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I wanted to let everyone know that I am starting a new blog that will coordinated with a Sunday meeting. www.whatdidjesusdo-don.blogspot.com

It is my hope to drive us all back into the scriptures and looking at the life and times of Jesus without the artificial structuring of a modern book or a motive to achieve.

Take a look if you like. If you are in the south Dallas area on Sunday mornings around 9:30AM, come by the Duncanville Church of Christ and find your way to room 218. I would love to visit with you in person.

Welcome to the journey.

Godspeed.
Don

Finishing Up

Wow, what a year this has been. It seems we have had some really good events in our lives and we have had some struggles. It has occurred to me that the greatest frustration in our society has to be when the revenue is not there. There are simply too many things that can't be done, help provided, or dreams embraced without the money to make ends meet. We certainly survived that part of it in better shape than I expected. Now with regular income it is much easier to plan and dream and help those who are still stuck in the mire of unemployment.

Christmas this year was at our house, with our six kids and their four kids. There was a moment before the wrapping began flying that I was able to spend a moment and reflect about how blessed I am. I watched as my grown kids dealt with set-backs and fears. My only granddaughter had heart surgery, my youngest grandson has food allergies that make it a little tricky to cook for him. My second grandson continues to struggle with inner-ear stuff and stresses his parents about his hearing and his development. My oldest grandson struggles mightily with reading and had to make a trip to Dallas to be tested. Job insecurities with both son and son-in-laws. This is simply the stuff of life that everyone struggles with, but it my little troupe and consequently my personal prayer battles and kingdom.

Yet, I couldn't help but feel proud of the people they have become. They are mature and honest, helpful and compassionate, they will stand in the way of injustice and speak their minds. There is not a coward or a slouch in the bunch. And the greatest gift of all is the struggle for lap time with Nena or Grandaddy. There is a picture somewhere in all this furor of me holding my two youngest grandsons. I remarked that it felt like I was holding 100 lbs of grandkids, which brought a swift response from my daughter and d-i-l that it couldn't be more than 60 lbs. Jeez, moms have no sense of humor. It was with regret that my shoulders and back told me it was time to set them down. Of course the expanding wriggle-fest was making it a little hard to hold them anyway.

This is Christmas in the truest sense. Seeing your life's work finish well. Seeing the impact of our love and our commitment fulfilled in the lives of our troupe. Christ was born to redeem man, and his greatest redemptive test is within the boundaries of our families.

Godspeed, I pray your year finished well. Mine sure did.
Don

Underground

Let's get the news out of the way first. I am gainfully employed by the largest manufacturer in the medical uniform industry. It is not a clear distinction to be a sales manager because everyone you meet in this company is a vice president of some sort. The compensation is an adjustment from before, but that is a common impact of this new world we find ourselves in. Not complaining because it is 1000% better than where I have been for the past 20 months. So, in the words of the old spiritual..we have overcome.

My first day was Monday and it involved getting on a crowded airplane and flying to Vegas for a national sales meeting. Instead of filling out forms, and being pointed to the restroom and the free coffee, I spent 3 hours on a plane, then stepped into a meeting where at least half of these guys would be my responsibility.

It was fascinating to see the reaction to my introduction. Some were wary, some were indifferent, some were gracious, all were curious. The introduction was made in the midst of sea-change for the entire company. I was merely a small functional part of that sea change. For the next two days I was bombarded with information and questions about the restructuring. Fortunately I was able to play my clueless card and avoid most of the questions.

So for the next two days I sat through meetings about product and marketing and IT and territory and sales management. Dinner followed the meetings and then late to bed. It was Wednesday morning when we checked out and stood in the cold, misty morning in front of the hotel that I realized that I had not been out of the hotel since Monday at noon. For the past 2 days I had been underground.

It is disorienting to spend that much time, fully active, not sick, and indoors the entire stay. Hotels with casinos probably are designed that way. They want you to lose track of time and day. If they can bombard you with sound and ply you with food and drink, then they have you slightly imbalanced and unable to make lucid decisions. When I think back on the people I noticed at the slots or at the blackjack tables, or roulette tables, none of them looked happy. There was a range of body languages, but I wondered if the ones that looked the most dispirited were the longest tenured guests.

I'm sure that I looked like a bear coming out of hibernation that first exposure to outside air. I stood there transfixed and breathing deeply the refreshing outside desert air of the Vegas morning, glad to be shed of the clanging noise of the slots and the infiltration of the indoor cigarette smoke. The ride to the airport took far too long, and the flight couldn't depart soon enough.

I was glad to be back above ground and headed home.

Godspeed to the new travelers in the coming year, it will be a good one.
Don

Marriage Conflict Solutions

After much reflection and years of experience (36 to be exact) I have decided that the cause of most marital conflict is two-fold.

Here is an example of a conversation just this morning. I am in the shower after our workout, my bride is at the sink doing whatever it is that women do in front of the mirror.

She says something to me that sounds like, "What are we doing today?"
I respond to her question, "We are meeting Ben and Sarah for lunch at CPK in north Dallas!"

No answer.

As I think about what to wear, I yell, "What is the temp supposed to be today?"

She yanks open the shower door and claims that is exactly what she just asked me, so she guesses the answer is "CPK!"

In years gone by this entire exchange might have been the distant roll of thunder leading up to a violent thunderstorm of marital unrest. I don't listen, she doesn't answer my questions, on and on. Now we laugh.

Experts tell us that lack of communication is one of the primary causes of divorce. I submit that the primary cause is too much communication! Oh, we guys learn early the folly of responding to trap questions like, "Does this make me look fat?" or "Which of these shoes do you like best?" After 36 years we have the scars to show for these missteps. You can't fool us with these anymore. But we still get drawn off-sides by the blather of the so-called "experts" that tell us we must open up the cupboard and bare our souls over any and all questions. It seems to me that we need to spend a little time thinking about what we will fight about, and what is simply not worth the effort.

Here are some areas of past conflict that simply don't need to be revisited:
Me: Good at discussing home improvement, in favor of home improvement, like shopping for home improvement, don't mind buying materials for home improvement..don't like DOING home improvement.
Her: Getting knick-knacks for the house. I'm being kind here. She can find beauty in stuff that has lost its usefulness long ago, but she crafts it into all manner of decorations. I don't get it.

But why fight about these things? We have long ago established the argument guidelines, we don't need to revisit them. It is pretty clear after 36 years there is little hope for fundamental change. So why should we over-communicate on issues we will never agree on? Our marriage is better by letting it go.

Which leads to the second one. Energy. We simply don't have the energy to engage in full combat any more. Besides, it wastes time. Every once in a while someone will fire a round across the DMZ just to see if the other one is alert, but generally we are through fighting. I think we have called it a draw. We are like two old pugilists after 15 rounds, arm weary, heads down, bloody and beaten, and simply too tired to keep fighting. I think divorce happens when people marry out of their weight class.

So kids, here is my advice.
1. If your partner has not changed their ways in the first six months, the problem is yours, not theirs. Their DNA is not going to change. So think long and hard how much of this you can handle.
2. Marry in your weight class. Here is a good way to tell. During your dating and engagement life did you come out pretty even in your squabbles? In other words, did you win about half of the battles? If so, good. If not, you should have done a better job of due-diligence.
3. Think about what you are going to argue about. He has spent 20 years leaving the seat up. Get over it. Just make sure that if you are going to have a screaming, knock-down, call the local authorities, can't remember what you were fighting about fight, it needs to be important.
4. Finally, there is no such thing as "make-up" sex. Trust me on this one.

Godspeed, we are better people by knowing our energy limits and our ability to win.
Don

Flu Shots

Each year around the first of October my bride begins preparations for us to get our flu shots. She starts by pointing to the CVS signs and Wal-Mart signs about flu shots. Then the comparison of which ones will take the insurance for the shot and the planning for the day and time. The school system, where she has worked for 20 years, usually makes this available for employees and those of us who are leeches on our spouses insurance.

When a time and place are located to her satisfaction she states in a rather firm voice, "We ARE going to get our shots at such and such place at such and such time!" The implication being that I have no choice. Now, let me say, I am vulnerable to the various flus that swirl through our society. I am especially vulnerable to the stomach or intestinal flus. And it is my bride that has to deal with all the fall-out (ooh, bad choice of words). It is at this point that I blame my parents.

We were raised on farm in west Texas where we had our own water source. It was a shallow, murky, moss-filled creek that ran across the back of our farm. We would pump the water from the creek into two large "settling" tanks, where my chore every day after school was to pour 2 cups of Chlorox into the tanks. As my bride and friends will tell you when they see me cook, measurements of ingredients are more guidelines than actual measurements. It was a hassle to scale the wooden ladder leaned against the tanks with a jug of Chlorox and measuring cup. So I would only haul the Chlorox up the ladder and eye-ball the measurement. Too little and no one knew(except for the mild dysentery) a little too much and a day later our drinking water had a distinct Chlorox whang to it. After the scientific treatment that I applied the water would then run through a 40' underground gravel trench to an underground storage tank where it was then pumped into the house and used for drinking water, dish and clothes washing and baths for all of us. The assumption I have about my frail digestive system is that the little hardy bugs that made it through this process have homesteaded my intestines for the past 50 years. So I fully agree with the need for the shots. I just don't like them.

