Archive for the ‘Parenting’ category

“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!

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.

A Passion for Good Sportsmanship

February 14, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                        February 14, 2013

 

 

I was at the Air Force Academy basketball game last night where they hosted UNLV. This is my second year being a season ticket holder for Falcon home games, and I love it! Getting season tickets is a little easier here than it is for Duke, Kansas, Michigan State, or North Carolina. A year ago when I went to get them about two weeks before the season opener I was surprised to discover that our seats are in the fourth row in between the Air Force bench and the scorer’s table. Evidently there aren’t that many season ticket holders.

This year the Falcons are gathering more and more fans since they are doing well. Let me tell you, there were a lot of open seats around us for the Western State and Regis games back in November, than there are now.

Last night as Air Force pulled off a great win against the Runnin’ Rebels I was taken back by the obnoxious comments by some of the fans around me. Why do grown adults think that it’s okay to scream “You suck!” at players visiting from another university. When an official makes a call that goes against the home team, even if it is suspect, why should people express their rage with such hate and venom? It wasn’t cadets that were screaming obscenities, but it was fans of an institution that raises the call of integrity, honor, and service.

And the thing is it seems to be getting worse! At a recent high school game where the team I help coach was getting beat pretty bad, a couple of adults were screaming in the otherwise quiet gym as one of our players was shooting free throws. Not students, mind you! Adults! I’m even assuming they were parents, but can not confirm that. All I know for sure, is that it was two middle-aged women sitting in the top row cat-calling. Their team was up by 30! Our team was feeling deflated enough as it was, but to have two middle-aged women cat-calling…sad!

I don’t understand schools raising money to fight cancer by having students wear pink, or coaches wear tennis shoes, promote it with announcements…and then when the game starts hurl expletives at players and officials.

There seems to be a growing passion for obnoxiousness in sports. And it isn’t restricted to spectators by any means. Players and coaches have often signed on to act like jerks as well. The number of technical fouls for players taunting has risen substantially.

There needs to be a passion for good sportsmanship. It needs to grab hold of our athletic commitment and fuel the approach to the game.

The integrity of the game and the fun of simply playing the game must trump any desire to humiliate the opponent.

The passion for good sportsmanship must be one of the foundational principles for any competitive situation. It must be a non-negotiable!

Recently I had a situation where of my players had a momentary heated encounter with a player from the other team. I used it as a teachable moment to express my belief that our attitude and actions must not be compromised simply because of differing attitudes and actions of others.

Spiritually speaking, my commitment to Jesus does not get thrown into the backseat simply because I encounter a situation where our culture says it is appropriate to do what suits me. My commitment stays as the main thing.

As a Christian who coaches I understand that if I compromise my principles it communicates to my players that its okay for them to compromise theirs as well.

Bottom line, a passion for good sportsmanship must be rooted within us. Sadly, it is becoming so unusual these days that I think more and more people don’t know what it is or what it looks like.

The Chauffeur and The Three Wise Ladies

December 13, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                    December 12, 2012

 

The four-door Civic, affectionately known as “The Spaceship” because of it’s design, pulled up in front of the smiling saint’s house. The first passenger pick-up was peaking out the window in her front door, and, after recognizing the car, she opened the door sporting a smile as wide as the Mississippi River. The volunteer driver helped her into the backseat and the godly saint thanked him profusely.

The ice spots on the asphalt made pulling the “Spaceship” away from the curb a slow take-off, but finally the Civic headed on down the road to the next pick-up location. The smiling saint was delighted to be on a day trip to a celebration in the big city an hour’s drive away. Her life had been marked by triumphs and tragedies, rough roads and glorious adventures, but her faith in Jesus was a constant. “Jesus never fails” echoed in her soul. The callouses on her knees were a sign of where she spent a lot of her time. Today she was going to a celebration related to a young family she had prayed for many, many times.

