The Marriage Debacle

I’ve recently become more concerned with the state of marriage.  I recently spoke with a friend whose story is devastating.  Two marriages plus two divorces equal one giant train wreck.  Of course there are good memories and great kids involved, but the sum of the marriages has taken its toll.  Grief, pain, and no desire to ever marry again.
 
As a pastor I’m privy to a few more stories of broken relationships – not that we all don’t know enough of them.  But I have to say I’m stunned that so many people have rotten marriages.  So many couples so genuinely unhappy, even loathing one another.
 
From my perspective, most of the time, men, it comes down to us.  Some of the things we do have selfishness written all over it.  Your responsibility is not being the financial provider.  Sure, most of the time you bring in more money than your wife (whether or not she works outside the home) which enables a family to survive.  But you are designed to be far more than a bank.
 
No, our spouses are not perfect – except mine of course.  They’re sinful too.  But most wives are the anchors of their households.  Dissecting the communities I’ve lived in, I’ve found that women are typically the spiritual leaders, the more involved parent, and the harder worker between 7am & 10pm.
 
All these little girls who grow up wanting to be princesses, having desires to be swept off their feet – end up marrying men who slowly develop enormous sticks in their backsides – forgive that crass picture.  It’s as if the qualification to be voted man the man of the year is to be somewhat involved, to not yell at their wife, and to throw in the occasional load of laundry.  Wow, how is it that we dare to use phrases such as “the sanctity of marriage” when this is the reality in so many marriages.

I’d love to write a full chapter on this topic, but a simple post is all I have time for.  So here’s a practical suggestion.  Dr. Emerson Eggerichs wrote a book called “Love & Respect.”  I’m half way through and there are some good points.  Here’s one:  though they may not deserve it, men need to hear that they are respected.  Yeah women love their husbands – even the worst of them.  But it can smack of “I’m just putting up with you.”  You love your dog and coffee too.  Men need to hear how they have value – the things they do or have historically done that demonstrate character.  Women may have to dig really deep to find it – or to look in the past for it.  But it’s there!

 
On the flip side, Eggerichs says men need to understand that deep down your wife doesn’t despise you and that if you feel disrespected, to articulate it.  You’ll need to step in faith to apologize, express in kind your love and respect to your wife, and to act selflessly.

OK, that should fix everything right?

Aloha is French for Hello!

You read that correctly.  Yesterday I was asked, "Dad, do you know how they say hello in France?" 

"No, how do you say hello in France?"

"Aloha!"

Ah yes.  The world according to our 6 year old.  What a funny kid.  There's no way this middle child is going to be invisible.  Report cards came out Friday.  And I don't really care what their grades/numbers really say unless there's something glaring.  We're not going to Harvard anyway.  (Heck, affording Southeastern Washington Central University will be a stretch.)  Bur her teacher commented, "Working on containing her enthusiasm at appropriate decibels" essentially.

What things do you believe with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength?  To what degree do you put it on the line?  Do you really believe "aloha" is French for hello?  Maybe you believe that electric cars are the answer to the world's oil crisis.  Maybe you believe corporate greed is killing our country.  Maybe you believe your kid is best off involved in four extra-curricular activities.  Perhaps you believe your best years are ahead of you.  Or you're convinced you blew an opportunity you'll never have again.

This month our Sunday school kids are learning about Conviction - believing and doing what's right even when others don't.  My hope is that I'm living out my conviction just like my kids hold on to theirs'.  My biggest conviction is that Jesus Christ is the hope of this world.  Even though people across the world have to walk hours everyday just to fetch water.  Even though that makes as much sense to some people as "Aloha" in France.  Even though people find more joy shopping for expensive clothes than attending a worship service.

It's 3 weeks to Easter - go to church that day.  Check it out.  Come to mine.  Go with a friend.  Bring a friend with you.  It's way more than bunnies, eggs, and fancy dresses.  Of this I am convinced.

Aloha! (That means good-bye...I'm sure of it.)

The Tooth Fairy and the Six Year Old

What's the greatest thing that's happened to you the past year:  an income tax return?  Your team won the big game?  You got a new job?  A vacation to Aruba?  Well if you ask a six-year-old, chances are they'll say...I mean shout, "I lost my tooth!"  It has been a topic for months.  That tooth slowly got more wiggly.  Slooooooowly.  And then it happened.  I heard a shriek from the other room that made dogs run and small children cry.  For five seconds I thought that she had broken a limb or a tresured toy.  Nope!  She lost a tooth.  It finally happened.

I was more relieved than anything that her reaction didn't accompany a wall splattered with blood.  It was the yelp of the century!  She raced into the room holding her newfound treasure with a smile that spanned ear to ear, if not beyond.

She was thrilled with the tooth fairy's note and the fact that the tooth fairy was purple - yes, a weird tradition requiring food coloring and water.  (Thanks a LOT Jeff and Katie.)

What her mom and I love about her is that constant enthusiasm for life.  It's often the Kindergarten way. 

For example, "Dad, is there school tomorrow?" 

"Yes, honey."

"YES!"

Or..."Mom, is tomorrow Saturday?"

