I brought my bright blue pair of Nike running shoes to camp this year. For some reason, outlandishness makes you seem…okay to them! If I wore a bright orange tee shirt that said “I’ll shave my head for a quarter”, I’d probably feel normal. For some reason at camp craziness kind of has you going with the flow. It also makes you an acceptable person to talk about questions of faith, and doubts about God. A conversation I had with one of the campers today followed along those lines. She saw my shoes and let me into the inner circle of sitting at her lunch table…and then she said, “Would another one of the counselors tell their story tonight? I really liked it when Andy shared his story at campfire last night, and also when Julia shared hers the night before. It was good!” I nodded, and then I asked her, “Do you have a story to share?” “No. I don’t really feel that God is close to me.” I pursued it a little bit, without any “theologizing”, or “here’s what’s wrong with you.” “When I’m having a problem, or feeling lonely and I pray to him I just don’t feel that he hears me. It never seems to help.” I nodded again and encouraged her to say more. “I just don’t pray much anymore, because I don’t know if God really cares. It just feels like he’s always so far away.” And then she looked at me and said, “Okay! Staring contest. First one to smile or look away loses.” Yes, I know, that’s pretty random, but that’s how it is with middle school students quite often. A glimpse of their thoughts about God, and then to a staring contest. The young lady, like many others here, are at a time in their life when a relationship with God, or lack of a relationship with God, is often described in “feeling terms.” They may have had all the Sunday School answers, and know Biblical facts. And now they are in a transitioning phase when their emotions are going bonkers. She hasn’t sensed God wrapping his arms around her so does God really care? It’s a pivotal point in faith development. Can I doubt God and not be struck by lightning. Well quite frankly, the disciples of Jesus did. Tucked neatly right after Jesus’ resurrection from the dead and before his great commission at the end of Matthew, there is a verse that says when the disciples “…saw him, they worshiped him, but some doubted.” (Matthew 28:17) If doubting and asking the why questions is something the disciples of Jesus dealt with, I think it’s a safe bet that a middle school student will deal with it. The question…another one…is whether or not the adults are willing to let the doubts be expressed and grappled with?
Archive for the ‘Parenting’ category
Reflections of a Middle School Camp Pastor, Day 4
July 19, 2012Reflections of a Middle School Camp Pastor, Day 3
July 18, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. July 18, 2012
Mid-week with middle school students is a trip! They’ve come to the point where they are sometimes bluntly open with you, or humorously entertaining..even though they aren’t quiet aware of it.
For example, here is a sampling of conversations I have had at the meal time table with some middle school students. Let me qualify this with two statements. This is not verbatim, but also there is not necessarily a flow to the conversation. The lack of flow is part of the fascination I experience in working with middle schoolers.
ME: So what has been the best thing about this week so far?
“Going to the nurse Sunday night! We talked about Harry Potter for like ninety minutes.”
“Harry Potter is cool. Some people don’t like Harry Potter, but I love him!”
“Like that one song we made up about him!”
“I love that song.” (Starts singing it.)
“I can’t remember that one verse we made up.”
“Isn’t Bobby good on the guitar?”
“Yes, and he takes his shoes off.”
“I got a new pair last week at Target.”
“Shoes?”
“No, socks.”
“I saw the greatest pair of socks at basketball camp last month. They were Superman socks, with like a little Superman cape on the back of each one.”
“Oh…have you seen the Spiderman movie?”
“No, but there was a spider above my head in the cabin last night. Freaked me out.”
“Do you think God created spiders?”
“Why would he?”
“Spiders are scary. I hate things that creep around in the dark when I can;t see them.”
“Do you think God can see spiders in the dark?”
“Probably. I think God sees everything.”
“He doesn’t need a flashlight. His eyes are like headlights.”
“No they aren’t!”
“Then how does he see things in the dark.”
“He just does, because he’s God.”
“Oh! You know something? I hate peas!”
“Amen to that! Especially when my parents mix them in with carrots.”
