Christmas Pictures

Here are some pics of my fam from yesterday. Merry Christmas to all!

Practice shot 1 to make sure the lighting was ok.

Practice shot 2 to make sure the lighting was ok.

A cropped shot of Bethany and me; I was tickling her, so it wasn't a "proper" photo.

That's Dad and Mom, along with Grandma, with Luke, Anna, Bethany, and myself.

The Copeland kids (this was the best one of the others, even though I was making a goofy face -- better me than them for you to see, I guess.)

I hope to be on the road to Alabama in less than eight hours. I've got some sleeping and resting to do, yes, but I didn't want to do so without leaving a message for the crowd that peruses through here (I'm appreciative of every visit -- thanks!). The plan is to be in Florence by 10:00 or so tomorow night. I'll be gone from San Antonio until January 6 or 7. I'll be in Alabama most of the time and then I'll go to Nashville for a youth ministry conference Jan. 2-5, which is one of the reasons I'm driving. A few of the things on the schedule already for the trip home:

1. Trip to Atlanta to visit one of my dad's sisters and her fam.
2. Trip to Nashville the Wed. between Christmas and New Year's for Christmas with my mom's side of the fam.
3. Coffee and Desserts with my graduating class at one of our classmember's homes Dec. 30 (mini-reunion).
4. Possibly another Christmas Eve Mass; to be decided.

Not sure if I'll get the chance to blog or not until the New Year, so I wish you all the best for the holidays. Praise God for the incarnation of himself to us. Praise him for continuing to reveal to us his love. Praise him for offering hope. Praise him for his faithfulness. Praise him for his patience. Praise the Lord with all we have.

May you be blessed and be a blessing both now and forevermore.

I constantly discover how therapeutic blogging is for me. While I keep a close watch on the thoughts I share online, it's been encouraging to have this medium to vent, ponder, extol, lambast, and exonerate life, happenings, frustrations, and joys, respectivelly. I may or may not have done all the things mentioned in the previous sentence through my blog, but it often feels as if I have. I've probably deleted more than anyone would care to know or read, but typing it out even for the purpose of erasing serves a purpose.

It's somewhat like laughing at lowbrow comedy, television, or PG-13 movies: though usually witless, potty-prone, immature, and offensive, it brings forth laughter in great quantities. Dumb and Dumber is one of my favorite movies; the dialogue from it would have a grand (if not unfortunate) presence in the soundtrack of my life. While I enjoy sophisticated humor (whatever that is), the brainless stuff serves a purpose as well. Especially as my mind centers on more-than-usual thoughts of the deeper side of the pendulum, I've found the need for Tom Green, Harry and Lloyd, Napolean Dynamite, Roy D. Mercer, Happy Gilmore, Tommy Boy, and Anchorman to distract me for a short time. I don't know if I could call this therapeutic, but there seems to be some purpose served. I hope.

The struggle I have with it, though, is that I often find myself turning to mindless comedy to distract me from mind-numbing thoughts of purpose, mission, authenticity, and heart. In the grand scheme of things, there's a time and place for it. But as it takes the place of quiet time, reading, solitude, simplicity, and fasting, its purpose becomes warped and morphs into another distraction instead of a release. Finding creative releases is tough. Finding a way to channel idle time and energy takes a lot of creativity and imagination, almost becoming more of a beast than the regular mind-boggling reality. But that's the cost of drinking deeply from the well, I guess.

This is a great example of things I should delete, as mentioned at the beginning. Muddled, scatter-brained, jumpy, and cluttered, not making as much sense as usual. Or maybe things like this have a place. Or maybe this is what I actually came up with after deleting three other attempts. Or maybe not.

I own some distinct, beautiful memories of church at Hydes Chapel. When we moved back to the States from Brazil, my dad began preaching at a small congregation across the Tennessee state line, about a 20 minute drive from our house. In the seven or so years that we worshipped there, the attendence/membership/whatever-you-call-it was around 70-80 people. Hydes Chapel church of Christ holds a special place in my heart: I was baptized in the baptistry there in '92; I feel like it was where I grew up (from ages 9 to 15); the reality of family was unmistakable; and I got to listen and learn from an inspiring man two to three times a week (depending if Dad was teaching my Wednesday night class or not; two lessons/sermons each Sunday were a given).

One of the best things I've taken from our family's time at Hydes Chapel is the singing. I possess a deep well of musical notes and words in the recesses of my mind from Songs of the Church. As is typical with small, rural congregations, I learned most songs with some type of a twang; but more than that, I learned to sing from and with my heart. The roll is called up yunder; there's a light guidin' me; though the Lord was in his holy temple and all the earth was to keep silent before him, we kept singin' out loud (but softly); Jesus was ev-ry-thing-to-me-to-me in a very stacato-type of way until the basses powerfully came in with grand assurance that he is (drop the voice extremely low) ev-erything to me; being lifted by luv; singing about Ebon Pinion without a clue as to what or who that was. I don't write this as "those people did that", but as "this is me and a dear part of who I am."

