Silliness and brake pads

When I arrived at my friends' apartment, instead of greeting me, they greeted my jacket. Grant it, I've revealed much too much about the lengths I went to in order to get it (searching San Antonio with no luck and getting Anna to buy it for me in Nashville). And I'm not a shopper or get too excited about clothing, especially a jacket (I live in San Antonio). Regardless, it's been amusing for my friends to give me grief about it, but it's deserved. The jacket arrived this weekend and I've not taken it off since opening the box. I'd better wear it the rest of my life after the grand deal that's been made about it, like it deserves a name. Not that I've considered that or anything. Sheer silliness.

Though I've not experienced buyer's remorse (it turned out to be 25% off which helped), I seriously don't have obsessive problems with it. I get a kick out of making others think I do, which admittedly is pretty sick. I'm trying to prepare myself for a comment to be made each time it gets worn, "Oh, that's the jacket. Hmm." Yeah, hmm. This is ridiculous. No more.

I had planned on going to a basketball game tonight, but was asked by one of my roommates to pick up some brake pads because he was changing them tonight on his truck. After I dropped them off, I began talking with him and my other roommate (we were at his parent's house) and decided it'd be a good idea to change my brake pads as well. I'd been cringing each time I slowed down because of the awful squealing that went on as I did. I'd like to say we through the following, but I didn't do anything other than hold a light and watch Chad and Will replace the brake pads on Chad's truck and mine. But that's not to say I didn't learn anything.

I'm one of those guys that goes to a car parts store or to get my oil changed and defer to pretty much whatever the salesperson tells me I need to get or get done to my vehicle. Out of embarrassement and/or intimidation that I've virtually no clue what they're telling me or what I'm even asking, I figure it's easier to get ripped off and assume they think I'm stupid than to admit it and just get it out in the open. Even when I do admit it, I don't know how much that helps; often the look of "Tell me something I don't know" follows. But I figure it's a good opportunity for me to practice humility and being grateful someone can fix the odd sounds and noises my truck is making.

Now I'm not intimidated by changing brake pads; I feel confident I could do that for myself or someone else now. I just need the tools.

Rainy day thoughts

My mind's been overwhelmed in the past few weeks. I've mentioned my travels and I know that's been a heavy contributor. I'm still reading and have read several books and articles that have kept my mind churning, thinking about how things could be, what lies ahead, and where this broken road may be taking me. I think a lot of my mind's wanderings and inquisitions are a result of my lack of rest the past month; I've used today to try to be refreshed, but one day does not make up for continued negligence of Sabbath rest. I'm playing catch-up.

I haven't read Wild at Heart in a while, but I think about its contents often. I've got an Eldredge book waiting in the wings of my reading list; I'm trying to read through my books as they were given me -- teaching myself patience in an odd fashion, putting on hold something I really want to read (The Shaping of Things to Come or Three Weeks With My Brother) for something I'm interested in reading and need to finish (such as Life of Pi). Maybe it's that I didn't make it to the youth ministry conference I usually attend in January, but I'm in need of some rejuvination and encouragement in what I'm doing; a re-focusing of what can be done through me where I'm at. I've thought a lot about ministry and church and current systems and dynamics and politics and vision and future and wonder where I fit in and where my dreams and visions and heart fit into his plan.

I think some of this is a residue of my birthday, as I've thought about the differences between my parents and myself. At my age now, my Mom and Dad had been married two years and had a newborn son. They had plans to move to Brazil in a year and a half, which they did in the fall of 1981. They were working with the youth at the Hixson church in Chattanooga, Tennessee, getting acquainted with the church family providing their support while in Brazil. From my perspective, it was an exciting, edge-of-your-seat time for them. (How could it not be with a cute newborn like me?) Young marrieds, starting their family, diving into and participating in Kingdom work in a strange, foreign land -- and only 25. Wow and scary at the same time, again from my vantage point.

I'm not going to get into the exciting and scary things I've got right now at 25. I don't want to compare too strictly my place with theirs; they were and I am in different worlds, different settings, practically different arenas. And as I hope that my next 25 will be as theirs has been, full of God, love, family, joy, service, and faithfulness, I still feel in some ways that I've not yet started. I continue to realize the expectations I've had for my life at this point included marriage and as much as I've tried to readjust those thoughts and embrace my reality, it hurts to do so. I'm not unhappy with where I am; I dare say I'm not really disappointed. But there's a place in my heart that is hurting and feels empty. There's something gnawing at me, taunting me with thoughts that things will remain as they are for many more years. And when entertaining those types of thoughts, it makes sad. Not a please-pity-me-sadness, that's not what I'm writing about or asking for; a sadness like looking around the brokenness of our world and knowing that things are not how they should be.

