Temporary Staying

That is what the sign in the police station read, where I was waiting in line for hours. OF course my business there would take all of 3 minutes, if I could ever get into the office. Temporary staying, is what they call it, even though I have been here for eight years!

That phrase got me to thinking . . . that temporary staying is how I should view life in this world, but in fact, just the opposite usually happens. I live each day as if I will be here forever and always. In fact if I look deep enough, I am pretty sure that I would like to stay here forever on planet earth. Let's face it, it is the only life I have ever known.

But if I am to be or becoming or stay a Kingdom person, then I need a new perspective. I need a temporary staying perspective. True life . . . my eternal life . . . is somewhere other. This stop on earth is just a temporary staying.

The bloody razor edge

The rip went all the way from my shoulder fading away into my back as you can see in the photos. This is how we ended a great afternoon of playing in the lake. It was an accident. No one intended any wrong or hurt. No one had malice on their mind. But it still really hurt. The kind of hurt that leaves scars. Scars are great conversation points after the pain fades, but they sure hurt like the blazes at the moment of injury.



We are still hurting from the death of our Muslim friend who died two weeks ago. On Saturday I will be speaking at his memorial service. It cuts like the razor’s edge too . . . it leaves scars on my soul. As I have sat here this day and thought carefully about the theological quagmire that I find myself in, it just hurts like the ripping fingernails that made the cuts in the photo above on my shoulders.

I have decided that death should hurt. The hurt increases my sensitivity to how Christ must have felt on the Cross with the potential deaths of all of humanity upon His shoulders, and His own imminent physical death. Too, I wonder if death makes God as angry as it does me? The end of all that potential, all that fathering, all that son-ing, all that husband-ing, all that creativity, all that loving, all that giving, all that laughing, all that potential . . . ending. Robbed by death’s unexpected arrival.

I too am going to die. It may be today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, after retirement, whenever, but it will happen. I wonder now, if I am squandering all my potential in LIFE, in worrying about the razor edge that is coming? It is inevitable . . . death is coming and that right soon, but is it not today that matters? This moment? I think I will go hug my daughter right now.

You can not smell the roses

We discovered a wild phenomena on Sunday as one of the families were departing our house after our big Sunday BBQ bash. One of their kid’s had his nose stuck in one of my red roses, and I told him, “don’t waste your time with the reds, they don’t have any smell at all to them, try the yellows.” The boy then looks at me strangely and said, “but these reds smell wonderful!” I responded, “you are kidding?” and I was thinking “dude, what have you been smoking?” I continued, “The reds have no smell at all unless you crush the leaves, only the yellow roses have a sweet fragrance throughout the blooming cycle.”

Then the boy’s father came over and smelled the yellows, and then the reds, and he informed me that the reds had a much stronger and sweeter fragrance, than did the yellows! Now I am starting to think that they are jerking my chain and loading my wagon, because I have been growing (and sniffing) these flowers for longer than three years. So we started asking people which smell was better, and which rose was stronger. About 65% of the people asked, thought the red rose had a stronger and sweeter fragrance, and about 35% swore that the reds had no odor at all (as in zero!) and that the yellows smelled like . . . well, roses.



Hhhhmmmmm. Just to make certain certain, I just had Wendy my assistant, go out and smell the roses . . . she came back and confirmed that only the yellows have fragrance.

The bottom line is that not all roses can be smelled by all people. That is what makes us all different at some fundamental level, i.e. individuals. Unique creations of God, that are special and one of a kind (OK at least yellow roses and red roses kinds), with no two of us exactly the same. What is there about this infinite variety that God loves so much, that He insists upon it within the creation? Am I (and even you) that special and one of a kind with Him? It is a breath-taking thought, even if I can’t smell red roses.

The stretching of time

Time must stretch, because we are constantly challenged to do more and accomplish more, and since no one gets more time, then I have decided that time must stretch. Today is a perfect example of what I mean. When I got up this morning at 6:30, there were only two items on my agenda for the day (and week actually). All I needed to get done this day/week (progress today, completion by week’s end) was preparing our worship set for Sunday and writing the sermon for Sunday. Normal, everyday work for the pastor types, right?

Remember my Muslim friend that was killed almost two weeks ago, well, now we are to have a memorial service for him, and the widow wants me involved. This is really tricky, although I have agreed to participate, because he was Muslim, she is rather agnostic, but I am the only vicar-dude she knows . . . but when am I supposed to prepare this? And of course every pastor can tell you that you need to prepare ahead, in case of emergencies just like this. Anyhoo, this negotiation took a fair amount of my morning mental energy.

Then a friend came over this afternoon to get some resources I had pledged toward an evangelism project he and his organization are doing this week. That hand-me-the-money-moment turned into a typical Balkan 2 hour brain blitzkrieg, that left me mentally brain-dead for the rest of the day. I hadn’t even got the music set done, much less looked at the sermon passage for the week. We talked about Board meetings, evangelism strategies, Home Assignment (he will be coming with me for a few weeks as a National Representative), and we discussed his personnel challenges, and then he wanted me to commit to a leadership conference for him this Fall, and then to do some monthly training of his staff on leadership principles (and all of this followed a discussion where I told him how busy was going to be for the next four months!) and then he was wondering when we could just go out and have a coffee! Yikes!

Now the day has filled up with so much more than I started it out with . . . proof that time stretches. But isn’t this typical for everyone? It sure is a typical time stretching day for Dave.

The deaths of a thousand goodbyes

The first time we did this, she was only 7 years old, a second grader at boarding school. We gathered as a family of five in a dark corner of a dirty airport in Rostov-na-danu Russia, and we put Heidi on an airplane and watched her leave us.

That was the flash-back in my mind as I drove home from the airport in Skopje this morning, having put the very same girl an another airplane in a different country and watched her leave us. Oh yes, she is a 19 year old college sophomore now, but it still makes me die a little inside every time we go through this. In 36 hours I will have to do the same with Jake as he heads out for his senior year at boarding school.

These little deaths have a cumulative affect. My soul shrinks each time. My care and concern for people here diminishes. My desire to stay here falls. My sense of powerlessness to protect my children grows. My feeling of isolation from them seems to overwhelm me. My weakness is evident for all to see. If not for the mercy of God, all would be lost.

Somebody out there must be praying for me today.

The world at my door

There were people from Tanzania, Mali, Ireland, Macedonia, England, Iran and Alabama here yesterday. A veritable smorgasbord of nations, all sitting down at our table and having lunch with us. You should have heard their stories. You should attend our church! There we have 11 nationalities represented . . . it is a little bit like I imagine heaven to be: multicolored and multi-ligual. Life together as a group of internationals just has so much more taste to, than the monochrome experiences I had in North America.

All Nations, represented around the throne is the way that heaven is described in the scriptures. But it is so rarely how our churches are here on earth. Especially here in the ethnic-hatred capital of the world, this is so true. In fact I have been party to keeping the ethnic churches/groups separate from one another. Why?

Because in this fallen world, you cannot grow churches up the social scale. You can only move down the social scale. In other words, we began a Gypsy church in Bitola, because Gypsy families started attending the Macedonia services. But when the Gypsy families started attending, the Macedonians stopped attending (I am generalizing here to make a point, not all families stopped coming because they had Christ in their hearts) and so in order to plant the Macedonian congregation, we had to get the Gypsy families out.

We are having a similar problem in Bosnia. The high class folks won’t come to church with the low class folks, and thus it seems to be everywhere in the world. I wonder what Jesus thinks about all of this silliness? I imagine that His heart breaks a bit every time this stuff happens within His family. I hope the joy He has in the multi-cultural International church offsets His sadness in the most segregated hour of the week.

how to tell a 5 year old that her father is dead

Her father was a Muslim (officially). He also was one of the kindest and most compassionate people I have ever met (in truth). Today I tried to explain to his five year old daughter why he is never coming home ever again. I guess I was also trying to explain to his wife the same concept at an adult level. He was tragically killed in an automobile pileup on Wednesday afternoon.

This muslim fellow was an amazing person. He lived in the moment, embracing everyone who came into his path, especially children. All the children loved him. Interestingly enough, he and his wife are well surrounded by folks from the International church, and we were loving back on him . . . and he was joyful, but not at peace . . . and he and I were starting to dialogue about truth, spiritual things, God, the differences between Islam and Christianity, and why there are so many arrogant people that call themselves christian.

