tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105117192024-03-05T03:34:58.527-06:00The Neighborhood of GDavidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-2232989039014658052011-07-23T00:34:00.000-05:002011-07-23T00:34:34.481-05:00safe from the snipers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DXFVYXrDF7k/TipRy68yGLI/AAAAAAAAER0/HAT6_0W_bSU/s1600/IMG_20110721_130452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DXFVYXrDF7k/TipRy68yGLI/AAAAAAAAER0/HAT6_0W_bSU/s400/IMG_20110721_130452.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>It's been a flat phase...one of those seasons where everything is bland and there's seemingly nothing from which to be inspired (about which? for which? who knows). I fumble with the settings of my complicated camera trying to squeeze out technically "good" photos with results as uninspired as the effort.<br />
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Then my girls come to the office for lunch. Isabella finds a place to nest among the skyscrapers where she's "safe from the snipers". What does that mean? Who knows, but it's pure Isabella and essentially beautiful. All that's on hand is a cheap cell phone with a sensor the size of a peso and no controls--not even a real shutter button. But there it is, a moment of essential beauty captured. Maybe not perfectly, but effectively captured, and--whatever it does for others--while part of me may pine for "better" equipment, that part is overwhelmed by the memory of beauty that resonates from the captured moment. It was a beautiful moment observed and communicated without complication.<br />
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Maybe it's easier to see essential beauty when not distracted by technicalities. Surely it's more effectively communicated without complication. But inspired work from unpracticed hands is myth. So is communication without competence.</div>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-74692880483983823602011-07-21T12:59:00.000-05:002011-07-21T12:59:06.849-05:00CS Lewis on our problem being that we desire too little<div>From “The Weight of Glory” Chapter 1, Paragraph 1:</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.</i></div>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-13169186700516366732011-01-18T13:02:00.002-06:002011-01-18T14:08:56.775-06:00Who was Martin Luther King, Jr.?No, this isn't an article answering that question. Rather, it's an attempt to foster that question in you. Let me put it another way, who would your children say that he is?<br />
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<i>"Someone who helped African Americans."</i><br />
Not wrong, but inadequate.<br />
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<i>"Someone who fought for civil rights." </i><br />
Broader beneficiary audience but still short of the mark. Bonus question: ask your kids what the term "civil rights" means.<br />
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<i>"A huge contributor to Natural Law, Natural Rights, and American Constitutionalism"</i><br />
Really? Your kids said that? AWESOME!<br />
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My point is that while the effects of his efforts are huge and clearly visible, and I'm <u>very</u> thankful for those changes he affected, to allow such a man to slip into a slot as primarily an advocate for racial parity or even a crusader for social justice is a loss. To allow him to slip into an excuse for a Monday holiday is tragic. I suppose it's a mentality born from laziness rather than malice, but sad nonetheless. I don't want to make less of the benefits of his life and actions. I want to realize them <u>more</u> by making more of who he was. I want to learn more about the character and ideas that caused such force of life. He was an amazing philosopher, theologian, leader, and thinker. He was a man whose conviction, determination, diligence, intellect, and heart expressed itself so powerfully that from the expression precipitated revolution. I mean that the things we normally ascribe to him overflowed from the power of who he was--his <u>character</u>. I think I fail his dream when my thoughts of him are founded otherwise even if my actions are conditioned by his legacy.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-81335207734902011512011-01-13T22:30:00.001-06:002011-01-13T22:35:12.712-06:00missed opportunityTuesday night I ran into someone on the street I hadn't seen for several years. We weren't friends or even associates--we had only met once. But I remembered his name...Daniel.<br />
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He approached me with purpose. I thought he looked familiar, but wasn't sure, and I wasn't really looking for conversation. Undeterred, he interjected into my thoughts with, "Hi, can I ask you a question?" "Of course, Daniel." was my reply as I shook his outstretched hand. He looked shocked, and justifiably so. As I said, we had only met once under unremarkable circumstances, and I am terrible with names. Those two factors combined made my recall near miraculous.<br />
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"You remember?" he asked. "Yeah, Daniel, I met you two years ago, and you said then that you had six months to live." You see, when I met Daniel, he spun a well-rehearsed pitch about an inoperable brain tumor, etc. In case it isn't clear, Daniel was working me, and he had every intention of trying again if he could.<br />
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"No, no, I never said it was inoperable. I mean there was always the chance of remission."<br />
"Awesome! I'm really glad to see you doing so well!"<br />
"Well, really I'm not..." and he proceeded to tell me about his current challenge.<br />
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Without doubt, Daniel has difficulties that a few dollars can't fix. He happened to catch me at a time when I didn't even have that to give; so, I was little help to him that day. As we parted company, he said, "...thanks for the warm reception." It made me think. I had welcomed him warmly. I'd remembered his name (miraculous without doubt). I'd shaken his hand in a friendly gesture, stopped, looked into his eyes, and spoken to him. But then I fell short (smart mouth). I missed my opportunity. The air had changed because of my disrespect. I didn't have any money on me, and I really didn't have much time, but I should have followed through treating him like "Daniel whose name is to be remembered" instead of "some guy trying to con me" even if he was trying to con me. What threat is that to me? And what would it have cost me? Not much.<br />
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I hate missing opportunity.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-51414468919594854712011-01-01T10:59:00.000-06:002011-01-01T10:59:39.159-06:00Great Thoughts from Don Whitney on Change<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<a href="http://www.biblicalspirituality.org/newyear.html" style="color: #2244bb;" target="_blank">Don Whitney</a>:<br />
<blockquote>The beginning of a new year is an ideal time to stop, look up, and get our bearings. To that end, here are some questions to ask prayerfully in the presence of God.<br />
<ol><li>What’s one thing you could do this year to increase your enjoyment of God?</li>
<li>What’s the most humanly impossible thing you will ask God to do this year?</li>
<li>What’s the single most important thing you could do to improve the quality of your family life this year?</li>
<li>In which spiritual discipline do you most want to make progress this year, and what will you do about it?</li>
<li>What is the single biggest time-waster in your life, and what will you do about it this year?</li>
<li>What is the most helpful new way you could strengthen your church?</li>
<li>For whose salvation will you pray most fervently this year?</li>
<li>What’s the most important way you will, by God’s grace, try to make this year different from last year?</li>
<li>What one thing could you do to improve your prayer life this year?</li>
<li>What single thing that you plan to do this year will matter most in ten years? In eternity?</li>
</ol></blockquote>Whitney writes:<br />