The compact car pulled into the alleyway and stopped behind the flower lady’s home. She was ready, and slowly made her way down her back steps with her walking cane supporting her. She was beaming and dressed for the Senior Prom…if there was such a thing! The driver helped her navigate the last few steps around patches of snow and ice and made sure she settled safely in the front passenger seat. There was a little fumbling to get the seat belt attached, but weathered trembling hands finally found the connection and she breathed a sign of relief. She was a radiant 83 year old who was ready for an adventure. Her growing up days on the eastern Colorado plains had instilled values of patience, gentleness, and peace-loving into her spirit. She believed in a God who was always loving and kind and a provided whether the crops came in or not.

The smiling saint and the flower lady conversed with hellos and laughter, and squeals of delight that could be mistaken for not-quite-teenage girls.

The chauffeur eased on down the alley and onto the street and headed to the third stop a few miles away. A few minutes later “the Spaceship” pulled into the driveway of well-maintained older home. An African-American woman finely dressed stepped out the front door. The driver got out of the car, walked to her, and hugged her with a “Hello Mom!” greeting. She was not his birth mother, but had instead only arrived for his decade in the fifties. Wisdom for the beginning of his later part of life…and she had a lot of wisdom. She knew of a time when blacks and whites couldn’t ride in the same car together, and no Caucasian male would ever have been opening a car door for her. She knew what separation looked like, and it gave her a resolve to be the proclaimer of a Gospel that brings together, not drives apart.

Mom crawled into the back seat across from the smiling saint and greeted her spiritual sisters with vigor and excitement.

“This is no nice! To celebrate this occasion, and to ride to the big city with you all.”

“God is so good!” declared the smiling saint. “When I grew up Daddy would get all dressed up once a week, and that was to go to church. My brothers and I would take one bath a week, and it was on Saturday night. We’d get all spic-and-span for Sunday church.”

“A bath once a week?” quizzed the driver.

“There was so many of us, and we had to draw the water from the well, we just couldn’t do it more often. Summer though…summer was a different story, because we’d go down to the creek about a half-mile away and splash away like trout in paradise!”

The flower lady chimed in. “People worked hard on our farms, and the farms around us. Nobody took anything for granted. We trusted in God to get us through the hard times. My guess is that most people today would look at how we lived and would shake their heads in pity. They would probably think we were poor and deprived, but you know something? We always thought we were richly blessed. We never looked at life as being without. We looked at what we had. We had each other. There is nothing better than knowing that you are loved.”

“And there’s a a lot of people today who don’t know that,” added Mom. “We’d get a Virginia ham once a year at Christmas. Do you know what ham does?”

“Gives you gas?” asked no one in particular.

“No, honey! It gathers a family together around the dinner table. Let me tell you! My mother would put that ham on the dinner table on Christmas Day and we thought we had died and gone to heaven.”

“Sweet potatoes with that?” asked the smiling saint.

“Sister, we had sweet potatoes, and we always had sweet potato pie later on. My father was like a kid in a candy store when that sweet potato pie was about to be introduced.”

“Dinner conversation was the evening entertainment,” said the flower lady nodding her head in deep reflection.

“Now it seems like people can’t let go of their cell phones long enough to follow the conversation. Why is what your friend is texting from the mall more important than what your mama is telling you seated right next to you?” Mom was having a hard time with the disconnect.

“That’s why this is so good,” offered the smiling saint. “To just be together for a while, and to know that we have a a common bond through our Lord.”

The driver just drove and breathed in the warmth, the laughter,
and the wisdom. His life had just gotten richer…and no money was involved. The three wise ladies imparted gifts to him that they didn’t even realize.

Kids and Jesus

October 17, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                    October 17, 2012

 

Most Sundays I have a children’s story as a part of our morning worship service. We try to find a nice balance between children being a part of the worship service and having time together as a “children’s church.” It might be my imagination, but it seems that the kid’s story has more attentive adults than the main message does.

