Men Are Stupid

I like to read. You learn stuff when you read. It’s good. But I rarely do. It seems like it’s easier to turn my brain off and watch Big Bang, instead of reading in the evenings. So, I don’t read as much as I should.

I usually end up reading when I travel. With no TV for distraction on long trips I can read a whole chapter. It’s awesome!

I've read two different books recently that had the same message: Men are stupid.

I don’t think either author wanted to send that message. I might not have even caught it if I hadn't read one after the other. It was subliminal, buried early in the lines of the authors' stories.

Each author shared a part of his personal journey. Both, good Christian men, had their wives walk out on them after years of marriage. Both admitted, while they weren't unfaithful, they had not been the husbands they should have been to their spouse.

The event left them broken and repentant, but it was too late to save their marriages. Both are now happily remarried; their new wives reaping the benefit of their grand awakening.

It’s tragic.

Why is it that these men, and others I know personally, have to have their wives leave them before they wake up and change? Why are we complacent in our relationships? Why are we so stupid?

Love your wife! Chase after her. Court her. Talk to her. Stop reading this stupid blog and call her. Ask if she is happy. Ask if she feels fulfilled. Ask how you can love her better. Ask what her needs are. Then repent if you have been failing her. 

Don’t be stupid.

We’re all broken, I understand that. It's only by God's grace, and Nancy's, she hasn't left me. She's had reason to. And I’m happy these two guys are now in healthy relationships. I’m happy their relationships with Christ are deeper and more meaningful. I’m glad they woke up; some men never do.

And it breaks my heart they weren't paying attention. It's sad they were too wrapped up in life, or work or church or whatever to see the wounded wife they had sworn to love. We need to pay attention. I need to call Nancy. 

Static

I live in Colorado. Driving through the mountains and listening to the radio can be frustrating. For some reason, I always get the same two stations; Classical and Tejano. When I finally find a station I like, it takes about two minutes before static starts creeping in.

I'll hang on and listen to that station as long as I can, as the static gets louder. When I finally can't take it anymore and turn the station, I realize my back is tight, my ears are ringing, I’m edgy and ready to snap at anyone driving near me. Because it had grown gradually, I hadn't noticed what it was doing to me.

The thing about life is we are always living with static. There is always something, some kind of stress, running in the background of our minds.

We’ll have a conversation with a person at work, but the fight we had with our spouse in the morning is causing static. That might not be enough to impact the conversation, but if you add, a 15 year old son you caught drinking the night before, financial trouble and a parent who is dying, it's almost impossible to hear the conversation.

We need to realize that everyone we bump into has various levels of static. All we can see are their actions but in the background there is static. If someone seems to be overreacting, there's probably a reason. Maybe you should ask. 

We need to be aware of the static in our own lives as well. It's cumulative, can build up slowly and we might not notice the effect it's having on us. I realize there are things that impact us that we can't change, stresses that are unavoidable. 

But if we are over our heads, we need to take some time to evaluate what we can control and make some changes. Sometimes we need to change the channel. Sometimes we need to stop the car and go for a hike. We never think we have the time, but in the long run, disengaging is a whole lot better than running someone off the road. 

Estate Sale Motivation

When we moved back to the U.S. from Singapore, everything we owned fit into the back of a van… then we bought a house. Nancy loves yard sales so much I wrote a song about it, so it was a wonderful time for her.

She spent hours on Craigslist, at yard sales and estate sales to find beds, couches and tables. And I’m grateful; we’d still be paying it off if we bought everything new.

On one particular “Stop the car!” moment Nancy saw an estate sale. If you’re feeling overly chipper, go to an estate sale. They are usually homes of older people who either died or are “transitioning.”

You wander through someone’s house, picking over all their things, like vultures, haggling over their prized possessions.

In this particular house, there was an award on the wall from the Pentagon, honoring a man’s years of service. I could have owned it for $2. No one wanted it; no one cared.

Estate sales make you consider your own mortality and what you value. You can’t help but think, “Someday, it will be my house someone is picking through.” 

When my grandfather died, he was buried the same day as Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Their services couldn't have been more different; hers attended by thousands, his by just a handful. As I looked around the room I wondered who would remember him after I, and his four other grandchildren, die. In just two generations he could be forgotten forever.

