Tat, Tat, Tat

There are worse things, but, then, there always are. In this case, there are worse things than your daughter getting a tattoo. In fact, it really doesn't bother me. It's just "one of those things," if that makes any sense.

It's not uncommon for people to want a tattoo at some point in their lives, and it's more and more common for people to actually get them. When I was in Denver earlier this year, my friend got us court-side seats for a Nuggets game and I don't recall a player who wasn't nearly covered in "body art." Chris Anderson might lead the NBA in body art.

When our son Andrew first talked about getting a tattoo, he was still in high school and my response was, "When you turn 18 and I don't have to endorse it." Then he turned 18, and each time he mentioned the idea I gave him my advice: "You have to live with it -- forever. Be sure. When you come up with a design, sleep on it for a month to make sure it's really what you want." Delay, delay, delay. He never got one because a month always gave him time to come up with another design.

Lauren got pretty much the same advice, but she never really waivered from her original design or her desire to get a tattoo. And this week she did it -- right across the back of her left shoulder. It looks pretty cool -- three stars with some curled lines that look sort of like party streamers all above the words "Faith" and "Hebrews 11:1." The verse, which isn't part of the art, goes like this: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." It's a wonderful message about trusting God -- especially when we don't fully understand what's going on around us.

Will she still love the tattoo in 10, 15, 30 years? Who knows. But I have faith that the message will stay with her forever.

Evil Begets Evil

Evil begot evil Sunday when a man walked into a Kansas church and fatally shot a prominent abortionist. Two wrongs don’t make a right; they just make two wrongs. Killing a defenseless man in his church is no way to promote a culture of life. It only perpetuates the worst stereotypes of pro-life advocates.

Make no mistake: Dr. George Tiller was, at best, a misguided idealist who took the lives of countless defenseless children in the name of “privacy.” He acted within the legal bounds of the current system, but not within the moral bounds of the greater system. So while those of us who value life can hate his action, we’re called to love the person and pray for his redemption. Judgment, in this case, belongs in a higher court.

Ironically, Tiller’s family – which included a wife, four children and 10 grandchildren – released a statement that said: “This is particularly heart-wrenching because George was shot down in his house of worship, a place of peace.”

An unjustified killing is heart-wrenching no matter the place. And, indeed, a church isn’t just a “place of peace,” it’s a place to train and release those who create places of peace all over a community – homes, workplaces, parks. It’s awful that Dr. Tiller died at the hands of a murderer, but no less awful than the years he spent turning a clinic that should have been a “place of peace” into a house of horrors for innocent children.

(Un)Redemptive Flicks

A few months ago my wife and I went to the movies and saw Revolutionary Road, picking it over another Kate Winslet movie, The Reader. Last week, we rented The Reader. Both films won over the critics; neither film is worth your time, much less your money. Perhaps we missed something important in The Reader when we fast-forwarded through the porn scenes, but the movie lacked any sense of a redeeming message. The best that can be said of it was that it made you think about the choices we make in life, but it had no message of hope, no lessons from the sad, sad story about people who hurt people and then either died or lived on in misery. Revolutionary Road was even worse. It didn't even make you think. It just made you walk away feeling a bit uneasy, almost sick. Perhaps it's no surprise that as our culture loses sight of anything that's greater than ourselves, we produce "art" that only reflects the darkness of humanity and shower it with awards.

The Apple

I'd like to say our youngest apple didn't fall far from the tree, and in some ways I'm sure that's true (good and bad), but Lauren's parents are pretty sure God looked down about 18 years ago and said, "Check it out, I'm gonna give this one some mad softball skills." And He did. She's always fun to watch, and over the weekend she hit four home runs in six games. Ironically, this photo is of an out -- a line drive right at the first baseman. That's the thing: Good as she is, she still makes outs. Sometimes she even strikes out and makes errors in the field. That's life. All of our apples are blessed with "mad" skills of several different varieties -- athletics, academics, compassion, etc. -- and we love them no more and no less whether they strike out or hit home runs. Each brings its own set of blessings and challenges. Sometimes, though, the point isn't so much to figure out if it's a blessing or a challenge, but simply to sit back, soak at in and whisper back to God, "Thanks. Them's some good apples."

