The Easter Race Controversy

You start out together jogging to your destination. Along the way one of you picks up the pace. The other matches. You’re side by side until the destination comes in site. Now the pace really picks up. Your fellow runner edges ahead. Not to be outdone, you respond in kind and push in front. No words are spoken but you both know: the race is on. It’s an all out sprint to the finish.

I suspect this happened with Peter and John that first Easter morning. Notice how John, referring to himself as “the other disciple”, describes the race:

So Peter and the other disciple started for the tomb. Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent over and looked in at the strips of linen lying there but did not go in. Then Simon Peter came along behind him and went straight into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the cloth that had been wrapped around Jesus’ head. The cloth was still lying in its place, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. John 20:3-8

These kinds of races usually end in controversy, as this one did. I imagine Peter and John returning to the disciples to tell the story of the empty tomb. As usual Peter speaks first, but John soon interrupts to correct him and let everyone know he in fact “reached the tomb first”. Before any details of the empty tomb can be shared, Peter fires back that no, in fact, he was the first inside the tomb. To which John claims they weren't running into the tomb but to the tomb, and he was the first to the tomb! At this point the rest of the disciples tell them both to shut up and tell about the tomb!

Sixty years later it's still a controversy of who won the race. As John records his recollections of the first Easter morning, of the most awesome news of resurrection, he can't keep from mentioning his version of the race, twice stating he “reached the tomb first” and that Peter “came along behind him.” 

Competition does that to you. It raises the stakes, gets you caring about something more than maybe you should. Obviously the importance of who won the race pales in comparison to the reality of the empty tomb. Sixty years later and we're still talking about who won a race?!?

Yet I kind of like that John is still making the argument long after the fact. I like that he cares. I like the drive that spurs him to run hard in pursuit of Jesus, to seek to be the first to see Him. I see in John's passion an invitation to wake every morning and run to Jesus and to seek Him first throughout the day. Of all the races we can run in this life, this one is most worthy of our best - giving our all to follow Him, pressing forward, seeking Him, collapsing at His feet, and finally being raised up as He was raised, victorious over sin and death.

let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus - Hebrews 12:1-2

Targeted

The day before Palm Sunday, the day before the crowds welcome Jesus with cheers, a more sinister note is struck … 

Then the leading priests decided to kill Lazarus, too … John 12:10

Why kill Lazarus?

for it was because of him that many of the people had deserted them and believed in Jesus. John 12:11

The people were flocking to Jesus, in part because of Lazarus, the man Jesus raised from the dead. Because of Lazarus, the religious leaders were losing - losing followers, attention, control, influence, power ...

But still it’s tough to fault Lazarus. I’m guessing if Jesus calls you back from the dead you don’t have much choice in the matter. Certainly seems like an overreaction to order his assassination. But he was a problem to those who carefully guarded their traditions and authority.

We’re left with a sobering reality: to follow Jesus is to become a target of religious leaders. It’s a promise. Get out your black highlighter and note:

Since they persecuted me, naturally they will persecute you. John 15:20

Yes, and everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution 2 Tim. 3:12

It’s easy to assume the persecution will come from people out there - people who view the world in very different ways from those who follow Jesus. It’s easy to assume that inside the church we all share a common commitment to follow Jesus. Inside the church we look out for one another. But inside the church we have religious leaders. Inside the church, assassinations take place all the time.

For the most part murder is fairly uncommon at church, but the killing of reputations, relationships, programs, and positions happens all the time. Gossip ignites the plot, parking lot conversations build the coalition, board members are aligned and soon the mob has their man in their sights. Soon the threat to their comfort and control will be eliminated.

I suspect Lazarus had a good laugh once he found out he was a target:

“What are you going to do to me, kill me?!? That’s funny for I’ve already died. Jesus brought me back from death. What can you do to me?”

Seems like that would be a good response for any of us who find a target on our back, for ...

… we have been buried with Him through baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life Romans 6:4

Through baptism we enter death. Through Christ we are raised to newness of life. Following Jesus will make you a target. No worry, entrust yourself to the One who conquers death and raises the dead.

A Guy's Guide to Quickly Finding a Valentine’s Card

Faced with the prospect of finding a Valentine’s Day card many guys will postpone the search or not even try. Don’t be that guy. Instead, man up, head to the card aisle where you will find a sea of cards to choose from. Then …

1. Eliminate any card with glitter.

2. Reject cards making ridiculously exaggerated vows of love: “I’ve loved you with every corpuscle of my whole heart every moment of every second since I first saw you.” No, you haven’t. Don’t force her to give you examples, there are many.

