Celebrating the Journey

The Question has Changed!

2012-01-20T09:46:00.000-06:00

“We are so obsessed with doing that we have no time and no imagination left for being. As a result, men are valued not for what they are but for what they do or what they have - for their usefulness.” -Thomas Merton

The question has changed. And it is has changed significantly. At one time, people would say: What can you do for me? That sounds pretty selfish, does it not? It does not even come close to the sentiment that President Kennedy expressed decades ago in his famous quote: "And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your country." That speech was delivered on January 20^th, 1961 in his inaugural address to the nation.

The question has changed. Now people say: What can you do for me today? What can you do for me at this very moment? There are serious implications of this shift toward a more specific query. The intensity of self centered thinking in our culture has been raised exponentially.

The question has changed. Roots no longer matter. Never mind that you have been an exceptional leader in the community for decades. And forget the fact that as a public educator you have touched thousands of lives over the course of a long career. And church leaders are not immune. Years of loving pastoral provided by a minister that really cares is not valued to the same degree it would have been as recently as ten years ago.

The question has changed. What can you do for me at this very moment? People demand instantaneous service on their terms. If you are unable to produce, then you are tossed aside. The search for greener pastures begins immediately. You are not valued as a consistent contributor.

The question has changed. But that does not make it right. We all need to be reminded of such basic virtues as loyalty and respect. A leader’s track record of commitment and hard work should be worth something. Impulsive, loud, and immature voices should not be allowed to carry the day when an organization is in crisis. I concur with Thomas Merton. People should be valued for what they are and not exclusively for what they do. And furthermore people should never, ever be appraised for what they can do for us…right now. President Kennedy's thoughts from 51 years ago might just be worth pondering today...

Borderline Juvenile Delinquents

2012-01-17T19:38:00.000-06:00

I don’t recall ever having any serious discussions about future career plans with my friends when I was in high school. I do recall joking around that I was going to be a billionaire and live on a yacht. That thought of course remained a joke. And I also distinctly remember standing behind a podium in the speech and debate classroom and mimicking a preacher. My friends called me “Brother John.” The content of my so called “sermons” was beyond irreverent. There are some things that it just not too wise to tease about. I was given a divine lesson there! Who would have ever thought?

Those of us that traveled together on the speech and debate team at Monterey High School in Lubbock from 1978-1982 were mischievous, close knit, and at times downright crazy. Some of us were borderline delinquent. Other teammates served as a collective conscience. But our loyalty to each other was unquestioned. Time has proven that to be true. After over thirty years, most of still communicate with each other on a very regular basis.

There really were no earnest exchanges about career goals. But my friends and fellow teammates have all done very well. Several are working in various facets of the business world. One teammate owns a business in New York City and another one is a sales manager for a large auto dealership here in Texas. Still another teammate is an engineer for NASA. The list could go on.

What I find interesting is that several of us have been given the opportunity in our professions to reach out to teenagers that are mischievous, crazy, and fully delinquent. Paula has been teaching for over 22 years. She has the gift of influencing kids that are living on the edge for a variety of reasons. I know for a fact those students are highly unlikely to do anything that Paula did not do, or that I did not incite her to do back in the ‘70’s. As a minister and as a law enforcement chaplain, I am privileged to work with kids that are troubled in every imaginable way. And then there is Ruben.

Ruben has been the missing link for a long time now. Most of us found each other via facebook or a class reunion a long time ago. We have worried about him for years. We all wondered what happened to Ruben. Last week I found out.

Out of the blue he sent me an email that touched me to me to no end. Ruben is fine. He is married and has a wonderful son. He is a successful attorney. And he too is in a profession that is reaching out to kids that have crossed the line from just being borderline delinquent like we were. In his most recent email he says this: When I was a baby lawyer, I tried all different areas of law, including running my own practice. Over the past 14 years, I have been practicing exclusively in the area of law that I truly love. I represent indigent juveniles in Juvenile Court. I work for the Juvenile Public Defender.

It has been a blessing to reconnect with Ruben. And in the process I have learned some important lessons.

I have learned to never give up on that missing person. You never know who may reappear in your life and when.
I have also been reminded not to give up on borderline juvenile delinquents or downright irreverent teenagers. It could be that God is preparing them for something very special. One thing is for sure…the kids they serve someday will get little past them!

Thank You Laura Kaeppeler

2012-01-15T14:54:00.000-06:00

Laura Kaeppeler, Miss Wisconsin, was crowned Miss America last night. I don’t make it an annual habit of watching the Miss America pageant. But Laura’s crowing caught my attention for two reasons. She is from Kenosha, Wisconsin. I lived in Racine just 19 miles north of Kenosha from 1969-1975. And...I was intrigued by her platform at the pageant. Her platform focused on children of incarcerated adults. Her father was sentenced to a federal penitentiary on mail fraud charges, as she was getting ready to start to college.

As a law enforcement chaplain, my role is not focused on inmates or their families in most cases. I end up serving citizens that are the victims of heinous crimes, and the officers that deal with such individuals. I am with those same officers when someone is arrested. I have seen small children scream hysterically as mom or dad is cuffed and placed in the back of a patrol car. It was good for me to hear our newly crowned Miss America say: There are estimated 2 million people with a parent in jail. She brings awareness to a group that is often forgotten. And I think she put a topic out there that most people would rather not talk about!

Ms. Kaeppeler’s success underscores another important principle. Families have serious struggles. Fathers fail their children in appalling ways. But families that are willing to keep the failures out in the open not only recover, but end up thriving. When she approached her family about her chosen platform topic, they supported her even though they knew it would bring them under public scrutiny.

I am excited about Laura’s crowning last night. I think her honesty and empathy for a group of our society that we don’t want to think about is commendable. But the mindset of her family is particularly inspiring to me. I know all too well that I am inclined to hide my faults in order to portray a positive image. Honesty and humility trump the desire for any kind of image. Laura Kaeppeler and every member of family have taught us that. Congratulations to a brave and equally beautiful young lady from Kenosha, Wisconsin!

You are Needed on the Sidelines Coach...

2012-01-13T20:19:00.000-06:00

Nobody has been blessed with good mentors and coaches to the extent that I have. I have worked with some incredibly talented and patient professionals over the years. My internship with Willard Tate at a little country church in Hamby in 1986 and 1987 was an experience I will never forget. Willard was a great role model. He was ahead of his time in a lot of ways. 8 years in Wichita Falls as an associate minister in two different roles was highlighted by working with one of the most talented mentors in ministry that has ever entered the profession in my opinion!

As I worked on both of my graduate degrees, Dr. Charles Siburt walked alongside providing academic, professional, and personal encouragement that has been truly priceless.

As 2012 gets underway, I am facing some painful realities. Willard Tate is deceased. I still think of him often and recall in detail my final conversation with him not long before his death. Dr. Siburt is facing an extremely serious illness that has him hospitalized in Dallas at this very moment receiving an intense and aggressive combination of six chemo therapies. Thankfully my longtime mentor from Wichita Falls Larry Suttle is healthy! I had lunch with him today. But Larry is at that that time in life where he is caring for his aging parents. It comes as no surprise to me. He is doing it with a lot of grace and patience. I realized at lunch today that I am not the 25 year old kid that sat in his office for the first time almost 25 years ago.

It has occurred to me over the past few days that it is my turn. It is my turn to come in from the field and be stand on the sidelines as a coach. It is time for me to be the coach and mentor. Quite frankly I really don’t relish the idea. I am perfectly content to just play in the game!

I have always counted on Dr.Siburt to be there when I needed good counsel. He always knew just what to say. And he never spared my feelings! He just called it straight. He has consistently kept me from doing foolish things over the years. Now I must be the responsible one. Now I must be the rock for of Gibraltar for someone else.

I readily admit I am not ready for this responsibility. I still feel young and immature. I am still making so many mistakes. I have a lot more to learn. Am I really prepared to send the plays in for someone else?

It is excruciatingly painful to watch Charles suffer. But I have realized this week the best gesture of friendship I can offer to him is to step up to the plate and offer those close to me what he has given me over the years. I learned from the best.

Surely good shall develop from his loyal investment of time in my life and ministry. I was privileged to visit with him in his office the week before Christmas. He told me he was proud of me and that he loved me. I am going to keep that image close as I prepare to stand on the sidelines. I am hearing the call. A simple call to be the coach on the sidelines for the next generation.

Passing Notes in Church: A Long Held Tradition Continues...

2012-01-12T20:25:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time teenagers passed notes to each other in church. There is no doubt in my mind that there are 60 year olds out there today who were chastised by their preacher from the pulpit for their use of this mode of written communication in a worship service. But that day is long past. Teens text message each other during church now. In fact, I suspect there could be a few adults using their smart phones for something other than the Bible app in a church service.

Believe it or not the long outdated practice of note passing was resumed during my sermon last Sunday. If you don’t think that is unusual, then consider this additional factor: the culprits confessed afterwards. I obviously don’t expect such juvenile behavior from 80 year old adults, but what can I say?

As it turns out, they had a good reason for note passing. My 80 year old couple observed a young man in his 20’s sitting in front of them during the service. Somehow they ascertained quickly that he is hearing impaired. So they passed notes with him during the entire worship period. The elderly gentleman I am referring to is originally from Long Island. It is a true shame that our young guest will never hear his distinct accent that enthralls everyone when he speaks publicly.

The young man handed me a note after church that said: I want to be a part of the church here. I understand that you do not have an interpreter, but that is ok…

Actually it is not “ok.” We will figure something out. But I can’t help but think that he felt warmly welcomed by my older couple. I wonder if the tone of the note he handed to me was partially prompted by the attitude and mindset of my elderly note writers. I don’t know. But I do know this: When people have a loving attitude, communication barriers are not going to hold them back. I never thought I would say this, but I am: I am grateful today for people willing to pass notes in church.

A Painful Past Follows us into the New Year...

2011-12-30T09:58:00.000-06:00

Another year is about to end. Most of us search for some sense of closure at the close of the year. It is a time for new beginnings. And it might even be a moment to declare a few resolutions. But the pains of the past continue to keep company with us by stealthily sliding under the entrance to the New Year.

Baggage from the past barricades the entrance to the new beginnings that January 1^st symbolically brings for everyone. Is there hope for change? Or are we destined to remain trapped in the hurts and disappointments of life? I read some ideas on this subject this week by Helen Cepero in her excellent work entitled: Journaling as a Spiritual Practice: Encountering God Through Attentive Writing.

Cepero urges us to name our wounds and grieve them. She is even of a mind that a painful past can bless us and others. She shares the following examples in her book:

A wife whose husband died of AIDS finds herself returning to the AIDS clinic to provide comfort. A breast cancer survivor listens and responds on her blog to those in chemotherapy. Someone who attempted suicide works the midnight shift on the suicide prevention hotline. A recovering addict speaks words of tough love as a sponsor of another addict who is struggling to stop using. Each of them is letting a painful past bless themselves and others.

The pains of life are going to follow us like a lost puppy into the New Year. That is reality. And reality is our friend. The shift in the calendar from 2011 to 2012 really does not mean much. Or does it?

Perhaps we can begin 2012 with a resolve to use our painful experiences as a launching pad to bless others. As a noteworthy example, I am totally convinced that the process of grieving the loss of someone close to us is not complete until we have used that experience to compassionately touch another person’s life. I am resolved to begin a New Year by asking some important questions.

How can I use the painful experiences I have dealt with to help others? Who is in my immediate sphere of influence that is struggling today? Am I going to whine or consider the needs of others above my own?

There is no point in obstructing the entrance to the New Year. The pains and disappointments from the past will blow right past any fortification I attempt to construct. But that is really fine. I will just allow such unrelenting company join me on an important mission to the touch the lives of those around me.

He is 11 Years Old: Will He Become a Career Criminal?

2011-12-28T20:10:00.002-06:00

Getting in the trouble with the juvenile authorities is never a good thing. And that is especially true if you are only eleven years old. It is not a good way to be voted must likely to succeed a few years down the road by your classmates. But Jimmy (Not his real name) found himself in trouble at age 11. But things were about to turn around.

A gentleman who held an important supervisory position at the FBI signed up to be a volunteer with the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program in the state they lived in at the time. Jimmy’s big brother invested two or three hours of his time with him every single week for about three years. Of course Jimmy was enthralled with the idea of hanging out with a man that worked for the FBI! But his big brother quickly pointed out to him that a career in law enforcement would not be an option if there were any additional infractions on his record. Criminal offenses as an adult in particular would totally exclude him from consideration for a job in law enforcement.

Jimmy and his big brother went their separate ways. His big brother retired after a long and successful career with the FBI. After retirement, he relocated to Texas. He never heard anymore from Jimmy. That is he did not hear anymore until a Christmas card came in the mail last week.

Jimmy’s mother tracked her son’s former “big brother” down and told her son’s story in the Christmas card. Jimmy did not get in any more trouble. In fact, he enlisted in The Marine Corps. After completing active duty military service, Jimmy found a good job with a lot of promise for the future. He went to work for the FBI. As a matter of record, he went to work for the FBI in the same unit where his big brother served as a supervisor prior to retirement.

I wonder if someone working with Jimmy when he was eleven years old worried that he would become a career criminal. I wonder if there was an alert juvenile probation officer that tried to get him some help. He had gotten in trouble at a young age. His father was abusive. There were several factors that pointed to him becoming another statistic. But there was a man working for the FBI willing to sacrifice 3 hours of his time every week to mentor and encourage a vulnerable young man. And that is how troubled kids keep from becoming career criminals.

They were NOT Home for Christmas...

2011-12-27T19:14:00.000-06:00

I was off for several days last week, so I spent a good deal of time reading assigned material for an upcoming retreat that is part of a two year residency that has spiritual formation as its focus. In other words, when this two year experience is over I should be a better person! (Actually there is a lot more to it than that…) By Friday afternoon, I was tired of reading about being a spiritual person. I was ready to get out in the field and practice what I was reading about.

I changed clothes and headed to the police department for a Friday night ride out on the late shift. I never fail to learn valuable lessons and have ample opportunity to serve people in my chaplaincy role. And that is especially true when I riding out on a busy shift.

Bear in mind this is the Friday before Christmas. In a very short period of time, I met three people that would not be home for Christmas. The first one person was a man from Mexico that was involved in a minor accident. His English was marginal, so I used my equally marginal Spanish to assist the officers in gathering necessary information for an accident report. He is here working in an effort to better support his family back in Mexico. His family will remain in Mexico while he works here. It occurred to me…he won’t be home for Christmas.

We then made a call that involved an individual that was having some emotional problems. I will not divulge any details to protect that person’s privacy. I will simply say that the person was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am not qualified to diagnose such serious disorders, but the symptoms were present. As we left the location where we interviewed this person, it occurred to me that another neighbor’s Christmas would be anything but normal. It is likely that he won't be home for Christmas.

And then there was still another call that involved a citizen struggling with serious mental issues. This situation involved someone that is not a permanent resident of our city. The problems at hand were complex. There were multiple layers. And there was very little we could do on the Friday night before Christmas for a person that was fundamentally homeless and without a support system. Another person that would not be home for Christmas…. And I wondered if someone in a distant state would miss this family member at the Christmas dinner table.

I went home late that night. I walked into a living room with a well lit Christmas tree. My boys of course were still up lounging around on the couch with their computers. The sweet aroma of home cooking was lingering in the air. And I thought about three people that would not be home for Christmas.... Reading good books about spiritual formation is a good thing. But getting out in the field is an equally useful exercise if we are to grow in such graces as humility, thanksgiving, and compassion…I think I will be returning to the night shift soon. There is no shortage of work to be done...And I fully realize I have a lot to learn about humility, grace, and compassion.

Trapped in My OWN Car Listening to Something They Call "Music"

2011-12-16T10:51:00.000-06:00

In August of 2007, we packed up all our firstborn’s belongs and prepared to make the two hour trek west to Abilene. I deferred to his mother and allowed her the privilege of riding in his car with him on his first trip to college. I drove the family van loaded down with all the necessities for life in a college dormitory. The conversation she had with our then 18 year old son that afternoon is not one she will soon forget. They listened to his music and reflected on significant milestones of his formative years. (He had her trapped. She had to listen to his music.)

He completed his final semester of college in Los Angeles in a special program at the Los Angeles Film Institute. In fact, he left his car in Los Angeles. He plans to make California his home state for awhile. Since he was without a vehicle I had the privilege of taking him to Abilene for the last trip to college Wednesday of this week.

Once again we listened to his music. (I was trapped this time.) But his approach was different. He assembled a mix of tunes that he thought I would like. I will never admit this to him, but our tastes in music are not too far off…We stopped at McDonalds in Eastland for lunch. (He wanted Dairy Queen since it is a Texas staple, but I could not handle that!) I was given a lecture on how to eat frugally by ordering exclusively off the dollar menu. Obviously there are some of his mother’s genes lurking in his brain somewhere.

I quickly determined that I was not dealing with an 18 year old reflecting on his growing up years. I was in the presence of an ambitious soon to be college graduate. His work ethic has grown. His understanding of people has matured. And his spirit is far more gracious.

I have heard countless stories of parents shedding tears after drooping off their little darling at the dorm for the first time, as college life begins. We didn’t shed many tears. In August of 2007, Randall was ready to independent. And we were ready for him to make that step as well! But in making the trek back home Wednesday afternoon all alone… Now that is a different story. My counsel to young parents: You had better cherish every second, because one of these days they will trap you in the car to listen to their music. You might just find that being trapped is not so bad...

Who Says Cops Don't Cry?

2011-12-10T18:23:00.000-06:00

Who Says Cops don’t cry…. I would like to say that the title to this piece is original, but it is not. Curtis Harrelson was the first police chief I served under. He composed an article by the same title for a professional journal over twenty years ago. It was excellent. Of course I can’t find the article anywhere! I officiated at Chief Harrelson’s funeral almost three years ago. I can’t pretend to replicate his thoughts, but the title fits what I feel compelled to share.

Last week marked an important milestone in my 22 year tenure as a law enforcement chaplain. Granbury Police Department recently hired two new officers that just completed the police academy. They hit the streets with their field training officers last week. One of those young men graduated from high school in my son’s class.

My first reaction was: what???!! I am getting too old. Maybe a younger person could relate more effectively. And then I thought about Joe Corn… Joe was a chaplain I served with years ago who was in his 80’s when I met him. He would ride out on the midnight shift on a regular basis. The younger officers loved him, and regularly took him home with them to meet their families.

I am not in my 80’s quite yet, but I am opening a new chapter in my perspective on chaplaincy. I used to think my primary role was to serve members of the community with police officers during times of crisis. And so for years I have accompanied officers to deliver death notifications, respond to suicide and homicide scenes. I have assisted at drowning incidents and fatality fires. If there is a tragedy that involves police service, I often find myself right beside them at their request.

I will continue to do all of the above to the best of my ability. But at this point in my career, I am going to drop the word “with” from my chaplaincy vocabulary. My primary focus from this point on is to serve the servant. I am not going to serve with police officers. I am going to serve period… That includes serving them, because after all of these years I know firsthand what they see and experience.

The 22 year old officer that we just hired is yet to see and experience an array of traumatic events. His day is coming. He will witness horrific things that people do to children. He will see a mother cry for her baby when a child dies unexpectedly. He will serve victims of aggravated robberies and sexual assaults. And he will see kids make really poor choices that impact the rest of their lives. He will document all of these events in carefully composed police reports. But he will also shed a private tear at some point in his career. And I hope to serve that young man as all of this unfolds. Who says that cops don’t cry?

Traditions are About People

2011-12-10T11:39:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving 2011 has come and gone. At The Knox Manor, we paid proper respect to time honored traditions. There was turkey on the table, we watched the Dallas Cowboys play later in the afternoon, and we at least thought about getting the Christmas decorations out of the garage. Everything appeared to be in proper order. On the surface, it was a normal Thanksgiving. But that was

definitely not the case.

We knew that Randall would not be with us for Thanksgiving this year. You just don’t pop in from Los Angeles for the weekend. We actually knew well in advance that we would not see him until December. On the surface everyone in the family took his absence really well. But when the boys asked their mother to prepare her traditional pumpkin dump cake for the Thursday feast, she graciously declined. She told them she would wait and make it for Christmas dinner when Randall was home. All three of the boys join me for an annual vicious, cutthroat, no holes barred game of Monopoly over the Thanksgiving Holiday. There was a casual reference to playing this year, but it just never happened. The boys also go shopping with me during that weekend sometime. It is a good time to buy mom a Christmas present or two. But no one seemed interested in that annual event either.

I have had a few weeks to process our reaction to the absence of one of our own at an important time in the year. Several things occur to me. I have thought to myself more than once: This is what we get for encouraging independence. Our children have always been very independent. When we took them to church camp in the summer, they never looked back. Randall was not inclined to burn out the highway driving home when he was in college. There were people to meet and things to do!

Most importantly though I have realized that traditions are about people. Monopoly is fun for sure. But it is fun, because of the people sitting around the table. Jan’s pumpkin dump cake is to die for, but she makes it for the boys. It is a gesture of love. Christmas shopping is not my favorite past time, but I enjoy hanging out with my boys. Tradition is about the people we love.

I learned a hard lesson this year. I learned to value the most important people in my life like I never have before. And I figured out what drives tradition. That conclusion could prove to be a significant insight as well. Words of wisdom as Christmas rapidly approaches this year: Value tradition. Enjoy it. Take lots of pictures. Don’t forgo any of your annual family practices.

Randall flies home Monday. Late Monday night another tradition will ensue. We will go out to eat in Dallas and I will pay the bill. For some reason I think the time honored tradition of me picking up the tab will not end soon…I will just tell myself: it is about the person! And that would be true.

A Tale of Two Fathers....

2011-12-03T13:49:00.000-06:00

I heard a tale of two fathers last night at a Christmas party. Perhaps I should say that I heard a tale of two kinds of fathers! The first installment in the story unfolded as we sat around enjoying some traditional Mexican food. One the attendees at the party grew up in a home where both of his parents were educators in the public school system. I might add that they were employed by schools in a somewhat rural community. Brian told us that his mother was a teacher in the elementary school. During his formative years as a student mom was always right down the hall. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. It was bad enough that my mother always sided with the teacher, even when said instructor was clearly misguided in her analysis of my behavior. But Brian somehow survived and moved on to middle school.

By the time he became a high school student, his dad was serving as the principal on that campus. That must have made his mother being in the same school building look like paradise. I asked him if he ever got sent the principal’s office. I never got a straight answer on that one, but he did say that his father was waiting for him on the steps of the school on a morning when he was tardy. His father handed him the standard tardy slip and informed him in a way that only a dad can that he would never be late to school again.

The second installment in this tale of two fathers took place a little later at the same party. I casually asked a high school teacher how her year was going. I was not prepared for the response I received. She shared some of the difficulties of teaching in a public school in today’s world. Behavior issues are rampant. One evening after school she decided to go on a mission. She had four boys in one particular class that were especially destructive and disrespectful. Her mission: Call all of their fathers that evening and seek their assistance. Unfortunately I knew the outcome of this installment of the tale before she finished. There were no fathers in which to speak. They were in jail or they had abandoned the family. Some of the kids had virtually no guidance at the place they called home.

The final chapter in this tale has only been partially completed. Brian graduated from high school with only one tardy on his record to my knowledge. He is presently a supervisor with a very prestigious law enforcement agency. The four boys that struggle with their conduct in and probably out of the classroom are juniors in high school this year. So much of their story has not been written yet. I know for a fact that if they don’t encounter a mentor soon their future is bleak at best.

