One of the most Godly men that I have met in the past several years is Ryan Tucker. Ryan Tucker is planting a church in Billings, MT. Ryan has a heart for God and seeks to embody the "Good News" of Jesus Christ in every aspect of his life. He is creative in seeking ways to bring the Good News of Christ to people who may need to hear that news. Billings has the most churches of any town in Montana, but 85% of the population of Billings does not attend one of the churches in the area. Ryan has no desire, whatsoever, to take members of the churches in Billings. They are having their needs met in those places. What he wants to do is develop an outreach to those in Billings that will never darken the doors of those established churches.
As Ryan has been seeking to connect with others, he began spending time at a local microbrewery and talking to folks there. The owner of the microbrewery is not a church attender, but has been kind to Ryan. After weeks of spending time there, Ryan felt led to ask the owner about the possibility of holding services in the microbrewery. Ryan prepared a proposal for the owner to read and asked the owner if he could email "something" to him. The owner agreed and then said, "Ryan, you've been wanting to start a church here, right? Would it be just too weird to have services here?" It was amazing that this man who does not have a church home anywhere, offered to have worship services held in his "bar." If this is not in line with the teaching and practice of Jesus, I have no idea what is!
My father-in-law, Bill, is currently in a nursing home in Billings. (See my previous post.) He was an early member of one of the first Baptist Churches in Billings and literally helped build the church from the ground up. However, since Bill entered the nursing home, NOT ONE person from that church has been to visit him. However, Ryan has been to visit him every single week since he learned of my wife's family.
Ryan's church is currently struggling with support of its core members and part of their difficulty is the hate mail that they have been receiving demanding they stop what they are doing and repent of their sins. I don't know if these letters are coming from members of the other churches in town or someone else, but I cannot imagine too much that would be further from the teachings and wishes of Jesus.
I John 4:7-8, & 11-12 says, 7Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. 8The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 12No one has seen God at any time; if we love one another, God abides in us, and His love is perfected in us.
I cannot believe that God is honored or glorified in the hatred of one person for another. Ryan Tucker has nothing from which to "repent" in what he has done to start this church. I don't believe that he is perfect, but there is a depth and maturity in his ministry that does not deserve the attacks - especially attacks by other professed believers.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Spring Break 2009: Ode to Bill
I spent my daughters’ spring break last week visiting my in-laws in Montana. I always approach these trips with a bit of ambivalence. Montana is a beautiful place and there are some fun things to there. However, I know that I will also be in the company of those like my mother-in-law, Thelma, that still blame me for Lynda moving to Nashville after college. The trip this year was complicated a bit more by the fact that my father-in-law, Bill, is in a nursing home. Each day we spent part of the day at the nursing home visiting with him. (This was probably not the most exciting Spring Break my teenaged daughters could imagine. Not that they said anything negative about it.)
However, I did come away with some reflections from my time with my in-laws that are worth noting. My wife’s family is worried and annoyed with their mother because of the pressure she puts on herself to monitor her husband’s care every day. The nursing home staff, I’m sure, loves her hyper-vigilance of all that they do. (Granted there are some things that need some attention in his care.) My mother-in-law gives EVERY afternoon to caring for and sitting with her husband in the nursing home. Her life IS caring for her husband. I have my own concerns for her well-being in this, but I did note the dedication she has in caring for and being with her husband. I also hear her say that she does these things because of the years she has spent with him, feeling that he put her interests first and pampered her. While I would argue for a bit more balance in the mix, it is moving, in some ways, to see that level of dedication to one another after 59 years of marriage.
The saddest part of the trip for me is seeing Bill in the nursing home. Bill suffers from a form of dementia, but not in such a way that he has lost touch with reality. He seems to come and go in his recognition of those around him. He also seems to have suffered some “mini” strokes or such and at this point is not able to walk, feed himself, or speak well. When he is awake (which is not often) he seems to observe the activity around him, but cannot or does not comment on it. My experience was that often he was like a person trapped in his own body; aware of what is going on around him, but not able to interact verbally or physically. What makes this profoundly sad is the level of activity and creativity that Bill had just a few years ago when he retired with big plans for his retirement years.