3. Resist the temptation to go with a card suggesting the gift of the card is worthy of being repaid with sex. If you’re counting on a card to warm the romantic fires, you’ve got more work to do than finding the right card.

4. You’ve now reduced the sea of available cards down to four. If you’ll add a paragraph of personal expression of love, any of the four will do.

There is another option: wait until the evening of Feb. 13. The number of available cards will be drastically reduced down to a handful of really crappy cards. Your choice now is a classic no win situation: give a crappy card or don’t give a crappy card and pontificate on the ridiculousness of this Hallmark induced holiday. Don’t be that guy, go find a card today.

Home Project Diplomacy

Summers provide a wonderful opportunity to teach our kids new skills and the value of hard work. We use a little tool called the house project. The kids call it slave labor. We prefer to think of it as a reason to keep feeding and clothing them. Along the way we make progress on the renovation of our home.

I still have my day job, so most of the work depends upon Karen and the kids. Because the projects tend to be disruptive to family life, Karen kindly allows me some input. It goes something like this ...

Karen: I'd like to paint the kitchen cabinets.

Me: No. There is no time, we'll just be getting back in town, we need to get ready for school.

This may seem a little harsh, but we're just on the front end of the negotiation. At this point my wife has a dream floating around outside of reality and the time constraints the rest of us deal with every day.

A few days later ...

Karen: I've been thinking about the kitchen cabinets. We'll have three weeks before I start teaching. The kids will need a project to work on and since there is not enough time to tear down the wall and completely redesign the layout of our house, I thought kitchen cabinets might be a good project to work on.

This is real progress - she's actually entered into the reality of time and begun to consider how this project might fit, but we still have to nail down a few more details before we reach agreement.

Me: I'm willing to consider this, but I would want the kitchen cabinets painted, not just sanded or primed. The project would need to be finished.

Karen: Of course, we'll definitely get the cabinets painted!

You may wonder why I make such an obvious point, but we have a tendency to prime something and then keep priming. Apparently some people think it's more efficient to just keep priming so you don't have to keep pulling the primer out when it's time to paint the next room. For those of us who like checking off boxes and experiencing a sense of completion, it's more like a sore that won't heal. Many more examples, but let's not get distracted.

Me: You know what this means don't you?

Karen: What?

Me: You have to choose a paint color.

Karen: I know, I already have one picked out!

You'll see why in a moment why I bring up the paint color. For now it will suffice for you to know that in my bedroom, which is one of the rooms that is primed, there are multiple swaths of paint of various colors. Apparently we're trying out colors before choosing one. Sometimes we have a hard time choosing.

I throw out a few more requests - the holes from the old hardware will need to be filled, there must be new hardware (the old hardware will tear your clothes or  rip your finger off - worst design of cabinet hardware I've ever seen), and the tools will need to be put up in the garage - I'm referring to the stack of tools in the hallway and the entryway remaining from the last two projects.

Karen: Of course!

Me: OK, let's go for it.

Karen: Yeah!

Two days before the project commences ...

Karen: What would you think about taking down the tile splash so it won't mess up the painted cabinets when we pull it out to renovate the kitchen?

Me: No.

At this point I'm focused and I've got my game face on. This is the first verifiable case of "mission creep", her first attempt to expand the project beyond the scope we originally agreed to. This takes tremendous diplomatic skills, as her proposal makes total and complete sense to her.

Me: When we renovate the kitchen we'll take the back splash down and touch up the cabinets.

That's what I say, but what I'm thinking is, "Are you crazy? It might be five years before we renovate the kitchen! We don't want to live with an ugly bare wall needing repair for the next five years!" But like I said, this takes diplomatic skill and I can't be crushing too many dreams in one day.

Karen: OK.

One day before the project commences ...

Karen: I think we're ready to go, I just need to run to Home Depot to look at upper cabinets.

"Home Depot" is an automatic red flag. My mission creep warning system sounds an alarm. 

Me: Why are you looking at cabinets?

Karen: Well, I thought while we're doing this, we should knock the soffits out since I'll want that done at some point. I just want to see how much the cabinets cost. 

Me: No.

Karen: No?

Me: No. Focus. We're painting the cabinets. We're not renovating the kitchen. We're not taking down the backsplash. We're not knocking out soffits. We're painting the cabinets. Get the cabinets painted and we can talk about the next project.

I know this may sound harsh, but it's necessary. I've learned that our house is connected - every piece of flooring connects to another piece of flooring in the next room. Every baseboard keeps going to each room in the house. The walls connect to other walls. For some people, this connection means there really is no such thing as a single project. The only single project is the "Renovate the entire house" project. These people need help.