Last night’s tale of two fathers changed my perspective. I used to think that we need excellent teachers that are outstanding role models to remain in public education. I still firmly believe that to be true. But I am now persuaded that they cannot do it alone. Public schools must adopt a model similar to the concept of Community Policing that many law enforcement agencies have embraced. Public schools struggling for sufficient funding must aggressively recruit, welcome, and encourage adult volunteers to be a personal part of the educational process in the classroom.

The teacher I spoke with last night is imminently qualified in her field. But the presence of a strong male role model in her classroom would make quite a difference in my estimation. Of course I think men and women are needed for such a task. I am just thinking about the four fatherless boys… I know several retired police officers that are trained in a concept called Command Presence. Those kids need a good blend of Command Presence and genuine love. I am not convinced that school administrators across the board are buying into this concept. If we are going to retain the best educators and prepare this generation for life in the real world there had better be some buy in!

As I reflected on the tale I heard last night, I realized that I as my nest empties in the next couple of years; I may need to build a new one in a classroom. After all I know how to communicate with kids in ways that only a father can. And I want to be like Brian's father. I want to be a real man that loves kids enough to have some real expectations.

Honoring Tradition is a Thing of the Past

2011-11-28T19:17:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving at Grandma’s… There is nothing quite like it. In our early married life, we made the trek to Grannie Obrian’s house situated on a half section of land 10 miles north of Lazbuddie and 20 miles east of Bovina. Grannie was a hard working lady. She knew how to put together a Thanksgiving feast.

It never occurred to Grannie Obrian that you could buy pre-made pie shells in the frozen food section at the grocery store. At Grannie’s house, gravy did not originate from a package. And Grannie Obrian was equally oblvious to the existence of Cool Whip. She whipped her own cream to put on top of one of her wonderful pies. As the men passed around the bowl of the freshly whipped delicacy, they joked that it would just ruin that pie.

You know we always went to Grannies knowing exactly what to expect. There were no variations. Time held holiday traditions remained fundamentally unchanged for decades at the farmhouse they called home.

I firmly believe that there is something inherently good about going to safe places with safe people, where we know exactly what to expect. It gives us a remarkable feeling of security. In a world that is changing at a rapid fire pace everyday, we find ourselves drawn to safe places. I can’t help but be sad as well as nostalgic when I think about Grannie O’Brian now. She died very unexpectedly when we had only been married about 3 years. My children never got to experience Thanksgiving at her home. Her husband lived well into his 90’s. But Papo is gone now too.

Now it is my turn to create a safe place for my children. A home where traditions will be honored and family members affirmed. I am probably going to buy some Cool Whip occasionally, but we still expect Jan to make homemade pie crusts and stir up some cream gravy from scratch. The boys expect her to make pumpkin dump cake and a few other specialties. But we don’t mind. We want home to be a place for our sons where they know what to expect.

Some would say that kids these days don’t value tradition. Some would say that honoring tradition is a thing of the past. Some of my peers would argue that I am wasting my time trying to uphold family traditions. But that is not true. Not at all… I found that to be the case this past weekend when two of our three boys were home. Something very interesting took place. I will share that incident in Part II tomorrow.

There is Nothing Quite Like a Good Memory...

2011-11-14T19:50:00.000-06:00

My short term memory is well beyond repair. Searching for my keys is a daily ritual. Coffee mugs have been found all over our office suite. My coffee mugs that is… I have been called an airhead and worse… But I can tell you that my first grade teacher drove a baby blue 1966 Mustang.

I learned a number of years ago that poor memories are actually not beyond repair. When people approach me and share stories about one of my parents, it is fortifies my soul. My father has been deceased since 1978 and mother since 1991. A number of their peers are gone as well. But on rare occasions, I encounter someone who remembers them! And they tell stories that I so appreciate hearing. It makes me grateful for good memories… I am so thankful that there are people that store personal encounters back in the recesses of their brain and bring those narratives up at an opportune moment.

One year ago tomorrow a young trooper with the Texas Department of Public Safety was killed in an on-duty car crash near Post, Texas on a stretch of US 84 that I have traveled an untold number of times. His name was Jonathan McDonald. In my role as a volunteer chaplain for the DPS, I assisted in serving his family in the immediate hours following the tragedy. My heart was broken for his parents and his young wife and baby girl.

The next day the tragedy became even more personal. My sister told me that Trooper McDonald had hired my nephew at a grocery store in Lubbock. (The young trooper was a manager at United Grocery Store prior to entering DPS recruit school.) Kim was so impressed with the kindness that Jonathan McDonald showed to her son. She too was heartbroken for his family.

Tomorrow is going to a tough day for Jonathan’s wife, Laura. His parents and the rest of his family are in for a long day too. But people with good memories will make it bearable. Stories need to be told. Significant events must be relived. That is my prayer for all of Jonathan’s family. I pray that they will be surrounded by people with good memories. His family needs to be embraced by those that are willing to recount his qualities and tell the tall tales in unedited fashion. Stories must be told tomorrow and 30 years from now too.

There is nothing quite like a good memory. I am going to try to make sure that my capacity to remember encounters with people remains in good repair. I hope you will do likewise. Someone will need a good word on a significant day…

Giving People a Second Chance Takes on Many Forms

2011-11-13T15:56:00.000-06:00

She is a pretty girl. And she is young. I would guess that she is in early 20s’. She came to the free eye clinic we offered in one of the small communities near Mission, Texas last week. The poverty in several Texas counties bordering Mexico is overwhelming. I know there are politicians that have all of the answers regarding immigration and the issues that surround it. But the reality is that there are very poor people struggling to subsist on both sides of the International Bridges that connect us to Mexico.

This particular young lady came to the eye clinic already wearing a pair of glasses. That is actually pretty unusual. We normally see people that can’t read or should not be driving! They have no access to proper optical care. This young lady was wearing a pair of large glasses with thick black rims. They looked like the eyeglasses my dad wore in the 1960’s when we lived outside of Chicago.

She told our optometrist at the free clinic that her glasses were government-issue. At first he did not know what she meant. But he figured it out. She received her glasses in prison. There were several tell tale signs that she had been incarcerated. The girl showed up so she could get some glasses that looked like something a 20 something would wear.

We took some before and after pictures. I will not publish them for privacy purposes. But I will say that the change was dramatic. I hope that this young lady is able to view herself in a different light. I hope that her life script from this point on will be different. Will a pair of glasses make a difference? If you saw her that day, you might actually think so! I think a pair of glasses given by loving people that really care is a good thing.

I think we sometimes think that people have to reach a certain standard before we can help them. Or they have to be “trying” in ways that we perceive to be important. It is almost as if we are checking “spiritual id’s” at the door before we allow admission. I am sure there are individuals that would think we were wasting time fitting that girl in donated eyeglasses that look approriate.

I learn something new every time I go on a medical mission trip. (And I have been on a bunch of them!) This year I relearned the importance of accepting people where they are. I was reminded once again that we are called to serve people period. And that includes very young adults that have been convicted of felonies.

Are people going to take advantage of our good nature? Yes. Are we going to get burned? Yes. Is that a good excuse to stay home and do nothing? No… Giving people a second chance takes on many forms.

I Have Never Called Anyone Mom

2011-11-08T19:25:00.000-06:00

I have never called anyone mom before. Those are the words of a 13 year old boy who was a resident at Casa De La Esperanza in Northern Mexico prior to being reunited with his biological mother. Casa is a children's home that provides residential care for about 50 children. There are infants and there are teenagers in that group. The median age is 7. 31% of the children have no clue as to the identity of either one of their parents. 78% have no regular visitors.

The 13 year boy that have never called anyone mom is rare. As a resutlt of several extraordinary events, his mother was able be to reunited with him. But that is a rare story. Last summer the Home took in two very small children that were found abandoned in a city park.  The kids could not even provide their names or their birthdates.

Last Sunday was hosted Gil Sanchez as a guest speaker at church.   Gil and his wife Becky have directed Casa De La Esperanza since 1998.   The improvements made to the facilities are beyond description.   The love and nurture the Sanchez family and numerous others have provided is to be commended.

As I listened to Gil, I was truly convicted. In recent years, I have struggled with the array of mistakes I have made as a father. I have agonized over poor choices and misplaced priorities.   Gil's comments about the chilren they serve reminded me of two important principles that apply to a lot of us that have been fathers for a few years.

As long as I am breathing, I can improve as a father.   Two of my children are grown and out of the house. But I am still their father. I can still employ my paternal skills
I am surrounded byildren who have never called anyone dad.  I feel called to reach out to those kids. Over 22 years of being a father should count for something!

Who do you know that has never had anyone to call "mom" or "dad?"

The Anger Just Keeps on Coming!

2011-10-27T20:05:00.000-05:00

When you hear a West Texas farmer tell you that his irrigation well is pumping sand, it is never good news. The well is no longer deep enough to pump life giving water that keep crops alive and vibrant. And unfortunately wells can go out at the most inopportune times. A crop can burn up in the August sun without sufficient water. Consequently a wise farmer acts decisively by having the pumped pulled and the well drilled even deeper.

Ruth Haley Barton in her book, Invitation to Solitude and Silence makes reference to pockets of anger about past pains and present injustices that cover deep wells of sadness. The presence of anger is just like an irrigation well pumping sand. Relationships are destroyed as the poisonous anger sand is sprayed everywhere. It takes a lot of courage to uncover that same well and dig through the muck. But it must be done.

We must be willing to uncover our own wells of sadness and keep drilling until we are able to deal with past pains and present injustices. What drilling company shall we call? Can we call the same guy that pulls irrigation pumps on farm wells? That would be nice, but it won’t work.

Drilling down a well of sadness is not for the faint hearted, but it looks something like this: We must choose to push the cover back, and dig the well deeper by entering into a place of solitude. In the context of solitude, we can allow God invade the areas of our lives where the pain is particularly excruciating. It is not much fun. It is going to hurt, but in the long run it helps.

Solitude forces us to quit hiding from the pain. The noise of life can no longer drown it out. We experience a greater degree of spiritual depth by entering into times of solitude for the expressed purpose of allowing God enter the most painful corners our existence. And once the well is dug deeper, we can emerge with a new capacity to work through pain and injustices constructively. We look up one day and realize that we are no longer pumping up anger sand. And of course we tend to pump up anger sand at the most inopportune times. After all, when a well consistently pumps anger sand, it is never good news.

My Friend is Grieving: WHAT can I Say?

2011-10-19T13:52:00.000-05:00

Dr. Joanne Cacciatore is affiliated with the Center for Loss and Trauma. She directs the MISS Foundation, which is a, volunteer based organization committed to providing crisis support and long term aid to families after the death of a child from any cause. I find her reflections on grief to be insightful. Dr. Cacciatore’s most recent quote is as follows: No answer could ever be good enough for a parent's grieving heart. Well said Dr. Cacciatore!

I recently spoke at a training event for hospital chaplain volunteers. I of course emphasized the importance of being quick to listen and slow to speak. I tried to explain the concept of “ministry of presence.” And I also said that attempting to answer the questions that grieving individuals are posing is generally not a useful pursuit. But I did not go far enough. I should have said precisely what Dr. Cacciatore shares with a slight edit. I would go as far to say that no answer is ever good enough for a grieving person’s heart period.

Tomorrow I am officiating at a funeral for a 53 year old man, who leaves a wife and two young teenage boys. Later this week I will attend the funeral for a man whose daughter was murdered in 2008. I was involved in serving her family in my role as a law enforcement chaplain. He wanted to live long enough to see her killer convicted, which he did. Every individual that was close to these people have questions. But even the best answers I could conjure up in my mind would never be good enough.

Here is the good news: the pressure is off. We can serve those who are grieving deeply without feeling compelled to provide answers. We don’t have to wonder what to say. We can zip our lips with confidence and give all of energies to listening.

When I train new law enforcement chaplains, I always encourage them to practice the three H’s. They are as follows:

Hurry-Get over your jitters about serving someone in crisis and hustle to their side.

Hug-Be generous with your affection as it is fitting and appropriate.

Hush-You might as well hush, because no answer you can provide will good enough for that grieving person’s heart…

Thanks Dr. Cacciatore! When it comes to serving people in crisis, there is something new to learn everyday.

The Dark Shade of Self Pity: Is it Covering Your Heart?

2011-10-15T12:50:00.000-05:00

I am very good at feeling sorry for myself. In fact I think I could consider myself an expert. I can work myself up into a tizzy of self pity with very little effort. In a matter of minutes, I can pull a dark shade down over my heart that blocks out the light of rational thoughts. But the divine light of reality somehow pierces through that shade and illuminates my heart.

This month marks the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death. (October 30th to be precise.) For some crazy reason the 20 year milestone has been a difficult one. Perhaps it is because my children are all reaching important milestones in their lives. I have one that will graduate from college in December! My mother would have been extremely proud of him. He was the only child of mine she ever knew. I was pressing on with the normal responsibilities of life on the inner side of that dark shade until an important event took place this week.

One of my good friends, who reside in Mexico, shared with me her concerns about a family friend who is dealing with colon cancer. This is a gentleman that has been very loyal to her family over the years. She went on to tell me that the man is unable to purchase some medical supplies he needs. (Colostomy bags to be specific.) In this country, that is a common item that insurance or Medicare covers. The man is extremely poor. In a millisecond, the dark shade that had been covering my heart was yanked away.

I got busy and started figuring out ways to provide some short term financial assistance for this man; so that he could purchase needed medical supplies. Getting funds into Mexico securely takes a little effort, so I solicited the assistance of capable people that know how to do all of that. The initial part of the mission has already been accomplished. The dark shade has been cast aside. I don’t have time for self-pity.

My mother was diagnosed with colon cancer in August of 1991. It was in a well advanced stage by the time physicians determined what was going on. She was a very dignified lady, but she had to live with the reality of dealing with a colostomy bag during the final months of her life. Insurance of course covered the cost of those supplies. When I heard the story of the man in Mexico suffering from the same disease, I felt compelled to do something. My mother would have been ashamed of me if I let such an opportunity to assist go by. In an odd sort of way, I feel that I have honored her memory this week. I think it would be wise not to attempt to pull a dark shade of self pity over my heart again. There is no telling what kind of events may develop to forcefully pull it right off the window of my heart.

The dark shade of self-pity...Is it covering your heart today?

Statements Victims of Domestic Violence Would Rather Not Hear

2011-10-07T21:21:00.000-05:00

Domestic violence is far more prevalent than what you would ever think. As a law enforcement chaplain, I can say that most of the homicides I have assisted with over a 22 year period have been the result of some form of domestic violence. Several years ago I was with an officer the night he raced to a woman’s home, because an offender pulled the phone out of the wall, as she frantically gave the 911 dispatcher needed information. It transcends race, religious affiliation, and socioeconomic factors. At some point you may find that you have someone close to you impacted by verbal, physical, or sexual abuse. Tomorrow I am conducting a training session for some great people that have committed to volunteering at a center that will reach out to victims of this heinous crime. (Yes it is a crime…) In assimilating some training notes, I put together a list that might prove helpful in serving a friend in need someday. Here it is…

Statements Victims of Domestic Violence Would Rather Not Hear

 Everything will be all right.

 What did you do to provoke him?

 He will never see daylight again. (The implication that the offender will remain incarcerated forever.)

 Nice girls don’t end up in relationships with guys like that. (abusers)

 He is an upstanding citizen. He would never do anything like that.

 It is God’s will for you to remain with him.

 He has never acted like this before.

 If you file criminal charges, he won’t be able to earn a living.

 Why didn’t you fight back?

 I know how you feel.

 Your children need their father.

 He can’t help it…(He has issues.)

I suppose the moral of this little listing is: think before you speak! The key in serving crime victims is to be quick to listen and slow to speak. Think carefully before you draw erroneous conclusions. And most of all don’t hesitate to extend compassion to those that have been victims.

Some Gifts are Truly Priceless

2011-10-06T13:26:00.000-05:00

Every Sunday I have the privilege of speaking to approximately 600 people. Having something meaningful to say over 40 times a year is a challenge. As a speaker, I have learned not to be distracted by what is taking place in the audience. But there are times you can tell people are bored. And other times you can sense that someone is very moved by what is being shared.

Last Sunday there was a participant sitting out there in the worship service drawing, as I was delivering my sermon. All that she had at her immediate disposal was a pencil and the back of a registration document. As I tried to motivate and encourage in the pulpit, she was using the time to develop her artistic abilities. You might think she was not showing proper respect or that she was not listening. But that was the not the case at all.

The benedictory prayer was said and services were dismissed. I am always bombarded with people to greet after the second service. This past Sunday was no exception. There were several out of town visitors I was attempting to make a concerted effort to welcome. But I could sense that someone was trying to get my attention… It was none other than sweet little Caitlyn. She handed me a folded piece of paper and told me it was a gift. I thanked her and hugged her. But that was not sufficient. Caitlyn wanted me to examine her gift at that very moment, so I did. As I was preaching my heart out, she was drawing something just for me. It even included a phrase I had used in my sermon. The phrase was “people of faith.” She was obviously listening!

I hugged her a second time and thanked her again too. I told her that I would place her drawing on my desk right beside my computer, so I could see it all of the time. That sweet child melted my heart. I am sure there were people that walked by that failed to get greeted, but that is perfectly ok. Caitlyn deserved my total and undivided attention.

The next time I have an especially discouraging Sunday I am going to march right back to my office and place my attention on the pencil drawing given to me by a special little girl. I am sure I will need to be reminded on such days that I have friends among that Sunday crowd who are listening as well as drawing. And I am not sure what I would do without them.

The Party Was Planned... but NOBODY Showed Up

2011-10-01T15:48:00.000-05:00

It is always nice to be invited… It feels good to be included. But sometimes we take invitations for granted. There is no telling how many 80th birthday parties and 50th wedding anniversary events I have attended over the years. On many of those occasions I dutifully changed out of my Saturday attire, shaved, and cleaned up so I could go and support that individual. I never really thought much about it. I just thought it was the right choice to make. I ended up officiating at funerals at a later date for a number of those individuals. Even though I was a little grouchy about cleaning up on a Saturday afternoon I was always glad I went.

What if everyone took an invitation lightly? What if all of the guests decided that it was too much trouble to attend the function to which they had been invited? What would the consequences be if every invitee chose to be elsewhere? Does that sound a little far fetched? Maybe not…

Last week I received an email that was sent to a group of people from a distraught mother. It seems that a party was planned to celebrate her daughter’s 10th birthday. This girl is precious. She is as sweet as they come. But on the day of the party the unthinkable occurred. Nobody showed up. No one that was invited made the party that day. The little girl was heartbroken to say the least. Her mother relayed that her daughter cried herself to sleep on the night of her birthday.

There are days that I would prefer to be hard hearted. Life would be much simpler. The day I read that email was one of them. I know this girl. I have watched her grow up. I can’t handle stories like that. Events like that go with kids for a long time...

I have had a few days to process the circumstances surrounding her failed party. Several thoughts seem to stand out. An invitation is an honor. It is an honor to celebrate a milestone with a friend. The least we can do is let them know if we can’t show up. I am also reminded that people are important. It is never a good idea to let our selfish pursuits take precedence over relationships. And finally…we are living in a culture that does not seem to value good manners. Sometimes it is just good manners to show up when invited. And of course there is that matter of "do onto others..."

Some Gifts are Priceless...

2011-09-26T19:43:00.000-05:00

Dr. Michael McCoy is my guest blogger today. Dr. McCoy has joined us on several medical mission trips to various locations in Northern Mexico in the state of Chihuahua. Today's blog represents his thoughts on a trip that we took in October of 2009 to Chihuahua City, Chihuahua.

She walked in with her head down. She barely made eye contact as I said good morning in my best broken Spanish. She mumbled something as she took a seat in the dental chair, never looking up. This didn’t surprise me too much, as most people would rather eat raw liver than go to the dentist. Through an interpreter, I found out that her name was Elena, and that she was fourteen years old. As the questions continued, she answered, never smiling, no matter how hard I tried to “kid” with her. I assumed that she was in some type of discomfort from a severely mangled molar ravaged by years of neglect. After all, I had seen a steady progression of neglected teeth for the last day and a half of the medical mission trip, why would this be any different. When asked if she was in pain, she shyly said that she was not. In fact, Elena had no pain at all. By this time I was getting a bit impatient, after all we had a line of people waiting outside with rotten teeth and periodontal disease that needed attention. I didn’t have time for this. Through the interpreter I asked Elena what it was about her teeth that bothered her. She hesitantly replied after a few minutes of coaxing from my interpreter Javier….whom I by now had decided was a direct descendent of Job…. that she was embarrassed about her teeth. She told us that her friends made fun of her because they were brown. At this point she opened her mouth to reveal her front teeth that were not only brown but a number of other colors as well. There was even a little spot that I would swear resembled a burnt orange Texas longhorn. Through a few tears that by now had appeared on Elena’s cheek, she asked if I could “make them pretty”. OK… I have always been a sucker for the “tear” thing, and besides, the Longhorn, I decided, had to be a sign from God himself. I explained to Elena that I couldn’t do it today because we didn’t have time ,but that if she would come back first thing in the morning I would do my best to make her pretty. I half expected that I wouldn’t see her again. The next morning however, when we arrived at our make shift clinic, there was Elena, first in line. She was ushered back and we began. For two and a half tedious hours I took out unnatural colors, replacing them with a more normal color. I even reluctantly removed the little Longhorn although it saddened me greatly and I can only assume God as well. When I finished, Elena was handed a hand mirror and she hesitantly looked at the result. The smile that ensued, I feared, would undoubtedly sprain facial muscles she had never used before. What a total change in this young girl’s demeanor. It was a life changing moment for her.

That night I was sitting with Chris Frizzell as we ate pizza at a Mexican pizza restaurant….go figure!! I was recanting the day’s events and reflected on Elena. I mentioned to Chris with what I’m sure had to be a bit of smugness, that that little girl had no idea what kind of gift had been laid at her feet. If you take all the volunteers, the cost of the equipment, the travel expenses, educational time and expenses, time away from work and family that it takes to make something like that possible. She literally has no clue how much of a sacrifice was made for her and likely never will. I guess I expected Chris to agree with my profound assessment of the event. Instead, Chris hit me with a verbal two by four right between the eyes that I never saw coming. “You know,” Chris said, “that is very much like God’s gift to us”. WOW…. What a revelation. I guess if ever there was a moment in my life where I finally “Got it”; I have to say that was it. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son….. A gift and a sacrifice we cannot possibly fathom and likely never will. I never saw Elena again but now and then when I reflect back on that event, I realize now that I wasn’t ministering to her at all as I had thought. God had in reality, sent this little fourteen year old child into my life to lay an unfathomable gift at my feet. ------Michael McCoy

Can YOU Get Along with All Kinds of Folks?

2011-09-25T10:27:00.000-05:00

If you just learn a single trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it. –Harper Lee in To Kill a Mockingbird

I think I need to go for a walk. And I don’t mean just any kind of walk. I need to climb inside someone’s skin and walk around in it. I would like to think that racism and other forms of human degradation have vanished from existence in the post-modern world in which we find ourselves. But that is not true. I know that our fallen human nature causes us to gravitate toward an attitude of disdain for anyone that seems different. And that is why I need to take a walk.

Yesterday I saw the classic book To Kill a Mockingbird written by Harper Lee in 1960 presented on stage at Ft. Worth’s Casa Manana Theater. The characters are memorable and the message is timeless. The story of course revolves around racism in the 1930’s. But I found my own heart convicted as I listened to the compelling dialogue on stage yesterday. I too make assumptions about people without sufficient evidence. I too can be intolerant and judgmental.

I am taking the advice that Atticus doled out for Scout’s benefit seriously. In a purposed way, I am striving to consider things from someone else’s point of view. That takes a conscious effort. It is no easy process. I tend to see things one way: my way! And that does very little to help me to get along better with all kinds of folks that I am privileged to encounter.

