continued...

Top 10 ways to make this lunch really, really, uncomfortable for John.

#6. "Thanks John for having lunch with me. So I have this one question that I really, really, have always wanted to ask you. So... [pause], what's it really like to work with Bill Hybels? Is it as cool as I imagine? I mean... you must be so honored to have worked with him...." [gushing about Hybels continues on through the entire lunch].

Everybody's Normal

Normal is good.

So today I flew to California to take a few days to study Menlo Park Church and, more specifically, to have lunch with John Ortberg. The flights were good... but man... I'm not sure you can cram many more people into that space. Sheesh.

By the way... my administrator rocks. She did all the logistics: booked my flight, car and room; and handed me a folder with all my stuff (in order) that I would need. She even included a sheet of bonus material, including an excellent Indian restaurant which I tried tonight. I can't tell you how much I hate doing that stuff... what a great gift to me. I don't want to post her name, but you Central people know who I'm talkin' about. Well done! Go give that girl a hug!

Tonight I went to the Saturday evening service at Menlo. I plan to go to 5 worship services this weekend: tonight, 3 on Sunday (including their satellite campuses) and their Sunday night "next gen." service.

Full Disclosure: It. Was. Not. What. I. Expected.

First, it's a traditional presbyterian church. Yes, they installed lights, screens and cameras.... but it feels "small church" in every way (Granted, it probably holds 700?) John's name is on the little sign out front. A lot of older people. I came early (of course), went around beforehand and just struck up conversations with people asking about Menlo from an insider's perspective.

They talked about it like it was the church down the street.

And what surprised me is that they talked about John just like he was another pastor.

This is very different from my other experience with John, which was while he was at Willow. Willow, by its sheer size and prominence, breeds a kind of "unapproachable pastor" aura. The pastors are the people on the stage. They are celebrities. Now, I'm not saying they are arrogant or even that they reinforce this image... but the medium is the message in this case. Put a person on stage in front of 7,000 people with their image on two huge jumbotrons... and you just can't help it.

John is a normal pastor here. He stood down front and talked with one or two people after the service... just like I do. People didn't crowd around him to get his autograph. (This is different from my common experience at Central, of course... where people clamber to get my autograph).

Actually, I spoke with 3 people for some time before the service and the first two people I met said, "Honestly, I'm not crazy about John's preaching. I liked the last guy."

WHAT!!! This is JOHN ORTBERG!

So honestly, this makes me feel better about my life. Because, if John can't please everyone... man... I'm not sure who can.

With rare exceptions (none of which I can even think of right now, so maybe it's "without exception"), I have never visited a church and wished I was the pastor there. I love Central. I love my community. Yes, there are days when I have wondered if it was time to move on. Yes, there are days when I'm sure Central wonders that as well!

But the grass is not greener on the other side.

Even if you are a famous author.

Or if you are in a church and you get a new pastor who is a famous author.

Leaving, on a jet plane...

So I'm sitting in the Columbus Airport at AA gate 32. My flight doesn't leave for an hour, but I'm one of those, "get-to-the-airport-really-early-so-you-can- leisurely-stroll-to-the-gate-and-watch-the-people-who-show-up-5-mintues-before-boarding-run-like-their-hair-is-on-fire" kind of guys.

I'm actually flying to California to have lunch with John Ortberg (see previous post). I'm also visiting their other sites to see if I can get a better sense of how they do the multisite thing. Turns out I also get to attend an meeting of the executive team to do some strategic planning, meet with some staff and attend a creative team meeting. I'm pretty excited.

People have asked me if I'm nervous or if I fear anything about meeting him. Honestly, what I fear most is being perceived as a stalker. I mean, really -- I'm flying to California JUST to have lunch with this guy.

I actually think I have a healthy perspective on "celebrity." Plain truth -- in many ways John has been my pastor and mentor through his writing. (Pastors don't get a lot of pastors as we are usually pretty busy on Sundays.) I respect him a great deal. But although I deeply respect John, I really am not all that star struck.