The Wonder of Willard (and Johnson)

It's the way of our world, it seems, to never admit our ignorance, but I don't mind telling you that I'm not nearly smart enough for Dallas Willard. I read The Divine Conspiracy several years ago and thought it was great, but, frankly, much of his writing and thinking is over my head. That's why I love what NavPress did in creating Renovation of the Heart in Daily Practice. I read this book over the course of a few weeks, but I'll go back and use it as a daily devotional. That's its gift. Short chapters by Willard that end with brief comments and "experiments" written by Jan Johnson. With this format, I can take the time to think through and digest and internalize Willard's wonderful insights on how we go about conforming ourselves as followers of Jesus. This book might never leave my nightstand.

The Starbucks Stops Here

I read where the big beans at Starbucks are up early and working late trying to figure out how to keep things brewing in a cold economy. I've got the answer: Breakfast blend. Simple enough, but it's the simple that always evades us, right? I'm not much of a specialty coffee (or tea) guy. I like regular, black coffee, no sugar, no cream. But when I go to Starbucks -- and the other look-a-like high-end coffee places -- they give me no choice but the flavor-of-the-day. How hard would it be to have a flavor of the day AND something they brew every day -- something a customer like me could count on? I'd vote for the breakfast blend and ask that they try not to burn it like they typically do. Doesn't seem too much to ask, does it?

Addendum: My friend Tom Addington, who knows more about coffee than Howard Schultz, says Starbucks now has an every-day brew: Pike Place. Kudos to Starbucks for responding to my request before I even posted it. Now that's customer service that might make me a customer again.

Our Neighbors’ Junk

An ice storm devastated our city earlier this year, and the cleanup process has taken weeks that are turning into months. At our home, it started by clearing the fallen tree limbs and repairing the damage to our home. After professional tree cutters pruned the trees in our yard, those branches were cleared, as well. All the branches, well over a ton for our yard alone, were piled at our street curb, and several weeks passed before city crews came through and hauled them off. The huge machines couldn’t get it all, of course, so yesterday I spent the morning raking and bagging the leftovers.

But that’s not all. Pine trees in the yards of two of our neighbors line the fences of our backyard, and those neighbors took a different approach to their cleanup. The limbs that fell because of the ice storm were collected and hauled off, but they didn’t have the trees pruned. So branches that didn’t fall – branches caught by other branches or that didn’t break off completely – remain high up in those trees.

When I look at those branches as they hang precariously above the fence, I suspect they they’ll fall onto the power lines and knock out our power. I suspect that they’ll eventually land on my side of the fence. I suspect that I’ll clean up my neighbors’ junk. And I know I’ll have the temptation to toss the limbs over the fence into my neighbors’ yards.

This morning, now that some of those limbs have fallen into our yard and suspicion and reality collided, I had this thought: There are lots of times in life when my neighbor’s junk spills into my life and I need to clean it up. If I’m filled with the love of my Savior, I’ll see the need and respond to it instinctively – out of love. If not, I’ll see the need and worry about how it will affect me and complain that I have to “fix” someone else’s problems. I might end up doing it, but more out of duty than love. That’s better than not doing it or tossing the problem back at my neighbor. But it still leaves me with the inner realty that I have my own junk. And I’m thankful that my Savior never hesitates to clean it up for me.

