I’m not going to talk about those things.
Okay, a few of those idiosyncrasies might sneak in every now and then.
So I want to start by writing the obvious: my dad wasn’t a perfect man. He had his faults. He had imperfections. I'm sure he didn't always treat my mom as she deserved. I’m sure many people could even look at the way he parented me and find fault. He wasn’t a perfect man, a perfect husband, a perfect father...
But he was perfect for me.
I believe that, in my dad, God gave me what I needed to be the man I am now. In profound ways, much of the best of who I am, came from my dad. My dad was God's first act of grace to me.
So I invite you to give me some of what is the most important thing you have: your precious time. The moments you spend reading these posts over the coming weeks you will never get back. They will be lost forever.
But my hope is your life will be enriched by me giving you glimpse of my dad and what he taught me about life.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Beauty
This is going to sound rude - it's not meant to be - but I'm discovering that most people look better to me in two dimensions.
What I mean is that I can know a person for years and never think, "Wow, that person is attractive." But when I take their picture, I see something in them I didn't see before. Maybe it's that I ALLOW myself to see something in them when I look through the lens that I don't see in "real life."
With that said, there is no woman more beautiful than my wife. She is beautiful, bright, funny, godly -- and no camera anywhere can capture her beauty.
Friday, May 01, 2009
dad
I guess I have been reluctant to write about my dad. I haven't slept well the past couple of weeks and I have been stress eating like crazy. Things that used to make me excited just feel flat.
I'm kind of a "wear my emotions on my sleeve" kind of person - transparency has never been an issue for me. But this struggle seems more private to me. It's been harder to talk about for some reason. And there is a tiredness to this season of my life that goes deep to the bone. Even to my spirit.
If you don't know, my dad has had serious health issues for the past 5 years. Slowly, I have watched his body deteriorate. Three weeks ago he had major open heart surgery (replacing a valve and repairing another). He spent the past couple of weeks in ICU struggling to recover from that surgery. And wouldn't you know, the day after they took him out of ICU, he had a stroke. He now has limited movement on his right side and has a lot of trouble getting words out. It's clear he knows what we are saying, he just can't put the words together. (This is in addition to the heart surgery and other complications.) So where most people are up and walking after 3 days, my dad is worse off now than when he went in.
To really know me is to know my family system. I'm incredibly close to my parents. My dad is, hands down, the most influential man in my life. Growing up, he was my hero. He could do anything. Fix anything. Overcome anything. He worked 30 years in the same classroom and loved every minute of it. He was loyal to his wife, his work, his friends, his family. I loved the way he loved my mom. He was my best man at my wedding. I could go on and on...
Tonight I was lying in bed trying to sleep and, for the first time, it dawned on me that I might have had my last "conversation" with my dad (as least as I knew it).
Even writing those words seem so surreal to me.
And really painful.
Growing up, dad would be teaching me something and he would say, "I know I have probably told you this before, and if so, I'm sorry. Just listen to it again. You know, when I was your age I used to get so frustrated with my dad. He would say the same thing over and over. But now, I really wish I had him around."
I guess I just want to "listen to it all again."
I'm kind of a "wear my emotions on my sleeve" kind of person - transparency has never been an issue for me. But this struggle seems more private to me. It's been harder to talk about for some reason. And there is a tiredness to this season of my life that goes deep to the bone. Even to my spirit.
If you don't know, my dad has had serious health issues for the past 5 years. Slowly, I have watched his body deteriorate. Three weeks ago he had major open heart surgery (replacing a valve and repairing another). He spent the past couple of weeks in ICU struggling to recover from that surgery. And wouldn't you know, the day after they took him out of ICU, he had a stroke. He now has limited movement on his right side and has a lot of trouble getting words out. It's clear he knows what we are saying, he just can't put the words together. (This is in addition to the heart surgery and other complications.) So where most people are up and walking after 3 days, my dad is worse off now than when he went in.
To really know me is to know my family system. I'm incredibly close to my parents. My dad is, hands down, the most influential man in my life. Growing up, he was my hero. He could do anything. Fix anything. Overcome anything. He worked 30 years in the same classroom and loved every minute of it. He was loyal to his wife, his work, his friends, his family. I loved the way he loved my mom. He was my best man at my wedding. I could go on and on...