Yesterday was "shot" day. We met at the school where they were inoculating all of us, stood in line and waited our turn. Getting shots is one of the only events in my life that suddenly turns me back into an 8-year-old. I know the "stick" will be minimal, I know the little bugs will keep me safe until next May, I know the after affects will be minimal, and yet I stand there screwing up my courage to be an adult. And it is harder than you think. I watched a little boy in front of me handle it like a pro, and I am thinking, "Crap, I hope I don't squeal like a little girl, this kid will make fun of me!" Punk.

So the nurse asks me, "Which arm would you prefer?" ....yours. "Did you get a shot last year?"...yes, and I cried like a baby. "There, that wasn't so bad."...really? how does your arm feel right now. My actual conversation was.."left".."yes".."thanks" For a guy who considers words his friends, I become mono-syllabic when confronted with pain. My bride left there and went to yoga. I went home, had a Blue Moon while stretched out on the couch. My recuperation method is far superior to my bride's.

For another year we have thwarted the avians and the asians and all others that would attack us with their little flu bugs. The arm is a little sore this morning and I kind of feel yucky, but that could all be in my head. My bride has accomplished one of her Fall goals, we are free to interact with impunity with the world at large.

Godspeed to all you who have been or will be "shot" this fall. We are better people for it. Unless they are using sugar water instead of the real thing. Which, by the way, is the only medicine in the USA that does not come with a warning. Hmmm.

Don

The End Justifying the Means

Over the past several months there has been a growing realization that our society is intent on the end result at the expense of the journey. Some of you out there might be saying to yourselves that this moment of understanding is coming awfully late in my life, but I guess I held out hope that the end result and the method getting there can both be accomplished with integrity. Sadly, this does not seem to be the case.

And the truth is that this mindset pervades all aspects of our culture. We seem to be intent more on the speed of results than the method and quality of the results. Instead of exercising for an hour a day, every day, for months and years, we would rather take a pill, or undergo surgery to reap the rewards of looking healthy. We like the slim tummy and the smaller size pants, but we still can't climb stairs or lift anything over our heads without straining a muscle. The results are a cheap facsimile of the real deal. You see it takes far too long to gain the stamina, the lowered heart rate, the correct cholesterol level that good diet and extended exercise brings. We want to forgo the hassles of the journey to get to our goal..looking good.

We see the same thing in business. Questionable methods are condoned as long as the profits go up along with the sales figures. Who cares if people get hurt or marginalized in the process? At least companies these days don't spend any time on the concept of loyalty any longer..they know it is a myth, the employees certainly know it is a myth. So we develop the fastest path to the desired goals regardless of the health or well-being of anyone involved be it executives, employees, or customers. American business at least has dropped the facade of "partnership" and "best practices".

This same malady has befallen our religious arena as well. The concept of slow, careful spiritual formation has long been jettisoned for the quick hit of urban ministry. The common mantra seems to be "keep 'em busy" and they will give their money and show up enough to make the attendance look good. Church leadership seems far more interested in growing the organization than growing the weakest member. Deals are struck, communication is convoluted at best or intentionally misleading to gain the quickest resolution. And the leadership has the latent approval of the congregation to do so because no one is stupid enough to question the marketing blitz that goes on. Doesn't it make sense that if church leadership spent the time and enormous energy in developing disciples, who are Spirit and spirit led, that any initiative that the leadership felt good about would have the confidence to be completely transparent in their communication? Sadly, this is the rarity, not the common-place. We want spiritual formation NOW! Yet from my own experience it is a very slow, halting process.

Unfortunately we also see it in our families. It seems much easier to just hammer on some other family member than to try and understand their lot. We want experts to tell us what to do. Without fail when I teach my conflict management course someone will come up after class and spell out a particular problem with a kid or spouse or in-law, then stand there expectantly wanting me to give them the "answer". And after this happening dozens of times I have to take a deep breath and control my impulse to take a stab at giving them an answer! I am afflicted with the same disease! I can't come up with an answer in 30 seconds to a problem that has developed over years. No one can. But we want to subvert the process and get to an answer as quickly as possible.

Not long ago I read this quote (I wish I could remember where) "Only Bad Things Happen Quickly.." This resonated with me because it is so counter to our culture. We are not into the long haul. And we sure don't like a difficult process.

Here is what I want:
1. Understanding that the process has to have the same level of integrity that the end result will have.
2. I want organizations to act in the best interests of the least in that group, be it corporate or church or family.
3. I want the patience to undertake the slow and careful journey of doing the right things.
4. I want the wisdom to understand that good things come slowly.
5. I want the courage to confront those around me who want to circumvent the process of integrity.

Not too much to ask, do you think?

Godspeed, this journey is best enjoyed when done in the right way.
Don

Backwards..Again

Over the past couple of months this conversation has entered into my world.

If we serve a God of love/mercy/forgiveness/compassion, then how can He doom mankind to eternal punishment? Our sectarian heritage makes this a tough question to answer. We have spent a hundred years articulating all the requirements for a safe passage to heaven. And this list of requirements is not easily determined nor adhered to. We are quick with the five steps, quick with what our group should look like, and quick with the doctrinal distinctives that set us apart. We have even driven it down to non-scriptural settings like non-instrumental music, two prayers at communion (not just one big prayer), structure like elders and deacons (sorry, no deaconesses) even which Bible translation is appropriate. We have piled high the criteria, then wondered why no one would want to join us.

Then a couple of years ago I read from one of the spiritual formation guys that Hell is the default setting, not Heaven. His take was to set the bar at ground level. Do you believe? And I was taken aback by the lowering of the standards. Secretly I want a lot of covert stipulations because I tend to see the waiting line as a continuum, and the harder I can make it for someone else, the better for me. So if God is as we described above wouldn't it make sense that He would set the bar as low as possible? Instead of a judgement day taken up with listing all my sins, wouldn't it make sense to have Him laugh and say, "Close enough!" Wouldn't it make sense that if He was truly as we attest that He would look for any loophole to get us into His presence? If my son committed the most egregious offense against me, but somewhere in that offense I could still detect a sliver of Love, a moment of guilt, the slightest hint of remorse, that I would embrace him anyway?

Yet we approach the Creator as one who is looking for any reason to withhold His blessings. How can this give us confidence to live? or more importantly, to die with assurance?

We have this backwards..again. Not the first time and certainly not the last. But it is the Divine nature that allows us to reexamine what we believe and why.

Godspeed, I think we need to understand that He will give us a break at the slightest opportunity.
Don

I Hate This...

Last Thursday I made a mental mistake and backed my bride's Blazer into our garage door while it was still in the process of opening. The day had been a particularly ugly one and I simply forgot that the door takes a little while to go up or down. So as I backed out of the garage there was that grinding pop, as the door kicked off the rails. No damage to the car. So the door had to be tied in the closed position for security sake. We were now forced to go through the back yard and in the back door. Not huge, but a constant reminder that I had a brain hiccup and it would cost me money to get it fixed.

So I called a local guy to come fix the door. Now if you don't know how these things work let me just say that it all hinges on a large spring over the garage door, with a LOT of tension that drives the entire thing. Let me also say that if you were to unleash all that tension with all the metal rods attached..well, it would leave a mark.

Anyway, I made the comment that I was going inside to work and he could handle it himself. My final comment was a humorous attempt to let him know that I did not want be in there if something went wrong and that spring came unsprung at the wrong moment. That comment started a 10 minute story about how he wouldn't work on the spring for the first 8 years he was in this business! Come to find out he was as afraid of those things as I was! Really? You are afraid of the primary component of your livelihood? How can this be? I scurried out of there when he slowed down on the story, mumbling something about having to get back to my laptop.

But this is probably not all that uncommon. Most sales people have to fight what is known as call reluctance. I would guess there are dentists who hate to deal with cavities, teachers who would love their jobs if it weren't for the kids, preachers who love to preach, but hate to study, doctors who can't stand the sight of blood. Politicians who love to campaign, but hate to govern. We know this exists but what caught me off guard was the simple honesty of this guy in admitting it. As one who has had numerous interviews over the past 18 months, I have had to find creative ways of telling a potential employer that I love strategic planning, vision-casting, start-up and development, and execution of the plan...I hate maintenance. I have discovered over the decades that I need a great maintainer at my side to keep the entire thing running. What I have also discovered is that God built far more maintainers than he did entrepreneurs. He is a wise God. What he didn't build are HR people who understand various strengths. I have gotten good at maintenance, I just hate it. The same can be said for the dentist who can still drill and fill, the teachers who tolerate the kids, preachers who find a way to shorten the study cycle, doctors who have found good nurses, and politicians who have found really good staff members who can govern. We all accommodate our own weaknesses. And we soldier on.

The garage door now works better than before (and is quieter) Now my bride can park in the garage. Now I can set my frustration over a brain hiccup to the side and move on. All because some guy overcame his fear of springs with enormous tension, and fixed my mistake.

Godspeed to all those who have some key ingredient in their work that they hate. There is someone out there who loves that part, find them and make them your partner.

Don

Catching Up

This has been a crazy week. I will probably post on most of the events later when I have more time.

