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Being The Student As You Are Teaching Others

June 19, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                      June 19, 2013

 

Everyone of us learn in different ways. Some are audio learners; they simply have to hear it. Others are visual; there has to be a picture for them to see. Still others have to be hands-on, they have to be touching something for it to click in their heads.

On Saturday I head to Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, as a part of a sixteen person mission team that will be conducting basketball camps and doing construction projects at Grace School in Herrera, and inner city area of city. I go to teach and preach, to help children discover new things, to speak about the love of God and hope of Christ.

But I go as a student who will be teaching others!

How often does that happen? For me, quite often. I learn as I lead. I go as the “expert” who will end up being taught more than he imparts. It demands a sense of “teachability.” How often did Jesus meet with the teachers of the law who were going to teach him a thing or two? There were a few moments where the teacher was taught by the Teacher, but most of the time it seems that the teachers got angered at the idea that Jesus either knew more than them, or that he didn’t agree with them.

Teachers need to be taught. If not they become hardened opinionated “sticks-in-the-mud!”

I’ll be going into a completely different culture where life happens each day in a different kind of normal than I’m used to. Not normal for me is a Starbucks shop that is empty. This is going to challenge my understanding of not-normal.

Different language! I barely passed Spanish in high school, and that happened only because I could cheat off Betsy Wolfe’s paper in front of me. (No relation!) I’ll be learning every day. The excitement of learning will be tempered with a fear that I inadvertently say something that “You mama’s breath smells like cow dung!” I wonder how that would go over?

“Lord, help me know when to just nod my head! Help me to communicate non-verbally in ways that speak the love of Christ! Lord, help me to learn things that I never knew; and experience things that will transform me as a follower of Jesus!”

It’s going to be awesome, and I hear they have good coffee there as well!

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Holy Spirit, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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The Dad Effect

June 16, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                    June 16, 2013

It’s Father’s Day, a special day where it’s okay for dads to watch back-to-back football games…except it’s not football season. Obviously the placement in June of Father’s Day was a conspiracy created by moms who felt guilty that they had a day that honored them…but not too guilty!

Our dads affect us in different ways. This has been a hard week for me, knowing that my dad has been in a Huntington, West Virginia hospital for part of it with heart problems…while I’m here in Colorado within a couple of miles of the devastating fires. I was able to talk to him on the phone today. He sounded tired and he promised me that he had his feet up as he was watching the U.S. Open golf tournament on TV.

I see the remnants of my dad’s mark upon my life in numerous ways. For instance, I like a freshly groomed lawn. I didn’t learn that from Home and Garden magazine. It came from my dad. Even today as an eighty-five year old he has I nicely manicured yard, although it is now my brother-in-law, Mike, who does the cutting on it.

He exercised patience. Grilling hamburgers was meant to be done with care and attention. The patties were even turned carefully. A neck tie was to be tied until it was right. Polished shoes for Sunday church was not to be rushed. I can see it today with how he cares for my mom, who is now bed-ridden. He feeds her dinner, a process that requires a good forty-five minutes if Mom is cooperating; more if she decides not to. Dad doesn’t press. When Mom’s attention fades he very gently draws her back to the present. People will tell you that I’m a patient person. You have to be to coach girls’ basketball, but I learned it from watching my father. Although I have some of his patience, I am not on the same level as him. For instance, I’ve encouraged him not to make spaghetti for Mom at dinner time ever again- an experience in torturous perseverance.

My dad is about as friendly as you can be. When he is able to attend Sunday worship at church people’s spirits are raised just by his presence. People have described me as friendly. I would like to think that a big part of that trait comes from my Dad’s influence upon me. To him everyone has value, and everyone needs a friend. Although he is a long-time Democrat he makes Republicans feel listened to and valued.

Perhaps most of all, my dad has affected my spiritual walk. We always went to church when I was a kid. If we weren’t home we were usually at church…Wednesday night, Sunday morning, Sunday night. But church attendance wasn’t an indicator of his faith. I remember countless times walking into the kitchen/dining room of our house and seeing his Bible and Sunday School teacher’s guide laying open on the table. We always prayed at dinner. When I travel back to southern Ohio to visit now I feel honored when he asks me to say the blessing for dinner, although I am deeply moved when I hear the words of a prayer coming from his lips. Being a pastor I have tried to never use guilt with my kids about church…although I’m sure that there have probably been a few times through the years when I have been guilty of using guilt. I desire for each of them to have a faith walk, which isn’t necessarily the same as a church attendance sheet. My hope is that I’ve been a good example for them, a person of conviction and faith. If so, the influence of my father has extended to two generations, and now with our two grandkids, both who battle to say meal grace, three generations.

