After our wedding ceremony and brief reception, Kim and I left the church with all the typical birdseed-throwing and fanfare. Most of the car decorations blew off as we barreled down I-40 to our honeymoon in the mountains of North Carolina.
Without any accrued vacation on my new job, I had managed to beg my boss for three days off. The first one was spent picking up tuxedos, going to rehearsals, etc. That left us with Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to relax and unwind. However, we checked out of the hotel a day early and drove to South Carolina.
It wasn’t that we didn’t enjoy the honeymoon, which was wonderful. We left because we were so excited to get to our new, shared home that everything else paled in comparison. We were ready to begin our life together, and nothing was going to get in our way.
I was so proud when I opened the door to show Kim everything I had done to get ready. All of the new wedding dishes, cookware, etc were carefully stored in the kitchen cabinets. Our new appliances were arranged on the countertop. All of Kim’s clothes that I had transported on previous trips were arranged on her side of the closet and her shoes were in neat rows beneath them. Our brand-new bed was crisply made.
You could smell the blanket of Carpet Fresh I had sprinkled in an effort to conceal the odor left by the previous occupant’s cat. Every simulated wood surface smelled like lemon Pledge. The bathroom was scoured and shining. The refrigerator was filled with all of the condiments and cooking supplies that I supposed were needed for a grown-up house.
I beamed with pride as Kim walked through each space, checking everything out. We thought it was perfect.
Anyone else would have seen that the building was run-down and paint was falling off the outside. Giant ant hills filled the yard. Grass grew freely through the concrete parking area. The sliding door that served as the entrance to our apartment stuck and took some “getting into it” to make it open. The vertical blinds were arranged to minimize the gaps left by missing or broken slats.
It was a typical first apartment and we thought it was paradise.
I worked hard at my job and we budgeted every penny, making grand plans about how we would make it even more wonderful than it already was.
I did everything I could to convince Kim that I would be a good provider and that she shouldn’t worry because we would make it on our own.
A few weeks later, the phone rang and when I answered, my dad was on the other line. In an unusual twist, he asked if he could talk to Kim. She took the phone and chatted for a few moments, then smiled real big and said “That would be great. Thank you!”
When she handed the phone back to me, I asked Dad what that was all about. He said that my mom had bought a new car and he had offered the old car to Kim as a gift so that we would have a second vehicle. Kim had readily accepted it.
I said, “Dad. I’ve got this. I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of her. I would have told you ‘No’ if you had asked me.”
He replied, “I know. That’s why I asked to talk to Kim.”
I am now the age my father was when he uttered that memorable quote. Erin and Josh are the same age that Kim and I were. I’m pretty sure I have said similar things that are equally confusing to them, but I understand Dad’s perspective now.
Since then, I have learned that making it on my own isn’t much of a goal.
First, if I succeeded in making it totally on my own then I would end up on my own. I would be alone, separated, cut off. I want to grow my circle of friends and family, not shrink it.
Second, I never made it on my own. Our founding fathers crafted the delicate democracy that allows me to enjoy the choices I make. Countless patriots have defended that freedom, willingly laying down their lives so that I could thrive “on my own”. Writers, musicians, actors, and artisans have inspired me. Police address dangers that I never have to know exist.
Teachers poured knowledge into me and spoke over me that I would accomplish great things. Pastors have guided me along a path of righteousness. Co-workers cover for me when I make mistakes. All the staff in my local stores remind me that we are a community. Neighbors watch out for me. Friends hang out and share their lives with me.
Pets have stood by my side throughout my life with a loyalty that never faltered. Family is only a whisper away no matter what or when. My parents provided everything they had for my success. Angels offer their protection against dark forces. Jesus died so that I could live forever.
In his infinite grace, God showers me with blessings and tells me he loves me.
I am a connected part of all creation. Why would I ever want to make it on my own? How could I force anyone else to make it on their own?
I’m thankful that years ago Dad asked me to hand the phone to Kim. He looked past the impetuous pride of a young husband and embraced a new daughter. He showed her that she would never have to make it on her own. It was a perfect gift.
