Missing Basketball -- a Shrimp's Perspective

We spent seven years in Ecuador. Most of our prime family raising years were there, with other young families, working in ministry and raising kids together. It’s the type of “life sharing” thing that binds people together. I miss it.

There’s a lot to miss too, the people, the mountains, the jungle, the beaches and the ministry. It was a good time. But what’s funny is, when we moved to Singapore, one of the things I missed the most was basketball.

Three days a week, a group of guys would spend lunch hour playing ball, on a raggedy outdoor parking lot, with a very forgiving rim. Our ages probably spread across 25 years and our skill level was just as divergent.

At 5 feet nothing and no ability to jump, dribble, pass or shoot I had no business being out there, but, they were missionaries so they had to let me play.

When we moved, I mourned the loss. And I wondered, what was so special about guys running around, chasing a ball. Why did I miss it so much?

I think it’s because men need time with other men. So often we suck at picking up the phone and calling another guy to go do something. Basketball was a nonthreatening way to come together, compete, laugh and forget about life for awhile.

I don’t remember any deep conversations that happened on the court, but relationships were built that allowed me to have them off it.

For thousands of years men spent time together, teaching each other how to hunt and fish, telling the stories of their fathers and grandfathers. They taught each other how to survive.

It’s something miss today because we don’t have a context to make those conversations happen naturally. Maybe we should play more basketball. 

My Problems With Church

For years I didn't like church. Yeah, it’s not real cool for a missionary to not like church, but I didn't. There was something about it that didn't feel real to me. So week after week Nancy would make me go.

People sang, a pastor spoke, we sang some more then went home. But that was it. Nothing changed. People didn't seem to change. I certainly wasn't changing. It was routine, mundane, dry.

Returning to the “U.S. church” is hard for a lot of missionaries (though my struggle began long before that). After years of bumping into people living in poverty, a coffee shop in the foyer feels a bit shallow.

With no real relationship with the people inside, it’s pretty easy to look at the nice cars, fancy buildings, stage, band, frappuccinos, lattes and espressos and start to judge. You begin to see people as shallow, self absorbed, uninformed, apathetic and addicted to comfort.

But so am I.

The problem really isn't the church. The problem is me.  My attitudes, my judgmental nature, my sense of self importance and self-centeredness. Me.

If the church is the body of Christ then I need to be in love with it. I need to be active and engaged. I need to plug in and use whatever gift it is God has given me to build it up, make it stronger and grow it.

Is it perfect? No. But I can’t help change it from the outside. And I certainly won’t with some holier than thou, finger pointing tirade from my hypocritical, pharisaical heart. Only by loving people enough to carefully confront can change occur. Not out of condemnation, but from a deep desire to see people draw closer to Christ.

If you've left the church because you're a grouch like me, get over yourself. Come back. Let's get to work.

The church is full of people, so there will always be someone there who you aren't going to like, someone who will bother you and even hurt you. If you have left the church because you've been hurt, I am sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.

Please come back. Let’s try it again. Together. 

Rain

You've probably heard, we've had rain here in Colorado. Clouds came in from the south, pushed up against the mountains and dropped everything they had on the Front Range (eastern slopes of the Rockies).

It’s been pretty devastating for a lot of people with homes destroyed, roads washed out, people stranded and lives lost.

I walked out of my office last Friday and looked into the giant drainage ditch we have behind our building. It hadn't rained in five days and water was still rushing down it. Most of the time, there’s no water in it, or maybe just a trickle, but on Friday it was still rolling through at a pretty good pace.

The impact of the rains in the mountains was still being felt, down on the plains days later.

It hit me that this is true in our lives as well. We seem to think that when we experience stress, anxiety, hardship or even tragedy that we should be able to just move on.

Maybe someone has hurt us and we think that we can just shake it off and keep going with our lives, but the current of that event can stay with us for quite some time. It can impact what we think about people, how much we trust them and our view of the world.

And if we have no real way to process it, if there’s no “ditch” to help with the runoff, we can store up some pretty large reservoirs of pain and anger. Eventually it will begin to spill out, hurting our relationships, impacting our actions and even affecting our health.

The river of suffering is different for everyone and God doesn't want us to navigate it alone. It’s why we have each other. Remember that the next time you’re hurting. Tell someone.

Remember too, we really have no idea the deluge some have experienced in their lives. We run into people all the time with a lot of garbage flowing out of them. Before we judge too quickly, remember a lot of people have spent their lives just trying to keep their head above water.

Take the time to hear their story. Maybe it will be the beginning of a “ditch” that will help release a lake of pain. 

Thankful

I wrote some thank you notes last night. It’s something I don’t do nearly enough. Month after month, people choose to live with less so we can work in ministry.

And all they get out of it the deal is a very rare card with some muddled words of thanks scribbled inside. With my penmanship and spelling capability they probably look like they came from a third grader. 

It’s a humbling thing to write thank you notes because it forces me to look at the hundreds and thousands of dollars people have sacrificed for us.

How do you thank someone for that? The food on my table, mortgage payments, some tuition for Marcus, insurance, Christmas presents, social security, retirement savings and a job I absolutely love, all come from donors.   

For 15 years there hasn't been an aspect of my life covered by “earned” income.

Everything we have has been paid for by someone’s sacrifice.

I've written recently about our funding being low. And I’m sorry if I've come across as ungrateful, panicky or angry. Sometimes those are very easy places to go.  

Peter had no trouble walking on the water until he started looking at the waves. I have the same issue sometimes.

I get caught looking at the problem and the impossibility of the task instead of listening to the one who called me out of the boat.

Writing thank you notes forced me instead see the hand of Christ and the generosity of his people.

Our situation hasn't changed. But we have been so encouraged over the past few months by people who continue to support us, some who have given extra and others who have decide to begin to partner with us.

And I’m thankful that God reminded me of the importance of gratitude and the ability it has to change my thinking.

Today I’m thankful for so many people who have selflessly invested their money, time and lives in me.

What are you thankful for?

Just Keep Going

Nancy and I recently headed west, across the Colorado Rockies and into Utah. We've never lived on this side of the country and we were anxious to see some of the sights The West held.

We haven’t been disappointed. There are mesmerizing views. Places you want to sit and stare at all day, awe inspiring places that fill you with wonder.

But even in its beauty the landscape is foreboding. So much about it is harsh, barren and unforgiving. And it makes me wonder, who the heck were the people who settled this country?

There were men and women who traveled across this place looking for wealth, a new home, religious freedom or for a hundred other reasons.

I’m convinced the front range of the Rockies was settled by people like me. Places like Denver, Colorado Springs and Pueblo were built by people with enough sense of adventure to cross the Great Plains, but then saw the Rockies and said, “Oh, heck no.”

They were smart too, because once you get across the mountains into Utah, there’s nothing, followed by a whole bunch more of nothing. Who were these people? What did they eat? How did they find water? What the heck were they thinking?

More importantly, what were they made of?

When I think about my ease of life, level of comfort and the fact that I scream like a little girl when I see a spider, I’m astounded by the people who built this nation. Men and women who, when it was hard, just kept going.

It’s a huge encouragement and motivator to me. When I think life is difficult, overwhelming and painful I hope will remember these people, take a look at the landscape… and just keep going.