Thinking about Wild at Heart stuff:
The idea of pursuing sounds very good and right, as far as God's design of a man's and a woman's respective heart. If three things man desires are a battle to fight, an adventure to live, and a beauty to rescue (not necessarily in that order), and God's equipped man to pursue woman (and in turn placed a desire in woman to long to be pursued), the set-up for romance seems very well designed. But there's risk involved, the ultimate possibly being this: pursuit, I think, could very easily be mistaken for stalking and that seems to be dependent on the one being pursued to determine, which places a guy in a relationship or jail (and some would ask the difference between the two, I guess).

Not sure where that came from; pretty sure it shouldn't be read into; certain that my immediate horizon does not include either destination along the way, well, certain in the sense that I don't see it coming.

Anyway, I'm off to Houston and will return late tomorrow night. My brother is coming in Sunday and staying for most of the week, so I'm excited to hang out with him. Happy Easter!

Thinking without thinking

I finished reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell this weekend and it was a fascinating read. His insights and ideas about thin-slicing (making a decision/impression based on little information) and how it relates to our decisions and world are incredible. Especially after reading On Intelligence, these new thoughts about the mind and brain and how it works has left me very excited and somewhat dazed.

One of the examples Gladwell used in his book involved a study that came out of Harvard. It's called the Implicit Association Test, or IAT for short. There are several of these tests, a couple that I've taken that I find somewhat disturbing and extremely fascinating. One of the ones mentioned in the book is the Race IAT, which measures the preference for a white person in relation to a black person. The test does not determine if one is prejudiced or not, but it does reveal if one could be conditioned to one race or not. What I found most intriguing was the difference between my answers to the questionnaire and the results of my test. I have a moderate preference to whites in relation to blacks; I answered (and believe, at least, want to believe) that I've no preference at all. (There are several other intriguing tests that can be taken; go to https://implicit.harvard.edu to take one.)

What this did was bring many things to my attention. One major thing I've been thinking about is that I've got to be very aware of my initial reaction to people and be extra sensitive to those I have a tendency to be more (careful? hesitant? leary? not sure what word to use). One of the things I believe will help this most is putting myself in more situations involving those I'm not usually around: black, Hispanic, poor, etc. I hope this pushes me to more involvement at Urban Connection, an inner-city ministry in San Antonio, and at the Campbell-Griffin Center, a place that works with mostly inner-city teens. The more I am in contact and association with non-white people, the less my thin-slicing will lead to distance or hesitancy.

This type of research is (once again, that word) fascinating to me. The psychology of it is so mind-blowing and intriguing, dealing with the unconscious and subconscious aspects of ourselves. Read Blink and/or go take an IAT. Find out some new, possibly scary, things about yourself. And then process what it means and use it as a jumping-off point to help cleanse your heart.

Grandma

I spent the weekend in Gatlinburg, Tennessee with my mom's side of the family. Her mom, my Grandma (Elsie Butler), is turning 80 next Monday and we were able to pick this weekend for all of to gather and celebrate the occasion. Grandma's family consists of: two daughters (Mom and Aunt Cathy) and two sons-in-law (Dad and Uncle Dewayne); eight grandchildren (in order of birth: Tim, Randy, Paul, me, David, Luke, Anna, and Bethany) and four granddaughters-in-law (Jacquie, Robbie, Aimee, and Beth -- all Spivey girls now; the Copeland kids are way behind in the marriages); and two great-granddaughters (Elsie and Lucy), who are extremely cute and adorable. Nineteen total people were in a chalet in the Great Smoky Mountains being family, playing games, telling stories, and watching the babies.

We played a Grandma Trivia game my mom had made up and found out some great things about Grandma I didn't know. The funniest (especially if you don't care too much for cats) story from this involved one of the games she and her seven siblings enjoyed playing when they were growing up. One of the kids would climb a tree with a cat, then drop it to the ground where one of the others was waiting with a stick to take a swing at it. Hit the cat, you win. Grandma said they didn't have any toys so they just had to make do with what was around; fortunately for cats, my brother and I had bats and balls growing up, saving many of those nine lives.

