Salt Lake City – Day 4

Yesterday was my birthday. I did not allow anyone here to know. I received some calls and emails from folks back home, but for the most part I celebrated alone. That is not a whine, it was a choice. I did not want anything taking place here to be about me. Appropriately enough last night during worship there was a brief time of quiet when we were asked to recall when God called us into ministry.

For me, that occurred in my teenage years. I have never written here about my coming to faith, and am not now, that is not my purpose. Suffice it to say that I came to faith at the age of eleven. A couple of years later I attended a summer camp with some friends from my church. I must have been 13 years old. Each evening we would have a worship service they called Vespers. (That is a name I do not really get to this day. I know it comes from a basic meaning of Evening Prayers, but to call a teenage worship service by that name, well . . .) In any event, Thursday or Friday evening of that week during Vespers the speaker used as his text Romans 12:1-2.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

At the end of his message, of which I recall little, he challenged us as young teens to give our life over to God for whatever He may have for us. I recall going forward and talking to one of the counselors. That night I prayed and told God I would do or be whatever He desired me to do or be. This was coming from a teen living in a very poor home, who without God’s help would remain there. I verbalized the specifics of my call to my Dad 2-3 years later, had numerous folks in churches (once our family started attending a couple years later) tell me that I was gifted to ministry. But full time – not bi-vocational – ministry did not come my way until 1994. What caused me to hold on? I was called. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Last evening I recalled and celebrated God’s call upon my life! There are many times when this call is the only thing that keeps me in ministry! So I say again, last evening I recalled and celebrated God’s call upon my life.

Salt Lake City – Day 3

Today was a very unique day. The schedule is purposely set up with some free time so you can hike, nap, talk, or whatever strikes your fancy. I decided to take a tram ride to the top of the peak here. Our lodge is at 8,100 feet in altitude. The tram took us to 11,000 feet. From that point the view is absolutely breathtaking. The beauty and wonders of God’s creation astounds you! There is still a lot of snow. Skiing is still open until July 4 for the die hards. There were 1,000 skiers up here last weekend I was told.

As we rode up I was aware of the vast number of places where water was draining as the snow melts in the heat that is presently 85 at the base and 50 at the crest. This was my first experience of watching drainage of this proportion due to melting snow. Once we were at the crest and I looked out over the beauty of the Rockies I was taken with the old Rich Mullins song, “Awesome God.”

Our God is an awesome God
He reigns from heaven above
With wisdom, power, and love
Our God is an awesome God

As I complete day 3 here, I rest in the fact that our God truly is an awesome God. You too my friend should rest in that fact. I do not know what you are facing today. But I know the God we serve. As they used to say in my Baptist days, “I may not know what tomorrow holds, but I know who holds tomorrow!”

There is nothing . . . nothing I can or should add to that today.

Blogging About Blogging

Last week the husband of one of my staff members gave me a copy of Business Week. (Thanks Ray!) It was the May 2 issue. The cover story was about blogging and its affects upon business. This morning USA Today has a long article in the front page of the “Money” section on blogging. Obviously something is up with blogging. You are aware on some level because you are reading this one.

“Blog” is short for “Weblog.” It is a combination online journal, commentary, critique, review, etc. The first blog true blog did not come into existence until 1999 and yet blogs are taking the Internet by storm. Blogs can be online communities, safe chat areas, and discussion groups as well as digital journals. Blogs seem to be making the World Wide Web truly a World Wide Web.

Here are some amazing facts as they relate to blogs that I found in those two articles alone. (If you wish to learn more, pick up a copy of the book by Hugh Hewitt entitled Blog.)

* There at 8.5 to 9 million bloggers presently online in the US
* There will be 10 million blogs in the US alone by the end of this year
* 40,000 new blogs come online each day
* 57% of bloggers are male
* 48% are under 30 years of age
* 42% earn more than $50,000
* 39% have college or graduate degrees
* 82% have been online in one form or another for six years of more
* In November of 2004 7% of Internet users had a blog but 27% (32 million) read them. I wonder what the numbers are in June of 2005?

My first blogging experience came in 2001 when my former church had a web site we were trying to figure out how to maximize. In June of that year I was sent to our denomination’s national assembly as a representative from my area. Each evening, at the end of the day, I would send home a journal/commentary about the day’s events. This was then edited (I need editing anyway and these were very emotional pieces written late at night after 18-20 hour days.) The church and community ate these up! Our web site got more traffic that week than the rest of the year combined if I remember correctly. What I was doing was in essence was an early form of blogging.

