Around the next bend...

This morning during worship service, I caught myself thinking it:

I am so ready to be past the stage of occupying small children in church, bringing the things you bring and doing the things you do just to get the family through the service without being disruptive.

Don't get me wrong: We're glad we're doing this, and we made a deliberate choice not to make use of the attended nursery during the service. No dispute with anyone who does, but we decided we wanted our boys to get used to remaining in the assembly without being taken out.

So we chose this, and we knew reasonably well what we were getting into. And it has been a good thing for our family. We can't even remember the last time either one of our boys had to be taken out of the assembly, and they have no expectation of doing anything other than sticking it out.

But, as you can imagine, none of this means what we have chosen is easy.

It takes planning, teamwork, and coloring books to pull this off, and I'll admit it can be tiresome.

For whatever reason, it was especially tiresome this morning, and I let myself think it:

Man, am I ready to be past all this!

Now that a few hours have passed, I'm really hoping no one "up there" heard or took to heart what I thought. Actually, someone probably did, and supplied the thoughts that occupied my mind for the latter part of this morning's service.

It occurred to me that, while this phase of our children's upbringing is indeed challenging, it is only the very beginning, and will end up proving to be anything but the most difficult part.

Very soon, we won't have to worry about bringing coloring books to occupy the boys during the service. We won't have to worry about taking them to the restroom, keeping them quiet, and making sure they stay put.

While those changes will surely be nice, consider the cares that will then occupy our minds:

*What is the state of our boys' spiritual development?

*Do our sons love the Lord? Do they believe the gospel? On their own? Apart from us?

*Are we demonstrating spiritual discipline in our everyday lives?

*Do our boys know the Word of God? Do they pray on their own?

*If we died today, would our boys be left with a faith that could stand on its own?

*If our boys had the choice, as they will in a few short years, would they be here in worship?

*Whose voices threaten to drown ours out of our children's ears?

These are questions with a direct impact on eternity, and the time will come very soon when these questions will take center stage.

Of course, what we're doing now will in many ways lay the foundation for these more consequential things, but...

Maybe the coloring book bag isn't so bad for awhile longer.

It's so easy to think things will be easier around the next bend. That somehow parenting gets easier when you're not changing diapers anymore.

Two foolish thoughts:

First, to want to hurry into a spiritual war-zone with our children's souls in the balance.

Second, to think we're not already there.

Saints & Saints Fans

Who could have guessed it?

The New Orleans Saints are 8 - 0, one of only two undefeated teams remaining in the NFL halfway through the season.

Honestly, it's not a huge deal to me, other than the novelty of a historically woeful team having an outstanding season, coupled with curiosity about the Saints' chances of carrying this momentum deep into the playoffs.

We'll see how it plays out in the coming weeks.

Flashback to 1989:

I was a sophomore in high school in Oregon, when my dad had to travel to New Orleans for business. This was an exciting trip, as no one in my family had ever been to that part of the country before. My dad asked us boys what we might like him to bring us back from The Big Easy, and it occurred to me that a Saints T-Shirt might be a cool item to have, despite the absence of any allegiance on my part to that team. So, that's what I asked for, and Dad came through with a cool Saints shirt that I wore for no real reason for a few years thereafter.

Fast-Forward to 2009:

Just imagine it: Had I only begun rooting for the Saints way back then, and had I followed their fortunes faithfully for the next twenty years, I would be riding high right now. I would be an original. A die-hard loyal, undeterred by years of futility, enjoying the fruit of years of faithful devotion.

But I didn't do that.

So, if I were to try to claim the Saints now, I would be a fairweather fan, a front-runner, a Johnny-Come-Lately, the total opposite of an original, and not likely to be fully embraced in the ranks of the New Orleans faithful.

I can imagine the sideways glances of the originals, viewing my brand new Reggie Bush jersey with suspicion, especially in the light of my near-total ignorance of Saints history & tradition, my absence of emotional investment in previous wins and losses, and the fact that Archie Manning is just Peyton and Eli's dad to me.

And, I don't think many of us would blame original Saints fans for being hesitant to welcome aboard every Johnny-Come-Lately who will just as likely become a "fan" of some other team later on when it's popular to do so.