Although, just for fun, my wife and I began a list of "Top 10 ways to make this lunch really, really, uncomfortable for John."

# 10. Have a shirt made with his head on it (older Central folks, think of the Aaron S. floating head shirt). Have something printed on the back like, "I [heart] John Ortberg."

#9. Bring a stack of his books (yes, I own all of them-- and a couple I have multiple copies) along with a pen to the lunch. Ask him to sign them all, "To my best friend Paul. I will never forget this wonderful day together. Let's do lunch again! Love, your friend, John."

#8. Bring a photographer along and stage random "grip and grin" photo ops. At various points throughout the afternoon, just throw my arm around him and smile. [FLASH!]

#7. Pull a picture out of my wallet and say, "Here's a favorite one I have of you and your family on that secluded beach. I had to use a really big zoom lens but eventually I worked my way closer."

I have a couple of more, but the plane is here. Time to fly.

But feel free to add to these. I would love your ideas. BTW, his wife nancy is joining us, so I also thought about asking for really explicit marital advice....

dizzy

I've been struggling lately with dizziness. I had a bunch of test done and the best they can determine is that my blood pressure is high pretty consistently.

I've never been good at self care. Truth is, I've always been overweight. My tendency is to always put other people's needs before mine. I have a somewhat stressful job and I stress eat. There have been seasons of my life where I have exercised pretty regularly, but not lately. Really, this past year or so has been exceptionally bad in terms of self care and this has been especially true lately, on multiple levels.

So my doctor put me on blood pressure medication while I try to bring it down naturally. Honestly, I feel like a failure. I feel really, really old. Defeated. For some reason this doesn't feel motivating to me ("Wow, now I really need to make those changes!"), but more of a nail in the coffin. It has had a profoundly negative effect on my self perception. So yeah.

All of this could be a really long blog post. One that is probably a lot more personal than I want to make it, so that is pretty much it for now.

Except to say that I found the #1 side effect of the blood pressure meds very humorous:

Dizziness.

Hearing God

"I truly believe that the onslaught of social media, constant barrage of text messages, unlimited interruptions by email and the perpetual buzzing of a cell phone…has created such a wall of sound in our lives…that we can no longer can hear from God. In the 21st Century the quest for food is no longer the driving force that pulls us from our quest for God. What pulls us from our quest for God is the quest for…connectivity. We get distracted from connecting with God to connect with our families through texting, our friends through Facebook and the world through Twitter. We allow our churches to pay for retreats, conferences and events for us to connect with God…yet commit the sin of poor stewardship by spending the entire time with our thumbs flailing on the smartphone keyboard. We stand in the pulpit and declare that God has given us a vision and word…yet we never actually hear it because we fail to shut off the computer, smartphone, e-reader or electronic tablet. We lay awake in fear at night worrying if we are leading our congregations down the wrong road…but not in enough fear to block out the beeps, buzzes, ring tones and pop-up screens."

Chris Elrod

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.
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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.

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.
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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 #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.
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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.

Love Rubs Feet

This post was written back on May 5th. I often write posts and never post them. Honestly, for me, much of blogging is personal journaling. But I was thinking about this again this week, looked up the post, and decided to go public with it.

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This weekend I'm teaching on love. It's a sermon I have done before... actually several times. I heard another pastor at a conference give this basic outline back in 1991 and said to myself that day that I wanted to preach that outline every year of my ministry. Well, that hasn't happened. But I have given this outline maybe 5 or 6 times between the two churches I have served. Of course, some of the content changes... I would get bored with it otherwise... but the simple message is a good one:

Love boldly.

I have been thinking about love a lot lately. And much of it is born out of pain. I have been watching my parents struggle through dad's decline. I have another man I deeply respect who is in a battle with leukemia and doesn't seem to be winning. My friend and co-partner in ministry has a mom who is fighting her own health issues. In the midst of all of this darkness... there is this light. It's the love I see breaking through in these dark places.