I am going to take regular walks from this point forward. I plan to crawl inside the skin of people whose life experiences may very well be completely different from mine. I wonder what I will observe during such walks. There is no telling what I may learn. Some of these walks may even have some treacherous paths. But I am still committed to completing the journey, because I know the consequences of inactivity. Failure to take such walks leads to bigotry and foolish assumptions.

And I really want to get along better with all kinds of folks…

How Could Anyone Be SO Rude?

2011-09-19T19:30:00.000-05:00

Fred (not his real name) is one of the few World War II veterans that are still a part of our church family. When I moved to Granbury just over 7 years ago, there were more of them. But I have officiated at a lot of funerals since 2004…I have done several burial services for veterans at the National Cemetery in Dallas. Needless to say I am very grateful for Fred and other members of his generation.

Last Sunday on September 11th, 2001 we did several things during the worship service to commemorate the historical events of 10 years ago. We carefully chose a very moving, but kid friendly video that effectively reflected on the events of that fateful day. The video did not portray the awful images that are already embedded in our minds, but instead used phrases and words to capture the emotions all of us felt. It was well done and moving.

Fred was in the service that day. He too would have appreciated the content of the video like the rest of us. But Fred can’t see well anymore. He suffers from a chronic condition that dramatically impacts his eyesight. While the rest of us were watching the video that morning we heard someone talking. How could anyone be so rude? This is a serious time! But everyone soon realized that Fred’s wife was reading the words and phrases to him verbally as the video was being played. He would not be able to benefit from the message otherwise. (I don’t think either one of them hear well, so you can imagine what the volume was like!)

It was a touching scene on an emotional day. They are a wonderful older couple who represent patriotism in ways I will probably never be able to replicate in my life. And don’t be fooled. Fred and his wife are still very cool people! I am so glad that his disability did not hinder him from hearing the message of the video on September 11th this year, because you see Fred is also a retired commercial airline pilot. I am just grateful that he is a part of of our lives. His wife's "rudeness" that day no doubt generated a few tears...

September 11th, 2001: A Day of Contrasts

2011-09-11T06:50:00.000-05:00

I wrote this blog about a year ago. It still seems relevant today for the 10 year anniversary of the events described.

When I was growing up, I recall my mother reflecting on where she was and what she was doing when she heard the news that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963. My older sisters were in school. I was told that I was in my playpen in the living room at home. I was 18 months old. My generation has another date etched in our minds. September 11th, 2001.

I do recall where I was at 9:00 that morning. I was checking out of a hotel in Oklahoma City as reports of the first jet hitting the trade center were being relayed on the news. That morning I was on my way to be with a family whose 21 year son was critically injured in a car crash the previous Friday. He died the next day.

I found myself in the waiting room of an Intensive Care Unit at OU Medical Center in Oklahoma City watching the news regarding all three of the planes. I was with people who all had family members in that hospital unit whose lives were hanging in the balance. A couple hours after the initial news from New York broke a 14 year old gunshot victim was transferred from the Trauma Center on the first floor to the ICU unit where a group of strangers were trying to support one another.

What was I thinking that day? Honestly I don’t remember. I was on information and emotional overload. In looking back on that morning, it occurs to me that I was with a group of people who understood the value of human life at a level that the average person would not comprehend in normal circumstances. Each of them had loved ones who had suffered some kind of major trauma. Their sons had been in car crashes. Their brother was a gunshot victim. The list was pretty lengthy, because the unit was very full that day. There was no shortage of opportunity to minister to friends and strangers alike.

In total contrast, there were people on the other side of the country who had no concern whatsoever for human life. They were willing to board commercial airliners and set off a chain of events that would ultimately kill thousands of people. I still have difficulty grasping that level of evil intent 9 years later.

I would not realize until the next day that the contrasts were not over yet. First responders with the Fire Department of New York and several law enforcement agencies gave the ultimate sacrifice, because they too valued human life. They gave their lives for strangers, as they fulfilled their duties that day.

As I pray today for the families of those heroes and for countless others impacted by the horrific events of September 11th, 2001, I hope that I value other people to the extent that I should. I hope that I display a basic respect for human life in everything that I do.

I am grateful for my calling to serve those who protect and serve. On the anniversary of this event, I am made aware once again of the gravity of my duties. The men and women who put on badges have committed their lives to protect and serve. Basic respect for human life characterizes so much of what they do. Perhaps it would serve me well to remember where I was 9 years ago today. While the men and women were risking their lives on the East Coast to protect and serve, there were servants in Oklahoma City doing the same for those who were in that ICU unit that fateful day…May God bless our public servants today.

Lessons Learned From Intensive Care: September 11th, 2001 Commemoration Part II

2011-09-10T12:23:00.000-05:00

This is the second of three blogs I am re-posting in commemoration of September 11th, 2001. I remember it like yesterday...

I just thought I had problems. When I woke up early on September 11th, 2001, I could not bend over to tie my shoes. A ruptured disc on my back stemming from an injury in 1988 was destroying any hint of flexibility. I thought I was going to have to ask one of the hotel maids to assist me. I had stayed overnight in Oklahoma City to be with some dear friends in the Trauma Intensive Care Unit at OU Medical Center. Their 21 year old son had been critically injured a few days earlier in a car crash. I checked out of the hotel a few minutes later. While the clerk printed my receipt, I watched the World Trade Center go up in flames.

By the time I reached the hospital, there was a lot of nervous chatter among strangers on the elevator leading up to ICU. I ended up spending the day in a hospital waiting room with people who had loved ones in a trauma intensive care unit. All of their relatives were in very serious condition. It is hard to describe what it is like to experience a national tragedy with those who are no strangers to crisis. Natural bonds among people tend to be forged in setting like that. They look out for each other, inquire about the status of each other’s loved ones, and share goodies that friends bring. The added stress of a national threat in Oklahoma City of all places made the bond grow even deeper.

My friends lost their son. He died the next day on September 12th, 2001. I officiated at his funeral a few days later. He was a fine Christian gentleman who had been raised by the most wonderful parents imaginable. A nation was asking the “why” question a lot that week. A small gathering of family and close friends were doing the same thing in the trauma intensive care unit at OU Medical Center.

A number of my colleagues in law enforcement chaplaincy packed their bags and made the trip to New York. Some of them ministered to police officers and emergency workers at Ground Zero. Others were assigned to the morgue, and were asked to assist with death notifications. Their presence was needed. They made a huge difference, and their lives were changed forever.

I stayed home and served one family. I had no desire to be anywhere else. My capacity to feel for people in crisis increased substantially on September 11th, 2001. I spent the day with people who changed my life. I can tie my shoes again, for which I am grateful. I am thankful

May We Never Forget the Real Heroes Among Us:

2011-09-09T15:44:00.000-05:00

I am reprinting three blogs this weekend that I have writtten over the past few years. Each of them focus on on the events of September 11th, 2001.

I do believe last night’s after dinner speech was the most inspiring presentation of that nature that I have ever heard. Retired Lt .Col. Brian Birdwell was the guest speaker at a Granbury Police Dept. banquet. I was privileged to sit next to him at the head table last night since part of my role was to lead the invocation. Col. Birdwell survived the terrorist attack on the Pentagon on September 11th, 2001.

During the course of his speech he shared with us the events of that fateful morning as they unfolded in his section of the Pentagon. One moment he was interacting in a light hearted way with two co-workers. A few moments later he left the office where they were talking, and started making his way to the men’s room. The rest is now history.

The two co-workers he was visiting with were killed instantly, when the plane struck the Pentagon. Down the hall from the office where had been standing minutes before the attack he suffered third degree burns over 60% of his body. Four valiant colleagues from another section of the Pentagon constructed a makeshift human stretcher to carry him to a triage area that was hastily put together in the Pentagon itself. During his speech Col. Birdwell described in detail what those early moments after the attack were like for him.

I am not very familiar with procedures for treating people who have suffered severe burns. After last night’s experience, I am now aware of more than I care to know. Col Birdwell experienced excruciating pain for months after his initial injuries were incurred. The treatment strategy for such extensive and damaging burns is very complicated and drawn out. He described being encased in a mummy type bandaging set up and trying to communicate with his family while in the ICU unit at the burn center. There were times he wanted to give up, and his loyal wife reminded him that he had hang in there for the benefit of their son. It was quite a story. Needless to say he had our undivided attention.

I was impressed with heroism. His story of perseverance was inspiring. Memories of that dark day flooded through my head. There was one particular element of his lecture that I will never forget. He expressed forgiveness toward those who instigated the attacks that day. He called on all of us to have forgiving spirits. You could almost hear the wheels turning in people’s heads, as he shared the emotional and spiritual aspects of his journey toward healing.

Col. Birdwell commended members of our military as well as those serving in police and fire services. He readily acknowledged that each of these groups face the reality of death, as they carry out their duties. He mentioned the fact that the military, police, and fire services all have chaplains on call, because of the inherent dangers of the job. As he addressed us, I never felt more affirmed in the area of service to which I have been called. I felt so fortunate to serve as a law enforcement chaplain. I recommend Col. Birdwell’s book entitled: Refined by Fire: A Family’s Triumph of Love and Faith. We all left last night inspired to serve more diligently.

Thank you, Col. Birdwell! We are thankful you are a part of the Granbury community.

May we never forget the real heroes among us.

Where Will This Crazy World Take Us?

2011-09-07T15:13:00.000-05:00

Even though we've changed and we're all finding our own place in the world, we all know that when the tears fall or the smile spreads across our face, we'll come to each other because no matter where this crazy world takes us, nothing will ever change so much to the point where we're not all still friends. -unknown author

I saw this quote this morning and it fired off my own story. In 1985, I was eager to see Lubbock, Texas in my rear view mirror. I only moved a couple of hours down the road, but it felt like I was moving a couple of thousand miles away. And at the time, that was a good thing! I wanted to be anywhere but Lubbock. I had no desire to maintain relationships with classmates from high school. And I did not anticipate having much contact with college friends.

This crazy world has taken me to several places to live since I packed up my little rental truck in April of 1985 to depart Lubbock. My mother’s death six years later brought me back to Lubbock once again for extended visits. This crazy world has taken me on the roller coaster ride of life. Accidents, illnesses, miscarriage, deaths, and all of the pains associated with raising children have contributed to the craziness. I have had my share of mistakes and perhaps someone else’s share too. But I would characterize myself as being pretty independent through all of those experiences. And that is not a good thing.

Over the past two years have had the blessing of coming to each other. I have reconnected with old friends from school. And I have formed unbelievably great friendships with those that I knew only casually. I have even met and befriended people that were in the same school building, but we had never met each other.

Have we changed? I think most of us have changed for the better! Are we still trying to find our place in this world? I believe that to be true. I also believe at this point that nothing will change so much to the point that we will not all still be friends.

I have lost a good deal of that independence that characterized earlier decades of my adult life. And that is a good thing. I realize now that when the tears fall or a smile comes across my face I will eagerly seek out my friends. Life is to be shared. Life is to be lived in community.

The bond all of us that grew up together share is hard to describe. The commonality we share is pervasive. I am thankful to be both connected and reconnected. I am thankful that no matter crazy world takes us, nothing will ever change so much to the point where we're not all still friends.
And that is a good thing...

Do You Want to be a Social Elitist or a Friend?

2011-09-04T09:59:00.000-05:00

I foolishly thought that social elitism and accompanying popularity contests officially ended during high school commencement ceremonies. What a foolish judge I am of human nature! Even seemingly well adjusted and responsible adults sift people through their social screens to determine who is in and who is out. I even see it in church settings, which makes such an activity particularly repulsive. But occasionally I hear a story about courageous people with hearts overflowing with love that dare to abandon the social sifting process. I heard such a narrative this past week during a funeral dinnner.

I don’t know what prompted her actions, but a very attractive and popular young lady that was a senior at her high school decided to invite a sophomore girl to lunch one day. (This particular school allowed students to leave campus for lunch) This was not a common social practice during that time period. A senior inviting a sophomore to lunch was simply not done. Sophomores were on the bottom of the social food chain. But the this particular young lady obviously did not care. She and her younger friend arrived at the local eating establishment to join the older girl’s friends for lunch.

The immediate response from the group that was already seated went something like this: “What is she doing with you?” The popular senior girls were of course referring to the sophomore that had been invited to be a part of the daily lunch ritual. The older girl that had extended the invitation did not flinch. She told her younger friend: “I guess we will have to find another table….” And she proceeded to leave her peers to bask in their social elitist behavior.

That event took place nearly 29 years ago. The popular senior girl and her sophomore date for lunch are still friends today…Very good friends I might add! One simple overture of kindness led to a lifelong friendship. The choice to defy the social customs that are so characteristic of high schools everywhere had significant consequences.

The older girl chose friendship over social elitism. As a result of her choice, she has received untold benefits from having a friendship with a wonderful person. That little sophomore girl grew up to be a great adult and a committed friend. In the back of my mind, I wonder how many other people the older girl in this story has blessed over the years, because she values people over ridiculous social norms.

I have to ask myself: Do I really value friendship over social elitism? If I don’t, then I know I am missing out on relationships that could be a mutual blessing. I am convinced that it is very difficult to assume both roles. Which will it be for you? Don't forget...social elitism and accompanying popularity contests did not end at high school commencement ceremonies...

Someone Near You is About to Crash and Burn...

2011-09-03T18:05:00.000-05:00

It is far from easy to keep living where God is. Therefore, God gives you people who help to hold you in that place, and call you back to it every time you wander off. Your spiritual guides keep reminding you of where your deepest desire is being fulfilled. –Henri Nouwen

It was 1996. Jan was expecting our third child. We both felt a little anxious about that pregnancy following a miscarriage that occurred in January of the previous year. And sure enough complications developed early on in the pregnancy. My mother had died 5 years earlier in Lubbock. I think it took that long for the reality of that event to sink into the recesses of my heart. Grief coupled with anxiety regarding the pregnancy placed me on the fast track to crash and burn.

I was serving a church in a rural community during that time period. It was comprised of very sweet and nurturing people. They were patient with me as I learned to fly solo as a minister for the first time. (I had been an associate with a large church prior that experience.) But I hesitated to share my personal issues with those that I was called to serve. Where could I turn?

Someone suggested that I contact Hospice of Lubbock. They provided unbelievably good service to my family during the illness and subsequent death of my mother in 1991. They even had chaplains on their staff to provide pastoral aftercare for their clients. I felt a little awkward seeking the services a chaplain. I had been a volunteer law enforcement chaplain at that point in my career for 7 years. Why would I need a chaplain?

I drove into Lubbock one morning and visited with Elizabeth. She listened intently. She asked good questions. She seemed to have a good understanding of our family situation, so she must have pulled a file and done some advance homework. I told her I was not sure how I could go on serving others in grief when I could not deal successfully with my own. She ended our interchange by exhorting me not to watch “dark movies.” It just doesn’t help your frame of mind, she stated. I was not sure if that advice was going to be helpful at the time, but I can tell you that I have not watched many dark movies since 1996! And I have encouraged countless others in people helping professions to follow suit.

Elizabeth gave me a gift that morning. It was the gift of pastoral care. She called me back to where God lives simply by listening and being a compassionate presence. I have been privileged to serve hundreds of people in times of serious illness and death since 1996. I am a terrible record keeper, but I think I have officiated at well over 100 funerals since that time. It is a privilege to serve. It is one I don’t take lightly. But sometimes those of us that are called to serve need someone to bring us back to God lives.

Did I thank Elizabeth appropriately in 1996? I hope I did. (My etiquette conscious mother would have had a fit if I failed to do so!) Sometimes we are given a second chance….Yesterday I assisted at a funeral for a high school classmate’s husband in Lubbock. I shared officiating responsibilities with a very competent Hospice Chaplain. Her name is Elizabeth…And I made sure this time that I thanked her for what she did for me in 1996. Who knows? If she had not served the server, I might have crashed and burned. And I would not have been in Lubbock yesterday doing what I think God has called me to do. It is far from easy to keep living where God is… Who is near you that is about to crash and burn? Can you be a compassionate presence for them?

A Bully Masquerading as a Nice Guy

2011-08-31T20:14:00.000-05:00

Does the name Scut Farkus ring a bell? Scut was the resident bully on the 1983 movie, A Christmas Story. He played the part quite well. He was the stereotypical bully that has been a part of school since the inception of public education. I saw a quote today about the concept of school bullying that was personally convicting. It reminded me that bullying goes well beyond the realm of mean kids like Scut Farkus that threaten to beat up anyone that crosses into their marked out territory.

When I was in school, I shunned the guy on our high school debate team who was not inclined to be well groomed, or wear clothes like the rest of us wore at that time. I poked fun of another friend that I worked with because he was extremely anal retentive. The poking moved beyond what would be considered playful jabbing. It was hurtful. It affected the way he perceived me in later years.

My own debate partner one year was a very serious minded and religious individual. He was younger and much smaller than me, so I made him sleep on the floor on debate trips. I took the hotel room bed for myself. He was excluded from extracurricular social activities that some of us put together after debate tournaments, because we did not perceive him to be cool.

Perhaps what concerns me more is what I failed to do during those formative high school years. I failed to be alert to those that were struggling. I paid no attention whatsoever to students that had physical disabilities. The concept of trying to include someone that was on the outside socially was not at the top of my priority list. All I was concerned about was my own place on the Monterey High School social food chain. I was a bully masquerading as a nice guy.

I think my kids’ generation will do better. They are more tuned into the diversity of our world. They have a greater awareness of those that have disabilities. They certainly are not inclined toward racism.

Regardless of our age or background we can all do better about reaching out those that are in need of a little encouragement. Here is my list. It is not exhaustive. There are many things that need to be added.

• Think inclusive. You have some social plans. Who needs to be included? Who would benefit from an invitation? There is nothing quite like being invited. I remember some cool seniors taking me to lunch the Monday after my partner and me won at a debate tournament. I still remember where we ate that day! I felt included. I felt accepted. Think inclusive.

• Be Friendly How hard is it to speak to someone in the hallway? It could make a huge difference to someone that feels excluded. You never know who that person might be!

• Be complimentary When I was a junior in high school, a big group of us went to the mall. I bought some new clothes with money I had earned at my first job! Kim, who I thought was gorgeous, complimented me on my new threads. That has been 33 years ago now. I still remember what store we were in and what was said after all of these years. Words are powerful.

• Be Intolerant Don’t tolerate bullying. Don’t put up with it. Step up and speak up for those that can’t defend themselves. There is nothing like positive peer pressure. I recall my friend Doug doing this in the 6th grade. I have never forgotten it. He prompted me to do better.

• Stop the Naval Staring Get your mind off of yourself long enough to consider the needs and concerns of others around you. There are things more important than our position on the social food chain.

I hope this is a great school year. But I know it can be a better one if we choose to be inclusive instead of being a bully masquerading as a nice guy. Who knows what difference you could make in someone’ life?

I Know the "Dirt" on My Friends!

2011-08-27T18:43:00.000-05:00

I have known people over the years who really wanted to know the dirt on everyone in town. And I do mean they really wanted to be in the know about such things! I have even known individuals that were inclined to pump their friends for information in order to be on the receiving end of the latest gossip. Human beings will always be flawed, so there will never be a shortage of said dirt.

I must confess. I have a method of dealing with such dirt hunters. When I am being pumped for information, I make up wild, but harmless tales about people. I am actually pretty proud of my fictitious yarns. My dirt hunting acquaintances listen intently. They savor every detail until it finally occurs to them that I am totally and completely full of nonsense. It is great fun.

Purposely seeking an awareness of another person’s shortcomings is not always a negative thing. Someone recently pointed out to me that dirt hunting can also be one of the greatest overtures of friendship. At first I was taken aback by such a seemingly unusual declaration. But I found myself agreeing quickly.

A real friend wants to know the dirt on those whom they love the most. Their purpose in possessing such knowledge however is very different! Our friends want to know our stories. They desire to know the whole story. They even want to have an awareness of the sordid details of our lives that we secretly wish to keep buried at sea. The struggles we have experienced, the poor choices we have made, and the tragedies we have endured are a part of who we are. Our loyal friends know that they can better serve us if they are clued in on the darker side of our lives.

I am not inclined to tell my close friends wild tales about myself or anyone else for that matter. I actually count it a privilege to have people that I can entrust details about my life that are fundamentally private. It is an extraordinary blessing to be able to divulge information that is not for public consumption to someone who is trustworthy. Friends actively seek out such stories for all of the right reasons.

So…here is the challenge of the day. Why do YOU want to know the dirt on another person? Why would you seek out such information? Are you are a chronic dirt hunter, who relishes in the missteps of others? Or are you a true friend that wants to know the true story, so you can serve that person from a pure heart? It is a very important question that requires some serious self-examination.

When the Worst Happens...

2011-08-25T19:42:00.000-05:00

As I get older, I am becoming increasingly aware of my limitations as I strive to serve others in need. You would think that age and experience would bring a greater degree of confidence and ability to get the job done. At one level, that is true. But I also believe that substantial field experience causes you to realize how much you depend on competent team workers.

I have been involved in doing critical incident debriefings with police officers, firefighters, paramedics, nurses, and other first responders for many years now. Structured debriefings that are done according to the standard rules of training in the field of Critical Incident Stress Management are the equivalent of emotional first aid. Emergency responders that have worked an especially difficult call benefit in immeasurable ways through the group or individual debriefing process.

I am thrilled to be a part of one of three Critical Incident Response Teams that have been formed here in Hood County. Our Fire Marshal is responsible for putting together these three teams. Kudos to Brian Fine! All team members have gone through the basic CISM training course, and we are up and running!

My team consists of a Hood County Sheriff’s Deputy, a paramedic from Texas EMS, a paramedic from Pecan Plantation EMS, a Pecan Plantation Volunteer Firefighter, and an employee from The Hood County Fire Marshal’s Office. They are all very competent professionals in their respective fields. Other teams also include two school counselors from Granbury Independent School District. Their professional expertise in counseling will be priceless.

Needles to say this is a dream come true for me. I have longed for the day when we would have a multi-discipline CISM Team in place to serve both the city and the county. The school system will be positively impacted too in the case of a major incident involving a student or a staff member. Every fire department and law enforcement agency along with the emergency medical services personnel our county will reap untold benefits.

A few years ago I was ready to blaze in and be the crisis guy. Just call me. I will handle it. I have learned a lot since then. I am learning everyday to abandon “The Messiah Complex” as it is sometimes called. I have learned the value of inter-agency collaboration along with the importance of working with people from different disciplines. I have a feeling our team will become a close knit group of professionals that really learn to depend on each other as we serve the citizens of Hood County along with our own colleagues. When the worst happens, we will be there.

Can I PLEASE Be 27 Years Old Again??

2011-08-22T16:41:00.001-05:00

I was young, green, and broke. I was 26 or 27 years old, and had been out of graduate school for less than two years. I was serving as a campus minister for a group of college students, and teaching as an adjunct instructor for the university. But there were other complexities involved in the ministry to which I had been assigned. I had to do public relations work with a fairly large pool of churches and individuals that supported the ministry financially. I had no training or experience in fund raising or public relations for non-profit organizations. It was a stretch to say the least.

Naturally I was very appreciative for church leaders and others that were very patient me as I learned the ropes. One man in particular stands out to me. Dr. Davis was a successful and highly esteemed pediatric dentist. He was among the church leaders that I had to “sell” on the idea of funding the ministry we provided to university students. I recall meeting him and two or three others for lunch in downtown Wichita Falls on a couple of occasions. Dr. Davis talked to me as if I was really competent. He even asked my opinion on important issues!