How interesting, in the light of our feelings about the late comer, that Jesus would make a point of telling a story that overturns our instincts on this subject.

The workers hired on at the eleventh hour in Jesus' parable in Matthew 20:1-16 were just the kind of late arrivals we so often tend to categorize as lesser members of the group, lacking the full legitimacy of those who have "borne the burden and the heat of the day".

But Jesus, even at the expense of displeasing the "originals", makes the late comer their equal in every way. Worthy of the same reward. Free of any stigma or additional obligation. Not subject to any probationary period. Defended by the Master against any aspersions cast by brothers or sisters.

Do saints truly understand and accept Jesus' stance on the soul who arrives at the eleventh hour?

Even if we understand that Jesus accepts this new saint, do we comprehend what his stance means for us?

Do we get the fact that it is up to us to demonstrate that acceptance? That it's not enough to believe in the abstract that the late arrival is equal to the "original"?

If an eleventh-hour saint is made to feel like a Johnny-Come-Lately, then the body is not following the direction of the head, and the newcomer will not be likely to remain.

Picture yourself in the line receiving wages in Jesus' parable.

To be Christ-like in that scenario would mean celebrating the fact that the eleventh-hour hire received the same pay as you did, after you worked all day and the newcomer worked an hour. Not just celebrating it after the fact, but anticipating it beforehand, welcoming the new worker at the eleventh hour, knowing full well that his reward would equal yours, being glad about it, and expecting nothing different.

Are we there yet?

2 Moments, Frozen in Time

Kristi and the boys and I recently enjoyed dinner on the Riverwalk in San Antonio.

As you can imagine, getting a 5 year-old and a 2 year-old to dinner and back in this setting is kind of an adventure. We parked on Travis Street, took a flight of stairs down to the Riverwalk, and followed the water for what seemed like a pretty good distance.

The boys were well-behaved, but it's still a little nerve-wracking making sure no one gets too close to the water or gets lost in the crowd. On the way back to our car after dinner, we were the classic picture of a family with small children: Daddy holding the hand of the 2 year-old who's had a noticeable accident, Mommy holding the hand of the 5 year-old who would just as soon follow the ducks off the path, both boys clutching their flashing, souvenir cups from the restaurant. Throw in a backpack of "kid stuff" and the picture is complete.

As our rag-tag caravan made its way through a quiet area of the Riverwalk, we came across an unexpected scene: A bride with her father and bridesmaids, gathered together by the water, waiting out the last few moments before her big moment, ready to take a stairway up to an open area where wedding music was playing.

In order to proceed, we had to squeeze right by this group, within inches of them, apologizing and trying not to impose in any way.

It was a chance encounter, but an interesting pair of snapshots to look at side-by-side. This new bride provided us with a visual reminder of where we were seven years ago next month, and, if by any chance she noticed and thought about it, we might have given her a picture of what could be in store for her and her new husband in the coming years.

A preacher I know often points out that a wedding and a marriage have frighteningly little in common, and our two snapshots provide evidence of his claim: The formality, pomp, and idealism of the wedding day, giving way to the all too "down-to-earth" reality of making it all work in a marriage with children.

So, which picture is right?

The perfect wedding dress? Or, a child's wet pants? The strings that serenade the bride coming down the aisle on the day she's dreamt of her entire life? Or, the clatter of cookpots on the kitchen floor, serenading mom on a random Tuesday afternoon? The carefully chosen words of devotion spoken earnestly by bride and groom? Or, the sometimes careless words of hurriedness, spoken over the shoulder or around the corner, by harried husband and wife?

Well, if you've been there awhile, you know they're all right; they're all true. You're not going to have one without the other. It's a mistake to overlook or to exaggerate the importance of either at the expense of the other.

Which picture is more true:

The new creation emerging from the water?

Peace in the face of imminent death?

Moments of intimacy with God that put a lump in your throat and bring a tear to your eye?

Times of everyday ordinariness that leave you wondering if you're missing something?

The clutch of temptation and sin?

The embrace of a forgiving God?

The approval of the like-minded?

