Every family has quirky habits, strange preferences or rituals that defy understanding but are rigidly followed. I’ve been told that my family has more than its fair share.
One of our strange habits is that when we are driving, we aren’t allowed to turn around and retrace our path. It may require going to the same store in a different location, but you don’t retrace your path. It may mean changing your shopping list, but you don’t go backward.
It had an innocent inception. Kim would drive our small children around town, and they would repeatedly ask to go someplace she had just passed. In an effort to make progress in her daily routine, she established a rule: We don’t go back.
Now it is a “mom” rule, and there is no process for repealing those.
Most of us have rules like this. If you open the hood and take a look underneath at the motivation for these guidelines, you will find frustration with something relatively insignificant and a workaround to avoid it. Rather than simply accepting that kids are inconvenient, we put a rule into play. When I look over my life, I find a lot of these.
I create rules for my life to avoid things that get on my nerves.
It seems harmless. Or is it?
Is there a cost of “blocking out” inconveniences or embracing my preferences over others? Do I avoid people when I avoid annoyances?
These behaviors send a clear signal to the person with me. They become well aware that our connection is secondary to my desire for a perfect sanctuary. I avoid sharing my time, feelings and experiences with people if I don’t get to do things like I want or if they are irritating.
That brings me to the title of this post. What if Jesus couldn’t read a map? What if he routinely sent us “right” when we should have turned “left”? Or what if he routinely forgot to tell us to make a turn because he was talking? Would I have been his disciple if he got on my nerves?
Maybe he wasn’t bad with directions, but he was human. That means that he would have snored loudly in a room he shared with other people, made funny noises when he chewed, told the same not-funny jokes, or smelled funny.
None of these idiosyncracies would disqualify his perfect love, sinless life, or redemption of my sins. Perfection in my sight isn’t the same as a perfect life.
It is easy to regard biblical characters with disbelief when they were offended by Jesus’s teaching or the way he acted. We already know who he really was. But would we have done the same thing?
Our culture calls it news when a leader’s acts “aren’t presidential”, an athlete offends people while trying to highlight injustice or a celebrity promotes a ridiculous position. Every day, we place perfection over perfect love. I regularly place my perfect satisfaction over perfect love.
If I am honest with myself, Jesus would have gotten on my nerves sometimes, and I would have had to decide how to deal with it. Even now, I have moments now when he gets on my nerves because he is silent when I want a voice, or still when I want action. And I get frustrated.
If I had been one of the twelve disciples, would I have stopped following Jesus if it meant eating fish and bread…again? Could I have heard the wisdom in his parable if he said “umm” too many times? Could I have embraced him when he was sweaty? Would I have looked past what I wanted him to be and accepted who he was?
I hope so. Otherwise, I would have missed the chance of my lifetime.
My brokenness causes me to let frustrations stand between me and others, even between me and Jesus. I may blame others, but really it is my issue. It may not seem like a big deal, but admitting it is important if I want to move forward in loving my neighbors.
Being irritated with someone isn’t the same as not loving them. However, with people that I don’t know well, irritations keep me from pursuing a relationship with them. After all, why try to make friends who get on your nerves?
If frustrations don’t keep me from pursuing Jesus, why should they keep me from pursuing friendships with my neighbors?
Loving my neighbor as myself means looking past their annoying habits. Valuing people over my preferences means sacrificing things that I hold dear. It sounds easy, but it is hard.
Jesus loves me through every obnoxious habit and even when I am downright mean.
I want to love like that.
The truth is, my sanctuary gets lonely sometimes. When I avoid discomfort, I am left in an empty room. My preferences don’t make great company.
Eating out with people is nice, but inviting them into your home is special. I want to do that, even if they stay too long or never reciprocate. Changing my sacred sleep schedule should be worth it if I get a chance to make better friends.
Rearranging my budget is a small price to pay for a chance at a relationship that may last a lifetime. Being embarrassed because I am bad at something is a silly reason to avoid connection. Only volunteering to do “things I like” is too restrictive.
I want to learn to love better, even if it means turning the car around and retracing my path. I want to love Jesus, even if he can’t read a map.
I want to walk through a city full of people that I care about, and who care about me. I want to go to the movies with so many friends we can’t all sit together. I want to be invited when neighbors laugh and celebrate, or when they cry.
I guess that is the meaning of “the last will be first”. Friends first will mean me last.
Hopefully, 2019 will be the year I get this right.
If I get on your nerves, please forgive me. I hope you’ll give me a chance.
Leaving behind an old year and entering the next is a 3-step process at our house.
Thank God for every blessing received in the past year.
Bury the things that need left behind.
Dream big about what is ahead.
Each New Year’s Eve, just after sunset, we focus on burying the things we need to leave behind. It is a tradition that started on a particularly tough year at our house, but has continued in better times. Part of growing is knowing when it is time to leave something behind.
Because I got to author this ritual, it needed to include a feel for days of glory and a flair for the dramatic, but allow me to keep my thoughts private.