I bought the game Loaded Questions for Bethany for Christmas this year and our family has really enjoyed playing it. Some of us played Friday night and had probably the best laugh of the weekend. Grandma has a great laugh and a cute giggle, displaying the giggle much more often than the laugh. But once she gets going, it's hysterical, almost to the point of worrying about her laughing too hard and hurting herself. The final question was "If you were to write a song about your true love, what would the title of it be?" Luke, being his witty and comical self, wrote "I Know You're Blind and I Hope You Can't Hear", which sent everyone into hysterics, but none more so than Grandma. Grant it, I was reading the answers and had to put that one near the end to make sure I didn't ruin it, but once Grandma started laughing, it was over. The room was shaking. And it was so much fun.

I think back over the past couple of days and I'm so thankful for my family. I miss being close to them, though I'm grateful for each chance I get to see them. I'm glad that we can get together as we did this weekend and celebrate Grandma and who she is and how much we love and are thankful for her. She's such a servant of God's, a noble woman, a true lady, and a shining light in a world of darkness. She's always placed others before herself, always openned her home to family, friends, and strangers alike, always encouraged and treated her grandchildren fairly and evenly (even though four lived in another city), and always lived out a faith that demonstrated the love of the Father. How fitting that I began this paragraph with an 'I', started talking about Grandma, and finished with the Father. That speaks volumes of her, more than I could ever hope to write about.

Happiest time of the year

I love March Madness. I love filling out brackets. I love guessing (predicting makes it sound like I know what I'm doing) the right upsets and hate when Carolina gets put out early -- and everyone having them as the winners is a great way to make sure they won't get out of the second round. I love when my bracket falls apart because some tiny school from nowhere makes a big splash and surprises everyone. Even though my chances of being the victor in whatever group I've got my brackets in (no money on the line; there is one dinner competition I'm in though), it makes me feel good seeing the underdog victorious. I'm brought to tears (yes, with a smile on my face, I cry) watching highlights of last-minute wins and suprises: Bryce Drew's shot to beat Ole Miss, Laettner's shot over Kentucky, Harold "The Show" Arcineaux putting Carolina out in the first round for the first time in 19 years, NC State over Houston, Villanova over Georgetown, and so many others. As cheesy as the CBS features are on certain schools and players in the Tournament (yes, it's capitalized), I eat them up. Win or go home. Leave it on the court. The Cinderallas have a shot against the odds and the bigger schools. Whether you're small town or big time, 40 minutes exist to find out who's in and who's out.

And so it's begun. Enjoy the next few days. Relish so much basketball being played, so many stories and moments flying by that create so many great memories. I was at my grandparent's house in Virginia when Duke beat Kentucky in overtime. I was at a restaurant in Decatur, Alabama when Valpo beat Mississippi. I was in my dorm room helplessly watching Weber St. beat Carolina. This time of year renews my hope that great things can be done, no matter your stature or place or odds; it reminds me that the unknown can be incredibly exciting and adventurous. It keeps me guessing. It keeps me hanging on.

Crazy 24

I took a couple of senior guys, at their request, out to my roommates property in Pipe Creek for a camping excursion yesterday. They wanted to get out of the city and do some macho things, like make and throw spears, cut down trees, build a fire, rough it in the wild. Chad generously agreed to let them romp around with some supervision (me) on his 20 acres. We got out there a little after one and hauled cut-down cedars to a huge pile of brush that became ginormous. The guys shot a bow and arrow for a while and then made a campfire.

I went back to town to watch a baseball game and left them to burn the place down; at least, that was my fear. I returned in the evening to a well-kept and well-tended fire, as well as the land in tact as it was left. We gathered more wood (by flashlight), the perfect amount to last until we were tired enough to go to sleep. We jumped in our sleeping bags and went to sleep around the fire around 11. Two hours later, I awoke to raindrops falling on head without the accompanying song, though. They started out softly and lightly plucking down on my forehead and as I came out my sleep, they began to fall even harder and larger. The guys woke up about this time and we grabbed our shoes and went to the cab of my truck.