Winterdance

My friend David Jackson gave me the book Winterdance, the true story of how Gary Paulsen came to run -- and survive -- the Iditarod dog race. But it's much more than that. It's about his relationships with the dogs and nature and himself. It's a few years old, but still fresh and worth the read. I had never read Paulsen, but I know he's a popular author among teens and pre-teens, especially boys. Son-in-law Andrew read Hatchet, and I'm pretty sure son Andrew did, as well. Wife Suzanne has read several of his books and likes them. She's not a teen (although she looks like one) or a boy (and she definitely doesn't look like one), but she teaches school and often reads the books along with her students.

presidential prayers

Saw this on Dr. Albert Mohler's blog and felt compelled to post a link to it. He shares a report that indicates the White House now vets the prayers offered prior to the president's speeches. Oh (Big) Brother!!

Review: Coffeehouse Theology

You can read Coffeehouse Theology and never fully understand what the title has to do with the content. And you can read it and wonder why author Ed Cyzewski spent so much space restating points he’d already made. But don’t miss what the book really is: A welcomed addition to the discussions about Christian theology in a postmodern world. The talk about the “emergent” church in the “postmodern” era often drifts into heretical, anything goes, all roads lead the heaven belief systems that, in the end, have little to do with Jesus. Cyzewski brings much-needed balance by arguing that students of God can practice contextual theology without abandoning certain fundamental beliefs. So what if he never establishes the “coffeehouse” metaphor and doesn’t use the analogy as a thread to bring the reader along? And so what if he beats a few horses to death? Perhaps a few overly rigid theologians will read this work and approach God with more of an open mind in light of other viewpoints. And perhaps those who are sliding down the slippery slope of relativism will read it and recognize the value of dropping a few anchors. There are dangers to Cyzewski’s approach, primarily that personal experience will edge out the Bible and the Holy Spirit as the ultimate authority on understanding God. But there’s much to be gained by listening to theologians from different cultures and different points in history and from acknowledging our own biases. Cyzewski’s sees this never strays from the most important aspect of theology, to know God and make Him known. We can never hear that too often.

The Note Taker

It probably started in college, that three-year period in my life when I actually started trying to learn something from the classes I took. In my effort to remember something from all the stuff those professors required us to read, I'd go through the passages with a pen and highlighter at the ready. There are those who are appalled at the idea of writing in a book, but not doing so is like having fine china that never leaves a cabinet.

Lately, I've taken to rediscovering my markings. When I finish a book, I create a Word document and type in all the things I underlined or highlighted, as well as any notes or questions I wrote in the margins. At the top, I write down "key words" from the passages. My theory is that when I'm thinking or writing about a topic -- say "headship" as it relates to living out God's calling as a husband and father -- I can do a search of my "book quotes" folder and find relevant ideas from other authors.

There's another benefit, however. Typing out the passages that caught my attention allows me to think again about why they were important. I can reinforce the lessons or see if I still disagree with what I once saw as the author's "lame" point.

It's a slow but highly rewarding process. For instance, a few weeks ago I re-read Tender Warrior by Stu Weber, and last night I started typing up the underlined passages when I came upon the passage that the Holy Spirit used some 12 years ago to shake me from the trap of agnosticism and into the freedom of following Christ. Looking at it again and again, I realized it probably doesn't mean much to other men and that it certainly doesn't have the deep meaning and power that it had and has for me. But that's the wonder of words and, even more, the wonder of the Holy Spirit. He took these two sentences -- "God has given men a certain amount of authority. But they are first and foremost men under authority." Page 87 -- and totally changed my life.

For some, it's an interesting statement. For me, it's worth re-reading -- again and again and again and again ...

ice games

All things considered, I'd rather have power to heat our home and keep our food cool or frozen and to give light for nightly encounters with great books. And, yes, television and computers. There is nothing like chaos, however. Walking through the frozen streets together amazed at the force of nature. Sitting around a table lit only by candles and a battery-operated lamp, playing board games and laughing with each other. Maybe we can make an agreement with Mother Nature: Once a year, we'll turn off our man-made power for 48 hours and live off the Light that's within us. And, in return, she can spare us the storm that knocks out power and puts us into a deep, deep freeze.