Here is our ritual:
I build a very crude funeral pyre (not as cool as the one shown above)
Everyone writes down on paper those things to leave behind
Set the papers on the pyre
At 6:00pm, push the pyre out into the pool and light it on fire
Reflect prayerfully as the flames consume the past
Stay, leave or do whatever you want. It takes 10 minutes.
If you would like to come, just let me know to expect you. Bring your own sheet already written out, or come early enough to put it together.
I have worked with Dennis Stone at Overhead Door for a long time. When he announced that his retirement would be effective at the end of 2018, I had mixed emotions.
Dennis joined the company as President in February 2001. He was promoted to CEO a year later. He has thrived for almost four times longer than the average chief executive. I believe that his enduring success is the result of understanding the true nature of the responsibility that he accepted.
Overhead Door is special. It is more than a highly recognized brand or a profitable business. It is more than great products that provide access and security to our homes and businesses. It has provided stability and prosperity to thousands of families for almost a hundred years. It is special because it has been anointed by the Father to provide blessings for his children.
Dennis has embraced his role as the chief caretaker of that blessing.
The world has changed during his time here. 9/11. Social media. Smartphones. Working remotely. Going green. Brick and mortar moved online. The Great Recession.
Other famous companies have lost their way and failed during his tenure. Overhead Door continues to shine brightly, flowing hope and peace into a troubled world.
If I have witnessed the secret to Dennis’s success, it is his intense commitment to a simple concept:
Keep the main things the main things.
Copies of our core values are scattered around our office buildings nationwide. To most people, they are nice thoughts. For Dennis, they have been his north star. He understands that leaders exist for a greater reason than guaranteeing quarterly results. He understands that leaders make decisions that define our collective character.
I have also known Dennis’s successor, Kelly Terry, for many years. I have watched him defend forgotten people when he thought no one was watching. I am proud to serve with him. True to form, Dennis is handing guardianship to someone sworn to uphold the same values.
I have interviewed many people who were looking for jobs at ODC. One of the questions I am most frequently asked is:
“In a world where people change jobs so frequently, why have you stayed here?”
My answer is always the same. “Every day, I wake up and come to work. I try to create a better life for people. I am able to focus on doing my best because I am never distracted by scandals or being embarrassed by the actions our company has taken. I choose this job because I believe in our leaders. I have watched them survive both storms and the everyday details without compromising their integrity. I am here because they lead where I hope the world will go.”
Overhead Door is built on ideals that are worth safeguarding, and embracing those ideals requires a long-term commitment to serving the needs of others. For 18 years, Dennis has put us first.
Dennis is retiring with a long list of victories. He has served well and is now shifting his focus to his wife, children, and grandchildren. Like so many others, they will continue to be blessed through him.
Our careers are short and our legacies are brief. The most we can achieve during our time here is to do our level best and to inspire the next generation to do the same.
Thank you, Dennis, for your faithful service. Thank you for your leaving us a company that is worth defending. Thank you for showing us how to do it well.
May God bless you and keep you as love and prosperity continue to grow in your footprints.
In an age when tradition is falling out of fashion, I am learning to embrace my favorite parts of yesterday and carry their significance into tomorrow. I have a family tradition that is on my list of favorites. It started as unintentionally as a dropped acorn, but over the years it has grown along with our commitment to our family, friends, and community.
Years ago, right after my family moved to Dallas, we heard that Operation Care hosted a Christmas party for the homeless in downtown Dallas. Kim and I decided to take our seven- and ten-year-old children. It sounded like a great chance to serve the poor around the holidays and expose the kids to a part of society they would never see in the suburbs north of Dallas.
It was a wonderful event, hosted in a huge convention center. Thousands of homeless people either walked there or took special, event buses from across the metroplex. They received “gifts” of toiletry bags, blankets, shoes, haircuts, and coats. Lunch followed. Throughout the day, people prayed with them and focused on the true importance of Christmas. It was beautiful and unlike anything I had ever seen.
Halfway through our serving time my daughter, Erin, and I went to the foot washing area. The job was straightforward. We would introduce ourselves to the guests, then remove their socks and shoes, clean their feet with wet wipes and rub them with powder. Next, we fit them with new socks and shoes. It was humbling. I had never seen sights like those hiding underneath the soiled socks and shoes. My eyes were opened and my heart cried out.
The next year we went again, but the kids brought friends with them. We migrated to the foot-washing and shoe area because it offered a controlled environment to watch over our young ones. Since we were now “regulars”, we bought t-shirts and acted like veterans.
My favorite part was the small-talk with the guests of our party. We would chat about their favorite part of the holidays, what they thought about the party and other things friends share. We were so similar in spirit but so different in circumstance. Our worlds grew smaller as we connected.
On year three, we brought half a dozen pairs of work boots from WalMart to take with us. Living outside in the cold of winter is harsh, and work boots were the most common request due to their warmth and dryness. Operation Care had become a tradition larger than our family, so we began to take our family and the friends with us to celebrate afterward with the lunch of the kids’ choice. Steak n Shake – party of six, please.
