Memorial Day to Remember

Churches have a lot of worship gatherings in the course of a year. The church I serve is a new church. (Check my link for information on us.) In a typical 52 week span we will have 58 gatherings. If you take into consideration that we have two each weekend that number balloons to 110 meetings a year. For anyone who attends churches, we know that the vast majority of these gatherings are . . . shall we say “forgettable.” (That is the subject for another blog! And, remember that statement is coming from someone who spends his life planning these weekly times of corporate worship.)

Yesterday was one of the worship gatherings that will definitely not be forgotten by the folks who were in attendance at Fountain Park Church for some time. We had probably our largest attendance apart from Easter this year. How many churches in Pittsburgh had to put out additional chairs on Memorial Day weekend? Not many would be my guess.

As a matter of fact, just this morning I received an email stating, “Thank you again for the opportunity to house Moses, Issa and Uncle Frederick. I really enjoyed the weekend, concert and service. It was something I will not forget.”

What was so unforgettable about this weekend? Vision. This weekend our folks got a vision of something much larger than themselves. This weekend they saw in clear terms how the “stuff” we spend our lives collecting does not bring happiness. We saw children who spend less in a lifetime than most of us do in a year smile like few of us were smiling.

We were privileged to hear the Watoto African Children’s Choir from Uganda, East Africa. These boys and girls and their chaperons ministered to us like we have seldom had happen. You see, each of the boys and girls are orphans. They have had the horrible experience of having both of their parents die. In almost every case it was from HIV/AIDS. For my church this was powerful, because this was the fourth event that has come across our path to show us the horror of the disease in the past six months. My trip to Africa this fall has taken on larger than life proportions for me now.

This weekend HIV/AIDS was not an article on the evening news or MSN.com. It was living breathing boys and girls with a smile on their face and a joy in their heart that does not come from material gain. It was an opportunity to see the future leaders of a country that is seeing the present adult population die in alarming numbers. It was a chance to hear how we could actually do something besides click our tongues and say “Someone should do something.”

Yeah, someone should. And the church of Jesus Christ (you and me) is that someone.

Memory

Our memory is a fascinating thing. It allows us to travel into the past and experience things again. Granted, that is not always good. I have a friend in Tennessee who can remember specific items from as far back as six months of age. The only way I even know I was six months of age is that I am alive now!

There are some experiences in my past that bring me wonderful joy when I recall them. There are others that cause me great pain. Still others are just events in my past. I am sure you are not that much different. Did you ever stop to think about God having a memory problem? Now before you go and report me to the Theology police, hear me out.

A church I served twenty years ago, loved to hear their choir. This choir had a song they loved to sing – a little too much as I recall. I do not recall the title, but the lyrics contained the phrase, “What sins are you talking about?” The gist was concerning someone confessing the same sin repeatedly to God only to hear Him reply, “What sin are you talking about? I don’t remember them any more. They were forgiven by the death of Christ and placed as far as the east is from the west and in the depths of the sea.”

The principle for the song comes from Jeremiah 31:34 where it says God “will remember their sins no more.” Now we all know that God does not have memory fade when he says that. It cannot mean He forgets. It does not mean God remembers to forget. Those explanations all try to understand God in human terms. So what does it mean? The most obvious meaning is that the accountability for those sins will no longer be held to the account of the offenders. Why? The context of the verse is the New Covenant and God’s dealing with His people. The principle is that Christ has paid in full for our sin and the penalty is no longer valid for those covered by grace and faith.

This is Memorial Day weekend in the United States. It is a time when we choose to remember. We choose to recall selfless acts of heroism by the men and women who served in our military. I am not discussing anything relating to what our God of peace felt in those situations, that is not the point in any stretch of discussion here. The point I AM making is that this is a weekend we choose to remember the past and acts contained therein.

Here is a comforting word this Memorial Day weekend. No matter what your sin or actions, past or present – It is not held to your account. Jesus Christ paid it in full. While on the cross when Jesus said, “It is finished,” He was indeed stating that among other things the penalty for our sins is completely paid for!!” What a joyous thought for those who place faith in Christ. God will not require any payment for sin.

As the old hymn says “Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.”