Karen: OK.

Day 1 of the project ...

Karen: I'm going to Benjamin Moore.

Me: Why?

Karen: To look at paint colors.

Me: ...

I think "Oh $%!#."

This is like defcon 5 all alarms sounding. This is my one weakness, the one area I have no response for. I'm color blind. I see colors, I just call them different names than you. Oddly enough, I still have opinions on colors, but no one listens to me on colors. So when she is reconsidering her color choice, I've got no answer to this potential project de-railer.

Me: OK.

This is my first set back, but in any struggle you can't expect to win every time.

Day 2 of the project ...

The sanding is completed, holes are filled, and primer is going up ... I actually have a glimmer of hope. I can't find a bowl to eat breakfast, but I have hope.

I do smile at God for bringing together two so very different people and helping us to find a way to make it work.  And as much as this sounds like a struggle, I actually enjoy the journey and appreciate my wife's creativity, can do spirit, and willingness to live in a less than perfect house while we raise kids and manage life together.

Keep Running

After dinner my friend and I take our boys outside to play while the wives enjoy some quiet conversation inside. The boys run and chase and race, taking turns making up new courses to sprint. After a good while I notice my oldest, Reed, age 8, sitting on the curb, elbows on knees, face in hands, dark cloud descending.

Putting my fatherly skills to work, I ask, “What’s up?”

Reed says, “If I’m two years older than Drew, why is he faster than me?”

Hmmmm … I explain that God gives different gifts and talents to each of us and technically he wasn’t a full two years older and some other stuff that took a lot longer to say than it needed to. Apparently hearing you’re good in math doesn’t do much for the kid who keeps finishing behind his younger brother in the race.

I should have said, “Keep running.”

Jump forward five years. Reed is now 13. I invite him to run a 5K with me. I imagine us spending time training together and talking and sharing life. That lasted about a quarter mile. He says, “Mind if I run ahead?”

As a dad you know your athleticism is in decline while your kid’s is on the rise. You know at some point the lines will cross and your son will be faster and stronger, but still, I thought I would see that day coming. Turns out it had passed me some time ago.

Turns out Reed is a plodder. He doesn’t have much sprint, but he can keep going and going and going. He ran cross country in high school. Up and down hills, through mud and grass and dirt, in cold and in heat, he ran. His 6’5” frame isn’t exactly ideal for cross country, though it did make him easy to pick out in the crowd. It didn’t matter, he kept on running. Running and working and persevering.

At the end of the season banquet the cross country coach shares a little about each runner. He says this about Reed:

“Reed is a worker, the hardest worker on the team. He works and works and works. He doesn’t have the most talent, but he gets more out of the talent he has than any other runner on the team.”

Reed challenges me: Keep running. When discouragement pushes you to the curb, keep running. When the race isn’t turning out as you hoped, keep running. You may never be the best, but you can be the best you can be, if you keep running.

Reed graduates today from high school with something far more valuable than top 10 finishes. Reed graduates knowing the gut check of discouragement, the strength of perseverance, the satisfaction of overcoming, and the joy of finding your race, qualities I’m confident will serve him well in every endeavor in life he pursues. Count me very proud to call him my son.

“God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.” Philippians 1:6

Choose Your Picture Frame Carefully

A friend gave me a beautiful landscape print that included a shoreline, water, mountains, and sky. Left to myself I probably would have thumb tacked the thing to my wall and enjoyed it, but something told me I needed to get this one framed. So off to the framer where I got an education.

The framer asked what color of frame did I want. I responded how I always respond to color related questions: I dunno. Something about being color blind leaves me less than confident in making color decisions! He proceeded to place different framing samples around my print.

A light blue frame caused the sky to jump out. I noticed various clouds and beams of light I had not seen before. We tried a darker blue frame and the sky receded while the water came to life in all its rollings and breakers and undulations. We worked our way through several more colors and each time I was shocked at how the frame changed the picture.

In reality, the picture never changed, only the frame. Choosing the frame determined how I viewed the picture. 

Life is kind of like that. You look at over the landscape of your life and you see what? Troubled waters ... peaceful skies ... threatening rocks ... hopeful breezes? Every life has it's hope and fears, dreams and challenges. What we see, where we focus, what dominates our thoughts as we view our life, is largely determined by the frame we put on the picture.

Consider: A driver cuts out off on your way to work. You can frame that with the idea that you deserve better, that you've been done wrong, that the disrespectful fool deserves the invectives you unleash.