I've got a small truck, a Ford Ranger. There are two jumpseats behind the front seats that fold down to face each other, but in no way could it be considered to be roomy, unless you're five years old or so. One of the guys got back there, I sat in the driver's seat and the other guy was in the passenger seat. It was one o'clock in the am. It began to rain harder. The evening that had been so pleasant, the sleep that had been so comforting even on the ground, disappeared. So we slept in the truck. Cold. Cramped. Without covers. (The guys put their sleeping bags underneath a covering when they ran to the truck, so they were without; I gave mine to the guy in the back since he was more cramped than anyone.) I woke up every couple of hours, but did sleep for most of the night. I didn't realize til an hour ago how tired I was.

We emerged around 8:45; I had turned the truck on and got the heat going at 5:00 because it had gotten pretty chilly (a bank we passed as we came back to town at 9:30 said it was 39 degrees; it had surely gotten a little colder than that at night). It was still raining a bit as we gathered up our things and loaded them up. So much for roughing it, I thought. I hadn't gone with those intentions, but was more than happy to sleep under the moon and star (we could only see one; fitting for being in Texas, huh?) on the ground away from civilization. But once the rain hit, that truck was a welcomed escape back to civility, however awkward that reads or sounds -- did I mention I'm tired?

So here I am, trying to get a few things done this afternoon in prep for class tonight with my truck smelling like a campfire, waiting for me to vacuum it out again as I did this past Saturday. I'll be more than glad to now because the smell of a campfire should only belong at the actual site; it's kind of bothersome to carry it back home with you.

But, you know, it was a good time. It was nice to get away and it was nice to have the time driving back and forth yesterday afternoon to do some thinking and pondering. And spend some good time with a couple of guys about to head to college. Now I'm headed this weekend to celebrate my grandmother's 80th birthday in Gatlinburg, Tennessee with my mom's side of the family. We've got a house there that sleeps 20, so we're in for a blast I think. I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm off to vacuum out my vehicle.

I felt good about being in the office today for the first time in a while. I guess after my February travelling I'd gotten into a funk about now knowing what to do or where to start with duties and preparations, especially with the summer looming on the horizon. Today I got to do some big-thought things in practical ways: I've dreamed up and assembled a new framework for the youth ministry that I hope will include more parents and volunteers, as well as provide better structure for the ever-expanding ministry. Too much, I've felt, has been left on my shoulders and in my hands; I think that model can work for smaller groups and smaller churches, but to accomplish the mission of impacting lives for Jesus as we claim to want to do, the only thing accomplished in that model in our present circumstances is burning out the one running the thing.

I think that's one of the reasons I've felt disjointed the past few months; that, as well as things I've read. Our shepherds are using this year as a year of dreaming and planning for our future, assembling different groups of people to look into specific areas (short- and long-range planning for example) to look at what we need to be doing now to prepare ourselves for where we may be in three, five, ten, and twenty years down the road. Thinking along those lines, I believe I was paralyzed in thought (and sometimes action) with trying to figure something out that would make sense and have the realistic possibility of being accomplished (a full-time staff of ten would be fantastic, but not possible at this point; but imagine how much time could be given to the teens and parents with that many working for Christ in their lives). But today, instead of looking at what I couldn't do, I was able to fiddle around with roles and resposibilities that I think could be of great benefit to the whole youth ministry. And even though I just mentioned having a large full-time staff as being a dream, even there, a key to an involved and impactful ministry is volunteers: who will participate in the kingdom mission by being involved in ministry to youth? I feel my job of involving the willing (and unwilling for that matter) has been poor; frustrations have been my side-kick thusly.

But today was a new day. Today I was given another chance to something I'd like to see happen. So I took a stab and emailed it my braintrust (elder and deacons) for input, review, comments, and changes. Hopefully we'll be able to come up with a framework that can be implemented in conjunction with our Deacon Installation at the beginning of May. I think it was hard for me to admit I needed help. I've known it all along, but I've always struggled with how to ask for it. I pray this will be a great start.