All those conversations are now finished. He was killed almost instantly on Wednesday just as his wife and 5 year daughter were getting on an airplane in England to return here to the hairy armpit after a two week holiday. Folks from ICS had to meet them at the airport to give them the tragic news. And then she asked me to come and explain to the child why daddy was not coming home again.

I am way out of my comfort zone. Because I am little like the man we are discussing here. Kids don’t love me, nor am I compassionate and kind. I am much more the snarly kind of pastor (or vicar as they call me). I am the kind that thinks he has most of the right answers, but has little of the character that should come with it. I am the kind that teaches the bible and theology as pretty much black and white stuff, while life itself is only shades of grey. I am the kind that talks lots and lives little. The 29 year old father/husband we are discussing was a better man than me. And all his wife wants to know, is this, “is he OK?” “Is he alright?” “Will I see him again?”

These are not questions that I can answer since I am not God, but I suspect I have answers that she would rather not hear. The other questions I have are about us as a church, and should we have been more direct? More pushy? More shark-like in our evangelism? And I come up with the same answers every time, that you have to be relationally close enough to bear the weight of discussing eternity and God. It just can’t happen any other way. We were getting there, but in the end we were too late.

Life has been tremendously sad since we received the news of his death. There is little hope that he embraced our God in the manner that we believe God must be embraced. And we certainly bear some responsibility here. That salt, was burning in the wound today, as I tried to explain why daddy wasn’t coming home again ever.

my spiritual stomach

This great phrase was used by Dragan, a new believer in the International Church. During the month of August, we have cancelled all formal church services, and instead are having Sunday Dinners together. We are knitting together the body of Christ in fellowship. And it is working out great.

So this week Dragan and his girlfriend were on the schedule to be at our house for Sunday Dinner. I called him up and invited them over for Sunday, and unfortunately, he and his girl were leaving town for holidays, and that is when he told me how torn he was, about whether to come to our home or to go on vacation. He said, “David, my spiritual stomach is hungry!” What a great statement.

I find that my spiritual stomach is not always hungry for God and His children. I find that I can easily take for granted all the scriptures and fellowship that we have, and become spiritually obese.

Dragan encouraged me much with his heartfelt statement, and I suddenly found that I wanted to be with him more too! Please pray for your new brother in Christ, as his father died Sunday afternoon and was buried on Monday. This was completely unexpected, and Dragan’s heart is filled with pain. But may he never lose his spiritual hunger I pray.

they took my car 2 - Spider Sector

That is exactly how the sign read, where the city keeps your hijacked auto, until you pay all said fines and penalties. Spider Sector is a relatively friendly place, since they have all the power (they have your car under lock and key) and the only way that you can retrieve your car is by paying the bill. Jake and I asked around and while there was some disagreement about where this place was actually located, the majority of taxi drivers, believed it to be at the train station.

So we hopped in one of the taxis and headed the train station. Jake spotted the car before I did and sure enough, we were directly under the train tracks. And the spider trucks were busily going in and out, all loaded with cars as they were going in, and empty coming out. They were doing some hot business there.

So we get in line with other unhappy people, paid our fine of $45, and the man gave us our receipt which allowed us entry into the compound so that we could drive our car away.

All cities formerly under socialism have huge parking problems, and they are being compounded daily by more apartment buildings - more cars - no new parking places, but I am not sure that grabbing people’s auto’s off the street is a way to resolve this problem.

But my lesson is learned, I am going back to taxis and walking.

they took my car!

When I parked the car, it was in a fairly normal parking place, and we were only planning to be 5 minutes at the most, as we were searching for a new meeting place for the International Church. Well 5 minutes turned into 20 as it typically does here, and when we returned I say to Mark, “the car is gone!”

And it was. As in no where to be found at all. At first I thought that it had been stolen as was our co-workers car last year in Bosnia, but then I quickly discarded that idea, as our car is not worth being stolen. It is old, with tons of miles on it, and frankly it is pretty beat up and not sexy in any fashion . . . i.e. not stolen car material. Plus the final proof that it had not been stolen, was the fact that I had the key in my pocket (but I checked to just be certain).

No, what happened to my car was that the spider got it. The spider is how we refer to the machine that comes and lifts your car off the street up onto the back of the truck and then it is carted away and placed under lock and key. So now we have to go search out where they keep the spidered autos here in the city. Tomorrow I will let you know how this goes.

six coins, three earrings, one key

In the 13 years since we went to Russia with our parent organization, I have learned that certain things are more difficult to live without than certain other things. For instance, electricity is far easier to live without than is running water. In fact, in my humble opinion, nothing is more difficult to live without for any period of time, than water. The same formula applies to appliances.

The last couple of months have seen us without air conditioning and that is hot sometimes, but not critical. Then the fridge/freezer went out again and they came and got it and kept it for a couple of weeks, but again, not a big hairy deal really. But when the washing machine stopped working 10 days ago, and I called and called and called, trying to get a meister here to repair it, and the clothes piled higher and deeper, (six people generate a lot of dirty clothes in 10 days!) I have come to appreciate a washing machine that works, right up there with running water!

When meister Pero arrived, he greeted the other two meisters who were here working on the fridge/freezer, and they talked shop for a while, (we were having sort of a mini meister convention yesterday), I finally got Pero upstairs to look at the washing machine.

“When is the last time you cleaned the filter?” he asked. “You mean I am supposed to clean the filter?” I responded. “Every month” meister Pero said. “Well meister, this filter has never been cleaned” I boldly informed him. He played with the settings and bit, and then showed me that the pump was not working. Little surprise seeing that the filter had not been cleaned in 6 years.

Long story short, he had to take the entire pump apart because our missing house key was wedged inside the pump along with 24 denars in coins and three earrings and a ton of completely unidentifiable other stuff. We had looked everywhere for that key . . . well except inside the pump in the washing machine that is . . . .

The last 24 hours has seen load after load after load of wash go through the newly cleaned pump. I told each member of the family, that if they planned to see their next birthday, that coins, keys and earrings and other stuff better not show up in the wash any long . . . an essential death threat . . . that is how important a washing machine is to a family like ours.

Today was very calm meister-wise, except the fridge/freezer compressor will not cut off and everything inside is all frosted up, so I turned that off and just called the meister again. I wonder how long it will be before they actually show up and we have a refrigerator again? But who cares as long as we have clean clothes.

The sad affair of the professional christian

Professional Christians are those who put bread on the table and a roof over the heads of their families via the church. They may be the senior pastor of a large multi-staff church or a worship pastor or the solo pastor of a small fellowship, but if you receive your wages from these churches or any type of ministry/mission/NGO or such things, where you are expected to be on all the time, regardless of the actual condition of your soul, then you are by my definition, a professional christian.

No congregation in the world is going to be very understanding if you as the worship pastor, or as any other kind of missionary/pastor, stand up on Sunday morning and announce that, “you know what, its been a really tough week, and I am struggling in my walk with God” or “this week I am having real and genuine doubts about my faith in God” or “I have sinned so badly this week, and instead of preaching today, I think I will just confess my sins instead” . . . or a hundred other such potential statements . . . you will simply lose your job, and find it extremely extremely difficult to find another one in a church.

No. As a professional christian you must appear to enthusiastically and genuinely worship (if you are a worship pastor/leader) or you must as a professional christian get up and preach a theologically correct and emotionally powerful and memorable (at least until the end of Sunday lunch) sermon . . . and this must happen week after week after month after month after year after year. Regardless.

Regardless to the actual condition of your soul. Regardless of the struggles you may have (they may not be allowed to interfere with Sunday services). Regardless to how true and genuine any of your actions actually may be on any given Sunday, the expectations are clear. Regardless of practically all circumstances, temptations, wrongs, passions, hurts, struggles and sins . . . the show must go on. This is the life of a professional christian.

The end result for any professional christian is that sometimes (oftentimes?) we are performing instead of praying, acting instead of worshiping, talking instead of preaching. Sometimes these fake actions force us to turn to God week after week, and that is a good thing. Sometimes though, a habitual process of faking it can take a calling and turn it into a job. Then you may well find yourself faking it all the time.