As COVID-19 has erupted everywhere, this holiday season isn’t going to look the same. We will likely have three people around the Thanksgiving table. Christmas parties will be canceled. I don’t know what to do about our annual New Year’s Eve Boat Burning. Perhaps in the stillness though, the holidays will shine more brightly.
I have more opportunities to think about all the people who have shared my life. For the first time in a long time, I am looking forward to shopping for gifts that are “just right”. I want to remind everyone that surrounds me that I am thankful for them. We have more time for that this year.
Next month, Erin and Josh are planning to move from a one-bedroom into a larger two-bedroom apartment in the same complex. They excitedly dream about how they will fill their infinite cavern of newfound space. Their joy transports me across time to when Kim and I first stepped into our apartment.
I want them to know that they will never have to make it on their own. I want to help them move, not because they can’t do it otherwise, but because I want them to feel a connection with family, neighbors, and friends that will change them forever. Life may be hard, but we will do it together. They will grow into mighty leaders that shape our community because they know who they are and what they are a part of.
Their planned move date is Tuesday, Dec 1st. It is the most inconvenient time possible. However, if you want to share in their celebration, please let me know. Just being there is the greatest gift, even if you don’t have much help to offer. We will take appropriate steps to ensure everyone’s safety. This is our gift to them.
May 2020 be a year where we learn to distinguish being by ourselves from being alone. Hallelujah! The holidays are here.
The end of 2017 was only three years ago but is already difficult to recall in detail. Although I chronicle most of the paths I have traveled, I have avoided that period of time. I don’t like to think about it.
That life season seemed like a vivid nightmare that I couldn’t awaken from. Even now, recalling specific snippets holds me captive to the same raw emotion from which I struggled to escape. For a long time, I was afraid that exploring those memories would throw open doors that imprisoned demons I was not ready to fight. I hoped that period would fade quietly into the forgotten past.
But as difficult as it was, it is my origin story.
Back then, Mom’s dementia was rapidly progressing. She was losing the ability to recognize the people she loved. The activities that had given her a lifetime of joy were increasingly beyond her reach. The home that had been her sanctuary now presented an abundance of dangers – hot stoves, unlocked doors, unattended stairs, etc. Her irregular sleep magnified her declining capabilities. She was unable to clearly communicate with others, and her frustration level grew with a world that no longer seemed to have a place for her.
My worry that she would get hurt or be afraid laid on my heart the same pain that I prayed she would avoid.
Dad was her full-time caretaker. His loyalty was beyond question, but he was increasingly unable to provide what she needed. He was caring for a spouse that didn’t always know him and he became her only outlet for the irritation she faced. It had been weeks since he slept more than two hours at a time and his mental state reflected his exhaustion.
He spent his days caring for someone in isolation. It was taking a toll on his emotional well-being and I felt responsible for not bearing more of the weight.
Meanwhile, I was in Texas doing my best to transition a nuclear family into independent adults interested in their own pursuits. Everyone was impatient for a future that was slow arriving and uncertain how to deal with each other in the meantime. Many days I was afraid I was losing my family.
I wanted to quit my job and go to Chattanooga to help care for my parents but knew that my own family needed me more than ever.
I felt forced to choose which family I would save while watching the other in a slow-motion train wreck that I couldn’t turn away from.
At the same time, the First Fruits ministry that had comforted me for years was disbanding. I had kept my own problems in perspective by serving others, but that security blanket was disappearing. In what may have been our last organized event, I got the gang together for a project directed at helping my mother.
I had heard that simple activities like sorting and stacking were comforting to Alzheimer’s patients, so I printed 90 days of devotional cards for Mom to collate with Dad’s help. He would mail them to anyone who requested them and in exchange, they would send her a card telling her she was loved. It was my last gasp effort to hold onto a ministry and provide my mom with some comfort.