"Yes, dear."

"YES!"

We're thrilled about birthday parties and going to McDonald's is the equivalent of winning the Boston Marathon.  I pray she NEVER loses that excitement.

A Night at the Theatre

Tale as old as time...what a blast we had on Monday night at the elegant Paramount Theatre.  When you have little girls, I think most dads dream about taking them to the theatre (that's the fancy way to spell "theater" - they don't sell popcorn at these kinds.)  They dress to the nines and can hardly contain their emotions.

We saw Beauty and the Beast.  One of Disney's masterpieces with some real redemptive themes, such as sacrificing one's agenda for the other's good.  The music is great, straight from the movie with a few extra songs as well - stretching the performance to a good 2 hours, 40 minutes (including intermission).  Our six year old got a little restless, but both girls were largely riveted to the stage.

There's a great dancing scene featuring metal beer mugs with sounds mimicking a tap dance.  The performers' voices were incredible and in most cases nearly indistinguishable from those of the movie.

The night at the theatre is one when everything is near perfect:  little faces with unmatched joy; sparkly shoes and frilly dresses; an opportunity to feel alive; a moment when the world seems to spin in slow motion allowing moms and dads to stare at each other with pride and thankfulness for their little people.

With the constant onslaught of illness, tragedy, chores, and other difficulties we face, a night at the theatre is a small respite that reminds us of God's goodness.  Psalm 46:10 says, "Be still and know that I am God."  Not that a musical in the city is a worship service, but do you ever find those special moments and just worship God for giving you these magical moments of clarity?

Ashes

If you follow the Church calendar, you probably know that today is Ash Wednesday.  It is the first day of Lent in which we await the resurrection of Jesus of Easter Sunday.  Ashes signifying death.  Resurrection signifying life.  Ashes are painted on the foreheads of believers in the shape of a cross.  It is a reminder of our mortality and the hope we all have through the life of Jesus.



I just had lunch with a friend whose wife's health turned upside down this year.  (Hey, that sounds familiar.)  Though recipients of different diagnoses, our wives (and their spouses) have sniffed mortality a little closer since last Easter.  With each passing day I have noticed myself gain an appreciation for life though ever so slightly closer to death.

Last week I found myself running on the beach witnessing carefree teenagers laughing, flirting, and frolicking. (Do teenagers frolick?  Well, maybe six-year olds.) I knew I was old when I couldn't help but think how much more I appreciated my hour at the beach than they did.  My pasty white legs and bleached face exposed to the direct sunlight.  The smell of sand, seaweed, and saltwater.  The chill of the Pacific on my feet.  A wave of thankfulness for those I communed with that weekend.  That was my beach!  And someday they'll probably do the same thing.

Ruth Hailey Barton says that too often we pursue success (however we define that).  She says that though Moses because of his sin never reached the Promised Land, that he found something even better.  His communion with God trumped any kind of success or destination.  It was his real promised land.

Whether you're thinking about ashes today or doing your best to avoid those thoughts, you too are offered the peace that Moses had.  Peace beyond my spiritual moment at the beach.  Peace that whether or not you reach your "promised land" that the God of the Universe is whispering in your ear - telling you that you're loved, valued, and offered redemption.  And you don't have to wander the desert for 40 years before you get there either.  You can be a teenager who frolicks or a six-year old or the parent or a grandparent of a frolicking child.

Embrace the ashes!

Love is in the Air

Happy Valentine's Day!  I've heard of all sorts of great things done today in the name of love:  people singing to others, expensive flowers, e-cards with talking heads, and even I'm wearing a red shirt today.  People seem to go the extra mile to express their love on this day.

I checked out a few Facebook posts where there are a few people equally unhappy on this day.  For some, "love stinks."  For others, love is "in the air."

I can tell you that our love is deeper on Feb 14, 2012 than in 2011. You know the story.  I think suffering heightens your senses and increases your compassion.  It also slows life down. Yeah, time passes quick. But this year has inched by. 

If I were a true writer, I'd come up with some sappy poem for my wife.  But I can't write poetry.  In lieu of a poem, here are some bullet points (I'm a pretty good bullet pointer.):

• I love how my wife bought Valentine's shirts for our kids - I wouldn't have done that.
• I love how my wife gave me Brad Paisley tickets for Christmas and that when we went on Saturday she just closed her eyes and held me.
• I love how my wife cares for her patients - even the nasty ones.  And follows up with them - even the nasty ones.
• I love that my wife loves honey badgers (the clean video of course) and proclaimed herself a honey badger for being "tough" this year.
• I love that my wife tells me she loves me far more times than I deserve everyday.
• I love that my wife was more nervous than I was for my ordination interview.
• I love that my wife loves me enough to put up with my terrible laundry and cooking skills.

We are all offered amazing love.  Though you may not know unconditional love, there is a God who offers it.  It's love not predicated on perfection or wealth or style or intelligence or connectedness.  It's a God who chose to leave heaven, join us on earth, live with us, and suffer for us.  Because he loves us.  Plain and simple.