I’m extremely fortunate to have a dad, and the dad that I’ve had. I think of the increasing percentage of children who now have absentee fathers, or don’t even know their dads, and I think, who will be the person to step into the gap for them?

Thank you, Pops! Thanks for being real, not put-on. Thanks for keeping high standards, and expecting your kids to have high standards. Thanks for loving us even when we were unlovable.

Categories: children, Christianity, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Who Are The Real Heroes?

June 13, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                           June 13, 2013

 

Heroes was the name of a TV series that ran for four seasons from 2006 to 1010. It was based on the lives of ordinary people who discover superhuman abilities, and how the abilities effected their everyday lives.

My daughters watched Heroes faithfully. I usually had a meeting or something on the nights it aired, so I never really got into it. We weren’t “DVRing” yet!

The past two days I have been watching different kind of heroes- real-life heroes. These heroes are men and women who are fighting the Black Forest fire on the north side of our city. Most of them are experiencing something similar to superhuman abilities. Not jumping tall buildings in a single bound, or being able to pass through solid walls, but rather reaching inside themselves and taking their efforts to a deeper level…being able to do some things that they would not normally do. I remember talking to Steve Oswald this past year about his experience with the Waldo Canyon fire. He was one of the command post chiefs, working 36 straight hours, getting about four hours of week, and then going another 24 hours. When lives are at stake heroes kick it to a different level.

Heroes lay themselves on the line. Some pray without ceasing. They cry out to God with a sense of urgency that consumes them.

Some people are heroes because of sacrificial efforts. The front doors of their homes are open wide. People in need are welcomed and cared for. Heroes sometimes are made from extreme acts of hospitality.

Heroes are made through elevated abilities to listen. The anguish of a young boy who has lost the only home he has ever known is acutely perceived by a stranger he has never met. Time stands still for the hero who knows someone needs to just talk.

Heroes are those people whose first thought was what could they do to help the first responders? They didn’t think about the smell of smoke in the air, they thought about those who are battling the blazes in the midst of the smoke. Heroes are those people who grabbed a case of Gatorade and a box of granola bars and took them to the local aid station.

Heroes are those who persevere, who are not blown and tossed by the winds of unpredictability, but stay the course.

A hero can be a young boy with a sling shot facing a giant as an army of terrified men shrink back in fear. A hero can be a young girl who speaks truth to a bully when everyone else keeps their lips shut.

Heroes are the men and women who stand ready to do battle…of blazes…on battlefields…in areas away from where they themselves live, as well as close to home.

A hero is an athlete who makes a game-winning shot, but then visits children stricken with severe illnesses in a hospital ward.

Heroes emerge, not of their own doing, but out of necessity because of a cause.

Heroes inspire without saying a word. Heroes react out of attitudes of humbleness.

Heroes don’t look for parades. Parades evolve because of the gratitude of those they’ve served.

This is a day of heroes who are simply doing what they know they have to do.

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Jesus, love, marriage, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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“Two Year Old Praying”

June 10, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                          June 10, 2013

 

“Two Year Old Praying”

 

My two year old granddaughter, Reagan, decided she would pray for our shared meal the other day. She started: “T’ank you, God, fo’ this food! And make Granddad stop eating food. Amen!”

My wife started laughing, and I immediately got a perplexed, shocked look on my face.

“Why did you pray that Granddad would stop eating food, Reagan?”

“Cause he was eating and we hadn’t prayed yet!”

Saying grace before dinner tends to be a bit legalistic for a two year old. Reagan would do well with the Old Testament sacrificial system of procedures and instructions.

“You can’t eat food if you haven’t prayed!”

I was sufficiently reprimanded.

A a few minutes later her brother, Jesse, bonked his head on the back of his chair and started whimpering. His sister reached over and laid her hand on his head like she was praying for healing.

“Were you praying for your brother?”

“Yes! I was praying fo’ him!”

We have a praying granddaughter! She prays for judgment on her grandfather and healing on her brother. I think when I was a kid I reversed those.

And where does her tendency to pray come from? It comes from being a part of a family that prays- prays at mealtime, prays at bedtime, prays in church, prays whenever the situation warrants it, prays just because.

Prayer gets rooted into a kid’s life early on. Yes, prayer for a child becomes an action that reflects what is being practiced in the faith walks of the parents…and even grandparents and teachers…and aunts and uncles.