Today I sat with this man named Paul. He is a pastor of sorts. And he is one of my heros. I had heard of him before I came to Athens and was really excited to meet him. In the past couple of years he, his wife and son became a part of the church I pastor. And at first, honestly, it was kind of wierd to have this guy who I kind of looked up to, be a part of my congregation. But in these years I have gotten to know him, his wife and son and I have seen a spiritual maturity that just blows me away. (Maybe I will write more about this another time).

But for now I just wanted to say: true love is really hard.

It rubs feet.

It changes bandages. It cleans up messes. It calls out the best in people. It forgets the worst in people.

So often our culture thinks of love as naked bodies writhing in pleasure. We even call it, "Making love."

That's stupid.

I'm not even sure "love" happens in the first years of marriage.

Love is when it becomes difficult. Sacrificial.

Love is when you talk to that friend and you don't want to talk.

It's when you give and don't want to give.

When you call and don't want to call.

Love rubs feet.

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Paul Martin
June 28, 1946 - August 14, 2009

The "cutting room floor"

"And by the way, lest you think that Jesus taught some wishy-washy, "can't we all just get along" kind-of-message, let me just say it this way: Nobody ever crucified Big Bird."

Paul Risler

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I wrote that line for my sermon this weekend. For some reason, I just like it. But this afternoon, I cut it out of my message (as well as the whole larger section of which it was a part).

I hated to see it go.

People often ask me what's the hardest part of preparing a sermon. I think most people expect me to say that it's the research, or coming up with illustrations, or getting started, or ending the message...

For me it has always been the edit.

Almost without exception, every message I write (a finished message is approximately 20 half-sheets of paper long) is whittled down from about 40 pages. Usually the Tuesday before I preach a message, I have this 2-hour-long message that I run through. I take it on the treadmill, on the elliptical... I carry a copy of it in my coat pocket. I have even been known to read the entire thing into a voice recorder and play it in my car on long trips. I work on it whenever I have an extra couple of minutes.

And with each section, each paragraph, each line, I try to ask myself, does this REALLY support the main point? Does this REALLY make people wrestle with this text? Does this REALLY shed any extra light on anything?

Or do I just like it?

See, here's the thing: I think some of my best stuff ends up on the cutting room floor.

It's stuff I WANT to say, but I have to discipline myself not to say it.

Sometimes it's stuff I have poured hours into finding, wrestled with theologically and personally, mulled over anywhere from 6 weeks to a year or more. It stuff that I think is funny, or clever, or illuminating...

And it never gets said.

At least in that message. At least for now. Maybe there will be a time. Maybe there will be a season and I will give it a shot. But not now. Even if I WANT to say it.

Discipline.

Focus.

Wait.

It's good... but is it the best thing I can say?

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I think some of the best stuff in life ends up on the cutting room floor.

Or at least it should.

Each of us has so much to do and so many options. And sometimes, the hardest part in life is the edit. It is asking ourselves, "Is this REALLY going to add to my life? Is this the right thing for my life right now? Maybe it will fit better later, but given my priorities and what God is calling me to do... is this really what I should do? Is this really something to add to my schedule? Do I really need to take this on?"

Discipline.

Focus.

Wait.

It's good... but is it the best way I can live?

I think some of the best stuff in life ends up on the cutting room floor.

An Open Letter to my High School Class

Thanks to Facebook, I've re-connected with some former High School classmates -- I guess that is part of what we "old people" do on Facebook.

It's been good. It's fun to see my HS class all grown up. It is strange to see us with kids, jobs, and responsibilities. I've enjoyed following the threads of sharing memories. Catching up.

As I type these words, I realize that some of my former classmates may actually read this blog (although I'm betting most of you have more to do with your time than stalk my blog!). I hope this post is not misunderstood. In fact, I hope my words ring true to you as well. I would love to hear your thoughts, either here or in my inbox.

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Dear Former Classmates of Toronto High School

Recently, I got out my HS yearbook (yeah, I was trying to figure out a friend request). It was the first time I had looked at that book, or for that matter, even deeply thought about high school in years.

