Falling Down

When I learned to ride my little motorcycle I was in a class with a bunch of guys… and one lady. I felt a bit intimidated, so I can’t imagine how the young woman felt.

We got up early on a Saturday morning, went to the “riding range” (think parking lot) and all selected a helmet and a bike. The leaders gave us some instruction and we slowly but surely began to ride.

Then it happened. At a moment when everyone was stopped in a line, her hand slipped of the clutch, her bike lurched forward and she hit the guy in front of her.

Because you can sue anyone for anything in this country, the class was stopped, the bikes turned off and forms filled out and signed, right in the middle of the parking lot while God and everyone watched.

She never came back to class.

I hurt for her and what she’s missed out on because she was too embarrassed to return. And I wonder how often I've done the same thing.

Failure is a part of life. Everyone who has ever walked has fallen. Everyone. For some reason, as we age, we quit looking at the accomplishments of the steps we've taken and instead dwell on the pain of the fall.

I get it. Falling hurts. And everyone wants protection from pain. But if we never try again, we end up crawling through life. Never developing. Never maturing. Never growing.

I hope she found the courage to go back to class. I hope she's out there riding right now. And I hope I always have the courage to try new things. To fail. And to try again. 

The World Cup

Every four years I hear the moaning from my fellow ‘Mericans about the World Cup. They don’t understand it. How can a game, that can end in a 0-0 tie, be fun to watch? That’s the excuse they use, but I think there are other reasons they don’t like it. I get it. I used to be that guy.

There are a few reasons why I think it’s so popular. Soccer is cheap. You don’t even really need a ball, just something to kick and some sticks to kick it through. And it can be played pretty much anywhere, the beach, a farm or a city street.

But the real reason people love the World Cup… think Hoosiers.

Where else can a country of 5 million compete with a country of 300 million and still win? Small countries like Costa Rica, Honduras and Ecuador take on behemoths like Brazil, the U.S. and Russia and it’s competitive.

You never know how things are going to turn out. A team can be outplayed for an entire 90 minute game and still win… in the 91^st minute. Is that bizarre? Yes. Is it maddening? YES!

There are more upsets than March Madness. And you don’t get to come back next year. You have to start the qualification process all over again and pray to get back four years from now.

Proof? Spain, the number one team in the world, the winner of the last World Cup and the last two European trophies, the team who beat Tahiti 10-0 last year, is out already. They were crushed by the Netherlands and Chile and have one game remaining, but they are done. Done in by countries a third the size.

If you change the ball and set the scene in Indiana, ‘Mericans would love that story. 

Dad

My dad is a planner. A “number of children + income = standard of living” kind of planner. A “job a + job b = retirement at 55” kind of planner. A “retirement + 2 more years of work = much more cash” kind of planner.

His careful planning fed us, housed us, clothed us, paid for my education and even supports my family today through his giving to ministry. It also allowed him to retire pretty young so he and mom would have time to do the things they wanted together.

Now that all sounds pretty simple and formulaic but the story it doesn't tell is Dad worked in some pretty toxic environments, had mean spirited bosses and coworkers who cheated him out of promotions. He stuck to the plan.

He had kids who made poor decisions, needed help, moved in and out of his house with their families. He stuck to the plan.

Mom got Alzheimer’s and he stuck to the plan. Because he had worked so hard and planned so well he could be with her. For as long as she could, they traveled, saw old friends and explored new places together.

And when she couldn't anymore, he cared for her and continues to.

I have a hard time seeing past this morning’s cup of coffee. It’s part of the reason why I love and respect my dad so much. His long-term approach to life has allowed him to care for and provide well for his family. Even when things didn't go as planned. 

Ray

I love Dr. Pepper. Growing up, I only remember having any kind of Coke (it's all Coke) when we had pizza. Mom wasn't big on sugary things, diet drinks hadn't really surfaced and milk was supposed to be good for me, so no cokes. 

But Grandpa drank Dr. Pepper. 

Ray Elders was a church planter and pastored churches in Alabama, Arkansas, Kentucky, Tennessee and South Carolina. As you might imagine, the pay was never great. I only remember him living in a parsonage or a trailer.

He worked as a carpenter and painter, fixed wrecked cars and trailers, even raised bees for awhile. Anything to bring in a little extra income.