Please Don’t Send Me to Africa

Okay, sometimes – no matter what we do or say, God is telling us something completely different.

I am not a big fan of Henry Blackabee. Many are. I just am not one of them. His work will far outlive mine and his knowledge is likewise above mine, it just does not resonate with me personally. He did have one statement regarding ministry and life in Experiencing God that I really liked. To paraphrase it, it was “Find which way God is going and go that way!”

God is going somewhere with my church and the HIV/AIDS in Africa thing. I do not have a clue what it is yet, but it is something. Here is the history and the present. I now need the leaders at my church to gather with me to talk and pray . . . hard!!

Last fall, I was giving a series of messages from The Beatitudes. It was the first time in my ministry I had preached from those pregnant phrases. And to be honest, I was a little less than excited about doing so. But, while working on “Blessed are those who mourn,” God broke my heart. I mean He gripped it like it has been seldom gripped. I knew going into that series that particular message would be about grief. I sort of guessed it would include mourning for human sin. But for some reason unbeknownst to me, I had no idea God would reveal from that passage the vast amount of stuff taking place in regard to God mourning over human suffering. Even less did I expect to come across the HIV/AIDS suffering in Africa and have it grip me so. But it did. Like you, I had heard them before. The statistics are mind numbing.

· 26.6 million are infected with the virus – that is more than the population of every state in the union with the exception of California
· 4 African countries have greater than a 30% adult infection rate
· 2.3 million died in 2003
· 3 million children under 3 are infected
· 11 million children have been orphaned

It is startling to even read it.

A few short weeks after that message, the opportunity from World Vision to build houses and provide food for HIV/AIDS orphans and widows came before me, and I am really not sure how that happened either. I think I was just perusing the World Vision catalog. It really does not matter how. What matters is “what.” Those comments and opportunities were flashing like red lights to me! God made it very clear to me in everything but an audible voice that Fountain Park Church was to build a home and provide food.

I challenged my congregation and they responded more than two times over. Rather than building one home and providing 14 tons of food (after government matching food funds); we built two homes and provided 28 tons of food, plus some additional funding for the HIV/AIDS project in general. We raised almost $11,000 for this from a congregation of only 200 – in addition to being in the black in the budget!!

This entire HIV/AIDS issue has been in discussions since then with Fountain Park missions, but it has been on the back burner for the most part. We talked about if, how or when we should be involved in this epidemic of human suffering. No answers came. None have come yet. But the light is getting brighter and hotter.

Last month, I received the dutiful thank you letter from World Vision for a contribution. It was a form letter which on one hand bugged me but on the other did not bother me at all, because recognition is not why anyone gave at Fountain Park. And is not why I followed God’s directive to lead my congregation in this endeavor.

Three Tuesdays ago everything changed. I am still processing what transpired.

I received a call from the World Vision Church Relations Representative. On behalf of World Vision she was doing what she does, thanking us for our gifts to Tsunami relief through World Vision. This gift was only $160 or so. She mentioned that since she is the church relations person, she was personally contacting churches to thank them. While I had her on the phone I mentioned in passing the previous and larger directed gifts and how Fountain Park had responded to this challenge. She had no clue what I was talking about. But as she listened to the story, she said, “Terry, I am getting chills just listening. I should have known about this from someone.”

She then went on to tell me about a trip to Africa this fall for Pastors only in a fact finding/informational manner to see what the conditions are, how devastating the epidemic is and to talk about what could be done. I told her that two years ago I was attempting to go on a similar trip but the idea was released in my mind and I changed churches so nothing came of it. She gave me the dates and told me the basic costs would be about $2,000 or so for the ten day trip plus the cost of air fare which is in the $700 or so range plus incidental expenses.

I knew it would not work out, but asked to see the information just the same. She was mailing the information to me. I honestly thought it would end there. I am in a New Church Development and my study allowance is lower than my previous location. I personally did not have the funding, so it seemed like a good idea . . . but . . .

Now, here is where the story turns . . .

