My buddy, Hank, turned 60 last week (oops! if he wanted that to keep that on the down-low). His wife threw him a surprise party that Kim and I were excited to join.
As the guests arrived, we all crowded onto the landing that overlooked the living room and waited for the birthday boy. We watched silently when he entered through the front door, looking down over him and his wife, Shelly. At just the right time, we got the signal and all yelled “Surprise!”.
Hank jumped when he heard the loud voices and looked around for the source before realizing that we were all standing directly over him. He stared straight up at us for a moment, then said “Wow! There are some things you can’t un-see.”
My best friends always know exactly what to say.
You learn about folks while you are crowded together in a small space, and I got to meet some of his friends. Most of them have known each other for decades. The woman in this picture (2nd from left) met him in the 3rd grade and her husband (far left) met him in the 7th grade. The best man at his wedding thirty-two years ago was there, still standing proudly by his side.
I watched as Hank moved from person to person in the crowded room. Each conversation followed the effortless flow of people who have known each other for as long as they can remember. Among old friends, nobody worries about doing or saying the right thing. They were all individuals but had learned to fit together like your favorite jeans and t-shirt.
The party was a lot of fun. Shelly did a perfect job putting it together, and everyone had a good time.
Hank boasts connections that are more than 50 years old. Comparing that to my last party, I didn’t know any of my friends 10 years ago. I chose frequent relocations over relationships with my neighbors. Hank has done an incredible job nurturing his friendships across decades and I have not. I love my “new” friends but also want what he has.
It is hard to admit, but I was jealous of Hank’s friendships.
I hoped to have matured beyond jealousy like growing out of pimples. Instead, it turns out they both turn up at bad times and are really hard to conceal. On three separate occasions this past weekend, jealousy crept into my thoughts. This was only the first invasion.
These minor jealousies start innocently enough by admiring someone’s achievements, then become twisted desires to possess those things, and finally turn into dissatisfaction with what God has given to me.
The second jealousy attack came the next day during baptisms at church. An incredible 126 people dedicated their lives to Jesus and an equal number performed their baptisms. I admire the chosen “baptizers”. My friend Brent shared his faith freely and was invited to be part of something very special. I am happy for him.
But I was only a spectator. I wondered, “Why isn’t that me up there?”
In my mind, there were several, good reasons why someone should ask me to fulfill that role. Unfortunately, there was only one reason for my question. Envy.
The third time jealousy breached my defenses came after the service. While Kim held babies in the nursery, I found a quiet picnic table in the shade to work on my next blog post. I wanted to write a compelling article demonstrating that God is real and encourage people to feel his love. I wanted to speak to the hearts of people who don’t believe in him. I wanted to capture the passion of a great evangelist.
After a few paragraphs, I read over the uninspired nonsense and hit the delete button. I’ve tried so many times with the same result.
My jealousy isn’t restricted to people I know. I am envious of authors and speakers I’ve never met.
I thought, “Why can’t I do this?”
God’s answer to my questions wasn’t what I anticipated. Instead of telling me why not, he told me what next. With that, I saw how my requests would be a distraction. I’m not strong enough to stay focused.
God told me that I am his child of encouragement. His plan is for me to share both my victories and struggles with the world so that others will know they are not alone. He speaks to people through me in a way that I never could by myself. I pour over every word in these posts, seeking his spirit. It is my joy.
In my weakness, I complain about what I want. In his perfect love, he gives me a purpose. I have everything I could hope for.
I just need a reminder sometimes.
Hank’s friends demonstrated how much they care about him. They have found happiness together for a long time because they appreciate each other. I’m glad he’s got great friends. He deserves them.
It was a wonderful surprise party.
Happy birthday, Hank. I hope we’ll be friends for years to come.
On Friday night, Kim and I watched the movie, Book of Eli. It’s a post-apocalyptic action flick starring Denzel Washington that was released in 2008. The story tells about a man that God called to carry the last known copy of the Bible and “go west”. It contains more action than it does a spiritual message, but that’s OK. I like shoot ’em up movies, and Denzel is always cool.
We had both seen it before anyway.
I re-watch a lot of movies. My favorite play-it-agains are the eight Rocky films. I’ve seen I – IV dozens of times, watching them while I work out. When it doesn’t seem like you can go any further, the orchestral thrills of “Gonna Fly Now” are like battery superchargers. Rocky never quits, and he pushes me to greater heights, too.
Other times, I like to re-watch a movie that I enjoyed years ago just to see what impact it has on me now. The movie itself is constant, but we change. Occasionally, I wonder what I saw in it the first time. Sometimes I appreciate it in an entirely different way.