“I don’t understand why God gave us peas!”
“Some things are just unexplainable.”
“That’s for sure! Pass the salt please!”
Reflections of a Middle School Camp Pastor, Day 2
July 17, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. July 17, 2012
Yesterday we climbed a mountain! Last night we struggled with the pain!
Not the pain in my knees, mind you, but rather the pain in the lives of middle school students. I had encouraged them to write down questions they had for God about something that troubled them. The responses gave me a view of the landscape of heartache and doubt that “recently-turned teenagers” deal with.
And, troubling as it sounds, a sense of cynicism towards the workings of God. They are troubled by, what they perceive, as God’s inactivity. Where was the Almighty when they felt picked on? Why did he create life and then allow someone close to them to die? Why pray if God is going to do what he wants to do anyway?
In essence, they are open to asking questions that my generation was afraid to ask, although we may have thought them! My generation got structure in Sunday School and youth group (which were good things). We dealt with “when, where, what, which, and how.” What we seldom dealt with, however, which the middle school group is willing to, is “why?” We had the Biblical numbers down…”forty this” and “twelve that”…but time seldom allowed us to get to the why.
Our Associate Pastor, when I had gone off to college was a guy named Jerry Heslinga. When I would come home on break, or for the summer, I would love to be involved in discussions or Bible studies with Jerry, because Jerry was not afraid to take the “why road.”
Now I gladly am leading…or perhaps being led…by these middle schoolers down that same road. It’s a pathway that does not guarantee answers, but encourages the searching.
Last night I was ready to launch into a presentation on Joseph’s journey from the pits to the heights, from the dungeon to exactly the place God wanted him to be in.
BUT…a few of the campers were dealing with something last night, a loss in their own lives, and I sensed that what I was to say could keep for another day. I turned to one of the counselors, a great young man about 22 named Bobby Cody. I said, “Bobby, come here.” He came to the front of our meeting area and I simply asked him “Tell us why you love Jesus?” For the next five to six minutes Bobby shared from his heart to a group of kids, who were focused on what he was saying.
Which describes something else about this coming-up generation. They aren’t afraid to ask why, but they also want to hear the truth, and about the Truth, as it is being experienced and lived out of someone’s life.
Grace at Walmart
April 23, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. April 23, 2012
Bobby pulled into a crowded Walmart parking lot. Walmart was not one of his favorite places to visit. He wasn’t a crowd kind of guy. As he navigated his way down one of the lanes he spied a wide space that he’d be able to turn his Chevy pick-up truck into. As he approached, however, a Honda Civic coming from the other direction sped up and then turned right in front of Bobby to take the space. Bobby had slowed to a stop to let the Civic go by before making the wide turn to get into the spot.
A thirty-something woman jumped out of the car, and walked right by Bobby, who was still sitting in the same spot he was before she turned in front of him. She didn’t even look in his direction, but just kept walking to the store entrance. The started guy in the truck shook in head in disbelief, and then proceeded to an open spot about thirty yards further down the parking lot.
He walked into the store still muttering to himself, grabbed a basket to put the four things he was buying into, and proceeded to the aisle that sold mustard and mayonnaise. It took him a while to find the baby wipes. His wife usually did the shopping, and having to pass the aisle that had fishing rods and reels took an extra unplanned five minutes, but finally after close to fifteen minutes he had the four items he came for, plus a bag of chips that somehow got into his basket. He headed to the speedy check-out lane. As he was approaching, the Civic lady was coming from the other direction, and she seemed to be on a mission. She got to the lane right about the same time Bobby did, and once again turned in front of him- except this time she was driving a shopping cart.
Bobby knew that he could react in several ways. One would be to confront her. The other extreme to that would be to yield to her. He chose to yield.
The red-haired woman started tossing items from her basket onto the counter, but after putting several items there the check-out cashier said to her, “Ma’am, this lane is for orders of twelve items or less.”
If she would have had thirteen or fourteen, that would be one thing, but she clearly had close to twenty. The woman’s mouth dropped open. She looked troubled and perplexed.