I’ve tried not to analyze it too much. Perhaps it goes back to the days of Art Linkletter and “Kids Say the Darnedest Things.” You were never quite sure what was going to pop out of someone’s mouth. It’s the same with the Sunday children’s story. You never quite know! The congregation has been flashed a few times. I’ve had one cute little girl climb up in my lap as I’m trying to make a serious point about Jesus. I’ve had one preschooler steer my story about prayer in the direction of color of paint in her bedroom. I’ve learned the hard way that any questions have to be carefully worded, and if a hand goes up with an answer it might have something to do with the question, or about what Santa is bringing the kids for Christmas.

In other words, kids are unpredictable.,,which makes them “dialogue dangerous”, but delightful to the core.

I wonder when Jesus’ disciples tried to keep the children from coming to Jesus if they were concerned about the detours that children can take you on. Instead of Son of God rhetoric they like to talk about fruit roll-ups and the sick little boy in their class at school. Instead of repentance and confession they like to giggle and pick their noses.

In fact, the disciples were a little uptight about anyone under five feet tall. Luke 18:15 says “People were also bringing babies to Jesus to have him touch them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them.”

Are you serious? Not exactly a “User-Friendly Church! More like “Seeker-Over-Sensitive.”

I guess you could say that the disciples may have over-reacted. Although it doesn’t say it, I can envision Peter being Jesus “muscle” here, guarding the Savior from those dangerous parents of newborns.

Church today still runs the danger of being “a place for grown-ups.” Kids are sometimes seen as a distraction, to be tolerated as long as they are cute.

Jesus rained on the disciples’ power parade by saying that “…anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” (Luke 18:17)

Perhaps some grown-ups need to commence sucking thumbs. Less scowls and more smiles; smaller words, and bigger dreams.

The kingdom of God more resembles a playground than an office building, a super twisty slide more than rushing through traffic.

Have you ever noticed how caring and giving kids are? Oh, there are the selfish moments, but there are other times where they model mercy and compassion. Have a baby bird fall out of it’s nest, and just see who takes the role of caregiver and savior. Adults are sometimes too tall to see the basic misery around them.

Ask a child to help someone who has suffered through an earthquake in a distant country and watch the lemonade stands pop up.

I don’t think Scripture says a bad thing about kids, except maybe in Proverbs, and there it is not explained what age the verse is referring to. (“A fool spurns his father’s discipline…” Proverbs 15:5a)

Maybe that’s why Jesus liked to hang out with youngsters. He knew he would not have to get into a battle about righteousness, fasting, or spiritual authority.

One last thought! Maybe the reason that the grown-ups are so attentive to the kid’s story is that there is a longing within them to be kids again!

Driving Miss Lizi

September 8, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                  September 8, 2012

 

Several years ago there was a movie entitled Driving Miss Daisy about an elderly Jewish lady and her black chauffeur in the South, starring Jessica Tandy and Morgan Freeman. It was based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning play by Alfred Uhry.

I lived a variation of that film the past two days. It was called Driving Miss Lizi, and it was a story about a dad and his youngest daughter driving to Albuquerque and back for his daughter’s job interview and looking for an apartment.

Unlike the original Driving Miss Daisy play, this one probably won’t win any awards or be featured in the previews of upcoming movies, but it will be remembered by at least one of the main characters- me!

It included the basic details: quick bite at Arby’s in Raton, New Mexico (2 Beef and Cheddars for $5!); gas up in Bernadillo, New Mexico (I drive a hybrid! I can go a long way! My car and hold it longer than my bladder!); stay at a Senior Citizen hotel in Albuquerque (I swear there was a convention going on!); Lizi complaining about snoring; finding a Starbucks.

But what I’ll remember about the journey was the conversations, the seeking of my input about apartment possibilities, the laughter, the singing or humming along to the music on XM radio.

I’ll remember the glimpses of her mom that came out- the fears and worries, how she drives, her grace.