Bill has been a man of many gifts. While I have not always (if ever) agreed with his political or theological views, I could not deny the quality of his character or his gifted abilities. Bill has been a man who lived out his beliefs. This, to me, is the mark of a man with integrity. Even if I did not agree with him, I had to respect the depth of his integrity. Bill obviously cared for his wife. Though they often seemed to argue and complain about one another, it became clear over time that they each understood this as a mark of the care that each had for the other. Thelma describes several acts of kindness and little acts of service that demonstrated for her the depth of Bill’s love.
Bill was also a gifted craftsman, carpenter, and gardener. As a woodworker, Bill was able to craft beautiful pieces of furniture and other items. We have a cradle at our house made by Bill for our daughters. We have shelves, quilt racks, bowls and trivets all carefully constructed from carefully chosen beautiful wood. Bill could build anything from cabinets to complete room additions. He added a room to their house and completely remodeled their kitchen. Each thing he did demonstrated his strong attention to detail. He was as gifted outside as in. He could pour concrete, build flower beds, or anything else outside you could imagine. As when any artist develops his or her gifts to such a level, Bill’s abilities inspired a sense of awe that was a shadow of the creativity of God. The beauty of this was the quiet humility with which Bill used his gifts for others. Bill built equipment and props for use with children with special needs in the schools. He used his gifts to literally build a church building (with some help, of course). He was generous and caring in the use of his talents and abilities.
One cannot speak of Bill, however, without mentioning his gardens. From the carefully manicured flower beds and custom-made walkways to the raised vegetable gardens, Bill was as gifted in the garden as he was in his workshop. A picture of Bill with his prize of a 3lb tomato currently hangs outside his room at the nursing home as a testament to his ability. Flowers, fruits, and vegetables all grew beautifully under Bill’s careful attention. Without ever being among the “tree-hugging” crowd, Bill insisted on organic gardening. He could kill all kinds of blight and insects with natural concoctions that he whipped up in the house. He had natural ways of fertilizing and caring for his plants and they always responded by producing for him. Again, the care of these plants was representative of God’s care and the beauty of Bill’s gardens a reflection of the beauty of God’s larger creation.
As much as Bill could produce in the garden, Thelma could process, can, and freeze anything. The family could enjoy the fruits of Bill’s gardens all year round. Thelma carefully attended to the inside of the house as meticulously as Bill tended to the outside. In this way, they reflect the stereotypes of their generation, but don’t make the mistake of labeling them. My wife’s strong convictions of feminine strength and challenging meaningless authoritarian traditions are rooted in the strength of her mother. Thelma is a powerful woman who does not seem to comprehend the power that she wields.
Though my in-laws are sometimes frustrating to me, I have to honor the strength, integrity, and commitment that they embody in their lives and in their marriage.
However, I did come away with some reflections from my time with my in-laws that are worth noting. My wife’s family is worried and annoyed with their mother because of the pressure she puts on herself to monitor her husband’s care every day. The nursing home staff, I’m sure, loves her hyper-vigilance of all that they do. (Granted there are some things that need some attention in his care.) My mother-in-law gives EVERY afternoon to caring for and sitting with her husband in the nursing home. Her life IS caring for her husband. I have my own concerns for her well-being in this, but I did note the dedication she has in caring for and being with her husband. I also hear her say that she does these things because of the years she has spent with him, feeling that he put her interests first and pampered her. While I would argue for a bit more balance in the mix, it is moving, in some ways, to see that level of dedication to one another after 59 years of marriage.
The saddest part of the trip for me is seeing Bill in the nursing home. Bill suffers from a form of dementia, but not in such a way that he has lost touch with reality. He seems to come and go in his recognition of those around him. He also seems to have suffered some “mini” strokes or such and at this point is not able to walk, feed himself, or speak well. When he is awake (which is not often) he seems to observe the activity around him, but cannot or does not comment on it. My experience was that often he was like a person trapped in his own body; aware of what is going on around him, but not able to interact verbally or physically. What makes this profoundly sad is the level of activity and creativity that Bill had just a few years ago when he retired with big plans for his retirement years.