He was kind, but not condescending. He asked good questions and listened intently. This soft spoken gentleman unknowingly instilled confidence in me. When I finished having lunch with him (that he always paid for by the way), I walked out of the restaurant standing just a little taller. Maybe I can do this after all is what I was thinking!

Dr. Davis has been deceased for several years now, but I still think about him. Young ministers, who lack encouragers like him, have a greater propensity to crash and burn in those early years. It is just easy to be overwhelmed with the complexity of the vocation. There is never any shortage of people that take advantage of a young person’s lack of experience. And I had the added duty of public relations!

Today I had the privilege of being on the other side of the table. I had lunch with a young professional, who about 27 years old.... She is in the same boat I was in over 22 years ago. She is attempting to get established in her profession and assemble a good network in the process. My background in law enforcement afforded me the opportunity to connect to her to other competent people that can help her in the process of becoming established. Today we met with one of those professionals in Dallas. I seriously doubt I will ever play in the same league of kindness and competency that Dr. Davis played in, but it was very gratifying to do what he did for me for another person.

In fact, it was actually more than gratifying. I discovered during our meal today that the young lady I was able to reach out to is none other than Dr. Davis’ granddaughter. It really is a small world. And today it really is a good world. It has been over 22 years since I had those lunches with Dr. Davis, but as I left the restaurant parking lot I made it a point to thank God for him today. It seemed like the right thing to do. I was very thankful to reverse roles after all of these years. It was pretty neat to see a refllection of such a fine man in his granddaughter. I do believe she has his genes! Do I want to be 27 years old again? No...I don't think so. I have a new mission in life now!

The First I-Pod With Legs

2011-08-20T19:48:00.006-05:00

I have a son that wants to be a writer. I have no one else to blame buy myself. When he was a small child, his mother told him bedtime stories that had a good moral point. I made up wild tales that weaved colorful characters through moments of adventure and intrigue. My stories lacked a good moral point, but they were fun. His mother was not allowed in the bedroom as I shared such original yarns with him. They were not exactly “mom friendly.” I had no idea at the time what kind of ambition that I was fostering !

He has a particular interest in music. Once again I have no one else to blame but myself. When he was a toddler, I sang him songs to him while I rocked him to sleep at night. He was rather picky about his music even then. I would start a song, and he would whisper: “not that song.” I would start another one. Same thing…. It would take four or five attempts before I hit on the right one. Of course at that point I was told: “that song.” Perhaps he can now write “that song” himself now, because after all he wants to be a writer.

In the third grade, his teacher bemoaned the fact that he did not want to write. She was a wonderful educator, but she did not quite have that situation pegged. He wanted to write all right. There were all kinds of ideas swirling around in his head that could have made it to his paper. He just did not want to be bothered with writing someone else’s sentences in a neat and tidy way. School was confining at that point. Little did she know that her reluctant student wanted to be a writer.

He joined the debate team in high school. His coach chastised him more than once for not “flowing the debate.” It is a very basic debate skill that I too learned as a high school debater many years ago. You write down the essence of your opponent’s arguments in a logical sequence on a sheet of paper and then you flow across with your rebuttals to each of those points. It works. But my son chose instead to flow in his head. His coach told him that nobody does that. She of course was right. But once again he was not going to be confined by the standard rules of procedure. He was busy writing his arguments in his head instead of flowing. It is actually brilliant, but we did not know then that he wanted to be a writer.

Tonight that toddler that thought I was the first i-pod with legs is going through orientation at the LA Film Institute in Los Angeles. He plans to be a screen writing intern this semester. He wants to be writer. In fact, he wants to be a screen writer. There is a moral to this experience.

If you are a parent of a small child, invest wisely. Their genetic makeup certainly impacts their life, but environment plays a role too. Think very carefully about what you do with them. Give a lot of thought about what you to say to them. (Be especially cautious about the content of bedtime stories.) Instill confidence in your children. Foster independence. And when they grow up, they will get in the car one day and drive to another world as they attempt to shape their own identity. I have a son that wants to be a writer. But all I want to do is to be a father of a toddler again. Being the first i-pod with legs really was not such a bad thing at all.

People are not Toys

2011-08-18T14:18:00.000-05:00

Last week I spent some time with a trusted colleague. It was nice to catch up on what is taking place in his world. Since we are in the same field we have a lot in common. .This particular individual is the most connected professional I have ever seen. He has a terrific network that he moves around in. I can always call on this friend if I need anything from a plumber to a brain surgeon. Chances are he will know two of each. I was teasing him about being taken out by prominent people in the Dallas/Fort Worth area for power lunches. But I was not prepared for his response.

He told me: They only take me to lunch when they want something. He proceeded to cite several examples of such behavior. It made me thankful that the only people that take me to lunch are those that truly enjoy my company and my warped sense of humor. I thought about his observations during the entire trek back to Granbury from the Dallas area. I came up wiht two important principles:

• You don’t use people. Ever. You never use people. People are not inanimate tools that can be pulled from a toolbox and then tossed in the corner when we are finished with a “job.” People are valuable and even priceless. It does not make any difference where they fit in the socioeconomic or popularity scale. People are not things to be used for selfish purposes. Human beings were created in God’s image, so they are therefore deserving of utmost respect.

• People are not toys. This is a common perception. People use other human beings for their own selfish gratification. And when they are finished, they put them back in the toy box until they want to play again. Human Trafficking is a global concern .right now. Poor and vulnerable individuals are sold like used cars for the sexual gratification of evil people. Children are among the most susceptible in this group. It even happens in “legal” ways when an adult treats his spouse or child like a toy for purposes of instant gratification. Such actions are inexcusable.

I don’t who I will go to lunch with tomorrow. There is just no telling! I am thankful to say that I will go with my friends, because I care about them. I want to hear about their family as I am sure they will want to hear about mine as well. I am so grateful that people that call me for lunch do so because they truly enjoy my company as well. I need to mark on my calendar to call my colleague in Dallas for a lunch appointment. He needs to know that someone just wants to come and hang out with him. And this week I will remind myself that you don’t use people. And people most certainly are not toys!

I am Sorry, but You WERE Doing 90 MPH in a 70 MPH Zone....

2011-08-15T21:49:00.000-05:00

I work with very professional law enforcement officers everyday. Contrary to popular belief issuing traffic tickets is not how they get their thrills. It is one dimension of their job, but certainly not the only one. Police officers have one objective in mind when initiating a traffic stop for an array of moving violations. They are simply trying to prompt compliance.

An officer has several options. He can issue a citation that will generally lead to a hefty fine. She can give a verbal warning. In some cases, the accused offender is given a written warning that has no impact on a driving record. The goal is compliance. The officer must determine what course of action will most likely lead to said compliance.

Computers of course have changed everyone’s life. As a rule, a police officer can quickly pull up an offender’s driving record on his in car computer. If the person has a lengthy list of speeding tickets, perhaps he has not learned to comply with the law. A warning will not likely make any impact on him. In other cases, the officer just has to use her gut instinct as to what course of action will most likely accomplish the goal of compliance.

I am sure at some point you have encountered an officer that was a real jerk. He was impolite. She chewed on you pretty good as she wrote the citation. As a rule, police officers abide by the “courtesy first” rule when making traffic stops. Law enforcement trainers point out that officer safety is actually less in jeopardy when courtesy is extended.

I think there is a lesson to be learned here. Last week I heard a story about an assistant principal in a high school berating a young man, because he had kept a textbook over the summer that should have been turned in last May. Apparently the principal went on and on and on. He apparently has never been trained in the courtesy first principle. He probably also is unaware that he is placing his personal safety in potential jeopardy by such conduct. Berate a kid that is somewhat unstable and you have a fight on your hands very quickly.

After I heard that story, it occurred to me that individuals in positions of authority do not elicit increased levels of compliance when they berate the offender and thus make that person feel like a fool. It is not helpful to the cause. In this case, the principal contributed absolutely nothing to this young man’s capacity to be a responsible student. If the goal is compliance, the assistant principal failed.

I am sure that most high school coaches would totally disagree with this conclusion. A lot of principals would as well! But I think there is something valid about being courteous and respectful.

I don’t want to be misunderstood. I am all about having rules and enforcing them too! Some offenders just need a ride to jail. No doubt about it. I am pretty hard core when it comes to being a rule enforcer, but I also believe that it can be done with respect and courtesy.

What has Stacked Up in Your Emotional Closet?

2011-08-13T12:30:00.000-05:00

I have had two college age sons quite literally camping out at the house this summer. They never full unpacked. We have plastic storage tubs, golf clubs, and assorted dorm supplies stacked in various locations around the house. As we anticipate their departure to Los Angeles and Oklahoma City next week, it is cleaning time. Thankfully we have not had much company this summer. I would be embarrassed for guests to see our house right now. But should I be embarrassed? It is good question.

Our real friends really don’t care if there golf clubs are sitting in the living room. And those most loyal to us are not concerned with the fact that our sons’ bedrooms should be a point of concern for the health department. Our closets are packed to their maximum suggested capacity. But true friends overlook such externals.

The same principle holds true in terms of the emotional state of our homes. Every person’s heart has stuff that has accumulated over the years. During times of transition or stress the junk stacks up even faster. We look up one day and realize that the closets in our hearts are jam packed with past hurts, traumatic experiences, and assorted life disappointments. When we host our friends, we make sure that such emotional closets remain locked up and sealed tight. After all if they knew what was stored in our heart it would be embarrassing to us.

Emotional closets need to be purged of accumulated junk. But there is a hitch. There are two things that need to happen if our heart closets are to be clean again.

• We need to forgive those that have harmed us. This is tough. Forgiveness is a journey that we don’t always want to embark on. But if the closet of our heart is to be clean again, forgiveness is a part of that process. It is a dimension of letting the past go.

• We need to open the closet to a trusted friend. I will say it again. True friends don’t care what is stacked in our living room. And they are not concerned about what is stacked to the ceiling in our closets. In fact, our real friends will gladly come over during a time of need and help us clean. They can guide us through the process of knowing what to keep and what to throw away. This is true in regard to our home and our hearts too…

What is stacked to the ceiling in your emotional closet? Can you allow someone you trust in your life to help you clean it out? Cleaning with the help of others is a good thing. Embarrassment or shame is not concerns. View your heart as a place where no accumulations are allowed.

I will continue to clean house today. If anyone wants to assist, I suggest latex gloves, gas mask, protective armor, and a strong stomach. It all goes this week one way or another. No accumulations allowed!

A Syndrome You DON'T Want to be Diagnosed With...

2011-08-12T20:39:00.000-05:00

Earlier this summer I read a book entitled: Emotional Survival for Law Enforcement, by Kevin M. Gilmartin, Ph.D. It is excellent. It contains good principles for anybody engaged in a people helping profession. The author coins a term that I have given a lot of thought to since reading the book. He uses the phrase “Usta Syndrome” to refer to police officers that have given up on important facets of their lives outside of their chosen profession.

Gilmartin says that over time the officer’s identity becomes tied only to the police role. Consequently they start saying: I “usta” play golf. I “usta” have strong social ties. I “usta” to go to church services regularly. The stress and hyper-viligence associated with the job ends up edging all of those healthy activities out.

I have seen that process unfold with police officers over the years. I just did not what to call it. What is striking to me is that all of us can allow the stress of life to edge out the very things that keep us healthy. Today I was reminded of that very fact.

I took off a day from work today (that I didn’t think I had time to take off) to play in a charity golf tournament. At one point during our round, I was standing on the tee box on a hole that overlooks the city. It is actually a great view! It just hit me as I observed the beauty of this part of Texas that I don’t take enough time to enjoy the outdoors like I did at one point in my life. When was the last time I went camping? How much golf have I played this summer? When was last time we went on a simple picnic? It hurt my feelings, because I knew right then that I I am suffering from "Usta Syndrome.”

What did you “usta” do? What are healthy pursuits that you really enjoy that have been relegated to the back burner of your life? In my case, outdoor activities top the list. But it could be that you “usta” have meaningful friendships.

Or you “usta” be involved in spiritual activities in your life that were enriching. Don’t waste time. Reorient your schedule to such good things. “Usta Syndrome” is not something you ever want to be diagnosed with!

Grieving Classmates

2011-08-09T19:14:00.003-05:00

I am in an interesting place today. I have friends 1,000 miles away that are serving a classmate that is facing the most difficult kind of grief journey imaginable. All that I can do on their behalf is to cry out to God. My heart is in deep pain. I feel a natural affinity for a classmate.

And then I found out that my son’s close friend lost his mother. She had been fighting cancer for some time. She was my age. My heart hurts, but how could a father be more proud as he watches his son step up to the plate and serve his classmate skillfully and naturally? As I watch both of these situations unfold, what counsel can I offer those that are inclined to get in the trenches of grief with those whom they love?

I have learned a lot about grief over the years based on personal experience and years of serving people in such situations as a minister and law enforcement chaplain. I would say two things to those that are brave enough to truly embrace their grieving friends.

Keep the Commentary to a Minimum

People in grief do not need unnecessary commentary. In particular, they do not need comments of a theological nature. Telling a grieving father that God just needed another angel is pure nonsense. If I hear someone tell a parent that has lost a child that again, they are going to grieve over their lost ability to speak after I sew their mouth shut. Imposing your own journey of grief in such a setting in many cases falls under the heading of unnecessary commentary. The loss of your 90 year old grandmother is a source of real pain to you, but comparing that experience to what a parent facing the loss of a child is feeling is simply not helpful. The rule of thumb is to keep the talking to a minimum. Listen. Allow the grieving person to determine the direction and extent of conversation. If they want to talk, then listen. If they want to be quiet, don’t feel uncomfortable with the silence.

Consider What Will Be Remembered Years from Now

I lost my father over 33 years ago. What do I still remember about the initial dark days following his death? My mother died almost 20 years ago. What do I remember about that event? Here is my short list. The lists of others might look different.

• I remember those who showed up. Friends drove 200 miles in horrible weather to comfort me at my mother’s funeral. They braved the elements just to embrace us at the cemetery. I will never forget who was there. I recall colleagues of my father’s flying down from Racine, Wisconsin to Lubbock just to attend his funeral. They just showed up.

• I remember those that served. My mother’s friend Donna became chief operations manager of our house during those initial dark days. She did a lot more in the year that followed. She will always be a saint in my eyes. When my mother died, my sister’s friends came in and took over. They organized the food people brought, washed dishes, and did the laundry. It was just comforting having them right there. I don’t recall anything that these individuals said during that time period. I mean nothing! But I will never forget what they did.

• I remember those that chose not to forget. Years later after my mother was gone her friend Donna said specific things about her that I appreciated so much. Others remembered what it was like to work for my father. Such comments years after the loss of a loved one are amazing. I have some friends that plan to compile a book of memories for the children of a classmate who has been deceased for several years now. I don’t know if my friends realize that such a gift will become the most prized possession of those children.

Today I am forced to watch and not act. I prefer to be in the trenches. But today I am watching others reach out. And that is not a bad place to be actually. I get to observe people whom I love and value show up and serve. I wonder if they know that their friends will never forget….

He Stayed with Me All Night...

2011-08-07T16:41:00.000-05:00

When my friends are in trouble, I tell them that I will walk beside them. And I really mean it. I have always had an image of being a shield to those that are close me, when life is getting the best of them. Telling them that I would walk beside them seemed like the right thing to say and do. I read an article in a journal today that caused me to rethink that image. The article describes a man experiencing the grief of losing his wife. It reads as follows:

I was in total despair. I went through the funeral preparations and the service like I was in a trance. After the service I went to the path along the river and walked all night. But I didn't walk alone. My neighbor—afraid for me, I guess—stayed with me all night. He didn't speak; he didn't even walk beside me. He just followed me. When the sun finally came up over the river, he came over and said, "Let's go get some breakfast."

I think there is something to the idea of walking behind someone. We remain in the shadows. But we also remain in a state of constant preparedness. We allow a hurting friend the privilege of needed space, but they are not left alone. And perhaps most importantly we walk behind that person in the darkness. Darkness in the above story takes on more than one form. The grieving man walked by the river in the darkness caused by a lack of sunlight. But he was also walking in the darkness of grief and loss. He was fortunate to have a friend walking right behind him that could catch him if he stumbled.

In the future, I am going to be careful about telling my friends that I will walk beside them. Perhaps that is not what they need. Walking quietly behind them in the shadow of their troubles might be just what is required. And when they are ready to talk, we will head to the Firehouse Café for the daily breakfast special. Who needs you to stay with them all night?

I Can Sleep Wherever I Want to Sleep!

2011-08-06T14:37:00.000-05:00

Summer is coming into its final stretch. Two a day football workouts start Monday. Marching band members will soon be practicing as well. The state of Texas will offer a tax free weekend to stimulate shopping this month. School begins August 22nd.

A lot of teens have spent their summers going to camps of all kinds. There is basketball camp, band camp, and football camps of all kinds. Church camp is often figured into that mix. I suspect there is even an under water basket weaving camp for all age groups.

I am thankful that a lot of teens have also had the privilege of going on mission trips too. I have taken high school students to Mexico in the past. In more recent years, our own church kids have gone on trips that focused on outreach to the under age 21 homeless population. There are significant needs in that realm of service.

When I was on a recent trip back to Wisconsin, I heard about a group of students from a church going on an annual mission effort to the Appalachia area. It sent chills down my spine. My grandmother was the principal for a mission boarding school that the Presbyterian Church operated in Letcher County Kentucky, near Blackey. I toured the area about three years ago for the very first time. Many of the children Stuart Robinson School hosted would not have had a clean, warm place to sleep in the 1930's and 1940's when she was there.

During the course of the trip this particular group of teenagers decided to use some of their allotted funds to purchase a permanent type “stove” or heating mechanism for someone in that area that would otherwise not have heat this winter. There were consequences to their choice. They spent the funds that would have otherwise been used for a hotel on part of their trip. They had to stay in people’s homes while traveling to Appalachia instead of enjoying the comfort and privacy of a hotel stay.

I don’t know who guided them through that decision. Did adult sponsors provide them with that option? Did the student participants initiate the idea? It really does not make any difference. I am of a mind that a simple, but important act of compassion like that will stay with them for years to come. I also think it is important that they had to sacrifice something in order to help someone else. Sacrifice is a key element in this story, and will add to the power of the memory.

I suppose the kids on this trip could have bowed their backs and stated adamantly: “I have a right to sleep where I want to sleep!” “And I want to sleep in a hotel!” That is an accurate perception. It could have happened. But in the case of this particular group of young people from Wisconsin that was not the case. They are obviously mature and spiritually sensitive children. Choosing to sacrifice something for someone else could become habit forming for them. And why do I think there is a strong possibility that is just the case here?

This group will start school in a much different frame of mind than most. Mission trips provide an experience that sports and band camps simply cannot do. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for this great group of students from Wisconsin! I do know that they are eager to return next summer for still another life changing experience.

Breaking the Cycle of Abuse and Neglect: The Story of Royal Family Kids Camp

2011-08-05T08:37:00.000-05:00

I will never complain about my childhood again. This week I have been a relief counselor for a couple of hours each evening at Royal Family Kids Camp. RFKC is specially designed for children that have been abused, abandoned, or neglected. We had 66 children ranging in age from 8-11. My partner and I relieved the 4 counselors assigned to 8 boys in a cabin. I learned a lot this week.

The first night one of the boys told me he did not know anything about his biological family. A couple adopted him and then they proceeded to divorce. Following the divorce his adoptive father dropped him off at a children’s home to live. He will likely be at the home until he graduates from high school. He is a great kid, and I hope to see him again.

The second night as I waited for the boys to get their showers a camper from another cabin initiated a conversation with me that I would consider odd for a 9 year old boy. Based on what he said I quickly surmised that he had been the victim of sexual abuse in his young life. That is not my area of expertise, but I tried to direct the conversation in a positive manner. Unfortunately many of the campers have had that experience.

And then the third night rolled around. Two of my boys got in a fist fight. There is nothing unusual about that at all. But after I separated them, one the perpetrators broke down. He told me about his mother’s struggle with drugs. And he relayed to me that his mom and dad recently divorced. I asked him how he was doing with all of that and the floodgate opened. He really shared his heart. I just listened. I had to have a pretty straight talk with the other young man involved in the fight, and ten minutes later he was referring to me as his “dad.”

Tonight was the last night. We spent our time passing the football around, as the boys talked about the cute camp nurse. I told them girls had coo dies, but they were not the least bit interested in listening. One of the boys that had not given us any trouble all week became pretty uncooperative. I was really taken aback, but the dean of men explained to me that he did not want to go home tomorrow. Kids from normal homes are eager to see their families at the end of a camp week, but this little boy has nothing to look forward to. I guess that it was why we have Royal Family Kids Camp every year. It is a week of great memories for children that have had very difficult lives. In some small way, we are breaking the cycle of abuse and neglect.

What is that Alcoholic Doing Here?

2011-08-04T18:12:00.000-05:00

Max Lucado in one his first books tells the story of a woman fighting an uphill battle with alcoholism. During that journey she tried to return to a small church where she had spiritual roots. But unfortunately she hears the gossip in the parking lot that was not meant for her ears. “What is that alcoholic doing here?” Lucado relays that the woman got back in her car and never returned. Well that is not exactly true. Her next visit to the same church was in a casket at her own funeral.
In stark contrast to that incident, I heard a story last night that was truly inspiring. We hosted a speaker that serves a church that is doing what I think churches are supposed to do. When the neighborhood around this particular congregation in a large city began to change, attendance declined. A part of the city that would have been characterized as upscale in the 1950’s began to decline. Businesses closed. Crime increased.

The church was faced with a decision. They could sell their building and move out to the more affluent outlying areas, or they could take a risk and stay. They chose to stay. Their choice to remain was prompted by a desire to reach out to the now low income neighborhood that surrounded the church’s property. They have successfully done that for about 10 years now.

At one point in this 10 year period, The Salvation Army put in a rehabilitation center for women struggling with alcoholism. A lady at the newly opened center ventured out on a Sunday morning and showed up for worship services at the above mentioned church. She was fortunate. There were no local gossipers aroound to greet her. The first person to spot her was Jan. (I happen to know Jan. Everyone should have the opportunity to meet her.) Jan is the real thing. She is as genuine as they come. Jan introduced herself to the brave lady from the rehab center and proceeded to introduce her to everyone else. Her approach went like this: “I want you to meet my friend, Lisa…” (Not her real name) She never mentioned the rehab center. She just said…”I want you to meet my friend Lisa.” I wonder how that made that lady feel?

Jan’s single act of kindness prompted an entire ministry focused of reaching out to ladies going through the Salvation Army program across the street from the church. Dozens of lives at the rehab location were touched. An untold number of families affected by the ladies staying there were impacted by the efforts of a church that decided to stay.

I was inspired by the story of this very special church last night. I have in turn been asked to speak at a training event they are hosting in October. The church is now partnering with their city officials on a huge effort that is going to serve victims of domestic violence. My assigned topic is: “How to Effectively Minister to Crime Victims.” What can I possibly offer a church that decided a long time ago to stay put, so they could serve their neighbors? I am humbled to be in their presence. And I suspect I will learn more from them they will from me.

My question for all of us is: What single act of kindness can we initiate today that will turn into something huge? And by the way, there is no need to ask what that alcoholic is doing here. She is here for us to serve in the name of Christ. No more questions needed...

Investing in People....For the Long Haul

2011-07-31T17:31:00.000-05:00

I don’t know how many times I have heard financial advisors say: you are investing for the long haul! The implication being that it is important to ride out the ups and downs of the various financial markets I fully understand that concept and I would think that it is still a valid way of looking at things in a time of rapidly changing economics. But of more importantly I continue to find that such a principle applies to human relationships.