Eve was created because no suitable helper was found for Adam. She was made because of an emptiness inside and longing for companionship within that needed to be filled. I've thought about the first bearer of my name at times: What was it like naming all the animals? What was it like to walk in the cool of the day with God? Did he and God play hide and seek in Eden? Did God show him the pile of dirt he came from?

But what about this one: How do you communicate to the Creator that something feels missing? I know the creation of man really has some astounding theological repercussions, but in the midst of those, what was it like to wake up and find that emptiness replaced with extravagance? Sometimes I've just got to write these things for the access of all who stop by, even though I'd rather keep it withdrawn. But it feels like a release, and doing so allows me to keep from dwelling on it. Maybe it's the rainy day, maybe it's my lack of rest, maybe it's all of that, plus other things all rolled up together; whatever it is, this too shall pass. I'm going to be taken care of.

It seems like this past year I've been waking up missing pieces of my heart, pieces I've been giving away; pieces that get broken. Someday that's going to stop. I don't know how or when, but I trust it will. I'm learning, I guess; I'm trying. It's tough and unclear and unmarked, but I'll keep going. I'll keep putting my head down and dreaming. And someday I'm going to wake up and, instead of a broken heart, I'll be missing one of my ribs.

Friday mornings

Friday mornings are pretty special. I meet with a group of men to discuss a chapter or two in a book we're reading and spend time praying for each other. Many times, we never get around to discussing what's been read because something else needs to be shared, prayed over, or processed. It's a pretty neat experience, especially being the baby in the group. (I find that I'm the baby in most meetings I attend involving adults.) As an aside, being the oldest of my siblings, it's been good for me to adjust to that dynamic; I find that if I mostly listen and speak rarely, it sounds like I'm wiser than I really am; stroking my chin and beard, with a slight turning of my eyes down and to the left occasionally, makes me appear thoughtful too -- please read those previous sentences with your tongues against your cheeks. Anyway, back to Friday mornings.

I was asked to join this group a little less than a year ago. I was really excited about it because I needed a group like this; and though I'm at least 15 years younger than the other men in my group, what better place to be than with guys who've got a wealth of experience, knowledge and wisdom for me to learn from. Though I wasn't hesitant in any way about committing to this, since Fridays are my days off, I knew I'd be giving up sleeping in since we meet at 6:30. Not only that, Thursday nights are BSF nights and I usually go out to eat or hang out with my friends after we get out at 9:00; the usual time I get home on a Thursday is around 11:30 or 12:00, which makes 6:00 come a lot sooner.

But it's worth it. Though I'm still cautious about what I share at times because of the confidential things I'm exposed in from my role as a minister (youth-specific or otherwise), I know I get held up in prayer each week. And thinking of that challenges me to do the same for the guys. And encourages me to speak up a little more, share a little more, be a little more vulnerable to my prayer warriors and buddies.

So even though I may stay out later than I need to on Thursday nights at a restaurant or watching Alias and/or Lost from the previous Wednesday night or talking in parking lots because we can't make decisions about what to do and conversations keep popping up that for some reason are better discussed in a small circle on asphalt, if I'm in town, I'm in our conference room Friday mornings to meet with my guys. Regardless of what's going on, what we talk about, we always pray -- and what better thing could be done?

The more I think about the vision and dreams for life, ministry, love, purpose, and meaning, the more I'm drawn to prayer. It's simple. It's world-changing. It's life-changing. I had one of my seventh grade boys ask Wednesday night if a written prayer was just as good as a spoken prayer. He said he likes to write his out; I told him, "Yes, yes, yes." Resoundingly yes. Maybe even better. But let's throw out the term 'better'. How do you communicate with God? What method allows you to fully express yourself to him? Written words? Go for it. Audible words? Go ahead, speak. Painting, poetry, music? Commune away. Use them all. Taste them all. Don't look for what works best and stick with it; find different paths to express your heart. Be in conversation with him because in that interaction, in that holy endeavor, we are changed. If we enter the presence of God, we will be changed and transformed. It may be something removed from us. It may be something enhanced or given to us. We cannot step into the light and remain creatures of darkness. Stepping into the light means we begin reflecting that light, sometimes without even realizing it or consciouly doing so. Just as we long for the sunlight on a cold, overcast day, we should run unabashedly from the darkness in which we hide into the warmth of the brilliant light.

That is the air I wish to breathe; his holy presence shining in, through and around me. May it be so for you today.

One more trip

I'm leaving in an hour to go to Abilene for my final trip of the month. I'm taking three of my high school juniors to visit ACU, so I'm excited for them to get a chance to see campus life on a somewhat regular occasion (Lectureships are going on). We'll get back tomorrow in time for church and then I'll be spent, I'm sure.

Things went really well this weekend. To all of you praying for me as I prepared and preached, thanks so much. It's so comforting to know one is being held up in prayer from known and unknown corners.