Bill has been a man of many gifts. While I have not always (if ever) agreed with his political or theological views, I could not deny the quality of his character or his gifted abilities. Bill has been a man who lived out his beliefs. This, to me, is the mark of a man with integrity. Even if I did not agree with him, I had to respect the depth of his integrity. Bill obviously cared for his wife. Though they often seemed to argue and complain about one another, it became clear over time that they each understood this as a mark of the care that each had for the other. Thelma describes several acts of kindness and little acts of service that demonstrated for her the depth of Bill’s love.
Bill was also a gifted craftsman, carpenter, and gardener. As a woodworker, Bill was able to craft beautiful pieces of furniture and other items. We have a cradle at our house made by Bill for our daughters. We have shelves, quilt racks, bowls and trivets all carefully constructed from carefully chosen beautiful wood. Bill could build anything from cabinets to complete room additions. He added a room to their house and completely remodeled their kitchen. Each thing he did demonstrated his strong attention to detail. He was as gifted outside as in. He could pour concrete, build flower beds, or anything else outside you could imagine. As when any artist develops his or her gifts to such a level, Bill’s abilities inspired a sense of awe that was a shadow of the creativity of God. The beauty of this was the quiet humility with which Bill used his gifts for others. Bill built equipment and props for use with children with special needs in the schools. He used his gifts to literally build a church building (with some help, of course). He was generous and caring in the use of his talents and abilities.
One cannot speak of Bill, however, without mentioning his gardens. From the carefully manicured flower beds and custom-made walkways to the raised vegetable gardens, Bill was as gifted in the garden as he was in his workshop. A picture of Bill with his prize of a 3lb tomato currently hangs outside his room at the nursing home as a testament to his ability. Flowers, fruits, and vegetables all grew beautifully under Bill’s careful attention. Without ever being among the “tree-hugging” crowd, Bill insisted on organic gardening. He could kill all kinds of blight and insects with natural concoctions that he whipped up in the house. He had natural ways of fertilizing and caring for his plants and they always responded by producing for him. Again, the care of these plants was representative of God’s care and the beauty of Bill’s gardens a reflection of the beauty of God’s larger creation.
As much as Bill could produce in the garden, Thelma could process, can, and freeze anything. The family could enjoy the fruits of Bill’s gardens all year round. Thelma carefully attended to the inside of the house as meticulously as Bill tended to the outside. In this way, they reflect the stereotypes of their generation, but don’t make the mistake of labeling them. My wife’s strong convictions of feminine strength and challenging meaningless authoritarian traditions are rooted in the strength of her mother. Thelma is a powerful woman who does not seem to comprehend the power that she wields.
Though my in-laws are sometimes frustrating to me, I have to honor the strength, integrity, and commitment that they embody in their lives and in their marriage.
Monday, January 5, 2009
A Stranger In A Strange Land
In 1987 I satisfied my one remaining foreign language requirement in college by studying Spanish in Spain. I was to stay with a Spanish family and would study with others at a language institute in Madrid. After a two-week tour of Spain, we arrived in Madrid. My
roommate and I were given enough money for taxi fare and a piece of paper that had on it the address of the apartment where we would be living for the next several weeks. We got in the taxi and could only point to the address on the paper to indicate where we wanted to go. When we arrived, we walked up a few flights of stairs and knocked on the door of our host family. They were very friendly and invited us in. The only difficulty was that my roommate and I spoke very little Spanish and our host family spoke even less English. We were going to have to learn the language in order to get by.
Every day we walked from our apartment several blocks to the school where we studied. We entered class the first day only to learn that our instructor spoke NO English. This was going to be a bigger challenge than we imagined. Our classes were in Spanish, we had textbooks in Spanish, and we lived with families that only spoke Spanish. Every time we went to eat or to
purchase anything, we encountered the same difficulty of not being sure if we were communicating well enough to get what we needed or wanted, but we also had a concern about the exchange rate of every transaction to make sure we knew how much we were paying. After struggling day after day to get around the city, my roommate and I would sit in our room in the evening and talk about our day – in English. Those moments were so nice. I did not have to work to find the right words or worry about being misunderstood. Communicating was easy and it just flowed. It was an odd oasis that would usually not last very long because our “mother” would knock on the door and in a stern voice say, “No ingles,Español olamente” (No English, Spanish only).