Whether or not you're a fan of Feb 14, you gotta be down with this kind of love!  (I wonder if my wife loves that I can't pull off lingo like that?)

A Presence of Evil

If you live near Seattle you know this story too well.  If you're out of state, you may or may not have watched the national coverage on it.  Superbowl Sunday was trumped by the tragic news of the end of a horrifiying story.  Since 2009 the Powell family has often dominated the headlines here.  I don't remember all the details, but here's the general storyline.  Mother goes missing in Utah and the husband is the chief suspect.  Her body has never been found.  Meanwhile the husband's father is charged with voyeurism, possessing child porn.  The husband loses custody of his children.  Finally the husband premeditates and follows through the murder of his own children.

If you need more details you can check the headlines; it's unspeakable and a slam-dunk case of evil personified.  Very often we throw that term around casually.  I mean even I watch Star Wars and tell my kids it's good v. evil; or sometimes I quote Mike Myers who says "e-VIL."

But in following this case, it's not wrong to use the term "evil."  How does one family's actions destroy the lives of so many without a conversation about "evil?"  Who can deny an evil presence in this world after following this story?  Even children being exploited and murdered.  Ephesians 6 is a passage in the Bible that talks about putting on the armor of God.  What is that armor for?  Verse 12 says that a follower of Jesus' struggle is against more than flesh and blood, but against "rulers, authorities, and powers of this dark world, and spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

If you are a follower of Jesus reading this post, I encourage you to pray for protection of kids and for healing for the Cox family (in-laws), and remember that evil is real.  If you are not a follower of Jesus, I implore you to take a step of faith.  Ask God to show you he is real; look at the horrfic events of this case and know that Satan, sin, and evil are real.

And yes, there is good.  God in the flesh - it's Jesus.  He comforts; he saves; he is love.  Amidst the evil he offers real hope.

What did I just step in?

The number of times in the last week I’ve contacted nauseating bodily fluids has arrived at a non-comical level. You know, it’s cute a few times. Then after a while you laugh because it’s happened so often. Then it exceeds the humorous and borders on the ridiculous. Based on last week’s post, you know the weekend that was. Well it continued.


After we thought all was good, we loaded up in the car to get our Christmas tree. Ten minutes later, our firstborn was puking in the car’s trash can. (Yes we have a trash can in our car.) Great. Anyone else?

The next morning the mama wasn’t feeling well and had a bad day. Fortunately, she didn’t take any car trips which seem to cause the upchucking. Well I guess just the boys survived.

Errrr. Hold that. 72 hours later dad takes the three kids to the movies while mom’s at work. We get all the way to the credits when Jr. cries out in pain, “MY TUMMY REALLY, REALLY HURTS!” Really? GO! GO! GO! Both girls run for the exit. I pick up the little man and sprint for the parking lot. The poor guy is in serious pain. Fortunately no vomit. Unfortunately his virus manifested in another way. And for 48 hours, culminating in the foulest nighttime wake-up smell ever I’ve had many more opportunities to clean floors, toilets, carpet, you name it.
Of course last night’s pinnacle incident occurred 45 minutes after I had stupidly declared “Ahhh. The peace.” I should’ve known better. That Sunday night after the movie incident, and a day of cleaning cat and dog messes of various sorts the house was finally peaceful. I headed to the tv to watch the last quarter of Sunday Night Football. Two steps from the couch of solitude with diet coke & popcorn in hand…I stepped in it.
I didn’t even know which animal had done it. There’s evidence to convict either if not both. For 20 minutes I fumed and cursed the existence of animals and the presence of sin in the world. This morning I read from Isaiah 11 about the time when the “wolf will live with the lamb” and “the infant playing near the hole of the cobra.” Certainly at some point the insanity ends. I really hope this includes cleaning up the messes of those animals and any pets I may have.
But I keep telling myself that other people are having worse days and I know it’s true. It could be worse. I realize that for the unforeseen future I will be cleaning, wiping, scooping, and rinsing. But that this is part of the privilege of parenting. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Thank you, God, for this day. Its highs and lows. The sun that rose and actually appeared in Seattle. For that full moon last night and your faithful presence as I clean, wipe, rinse, etc.

41 - The Wildest Birthday of them All

Do you remember your 41st birthday? No, not 40 or 30 or 21. 41. I remember mine. It was last week. Betcha I remember it for decades to come too! You’re probably thinking. Hmmm, is 41 a magical Fraser birthday?  Do they do something weird in the Northwest for 41?  Nope.


My sweet wife booked a condo for the family near the ocean last weekend. A great way for the family to celebrate. Day one went great. We all drove up to Bellingham (very close to Canada) after another great Portage Bay Breakfast in Seattle (another entry someday). We explored Bellingham and Birch Bay (a tiny town even closer to the Canadian border), ate some more, and swam in the heated pool.

At 4pm on day two, Jana wakes up from a nap to the sound of a sheriff on a bullhorn. I was watching football so I hadn’t heard a thing. The sheriffs were calling for a man to come out of his condo – a mere 15 yards from ours. After an hour we decided to make the trek back to Bellingham for dinner. The three patrol cars were still there as were the sheriffs. We brought a couple extra items just in case, but were hopeful that whatever delinquent was being coaxed from his apartment would behave and walk downstairs.