And my birthday went very well, too. Some friends took me to PF Chang's Saturday night; we endured a two-hour wait, but still had a great time. We went cosmic bowling afterwards. Several of them came Sunday morning to hear me preach as well, followed by lunch at Zio's. After having the high school kids over Sunday for our small groups, a few people came over to visit and watch a movie (that we didn't start until 11:30). If you've not seen "Bless the Child" it's worth your time; it's a great look at spiritual warfare, bringing to mind its presence more than we often realize.

So, I'm going to finish my breakfast and get my things together for potential interviews with guys these next couple of days. In honor of that great host of American Idol (cough, cough), Copeland, out.

Phew...

(Big sigh...) I'm tired. I feel like I've been on the go the whole month and I'm feeling it. Not only from the travels, but the different things that have been happening at and around church has been very draining. Upon returning from my first trip to Nashville I went to a memorial service that Monday; one of teens had been pretty sick for a week and I found out what was going with that when I returned from Nashville the second time, which the news had to processed and grieved over, though things are looking much better. I've been preparing to preach the past couple of weeks as well, so my mental capacities have been stretched; it doesn't help that I keep reading other blogs that point me to challenging ideas and/or books, such as the recently purchased The Shaping of Things to Come, referred to by Mike Cope last week in one of his posts. I also saw Hotel Rwanda after reading an article by Brian McLaren left as a comment to one of my posts sometime the past few days; the movie is great in that it breaks your heart in a godly way towards compassion for the hurting of the world. It's a good kick to the gut, leaving me wondering where we (Christianity) were during all of that. And where are we now in the midst of similar things being done?

I got back from Oklahoma City last night at 9:00, an hour earlier than I thought I would, so I got to meet up with my friends since BSF is over at the same time. A group of us went to IHOP and I had such a good time even though I was extremely tired. I feel like I haven't seen my friends too often lately because of my schedule, so it was nice to spend a couple of hours laughing and talking and laughing some more at IHOP. I also got to see and visit with Benny and Niki yesterday, a most pleasant surprise. I was in Oklahoma for summer camp meetings and didn't know they were going to be there; it's so good to visit with good friends face-to-face. I've been thinking a lot about them recently too; they're following their godly hearts to an uncertain future in a ministry that they're so well-equipped for, but in an in-between time, a waiting place. I pray and hope things will be quickly revealed to them; in the meantime, I pray they can be refreshed and renewed.

Several of my friends are going to come hear me preach Sunday, which is very exciting for me. It's good to have such a supportive group of people to hold me up with their mere presence. And for friends who aren't in town, who do the same even though our paths cross too rarely. It's nice to know and feel so loved when my tank seems empty, similar to my truck this past week. (Luckily, I pulled in next to a gas pump right as my truck died; moral: don't drive on empty for more than three days.)

And so as I make final preparations to speak Sunday, I believe the state I'm (mentally and physically drained) is a reminder that it's not because of my might, strength, energy or power that his word will be communicated; I'm a vessel and I'm surrendering to be used.

Sargent, good to hear from you. Thank you for your kind words; I miss you around here. Hope to talk with you soon.

Wes, glad you read Redeeming Love; my copy was just returned to me this week after being lent out for a couple of months. Ahh, good stuff.

So, in the infamous words (and lisp) of Kip Dynamite, "Peasth out."

Approaching the future

I'm preaching this Sunday; it's always exciting to get to do so and my preparation has been different this time: I've actually developed my points and ideas well in advance of Sunday. I've still got to polish and refine the exact wording of my thoughts to that I communicate what I intend, but it's been nice to have the road map marked out ahead of time.

A thought crossed my mind this afternoon as I was driving home how well I communicate my ideas and thoughts this Sunday. I intend to use Acts 10 (Peter and Cornelius) as an example of continual conversion, being vulnerable and stepping out of our comfort zone. The focus of my study of Acts 10 has usually been Cornelius and his family being the first Gentile converts; I've been reading this text for a few weeks or months (I forget) looking at Peter as the one undergoing the greater conversion. Peter is taken from seeing Gentiles as unclean to clean and made by God; his worldview (previously directed by The Law, Jewish ancestory, Jewish culture) is being reshaped by Jesus into a worldview that includes a group of people he had thought to be a group to remain separate from; he continues to experience conversion to Jesus' way of life in the midst of his Christianity.

Somehow, I've been given the impression from our churches that conversion is a one-time deal, occuring at baptism and confession. The plan of salvation was hear, believe, repent, confess, and be baptized and live a faithful life. Our starting point became the goal and finishing line; it felt like if we could just get them in the water and out safely, everything would be ok. Get the ticket to hell exchanged for one to heaven and things would be a-okay. I know that was not the intention of the message, but that's what I heard; that's what I learned; that's how I lived and taught and acted and went about my business. So I still feel that we, me included, somehow miscommunicate the beauty of the offer of the gospel and the kingdom of the heavens.