Or you can frame that with the idea that this brother, made in the image of God, appears anxious, hurried, and preoccupied. Why you don't know, but it's likely he's not experiencing the life God has for him. Perhaps easing off the accelerator and saying a quick prayer would be good for his heart and yours. Same picture, different frame, different response.


The frames I find most helpful are those that take me out of a me centered perspective and help me see the work of God in redeeming and renovating this world. What frames do you use to frame your world?

Hustle, Not Hurry

You can keep waiting to discover that one in a million gift, insight, or talent that you possess to change the world ... or you can hustle. Behind nearly every single over the top success story you know lies years of hustle. Jon Acuff makes this point well in Quitter.

I was hustling the other day and it almost got me killed. Waiting to turn left at a red light, I was reviewing some notecards containing ideas key to my success. The light turned green, I put down my cards, the cars in front of me turned, and so did I, only to recognize in the middle of the turn there was no green arrow (protected left turn), just a green light (turn at your own risk).

Fortunately the car rapidly approaching the nose of my truck was more alert than I and slowed to avoid a collision that clearly would have been my fault. What happened?

Upon reflection I remembered the light used to be an arrow, but several weeks back changed to just a green light. But really, the reason I missed the light was this: my hustle had turned into hurry.

I sensed the hurry while reviewing my notecards. I was reading too fast, not reflecting, just getting through the words. I was almost home, not much time left, wanted to get a few extra read. I quit hustling to get ahead and started hurrying to get done.

Your dream is too important to hurry. When you hurry you miss clues and opportunities and people and the voice of God. Hustle requires the discipline of making the most of your time, but it also includes the discipline to go at a pace you can still reflect and listen and talk ... and acknowledge who has the right of way.

That's My Kid

My Dad had a way with words. He was a gifted story teller who really needed a blog. This will be my second Father's Day without him. Here's one of the few stories he captured in writing.

That's My Kid

by Don Thompson

It was not a particularly good ball game. There were enough errors made by both teams to cause me to remember when the sixteen year old players on the field were ten or eleven. In fact, it wasn’t even a particularly good day for baseball. It was cloudy with the temperature in the sixties and a strong, gusty, wind blowing from right field. It was the kind of game and the kind of day when even bad calls by an obviously inept base umpire didn’t generate much excitement in the stands. He probably thought we were just good sports.

Nearly all of us were parents of the players. That’s the only excuse I can offer for intelligent people sitting in open bleachers, protected only by each other from the blowing sand moving by at about twenty miles per hour. There were only  a few of us and we’ve spent other days like this because our kids have been playing together for several years. We’ve been through enough together that a common question, normally asked in a loud voice, is, “Who is that kid?”

The question comes after two kinds of plays. The very good and the very bad. Or, to put it another way, when you hope it will and when you hope it won’t. Sometimes it gets an answer and sometimes it doesn’t. I had answered, “That’s my kid”, a couple of times today when I was hoping the question wouldn’t be asked. You see, my kid hadn’t exactly distinguished himself at the plate. He’s primarily a fastball hitter and the opposing pitcher was primarily throwing breaking stuff.

Our kids were three runs behind in the late innings and there was no indication that their thoughts were any different from our. We just wanted to get it over with, wash the sand from our eyes, and silence the growl in our stomachs. It was just that kind of game and that kind of day.

But then it began to happen. We pulled within one run in the next to last inning and retired the other team in order in the top half of the last inning. As our kids came to bat in the final inning, we began to stir. Just a little.

Our first batter walked. At least with the tying run on base, we had a chance. The next batter flied out to short right field but our runner had stolen second while he was at the plate. So we had the tying run in scoring position with only one out and the small crowd in the stands began to show real signs of life.

The casual conversation we were carrying on subsided as we realized we had a real chance to win this one. But, when the next better grounded out without advancing the runner, we were cast back into the “get it over with” frame of mind. Except for me.

My kid and I have been here before but to me it always seems like the first time. Here we are. The game in the balance and he’s at the plate. Thoughts race through my mind. Like maybe he’ll walk. Or, if he gets a hit it could score the tying run and leave it up to the next better to try to be the hero. But, lurking way in the back of my mind, is the thought that if he really connects, which he’s capable of doing, he can win the game. The home run. I try not to think about it because I don’t want him thinking about it. Still, it’s there.

The first two pitches were breaking balls out of reach. With the count at 2-0, I was thinking the pitcher would probably go to his fast ball to find the plate and I was hoping my kid was thinking the same thing.