<blockquote>The value of many of these questions is not in their profundity, but in the simple fact that they bring an issue or commitment into focus. For example, just by articulating which person you most want to encourage this year is more likely to help you remember to encourage that person than if you hadn’t considered the question.</blockquote>Whitney also offers an additional 21 questions to help us “consider our ways.”Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-86200545387217369752010-12-15T13:05:00.000-06:002010-12-15T13:05:22.326-06:00No Time for the Meannesses of Life<div>(Repost from Kevin DeYoung) <a href="http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/kevindeyoung/2010/12/15/no-time-for-the-meanneses-of-life/">No Time for the Meannesses of Life</a>: </div><div><br /></div><div>"Paul Johnson on one of the reasons for Winston Churchill’s greatness:</div><blockquote><p>Fourth, Churchill wasted an extraordinarily small amount of his time and emotional energy on the meannesses of life: recrimination, shifting the blame onto others, malice, revenge seeking, dirty tricks, spreading rumors, harboring grudges, waging vendettas. Having fought hard, he washed his hands and went on to the next contest. It is one reason for his success. There is nothing more draining and exhausting than hatred. And malice is bad for judgment.</p><p>Churchill loved to forgive and make up. His treatment of Baldwin and Chamberlain after he became prime minister is an object lesson in sublime magnanimity. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to replace enmity with friendship, not least with the Germans. (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0143117998/deyorestandre-20">Churchill</a>, 164-65)</p></blockquote><p>The six pages of the <em>Epilogue</em> are the most memorable six pages I read all year."</p>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-75010319693538255402010-11-12T19:55:00.003-06:002010-11-12T21:00:47.635-06:00frog flatulenceMy daughters and I argue. A lot. To be clear, we don't argue much about chores, homework, or attitude. I'm thankful to say God has blessed us in that regard. Rather, we pick things at random to argue about, and it drives Letha (mom) crazy. We'll argue about important things, and we'll argue about immaterial things. We currently have several on-going arguments, the most heated and protracted of which is whether or not frogs fart. Isabella is contending that they do not, but she has yet to overcome my arguments to the contrary.<br />
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Isabella knows an amazing amount of information about animals. She regularly surprises me with her knowledge and understanding, and it doesn't bother me at all to be educated by her. But her assertion regarding frog flatulence simply did not fly, and I called her on it. Thus, the debate began. Now, you may have exhaustive knowledge of a frog's alimentary system and whether or not they do in fact pass gas, but that's hardly the point. The point is the lack of strength in her assertion and the value of constantly challenging her to think. She tried to appeal to "books she had read", but I demanded references she could not produce. She tried to appeal to weak classifications and common behavior. Nope. She tried to shift the burden of proof to me suggesting I should prove they <u>do</u> have gas; however, she had already thrown down the gauntlet and assumed the burden of proof. The debate rages on, and she valiantly refuses to concede.<br />
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Sunday, we pulled off of the highway in Letha's truck, and the discussion turned to the fact that we hadn't yet put her "Mom's Taxi" keychain fob on her keyring. "But mom isn't our taxi. <i>We don't order her around and pay her to drive us places.</i>" said Isabella. Clearly, she was inviting a full frontal assault with that kind of wishy-washy proposition. She had made a statement, "mom isn't our taxi" backed with a practical ground. "What is the definition of 'taxi'?" I asked. She didn't know and said as much. "No, Isabella, you've missed the point." "What point?" she asked suspiciously. I began unpacking for her that her precise knowledge about the definition of the word "taxi" wasn't her strongest tactic, or at least it was a difficult one to win. In the moment, her strongest strategy was common usage of the term "taxi". It didn't matter that she couldn't recite the perfect definition, she was using the word in the common sense. She could've argued effectively from that fortification every bit as long as she's argued against frog flatulence.<br />
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I ask my girls to solve thinking puzzles such as, "If you were to shrink down to the size of a piece of gravel, and you were able to ride on the tire of the car like a ferris wheel (say you were stuck in the tread of the tire), how fast would you be going compared to the ground at a) the bottom of the tire, b) the halfway point of the tire, and c) the top of the tire." No, you don't have to know formal algebra to solve the riddle; although, algebra is used whether you intend to or not. You don't have to know what angular velocity means, but you have to think through the concept that has that label. All you need is basic arithmetic, and a deliberate, observant exercise of thinking. Walking them through the thought process, I'll ask, "What noise would the tire make if, at the bottom of the tire, the piece of gravel stuck in the tread was going any speed compared to the ground?" The answer is, of course, "screeeeeeech!" Great! Where the tire touches the ground, there's no forward speed compared to the ground. What about at the middle (where the hub is)? Well, the hub is attached to the car; so, it's going however fast the car is. If the car is moving forward at 60 mph, the center of the wheel is going forward compared to the ground at 60 mph. Now, how fast would the pebble be going forward compared to the ground at the top of the tire? Think!<br />
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The point isn't to irritate mom. The point isn't to torture my daughters, nor is it just a diversion for me. All those things are side-benefits to be sure, but the real point is to develop intentional thought in my beautiful, amazingly intelligent daughters. It isn't enough that they can remember facts, and it isn't enough that they can perform finite tasks as expected. As a society, we push for reading without pushing for comprehension. We push for assertiveness without pushing for effectiveness. We, as parents, have a tremendous opportunity every day to encourage critical thinking! I'm raising women who will be deluged with manipulated statistics, pulled upon by the undertow of perverse worldviews, and overwhelmed with faulty thinking. I want them to have some weapons. I want them to be able to rightly discern truth (2 Timothy 2:15).<br />
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I want Isabella to concede the point that frogs fart; however, I'd rather she <b>prove</b> me wrong.<br />
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You've got your standard pass-times. Talking to your friends or passing notes is guaranteed to get you grounded or worse. Counting ceiling tiles is always an option, but once you passed fourth grade you could just multiply the length by the width and that was a bust. Plus, if you've counted them once, it's pointless. With the right preacher, you can count verbal fillers ("uh", "uhuh", etc.) You could count grammatical errors (personal favorites are misuse of "...and I", non-words like "irregardless" and for extra credit you can play bingo), but that tends to make one irritable. When you're coming off of 2-week revival, and you find yourself in a "fellowship meeting" three preachers in on a Monday (after a marathon Sunday), when your ADHD has reached a fever pitch and every nerve ending in your body screams for tactile response, counting games just aren't going to cut it. We all know that "fellowship meeting" is code-speak for "preacher preach-off with casseroles afterwards". You've got to have something to help pull you through without incurring parental wrath.<br />