Of course the solution to this is a vital ongoing daily living relationship with God Himself who can and does renew us and our weary souls. He wants us far more than we want Him and it shows . . . He has made all the arrangements for us to enjoy and benefit from Him, while He takes all of the abuse and difficulties on Himself. A professional christian is pretty useless to the King and Kingdom, unless he/she realizes the act of faking it, repents, and rejoins their soul to the Spring of Refreshment, Jesus Himself and do it for Him, and not a paycheck.

The sweet sweet rain

Our street is flooding, my car is leaking and I have a big ole’ puddle in the passenger side floor, and the bang of the steady dripping of water in the drainage pipes throughout the night kept my niece awake and sleepless for much of the night, we get soaked everytime we have to go to the market for food, the rain has caused the internet to stop working, and the washing machine is still not working though that has little to do with the rain. Sounds wonderful doesn’t it?

It is. After two solid months of no rain, raging wildfires, unbearable heat, scorching winds, and brown everything, the rain is wonderful. Nothing sweeter, no air can be cleaner, no smell is better than dry parched ground soaking up the richest nectar on earth - rain. It is supposed to rain all day, and may it be so!

We need the same in our spiritual lives. Rain from God, it most satisfies our parched souls. I think rain from God is found in relationships. Instead of church services yesterday, we cancelled formal church services, and got together in four large groups across the city and just had fun being together and eating and talking and laughing and experiencing God’s rain. It was sweet sweet.

Jellyfish goo

While swimming innocently in the pristine waters off the Greek coast recently, I was suddenly shocked, literally. Followed immediately by burning on my leg, ankle, and all of my back. Burning which would not go away . . . apparently I swam into a school of jellyfish, and they left their mark on me. It is not uncommon for jellyfish to swarm in the late afternoon, early evening - exactly when I was swimming. These Mediterranean jellyfish are often known as mauve stingers.

It is amazingly easy in life to run into painful, stinging problems that bring much discomfort into our lives. Even in the most ideal settings like a holiday on a Greek beach, can bear difficult situations and hurtful experiences. In fact, the very last time we were at this exact beach, some 7 years ago, Helen stepped on a spiny sea urchin, and you do not want to even imagine how painful it was digging those spines out of her foot!

Sometimes life/work/spiritual life seem to be like the jellyfish experience. I can be mindlessly swimming along, enjoying the atmosphere, the ambience, or the view, the sparkles on the water, when all of the sudden there is a painful burning feeling at work in my life. I have swam into a school of jellyfish. And let’s face it, the jellyfish was not out to get me, it was just being a jellyfish . . . so the why question is mute here, there is no why, stuff just happens.

I only wish that I could respond in life, the same way that I can respond to the burns from a jellyfish. With the jellyfish, I was able to discern what had happened, realize that it was an incident that tomorrow would not be so painful and would fade away in significance, and to go out with my family and have a nice meal, even though I was in some pain physically . . . I knew it would soon pass.

When I run into schools of jellyfish in life though, I often feel overwhelmed and overrun and in too much pain to function! Even though there is often no blame to be laid (remember stuff happens), and even though in the great scheme of things it probably does not mean all that much (especially tomorrow it will be better, less intense, etc) I can still react far too much in relation to what the situation calls for. I need to develop a life perspective that matches my medical perspective, then I will handle the stings of life in a more mature, and Godly way.

Some people may react to this post with a “just stay out of the water man!” kind of attitude, but where is the adventure in that? You could choose to take no risks and have a life of no potential pain, but then again, that’s not living, that’s existing. You have only one life, live it!

Fuzzy Water

“Can I have some more of that fuzzy water?“ my niece asked. That would be ”bitter water“ in the local vernacular. Gassed water, bubbly water, mineral water and a half a dozen other names, but never ”fuzzy water“. But Rachel calls it just that. Of course, we all are calling it that now.

But the not only is the water fuzzy, but so is life sometimes. I have been trying to work though to some mega-thoughts and challenges recently, and they are all still fuzzy. But here is how far I have gotten so far . . .

. . . lots of people are living outside apparent reality, or under the radar of observable behavior, or stealthily having a double life is what more and more people seem to be doing. Or they do what I do sometimes, think entirely opposite of all said and stated beliefs . . . thinking that is completely and totally in contrast to all that I have worked for, with, and toward for the last 27 years.

How can this be? Well perhaps it is simply an anomaly with me, but I think not because it seems that I am running into more and more people my age that are living two lives, or at the very least thinking two lives. The why of this has puzzled me greatly . . . especially about myself and my thinking. These two worlds are fighting against one another and they ultimately lead to completely opposite directions in life.

The fact that I can even be having these conversations with myself points to a great dilemma; is anything I have believed for the last 27 years even valid?

You can chalk this conversation up to six or seven possible apparent reasons, but they all fall short in the end . . . I know, I have been thinking about this stuff lots for the last 4-6 years. One side of me, the pastoral side, wishes to help people resolve the two-thinking dilemma. Another side of me, the self-righteous arrogant person, wants to shout at all such people you are double-minded and an enemy to the Kingdom! There is another part of me, the opposite-side-of-all-stated-beliefs side, that wishes to just walk away from it all . . . the conflict, the controversy, the conversation, period.

It at the very least shows me how fuzzy life can be, and how deceitful my heart can be. In the end though, I have complete confidence that Jesus can see to the heart, and the heart of the matter . . . His discernment has no fuzziness at all.

how the church pimped my ride today

After church this morning, as I finished pronouncing the benediction, Ray stood up in the back and asked everyone to be seated. He then proceeded to come to the front and treat Brenda and I to some great meal tickets for some super eating spots in town. But then the kicker was what they gave me to drive for the day! Look at this photo and drool! I drove this thing at obscene speeds, and I gotta tell you, from zero to 60, it’s faster than the angels of God! This qualifies as the nicest gift a church has every given me as their pastor, period.

In the Greek Kitchen

When the Greek waiter asked Jake and I to follow him into the kitchen, I thought he was joking. But he was more than serious . . . he took us back to the fresh catch cooler and let us pick out our own sea-bass for dinner. But the ruckus and looks our walk through the kitchen caused, deserves to be blogged about.

We were in the employee only sections of the fish house. And all these Greek gals were slaving away in the kitchen and you could feel their animosity that Jake and I were invading their domain! But the fish were what Jake and I were focused on, nothing more, nothing less. But it was interesting to see the inside the kitchen area.

Anyhoo, Jake and I selected the fish that we wanted grilled for dinner that night and made our way back to our table. There we enjoyed our family, a spectacular sunset, and eventually, Mr Sea-bass himself. I think I will tell the rest of the story in pictures.

Racing the butterflies

The smoke from the wildfires outside the city is choking the air with smoke and ash. It is like a terminal haze laying over the air, gray, polluted, even direct sharp sunlight is having trouble getting through it, and we haven’t had a cloud in the sky in weeks.

So this morning as I was riding my bike up the mountain to the South of the city, and finally getting above the worst of the bad air, I found myself racing the butterflies. There were all kinds . . . Purple Shot Copper’s, Small Coppers, Large Whites, Bath Whites, Wall butterflies, and Small Tortoiseshells.

Butterflies can only fly if their body temperature is above 86 degrees, and consequently the butterflies are usually sitting on branches and such, sunning themselves, but today all were in flight. And an amazing number of them seem to be racing along with me as I poured sweat while pedaling uphill. It was a magical moment in the good air.

When I sit and think of all the elements that had to come together to have this five minute moment this morning, it is more than a little mind-boggling. Life is complicated! And it is too often just a series of nows, the this moment’s of life that can not be duplicated nor repeated. I wonder if that is a gift or a curse for the Western Mind which is centered around planning and individualism?

Stuck in the ruts

When I was a kid, there were loads of dirt-roads around . . . no asphalt or cement to be found at all. And these roads often had huge ruts! When I was a little whiper-snapper I thought they might swallow my dad’s truck whole and that we would never get out. Some of them seemed to have teeth and lips, just waiting to suck us in.