That same Tuesday night, less than three hours after that phone conversation, I was at the governing body of elders of Memorial Park our mother church giving an update on our ministry. I told about our Missions endeavors in Brazil, about our partnering with the Lighthouse (a local community service ministry) and about the HIV/AIDS project in December. For some reason, known only to God, literally in passing I threw out the potential Africa trip. I said, “I am not sure what God wants. I cannot afford to go. Fountain Park cannot afford to send me. And my study allowance is smaller than when I was at Memorial Park so I am just praying what to do. I am fine to go. I am fine not to go. I just want to know what God wants me to do.” I asked them to pray with me about God’s direction honestly having no agenda whatsoever. I then went on to other aspects in my update.

After my presentation, I got up to leave. One of their elders followed me out. She had been very involved in the entire meeting asking good questions, caring, taking ownership, etc. I have known this particular elder for a decade. She is a single adult who loves Jesus and serves Him faithfully without seeking praise. To be quite frank, during the meeting I thought to myself, “She is really thinking and behaving as an elder should think and behave.”

As we stood in the hallway, she asked about the address for my blog, so she could read it and pray for me, for our church, etc. I was thrilled to give it to her and prepared to walk away. She then said, “You need $3,000 to do this Africa trip?” I said, “Yeah, that is about the total cost. I just heard about this today and am praying as to what God would have me do.” She looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’ve got it. I will write out a check. Where do I send it?”

She must have seen the shocked look on my face because she said, “As you were telling that story, God told me to give you the money for the trip.”

That check arrived in the mail today. I am writing this faithful servant one of the most heartfelt and sincere notes I have ever written to anyone in gratitude.

This event came on the heels of a miserable couple of weeks. In fact the preceding weeks had probably been the most difficult in all my years of ministry. For the first time in my ministry I had wondered if it was worth it. This was a light from heaven for me.

I do not have any idea what this means for Fountain Park. I know it means something. I need to work with men and women at my church and see where God is going in relation to our church and Africa . . . and go that way!!

Pray for me and with me.

In my years I have always enjoyed the Scott Wesley Brown song, “Please, Don’t Send me to Africa,” for its indictment of American Christianity and its often self-centeredness. But I had not applied it to myself . . . until now. God is indeed going to send me to Africa.

Here is the final piece of this story. That trip is scheduled for October 18-28, the exact time when the U2 concert is in Pittsburgh – Saturday, October 22. I was to go with the guy who is probably my closest ministry friend. If you know anything about Bono, it is that his heart is for Africa and AIDS. I think he would be heart broken to hear I stayed here for a concert rather than going to Africa to see how I might be involved in helping a cause dear to his heart, and becoming dear to my own. I am a bit bummed about missing the concert, but you know, somehow, some way it will be okay.

Oh yeah, if any of you have an in road with Bono, could you ask him to give me a "shout out" on October 22 while I miss the concert but seek out knowledge and involvement in an issue that is dear to his heart, and to the heart of God.

Thinking About Mother’s Day – Part 2

I had four brothers when I was young. That would put my Mom as the only woman in a house of seven. I have often jokingly said it is no wonder that she died so young. My Mom died at the age of 41. I recall the day I realized I had lived longer than she did. It was that day when exactly how young she had died hit me full force. Now as I approach my 51st birthday next month, I am more aware than ever.

My mom was the older of two children. Her name was/is Martha Jeanette Hodges Mann. She was not a person who enjoyed being in front of a crowd. In truth, she ran from it. The limelight was her most feared place. She was a servant with a servant’s heart. She was always willing to do whatever she could behind the scenes to make things run smoothly. She truly had the spiritual gift of helping. After her death, the pastor of our church said, he did not know how he was going to keep running the church without her. She had made herself so invaluable to that church and ministry.

My mom was raised in a Christian home – sort of. As best I can remember from talking to her she was raised in a faith tradition where she was taught that as long as she was baptized, she was okay. That brought its own set of problems. Coupled with my father's alcoholism she and my father did not take the family to church and did few things that would make us a Christian home. She came to faith in Christ in her early 30s, within weeks of me coming to the same place while I was eleven. Since that occurred in another tradition, she was baptized (immersed) for her faith a week before I was in the same church and by the same pastor.