Not long ago I had a discussion with a 12 year old girl regarding some family concerns that are taking place in her life right now. She is fortunate. Her mom and dad are both good people. I realize that is not something for anyone to take for granted! We sat down one afternoon and had a good heart to heart discussion about challenges her family is facing. Bear in mind I am not a youth minister. And I am at least 30 years beyond being any hope of being cool. And to top it off I have never been a father to girls. But despite all of those strikes against me, the interchange went well.

Today I felt someone tap me on arm in the foyer after church services. I turned around and there was my 12 year old friend. I hugged her like she was my own child. The closer I get to 50 the softer I am getting. That precious little girl melted my heart this morning. She told me things in confidence several weeks ago that she knows I will never share with another soul.

It occurred to me a few hours later that I will probably get a phone call in 10 or 12 years. She will be a grown woman by that point and she will be calling on me to do a wedding ceremony. That scenario has been repeated more than once in the course of my 24 year career in ministry.

I was reminded this morning that I am investing in people for the long haul. There are rich benefits to such a commitment. Of course I fully realize that human relationships are far more unpredictable and complex than financial markets. But I am willing to ride that roller coaster. There are no financial benefits to such a commitment, but the personal rewards are priceless. I think I will continue to invest in people and learn to live with the ups and downs of real life.

Times are a Changing!

2011-07-31T00:06:00.002-05:00

Times they are a changing around the Knox household. My youngest son informed me today that his older brother would not be home for Thanksgiving this year. Randall is spending the fall semester at the Los Angeles Film Institute, so he will be eating his turkey in California when November rolls around. That will mark the first time since we started our family that we have not all been together for a major holiday. I am not sure I am ready for that transition, but times are a changing.

My middle son, Daniel, is counseling at Royal Family Kids Camp this week. The mission of Royal Family Kids camp is to create positive memories for abused and neglected children ages 7-11, in a one-week camp experience. Daniel will be responsible for 2 eight year old boys for an entire week at camp. My job at Royal Family this week is to be a relief counselor. I will arrive at 7:00 and stay a couple of hours, so the counselors can get a break. As it turns out, I will be relieving Daniel and his counseling partner this week. That too is a first for me. But let me be reminded times are a changing.

This summer Mitchell’s brothers have taken turns hauling him around. But that will not be the case next summer. He will at least be eligible to have a driver’s license next summer. That is sort of scary, but I might as well be prepared. Times they are a changing.

As new chapters open in the lives of my children, I find that my role does not cease. It simply changes. My intent is to serve my kids and serve them well. But gone is the day when Randall prided himself in not taking a shower for a week at camp. The day has long since past when Daniel woke me up at the crack of dawn to play hot-wheels cars with him. Mitchell will no longer allow his brothers to lock him in the closet when parents are absent from the house, because times are a changing.

I am excited about camp this week. Watching one of my boys serve two kids who have most likely been removed from their home because of abuse is a good thing. I am confident he will do better than me in such a context. And I must realize that someday we will gather in Randall’s home for Thanksgiving. And that will be exciting too. Changing times are not so bad after all!

Before You Judge Someone: Consider the Missing Pieces

2011-07-27T16:31:00.000-05:00

During the winter months we will often start a thousand piece puzzle on a card table in our living room. When Jan’s parents visit, her dad especially enjoys the challenge of working on it. When a puzzle like that is being assembled, you can’t really tell what exactly it is going to depict until a lot of the pieces are in place. And that takes time…

Our lives are like a multiple piece puzzle. There are numerous pieces of our existence that assemble the picture of our life as it looks today. Each piece represents experiences we have had, people we have known, the family we were raised in, jobs we have had and the like. There are also pieces that are symbolic of tragedy, loss and times of despair.

When we get reacquainted with someone after a long period of time, we only know the part of the puzzle of their life that we experienced with them. A lot of pieces have been added during the intervening period. Consequently the puzzle of their life really looks different. In that regard, I have learned something very important in recent months.

Our friends will place the missing pieces of their life puzzle out there for us to observe, if we are willing to listen. Little by little they will reveal their life story to us. Each personal narrative disclosed places another missing piece where it belongs in the puzzle.

Unfortunately most of us tend to jump to conclusions about other people long before the picture has been assembled. The truth is: we don’t even know what the entire picture looks like! We observe a few pieces and automatically assume what that person is really like.

I have been reminded recently to be patient enough to allow all of the puzzle pieces to fall into place. I must listen very carefully and patiently to my friends. They will continue to place the pieces of their lives where they belong, as they share their story. With each placement I learn new things about them. Relationships deepen if we are patient enough to allow the puzzle of people’s lives to come together. And in most cases there are well over 1,000 pieces!

The truth is: we create a safe environment for our friends when we acknowledge that the puzzle of their life has many pieces! There is a learning curve here. Before you judge someone consider the missing pieces.

Safety for the Abused And The Walking Wounded Too...

2011-07-20T21:56:00.000-05:00

Glenn Newberry is the executive director for Foster’s Home for Children in Stephenville, TX. Tonight I heard Glenn speak on the subject of safety. But it was not the kind of safety lecture that I have heard police officers deliver numerous times. In his presentation, he described a comprehensive program that Foster’s Home is using that focuses on emotional safety. Bear mind that Foster’s serves over 50 children in residential care that have been abused, neglected, or abandoned.

Glenn made a statement tonight that immediately caught my attention. He said: “Healing won’t occur until a child feels safe.” “Our goal is to build an environment of safety.” Of course there is a lot involved in fulfilling such an objective. I have worked enough with traumatized children over the years to know that they are on the right track.

As I listened this evening, my mind start bouncing like it always does. (Jan tells me the wires in my head are not connecting to the correct colors.) As I listened, my mind transitioned from abused children to adults that I interact with everyday.

All of my friends could be aptly described as the walking wounded. My peers are rapidly approaching age 50. Some of them are already there! We have all lived enough to be damaged in significant ways. We lived long enough to bury parents, experience heartache with our children, and in some cases go through the pain of divorce. The list could go and on…

I realized tonight that my friends won’t heal until they feel safe. Consequently my responsibility to them is to build an environment of safety in the context of our relationship. Glenn shared a few things they are doing at the children’s home that I find to be relevant in all relationships where safety is a priority. I think I will write another piece listing those ideas tomorrow. But in the meantime I am thinking about the objective of safety for my friends. How can I create a safe environment for my friends? It is a weighty question. More tomorrow…

Wisonsin Bound: Part II The Wonder Years at Wind Point Elementary

2011-07-19T19:57:00.000-05:00

We were in the 5th grade. To be more specific we were in Mrs. Shepherd’s class in the 5th grade. Our teacher, Mrs. Shepherd, was a direct descendant of Attila the Hun. She ran her classroom like a military boot camp. On the top left-hand corner of the chalkboard she posted her solitary rule of conduct for the school year. It read as follows: Love one another. That’s all…According to Mrs. Shepherd that was the only written law that all 5th graders under her rule would be required to follow. I found it to be sort of amusing until one fateful day on the playground when I infringed upon her single classroom decree.

I got in a fist fight with my friend Steve. Now I was no match for Steve, who had 4 older brothers that were championship wrestlers and football players. One of his brothers went on to become a hall of fame wrestler in the State of Wisconsin. What I was thinking? I was in the 5th grade and that of course explains it all. Male egos at that age are just starting to really get out of check.

Mrs. Shepherd stomped out on the playground (like only she could do) and broke up the fight. I think Mrs. Shepherd could have broken up a bar brawl, if she had been so inclined. She made Steve and I face each other in front of all of our classmates. And then she dropped the bomb… “Steve, you tell John that you love him.” “John, you tell Steve that you love him.” I was thinking that I would rather be shipped off to Siberia than tell him that I loved him. But remember who Mrs. Shepherd’s ancestor was…None other than Attila himself. She won. We lost. We expressed our love for each other in clear terms, so could hear us.

I only recall two or three terribly embarrassing moments during the wonder years at Wind Point Elementary. That incident of course would be one of them. The good memories with Steve far outweigh the negative ones. We rode our bikes all over the place, played pool at my house, and generally created mischief. The wonder years for the most part were just that...

Friday night there will be a mini-reunion in the city where I went to elementary school ,and one year of junior high. I will see people I knew at Wind Point Elementary for the first time in over 36 years. I mentioned to a friend last week that I was a little nervous about this whole thing. 36 years is a long time. But it occurred to me today that perhaps we should simply practice Mrs. Shepherd’s sole rule for her classroom: Love one another. And I don’t mean that in a syrupy sort of way. I mean it the way she actually intended it to be interpreted, I think. We should come to such a reunion with the resolve to care about each other in a respectful, kind, and even compassionate sort of manner.

I don’t anticipate anyone having to face off and tell each other that they love each other at the reunion Friday night. But I have a strong hunch that I will observe pockets of people expressing mutual concern and respect for each other. We no longer have to be forced to express our love to each other. We are well beyond the 5th grade now. And I think we have figured out that valuing each other is pretty important.

Oh and by the way…Steve will be there Friday night. He is dealing with a very serious illness right now. I have a few things I need to tell him. But I am really glad that Mrs. Shepherd won’t be there looking over my shoulder. She made the wonder years not so wonderful that fateful day in 5th grade.

Your Unique Presence is Needed.....Right Now!!

2011-07-14T22:44:00.000-05:00

Corporal Darrell Campbell with the Snyder, Texas Police Department was shot in the head in a line of duty incident early Tuesday morning. .He has been hospitalized in Lubbock’s University Medical Center since the shooting occurred. I was not at all surprised to read in media releases that patrol officers with the Lubbock Police Department are staying with Campbell and members of his family in the Intensive Care Unit area around the clock. They are there to provide security and support for the Campbell family 24/7.

I have several reactions to their prompt and consistent response. In 21 years of volunteering as a law enforcement chaplain, I have seen such actions over and over again. Police officers are extremely loyal to each other. They are also trained to respond to a crisis in very definite, tangible ways.

Their actions this week at the hospital are also a reflection of their identity. They are protectors. That is who they are. Consequently that is what they have to offer a family facing the reality of a loved one who critically injured.

What about the rest of us? What do those of us that do not go to work with guns on our belt have to offer? Interestingly enough the very day of the shooting I read an essay from Henri Nouwen that addresses this need. He puts us on the right track with the following ideas:

Your unique presence in your community is the way God wants you to be present for others. Different people have different ways of being present. You have to know and claim your way. That is why discernment is so important.

Allow me to offer a not so subtle reminder. You are a unique presence in your community. You can be present for others in ways that no one else is suited to do. This week some of my dearest friends in the world are recovering at home from a serious car crash after being hospitalized out of state. Several of their friends are “running interference” at their home, so they can get some needed rest. Their loyal supporters are accepting casseroles, greeting well meaning visitors, and generally keeping the house going. They are being present for someone in need.

My encouragement to all of us is: Know and claim and our way! The needs abound. Your unique presence in the community is the way God wants you to be present for others. Where will that lead you tomorrow? Your unique presence is needed right now!

A Story of Abandoned Children

2011-07-12T11:37:00.000-05:00

What are you whining about today? Are you put out with your spouse or your children? Are you frustrated with your parents? Let’s see…they are suffocating you with their attentiveness. Or maybe they are elderly. Taking care of elderly parents has the potential to be a laborious task. It is all too tempting to grumble about it. What about members of your extended family? They too are commonly targeted for nitpicking.

Can I make a suggestion? Stop in your tracks right now… Stop the complaining. Read this account from Gil Sanchez, who directs Casa De Esperanza. Casa as it is commonly called is a children’s home located in Northern Mexico not far Chihuahua City. In Gil’s most recent report regarding the service they are providing to children, he shared this story:

A passerby noticed Nena and Manuel sitting on a busy street corner in Cuauhtémoc. After noticing that the children were still sitting on the same busy street corner several hours later, she called the police. The police brought the children to Casa and after conducting an investigation determined that they had been abandoned where they sat. The parent/s are unknown and because we have no birth certificate we are uncertain of their age. We estimate that Nena is two and Manuel is three years old.

I have made several trips to Casa to conduct medical and dental clinics over the years. I know firsthand what an exceptional job that Gil and his coworkers do to serve children like Nena and Manuel. After nearly 14 years of coordinating clinics in various Mexican cities, my heart still breaks when I read stories like this one. Most importantly I realize that I have nothing to whine about.

My parents were imperfect human beings. Imagine that! They did not live their lives flawlessly. As a parent, I have attempted to do a few things differently than they did. But I must say I was never abandoned. (I am sure there were days my mother wished that I would take a hike.) I was never mistreated. I was certainly not left on a street corner. Few of us have such an experience lurking in our past.

Gil’s story motivated me to figure out a way to serve the kids at Casa during a difficult time in Mexico’s history. And it also prompted me to think twice before whining about any aspect of my family life. Oh by the way...who abandons their children at a busy intersection in a city? I suppose someone who was whining about being a parent...

Once Upon a Time There Was No Facebook...

2011-07-10T13:37:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time…I remember telling my boys bedtime stories (that I made up) that began in such a manner. Once upon a time is a phrase that just has an innocent ring to it. When we hear that expression, we anticipate a journey into the fantasy of story land. But such a saying can also have a serious connotation.

Once upon a time (in real life) the vast majority of the important relationships in my life were carried on with people that I saw face to face on a fairly regular basis. As a rule, I knew what was going in their life. I interacted with them in person. I observed firsthand what they were experiencing. I knew what was going in their life, because we were together a lot.

When I was in high school, I played tennis with a friend the day after his father was arrested. I helped another friend care for his elderly grandparents when his parents were gone for the weekend. I remember going to the hospital when I was in college to see a friend right after she experienced the loss of a baby. As a 19 year old, I didn’t feel real comfortable doing that, but I was there.

Those events took place once upon a time…I am living a very different reality today. I now have friends who live all over the world. We rely on facebook, email, and texting. One of these days I may even enter the world of skype. I work really hard at keeping up with old friends and new ones alike. Technology has opened doors I never dreamed would even be cracked. Childhood friendships have been renewed. New relationships have been forged as well.

In this new reality, I don’t see these individuals face to face with much frequency. An annual reunion or trip of some kind is the only opportunity to be in each other’s presence. Major life events can take place on their end and mine as well. We share some of those things, but perhaps we choose not to tell all. So much can happen in a short period of time. It is nearly impossible to be as aware of what is going with each other as we were once upon a time…

I am not complaining. Without technology my network of relationships would be far more limited. But I am continuing to learn how to help those friendships to grow and flourish without the privilege of consistent personal interaction. Here are a few things I am considering. This is NOT the final word. These are just things I am considering. If long distance friendships are to deepen, then I must…

• Ask open questions. Example: How are things going with your job?

• Be alert. A lot of people drop hints via facebook or in passing comments regarding what is going on in their life. Pay attention and follow up.

• Be consistent. Check on your friends on a regular basis. Technology allows us to do that effectively.

• Be interested. I try (key word is try) to communicate via email, facebook, or texting that I am interested in what is going on in the lives of friends.

• Schedule phone calls: It is a good practice to say: It sounds like we need to have a phone conversation.

Once upon a time I saw my close friends nearly everyday. But now I depend on an inbox or a beep on my phone. It is really not so bad, but it takes some creativity and commitment! Once upon a time there was no facebook….But I am thankful today that we have such resources.

The Peacemakers

2011-07-09T09:53:00.000-05:00

Today I am attending a luncheon that is being held in honor of the Granbury Police Department investigators, The Texas Rangers, and members of the District Attorney’s office in Hood County. They are being honored for their dedicated service in investigating and ultimately prosecuting the murders of Shawna Farris and Robyn Richter. Carrying out justice in this case took nearly three years. To say that everyone involved was tenacious is an understatement.
I am privileged to serve with all of these men and women everyday. I have always had great respect for those on the law enforcement side as well as those that are responsible for prosecuting. They are fine people.
This case was special. There are many details I cannot divulge, but I can say that the families of these victims have touched my life over the past three years. I assisted with the notifications the day of the crime and also officiated at a memorial service for Robyn. When we get ready to give thanks for the meal today, I will share this blessing that I wrote to give all of us some perspective regarding those that protect and serve.

Blessed are the peacemakers…

Blessed are those that enter dark places, where the worst of human motives and actions have been displayed.

Blessed are the peacemakers…

Blessed are those who are tireless in their efforts to discover what really happened, when another human being has been robbed of their very life.

Blessed are the peacemakers…

Blessed are those who are tenacious in dealing with those who lie and deceive, and avoid the consequences of their choices.

Blessed are the peacemakers…

Blessed are those that are patient as well as demanding. If justice is to be done, every t must be crossed and every i must be dotted.

Blessed are the peacemakers…

Blessed are those that sacrifice their personal time week after week, so that they will be prepared to speak openly on behalf of those who are no longer on this earth to speak on their own behalf.

Blessed are the peacemakers…

Blessed are those that bring peace to the hearts of those whose lives have been changed forever by darkness. Blessed are those who will continue to enter dark places, because they are called to protect and serve.

Blessed are those that protect and serve, for they are the peacemakers.

Confidentiality Means...Jaw Flappers Not Allowed!

2011-07-07T19:25:00.000-05:00

Occasionally that motor mouth of mine can utter something that is truly profound. This morning marked one of those rare moments. As I was telling Jan about a longtime friend who is experiencing a personal crisis I made this observation: People in crisis don’t need jaw flappers. Translated from John lingo it means that individuals who are struggling don’t need friends who break confidences. How many of us have asked a friend not to repeat what we have shared only to discover that it was communicated freely and extensively?

When it comes to confidential communication, we need to mean what we say. In other words, if I tell someone that I will not repeat what they have shared I must honor it. That means there are no exceptions. I don’t tell my spouse or my best friend or even the dog. Confidential means just that. The content of such interchanges will not be disclosed or even mentioned. Consider it classified information.

Another phrase that is sometimes used to refer to confidentiality is privileged communication. Consider the content of that expression. It suggests the idea of a limited audience. You are privileged to hear it. That makes you a privileged character. Such individuals don’t take their role lightly.

Trust is fortified when we train our mouths to remain in park. Several years ago I had an administrative assistant that worked for me who had a unique way of handling privileged communication. This particular lady is as blonde as blonde comes. But don’t think for a minute that she fits some kind of “dumb blonde” stereotype. She is very sharp and alert to the inclinations of human motives. When people would come into our office on a fishing expedition searching for information that in all likelihood should be kept private, she played the dumb blonde act. She acted like she was oblivious to all of the human drama that was staged before her everyday in the office. That was her way of warding off people searching for information that was not intended for their ears.

I don’t know what methods you will choose in order maintain the integrity of your privileged status. The dumb blonde act may not fit your persona. If you want to preserve trust in the important relationships in your life, you better formulate some kind of confidentiality plan and be prepared to implement it. People on fishing expeditions are lurking everywhere! Your demeanor should communicate non-verbally that jaw flappers are not allowed.

Wisconsin Bound!

2011-07-03T10:38:00.002-05:00

We played in the sandbox together. We formed the “Willow Club.” Girls were very reluctantly allowed full membership. The fact is girls even played football with us. I of course had a Bart Starr #15 jersey to wear on such occasions. We constructed elaborate forts adjacent to the shore of Lake Michigan. And as we grew up, we rode our bikes to Shoop Park with our golf bags on our shoulders. We played basketball at the Wind Point Elementary playground and walked to Rosemary’s Corner Store to purchase a pop and a candy bar.

That is a pretty accurate description of my formative years in elementary school. Well sort of…I am leaving out other events that don’t need to be mentioned even though the statute of limitations has run out. At least I hope that is the case! In June of 1975, my world was changed dramatically. My dad accepted a position with his company in faraway Texas. I left the comfort of my Southeastern Wisconsin home on my last day of class in the 7th grade. I didn’t think I would ever see my friends again.

But in less than three weeks I will join nearly 30 former classmates and others my age that I never met. A mini-reunion has been planned for July 22nd. Some still have young children at home. Others are already enjoying an empty nest. There certainly has been a lot of water under the bridge since 1975.

As I reflected on this upcoming event last week, I felt a little nervous. I am like any other adult. There are painful memories of my early years that I have left buried. Even the best archaeologist could not unearth them totally. I dug up just enough of the junk from the past to make me uneasy. I started getting cold feet about the whole thing. But those thoughts passed quickly.

I am confident that we need each other. I am anxious to renew old friendships and form new ones with people that I grew up with technically, but for various reasons we never met. I am looking forward to doing some story listening. I hope to have the opportunity to share a kind or encouraging word.

The power of shared roots is amazing to me. People that grew up together can be separated for decades, but once they are reunited there is a bond that is hard to describe. It is almost as if we are all part of the same novel, but we have simply not been included together in the middle chapters of the book. I am thankful that the novelist has chosen to write additional chapters including the characters that interacted in the plot when they were young.

A chapter will be written in a few weeks that will feature a good number of us. I predict that it will be a portion of the novel that will keep the reader up at night. It won’t be light reading by any stretch of the imagination. The life narratives that will be shared will be intriguing. There will be lots of laughter and reminiscing as well. Girls will even be allowed, but not so reluctantly this time. I think you can see why I am anxious to be Wisconsin bound.

Get Me out of Here! I am Never Coming Back!

2011-07-02T20:49:00.000-05:00

I met a number of people during my years as an undergraduate student that grew up in rural West Texas communities. Some of those individuals were raised on farms and ranches in places where the closest town with a grocery store was over 60 miles away. I think it is safe to say that the vast majority of those individuals were completing their degrees in anticipation of never, ever returning to country life. Their mentality was: get me out of here! I am never coming back! I would say most of them are living in the Dallas/Fort Worth or Austin area now.

Life on a West Texas farm is pretty isolated. As the natives say: you have a lot of windshield time. I am empathetic to my friends that have no desire to return to that life. My sweet wife is one of them. She grew up on a farm 18 miles from civilization and 80 miles from a city of any size. But there is a dimension of life in the country that large city dwellers have to work very hard to replicate.

Rural citizens take care of each other. When a farmer becomes ill during harvest, everyone pulls out of their field and cuts that person’s corn or strips his cotton. I have seen it happen. You witness a sea of combines or cotton strippers on one farm. No one returns to their own field until their sick neighbor’s crop is in. Dinner (served at noon) is brought to the field and the tailgates of pickups become the dining room table.

I have been removed from that way of life for so long that I have nearly forgotten what it is like. Funerals have become my sole reminder of rural hospitality. Today Jan attended a graveside service in a tiny West Texas ranching community that has not had a store or café for many years. But the good folks in tiny Truscott, Texas opened their community center for the family and friends of the lady being buried. They served up standard West Texas cuisine that includes deviled eggs, garden fresh melons, and homemade pies. As Jan described the scene, it brought back a flood of memories. And I was grateful for good and decent people, who really love their neighbors.

In large cities, I hear constant rhetoric about community. I desire “community.” I want to “live in community.” I fully understand that desire. There is not a thing wrong with it. I just find it intriguing that the thing we long for the most is something that comes naturally to people in parts of the country that we most definitely don’t want to live in! I doubt that any of the good folks in Truscott, Texas are talking about “living in community.” It just comes naturally to them.

As Jan described the hospitality of the wonderful people in Truscott today, I thought to myself: I hope we can replicate their love and concern for their neighbors in the areas where we live. It is going to take creativity and commitment. We tend live lives that are isolated in a different sort of way. But in times of loss we really do need to experience community and not just talk about it.

Is Someone Criticizing You? Consider the Source!

2011-07-01T19:21:00.003-05:00

Consider the source…I have heard that phrase before. When my blood pressure is elevated because of a major irritation, my friends urge me to consider the source. The implication is that we can dismiss critical comments or insensitive remarks from people that lack credibility in our eyes. Such a conclusion makes perfect sense to me. But maybe I am wrong?