The scorn of some who think it's so foolish?

Once again, they're all true. Each one is a part of the deal. None can be ignored or forgotten. Each will have its place in the life of a Christian.

Where is wisdom?

Wisdom lies in seeing one of those pictures while experiencing its opposite.

Business Cards

I just finished putting a stack of my business cards back into their carrying case, to go back into my pocket. The other day, one or the other, or both, of our boys got ahold of my case and took all the cards out to play with, and I found the cards scattered on the floor.

Lord, please help me remember that there will come a day, far sooner than I'm prepared for, when I would give anything to find my business cards scattered around by two little sons who think my stuff is cool.

Help me remember that.

Why It Matters

Does a leader's personal life matter?

Every so often in American politics, this question rears its head and generates fierce debate, pitting voters against each other and stirring volatile emotions on both sides. Some argue that an individual who has proven less than trustworthy in personal matters is not worthy of the trust of strangers. Others argue that anyone, even a powerful leader, should be judged only on the performance of formal responsibilities, and that anything beyond that is no one else's business.

To date, no resolution to this argument has been found, but opportunities for debate still abound.

In the latest example of a high-profile individual caught up in personal scandal, comedian David Letterman addressed his audience frankly about his recent experiences with attempted extortion committed by an individual threatening to reveal embarrassing information.

While few would consider a TV host to be an important leader in our society, the incident serves as an example of how a leader's standing, credibility, and authority are compromised by personal scandal. Like it or not, Dave will never be looked upon in the same way.

Sure, Dave's comments to his audience were well-received, and he will certainly have the support of his fans throughout the ordeal, but few leaders have the benefit of Dave's sharp wit and a nightly TV audience to help overcome the damage of personal scandal.

Most leaders in this position are simply compromised and crippled by it.

For the Christian, it's easy to think this principle applies to ministers, deacons, shepherds, people we recognize as leaders in the body of Christ. And, of course, it does. Scripture makes clear that leadership in the church requires a personal life that will not be a stumbling block (I Timothy 3:1-13).

But what is so easy to forget is that every Christian is in a position of influence and, in the eyes of someone, leadership. Scripture clearly identifies every member of the body of Christ as a "priest" in his or her own right, (I Peter 2:9), having full right to approach the throne of God through Christ.

Every Christian relishes direct access to God, but imagine for a moment that we didn't all have it, that only certain, special people did, and the rest of us looked to them for contact with the Lord.

In that scenario, what would we expect of those special people? How would we feel about their privileged status, and our dependence on them, if we found them to be personally lacking in character or trustworthiness?

No, no one is expecting anyone to be sinless. All need the blood of Christ. No one can stand before God without it.

But influence is a fragile thing. Credibility is just as easily broken.

We all expect our leaders to maintain both.

But is there any reason why we should expect anything less of ourselves?

Where Does the Bad Stuff Go?

Maybe I'd like to forget it, but I know I never will.

On the other hand, I have gotten so many good laughs out of this moment, I'm not sure I really want to let it go.

I was in my late teens, and we were visiting my grandparents. I don't recall all the circumstances now, but I was riding in the back seat of my grandparents' car, and we stopped to check on some work my grandpa was having done out on a section of his land. While we waited, Grandma opened her car door to let some air in.

Little did she know what else she was letting in.

One of Grandpa's employees, an older man, came over to visit, and hunkered down in the dirt on one knee, just inside Grandma's open car door. We made small talk with the pleasant workman for a few minutes, and then it happened:


Without warning, comment, or fanfare, as a chuckle wound its way down, the man looked down to earth, snorted deep and long, reared his head back, turned to his right, and spat the biggest loogie you ever saw, right smack in the middle of the inside of Grandma's window, not three feet from her face.

I guess it was just one of those moments where you forget where you are.

But in his defense, the ol' boy wasn't totally insensitive to the mess he had made. After a surprisingly slow moment's delay, he suddenly realized his error, and with his usual jovial spirit, declared, "Aw, lookee here what I done..." and began using his filthy shirt sleeve to smear the mucus and spittle all around the window, doing as much harm as good. But he tried, bless his heart.

What to do with a mess like that?