Just as Reagan caught me sneaking a bite of pizza she already catches on to what is being practiced in the lives of those around her.

Now…I have to be sure she doesn’t catch me sneaking ice cream before dinner! Surely it would bring down the wrath of God!

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Getting Too Cozy With God

June 4, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                      June 4, 2013

Working on the staff of Young Life when I was in seminary, and then also being the Youth Minister at a couple of churches, I was trained to “earn the right to be heard’ by the students I worked with. Youth ministry was, and still is, very relational. A young guy struggling with questions about faith needs to know that there is someone he can meet at Starbucks for a chai latte and conversational counseling.

I confess! In those days there was a need to look cool and be cool. It was a part of earning the right to converse about God. Now in my final year of the fifties “cool” is a term I only use to indicate the last of heat in the house. We have more blankets folded and ready on our couch than Bed, bath, and Beyond has in the entire store. “Overheated” for our household now refers to laying on top of the electric blanket.

It seems that the emphasis with most evangelicals, myself included, is on having a personal relationship with our heavenly father who has his son be crucified on the cross out of love for us.

There is nothing incorrect about that. It’s scripturally right on. John 3:16 makes that intimately clear. The struggle is that we so often make the mystery of the holy absent from our faith. We like to snuggle up with God, like a comforter blanket. God-cozy is more to our liking than divine mystery.

One of my friends recently said that the only place we see veils anymore is on Arab women to hide their faces, and on surgeons to protect them from our germs. Veils hide, and we are people who are used to the Freedom of Information Act. We are accustomed to full disclosure.

Scripture includes a number of verses that tell us about the mystery being revealed…and the mystery that is. Paul talked about “the mystery made known to me by revelation” (Ephesians 3:3) and “the mystery that has been kept hidden for ages and generations, but is now disclosed to the saints.” (Colossians 1:26)

But he also talked about the mystery of Christ (Ephesians 3:4, Colossians 4:3)!

The contrast of the gospel is that we can now approach the throne of grace with confidence (Hebrews 4:16), but the will not ever in this lifetime understand the ways of God. Revelation is partnered with mystery. The veil was torn away from the Holy of Holies, and yet are eyes do not fully see the moving of God.

And we shouldn’t! Mystery is what keeps drama in the story. If life was void of mystery our little ones would no longer ask the question “why?” Why questions lead them along the path of discovery.

Why do we have two ears and one nose?

I don’t know. Perhaps it has something to do with Mr. Potato Head. He would look weird with two noses and only one ear.

Why are some people scared of spiders?

Because they are…including me.

Why do women put make-up on, but men just put on deodorant?

Because men are in a hurry in the morning, and women…never mind, don’t tell Mommy I said anything about that!

Why does bacon taste so good?

Ahhhh….

The longer I walk with God the more comfortable I am with the Mystery. I also have a sense of peace knowing that I am always able to cry out to him, and he will embrace me. Perhaps that’s “cozy’, but I see it as evidence of the God who comes near.

Categories: children, Christianity, Faith, Freedom, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Freckles, Zits, Warts, and Age Spots

May 22, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                               May 22, 2013

Hitting 59 has made me more conscious of my slowness, morning aches, evening exhaustion, and the multiplying of pill bottles. When I look in the mirror I notice a couple of warts that weren’t always there, but have grown in prominence as I’ve clicked off the years.

The last year of your fifties makes you think of what has been and where you have been. When I was growing up in Winchester, Kentucky I was graced with some freckles on my face. I was actually cute, especially when I was missing a few teeth in the midst of freckled cheeks. Freckles were signs an imaginative childhood. I played with imaginary friends, or even played football against an invisible defense, scoring touchdowns on two yard dives in my backyard. Freckles were child-like, not childish.

A few years later, about the time when it was no longer cool to be cute, pimples started sprouting up on my face like mysterious dandelions in spring lawns. I discovered Clearasil and other products that were suppose to ease the uncomfortableness of adolescence.

Zits were a sign of not knowing whether I was still a child or had emerged into the beginnings of adulthood. It was that time when I wasn’t sure what was going on in my life. I wanted parental closeness, while at the same time keeping some distance. My dad lost some of his intelligence. I insulted my mom’s fried chicken. I wanted to be somebody, and yet I often felt like a nobody. I had a humorous streak about me, but I also was painfully short. Dreams of who I might grow up to be were being shattered. I missed the days of being a child, but knew that I was speeding towards a time of more responsibility.

