The Fat Pitch

I am not a gambler. I don't buy lotto tickets, I refuse to bet at card games, I don't enter Super Bowl pools, I have never put a cent into a slot machine, I have yet to pick a pony at the horse track and I won't be found at a Black Jack table. But this year I made a wager on the college basketball tournament... and I lost. I try my best not to lose much but I honestly am pretty good at it. That isn't pessimism really, just honesty. Funny how you remember your loses much longer than your wins and make more of the criticism you receive than the compliments. My son Jacob got to hit in his little league game and was excited to face a pitcher that wasn't very good. He was looking forward to slamming the ball but everything fizzled when he was hit by the pitch. Give me ten moments I eagerly anticipate and nine will not be much. But...it is the bits of life I kind of throw away as meaningless that make me catch my breath. It has not been the smoothest of transitions, going from a traditional church to cell based. We probably stumble at it more than really get the changes right. But today, one of the members of our cell group was helping teach the kids and when everyone was asked what was the highlight of their week, she told them it was her time with her cell group. You must realize that Caryn worked all night before, got little sleep that day, had to go in to work afterward and battled a lenghty commute on a rainy night to get to the cell meeting. We gambled when we turned the structure of our church upside down and we sure aren't finished with the transitions but give me this day and I can lose my bet and smile a slippery little smile. Sometimes the pitch is fat and you crunch the ball...sometimes others do it for you but either way, it is pretty sweet.

A Church Without Borders

When I first went to Moscow to teach ministerial students I was completely caught off guard by how thoroughly I could fall in love with a ministry I never dreamed I would ever do. I don't know if it was discovering I had some important experiences that I could pass on to a group of men and women with a dream of serving Christ in a lifetime of ministry or if it was meeting little Olya at the children's home I visited but whatever it was, I was thoroughly devoted. That first trip had some pretty funny moments like when I went into a store and found myself trailed by about three different staff with nothing better to do but watch the American and make sure he didn't steal anything. One time I was walking across the street and one of my students yanked me back to the curb because he knew none of the cars turning right would stop for me as I went across the street. My attempts at figuring out how to navigate the metro system were a total wreck. Everything about Russia was a mystery to me yet my students and the kids at the children's home were dear as family. I came back wanting to adopt Olya without any clue how it could be done and so it was that Russia became home. Over the years I have pondered much the divisions between us, particularly in Christian circles. Why is it that we are bound and determined to have young churches and old churches and White churches and Black churches and Chinese churches and Korean churches and African churches and traditional churches and contemporary churches and Spanish churches and non-alien immersion churches and churches for redheads and churches for tall people and churches for King James only readers? When did we decide we cannot really read the Bible together and sing songs to God as one if we don't look alike or have the same accent? Maybe it was when we discovered that the earth isn't really flat and you can't just push people away to the edge of the world hoping they will fall off if they aren't part of your clan. A round world leads to people of different skin tones and accents eventually coming alongside you if you travel far enough. Martin Luther King's dream is far-fetched. We still have a world that thinks churches are made for separated skin tones and cultures. But if the world thinks that way, should the Kingdom of God see it as so? Barack Obama and his candidacy has at least forced us to rethink this whole issue of difference. We are different but which differences bend our resolve to live together in community? Which ones lead to mistrust and a devil's slide into emotional cutoff? Olya remains the most beautiful Russian girl I know but not because she is Russian...it is because she is family...and it all happened the moment as a little girl she grabbed my hand and led me on a tour of the children's home...without a single intelligible word spoken between us but one...love. Churches without borders would be a beautiful thing!

Kittens And Little Girls And Faith

What do you do when your five year old daughter wants a kitten...and you're allergic to cats...and the last cat you had ruined your porch furniture...and the last cat did nothing about the rat colony living under your house...and your 20 month old son will continually scatter cat food throughout the house just as he did with your last cat...and you don't even like cats? You look for a kitten. I have been spending a lot of time thinking about the grandiose promises in scripture that speak of God's devotion to us as daddy and His willingness to give us what we ask for in prayer and it has intimidated me a bit when I try to reconcile the promises with the many times I have prayed and been disappointed. My daughter doesn't yet know I am actively (and secretly)looking for her kitten. She is still concerned about my willingness to let her have one. Many times I am just like that with Jesus...not aware of how devoted He is to my life and joy. He secretly stirs up my best and listens patiently to my most outlandish requests. I think my best moments in life have all been when I have been close...really close to someone I love. Just last night Rachel and I were sitting on the sofa together as I read her a goofy little children's story. It was the best of times...and so it is as I walk with God in the early morning...not always praying well and rarely having enough faith to move mountains. my mind often distracted by foolish and insignificant things...and yet there we are together, a breath walking with a whisper.

Prayer As NonPrayer As Prayer

The more I pray and pursue God, the greater my sense of ineptitude. My mind wanders, I pray. I lack faith, I pray. I get bored, I pray. I listen for God and all is quiet, I pray. I feel like a failure, I pray. Give me ten minutes on my knees listening for God and I lose my mind in babbling thoughts and bizarre visuals. But when I go out and walk and pray, I become alert with the concentrated gaze fixed on me. It is as if all else fades as I keep going up the hill...the houses, the workers, the yards, even the breeze becomes lost to me as I slip into Christ. Not always is it like this, sometimes it lasts for only moments, but often enough to make me want more. Prayer at times is more a longing for God than it is a clear sense of Him but the older I get the more I want that longing than any sort of "spiritual success". It seems to me that prayer is far more than Yhwh descending upon my Mt. Sinai, it is the craving I have for Him and the willingness to give Him control of little details in my day. This morning I was trying to get some spots out of the carpet in our church sanctuary. I had poured drops of water on each spot and now was rubbing out the stains. As I knelt, I felt as close to Jesus as I had in weeks. The moment slipped away quickly but the subtlety of God invading my "useless work" took my breath away. God is more invisble than I ever thought when I first starting reading the Bible stories as a child. He is far more a whisper than I dreamed. It frightens me at times to try to put together the death of a teen in a car wreck and the promises of God being our rock and shelter because the two seem so irreconsilable yet then Christ slips in and I am lost in Him. I never know when that will happen and no amount of praying has ever forced it but it just does happen if I take my walks...sometime, somewhere.