There's not enough Windex in all the world.



It matters where the bad stuff goes, doesn't it?

The spitter in the story obviously broke some critical rules, rules we live by, care about, and expect everyone around us to know and obey. In fact, we tend to judge pretty harshly those who fail to abide by those rules, and probably won't choose to spend time in their presence. And who could blame anyone for feeling that way?

But what if we tried something a little different?

What if we took the rules governing phlegm, gas, and earwax, and applied them to the most toxic, germ-infested forms of human interaction?

What if we practiced the most careful hygiene with:

*The scandalous story about another person.

*The offense taken at someone's stray comment.

*The hurt caused by a friend's oversight.

*The disagreement with a point made in the Sunday sermon.

*The complaint against a child's teacher.

*The bitterness over an age-old slight.

Or, to put it another way: Would we really want to explain to God why we are so careful to keep our noses blown and our ears clean, but so careless, or perhaps vicious, with words and emotions containing sickness far more contagious than any bodily fluid?

Few have actually suffered the misfortune of being spat upon by another person, but who hasn't felt the sting of the wrong word at the wrong time?

Few have actually spat upon someone else, but who hasn't taken advantage of an opportunity to twist the knife just to make the wound bleed a little more?

Some are as careless with hurtful words as that poor workman was when he spat on the window.

Some of the careless are oblivious to where the loogie landed; some realize it, but choose not to care. Others realize the mess they made, but prove as inept as the workman at cleaning it up. (Assuming it's even possible to clean it up.)

A small minority of the careless spitters realize their error, repent, and in humility clean up the mess, restoring trust in the process.

Still others actually spit on the window on purpose, relishing the chance to maximize the damage of hurtful words.

But what if it really was different?

What if we were actually as careful with our words, especially our angry words, as we are with a used Kleenex?

"Is It Oso?"

In the last few months, our boys have gone crazy for a new cartoon, Special Agent Oso.

"Oso" is a teddy bear fashioned after James Bond, and he is routinely sent out on missions to help young kids trying to complete random tasks. Oso arrives on the scene out of the blue and lends a hand, much to the appreciation of the child who needed help.

For kids who just can't get enough of Oso, parents can go online and sign up for a personal phone call in which Oso will call your child by name and assign a special mission to complete around the house.

A few weeks back, my wife Kristi lined up both of our boys to receive "the call" from Oso, and it went over big. Both Benjamin and Jonathan were blown away by the phone call, listened intently to Oso's message about replacing the batteries in the household flashlights, and talked about the phone call for days.

I'm not sure we had fully grasped just how excited our boys were by Oso's call, until a few days later, when Kristi's cell phone rang and 2 year-old Jonathan, snapping to attention, asked, "Is it Oso?"

Now, that is a kid who is eager to hear from his favorite cartoon character. He just can't get enough.

Isn't that how it is with those we love, while we are apart? We want to hear from them. We look forward to any word that might come, and we appreciate the message when it arrives. If the message is written, we don't stop at reading it once. We just can't get enough.

"The days are coming," declares the Sovereign Lord, "when I will send a famine through the land -- not a famine of food or a thirst for water, but a famine of hearing the words of the Lord." -- Amos 8:11

God's people, throughout history, have not always demonstrated love for Him in their appreciation of His message. In fact, in Amos's time, God decided He had had enough of seeing His message ignored, and told the people He would withhold it for awhile, knowing it would be sought again:

"Men will stagger from sea to sea and wander from north to east, searching for the word of the Lord, but they will not find it." -- Amos 8:12

Sometimes we don't know what we have until it's gone.

Have you forgotten the taste of the Word of God, the taste described as being "as sweet as honey"? (Ezekiel 3:3)

Has the hearing of His message become so commonplace that your ears no longer perk up and give attention to its reading?

Can you imagine the irony of camping next to a fresh water spring, and never quenching your thirst with its water?

Or, forgetting you're thirsty altogether?

Is God's message greeted with eagerness from listeners who can't get enough? Or with apathy, from people who think they've heard enough?

The proof lies in what we do after hearing. (John 14:15)

I'd better go see about those flashlight batteries...