This week is in Houston, which might become a habit. The company I am working with is furnishing a 1-bedroom condo, rather than hotels every night. This is preferred because I can cook my own food, etc. The condo was "fully" furnished..except for trashcans, silverware, cooking utensils, paper towels, tp, bathmats, TV, Wi-Fi, coffee maker, dish drying rack (no dishwasher), any lights or light fixtures in the bedroom, or beddng. To be fair they told me to bring bedding which I did along with towels and kitchen towels. Other than that it was just as they told me. The condo is within walking distance of Reliant Stadium which rests on the old Astrodome location. Apparently Panera nor Starbucks find this to be a valuable location, none in sight. I will say that with no TV or Internet, it is very quiet in that condo, and my kids will appreciate the fact that when there is no one to talk to..I get a little restless.

Working with the company I am in the "wart finding" mode. Technology not where I was told it would be, no inventory systems, no production forecasting or planning; shipping incomplete, scattered customer base, and internal territorial battles, this is my kind of place. Spent Monday night developing a model stock position and am getting resistance from the guy who is supposed to be in charge of this. I bet him lunch that if my system can't get the back order % down less than 3%, then we can go back to his system which is running 11%. So far he has not taken me up on the bet.

Started back in on my deeper disciplines of study and meditation. No TV will do that for you. I started with Mark, only through the first few verses, but already insight is cropping up. God has a nasty way of pointing out my dark thoughts with scripture. The wilderness has been my home for the past couple of years. Mark says that Jesus, after his baptism went into the desert where he spent time with wild animals and angels. In my journal I noted that the wild animals in my life were bitterness and anger, while the angels were our dear friends who have supported us through this. Reflection is not for the faint hearted.

So now I leave the only Starbucks I could find to go back to tilting at windmills.

Godspeed, hope this message in a bottle finds you all well.
Don

36 and Counting

36 years ago today, my bride and I tied the knot. Apparently it was tied pretty tight. It is a moment in time that I look back down the trail and realize that the journey has been twisting and winding through tough terrain and sometimes easy footing. There have been chills and spills, laughter and tears, fights and loving, and there has been one single person by my side every single step of the way.

When I look back at the wedding pictures of this very young couple it strikes me that we had little to foreshadow the journey that would be ours. There was a brashness in my take on life, and a long-suffering trust by my bride that I could make it work out. I wish I could say that her trust has been affirmed, but in reality her trust was simply a part of her nature and less a knowledge of my abilities. We were young and strong and passionate about life and each other. I have joked over the intervening years that the young couple pictured in the wedding photos died in childbirth. But in reality the young couple still lives just in older, scarred, somewhat less naive bodies.

We have had our share of fights, some of them lasting months and years. There have been moments when one or both of us was unlovable, yet we kept on loving. At times we both wanted to leave, but the obstinate commitment we both cling to would not allow it. Some of the nights have been long and frightful where we would hold each other and cry into the dark, the storm battering our lives, only to wake to a new day with fresh resolve to overcome.

But there has also been a lot of laughter, at ourselves, at life in general. We have been blessed with kids who love to laugh and have brought us new kids through their marriages who love to laugh. It is with great contentment that I watch around a dinner table, all our kids make fun of each other, kid each other about funny events, mock battles over little things like thermostat controls, how to season food, interests that each hold. It is in these moments that I glance at my bride and realize that this bonus, this blessing is because she and I love each other still. I love it when she laughs at the craziness that these 6 adults and 4 (going on 5) little ones bring to us.

It is the reward for a life lived in commitment to a vow we made all those years ago. You see I think love comes and goes. Sometimes this marriage thing is no fun at all. But when two people tie that knot and commit to the relationship then the bounty that comes is worth all the bumps and bruises.

We are smarter now, a little less naive. There is not much we haven't been through, death of parents, illness of children, broken hearts over disappointment, and a constant search for a God of discernment. Yet, we still love the future. We can't wait to see what the world has in store for our little ones. There is no one I would rather grow old with than my bride of 36 years.

Godspeed to those who are just starting the journey, it is a ride that simply can't be explained. For those who started the journey about the time we did, I pray your journey has been as good as ours. For those ahead of us on the trail, it is a joy ti watch your love grow. It gives us courage.
Don

New and Old Words

This past weekend was a good one for the word-eaters in the world. There were two words that came to the surface. One is real, one is, well, manufactured.

Hyper-correctionists:
We may start a club of H-C. It is the people who correct all spelling and grammar, mis-statements, mis-speaks, etc. The word came up because I couldn't understand why we don't say the "l" in salmon. We pronounce it sam'en (the "e" should be upside down) Apparently the French screwed it up because they didn't pronounce the "l" in their word for the fish..or the color. Anyway, the hyper-correctionists went through some mental gymnastics and added it in. Some nonsense about "l" being silent when followed by an "m" or "d" or whatever. It is my goal to start another movement to get the "l" out of our words! Our bumper sticker would say, "Get the L Out!"

The other word is Tubicle (pronounced toob-ikle). It is where we will all work and play and live in the future. At birth we will be strapped into our tubicle, annodes attached. Then we will travel and learn and live and play inside our tubicle. Eyes taped shut, white noise to cover the emmanations from any neighboring tubicle. Womb to tomb in our tubicle. This is the only way we will be able to find and serve the all allusive god of Security.

The hyper-correctionists are already dissecting the above paragraph. I should have put something in the previous paragraph and laying and lying, or is it lieing? They could have a field day.

Godspeed, remember that the words you use mean something...unless you make them up.
Don

Customized Religion

In the USA Today there is an article that illustrates a lot if what is wrong and right in the industry of religion. Using the polling data of George Barna (long time religious pollster, author of several books) He tracks the basic tenets of the christian world-view and how people shift their views from one decade to the next.

What do you think?
In a typical week, U.S. adults who say they:
Read Bible outside the church:
1991: 45%
2011: 40%
Volunteered at church:
1991: 27%
2011: 19%
Attended adult Sunday school:
1991: 23%
2011: 15%
Attended worship:
1991: 49%
2011: 40%

Those who say they:
Accept Jesus and expect to be saved:
1991: 35%
2011: 40%
Call Bible "totally accurate" in all principles:
1991: 46%
2011: 38%
Define God as all-knowing, all-powerful ruler:
1991: 74%
2011: 67%

This is quote from the article:
Barna blames pastors for those oddly contradictory findings. Everyone hears, "Jesus is the answer. Embrace him. Say this little Sinners Prayer and keep coming back. It doesn't work. People end up bored, burned out and empty," he says. "They look at church and wonder, 'Jesus died for this?'"

I think this is a little harsh on the pastors. It is my view that the culture has changed so fundamentally that we regard all organizations be it government, school, home, or church to be basically flawed and unable to respond to the needs and desires of the individual. The above findings are not a rejection of all things spiritual, quite the contrary. If you delve a little deeper into the stats and dialogue with those who have stepped away from organized religion, you will find people who care deeply about their beliefs and their spiritual walks. They simply are not buying into the ability or motivation of the located church to achieve those goals.

My bride and I are probably typical of what is going on (lest you think all this erosion of the influence of the organizational churches lie with the young) We regularly attend a located church, but do so because a majority of our little community of faith show up there most Sundays. But we tithe (when we have income to tithe with) to an assortment of faith-based groups. We donate time and energy to Habitat for Humanity. We engage our neighbors in fellowship which leads to a sharing of our lives and their lives in spiritual "talk". We each follow our own spiritual discipline routine. This is all independent of the located organization. We have been dis-enfranchised by the located church, but we have not felt that this has deeply impacted our spiritual walk. In fact, it is the opposite. We have found that it has made us more appreciative of deep thinking and relevant conversation. This view is rampant in the next few generations below us. It encourages me that these younger generations are willing to look beyond the traditions and look for relevance in their lives. They are willing to embrace the "organic" nature of spiritual living and perfectly willing to reject the formulated, organizational church.

Anyway, interesting reading.

Godspeed, we don't need more churches, we need more spirit-walkers.
Don

He Knows My Name

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

It is my experience that we all have moments in our lives that I call "wilderness time". It is time spent removed from the pace and flurry of all we find familiar. There have been a couple of these moments in my life. They can last for years, at least they have for me. The past couple of years has been wilderness time for me.

These wilderness moments do not reflect a loss of desire to follow the One. In fact, it is usually a time of incredible pursuit, of learning to live with the thundering silence, of living the disciplines when there is little or no reward. But it is also a time of great discernment, a time of learning, a time of appreciating the path not the goal.

But we are not led out of these moments in a dazzling flash of insight. There is no "aha" moment that signals the end of the wilderness time. There is no sudden thrust into the "busy-ness" of religious or secular life. I have found that it is a slow awakening. This past weekend I watched my youngest grandson try to wake from a long afternoon nap, snuggled close to his momma's neck, arms folded in close to her as he tried to make that transition from deep sleep to awake and interaction. It is this analogy of slowly finding our way back into the flow of life and service that marks the end of the wilderness time.

In the same way as my grandson, I find myself slowly transitioning back. As stressful as the wilderness time can be, it is still the moment that I find myself in. So I want to move slowly to make sure it is happening. When you have been through the time you begin to see and understand the early signs that the wilderness time is coming to an end. You can again perceive the words and warnings of others. My dear friends this weekend pointed out that my sense of humor was coming back, but it is still a little caustic. Only close and good friends can point that out and get away with it, and they were right. When one is still in the wilderness, you do not catch these early signs.