My mother knew I was going into ministry before anyone else did. She told me as much. When I asked her how she knew, she simply said, “I just knew.” Compare that to my Dad’s reaction in which he went to his grave amazed that God would call one of his sons into ministry. Moms just know some things that Dads do not get.

My mother always wanted a daughter. She never had one. I recall a few months after the birth of my oldest daughter traveling to my Mom’s grave. I went to the car seat; got my daughter out of the car; told my wife I would be back and walked over to my mother’s grave holding my daughter. I knelt down and said, “Lord would you have my Mom look down here?” I then said, “Mom. Here is the daughter you always wanted.” Even my wife to this day has not fully understood that gesture, but there was something very healing in it for me. I knew it was just her body not her that was in that grave. I know that heaven is in the spiritual dimension and not necessarily “up.” But I felt closer to her at that time.

Some days I will still really miss my Mom. There is something a son feels toward his Mom that he never feels toward his father. I have allowed the Lord to heal those hurts and make me a better, more sensitive person because of it. I have many times reminded myself through the years to count each day as precious with those I love. I am not promised they will continue. I do not always live up to that, but when I remember it as I should, memories of my Mother come across my mind.

Do you count each day as a precious gift from God? Life is a precious gift. Count it as a blessing from God. Encourage others to live it to the full!! And you yourself do the same. Live life to the full. I want the quote below from George Bernard Shaw to be true of my life.

"I want to be thoroughly used up when I die. Life is not a brief candle to me. It’s a sort of splendid torch, which I get a hold of for the moment. And I want it to burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations. "

Mother’s Day is one of those times when I evaluate and remind myself to live life to its fullest. I already have lived 20% longer than my Mother. I do not want to take a single day for granted. Her death often reminds me of that.

Thinking About Mother’s Day – Part 1

May 13 is a day that sticks in my mind more clearly than most. That is the day in 1976 when my mother died. I was 21 years old. Although that was 29 years ago it is very clear in my mind. The events that took place over the next 48 hours are so clear in my mind that I will forever remember them.

It dawned on me a couple of days ago that although I have spoken about, written here and other places about my Dad, I have not written much about my mother. That is somewhat natural, because I had her with me for only 40% of my life to this point. My Dad was alive for 45 years of my life. The next two days, I intend to write a bit about my mother. Today, I will share about my final hours with her. Tomorrow I will talk about her as a person.

My Mom died four days after Mother’s Day in 1976. A lot was taking place in my life at that time that causes me to stop and think whenever I begin to realize it. During those final weeks of my Mom’s life I was resigning from a position at the Federal Reserve Bank in Charlotte, planning a move out of state to begin preparation for ministry, and undergoing the first surgery of my life. Dealing with the death of my mother was definitely not on my list.

A few weeks earlier a physical issue had been discovered in my body that required surgical repair. On Mother’s Day I entered the hospital to prepare for surgery the next morning. That morning at church, the pastor had asked anyone who had their mother present to go to them and tell them you loved them . . . or something to that effect. In any event, I walked to my Mom to hug her and tell her that I did indeed love her. I am 6’1” and my Mom was 5’2”. It probably looked funny.

After my surgery on Monday morning, I was visited each day by my Mom and Dad as well as many family members and friends. Thursday was the first day where they had not come by. I was not troubled because they did have lives to lead and I had nothing life threatening.

Late Thursday evening my Mom came by to visit along with her best friend Gail. My room was very crowded, for a group of friends had sneaked in past the nurse’s station. We were laughing and having a lot of fun. I recall looking at my Mom and thinking she looked as if she was a bit heavier than normal. I later learned she had begun retaining fluid.

Mom had dealt with a heart murmur, knowingly for more than a decade, possibly her entire life. She also was in need of some other heart surgery, by-pass if I recall, but was terrified of being put to sleep during surgery because her sister-in-law had died during surgery a decade previous. We now all realize that if Mom had gone through the surgery she would probably still be alive.

Mom left at about 8:15 p.m. I told her I loved her as she walked out the door. After leaving, Mom drove her friend Gail home. It was the last act she would ever perform. Within minutes, my Dad got a frantic call on the CB radio in the home (they were very popular at that time) calling for help. She pulled the car into our driveway, stumbled into the house and died on the sofa of a massive heart attack. She was not officially pronounced dead for some time, but my Dad says she died before they ever left the house.