I am discovering that those ruts of my childhood were the easiest ones in life. The pot-holes and ruts of adult life are feelings of being trapped, or stagnant in the sense of not moving nor making any progress, and feeling irrelevant and life having no meaning . . . this is what I mean by being stuck in a rut. Bob Walker asks the question, “If you could do anything you wanted, if God told you that you were free to choose, if you had all the time, energy, money, staff and education you needed, and you knew that you could not fail, what would you do?” (This question came to me via B. Biehl)

What a question huh? And as I understand it, most people love this question and find themselves set free as they try to answer it and then start baby steps toward reaching it. This is the question that often leads people toward their dreams. It helps them in many ways, but especially in discovering the next step. But what if your answer is “nothing”?

Either my rut is way deeper than Dr. Walker ever anticipated or ever seen, or I am a hopeless case because I have no answer to this question. Does that mean I don’t want to do something? No it means that I don’t know what that something is. This is more than a rut; it’s a crater.

Some folks tell me it’s mid-life whatever, and I tell them that I have already passed mid-life number one and two, I have never heard of mid-life crisis lasting for years on end. It’s a hole so deep that there is no light coming through either end. It smells of despair.

Pink and Jesus

I guess you could say its been a week of lessons, first the woodpile, now the rock concert. In one sense, as usual, I am actually doing research. I am researching people and what they value and trying to discern the whys. As rock concerts go, this one was actually pretty good, i.e. excellent musicians, minimal effects and the volume just right (would stop your pace-maker, but doesn’t really hurt your ears too bad).

Alecia Moore, better known by her stage name of Pink (or P!nk depending on your source) is a sassy, spoofy, goofy, snarling, hysterical artist that doesn’t take herself too seriously. She says of herself, “I decided at 15 that I didn't want to be one of those artists that gets up and sings love songs they don't mean. I decided that I was going to be me to the fullest extent, that my songs were going to reflect relationships I've had, things I've been through, and even the stuff I'm embarrassed about.” In that sense music is to Pink, as blogging is to David.

The amazing (and disconcerting) thing about going to a rock concert, is that you see the depth of influence that a pop star has on people and culture. You get to see first hand what people want in entertainment. You can see what really moves people in their hearts and souls.

Now I was arguably the oldest paying customer at the concert last night . . . several people thought I was with the band . . . and I only know one song that Pink sings (which I think we should start singing in church!), so I am in no way a typical fan of Pink, nor was I even a typical rock concert attender last night, and several young folks from our church just about swallowed their tongues when they saw me there. But while surrounded by several thousand teenie-boppers, I realized quickly that they knew every single song by heart and they were singing along with her . . . on every single song. The crowd loved her energy and her wild sense of style . . . in a word Pink is authentic and real (or at the very least gives a super strong impression of being that) by the culture’s definition of authentic.

And here is the rub for the church and those of us who are members of the Kingdom . . . that authenticity which was apparent in droves at a rock concert, is sorely lacking in the church. We don’t inspire trust, followership, commitment, nor deep emotion because at some level we appear to, or actually do, lack authenticity.

I see this sharply both in me and in the people in the church I pastor. I have one group (my group) who view and live faith as an intellectual exercise -- it’s about what you know (thus the person who knows the most or best “wins”) and I have a second group who view and live faith as name and claim whatevers - it’s about what you decide God wants to bless you with (thus the most positive pollyanna on spiritual steroids wins) and these two groups dominate the church.

All the real people are in the middle and they can’t compete with the seemingly intimidating knowledge of intellectual group, nor can they identify with NIACI (name it and claim it) group in their everyday lives. To these people caught in the middle, neither expression of the Kingdom seems authentic or real. No one seems to be just comfortable in their own skin within a Christian context. We are essentially asking God to undo what we have made ourselves to be . . . and where is the authenticity in that? Perhaps I will get fired, but I think Pink was having a flash of real Jesus in her life, when she said that “I am going to be me to the fullest extent.” Jesus wants us to be us . . . that unique expression of His creative genius is lost every time we force someone into our particular mold (pun intended) of Christianity.

“I coming up, you better get this party started!“

Lessons from the woodpile

One of my most recent activities is chopping wood for the dirty old man next door. Let’s face it, I need to exercise and he is 86 years old . . . and completely utterly and totally lost. Did I mention he is 86? Not too much time left, but then again, who knows how much any of us have?

So for the past week or so, when I get back from my daily workout, I am already sweaty and stinky, so what better time to split some wood for Uncle Lybe? I have been learning some lessons in the woodpile.

1. He owns an axe that is older than me! And he is darn proud of it. I have listened to lots and lots of “when I was your age” stories these past 10 days. It has given me some perspective and understanding to what makes this guy tick. And he is having a ball telling all his old cronies that he has an American splitting wood for him (for free of course).
2. Lybe is afraid of dying and he doesn’t know what to do about it, yet he refuses to talk about it. I continue to gain credibility as I chop wood, but I also am spending more of that credibility as I am starting to push because I am not remotely certain that this man will live long enough to burn the wood I am chopping for him. Eternity is urgently calling him.
3. I have also learned that I would rather do something for him, than be with him. Shows you how American I still am even after all these years in the Hairy Armpits. Mind you that Lybe only wants to drink beer or moonshine and talk about young women and their many virtues . . . and while I can do that appropriately and chastely, I can’t at 8:00 in the morning. My weak American frame cannot handle dirty jokes nor alcohol at such an early hour. Am I making excuses?
4. I am learning too, that a world view without God can only chase after the most insignificant things in life . . . and that even armed with that certainty and knowledge that I still can be tempted to do the same. Crap.
5. Today as I sat with him an had a glass of water after our chop session, he wanted to know if there were other people in the world like me? I barked with laughter and told him “I sure hope not.” “I am serious!” he said. “And so am I” I told him. “Why do you cut wood for me?” he asked. “Because I can and you can’t, because I like you and think you have real potential for such old guy, because I need to learn from you and you need to be more like me (in the sense that he is placing his trust in the Savior), and simply because we are neighbors and I want to show you that not all Americans start wars and cause problems.” I said to him as I was leaving.
6. The final lesson that I learning so far is that I need far more wisdom than ever before to help a 86 year old blind guy with a really dirty mind, to place his simple trust in a Savior. Leading the young is simple in comparison, and I have this terrible feeling in my heart that Lybe is going to choose to not believe in the end . . . his whole life and his complete understanding of it is pulling him one direction, and on the other side is just one foreigner. Man, I am praying that Holy Spirit is cutting loose with this guy, and soon.

100 in the shade

There is hot, and then there is hot. Right now it is 100.2 in the shade! This is our 5th straight 100+ day, but it is the first day that our shady thermometer reads over 100 degrees. It is difficult to get anything accomplished. Heat inertia has taken over unfortunately and that is super bad, because as always there is tons to accomplish . . . always more work than time or energy allow. I wonder how hot it will eventually get today . . . they were only calling for 105 or so. Man!

An 8 hour drive north of us, it’s 20 degrees cooler! A 2.5 hour flight going north to Berlin Germany, the temp is 40 degrees cooler!!! Thus one can conclude that this is not a Europe-wide heat wave that we are experiencing, this is more of a local phenomena.

It’s usually quite hot here in the summer, but this is hot hot even for us. This morning I was chopping and splitting wood for my 86 year old neighbor, who kept trying to give me moonshine to drink “to combat the heat” he told me. On an empty stomach, I doubt that whisky would have cooled me off much and I begged off, spouting work reasons and the very early hour.

It is difficult to function and be effective in extreme temps like these . . . and it is difficult to function and be effective spiritually when we find ourselves in extreme situations and extreme challenges. But that is when the spiritual is supposed to kick in, right?

Well I am not so sure. It seems to me that spirituality needs to be something we exercise daily and expose daily to the stresses of our lives, rather than thinking of it as some kind of magic carpet or blanket designed to get us out of the toughest situations. But usually it seems, that the people I know and person that I am, perceives spirituality to be something I have rather than something I am. Thus when it is 100 degrees in the shade of life, way hotter and more difficult than I am comfortable with, I falter. It’s like I am looking for a way out, instead of steadfastly working through it. Clearly I need to remember that my connection to the Father is something I am, not something I have.