I told him when I was 5 I wanted to be a carpenter and a pastor just like him... "So I don't have to go to college."

It would be so hot in Tennessee the tar would bubble off the asphalt. I'd climb in Grandpa's rebuilt car and we'd fly down the road to visit someone in the hospital or buy pop rivets to fix a trailer. He'd stop for gas and would get a Dr. Pepper. So I would too.

Now I'm in my 40's and know Dr. Pepper has nothing for me but weight gain. But somehow, when I drink it, I feel the warmth of the Tennessee sun. I feel the wind on my face and smell the dust from doing 60 down a dirt road in a car with no AC. 

And I hear his laugh. It's the laugh of a man with his only grandson. It's full of love for the boy and thankfulness to God for the time together. 

So I roll down my window, squint my eyes from the sun, wind and dust and I sip a Dr. Pepper. And I remember. I have been and I am unconditionally loved. And it's well worth the calories. 

Weddings and Wonder

One of the great things about having small children is experiencing the world through their eyes. You get to rediscover the beauty of things that have grown dull with familiarity.

Our wonder is renewed as we watch them experience the first smell of a flower, touch of a puppy, barefoot walk in grass.

Something happens as kids get older. Those discovery moments become less frequent and more obscured by debates over bedtime, homework, chores and curfew. A routine settles in and life returns to ordinary.

All that came rushing back last month, as Marcus graduated from college one week and married the next. The excitement of accomplishment and new adventure was bubbling out of him. It was like his first taste of ice cream.

Events like weddings bring wonder to our doorstep, like the flash of fireworks in the night sky.

But every day wonder surrounds us silently. It's the sunset we never see because we’re working with our head down. The universe is brimming with things to amaze us, but we have to look up.

Most days wonder doesn't show up on our doorstep. We have to leave the house. But it's out there. Maybe in that new flavor of ice cream.  

I Miss My Mom

I miss my mom today. I'm not sure where it came from. It was one of those, blindsided with grief when you least expect it moments.

There's a lot going on. I'm worried about covering bills and our income deficit to the mission. At the same time the excitement of a boy's graduation and fun of his wedding.

I didn't miss her those days. Sure, I was very aware she wasn't there, but I didn't miss her.

But this morning I woke up early and laid in bed wresting with life. Somewhere in the darkness "Honey Off a Thorn" whispered in my mind and I tried to remember what I had written.

I pushed it away, got out of bed and began my day. I tried to catch up on emails, set up appointments and chugged coffee. Then I remembered what had been whispered earlier.

I went back through previous posts, found the link, read to the bottom... and was suddenly undone.

The things I struggle with, the worries of life, the joy of the past few weeks and the lack of Mom's presence tumbled me, like a wave tossing driftwood.

1600 miles away she sits, Alzheimer's keeping her unaware.

I think we're hardwired to share struggle and accomplishment. It's why we complain about work and celebrate birthdays. The big ones are made to be shared with those closest to us.

I think that's why today, I miss my mom.

The DeVries

Marcus married sweet Kelsie last week. She’s a lovely girl who loves Jesus and loves him. The wedding was an awesome celebration.

But, if marriages were arranged in the U.S. they probably wouldn't have gotten together. Our families are too different. They’re Dutch. We’re mutts. She’s never left the country. Marcus has lived on three continents.

She’s from a small town with one red light. Marcus grew up in big cities. Her Dad can do great “man” stuff like back up a trailer, run five miles, has great tools in his garage and can fix stuff. I can walk… to the kitchen… and fix biscuits. 

Still, they welcomed us into their home. It was like some epic biblical wedding feast that lasted for a week. We moved into their home. Marcus moved in. Andrew moved in. Marcus’ friends from high school. Kelsie. Her brother. Her sister. Her friends.

We all showed up to help with a week of wedding prep. Instead it was more like locust taking over their place, loud, eating their food and using their shower. I’m still stunned by their graciousness and generosity.

Her parents, Brian and Diane work as lay ministers and have poured their lives into students for years. They have an obvious love for and walk with God. They have raised four bright, funny and gifted kids of their own.

Parents used to arrange marriages to benefit the family, to raise their status and create more financial stability. This marriage had nothing to do with status or wealth. But in terms of spiritual legacy, Marcus scored big time.