Tonight I was lying in bed trying to sleep and, for the first time, it dawned on me that I might have had my last "conversation" with my dad (as least as I knew it).
Even writing those words seem so surreal to me.
And really painful.
Growing up, dad would be teaching me something and he would say, "I know I have probably told you this before, and if so, I'm sorry. Just listen to it again. You know, when I was your age I used to get so frustrated with my dad. He would say the same thing over and over. But now, I really wish I had him around."
I guess I just want to "listen to it all again."
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Stay at home dads and marriage
So....
I have some opinions on this, but I'm going to give you all an opportunity to chime in if you want.
I have some opinions on this, but I'm going to give you all an opportunity to chime in if you want.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
An Open Letter to New People Coming to Central from Other Congregations
Dear New Person from another local congregation:
First, I want you to know that I'm excited you are considering being a part of the community of Central. I have often said (and I really believe), there is no place I would rather be, and no other people I would rather be with than this community you are "checking out." I'm certainly biased, but I love the people and vision that is Central Avenue. I think you will as well.
With that said, you need to know, up front, that I'm more than a bit nervous you are coming.
1. I've never been much of a fan of what we pastors call “the annual sheep shift."
Consumer Christians. Transfer growth.
Now, to be clear, not everyone who transfers from one local congregation to another, does so for the wrong reasons. I believe there are right reasons to change local churches (I may hit on some of those in a later post).
But there are also wrong reasons.
And that is what makes me nervous.
You know, we pastors actually talk to each other. And we notice that some people just shift from one congregation to the next -- looking for better music, better preaching, better children's programs, the next "better" thing. And if you are coming to Central just because we are “better” than your last congregation, I have some news for you: soon you will find another congregation in town “better” than us. So I would just as soon give you some names of those churches and have you keep looking.
2. If you are coming to Central simply to have your needs met and “consume religious services,” please don't come.
No. Really.
I’m not kidding.
We need the seats.
This is the Church, not a shopping mall.
And honestly, it MAY BE that the children’s program (or whatever) at your last church would have been better if you had volunteered or given of yourself to make it better. Our children’s program is good, not because we are a “better church” but because of Serena and Sarah and Mike and Barb and Mary Ann and Linda and ... (on and on... ).
The church is people.
More than that, the church is people willing to lay down their lives for one another. It’s not always convenient.
It's not always easy.
It's not always about you.
Sometimes you have to take some nails.
So here is my suggestion: hang around for a while. Let’s “date” a bit. Find out if you like who we are and what we are about.
But then discover your gifts, roll up your sleeves and get to work. We have a world to change.
To be clear, we all have times when we need to heal and rest. We have seasons where we feel we just can’t make a contribution. Maybe we are wounded. Maybe we are in a period of transition with our families. Maybe we need a safe place to ask questions. But those times are not the norm, and they should be temporary. And they should lead you to deeper service and relationships, not apathy.
So, if you are coming to Central just to consume, honestly, I would rather have your chair for a person who is either ready to make a contribution or just checking out Christianity. And that goes for any of you current Central folks as well. Play ball or get off the field.
I’m serious.
I would rather have 100 sold out “sacrificial followers of Jesus” than 1000 spectators who think we are “relevant” and love our music.
BTW, I “love” when people call us "relevant."
3. If you are coming to Central because you like my preaching... you are a very wise person. ☺
Okay seriously... just kidding.
I am honored when people tell me that my preaching impacts them. One of the times I’m most alive is when I preach. It is what I love.
But know that I’m not the ONLY voice you will hear. We have an ever-expanding, gifted team of teachers that I love (and learn from) at Central. God speaks through different voices – the key is a gifting to teach (which our teachers have). But don’t mistake style with substance.
And since this is my blog, let me just rant a bit (as if that would surprise any of my readers!).
I think there are too many expectations placed on most pastors. We are not the paid Christians to do all the work. We are called to “equip the saints for ministry.” (Which means, if you are not doing ministry... ah...er... um... I guess you are not a saint. ☺)
People who know me well will tell you, I don’t do a lot around here. [“Amen!” from my staff]. That gives me time to focus on my sermon prep and those few things I do okay.
So before your put down your previous pastor’s preaching to me, know that I’m not a big fan of that. You don’t have to tell me I’m good by saying that another person is bad. And if you are saying that about that person now, what will you be saying about me in 3 years?
