Speaking in Tongues

I have always known my father to be a caring, loving father. But I forgotten how "holy" he was until recently when I was walking through some old memories of my dad when I was a young pup of 9 or 10.

One specific remembrance comes to mind of a sweltering southern summer morning when we wanted to go to the River. Now, the River is not necessarily a holy place, but we spent a lot of time there, and when we weren't there, we were thinking about being there.

On this particular day, we needed bait so we could bait our lines stretched across the muddy unknown bottom of the River. We stopped at a deep drainage ditch, full of the previous night's rainfall. The ditch was about three and a half feet wide, and the spot we were working was about six feet long. The water was probably only two feet deep, but at that time, that was deep water to me.

We were seining that little stretch of water for crawdads. Catfish love crawdads, and plus, they were free, if we could catch 'em in our seine. Those little devils are fast.

Dad stood on one end, his work pants rolled up to his knees revealing pasty white legs and bare feet. I stood opposite my dad, wearing denim shorts and a shirt my mom had warned me to not get dirty. The Tennessee clay oozed between my toes, triggering all kinds of fight or flight responses in my kiddish mind.

The job was simple, really. Hold the net to the bottom of the ditch, and across to both sides, creating a trap from which the crawdads could not escape. And while holding the net tight in those three dimensions, I would walk the net- and the bait- towards my dad. I had to keep the net on the bottom, and against both sides of the ditch. In my good shirt. Barefoot. And those little suckers are fast.

Dad was in a bit of a hurry, because it took some time to bait all the lines, wait for the fish, and then run the lines to gather the fish. Back then, he could get impatient really quickly.

I was not in much of a hurry, due to the shirt and bare feet mentioned above. And again, those little suckers are fast.

I think I had fallen two or three times and wasted ten minutes, with nothing to show for my effort (not even a clean shirt) when I heard my dad really get in the spirit- he raised is hands to the air, looked into the heavens, and let fly with a long string of words unknown to my ears that signified one thing- daddy was speaking in tongues!

My dad put on a verbal display of spirituality that would make a charismatic blush with envy. His voice was as strong as any preacher, unknown words flowing like milk and honey. And while I didn't understand the words, I wondered if the expression on his face was what Moses looked like when he came down from the mountain to find all the golden idols his people had made in his absence.

Suddenly fearing that my dad was about to call down fire from heaven, I made well sure I got my sticks in the muddy bottom, my net across both sides, and with a mighty rush we must have wiped out two full generations of crawdads in one fell swoop.

We hurriedly got our gear back in the truck, and with our hard-earned bait, we fished until well after dark.

We never spoke of that day again, but one question has always lingered.....

Who was the interpreter?

Joy in the Morning

The following tale is one that may lead many to exorcise the mental images to follow. Be warned; be ware.

This morning found me running a little late; therefore I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard the rap on the restroom door.

"Who is it?", I asked...

"It's me, Madilyn" came the cheerful, almost giddy response. "Oh, great", I thought, as I stood there wearing only a towel and a mouthful of toothbrush.

"Just a minute", I yelled, as I quickly toweled off so I could slip into the clothes that nobody but me sees; the clothes I wear under the clothes that I wear that everybody sees.

"Whaddya need, Sweet Pea?" I asked through the final rinse of Colgate toothpaste. "I just need a hug, Daddy", she sang. "I need a Daddy hug before I go to school".

While my heart melted and I slipped on my clothes, I heard her say "I'll just give you a hug through the door", and she proceeded to hug me in her mind, complete with the soothing sweet sounds of a 10-year-old's gi-normous hug.

Now that just would not do. Still a little damp and barely clothed, I opened the door to see her standing there, with her arms crossed and eyes closed, hugging me in her mind. She wore a smile that could outshine the Milky Way galaxy on a sunny day.

Now with my heart full, I gave her the biggest hug I could, and sent her off, smiling the joyful smile of a contented little girl.

Have you ever seen another person's expression when they hug you and they don't know you can see their face? Their expression tells the true story. In my sweet girl's opinion, it was better for her to hug me in her mind than to go without. Now it wasn't a fake or pretend hug, either. It was all or nothing, open for all the world to see. And I was privileged to get a rare glimpse of the joy my little one gets from loving, and being loved, by me.

The way I was dressed, it's good that her eyes were closed. My eyes, however, have been opened.

Love you, Mads.

Life is Good!

Birthdays, Memories, and Hope

I am sitting at the kitchen counter while two tattooed and frizzled gentlemen deodorize, sanitize, sporicide, and otherwise clean my carpets. The chemical smell has done wonders for my sinuses, and the noise is frightening. Their constant coughing leads me to believe that I may be better off with all the scary microbes living in my carpets.