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Now, I'm not claiming divine inspiration. I'll let you judge for yourself, but I submit for your consideration the <b>homilytype</b> (all rights reserved). While in grade school, learning the basics of word processing as well as how to type, I arrived at the homilytype--an answer for my need to disengage my restless mind and stimulus-deprived fingers. The basic idea is simple enough: type everything the preacher says on an imaginary (QWERTY) keyboard. Obviously, it's tough to type that fast; so, there's a built in challenge to the game, but there are also necessarily rules so your OCD doesn't kill you. I mean, what if you make a typing mistake? You can't just leave it hanging in mid air; nor can you really mouse or otherwise navigate to the error to correct it. So, rule 1 is, you can hit (imaginary) delete a discrete number of times (say 4), but you may not skip (no arrow keys). This requires that you mentally keep your place. <b>Or</b> for really bad errors (say you lost track of whether or not you hit a 'r' or a 't' or how far back the mistake was), you can hold (imaginary) delete down for 2 seconds, and homilytype deletes the entire under-construction sentence (line). Voila! Jack up the sentence too bad, and you just hold down (imaginary) delete. Rule 2 is, you can only correct a single sentence. (I found it got too hard to keep track of multiple sentences, and if I tried I'd lose synch with the preacher.) In such a manner you can arrive at a pretty decent imaginary transcript by the end.<br />
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I've heard thousands of sermons--many of them good, and I'm thankful for having had the opportunity to learn under some great ministers. But I must confess that there were more than a few times that I had to resort to the homilytype just to keep from getting grounded for the remainder of puberty. It served me well over those years. How did you deal?Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-57830439139116399202010-10-21T21:14:00.002-05:002010-10-22T09:18:59.635-05:00observing beautyAs the bus rounded the interstate off-ramp, my eye caught a glimpse of something glorious. Waiting for the bus to finish it's last few turns, I stepped onto the sidewalk and turned to see the most gorgeous rainbow I'd seen in years. It stretched thousands of feet in the air, a perfect semi-circle in which every color from red to violet was visible. I stood mesmerized. I stood alone. All the other passengers hurried past, never stopping to take in something of true beauty. As the author of Genesis described it, the very <a href="http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=genesis+9:13&page=">bow of God</a> (Genesis 9:13). Imagine that. My bus co-riders had frazzled through their day at work, and they now frazzled through their evening and past the marvelous.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEeV-qer-gK_25_qCF5Zj3Hr69ugSSC6j3t20dMhx33q47CX55hNJcJ5hSBYTZhQRs_EXDDN1v5KK4C4TgIofxi87qyy0x2G_j1fxCVbKB0I3Z2vla7Hk8tjyy-ZKUCLd45Om/s1600/IMGP7498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEeV-qer-gK_25_qCF5Zj3Hr69ugSSC6j3t20dMhx33q47CX55hNJcJ5hSBYTZhQRs_EXDDN1v5KK4C4TgIofxi87qyy0x2G_j1fxCVbKB0I3Z2vla7Hk8tjyy-ZKUCLd45Om/s320/IMGP7498.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Why didn't they stop? Among all the ugliness of the world, there are still truly beautiful things to be seen. Or perhaps beautiful truth to be seen. Refreshing and enlivening truth. Millions travel to see the grand canyon without ever stopping to let its beauty touch them. Billions walk through the everyday oblivious to nature, and art, and life that should point us to something bigger than ourselves. We consume it rather than savor it. If my new-found photography hobby has had no other benefit, my efforts have opened my eyes to the wonder all around. Besides the intentional focus required for photography, the practical difficulties of capturing something's essence--in low light, for example, or maybe as the focal point in the moment, perhaps a beautiful little girl without a goat's rear-end in the frame--cause me to be <a href="http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=psalm+139:14">amazed</a> (Psalm 139:14) by the gift of sight itself. My eyes captures things at sensitivity and focal lengths that shame the most expensive of cameras. And I <a href="http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=psalm+119:37">waste</a> (Psalm 119:37) them.<br />
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Maybe it's the frequency with which we get to observe these things that callouses our souls to their impact. The word "natural" becomes synonymous with "common" when everyday nature communicates the <a href="http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=romans+1:20">infinite and eternal</a> (Romans 1:20). That's a tragic loss for which we are culpable. Maybe it's our idolatry to novelty. That's a lousy trade. Perhaps it's our refusal to see the truth staring us in the face that <a href="http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/justintaylor/2010/09/15/do-you-see-the-glory-of-god-in-the-sun-darwins-negative-testimony/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+between2worlds+(Between+Two+Worlds)">deadens our hearts</a>. I can imagine God surveying the entirety of creation and exulting "it is good". I can't imagine him seeing the universe he designed to point us to him with indifference as we do.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-16850649170422669642010-10-21T20:11:00.000-05:002010-10-21T20:11:00.701-05:00saving money on junk food<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">even the title seems contradictory. Why would you try to “save” on something that is in itself “waste”. Maybe it should be “comfort good”. Whatever. The point is that budget junk food is not good. If junk food evolved over time, and the starting point was what the store brands now offer up as cheese nips and fritos, I don’t see how they made it. Nasty. Budget cheerios have improved over the last 20 years; so, maybe there’s hope, but until then, the unsatisfying taste a) makes me more irritated about saving money and b) helps me save money because it <b>just isn’t worth it</b>.</span></span>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-13571730937133397062010-08-31T22:40:00.001-05:002010-10-21T20:16:15.256-05:00still meDuring breakfast one day this week I had a candid conversation with my daughter Mercedes. Sharing the morning while the rest of the house slept with this beautiful young woman was surreal. There she sat, eyes focused, mind sharp, slight grin on her face...amazing. I left the house still feeling as if I were having an out-of-body experience, and spent most of the bus ride trying to re-anchor myself to reality. Who was this person sitting at my dining room table? It wasn't that the conversation was all that heavy. It was just the experience. Somewhere between 19th street and I-240, I realized that the source of my disconnectedness with the experience was that I had expected someone else to go through these types of things. I wouldn't have imagined it would still be...well...me. But it was.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZFBlmRyQD_OflsSi03pSL2xeFIDL_Ak2kVYzGOW1D4vLB-gP5o0mC2oWi8ZxNHpdslT5eTLd6qCU697dqAa-M7ofo-7HE1w9E_ayRgOLVcJpMP3VWMwnu53AWHyPI6vILzWd/s1600/image1-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZFBlmRyQD_OflsSi03pSL2xeFIDL_Ak2kVYzGOW1D4vLB-gP5o0mC2oWi8ZxNHpdslT5eTLd6qCU697dqAa-M7ofo-7HE1w9E_ayRgOLVcJpMP3VWMwnu53AWHyPI6vILzWd/s320/image1-15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Seventeen years ago, before my freshman year in college, I started donating blood regularly. I met lots of interesting people, but one nurse in particular made an impression on me--literally and figuratively. Literally, she made an impression on me because her septuagenarian hands weren't as stable as they might have once been; so, the needle started removing flesh a good inch before the ultimate puncture point as it scraped along my inner arm. Figuratively because of what her disarming blue eyes said. I will never forget them. Those eyes communicated a vibrant woman who had lived much. But it was more than experience that they communicated. They spoke of something that didn't grow old. It's as if I could see something about who she was while her weathered hands and deeply-lined face only told the story of where she'd been. The more interesting story of who she really was could only be partially inferred. I knew that the same (fiery) essence that radiated through her eyes had done so since her body was young and strong. She was beautiful, and I remember thinking then that I wanted to be like her.<br />