He was. Even before the ball reached the plate, I was standing. When he made contact, I knew it was gone, and, in a split second, I wondered if he did too. Later, at home, I asked him and he mumbled a barely audible, “Yeah, I knew.”

The left fielder started back a second or so after the ball left the bat, but after a half dozen strides reality took over and he slackened his pace. My kid’s ecstatic teammates and his grateful coach were leaving the dugout to greet him at the plate by the time he rounded second base.

I’ll never know for sure what he was feeling as he crossed the plate. I’m not even sure what I was feeling. But I do know that we shared a moment in time that we will each remember in our own way.

I hope he remembers it on a day like today when his time has come to answer, “That’s my kid.”

Ministry as Work, Work as Worship

My wife texted: Praying for you to enjoy worshipping the Lord even in the midst of ministry!

People assume it must be easy to worship and walk with the Lord - you're in ministry after all. Not exactly. Here's one challenge:

Ministry is work, kind of like accounting or plumbing. There's stuff to do to keep the operation moving forward: Sermons to prepare, e-mails to write, copiers to fix, services to plan, etc. Just like with any job, these tasks can be done as an act of worship offering our best to the LORD and trusting Him to do something great.

Or we can treat ministry like a lot of people treat their jobs - it's just a job, a way to make a living. Stuff has to get done in order to keep the job, so I'll get it done. No sense of offering gifts and talents to the Lord, no sense of hoping for something greater, just the daily grind.

So whether you work in a ministry job or not, you can worship in your work or you can work your work. Your job doesn't determine your worship, but your worship sure makes a difference in your job.

Here's a second challenge to worshipping in a ministry job: We're all sinful and desperately in need of a Savior. Every single one of us. No one is immune to the sin disease. But in ministry jobs there is sometimes a devilish thought that people in ministry jobs are a little closer to God, a little more well connected, and well, they should be a little more mature, a little further down the road.

Which can set you up for a little disappointment when you run into gossip, laziness, dishonesty, and law driven judgementalism. You can still worship, but you better have your theology right, the theology that reminds you : we're all desperately dependent on the LORD for grace today. Remember that and you'll worship the One who again and again forgives, restores, renews, and perseveres with us, regardless of our chosen jobs.

The Misguided Samaritan

Originally published on the Musings Blog

The priest and the Levite may have gotten a bum rap! I refer to the story Jesus told of the two religious leaders who passed a wounded traveler on the side of the road apparently without offering any help. A well intentioned Samaritan comes along and helps the man by bandaging him up, taking him to an inn, and paying his expenses. Jesus makes the Samaritan the hero of this story. But could it be the Samaritan settled for meeting an immediate need while ignoring the scope of the real need?

Consider: Should the Samaritan really have stopped? Was that really the most strategic use of his time? Maybe the Samaritan didn’t really care. Maybe he just wanted to do that which is easiest and leave the bigger problem for others.

If the Samaritan really cared about roadside assistance, would it not have been more effective to organize an emergency roadside assistance response team, train them in how to care for those in trouble on the road, and send them out to help each and every person traveling and not just the one? Was this man somehow more worthy than the many others who travel and find themselves in need? Is it right to ignore the scope of the need while tending to the one?

How do we know that the priest or the Levite, in response to a heartfelt compassion for the wounded man, didn’t organize a fund raising dinner in the next town in order to fund an emergency roadside assistance team? Could it be their experience in leading organizations gave them an appreciation for strategic thinking which helped them think outside the box of how you would normally help someone dying on the side of the road? Could it be their vision for helping victims of robbers far exceeded that of the Samaritan?

Isn’t it likely that the priest and Levite possessed some discernment that the Samaritan lacked – they saw that this man was too beaten and hurting to be of any help in reaching others. He didn’t appear to be an influencer (apparently he was traveling alone), and it would take some time before he was in any kind of shape to help other roadside victims. Clearly it’s a better use of resources to leave cases such as this one to those with the proper medical training. The priest and Levite may very well have understood that leaders work with sharp people in order to multiply their influence and make a greater impact. In this way all victims of roadside robbers can be reached, not just a few here and there.

I used to feel guilty for passing stranded motorist on the side of the road. But now that I’ve reflected more deeply on this story I’ve seen that me stopping to help would only be a hindrance to the greater cause of Christ as I would be distracted from the strategic mission God has called me to.

So let’s call him the Nice Samaritan, or the Well-Intentioned Samaritan, but not the Good Samaritan. Clearly he didn't care enough to be called good. It seems all he cared about was the fact that the man had a need and he was in a position to meet that need. Such pious and simplistic “love your neighbor as yourself” kind of thinking will never cut it if we’re serious about reaching the world for Christ.