I have a while before I can go into the living room (or the bedroom or the bathroom), and my mind wanders to the calendar for the weekend. I see it again, and it only amazes, excites, and depresses me all at the same time- our son's birthday is in two days. Nineteen? Who'd ever believe that a kid who played with a tazer in his college dorm or who built a potato gun that runs on hair spray or who wears a rainbow clown wig on his FaceBook status photo is that old.

Our son is a freshman in college, and for the first time in his life, will celebrate without his family. We are involved in a new church start in our community, and are deeply committed to its development. The drive time to his campus is over 10 hours one way; not bad, but requires three days for a visit. There are many more excuses, but they really sound weak when I think of them. Of course, he could come home, but then again- the trip requires three days, and he only has two days between classes on the weekend.

Of this I am sure- he will fare far better than his parents and his little sister. He is active on his campus, in the local church, and every now and then takes a little time to study. He has made new friends, and will find plenty to help him celebrate.

We will celebrate here, without him. We are planning to barbecue a pork shoulder; my beautiful wife is baking, and we have tickets to Mamma Mia (final night!). It should be a whale of a wing-ding....

But still, I miss that little boy who used to ride on my foot; who threw up in my shirt pocket on my way to the pulpit to start the church service; who wrecked his bike and spent time in the ER to sew up his beautiful face. I even miss the kid who always needed money, who bought weird stuff with it, and then stuck it in his closet never to be seen again.

Those memories and thousands more are locked safely away safely in my heart where my memory cannot lose them. There, they are safe; they are mine.

I have so much confidence in him! Our son is a people person; an influencer of people with a beautiful personality and a crooked smile (see bike wreck above). He offers so much- and with that, he gives me hope. Hope for a successful college career; hope for beautiful daughter-in-law and grandkids; hope that I won't have to repay his college loans.

And while we might miss a birthday or two while he is in college, we look forward to the man he will become; no, the man he is becoming.......

If he stays away from college geeks with tazers.

Love you, son.

These chemicals are sure hard on my tear ducts......

The Power of A Worshipper

I am a huge fan of believers acting like believers. We don't always.... I admit it. I am especially jazzed when believers act like believers in times designated for believers to express their beliefs. I have always believed, and am more convinced now, that times of private worship often inspire God to do some, uh, well, "supernatural" things.

Now, I am a huge fan of corporate worship, so don't misunderstand.... but I am sure that our private worship sets the foundation for our corporate worship, as a family of believers, at whatever House of God we choose to worship. And the power of a worshipper is... well, ... powerful.

This article is, to me, evidence that supports my theory of the power of a worshipper.... enjoy.

http://www.worldmag.com/articles/15762

For Better or Worse

During the final months of my Dad's battle with cancer, I tried to visit as often as possible. It was on one of those visits where I witnessed one of the most moving acts of selflessness and love I have ever seen.

I am proud to have an Uncle (who shall remain nameless; even though all my family will immediately know to whom I refer, I did not ask his permission to share this tale, and so anonymity will be enforced).

Growing up in West Tennessee in the '70's, my family didn't take many trips, but we did visit family. There was lots of family to visit, and we had such great fun! We often visited an aunt and uncle and cousins in the next town North of ours, where we shared watermelon, cantaloupe, and heated games of Rook and Dominos.

My uncle and aunt, as many spouses do, had some difficult years early on, including a time of separation. But once reconciliation was reached, they were reunited and our frequent visits continued.

As time passed, and we grew up and moved away, my aunt began to lose the strength of her health, and has now required the constant care of a caregiver for quite some time. My uncle and hischildren (my cousins), all take turns with compassion and great patience to care for her many needs. Feeding, bathing, cleaning, this once vibrant lady has become a choice, not a chore. Loving hands care for her needs; a gentle voice maintains a single-sided conversation when she is not able to speak. Great pains and an even greater amount of time and compassion are required to meet her needs.

And my uncle is no spring chicken, himself. We had become concerned with his own health while lovingly caring for his bride. My dad had even spoken with him about placing her in a home where she could receive round-the-clock care. It seemed evident that it was time to relinquish that amount of care to the professionals at the nursing home, and to give my uncle some rest.

So, eventually, the decision was made to place my aunt in a nursing facility nearby. A visit was made, paperwork completed, and a room secured.

Yet the compassionate heart of my uncle for his bride made him reluctant to complete the deal. His head told him it was best; his heart said no.

While I was "working the road" with my dad one hot summer afternoon, my uncle drove up. He bounded out of his car, and with a grin as wide as the Tennessee border, told us he had made a decision about his wife.