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I guess I lost track of that desire. Or maybe I never fully appropriated it. More likely, I didn't have the wisdom to reconcile it with reality. Sitting on the bus, I remembered that nurse. I recognized that between the time I met her and my surreal morning with Mercedes, I had unconsciously been assuming that someone else would be going through these life experiences--not me--even though I was (at times numbly) walking through them. I further refined the thought until I could see that it was my expectation to have changed essentially by this point in life--so that the "me" going through today isn't the same "me" I was when I was younger. It would be some sort of "future Dave". Surely the husband of such a kind, loving, and faithful wife couldn't be the same punk she started out with 16 years before. But it's still me. Surely the father of such beautiful young women would be a different guy than the immature kid that is still noticeably present. Nope...still me. Surely God wouldn't use such a messed-up, loud-mouthed, intolerant (how many comma-separated adjectives are allowed?) hack. It's still me, and I'm surprised by that to say the least. But after further reflection, I am absolutely delighted because, for someone who struggles to cope with the unrecoverable passage of time, receiving such a grace is <b>liberating</b>.<br />
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I look at photos, I look at the mirror, and it's almost funny to see the man looking back. The deepening lines on my face tell the story of miles traveled, and parts of my soul have either fallen off, been broken off, or beaten into a different shape, but it's still me. That is to say, e<u>ssentially</u> it's still me. Sure, in many ways I've changed, but I feel much the same from the inside. My eyes feel the same. Or rather, from behind them, it feels like the same essence as the punk kid from 20 years ago. I realized that I had, at times, put all the responsibility and pressure on "future Dave". I had at times put all the potential joy and experience on "future Dave". But it turns out that "future Dave" is just me. Some things have changed and will continue to do so--things like my affections. Some affections polarize and solidify. Some happily die. A few (arguably one affection and those right ones that precipitate) grow hotter by the day, carefully tendered from within by the uncontainable. My appetites change, but the important things remain; chocolate is still a gift from God. Coffee is a new-found gift on the level of manna. I'm still enthralled with the <a href="http://www.esvonline.org/search/Pr5.15-19">wife of my youth</a>--more so than ever. On the right day, when I'm not battered and burdened, I experience again how she is marvelous to me, and my heart quickens like it did 16 years ago when everything was new.<br />
<br />
In fact, the newness of experience for the things that really matter doesn't fade with repetition. It grows, or, perhaps more precisely, resonates with more depth being connected through an ever-developing timeline. What an amazing gift! That thrill of exploring the unknown depths of the seemingly familiar is something that connects with the "still me" in ways that novelty and vanity (cheap imitations) can't. I am strangely quickened by essential things, and the passage of time doesn't diminish that joy. My body continues carrying the essence that I expected to be "future Dave" but is really just me and drinks in the rush of new experiences. Experiences like having a baby girl, watching her grow, speaking to her as a woman, and (I anticipate) watching her start a family of her own. It drinks in the thrill of being in love with Letha even though our love is old enough to drive. What a thrill! And it's still me--not someone else! That is so weird. Until I start feeling around in the deep areas of my heart (worn smooth through test and trial), I don't feel any different than I did when I was just a little older than Mercedes. At the best times, I can recapture the same feeling I had when much, much younger. I'm the same guy in the most important ways because Christ renews and sustains me to grow and glorify Him through those experiences. What a wonderful gift of grace. It's hard to receive at times because it's costly, but it is wonderful.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdoB86ENDstLfjYTq1vfLnOPHFPdPCWsiGNRsnDfP5bxZdADhUG1QTDGppWWRwFHK-iBOnuCnb9vLyuSYY9EbQZdMvvKI7hNeLKMQu2FkQtqJB_Wb3qExsBgtic0hMA6m0Biz/s1600/image1-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdoB86ENDstLfjYTq1vfLnOPHFPdPCWsiGNRsnDfP5bxZdADhUG1QTDGppWWRwFHK-iBOnuCnb9vLyuSYY9EbQZdMvvKI7hNeLKMQu2FkQtqJB_Wb3qExsBgtic0hMA6m0Biz/s320/image1-18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><br />
What's more, I don't think it ends here. This must be a clue to what heaven is like. Sure, this life is a shallow, and comparatively-colorless reflection, but it's still a clue. It won't be "future Dave" conversing with patriarchs, walking streets of gold, breathing celestial air, and exploring the cosmos. It won't be some vapory spirit floating around. My body, redeemed from the curse of sin, will be made incorruptible--capable of new passions, new sensations, new joys. That rush of being in love, that joy of being challenged intellectually, that feeling of being able to run faster and jump higher because of new shoes will never stop increasing. With each passing moment of eternity, I, through my redeemed body, will experience a continual onslaught of joy and pleasure. And when my redeemed faculties have reached their capacity for experience, they will be expanded much like zooming out from an exponential graph: the shape remains the same but the scale radically expands. Contrasted to eternity, eons of growth, adventure, and exuberant joy will still find me in relative infancy. An infancy that, due to the infinitude of time, will never end. It will always be new, but all of those future experiences will resonate through the extent of my true and essential experiences that start here. (What a gift the linearity of time is for humanity! But that's a different topic.) That same grace that transforms me here--allowing me to revel in the constancy rather than projecting onto some "future Dave"--will allow me to grow without limit for all eternity. C.S. Lewis described it as "further up, and further in." The Bible describes it as "in Your presence is fullness of joy, and at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore." It will be me...the same me...same punk kid...the same eyes...the same near-incredulity at the experience. That's just crazy beautiful.<br />
<br />
Five bucks says I'll recognize the nurse when I see her.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-79768574239621297522010-08-15T20:44:00.001-05:002010-10-21T20:17:35.309-05:00music games - Jack GlueWhen I was music minister at GLC, we used to play a creative game with the team. We'd do word association with two different people saying the first thing that came to mind, and then one person would be required to write something (anything) creative that week based on the two words. It could be a song, or a poem, etc. Alvin (<i>lots of love, bro</i>) brought it to the group as something he'd picked up from Nickel Creek. It was a blast and really made me stretch. I ran across some of the crazy ones I came up with at the time. The song below was written to use the words "jack" and glue". For your enjoyment, the "Jack Glue Song". I wish I had written down the music. lol<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Jack Glue Song</span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
verses in 4/4 chorus in 6/8<br />
<br />
V1<br />
Jack slipped to the end of his rope<br />
Tied a knot and gave up hope<br />
Seven steps for his efficacy<br />
And all that's cool on MTV<br />
Could not change what all could see<br />
His children grow in effigy<br />
In the darkness and despair<br />
Concession turns to silent prayer...and he says<br />
<br />
V2<br />
Sniffing glue was never Jill's thing<br />
Still she sought joy in shallow things<br />
The lifestyle from a magazine<br />