And now, years later, I look in the mirror and only see trace of the freckles and a couple of little scars from the effects of teenage zits. The warts now stand out. I’m suppose to now have it all together. Experience echoes through my facial imperfections. Although people tell me that I don’t look my age, no one is approaching me to go to a rock concert at Red Rocks, or inviting me to watch Monday Night Football at Buffalo Wild Wings.

I am now a picture of maturity, and I’m about as comfortable with it as I was with youthful blemishes. Oh, it isn’t that I don’t want to be responsible. It is more that I often feel burdened…weighed down by the expectations of others. I want to be able to make mistakes, but I’m often viewed as someone who isn’t allowed to make mistakes.

And yet my warts also tell me that I’m in that phase of life when people want to know what I think, where they will often take their lead from me. There is some sense of gratification that goes with that sprinkled over the mass of responsibility.

I’m just around the corner from the next phase called “age spots.” Sometimes they appear like someone took a red marker to the face. Other times they emerge as little pre-cancerous spots. In fact, I’ve already had a few frozen off by my physician. My dad has undergone two sets of radiation treatments for cancerous spots on his ear and nose.

Age spots are a sign that I’ve gone from being a learner to a leader to a mentor. More of my time will be spent in coffee conversations and quiet reflection. I’ll start collecting letters, photos, and other indications of a lived life. I feel valued as a result of people asking me what I think, as opposed to pressing my opinions. There is soundness in “elders” being respected in the church.

Freckles, zits, warts, and age spots. It seems that there are many parallels between those facial stages and a person’s spiritual development. Dare I also say there are many parallels also with a church’s life stage.

We go from childlike energy and optimism to youthful uncertainty; living out our faith responsibly to passing on the soundness of our beliefs to the next generation.

Chaos appears when we confuse life phases; when a pimpled church tries to pretend it is certain and unyielding in it’s statement of belief, or a warted congregation is childish in it’s actions and attitudes.

A church that is healthy is one that is allowing each of it’s participants to live in the period of faith that they are in.

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Experiencing Grace On the Way To See Grace

April 28, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                 April 28, 2013

My first words were actually “Oh, crap!”

The flashing lights came on as the Highway Patrol car was approaching me going the other direction. I was heading to my great niece Gracie’s soccer game.

“On my way to see Grace!”

I pulled over to the side of the river road and waited. The Highway Patrol female trooper came up to my passenger side window. I already had my driver’s license in my hand ready to grovel and look financially destitute.

“Did you see those wild turkeys heading up the hillside there?”

Huh? I was expecting “License and registration please.”

“No, I didn’t see them.”

“Yes, several of them”, she added, turning towards the roadside slope to our right. I glanced up the hill and caught sight of the bird moving higher.

“Got an idea of the speed limit on this stretch of road?”

Here it comes.

“Yes. It’s fifty-five, and I believe I was doing sixty-five.”

True confession is good for the soul. For some reason it made my sin seem more plausible, more normal.

“Sixty-seven.”

“Oh!”

“Do you have many problems with speeding?”

“No,” I thought, “it comes natural.” Instead of saying that however I started in on the disclaimers.

“Not usually, but I’m driving my dad’s Buick that has a little more get-up-and-go than my car.”

“What do you drive?”

“A Civic.”

“Oh!”

And then I added “Hybrid!” to further explain my unfamiliarity with a vehicle that actually has engine power.

“Colorado. I’ve got a brother that lives in Colorado.”

“Really! Where at?” This speeding violation is taking an interesting turn in the conversation.

“West of Colorado Springs. He says he can step out his front door and see Pike’s Peak.”

“Woodland Park?”

“I believe that’s it!”

I’m thinking, “Will this take $25 off my traffic ticket?”

“He says half of the time that people get stopped there is because the law enforcement is looking for marijuana…with the whole legalized thing going on.”

“Yes, ma’am!”I reply as I shake my head in a kind of “what’s the world coming to” kind of expression.

“Do you have any relatives in Wheelersburg?” she asked as she surveyed my driver’s license.

“No, ma’am! However, I did grow up in Ironton!”So some reason I thought creating ties with my growing up roots would cancel out my excessive speeding to get to a fourth grade girl’s soccer game.

“Well…Mr. Wolfe, I’m going to give you a warning about your speed today. You need to be careful and go a little bit slower. Okay?”

“I agree. I’ll make sure I’m more careful.”