The boyfriend chronicles 2

The news gets even better. Jelena (read about her here) was not content to just rag Bilijana about her new boyfriend, but she too decided that she needed a Savior! There have been more people come to Christ in the last months, than we had in previous years. We heard about this one on Saturday while we were baking in 100+ degree heat, building a new church building in the city where Jelena, Bilijana and Vale live.

Saturday there 13 of us out there dying in the heat and merciless sun, building frames for concrete walls, and digging out a wall in the stone-like soil. Here are some photos of our guys working in the Sahara-known-as-Kymanovo.

These gentlemen all attend the International Church in the Hairy Armpit and volunteered their time and money and sweat and blood so that people like the three girls mentioned above can find a Savior. Why don’t you get involved too? Write me and I can list the ways that you can make a difference. Is it time for a revival in the Hairy Armpit?

"Do you have a new boyfriend?"

Jelena was teasing Bilijana. “You are just beaming” she said, “Have you found a new boyfriend?” Bilijana’s smile did not falter at all, but her answer was unexpected, “No boyfriend; I found a Savior!”

Bilijana is the result of two years of steady weekly investment and work by my wife Brenda. People inch toward Christ here and have huge social and cultural hurdles to cross in order to embrace the Savior. Thus Bilijana’s statement is all the more powerful. And frankly we don’t hear these things very often here in the Hairy Armpit. Bilijana came to Christ twice as fast as the average believer here!

Then I was talking to a powerful businessman today who attends the International church where I pastor and he was telling me about some folks that he has been cultivating for two solid years! They inch forward and then take two inches back, three forward, two back. It is difficult to have the patience for these kinds of investments in people, and even more difficult to see God’s big picture in the whole process. But in the end, as Bilijana discovered last week, a Savior is far superior to a new boyfriend.

The ruined harvest

There is little good to say about the Hairy Armpit in general. We are far from those we are closest to, live in homes that do not belong to us, work with people who do not look, smell, think or speak like we do. But the food is usually the best in the world, so there are some good things. The number one export for the country of the HA is wine. That also means that we have some of the best grapes in the whole world. Except this year.

Last summer was too cool, the winter too warm (no snow) and now the Spring too wet! So as you can see from this photo this is what the grape harvest is looking like this year. 70% of the grapes are ruined on every bunch (this one is actually better than most of ours.


The spiritual harvest can easily be ruined as well. If we and the churches we lead don’t have the right climate and balance required to produce a healthy harvest, it is way too easy to ruin all the potential. It can be done by focusing too many resources on ourselves, or by having an inward focus, or by overcrowding the new believers (then they fall away because they can’t develop their own roots) or by not nurturing them carefully and faithfully as they are finding Christ . . . and probably a million other ways. But most of all we lose the harvest, simply because we are not farming most of the time.

This year, millions of dollars will be lost in the Hairy Armpit because of the imbalances in the weather. Many will be hungrier than usual. Many will not have work at process time. Barrel makers are going to lose most of their contracts, seasonal workers who live off the money they make from picking and processing grapes, better start looking for new jobs. And the church, and especially us as leaders, need to be completely and totally intentional about the climate in our fellowships.

It's people I can't stand

Mark preached a great message Sunday morning. His point about spiritual indifference was powerful. Jesus and His agenda, Kingdom, plans, desires -- all need to move me and motivate me. But sometimes they don’t, and that is what Mark accurately nailed as spiritual indifference.

As I have tried to examine my heart these last 24 hours and look at the causes, reasons and cycles of spiritual indifference in my soul, I think I am starting to see a pattern. It’s people I can’t stand.

Don’t get me wrong, I like most people and most people like me. Those aren’t the ones that I am talking about. No, I am talking about the people who are immune to the wisdom and influence of others. I am talking about the people who do their own gig at the complete expense of the rest of the group. I am talking about people who attempt to hold everyone accountable, while never being accountable in any way themselves. I am talking about people who negotiate and politic their point of view behind the scenes, and erode people’s confidence in their leadership.

I so wish these types of people were bloggers! Get their ideas, perceptions and points of views out there for everyone to see . . . rather than leaving me feeling like I am fighting phantom ghosts that negate all things potentially good in life, church and relationships.

Many are the days that I wish I could stay buried in studying God’s word, and quietly communing with Him, and have little to no contact with people like these phantoms . . . but unfortunately this is a people business, not a function of solitude. These are the days I want to be a mechanic rather than a pastor/missionary.

"A beer drinking club with a running problem"

This is The Hash club. It is quite the group of expatriates. Hash clubs exist in most major cities around the rest of the world. It is in many ways, the church (small c) of the International community. There are currently almost 1500 hashes around the world. You can see the Hairy Armpit Hash site here.

One of our church folks attend the local hash and has invited me to join in with them. It’s a natural place to meet non-praying folks. Again as I stated in the paragraph above, this is the church of the International Community. They have a Hash Bible, and also The Religious Advisor and believe it or not, the Hash Hymnal.

Penetrating clubs like this for the express purpose of being spiritual whatevers to them, with them, for them, is not what I am suggesting. Instead I am suggesting that we join in with them for the simple reason that we love people, because God loves people -- winning people in 2007 involves lots more caring it seems, than in previous decades. Perhaps I am wrong since I have only 4.5 under my belt thus far, but that is the way that it seems to me.

But in the super-superficial world of expatriate relationships, it may be a real road into people’s lives, and a fine way to see how God wishes to utilize us for His best purposes in the lives of Hashers. Their twisted motto listed in the title of this post sounds like a great place to meet real people, not the make-believe kind. What do you think?

LifeWork

BB describes lifework as “Your LifeWork is the activity that is worthy of the time, energy, and money you have left in life.” The standard Catholic stance on this subject is that only working for God is worthy of this category of lifework. Evangelicals often have echoed that position. I am not so sure that the Catholic/Evangelical position is the correct one.

It all but shouts that my lifework as a religious Kingdom worker, is inherently more valuable than my father’s work as a mechanic. The problem with this line of thinking that elevates vocational, paid, full-time ministry workers as doing a worthy lifework, is that implies that God values His church drones more than His other creations. That seems patently wrong.

It is called by Oz Guinness the Catholic heresy, that clergy/ministry workers are the ones really following God. But what if God ordained my father to be a mechanic? (And just for the record, he has performed far more miracles in his life as a mechanic than I ever will as a minister). What if God in His throne room deemed the most important work for my father to do, was keep people’s automobiles running and on the road? That is certainly his lifework then, is it not? But where is the spiritual element, many ask me?

Well when I do what I do well, that is about as spiritual as life ever becomes. Excellence reflects God, far better than my passionate or eloquent words might ever do. In my father’s handiwork, I see my Father’s Handiwork.

Here in fact is a photo of one of his recent projects or two . . . but of course this is just for fun, it couldn’t be a lifework could it? By the way, happy Father’s day Daddy, I am very proud of your lifework.

Leading the band

There are few things more gratifying, and fewer still more terrifying. Leading the band. Leading what is not your top skill level, striving for what is beyond you and beyond your abilities, and doing it as a group. That frankly is a recipe for constant stress and struggle. That is where I am at.

It is gratifying to learn new skills, or greatly improve those basic skills you might have, but it is altogether another thing to place them in front of the band at practice and the larger congregation on Sunday. Now amplify it . . . literally . . . where every mistake and mis-strum can be heard in vibrant Fender amplifier quality, and there you have it, the ultimate humbler. Miss a chord, or sing the wrong verse, two events which occur regularly I might add, and then you know what it is to eat crow every Sunday. Now add to that mix of beyond-your-skills reach, 7 other band members, and most of them reaching for the very edge of their abilities as well, and the result can be chaos. Or it can be a miracle.

Making miracles week after week is anything but mundane . . . leading the band to worship . . . is perhaps the most overwhelming and awe-inspiring part of walking along with God each day. Now if I could only find the unbreakable pick.

The spectacular death of the fly

It must be full moon soon or something. We seem to be the epicenter of the strange, difficult and unusual. People in the church acting downright strange too. Maybe I am paranoid and strange myself . . . it is a mystery that I cannot seem to solve at the moment.