Sharing a journey with your child is a precious time. You wouldn’t necessarily think of driving to Albuquerque and back in a 26 hour window as precious, but it was.

Sometimes we allow our lives to get in the way with our relationships.

Too often sharing in the moment becomes secondary to the moment. For instance, how many NFL fans will become oblivious to the world and everyone else this Sunday as they sit in front of the TV? Playing video games becomes more important than who it is you are playing with. Getting the yard raked becomes more important than teaching a six year old daughter how to rake. Writing a sermon becomes more important than the people it will be preached to.

I’ve been reading through the Gospels in the past two weeks. Whereas the disciples of Jesus were usually task-oriented, Jesus had a nice mix of taking care of Kingdom work and caring for Kingdom people. He seemed to always have time for a conversation, a discussion, a walk.

I recognize that I am more like the disciples than Jesus. This evening I will probably mow the lawn because… The urgency of it will somehow center itself in my mind as the day goes on. I am task-oriented in a profession that requires work to get done, but also people to be cared for. Finding the balance is often like finding the accurate point on the weigh scale that is the balance point.

It occurs to me that driving Miss Lizi became an exceptional time because we were together in a car mostly on cruise control. Airport terminals are much more stressful…unless you fly into Huntington, West Virginia, complete with white rocking chairs.

We were in a shared, uninterrupted space. In fact, perhaps the most meaningful times I’ve had with family and friends this summer have involved driving: Going with Carol and Lizi to Telluride; driving with Carol to Vail; and driving on-road and off with the group of young guys I lead to a remote camping spot so off the beaten path that even wild animals can’t find it.

In another month or so I’ll make another trip with Lizi and Carol to the same city in New Mexico. This time, however, Carol and I will return without her.

There will be tears…and Carol won’t let me stop at Long John Silver’s!

Springing Hope

September 4, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                              September 4, 2012

Carol and I went to see “Hope Springs” last night. I saw a couple of aunts and uncles from my past in it. It was amusing…and too close to home! It made me ask the uncomfortable question “Is that us?”

If you haven’t seen the movie it is about a couple who have been married for 31 years. They have become…predictable…and emotionally distant even though they live in the same house. It’s the residue of time and routine that have swallowed up their love. The love is there, but it takes an incredible amount of guided effort to rediscover it.

Enough of the plot. I chuckled a lot during the film because I saw people that have been a part of my journey and upraising, but also I saw myself.

There are weeks that come and go as unsurprising as a farm tractor cultivating a corn field row by row. A surprise might be brussel sprouts at dinner, or, this year, a cool day in the summer.

But…I have to say this…there is also some comfort in the predictability. It is comforting to know that some things don’t change. Carol tells me that my color selection in what I’m wearing is not good. She also knows that Saturday nights are usually restricted times as I struggle with finishing up the Sunday sermon. I know that she enjoys playing “Spades” on-line. A pause in a phone conversation with her is a hint that she is in the midst of a tight game. She knows that I snore and has the freedom to kick me in the middle of the night. Bruises on my body are not a sign of spousal abuse, but rather a night of deep sleep and kicks with more effort behind them. One of us often ends up in the middle bedroom because of restlessness, snoring, intestinal issues, back pain, or trying to finish a book before sleep enters the picture. I am moved by how she engages and cares for kids. She is thrilled by former players that I’ve coached who come up to me in a store, or on the street, and initiate a conversation.

There is a routine in our lives that is good, even as we search for new opportunities. This summer we took a two day vacation. I know…I know…two days…ooo, big spender! But it was a great two days. We went to Vail and just relaxed, walked, explored, rested, ate, slept. Two days was too short, but it was good!

And then it was back to our routine.

We have a good life, a blessed life! It is filled with random moments of the touch of God, the soothing of our souls.