We have to recognize our need for continuing conversion. Like Peter, there is still transformation to be made, there are still prejudices to overcome. Acts 10 wasn't the end all for Peter. Though he defended himself and shared his new insight in Acts 11, a few years later he separates himself from non-Jewish people, to the point that Paul has to correct him. Old habits die hard. Conversion must continue. That allows us to be vulnerable, something we try not to do too often, and then it's only to a select few. What a shame. In our privacy sometimes, we give the impression that we've got it all together, that because I've got God I've got no worries, nothing bad happens, or if it does, it's not a big deal because I've got God. And that leaves us confused at the death of a loved one. It leaves us hurting and questioning and guilty because we hurt and question our maker. Why should we feel guilty when we don't understand? Why should we beat ourselves up because our faith feels like it disappears? Our God is big enough to handle our doubts, our hurts, our longings, our pains, our questions. He's wise enough to know that what we say and think doesn't always match to what we truly believe. He's great enough to overcome any restrictions we try to place on him. He's gracious enough to forgive those very restrictions too.

So let's show the world that we don't necessarily have it all together. Just because we have claimed the lordship and salvation of the Christ doesn't keep us immune from life; just because we're called Christians doesn't mean our disposition is happy-happy-joy-joy. We hurt and it's ok to show it. We cry and it needs to be seen. We question and we have to do it out loud. We fall and we have to confess when we do so. And when we're rescued, we have got to celebrate and party...like it's 1999; you know, not church-celebrate, but celebrate with the joy and enthusiasm and, dare I write it, methods we do at other celebrations. Noisemakers, hats, cake, dancing?, a band?, balloons, you know, praise. Victory. Maybe not nakedness like David, but with that inhibition and purity before our God.

To make these transitions to vulnerability and honesty, it's going to feel like we're throwing out the bath water, the baby, the bathtub, the sink, the whole house, really. It's unsettling, uncomfortable and unknown. To be honest with ourselves and the world about our God, we're going to have to be careful with the rituals we keep and why we're keeping them because this unknown world is going to be confused. So as scary as it may be to change the methods (of celebration, communication, expression, service, etc.), something will have to be done to remain relevant to our society. We must go to them. Peter went to Cornelius. Paul went to Mars Hill, among so many other settings. And I dare say that they were changed by those encounters as much as the recepients of their messages.

When we change our methods, we get to look at our message from a different perspective. We get to experience the gospel all over again. We receive new insights that may have otherwise remained unknown if not for the change. That's exciting to me; it makes sense for me that God's blessings are new every morning, while his faithfulness remains constant.

I hope to communicate this with a quality of vagueness and mystery. I don't want to be misunderstood in what change I'm talking about because I'm not trying to push or prepare a group for a future agenda. I don't have an agenda other than being relevant to our changing world. Remaining a church focused on keeping its 1950 or 60s ideals or systems or understandings is doing nothing for the church in 2005. (I speaking much more broadly than Northside here, though I feel we are a bit lacking in being as relevant as possible.) But, getting back to what I was writing, Jesus had a mysterious quality in his teaching: the kingdom of heaven is like...his disciples were constantly asking him and themselves, "What is he talking about?"

Which is good. They were thinking and wrestling with his ideas. They were working them out together to figure out how what he said made sense in their world. They were trying to fit his words into their present lives and when they didn't fit, something had to give: the words or the lives. Fishers of fish became fishers of men. Words of life or where we are. We need constant conversion. We need to be vulnerable. We have to be willing to step out in faith into uncharted waters. We'll transform; we'll change. Sometimes our team will pass the ball beautifully, like a Brazilian soccer team, and score. Other times we'll break down and give up a goal. Sometimes, whatever the outcome, it will just be a good attempt. As long as we're involved in the game, that is, participating in the kingdom, we're approaching the future with the intent to be like Jesus. That's all he's called us to; that's all we have to be.

Shopping/Hunting

I had a great weekend in Nashville with a couple of my junior guys who are interested in going to Lipscomb. We flew out Thursday morning and milked the next three days for all we could. They got to stay on campus one night, get a tour, sit in on a philosophy class, go to Sanctuary, see a rock show at a local venue, drink enormous amounts of coffee at different coffee shops, see downtown at night and in the day (including a stop at Gruhns guitar store), and get a taste of Nashville cuisine. We got to hang out with my sisters and their friends throughout the time, as well as see my parents Saturday for lunch. (Their experience with the empty nest has been to drive as much as possible to different locales, whether Dad going back and forth to Birmingham for law school, going to see Luke play across the Southeast, visiting Nashville to see me or the girls or both, they may have spent as much time outside the nest that was supposedly left empty for them.)