Who's the Grinch?

Pastor Robert Jeffress of First Baptist Church Dallas has started a website (www.grinchalert.com) where you can report businesses that refuse to say, "Merry Christmas." From the website:

... you can nominate businesses and organizations that shut-out expressions of Christmas in their interactions with the public via marketing, advertising and public relations. When companies use misplaced political correctness to halt the celebration of Christmas, they belong on the “Naughty List.”

I’m starting a new website – ScroogeAlert.com that allows users to share their experiences with churches that shut-out expressions of the gospel in their interactions with the community via marketing, advertising, and public relations. When churches use a misplaced emphasis on the culture war to put up barriers to the gospel, they belong on the “Bah Humbug List.”

Not everyone at First Baptist is on board with Pastor Grinch Jeffress - you can read more here.

What If Ice Cream Cost You Your Vision?

(Originally published on the Musings Blog on 5.4.2005)

I really like ice cream. My favorite treat is a warm brownie (thin, slightly under baked) under several scoops of Blue Bell ice cream. I can taste it now.

But what if I knew that for every bowl of ice cream I enjoyed I would lose 1% of my vision? My initial response would be to swear off ice cream completely – my vision is way too important to throw away on a short-lived pleasure.

I suspect after awhile I would wonder if it were really true – does ice cream really cause me to lose vision, or did someone make that up to keep me from getting fat? Eventually I would try it out. I would eat some ice cream and then look at some words to see if they were blurry. I’m guessing I would see just fine – one percent wouldn’t make that much difference. But just to be safe, I would only have ice cream once a month.

After a year of ice cream that amounted to a 12% loss in vision, I think I would notice a difference. In a blurry street sign I would see some consequences of my indulgence. The eye doctor would change my prescription and I would have to get new glasses. And then I would see clearly again.

In seeing clearly again I wonder if I would be tempted to eat just a little ice cream, since the consequences appear manageable. In fact, eating just a little ice cream would still leave me many years before losing my eyesight completely. Stronger prescriptions, laser eye surgery, and eventually a walking stick or seeing eye dog … I’m adaptable, I think I could still make life work.

Sometimes I wonder if little acts of sin smudge the window of my soul. I confess, ask for God’s cleansing and all, but while I’m confident of restored fellowship with God, I wonder if I’ve lost something I can’t fully recover?

He Knows My Name

Growing up in Texas you are taught early and often the importance of God, family, and football, not necessarily in that order. Communities around the state gather each Friday night at their local stadiums for a fellowship, if not worship, that often surpasses that which takes place Sunday morning.

I played for a legend, Coach Tom Kimbrough. Coach Kimbrough came out of the Tom Landry school of coaching: he didn't yell a lot, but when he spoke, you listened. He commanded your attention and respect. I'll attempt to describe in a later post the impact Coach Kimbrough has made on my life. For now, let me describe the first time I talked to him.

It was the Spring of my sophomore year. Back then no one played for Plano Senior High School until your junior year, so your first taste of Plano football came in the Spring of your sophomore year during offseason workouts. We were nervous that first day - Plano offseason workouts were legendary. Players would go on to play Division I football and consistently report back that never did they practice as hard as they did at Plano. Beyond the challenge of the workouts was the awesome prospect of stepping on the same field as those coaches and players we revered.

We sprinted to the practice field, nearly hyperventilating with nerves. Coaches barked directions to a confused group of sophomores just hoping to survive their first workout. Early in the workout during one drill Coach Kimbrough approached me. This in and of itself froze me in place. Then he addressed me personally for the first time in a distinctive east Texas accent I can still hear, "Now David, when you're ..." I can't report the rest of the what he said, for despite my deep respect and my fear of messing up, I didn't hear another word, I couldn't get beyond one thought that reverberated over and over in my mind:

He knows my name. How does he know my name. This is Coach Kimbrough. I'm a skinny sophomore. How does he know my name?

Something changed that day. I was still in awe of playing for Coach Kimbrough, I still felt a rising tension in my gut each day as I watched the last minutes of the last class tick away before practice, but that day I was welcomed on the team. I belonged. I was known.

I think something similar happens with Jesus. You can know about Him, respect Him, even listen to Him, but something changes when you realize, when you believe, Jesus knows your name. When He speaks, He speaks to you, personally. Until then religion is a lot of work without much meaning.