By the time I left Spain, I could speak enough Spanish to get around and carry on some rudimentary conversations. Much of the Spanish spoken around me was still lost on me and every conversation required effort on my part. I learned a lot about Spanish culture and appreciated a different pace of life, but I often felt lonely because I could not just connect wih someone who spoke my native language. Getting to speak my native language was a breath of fresh air in every day.
At PCCT, our new initiative to reach those in the Nashville area for whom Spanish is their primary language is an attempt to provide that breath of fresh air. Eduardo Lelli, our Spanish-speaking therapist, understands the challenges not only in language, but other challenges to adapting to a new culture. While not every Spanish-speaking client will come from the same culture or speak the same dialect of Spanish, Eduardo is providing a service that hopefully allows someone who must struggle with words and other communication to have a place to relax and breathe a bit while trying to work on the very human challenges of emotional, relational, and spiritual health. It is myhope and prayer that PCCT is always a place like that for all who seek our services.
My experiences in Spain and the experiences of our clients at the Pastoral Couneling Centers is why I am bosting this in opposition to the "English Only" proposal in Nashville. Please vote against this proposal. Early voting is open now.
roommate and I were given enough money for taxi fare and a piece of paper that had on it the address of the apartment where we would be living for the next several weeks. We got in the taxi and could only point to the address on the paper to indicate where we wanted to go. When we arrived, we walked up a few flights of stairs and knocked on the door of our host family. They were very friendly and invited us in. The only difficulty was that my roommate and I spoke very little Spanish and our host family spoke even less English. We were going to have to learn the language in order to get by.
Every day we walked from our apartment several blocks to the school where we studied. We entered class the first day only to learn that our instructor spoke NO English. This was going to be a bigger challenge than we imagined. Our classes were in Spanish, we had textbooks in Spanish, and we lived with families that only spoke Spanish. Every time we went to eat or to
purchase anything, we encountered the same difficulty of not being sure if we were communicating well enough to get what we needed or wanted, but we also had a concern about the exchange rate of every transaction to make sure we knew how much we were paying. After struggling day after day to get around the city, my roommate and I would sit in our room in the evening and talk about our day – in English. Those moments were so nice. I did not have to work to find the right words or worry about being misunderstood. Communicating was easy and it just flowed. It was an odd oasis that would usually not last very long because our “mother” would knock on the door and in a stern voice say, “No ingles,Español olamente” (No English, Spanish only).
By the time I left Spain, I could speak enough Spanish to get around and carry on some rudimentary conversations. Much of the Spanish spoken around me was still lost on me and every conversation required effort on my part. I learned a lot about Spanish culture and appreciated a different pace of life, but I often felt lonely because I could not just connect wih someone who spoke my native language. Getting to speak my native language was a breath of fresh air in every day.
At PCCT, our new initiative to reach those in the Nashville area for whom Spanish is their primary language is an attempt to provide that breath of fresh air. Eduardo Lelli, our Spanish-speaking therapist, understands the challenges not only in language, but other challenges to adapting to a new culture. While not every Spanish-speaking client will come from the same culture or speak the same dialect of Spanish, Eduardo is providing a service that hopefully allows someone who must struggle with words and other communication to have a place to relax and breathe a bit while trying to work on the very human challenges of emotional, relational, and spiritual health. It is myhope and prayer that PCCT is always a place like that for all who seek our services.
My experiences in Spain and the experiences of our clients at the Pastoral Couneling Centers is why I am bosting this in opposition to the "English Only" proposal in Nashville. Please vote against this proposal. Early voting is open now.
Friday, October 24, 2008
The Secret Life of Bees
So, my daughter Jessie read the book and my wife wanted to see the movie. I generally try to avoid movies that I know right up front are going to make me cry, but I didn’t know anything about this movie. So, I agreed to see it. After the first two minutes, I knew I was not going to get out of this movie without some emotion. When it was all said and done, I have to say that my first thought was, “Sometimes I hate being a white man!” In a movie that deals well with racial tensions of the early sixties, southern white men are not generally portrayed well. However, there are a couple of moments in the movie where white men do challenge the predominate views of the day and time and cross the invisible line that kept blacks and whites separate. As I reflected on this aspect of the movie, I thought about the confederate flag I saw waving high by the side of the interstate today and I thought, “We haven’t come very far in forty years.” Of course evidence that things are better is everywhere, but the dream of racial equality and peaceful co-existence still has a way to be achieved.