She took my license and my Dad’s registration back to the cruiser and ran a check on them to make sure I wasn’t a convicted runaway felon on the lam. I waited, knowing that I was, as my grandfather used to say, “Guilty as sin!” Regardless of the power of my Dad’s car, or the justification that driving to my great niece’s soccer game should cancel out breaking the law, or even though I had been in church last Sunday (I had to be. I was giving the sermon!), a blazing pink speeding ticket should have been the rightful ending of the situation.

“Mr. Wolfe, I hope the rest of your visit goes well.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t believe those wild turkeys. You take care now.”

Thank God for wild turkeys to break the ice in conversation starters between grace-givers and law-breakers.

I slowly made my way to Gracie’s soccer game. I watched her with new eyes, not focused on her missed kicks, or other evidences of not achieving soccer perfection as a ten year old, but rather I focused on the fun she was experiencing playing a game and laughing with her teammates. As some of the adults watching shouted their disappointment in the mistakes of their sons and daughters who were playing on the field, my vision was on a Grace who was giggling. Perhaps I was able to see the upside of her soccer skills a little bit more because I had just experienced grace when I was on the downside.

On the way back to Dad’s place I watched my speedometer…and also saw the wild turkeys.

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Tim’s Place

March 28, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                March 27, 2013

 

Carol and I had a unique experience this week while we were in Albuquerque. We went to a restaurant called “Tim’s Place.” (“http://timsplaceabq.com”)

“Tim” is Tim Harris. He was born in 1986 with Down’s Syndrome. His life could be characterized as one that continues to exceed expectations. Tim was voted Homecoming King of his high school in 2004. He was voted “Student of the Year” by his school administration and faculty. Friendliness is his gift. The slogan of Tim’s Place is “Breakfast. Lunch. Hugs.” Tim is the hugger. He roams the restaurant chatting with people and giving hugs. A digital counter on the wall keeps track of the number of hugs given. When we were there it was registering around 88,000.

Carol, who has a heart for kids with special needs, watched Tim carefully as he gave attention especially to little kids, children, and senior citizens (We aren’t quite there yet!). He took the role of host, conversationalist, chuckler, coffee refiller, and whatever else needed to be done.

Carol heard about Tim’s Place from watching a feature about it on NBC’s Today show. The restaurant was started by his mom and dad, who were looking for a way to help Tim experience success. His ability to make people feel welcome was evident from working at a Red Robin restaurant in prior years.

There was something special about the restaurant. The lady who waited on us seemed happy…joy-filled. In fact, everybody who worked at Tim’s seemed in good spirits.

Oh, that more of life was like Tim’s Place! Unfortunately it seems to be more of an oasis in a desert of self-centeredness. A day after we were there our youngest daughter called to say that her boyfriend’s house in another part of Albuquerque was broken into in broad daylight and the thieves made off with a few items.

That’s how our world is! Hugs here, hoodlums there!

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Funny Church

March 18, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                         March 17, 2013

 

I pastor a non-proper church. Non-proper in that we don’t get hung up on the unplanned. We do put an order of worship in the bulletin, but it is not deemed to be as sacred as the Word of God. (Although some Sundays you might get that impression!)

A couple of weeks ago we celebrated communion in the midst of the service. Most Sundays when we have communion it is at the end of the service after the children have departed for children’s church. This time, however, with communion is the smack dab middle the children were still there. Either a few people were double dipping on the communion cups, or the communion preparer hadn’t fixed enough. The servers passed the trays out amongst the congregation, and after assembling for the march back to the front each of them sheepishly looked at me…each holding an empty tray. I’ve never said the words of invitation for the cup…without a cup! It was a moment that might have unglued many pastors and congregations, but we took it all in stride.

I follow a Jesus who I firmly believed laughed a lot. I pastor a church that finds a lot of things funny.

One Sunday a few years ago I was wearing one of those Hawaiian shirts with leaves or palms or something like that on it as a design. One of our senior men, who was sitting by his daughter, leasned over and asked her “Is that marijuana on his shirt?”

During a children’s story a four year old sneezed and suddenly displayed to the congregation a nose with Niagara Falls flowing from it.

 

On an Easter Sunday the wrong video was being shown of a resurrection song danced to by two thousand people, but a heavy metal song had been dubbed into the background.

 

Usually one Sunday every month we have one of the two candles on the communion table go out. It looks like we’re halfway committed to ritual.

 

Countless Sundays the words to a different song than we are singing appear on the screen.