And as I looked at the pictures, matching names with faces, I realized something: At the time, so many of your opinions meant so much to me (I guess that is the way high school is for a lot of people). Today, I don't remember many of your names. Some I couldn't remember at all.

I realized that I had forgotten who the HS quarterback was, and I couldn't name more than two cheerleaders. I'd forgotten who was voted class president or prom King or Queen. (I did remember Gretchen was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" but only because she was my first girlfriend and my first kiss. Come on, I was in 5th grade, I think... so I'm sure she will own up to it.) But I had forgotten who was voted "Most Popular" or "Prettiest Hair," etc.

I don't say that to be mean. In fact, I'm kind of embarrassed by it. But it WAS a realization that the particular part of my life called "high school" was actually a very small part in the overall picture, and a fairly insignificant part.

I smiled when I looked up the section of the yearbook where we voted for "Prettiest Smile," "Funniest," "Most Talented," etc. I smiled because, at the time, those things actually meant something to me. I looked at the pictures of the guys who were so popular. I looked at pictures of the girls I had huge crushes on... I remember feeling like I was on the outside most of the time.

But here's the point: In those days my classmates' acceptance of me mattered. My day would rise and fall based on their opinion of me. Opinions based, not on any substantive character issues, but on who was "in" who was "out."

That is so sad.

And now, with age and perspective... I really regret the way I saw myself and others in high school.

So I'm writing this letter to my entire class to apologize.

I'm sorry for those of you I may have excluded. I'm sorry I made you feel like others made me feel.

I'm sorry for those of you I judged, or put into a box, or stuck a label on: "stuck up," "jock," "nerd" -- whatever. We label people to control them. To categorize or even dehumanize them.

I'm sorry for the years I lost because I cared more about avoiding you, or impressing you -- rather than caring for you or impacting you.

I'm sorry I was so worried about you noticing me, that I didn't really notice you.

I suspect many of us felt "on the outside" in HS.

I suspect many of us wore masks.

How stupid we were.

If I could do it again, I would do it differently.

So I commit to trying to live that way now.

I keep finding these lists of accountability questions. I find them convicting and fascinating. First, it's not the questions are asked... in fact... I have several relationships where these kinds of questions are asked. It's the intentionality and the regularity by which they are asked.

Curious to know your thoughts.

Again, John Wesley's Small Group Questions:

1. Am I consciously or unconsciously creating the impression that I am better than I am? In other words, am I a hypocrite?
2. Am I honest in all my acts and words, or do I exaggerate?

3. Do I confidentially pass onto another what was told me in confidence?

4. Am I a slave to dress, friends, work , or habits?

5. Am I self-conscious, self-pitying, or self-justifying?

6. Did the Bible live in me today?

7. Do I give it time to speak to me everyday?

8. Am I enjoying prayer?

9. When did I last speak to someone about my faith?

10. Do I pray about the money I spend?

11. Do I get to bed on time and get up on time?

12. Do I disobey God in anything?

13. Do I insist upon doing something about which my conscience is uneasy?

14. Am I defeated in any part of my life?

15. Am I jealous, impure, critical, irritable, touchy or distrustful?

16. How do I spend my spare time?

17. Am I proud?

18. Do I thank God that I am not as other people, especially as the Pharisee who despised the publican?

19. Is there anyone whom I fear, dislike, disown, criticize, hold resentment toward or disregard? If so, what am I going to do about it?

20. Do I grumble and complain constantly?

21. Is Christ real to me?

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Wesley's Band Meeting Questions - these are the questions JW small groups would ask each other when they met each week.

1. What known sins have you committed since our last meeting?

2. What temptations have you met with?

3. How were you delivered?

4. What have you thought, said, or done, of which you doubt whether it be sin or not?

5. Have you nothing you desire to keep secret?

Reference: John Wesley's Class Meetings: a Model for Making Disciples, by D. Michael Henderson, Evangel Publishing House, 1997, pp. 118-9


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Chuck Swindoll's Pastoral Accountability Questions:

In his book, "The Body," author Chuck Colson lists the questions used by Chuck Swindoll (pastor, author and Chancellor of Dallas Theological Seminary).

