Team Dynamics

I've been spending some time with our team in the Asia Pacific region lately. One of our families has four boys, five and under. No twins. Yep.

They've just completed their first term and it hasn't all been a cakewalk: illness, childbirth, travel, childbirth, visa issues, hospitalizations. And they seem to have weathered it pretty well.

Walking down the road with Becky and her four boys the other day I was wondering, “how have they done so well, when their time hasn't been ideal?” Then I looked over and saw Lisa (one of our teammates) carrying 80 pounds of children’s gear while Lisa’s daughter, Thisbe, carried one of the little guys, with another one in tow.

It was at this point I realized I should probably be helping.

What I also realized is this family joined a healthy team. There were people on the ground who welcomed them, loved them and loved their boys. They plugged into a church which has also cared for them when life has been a struggle.

There are a lot of factors in missionary longevity. Pre-field preparation is import. Support from your home country is crucial. And there is no substitute for a team of people, who are as committed to you as they are to the work.

I love this couple and their four precocious little guys and can’t wait to see how God leads them. I’m thankful they've been able to benefit from working in a healthy team. I pray that’s always the case for them. In fact, that’s a good prayer for all of us. 

Clash of Clans

My boss Pete is trying to get me to play Clash of Clans. It’s a fun game for your phone, where you build your little town and other players come and steal all your stuff. You spend your time upgrading your weapons, your village and raiding other players.

It sounds like lots of fun, but I refuse to download it. I get addicted to games like that. The world could blow up and I wouldn't notice for three days.

For me, one of the saddest sights is when we turn the church into a bad game of Clash of Clans. We get hurt. Then we wall ourselves off and begin recruiting our clan. We fire cutting remarks like arrows, hidden in dark comedic wit and lob gossip like a boulder filled trebuchet.

Never do we consider the person, their pain or the damage we're causing. Rarely do we take the time to fully understand their story. We just know we've been hurt and that's enough to begin the war.

It's natural to lash out at folks who have hurt us and to rally people who will affirm we've been wronged. It's just not Christlike.

Christ had the ability to see through the action and into the heart of the offender. He could identify the brokenness, twisted motivations and fear. It's the only way he could have said, "Forgive them, Dad. They don't know what they're doing."

It's nice to have a clan, people who love and support you and want to protect you. But we need to remember, they aren't weapons to be used. It may make us feel better, but it's addictive and destroys the hearts of others, the body of Christ and ourselves.

Stopover Relationships

I landed in Tokyo the other day. I've been there a LOT. Enough to draw some conclusions about their highways, their farms and the general infrastructure of their communities. I could tell you about their customs, their customer service and the efficiency of their society.

There’s only one problem, I've never left the airport.

As I've flown in and out of Asia over the past eight years, Tokyo’s Narita Airport has been a stopover for me. It’s always been on the way to somewhere, but has never been my final destination. I've looked down on their farms and power lines, interacted with the ticket agents and food service providers and looked at the setting of a cloud-defused sun over and over. But I've never stayed.

I wonder how many relationships in our lives are “stopovers." A friend we don’t really invest in, we’re just there to have lunch, spill our guts and bail. Coworkers at a job where we just mark time, never fully engaging because we’re looking for the next thing to come along. Neighbors who we wave at while we work in the yard but have no real connection to. We think we know them, but we never really do.

Church was like that for me. I could tell you the order of service, when we’d have communion, teaching style of the pastor, what time things started. I had a bunch of the facts, but I had never really “stayed” there.

Church was just a place I stopped over each Sunday then got on with my week.

I get it, there are too many countries in the world to truly know them all. There are too many people to have true relationship with. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't have any. Countries should be explored and people should be known. You can't truly learn anything on a stopover.

Loved Anyway

I had no idea what I was doing. I was 18. My girlfriend was pregnant. And we were getting married. Of course we were, I was a good Christian boy who had done the wrong thing and I was going to make it right.

And we loved each other. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turns out, lots. But lots went right as well.

My family loved me anyway. I’m sure my parents, were hurt, embarrassed and heartbroken by my decisions. But I never heard, “What were you thinking?” How could you do something so stupid? Do you know what people are going to say?”

In their disappointment, they chose grace. They chose to invest, to mentor… to babysit. At a time when they could have said, “You made your bed…” instead they pushed through the pain and loved.

My church loved me anyway. Much like my parents I know there was heartbreak. People had poured their lives into me. Throughout my childhood they loved, taught, encouraged, corrected, challenged and supported me. I’m sure their sense of “failure” was second only to Mom and Dad’s.

Still, we were never shunned, shamed, made to feel dirty, outcast or lesser. They loved my boy. They loved us. And they were committed to restoration, not condemnation.

Nancy loves me anyway. She learned pretty quickly, I can be selfish, inconsiderate, needy, demanding, self absorbed, manipulative, arrogant, condescending, intolerant, jealous, impatient, impulsive and whiney. Still she loves me.

She sees me, knows me and chooses me still. For some reason, each morning, she wakes up and says, “I’m going to love him today.”

Today marks 27 years since that 18 year old boy stood mesmerized by the beauty walking down the aisle toward him. I’m mesmerized still, by the grace of God and the kindness of his people, throughout my story. And that this beauty would still choose to walk toward me, is a daily source of wide-eyed wonder.

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.