She said 'I do' to a diamond ring<br />
12 years later with nothing to show<br />
But a broken home and some guy named Joe<br />
An SUV and two point five<br />
she says there must be more to life...then she prays<br />
<br />
V3<br />
Jack and Jill walk up life's hill<br />
Sometimes it's a struggle still<br />
But when they slip and should they fall<br />
By Your grace they'll carry on<br />
When they gave up on themselves<br />
You saved them from a life of hell<br />
'tho penitence is less than cool<br />
They're living life by different rules...saying<br />
<br />
C<br />
(6/8)<br />
Lord I give my life to You<br />
Take it over make me new<br />
I've done my best<br />
still I've found no rest<br />
I'm giving my heart to YouDavidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-55580551653521289492010-08-05T20:37:00.001-05:002010-08-12T10:24:17.922-05:00back in my day"back in my day" I heard my 13-year old daughter say. Really? What day was that? Yesterday? I laughed at first, but then I began to think about the changes she's seen in her life. I think about the changes I've seen in my life. Back in my day, there were no cell phones, no public internet (forget about accessing the internet <span style="font-weight: bold;">from</span> a cell phone...crazy), what content was stored was stored on magnetic tape, and 4 to 5 local channels were the norm. Now that much change must surely be distinguishing enough for me to say "back in my day".<br /><br />Then I think about the generation before mine: limited travel, limited news, one-room schools (dad attended the last one-room gradeschool in Missouri), outhouses, black and white television, etc. And those are just externally-observable differences. The sea of cultural and societal changes besides these are <span style="font-weight: bold;">enormous</span>! Desegregation, two-income households, single-parent households, on and on. Now that's a "back in my day". One generation further back is suffrage, prohibition, emancipation...the velocity of change is dizzying. Things have (seemingly) changed so significantly and rapidly over the last few centuries that it's part of our ethos to say "back in my day". But has it always been the case that one generation says to the next "back in my day"? Can you imagine the conversation four or five centuries ago?<br /><br />"Back in my day, we were hunter gatherers" or "back in my day we were agrarian."<br />"um...yeah, dad, that's been the case for all the generations in our known history."<br /><br />Of course, there were innovations and socioeconomic shifts, but did it shift the culture enough for the average man for there to be a "back in my day"? Maybe it's part of the human condition, but is it possible that it's a more recent inflamed condition? Maybe it's aggravated by technological change because technology does change the way we communicate. The renaissance (encyclopedic knowledge), the industrial revolution (mechanized capacity), the information age (universal access), etc. definitely increased the velocity of change as well as common awareness of it. Perhaps it's this common awareness that itself contributes to rate increase. Regardless, I wonder if it has become more of a built-in mechanism--and a not necessarily positive one at that. I wonder if we have such an expectation of change that we yield too much of our life to it. "Things have got to change." Really? Upon what is that assertion based? "Things were better back when..." Really? Or is it the assumption that things have fundamentally changed that causes us to romanticize the past and bail on the present? But has anything important <u>really</u> changed? Does being able to track trivialities on social media really change the core nature of human relationships? Or have we allowed the velocity of change to deceive us into focusing on non-core things? We expect change. We pine for change. Many are junkies of vain and pointless change: television, facebook, twitter, etc. Many are just waiting for the right ________ to come along. I have the feeling that we're listening to the music without considering our course. It's change for change's sake. Maybe we're blaming the changes rather than embracing them as tools and opportunities (escapism). Maybe we're (perhaps worse) putting our hope in change rather than in the unchanging One (nonconstructive optimism). Maybe (perhaps even worse yet) we're looking at "change" as an improvement in our basic human condition and holding that as some sort of absolute good.<br /><br />Are we holding our breath for "change"?Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-64918973743654361582010-08-02T15:10:00.001-05:002010-08-04T22:00:09.560-05:00butt overdraft<div>Everything--especially everything crass--seems funnier when you're 12. That was probably about the age I was when I first heard someone say, "Don't let your mouth write a check your butt can't cash." Taken literally it's nonsense. But most people in the U.S. can quickly infer the meaning given enough context. And those of us with juvenile senses of humor no doubt still find it a witty way to say don't talk bigger than you can act. But isn't that, in some sense, one part of the call for those who follow Christ? My faith (and therefore the entirety of my life) is based on assertions that are more than I can accomplish. Impossibly more than I can a accomplish. "I will overcome." In what universe can I <b>make</b> that happen? Not this one. "I'm going to be the kind of person who can say, 'imitate me. look at my life and do what I do.'" Are you on crack? There's no way I can live up to that. But, as the late Walter Hawkins said, "That's the kind of life we ought to live."</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, my mouth has no problem writing checks, and fat ones at that. Sometimes they're right, and sometimes they're wrong, but they're almost always more than I feel like paying once they've left my mouth. A number of years ago, a good friend of mine was on pastoral staff at a church I had previously been very active in. I had resigned my ministry position partly because I was disillusioned with the direction of the church. Without going in to details, I can summarize by saying they were like a company that makes decision based on (speculative) market reaction rather than on product quality. In other words, it seemed to me they were more interested in, and measured their success by the number of people--"cool people" specifically--that came in the door. I was working my way through a Watchman Nee book at the time; so, I was all keyed up about some stuff, and I pointedly asked him, "What do you do with your time all day? How much of your day is spent in the ministry of the word and in prayer over the people that God has already sent? Is it the majority of your time, or is most of it spent figuring out clever marketing campaigns?" Yeah, <i>ouch</i>. "How do you measure success? If you were doing what you believed God told you to do as far as strategy, presentation, etc., and no growth happened for 3 years, would you think something's wrong?" Yeah, this is where the music gets creepy and there's a close up of the unusually attractive starlet putting her hand on the door knob as everyone in the theater screams, "Don't do it!" You can almost hear the divine paddle swooshing through the universe to make contact with my rear end.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fast-forward a couple of years and I had not only conceded the ministry call (something I said I'd never do), but I had accepted a position to lead an alternative ministry that met on Saturday nights (beta ministries) in our church. We had great leadership--the best, actually. Some are now in Mexico as <a href="http://www.justjoshandcathy.org/">missionaries</a>. Some are with us at <a href="http://www.truevineok.org/">True Vine</a>. Some I'm praying will be with us soon ;) Great people that I assured when no one showed up for first service that <i>we're just getting started</i>, etc. "People will come." um...