There are those who do, those who say, those who dream, those who analyze; I want to accomplish them all. Analyzing. Speaking. Doing. Dreaming. And so much more. God, continue to send the dreams and visions; continue to fill our hearts with your longings. Continue to captivate our imaginations. Give us the tools to work them out for your glory on this earth. All for your glory.

Wishing for a motorcycle

It's a gorgeous day outside and here I am typing indoors. I just got back from lunch and I'm trying to decide if I'm going to go play ultimate frisbee or not. Or do something outside; I just don't know what.

I finished Blue Like Jazz last night; it's a great read. It kind of makes me want to move to Oregon and be a writer; or take on some secular job and meet random people at coffee houses and get to know them and find out their stories. The book isn't really about that, but it hints at doing more things like that than what we usually think church is about. I also substituted coffee shops for bars. I think I would stick out a bit in a bar.

Two CDs I purchased this past week that have been rotating in my truck: Monk and Neagle (forget the name of the CD) and Chris Tomlin's newest, Arriving. Both are outstanding. I don't realize how much time I spend driving until I get new CDs and realize I've listened all the way through them in a day. Or the CDs aren't as long as they should be. Regardless, both have been very encourging the past few days.

Days like today make me wish I had a Harley, so I could cruise through the Hill Country basking in the sun and the breeze, taking in the blue sky with the scattered white clouds.

If love is from God...

I've been reading Blue Like Jazz, a great book and a fun read. Donald Miller is so honest and frank about things and writes in an authentic way that makes me believe him when he says he desires Christian spirituality, not Christianity. He shares the experience of being on a talk-radio show, being interviewed by a guy who didn't like Christians. The host asked Miller to define Christianity, to which Miller replied he couldn't and wouldn't. This upset the host; Miller explained that if he were to ask 10 people on the street or in churches or wherever, he'd receive 10 different answers defining the term, thus making it superfluous to attempt to define something that has such a variety of meanings.

The host went on to ask about the impression most have of Christians being judgemental and mean, to which Miller responded that unfortunately the squeaky wheel gets the most attention. For the most part, he said, you'll find Christians to be very warm, loving, and friendly people. The two went on to talk about Miller's belief in Jesus and wanting to be like him, not follow Christianity, whatever that meant. By the end of the interview and radio show, the host had tears in his eyes and asked to have dinner with Miller.

Each time I open the book, I'm excited and startled at the fresh perspective offered. I've laughed out loud several times, especially at his self-deprication in regards to being single; maybe I can relate a little too well. (He says he's learned that if he keeps telling a girl he likes her over and over again and she doesn't respond, he should realize it's not going to happen. And that he should quit riding his motorcycle by her house. That's funny.) It's given me so much (more) to think about. I really enjoyed reading about his church family and the community that's been established. When they saw they needed to reach out to youth, they fasted and prayed for God to reveal something to them; they're now feeding hundreds of homeless kids each week. Simple. Amazing. I'm taking note.

I led a song at a memorial service this morning. It was a memorial for the sister-in-law of one of my Friday morning guys, who happens to be one of my elders too. His wife's sister passed away Monday after battling breast cancer, but in early February she accepted Jesus as her Savior and was baptized into his family and new life, which has given so much peace to the family. Bruce, our associate minister, did an incredible job with the eulogy, speaking powerful, Spirit-filled words that were not confrontational, but graceful and true; he's very gifted. In recapping her life, love was a constant theme of what she did and was about. She loved her family dearly, as well as so many friends. Love was the theme of her life.

In thinking about love and how love comes from God and how she didn't claim Christ until her final days, I've thought about how love could be the theme if she didn't "know" Jesus until the end. Could that be? Is that possible? It's a question I've rarely asked and don't really know what to do with the answer because it's something very scary, I believe, to the typical church. Yes, I think her life is rightly defined by love even though she wasn't a "Christian" until the end. But what about loving because he first loved us? Doesn't true love only come from the Father? Maybe she was loving like God even though she didn't realize it; maybe she was displaying the love of Jesus though she did not recognize its origin; maybe there are more people who are, in this sense, in tune with God even if they are filling the halls on Sunday morning.