It’s things like our grand-daughter, Reagan, chasing our frazzled cat, Princess Malibu, around the house like a greased watermelon that is never quiet in the grasp. It’s taking Carol with me whenever I have clothes to buy, or never questioning the hint of going with her because dress shirts are on sale at Dilliards’s. It’s being comfortable with the fact that “if it’s cooked on the grill” it’s my job, and if it’s cooked in the oven it’s her domain. It’s helping her step down from the terraced garden in our backyard. It’s telling her what is going on in a ball game because her eyesight is not good.

I suppose you could say that there is a rhythm in our routine, a sense of feeling so fortunate in the midst of all the ways we have been blessed.

I know that I am not James Bond, but I also want to be a little bit to the left of my dearly departed Uncle Milliard.

A little adventure while I stand watering the front yard.

Tonight I’m going to take my bride of thirty-three years for a walk.

Maybe we’ll even hold hands…as we’re in the crosswalk!

Persistent Pray-ers and Adult Whiners

August 31, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                      August 31, 2012

 

And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, ‘Grant me justice against my adversary.’”  (Luke 18:3, NIV)

 

Recently I was on the sidelines for a game that my middle school football team was playing. This year we have fifty boys on the seventh grade team, and, as I stated in an earlier posting, I made the decision to dress all the players for our games. We needed an extended bus to get them all to the field!

One boy, who I will call Sonny, is not a very good player, but he is a persistent player! He persistently followed me up and down the sideline the whole game. His persistent following was accompanied by persistent talking. It would sound something like this:

Coach, do you want me to play outside linebacker next time?”

Coach, I can go in.”

Coach, I can play inside linebacker.”

Coach, if is okay if I go in the next time we’re on defense?”

Coach, I’m right here whenever you need me.”

He was driving me crazy! I would have to call out the names of other boys on the team- “Wilson…Wilson…Wilson…go in for Jones at safety.” But I never had to yell for Sonny…because Sonny was always there.

Finally I gave in! “Sonny, go in for Smith at Outside Linebacker.” I got a few moments of peace and quiet for the couple of plays that Sonny was in.

I admired his persistence even though it was a little irritating.

Contrast that with a recent basketball officiating assignment I had at the fitness center less than a mile from our house. I’ve been blowing the whistle there about two nights each month during this basketball off-season. The league that I officiate for I refer to in less than affectionate terms as The Adult Whiners League.”

There are a number of really good guys in the league, but there are also the ones that I would like to post pictures of on the post office wall. Some of them used to be great players…emphasize used to be! They still remember what their bodies have long forgotten. They still dream of the slam dunk they had in high school as they now stay earth-bound.

And guess what? They bring their level of play down to an even lower notch with consistent whining. Whereas a persistent twelve year old football player can get me to give in, a thirty-five year old overweight balding man in Nike shoes and slumping tattoos, does not get my sympathy. In fact, at best he gets a deaf ear, and at worst my two hands coming together in the shape of the letter “t”.

I thought about the contrast this week. When we pray do we whine to God about the unfairness of life, or do you beseech his mercy?

When we pray do we demand that he see it our way, or do ask him to help us in the midst of a difficult period in our life?

Persistently praying or consistently whining?

The Confusion of Language

July 30, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                July 30, 2012

The Confusion of Language”

Carol and I are hosting two twelve year old Chinese boys for a week. It’s an organization that matches up host families with the students who are in our area to study the English language, as well as experience American culture. The experience has been…an experience! The boys are very polite, and to help us they’ve been given American names while they are here. Thus, we are hosting “Alan” and “Andy.” Those names are a far cry from their real Chinese names.

Quite often I’ll say something to them, and the response I receive is two confused looks. For instance, how do you explain to a twelve year old Chinese boy that we are having a garage sale? How do you explain garage sales anyway?

How do you explain “Sonic Drive-Ins?” How do you explain “grits?”

How do you explain worship to boys who aren’t familiar with the concept? Since they are learning English the sermon slides on the screen in the front of the sanctuary are a little…advanced! I’m saying one thing, plus the words on the screen are saying something else.