The song above has been on my mind for 2 days now. A sign that the wilderness is thinning a bit. I can hear the sounds of social civilization. You see part of the wilderness time is the thundering silence of God. I believe that the song is stuck in my head by Him. He knows my name..He knows my every thought..He sees each tear over the last couple of years..and He hears me when I call and cry and am left without words..

He knows my name..

Godspeed
Don

Hope, Sometimes Visitor

This was written almost 3 months ago

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."

I ran across this quote in my disciplines and pondered it for quite some time. Each of the major words speak to me and this story that I find myself in. You see, I find myself in a spot where hope has been deferred, it has been set aside by evidence that shakes what I had envisioned as the remainder of my life. I had hoped that things would work out quickly. I had hoped that this disruption would produce different results. But I have learned that hope and faith are two different things. Faith can be fostered. It can be grown. I can manage faith. Hope has a life of its own. Hope is subject to critical evaluation of what is happening and following the thought string out to the end. When the results of that pursuit lead to diminished result, hope suffers. I am finding that hope wanders in and out of my day and my life at will. I struggle with the concept of "losing all hope" except in the very short term because hope will return, sometimes on a whim. It would make more sense to me to say that I don't know where hope is right now, it is not lost, it is just not visiting me at the moment.

Faith is the discipline of living a life that expects hope to return. It may not be today or tomorrow, but it will return. We live expecting the hope that is our promise to resurface. I often confuse the two. This past year has opened my eyes to possibility that while I cling to and nurture my faith through the disciplines, that hope is a serendipity that shows up and confirms the faith that I have jealously guarded. Do you realize that the rabbi (often confused as a carpenter) spoke and cajoled and reprimanded endlessly on faith and never once mentioned hope? He knew that if we focused on our faith that hope would follow when the faith is confirmed. Look it up, hope ain't there in the Stories.

When I go through a tough, extended time of stress, it is my faith that gets the most work. The questions of what and how and when are filtered through the prism of my faith that it will all work out in the end. Hope is a faulty golf swing, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

If you know someone struggling with this work/career/destiny thing, encourage them in their faith. I can only DO what I have been told is faithful, not particularly hopeful.

By the way, the quote above was from the guy we all say was "wise" Of course he had dozens of wives and concubines, so go figure.

Godspeed, keep the faith, bro.
Don

Not Funny

Written about 3 weeks ago


There are a number of old sayings that promote the concept of laughter as healing. By and large this has been well served in my lifetime. While some people may not appreciate my sense of humor, they cannot deny that I have one. If you just scan back over all these posts you will find humor sprinkled through most of the blogs. There is some conjecture that my sense of humor may be a little off the main path, but laughter is laughter and I enjoy the play of humor in my life and those around me.

It is not the ability to tell a joke, or laugh with others when they relate a funny story. What has been taken from me in this extended crisis is the ability to look at life from a certain perspective. What has changed is my particular bent on the events around me. I find people funny, I find circumstances (even traumatic circumstances) funny, the oddities of life are funny to me. But somewhere in the past year my take on the world has become more cynical. Even in the midst of realizing this, there seems to be little to help me revert to my normal self. This change has been more like a rheostat being dimmed slightly, or slightly more over time. There wasn't the sense that someone just turned off the light of humor, it is that the rheostat was lowered slowly, almost imperceptibly. Then I wake up one day ad realize my take on the world is just not as much fun as it used to be.

And just as slowly the light is beginning to brighten. Over the last several weeks it has become easier to find the humor even in the most stressful of events. Why? Because I am working again, all day effort to make some small companies into more significant companies. There is still the worry over money and future, but the occupation of my mind with plans and strategies have brightened my take on the world around me.

For those who have put up with this dour attitude over the past year, I apologize. To my bride I simply want to say that you have been beyond helpful. There is simply no way I survive the past trauma without you. It always amazes me that you exhibit the strength you possess. Times are getting better, you deserve the payoff. We have had a few laughs in the past year, but they have come at too high a price.

I am taking back my life, one way or the other. That way my particular slant on all that surrounds us will return. For those who are going through this, or married to someone who is going through this, give them a little slack, everything is harder to maintain. Give them the freedom to vent just a little, to let it all out. It helps.

Godspeed to those who are looking down the barrel of this particular malady. Take back who you are...it is not theirs to own.
Don

Doubts

This was written over a month ago.

16 months of unemployment have created a new ability to doubt. It is probably the most common malady of the unemployed. We have spent a lifetime developing skills and abilities only to hit a moment in time where we are being told everyday that those skills, while worthwhile, can't be afforded. It is an insidious erosion of what we believe and hold dear.

So everyday I wake up and spend some portion of my morning convincing myself that "today is the day, where someone will recognize their need for my abilities." And yet here I am almost 500 days down the road and the future is even more unclear than it was before. This inscrutable rejection is hard to fathom.

You begin to doubt your worth. Has this all been just a cosmic joke somehow? As most of you know I am believer and practitioner of the spiritual disciplines. Frugality or simplicity are part of this lifestyle. My prayers and meditation, along with my study and reflection all point towards living a life of simplicity, but it is not simply for the sake of the discipline. It is to bend my will to the glory of God. But when life's circumstances, particularly over a long period of time indicate that the discipline is futile, the doubt creeps in. Why bother with it, when the results are the same as that of a pagan. Why am I being rejected when I have submitted to a lifestyle that few even know about? Has my life lost worth in the sight of the One who determines all that is worthy? In an emotional breakdown not long ago I confessed to my bride that this past year has been wasted. I have been put on hold. The doubts are rampant about who I am and what value I hold for the world around me.

Here I am at 4AM on a Sunday morning, contemplating a leading prayer for a church where I don't know most of the people, interceding for a God who has grown largely silent over the past year.. and I doubt. Honesty does not seem to be the most prudent path. Yet, honesty should be the key element for a community of faith. But I doubt the entire premise that it will simply work out. In this moment of early morning reflection, it feels that I have been rejected both by God and by those who profess to follow Him. And still I struggle to find the words that will reveal both His glory and His compassion.

In this moment of despair, when I feel like walking away I find the words of Jesus ringing in my ears as I am sure they did to those so many centuries ago, "Will you leave me as well?" When do we get to consider this question? It is certainly not the politically correct question. But the answer also keeps coming to mind, "Where else can we go? Who else has the answers?" Peter found a way to express the tension that I find myself in. This doubt was not created by unemployment, just manifested in the circumstance. I believe we all live with the question and the doubt. Where else can I turn? Who else holds these truths? In a culture that is crumbling, a church that has lost its way, and a man who has entered the "second half" these questions are bitter and also needed.

So I will spend a part of today convincing myself that today is the day. That if I stay on the journey, it will eventually level out a little. And at some point today, maybe just maybe, there will be a small token of confidence manifested in me. Who knows?

Godspeed to the rejected of this journey. We will find a way. Push the doubts from your mind, breath in and out, step forward, only in faithful action will doubts be diminished.
Don

A New Reality

Over the past several weeks I have been writing blogs that have not been published. They center around the last year or more regarding my unemployment or dramatic under-employment. They are as honest as I know how to be. The blogs focus on the three things that I believe are the "collateral damage" of extended unemployment. You will notice a distinct omission of the struggles of no income. That part is assumed. What I have tried to convey are the losses that are evident but harder to articulate. My hope is that if you know someone who is in this crisis that these posts will make you a little more understanding. I also hope that if you are in this situation that you will find a kindred spirit in my writing. Sometimes this simple act of connecting helps the path get a little smoother, a little more level.

There are three issues that have grown more and more evident as time goes on. Three things that were taken for granted. Over the past year I have begun to doubt who I am and what I thought I could do. Doubt is a huge de-stabilizer in our psyche. There have not been many times that I spend much time doubting, I have always simply "moved ahead" and found the path usually led to a better place.
Secondly, I have lost a large portion of my humor. This loss, in particular, makes me bitter. Humor has been and always should be a defense against what the world tends to dump on us.
Finally, I have lost hope. This one floats in and out, causing great comfort on certain days and vast despair on others.

Some of these will be recognizable to all of us in some dose. We have been extraordinarily blessed with a very small and loving community of faith who have helped us through this time. One couple has been especially generous with their money, and always at just the right time. Another couple has been generous with smaller gifts, even when they had nothing to give, it came out of their own struggles. Another family changed their lifestyle to fit our needs, so that we could continue to do fun things, but at little or no expense. It is this small community that sustained us, kept us sane, and held us close. When they said, "We continue to pray for you." it meant a great deal because they backed it up with action. The most annoying people were those who assumed they had spiritual influence and would say, " we are praying for you." after a time all I heard was, "Be warmed and filled." Great, not much help there. Read James 2 again and tell me what help prayer with no action means.

So the next few posts may seem a bit dreary. Sorry. I had to muster up the courage to post them. It is tough to be revelatory and funny.

Tomorrow will see the first post.

Godspeed to those who are in this abyss. Hang on to your esteem, your humor, and your hope.
Don

Habitat for Humanity

I am writing this post on a dare from my bride. We worked on a Habitat for Humanity project last weekend and when we were headed back to the house she commented to our friends that there would certainly be a blog about the event. So I have spent the last four days trying to decide how to answer this challenge. Should I not write the blog and show her? or should I write it and acknowledge the fact that she knows me all too well. Hence the blog.