We enjoyed Book of Eli when we first saw it, but it had a bigger impact on us the second time through. When it finished, Kim sat quietly for a moment, processing its message and giving me a chance to conceal that I was wiping tears from my cheeks.
Then she said, “Wow. We were in a different place spiritually when we saw that years ago.”
She was right. The subtler messages of faith, perseverance, and hope struck us this time. Our focus was on the characters more than the action. Like Eli, we have followed God’s call and moved in faith. Even if we hadn’t noticed it happening, we had grown stronger. Spiritual growth can sneak up on you.
It was easy to tell how much taller the kids were each time we measured them. Physical growth has many different kinds of measurements – height, weight, clothing size, and appetite.
As a budget-conscious family, we have always monitored our income against our expenses. Financial growth is easy to measure. Professional growth also has specific metrics to indicate progress.
You can ask an athlete how much he benches, and he will know the answer. He could also tell you how much it has increased over the past year or more. Runners can give you their mile splits by memory also.
It is harder to recognize the headway we’ve made in our spiritual growth. Year after year, we have made commitments that required faith. With each new step, heights that were previously scary became our new base camp. But a step at a time, the progress is so subtle that you don’t notice it happening.
Looking back, the advance is obvious. I gladly pray in public. It is comfortable to talk to others about my faith or theirs. Confessing my weaknesses and failures comes naturally. Telling people why I am proud of them brings me peace. I am more generous with my time and resources. There are many things, both big and small, that are different.
It’s important to stop and pause occasionally to recognize your progress. Sometimes we forget that we aren’t children anymore, and in many cases, not even young adults. Although a next step may seem intimidating, it is a lot easier when you realize how far God has taken you in preparation.
During my run yesterday, I was thinking about who I am today compared to a decade ago. I was lost in thought as I headed down Old Settlers Road, approaching Flower Mound High School when I noticed a guy who was out walking his dog in my direction.
I’ve seen him before. He’s sixty-ish with a good build and a gait that betrays years of athletics. Whenever I get within twenty feet, the cheers of a high-school coach encourage me. I wondered what he would say today.
His voice rang out right on schedule. “There you go! Good run!”
I smiled and kept going, suddenly believing that I was more than a middle-aged guy banging out a morning run. He always makes me feel special.
I ran about twenty more steps before wondering if anyone ever told him how cool he was. In the years that he has encouraged others, did anyone ever thank him?
Without thinking, I spun around and ran back toward him as he continued walking his dog. When I was only a few steps behind him, I yelled out “Hey, man!”
Surprised, he turned around, wondering why someone was calling him. When he did, I stopped in front of him and grabbed his right hand with both of mine in a double-handshake.
I said, “I see you out here from time to time and you always have a good word. I want you to know that you bring strength to my day and a blessing to my life. Thank you.”
Then I continued my run, leaving him standing still as a pole with a grin frozen on his face.
Kim was right. Years ago, I may have received his good word, but I wasn’t the guy who gave them away. As our pastor said in his message this weekend, I was a consumer then, but I’m becoming a contributor. God has poured into me until I can now share his blessings.
The more we grow, the easier it becomes to speak life into people.
I’m not full-grown. God isn’t finished with me yet. I have a lot to learn and a long way to go, but today isn’t for seeing how far there is still to go, it is dedicated to being strengthened by how far I’ve come.
Most of the people who read these posts are friends of mine, and you are awesome people. You are being transformed into a vision of Christ himself. You are growing well into amazing, inspirational children of the King. I encourage you to take a few moments to realize how tall you’ve gotten and appreciate the strength you now possess.
If you are a regular to this show, you know that both of my kids got engaged this summer. It has been a wild and wonderful season, full of excitement, romance, and a family that is rapidly growing.
James came out of the gate first with his proposal (actually, it was a security gate, and Morgan was the one coming out). Click here to watch that. Their original plan was to have a January 2021 wedding, but that seems to be getting sooner as Morgan finds James’s enthusiasm to be contagious. They are now talking about August 2020 in the Austin area. Stay tuned for updates.
Josh made a strong showing shortly afterward, proposing to Erin on the beach with candles, flowers, wine, and an heirloom ring (click here for that). They have picked a date. It’s March 14, 2020, and they will tie the knot in an outdoor ceremony at a local park.
My responsibilities in all this are pretty limited. For James’s big day, it’s very little. The father of the groom smiles for pictures. For Erin, my responsibilities are only slightly larger. After the pictures, the father of the bride sits silently in the background mumbling about the cost.