In other reflections on this masterful film, one has to look at the way that each character deals with connection, vulnerability, emotional intimacy, pain, loss, and guilt. Each character carries within themselves a different experience – a different set of fears, joys, and hurts. Throughout the movie, each of the characters attempts to balance his or her own fears with care and connection with others. Some characters cannot do it, while others seem to be able to do it effortlessly. “There is no perfect love” is just one quote that is lived out perfectly in the movie. People laugh and cry together. They reach out to each other and hide from each other. They connect and withdraw. It is the nature of human attachment. We love as well as we can, but we love imperfectly.
If you don’t know the story and don’t want to know the story – Stop reading now. This story is of a 14 year-old girl named Lilly who accidentally shot her mother when she was 5, while her parents were fighting. At 14 she lives with her father and works in his peach stand on their peach farm. Her father is distant and harsh to Lilly. Lilly does not have the love of a mother and is rejected by her father. She has a friend in their black housekeeper, Rosaleen. When Rosaleen is arrested (after a disturbing scene and a gross miscarriage of justice) Lilly takes Rosaleen with her to run away. In series of coincidental (or providential) events, the two girls arrive at the home of the Boatwright sisters – a trio of sisters that have a family honey farm. The remainder of the movie is about the relationship that grows between the new arrivals on the farm and the relationship between the sisters. In the end dad makes one last return to retrieve Lilly, but what happens then – you will have see the movie to know. Suffice it to say, that love and acceptance are always healing and even when we lack the love we feel we should have from parents, we are not without the capability of being loved.
The religious references are vague and ambiguous and tend more towards goddess worship than Christianity, but the references to faith are not without merit. There are strong messages of the power of love, the art of care, the dance of intimate connection, and the power of relationship. There are themes of forgiveness, unconditional love, and the power of God in each of us that calls us and encourages us we seek to be all that we are created to be.
So, yeah, I cried. (Most of you know it is not a difficult job to accomplish that though.) It has its moments of deep sadness and overwhelming heaviness, but it accompanied by moments of laughter, love, and joy. Pretty much just like life.
In other reflections on this masterful film, one has to look at the way that each character deals with connection, vulnerability, emotional intimacy, pain, loss, and guilt. Each character carries within themselves a different experience – a different set of fears, joys, and hurts. Throughout the movie, each of the characters attempts to balance his or her own fears with care and connection with others. Some characters cannot do it, while others seem to be able to do it effortlessly. “There is no perfect love” is just one quote that is lived out perfectly in the movie. People laugh and cry together. They reach out to each other and hide from each other. They connect and withdraw. It is the nature of human attachment. We love as well as we can, but we love imperfectly.
If you don’t know the story and don’t want to know the story – Stop reading now. This story is of a 14 year-old girl named Lilly who accidentally shot her mother when she was 5, while her parents were fighting. At 14 she lives with her father and works in his peach stand on their peach farm. Her father is distant and harsh to Lilly. Lilly does not have the love of a mother and is rejected by her father. She has a friend in their black housekeeper, Rosaleen. When Rosaleen is arrested (after a disturbing scene and a gross miscarriage of justice) Lilly takes Rosaleen with her to run away. In series of coincidental (or providential) events, the two girls arrive at the home of the Boatwright sisters – a trio of sisters that have a family honey farm. The remainder of the movie is about the relationship that grows between the new arrivals on the farm and the relationship between the sisters. In the end dad makes one last return to retrieve Lilly, but what happens then – you will have see the movie to know. Suffice it to say, that love and acceptance are always healing and even when we lack the love we feel we should have from parents, we are not without the capability of being loved.
The religious references are vague and ambiguous and tend more towards goddess worship than Christianity, but the references to faith are not without merit. There are strong messages of the power of love, the art of care, the dance of intimate connection, and the power of relationship. There are themes of forgiveness, unconditional love, and the power of God in each of us that calls us and encourages us we seek to be all that we are created to be.
So, yeah, I cried. (Most of you know it is not a difficult job to accomplish that though.) It has its moments of deep sadness and overwhelming heaviness, but it accompanied by moments of laughter, love, and joy. Pretty much just like life.