I'm going to see the Rascal Flatts tonight with some friends, but I wanted to share a quick (note: I added this line after writing the paragraphs below to tell you I have no idea what "quick" means) story before I get ready to head out to the San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo. We met my parents at a mall in Cool Springs, just a 15 minute drive south of Lipscomb, and had lunch with them and visited for a bit before they went back to see Luke's game. While at the mall, I told the guys I wanted to find a light jacket similar to one they'd been sharing that weekend -- it belongs to a friend of theirs. What do you know, but I find one I like the first store we go in after making that statement, a store we don't have out here in Texas. It fit very nicely, looked good, and was of reasonable price; a classic-looking jacket that would be a great one to have for a long time; perfect for "winter" months in south Texas because heavy coats are only brought out four times a year, and then for only two or three days in a row because the temperature jumps back up to 75 degrees.

With my birthday coming up, my sisters and the guys told me I should just go ahead and get it if I really liked it. I thought about it, but figured I could find one similar a bit cheaper and that I'd like just as well. So we moved on to the rest of the mall and I casually looked for something similar to that jacket. Nothing. Nothing even close. Ah, oh well, I'm going back to San Antonio where there are numerous places to shop and find something similar or better.

Nope. I've done a little shopping the past two days (I took a half-day off today as some comp from the weekend) and haven't been able to find anything resembling that jacket. It makes sense since the new lines are coming out and there's not a huge demand for jackets in this area of the state, but what a frustration.

I've laughed at myself several times today due to the way I've approached this hunt, er, shopping experience. I've got it stuck in my mind what I'm looking for, so as I go into a store, I look around for the area where the coats and jackets are, make my way over, tell the customer service rep I'm just browsing, and almost begrudgingly go through the jackets almost knowing I'm not going to find it. I tell the c.s. rep I'm browsing because I know that if I tell him or her what I'm looking for, I'll be told they're out or don't have one which diminishes my hope sooner than I'd like; for some reason, I enjoy scavaging through while trying to appear indifferent, delaying for a bit the realization that I've only found another store without the object I'm searching for.

I've been to several places the past couple of days in this search: two malls (searching through eight or nine department stores, as well as the Gap, J. Crew, Am.Eagle, etc.), a couple of Ross stores, Marshalls, an outlet mall, Kohl's and Academy. Zip. Nada. Nothing. And I felt so defeated leaving San Marcos a bit ago without the prize I've been after. I called Anna on my way back and left her a message asking her, if she had a chance this week, to go back to Cool Springs for me; she called back a bit later and said she'd be able to, which was a relief. I'm guessing it will arrive next week in time for me to put it in my closet and wait until November to wear.

As I drove around and shopped today, I thought about my dogmatic pursuit of this object and how focused & single-minded I was being about it. Grant it, I don't shop for myself much at all, so this is a rarity; but when I do, usually something like this occurs. It reminds me of Tommy Boy, when Chris Farley is telling the waitress why he sucks at being a salesman: he uses a roll as a symbol of his sale, pets and strokes it to the point of tearing it up because he gets so excited about the possibility of the sale actually getting done. A bit of obsessiveness comes through. I see glimpses of this in other areas of my life; this past summer had a pretty good example of it in another capacity. It's easily done and can be a tough rut to get out of.

I don't think my shopping excursions were wrong in any way, but I've seen a glimpse of a road I don't want to go down in other parts of my life. It could easily be that whatever prize or goal I strive for becomes the adventure I'm living, instead of having an adventure to live knowing that prizes and goals will come along the way. John Eldredge writes in Wild at Heart that guys have a tendency to make their Beauty to Rescue the Adventure to Live, instead of having an Adventure to Live to invite the Beauty to join him on. When the Beauty becomes the Adventure, one ends up with a possibly dead-end relationship and/or marriage: the adventure is gone for the guy and the Beauty is left wondering what happened to the person she fell in love with.

Possible analogies I could draw from all of this:

• My Beauty is in Nashville and I need to get one of my sisters to send her to me.
• I try too hard sometimes to make things work, getting overly focused on one or two things.
• Subconsciously I realize I'm unsure of what Adventure I'm on and am hesitant to invite someone on it.
• I analyze every aspect of what I do way too much.
• I have too much time on my hands.
• I start writing and don't know how to stop.

(In case you missed it, those were possible analogies; just having a little fun at my own expense.)

Continued mystery. And that's ok.

Weddings and funerals

David and Beth's wedding this past Saturday was a lot of fun. Uncle Dewayne, David's dad, performed the ceremony, as he has for all four of his sons. Being that the wedding was in an old stable definitely added to the simple, fun nature of the event; the Bellmeade Mansion and Plantation was the sight for the festivities. The beginning of a journey for those two; the start of a great adventure of two lives becoming one, this wedding celebrating and marking that grand occasion.