But as I started to descend into depression something occurred to me. Ray Elders lived a life of significance, planting and pastoring churches; churches where the Gospel is still proclaimed. He will not be remembered, but his impact will last generations.

The hard reality is, life is short and the world moves on quickly after we’re gone. But that reality shouldn't depress us, it should motivate us. If we choose to engage in work with eternal significance, our impact will last for lifetimes. 

Windows

A while back, Nancy asked me to wash the windows. When I asked why, she said, “Because they’re filthy!” I hadn't noticed. I thought it was darker in the room because she had installed some tenting or something.

Once I started cleaning them, I was shocked to find out that they were pretty dirty. The dirt had accumulated so slowly, I hadn't noticed. And because I looked through them, and not at them, I never saw it.

I think the same is true of us as well. We walk through life with all kinds of things coming at us. Images, the news, programs on TV, work, stress, and conflict all come and bump up against our filters. Some of it sticks.

And because we never really look at our filters we don’t see how dirty they are. We don’t take the time to sit down and inspect the lens we look through. As a result it gets clogged up and dirty. Then our perspective begins to get skewed.

From time to time, we need to check our filters. We need to ask ourselves, how am I looking at this person? Am I seeing him or her through jaded, sarcastic, apathetic eyes? Or am I seeing a person through the eyes of Christ; a person who needs to be loved, shown grace and helped?  

Life can heap a bunch of slop onto our filters. Sometimes we need someone to point it out when they’re dirty. But if we allow him, Christ is happy to help us wash them clean. 

Where is God in Deployment?

Our oldest son, Andrew, recently deployed overseas. He’s not in a scary place so I’m not worried about him. Well… not much more than the general anxiety a dad always feels for his son.

It’s an interesting experience to go to a farewell for soldiers. First, they leave their families to check in. Then, hours later as a group, they are reunited with their families for one last a kiss and cry, a final half hour to say goodbye.

Nancy and I sat in a gym waiting for Andrew, surrounded by friends and family of soldiers. They were mostly young moms with small children; one baby so small Nancy was convinced it was born the day before.

As soldiers began to file into the gym and sit on bleachers across from us, everyone began to look for “their” soldier. In a gym full of soldiers, camouflage clothing works really well!

A little boy was sitting next to Nancy on his mom’s lap. Mom said, “There’s Daddy. Can you see him?” Maybe 3, the boy began waiving frantically  “Hi Daddy! Hi Daddy! I love you Daddy… I can’t see him.”

Mom would point again and the process would repeat itself. He was so excited to wave and shout, “I love you Daddy.” But he would always turn back and say, “I can’t see him.”

It struck me that this is the way our walk with God is sometimes. There are times in our lives when we just can’t see our father. Maybe it’s our hectic pace, a painful experience or we just feel distant.

In those times it is so good to have someone who can say, “There he is.” Not people who condemn us for being spiritually blind or broken, or who offer trite answers like, "Pray and read the Bible more." But people who lovingly point us to the truth.

What I appreciated too was the exuberant faith of the little boy, who trusted completely his father was there. He couldn't see his Dad, but trusted that his Dad could see him. He trusted his dad was watching. I hope in times of darkness or confusion can do the same.

Finally, his Dad came near and they were both full of joy. I pray that we can all experience those times of nearness, even as we long for the day we will finally be reunited with him, forever. 

A Beer With Jesus

My summer job in high school was working as a plumber’s helper, installing pipes in new homes. The pay was good, but I wasn't.  I can’t imagine why they let me come back every summer. Maybe because we went to church with some guys who worked there. Nothing like a little guilt to keep you employed!!

It was during those summers I developed my loathing for country music. One of the guys I worked with LOVED country music. His radio never switched off, day after day.

It was at a time when there wasn't much turnover, so I got to listen to about five songs over and over. I have a great amount of respect for Dolly Parton, but a person can only take so much 9 to 5. .

After a 25 year break I’m able to listen again.  I like stories, and country music seems to tell them better than other genres. Tender, tough or funny, you can always count on a good story. Even the song I wrote for Nancy is country (at least in my head).

Recently I heard Thomas Rhett’s “A Beer With Jesus.” Let’s not argue about if Jesus would have a beer. We know he drank wine, but “A Wine With Jesus” wouldn't make a very good country song at all. It’s a good song, talking about the questions he would ask, if they could have a drink together.