As we left the condo, the kids kept asking what was happening. “The police came to arrest the man for not eating his vegetables” we told them. One rolled her eyes, one’s eyes lit up, and one’s eyes were glossed over (he didn’t understand my humor). But we were concerned enough to know that we may not be spending the night in our nice little getaway.

After departing the Olive Garden, child number two began coughing that distinctive cough. There really is no way to descibe it.  You just know it.  The one where you don’t have a cough but something else is seriously wrong. Then she made those moans in the car and began crying. Only one thing was the result – vomit! She’s never puked before, so it was a new experience for all. (Her older sister and all of our pets barf all the time, however.)

A 25 minute drive back to the…oh yeah, standoff. Oh, no. What if it’s still going on? Well. It was. Now the entire road was blocked off. What about my phone? Jana’s medicine? Fresh clothes for the puker? Oh well. Better than getting shot!

We said a quick prayer for the safety of the sheriffs and drove 25 minutes back to Bellingham to find a hotel. After checking in Mama headed for the room with three confused kids. Daddy put the towels and clothing with vomit onto the hood of the car to minimize the fermentation in the Toyota. I borrowed some Febreeze and wiped the seat down. Because it was 30 degrees outside, I knew everything would freeze – but who cares? At least it ain’t in the car!

Well, all was resolved in the morning. It's amazing what a solid four hours of sleep can do! Only one other puking wake-up and only a few hours of lost sleep. Apparently there had been a serious threat along with a gun. More sheriffs and patrol cars including an armored car. An arrest was made and no one was hurt. We showered, laundered, and cleaned. Then we drove two hours south in a smelly car (the Febreeze didn’t cover all sins) and arrived at home where we spent the next three hours REALLY washing the seat, showering, laundering, and cleaning.

Here’s to a very boring 42!

Jesus Didn't Eat Peanut Butter!

Did you know that? I found out yesterday. As my kids were helping clean out one of the Sunday school rooms, Elias’ brain began to process. He recognized his own classroom where he learns, pouts, screams, plays, throws down, etc. His memory was triggered and zestily approached me. “Dad. You know Jesus? He no peanut butter!” Translation: Jesus didn’t eat peanut butter.

Where did that come from? What kind of theology is that? Do I believe that?

Ummmm. Yes. Er. No. Wait. Yes.

I don’t believe Jesus ate peanut butter because I don’t think there were peanuts in that culture. There were nuts, but peanuts? Not sure. Didn’t take that class in seminary. But I’m pretty sure that was not the lesson communicated in our preschool Sunday school last week.

But now I’m concerned. Does my three year old believe Jesus was too good to eat peanut butter? That he condemned anyone who did?

He wouldn’t have done that. Not gonna guarantee it, but from what I read about Jesus in Scripture, he was a man of the people. He spent most of his time with the poor, the lonely, the outcasts, the underdog. Those people hypothetically would have eaten peanut butter. Had it been available. Because it’s pretty cheap…and easy to make…and all that.

Those Pharisees probably would have only eaten kosher cold cuts and fancy foods for lunch. Because they had more money and laws and that kind of stuff. Did the Pharisees consider peanuts unclean?

Hey this is becoming a pretty interesting argument with myself. I need to go back and read Leviticus again.

Anyway, lots of people come up with crazy ideas about Jesus. They say things he didn’t and inaccurately label him. Sometimes they read the Bible, but usually they just develop their theology based on Hollywood movies or the selective, condemning reports of local news stations looking for viewership.

So today’s post is just a friendly public service announcement encouraging you to read the Bible. It’s God’s word in your own hands with incredible news for you. If you need help or translation, don’t ask a three year old. Ask me or another friend who has a bit more experience. We’d love to help you uncover the God of the Universe who made himself incarnate – choosing to live in a fallen world, choosing to suffer, and choosing to hypothetically eat peanut butter with the poor. Because he loves you!!

And for the record I think Elias was reiterating our no peanut allergy policy at church. Just a guess though. Those three year olds are tough to figure out.

No Greater Fear

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God. – Micah 6:8

Is there anything we fear worse than someone hurting our children? Last week the sports world collided with the real world when it was revealed that one of the assistant coaches for the football team at a prominent university had been inappropriately touching children.

I have a friend who a few years back attended a football game at Penn State University. He was fascinated how the community centered around football. The entire town, greatly isolated geographically, shuts down for games. The coach is (was) an icon. Joe Paterno is eighty four and until last week had been coaching for over sixty years at his institution – an institution centered around football. The proverbial tail wagging the dog.

As you may have noticed, sometimes people depart reality and cling to things of less import. We watch movies or listen to sports radio while much of the world struggles to find its next meal. At some point those things can become more significant. It dominates our time and consumes our thoughts. College presidents, corporate CEOs, musicians, athletes, and many others become consumed with pride, warping their worldviews and the rest of us go along for the ride.