<b>no</b>, they didn't. After the years of conversations about what church was supposed to be, late-night sessions discussing stripping away all the junk so we could focus on what's really important, etc., almost nobody came. We were in that ministry for several years, but the attendance didn't change. People told us they loved us, loved our ministry, etc. They told us we were doing great, but they apparently didn't think it was great enough to come. As time continued, their supposed desire for change contrasted increasingly to their continued declination to the invitation for change, and it polarized our relationships. We were "them" and they were "us". The check my mouth had written in conversation with my pastor friend years earlier slammed into an insufficient fund and my butt was overdrawn. Were we doing what God told us to? The answer was yes. Where we doing vain or wrong things? While executed by imperfect people and therefore imperfect, the answer still came down to no, we weren't doing vain things--in fact, we had weekly opportunities for painful soul searching about our motives and execution. Why weren't people coming? Why wasn't it taking off? What's wrong (yes, I'd like to make a withdrawal on the check my mouth wrote years earlier). NSF--insufficient funds.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.gnpcb.org/esv/search/?q=psalm+105:19">Psalm 105:19</a> says that the word of the Lord tested Joseph until it came to pass. That's where we were. God had told us to say yes to ministry. We could see great things happening through it. Probably, there were even greater things accomplished that we couldn't see. But it hurt. Letting your mouth write a check that your butt can't cash in the natural is just plain stupid and usually hurts. For example, if you were to walk up to Brock Lesnar and say, "hey, 'roid boy, MMA is for wimps and I can mop the street with you any day", it's going to be the kind of hurt that involves a hospital co-payment. However, letting your mouth write a check that your butt can't cash in faith is different. Oh, it will probably hurt (definitely if you're brash like I am), and an overdraft is likely--it's called the discipline through which God teaches you that it isn't about you. --but the end result is that He develops in You that which He desires so that you are ready for His work. He allows you seasons of soul-searching so that when it comes time to do something even crazier...say start a church or maybe take up that interpretive mime ministry that's been on your heart...you have the seasons of Him covering the overdraft witnessing that however imperfect you may be, it's about Him--not you. As a perquisite for opening an account, there's also a huge toaster full of motives that have been vetted, purified, and solidified. You don't to worry about what you'll do if people talk negatively because they already have. You don't have to worry about what you'll do if it isn't popular because you've been there, done that. You can say, "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0096895/quotes">I died once. It was very liberating.</a>" No sir, I have no idea how I'll cover that check...now who do I make it out to?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-65122497580739020802010-07-28T11:48:00.000-05:002010-07-28T18:56:45.639-05:00reboot nowStupid flesh. Like a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjGT15SDcyg">16-year-old cheerleader</a>, failure tackles me and my day is flat on the ground. Sure, if I take the time to review, I can see the slow degrees by which this need-to-vomit-at-my-own-mediocrity <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5lZ4czTR4o">state</a> was achieved. It didn't happen in an instant, although there was an inflection point where my acceleration undoubtedly changed sign. I could probably even pinpoint the ...um...point...where that happened. I might even be tempted to think, "If I just hadn't crossed <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> line." Youth ministers scared the hell out of me as a young person because they had me convinced that there was some line of sexual temptation past which there was "no return" and I would become a lycan-like creature fueled by unstoppable lust. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you shouldn't set (very conservative) boundaries past which you know you'll probably fail. I'm just saying that in reality, there isn't a single point of crisis for a failure after which I have no opportunity to not fail. Or if there is, I give up long before I get there. There is definitely a point in the continuum at which stopping my failure goes from merely difficult to herculean. All the points are critical--it's just that some are more difficult than others to reverse. Regardless of the degree of difficulty to turn from the progression of failure, at every single millimeter of the slippery path to "epic fail" my responsibility and culpability remain, and I know it. The "<a href="http://esv.to/1Co10.13">always provides a means of escape</a>" promise doesn't comfort me in retrospect; it <span style="font-weight: bold;">kills</span> me, throws the truck in reverse and runs over me again just for good measure. It means there was a way out, and I watched it pass by.<br /><br />So, on those days when I'm less-than-great (i.e. most days), I sit in the misery of "epic fail" paralyzed by my own weakness and the soulful remnants of the actions (condemnation). There's nothing I can say or do to reverse the damage. It all makes me want to take out the giant "FAIL" stamp and call it a day. I might as well just veg out on TV. Tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow I'll walk with God like Enoch did. Yeah. That's it. I'll start keeping track of my righteousness again tomorrow. I'll reboot. Over 95% of all problems are solved with a reboot (just ask any IT guy); so, I'll reboot and be fine tomorrow. I'll be faithful in devotion tomorrow. I'll be passionate for ministry tomorrow. I'll apply the gospel tomorrow. <span style="font-style: italic;"> yadda yadda</span><br /><br />The problem with that sentiment is that it means a) I'm counting on my own righteousness/strength (doomed), and b) most of my life would be spent in FAIL (poorly-executed doom). It doesn't take me long to crowbar a perfectly good day; so, if I wait until the next morning to reboot, most of today and by extension most of my life will have been spent having a "bad day". Lifehacker recently ran an article about the <a href="http://lifehacker.com/5595104/the-science-behind-having-a-bad-day-and-how-to-solve-it">science of having a bad day</a>. Some of it is probably off-base, but they made some good points about "bad days" which I distill below:<br /><ol><li>label the "badness" rather than obsess about it</li><li>reevaluate the outcome<br /></li><li>remember that past failure does not indicate future success</li><li>get on with it<br /></li></ol>What it reminded me of was to not wait to reboot crappy days. Maybe you failed miserably. Big deal. Reboot NOW. This applies to days that aren't productive/creative/energetic. This applies to days that don't feel sanctified/devoted. Feelings lie. Label it all sin, confess it, look for God to be glorified in it <span style="font-style: italic;">while</span> disciplining you, and move on. Every time inappropriate images surface, slap "SIN" on it and shove it back under the blood of Christ. Every time the echoes of anger or frustration reverberate, slap "SIN" on it and shove it back under the blood of Christ. Every time doubt whispers that you won't make it, slap "SIN" on it and shove it back under the blood of Christ. Reboot now and expect Him to make you what He's destined you to be. Our perfect record as Christians is <span style="font-weight: bold;">only</span> because of Christ's perfect life and His righteousness; so, starting today over <span style="font-weight: bold;">right now</span> is really no different than how this day started or how tomorrow will start. "Come to me all who are weary and heavy-laden" must be right now. He doesn't need a breather after your failure. Devotion starts now. Sanctification starts now. Belief starts now.<br /><br />reboot nowDavidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-33233966976971593592010-07-22T13:30:00.000-05:002010-07-22T18:36:43.421-05:00Christ and SkinDuring this morning's "Bible time" (a.k.a. me dragging everybody's butts out of bed so I can stay motivated enough to get up and be disciplined), I asked the girls, "<b>Do you apply the gospel to your life every day?