Our friend Doug (you may remember him and his bride, Janet, from the "boot camp" entry) investigated and recruited us to go with them this past Saturday to help on a house in Waxahachie with HfH. My bride and I have been starved for a good service project ever since the mission trips to Mexico stopped a year or so ago. So we pulled out our Army/Navy surplus fatigues, our work shirts, gloves, and hats and we all rode down to Waxahachie (after a stop for some scalding McDonald's coffee..really, it needs to be hot enough to melt a silver spoon?) for a morning of house building.

When we arrived there were the obligatory introductions, the standing around for instructions, and the conjecture about how hot it would get before noon. By the way, by noon it was over 100. The girls were tasked to helping with the garage, Doug and I were assigned to the framing of the walls. The wall framing was going to require some heavy lifting. I did not inform the powers-that-be that my bride was every bit as strong as I am and less vocal. They would learn soon enough.

Someone had ingeniously marked all the boards literally telling us where to nail them together, where to place them. There were all kinds of little tricks, some I knew, some were new to me. I realized after about an hour, it had been years since I did that much hammering, and when I did it as a kid on the farm it was without the benefit of bifocals. I can still drive a nail, but I can't drive several sequentially without resting. To tattle just a little on my buddy, Doug, he hit his own finger, which was a good 2" away from the nail. After a certain amount of grimacing and an outward show of controlling his language, he asserted that the hammer ricocheted off the nail and hit his finger...sure. There were new terms used, a "bottom plate" goes along the foundation and is the anchor for all the framing. Anyone want to guess at what the "top plate" is? I knew what "studs" were, I have spent a life time missing them while trying to hang pictures and shelves. However, to put in a window, you have to have a "stud" and a "cripple". Doug and I spent most of the morning trying to decide who they were talking about, the "stud" or the "cripple" After Doug smashed his own finger I think the argument was over. The girls shifted over to our work area when the work on the garage slowed. So we all got to work in the same area for a little while.

My bride and I have learned after all these mission trips to Mexico, that everyone needs a sense of humor. We have been down there with guys who took it way to seriously and sucked a lot of the fun out of it for the rest of us. It is a little disheartening to be shoveling gravel and rock while the "leader" of the group stands on a high spot and "surveys" the work flow. Grab a shovel high-pockets, it is a much more effective management style than barking orders and hob-nobbing with the actual boss. All that said to say that the guys in charge did not have a great sense of fun. My bride will tell you that I take that as a personal challenge. After a pretty long morning the guy in charge of our little group had not smiled and only spoke when telling us we were doing it wrong. At one point he was going to show us how to "toe-nail" the window sill before setting the sill in the frame. Okay, I know how to do this, but we had not done that way in the first wall section. So he grabs the hammer from Janet and proceeds to bend about six nails.I could feel his frustration and embarrasment rising as each nail tilted in the wrong direction. With five of us standing around, dutifully watching him bend nails, I said to the group, "Yeah, this looks a lot easier." All but one laughed. We spent some time at lunch trying to parse the difference between smart-aleck and smart-ass. The straw-boss probably would have liked some input. My bride indicated that I might be both.

There was a lot of telling what to do, then griping that we didn't do it right. At the end of the morning the project foreman told us to "dump all the tools in the back of his truck" We did, then had to unstack it and do it "right" Okay, you can tell me what to do, or how to do it, but not both.

All that aside, I loved talking to the guy who will live in the house. He was out there working harder than any of us. He had a great sense of humor and seemed like a nice guy. The house was really small, probably less than 1200 sq/ft. He would live there with his wife and three kids. It made me appreciate again what I have and the simple good fortune that brought it to me. There was the usual good feeling of doing something good for someone else simply because I could. I love the sore muscles, the hands and fingers nicked from the hard work. The sense that, at least for a small portion of one day, I had done something for someone else. Setting aside the "me-world" for "you-world" always brings a smile to my face and my heart. This to me is true religion.

Godspeed to the travelers who find a little joy in helping others lift their packs.
Don

Heaven or Hell or Both?

A friend of mine, who was raised in west Texas, says what he remembers from the Sunday morning sermons was this simple message, "Jesus loves you and you are going to hell." He has spent quite a few decades since then trying to find a firm footing in the Kingdom. There are probably more than a few of us that have struggled with our "confidence" in the great uncounting.

Recently I read an article by Oliver Thomas called Should Believers Fear Hell - and God? It was essentially a book review of the Rob Bell book titled Love Wins. The premise is that the religious world has used the concept of hell to herd us all in the right direction. Fear is the motivating factor. Religious groups use the concept as a very heavy stick to either quell the pagan uprising within their midst, or they use it to deeply etch a line in the dirt between believers and pagans.

My problem with this MO is that ultimately folks will rebel against the heavy-handed, proprietary nature of this stance. Secondly, I think it is simply wrong, not error wrong, morally wrong. If you have raised kids you will know that long term motivation through fear simply breeds resentment, not righteousness.

I haven't read the book, but I plan to. Over the past 10 years or so I have re-evaluated almost all my preconceptions about all things religious, so there is no reason to believe this one will be any different. So here is the analogy the article and apparently the book used. If your child broke all moral codes, murdered someone, fell into an alternate lifestyle, bad decisions, whatever; would the punishment fit the crime by flinging them into a fire FOREVER? Would we as parents feel this was an appropriate response? Would we feel that justice was done?
Or would we try every way within our power to extend mercy?

Love to hear from you.

Godspeed, tough questions always fire me up.
Don

Looking for Clues

Most of you who know me this has been an interesting year. Unemployment, dramatic underemployment, surgeries on my some of my precious grandkids, and of course the usual spiritual quest has made this a year of reflection, of frustration, and realization that there are people in my life who love me in spite of all my annoying ways.

It is one of the truly remarkable facets of the human creature that in the midst of adversity, as more things turn against us, that we look for the first hint of spring. We are blessed/cursed with the anticipation of the first warming breeze that tells us that the grass will grow, the flowers will bloom, and the first warming rays of God's love will fall on our upturned face.

This past week has been particularly stressful. This past week was filled with tough negotiations that will have dramatic impact on what happens to us over the next few months. The continued drought and heat were a perfect reflection of trying to make things work in the face of incredible pressure. Prayers have been tough and spiritual disciplines have been tested like few times in the past. It was as if life was saying, "I've knocked you down, just stay there. Stay down." But there is simply something in my nature that will not allow my "staying down." I'm sure there are those who would characterize my approach to life as dumb and durable, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt and the desire to quit is not there. It just has to be ignored.

You spend some time each day looking for clues of improvement. Serendipitous occurrences that begin to point the needle north. People return calls. A bill comes in lower than expected rather than higher. Someone says something encouraging rather than critical. All of these could be the clue.

But this morning early I woke up to the strangest sound...rain. Rain on the roof and falling from the eaves and into the flowerbed outside the bedroom window. I have no idea how long it has been since rain came and actually formed puddles on the sidewalk. Cooling the ground and the air. Bed could not hold me even at 5AM on a Saturday morning. I had to see this. So I stood on the back porch and let the rain soak into my hair, breathing deep that special smell of fresh rain on a parched yard.

A clue for better things to come? I hope so. It lifted my spirits and my hopes.

Godspeed, the air is fresh and new. Hope springs eternal when you have eternal hope.
Don

Things Forgotten

Yesterday was one of those days where you plan for it, then regret the obligation, then are glad you carried through. All of that said, I traveled to Abilene to see my dad and pick up a dresser that my youngest had claimed after it cleared waivers through the rest of the family.

When I got out there a little after lunch, we visited a bit then got to work. You have to understand my dad. He has been saying for a couple of years that they need to sell the old farm place where I was raised because it is too old, needs too much work, and is pretty isolated. So they got a contract on the place contingent on the buyers selling their place. This means it could be a month away or 6 months away. Dad has no patience for 6 month events. So they started packing...NOW!

After we had dismantled the dresser, hauled all the parts downstairs and into the Blazer, we set to work packing pictures. It was a discovery to realize that different people collect different things. Dad and his wife collect pictures. There are pictures of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, parents, bridal portraits from 5 generations. Then the usual who-the-heck-is-this? all three of us standing there figuratively scratching our heads and wondering if we were all losing it in some group dementia event. There were pictures on walls (by the way, I was a very cute baby, not so much as an adult) on top of dressers, under beds, in closets. We packed boxes and boxes of the things. It is going to be a feat to untangle all this, my dad was packing things away that I am pretty sure will never again see the light of day.

We talked about who was going to get what furniture, what needed to sold, what needed to be moved to the other house. It was a day of realizing that when two families merge 27+ years ago, there is a lot of shared stuff.

One funny incident. Margaret and I were looking at my mother's old silver and she noticed that all the knives did not match the set. We speculated that they must have switched some, or maybe mom replaced some. We ran through all the possibilities, puzzled by the non-conformity. Then I flipped one of the non-matched ones over and realized that the pattern was different depending on which side you were looking at. They all matched when you turn them the same way. We shared an embarrassed laugh about our silliness. Maybe we can get a ward at the nut-house or a group rate.