Many details are still to come, but I can make a general speculation. At some point, the diversion (football, popularity, pride, money) became more important than humanity. Football players, fans, parents, and kids all became pawns to the alleged goal: winning. Who knows what all was ignored? The coach once hailed as one who “won with honor,” forgot his conviction and now has no honor.

A wise man once told me that we always need to operate from a place of humility. At no time should we believe our own press. We need to find people that will surround us and will lovingly rip off the bandages and expose anything we may be hiding. It goes against our inclinations, but it’s essential. Everything is at stake: our faith, our honor, our kids.

Pray for humility and bandage removers in your life. Pray for the millions of kids and adults suffering from current and past abuse.

Spoiled Rotten

So as I continue to wrestle with money and the implications of living in a community of wealth, I again found myself the beneficiary of tremendous generosity.


I spent last week in California at a wonderful orientation class to my denomination’s vibrant heart for the world. The Evangelical Covenant Church is planting churches in communities that don’t resemble mine. I witnessed incredible people serving the poor, the marginalized, and communities of refugees and immigrants. 25% of the Covenant’s churches are now labeled “ethnic.” Whether first generation or fifth generation Americans (the U.S. ones), race still divides our nation and our churches. Many of my colleagues are opening their arms to heal these fissures.

After four powerful days of developing friendships and awakening myself to the possibilities of the Church, I rented a car and enjoyed a quick 48 hour vacation. I soon visited my cousin Cecily and her two beautiful kids who live near San Francisco. I headed south to meet up with the ever-faithful Jeff who pulled a few strings and landed us a tee time at one of the Pebble Beach golf courses. Yes. The Pebble Beach. Perhaps the mecca of golf so to speak. I guess I should more accurately say the community that has developed golf courses on God’s wonderfully created California coast.

We played for free. That’s right, I said free. It would have otherwise cost $375 – per person! So being cheap and a mediocre golfer, you know I would have never spent that kind of money on a round of golf.

The course was incredible. The views beyond belief. The conditions immaculate. (Yes, I would be willing to eat off of the fairway.) The customer service beyond imagination.

The ocean was bluer. The fairways greener. The greens firmer. The sand traps steeper – and challenging. Painfully, frustratingly awful – I mean challenging. The rough was rougher.

Though I was in the sand more than a kindergartener in a sandbox at recess, I was in awe. I took more photos than a proud parent of a newborn. I was spoiled rotten: completely undeserving of the extravagance and opportunity to play one of the world’s elite golf courses – especially with my abilities. If my final score were the temperature of any city in the country…that city would be Phoenix…in July.

Though this may not have been a God-ordained round of golf, there are definitely a few lessons to exegete. I think heaven may be a bit like an outing on 17 Mile Drive: a group of people undeserving, yet spoiled rotten. People ecstatic and in awe. Perfect conditions. People being allowed to enter with no possible way to pay that price themselves.

My prayer is that the whole world may have the experience of being spoiled rotten. That they would be made aware that utter poverty and racial division may be their fate, but that knowing God yields acceptance, hope, undeserving grace, and invitation to be in awe of the God who made the oceans.

Thanks Jeff. Thanks God.

Anniversary 16.2

It wasn’t a great anniversary. Well, compared to our typical fun anniversaries. Usually you would find us at a water park, beach, or lively restaurant. But this year’s was different. Being extremely ill on your anniversary ain’t no fun at all.
There’s much to be said for holding your spouse’s hand when she’s sicker than sick on your anniversary. It contrasts the euphoria of the wedding day, yet there is a deeper love sixteen years later that is more meaningful without the need for a fancy honeymoon.

That said, we got a raw deal for #16. So as we realized we’d have a chance to go away for 24 hours a few months after #16, we were excited to have a do-over. Call it 16.2. With only 24 hours, we decided a long distance getaway wasn’t in the cards, but just a day of peace, quiet, and carefree living would be great. We picked a hotel in downtown Seattle online – it’s called Vintage Park. It looked fancy, but wouldn’t completely break the bank.

So at noon last Thursday we said goodbye to the kids and grandparents…and made a run for it. The options were endless: where to eat, what to do, where to go? We had a great lunch at an “East Coast” deli then drove to the hotel. The valet opened the doors of our kidmobile littered with goldfish crackers, sippy cups, and used baby wipes. Oh no! I completely forgot about the tip! I scrounged through my wallet and all I had…a buck. Classy! He picked up our duffel bag from the trunk (yes I said duffel bag) and carried it to the lobby. Did I mention I had forgotten to zip up the duffel bag? Socks and sweatshirts were plainly visible.

We walked into the lobby. They told us about wine tasting at 5pm and dinner at 9 in the hotel’s upscale Italian restaurant. Then the gal smiled and said they had upgraded us to a nicer room. We were gracious as we turned for the elevator. The bellman asked us which floor and we said the eleventh. He looked like he swallowed a tack because he had seen the car we drove. Room 1103 – three rooms: bedroom, bathroom, and living room. No wait. It was more like a parlor. A tv near the bathtub, one in the bedroom, and one in the living… I mean parlor. Couches with soft pillows, chairs without armrests, and real blinds on the windows. I know – fancy stuff!