"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!" Is. 43:1

Unfortunate Appearances

On the way back from our Colorado vacation we stopped by the Air Force Academy. We were disappointed to find the main Chapel closed because of three weddings back to back, but we did discover the Catholic Chapel on the lower level. My boys noticed several pictures of recent Popes displayed on a side wall. After taking in Pope Benedict my youngest boy, with no malice at all, states matter of factly, "He looks like a Sith Lord." I had to admit, situated next to the grandfatherly appearance of John Paul II, Pope Benedict does come across a little less photogenic!

Frittering

The compulsive search for diversion is often an attempt to escape the wretchedness of life.

Douglas Groothuis

I don't yet Twitter, but I do Fritter. I fritter away time. I go on little diversions throughout the day - I check in at espn, or peruse a few blogs, or play a game on the computer, or check Facebook, or ... I trust you can add you're own favorites. It's easy to make the argument that these  harmless activities provide a needed break from the routine of the day. 

Pascal argued over 300 years ago that it would be wise for me to ask why I fritter my time away. He didn't even have the internet, yet warned that entertainment and diversion would hinder happiness and ultimately lead to destruction. You can read more in this post by Justin Taylor.

I tend to fritter when I'm avoiding something. My frittering has less to do with taking a break than it does with delaying the start of work; it's a computerized version of cleaning the room before studying for the test. But the studying eventually takes place because the test is tomorrow. But what if the test isn't tomorrow?

Not everything of importance has a due date. I can take an hour to reflect on the direction of my life or  I can make that one on one conversation with my child happen today, but I don't have to. I can always do it tomorrow ... or the next day. It's not that Frittering takes up so much time that I can't do the important stuff, it's that Frittering keeps me occupied, it keeps me distracted so that I don't even think about the important stuff.

The longer you don't think about the important stuff, the more terrifying it is to set aside the Frittering and reflect on your life, your calling. But one day the due date on life comes to pass. One day we all give an account for what we did with the one life we were given.

I'm not sure the way forward, but I'm pretty sure it's not playing a computer game. 

What about you - is Frittering a harmless distraction or something more?

That's My Boy

My son Trent has never played on a good baseball team. His team is the one you don't have to try out for, the one that remains open to kids who haven't played much. There is no such thing as a routine play - the easiest pop up or ground ball can quickly turn into an adventure. The bottom half of the lineup does well just to get the bat on the ball, never mind actually getting on base.

Last night Trent's team enters the bottom of the last inning losing 5 to 2. The end of the batting order is due up, so parents begin to gather their folding chairs recognizing we'll soon be telling the boys good game and reminding them it's about getting better rather than winning.

New pitcher on the mound, doesn't look like he has much - it's not uncommon for teams to get away with pitching their third or fourth best pitcher against us. Outfield playing shallow, like 15 feet behind the infield. That way if a ball actually does get out of the infield, the right fielder can thrown the kid out at first.

First batter hist a ball clean over the left fielder's head for a double. The kid has hit some balls hard before, but it only occurs once every ten at bats, so you kind of forget he can do it. Next better hits a clean single to right field. He rarely gets the bat anywhere close to the ball. First and third no outs.

The other team's coach has seen enough. After only two batter and a 5 to 2 lead, he casts off his pitcher to right field and brings in his ace. Tall, left handed, hard throwing, and the attitude that says you'll be going home soon.

The left-hander begins by picking off the runner at first base. One out. Then he strikes out the batter. Two outs, runner on third, and our meager hopes dying fast. But we did manage to get to the top of the order.

Our lead off hitter crushes the ball to left center. Crushes as in the outfielder turns and runs without looking at the ball because he knows it's going to the fence. Inside the park home run, two runs in, still losing 5 to 4.

Next batter takes a mighty swing and rips the ball ... five feet down the third base line. It's perfectly placed ... the pitcher scrambles over, makes the throw, but it's not in time. I quickly look to the on deck circle. That's my boy, watching the play, reacting with a fist pump, and jogging to the plate with two outs, the tying run on base, and all the pressure in the world to get a hit.

It's hard to appreciate what goes through a players mind at this point. You want to be the guy that gets the clutch hit, but you don't want to be the guy that lets the team down. Players secretly fight off the thought that they hope the kid in front of them ends the game with a key hit ... or an out. Anything but making the last out yourself. But you can't be the hero without risking failure.

Trent fouls off a pitch. He's behind on the ball - not sure he can catch up to this guy. He take a ball, fouls off another pitch, and takes another ball. Two balls, two strikes, two outs. This could be it.

Fastball, outside corner, a flash of the bat, and a lightning shot down the right field line into the corner. Stand up triple, game tied. Next hitter knocks a single into left, scoring Trent with the winning run. Joy. That's my boy, so proud of him, so happy for him.