Like lots of the things I attempted in those days, it did not work. People didn’t connect with the concept. Mom was unable to perform even simple tasks by then. The whirlwind of activity I created caused more chaos than peace.
Stacks of pre-printed devotional cards sat in my house and virtually no one requested them. Eventually, I threw them away because they were a reminder of my inadequacy.
But I faithfully read them. Each morning for three months, I selected the daily card. I looked for comfort and sought hope. One of the cards spoke to me more than any of the others.
I had no idea what to do with the simple message, but it wouldn’t let go of me. I questioned its relevancy to no avail. While my heart searched in vain for my own peace, it was a bitter irony that this card held my attention.
Although I got a new card each day, I kept my special one in a place where I would see it throughout the day. Many times I wanted to throw it out but couldn’t. Somehow, it was important. It moved from my desk to the dashboard of my truck and reminded me every day to share a peace I could not find.
I prayed for comfort. I focused on the intertangled mess of emotions that filled my heart. Slowly, I began to unravel the knots in my soul. One issue at a time, I sought God’s guidance, challenged my own beliefs, confessed where I was wrong, and sought hope for a better day.
With each knot that was removed, peace filled the void. I spent hours converting my experience into words, writing down my story, and what I had learned. Eventually, I summoned the courage to share my stories with others, just like the card said.
That is when Making Waves was born two and a half years ago.
And as I share my story this time, it is my 100th post.
With each piece I have written, I have done my best to share the peace I have found as I work to become a better Christ-follower, husband, son, father, brother, and friend.
I have tried to withhold judgment over anyone else and focus on my own growth. I have tried not to exaggerate or diminish either my failures or victories, but in all things to remain true. Sometimes, it is hard to be fully authentic, but out of my transparency, I have found peace.
Day after week after month after year, I have sat in my chair waiting for God to speak to me and say what we were going to work on next. Some lessons flowed fast and free. Others required wrestling to the ground over days of intense effort. Easy or hard, proud or embarrassing, I have laid out my heart for the world.
My web counter shows that someone has clicked on a posting more than 15,000 times since I began sharing my peace. A few people leave a comment or send me a message, but most quietly read and go on their way. Some people read them as soon as they arrive while many check intermittently. Others will discover them in days that are still to come.
At times, I have become discouraged after baring my soul for everyone to see, only to have silence be my reward. When it becomes too difficult, God has always sent someone to thank me for my candor, telling me it came when they needed it most. I am proud that He can use me for His glory, even if it requires me to tell the world about my issues.
I have found unexpected courage on this journey. Giants that seem unbeatable shrink before my eyes as I take time to put into words the power they possess. As I capture my first thoughts about their ferocity, I frequently realize that I don’t actually believe it. Many of my fears are unfounded and collapse under scrutiny.
One post at a time, I am figuring out who I want to be, what I need to do differently, and celebrating the joys in life. The process of writing it down has forced me to be intentional with these choices. Finding just the right word has helped me to illuminate my path and hopefully shine some light for others to see more clearly.
If you have been with me through all of my 100 lessons, then I thank you. If you haven’t, I hope you have enjoyed what you have seen. Either way, I hope that you have been able to receive the peace that I have tried to share.
I treasure the time we have spent together Making Waves.
This past week, the Salvation Army’s Communication Team released a printed article and associated video announcing the opening of the Prayer Garden at the Service Center in Lewisville. I am prominently featured in each of them.
Our local newspaper, the Lewisville Leader, picked up the story and ran it on their front page (click here to see). I’m planning a trip to Walmart this morning to pick up a copy (or maybe two, but definitely no more than four). In a house that provides no safe haven for knick-knacks, I have no idea what I will do with them, but I’m excited nonetheless.
The two-minute video that features me is promoted on the Salvation Army’s Facebook page. Click here to watch it!
Last, Steve Thomas asked me to mount a plaque in the garden yesterday, thanking me and the First Fruits team for our efforts “serving the community in His name”. It memorializes our contribution and is also very thoughtful.