As I drove home, it occurred to me that this was a healthy separation event for me. I was raised on that farm, it is a lot of who I am. The lessons of hard work, of patience for letting the seasons work, of cherishing the people in our lives and not the stuff were all learned on that farm. I had forgotten about so much of the THINGS that made up my youth, but as I held and looked I was reminded that each of these things reminded me of someone, or an event involving someone that was so important to me. The old Victrola was a favorite piece of furniture for my mom because Dad found it and bought it and gave it to her as a gift. The old tractor where I spent hours on hours discing, harrowing, grain-drilling, hauling hay. I have no place for it except in my memory and my heart. It reminds me of Dad. There is his old desk that he used for decades at his office, then later at home. It is sitting now ready to be sold. All memories of a childhood spent in far more interesting ways than I can recount here.

Yes, these things will pass from our family. But the memories are here to stay. They say that mortality is marked by the last person to remember your name. I think mortality is marked by our memories and I think one of the blessings of heaven may be our good memories from time spent here, in the time of "no forgetting"

Godspeed, the journey will grow steeper, the loss of those close to us will mark our own days. But yesterday was a good day to reflect, to honor, to appreciate all that has been done for me by those who may not be with me for the rest of the journey.
Don

A Mixed Bag

Yesterday we received the news that a friend from a couple of years ago had passed away. Via Facebook, his wife had kept everyone in the loop about his illness, about the hospice decision, about the constant wear and tear of caring for a failing companion . The news, as is usually the case in terminal illnesses was one of sorrow and of relief. I remember these feelings well from the time of my mother's illness and death.

So we got up this morning and are preparing to go to a wedding. That's right a wedding of a young couple that we had met when they attended a class I was teaching. They are bright and funny, loving and a little older than when we got married. It is an outdoor, thankfully early wedding in Texas. I am looking forward to it.

Yesterday I sent a Facebook note of condolences to our friend and her family and then early this morning sent a text of encouragement and congratulations to the groom. Both notes came out of a deep pool of spiritual concern and discernment. It reminded me again that this life is one of deep, dark sorrow and exhilarating joy, sometimes in the same moment. In my own way I was trying to let one family know that God loves them and we love them and on the other hand I was trying to let a young man know that...God loves him and we love him. Both of these gestures were made out of the same motivation, but to opposite ends of the human emotional spectrum.

This journey has a lot of exits and on-ramps, sometimes within just a few feet of each other.

Godspeed, we travel with folks going in a lot of different directions.
Don

The Story

Last weekend my bride and I traveled north to McKinney to keep the youngest grandbaby while his parents had a real "date." They headed out for sushi and then spent the evening at Starbucks just visiting. The boy went to bed and stayed down until well past the time his parents came home. We spent the night and went to church with them the next morning. Well, actually, they went to teach the 4 and 5 yr olds, we stayed home with Isaac until he was ready to head for church. So we got there in time for the assembly.

I love visiting other communities of faith. Seeing what they find important. This one seems pretty healthy, a nice blend of ages, lots of kids, and friendly but not in a forced way. My guess is that their leadership does more right than wrong, which may be unique in its own way.

Anyway, the entire assembly time was spent launching an initiative around a packaged group product called "The Story." At first I was a little off put by the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me. It is my opinion that most churches have opted out of the scripture. They use what little they have to justify what they think needs to be done, but most simply don't just herd the crowd into scripture and see where the Spirit will lead them. The community last Sunday at least has said "for the next 31 weeks, we are going to spend all our time in the Story"

Also, I like the approach. It is a chronological approach to scripture from beginning to end, selected scripture, but panoramic in the scope. The primary quest is this, "What is God wanting to do?" I am assuming that the application will come over time. For now, though, the journey is one of discovery, to stand quietly and simply listen to the story. To ponder the scope of it, to let it lead us where we need to go. This has the potential to change the trajectory of this community of faith for decades to come.

Could this be done without a pre-packaged initiative? Yes, and it might be better, however, the staff is tasked in such diverse ways that they don't have the time to develop the entire project. The spiritual leaders probably aren't trained or guided to do it, so the easier path is probably the better path. I hope this changes their lives, I hope it opens their hearts and minds to the mission that God has followed since the very beginning.

As this all percolated in my head, I wondered why I couldn't do something here in my neighborhood. What if I could gather a few neighbors and convince them somehow that I want them to bring their lives into this initiative, just as I will mine. Wouldn't a shared, diverse experience really be stimulating? My temptation is to believe that my experience is the only one that has value. But if I can set that aside for a moment and listen to those who were not raised in this part of the country, who were not raised in my tribe, who have not been blessed like I have, but in other ways, wouldn't that have value as we look at the story?

It is my opinion that the spiritual renewal that we all feel must take place will be far from the masonry of the white steeples. It will be in the living rooms of the ones who are wandering...and wondering.

Godspeed, the journey may have some unexpected turns.
Don

The Shore

Most of my crowd spent last week in Ocean City, NJ. We had anticipated for several months this trip. We were anxious to see the beach and the ocean, to hit the boardwalk and tour Philadelphia just a little. Since Ocean City is alcohol-free we did not think we would see Snookie or the Situation. And sure 'nuff, we didn't.

The days fell into a predictable routine. I would get up around 6AM and make coffee. I would have 30 minutes to an hour for my disciplines. Then a few of the adults (starting with my youngest daughter) would wander through looking for breakfast and coffee. At 10AM or so we would storm the beaches, arms loaded with folding chairs, beach toys, skimmer board and snacks. 11:30 or so, back to house for a rinse off, lunch, and nap. 2PM or so, back to the beach for another couple of hours of sand and surf. Back to the house where my eldest daughter and I would whip up dinner. The line-up was Shrimp-n-pasta in foil; crab cakes (the package said "crab flavored seafood" hmm) tempura whiting (a fish..never heard of it) shrimp quesadillas. Do you see a trend? Our Kansas-bred s-i-l said he was going to fix a big steak when he got home.
This is how most days ended.













We spent the night of the 4th watching fireworks on the boardwalk where our 4-yr-old granddaughter was not a big fan. Her mother suddenly remembered that she did this at DisneyWorld as well. Thanks, good timing. Lots of families on the boardwalk, no roving college kids, you know the whole alcohol deal. We ate ice cream, bought tee-shirts, Eli bought a skimmer board. So we helped the OC economy.














A couple of things left a lasting impression. One: I swept the floor twice everyday and collected a pile of sand and the floor still felt gritty. Two: This crowd eats an amazing amount of bread and chips. We plowed through at least 5 loaves of bread and a bag of chips at every meal. Three: Outdoor shower was a life saver. More sand ended up there than anywhere else. Four: Getting to and from Philadelphia is hard, particularly when the day we were leaving they had all kinds of thunderstorms. We got home about 1:30AM. Five: Atlantic ocean water is MUCH colder than Gulf of Mexico water..and the waves are bigger. We almost lost Nena to a couple of big waves. I looked out and could only find her big, floppy hat floating in the surf. Fortunately, she was attached to it underneath. She came up sputtering, but still had her sunglasses on and a wide, sheepish grin on her face. Later we found out she had a pretty good bruise on her leg as well. Six: when kids are tired the time is takes for them to melt down is milliseconds. Seven: We had at least one moment where all the kids and most of the adults needed to be in "time out" Eight: slow internet is worse than no internet.
This may be only action shot of all three grandkids in the same frame:














And like most families you need a planner and builder. Don't these two look like they are scoping out a place for the beach house? Never mind that it is a public beach, they will find a way.












So a great time by all. We are blessed to be able to enjoy each other, to eat and laugh and play practical jokes. Nena and I got to soak in all the time and joy and moments.

Godspeed to all out there who get to share their love and lives with those dear to them.
Don

The Sandbar

Several years ago I read or heard about an analogy of life that has stuck with me. It is certainly not original with me, but I don't know who gets the credit. Basically the analogy is that life is a like a river with a long series of sandbars. We each occupy our specific spot on our sandbar in our section of the river. Those who have lived before us are upstream and those who have come along after us are downstream. If we look downstream we see that the river is calmer and wider and filled with people. Some are our kids and grandkids. Some belong to others, but the stream is crowded and the water is slow and the footing seems sure. Upstream we can see that the water is moving swiftly, that the footing is treacherous, and the crowd has thinned and thinning considerably. We look around us on our sandbar, at our contemporaries and realize that while our footing is not quite as sure as it once was, we are still firmly set and can handle the ebb and flow of the river.

Occasionally we see someone whisk by that we knew. If they are parents or grandparents we mourn the fact that at last they lost their footing and slipped from a sandbar far ahead. But we hear the roar of the rapids ahead and realize our fate will mirror theirs.

Rarely we glance back and see the ones downstream lose their footing, by accident, or not having a firm spot to begin with, sometimes knocked off balance by another. We are stunned that they are gone so soon.It always comes as an overwhelming loss because it is so unexpected.

This past week a man that I had been friends with had passed away. He occupied my sandbar at least for a time. My bride and I had vacationed with he and his bride. Our sons were best of friends from 1st grade through about 9th grade. We shared our families, we laughed, there were spats, and we all seemed pretty secure in our footing. He was born with a congenital heart defect, but defied the odds and lived to adulthood, then on into middle age. He was not perfect, but none of us are. He struggled with with a lot of issues, but always seemed confident in his spiritual walk. We lost track after he and his wife divorced. His wife wanted out. When I tried to mediate, the effort was rejected along with the relationship of the two couples. This is often the fate of the mediator. We are viewed as part of the entire traumatic event and are part of the "closed door." You have to understand this as a mediator.