Bobby had an opportunity to see justice rendered. The next few moments could cause him to break into applause, or react differently.
He thought of a recent experience where he was the beneficiary of a random act of kindness. There was no reason for him to even be involved in a solution to the situation, but…
“Excuse me, ma’am! Would you like to put six or seven of your items with mine? We can figure out afterwards how much you owe me.”
The woman who had caused him to mutter to himself, and question his salvation, looked at him, and her troubled facial expression suddenly changed.
“You would do that for me?”
“No problem!”
“Thank you! You don’t know what this means to me!” They divided up her items, and ended up with each one of them checking out twelve. In the parking lot they took a moment to calculate what she owed him.
“I appreciate what you just did for me. I’m having kind of a bad day, and it seems like everything is a fog for me. My sister was just diagnosed this morning with breast cancer and I guess I’m a little shook. I didn’t know how to react to the news so I got in my car and came to Walmart. I don’t even remember where I parked.”
“Over here,” said Bobby, pointing her towards her Civic.
“How did you know?” the lady asked with a confused look on her face.
“Well…this is kind of embarrassing…but you cut me off when you pulled into the parking space.”
“Oh…I’m sorry! Why did you help me in the check-out lane? You could have gotten some revenge watching me with my excess baggage standing there with my mouth open.
“Each of us needs a touch of grace in our lives.”
Bobby detected tears running down the lady’s cheeks. She looked away, got her composure back, and then looked back at him and said, “Thank you!”
“Have a great day,” Bobby said to her as he started walking away.
The woman- Penny was her name- got into her Civic, sat there shedding tears that were a mixture of sadness and blessing. It wasn’t until she put the key into the ignition that it occurred to her she hadn’t paid the gracious stranger. She jumped out of the car and ran up and down the parking aisles, but the man was gone.
“Perhaps,” she thought to herself, “there are angels!”
Behavior Modification or Transformation
April 20, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. April 20, 2012
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is- his good, pleasing, and perfect will.” (Romans 12:2)
When I was in first grade I pulled a chair out from the boy who was sitting in front of me in Reading. It was hilarious to me…for a moment! Then my teacher grabbed me off of my chair, stood me up, and shook me! Not something teachers, who want to stay employed, do today, but effective. Never again did I think about pulling the chair our from under an unsuspecting student, although I wanted to on numerous occasions.
My behavior was modified. The laughter of a student sprawled on the classroom floor was soon erased by a bespectacled instructor peering down at my puny little body. I learned to not do things that upset my teacher…when she was around.
It was not a transformation experience. It was a modification moment. The first of many in my first grade year. (Another was throwing wet paper towels in the restroom at boys who were using the urinals! In case you’ve never done that…don’t! It resulted in my first opportunity to see the inside of the principal’s office!)
In our faith journey with Jesus we talk about having a transformation experience, coming to that point when we realize that we are saved by the grace of God through faith in Christ. We talk about asking him to be our Lord and Savior. It is a Damascus Road experience, a kairos moment> At that moment we know things will never be as they were again. It’s a new way.
Yesterday I was riding with my sister to Ironton, Ohio, where she teaches a Thursday afternoon class at the college. As we traveled along the usual route traffic was backed-up because of some work that the road construction crew was doing on the hillside removing some huge boulders that were putting vehicles in peril. My sister turned around, headed back the other direction, and suddenly turned left. We headed down a narrow road that had more curves in it than a Sandy Koufax Dodgers’ game in the Sixties. We actually went through a place called Possum Holler. It was like riding a roller coaster on asphalt.
But somehow we came out on a road that led into Coal Grove, Ohio, that then led to Ironton. The usual way led to danger. We had to change our way. It was the Ohio version of someone saying “We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy!”
Spiritual transformation is God grabbing hold of our hearts and then we realize we must change our way. It’s taking us through “Possum Holler”, because, otherwise, there is no reason why we would want to go there.