Most of what I do is performed quietly in the background. It has been uncommon to get a chance to explain my motivation to construct the garden or serve my neighbors. My excitement to have a moment of spotlight is hard to overstate.
I realize that the Lewisville Leader isn’t exactly The Washington Post, a Facebook video isn’t 60 Minutes, and the plaque isn’t a billboard on Times Square, However, the media’s attention gave me a chance to tell neighbors about my faith and to spread hope in our city in Jesus’ name.
My quote below made the front page of the local paper. It surprises me that they would print such an overtly spiritual statement, but here it is.
“My hopes are that it just physically changes the city. I think it is powerful that as you come into Old Town Lewisville the first thing you see is a cross that reminds you what Jesus did for us, and then you get an invitation to be still and spend time in prayer.”
The plaque Steve ordered for the garden was carefully worded to include both my name and the First Fruits team. Those names are featured throughout my book, Build Neighbors. If anyone asks Steve who they are, he has free copies to distribute. The book is all about loving your neighbor and connecting with them while you serve. The small plaque is intended as a guide to that larger message.
It is exciting to have a voice to tell people that we are the church, and our building is not our home. Our hands are dirty and our shirts sweat-soaked because we want to restore our city in God’s image, with his peace resting on every home, with his love painted across every wall, and his Spirit guiding each heart.
Although actions get attention, words provide clarity. People naturally question the motives behind actions they don’t understand. Our answers expose our hearts. The strength of our message reflects the consistency between our actions and words.
When the Apostle Peter wrote a letter to the early churches, he described how they should act. Because his prescribed direction was so different than the world’s norms, he cautioned believers to be ready to explain their actions.
But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect. (1 Peter 3:15)
I am not a natural speaker, so I have to practice my message. Anyone who worked with me during the prayer garden’s construction endured me endlessly refining the same quotes that I gave in the interview. It’s my way of developing my message and being prepared.
I have watched the video repeatedly, trying to see if my reason for hope was clear and if it was delivered with the gentleness and respect that Peter directed. In the end, I gave up interpreting how other people would respond but concluded that my passion was on full display, evidenced by the unbounded energy that causes my arms to flail wildly when I talk.
Even though I believe in the power of speaking my faith, I frequently avoid it.
First, everything that I do is a shared effort. It is uncomfortable to stand in front of a beautiful garden that was built by a great team and answer questions alone. I worry that my friends will feel their participation was marginalized. I want to lift them up, but spotlights draw a clear line between who is illuminated and who is not. It is simple to avoid offending people if I avoid center stage.
Second, I worry about pride. When the camera shines in my direction, it is like a grow-light for my ego. If the truth is known, I like me a lot. Too much sometimes. Attention has a way of warping the good pride in what was done through me into the bad pride in myself. The book of Proverbs warns that pride comes before destruction. That’s scary. Many times it is enough to keep me offstage.
The easiest way to avoid doing the wrong thing is to stay away from places where you can be tempted. Recovering gamblers should change the venue for their Vegas getaway weekend and prideful people should pass the mike, right? You won’t say the wrong thing if you don’t talk. You won’t appear to be prideful if you stay in the shadows.
A spotlight only displays the fear and pride that are already in my heart. Even if it may feed them, It doesn’t create them. There are a multitude of paths that will hide the ugly stuff inside me and prevent it from spreading.
There is only one path that is reckless in its passionate pursuit. It is full of mistakes, embarrassments, failures, and offenses. It requires an exhausting focus to stay on task while it leads to what Jesus referred to as the narrow gate that leads to life, and only a few find it.
Sometimes it passes through a spotlight.
I hope that the world sees me in all of my shortcomings – bumbling over word choice, waving my arms when they should be still, and occasionally talking about myself too much. That is who I am and who I was created to be. While they may laugh about my style, maybe my message will bind to my actions.
In this case, one thousand square feet was transformed into a vision of the coming kingdom. That place is now sacred. As a child of the King, I have His authority to say so. That is how I want to spend my moment of spotlight.