It’s not the point of the song, but it’s implied that he would give Jesus some special treatment. While I’m sure that most everyone would treat Jesus with special respect, something about it bothers me.

You see, the point of Christ’s message was that we would treat everyone with respect, especially those who may not normally be likely to receive it. Those we might normally ignore or overlook or even our enemies should be elevated.

Every day we have a chance to have a beer with Jesus (or sweet tea if you’d rather). The question is, are we taking advantage of the opportunities? 

Baking Bread

Once upon a time there was a young couple who was very much in love. They loved spending time together and didn't really care what they did, just as long as they were together.

One day, the young bride baked some bread. Her husband really enjoyed it, and she loved that he did. They laughed and enjoyed the bread together.

She was so excited by how much he liked it, that she baked it again the next night. And the next. It was a wonderful time. They would research new recipes together and shop for new ingredients together. She so loved that he loved what she was making for him.

She decided, she loved him so much she would make sure he never had to go a meal without some kind of, bread, muffin or sweet roll. 

She started baking like crazy. She realized at one point that she had run out of flour, so she ran to the store to get some. She realized that she had made all the kinds she knew how to make, so she went on-line to find more recipes.

Pretty soon, bread was piling up everywhere. Every now and then, she’d take a step back, look at all the bread, smile and think about how happy it would all make him.There were all kinds of breads, on the counter tops on the table, in the cupboards and on the refrigerator. 

At one point, as she was admiring all of the goodies, she noticed a little note that said, “I miss you.” She sat it down, thought, “ Isn't that sweet... I need to make him some more bread! What happens if I die, who will make him bread!” and she worked even harder than before.

After some time, she started to get tired of baking bread. All day, baking bread, bread all over the house. She realized she was sick of it. Sick of the flour, the yeast and even the smell. The smell she used to love now sickened her.

Why did he have to like bread? Why does he want all of it? Why do I have to work myself to death making it for him? She resented his love of bread. She resented him.

Sadly, this little story is really a story about a life in ministry. It has been my story, at times.

Something happens. Somehow, we turn a life giving relationship with Christ into a job. And we end up, burned out, disillusioned and sometimes even resenting the one we’re trying to serve.

What the young woman failed to realize is that her husband didn't really love the bread. He loved her. She was doing something he never asked for, trying to make him happy, when what really made him happy was sharing life with her.

I pray we never trade our relationship for responsibility. That our hearts will always be sensitive enough to hear him when he says, “I miss you.” And that we’ll have the courage to quit making bread just to be with him.

Blastoff!

A few weeks ago I wrote about Andrew’s comments during “Blastoff,” his school’s version of 8^th grade graduation. In it, parents share with their children how awesome their kids are, in front of the rest of the class.

Four years later, it was time to survive it again; this time with Marcus. There was even a family of introverts who called out the event coordinators saying, “Here we are, three introverts, asked to share our intimate thoughts and feelings in front of a large group… thank you.”

When our turn came, I shared with Marcus the various qualities that made me proud of him. He was such a good kid I didn't even have to make anything up!

I vividly remember the next morning, as we stood in the middle of Avenida Americas waiting in the median for the light to change, Marcus looked at me and asked, “Dad, did you mean everything you said last night?” When I replied, “Of course, I did,” he launched himself into me, hugging me tightly, then bounced the rest of the way to school.

For a moment, I was overjoyed that what I shared had been such an encouragement. But then the impact of his question hit me. “Did you mean everything you said?”

It’s a tragic question. How can he not know how I feel about him? He doesn't know I’m proud of him, doesn't know what a great kid I think he is? He doesn't know.

As I write this, I still feel a bit sick. It seems that the people I love the most, I affirm the least. I am incredibly proud of my boys. I crave their friendships, value their and insight and enjoy their wit.  

But I seem to spend more of my time instructing, correcting and even coursing them, than listening, praising and encouraging. Why? If they don’t know anything else is true, they should know how deeply I love them.

The world is full of voices trying to define who you are. They label you, condemn you and say you aren't good enough. Sometimes we even do it to ourselves. But in his divine, "Blastoff" God said, once and for all, who you are.

You are the ones he loves. He did it, so you never have to ask, "Did you mean what you said?"