Some of you are still saying, “So what? It is just digital ramblings and stuff of no importance.” I would recommend you do your homework on this one. Blogs are huge. They had an impact on last year’s presidential election and have been cited on the floor of Congress. There are many today who have crossed lines in their blogs and have lost their jobs. There actually is a term for that. It is called being “dooced.” It refers to losing your job because of something you wrote on your online journal regarding your employer or business.

Think about it another way. As I wrote two days ago, we are in an age of information. It is incredible how much is out there. Do you realize that most of it is digital? Digital cameras, text messages, digital photography, Power Point presentations at work, visual images in church worship, all government forms, insurance forms, online banking, digital bill payment, on line purchases, iTunes, e-bay, Amazon, etc. etc. etc. and I have not even talked about normal web surfing!! I do probably 95% of my sermon work digitally.

The author of the article in Business Week rightly points out that “the overwhelming majority of the information the world spews out every day is digital.” Blogs are just another form of that, albeit a form that is exploding. Businesses do not fully know what to do with them yet. Blogs are already used for marketing, and public opinion.

The question is being asked, “How does business change when everyone is a potential publisher?” The days of preparing a manuscript, sending it to a publisher, waiting on them to approve and edit then finally going to print months or years later may be nearing an end. Blogging gives you the potential to publish instantly! I wrote this blog at 7:00 MDT on Wednesday, June 15, 2005. When are you reading it?

Finally some of you are saying, “Okay Matrixminister, I will give you that blogging is a big thing but what is the big deal as it relates to the church?” I am glad you asked!!!

I started my blog at the suggestion of my closest pastoral friend in ministry. (Link to Terry Timm on my side panel to learn about him.) After talking to him at our bi-weekly debriefing coffee time, I decided this could be a great instrument to aid my church. Folks could learn about me as the pastor, hear what I think, and read issues on my mind. I could talk about things that I may never talk about in a message on Sunday morning. Fountain Parkers could use my blog to let folks they are inviting to participate with us learn a bit about us. They could do this in their own home with a cup of coffee or seated at the local coffee house.

If you read my archives, it has gone way beyond that. I have been astounded at the impact this blog has. Tracking software tells me there have been 5,000 readers on my blog. As best I can tell there are close to 300-400 readers whom return with some degree of regularity. All of this came with minimal real exposure. Most readers have no connection with Fountain Park Church at all! My blog gives them a sense of connectedness to our church on a safe level until they are willing to venture deeper.

I have plans in place to move my blog (archives and all) to http://www.matrixminister.com/. Do not look, it is not there yet. I need someone to teach me some more advanced HTML so I can edit Wordpress or b2evolution interfaced with Dreamweaver. This move will make my blog much more accessible and easy to locate.

Here is my challenge to folks who belong to Fountain Park. (I did not say folks who are members; that really does not matter. What matters is do you feel you belong?) If the blog is so powerful, why don’t you get one? Why don’t you post weekly or so about things you see going on. Link to me. I will link to you. We build a community and thereby invite others to join us.

Blogging is not hard – really! I did it and I am no genius. You do not have to take it to the level I have. You can use Blogger, or Typepad or Xanga or any of the other online blogs out there. All of them will give you basic templates and you can be up and running in no time at all!

“Terry, I cannot write like you. God did not gift me that way.” You do not have to. You are not me. Just write as who you are. Be genuine. That is basically what I am doing. I try at times to push people’s buttons and will again, but that is just me. You do not have to do that. Be yourself! Be respectful. Be Christlike. Do not slander folks or ideas. But write. You will be scared at first. That is okay. It can be intimidating. But as Nike would say, “Just do it!” The impact for the Kingdom can be huge! And, you like me, will grow in the experience.

Salt Lake City – Day 2

When my kids were small, they had a toy that would play the song “It’s a Small World After All.” The song is used by Disney to talk about a child’s world of small things. We as adults use the song a bit differently. We are usually referring to the close connections we find we have with others, or seeing someone we did not expect to see. For me the latter has come to be very real while here in Snowbird. I have met the brother of a pastor friend of mine in Pittsburgh and another pastor who now lives in Michigan but used to serve in a church five miles from my previous church. It is a indeed a small world and I am not talking technology.