By the time she arrived at home, my Dad had already called an ambulance. It arrived within minutes to transport her to the hospital.

At 9:15 p.m. my Dad walked into my room, which seemed very strange to me at that hour, and crossed over to my bed. “Terry, we have just brought your Mom to the emergency room. It does not look good. I came up to tell you so you could pray.” He then walked out and back to the emergency room.

Pray I did. I got out of bed, limped over to a chair by the window and sat to pray. I prayed for my Mom. I prayed hard for her. But I never once asked God to let her live. I simply prayed for what He knew was ultimately best. Why, I do not know. But that is what I did.

About 15 minutes later, my Dad walked into my room, crossed over to me and had a chair in the seat across from me. Entering the room behind him was his best friend, Steve (Gail’s husband) and our Pastor. He looked at me and said, “Terry, we did all we could.” I buried my hand in my face and wept harder than I had ever wept before.

At the age of 21, I was about to leave everyone I knew and cared for to prepare for ministry, my Mom was dead.

Mother’s Day was a little over a week ago. Let me ask you, “Is your Mother still alive?” Does she know that you love her? Even on these non-holidays? If you are blessed to still have a mother alive, why not tell her today that you love her. Call her. E-mail her. Write her. But tell her.

Life is precious. I would love to be able to still tell my Mom I love her. Some days, I will still talk to God and ask Him to tell my Mom I miss her, and I love her, and I know she loves me and would be proud of me for what is taking place in my life.

Tomorrow I will go elsewhere with this topic, but today the topic is simply to remind us to tell those we care about that we love them. For, we do.

Cancer

My good friend Terry (this is no typo - see link below) is in LA at a "conference" on ministry. He is also a pastor who I learn quite a bit from. In reading his updates from LA I was aware how important it is to hear from friends. I will probably talk more about that in the future. But not today. Today is a totally different angle.

While I was thinking about the importance of friends I received via snail mail a piece of prose from a person who attends my church on occasion. Her name is Lynne Turka. I first met her during a Divorce Recovery Workshop I led for a decade and a half. Almost two years ago I officiated at Lynne's wedding to her husband John. Shortly after the wedding Lynne was diagnosed with cancer. Her battle with this disease has actually gone very well. She is listed as a cancer survivor. However, the piece she sent me is a worthwhile read on an issue that many of us face. Those of us who have not had to face this do not realize how true these words are. Tomorrow I intend to begin writing a bit about my Mom, but today I could not have written anything better than Lynne's words.

Survivor n. one who or that which survives

Here's to surviving Cancer . . . . . . . .
Now there's a word to cause pause for thought . . . and terror. "You have cancer." Hear those words, one sentence, one day. You will never be the same again. Terror, Fear, Acceptance, Hope. From the day that you picked out the clothes that you will be buried in to the day that you realized you will survive, cancer will forever be a part of your life. It can destroy you. It can create you. There are no guarantees that it will ever completely go away. But . . . . . . . it makes you realize that every day counts. Every sunrise and sunset is a blessing. Flowers blooming, gentle breezes blowing, beautiful sunny summer days, fall flowers, roaring fires and snowflakes. These are comforts, and you learn to appreciate the simple things in life. You learn to slow down, look around you. Keep your faith and believe in the power of prayer. Appreciate life. Appreciate your family. Appreciate your friends. Most of all appreciate yourself. For you are a survivor and you have found that life is really good. No matter how much time we have on this earth, we find that our time is precious. If we spend one day when we smiled and made someone"s day just a little better, then our time is well spent.

Cancer . . . Terror or Hope. We feel both. But the outcome is up to you. Choose well my friend.

Lynne Turka
April 30, 2005

Gavin, Gideon and Me

A Father's Legacy - Part 2

We are all raised believing that our lives will have some sort of “natural order” to them. There are certain events that should transpire while we are young, others should occur when we are teenagers, still others as young adults and so on. When we encounter one of life’s events out of the order we have been led to believe it should occur, we are thrown off balance. For me, one such event is the passing of both of my parents. With the exception of my paternal grandmother every member of the previous generations in both my wife’s family and mine are now with the Lord. That means that at the age of 45, we found we had become our parents. Now, as I look at my 51st birthday in June, I am aware that a portion of my cycle of life is nearly complete.