I contrasted the vibe of that event with another I attended on Monday: a memorial service for the mom of one of our adminstrative assistants at church. The burial occurred first, allowing the memorial service to be held without the casket present in order that it wouldn't be burned into memory each time the family returned to our auditorium, especially the one who works here everyday. Though the mood is more solemn and quiet at a funeral, a celebration is occuring as well. There were some great stories told of good ol' Rhonda; what a lady. She'd frequently stop by the offices to visit with her daughter and the rest of us as well. It was so great to see how many turned out to remember her and honor that memory. I'm always so thankful that people share those special memories of the deceased with family members, things kept quiet because that's how she wanted it. Things like the way an individual was touched by words, smiles, or hugs provided by her or the countless things she was involved in that the family didn't know about. Good things. God things. I know that comforts the hurts experienced.

I'm going to miss seeing Rhonda sitting across the hall from my office. And though the festive mood of David and Beth's wedding wasn't present at the memorial, an acknowledgement of a grand occasion was marked, a confidence in the future was attested to. We know whose she is and whose hands she's in, just like we know the same of the new couple. In both instances, God rules and is making more beautiful. In different ways, we the witnesses, peers, family, friends, and loved ones celebrate the providence of the Creator. Our faith is in him to see both through to their rightful destination.

And that is good. Each occasion has its time; each has its pains and joys and headaches and hurts and laughter and nuances. Each is special; they're not too alike. But we humans need these markings, these occasions, these ceremonies. We need these to remind us of our commitments, our destinations, our choices, our lives. As I sat next to Mom and Dad during the exchanging of the vows, I wondered if they were reflecting on the ones they promised to each other almost 28 years ago. I know I wondered about the words that will be spoken of me when my earthly time is passed. Again, that's good; it's healthy. And it was neat to experience them so closely together. For David and Beth, I pray faithfulness, love, joy and patience. For the Rhonda's family, I pray peace, comfort, tears, laughter and strong memories of mom and grandma. For all of us, I pray many opportunities outside of weddings and funerals to share the feelings, emotions, and thoughts we experience at those occasions.

Long story, scattered laughs, if any

This past weekend was somewhat of a relaxing whirlwind; I keep getting told that it was such a quick trip. I got to the airport at 7:40 Friday morning, touched down in Nashville at 1:00; I left for the airport Sunday morning at 7:50 and got back to my house at 12:15. In between, I got to spend time with my sisters, Mom and Dad, cousins on Mom's side of the family, buddies from college, as well as various other friends from college who I happened to run into on campus or at my cousin David's wedding, which was why I was in Nashville to begin with.

I had a bit of a Ben Stiller in "Meet the Parents" flying-moment on my way from San Antonio to Nashville. Just as I was boarding my flight, a flight attendant came out of the plane and announced that all rolling suitcases would have to be checked because they'd run out of overhead compartment space; apparently, this was one of Southwest's smaller planes. Carrying two bags, my roller and brown satchel-it's-not-a-purse bag, I had to turn over the roller carry-on to be checked. The lady asked where I was headed, I said Nashville, and she couldn't find an appropriate tag to place on my luggage. At the same time, there was another lady trying to convince the flight attendant that her bag could fit underneath the seat; she did not want to check it. Part of me wishes I would've been obnoxious like her, but that's only a small part.

In the frenzy of being lectured on how many flights that bag had made it under a seat, the flight attendant looked at me with a bothered expression and told me to go ahead and board the plane, she'd get my tag to me when we were in the air. I went ahead and went to the back of the plane, where the only available seats were. I moved to the middle seat because there were still many others boarding behind me. I sat between a man and woman; the guy was sleeping from the moment I sat down and the lady was preoccupied with I don't know what. The flight attendant who'd taken my bag was working the front of the aircraft, never making it back to me with my tag; no problem, I thought, I'll get it as I leave.

After we touched down in Houston, I got off and looked for her. Nowhere in sight. I asked one of men working the flight and he told me she stepped off and I could meet her out in the terminal. I walked out and still didn't see her. I went back to the plane, where I was told that she'd have to come back through because she was continuing on. This time when I got to the terminal, I spotted her around the corner talking on her cell phone. I waited for her to end her conversation, but as she did, she went over to talk with a fellow employee. So I stood back, waiting for their conversation to end. Finally, as she made her way to the gate, I stopped her and told her who I was -- the guy with the bag going to Nashville.

She apologized and told me she didn't have a tag for me, but it wouldn't be a problem; I could just show them my ID when I got to Nashville. She hoped I didn't think all she did while she worked was socialize; I didn't. She was friendly and kind and my bag was going to Nashville, so I found my gate and read while I waited for the flight.

The flight to Nashville was fine; I sat near the front because a lady with a screaming son was in the sixth row, meaning plenty of open seating around her. I gambled that his screaming would die down and stop once we got going...and it did. I was able to read the whole flight uninterupted. Upon disembarking, the gentleman sitting next to me asked if I could help him to the baggage area; he was blind in his right eye and needed some assistance meeting up with his family. He was a very friendly guy, a lawyer from Houston coming to Nashville for his sister's funeral. We walked and talked at a casual pace; several people were waiting for him as we made it to the escalators going down to Baggage Claim. I was introduced to them and thanked; I went down with hope that I would grab my bag, meet Bethany and go get some lunch.