Monday, August 4, 2008
REFLECTIONS ON UNCLE MORT'S
Some how Jean Godfrey is a cousin to my dad. It is one of those long stories of distant cousins that I don't remember, but she is a cousin. My wife says you can tell we're all related because the whole extended family has the same blue eyes. All I know is that growing up, whenever we went to visit my grandparents in Jasper, Alabama, we took a trip to Uncle Mort's. Mort is Jean's husband, so he wasn't my uncle, but they were family.
Jean and Mort opened a little store to sell their cured meats - and boy were they awsome! Then they opened a little restaurant to sell some prepared meals. Next thing you know they have a 150 seat restaurant that is serving breakfast all day and some of the best steaks and ribs you ever ate. Mort and Jean lived upstairs for a while and then they build a huge mansion back behind the restaurant. Mort had a collection of antique cars and it used to drive my brother crazy that he didn't keep them up. There was that surreal story about how Mort accidentily shot Jean in the foot one night in drunken rage, but that wasn't how they really were and so that story just evaporated over time.
Jean and Mort were hard-working people that literally lived the American dream. They came from being poor hog farmers to having a world famous restaurant! They did work hard for it though. Until their kids were old enough to keep the place for them, Jean and Mort worked almost 24 hours a day. When the kids did get older, Jean and Mort would often travel to various parts of the world. It was fun to hear their stories about Paris, Rome, Italy (or IT-ly as they would say it). I could only imagine what Europeans would think of these very rural and very country visitors, but what great stories they had.
As I said, we went to Mort's whenever we visited Jasper. I have been to Mort's at the time of Weddings and at times of funerals. I went their with my family and I went there with college friends. I took Lynda there to eat before we were married because I wanted her to know this place that had been so important to our family. Lynda came to love the place and the food as much as the rest of the family. We would often stop there when we could to buy a few pounds of meat to bring back to the rest of the family. I particularly loved the smoked sausage links, but my brother's favorite was the bacon. Their country ham was pretty awsome as well. I even have some pictures of my girls taken there from our visits to see my grandmother.
The last time I went there one of Mort and Jean's daughters told me that they were going to sell the place. I just couldn't imagine a world without Uncle Mort's. I was saddened to learn today that Uncle Mort's not only had been sold, but that it recenlty had burned as well. Uncle Mort's will go the way of so many things in my history now. It will simply be a memory of great times and sad times spent with immediate family, extended family, and friends for most of my 40 years. Some traditions are hard to grieve simply because of the memories of the people that go with them. I already missed Jasper because we don't get there much since Grandmother died, but it is said to know that those little pieces of my past are being lost.
Jean and Mort opened a little store to sell their cured meats - and boy were they awsome! Then they opened a little restaurant to sell some prepared meals. Next thing you know they have a 150 seat restaurant that is serving breakfast all day and some of the best steaks and ribs you ever ate. Mort and Jean lived upstairs for a while and then they build a huge mansion back behind the restaurant. Mort had a collection of antique cars and it used to drive my brother crazy that he didn't keep them up. There was that surreal story about how Mort accidentily shot Jean in the foot one night in drunken rage, but that wasn't how they really were and so that story just evaporated over time.
Jean and Mort were hard-working people that literally lived the American dream. They came from being poor hog farmers to having a world famous restaurant! They did work hard for it though. Until their kids were old enough to keep the place for them, Jean and Mort worked almost 24 hours a day. When the kids did get older, Jean and Mort would often travel to various parts of the world. It was fun to hear their stories about Paris, Rome, Italy (or IT-ly as they would say it). I could only imagine what Europeans would think of these very rural and very country visitors, but what great stories they had.
As I said, we went to Mort's whenever we visited Jasper. I have been to Mort's at the time of Weddings and at times of funerals. I went their with my family and I went there with college friends. I took Lynda there to eat before we were married because I wanted her to know this place that had been so important to our family. Lynda came to love the place and the food as much as the rest of the family. We would often stop there when we could to buy a few pounds of meat to bring back to the rest of the family. I particularly loved the smoked sausage links, but my brother's favorite was the bacon. Their country ham was pretty awsome as well. I even have some pictures of my girls taken there from our visits to see my grandmother.