Anyhoo the spectacular death of the fly was just that. Brenda is cooking breakfast this morning since the kids are freshly arrived for the summer break (hooray!) and of course it smells deadly, and proved to be so for the fly in question.

So as Brenda is taking the bacon off of the hot burner, I mean it is glowing red, the doomed housefly buzzes around and around and around . . . and then lands on the red hot burner, all but instantly burned to a crispy critter. We had never seen a fly commit suicide before. But this one did.

It gives new meaning to the axiom, if you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen!

Cockroaches in the church

There are few critters in the world that cause stronger reactions in people than do cockroaches. My worship team got to church on Sunday at our usual hour before the service to do a final run-through on all the songs. And we discovered a big fat live cockroach on the church floor near the front where the worship singers stand. I ignored it as I do most things in life that don’t interest me very much. But Wendy went over there and pick the cockroach up in her hands to take it outside before she killed, so that we would not have its eggs left laying around in the church for more cockroaches to come in the future.

Now the cockroach itself had caused varying levels of shudders and eeeckks out of different people, but when Wendy picked in up in her hand, that caused a much larger reaction in most everyone! People were totally grossing out about the idea of touching it with the bare hands. Personally I thought it was hysterically funny, especially about how matter of fact Wendy was about the whole thing. She did the right thing, no matter how distasteful.

I did not do the right thing. I was ignoring the cockroach. In fact I had saw it earlier when I first arrived (I was the first person there) and it was a big mama - hard to ignore. But I did, just hoping it would go away. Wendy did the right thing. As I have thought about this whole incident this week, I have come to realize that we rarely do what is right in the church when we have people-versions of cockroaches, i.e. problems. Problems that need to be dealt with in straight-forward, matter of fact ways, that lead to the right result.

Too often I think most leaders are like me, ignoring the problem until there are too many to ignore any longer. If we had only picked up the first problem and took it outside and dealt with it properly, it would have laid no eggs for your future terrorization.

hacksaws, Diplomats and motorcycles

Whatever could those three items have to do with one another? I am not remotely certain to be perfectly honest. But it happened like this: I had been biking early Saturday morning up the mighty Vodno mountain that the capital city lays against to the South. I was wringing wet from sweat . . . it’s 10 kilometers to the end of the asphalt and 9 of them are uphill. I finally reached the end of the asphalt, took a short rest, guzzled water, put on my helmet and glasses, and started back down the hill.

The going down hill part is my favorite part of this particular exercise route, as it is serious downhilling! Very fast. Finally I get to the bottom of the mountain and then I swing West toward my neighborhood. As I am riding past the U.S. Ambassador’s home, out of one of the neighboring drives comes a scooter tearing out of there.

Now scooters are more common than grass here, but this one arrested my attention for three reasons: 1) the man riding it was uncommonly large (the vast majority of people here are very thin), 2) the scooter had diplomatic plates!!!, 3) the man was carrying/holding a hacksaw.

This is a puzzle that I have not been able to figure out to save my life! Why a diplomat on a scooter? Diplomats can afford cars - nice cars. Moreover, why a really big guy on a scooter - dressed up for work in dress clothes and shoes no less!?? Why the hacksaw? And why not take the car (or a taxi if your car is not working!) if you need to carry tools into the office?? And I have about 35 other similar questions that I will not bore you with at the moment. My point is simply this, what am I missing from this picture? What am I not seeing and understanding properly for this encounter to make sense to me?

I preached on the incarnation and the Trinity on Sunday. I will confess that I don’t “get” either one of them either. I was sweating bullets on Sunday as I confessed my problems and struggles in understanding what God is, and has done. As C. was saying last night, it’s as if I think I can almost get it, but then it flies away. I just don’t have enough brain power to get my hands around this Divine Reality. No harder to understand I guess than hacksaws, Diplomats and motorcycles.

No you can't yes you can no you can't yes you can

This is life in the Hairy Armpit. It is all about who you know. It is not a competence model, it is a relationship-connection-good-old-boy system. It’s actually like heaven functions. Heaven is no democracy! Heaven is a who-you-know system. It’s not fair, it’s not equal, it is not democratic.

Today was a perfect example of how this works here in the HA. I have been having Internet Connection problems for the last 6 months, and about 4 months ago, I even had a secondary system put in so that when the primary ISP went out, I would have back-up . . . which I have had to use extensively.

Well I finally had enough this weekend. After finally forcing these guys to come and work on my system, they were here all Friday morning getting my system all souped-up for steady, consistent, stable internet service. Yeah right. It worked for about two hours after they left. It was down all weekend. I cut the cord this morning. Even though we had a contract that still had 10 months remaining on it, they let me go without a whisper. I am on a first name basis with not only all the technical support people, but their wives and children and gynecologists as well. I think they were almost glad to see me go. ☺

Then I went to the cable internet company, those folks who were my back-up system for the last four months. Now they were about to become my primary system. Oh yeah, stable internet! Yes!

Well she told me “no!” “It’s not the end of the month. You can only make changes at the end of the month.” My heart sunk. It’s only the 4th of June, and I had already exceeded my monthly allotment of internet data with these folks . . . what was I going to do for the next 26 days? I cajoled, I asked really really nicely, ok, . . . I begged. She did not even begin to budge. The line behind me got longer and longer. I did not care. Communication with my parents and children was on the line, I was just about to get on my knees and offer free baby delivery services (I was an EMT at one point many years ago) and free weddings for all her children and grandchildren, when the man walked in.

The man is the cable company’s CEO. I had met him while having a coffee with Ray a couple of weeks ago. Since I defy categorizing, Mr. CEO was more than a bit fascinated with me. He recognized me instantly. He pumped my hand and asked me how my life was motoring along? I told him that I was in internet hell and needed a savior. He asked, how can I help? I told him that this little gal behind the desk was tenaciously following company policy that he should give her a raise in pay! But I also was desperate for a internet intervention and what could I possibly do to get one??

He told the girl to change my account status. And my status instantly went from “this cannot be done” to “no problem.” Who you know in the HA matters for more than anything else. I am so very glad that heaven is like the HA and not North America where we live and die by the law.

Ants on the strawberries, grubs in the lettuce

Washing your vegetables in the hairy armpit is far more important than what you might encounter in North America. Unless eating ants and grubs of various sorts does not bother you at all, this is a prudent course of action. Today while washing a pile of strawberries, the rinse showed quite a few ants in the sink afterwards! And I think I crunched a few while eating them (strawberries) after music practice with the girls. I have also noticed that clear-body grubs love to camp out in between the leaves of lettuce on every head! It behooves you to carefully wash each and every leaf.

Probably the bugs and insects under discussion here, would not actually hurt you if you ate them, in fact since I have eaten so many over the years, I am certain of this truth. Yet it is the idea of eating raw, uncooked insects that give me the willies! I am such a girl I know, in fact I wrote about that yesterday and you can read that here.

I need to develop the same problem with bugs crawling around near my heart and soul. Unfortunately, many times those bugs (sin, demons, temptations) don’t give me the willies at all! In fact I often welcome them . . . the more the merrier it seems. I am not bothered at all about how they are swarming around and crawling all over. I need to get out the spiritual insecticide and clean house. Every house needs that occasionally.

Thinking like a woman

As I was trying to explain to Louisa why I had taken a particular direction with a person in the church, I had her undivided attention. Because one person in the church was attacking the both of us! According to the attacker, I should be a defender of the Truth! I should be the pastor who corrects everyone else’s tiniest deflection on (her definition of) the straight and narrow! I should be smart enough to detect and correct every hint of heresy! Why did I not challenge the heretic!!?? Why did I not immediately go on the offensive when this person got a bit derailed? Why!?

Why indeed? Well, because I think like a woman . . . at least according to Lousia. I will admit this news unsettled me quite a bit. I have never been accused of such a thing ever in my whole life! My sensitivity range is somewhere between a stone and a crocodile. My capacity for feelings is generally in the pit-bull to cockatiel range. My patience for wordy expressions is deeply in the negative numbers. I think like a woman?

Needless to say I wanted to hear Louisa unpack this thinking like a woman thing quite a bit more. It was making me nervous. I was afraid I was breaking out in hives or something. Perhaps soon I would catch the vapors! Maybe I needed a new wardrobe I know I know, I am thinking like a woman again . . . but heck even manly men get curious sometimes!