Behavior modification is changing my ways. Spiritual transformation is changing my way. Modification is realizing that the principal’s office is not where I want to visit very often, so I’m going to be a good boy, or maybe a better boy. Transformation is realizing that my life has purpose and the principal’s office is a dangling boulder that does not need to be a part of it.
In our faith walk there is a subtle difference between conforming to a church’s culture and being transformed by the Spirit. The first can mask itself as the second. The first changes the exterior, the second is an internal working that changes me externally. The first is my pulling the chair out from under my classmate, realizing that will get me into hot water, so I never do it again…but I’d still like to!
Conforming or being transformed…changing my ways or finding the Way.
Feeding Mom
April 16, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. April 16, 2012
Parents treasure many different experiences with their kids. Taking them for an unplanned ice cream cone…school class field trips to the zoo…teaching the son how to properly tie a necktie.
The heart memories differ with each parent, and with each child of the parent.
When it comes to the final days of one of your parents there is a whole new collection of shared experiences that are valued, although painful.
I’m back in Ohio for a couple of weeks to spend time with my mom and dad. My mom is pretty much confined to her bed. Yesterday she was up in her wheelchair for three hours, which was the only time she had been out of bed since the previous Sunday. She has a form of Parkinson’s that has gradually eroded her mental functioning, verbalizing, and comprehension.
There is no “getting over it” in this lifetime. It isn’t a virus bug that a pill and rest can take care of.
It just is!
There isn’t much I can do, just be. One thing, however, that I do is feed Mom dinner each night. She has lost the use of her hands, so I scoot the broccoli on to the fork (Always with a bit of ranch dressing on top of it! Wait a minute! We never got ranch dressing for our broccoli!) I coax her into taking a drink of juice with a straw. I spear a cut-up piece of chicken breast and hope that she will bite it off of the fork.
But something else precious and extraordinary has been happening as I feed Mom dinner. I’ve been going back and retelling her stories from the past, from when we lived beside Lexington Road in Winchester, Kentucky, and we had friend chicken one night. I said to Dad, “That was good fried chicken, Daddy!”
“I’m glad you liked it, and now I can tell you that it wasn’t fried chicken.”
“It wasn’t! It tasted like fried chicken. What was it…a turkey with short legs?”
“Rabbit!”
My mind: “Fluffy!”
It takes Mom about an hour to eat dinner eat night, so we relive a lot of the old experiences.
“Mom, remember when we had a dog? What was his name? Buster?
She every so slightly shakes her head no. I’m sure his name was Buster.
“Remember when Dad would turn Buster over on his back and slide him across the kitchen linoleum floor? And then Buster would get back on his feet and come back for more.”
A blank look. Later on that evening when I ask Dad if the dog’s name was Buster he tells me “No, it was Butch!”
Mom knew, although she couldn’t verbalize it.
Each fork of food is ripe with some other discovery.
“Remember when Mamaw and Papaw would take us kids on a summer evening in the back of his truck to the place down the road that served ice cream cones?”
Two eyes gaze at me for several moments, but… nothing.
“What was the name of that place? Salyer’s?”
The slight nod of correction again. The name goes undiscovered until I talk to my dad later, but…as my mom’s nod of no indicated, it wasn’t Salyer’s.
There are even special touches of God upon our lives in the acts that we would prefer to never have to do. There are blessings from him even in the midst of the parts of life that we dread. As my mom slowly loses ground there are moments of connection and conversation that will stand out for the rest of my life.
I often read Romans 8:26-28 with a grimace. Feeding Mom has given me a glimpse of a new meaning in the same words. In The Message its rendered “Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.”
With an ache in my heart, but a longing in my soul, I look forward to what we’ll recall tonight. Perhaps it will deal with beets and turnips, or bow ties, or the time she caught me sneaking back from a place that she had specifically forbidden me to go. If I go “there”, I’m wondering if I’ll get the raised eyebrows look that let’s me know she remembers!
