I have a confession to make. Love really hurts these days. It all began when my 14 year old got MMA lessons for his birthday. Often I come through the door of the house and somewhere lurking in the shadows is a 140 pound guy with the body fat of a coat hanger who will bring me into submission. This was fun when he didn’t know Brazilian Jujitsu. Continue reading “I Wrestle NOT”
My son is a church planter on Xbox. I write this and yet I don’t even know what it means. Not exactly. Evidently he’s built a church on a game map and then he invites gamers to come to the Bible Study on Xbox live. All the members keep their game weapons outside the edifice Caleb somehow constructed in the Xbox universe. Continue reading “Upgrading the Antennae”
As dads, we have the unique opportunity to reveal truth to our children. We get the chance to tell them how life works. These are conversations happen along the way. They are unforgettable, sometimes unpredictable and other times- just plain weird. Here’s one example:
The context: Having just listened on CD to Dr. James Dobson explain the mechanics of sex while driving down the interstate.
I never understood the dog. I didn’t really like the him as much as others in this house but over a period of months, I became the object of worship. He picked me out and said, “He’s mine!” This weenie dog couldn’t wait for me to sit down. He hated it when I sat in a desk chair. He was more at peace when I sat on the couch so he can rest his head on my lap. He freaked when I left in the morning and he celebrated my arrival in the evening. He was the most emotionally needy, dependent creature I’ve ever met. He wouldn’t be ignored. Continue reading “A Dog’s Life”
King of every king
and yet this was Mary’s boy.
blood spilled grace on me
and still Mary’s boy
piercing your heart Mary
to save me
and his kingdom
What a terrible loss
to watch this one you feed, changed, embraced
carried, protected, and nourished
now condemned to bear nails and thones
whips and shame
so that we could all come to the table.
and face the Gethsemane of every broken generation
he cried for his Daddy as the sunset brought shadows
on the edge of town.
You had others
but that night He was your only Boy.
There once was a church on a hill by the bay,
with a wonderful spirit of love, you might say,
till a ragged stranger came inside
and rumors abounded far and wide.
Some thought he came from a shelter or prison,
and feared he might cause the church shame or a schism. Continue reading “The Ragged Stranger”
In the year
In the year
and chaos, Continue reading “He Came to Me”
[blockquote align=”left” variation=”orange”]The fuel of desperation compels us to open up our closets, or treasures, our secret wounds, our addictions because pride is no longer an option for us.[/blockquote]
There once was a church upon a hill
where everything was fine until
the paint inside was getting old
and peeling in some spots, I’m told.
The pastor called a business meeting.
And after the preliminary meeting,
The deacons cried, “Come one! Come all!
What color should we paint each wall?”
They gathered in the sanctuary,
each determined and contrary.
Sister Gail said, “What do you think
about a very chartreuse pink?”
Brother Dave said to the crowd,
“Isn’t that a bit too loud?
I prefer a subtle blue.
It makes the walls look clean and new.”
Six women rebuked, “We wanted gold!”
It seems much warmer. Blue’s too cold!”
The pastor said, “I’m here more than all of you.
I agree with Dave. The walls should be blue.”
From that point on their voices grew stronger.
Each emotional plea became longer and longer.
Then a voice of strong and stern love
silenced the church as it spoke from above.
“You wonder why you can’t hear My call
when your greatest struggle is paint on the wall.
Paint your church the pale color of skin,
for you let no other races come in.
Paint your church a wealthy green,
for you ignore starvation that you’ve seen.
Paint it white and clean as uncalloused feet,
for you refuse to share My joy in the street.
I agree that your walls could be painted in blue,
for your hearts so cold are given to few.
You give many renditions of church as a game,
but you fail to give water in My Holy Name.
You pray using eloquent thees and thous,
and yet you forget about the heres and nows.
You struggle to be an earthly saint,
but My love must not be covered in paint.