So the river shifted and he lost his footing. It caused me pause to glance around and realize that the sandbar is a little less crowded. There was not overwhelming remorse, but a sort of unfocused regret. We had lost touch, more of his doing than mine, but I could have pushed a little more. This event will become moire common as time goes on. It is a wonder to me that we humans are the only creature that has knowledge of their own demise, yet we are the only creature that functions from an attitude of hope. We know we will ultimately lose our footing in the river, but we live looking ahead, with joy and hope and anticipation. It is this dichotomy that sends me each day into a time of reflection and wonder.

Godspeed, Tommy and good traveling into the great uncounting.

Don

Family Reunion

Okay it is really my bride's family since my side of the family has decided to call an end to the hostilities and not meet at all. But my bride's extended family on her mother's side gets together every year in Dublin, Texas. Yes, that Dublin Texas, home of the original Dr. Pepper. They still make and bottle the original recipe in the small 8 oz bottles with the cardboard six-pack carrier. I have sworn off most soft drinks, so when I taste one of these "originals" it can generate a diabetic shock on its own. There are always some stacked around, but I was not tempted.

At one end of the age spectrum is my bride's great uncle, Uncle Joe. 91, walks with a cane, never married. The family always attributed this to the "shell-shock" of WWII. I think he probably got back from WWII and decided one war in a lifetime was enough. When my bride was a little girl she was one of a dozen of the generation that traipsed around the countryside of Erath County with Uncle Joe. Swimming in the "jenny hole" crossing the train trestle nearby, and usually collecting a pretty good assortment of chigger and bug bites along the way. For her generation he is an icon of country wisdom. Aunt Jean (his slightly younger sister) is the only other sibling left of the original 12 kids. She is country and sometimes coarse and often crude, but honest and straight forward and makes me laugh. I hope if I am still around at that age I can keep the younger group laughing and honest. She raised three kids who are like her, rough, honest, and funny. I like them.

At the other end of the spectrum is my own 21 month old grandson, Lincoln. He was the charmer of the party, chasing around with my other grand kids Eli and Phoebe. So we had at least 5 generations there (only 32 people) All connected by family either of birth or marriage, notated by the long family tree chart that we were supposed to update with new births, deaths, and marriages. 5 generations.

As I watched these generations interact it occurred to me that as far as lifestyle was concerned, they had little in common. Uncle Joe and Jean were essentially farm people. Canning their own vegetables, catching/killing/butchering their own meat, making their clothes was familiar to them and foreign to rest of us. WWII was a tsunami of cultural change. Men returned from the war and most (unlike Uncle Joe) never returned to the farm. The entered "business" My dad came home and went to optometry college, my bride's father, though not in the military went into business. Each successive generation has moved further and further from the farm. We went from producing our own substances of life to paying others to produce it. Technology has moved us further from the interaction of substance of life to the multitasking of management over others producing for us.

All of this made me wonder if culturally we adapt as people to the societal change or do we change as people and thus change the culture. Would I have made a very good farmer? I love interaction with people, with new ideas, with new challenges. Would I have just been that farmer that was just annoying to all the quiet farmers? Or because I was already one generation removed from the farm that I adapted to a lifestyle that fit the moment? How will Eli and Phoebe and Lincoln and Isaac have to adapt? As a 21 month old, Lincoln knows the rudimentary advantages of his mother having an I-phone on which he can watch movies. Can Uncle Joe adapt to this new innovation, or should he? Probably not.

But fundamentally how does this change us? I read an article about a book from a guy named Nick Carr called The Shallows: How the Internet is Affecting our Minds The basic premise being that we as a culture have lost the ability to concentrate, to think, to muse. That the preeminent talent today is multitasking. This struck a chord with me because it seems to me that we have lost the importance of being discerning. We communicate in soundbites, we think in bumper stickers, our relationships are paper thin and a mile wide.

I am going with my kids on a trip next week. Can I go the entire week without my Blackberry?(yes, it is old technology) my laptop? Facebook? LinkedIn? Can I unplug for 5 days? It makes me queasy thinking about it. But more importantly, can I spend a portion of each day in silence? in meditation? musing? wondering? reflecting? Which life would Uncle Joe understand best? Is there a value in teaching each of my grand kids to think, to wonder, to sit and ponder?

Family reunions may be the last place where all these generations come together for one last look at what has been, and to wonder what will be.

Godspeed again, the journey continues.
Don

Old Friends

It seems over the past few years my bride and I have come across the friends we accumulated through the years. Facebook has reconnected us to high school friends and people we barely knew from high school. Circumstances have brought us together through college reunions and events that we knew from those formative college days, more years ago than I care to admit. One looked me up to ask for the phone number of another..should my feelings be hurt? Naw, he was like that in college. He wouldn't get it.

Let me say that we have all changed. For some reason the guys, though older, I can more easily recognize. Some of the women I couldn't pick out of a line up. By and large we have all gained a few pounds, we have all gotten grayer, our bodies have shifted. All of us carry scars from the battles fought in business, in church, in families, and in marriage. Some of the folks we knew as young couples are couples no more. Some have taken a mulligan in that arena and we recognize them even less. Most of us have kids that had kids, and the constant seems to be the worry over them all. There are constants that work for each one of us, death, loss, worry mingled and mixed with joy, contentment, and settlement.

This past week we were able to spend a few precious hours with some friends that we have known for years. My friend Don and I met when we were in about the 6th grade. Even though he moved away in high school, we kept up and remained good friends through college and all the years since then. When and he and Gay met, she blended right in with our crowd. So we had some time to sit and visit about all the circling constellations of our lives. Sitting on their deck overlooking the lake, drinking a really good cab and just connecting.

So how does this happen? How can we miss some really important years in each other's lives, then pick up like we had only missed them last weekend? Nothing had changed. The jokes were funny (cab talking?) We were able to open the locked closet of fear and anguish and let each other peek inside. We saw and I'm sure they saw the continued smoking cannons from our marriage wars. How can this be? There have been some desperate times in their marriage and in ours, yet the bond felt as close and tight as ever. Why do we blend some people even in face of absence, and can't make that bond with people we see everyday? I will tell you there is only a very small hand full of people who fit this category for me. Perhaps it is as simple as my inability to have and to hold close a great number of friends. We have some friends now in our lives that I feel is as close as my own biological family. If we were to be separated through life events, then reunite way down the road, it would only be a moment to reconnect. But these people are far fewer than you would imagine.

On the other hand, there are people that we were once close to that we can't seem to regarner the feeling. They have grown old and odd to us. They have strange pastimes and their kids have strange lives. I'm sure we look as strange to them as they do to us. Getting glimpses of the old high school friends has been an eye-opener. Reunion is next year and looking less and less likely.

Is this just me? I don't think so. For whatever reason we seem to connect to some people for the remainder of our lives. Perhaps it is a soul thing. Perhaps it is a training thing. Or maybe it is just the oddity of life that happens with no specific explanation. Maybe we will have adjoining rooms in heaven. Who knows?

Godspeed, this journey loops and cuts back on itself so we can see the beauty of a life spent with friends.
Don

He is Everywhere

We have made the pilgrimage to Amarillo for the my eldest grandson's birthday. We drove out with my youngest daughter and her son, my bride, and myself. It is not what one could describe as "scenic". Unless you like flat, brown, and boring. But the invention of CD players in cars and all the great animated classics (Toy Story, Cars, and Incredibles) the ride seems to move along at a snail's pace, and not like a glacier.

We arrived and unloaded. Then spent the afternoon and evening unwinding, getting dinner prepared, and visiting. By 10PM I was cooked, done. So off to bed I went.

This morning I was up before the herd was stirring. So I poured a mug of coffee, properly doctored with creamer and went outside to enjoy the cool morning.

What started out a reflection was turned again into a small, quiet moment of praise. The chorus ringing through my head, "I exalt thee, I exalt thee, I exalt thee Oh Lord." The music is wonderful, the words a great calm on my heart. The ever-present cool, high-country breeze only making the morning deep and quiet. There is something unchanging about the high plains, a sort of flowing constant, and ever-present.

It was then that I realized that God is either everywhere, or we carry Him with us wherever we go. I have sat next to lakes and watched the sun emerge over the far shore and dapple the water. There have been times on the side of mountains with friends from long ago where the air was thin and pure..and He was present. There have been hotel rooms far from home on work trips.. and He was there. Mission trips in foreign lands knowing that the work that day would be hard, with sore muscles and peaceful heart.. and He was there. There have been hospitals and dark nights, funeral homes, and empty tombs..and He was there. He apparently is everywhere, because I have found in those moments that I am just as apt to close my heart and not feel Him near me at all. I do not believe that our inability to fully understand will keep us from Him. I believe it our ability to ignore Him is what will doom us. You see in this moment in my life where it feels that I have been wandering in the wilderness He is there when I open the eyes to my heart. As A grandaddy I watch my grandkids with joy, and humor, and concern, and compassion. It makes my heart leap when they jump into my arms and acknowledge our special bond. There is nothing that sinks my heart like being ignored by my grandkids. I think this is a close feeling that God carries for His children.

Anyway, a few moments well spent this morning.