__________________________

This morning we had our opening plenary session. The speaker was Jim Griffith. He is in his late 50s and has planted 5 or 6 churches. He now serves as a coach for New Church Developments and judicatories that are assisting in planting churches. His talk this morning was the Ten Most Common Mistakes New Church Starts Make. It is copyrighted so give him credit for most of this. I will not mention all ten mistakes, for some did not really apply to me or Fountain Park. But three were very applicable.

#1 Pursuing the Great Commission while neglecting the Greatest Commandment.

This is no doubt a very real danger for folks like me. His joke was that the AAA on his bumper sticker is not an auto club, it is a personality type. I could really identify with that. Here is a key question he asked, “Am I a church planter trying to love God or a lover of God trying to plant a church?” This really gets to the core of the issue. I must as a pastor of a new church be sure that I love God with all my heart, soul, mind and body first. If not, nothing else will matter.

#2 Failure to take Opposition Seriously

Prayer and Fasting cannot be a phase in the life of a church, it must be a lifestyle. There are four kinds of opposition he mentioned.

Tribal Opposition – This is opposition from other pastors and churches. I intend to write about this in depth in the future as it relates to my church, but it is very real in my life right now. I must admit I want to take the guys outside and show them how we handled this stuff where I grew up in North Carolina.

Cultural Opposition – Some areas will not be glad a church is there and growing. They are not happy to see land come off the tax roles.

Relational Opposition – Some people in churches get very close and then turn on you. Get ready for this will happen. This is opposition you never recover from, and you never should. We are to be about relationships, so this will happen and it will hurt.

Spiritual Opposition – We are not battling the people, local municipalities, other churches or pastors. This is not a flesh and blood conflict. It does not matter whose lips are moving, this is spiritual warfare. Do not expect the enemy to just say “Come on in!”

#3 Failure of a Young Church to Act their Age

Jim sees this as the number 2 human reason new churches fail. (#1 is Premature Launch.) We should not try to look and act older than we are. Babies do not go to school. There is behavior for babies that is normal. To dress them up as adults, does not make them an adult. There are some ministries that we are not going to be able to provide. Do not pretend we can. Do not promise and not come through. This violates trust. Instead simply say, “I am sorry but we are unable to provide this at this time.”

Now on to other work, then hit the sack for tonight and get ready for day 3.

Salt Lake City – Day 1

For years I served in a business that required a lot of telephone time. There were some folks that I would talk to 3-4 times daily. Many of them I never met in person. There were some business associates that I did get to meet. I recall that in almost every instance they looked nothing like the vision I had in my mind’s eye. Have you ever had a similar experience? We get this image in our head, and the other person does not match it.

Yesterday after landing at the Salt Lake City airport, I picked up my rental car. I left the airport to drive to Snowbird, Utah where our conference is being held. (You get really good rates at a ski resort in June!) After stopping for dinner, I began my ascent up the mountain. By this time it was dark. I was very careful since this was an unfamiliar road and to go off the side I knew could be treacherous. After a 45 minute drive I arrived at my destination, parked the car, checked into my room, and wrote last night’s blog. I then went to sleep.

I woke up this morning to go get some breakfast and as I looked out my hotel window and walked to the restaurant I was taken by the beauty that surrounded me. Here it is June and I was looking at breathtakingly beautiful snow capped peaks. Last night I was imagining what it would look like. This morning I was seeing it for myself! Just like the phone calls I mentioned earlier, my vision and reality were not even close.

As you read yesterday, I am out here for a conference. For the most part I like educational conferences, but I am not a junky by any stretch. As much as I enjoy sitting and listening to a speaker teach me something I do not know, I much prefer the times of sharing with other pastors and learning together. After day one of this conference, it is apparent that I will be getting some of both this week. Of that I am glad.

The first worship session tonight was led in total by African Americans and reminded me a lot of my younger days in white Baptist Churches. Tonight was a worship time of encouragement and challenge. Leading a new church is by far the hardest thing I have ever done in ministry, so tonight to get a shot of encouragement was good medicine.

After this meeting I had the opportunity over dessert, to talk to a young pastor in his first pastorate about the challenges related to ministry. As I listened, shared, offered ideas and asked questions, I realized anew that I love helping younger ministers – men and women. About 7-8 years ago I felt that God desired me to invest a portion of my time in the lives of younger men. Tonight as I talked to this pastor, I was reminded of that.