Having reconciled myself to a bit of boredom next season while the real work of planning and coordinating a wedding was done by the women in my life, I settled in and started looking for my next project.
Sure, I could help out, but weddings are weird. Costumed bridesmaids and groomsmen face off against each other while the bride hides her face. The groom nervously tries to repeat simple phrases accurately. The families sit on opposing sides of the room during an event intended to bring them together. Tiny food gets served, people who shouldn’t dance do anyway, and the happy couple is left to sort through piles of duplicate gifts.
I was already wondering what my woodworking tools and I would get into next.
My father and I joke about which of us was less involved in our own wedding preparations. We think it’s funny, but at the same time, I hope that my daughter marries someone who gets into the spirit. If half of all marriages end unsuccessfully, maybe this world needs more husbands who treasure their vows and are excited to show the world.
And maybe more of us fathers should lead by example.
What if I broke with tradition? What if I threw myself excitedly into the process? What if this day of celebration had my fingerprints on more than my wallet?
My immediate focus is on Erin since that event comes first. Stick around, though. We’ll get to Morgan sooner rather than later.
A wedding ceremony is a big deal for Erin, but it is more than just her “perfect day.” It is also important to her and Josh’s neighbors and families. The kiss and the cake announce to everyone that two lives have become one and a family has been born. While they make vows to each other, the rest of us can make our vows to support and encourage them.
Years of First Fruits taught me a lot of lessons. One of my favorites is that the work done at an event is important, but is of secondary importance. Events are mainly about people coming together in a wonderful embrace, demonstrating that we are never alone. God shows up in a big way when we come together to lift him and each other up. His presence and blessing are tangible on those days.
That should be extra true for a wedding.
I want to help Erin & Josh’s wedding to be an inclusive celebration, not one where everybody sits on a hard chair and watches mindlessly. I want to help inspire a day when neighbors engage in their lives. Some people may want to do that by helping with preparations. For others, it will mean filling the pavilion with love and laughter. Each of us has something unique to share.
Erin and Josh will become a blessing to their community, and their wedding will be a chance for people to prophetically speak that over them.
Life is for living, and I have no intention to sit on the sidelines. Sure, I am not a wedding planner. I have no taste in what looks nice, don’t understand how to create a theme, can’t remember what a ceremony should include, and haven’t even got-a-guy who rents chairs. God did give me an ability to bring people together though, and I’m going to use the gifts I do have to their full potential.
Maybe Kim and Erin will even let me build something.
I don’t have to understand everything that goes on during a wedding, but I can certainly stay focused on why it’s important.
Let’s get started. My little girl is getting married!
P.S. PMarch 14 is Pi Day (3.14, get it?) and I hope that Pi Day means Pie Day. I really, really love pie. Should my first act as a newly self-appointed Wedding Planner be to proclaim a pie on every table?
I’ve never been a tattoo guy. I don’t dislike them, they just aren’t my thing. Well, at least they didn’t use to be. That’s where this story begins.
For each of the past several years, I’ve set aside $500 for Erin and James to go on a summer adventure together. It seems a bargain to encourage them to bond as they transition from teenagers into adults.
The rules are simple.
You have $500.
It is only for the two of you, no friends or romances allowed.
Have fun, stay out of trouble, and don’t come home until the money is gone.
They’ve listened to the blues on Beale Street, ridden a zip line at Lake Travis, and undoubtedly done other things that dads don’t get to hear about. They smile when they tell the stories and that is priceless.
This year, I decided to try the same thing with my siblings. I was a bit anxious bringing it up to Kelly and Preston. It had been many years since we hung out together. In some seasons, we barely communicated. We each had our own, busy lives and relied on occasional family gatherings to catch up on family news.
It wasn’t always like that.
I remember when we were young kids. We were tight. When we faced something spooky, whether it was a dark room or a crowd of strangers, we stuck together. We would stand side-by-side while we cautiously moved forward. Whatever was out there, we knew that nothing could separate us.
We were great friends back then – crowded into the back seat on long road trips, sharing hand-me-downs, exploring the woods behind our house, and playing at the park during dad’s softball games. It lasted through our college years.
Somewhere along the line, I compromised our bonds in the name of growing up. When I should have been building on our strength together, I took for granted that they would always be by my side, like they had always been.
I miss the good times we’ve had together, but even more, I miss being close-knit parts of each other’s lives.
Finding the way back isn’t easy. It requires courage to be vulnerable and take the first step in restoring relationships that I have let gather dust. It is hard to admit your shortcomings and face the people who were affected by them.
When I mustered my courage and asked them both if they wanted to get together this year for a few days without anyone else for a Sibling Weekend, they were both as excited as me.