We walked downtown wandering into stores with breakable items and coffee houses with candles. We strolled for hours, not having to stop to pee every 15 minutes. When we returned to the hotel, there was a bottle of wine and chocolate on the coffee table. And the wine didn’t have a screw top!

The rest of the stay continued on like this. Our waitress bought our dessert for us. Everyone on staff was genuinely considerate or faked it really well. We reluctantly departed the hotel still a bit suspicious. Were we set up? Did someone pay extra for us? Did they feel really sorry for us? At the end we didn’t care. We took it as a gift – a small treat for the postponed anniversary part one. Thank you God for small gifts like this.

The Parking Lot Speaks Volumes

The parking lot speaks volumes. It’s a beautiful fall morning here in the PNW. The leaves of the trees are bright orange, red, and yellow. It’s incredible. I’m staring through a giant Starbucks window which shares the dimensions of a computer screen. Pretending it was a giant touch screen, I’d love to start erasing the cars and Chevron sign I see in the near distance. All I’d have left would be the rugged landscape of a 45 degree Washington fall day: hills, trees, smoky clouds, and a blanket of gray. But the gray is hardly noticeable because the green branches of the evergreens and the iridescent leaves shame that dull sky.

And if it shames the sky, what does it do to the objects of humankind’s desire? You know, cars. Pulling out that giant touch screen again, if you were to take away the incredible foliage and mountains in the background, you’d have a pretty impressive spectrum of colors from these vehicles as well. There are greens, reds, yellows, blacks, silvers, whites, maroons, champagnes, and clays. Probably not much different from any other parking lot in Anytown, USA.

Of course this ain’t Anytown, USA. Looking carefully I can only see one car that looks out of place – some kind of station wagon missing its left rear hubcap. In anytown USA, 90% of all the cars aren’t so high end. My own Camry looks like a beater compared to the rest. Doing the math, there have been hundreds of thousands spent on vehicles in just this tiny parking lot.

And we all know that the owners of these vehicles have two and three car garages with who knows what else parked in those other spaces. I know we do! My minivan cost more than my adoption (Though in the long run with the amount of food the little linebacker is eating there won’t be a comparison.). Yet here I stare in jealousy of the guy in the lifted Jeep and that bratty little 16 year old in a Lexus SUV. It is a hard day for me. Excuse me while I wipe away a tear…

OK I’m back. The parking lot speaks volumes. My beloved “Silver Bullet” sits there which transports my three precious ones at speeds approaching a rolling bowling ball. There’s not a piece of litter anywhere (Did you know how clean the Eastside is?), yet our world is in peril. The hungry, the exploited, the angry. If I just sit in this chair all day long, life will remain easy and the world will still be perfect – just the aroma of coffee, the hissing of milk steaming, beautiful leaves, shining electric cars. Not a person with nary a problem. It’s kind of a nice bubble to be in. Get me some headphones to drown out the couple arguing in the corner and I’m good.

Ebenezer

Nope, not Scrooge. Let me explain.


Back in the saddle again. I haven’t come out of retirement. I just took a long break. It has been tough finding much free time the past four months, especially considering the way life has somewhat turned upside down. But you probably already know that story, but I’m not going there today.

Last Saturday was a great day, though it was largely void of children. Some of you may be wondering, “How could a day without your children be great?” Others (the ones with kids) will say, “I hear ya!” It’s not a loving your children thing, it’s a silence thing. I drove three hours south to my old stomping-ground: Portland. What a beautiful day it was. High 60s. Mostly clear. And a day to see old friends.

For the first time since graduating four plus years ago, I returned to the school that I have held most dear – George Fox Evangelical Seminary. A seminary reunion was the opportunity for my visit. Upon returning to the PNW I had foolishly assumed that I’d be able to jaunt south every month or two to see old friends or take a new class. Because reality stepped in, my dreams disappeared.

In the Old Testament Samuel constructs a stone monument, called an Ebenezer, to thank God for delivering the Israelites from the Philistines. Only because of his intervention was Israel spared in a battle, and actually victorious.

George Fox is my Ebenezer. Talking to professors and walking the halls last weekend was a jolting reminder of God’s faithfulness in my life. It was there that God showed me his work in the lives of people for hundreds of generations. Many memories swarmed my mind and for a brief moment it felt as if time has stood still – I’m still in seminary right? I get to come back tomorrow for another class, to be with friends, to wrestle with Scripture and theology?

As I begun the bittersweet drive home I took a photo of the majestic Fremont Bridge which will forever symbolize God’s work in my life. It’s the city of my Ebenezer. What’s yours?

The Grass on the Other Side

What's the grass like on the other side?  I ask because our church's grass is looking a little brown right now.  We're in transition.  For those unfamiliar with transition it often means when one pastor leaves and another one is on his/her way.  It could be a good thing or a bad thing.  There is significant internal disagreement over which applies for us.

The Church in the U.S. parallels the culture in that we're under constant change.  When the customer service is poor we get ticked off, others have hurt feelings, and a few even coincidentally move to Ohio at the very onset of transition.  Funny how so many people are moving to Ohio!  It's often the equivalent to dating's "let's be friends" or "I need more space."  "It's not you it's me" is heard as is "it's you, it's not me."