1. Have you been with a person of the opposite sex anywhere this past week that might be seen as compromising?

2. Have any of your financial dealings lacked integrity?

3. Have you exposed yourself to any sexually explicit material?

4. Have you spent adequate time in Bible study and prayer?

5. Have you given priority time to your family?

6. Have you fulfilled the mandates of your calling?

7. Have you just lied to me?

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Neil Cole (executive director of Church Multiplication Associates)

1. What is the condition of your soul?

2. What sin do you need to confess?

3. What have you held back from God that you need to surrender?

4. Is there anything that has dampened your zeal for Christ?

5. Who have you talked with about Christ this week?

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HT: Journey ten questions:

1. Have you been a testimony this week to the greatness of Jesus Christ with both your words and actions?

2. Have you been exposed to sexually alluring material or allowed your mind to entertain inappropriate thoughts about someone who is not your spouse this week?

3. Have you lacked any integrity in your financial dealings this week, or coveted something that does not belong to you?

4. Have you been honoring, understanding and generous in your important relationships this past week?

5. Have you damaged another person by your words, either behind their back or face-to-face?

6. Have you given in to an addictive behavior this week? Explain.

7. Have you continued to remain angry toward another?

8. Have you secretly wished for another's misfortune so that you might excel?

9. Did you finish your reading this week and hear from the Lord? What are you going to do about it?

10. Have you been completely honest with me?

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."

Play, the sequel (4 years later)

Almost 4 years ago I wrote this post.

Go ahead, read it. I will wait.

[Waits]

You done? Good.

The other night my wife and I took our daughter sledding for the first time. It was really a spur of the moment thing. I was going to make a snowman with her in the front yard. Wrong kind of snow. So I pulled her around on a sled in our yard (which is basically flat). There is a small dip in the yard, and when she went down the dip (I thought she wouldn't like it -- she frightens easily) she giggled at the top of her lungs and yelled, "Wheee!"

The quest was on.

Now, I live in a town called, "The Plains."

No, really.

This is NOT a good name for a town when you want to go sledding. But we went over to a local church in the next neighborhood over that has a small hill behind it. Driving by, the hill hardly seems big enough to sled on. But walking up the hill with a four-year-old, the hill seemed mammoth. I had visions of her getting on the sled, going down the hill, crying and screaming -- never wanting to get on a sled ever again.

She had a ball. She loved it.

Her mom and her went first. And originally I was just going to let the two of them keep going. Two years ago I had surgery on my knee and I have been a little hesitant of anything physical ever since. I had visions of slipping or breaking the sled or whatever. Watching them sled was enough at the time. It was cold and I figured one or two trips down the hill and we would go home. But I decided, I wanted to go down with her.

I sat down on the sled and put her between my legs, shoved off and down the hill we went.

Wheeeee!

Okay, so I can't tell you how much fun I had. No really. I haven't been on a sled for over 25 years. All though my childhood, sledding was a huge part of my life. Every winter we would drag out our sleds and a bunch of us neighborhood kids would race down hills together.

And in that simple moment with my daughter, going down the hill on a sled, I was young again.

There were no financial pressures, no terrorist bombings, no Sudan, no friend with Leukemia, no leading an organization trying to make budget, no aches and pains. I was on this hill behind my house in Toronto, Ohio, racing down the street. School was canceled the next day and I didn't have a care in the world.

After multiple trips down the hill, the snow started to turn to rain, and my wife said, "We better go home." I could have gone a thousand times more. I didn't want that night to ever end.

"Just one more time, please!"

And now, like a child, I sit in anticipation of my next snow day when I can skip school and play once again.

rest

"Because we do not rest we lose our way... poisoned by the hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest. And for want of rest our lives are in danger."