As I stood watching the same four bags, I had a sinking feeling my bag wouldn't magically appear if I kept standing there. I went to the Southwest desk and filed a missing bag claim. The lady working there was very nice (I ran into a lot of friendly people on this trip) and understanding that I didn't have a bag tag. She gave me a print out of the claim with a phone number to call them back; I gave them my cell number to call me when they found out where the bag was. I left with Bethany, went to lunch with her, and went to Lipscomb to hang out with her and Anna for the afternoon. Luckily, the wedding was Saturday at 3:00, so hopefully, I thought, I'll get my bag well before then so I don't have to buy a suit.

I received a call at 4:00 from Southwest telling me my bag had gone on to Raleigh instead of being taken off in Nashville; it should be getting in at 5:15. I told them I'd pick it up since I was going with Anna and some of her friends to dinner at 6:00. I didn't want to wait around for them; I wanted the ball in my court. So I headed back to the airport with Anna this time. Arriving at 5:20, I walked to the same desk and saw the same bags that had been there earlier in the day, none of which were mine. The guy told me the flight had been delayed and wouldn't arrive until 7:00 that night. I told him I'd just back in the morning to pick it up if that was ok. Fine by them.

Finally, Saturday morning at 10:00 my bag returned to my possession. I did get a $25 voucher for my next flight for my trouble and going back and forth to the airport. Again, a nice gesture. As tedious as this all sounds, it didn't do a thing to damper any of my plans. I got to spend a lot of time with Anna and Bethany on Friday and Saturday. I wasn't going to see Mom and Dad until Saturday at lunch anyway, so the airport trip gave me something to do. The only thing I can think of doing differently is getting in line earlier to board the plane instead of being the last one in my boarding group so the overhead space doesn't get taken up. Or trying to fit everything into my brown bag.

Bit of wisdom

I had a great trip to Nashville this past weekend and will write about that this evening sometime, but since I was there for a wedding and happened to run across this piece of wisdom online just a bit ago, I thought I'd go ahead and share it in case I forgot later. Fortunately, I don't have any aunts who do this (and I don't go to too many weddings) but I will definitely keep it in mind.

HOW TO STOP PEOPLE FROM BUGGING YOU ABOUT GETTING MARRIED
Old aunts used to come up to me at weddings, poking me in the ribs and cackling, telling me, "You're next." They stopped after I started doing the same thing to them at funerals.

Taking off

In a couple of days, my whirlwind February is going to take flight. As of right now, I've got five different trips planned, one sermon to collect my thoughts on and preach, two NEON groups (our high school small group ministry name) to host at my house -- one being a Super Bowl party this Sunday, an area wide praise night to rent vans for, and a few classes to prep for to teach. Makes me kind of tired just writing it all out. And don't take this as complaining or a call for pity by any stretch of the imagination. I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed and distracted by it all and when I get like that, I freeze because I don't know where to start. I finally made reservations for a car and hotel in Nashville for next weekend when I'm taking a couple of my juniors to look at Lipscomb. Slowly, my list of things to do is depleting.

And this all comes in the midst of reading another McLaren book, the one over on the sidebar to the right. It's a compilation of strategies for churches to think about, consider and form their own thoughts about how to move our churches through this time of transition in the world. How do we stay relevant? How do we keep our meaning? How can we still offer healing and hope and love? How do we deal with change? What should we be doing now? Questions like that are so fascinating to me, but bothersome as well and can leave me despondent sometimes because I love to dream about what could be but don't always see my present circumstances as the ripe soil for those dreams. Or, if I do, I feel inadequate or disorganized in trying to implement some of those strategies. I'm efficient and practiced in beating myself up over these types of things. I don't really enjoy it; I don't like the beat-up feeling all that much; yet it continues.

Our church is expanding numerically in rapid fashion. Our children and youth classes are busting at the seams. Our auditorium is continually filled, inching towards capacity by month. It's exciting, lively and fun to have so many people finding us to be a friendly place to worship and seek our Creator. People are being challenged. Spiritual growth is occuring. Lives are changing and being drawn to the Savior. So many prayers are encircling us.

Yet with that comes growing pains, as well as tons of decisions about what to do. And here I am, feeling like I'm on the cusp of a new world, a new time, a new place, wanting to plan for us 25 and 50 years down the road, to be on the cutting edge of reaching out to a lost majority in our community, city and world, and I get excited and enthralled about the possibilities and hopes and dreams and ... and ... realize it may not happen as I think or want. Things may not develop as I dream they should or could. Turning ocean liners is much tougher than speed boats, and churches more often than not resemble those behemoths.