So as Lousia explained why I did not instantly correct this minor heresy that was floating around the room, (this is the explanation of why I think like a woman) was because I was understanding and intuiting the pain that this person was feeling, and that I did not want to correct her in front of others.

Hmmm. There is a fair amount of truth and accuracy in that statement. Though I have never thought of thoughtfulness as being a feminine characteristic. The church can certainly use more of this . . . perhaps we all should think more like a women.

Clarifying outcomes

Probably the hardest leadership (or even personal) task to accomplish with skill is clarifying outcomes. What exactly are you trying to accomplish and why? What does the final product look like? Every successful business works hardest at these questions. The church is not a business, but we are in business . . . the people business.

Measuring outcomes is tough enough, but often just deciding which outcomes the church/kingdom is looking for can drive you bonkers. If you are involved with knowledge work which most church workers are, then this is the most critical skill. We need to hone and define over and over and at multiple levels what exactly we are trying to accomplish! This is a primary weakness in most church-related organizations.

The reason this is so critical is that unless we know exactly what we are reaching for, what we are trying to produce, what we are about, then we never know where to reallocate resources, and we never find a sustainable level of efficiency. Producing anything becomes incidental and occasional.

David Allen quotes Lily Tomlin who said - I always wanted to be somebody. I should have been more specific. Tomlin has the gist of what I am trying to point out about the church, or rather point out about its leadership. If we are not very very specific about what outcomes we are expecting/wanting/searching for, then our possibilities of getting them are correspondingly small.

So do we want big churches? Lots of churches? Are we seeking multitudes of converts? Lots of money? Deep people who challenge their worlds with skill? What are we trying to build and for how long? What legacy are you leaving? Do you even know? Go cat go, and clarify those outcomes!

God-smacked!

As Ray was describing for me how G. came to X, he used this word, “Godsmacked!” Now G. is probably one of the dangerous men in all of the Hairy Armpit . . . his local connections read like a resume for mafia connections. When G.’s asks me “should I kill him for you?” he is probably serious. So when Ray used this term, it really drove home how radically G.’s life has been impacted by God Himself.

I asked Ray what was the most pivotal moment in G. coming into the Family, and without hesitation Ray said “you”. I informed Ray that I was not a moment first of all, and secondly that I can’t pivot worth crap. After Ray finished howling, he unpacked what was pivotal in my encounters with G.

1. “I drank a beer with him.” This was one of those classic cultural moments when you need to do what the non-praying person is doing. G.’s previous interaction with Chr*st*ans was extremely narrow and moral policemen focused. Those members of the Family spent most of the time telling G. what he must give up in order to become a Family member. G. said that I told him to read the Scriptures and listen to God. The fact that I was a religious leader and made no judgement calls on him in those initial meetings was huge.

2. “I listened while drinking a beer with him.“ G. relates that 99.9% of his encounters with Family members thus far, had been G. being given all this information and answers (about questions he did not even have). It was like the person with the most knowledge was the really spiritual person. G. stated that I did not try to teach him anything, only telling him my personal story about how God pursued me, and how I believe God is pursuing all of us. Even more important was patient listening, as G.’s story unfolded for me.

3. ”I did not have all the answers.“ Westerns overload people with information and knowledge. We value competence over everything. People in the Hairy Armpit value relationship over all. But our competence model brings a ton of arrogance along with it. I really have to agree with G. on this one. Most Westerners here have an instant answer for every question -- even ones that aren’t being asked. Doctorate or not, G. says it was really important that I said, ”Hey I don’t know.“

4. ”That I involved lots of other Family members in the process.“ This is a critical part of thinking that says we should ”fish“ with a net, rather than a pole. It is something we really do together, not as individuals. I do remember that actual moment when G. asked me ”who else believes like you do“ and I pointed to the people he was surrounded by at that exact moment as said, ”we all do.“

It was encouraging and good to hear that we are joining in what God is doing, in God’s way, not the North American way. But I am thinking that at least some of the things we are doing, would work well in a North American context? I don’t know, whaddya think? Regardless let’s pray that more and more people get Godsmacked! Alright!

The problem with healing - by someone who has been healed

I got all kinds of questions and problems with the way we handle and approach healing within the Body. Last night I was at a small group meeting that started out well and then degenerated into a “heal me” session. Now let me clarify this upfront . . . I am for healing. I believe healing happens today, because I myself have been healed spectacularly, with before and after photos even! I am for healing.

Ok, but demanding it bothers me much. Way much. I know that the book of James tells the sick to call for the elders, be anointed with oil and that prayer of a faith-filled person accomplishes much (which BTW was never done last night). But when people start demanding that God heals, insisting that God heal, naming and claiming that heal . . . I can hardly stand it. I am for healing. I have been healed, but it had absolutely nothing to do with me. Honestly, I am not sure that I even asked for healing!

The group last night was asking for the kinds of healing that greatly increase one’s life span. This type of request bothers me the most . . . because these people are in their 60’s, and they are experiencing the aches, pains and challenges that typically come at that stage of life, and they are insisting on healing from God. These are the people who consistently state that they are the most holy people in our church. These are the one’s who are now asking for a healing that effectively will keep them out of the direct presence of God for a much longer period of time. There is just something wrong with that.

As I said earlier I don’t even think I asked for healing . . . I was too worried about my wife and three little kids to think about healing, since the doctor said that I was to die within the next 36 hours max, it was time to get my house in order. To make matters, worse, I can not tell you one single definitive reason why God healed me and not . . . a 12 year old boy of my friends who died a few weeks later, or my neighbor who died a few weeks after that . . . and a thousand other people that were more worthy, needed, loved, or had potential far exceeding mine. Don’t you dare spiritualize this! My point is that the healing I experienced had nothing to do with me and everything to do with God. He did it because it pleased Him to do so and no other reason that we can be sure of.

In my line of work I have prayed 1000s of times for various people to be healed. To my knowledge never has a single one of them been healed. Do I believe God can? Certainly! Do I believe that God does sometimes? Certainly! Do I believe we can force God or have a magic structure or formula to get a healing? Not one bit. I still have no idea why God healed me and not that 12 year boy of my friends. I would not have done it that way were I God.

When the “heal me“ prayer meeting showed no signs of finishing, I headed home. Who knows when it ended. Last thing I was told that one said was, ”I came to get my healing tonight, and we are going to keeping praying until it happens.“ I think God is immune to such pressure. He is God. A God who definitely heals (I am a living breathing example of His healing power) but He does it on His terms, not ours.

The chicken's toes

Language is a funny thing. We went to a little food dive called Byre and sat down under the canopy to have a bite of dinner after Brenda’s big women’s conference that she was leading. There were three of us sitting there and getting ready to order. I ordered a special Breaded Chicken dish and the waiter said, “Oh you want chicken toes.” Brenda said, “Chicken toes????” “Yes chicken toes.”

This caused no small amount of conversation at our table while we waited to see exactly what I would be getting for supper. I imagined the worst it could be would be something like chicken feet that I have had at many an Asian dive . . . and although they have little (read none) meat on them, they are still considered a delicacy. I will admit freely that I don’t get it when it comes to chicken feet, but then again, I am not Asian.

So when my meal arrives, they clearly are not chicken toes, but in fact are chicken fingers (which chickens also do not have). Interestingly enough, Macedonian language uses the same exact word for fingers and toes, thus our confusion. I wonder why we never have a dish called ”chicken feathers“ or ”chicken skin“ or ”chicken beaks“ all of which a chicken actually has.

The moral of this story is that you can frame any subject with any number of positive or negative words that actually have little to do with the substance. I hope that I never do that in relationship to spiritual things. Perhaps that would be called sin.

uuuummh, that smells good!

While he may only be 8 and a half years old, Stefan has a keen nose for good food. And here he was, hanging onto my fence, breathing the intoxicating smell into his lungs as deeply as he could. “Did you know” he said to me in his very grown-up manner of speaking, “that the smell of roasting peppers is probably the best smell in the entire world?” I could not possibly agree more. That is why I almost always roast peppers when I have some meat marinating nearby. The smell is divine.