We talked for a little bit about what we should do but nobody had any real ideas. Then Kelly said, “I know. Let’s get tattoos!”
I did not see that coming.
Like I started with, I’m not really a tattoo guy. Preston has great tattoos and so do my kids. Theirs are really cool. I just never understood the point. What picture do I need to see all the time, inked into my skin as a part of me forever?
Now I’ve embraced the idea. I have a permanent reminder that the people in my life are a blessing that shouldn’t be taken for granted. They are valuable to me and the busyness of this life won’t distract me again. Maybe I forgot that one time, but I will remember it now!
In the two days since we kicked off Sibling Weekend, we have hugged and laughed. We even went someplace scary. And we walked in side-by-side, just like the old days.
So this morning, I woke up with a tattoo.
Regrets? No way. Sure it will last forever, but so will my connection to them. This time, I’m holding on tightly. I’ll be by their sides whenever they need me. When we go back to our homes, we carry a physical symbol of our shared heritage and a reminder to prioritize the people we love.
My walk with Jesus has made me value other people more. He is teaching me how to love others the way he does.
I imagine Jesus as God was raising him from the dead. God brought him new clothes to put on, then carefully cleaned the blood from his matted hair, and removed the purple swelling from his eyes. As he moved to wipe his hands over the scars and make them disappear, Jesus stopped him to say, “Wait, Dad. Leave those. Those are the mark of your perfect love. I want to keep them.”
Jesus has reminders, too.
For now, I gotta go. It’s time for breakfast and Sibling Weekend isn’t over yet. I don’t know what today may hold, but I know who I can count on to be at my side, just like always.
Epilogue
Why this tattoo, you may ask? The cross is a symbol of Jesus’ grace, given to me and meant to be shared with others. This particular image of the cross was adopted by St. Patrick, who carried the love of Jesus to people who had previously enslaved him in a beautiful land that was known in ancient times simply as Erin. My tattoo is the third part of a logo Preston designed. He has the Cross of St. James, I have the Cross of St Patrick, and James has the symbol Chi-Rho used by Emperor Constantine. The band underneath is a warrior’s symbol of loyalty. It matches my wedding ring.
For the past three months, I’ve been really tired. This isn’t the kind of tired that you get from staying up late or the stress of having a lot going on. This is the kind of tired that doesn’t go away no matter how much you sleep or how little you do.
I have spent an entire summer struggling to get through my days at work, even though I have a desk job. After work, I just want to go to bed and then sleep 9-10 hours each night. When I have challenged the malaise, it struck back with a vengeance. So I don’t do much.
I’ve tried exercise, diet, supplements, and all kinds of things to snap out of it. I’m a regular visitor at the doctor’s office for blood tests, monitors, imaging scans, questionnaires, and the like. So far, no prognosis. It is like fighting an enemy in the dark, striking into the direction of any sound, but each attack glides silently through empty air.
It’s inconvenient, but I can still function. There is potentially an underlying cause that may be more serious than the evident side effect, so I need to keep pursuing an answer. Whatever. I’ll get by. It’s not the fatigue that bothers me.
This particular condition is a full, frontal assault on who I am, which is a guy who enjoys bouncing from place to place excitedly. I love to build things, fix stuff, and feel the wind in my face. Like Ricky Bobby, I’ve only got one speed.
People who aren’t exposed to ADHD may not understand why this situation is so frustrating. When I sit still, my brain changes channels every few seconds. In order to slow that down, I do something in the background that occupies enough of my attention to allow me to stay focused. That is why I pace during telephone calls, sandpaper a wood project while formulating a plan, or run while God chats with me. Activity allows me to stay on topic.
In this season of fatigue, people tell me to relax. When my body sinks into a chair, my brain runs unchecked. Imagine flipping channels every few seconds for several hours. It is mentally exhausting, and I feel bad for the inadequate attention I give to my family.
Last week, I had moderate energy for an entire day. I threw myself into a project at full speed, ignoring the warnings that I was pushing too far. It wasn’t long before I lost focus and hurt myself. To manage the pain, I went to bed early. Laying there in the dark, I was shaking with anger. I looked up to heaven and challenged God.
“Why won’t you give me my life back?!”
Silence was the only answer that came back.
I have spent a full season in a life that feels like it belongs to someone else. I could learn to live this way, but I don’t want to. I want the old me back.
Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” is an awesome song. In his smooth, baritone voice, he reflects over a life full of good times and bad before climbing to a defiant, energizing celebration of individuality. “I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way.” Man, could Old Blue Eyes do it right (click the link and listen for four minutes; he really was amazing).