Which is why I thought of singing at Hydes Chapel as I decided to blog tonight. The song "Where Could I Go" was running through my mind, number 425 (same opening as 424 - Paradise Valley, which by the way, was one of my favorite openings in that book). Though my impersonation of how I used to sing that song might now be somewhat humorous, the words powerfully remind me of great truths regardless of how it comes out.

Living below in this ol' sinful world
Hardly a comfort can afford
Striving alone to face temptation sore
Where could I go but to the Lord?

Neighbors are kind, I love them everyone
We get along in sweet accord
Yet when I face the chilling hand of death
Where could I go but to the Lord?

Life here is grand with friends I love so dear
Comfort I get from God's own word
But when my soul needs manna from above
Where could I go but to the Lord?

Where could I go, oh, where could I go
Seeking a refuge for my soul
Needing a friend to save me in the end
Where could I go but to the Lord?

Some of the lyrics in the second and third verses were always a bit awkward to me, but I was constantly haunted (in a good way) by the question, "Where could I go but to the Lord?" It was refreshing and assuring that his arms were always open, his love was always available. And continue to be.

So I remind myself through precious memories (unseen angels, sent from...) such as these that there is no place more welcoming, no heart more spacious, no love more satisfying, no grace more filling than with our Lord. Oh, I could go numerous places, and have. Spiritually, I've attempted filling up my diesel heart with unleaded gasoline, to disappointing and hurtful results; I think we all have. But, as the Hebrews writer writes, regardless of our pasts, regardless of our mistakes, we can "approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."

Uplift

"Lift up your eyes from where you are and look north and south, east and west. All the land that you see I will give to you and your offspring forever...Go, walk through the length and breadth of the land, for I am giving it to you."

- God to Abram, Genesis 13:14-15, 17

Look beyond your circumstances. Soak in the vast array of opportunity and hope that surrounds you, from the farthest length to the highest height, the deepest crevice to the widest chasm. Open your eyes to the wonder, open your heart to the imagination. Allow the dream of what will be to be the vision of where you go. And then taste and see that it is good. Step out in faith and trust the Lord as you walk. Each step you take will be ground given to you; you will not be given the land on which you do not trod. Within your circumstances, the Lord continues to direct. Though your choice may be the result of another's (Abram and Lot, for instance), the promise for you is still great. Walk with faith and confidence. Stare not into the cacophony of the wind and waves, but into the calming eyes of our Savior.

Through this mystery of life
We dance with awkward steps
'Midst the darkness, fog, and shadows
Unsure, confused...but still
We move, we dream, we struggle
With locked doors of destiny
With hopes that in this mystery of us
We'll find our missing key

There are no longer any teenagers in the Copeland family now. Bethany turned 20 yesterday, which is weird for me to type for some reason. It's not that she doesn't act her age (she's very mature and fun); it's probably that the maturity gap between has been narrowing significantly since I was 20. Not to say that I'm so much more mature than her; it's that there's a bigger difference in maturity when I was 20 and she was 14 than currently exists between my 25 years (I'll be 26 in February) and her 20. And I like it. I like that I can have deeper conversations with her than we used to; actually, I don't remember what we talked about when I was 20 -- but that's more likely because I'm getting old...hahaha. Anyway, Anna had a surprise party for her last night, which was very sweet of her. I got to talk to Bethany yesterday afternoon, too. Congrats, Sissy!

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There are several stories from Thanksgiving I've been wanting to recap and haven't made the time until now. (By the way, Will and Glenna's wedding was awesome -- such an incredibly fun celebration.) Since I had basketball practice (I'm playing in a men's league in town with some buddies), I'll share one when Luke and I shot around over the holidays.

We had planned to go out to the Mars Hill gym (our high school) and do some shooting, maybe play a little one-on-one so he could continue to beat me and try to catch up on our all-time series. (He probably won't catch me, though, because I won't play him enough for him to do so; though through high school I had his number, that was probably the last time I had the ability to hang with him. He's long passed me.) It turned out that a guy had asked Luke to do a training session with his two boys, so we went to the gym, he did some drills with them, and I shot around on the other basket. As they were wrapping up, I joined them for some shooting contests. We actually ended up splitting the series, I think.

But the cool thing about that afternoon was the confidence Luke gave to the younger brother. He's in 5th or 6th grade I think, still growing and coming into his own, and actually still trying to figure out which hand to shoot with -- but he's got a pretty decent shot, though I couldn't tell you hand is dominant in the release. He was out at the three-point line, taking shots and badly missing. Coming up short. Airball. Front of the rim. Backboard. Rolling out. Nothing seemed to go in for him, except once every six or seven shots. He's was getting pretty down on himself, which is where Luke stepped in.