Wayne Muller

Interesting compairson

Well, if you haven't figured it out by now, I like politics. Especially the politics of a presidential election. I love the exchange of ideas, I love debate... and I love to talk with thinking people who may have strong opinions but are willing to "play" and allow themselves to be pushed. I have not done this with my Central friends (I don't believe that is appropriate given my position), but this blog is as close as I will allow myself.

Let the truth be known, I'm actually giddy about tonight's debate. I think both candidates will come in fully armed and it will be a good debate. Let's see how that goes. It is predicted to be the most-watched vice-presidential debate in history. Some are saying the most-watched debate period.

I found this on a website (taken from "Leadership Magazine.") I thought it was very interesting an and insightful and I wanted to share it with my blog friends. You are welcome to share your thoughts or just keep to yourself.

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"You can listen to every stump speech and read every position paper, but nothing compares to evaluating presidential candidates side-by-side during a debate. Their contrasting styles and views emerge in ways you hadn't noticed during the long primary season. The candidates practice their lines and prepare their strategies, but the format allows for precious moments of spontaneity and even humor. The best candidates deftly address issues in ways that lodge them in the public consciousness.

Perhaps the best example of this is President Reagan, who in 1984 famously said, "I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit for political purposes my opponent's youth and inexperience." His 56-year-old opponent, Walter Mondale, could only look on in laughter.

The first debate between Senators John McCain and Barack Obama provided no such memorable moments. But it did highlight important distinctions between the Republican and Democratic candidates. Namely, McCain and Obama represent key differences between modern and postmodern cultures. Analyzing their debate through this lens reveals similarities to the church's own debates about how to respond to shifting cultures.

Obama spoke with empathy about the personal effects of the current financial crisis on Main Street America. He advocated greater oversight for Wall Street. McCain, too, said he wants oversight, but he emphasized different reasons for the crisis. He spoke of individual greed and said the government needs to hold the failed executives accountable. As the debate progressed, McCain spoke passionately about members of Congress who perpetuate the "evils of this earmarking and pork-barrel spending." McCain underscored personal morals where Obama accentuated communal values.

Obama consistently drew attention to points of agreement with McCain. He credited McCain for opposing President Bush on torture, for example. By contrast, McCain chided Obama for not understanding the issues and for displaying naïveté. He perpetuated the Right vs. Left dichotomy by describing Obama as the most liberal member of the Senate. While Obama sought to build consensus, McCain pointed out their differences.

The debate's most contentious moments came when Obama reiterated his intent to "meet with anybody at a time and place of my choosing, if I think it's going to keep America safe." Despite taking a political beating for this view from Sen. Hillary Clinton, Obama willingly contrasted himself with McCain:

But we are also going to have to, I believe, engage in tough, direct diplomacy with Iran, and this is a major difference I have with Senator McCain. This notion--by not talking to people we are punishing them--has not worked. It has not worked in Iran, it has not worked in North Korea. In each instance, our efforts of isolation have actually accelerated their efforts to get nuclear weapons. That will change when I'm president of the United States.
"So let me get this right," McCain responded. "We sit down with Ahmadinejad, and he says, 'We're going to wipe Israel off the face of the Earth,' and we say, 'No, you're not'? Oh, please."

McCain is a man of action and frank talk. Obama sees intrinsic value in engagement, which may even produce unexpected tangible consensus. You could plug in certain pastors and see the same differences.

Nationalism is a key reality of the modern world. But postmodernism prioritizes the global community. McCain hammered Obama for advocating precipitous withdrawal from Iraq, which McCain said would result in a host of horrendous consequences for America and the Middle East. He promised to seek American "victory and honor." Obama was more concerned about America's global reputation. Near the end of the debate, he shared a story about his Kenyan father writing letters so he could attend an American college. At the time, Obama said, America offered hope that hard work could pay off. "The ideals and the values of the United States inspired the entire world," Obama said. "I don't think any of us can say that our standing in the world now, the way children around the world look at the United States, is the same."