Listening to him, I believe that through sheer force of will I could overcome my troubles. I could do it my way.
But in truth, I don’t want to live like that. Although I may rage on a difficult day at the Almighty to give me my life back, that’s not my true desire. I remember when my focus was doing things my way. It was a meaningless pursuit of hollow victories and short-term satisfaction.
Life has been better since I surrendered to Jesus. His overwhelming love has changed me. He gives me an eternal purpose. Now I worship with my whole heart and have felt the rush of his spirit. My focus is on others, not always myself, and that is his way.
He is the author of life and could restore my health with a thought. Maybe he will, or maybe he has better plans for me.
There is no possibility that I would trade that in for a life where I do it my way.
The Apostle Paul said “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength” (Phil 4:12-13)
In this season, I may be tired, but I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me. I need to focus on the one who gives me real strength, not just the adrenaline kind.
When it feels like I am fighting in the dark, I need to quit worrying about defending myself from the enemy and focus on following the light.
If I can run, then I will give thanks to him. If I can’t imagine getting out of my chair, then I will give thanks to him. My hope rests in him, not in my energy level. One day at a time, I will wake up and take a deep breath, and worship him. Whatever the day holds, he is in control, and it is going to be a great day.
Ding-ding-ding. The mechanical chirping of our Ring doorbell announced a visitor. I opened the door to find a very nervous young man standing on my porch holding a bottle of 12-year, single malt Scotch. He spoke as soon as the door opened.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Absolutely. Come in.” I told him.
Josh had been dating Erin for just over two years. In a close-knit family, he was a regular appearance at Sunday lunch or Friday’s at Chili’s. However, he never came alone and he certainly didn’t bring top-shelf whiskey.
He settled onto the couch while Kim and I took our places in our recliners. When he launched into his prepared speech, he quickly found that practicing a thing and doing it are two very different experiences.
He told us that he wanted to propose to Erin and that he would like to ask for our blessing. Then he paused.
I said nothing.
Josh then continued by giving us an overview of their time together. He told us that he loved her very much and that she made him happier than he had ever been before. He went into detail about why he believed the timing was right for this next step and how he had spent the last seasons preparing himself.
He made a good case, but I still didn’t say anything. When Kim later asked why I kept making him squirm, I told her that it wasn’t my job to make this easy for him.
I wasn’t trying to be mean, but he had come to ask my permission to take my place as the most important man in my daughter’s life. I have always been there for her and would do anything for my little girl. If he hoped for me to surrender that privilege to him, he would need to bring his very best, and I would not interrupt him.
At this point, he seemed to be at the end of his prepared statement and went off-script. When he did, the real emotion came out. You could see on his face and hear in his voice that he would do anything for this love of his life. He wanted desperately to make her happy and share forever with her.
Then he was finished.
It was my turn. “If you want my blessing, you need to make three promises to me. First, will you love God and love her all of your life.”
In words long and short, he said that he would.
“Second, will you protect and defend her at any cost to yourself?”
He assured Kim and I that he would.
“Third, will you provide for her and your family together, ensuring your basic needs are met, regardless of the difficulty?”
Again, he said that he would and I told him that he had my blessing. Kim agreed.
As the color returned to his face, he told us about his plan to propose to her on the beach in a couple of weeks and reviewed all of the details he had laid out. It was a good plan and we told him so.
We sealed the agreement with a toast and he went on his way, breathing much easier than when he had arrived.
From the pictures, you can tell that his plan was a great success. Our family is growing again, and he is a welcome addition. He will be the perfect husband for her.
As for me, I am suddenly staring at two engaged children. It’s all happened fast, and I may need another drink to settle down. It was a good gift choice from my new son.
Josh fulfilled his obligation to us by asking for our blessing and I promised it to him. After several days I realized that I hadn’t actually given it to him. I only told him that he had it. I believe in the power of the spoken word of a man of faith. I believe that the very spirit of God speaks through us and that his word is eternal.
Without any further hesitation, Josh, here is my blessing to you.
Josh and Erin, I pray for God’s favor to rest on your union as he grants you long lives that are full of peace and joy, and that he multiplies you greatly.
For days beyond measure, you will find your lovestruck reflections in each other’s eyes.
As the challenges of this life inevitably find you, your response will demonstrate to the world the depth of your love. Your marriage will strengthen your community as the Father’s blessings flow through you and into others’ lives as easily as water flows down a lazy river.
I am excited for the young couple, but the life change is looming large over me. I have to let go of my role as first responder and build up another man to take that role. May God guide me through that transition.