I really had to admit this at all, but I honestly believe there is a grain of truth in the assessments of even the most irrational critics. I use their flawed character as a so called legitimate reason to dismiss the content of their complaints. In the process, I miss the grain of truth that is very much present. Is there is a lesson to be learned?

If I want to be emotionally mature, then I must be willing to go on a search and rescue mission for the grain of truth that is buried under the layers of bad attitudes and inappropriate behavior being displayed by the critic. Such a mission however is often hindered by my own huge ego.

Many years ago I was directing a church camp session when a very immature youth minister severely criticized some of the procedures I had in place at the camp. The young man was not well suited for the position he held. And he just had a bad attitude. Consequently I totally dismissed his critical comments that he verbalized, and put in writing to the camp board. At some point after that event, I realized that his analysis of my procedures was right on target. If I had been willing to listen, I could have learned something valuable.

I have been reminded recently of the importance of listening to my critics. More specifically I realize that I must be an equal opportunity listener. As much as I hate to admit it, my big ego forms a solid layer that impedes the mission of digging down to the grain of truth that no doubt exists.

Who is criticizing you? What are they saying? Can you detach the content from the source? That is actually pretty important, because it might help you to experience growth in area of life that needs attention. Consider the source? That is not bad advice per se, but perhaps there are other factors to take into consideration as well!

A Swimsuit that Embellishes...

2011-06-26T17:45:00.002-05:00

I don’t normally find myself wondering around stores in the women’s swimsuit section. But I could not help but notice a sign placed near the main aisle of one of my favorite retailers advertising swimwear that extols the perceived advantage of “embellishment.” At first glance I laughed to myself. I was thinking: Women can’t just buy any swimsuit. They need one that embellishes certain parts of their anatomy. But I soon quit laughing, because I understand the term “embellish” all too well.

I do a lot of public speaking for a variety of audiences in a number of different settings. I preach every Sunday, give after dinner speeches, lecture to students at universities, and lead training events for law enforcement chaplains. Embellishing as an instructor of speaker is usually associated with stretching the truth, making the story grander, or the numbers larger. It is not a virtue. Embellishing a story or a set of figures is a fast way to completely destroy a public speaker’s credibility. Exaggerating any aspect of a presentation is not going to be received positively by participants.

I am aware that the term embellish can also mean to decorate, adorn, or otherwise beatify. Maybe that is what that store is trying to convey in their swimsuit marketing strategy. But based on other advertising commentary promoting the same swimwear I don’t think that is the case…

I think a good message to send to men and women alike is: Forget the embellishment and be your self. And by the way, don’t be ashamed of any aspect of the way God created you. I am no expert by any stretch of the imagination on eating disorders all too common to younger women, but I do know that body image issues fuel such problems.

Last week I interacted with dozens of high school kids at camp. This week I will do the same with middle school students. I know for a fact that a lot of those kiddos sure need a boost in the self image area. My message to them: Be yourself. Don’t try to be something you are not. Discover who you are and who you are meant to be. There is no need for embellishment…

I Thought We were All Your Sons!

2011-06-24T17:14:00.000-05:00

This morning I completed my 5th year as the Head Men’s Counselor and Dorm Dad for Camp Zenith. Zenith is geared for 9th-12th grade students. Every year I come to camp with a desire to learn something from the kids I am serving that is meaningful. I have never been disappointed.

Most of the lessons I glean are not new. They are just not so subtle reminders of what teens really need from adults. Every year there are students that bring stories of brokenness with them. This year I bumped into a camper who lost his mother when he was 5 years old. I told him late one night when I was checking dorms that I was present at his mother’s funeral 9 years ago. And I reassured him that she was indeed a really good person. Kids who have lost a parent just need to know that. And that is especially true for a young man who barely remembers his mother.

Another camper I dealt with was referred to me by his college age counselor. At camp I function like the assistant principal who handles discipline at school. This particular young man had been blatantly disrespectful. I spoke to him in terms where very little was left to the imagination. I described my expectations in very clear terms. My tone was direct. And then when I finished, I told him that I knew he had the ability to be the informal leader of his group. I perceived him to be a natural leader. I just gave him the kind of lecture that Vince Lombardi or Tom Landry or any other old school coach would give a player who is not using his full potential. I was not prepared for his response. A kid who towers my 6’ frame had tears in his eyes. His youth minister later told me the next day that no one had ever conveyed such a message to him. And when I heard that, I had tears in my eyes…

I also watched a young man from my home church just blossom during the week at camp. He is one of kids that just showed up on the doorstep at the church building, because we host an after school program on Wednesdays. That kind of program is very labor intensive. Some of the kids we get are very troubled. And they are not always respectful! We have been so tempted to shut that effort down at times. This week I was reminded what a huge mistake that would be for our church. In a few weeks, this particlar young man will be engaged in basic training for active duty military service. And to think that could have ended a program that really touched his life.

Sunday night at camp I held a meeting with all of the boys in my dorm to go over the rules. It happened to be Father’s Day, so I told the boys: I am your dad for the week, and don’t forget today is Father’s Day! We enjoyed a good laugh, but I did not expect what followed. During the course of the entire week those boys called me “dad.” During one conversation I referred to something my son was going to do, and one of the campers said: I thought we were all your sons! I turned around and told him: you are…And I was reminded again that I have a lot to learn about teens.

Helping Friends During Times of Acute Crisis

2011-06-22T19:46:00.000-05:00

It was a terribly hot Friday afternoon in July of 1992. I suppose all Friday afternoons in Wichita Falls, Texas are terribly hot in July…I was enjoying a glass of tea along with some chips and salsa with some friends when I was paged to the ER at was then Wichita General Hospital. A lady in her late 20’s rode on the ambulance as paramedics strived to revive her husband, who had collapsed at their home in a few moments earlier. By the time I arrived, she was in the tiny “family room” adjacent to the ER curled up in the fetal position sobbing uncontrollably. And what I remember to this day is: she did not have any shoes on… She was sitting there in her socks. Minutes earlier the nursing supervisor and ER doctor informed her that her husband had been pronounced dead.

People often ask me: what do you do in such circumstances? What do say? How do you handle it? Here is the first and perhaps the most important thing to do when a friend or stranger is experiencing acute crisis. Identify their support system and then do what you can to assemble it.

So that is what I did that hot Friday afternoon in July. I asked this young, terrified woman who I could call for her. Do you have family? Do you have a minister? Do you have neighbors or close friends? She answered no to all of the above along with a few more creative ideas I generated for potential support systems. Now what do I do? They didn’t tell us in training what do in such situations. As it turned out, I ended up sitting with her until her family from out of state arrived.

What do well intentioned people do when a friend, neighbor, or co-worker is in the middle of a major crisis, and that person simply does not have a support system? Obviously you don’t want to leave them high and dry. And depending on the situation, their list of needs could be extensive.

I think there are several creative choices that can be made regarding the formation of a potential support network for your struggling friend, but there is a very important prerequisite that must be fulfilled first. As a concerned friend, you have to realize that one person does not comprise a system. The word system generally suggests the presence of a plurality of people. And it takes a system to help successfully.

If you ignore that principle, it is tempting to get in rescue mode. You are going to be the knight in shining armor that saves the day and keeps your friend from imminent peril. That is a lot of nonsense. It almost always ends up being a discouraging endeavor that can even end friendships. In times of crisis, the key word is system. Think systemically. I am trying hard these days to think systematically, because I know there are more hot days in July looming in the very near future….

Are You Sure You are Ready to Lose Your Charm?

2011-06-21T15:45:00.003-05:00

Father’s Day is over. Yesterday there was a table in the restaurant next to us with a group of adults lavishing gifts on dad. It appeared that they value the gentleman who was on the receiving end of their generosity. I received some pretty strong response to my blog about Father’s Day. It came from friends whose dads bailed ship during their formative years.

When I was in elementary school, I don’t recall very many of my friends at Wind Point School coming from single parent homes. Statistically it was around 10% of the kids in my class during any given year. Of course I realize that a good number of my friends had parents who split up a few years later. Today the number of elementary school age kids living in single parents homes is staggering. I don’t want to belittle single moms or dads. In fact, I admire the tenacity of those doing the parenting thing solo. But I do have a few things to say to dads who actually think that the grass is greener…

I have been in ministry for 24 years. I have been a volunteer law enforcement chaplain for over 21 years. I have thus been exposed to family problems of every imaginable kind. In many cases, I have been on the front row as they unfolded. Dad goes to to jail for family violence and cute kids stand there in bewilderement. I have taken some good mental notes over that two decade period. Here is one of them: Dads that choose to bail out of their marriage and leave mom with the kids’ impact the lives of those children permanently. I know that is blunt, but it is true.

In looking back on all of the men that have left their wives over the years that I have been aware of, the reasons are of course varied. But I must admit that most of those men left, because they found another woman, or in some cases left their spouse for a man. I wish now I had kept better records, but I am confident that this is the prevailing reason for divorces initiated by men I have known.

Why do I share such information right after Father’s Day? I just think it is fitting to encourage men to think twice before jumping ship. The grass is most likely not nearly as green as you think it is on the other side of the septic tank. Your present wife knows the real you! George Strait says in his song: You Know Me Better Than That….
You know the me that gets lazy and fat.
How moody I can be, all my insecurities.
You've seen me lose all my charm, you know I was raised on a farm.
Oh, she tells her friends I'm perfect
And that I love her cat, but you know me better than that.
The little sweet thing that you want to leave your wife for will eventually figure out that you lose your charm and don’t love her cat.

Allow me to impress on your heart that you will indeed affect your children for the rest of their life. You may still feel compelled to end a marriage that cannot be saved. There may be legitimate reasons to make that choice. Are you taking off, because you met some sweet, young thing? Think twice men. Little Ms. Perfect may not lead you to the Promised Land you think she is going to lead you to. Oh and by the way...she is fully capable of losing her charm!

I am speaking from years of working with adults who are still wrestling with the choices that dad made decades earlier. The stories in many cases are heart wrenching. I am just saying it is a good idea to give your marriage everything you have before you pull the plug and jump overboard. Little Ms. Perfect may just drown you in a sea of selfishness. And there maybe some tears shed on Father’s Day. Because when you leave your wife for another woman, you lose your credibility as well as your charm.

Father's Day: An Insignificant Nuisance?

2011-06-17T09:35:00.000-05:00

Father’s Day is day after tomorrow. It has been a day of mixed blessings for me for a long time now. My own father has been deceased since 1978. That really is a long time… But I have been a father since 1989. And that too is a long time. Mixed blessing is thus a descriptive phrase.
This year is going to be different. I have formulated a list of things that must or must not be done on this annual holiday. Here is the list:

No whining allowed… I must confess. I am a grown man and I have chosen to feel sorry for myself on Father’s Day of past years. I even resented other adult men who seemed to view the holiday as an insignificant nuisance. But I will not do that this year. Last November I assisted with a line of duty death involving one of my Texas Highway Patrol Troopers. He was assigned to Garza County, which is not too far from where I spent my formative years. Trooper McDonald left a dedicated wife and a precious young daughter behind. His little girl recently celebrated her first birthday. Whining will be replaced with empathy this year. I have a thin blue line wrist band that I wear in memory of Jonathan McDonald. When I am tempted to feel sorry myself this Sunday, I will simply look at my wrist band…Enough said.

Gratitude is in order… I have all three of my boy’s home this summer. Based on where they are in life that will most likely never happen again. Earlier this week Randall gave me a very unique book as a Father’s Day present. It instantly became one of my most treasured possessions. Most of all it has just been a pleasure to have all of them home for the summer.

Harry Chapin is banned… I heard Harry Chapin’s 1974 hit: Cats and the Cradle on the radio going to work earlier this week. That song is officially banned for old men like me. I can’t listen to it right now. boys are moving rapidly toward complete independence, and I find myself having visions of going down the toy aisle with them at Walmart in Lubbock years ago.

List Making might be a good idea… I hate lists. I lose the grocery list before I get to the store. (perhaps on purpose…don’t tell!) I will make a better list on Sunday. I think I will formulate a listing of every man who has served as a surrogate father to me since I lost my dad when I was 15. Now that is a good idea…

I hope everyone has a great Father’s Day. Don’t view it as a nuisance. That will be a mistake you will grow to regret. Think in terms of someone missing their dad this weekend, and be a blessing to them.

What Did Your Father Do for You?

2011-06-15T16:45:00.000-05:00

Father's day is next weekend. Be sure and take care of your father next weekend, and if he's no longer with you, take a moment to reflect on all the things he did for you. One of my friends posted that thought in their facebook status a week or so ago, so I saved it. I saved it because it occurred to me that I have never taken the time to express in specific terms all of the things he did for me. Here is my list.

My father taught me how to work. That is the first thought that came to mind. My father maintained an impeccable work ethic and he in turn expected his kids to follow his cues. Consequently I learned to work hard at a fairly young age. I spent part of the summer after my 8th grade year painting the trim on the house with very little guidance.

My father was not a racist. My dad was born in the South in 1925. Many people of his generation were very racist. (Including my mother!) I have never been inclined toward being prejudiced, and I attribute that to the example that my father set.

My father was fair with people. My dad really felt that everyone should get a fair shake. As an employer, he tried to treat everyone the same. He had very high expectations, but his supervision and leadership were delivered in a spirit of fairness. I don’t know if I have inherited that quality or not. But I know I was not short on example in that department.

My father encouraged me to develop my talents. When I was entering the 9th grade, I had no clue what to take for elective courses. My dad urged me to take speech and debate. He told me I was naturally talented toward such endeavors. And I so I did….In fact, my bachelor’s degree is in Speech Communications.

My father had a good reputation as a businessman. Unfortunately I rarely encounter people who knew my dad anymore. But when I do I am so thankful that their comments are very complimentary regarding his sense of business ethics. He was honest and he treated people with integrity.

My father was not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Some of his poor choices in terms of taking care of his health led to a premature death at age 52. I was 15 years old at the time. Over the years I think I have focused too much on the negative attributes of the home I grew up in. I realize now how much grace I need as a father! I am very aware of my own imperfections. I am thankful for a friend prompting all of us to take a few moments to reflect on the things our fathers did for us. What about you? What did your dad do for you?

Kids Who Feel Like they are Trash...

2011-06-12T16:42:00.001-05:00

Jeff was training for the Olympics. He was on the verge of becoming an Olympian runner when unforeseen circumstances derailed his dream. An unexpected injury permanently dashed any hopes of Olympic competition. He was still able to run, but he was not in a position to compete at that level. I cannot imagine the disappointment he felt.

His life plans shifted in an entirely different direction. He decided to go into law enforcement. I don’t know how many agencies he applied with, but I do know that a record was broken during the physical agility test when he went through the application process with the Granbury Police Department. Training officers are accustomed to administering various kinds of physical fitness tests to applicants that are in excellent condition, but I think even they were surprised when Jeff took to the track for the running part of the exam.
Last night I had an opportunity to ride with Jeff as he patrolled on the evening shift. If I am going to ride out with Jeff, I have to catch him during the summer months. During the school year he is the department’s DARE officer. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) You can find him teaching in a classroom full of 5th graders, or in the school cafeteria mentoring impressionable kids. Being in DARE is Jeff's choice. He is an excellent street cop as well.

Jeff has actually gone way beyond the call of duty as a DARE officer. He spends his afternoons at the high school volunteering as a track coach. And yes he gets out and runs with the kids! On Friday nights the students who have had him in DARE have an opportunity to interact with him at the skating rink. He has committed his Friday nights to pre-teens and teens in that setting.

Something Jeff said to me last night caught my attention. He informed me that you don’t have to be special in order to be effective with kids that have a troubled home life. He told me that you simply have to make them feel that really are special, because at home they feel like they are “trash.” They feel like they are “in the way.” Of course my response is: It does not hurt to be a trained runner! Kids are drawn to Jeff like a magnet, because of his background. Or maybe they are drawn to him because they can sense that he really cares…Whatever the case I am so grateful that he is there. One of these nights in a few years I will ride out with a young officer, and that person will tell me that they chose to get into law enforcement because of a man they met at their school named Jeff Hastings. And I will grin and remember a conversation I had late one night with Jeff about trash and kids who are in the way….

Parents of College Students: Their Sanity Hangs in the Balance

2011-06-10T22:46:00.000-05:00

I was a complete and total angel when I was a college student. And of course I would stretch the truth about other things as well. The truth is that I completely washed one semester at Texas Tech as I pursued my undergraduate degree. That event was not set in motion by angelic behavior.

This week a long time friend had to endure his daughter making some choices both educationally and relationally that are probably not going to enhance her future. She is a bright girl with a good future. During the 2010-2011 academic year she attended a highly specialized school that is not easy to gain admission to. But this past week she announced to her parents that she is not going to go back in August. She is going to move several states away, so she can be with a boyfriend she met in high school. Needless to say mom and dad are thrilled.

How can you help a friend when they find themselves in a parental predicament of this nature? As I heard the story unfold, I really worked at engaging my listening skills. I readily admit that I didn’t have any simple answers to offer. But I did know from experience that there are a few things that my friend and fellow parent did not need to hear this week. And he really should not hear these things next week either!

• He does not to hear about my perfect children. You know the type… They are making a 4.0 grade point average, working in an internship that will lead to a successful career, and dining at the White House this summer at a “Most Likely to Succeed Banquet” held by The President and First Lady. I occasionally hear such stories. They are generally shared when or more of my boys are struggling in some facet of their life. And quite frankly I just don’t find it be helpful. If you want to elevate your kids to sainthood, do it out of the presence of a struggling parent.

• He does not to hear that It is all going to work out. Is it now? Do you know that for a fact? I would advise against making such sweeping statements, because things may get worse before they get better. Sometimes it takes years for life lessons to be learned. Your friend’s child is unique. He may bounce back quickly from a string of poor choices. But that is not always the case. Don’t make promises in areas that you have no control.

• He needs to know that you are loyal. Your friend needs to know that you are going to walk with him when he is ready to eradicate all boyfriends from the face of the earth. He needs a sounding board and an encourager.

• He needs to know that you love his child. How I appreciate people who have loved my kids from the time they were very small. And they still love them today. Expressing unconditional love for the children of those you love is one of the best gifts of friendship.

Summertime is here. It is a time of transition for college kids everywhere. Some will go to summer school. (I have one taking Spanish all summer.) Others will work at a variety of part-time jobs. And still others will make foolish choices that will impede their education. Hang in there with the parents of those kids. They need you, because their sanity is hanging in the balance!

Do you Want Your Preacher to Be Real?

2011-06-09T12:19:00.003-05:00

I preach somewhere between 40 to 45 Sundays during the course of a calendar year. I am one of those fortunate ministers that get to deliver the same sermon twice on Sunday. There are times when I think that the first go around was just a good warm up for second service. And there are other times when I feel like I gave so much of myself in first service that there is not enough left in me for the second go around! Before the morning is over I have addressed somewhere between 600 and 670 people.

What is like to address that many people at least 40 times a year? I can assure you that people very free to react however they choose. Discretion is often checked at the door. Good manners are sidelined. Over the years I have had people walk out in the middle of my sermon. Every Sunday I observe individuals that appear to be bored or disinterested. Some people feel compelled to provide an immediate and sometimes detailed critique in the foyer after the service. Others just choose to share sermon reviews with their friends, and so I end up getting it third hand.

The varying responses to sermons keep my job interesting to say the least. I value constructive critiques, and appreciate stimulating conversations prompted by disagreement. I also quickly dismiss objections that lack any kind of substantive evidence. Hateful comments made directly or indirectly say more about the person initiating them than it does about me.

I do what I do at least 40 times a year because I feel called to make a difference. I want to say something that I hope will impact another person’s life. I realize in order to do that I must be real with people. When you choose to be real, it entails sharing what is in heart as well as what is in your head. Putting your heart out there for anyone and everyone to stomp on at will is a challenge to say the least.

One of the reasons I can continue to share my heart as well as my head is that I am surrounded by people who are blessed with the gift of encouragement. Periodically I receive emails with priceless content. Sometimes people tell me in the foyer with tears in their eyes: “I needed to hear THAT message today.” Others express their encouragement nonverbally as the sermon is being delivered. This week I received a message on facebook that was so encouraging I feel compelled to reprint it here. Here is a tiny excerpt of a larger message: You have been on my heart this week and I didn't want another day to go by without telling you how much I appreciated your sermon last Sunday. It was so refreshing and REAL...something we all need. I always know when you are passionate about something because it is written all over your face!

Do you want your preacher to be real? If you expect him to share his heart, then choose to share yours. It makes a difference. Genuine behaivor on your part will fuel the same on his part. When we choose to encourage, there is no telling what might hapen ! I actually think I can put my heart out there again one more Sunday…. And there is no telling what might be written on my face this week!

Help: My Dreams are Moving On Without Me!

2011-06-07T21:02:00.000-05:00

On a particularly frustrating day recently it occurred to me that the sum total of my present commitments and the dreams that I formulated many years ago did not appear to be a close match. On the surface my ideals and what I am actually doing everyday did not seem to be living in the same neighborhood!

What do you do when you think that your dreams got up and left in a moving van with the name “Cold Reality” painted on the side? It is a question worth answering, because I suspect a number of my friends facing the reality of mid-life are having similar experiences.

I don’t have the final answers on such matters. But I have given a lot of thought to the perceived disparity between dreams and reality. I have really tried to be honest and rooted in faith in my consideration of such concerns. Here are my very preliminary conclusions:

• Stress causes us to see our present situation in a skewed manner. I admit I am the king of blowing things way out of proportion. I openly confess that I often view the glass as half empty instead of half full. When I feel particularly discouraged, I force myself to list all of the things I am thankful on that particular day. I have always found this to be an effective attitude adjustment tool. It tends to work pretty quickly too! There is nothing quite humble gratitude. I soon determine through that listing that dreams really are intact!

• I refuse to allow circumstances to squash my dreams. When I feel like my dreams and desires are being shipped off, I use the journal once again. This time I write down all of the things I am pursuing that are important to me right now. And I am usually reminded that things are not nearly as bad as I think.

• I try not to let temporary setbacks discourage me. I will most likely finish all 5 levels of Rosetta Stone Spanish software before the end of 2011. (If all goes as planned) A few days ago I was told that it takes up to 7 years to truly know a new language well. That was a little deflating, but I bounced back quickly with a renewed attitude to learn.

• I try to listen to the right people. Years ago we had two ladies at the church where I preached with the same first name. One of those ladies is the ultimate encourager. She was consistently positive. The other person with the same name was caustic, negative, and generally unhappy with life. She spread her poison around equally. Jan always reminded me: Listen to the right “Gertrude.” (Not their real name!) I try to heed that advice everyday. I dwell on the positive Gertrude’s among us.

• I try to communicate with friends every single day. I am incredibly fortunate to have friends that go all the way back to my days of playing in the sandbox under the Willow tree at Colleen and Maureen Burke’s house. I think it is important to connect with friends in some shape or fashion everyday. They remind me that my dreams are alive and well!

The good news is that I have realized the disparity between my dreams and cold hard reality is not nearly as great as I once perceived. I am still excited about what I am doing and why I am doing it. And that is a blessing.

My Mother was Never 16 Years Old...

2011-06-06T07:56:00.000-05:00

My mother graduated from high school in 1945 in Jacksonville, FL. She watched classmates that were a few years ahead of her be drafted and quickly head of for overseas military duty during WWII. Many of those young men did not come home… I wish now that I had pressed her for more details regarding her high school experiences, but the one story did share still stands out.

She told me about a cousin, who was a few years older than her, coming home on military leave. She was 16 years old at the time. It was the late spring of 1944. I have no clue how he managed to secure a stateside leave at such a crucial time in the war, but he did… Apparently he knew that the invasion of Europe was imminent and that he would be a part of the forces that would complete that historical effort.