View from 30,000 Feet

I sit writing this at midnight on Monday evening MST in Salt Lake City, UT. I am here this week for a New Church Development Conference being put on by my denomination. My intentions are to blog my thoughts all week. This will probably mean at least five entries in the next five days, perhaps more since I have a list of things I now wish to blog about.

In order to arrive here in Salt Lake City it took two flights, both about 2-1/2 hours in length. The first flight was to Dallas and the second to my destination. On the second leg, we basically flew along the entire length of the Rocky Mountains. If you have never seen the Rockies from the air, it is a truly amazing sight. This beauty of God’s creation was in my view for over 60 minutes. Beside me sat a young man from Boise, Idaho who was telling me the names of many of the peaks. (Not that I can recall a single one!)

I have lived my entire life on the East Coast and very close to the Appalachian Mountains. I have hiked the Appalachian Trail and camped in the wild. Three years ago I rode my bicycle the entire length of the Blue Ridge Parkway. I have seen this mountain range from about every angle. It is indeed very different from the Rockies. I do not mean just in shear height, although that is indeed one difference. From 30,000 feet it is very clear that the two ranges were formed in very different types of creative activity. The Rockies are sharp, steep, edgy, rocky, (hence their name) and full of cliffs. The Appalachians for the most part are rolling mountains, full of forest, wild life and greenery. It is true that both ranges contain wild life, but here again; it is different because of the differing terrain. Both are God’s unique beauty in their own special way.

But that is not my point in this blog. This is. As I flew over the Rockies I thought: A couple of hundred years ago, settlers were traveling across these same mountains. They had crossed the Appalachians only to face a thousand miles of basically flat land in the Midwest. Then as they would leave Kansas or Iowa and move into Colorado or the Dakotas they would see looming in the horizon a sight they were totally unprepared for . . . the Rocky Mountains. Almost to a person the only mountains they had ever seen were the Appalachians. Nothing in their past could have prepared them for the vast wild area of the Rockies. There was no frame of reference for them to understand what they were about to encounter. The mountain ranges are totally different. The lessons from one range would not translate easily to the other.

Here is my point. The Church of Jesus Christ is facing a future that is different than anything we have ever faced in our 2,000 years. There are more people alive today than have been alive cumulatively for most of the planet’s history. We are facing an earth that is becoming smaller by the day. The days of isolation are history. Technology has made information available in quantities that could not even have been dreamed of earlier in the church’s history. Men and women are becoming increasingly pluralistic every day. Faith is a cafeteria. Pick and choose what works at any given point in time. Next week, next month, or next year you can always change. The list could go on, but the point is obvious.

If we as the church are facing the Rockies after crossing the Appalachians and the plains, we will need to operate differently than we have in the past. Let’s be honest here. It really does not really matter what Christian talk radio, periodicals, or preachers say, most of our culture really is not against the church. They do not see the church as the enemy at all. Oh, that it were that simple. The issue is far worse. In truth, they see the church as irrelevant. They do not see the church as a player at all in the big scheme of things. That is far worse than being perceived as the enemy.

As I write over the next weeks and months, I want to address what the church is going to have to do if we are going to cross the Rockies. My thoughts will not be unique or original with me, but I believe they are true. Stay tuned. The lessons learned in one mountain range do not translate easily to the other.

Thoughts Following a Reunion

June 4, 2005 was an historic day in many respects. It was a gathering. It was a family reunion held with about 60 of my family members. We had a great time. One cousin of mine spear headed it out of her love for my grandmother, whom I wrote about the other day. (Thanks Beverly!) That day would have been my grandfather’s 97th birthday (if my memory is accurate) had he survived. It was very fitting since this reunion was the gathering of living descendants of my Grandmother and Grandfather Mann. There were maybe 12-15 who could not come for varying reasons, but in spite of that, it was a great day.

There is something really cool about seeing family. We have a lot of relationships in our lives, but those of family are a bit stronger than others. “Blood is thicker than water,” was the phrase I learned growing up.

I have to admit, while processing the family reunion, I thought about my other family. I am speaking of my spiritual family where God is Father and we are all brothers and sisters. The very mention of God as “Father” makes some people cringe does it not? In my thoughts on this I wrote to my church family in our e-newsletter basically what is below.