Three times Stefan came by and said to me, “wow that smells good!” In fact just writing this story down for you is making my mouth water for more!

I so wish for my life to be that kind of “wow that smells good” kind of life. I wish that my life were the kind that had that effect on people. That they would come back over and over again, just for another whiff, and to say, “wow that smells great.” That people would want to be with me, because the anticipation of what is to come is irresistible. I think those are the kinds of people He wants us to be. Make me so Father, make me so.

the roar of crickets

It is just like a sonic buzz. You can’t hear yourself think. You can feel the vibration in your bones. It is the chorus of millions of crickets singing to one another, unfettered by the concerns of who might be listening, who might be near by, what hour it might be, what anyone else thinks, how comfortable or uncomfortable they may be, or even where they find themselves.

They are doing with enthusiasm, what they were created to do.

The results were a roar.

This was my experience as I rode into the animal preserve. Often it seems like my life is more mouse-like. There aren’t many roars. It is not a volume thing, . . . I have a built-in amplifier. I sing loud and preach louder. It is much more that often all those other elements are missing. I am not unfettered by concerns of who might be listening. I am too concerned about who is nearby. I am too sensitive to what hour it is. I am way too concerned about what others think. My comfort levels often rule my life, and most of the time, where I am, controls my actions.

“But you are not a cricket” someone may observe, and right you are. I am far far more, yet less too, because I have these unneccesary concerns that make me too self-conscious to really be free in any action.

I want to roar about the power and majesty of God. I want to roar about His love for us - even in all our unloveliness. I want to roar about the grace that He gives so freely and that gives us such an amazing life. And I want to roar about Him! Its what we were created to do!

Perhaps my new motto in life should be, Not to be outdone by crickets.

Cherry pickin'

“Uncle! Uncle!” the girls called out to me, “can we take some of the cherries?” “Sure you can” I said, even though the cherry tree does not technically belong to me. . . it belongs to my neighbor. But about a third of it is in my yard, and Mladen, the neighbor, gives me complete access to it. Here is a photo of a bunch of cherries.





I have been baking cherry pies and such pretty much non-stop this week.. But it is the pits, getting the pits out! In fact cherries are a pretty good metaphor for life. No matter how sweet and juicy and wonderful they/it are/is, there are still those darn pits to deal with!

Sitting at my kitchen table de-pitting these piles of cherries always gives me a crick in my back. And even the anticipation of a cherry cobbler does not lessen the pain always. Removing the pits in my life causes me pain too. Especially in the patience it requires.

Patience to get to the fruit, patience to know when the ripe moment has arrived, patience to see the cobbler in what I am doing everyday! Cherry picking seems like lots of fun, but unless you keep a sense of wonder about it, like the girls in the first paragraph, it can be the pits.

The depressing smiling american

You can generally spot an America here from 5 blocks away. And you can often hear them before you can see them. But when you see them (them being American Christians fresh off the boat, er . . . plane) they usually are smiling like nobody’s business. The problem is that in the East, people don’t smile, especially in public.
Even missional people can fall into the “I-have-to-have-a-Jesus-smile-on-my-face-if-I-am-a-real-christian” syndrome. Recently I had one of my Croatian students address this issue in one of her papers that she was writing for me. Renata said:
I need to point to the most common question American missionaries ask "Why are people so depressed here, and how come they are spending so much time in cafes?“ I have a contra question for the missionaries "How can you be smiling all the time, apparently showing interest in people while remaining so reserved?"
Renata saw right to the heart and truth of the matter, that we Western Christians are apparently happy and living correctly at the surface, but that we rarely share what is going on inside of us with others - in other words, we rarely if ever live in true fellowship with others, i.e. no koinonia.
Christians in this part of the world find this to be very depressing. The lack of depth in our Western relationships is an anathema here. Far better to be sad, depressed, down and real than to be smiling and outwardly happy with no true friends.
Of course this is a generalization of Westerners, but one we all will agree has deep substance. Anyone who has been a pastor for any length of time, will quickly tell you that the number one problem with most folks is that they don’t have deep and significant relationships with others outside their nuclear family. Christians here find such persons to generally be the depressing smiling American.

Sleeping in the fast lane

While accomplishing that most usual and standard missionary behavior, i.e. making an airport run, I was racing along as usual and thinking about all the things that need to be accomplished today before I lay me down to sleep. That daunting list took all of my focus and energy until I saw him lying in the fast lane, under the overpass.

Him being a dog, might make this more believable, but I am here to tell you that I have never seen a dog lay down in the road on the highway before. On my little street yes, all the time, but where cars are coming at you regularly at 85-90 miles per hour, never. But there it was, in the shade of the overpass, lying in the fast lane.

I suspect that it is now in doggy paradise/hades depending on your canine-ology . . . they are all going to hades in my view, but nevertheless I had to stop thinking about my overwhelming day, and contemplate why this animal would stop and place itself in the utmost danger.

The conclusion I reached was that like me, it probably did not acknowledge the danger, or perhaps it thought that it need rest and shade more than life (literally), or that (unlike me) everything worth living for had past and this was a fairly quick way to doggy eternity.

I find that when I lay down in the fast lane, I invariably get run over. I need to spend more time praying for, and practicing, wisdom in life. After thinking about this today, I have decided I would rather go in my sleep.

Frog inertia

The dead ones are like a carpet on the road. You can’t imagine how many we are talking about. It was flabbergasting . . . I mean how could so many die? I assumed that they all were mainly killed in the evening and night, because until today, I really had not seen so many during the day when I am out biking and getting my daily exercise.

But I did see a number of them today, and darn, if I did not almost run over them too! I began to see that the frogs either did not see me coming in time to leap away, or they processed the danger so slowly mentally that they were in mortal danger from my not-so-fast mountain bike.

I call this newly observed phenomena, frog inertia. I seem to have it too. I process too slowly when I am in a tempting situation, and then just when I am about to get run over, I almost always leap to safety at the last possible second.

I process too slowly when I am under pressure. Life seems like a runaway freight train and there are too many near misses. I can’t see the danger of going my own direction, and I am especially vulnerable to fast moving wishes and wants, that will flatten me if I don’t make a heroic jump out of their path. Frog inertia can get you killed.

Will God send someone else?

Jovan argued that if he did not follow the call of God on his life to go to the unreached people group, that God would then send someone else. I asked, “who says so? what do you base this on? how do you know?”

Does God always have a second plan? Then why are there over 6000 unreached people groups listed on the Joshuaproject website? Does God have a second or third or fourth plan for them?

Needless to say, this led to a loud and intense discussion in the classroom. There clearly are few second plans in God’s design . . . He is calling . . . people ignore that call . . . people perish into eternity without God, and we sit back expecting God to have a second and third and fourth plan. Well God may, but then again He may not.

I find this sense of universalism growing in the church today. “God will accomplish it.“ ”He will find another way if you don’t go.“ The class was clearly reluctant to agree that most people are hell-bound. Shoot it even sounds harsh to my not so politically correct ears!

It seems to me that God does have a plan . . . you and me. And if we don’t do it, then who is to say that there is someone else to be sent? If you won’t go, who will?

Mayday Mayday!

It is my very favorite Communist holiday of the year! It is the day of nine-hour picnic’s, close interpersonal conversations, grilling out, eating and drinking heartily and in general one of the most relationship-rich days of the year.

Today was a very unique May Day for me, as I am currently at the Seminary in Croatia . . . so this May Day was one of languages . . . we were constantly switching from English to Macedonian to Serbo-Croatian and back to English (with Russian throw in occasionally too, as Lujdimila is from Ukraine). In fact it felt like we were actually speaking some new foreign language that was all four, yet one.

It was also a day of being human. No professorial clothes or attitudes, just kick back and chillax as a human being. The conversations ranged from marathoning to biking to BMI’s to diets to organizational restructuring to which Mission does what best to nursing programs to children and spouses, to what form the assignments are due in tomorrow.

But it was also a day of hanging out and getting a head start on eternity. Heaven has to be like this, cause these were all gifts from God Himself . . . a cobalt blue sky, perfect 70 degree temperatures, the luscious smell of meat grilling, no insects (well not many yet) and good friends. Can you think of a better description of heavenly? It is May Day!