The last time I went there one of Mort and Jean's daughters told me that they were going to sell the place. I just couldn't imagine a world without Uncle Mort's. I was saddened to learn today that Uncle Mort's not only had been sold, but that it recenlty had burned as well. Uncle Mort's will go the way of so many things in my history now. It will simply be a memory of great times and sad times spent with immediate family, extended family, and friends for most of my 40 years. Some traditions are hard to grieve simply because of the memories of the people that go with them. I already missed Jasper because we don't get there much since Grandmother died, but it is said to know that those little pieces of my past are being lost.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Parenting Is Sometimes Lonely Work
I tell my daughters on a regular basis that I feel blessed to be their dad. I usually take great delight in watching them live their lives. There are days that it is more difficult than others because of the struggles they sometimes have. I hate watching them struggle. Like most parents I want so much to provide a great life for them - financially, spiritually, and emotionally. I love my kids so much and want to be included in what they are doing. However, more and more they have friends that they spend time with that I don't really know that well. They spend their days in chat and email conversations that I don't know about. I invite them regularly to share with me or to do things with me, but more and more they have other things to do. Today I took the girls out to buy them school supplies. We ate dinner together. We went shopping. We didn't buy all they needed and spent close to $400. When we got home, one daughter left to go to a friend's house and one went to her room to make plans for tomorrow that will no likely involve me driving her somewhere without asking me what my day is like. No "thank yous". No acknowledgement of our time together. I feel like I keep giving and they just keep taking. Maybe this is parenting or maybe I am doing it wrong, but sometimes parenting just seems like a lonely job.
(I know, these are the rambling writings of a person on a little depression. It happens sometimes. It will pass.)
P.S. Four days later - Life is good and kids are great. I had a little melt down, but it passed.
(I know, these are the rambling writings of a person on a little depression. It happens sometimes. It will pass.)
P.S. Four days later - Life is good and kids are great. I had a little melt down, but it passed.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Long Days+Sleepless Nights=Free T-Shirt 2008
I just returned from a week at the Blue Horizon Camp in Panama City Beach, Florida with the youth from my church. This was my third year in a row to attend camp and every year it seems I do just a bit more in the preparation. This year I was responsible for the daily "seminars". The seminars are designed to be practical information sessions that students attend in the time opposite their daily Bible Study time. I was also involved in their special drama event on Wednesday night (a special time of focus on the camp theme designed to bring the point of the camp directly into self-reflective focus). I brought my professional self as well and both formally at decision time and informally at other times I was the "camp counselor". Other than that, I helped with other aspects of camp as needed and stayed in the cabin with the students who just finished their Freshman year in high school.Once again, I was blown away by several things about our students. The first was how incredibly well-behaved our students are. Even on the nights my cabin had difficulty settling down I was very aware of what I was not worried about in their conduct. I was also incredibly impressed this year with the openness and honesty in the sharing of the students. As is usual, the more students shared, the more open others became. The students reached out to one another, prayed for one another, and supported one another. There was a sense of bonding and caring within the group that was tangible. This was also demonstrated in the way that the students supported and responded to each other during the annual talent or variety show (some of those performing were less on the talent side and more on the creative/humorous skit side.)
As the week went on it became more and more apparent that the students were growing closer to one another and and God. As the Camp Pastor preached on forgiveness and keeping relationships right as a tangible way of expressing God's love, the kids seemed to be greatly affected. Some kids called home to apologize to their parents and begin working on relationship with them, while others sought out friends for hugs and apologies. I was moved to tears more than once watching these interactions.
This camp had a special significance for me having just had the reunion of my own youth group. (See separate post) During the week I had the chance to talk to Joe Morrell, the music minister at my church during my youth group days. I told him that I was trying to pass on the next generation what he had given me as a youth. I really have that sense as I have the chance to interact with the kids. At times I have to remember that I am a grown up and they are youth because I love to laugh with them, I learn from them, and I appreciate them as friends. However, I have many years of living on them and I try to share with them things I have learned that I hope will help them. I had a few youth tell me that they appreciated what I shared and it felt good to think that I might be able to help them as they continue to grow and develop. It is a blessing to feel used by God. I sometimes feel I am getting away with something because while camp is for the benefit of the kids, I come away feeling blessed every year. I am already ready to go again! I am so pleased my girls tolerate my being at camp with them. They are a blessing to me as well.
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