</b>" "Yes"...yes, of course we do was their reply. At 12 and 14, they're accustomed enough to dad probing for the right answer to questions that may or not make complete sense that they can (almost always) intuitively arrive at the correct "short" response most of the time without knowing what it actually means. Whatever I may be teaching them, I'm pretty sure I'm teaching them to test well on multiple choice-type questions. That was definitely the case for their "yes, of course" because when I asked for more information, "What does that mean?" the blank stares I received were only partially due to the sleep-residual fuzzies.<div><br /></div><div>Now, being able to say "God knows me", and "God gave Himself for me" are absolutely invaluable statements. They're invaluable because the God who is faithful to them is infinite, and the worth of the gift He gives is infinite. We believe in them strongly enough for those to be the central message of our upcoming VBS. If I could apply those simple truths of the gospel and actually live in the full knowledge of just those two things, I'd undoubtedly be farther ahead than I am right now. But in these simple truths, God has richly provides greater depths of understanding so that we might more fully know His love! We deny ourselves the power to know this love by failing to personally grow beyond such high-level statements (much less appropriate them). We deny our children the power to know this love by failing to teach and require such things of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I tried coaching the girls through some sort of recitation of the gospel. No dice. Now, this isn't completely unfamiliar territory. When we were prepping to go to Mexico last month, we talked about giving our testimony, what that meant, etc., and both of the girls prepared well and ministered well when called upon in the field. But they could tell I was after a more specific, semi-codified answer; so, they continued to stare blankly at me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I (much to their joy, no doubt) went through the following list.</div><div><ol><li><i>incarnation</i></li><li><i>sinless life</i></li><li><i>substitutionary death</i></li><li><i>resurrection</i></li><li><i>ascension</i></li><li><i>imminent return</i></li></ol>...more nods and semi-disconnected stares. Right. Then the lights started to come on about what I was digging for. Now, the words are undoubtedly inadequate and the codification incomplete, but this is the list we arrived at together after discussion. I hope to live it out with them daily.</div><div><ol><li><i>incarnation</i> - Because Christ put-on skin, he knows what it's like in mine</li><li><i>sinless life</i> - Because Christ lived a perfect life, I get a perfect record</li><li><i>substitutionary death</i> - Because Christ willingly gave His life, there's no more punishment for sin</li><li><i>resurrection</i> - Because Christ lives, I'm no longer trapped in the death of sin. I have eternal life.</li><li><i>ascension</i> - Because Christ ascended to the Father, I have an advocate--both before the Father (Christ), and from within me (the Holy Spirit).</li><li><i>imminent return</i> - Because Christ is coming again soon, I have hope and purpose</li></ol>Do you apply the gospel to your life daily? Does that even make sense? Do you help your children to do the same?</div><div><br /></div>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-68810597442725882010-07-14T11:48:00.000-05:002010-07-14T12:24:47.687-05:006 a.m. reminderat approximately 6:05 a.m. this morning I had a startling reminder of what carnality really feels like. Settle down. I've been recently challenged by a number of sources (friends, books, etc.) about perseverance, spiritual discipline paralleling physical discipline, etc.; so, I have (once again) reasserted my resolutions for physical discipline to exercise, get up on time, etc. to make progress in my desire for spiritual discipline. During a nice conversation with myself this morning justifying why it was OK to stay in bed even though I had purposed to get up (you know the kind...I can shave in 15 seconds, etc.) it hit me. "This is what carnality feels like." It feels like the bed, pillows, sheets, etc. forming themselves around you in the most motivation-draining way possible. It feels like the temperature of the room being perfect for indulging in just a little more sleep. It feels like the blankets being warm but not hot, and the pillows being perfectly fluffed but not suffocating. It feels like your loved one's slow, rhythmic breathing. It feels like the best, most logical thing in the world is to concede the fight for just a little more sleep in the perfect sleep environment. It's surrounded by terribly logical excuses (I need the rest, I think better after more sleep, I can really give myself to prayer when I'm not so tired). It all makes perfect sense except that it is practically opposed to what you've said you really desire--a deeper walk with Christ I say practically because it isn't always obviously opposed logically. If it were overtly opposed logically it would be easy to recognize, but the damage comes in the fact that you can't recognize the damage to the actual practice of your right intention until it's too late. Maybe sleep's not your thing, but in that moment it struck me again that (whatever the expression), the desire to cave to flesh always has a similar quality. The perfect jerk and situation present themselves at which to be unduly angry. The perfect example of God's genius in creating woman presents herself to be looked at lustfully. The perfect compliment is given from which to derive pride. The perfect insult is given from which to nurse wounded pride. The list is endless, but caving to carnality always seems to make majority sense in the moment. To be sure, it isn't the only voice, but it sure seems to be the majority that resonates with my flesh. It reminds me of a comedian I saw years ago talking about the power of her bed on cold mornings. The bed would speak to her, "Come back to bed. You can pick out your clothes from here. Come back!"<br /><br />It's interesting that the things used to distract us from our ultimate goal (Christ) are often the means of grace through which God shows us His love: a place to sleep; a snuggly spouse who is a gift from God; etc. While all of these things are ordained to point us to joy, we take joy in them instead of Him to whom they point. What an insult to the Father it must be that I so often treasure the gift over the Giver. What an amazing grace it is that He persistently calls to me through my blanket cocoon reminding me of my intention for fellowship with Him, promising me that I won't be disappointed, and empowering me to continue trying.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-72030112825181198182010-07-09T20:24:00.001-05:002010-07-09T20:40:52.700-05:00a dog named cowboy<div>That title with the nouns transposed would make for a pretty decent western novel. The setting for this entry could have been from a western--Arid and desert-like, with rough-finished, open air buildings into which Cowboy regularly wandered. Even the company he kept would fit well in a western--Joel would make a great cowboy: slit-eyed tough guy with black boots. But Cowboy is a dog--Joel's dog--and Joel is the director of <a href="http://www.dayspring.us">Dayspring Ministries Training</a>. We were at the Dayspring complex in Dr. Arroyo for a short-term mission trip which Joel lead, and Cowboy's favorite past-time was patrolling the dining area for scraps of food. He was having issues that affected his equilibrium, causing him to, at time, careen into the common area making him that much cooler (Cowboy es chida, but Cowboy has dysentery).</div><div><br /></div><div>I tried to connect with Cowboy. Most people on our short-term mission trip tried, but most didn't succeed. My best effort was a food offering. It seemed like a sure bet given Cowboy's love affair with food scrap. He flatly declined. To say I was offended when he rejected the piece of banana I proffered may be an overstatement, but I can't deny I was a little perturbed. I'm not saying I was consumed with it. It wasn't even really a prominent distraction--just a very low-level buzz in my head. But, seriously, giving any emotional energy to a dog because he didn't immediately gobble up the food offered has got to be indicative of some sort of issue. Issue<u>s</u>, as it turns out. I've never heard a donkey speak (although the freakin' donkeys there seemed to scream at the top of their lungs constantly), but I can say that God dealt with me through that dog.