I love that he got such a great hit, but I'm even more proud of the fist pump when he realized he was coming to the plate with the game on the line. He was nervous, but he was courageous as well. That's my boy and God is doing a good work in his heart. That is something to cheer about.

What Do You See?

We have a field behind our church - a good size field, flat and green and recently mowed. In one corner is a backstop - the kind used at a major league baseball park for batting practice. I never see anyone using the field, which is odd in a youth sports crazed town in which an open practice field is hard to come by. Perhaps it's the signs.

Two signs announce that the field is only available for official church functions. I asked around and found out the original signs included a "NO TRESPASSING" warning. Good move - wouldn't want anyone not associated with the church to be on church property!

What do you see? Apparently you can look at a field and see several different things, such as ...

• a blessing to the community
• increased insurance cost
• an open door to undesirables
• something to be shared
• something to be guarded

Another way of asking the question: What do you fear? I fear we've been entrusted with a stewardship from God and we have buried our field in the ground.

Voices: Coach Thomas

Coach Thomas worked with lineman on my high school football team - the big guys who did all the hard work so us little guys could run around and grab all the glory. I remember his voice on the football field - a big voice that commanded attention. But when I replay that voice in my head, I hear a voice of strong encouragement and deep joy and peaceful humility.


I played for several coaches who modeled faith and hard work and commitment. Coach Thomas was one of those. He called boys to become young men and made sure they knew he was for them. Ever since I've known him (over twenty five years) he's followed Christ.


I heard his voice again several weeks ago. My wife and daughter and I were watching my son run in a track meet, actually just a practice meet for middle school kids. With the sun setting on that wind blown day we were getting just cool enough to think about heading home. Looking down the track I spotted my son talking to Coach Thomas. Found out later Coach Thomas recognized my son by his resemblance to me. Soon Coach Thomas made his way to us. So good to see the warm smile and hear the deep voice once again. Introductions were made with my wife and daughter and words exchanged when this big, hulking football coach stooped over and engaged my eight year old daughter in conversation. He discovered she wanted to be a teacher. With a big smile and that familiar voice of encouragement and joy, he shared how much he enjoyed teaching, acknowledging it didn't pay a lot, but it was so rewarding. How he couldn't imagine a better life.


This coach who had encouraged me in my faith and life, who had generously supported my pursuits, who had affirmed my call, now blessed my daughter and her dreams. Coach Thomas just keeps on giving and encouraging and affirming and he does it with such joy and humility. I can only hope and pray I've captured some of his voice in mine. Thank you, Coach Thomas. Your voice carries on through the generations of young men and women you've blessed. I count you wealthy - rich in all the things that matter. 

Opportunity Knocking on the Church Door

A volcano in Iceland shuts down air traffic in Europe stranding passengers in New York City to sleep on airport cots and shower in public restroom sinks. Tim Stevens wonders if the church is missing an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus and show some hospitality by providing a place to sleep, a warm meal, and a change of clothes.

Got me thinking about what kind of church would help in that situation: probably not a highly programmed church - too busy keeping the machine operating (unless of course they had already set up a ministry program to reach stranded travelers.) Probably not a church more concerned with teaching right answers on a theology exam than living the faith - too busy getting ready for Bible study at the church.

Before coming to any conclusions I shared a lunch with my friend John. He talked about what God had been showing him - that perhaps some of the challenges he saw around him came from people not experiencing God's love. And perhaps his challenges in responding to those people also fell short because he didn't fully experience God's love. Perhaps the most important thing he could do would be to help people experience the love of God.

Simple and profound - I keep thinking about it ... Today I'm looking for opportunities to help people know and experience God's love. Surprised at how often my agenda gets in the way - which leads me to question why my agenda is what it is.

What if the church made it her focus to help people experience the love of God - seems like that would change the way a lot of churches operate. I suspect you would see an encouraging church - less concerned with getting you to do their thing, more concerned that you knew in your soul that God loved you. I suspect you would find a listening church, willing to serve, to understand, to meet you where you are to offer a taste of the gospel. I suspect you would find a humble church, awed by the enormity of the good news of Christ, desperately dependent on God's grace and power to share that gospel in ways that actually pointed people to Christ.

A church like that is a church that would see stranded passengers as an opportunity to show hospitality - just what God does with us wandering travelers, lost in our own agendas, unsure of which way to go, wondering how we will ever find our way home.

To Write

I need to write, so I will write. Something inside me needs to get outside me, so I've decided to write. Not entirely sure what that something is, but it's there. Perhaps I'll discover what it is as I write.