 

Our heater in the baptismal tank has taken a holiday resulting in a few baptisms where the person really…really…really wanted to be baptized.

 

The iron railing by the walk of one of our entrances has the design of two bowling pins and a bowling ball in it.

 

One of our stained glass windows has the clear image of a St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap.

 

We’ve decided that life has enough tragedy in it. Let’s smile as much as we can.

 

For that to happen a church needs something else as a core value also. It needs to believe and practice grace. Grace helps us find humor in what is often too proper. Grace helps us see the reasons to chuckle in an empty communion tray. It frees us to think of possible future solutions to the present problem, instead of beating our chest and crying “Woe is us!”

Perhaps some churches don’t have funny moments because they don’t live by grace. My best friends in ministry are two guys that I can laugh with…and also cry with. I believe Jesus experienced both ends of the emotional spectrum as well. Art Linkletter used to host a program named “Kids Say The Darnedest Things.”

Perhaps for us it might be “Churches Do the Darnedest Things.”

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Painting Fingernails

March 1, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                        March 1, 2013

There are sometimes things that a person does just because! Like taking your daughter to a Justin Bieber concert and realizing that the average age of the 20,000 attenders…not including yourself…is 13…rounded off to the nearest year! Why would a parent do such a thing? The answer: Just because!

Last week my girls’ basketball team had a team dinner. Great food, great time together…and then the fingernail polish came out! The twelve girls were painting their fingernails five different colors in preparation for the last game of the season the next day. (When my son’s soccer team was preparing for the state play-offs each of the players dyed their hair blonde!).

You may have already figured out what comes next in the story.

“Coach, it’s your turn!”

“What?”

“It’s time to get your fingernails painted!”

I wouldn’t call it peer pressure that have me cave in. It was more like allowing them to paint my nails…just because! My wife had her cell phone out taking pictures like it was a Cover Girl photo op!

Blue…red…silver…orange…and black…on each hand! I left the team dinner decorated! The next day I spent a good deal of the time with my hands in my pockets or with gloves on. I discovered where the nail polish remover is located at Walgreen’s for use immediately after the game.

What I discovered is that painted fingernails is outside my comfort zone. I was completely aware of my counter-cultural masculine look anytime I was in public. Actually I was aware of it most of the rest of time as well, because my hands are usually palms down in front of me instead of palms up. When one of those nails on each hand is painted with a glittery silver it’s distracting.

Everyone of us has things that are outside our comfort zone. Sometimes we allow ourselves to enter the uncomfortableness “just because.” Sometimes we realize that what we are about is more important that our uneasiness.

I had the sense that everyone was looking at me in those few hours when I was  polished. It felt like I had just accidentally burped in the midst of a high-priced restaurant. The blush radiated!

What the experience also gain me was a sense of how someone new feels coming into a church situation. Like a 58 year old man with painted fingernails, there is an intimidation factor. It used to be that churches would recognize first-time visitors by having them stand or raising their hands to receive a special gift. Some would not agree with me on this one, but I think someone visiting a church for the first time feels uncomfortable enough as it is. “Churched people” may have lower anxiety levels, but unchurched people aren’t sure what they are getting themselves into in just being there at all. They may be there “just because.” Like a parent at a Justin Bieber concert, it may very well be a one-and-done experience. What would prompt an unchurched person to want to come back again? Probably about three things! One would be an encounter with the “mystery of the holy.” That they would experience something that they can’t quite describe, but know that something has been stirred within them.

Two would be that the person senses in some way that what happens in worship has relevance for life. It isn’t a “how to” seminar, but rather a look at life through a different lens or from a different perspective.

And three would be that the person would have a sense that the people of the faith gathering are fellow life journeyers, who haven’t arrived, but are still on the journey. The church would convey words like “help”, “compassion”, “inviting”, “grace”, “hope”, and “affirmation”, not “judgment”, “arrogance”, “apathy”, and “frosty.” The reason I was willing to have my fingernails glitter is that twelve other girls had already done it. Even though it was uncomfortable think how uncomfortable…and weird…it would have been if they would have done my nails, but not done their own. Sometimes the church has a critical eye about those who are uncomfortably seeking. In a culture where many people desire to stand out there is still an uncomfortableness about standing out in new situations.

I’ve used the nail polish remover, but the interesting thing is that there is still some residue…okay, maybe a better term is evidence…of the polish. One of my thumbnails that are painted orange looks like I had an orange slushie that leaked. But as I look at it, weird as it seems, I have good memories of that evening…just because.

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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