Luke's always had a way to communicate a serious point and encourge someone while remaining in a playful demeanor. He went over to the boy and said, "You're a shooter. Keep shooting it." And he kind of nodded his head, but didn't really seem to believe it. Luke continued, "I want to hear you say, 'I'm a shooter.' Say it, 'I'm a shooter.'"

So he said, "I'm a shooter," in a defeated sort-of-way.

Luke responded, "NO, I'm a shooter!"

"I'm a shooter."

"Again."

"I'm a shooter!"

"Again."

"I"m a shooter!!"

He shot the ball from the three-point wing and hit nothing but net. He got the ball back, shot again, and swished it yet again. A huge smile invaded the previous frown and he probably hit four or five in a row. For the rest of the afternoon, he was deadly from any spot on the three-point line. (He told us later his dad didn't want him shooting threes.) But he was drilling them.

It was the confidence Luke gave that took over in his mind. Here's Luke, a city-celebrity, a great basketball player and an even better person, telling this young man he believes in him and he believes he can shoot the ball with accuracy. What other choice did the kid have? He had to make them; there was no other option. He was instilled with confidence from someone who knows what it takes to be a good shooter and his mind changed. He began to believe in himself.

What I witnessed was a perfect display of what God's trying to do with us. In our timidity, we fumble around, unsure, uncertain, and unable. We think we're trying, but we're not; our hearts aren't in it, whatever "it" may be. But God's answer through Jesus is a resounding, "Yes, you can. Yes, you will." And so many times those words fall on my deaf ears. I only hear the lies of Satan expounding on my inabilities, my inconsistencies, my inadequacies, and my failures. I not only falter and fall, I'm beat up from the arrows and attacks that, while my attempts seem emerge from all the strength I have, I really don't have much strength at all. A broken man cannot stand apart from the strength of God. So right now I'm trying to listen and hear those words of hope and promise, words of confidence and strength. They are words that complete any brokenness and fill any holes. Though still attacked, though still in midst of battles, his words -- our sword -- mysteriously overcome.

And we find rest.

From our newsletter

The following is my short article for the December Youth Reach Newsletter:

When I was in Alabama for Thanksgiving recently, my siblings, Mom, and I went to a basketball game one evening in Huntsville, about an hour away from Florence. (My Dad is going to law school at night, which is why he wasn’t with us.) The ride in the car there and back gave us a great time to talk, laugh, and catch up with each other. We started telling up stories about each other from when we were younger, family stories that leave us crying we laugh so hard.

We started talking about what we were like when we were younger, which prompted one of us to ask Mom to give a one-word description of each of us at two different points in our lives: one, describing each of us as a child and two, describing us presently.

What ensued was Mom telling stories, some we’d never heard, to explain the word she choose and all of us laughing at the memories and prompting others to emerge. Not only did it provide laughter, but my siblings and I were given a blessing from our Mom, an endowment of confidence about who we were, who we are, and who we are becoming.

We are beings who need the approval of another. In our sin, we seek that approval from wrong sources. In Christ, we find the completeness we desperately seek. What my Mom did for my brother, sisters, and I during Thanksgiving was re-confirm our identity, letting us know what we look like through her eyes. And I think this is analogous to what God does for us through Jesus.

Jesus is the full representation of God to humanity. We see his extravagant mercy, grace, forgiveness, and love completely in Christ. So when God looks at us, we who are bathed in his blood and Spirit, he sees the image of his Son. And he smiles.
Just as my mother pronounced a blessing on her children, so, too, God places a blessing on us. It is a blessing of identity, a blessing filled with peace and strength, a blessing to propel us into our world carrying his grace and truth. He made us to seek His blessing, His approval. He longs to give that blessing as much as we desire to receive it.

His hands still heal. His voice still speaks. His gift still frees. His presence still calms our stormy seas. His eyes still smile. Be blessed this season by our One and Only.

The wedding's almost here...

My ex-roommate Will is getting married this Saturday, and I was asked to help put together a slide show/video for them for the rehearsal dinner and reception, which I've been working on and fine tuning this week leaving me little time to blog. I wanted to post a short message tonight (now that the dvd's are burned and ready for distribution) before hitting the sack. A couple of quick hits:

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving in Alabama with my family; it was soooo good to be around them. Getting to eat Grandma's and Mom's cooking again was incredible and leaves me longing for Christmas.

I got to sit by Porter Wagner's (he's an older country music guy) grandson on my flight to Nashville as I headed back to Bama last week. He and I had a great conversation; he's a chaplin with a private company in San Antonio and I'll have to share some of the discussion at another time.

Busy weekend ahead with the rehearsal dinner tomorrow and wedding on Saturday. It's going to be such a great celebration for Will and Glenna and all those who love them.

The Spurs got back to winning this week, which is always a good thing. That loss to the Bulls was awful. Good win in Dallas tonight.

Departing question: What is it to be constrained by love?