In their exchanges, Obama called McCain by his first name, drawing attention to his personality. McCain never reciprocated, indicating respect for Obama's office but not necessarily for Obama himself. This difference highlighted Obama's preference to question McCain's judgment and prudence as McCain drew attention to his own experience and record. McCain even mocked intuition and President Bush when explaining his views on Russia.

"I looked into Mr. Putin's eyes, and I saw three letters, a 'K,' a 'G,' and a 'B,'" McCain said. "And their aggression in Georgia is not acceptable behavior."

Not everything in the debate can be framed as the difference between a modern and postmodern worldview. But like our church debates, a little awareness about perspective goes a long way toward understanding. The November election's results may help church leaders gauge the mood of their own constituencies. A tougher challenge is knowing when and how to confront those cultural assumptions for our own good and for the sake of the gospel."

More is never enough

So I write this post with a little fear of potential comments. I don't want to take this into a discussion of the evils of the "institutional church" or "church growth." So please don't go there if you decide to comment. Fair?

So this weekend Central had a total of just over 450 people at our worship gatherings. A couple of things about this:

1. It is a record attendance for us. (It's about 50 over our previous high attendance which was on a special event Sunday years ago). But this is a lot of people for Central.

2. I am really not a numbers guy (other than the obvious truth that many anti-church-growth-people just can't escape --that numbers are people and people matter to God.) But I really don't put all my identity and value in "nickels and noses." You'll just have to trust me that I've worked this out with God and I'm pretty clear on this. I'm not into numbers for numbers' sake.

3. There was an excitement that was palatable in the conversation between the services. New families and people who just said to me, "Man, we hear that God is doing something here and we wanted to check it out." Which I found to be a strange comment: I agree... but I have always thought that the case. I LOVE this congregation. I'm the luckiest guy in the world. But it seems that several other people are picking up on this as well.

So here is the thing. Honesty time.

As I was driving home from our gatherings, I knew had a staff meeting in the evening, so I called my administrator and asked for the attendance numbers. She added them up and told me, "452."

My first thought: "Wow, that is really great. That is a new high attendance for us. That's exciting."

HONESTLY, my immediate second thought: "Man, I wonder if we could break 500?"

Now, let me put this out there: I think it's okay for a congregation to grow. I think it's even okay for a pastor to WANT a congregation to grow (for the right reasons). I will even go out on the edge and say that I think setting numerical goals can be okay (not in that you are trying to reach them, but in setting them you begin to think about what is beyond yourself.)

But what bothered me about this incident was that I was not satisfied.

More was not enough.

And I know my personality type. It will never be enough.

There is an addiction that comes with "success." I'm so thankful for what God is doing at Central. And not just the numerical growth. I love the stories of life-change. I love the community that is being formed. I just love being a part of this congregation.

But I never want to be at this place in my life where God is working and I can't enjoy it because I'm thinking of the next thing. And this is how I'm wired. And honestly, sometimes it just bugs me.

This was a vulnerable post for me to write. Be kind. :)

No Fruit?

This was a day of a lot of effort expended and yet little work accomplished. The week in and week out task of preaching means that you give birth on Sunday only to find you are pregnant again on Monday. "Labor" is a common analogy used by those of us who preach (yes, even the women). It was one of those days when I sit in front of a screen and type a lot of words but never really get anywhere. It was really, really frustrating. I hate when I'm not productive.

And yet...

Today, I also worked with some good friends at a food pantry. A very pleasant surprise, as I wasn't expecting any of them to come and they are some of the people I enjoy hanging out with the most. (4x4=16 peaches).

I talked with a fellow pastor about a dream I have for ministry and plan to call him again in about 25 minutes to ask him more. He is doing what I want to do. I am betting I can learn a lot from him.

I picked up my daughter from pre-school. Her eyes lit up and she ran to me yelling at the top of her lungs, "Daddy!!!!!"

I pushed her little body on the swing for what seemed like forever but went by in seconds as I realized that the day will come when she won't want me to push her. But I was aware of every push. The feel of my hand on her body. The look of the wind blowing her hair. Her 4-year-old smile and laugh. The rhythm of her shadow playing on the grass.