It may be your previous pastor’s preaching would have been better if the congregation didn’t place such unreasonable expectations on his or her time. Central has invested hundreds of hours in me -- and thousands of dollars. They have pushed me (yes, pushed me) to take sabbatical and study times. They’ve paid for me to go to conferences and given me money for books and resources. Yes, I believe I have a spiritual gift of teaching. But that gift has been nurtured and fanned by this community.
Please hear me: you are very welcomed here! Really. If you happen to be new and stumble on these posts, know that I’m not trying to talk you out of this community.
But know what you are getting into.
We are the Church. Not some club.
What makes Central attractive to you (or, as one of you said, “this place seems different!”) is that...um... this place... these people are different. There really is a hunger for God here. And hopefully an authenticity.
We are a people who don’t have it figured out (and aren’t afraid to say that) but we really do believe the Jesus Christ is the hope of the world and for some stupid reason he wants to us as channels of that hope.
So, we really only have 600 available seats (with 200 of them on a Saturday night) -- 450 were filled last weekend. We would love you to be a part of this body... but only if you are willing to BE a part of this body. We could use your gifts. Otherwise, we could use your chair.
Part 2 is coming soon... so don’t get ticked at me and quit reading.
But if this ticked you off... you probably wouldn't like Central anyway.
First, I want you to know that I'm excited you are considering being a part of the community of Central. I have often said (and I really believe), there is no place I would rather be, and no other people I would rather be with than this community you are "checking out." I'm certainly biased, but I love the people and vision that is Central Avenue. I think you will as well.
With that said, you need to know, up front, that I'm more than a bit nervous you are coming.
1. I've never been much of a fan of what we pastors call “the annual sheep shift."
Consumer Christians. Transfer growth.
Now, to be clear, not everyone who transfers from one local congregation to another, does so for the wrong reasons. I believe there are right reasons to change local churches (I may hit on some of those in a later post).
But there are also wrong reasons.
And that is what makes me nervous.
You know, we pastors actually talk to each other. And we notice that some people just shift from one congregation to the next -- looking for better music, better preaching, better children's programs, the next "better" thing. And if you are coming to Central just because we are “better” than your last congregation, I have some news for you: soon you will find another congregation in town “better” than us. So I would just as soon give you some names of those churches and have you keep looking.
2. If you are coming to Central simply to have your needs met and “consume religious services,” please don't come.
No. Really.
I’m not kidding.
We need the seats.
This is the Church, not a shopping mall.
And honestly, it MAY BE that the children’s program (or whatever) at your last church would have been better if you had volunteered or given of yourself to make it better. Our children’s program is good, not because we are a “better church” but because of Serena and Sarah and Mike and Barb and Mary Ann and Linda and ... (on and on... ).
The church is people.
More than that, the church is people willing to lay down their lives for one another. It’s not always convenient.
It's not always easy.
It's not always about you.
Sometimes you have to take some nails.
So here is my suggestion: hang around for a while. Let’s “date” a bit. Find out if you like who we are and what we are about.
But then discover your gifts, roll up your sleeves and get to work. We have a world to change.
To be clear, we all have times when we need to heal and rest. We have seasons where we feel we just can’t make a contribution. Maybe we are wounded. Maybe we are in a period of transition with our families. Maybe we need a safe place to ask questions. But those times are not the norm, and they should be temporary. And they should lead you to deeper service and relationships, not apathy.
So, if you are coming to Central just to consume, honestly, I would rather have your chair for a person who is either ready to make a contribution or just checking out Christianity. And that goes for any of you current Central folks as well. Play ball or get off the field.
I’m serious.
I would rather have 100 sold out “sacrificial followers of Jesus” than 1000 spectators who think we are “relevant” and love our music.
BTW, I “love” when people call us "relevant."
3. If you are coming to Central because you like my preaching... you are a very wise person. ☺
Okay seriously... just kidding.
I am honored when people tell me that my preaching impacts them. One of the times I’m most alive is when I preach. It is what I love.
But know that I’m not the ONLY voice you will hear. We have an ever-expanding, gifted team of teachers that I love (and learn from) at Central. God speaks through different voices – the key is a gifting to teach (which our teachers have). But don’t mistake style with substance.