The Graying of the Matter
April 12, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. April 12, 2012
There is no easy way to growing older. We can talk about getting wiser, but the arthritis often dulls our sense of sharpness. We can talk about maturity, but the increase in the number of pill bottles in our medicine cabinet seems to go with it. We can talk about the glory days of retirement, but the “getting re-tired” every day is a footnote to that page of our life.
And then there is the struggle associated with seeing your parents in the winter of their lives. I’m back in Ohio for a couple of weeks visiting my mom and dad. My mom spent the past five months in a full care center, until my Dad decided he was going to bring her back home and have home health care nurses come each day to provide six to eight hours of care. He and my sister are filling in the gaps. It’s costly, and has its hard moments, but Dad seems to be much happier that his soul mate is back with him at home.
My mom has a form of Parkinson’s that significantly reduces her ability to communicate and to comprehend. This morning she asked me where I stayed last night. I told her the guest bedroom, and she responded “Where’s that at?”
But at other times she seems to mostly understand what is going on!
It is a tough part of many tough elements in the aging process. She is partially with it and partially not with it. Each question…each conversation…each facial expression…carries with it the question…”Is she aware or not aware?”
My mom still gives me “the look”, the look that makes me search back over what I’ve said like a kid who has just unknowingly spilled the beans about a transgression he thought would never have to be revealed. But now “the look” is filled with confusion and disconnection.
In many ways it would be easier if Mom was totally not there or totally there. There would be no guessing and uncertainty. Each moment would be pre-defined.
Her “graying” brings pauses in the conversation. I’m asking myself “Did she understand? Is she searching for a response?”
I noticed during my last visit in December that a couple of the nurses erroneously thought that she had a hearing problem. My mom’s hearing is 20/20! I know that’s a vision calculation, but that’s the best way I can let you know that she hears everything…even when you’re whispering. With the nurses her lack of giving a timely answer was simply due to her trying to connect the dots in her mind.
While I’m here I’m sure that I will have some good, but brief, glimpses of conversation with her, but also some awkward pauses. The awkward pauses will bring me back to my childhood moments when it was best to not say anything and just listen.
And I’ll treasure the moments…the grayness…the uncertainty!
A Hunger for New Heroes
April 10, 2012WORDS FROM W.W. April 9, 2012
Bubba Watson’s victory in The Master’s golf tournament was impressive. What was even more heartwarming was the media’s telling of his story. Comments in TV rooms around the country could be summed up with “Nice guys finish first!”
In recent times there seems to be a hunger in our culture for heroes. We want to know that there are still good, law-abiding, morally strong, balanced people who we can look up to. It’s gratifying to know that someone like Bubba Watson, and his wife, Angie (who is 6’4”) had just adopted a one month ago boy two weeks before the Master’s. We tend to pull for a guy who just recently experienced the death of his father. It’s satisfying to hear that after winning the Master’s, Bubba said “I’m like to first thank Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior.”
The ironic thing is that at the same time we look for heroes we also seem to seek to find the narrow openings in the armor. Witness the recent experience with Tim Tebow. It was un-nerving to a lot of people to see Tebow “tebowing”. It was irritating to a lot of folks to see him give such visible expression to his faith. There were a lot of people who scrutinized deeper then an FBI investigation. There was intense examination for inconsistencies.
My cynical side mutters that there are probably a number of folk who would rather their daughters bring home a Saints “bounty hunter” instead of a humble quarterback, who knows that there is more to life than a few years in professional football.
And Bubba Watson knows that there is more to life then sporting a new green jacket. This coming weekend is another tournament and a new challenge. His hero status will probably diminish..except in the growing stature of his new adopted baby boy.
We like new heroes, but we seem lacking in the grace to keep them there. They quickly fade, but also rapidly fall. For every “man after God’s own heart” there is a King David whose view of reality and what is right gets distorted by his power or position.
The positive result of that is that each of us has Psalm 51 that we can speak.
“Create in a me a pure heart, O Lord!”
Words from WW Blog 