As I reflect on this stage of my life, I have done some serious evaluating. In recent weeks I have shared some of that on this blog. Another part of that is including portions of the message that I gave at my father’s funeral in 1999. As I mentioned yesterday it was entitled “Lessons I Learned from My Dad.” The message shared some aspects of my father’s life as well as my comments. Yesterday I shared lessons 1-3, today I conclude with the final three lessons I mentioned in that message five years ago.

Lesson #4: When your kids grow up, let them go – begin the process early by giving small freedoms.

My parents were excellent at letting me leave home and become an adult. It started with going to friend’s homes and as I aged I was permitted to be the person I should be, without their interference. That sounds easier than it is. When you have seen a child grow up in your home, letting them become an adult is not an easy task. The relationship between adult children and younger children is very dissimilar. I learned from my Dad that my job as a parent is to work myself out of a job. I am to raise an adult.

If you are a parent, ask yourself, “Are you moving your children in the direction of adulthood and independence?” This is not as easy as it sounds. It begins with small freedoms such as going next door to the neighbor, going down the street alone, overnight with a friend, or walking around the block out of your sight. It does take some huge steps along the way, such as a driver’s license or dropping them off at college. But freedom must be granted along the way.

I had two children go to college and come out as responsible adults. They both shared experiences where freshmen friends would go “hog wild.” (There is a great southern US term for you!) In most cases, these kids were from over protective parents who did not give sufficient freedoms when their children were younger so they could learn how to handle freedom. Then, finding themselves with the total freedom of the college experience, they were not equipped to handle it.

Are you moving your children down the maturity trail? If they are already adults, do you treat them as such?

Here is a pet peeve of mine. (Feel free to blast me in the open comments section!) I call this the “Pittsburgh Mom Syndrome.” It is unlike anything I have ever witnessed anywhere else in the country. I have talked to numerous folks from other parts of the country who now live in Pittsburgh and they laugh and tell me they have observed the same thing. This “syndrome” is where mothers in Pittsburgh treat their adult children like they are still minors. It would take longer than a blog to describe it, but those who have noticed it with me are now laughing out loud and nodding their heads in agreement saying, “So it is not me! It does exist!” The Dads here do it some, but not much. For the most part they are quiet and passive. I think it is because their Mom did it to them, and they think it is right. It is like a real life episode of Everybody Loves Raymond on steroids!

Here is the point after much rambling – if your children are adults, let them be adults. Let them know you are there if they need you, but let them initiate it. My Dad taught me that when my kids grow up, let them go.

Lesson #5: You can always put the past behind you and restore relationships – ask what relationship should I seek to restore?

During the days before Christ transformed our home, my Dad pushed me into some very wrong situations. I tried to think of a word instead of “wrong,” because that word is so weak, but nothing really conveys how heinous some of the situations were. I have often said if we had lived in 2005 instead of 1965 my Dad would have gone to prison. Some of the situations were known in detail only to him and me. No one else was aware. To this day only a hand full of people know what transpired. When I was in my early thirties, I took steps to see that my Dad and I reconciled on these issues. He and I sat down and talked this out. I followed up with a letter assuring him of my forgiveness, and my desire for a good father/son relationship. I could easily have harbored anger for things that should have destroyed my life. But I did not. My Dad and I reconciled these issues and I have never regretted doing so. I remember once while visiting in the late 1980s, driving him to his car pool pick up location. As he got ready to get in his ride, he extended his hand to shake mine. I walked past it and hugged him. When I broke the embrace, there were tears in his eyes. “I love you son,” he said. I will forever remember that day and the cementing of the healing in our relationship.

What relationship should you seek to restore? Do not let something that is in your power to forgive prohibit a relationship from being what it should be. Do not pass it off with idle comments like: “It is no big deal.” Or “It was in the past and cannot be changed.” It is a big deal and it can be changed. It may be a lot of hard work, but the end result is well worth it.