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I understand God's dealing pretty linearly. He reveals lesson A, builds on that to B, etc. Many times, though, He deals with me in a way that unravels backward to the core in one flash. The core isn't the first thing I observe, but it's primary to the story. The core for my experience with Cowboy was pride. Shocker. Here I was, an important person in my own estimation, condescending to offer him some of my food, and he would deny it? Look at where he is, and where I come from. He's making me look less than cool. He should know that in addition to all of my many other talents, I moonlight as the Beastmaster. No dice, and "no, thanks" to the banana. Worse yet, he didn't even wait to see what else I would offer. He brushed me off (ME) as insignificant! I (obviously) deserve better than that. Now, I've searched myself. I can't find any overt prejudice or elitism, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's what it was to some extent. Sure, I can observe that prejudice in other people (how do *these* people survive without carpet, etc.), and if it were an active voice in the proclamation of my depravity it wouldn't be the loudest, but SERIOUSLY? There it is, though. Cowboy should take my food because look at where he is and how much better off I am. Pride rears its ugly head. Not only that, but he should really consider that I'm tall, good-looking, and an humble servant of God. *vomit* He's not cooperating with my facade. *vomit* Lesson number one: I am prideful enough to be insulted by a dog with dysentery.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, maybe your moments of lucidity follow actual crises rather than imagined offenses by a dog, but nonetheless, Cowboy caused me to pay attention. I started watching how he treated everyone and my minuscule indignation grew ever so slightly (first layer of the ball of thread that later unraveled). Not only did the dog not treat me as significant, he didn't treat me or anyone else in our group as a person. Dozens of groups go through that complex every year, and to Cowboy, I was just one piece of walking scenery. Sure, he'd accept a food scrap from the talking shrubs, or maybe even a belly rub, but they weren't actual people. I can't adequately describe watching the difference in his behavior between the short-term groups (the walking scenery) and his family. When *his* people walked in the room, everything changed. Nothing else mattered. The groups going through were just a temporary and insignificant distraction. Cowboy became a figurehead of another battlefront. The one where my pride was offended because I was wrongly sensitive to being the cause of the monotony of daily ministry. "I don't want to be a burden" can be one of the most prideful things uttered. You know what I'm talking about. About the 40th time that ______ does/says _______ and as a pastor/missionary/______ you have to participate in what God's doing for them even though you've lead expeditions around that mountain umpteem times, you show less than the overwhelming joy of service; so, to allow some else to serve <u>you</u> is difficult....um...because of <b>pride</b>. Cowboy was looking through me as a non-person to what was important to him, and the growing indignation widened its scope to the insecurity that driving me to get ice cream wasn't what these missionaries had signed up for and they were bothered about it. *vomit* Thankfully, God always provides a way of escape from temptation. Invariably, that way is lined with enough glass to scrape off all the stinking flesh. The way for me back into a right spirit was the realization of how often had I looked *through* people rather than *at* them. How often had I not had God's perspective about a person in process when I'm in process myself? I looked through them to what I thought was important (people that gave me stuff, resources, pleasure, name it). I looked through them because they didn't provide identity or status or advancement. I should have rather stood secure in who God says that I am and where He told me to be and been an instrument He could use in <b>their</b> process. Lesson number two: I am probably one of the worst at looking through people because a) I'm insecure and b) my treasure is in the wrong place.</div><div><br /></div><div>At this point of the epiphany, the carnality ball is unraveling with alarming speed and the conviction is working overtime. God may have dealt with my lack of concern and insecurity through Cowboy's lack of consideration, but He really worked me over using Cowboy's response to Joel. Joel was the source of supply, the center of identity, the cause of joy for Cowboy. Whatever else was going on, if Joel moved, Cowboy moved. If Joel spoke, Cowboy listened. Cowboy's first and last thought was for Joel. Cowboy didn't care at all what I though of him or even what I might offer him if Joel was there because Joel was his everything. Lesson 3 (yeah, this one was a short punch right to the gut): While looking through others to selfish ends is wrong (Cowboy and I are both guilty, but hey...Cowboy's a dog), because God is my source, supply, and joy from which none other can detract (Cowboy got this right and I struggle daily), I need consult nothing and no one else connected to my joy, and subsequently, I have the foundation and strength to recognize the moment and the people in that moment as <u>the</u> mission for which and to which I can give myself wholeheartedly (no real dog analogy here, but by this point I had enough of a head of steam for God to finish the pruning) without trying to manage peoples opinions or perceptions, and (further) I can joyfully accept God's provision through those He puts in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out Cowboy just really doesn't like bananas.</div><div><br /></div>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-1152902444986117022006-07-14T13:37:00.000-05:002006-07-14T13:40:44.993-05:00on the wagon?Well..it seems that I've been absolutely horrible about this whole blogging thing. I suppose defending my laziness by decrying blogging as self-absorbed ranting is inconsistent in several ways. hmm...perhaps I'll try again. Every time I read an interesting blog, I always think, "hey...that's interesting." ...it reminds me of a book I read once contrasting movement versus motivation.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-1108253908515178622005-02-12T18:18:00.000-06:002005-02-12T18:24:28.443-06:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/3/3306/640/000_0299.jpg"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 1px solid; MARGIN: 2px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 1px solid" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/3/3306/200/000_0299.jpg" border="0" /></a>I found this in my oldest daughter's (8) room. In case you can't make out the details:<br /><ol><li>Always be respectful to the captain</li><li>Always bring toys to the club</li><li>Bring snacks if you are hungry during the club</li><li>NO singing unless the captain says so<br />NOTE: Mercedes is the captain</li><li>First timers should always be comfy</li><li>HAVE FUN!</li></ol><p>My favorite part is the note about who is the captain. Interesting that the whole list reflects a desire for connection with a clear presentation of her needs. She wants people to feel welcome and comfortable, to have a good time, and eat (that's always important to her), but no stinky music. yes, I couldn't agree more, my dear.</p><p><br />The Rules <a href="http://www.hello.com/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Posted by Hello" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif" align="absMiddle" border="0" /></a></p>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511719.post-1107124101114476262005-01-30T16:28:00.000-06:002005-01-30T16:28:21.113-06:00<a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/3/3306/640/000_0290.jpg'><img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/3/3306/200/000_0290.jpg'></a><br />Quietly Sleeps the Beast <a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'></a>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13351655281919861518noreply@blogger.com0