Mommas, Daddies, Babies and Money

Three stories above the fold on Page 1 in today's Arkansas Democrat-Gazette offer a glimpse into our culture's misguided priorities. The lede story is on the proposed "stimulus plan" -- more money, more money, more money. Another story is on the decline of the family unit as seen in recent research on marriage rates, divorce rates and the number of couples who live together without any formal commitment. The third story is about the new president lifting bans that made it more difficult to kill babies before they are born.

quotes of interest.

"They (folks who live together but aren't married) can amass a good financial foundation and still be sexually satisfied."-- Rebecca Ward, social worker and family therapist.

Comment: I wonder if Ms Ward believes that or is stating that she thinks it's the reasoning many non-married sexually active couples would give for not getting married. Most research I've read shows that married couples report much higher levels of sexual satisfaction than non-married couples. I can't recall research on which couplets do best at amassing financial fortunes, but is that really the measuring stick for happiness, success, joy, peace?

"America can survive a financial crisis, it already has survived several of them, but it cannot survive the demise of it's most basic unit of civilization -- marriage and the family." --Dennis Rainey of FamilyLife, noting that there were 430,000 unmarried couples living together in America in 1960 and 6.4 million in 2007.

Comment: is it a stretch to think that our transition from a country that valued life and commitment in marriage and the importance of good mothers and fathers into a country that values self-focused goals and ambitions might somehow form a connection to the greed and the lack of accountability/personal responsibility that brought on our national economic crisis?

Finding my inner Tender Warrior

With thousands of great books out there among the millions of titles available, reading the same book more than once has never made much sense to me. I skim through books I've read in search of some particular points, but I don't re-read books -- except, of course, when I do. Right now I'm re-reading Tender Warrior by Stu Weber. I'm pretty sure this is the third time I've read it, and, other than the Bible, it's one of the few books I've ever fully read more than once. There are other books I'd enjoy reading again, but they always stay on the self because there's always a never-read book on my desk or nightstand.

Tender Warrior holds a special place in my life journey. It was a gift from a friend, but I can't recall why he thought an agnostic like me would be interested in a biblical view of manhood. But I promised him I'd read it, and I did. That was some 14 years ago, and here's the biggest, most important thing I learned from it: My authority isn't the highest authority. Men who lead with real authority and influence always live under real authority and influence. With this realization, I then had to decide under what authority I would place my life. Having long studied the major religions of the world, I knew all of them were lacking but one: Faith in Christ.

But Tender Warrior isn't one of those books written to convert heathens like me to the Way. It is, most of all, a wonderful description of biblical manhood -- the tender warrior. I know that if I live out the principles in this book, I'm a better man for it and my wife and family gain. And I know I need a constant remember of what those principle are. So I should re-read this book far more often than I do. The lessons are based on timeless truths, so they never get old.

When Gone Ain't Gone

My father died when I was in college, so it always hits me hard when I hear that a friend has lost a father. It's never easy to lose a parent, no matter how young or old you are, no matter how young or old your parents are, no matter how "good" or how "bad" they were as parents.

The father of a friend of mine died this week, and, as it so happens, the father had lived a pretty long life by today's standards. He had children and grandchildren. And he had been a man of influence on the lives of many, many people. He suffered a great deal at the end of his life, and the people who knew him are glad he has relief from that pain. His son helped take care of him until the very end, sitting with him when he took his final breath, always honoring him through his actions.

They'll miss him, but only for a short time. They know his death is not eternal, because he was a man who long ago embraced the greatest gift ever offered to the human race -- salvation. And they'll see his legacy on earth for as long as they are here, because the people who knew him are part of that legacy. He touched them, and they're touching others.

Ella Bird

My little Ella was a bird
Living among the trees.
She hid within the branches
and play among the leaves.
-- By Ella Caldwell and Podge Caldwell
January 2, 2009

Christmas inside the box