Dad was glad that she was going where she could receive care she needed, and his brother could rest from all that work.

I will forever remember the words my uncle spoke that afternoon: "I have decided that she will stay at home. I called the nursing home and put the whole deal on hold. She doesn't want to go, and realized that I don't mind the time and work it takes to take care of her.

She is staying with me, and I can't be more proud of my decision".

Still today, my uncle cares for his bride. Daily, often hourly changes of clothing and bedding; one-sided conversations about this and that; and a stubborn commitment to "for better or worse".

That situation still may, in the future, necessitate a move to the nursing home. But my uncle can always say that he has done all he could to care for his wife. He took no short cuts, no conveniences on his behalf.

And while my aunt may not know of his commitment on this side of eternity, I see it.

I see it.

Thanks, Uncle.

It's Not Your Fault!

While watching a late-night movie version of a Tom Clancy novel, I happened to notice that TMC runs commercials every 7 minutes. Being a late-night movie, rates are lower, and you can see a lot of interesting things advertised that can't afford prime-time rates, every seven minutes. One particular ad caught my eye- and my ire.

A young lady was advertising her credit counseling business, and her tag line, spouted 6 times in her 29 second epic, is "It's Not Your Fault!". Over and again, she tried to sell us poor insomniacs on the idea that our financial situation is not our fault- the blame lies somewhere else- the economy; our bosses; the government.

While I will agree that the downturn in our current economy has wreaked all kinds of wickedness on all kinds of good people, the honest truth is, we are responsible for our own financial, social, economic, physical, and spiritual situation. That's right- as Jimmy Buffet sings, "it might be my fault..".

Let's be frank. We must train our children, our neighbor's children and our community's children to prepare for their own futures. We have lost the importance of spending less than we make; of saving for a rainy day; and planning for our lives and our children's lives. As a matter of fact, I am really weary of our government telling us that we deserve all that... and the government will provide it for us! Have we forgotten where the government gets its money? Have we become that lazy and arrogant? Say it ain't so!

No matter how success is defined, there are no entitlements to it. Some good folks work really hard to scratch out a meager living; others use gifts and talents and skills to earn more than they can realistically use. Either way, they have earned it. It is theirs.

The rub comes in planning for the proverbial rainy day; and it will come. And rainy days are not the fault of the previous administration in the White House; neither are they the result of poor planning in the fiscal meteorology department at the pentagon. And neither are we entitled to having someone reimburse us for the rain.

Sometimes, it just rains. Things break. Prices go up. People get sick. Businesses scale down. It happens; and it is our responsibility to plan ahead for those unthinkable events. If we do not plan for those times-

It is our fault.

Hard decisions are required to plan for those times we hope never come. And we are not entitled to never needing to make a hard decision.

So lady, while your ad costs less than most, in at least one instance, your message did not pass the truth test. I know because I am certified in the scraping by, making hard decision departments. And that is my own fault.

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

I think that is a great song title, from a great songwriter. Jimmy Buffet has always been a favorite, although I couldn't admit it until later in life. What a shame...

The title is quite descriptive of my life at the moment. I am faced with opportunities to make some changes in my ministry assignment here in Tulsa. Changes in attitude and latitude are certainly required.

For several months, we have been discussing and planning beginning a satellite campus in the community in which my family and I live. The campus, called, The Springs, will meet in a school that my kids have attended. The prospects for a new church work in our community is almost endless- 18,000 people have no connection with a church of any kind. There has not been a new church in Sand Springs for almost 20 years. And it is obvious to us that God is leading us to do this. I have been, and still am, very excited about it! I have been allowed to help plan staffing, technology, administration, all the way from top to bottom. Only a few variables remain, one of them being....

The Springs needs a Campus Pastor.

As I said, I have been very excited about this work for a long time. If our plans continue to track the way they are now, in a few weeks, I will be named one of the Campus Pastors for The Springs. I will begin as Worship Leader, working to assure excellence in music, technology, video, and volunteer training. For the first three months, one of my favorite fellow staff members will serve as Launch Pastor, freeing me to handle the physical and practical aspects of a new church start. This will bring about quite significant change for me- not only in "attitude" but "lattitude" as well. I will keep many of my current responsibilities, and give up some of my current responsibilities (some I absolutely LOVE!), to be replaced with things I am called to do, and am excited about doing.

Some think I am crazy; some think I have lost my mind. Quite the contrary, I believe this is part of God's plan for me, and I have lost nothing. In fact, I am finding the whole prospect terrifyingly comforting. I encourage you to pray for me as I pull a Jimmy Buffet; keep the whole project on your hearts and on your list.

Life is indeed Good!