And since this is my blog, let me just rant a bit (as if that would surprise any of my readers!).
I think there are too many expectations placed on most pastors. We are not the paid Christians to do all the work. We are called to “equip the saints for ministry.” (Which means, if you are not doing ministry... ah...er... um... I guess you are not a saint. ☺)
People who know me well will tell you, I don’t do a lot around here. [“Amen!” from my staff]. That gives me time to focus on my sermon prep and those few things I do okay.
So before your put down your previous pastor’s preaching to me, know that I’m not a big fan of that. You don’t have to tell me I’m good by saying that another person is bad. And if you are saying that about that person now, what will you be saying about me in 3 years?
It may be your previous pastor’s preaching would have been better if the congregation didn’t place such unreasonable expectations on his or her time. Central has invested hundreds of hours in me -- and thousands of dollars. They have pushed me (yes, pushed me) to take sabbatical and study times. They’ve paid for me to go to conferences and given me money for books and resources. Yes, I believe I have a spiritual gift of teaching. But that gift has been nurtured and fanned by this community.
Please hear me: you are very welcomed here! Really. If you happen to be new and stumble on these posts, know that I’m not trying to talk you out of this community.
But know what you are getting into.
We are the Church. Not some club.
What makes Central attractive to you (or, as one of you said, “this place seems different!”) is that...um... this place... these people are different. There really is a hunger for God here. And hopefully an authenticity.
We are a people who don’t have it figured out (and aren’t afraid to say that) but we really do believe the Jesus Christ is the hope of the world and for some stupid reason he wants to us as channels of that hope.
So, we really only have 600 available seats (with 200 of them on a Saturday night) -- 450 were filled last weekend. We would love you to be a part of this body... but only if you are willing to BE a part of this body. We could use your gifts. Otherwise, we could use your chair.
Part 2 is coming soon... so don’t get ticked at me and quit reading.
But if this ticked you off... you probably wouldn't like Central anyway.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A moment for the history books
Although I'm sure there will be constant mud-slinging even after the election is over, this recent discovery about Barack Obama by ABC TV news anchor, Terry Morgan is going to cause a lot of discussion and controversy.
snicker
snicker
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Are there gender differences?
Hey, if you got a second, hop on over to my friend KT's blog and take a gander. I would like to know what my readers think. Feel free to comment on her blog, or you can comment on mine...
Monday, June 23, 2008
Kids' Rock
After listening to VBS songs over and over for the last two weeks ("Choose Jesus, choose to believe!") and being the dad of a 3-year-old ("Daddy, would you play the 'Choose Jesus' song again?), I'm thinking this might sell.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day
To my readers who are moms, "Happy Mother's Day!"
This is my mom (um... the one on the right). She is the greatest. It's funny, I realize my wife is a mom, but at this point, equating Mother's Day with her just seems a bit strange. Mother's Day is for MY mom. Who, unfortunately, is living in Florida and I never get to see on Mother's Day. (I really wanted to spend the day with her. I guess I just miss my mommy.)
More and more I realize who I am has been shaped by my parents. So much of me... formed by mom and dad. I was thinking last week: my love for cooking, reading and study I got from mom (she is a fantastic cook -- my brother was a chef and I know how to boil a mean cup of water myself). We both got that from her.
It's funny what you remember about your childhood. I can always remember asking my mom questions... and her answering them. I remember conversations... even as a little kid. So often, I hear kids ask, "Why?" and parents just ignore it. (They ask why a LOT!). But my memory is that my mom always answered that question. And to me... it was not about the answer... but that she communicated with me.
I have always thought (and still think) that my mom is one of the two smartest women in the world (I have to put my wife up there too!). She was an amazing English teacher (5th grade) and was a school principal (2 elementary schools and a Jr. High). As a magician who used to do school assembly shows, I could tell a good principal from a bad one pretty easily -- simply by the behavior of the students when they gathered together for an assembly. My mom's schools were always amazing. Well behaved. Well-Mannered. She always commanded respect. I always loved my mom... but I also have a great deal of respect for her. She is a strong, bright, talented woman. Much of what I look for and respect in women, I got from her. (Those of you who know me know I'm drawn to friendships with strong, smart women... I want someone who can spar with me. :)
I just really like my mom.