My mother told me that she knew that there her beloved cousin was going to be in harm’s way upon his return to Europe. She was correct. He was killed during the D-Day invasion that was carried out 67 years ago today. Allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy in a surprise attack during a period of awful weather that day.

I wish now that I had pressed my mother for additional details. At the time she told me this story, it was beyond my comprehension to think of my mother as ever being 16 years old! It never occurred to me to ask her what that was like for her. What was it like to be 16 years old and lose an older cousin, whom she was so enamored by? I do know that it made enough of an impression for her to share the experience with me when I was a college student taking American History.

Today we remember those that served in the D-Day Invasion on June 6th, 1944. And perhaps we are reminded to press our loved ones for more details about their life stories. If we fail to do that we maybe missing out on historical information that could transform the way that we view our loved ones.

Romance in the Red Cross Tent...

2011-05-31T19:24:00.000-05:00

One of the perks of being a Baby Boomer minister is the distinct privilege I have had for 24 years now to serve members of the Greatest Generation, as they are so called. I wish now that I had records of every funeral service I have done over the years for WWII veterans, and their spouses. I have officiated at quite a few. In more recent years, I have been honored to officiate at internment services at the Dallas National Cemetery. There is nothing quite like an burial service with full military honors. It is never fails to be move me to the core of my being. Just visiting with individuals from that time period is fascinating!

I had some interchange today with a couple from that era. Unfortunately it was under very sad circumstances. They lost their son in an unexpected motorcycle crash over the holiday weekend. As I visited with them in their home, they shared their story with me. He grew up on a farm in the Panhandle of Texas during the Dustbowl years of the Great Depression. And then in March of 1944, he enlisted in the U.S. Army. His wartime military commitment took him to England, where he encountered a young, petite 17 year old girl in a Red Cross Canteen. She didn’t seem to be responsive to his flirtatious efforts, so he confided in the lady that in charge. The older lady encouraged him not to give up. Little did he know that he was speaking to the mother of the young woman he was interested in!

When the young man received orders to return to the United States, he promised his English sweetheart that he would return for her. Before he was discharged from the Army, he was involved in a serious on duty accident that killed a fellow soldier. Two years later he returned for her, even though he had to travel to England via ship on crutches.

The young lovers have been married well over 60 years now. Their health is failing and now they are facing the loss of one of their sons. This afternoon she shared with me stories of retreating to bomb shelters as a young teenager living on the coast of England during the war. She talked of losing friends and family… And she showed me a wall in their living room adorned with military memorabilia and vintage photographs. He told me about going to the WWII Memorial in Washington D.C. with their children and grandchildren for their 60th wedding anniversary. I could not help but think of the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan, which depicts an elderly veteran returning to Normandy with his children and grandchildren.

I was blessed today to be in the presence of people that made great sacrifices for my generation. Serving members of the Greatest Generation is one of perks of the job I no longer take for granted. My mission this afternoon was to try to comfort an older couple who had lost their son. I feel like I gained far more than I gave!

Nobody is Looking.....

2011-05-30T11:18:00.003-05:00

I will call him Roy. He is loud. He usually invades my personal space when he talks to me. His behavior occasionally disrupts my sermons. He has been known to dominate my time in public settings. He bombards with a constant stream of questions every time I see him. He is not a 5 year old. Roy is a mentally challenged man in his early 30’s.

After early service was over yesterday, I was particularly tired for some reason. Preaching requires a huge amount of adrenalin. I was looking forward to a short break before the second go around. All that I could think about was that nice warm cup of coffee that was waiting for me in the Fellowship Center. I had not even gotten close to the coffee pot when I heard Roy , and not the coffee pot, calling out my name. I was at least one cup of java shy of dealing with him that early in the morning.

In one of my rare moments of true kindness, I greeted Roy warmly. He asked me: “What are you doing?” “I am headed to the coffee pot Roy.” (I left out the part about wanting to be left alone.) Then I asked him: “What are you doing?” His reply was not what I expected... He said: “I have just been waiting here, so I could say hi to you.”

Why are there never any deep holes handy when you need one to crawl into? He caught me speechless. I felt like a pompous fool. I regained my composure quickly, and the conversation continued. I joked around with Roy. I asked him the questions instead of putting him in the position of doing that with me. Isn’t that what we always do with people that we are genuinely interested in getting to know?

Being engaged in conversation with Roy yesterday was good for me. I had to practice a principle that I firmly believe. The principle is as follows: How do you treat the truly vulnerable among us when you think nobody is looking? How do treat the little elderly lady that holds up traffic with her snail’s pace? How do you interact with the social misfits at school or at work? And how do you communicate with the mentally challenged person who wants to be your friend? How do you treat such individuals when you assume that nobody is paying attention to your actions? In my estimation, this is a true test of a person’s character… Roy reminded me of my own life principle that I firmly believe in. And I am grateful for him today.

Ships Passing in the Night?

2011-05-28T16:09:00.000-05:00

My sweet little bride is a Barry Manilow fan. Of course this causes her boys to cringe. That is just beyond their comprehension. I must confess that I join the banter when they tell her that Manilow’s song entitled “Mandy” was written about his dog. Actually if the truth be known I planted that seed in their young minds quite a number of years ago. And as far as I know such a conclusion is based on some urban legend generated by a Barry Manilow hater. But nevertheless we continue to impress that thought on Jan, as if it were true.

I hate to admit this at all, but there is one particular Manilow song that actually causes me to pause and think every time I hear it. Here is a portion of the lyrics:

We walked to the sea
Just my father and me
And the dogs played around on the sand
Winter cold cut the air
Hangin' still everywhere
Dressed in gray, did he say
Hold my hand
I said, love's easier when it's far away
We sat and watched a distant light
We're two ships that pass in the night
We both smile and we say it's alright
We're still here
It's just that we're out of sight
Like those ships that pass in the night
There's a boat on the line
Where the sea meets the sky
There's another that rides far behind
And it seems you and I are like strangers
A wide ways apart as we drift on through time
He said, it's harder now, we're far away
We only read you when you write
We're two ships that pass in the night
And we smile when we say it's alright

The passing ships are a symbol of a young man’s relationship with his father. There does not appear to be open animosity, but they feel like strangers to each other. In fact, their relationship reflects a cordial appearance of sorts. “We both smile and say it’s alright…” But it is not alright. A father and son’s relationship being characterized as two ships passing in the night is not acceptable.

As a parent of a soon to be 22 year old, and even sooner to be 15 year old along with a third one who just turned 19 I yearn for the days when I told them exciting bed time stories that I made up as they were being told. I am nostalgic about the days of bunk beds, camping trips and lunches at school. But those days are long gone.

I am fearful that we will become like ships passing in the night. That is not alright in my estimation. Today marks the first day of a significant summer for me. In all likelihood, this will be the last summer that all three boys will live under my roof at the same time. Randall will graduate from college in December. Daniel may or not come back home for the summer months from this point forward. Even Mitchell’s summers at home are numbered.

I hope to make the best of it. And I would encourage my friends with children the same age as mine to do likewise. College kids returning home after being independent is not the always the best scenario. But it is a final opportunity to be in the same ship together. And that is of course is a good thing .

Living in Community

2011-05-26T19:52:00.000-05:00

I was not introduced to the phrase “living in community” until recent years. I knew I grew up in “a” community, but I did not realize I lived “in” community minus the article “a.” until that phrase became a 21st Century buzzword. My parents’ generation lived in community too, but it was such a natural part of life I suppose they felt no need to give it an official name.

My mother was a native Southerner who found herself transplanted first in Chicago and then in Racine, Wisconsin. My father was an executive for two large farm equipment corporations during my early formative years. The lady with a degree in French from Florida Sate University adapted to life in the mid-sized Wisconsin city quite well.

She took up tennis and played with her friends at a club with indoor courts. She volunteered at Wind Point Elementary School, where I attended. (Much to my chagrin) She held dinner parties for visiting corporate leaders. There was a joke floating around the Case Corporation that you wanted to attend a meeting Mr. Knox was hosting in Racine, because his wife would have you over for a gourmet meal after the work day.

All of those dinner parties coupled with feeding three kids led to consistent trips to “Willie’s Sentry.” Sentry was the grocery store over on Douglas Avenue that all of the ladies in our neighborhood frequented. It was not just any “Sentry” brand store. It was “Willie’s Sentry.” I seem to recall my mother uttering that phrase only in the most reverent of tones.

Willie as I recall was the general manager of the store. As an 8 year old kid, I didn’t realize that he was the master of public relations. Stay at home moms like mine drove their cars to the curb in front of the store and Willie carefully loaded their groceries for them. There were no high school kids working during the day sacking groceries that I recall. And Willie was not glued to a computer working on some spreadsheet. (There were no computers to be found in 1972 in Willie’s Sentry.) He learned his customer’s names and took time to talk with all of them. My mother felt as if she was being unfaithful if she picked up a gallon at milk at the A&P in The Shorecrest Shopping Center. She of course belonged to Willie.

I drove by Willie’s Sentry last year. The building over on Douglas is empty. It seems shockingly small to me today. As I watch the construction of a huge HEB store going up near our home, I can’t help but think of Willie. Interacting with Willie and others like him defined our sense of community. I think making friends like him helped my mother over time to feel at home in a place where she had no roots.

There were heel marks when my father chose to take his career in the equipment business in a different direction in 1975. My mother was not ready to leave Racine. She had grown to love the city and the people. She had made friends. And she knew what my father’s colleagues preferred to eat as well, and would not think of them going to a restaurant. She was living in community.

How do we discover a sense of community in a Post-Willie world? Life is faster and more complex. Most moms are working outside the home now to keep the family afloat.

I for one have found part of my life in community by reconnecting with friends who were tow with their mom’s one aisle over from me at Willie’s Sentry. And I could not be more thankful. Where do you find a sense of community?

Everybody Needs a Hideout...

2011-05-20T11:19:00.003-05:00

This week at a school banquet I heard parents of high school students lamenting their lack of solitude and down time in general. Several of them were parents of younger teens that have not quite reached the driving age. They are in the taxi cab stage of parenting for at least another year. I am sympathetic. I have been there.

As I thought about all of our constant busyness, a rather sobering thought occurred to me. We tend to make our worst decisions during times in life when there is little or no time for personal reflection. I am fully aware that I have made my worst judgment calls during times when I was stressed and facing an overwhelming schedule. Even the most basic decisions necessitate some quiet deliberation.

Several months ago I was juggling three or four major events that were facing me both professionally and personally. I recall driving down the interstate and thinking: “I need some time to process everything that is going on right now.” That thought turned out to profound. I have since started a habit of stopping in my tracks when life is especially intense and saying: “It is time to process.”

I have actually formed several new habits in light of this revelation. I thought I would share them here in hopes that they might be useful to someone else.

I journal every morning. I simply jot down what is going on that day or perhaps what took place the previous day. I often write down some brief reflections regarding those events. For some reason this simple practice has turned out to be an important dimension of processing all of the chaos going on around me.
I walk most days during my lunch hour. The exercise of course is beneficial, but the time to process what is going on in my life at the time at a much deeper level is even more important.
I have several hideouts. I retreat to my hideouts when I need time to clear my head. It is usually entails something as simple as getting a vanilla coke and driving around for a bit. I am convinced that the time spent at my hideouts calms me sufficiently to prevent rash statements, foolish decisions, and other expressions of impulsivity that would be destructive.

Processing is an ongoing need. The need for such a discipline never ceases. It clears the mind, so that the spiritual disciplines like prayer and mediation can be more meaningful. I am fully aware that an unexamined life paves the way for poor decisions that lead to train wrecks. I honestly hope that my parental colleagues are able to carve out some time for processing. It is imperative.

There are Chapters in YOUR Story that Have Not Been Written...

2011-05-18T17:07:00.000-05:00

I prefer to play golf by myself on my precious Mondays. I generally put in about 12 intense hours on Sunday, so by the time Monday rolls around I am usually downright anti-social. But this past Monday I happened to pick up and play golf with a very interesting man. He “retired” to Granbury from the Chicago area in 1980. That is a long time to be retired! As I heard his story this afternoon, I soon figured out that his so called retirement could be characterized more as a mid-life shift in careers. He also shared with me that he had just recently taken up the game of golf at age 70___.

As I left the golf course, I thought: what can I learn from this guy? For some reason the recurring thought that kept coming back was: there are chapters to my story that have not been written yet. I am sure my golfing partner never imagined changing careers and moving to the Lone Star State from Chicago.

But he did. And he seems to be very content with the choices he has made in life.

I have been known to be pessimistic about the uncertainty of the future. (Faith is certainly factored out of the equation when such uncertainty surfaces.) There is also an exciting and invigorating aspect to the uncertainty of tomorrow. I never imagined that I would be doing the things I am doing today when I was 18 years old. And I consider myself extremely fortunate to have had the experiences in life that I have had thus far.

I am thankful that I was forced out of my typical Monday reclusive mode this week. My senior golfing friend’s positive attitude about his life experiences was a source of inspiration to me. Who knows what opportunities will develop tomorrow? There are chapters in the story that have not been written yet.

Are you frustrated today with your situation today? Tomorrow may bring open doors that you never imagined before. You may get to do things that you have never even dreamed about. One thing is for certain: Life is not going to remain stagnate! There are chapters in YOUR story that have not been written...

Wanted: A Financial Mentor!

2011-05-16T21:58:00.002-05:00

He never embezzled any funds. He did not take advantage of people in business deals. He treated all of his customers with the same level of fairness and dignity. In fact, he dealt with the young adult just getting started in life in the same manner as he would an individual who already possessed significant assets.

The man’s name is Tommy Wallace. He retired a few weeks ago after 64 years in the banking business. A lot has changed in banking during 6 decades. The idea of a global economy as we understand it today was unheard of when Mr. Wallace first started his career. But there are some things should remain unchanged.

Honesty and good business ethics are timeless qualities. Refusing to loan someone money in some cases is the best thing for the borrower! Lending institutions have been known to extend credit to individuals whom they knew had limited resources to manage the subsequent payments. Mr. Wallace tried to do what he felt was right for everyone involved.

In 1980, I fell in love with a 1979 Chevy Silverado that was on the used car lot at the local dealership in Lubbock. I am sure that dealership had a finance manager that could have potentially preyed on my youthful enthusiasm. But my mother advised me to go to Plains National Bank and talk to Mr. Wallace.

At age 18, I never listened to my mother. Why would I heed her advice on my first car deal? I think it had something to do with a little matter bankers called “co-signing” back then. She told me to clean up and put on nice clothes before I went to the bank. I made a quick trip to Plains National Bank, because I was convinced there was a line of people just waiting to purchase that truck!

Mr. Wallace was the president of the bank. He also knew that I ran around with his daughter, Sheryl. I was no angel in those days, so I did not see that as a factor that would work in my favor. I thought to myself: if I had a daughter would I want her to run around with me? It did not take long to reach a verdict on that question.

After a cordial conversation, he reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a loan agreement. (No computers in a banker’s office in 1980!) He simply asked me how much I needed. I signed the document and took the pink copy with me that day. There was no co-signer. I had no credit to check at age 18. I walked out of the bank agreeing to make payments of $112.00 a month for three years. I ending up paying it off in two years.

I am thankful that Mr. Wallace’s career has come to an end, so he can enjoy his children and grandchildren. But I am also sad and nostalgic. My children will not have a similar experience as they get started in life. Banking is more complicated today. But most of all I am just overwhelmed with gratitude for a financial mentor. Congratulations on retirement Mr. Wallace.

The Real Texas Rangers

2011-05-13T20:22:00.003-05:00

You have no doubt seen the show: Walker: Texas Ranger. Chuck Norris fit the role ideally. He of course was portrayed as a cult hero of sorts. One article describes the show as being appealing because of its improbable combination of martial arts and modern Western genres, and its wildly unrealistic depiction of police work. That is pretty accurate. Most recently Texas Governor Rick Perry honored Norris by making him an “Honorary Texas Ranger” at the Garland office of the Texas Department of Public Safety.

I am fortunate to be a part of the corps of volunteer chaplains with the Texas Department of Public Safety. One of the privileges of that role is to serve with and for the Texas Rangers. Today a double homicide trial concluded in Granbury with a guilty verdict. I assisted with the death notifications and one of the funeral services for the victims in that heinous crime that took place June 27, 2008. I wore the double hat of being chaplain for both DPS and Granbury Police Department.

As far as I know there were not any martial arts involved in solving this difficult case. But I do know that everyone involved in the investigation put a lot of overtime in for weeks upon weeks. Four capable investigators with the Granbury Police Dept. were assisted by four Texas Rangers from various counties.

As the trial finally reached the climatic point where a verdict was about to be read, I happened to look up to the front row in the courtroom. Ranger Danny Briley was seated next to the 16 year old son of one of the victims. He had his arm positioned on the back of the pew in a protective sort of manner. It is difficult for me to describe how I felt about what I was witnessing. I suppose you just had to be there.

I immediately started thinking about “Walker: Texas Ranger.” The fantasy of it all was just sort of amusing to me. It is not reality. It occurred to me that reality is: “Briley: Texas Ranger.” The real men and women of law enforcement are sworn to protect and serve. Danny Briley made it quite obvious that he was there today to provide an extremely vulnerable teenager some emotional protection.

I am fairly certain that the very presence of that young man, and his younger sister and the other victim’s little 8 year old girl and two other children were motivating factors to these men to put in the kind of hours they did in this difficult investigation.

Almost three years ago I saw that same boy sitting directly in front of me, as I eulogized his mother at her memorial service. He and his sister were of course surrounded by members of their good family that afternoon. Briley: Texas Ranger was not present at the service. And I just happen to recall where he and the Granbury Police dept. investigators were that very afternoon. They were out interviewing people associated with the crime, because they knew their God give call is to protect and serve. I am fortunate to serve with and for people of that caliber.

I Still Miss My Mother...

2011-05-08T13:20:00.000-05:00

I actually wrote this post on Mother's Day in 2009. I find myself feeling precisely the same two years later...

My boys will soon receive the annual Mother’s Day Lecture. It is a lesson that is never forgone around the Knox household. It generally includes the same key points: wear nice clothes to church, sit with your mother in the worship assembly, be home for lunch, no crude discussion at the table, and above all….be on your best behavior for the day. They always take it well, and generally go above the call of duty to honor their mother.

This year the boys will join me in putting on a roast and all of the trimmings for the annual Mother’s Day meal. Jan will be banished from the kitchen, and we will even do the clean up job. After the counter is finally wiped down, the boys will go outside to play basketball, and I will sit down for just a few moments of quiet reflection regarding my own mother.

My mother was a very traditional Southern lady. I am convinced she wrote the book on proper etiquette. She was very aware of the social graces, and was quick to point it out when others violated such rules. I nearly cried when I saw Driving Miss Daisy. My mother tracked one generation behind the memorable character that Jessica Tandy so effectively portrayed, but there are some striking similarities in personality and attitude.

My mother’s name was Louise. I found out as an adult that her real name was Emma. She thought the name Emma was hopelessly out of date, so she went by her middle name. She would be shocked today to see so many 4 year old and 10 year old Emma’s running around everywhere. My friends fondly referred to her as “Weezy.”

I remember growing up with strict rules that accompanied the call to Southern etiquette. When I was in trouble at school, she always sided with the teacher, much my chagrin. She fried homemade chicken strips for my friends and me long before Chicken Express hit the scene. I have tried to replicate her recipe on an occasion or two, but have long since given up. She opened our home to all of my friends and treated them like they were her own. As recently as this year, several of my friends from high school have commented on her obvious love for them.

I watched my mother grieve when my father died in 1978. She was a widow at age 50. She was never the same after that pivotal event in the life of our family.
She continued to play tennis several times a week, even after she turned 60. She adored her grandchildren. But life was never the same for her… She was a very traditional lady, whose world revolved around her husband and children.

My mother was diagnosed with advanced colon cancer when I was 29 years old. Our oldest son was two at the time. Jan found out that she was expecting our second son weeks before she died. She lived for 90 days after the diagnosis. One day before her 64th birthday, she passed from this life with all of us at her side. That was October 30th, 1991.

My mother has been gone for almost 18 years now, but I will still sit in quiet reflection on this Mother’s Day, because I still miss my mother.

Confessing Prematurely is Not A Good Idea

2011-05-05T19:13:00.000-05:00

I went by the office to surprise Jan by taking her out to lunch. What I failed to tell her is that I left my wallet at the house this morning, and she would have to pick up the check. We went to the Firehouse Café to dine on the lunch special of the day. The Firehouse is one of those places where everybody knows your name.

We not only enjoyed our meal, but we also got to visit with friends that also frequent this mom and pop café at noon.

The waitress filled my tea glass one last time. I knew the check would arrive soon. Confession time had officially arrived. I could put it off no longer. I flashed a little toothy grin and explained that my wallet was sitting on the dresser at home. Now my little bride is nobody’s fool. She immediately suggested that my romantic overture of lunch for two was merely a sinister ploy to have someone buy my lunch. I quickly replaced the toothy grin with the hurt puppy dog look and cocked my head to the side. She rolled her eyes and handed me her master card. Little did I know that I had confessed prematurely?

I went up to the cash register to pay out and our waitress informed me that someone who wished to remain anonymous had paid our bill. I have strong suspicions in regard to the identity of our generous benefactor. But I want them to enjoy the benefits of their quiet gesture of kindness. I will therefore keep my hunches to myself.

Someone thinking of us in that way really made our day. Sometimes the simplest acts of generosity can make a real difference in another person’s life. The recipient feels valued and affirmed. It occurred to me as I left the Firehouse Café today that the best reaction to today’s events is to allow that kindness to have a chain reaction effect.

Next time I see a friend in a restaurant it will be my turn to quietly pick up their check. I often see Emergency Medical technicians and paramedics eating in The Firehouse. I have had good intentions of picking up their tab on several occasions, but I have never followed through. I was convicted today. Chain reactions of kindness are a good thing.

And next time I am going to wait until I get up to the counter to pay out before I make any forgotten wallet confessions. After all there is no reason to confess prematurely!

And Why Do YOU Get Up in the Morning?

2011-04-29T21:42:00.000-05:00

What is the real story? I have a colleague that poses this question to me at least three or four times a week. What is the real story driving a person’s actions? That is the query he poses so regularly.

A friend becomes enraged at something that appears trivial to those closest to him. And everyone wonders privately: what set him off? Others seem to have a complete inability to engage in meaningful interpersonal relationships. Friendships begin with a bang, but soon end with a whimper. They are not close to anyone. What kind of personal story is driving such behavior?

I also think of people that are bitter. I mean they are bitter about life itself. The glass of life is not just half-empty in their estimation. The glass is sapped dry. The word “joy” has been erased from their conscious memory. There is a personal narrative depleting that person’s passion for life itself. What is the story?

Civil Rights activist and noted author Maya Angelou makes this statement: "I may be affected by the things that happen to me but I will not be diminished by them"… She is a thoughtful lady. (If you look at her credentials that is quite an understatement.) It is naïve to think that we are not going to be affected by the things that happen to us. But I don’t like the idea of being the chronic victim either. Maya Angelou’s sentiment is right on target. I would actually take her thoughts one step further…

I am very fortunate to work with people in the community that I serve who are extremely passionate about making a difference in the world we live in. I have retired friends that donate hours of their time every week to projects like Habitat for Humanity. Several of those individuals grew up in sub-standard housing. Another friend spends an inordinate amount of time volunteering for the food pantry located in our newly constructed Christian Service Center. He shared with me recently that his family was poor when he grew up, but they never went without food… I have friends serving in law enforcement who were victims of horrible crimes when they were young. I would love to share their stories, but those experiences are intensely private.