The early church (right after Jeus' ascension) was far from perfect.  Those who weren't martyred still had issues and their Greco-Roman culture often blinded them from making perfect decisions:  some were racists, others sexists, many classists.  They didn't have cars however and choose to drive down to Nazareth Evangelical Church because of better preaching, music, or potlucks.

Before trying to look "holier than thou," I have left churches too and often feel like throwing in the towel because others are doing so.  How have I gotten to this point?  How have we gotten to this point?  Our church is filled with imperfect people that make mistakes.  In contrast, of course, to the other churches filled with people that make mistakes and fall short of perfection.  People get mad at us because we're sinners.  So they leave.  Heck, we pastors sometimes leave too.

If you follow professional sports you know that the average coach lasts only a few years.  The team hears his speeches over and over and his efficacy decreases through time.  Sometimes players leave and sometimes coaches leave.  Many times it leads to success, but typically the same thing happens.  The Dallas Mavericks won the NBA championship last night with a coach most saw as mediocre in his last position.  Did he change?  Did the team change?  Because Christians are human, we do the same exact thing:  we get sick of our pastors and our pastors get sick of our congregations.  I've been on both sides so I've made twice as many mistakes as you.
I'm not against people (pastors & parishioners) switching churches (I'm always looking for a church that'll give me a country club membership), but I really wonder what God thinks about it.  When we leave churches and find new ones, we'll find other people just as flawed as we are.  They'll make us mad and we'll want to leave again. 

One of the most curious oddities of God is that He still gives us leadership roles within His Church.  Doesn't he know we constantly screw things up?  We certainly don't act like a family.  The old saying about choosing your friends but not your family applies.  Your "stuck" with family sometimes.  But we "choose" our churches and don't suffer the full gamut of consequences when we leave them.  How does this organization called the Body of Christ ever accomplish anything with this transition?  It's simple.  The grace of God.  While tearing my hair out today I got to witness the healing and miraculous powers of God Almighty in the lives of two families.  I got out of the way, canceled my pity party, and praised God.  HE is in charge of the Church and HE is the reason we accomplish anything at all.  Join me in worshiping the God who loves us despite our search to hop the fence for the greener grass.

Witnessing Distress

This past week I witnessed two families in distress. The first family spent the first few days of what will likely be a lengthy hospital stay for their youngest child. Doctors and nurses are trying to figure out why she’s so sick. My daughter is about the same age and they are friends. Life was humming along for this family and it turned on a dime.


The second family is being torn apart through divorce. I never would have suspected it, but very little surprises me anymore. I learned this lesson a few years back. You can probably fill in the blank with me. “I never would have suspected this would happen to the _______ family.”
In seminary I read a book by Jerry Sittser, A Grace Disguised. He’s a professor at Whitworth University whose life was upended by a car accident that claimed the lives of his wife, daughter, and mother. A drunk driver swerved into his lane and forever altered his reality. The key line in the book? Instead of crying “why me” we ought to be saying “why not me.”
We are spoiled living in this country. Suffering takes on a different face. My sister spent three years in Africa in the Peace Corps witnessing untimely death as a norm. And this is Sittser’s point. In a sinful, broken world this stuff is gonna happen. It’s nearly a foregone conclusion. It is more often concealed in our little world.

If you’re a Christian and you’re under the delusion that God’s goal is to get us through life without more than a few knee scrapes, you’ve got some reading to do. Or flip the TV channel to a different preacher whose Gospel isn’t “the power of positive thinking.” I’ve been reading Ezekiel the last few weeks. That poor dude was obedient to God and though he was surrounded by a delinquent people, he suffered. God even took his wife to prove a point to Israel.

Easy for me to say these families will be okay because God is with them. But it’s true. There’s really nothing I can do except remind them of God’s faithfulness and grace. My prayer for them? Healing. Reconciliation. Peace. I pray God will sustain them with clear minds as they suffer and that whatever level of distress they experience will make them stronger and increase their faith.

Your First Love

It’s ironic that as a Children & Families Pastor I spend very little time with kids – other than my own of course. In some ways it’s like the principal whose time is dedicated to influencing others who work with kids. Generally it’s only on Sunday mornings that I hang out with children. But even then I’m my time is divided, being equally concerned with the teachers and parents.
I think of when I first began teaching, excited to influence young minds and to be part of their world. In only a few years I saw the trend of spending less time developing relationships and more time working on test scores. Obviously my objective was not to develop friendships, but to develop young minds and hearts. But there was a hint of treating kids like “widgets.” They became clients needing to improve test scores.
Yesterday was a rare day when I got to hang out with kids. Their reward for memorizing eight Bible verses this year? Ben & Jerry’s: pick what you want. They ate personally concocted desserts that only other kids would relish. One girl ordered mint ice cream in a chocolate-dipped cone with rainbow sprinkles. I just got to sit and listen to their giddiness. Once in a while I stoked the conversation a few times to peek into their lives (Beware parents – when you feed kids ice cream they’ll sing like canaries, offering plenty of unsolicited information.).