If I was a 58 year old in a Chinese marketplace I might run for my life!

So Carol and I took the easy way out last night. We took them to a Chinese restaurant where the owner speaks Chinese. They had a great conversation. We felt temporarily relieved. The owner did share with us that the boys wanted more rice. I said, “Great! Bring them another bowl!” She replied, “No, I mean they want more rice…everyday!” We quickly scratched mashed potatoes off the dinner menu for the next night and penciled in rice.

I offered yogurt to them for breakfast and they curled up their noses like I was offering possum. Of course, Carol also frowns at me if I offer her yogurt.

We also discovered an app for our iPhones where we can speak a sentence in English and then it will be translated into the written Chinese language. We show the translation to them and are greeted with nods and replies.

So many challenges, so many stories in the making.

It has made me think about my own prayer language. Although I pray there are times in my journey where I tend to think that others will do it. Kind of like yielding the owner of the restaurant to do the conversing…it just seems like it’s the responsibility of someone else. Or perhaps, someone else can do it better so I willingly hand off the duty.

Also, although God knows exactly what I’m saying to him, there are a multitude of times where he is speaking to me, but I’m not hearing him. I’m just not getting it! Sometimes I just don’t want to get it! It’s easier to remain confused! It’s more convenient to only hear certain things being said, to stay within certain language boundaries.

So I’m thankful for Andy and Alan. They’ve taught me a lot even though quite often we miss the connection.

Reflections of a Middle School Pastor, Day 5

July 20, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                               July 20, 2012

The end of a camp week is bittersweet! There has been the deepening of relationships, the establishing of new ones. There has been communal life that has reached new heights as well as other times of wading through “life’s mud.”

On the other side, however, there is the longing to see family and friends back home, to be able to go to Chipotle again, and sleep in one’s own bed.

Campers have the same reaction as Scripture describes the women rushing away from the tomb of Jesus after the angel of the Lord has told them that Jesus was no long er there, he has risen! Matthew 28:8 says “The women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples.”

The end of a week of middle school church camp means both emotions- fear and joy. There is fear of how this Jesus journey is going to play out back in familiar territory; fear that what they’ve experienced in the past few days doesn’t take hold, fear that an incredible camp experience is simply that…and experience that was at camp and has no other relation to the rest of their life; and there is the fear that knowing Jesus will put them in a different and uncomfortable place with their friends.

There is also, however, joy. It’s a joy that life does has hope; a joy in knowing that a counselor they’ve had really does care about them; a joy in knowing that there are others who share this faith in Christ; a joy because of how their lives have been impacted.

A life of opposites that somehow become intertwined.

Oddly enough, the journey of faith…the authentic life-changing journey of faith…is the weaving together of those opposites. Sometimes we convey the idea, on purpose or not on purpose, that when we have Jesus goes from all bad to all good, that the non-dancers break out into waltzes. Smiley faces are what it’s all about with Jesus!

The reality is that a journey of faith is punctuated with high-five moments and other times that take our legs out from underneath us. Stuff happens to followers of Jesus, just like anyone else.

That, I believe, is the struggle with a loot of middle school students. With Jesus in their life, shouldn’t it all be good?

Are you telling me that with Jesus math is still going to be hard?”

Middle school students struggle with the “happy meal reasoning”; that there is a prize in every box…that life as it is meant to be is always sugar-coated and enunciated with smiley faces.

To journey with them is to let them know that life is not always filled with thirty-flavors of happiness. And that is hard for many of them to handle.

Fear and joy…faith and doubts.

Many of them leave camp and begin to ask the question “Why can’t church be more like camp?” It’s a seeking to stay in a place that has been home for a week and has been safe. Perhaps the question should be rephrased into saying, “Thank God that camp isn’t more like church!”

That’s not a slam on church life, but rather an affirmation of the importance of a week-long camp life. It’s been good!

And I’m ready to sleep in my own bed again!