I made her dinner.

I played with Play-Doh.

I tucked her in and read her a story.

We prayed and talked about God.

She asked me to snuggle her and she fell asleep in my arms. Her last words were, "I love you daddy."

All in all... a pretty productive day.

I am blessed.

Thorn

"To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

2 Cor. 12:7-10

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I grew up as a magician, doing magic shows before very large crowds from a pretty young age. I loved being in front of people. I loved to "perform." I loved figuring out the timing of making people laugh. My dad and I would critique each show, often as we drove to the next one. In the car, we would methodically walk through the show and hone each routine from the opening words to the closing ones. We would add jokes (even "ad libs" that weren't ad lib). We would craft the "patter" of each effect.

Occasionally we would be doing a show and I would get nervous. My dad's advice? "Fake it until you make it." He really was of the school, "Don't tell them you are nervous and they will never know. But if you tell them, it will make you seem less professional and you will be all the more nervous."

Now, it's funny; I don't remember having "stage fright" all that much growing up. I spoke in front of hundreds of people at a time, and never really gave it much thought.

That was then.

When I did magic shows.

And it worked.

Now, to be clear, I think much of my life has been to prepare me for what I do now. I've been speaking in public as a magician since the age of 5. I spent hours upon hours a week learning how to engage an audience and craft a routine. I did four years of drama while in High School, acting in plays and musicals. I did several years on the debate team. In college I was a speech communication major. There is no doubt that I have been trained as a speaker (often I think I should be MUCH better at this than I am!).

Then I became a pastor.

And something happened.

While I was in seminary, I was a youth pastor in this small church. This church hired me... and to say I was "green" would be an incredible understatement. I had this little youth group. And I did the best I could do at being their pastor -- knowing absolutely nothing about being a youth pastor.

I remember I did this bible study. It was on forgiveness. And as I was speaking, I felt this strange sense that something "bigger than me" was going on. I have no other words than that -- but the strange mix of confidence and heaviness was overwhelming.

What surprised me is that I would teach on something... and dang it... the students would go and do it. They would forgive people who hurt them. They would reach out to people they wouldn't normally have reached out to. They would share their faith with their friends.

It was weird.

Sometimes their parents would call me and ask me what happened to their child.

I will never forget the first time I spoke before a church. (Sermon title: "If I am a part of the body of Christ, than why do I feel like a toe?") It was this very odd mix of incredible excitement -- and nothing short of terror. I wasn't expecting that.

So...

I've been doing this "preaching" thing for 17 years now. And the excitement... and the terror... have never gone away. I get sick before almost every time I speak. I'm a mess the day before. Moments before I walk on the platform, most of the time it would not take much to talk me out of it. I can't describe it. But I don't like it.

And yet, at the same time, while I'm teaching, I feel most alive.

There is an old movie called, "Chariots of Fire." In it, Eric Liddell (who is a runner), says something like, "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast, and when I run, I feel God's pleasure."

When I teach, I feel God's pleasure.

Yet.

I'm writing this because after taking 4 weeks off from preaching, I started again this past Sunday. I felt like I hit a brick wall. I felt like I got ran over by a train. I took a 4-hour-nap afterward and, really, would have slept through most of Monday and most of today if I didn't have a job to do. Fortunately, it usually gets easier in a few weeks. My body gets back into a groove.

But until then...I don't like it.

I'm not complaining. I'm so thankful to God that He distributes spiritual gifts to his Church. And I'm actually pretty thankful that I have a fairly good sense of my gifts. But gifts come at a cost. The giver of the gifts paid a price... and there is a "price" that is paid whenever we are broken open and poured out. There really is a difference between a gift and a talent. And maybe this is part of the difference.

So, do others of you struggle with this? In what areas? And if not.. I wonder why not?

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

God's power made perfect in weakness.

Power made perfect in weakness.

Power... perfect... weak.

Power. Weak.

God