I’ve recently had a new opportunity to return to my first love – spending time with kids. A few months back I began teaching a weekly Bible lesson to a group of 15 students. These kids are mostly second generation Chinese students that uses our facility for an after school program. Imagine my surprise when I was invited to teach a weekly Bible lesson to this secular group. (More about this opportunity in the weeks to come.) So each Wednesday afternoon for 30 minutes I get to return to the simple: me, a whiteboard, a stale room with a few posters, and about a dozen wiggly little bodies that talk 100mph and have unique things to say.

How often in your life do you feel a thousand miles from where you thought you were headed? Maybe you became a nurse to heal the sick and now you’re defending your hospital in court. How about the architect who first loved playing with Legos and is now serving breakfast at the local diner? Or what about the musician who loves singing praises to God but spends most of her time rewriting music that fits the record label’s stale requirements?

Life can get dull and we are often in need of inspiration. Our passions, plans, and dreams get squashed by bottom lines, bills, and greed (sometimes our own). I’m fortunate that despite spending less time with kids and too much time on paperwork, much of my time defaults to conversations with adults. Despite filing papers and answering email I still feel that I spend much more time than the average Joe/Jane doing exactly what I want.

Are you stuck? Maybe you’re not nearly as bad-off as your neighbor, or your kids aren’t starving either. Our help is the Holy Spirit’s renewing work. His mercies are made new according to Lamentations 3. May you find a little life in your day or week. A reminder that you are wonderfully and uniquely made. Here’s to more kid interactions or whatever it is that you crave in your (paid or unpaid) work week.

The Economy Strkes Again

Is there no end to the devastation of our nation’s economic woes? Granted most citizens aren’t worried about finding their next meal, but many are still hurting. At PLCC this has now taken the form of downsizing. The church has rescinded the call to my friend Reid. If you’re not familiar with church lingo, that means he has been asked to find another job.
There is frequent staff turnover in ministry. Sometimes it is the result of misbehavior. Other times, there is a fundamental disagreement in the theology of the two parties. And there are times when pastors move to a new church home for a change of scenery or in response to God’s call (command). But in this case, it’s basically the economy.
Reid didn’t want to leave. He did nothing wrong. His talents are numerous. His heart, gold. His friendship, irreplaceable. I have learned much from him in 18 months. Plus, I have yet to even begin bragging about his wife and kids. I had no input on this decision and I don’t envy the group that is making decisions for a church in this economy. Quite frankly I’m fortunate it wasn’t me.

Of all those on staff who could have lost their jobs, he is the most “marketable” for a new one. It’s a crude way to label a pastor as marketable, but the dude is multi-talented and could do just about anything for a church. He preaches very well. He relates to kids and adults equally. He’s down to earth. He’s direct. He’s passionate. He’s smart. He’s technologically savvy. He’s creative.

I am sickened for the upheaval he and his family will go through and pray for their peace and blessing. In our current economic state many are affected. Fortunately in God’s economy we have no reason to fear because when bad stuff happens, He’ll take care of us. The church at Philippi is promised by Paul that “my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.”

Not only that, but who knows the implications this decision will have. Proverbs tells us to “trust in the Lord with ALL our heart and to not lean on our own understanding.” The group that made the decision prayed for discernment for months and I believe they have been leaning not on their own understanding. This heartbreaking life change may cause grief, but it may also yield benefits unforeseen.

As we feel the effects of our hopeless economy remember there is always hope within God’s economy.

37 Seconds

I spent the better half of two hours putting up the trampoline yesterday. It’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.  I wouldn’t say blood, sweat, and tears. But it was a noble effort nonetheless.  But as of five minutes ago, it's not so great.


When the trampoline was first gifted to us it was nearly a gift of God. Practically a babysitter in itself, the kids were entertained for hours. Translation - housework completed without interference.  After a six month hiatus, it was time to break it out. When I finished at dusk all three made a bee line for it. They jumped right on and…well jumped. Like riding a bike. Which they can’t all do yet.

Anyway I was excited today for them to use it while I wrote my blog – making the most of that trampoline babysitter. But because the youngest has been flexing his defiance muscles in biblical proportions, I decided to time how long it would take for the first argument to take place. I fired up the laptop and as the title reveals: 37 seconds. A scream of bloody murder would have been less startling. And scream number two came at one minute flat. Experiment over. Even with warnings in place, this offense was oh “so sad” as we say in Love & Logic. But more sad for me than anyone else.

So any thoughts of a long summer of yardwork or lounging with a refreshing Diet Coke just came to an ugly halt. My dreams were dashed in 37 seconds. Next year he turns four which I’m told is much easier. But for now it looks like there will be a lot of independent jumping. Well, at least the springs will last longer.

How many of our best laid plans are foiled? “For I know the plans I have for you…” God tells us. But they don’t necessarily mean easy.  It's a tough lesson to swallow.

Speaking of plans...my newest thought for the house - replace the east facing wall with one of those clear glass garage doors that you can raise when it's warm.  Pardon me while I go fetch my sledge hammer.