Lesson #6: The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree – be careful what you teach your children.

I am more and more amazed to look in the mirror and see my Dad looking back. My cough is my Dad’s. My love of writing poetry came from my Dad. My work ethic came from my Dad.

My Dad was a blue collar worker all of his life. He worked as a painter in the construction industry. That type of work has no sick days. One of my earliest childhood memories is of my Dad sitting at the kitchen table in the morning, talking to my Mom, so sick he could barely drink a cup of coffee, get up and drag himself to work because he had a family to provide for. I look back now, and he did pretty well on a painter’s salary. He taught me the value of a hard work ethic. The nut does not fall far from the tree. Ask those who know me. I do not recall the last time I took a “sick day” from work. My Dad taught me to work for your salary and to appreciate it when it is paid.

What lessons are you teaching your children? You are teaching them something. It could be intentional or unintentional. You may be aware of it, or you may not be aware, but you are teaching them lessons. Ask yourself: what lessons am I teaching those around me?

A Father's Legacy - Part 1

As I stated yesterday, the birth of the fourth consecutive generation of male named Mann with the middle name Lee has caused me to contemplate a bit on some things. The next two days, I will be writing a bit about my father. I will be sharing about him through comments I made at his funeral. My intentions then will be to take some time to write about my mother. After all, her impact on me was just as significant.

My Dad's name was/is Robert Lee Mann. He was 66 when he died on December 11, 1999. The exact cause of death is unsure. He and I along with my son Richard (who is 24 now) and Richard’s son Gideon, as the oldest male in each family share the same middle name. My mother died in 1976. He was married to her for 23 years. He had been married to my step mother, Alice, for 23 years on the day of his death. Yes, he died on their wedding anniversary.

They estimate death occurred around 4 or 5 a.m. Some time during Friday night or early Saturday morning (December 10-11, 1999) he got up, went to the living room to sit in his favorite location on the sofa. Alice woke up at 6:00 and found him still seated in the same location. The paramedics said he died quickly, as there was no sign of any struggle.

Here is where the story of my father’s death is truly interesting for me. We have all heard it said that “truth is stranger than fiction.” In this case, that is certainly accurate. February of 1999, I traveled to the Carolinas where my Dad lived to spend time with him while he underwent some extensive surgery. He came through the surgery and appeared to be doing well. That initiated what became a very interesting series of events for me over the remainder of the year.

In May of that same year, I was in Phoenix, Arizona for a conference. The flight home was not full, so it was easy to have time alone. Not too long after we were in the air, I sensed the Lord’s leading in what was to be my message at my Dad’s funeral service. I am not sure why I felt that way, but it was clearly not something I planned. I just knew God wanted the words prepared. I pulled out my laptop, and while flying back wrote my Dad’s funeral service. The next two blogs I would like to share some insights from my father’s life intermingled with the comments I made when I spoke at his funeral service. I called the message: “Lessons I Learned from My Dad.” These are lessons I learned followed by challenges for us today.

Lesson #1: Lives can change – we should never give up on another person.

Many of you have heard me share the facts of my early childhood. My Dad was an alcoholic, and not a pretty one at that. That led to us being pretty poor much of our childhood. Church was not an important part of our lives until my mid teens. At that time Christ came into our home, and totally revolutionized it. I was 14 years old, and having a difficult time understanding how this man could go from being a man controlled by a substance to being controlled by the Spirit of God in one day. I did not get it then. Now I do. God changed my Dad.

Do not give up on any person in your life. God can change them. My Dad's life is a true testament to the grace of God and how God can indeed change a life. My Dad did indeed have the lapses that we all experience, but he was never at the place he was before Christ rescued my home.

Lesson #2: You do not have to be perfect for your kids to love you – there is unconditional love.

My Dad was not perfect, even after Christ intervened in our home. He was far from it. But we loved him. I still do. If you are a parent, share your struggles and admit your failures to your children. They see them already anyway. Ask them for forgiveness when it is appropriate. They will not love you less for it – they will love you more!

Lesson #3: God’s grace is bigger than any mistake I can make – rest in that grace when it is needed.