So I'm left remembering that God works through it all, our mistakes, our dreams, our hopes, our defeciencies, our wise choices, our faults, our successes. He's here. He's working. I recognize my place as a young, wide-eyed minister still fitting into to his role and finding his place; I say that not defeatedly, but aware. I'll pick my spots. I'll speak when led to and keep silent more often. (Raging shouts from a 20-something doesn't communicate the passion that may be intended.) This is where I need to remember my quiet time experience: wait. Be patient and know that he is working. Know that he is in control. Know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that glorious things are prepared for me in his kingdom. I'm placed where I am for a purpose, with intent and a reason. Listen. Keep still.

In his presence, there is comfort. In his presence, there is peace. When we seek the Father's heart, we will find such blessed assurance - in the presence of the Lord. Cover me, Lord, with your presence.

Seven hours one afternoon

It was my first summer interning, the summer of 2001. I had never been hiking as we were about to hike; a 60-70 pound bag on my back, using chlorine drops to be able to drink the water, wanting to make sure I could be encouraging while possibly struggling up the mountain. Fortunately, I did not have any problems with altitude sickness or fatigue; I had done a minimal amount of running in preparation for this trip, including one morning of running stairs at Blossom Athletic Complex with Brian Offutt, the youth minister I worked for and with. I was really excited about spending a week in the mountains of Colorado, soaking in the beauty of God's creation.

One of the things every person was told before we left San Antonio was that there would be an afternoon we would have the opportunity to spend three hours in quiet time by ourselves. This was mentioned so that we could began to prepare for that time; also, that's something teens (and adults as well) need to know ahead of time because having information like that sprung on you at the last minute does not always work out well. I was really excited about that time we'd have. I looked forward to having a chance to be still and quiet and listen for God to speak.

Following that summer I was going to enter my final year at Lipscomb and I had no clue what I wanted to do after graduation. I was going to take the GRE at some point and consider graduate schools. But I wasn't sure what I might want to study and did not want to go to grad school because I didn't know what else to do. That summer, I wanted to become enlightened to God's future plans for me; I thought that would give me peace and less worries, so that was something swirling in my mind on this trip to Colorado.

Our quiet time was from 10:00-1:00 the morning after our hike to high camp, with lunch and a free afternoon following. We met around the camp fire, sang and prayed and then were sent out one by one. As I left, I wanted to find a spot with a grand view, not extremely difficult to do considering my surroundings. I took water, a couple of granola bars (just in case), my Bible, a journal, a pen, and a camp chair. I found a great spot and began my time in silence, listening to a creek about 60 yards down to my left. The sun was out, as were some clouds, which was very pleasant. I read through some of the Psalms. I read through Philippians and Ephesians. I got a little tired of sitting, so I packed my stuff up and headed towards the creek. I crossed it to see what was on the other side. I sang, I preached, I listened. I read a little more. I began to wonder how long I'd been out there, not really sure how much time had passed.

I eventually made it back across the creek and went back to where I'd started. I saw one of the teens not too far from me, covered up in a sleeping bag to keep the ants off of him. I was sure he had a watch, so I was fairly certain the whistled hadn't blown for us to go back. I wrote out a few prayers, journaled some of my thoughts. Looked around a little more. A while later I spotted two of the girls from our group up the hill from me. We were told not to get together during this time; I figured since it was almost over they'd just decided to catch up before the whistle blew. They saw me, but didn't say anything; and then they disappeared. I was getting frustrated because in all the time I'd spent, I hadn't heard a thing. I had almost convinced myself that a literal word from God was going to be heard by me. Slowly, frustration was mounting.

As I was singing out to the valleys, hills, mountains, creek, and trees in front of me, I heard one of the trek guides call out to me from behind. "Adam, Adam. Hey, do you know what time it is?"

"Uh, no. I don't have a watch with me. Did I miss lunch?"

"Yeah, and you're about to miss dinner too."

"What?!?"

"Um, it's a little after 5:00. We were getting worried about you. No one saw where you went. Have you seen Clint?"

"Yeah, he's right over there under the tree inside his sleeping bag. It's really 5:00?"

With a slight smile supressing an outright cackle, "Yeah, it really is."

Believe me, the teens still bring that up and laugh about it, though with a certain admiration that I was able to spend that much time by myself. It's been a great story to share. That night around the campfire, everyone enjoyed several laughs from my quiet time. When our group went back a couple of summers ago, I took a watch with me. And made it back on time.

While I was out there, I kept thinking to myself, "This is the longest three hours I've ever spent." But I was hesitant to allow that to fully be expressed because I didn't want to feel like I was tired of being with God. But it seemed to go on and on and on. Actually, it did. My long three hours was really seven. No wonder.

But I did receive a message, which I mentioned yesterday, a message that I needed to hear then, through my senior year of college, as well as everyday of my life. Wait. Be patient. God's taking care of you. You might even get a good story out of it.