Godspeed, there is nothing like a cool morning, anticipation of the day, and God being near.
Don

ER..

You miss a couple of weeks and the world changes. Blogspot had a problem, so I couldn't write the blog. Several things happened that I wanted to write about, but I was unable to, then lost interest. For whatever reason I didn't visit Facebook either, mostly due to just being in a funk. But below are a few hospital observations.

Spent the best part of the day in the ER a couple of weeks ago with Atrial Fibrillation. Never happened before, probably won't happen again. But now I am "in the system" The cardiologists are all over me. You have to understand that in the last 57 years the only hospital stays for me have been one event in childhood where they removed my tonsils. The other was 15 years ago when I had a virus that mimicked heart problems. The second event was more fun because they introduced me to morphine. Now there is a drug! You may still feel bad, but YOU DON'T CARE!

Here are my observations about ER from the perspective of a 57 year old guy with grey hair:
When you walk in complaining of chest pains, they move you to front of the line. No taking a number. She called an orderly to come get me and move me to a room right next to the nurse's station. Customer service in the medical industry is never at a higher level than in this singular instance.
Secondly, there is a fascination with my name and birth date. Every single person asked these two questions: What is your name? What is your birth date? After the fourth one, I wanted to tell them, "Write this down, share it with all your friends, Stop asking me!" I'm stuck here with an IV, pressure cup, heart monitor, and sticky electrodes from the EKG. Somewhere someone has my name and birth date. I considered giving them a false name or making up a birth date, but I was afraid it would delay my release.
Third, when the ER doc asked me when all this started, my bride was sitting in the room trying to control her panic and dealing with my kids, who were all calling and texting, it occurred to me that I had not mentioned to her that it probably started about midnight the night before. Particularly since we worked out at our usual 4:30AM, and I only then mentioned that I did not feel well. She was not going to be happy that this was the first time hearing it. So my quandary is this: Do I lie to the doc? or tell the truth and catch a LOT of mischief from my bride...hmmm. Reluctantly I told the truth, saw the lovely jaw set,knew that any heart condition was the least of my worries.
Fourth, I have a theory about hospitals. If you keep your clothes on, including shoes, they have to let you go home. Right? So kept my jeans on, my workout shoes, lost my shirt when they did the EKG, but kept all else intact. My youngest kept asking how I could be comfortable in jeans on a hospital bed. Comfort is not the issue, escape is the primary focus.
Finally, at the end of the day, after two IVs, sitting strapped to all kinds of monitoring equipment, I needed to hit the restroom. I called the nurse, they were working on my discharge papers. 20 minutes later still no nurse. My youngest went to track her down, the nurse was on her way. 10 minutes later when she showed up, she started unhooking all the paraphernalia then became transfixed by the story on the TV about the little boy found dead in Maine by his N. Texas mother. The nurse literally stopped moving and stared at the TV with her hands at her side. Meanwhile, I am squirming like a little boy on a long car ride. Get me unhooked or go get a mop! Like a dog let out of a kennel, as soon as the last constraint was removed I bolted for the john. Whew, it was close.

6PM headed home. Starving. We stopped and got me a loaded baked potato. Heaven.

A-fib is uncomfortable, but imminently manageable. What disheartened me about the entire day was the emotional harm on my bride. She handled it like the combat veteran she is, but it twisted my heart to realize I had caused this trauma. As we were going out the door at the house she put her fingers to her lips,as if trying to stifle a scream. Guilt washed over me like never before. Oh we have taken chunks out of each other in our 36 years together, but to harm is always a trauma for me. How could I say I was sorry for something I couldn't control? Emotions are funny things, they just show up, unbidden and unwanted. They are what they are. This is probably the only lasting damage done, to scare her with the unknown, the uncontrolled.

Anyway, the heart is fine. A lot of people out there probably are glad to realize I have one. Wore a monitor for 24 hours, tracking my heart rate, etc. I tried to get my bride to participate in a little action, just to see if we could set the thing off, a firm "no". Stress test next week. As if our lives alone aren't stress enough.

Godspeed, the journey is rejoined. The heart is good, I hope, not in the physical sense, but the integrity sense.
Don

Revolution

There is a revolution taking place and we are unprepared for the next skirmish. I have spent the past 4 or 5 years wondering if my displacement from organized church was a serious flaw in my spiritual walk, or if there was a problem with the entire system. It occurred to me not long ago that while my relationship with God continues to move and is rewarding in so many ways, my relationship with organized church continues to erode.

I have a couple of observations that might help a little. One is that there is a substantial shift from organized church in general. We thought 10 years ago it was the kids (anyone younger than us) but then I began to run into a lot of contemporaries who were experiencing the same displacement. Our expectation of "community of faith" was running headlong into our experience of "organized church" This is sure cocktail for disillusionment. It is easy to feel isolated by this phenomenon until I read (scanned really) George Barna's book Revolution. He claims this shift is widespread and permanent. I tend to agree.

Most churches are a study in a church "unbalanced" This all relates back to danger of the singular voice of the pulpit guy. They have the incredible pressure to keep the numbers up (attendance and contribution) and providing the entertainment and outlets for numbers to be counted. Consequently, most senior ministers are not "deep" men or preachers. They are activists in all the right terms, but could care less about spiritual formation. They hope that service alone will create and provide the depth that is needed. I disagree with the approach, but understand the dynamics of their concern.I believe if we focus on spiritual formation, service will be the natural outgrowth of this deeper walk with God. However, this is a slow and sometimes arduous process. Churches will always be a place that will attempt keep folks busy, but it won't develop individual, deep, spiritual depth. You have to remember that the instincts and actions of any established organization is the continuity of that organization, usually at the expense of any individuals who might threaten that organization. This tendency is not even consciously articulated, but is simply the nature of the beast. We have suffered this reality in ways great and small, so the evidence is experiential, not theoretical. My "professional" ministry was subverted by church leaders who preferred to see "busy" people over "developed" people. It is not uncommon, but sad nonetheless.

What is driving me now to find an alternative are the futures of my grandkids. I am beginning to see the need for a smaller, more intimate community of faith, that will ignore the magnetic pull of organized religion and embrace the scary and exhilarating leadership of the Spirit. In my head is a vision of folks meeting in my home, your home, several homes that include a bond of friendship over the doctrinal distinctives that we have trumpeted for way too long. I am rapidly hitting the moment in my journey where making sure my grandsons and granddaughter will recall honest, deep questions about God in a loving and close community rather than some antiquated version of my childhood "church". This will provide them with the spiritual tools they will need to continue their journey. Each of my kids are eyeing ways in which they can influence the lives of their children and are rapidly losing faith in the "system" that has been established. Church leadership had better be worried about these informed, discerning young adults. These young people will find a way, and it will not be in the best interests of organized religion.

So a revolution is taking place and this revolution will shake the concepts of church and society. It is going to happen. As part of the crowd who has been voted off the island of organized church, it is now my job to help facilitate the revolution for the sake of my kids and grandkids and ultimately the kingdom.

Godspeed, there is much to do, but more importantly, there is much to pray about.
Don

Book Ideas

There are a ton of ideas floating around in my head. Some come and go, others float around for quite some time, others get stuck permanently in the gray matter. One of these ideas that is developing pressure in my head is the idea of a book..or at least something longer than the 800 or so words I slide into these posts. You may wonder why I haven't written one before. Well, it comes down to impulse for me. I write when I want to, when something compels me to write, when I am bored, when I find something funny or meaningful in my world. But there are some ideas that just won't go away. Below are a few of them.

"Don't Drink the Kool-Aid"
This would be a book based on my observations about business from someone who has never been ultimately in charge. I am actually working on this one. My friend Doug has been tasked with keeping me accountable for writing. So far he has done a good job. He has made me feel guilty for not writing anything worthwhile. My first attempt was a dismal failure (my words, not his) His face was a study in being a good friend, an honest critic, and a supporter. But it was simply an abysmal attempt. So I am working on funny stories that I will make into the chapter titles: Reality is always your Friend; Don't Breath Your Own Air; Lean Into the Wind; You Can Tell Me What To Do, or How, But Not Both (chapter title is too long)
Of course I could always write about the things I know best..Doggin' It; my version of efficiency.

"30/50"
This would be a relationship book. You know, the marriage thing? The premise would be that there are a number of us out here in the world that are about 50 years old and have been married about 30 years. I have talked to all sorts of people about this moment in life and my conclusion is that there is a galactic battle going on in these marriages. Reality has set in and the fallout can be tough. Titles would be in the nature of: The Mirror is Lying To Me Again; I'm Talked Out; Where is My..; and then my favorite chapter..I Shouldn't HAVE to Get Lucky!
This book will be written from one who is clueless and incautious and untrained..me.

"Raising God-Fearing, Well-Adjusted, Mature Kids: A Man's Guide to Child Rearing"
Family help book. Problem is that I only have one chapter...Marry Well.

There are dozens of others. But with my attention span and the permission I got from Meyers-Briggs (being an ENFP, strong in all categories)for being "forward thinking" There is a chance I will have to take my 800 word blog posts and turn them into a book. Of course the problem there is that you have already read them all.....right?

Then there is the problem of finding a publisher who gets my humor.
Hey, there is always self-publishing, which just sounds like self-help/self-medication/self-ish.

Godspeed to the budding authors. The titles are easy, the message is tough.
Don