I am amazed how God interceded and forgave my Dad for his previous life and actions. He has done the same for me. He will do the same for you. Rest in God’s grace. Your deeds will not be good enough anyway, rest in his grace. He does not ask you to be perfect and then receive forgiveness. He offers grace where you are, as you are. Let’s face it . . . that is far better than our best attempt at perfection.

My Dad was a blue collar worker who never completed the eighth grade. However, his life taught me some lessons that I may not have learned any other way. Lessons that I hope I pass on to my children. Tomorrow I will give lessons 4 – 6.

Family Legacy Stuff

I now am the proud grandfather of not one but, count them, two grandsons. I could not be more proud. (Well, until August when my oldest daughter Alyssa, whose blog is linked, adds another grandchild to the mix. The gender is still unknown, so we will be patient the old fashioned way!) It is amazing how the smallest of humans can totally change your life. Ask any new parent – or for that matter, any of us who used to be new parents.

If you read my blog that I posted just after the birth of the latest, you noticed the name of the new grandson was Gideon Lee. My son and daughter-in-law (Richard and Priscilla) much to my joy and without my urging gave their son the same middle name that has been in my family for some time. Gideon is the fourth direct generation where the oldest male was given the same middle name. Lee is sort of a southern thing I guess, but it works well for us.

My Dad’s name was Robert Lee. That is the same name his grandfather had. Since it skipped one generation, there was no dreaded junior on it. The middle name of Lee almost did not get to me. I am sort of an illegitimate first born.

Let me talk a bit about that.

I am a first born . . . sort of. No, I have not lost my mind . . . honest. Although I am officially the oldest child as far as outsiders would know, and I have all the traits and characteristics of a first born (ask anyone who knows me) in reality, I am not the first born. My parents had a son a year before me . . . almost exactly. My birthday is June 16. The brother older than me was born June 14. There were respiratory problems and he only lived for a few minutes before dying. He is buried in a grave beside my parent’s marked “Infant son of Robert L. and Jeanette H. Mann.”

(BTW – I have a brother, Randy whose birthday is June 13 . . . if you track back nine months that is September – wedding anniversary. Okay that is too much for a son to talk about, let’s move on!)

In reality, my older brother was not given a name. He was going to be named Robert Lee Mann, Jr. I was told by both my parents. However, in those days, 1953, that did not happen with the early deaths of infants as is common today. A year later when I was born they wanted to give me the name of Robert, but were afraid after the other son died. So, I was given the middle name of Lee to accidentally start the tradition we still carry on. The first name of Terry was put with it in place of Robert. (I might add I hate that name!! But it is; what it is.)

It is amazing what a name can mean. I feel the family legacy thing whenever I read or hear the name Lee connected to our family. I have a niece with that middle name, and my youngest daughter toyed with giving Gavin that middle name, but did not want to steal that privilege from her older brother.

Family is important. They teach us, challenge us, irritate us, love us, and support us . . . or not . . . depending upon your family. If they did not do these good things, there is a great sense of loss. I know . . . I have some of them. But family is important.

On June 4 I will be attending a family reunion on my father’s side of the family. That coupled with the birth of this new grandson has me thinking about my legacy and my fore parents.

In the next two days, I am going to write a couple blogs that talk a bit about my father. I will share the background on them then, but they will give an insight into my family. In the future, I will talk a bit about my mother as well.

That is tomorrow. Today . . . I am just the proud grandfather of Gideon Lee Mann and Gavin James Mann!

A New Grandson

My second grandson, Gideon Lee Mann was born at 1:52 p.m. Sunday, May 1, 2005 – 7 lbs 13 ozs 20” long. Full and healthy with the usual "wide eyed uncertain what to do next parents" I have seen hundreds and hundreds of times, only this one was my son and his wife.

I will be blogging about this in a day or so - especially the middle name and family heritage sort of stuff.

God is indeed good! Life is indeed a miracle and a gift from the good God we serve. We should treasure every moment we are given! This is a lesson I was given anew yesterday. There are things I wish were different, lots of them in fact, some big ones! But God is still God and God is still good . . . ALL THE TIME!!