As the years passed, we began setting aside more money and bringing more work boots with us. The handful of pairs became lawn-sized trash bags that were nearly too heavy to carry. Everyone in the family invited more friends. Kim’s father moved in with us and joined us in our biggest party of the year.
Others noticed the joyful faces when the work boots were received and asked about donating to increase our gift. People who were originally uncomfortable washing the feet of the poor became emboldened. The spirit of Christmas moved through us.
More than a decade has passed since our first trip to the convention center for a Christmas party honoring forgotten people. Our family car has turned into a caravan, donations now flow through a nonprofit, we are approaching 1,000 pairs of work boots given to the homeless and impoverished of our city, other groups follow our example in the “gifts” they bring with them, and our serving team is regularly featured in the event’s promotional materials.
There are years I have wanted to break tradition, to do something else with that day. Sometimes, I’ve been tempted to channel my donations to a cause that had captured my attention at the moment.
So far, we have stayed the course. We’ve been blessed that God has given us gentle reminders of the impact emerging from our perseverance.
My kids are now grown and live in other cities which makes their participation questionable. However, a few weeks ago, I was blessed to see one of them stop to give a restaurant take-home bag to a homeless person we passed on the street. Later, I saw the other chat with someone who was losing everything due to their own actions responding with love and acceptance.
The acorns planted years earlier are growing into mighty oaks.
We will go to the party again in a few days. The fruit of our labor may have taken years to grow but I am thankful that we chose to stay where we were planted. Our roots have grown deep here.
I love the people of my city and can’t wait to see their smiling faces again.
Merry Christmas.
Note: A special thank you to Gary Daniels, who faithfully photographs the event and took most of these pictures. We are blessed to know you. Also to Bill Krahulik, whose enduring leadership has encouraged us to stay the course.
If you are interested in serving at Operation Care, visit
https://operationcareinternational.org/
One of the reasons the Bible is so captivating is because it was written by people who were living out the stories they wrote. It was written by shepherds, tent makers, kings, and cupbearers. They simply told their stories.
Stories are most powerful when the author’s genuine emotions flow out of the words. If you read my last post on the 23rd Psalm, you can feel David’s struggle in the lyrics of that beautiful song. The words are inspired by the spirit but spoken from the author’s heart.
Our stories may be different than David’s. He struggled with treachery, violence, and hunger. My circumstances are much safer and tend to involve a need for belonging and love. Psalms are born out of finding freedom, so as believers, we all have a song inside us.
Easy to say, but does it work? I decided to put myself to the test.
Would the 23rd Psalm be worthwhile if I had written it?
Not knowing how to start, I decided to follow David’s format. I broke it into four elements. Place of peace, emotional struggle, God’s response and vision of hope.
I am an engineer and love to follow a formula. That may not make for great literature but its a starting point.
My place of peace
When I am under stress, my dreams drift back to my childhood home in Nashville. I find myself once again standing in the large room that formed the kitchen and dining areas or with sunshine on my shoulders walking out in the yard. I was at peace then because my family loved and accepted me. I didn’t worry and with the faith fo a child, I trusted that all my needs would be met.
My emotional struggle
I struggle with feelings that nobody cares about me because I am not worth their attention. Even when people embrace me, I fear that tomorrow will bring loneliness again.
God’s response
God marks me as his own. When I need to be reminded that I am worthy, he gives me glimpses of how he sees me. By my faith and his design, people can see him in me.
My vision of hope
I want to be used by God and leave a legacy everywhere I go.
It is difficult to admit my weakness but more amazing that God loves me anyway. When I mix David’s elements with my images, my song pours out the same way that his must have.
The Trinity has adopted me into their family, I found belonging. Pictures of us together surround me as we relax and share stories about our day. They teach me the family business and bring peace to my soul. Dark forces swirl, shining lights on my failures, hissing that I am nobody, but I know who I am. The spirit rests on me, my brother stands at my side, and my Father tells the world that he is pleased with me. He grants me the authority of his name. Our family resemblance cannot be denied and my heart overflows.
Life and love forever mark my footprints as I walk through my Father’s kingdom.
My Conclusion
Certainly, my psalm is no replacement for the 23rd Psalm. It doesn’t even look similar. That’s OK. My place of peace, struggles, and hopes are as unique as my fingerprint.
I found joy in speaking my fears out loud and praising God for lifting me above them.
I had never considered several of the images that came out. The concept of a “family resemblance” was new for me, but is encouraging.
I don’t expect everyone to love it, but I am as excited to show my Father as a child racing into the room with a crayon drawing for the refrigerator. And that pleases him.
The Bible isn’t a storybook. It is alive and intended to guide us. Psalms are awesome, but maybe they are intended as a guide to help us write our own.
When you are sad, or joyful, amazed or scared, try writing it down. Maybe a phrase or two will turn into something longer. Maybe the spirit will guide your words. You won’t know until you try.