I have been a student of the Bible for many years. When someone asks me if I understand it all, I usually reply, “I understand a great deal.” That is very honest, because there are some passages I have not gotten my mind around yet. You know what? I am okay with that. If I understood everything about God, I would have a God my size, and quite frankly, I do not want or need a God that is my size.

If there were not “seeming or apparent contradictions” in the Bible I think I may trust it less. (I say “seeming or apparent” because after YEARS of study I am more convinced than ever that God inspired the original autographs and we have sufficient evidence to know what those were. Further, for any apparent error there is NO major Christian doctrine affected.) Hear me out on this one, because I will not take a back seat to anyone when it comes to belief in, support of and teaching of the Christian Scriptures. If every account so totally matched up that you could not get the personalities of the writers, I would feel we were being “given the party line” and not hearing the faith stories that shape Christianity. In fact what we get is a multi colored many faceted view of a God who loved us so much He could not let us drown in the mire of our own sin. He had to do something. And He did!

That being said we are only a few days away from Father’s Day. It is a time to celebrate Father’s. It is also a time in the church where we draw attention to the fact (whether we realize it or not) that God is our Father. I am fully aware of the discussions that are held regarding the use of “Father” terminology when referring to God. I am also keenly aware that no matter what anyone says, changing the noun does not eliminate issues, it only changes them.

Here is a good question. Why would God choose to use a human relational term to describe himself and his relationship not only with us, but also the relationship between the first and second person of the Trinity? I have heard, read, had screamed at me, all the usual and unusual answers. But as far as I can determine, the only real answer is that there is something about the character of God that we only learn by that human relational language that was given in a society very distinct from our own.

As we approach Father’s Day, celebrate that God is indeed our Father. He is not our abusive earthly father or even our excellent earthly father. He is not something in between. He is “Father.”

When I do not fully grasp that or other issues, I refer myself again to the previous paragraphs.

The Matriarch

I am sure that folks reading the title of today’s blog had responses varying from surprise (Why would he write about this?) to being puzzled (I thought his mother was dead, and he wrote about her the other week. Both are true statements.) I think these are fair questions, and I think both will be answered in the next two paragraphs.

A definition of Matriarch would be: (from Latin for "first mother") a term used to refer to female ancestors or a female head of a family or tribe

As I pen the words, I am sitting in my hotel room in Kannapolis, North Carolina. Tomorrow, actually later today, I have the privilege of attending the first Mann Family Reunion. Now there have been other reunions in my family but this one is unique. It will be strictly for direct descendants and their spouses of Homer and Dora Mann. Homer and Dora Mann are my paternal grandparents. These two folks have impacted my life in ways that are probably not even fully known to me, and most certainly are not fully known to anyone else.

My grandfather Homer died in 1962 at the age of 54. I will be 51 in two weeks, so I am keenly aware just how young he died. He served in World War II in the Pacific Theater where he was injured by shrapnel from the explosion of a shell near him. I was only 8 years old when he died. It is the earliest memory in my life I have of crying at the loss of a family member. I still recall where I was when my Dad broke the news to me. I actually have few memories of my grandfather. One is of him injuring himself up righting a swing set that I over turned by doing what boys do, swinging too high. He had told me not to do that or I could be hurt. I almost was hit when the set overturned. He was upset with me and disciplined me for it. Other than that, my memories are of my pain and loss when he died.

My grandmother, Dora never remarried. The pain was very real for her as well. They were married when she was 15 (not unusual at all for that era). They raised children in The Great Depression. They shared the birth of three sons, the oldest of which was my father. She lived with the fear of him being at war in the 1940s in a time when tens of thousands of American soldiers did not come home. Their bond must have been an extremely close one. It was probably the type bond to which most of us aspire with our spouse.

My grandmother never attended college, or completed high school. However, her intelligence is something that is often spoken of in our family. (That along with her keen wit which is legendary!) She loved her family, but she was/is a very outspoken person. If you do not know how she feels about an issue – you are not listening! I have a big smile on my face as I write those words and recall her sharp criticism or strong support of various issues.

She became a grandmother when I was born. She was 37 years old if my math works. My father was born to her while she was 16 and I was born when my Dad was 21.

When I was a child, she would on most days care for her nine grandchildren totally by herself while the parents were at work. This surely broke all adult/child ratios in effect today. Her “invisible fence” underneath a large tree in her back yard (that the nine of us dared not cross while playing outside) is the stuff of which legends are made.