And soon, my parents are coming home. And I hope they will spend as much time with us as they possibly can. I still have lots to learn.
You know, I was going to write more... but I just decided to call my mom instead.
This is my mom (um... the one on the right). She is the greatest. It's funny, I realize my wife is a mom, but at this point, equating Mother's Day with her just seems a bit strange. Mother's Day is for MY mom. Who, unfortunately, is living in Florida and I never get to see on Mother's Day. (I really wanted to spend the day with her. I guess I just miss my mommy.)More and more I realize who I am has been shaped by my parents. So much of me... formed by mom and dad. I was thinking last week: my love for cooking, reading and study I got from mom (she is a fantastic cook -- my brother was a chef and I know how to boil a mean cup of water myself). We both got that from her.
It's funny what you remember about your childhood. I can always remember asking my mom questions... and her answering them. I remember conversations... even as a little kid. So often, I hear kids ask, "Why?" and parents just ignore it. (They ask why a LOT!). But my memory is that my mom always answered that question. And to me... it was not about the answer... but that she communicated with me.
I have always thought (and still think) that my mom is one of the two smartest women in the world (I have to put my wife up there too!). She was an amazing English teacher (5th grade) and was a school principal (2 elementary schools and a Jr. High). As a magician who used to do school assembly shows, I could tell a good principal from a bad one pretty easily -- simply by the behavior of the students when they gathered together for an assembly. My mom's schools were always amazing. Well behaved. Well-Mannered. She always commanded respect. I always loved my mom... but I also have a great deal of respect for her. She is a strong, bright, talented woman. Much of what I look for and respect in women, I got from her. (Those of you who know me know I'm drawn to friendships with strong, smart women... I want someone who can spar with me. :) I just really like my mom.
And soon, my parents are coming home. And I hope they will spend as much time with us as they possibly can. I still have lots to learn.
You know, I was going to write more... but I just decided to call my mom instead.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Time
Tomorrow, my daughter goes to her first day of pre-school. My wife and I were just talking about how it just doesn't seem like it has been three years. Time is flying by so quickly. It's funny, as you are going through life, sometimes days seem to stretch on... time can feel like an eternity. But it really is just a blink. A dot on a page. Often we don't see this until hindsight; until it's too late.
I suspect, three years from now I will be typing on this keyboard, posting pictures saying, "I can't believe she is in Kindergarden. I can't believe she is already 6."
I wonder what my daughter will be like when she grows up? I wonder what our relationship will be like? I wonder if she will walk with God? I wonder if she will think of her childhood with the same warmth that her mom and I do?
I'm lucky to be her dad.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Statistic
"80% of pastors' wives said that they wish their husbands would choose another profession." [Time Magazine, April 9]
"One of the realities that a pastor must face is that the church is the only mistress that he can commit adultery with and not be looked down upon. The church will cheer the hard working pastor, the one who is at every meeting and does it all…and then that same church will throw stones at the one they hailed as a hero when his marriage falls apart or his kids become hellions."
Perry Noble, pastor
New Spring Church
"One of the realities that a pastor must face is that the church is the only mistress that he can commit adultery with and not be looked down upon. The church will cheer the hard working pastor, the one who is at every meeting and does it all…and then that same church will throw stones at the one they hailed as a hero when his marriage falls apart or his kids become hellions."
Perry Noble, pastor
New Spring Church
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
My Dad
As I type this I'm sitting in the family waiting room at Lee County Hospital in Florida. I really should be working on my message but I just need a break.My dad had surgery on his back on Monday and my brother and I flew down to be with him and my mom. The surgery went really well, much better than we imagined. There will be some rough spots ahead and some really bad stuff can still happen...
But it almost seems that I have my old dad back.
I learned what it means to "be a man" from my dad. I hope that doesn't sound too machismo, actually the reverse is true. My dad taught me that loyalty, generosity, love, respect... those are the things that make a man. I have always respected the way that my dad treated my mom. We would go to festivals and people who didn't know them would always think they were newlyweds. As my dad has been in incredible pain the past several years, his disposition has changed a bit. Honestly, he has gotten more grumpy. But today I saw that spark of my old dad back again. I know we won't physically live forever. I know that outwardly we are waiting away... but I would like to have my dad around for many years to come. I still have so much to learn.
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