This is tough; it's difficult for me to get my thoughts around some of these things. But it's good stuff to wrestle with; it needs to be done. What I've learned is that God is chasing after people much more than I realize; he's working their hearts and revealing himself in them even if they don't recognize it. Honestly, the same can probably be true of me: he's working through me in ways I don't know, understand, or realize. Just because I'm a disciple of Jesus doesn't mean I understand or have ultimate claim on the love of God, like someone's got to get it from me to use it (as it seems Christianity sometimes communicates). I've talked with my teens a lot recently about being careful of the box we place God in; whatever the size, he's going to be bigger, grander, and more incredible than imagined.

And wouldn't you know it, the song played at the end of the service was Mercy Me's "Homesick". Cool.

Paralysis

I often feel paralyzed by stress, deadlines, and ideas. When my plate is full, I find myself staring at the array of items that must be dealt with, wishing they were really food because then I'd have no problem digging in. I remember being in 10th grade and having been assigned my first term paper or 5-page essay; I followed my mom around the house one afternoon for 15-20 minutes complaining about how much work I had to do, the other projects I had coming up, and how unfair it was that this was all being dumped on me. Mom let me vent for most of that time, interjecting sparingly to my diatribe. Finally, she pointed out that I'd wasted that time I'd been walking and sulking around when I could have gotten started in a small way on one of my tasks. That's always stuck with me, though I've not necessarily gotten away from sulking and complaining.

Mix in ideas and "how things could/should be" into the mind-set and circumstances and I'll find myself daydreaming about possibilities, whittling away at time that could be better served constructively. I know there's a place for those dreams and aspirations, but too often I find myself dwelling there and neglecting things I could and should be doing. And it's tough not get frustrated with myself about it.

But God shows and reveals to us his grace, which sets a fire within to get going. And sparked by his holiness, his kingdom breaks through.

Out of place

I close my eyes and I see your face

If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place

-- "Homesick", Mercy Me

The more I read and the more I think about the future of church as it is now known, the more frustrated and confused I become. I wonder how close speculations are going to be about the future. I wonder if the days of the megachurch are really drawing to a close. I wonder if the younger generations are finding and making communities of faith, whether in a traditional sense or not. I wonder with the supposed-surge in spiritualism in the Western world if churches are being relevant in the midst of it all. I wonder which churches are going to make it and which ones won't.

As excited as I get in considering the opportunities facing followers of Jesus in these days, I can get pretty discouraged as well. There are some major hurdles that must be cleared to even get in position to be relevant. Different denominations face different things; some are in more advantageous positions than others. The autonomy of my heritage is a great blessing, I believe, but it still requires great boldness and steps of faith for it to truly be a blessing.

In the midst of these curiousities and thoughts of mine, I'm realizing the cause of some of my heartache: homesickness. I continue to see that we live in a broken world and that try as we may to fully live out our calling to be ambassadors of Jesus, we too are still broken. We too are not there yet. So even in church I feel out of place; within the body of believers I keep finding things that just aren't right. And that was depressing me for a while.

Yet I'm beginning to view it from a different set of lenses, seeing it in a different light. Maybe I'm being overly optomistic or naive or young, but what if my longing for home is growing? What if my desire for God's reign to finally completely encompass his creation for its redemption? What if he is placing his desires on my heart and they are taking root and growing? Maybe that's why my heart's felt prodded and unsettled and punctured; his kingdom is expanding within, kicking up dust and a whole lot more, pushing it aside like a stem breaking the surface of the soil from the seed underneath. So maybe some of the mystery I've been attempting to get my mind around the past several months has been the mystery of the mustard seed transforming into such a large tree. How can something so great come from something so small? How can the kingdom of the heavens transform something so unworthy? How can a heart be unsettled yet at peace?

Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow

I've never been more homesick than now

Times in my mind

There is a time for everything, a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to dance and a time to cry. A time to laugh and a time to mourn. A time of doubt and a time of faith. A time of certainty and a time of uncertainty. A time to work and a time to rest. A time to be patient and a time to move on. A time to listen and a time to speak. A time to shout and a time to shut up. A time of anger and a time of healing. A time to tell someone off and a time to refrain from telling someone off. A time to lift your hands and a time to kneel. A time to celebrate and a time of defeat. A time of hope and a time of despair. A time of health and a time of sickness. A time of happiness and a time of disappointment. A time for a finished product and a time for jazz. A time for family and a time to be alone. A time of loneliness and a time of peace. A time to dream and a time to keep on keeping on. A time for vision and a time for nuts and bolts. A time to build and a time to destroy. A time to readjust and a time of revolution. A time of change and a time of consistency. A time to change and a time to change again. A time to be his.

Murder, just war and confusion

My roommate has been interviewed several times the past several days relating to his being abducted seven years ago by a then-17-year old, who a week later abducted and killed a 21-year old man. Leo Little, the then-17-year old, was sentenced to death at the trial, at which my roommate Malachi testified about his abduction. The Supreme Court decided 5-4 today that they are overturning the legality of sentencing minors to death, thus taking Leo off death row. It's been surreal for Mal the past couple of weeks and I'd ask your prayers for him as he's relived a lot of it. Getting woken up with a gun in your face can't be any kind of a pleasant memory; carting around someone for 2.5 hours who's told you his intent is to kill you has got to be so haunting.

I go back and forth on the issue of the death penalty. I believe in justice and I believe God's covenant with Noah after the flood was one with mankind, which included a life for a life. I believe it's a deterrent. I also believe in transformation, in grace, in forgiveness -- which cause me to rethink things like the death penalty. All these things I believe I know God not only believes but demonstrates in unfathomable ways. But I struggle with finding the balance and what to think about ending a life, which is a great struggle, I think, because these types of things don't deserve easy answers or neat, packaged answers. I think they are things we need to wrestle with constantly; I have trouble with answers being stated flippantly or so adamantly as right.

And with this case, I know Mal is struggling with what to think. Here's a guy who could have easily murdered him, but for some reason didn't. A guy who did eventually kill, who knew what he was doing when he did so, who murdered deliberately and without remorse. A "good" example of the need for the death penalty. But I don't know if I could be the one to say, "Kill him." I don't know if I could be one to participate (jury-wise) in recommending death. I don't know.

I think about the death penalty and began to relate it to war and genocide and get even more confused. After watching Hotel Rwanda, an outstanding, compassion-causing film all Christians need to see, I begin to rethink my thoughts about war. It broke my heart to see the troops pull out of Rwanda in the movie. It broke my heart to glimpse the destruction, brokenness, and evil that was carried out in larger doses after peace forces left. I couldn't stand that the U.N. soldiers were not allowed to fire their weapons, even if they were protecting innocent lives from being taken away.

So is there a place for that type of killing, when one group is killing out of hate, spite, whatever, as was seen in Rwanda? Is there a place for "just war" to be made and carried out? What would I have liked to have happened in Rwanda: that murder would not have taken place. How could that have been kept from happenning? Most likely, realisticly, those doing the murdering would've had to have been killed, taken out by force. Which makes me an advocate of just war in that case, right?

Wow, I don't know. I don't know what to think of it all. With the Rwanda situation, not only did the mass murders hurt, it was the lack of concern to do anything by the rest of the world, or to be informed of it, especially by Christians. But the murders do bother me. And I can't say for sure What Would Jesus (have) Do(ne). I'm wrestling with that; and in doing so, I'm experiencing compassion and care for people on both sides, those doing the harm and those being harmed. I'm hurting for the instigators and those hurt by them. I'm mad at Satan and his cronies for the harm and evil they are causing. And maybe that's what should be happening: compassion for people and being ticked off at the devil.

So as an ambassador for Jesus, who took the brunt of so much violence and hate, how do I respond in my world?

Thoughts?