My grandmother was one of the most hard nosed, strong willed persons I have ever met. Some would even call her hard headed, but certainly not me!! When she made up her mind on an issue, you might as well stop, she was done! And so were you. (I can smile because I can think of two or three times when I, as an adult, used my wiles as the oldest grandchild to get her to change her mind.)

Grandma has for years kept one of the strangest diets I ever recall. She is a very fastidious eater. She has survived on peanut butter and chocolate for 25 years. She has dipped Tube Rose brand dipping snuff for over 80 years. It is just “her way.”

All of this can paint a picture of a woman that is not realistic. She loves her family and they in turn love her dearly. What you can miss if you are not careful is her wisdom. I want to share one story to relate this aspect of her character.

As I have stated before on this blog, my biological mother died when I was 21. My Dad remarried, and in all honesty I struggled with how to handle that internally. It came to a head in me personally at the birth of my first daughter. I was struggling and involved in discussions with my wife as to what to have my daughter call my Dad’s new wife. It would certainly not be “Mamaw.” That title was reserved for the woman who would never be alive to hear those words. I had no malice. I was just involved in an internal struggle that spilled over into this arena.

In a conversation with my grandmother, I told her of my struggle and decision regarding the title. Grandma looked at me, and then as she looked quietly away said, “Terry, as you get older, you realize that those things are not as important as you used to think.”

She floored me! I dwelt on that sentence for weeks and finally told my wife that I was wrong, that the kids could and should give my Dad’s wife that beloved title. After all, she was the only grandmother they would ever know. My grandmother’s wisdom and one sentence response totally changed a decision I had thought was final. She impacted the lives and emotions of me, my wife, each of my three children, as well as my Dad and his wife.

My family has no paternal leader, but my grandmother is the Matriarch of our family of that there is no doubt. All of us live and breathe her influence whether we give her the honor and credit or not.

Grandma, I love you. I respect you. I may not always agree with you, but I respect what you say. Thanks for impacting the life of this your oldest grandchild! I give you the honor of Matriarch in its purest and most genuine sense.

Power in My Veins

This past week I was infused with power . . . . literally.

Here is the scoop. I have gene trouble. I did not say "jean" trouble. This is not that my Wranglers need to be exchanged for Levis. It is that genetic thing. We are told that you cannot choose your parents, or your ancestors so do not be too proud or too saddened by their accomplishments. You had nothing to do with it either way.

My heredity is a mixed bag. There are practically no instances of cancer in my direct family line, but issues of heart disease abound! My mom died at the age of 41 of heart disease. My Dad had a stroke at 48 and died of heart disease at 67. One uncle had a bypass in his 40s. Both of my grandfathers died at the age of 54 of heart disease. I am not obese, but I could drop ten pounds. Well, you get the picture.

This is not an issue I take lightly. I am aware of my diet, exercise, medication, etc.

That being said, now that I have crossed the mid-century age, my primary care doctor recommended that I have a stress test, as well as a few other not so pleasant procedures . . . just to be safe.

Last Friday I had the stress test completed which consisted of having radioactive material injected in my veins twice, walking on a treadmill till I hurt, having two separate x-rays that lasted twelve minutes each in the weirdest positions imaginable. Not my idea of a morning off!

During the second radioactive injection while walking on a treadmill with a cardiologist present, there was a “spill.”

A radioactive "spill" when you are present is like hearing your surgeon say "Oops!" during surgery. This is not a good thing. After getting off the treadmill the area was “scanned,” including my clothing. There was concern that my slacks or shoes were contaminated. The nurse, who was very efficient by the way, told me if my shoes or slacks were contaminated I would have to leave them. I said I did not routinely carry around spare pants!

I then got them to laugh when I said, “If that stuff is so unsafe and unstable on my clothing and shoes, why is it safe in my veins?” They looked at me and laughed as they replied, “Remember we told you to drink lot of fluids today and tomorrow . . . and beer counts!”

I got to work and asked everyone if I “glowed.” There was power in my veins! It was like Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty “I’ve got the power!”

Guess what? There really is power in me. It is the power of the Spirit of God that indwells every believer in Jesus Christ to empower them for service. Are you a follower of Jesus? You’ve got the power! Do you avail yourself of it?

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!!