In each of these cases, a personal story is driving their passion to serve others.

At some point in their life, they decided that they would not be “diminished” by the things that happened to them. Bitterness toward our past is not helpful. Maintaining hateful feelings toward those that created chaos in our lives is equally destructive.

What is the story driving someone’s behavior? It could very well be a sordid tale of abuse, hurt, and abandonment. Let’s hope for our friends that they won’t be diminished by the things that have happened to them. In fact, let’s maintain that same goal for ourselves… Let's get up in the morning determined to allow our past experiences to drive us to greatness.

I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.
--Booker T. Washington

Lléveme a México ...

2011-04-29T19:33:00.005-05:00

He comprado una cama de hoy para ser colocado en la sala de recién formado invitado. Compramos nuestra primera casa en 1992, y vivió en varias propiedades de alquiler durante los últimos 8 años. No recuerdo haber tenido nunca un área en la casa designada como una sala de visita! Como ya he arrastrado el colchón y base de resortes a casa de una venta de garaje de hoy, mi mente vagaba de nuevo a esta época del año en 1989. Jan Randall estaba esperando todo el primero de julio. Yo estaba tan entusiasmado con el nacimiento de nuestro primogénito que compré una cama para bebé en algún momento de mayo y continuó y montados de manera inmediata. Yo era una bola de 6 '150 libras flaco de los nervios. Pero la vida en las marchas.

Sé que esto va a sonar extraño, pero me gustaría ahora que me había viajado a México para una visita prolongada en los meses previos al nacimiento de Randall.He aprendido mucho de mis amigos indígenas mexicanos sobre los valores familiares. Inmediata y otros miembros de la familia en México pasan mucho tiempo juntos. Pasar tiempo con la familia es valorado y apreciado de una manera que es difícil que el estadounidense promedio de entender.
Por desgracia yo crecí en un hogar donde se le asignó ninguna prioridad a pasar tiempo con familia extensa. Incluso en nuestra familia inmediata de cada persona hizo lo suyo en su mayor parte. Estábamos delante de la curva en la cultura estadounidense en una especie de triste manera. Me gustaría que mi viaje a México a los esfuerzos de la misión médica se han comenzado unos 10 años antes. Podría haber observado una forma diferente de "hacer familia" antes de que mis hijos nacieron.

Mi ánimo a las familias jóvenes sería la siguiente: Usted va a comprar una cama de bebé hoy y luego parpadeará, al girar alrededor de una vez, y que va a guardar una habitación juntos. Su bebé será su último año en la universidad. El tesoro del tiempo.Disfrute de cada etapa de crecimiento. No se apresure el proceso.

Esta vez en la vida es diversión también. Los niños vienen a casa. Podemos jugar al golf y cocinar al aire libre en la parrilla. Podemos hablar de música y un sinfín de otros temas. Y voy a intentar mi mejor esfuerzo para imitar a mis amigos que viven en la ciudad de Chihuahua y Torreón. Ellos son mis maestros cuando se trata de asuntos de familia. Y todavía tengo mucho que aprender.

Take Me to Mexico...

2011-04-29T19:29:00.002-05:00

I purchased a bed today to be placed in our newly formed guest room. We bought our first home in 1992, and lived in several rental properties during the preceding 8 years. I don’t recall ever having an area in the house designated as a guest room! As I hauled the mattress and box springs home from a garage sale today, my mind wandered back to about this time of year in 1989. Jan was expecting Randall around the first of July. I was so excited about the birth of our firstborn that I bought a baby bed sometime in May and went on and assembled it immediately. I was a 6’ 150 pound skinny ball of nerves. But life marches on.

I know this is going to sound odd, but I wish now that I had traveled to Mexico for an extended visit in the months leading up to Randall’s birth. I have learned so much from my native Mexican friends about family values. Immediate and extended family members in Mexico spend a lot of time together. Spending time with family is valued and treasured in a way that is difficult for the average American to grasp.

Unfortunately I grew up in a home where no priority was assigned to spending time with extended family. Even in our immediate family each person did his own thing for the most part. We were ahead of the curve in American culture in a sad sort of way. I wish my travels to Mexico for medical mission efforts would have started about 10 years earlier. I could have observed a different way of “doing family” before my children were born.

My encouragement to young families would be as follows: You will buy a baby bed today and then blink, turn around once, and you will be putting a guest room together. Your baby will be a senior in college. Treasure the time. Enjoy each stage of growth. Don’t rush the process.

This time in life is fun too. Kids come home. We can play golf and cook outside on the grill. We can talk about music and a host of other topics. And I will try my best to imitate my friends who live in Chihuahua City and Torreon. They are my teachers when it comes to family matters. And I still have a lot to learn.

Helping the Addicted in Brazil

2011-04-28T18:25:00.003-05:00

Mark and Ali Kaiser are my friends in Brazil. They are doing ministry in ways that I still dream of doing ministry. Their sleeves are rolled up and they are serving those that are homeless and people struggling with drug addiction. In recent months they formed a vision of purchasing two buildings in the city of Itu to use as half-way houses for those struggling with addictions. That dream became a reality this past week. Here is their most recent blog post:

What we wanted the most was a God Story.

We knew God could operate a miracle for the houses to become ours, and that is what we asked for. We anxiously awaited to see how and when God would act, and here’s how it happened…

As Mark already shared, there were over 40 people at the church building on Sunday evening for Mark’s vision launching of the halfway houses. Among the group was Mark’s Portuguese teacher, Ze. He has helped Mark tremendously by proofreading all the documentation for the non-profit we are establishing. After the Q&A about the halfway house project, several friends ended up at the houses with us to dream about initiating the next step = purchase.

The next day Ze taught English class to Jose, a prosperous business man in town. He mentioned the meeting he had attended on Sunday and how much benefit the halfway houses would bring to the city. Jose showed some interest and said, “Bring Mark here to talk to me. I might help along the process.”

Mark and Jose met yesterday. Mark took papers with lots of numbers, lots of words, but most of all lots of dreams. Jose had good questions about the project, and shared with Mark he wanted to help promote recovery in this city “for personal reasons.”

So he gave us 2 houses… HE gave us two houses.

What?! Yep. Seriously?! Yep. Just like that?! Yep.
Trust me, we are just as perplexed as you are.

GOD has granted us his favor and confirmation, now we plunge forward with HIS blessing and YOUR involvement!
Come and see.

What a privilege to partner with Mark and Ali!

Do More and Talk Less...

2011-04-27T21:19:00.002-05:00

My patience level with people that are constantly chattering about good things they intend to do seems to be decreasing more every single day. My dad used to reference individuals that are: “all talk and no do.” I call it “blowing smoke.” And I my patience with smoke blowers is nearly exhausted.

Today at the funeral service for Deputy Clifton Taylor, who was killed in the line of duty last Saturday, the sheriff of Johnson County made some observations about a group of servants that are most definitely not smoke blowers. He said when he got up this morning to prepare for the funeral service he heard law enforcement units on the police radio from other counties letting their dispatchers know that they were “10-41 in Johnson County.” Officers from all over the area converged on Johnson County this morning to cover the call load, so none of the deputies would have to stay behind and miss the funeral. Communications personnel from other areas also provided their services to answer 911 and dispatch officers to calls for service.

The sheriff’s comments were very moving to me this morning. He reminded all of us that while are home enjoying a beautiful Saturday afternoon with our families there men and women of law enforcement out there protecting us from those that have the potential to pose an imminent threat to our families. Deputy Taylor was shot by a man who had threatened to kill his family Saturday.

I don’t think my patience with people that are all talk is going to increase anytime soon. But I do know that I appreciate people who have the ability to step up to the plate and serve when a need arises. They are an inspiration to me to do more and talk less.

The Human Decency Bug is Contagious

2011-04-21T19:01:00.000-05:00

Human decency is still alive and well. In fact, the human decency bug is downright contagious. We frequently hear news stories of heinous events where humans do things to each other that are beyond comprehension. And we wonder: Does human decency still exist? I was reminded this past Monday that there are still caring, courteous, and respectful people everywhere.

I drove over to The Dallas/Ft. Worth International Airport Monday morning to pick up a notebook computer for a friend who accidently left it on her flight to Dallas from New York City. When I arrived, I found out from American Airlines that the baggage lost and found area was behind security. They were very helpful and gave me a pass, so I could proceed. The security line at Terminal C was really long that morning. I noticed several soldiers in uniform at various places in the line. I wondered where they were headed. None of them could have been much over 19 or 20. I wanted to load them in my truck and take them home for a hamburger. And then I heard a man behind me initiate a conversation with two of them….

The man extended his hand and said: “Thank you for your service.” I was impressed. I had good thoughts. He acted on his good intentions. The man’s gesture prompted another person in line to invite the male and female soldier to cut in front of her in the line reserved for first class passengers and American Advantage members. “Take my place in the line please….” I did not hear one complaint among the Monday business travelers anxious to reach their gates.

I made it through the security area and proceeded to find the American Airlines baggage lost and found. The lady that waited on me acted like we were in Mayberry. You would have thought I was doing business at Floyd’s Barber Shop. She called by my name and visited with me like I was a long lost relative.

As I left the lost and found, my mind was swirling. People in one of the world’s busiest airports are kind, respectful, and just downright friendly. Almost immediately saw a lady sitting by herself in an airport transport cart with her crutches beside her. I had to stop. I felt compelled to pass on some of the decency I had witnessed and experienced. I said: “Being on crutches is no fun.” She said “Yes, I am very sore.” I went on to tell her that I spent 4 months navigating around on a pair of crutches several years ago. We had a very pleasant interchange. I wished her the best and told her I hoped her day went well. I would not have stopped except for the fact that human decency is contagious, and I had caught the bug earlier that morning.

Lead by Example

2011-04-19T19:56:00.000-05:00

I was privileged this afternoon to watch Jeff Jeffries receive special recognition from the Hood County Child Welfare Board for his work with abused and neglected children. Jeffries has been a driving force behind the Granbury Royal Family Kids Camp. RFKC camps around the world exist exclusively for the purpose of providing a Christian camping experience for abused children that have been removed from their homes by state agencies such as Child Protective Services in Texas. This year we are anticipating 150 campers that will come from counties all around this area.

Jeff and Mark Hackney along with several others recently formed a non-profit organization called “Kids Armor of Hope.” The efforts of this organization will take in Royal Family Kids Camp and First Tee as well. First Tee teaches life skills and character development through the game of golf. First Tee is touching a lot of kids that are coming from challenging home situations.

What would drive a man to use his retirement years to serve in such a way? Was Jeff abused as a child? That is not the case at all. His source of motivation comes from a much different place.

Jeff grew up in Los Angeles with a mother who was doing social work most likely before it was called social work. Based on the stories I have heard she took kids in her home, and helped troubled people in all kinds of ways. It was not a profession, but it was a lifestyle. Obviously Jeff took good mental notes and learned well.

I was reminded today that there is no substitute for leading by example. Modeling unselfish service to our own children could impact the lives of others decades later. Jeff’s mom is well into 80’s now. She is quite a lady. I could not help but think about her at the presentation this afternoon. There are some abused children who will be profoundly touched by Jeff’s work. And little do they know that it all started with an elderly lady who lives in a state most of them have never visited. Let’s lead by example today and see where it goes!

An Unusual Necklace...

2011-04-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

One day last week I had a morning chalked full of hospital visits in Ft. Worth. By the time I started heading back to Granbury, it was already 2:00 in the afternoon. I decided to stop at the Sonic Drive-In Cresson to get a low calorie chick wrap. I could not help but tease the girl waiting on me about the roller blades she was wearing to work in as a car hop. After a few moments she emerged from the building and start skating toward my truck with a double hamburger and a large order of onion rings. I told her the onion rings looked great, but I had better stick with my low-fat chicken wrap. It was at that point that I noticed that she was wearing a rather unusual necklace…

The necklace had a lone bullet threaded through a gold chain. I thought: why would she have a bullet on her necklace? Of course my first thought was: it was a symbol of some kind of gang involvement. I made up mind while I waited for her to correct the order that I was going to inquire about this extraordinary piece of jewelry.

What is the significance of the lone bullet, I asked? I anticipated that she would tell me that it was the symbol of some Ft. Worth street gang, but I was wrong. In fact I was very wrong… The young girl, who could not have been more than 20 years old, proceeded to tell me that her boyfriend shot himself a year or so ago. He died from the self-inflicted injury. She took me off guard, so I just told her I was very sorry. I paid for my meal and headed toward Granbury.

By the time I took a second bite out the chicken wrap, I had already turned the truck around to head back to The Sonic. I have had too much training and too much experience in crisis intervention to leave that girl dangling. You should have seen the look on her face when I drove up and got out of the truck. I think she thought I was going to complain to her manager about the onion ring mix up!

I told her what I did professionally and gave her my card. I don’t believe that my late lunch stop was an accident. Nor I believe that the onion ring mix up was accidental either. I think I was supposed to be at the Sonic. Who knows what may develop from our brief encounter. Who will you encounter today? Hopefully you won't have to turn around before you realize that an opportunity to serve someone in need is right before you!

Searching for Real Love

2011-04-16T09:51:00.000-05:00

I have always liked the Doobie Brothers. I am a child of the ‘70’s what can I say? Their hit Real Love hit the charts when I was a freshman at Texas Tech in 1980. I recall liking the tune when the song was released, but I never really paid close attention to the lyrics. I was a little surprised today when I listened closely to them probably for the first time.

The singer is addressing a woman in his life who has had multiple lovers. Darlin I know I am just another head on your pillow. If only just tonight, girl…Let me hear you just lie a little. Tell me I’m the only man you’ve ever really loved.” The lyrics continue with that theme a little later in the song: Here, Darlin', stands another bandit wantin' you. In and out your life, they come and they go, your days and nights like a wheel that turns. Grindin' down a secret part of you, deep inside your heart, that nobody knows.

I find the song to be brutally true. How many of my friends and acquaintances find themselves at such a place in life? Somehow that cycle characterized by a lack of commitment and the brokenness that follows never ends. The song goes on to say: When you say comfort me, to anyone who approaches. Chalkin' up the hurt, we live and we learn. Well we've both lived long enough to know, that we'd trade it all right now for just one minute of real love, darling…

I honestly believe that is where some of my friends find themselves. They too would trade it all right now for a just one minute of real love. Why is real love elusive to so many people then? I have a few theories, but I am going to think on it for a few days before I write on this subject further. And I would invite your input as well. We are surrounded by people searching for real love. How can we impact their lives in a positive manner?

A Tribute to All Those Who Answer 911 Everyday...

2011-04-13T16:43:00.000-05:00

I posted this blog in February of 2010. I am sharing it again as a tribute to my dispatchers here in Hood County. This week is: National Public Safety Telecommunications Week.

I recently heard an audio recording of a little 5 year old girl who called 911, because her father was experiencing shortness of breath and other tell-tale signs of a heart attack. The conversation the dispatcher had with the little girl is priceless. She was very responsible and did everything the dispatcher asked her to do. She was also a prim and proper little girl who was quite concerned that she would still be in her pajamas when the firefighters showed up at her home to help her dad!

I have been working with police and fire communications personnel for over 21 years now. As one of them put it some years back: "We enjoy telling our officers where to go…" Most days they are not dealing with cute and responsible 5 year olds.

I was with an officer one night when a man ripped the phone out of the wall, as his wife was on the line with a dispatcher; screaming for help. Another dispatcher fought back tears, as she sent me to a home where a 4 year old boy had reportedly drowned in a pool. When people come home and discover that a loved one is deceased, the communications operator is often the first person to hear the news. I could tell countless stories. It is a stressful job.

In my role as a law enforcement chaplain, I see how events begin and come to an end as well. There is some form of immediate closure, because I am in the field dealing with the situation at hand. Communications personnel hang up the phone or dispatch units to provide assistance, and they are often left hanging emotionally. The units eventually clear the scene, but what happened? How are the people doing? There are a so many questions….

Several years ago I worked with a dispatcher who sent two officers on a call that led to their death. She felt personally responsible for their untimely deaths. Of course that conclusion is not at all based in reality, but that is how she felt! The stress was unbelievable.

I communicated this week with a dispatcher I served with in the 1990’s. She has since moved on to another line of work. She is a very special person. A number of years ago the show Rescue 911 did a segment on a critical situation that involved her 4 year old son. Thankfully it had a happy ending! Talking to her this week reminded me that I am fortunate to have excellent dispatchers to serve with. They are special people that have a unique calling. Ok…so they do enjoy telling me where to go…I am on call and ready to respond to wherever they want to send me. I am also here to serve them as well in a spirit of mutual respect.

A Dispatcher's Prayer

Dear Lord, help me keep safe those who depend on me.

Give me healthy ears, for they are my link with those who need me.

Keep my mind sharp and alert, my fingers quick and nimble.

Grant that I never forget how to do ten things at once,

and do them all equally well.

Bless me with patience Lord.

Patience to deal with the public, with the officers, with the boss,

and with everyone else who makes me want to grip my teeth and yell.

Give me nerves of steel, that I may listen to a mother screaming

for her child to live, the man with a gun,

or an officer yelling for backup, and not give way to panic.

Grant me empathy, that I may help the battered wife, the rape victim,

the abused child, and not cause them more pain then they already have.

God, give me the ability to learn what I need, to remember it quickly,

and give me the wisdom to use the knowledge properly.

Bless my family Lord, for they will have to make sacrifices to shift work,

overtime, canceled plans and times when I just can't take on one more thing.

Help them understand the missed ball games, school programs and dinners for two.

Lord, give me courage, courage to persevere when I feel undervalued,

unappreciated, overworked and unrecognized.

Courage to keep trying when I feel in my heart it's hopeless.

Last of all Lord, help me to never forget,

why I chose this job in the first place,

to never lose sight of what is important in the midst of the stress.

Help me to remember that I make a difference,

however small it may seem some days, and that I matter.

I am a dispatcher, Lord, grant me peace.

The Biggest Loser Separates from the Oreos...

2011-04-11T19:10:00.000-05:00

As I navigated my way through the typical Saturday afternoon Walmart mayhem, I went straight to the cooler with the low-fat milk. I passed by the oreos as if they did not even exist. I could hear them faintly calling my name as I made way to the next aisle, but I was determined not to respond. I don’t like to hurt feelings, and I know the oreos were feeling the rejection.

As I stocked my cart with a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, a very nice lady shared with how to cook artichokes in fresh butter. I concluded that even the produce section was not a safe place. I quickly finished up and starting looking for the shortest check out line. I maneuvered my cart in behind an older gentleman, and nearly laughed out loud when I saw what spoils he was about to purchase.

His shopping cart had several food items marketed by Weight Watchers. But amongst the traditional diet food he had a half gallon of Blue Bell Ice Cream. I am not talking about Diet Blue Bell. He had the real stuff! There is nothing on the face of the earth better than Blue Bell. Blue Bell ice cream and Texas summers are synonymous.

My first thought was: The content of this guy’s shopping cart represents the very nature of the human condition. There is a part of us that makes good, solid choices. And then there is another dimension of our being that is pulled toward what may not be so good for us….Blue Bell can help you add a few pounds for sure. That was my first thought… I can’t help it. I have spent too many years studying theology.

Subsequent thoughts took a slightly different direction. You see I am right in the middle of a “Biggest Loser” contest with the employees of the Granbury Police Department. They were kind of enough to include their chaplain in this concerted effort to keep everyone in excellent physical condition. That is why I have experienced what could become a permanent separation from the oreos. As the man in front of me paid out and headed home to dig into his Blue Bell, I was proud for him.

The officers I work with everyday have inspired me to make some serious lifestyle changes. I have been exercising and eating a great diet. It is already paying off. I have dropped some pounds. But I must realize that there are times to enjoy a little Blue Bell occasionally.

Now on the other hand I am extremely competitive. I really want to be the biggest loser. Never mind that I am the oldest guy in the competition. I am not letting that deter me. And I am also quite sure that I have more to lose than those flat belly, young whipper-snapper officers. I will just have to try harder. And a little sabotage never hurts either. (I brought homemade cookies to the office last week.)

In all seriousness, all of us must be both physically and mentally fit to serve in our respective roles. The competition is a good thing. And when it is over, I may have to slip into Walmart and buy just one carton of homemade vanilla Blue Bell ice cream.

The Goodbye Mom...

2011-04-09T18:58:00.000-05:00

In approximately 6 weeks, another school year will be behind us. My youngest will have completed his first year of high school. Three more academic years and then we will proceed to become empty nesters. (At least in theory) I had an experience at the high school last week that reminded me that the empty nest will never become a complete reality for us.

I was visiting with one of the teachers after school when one of her students popped by her room for an unexpected visit. The girl was very friendly. She told me during the course of the conversation that she was a sophomore this year.

My teacher friend just asked one question, if remember correctly. She asked the young lady: How are you doing? That is all that it took.

The 16 year old began by venting her frustrations about her grandparents, whom she lives with. (Of course I immediately wondered to myself why she was living with them.) It did not take long to find out.

In the ensuing conversation, she told us that her mother left the state without telling her goodbye. Apparently the departure to a distant state will be a permanent move for the mom. And then she informed us that her father all but came out and said that he wanted nothing to do with her.

The girl went on to attend an extracurricular activity that evening and I was left to process everything that she unloaded on us about five or six minutes. I must add that the teacher I was visiting that evening is nobody’s fool. If the student was stretching the facts, she would spot it quickly. She confirmed after the girl left that the story was indeed legitimate.

What did I learn after that exchange? My initial reaction to the whole thing was to be overwhelmed. In a very short period of time, I have encountered three or four students just like her. I had some of those: “We are all depraved and in serious trouble thoughts.” That is not accurate or helpful. I finally concluded that the best way to help people is to serve them one at a time. Take each person and each situation as it comes.

It also occurred to me that I must take the years of experience I have as a parent and do something constructive with it. I have made countless mistakes. Lots of good things have taken place as well. The nest will never be completely empty. Not as long as there are kids like the one I encountered Tuesday evening.

Romace or Love: Take Your Choice...

2011-04-06T23:06:00.003-05:00

Romance and real love…. Take your choice. What do you prefer? I think I will take some of both. Now I really don’t like sappy chick flicks. They are all too predictable on one level and totally unrealistic on another level. I prefer classic movies like The Dirty Dozen, where something gets blown up. But that does not mean that I am not a romantic at heart. Today I witnessed a little bit of both in a place that you would not naturally associate with romance.

Today I visited with a gentleman who celebrated his 64th wedding anniversary with his wife this past January. They had no clue what “in sickness and in health” was going to mean in January of 1947. In 1974, they were in a very serious car crash together. In fact, they shared a hospital room for a number of weeks as they recovered from that event. At this moment she is in an ICU unit at a hospital recuperating from major surgery. It was in that ICU cubicle that I saw quite a blend of romance and love.

She is totally sedated right now, so she is unable to communicate verbally. As I watched her husband talk to her and love on her, I was not sure where I was. In one sense, I felt like I was watching an elderly gentleman tenderly express his loyalty to his bride of 64 years. I was in a room where true love was being exhibited. In another sense, I felt like I was the little brother tagging along on a date of two young lovers. His demeanor toward his sick wife was like that of a teenager in love for the first time.

Romance and real love….Take your choice. I saw both today. I was laughing to myself as I left the ICU unit, because the younger generation thinks they have a corner on all of the romance going on in the world. That is simply not true. I saw a couple today that appear to be as much if not more in love than they were the day they married 64 years ago. I think there must be something to learn there…Perhaps romance takes on new meaning when you have learned to love each other through sickness and health for over 6 decades.

Cancer Changes People

2011-04-05T17:35:00.000-05:00

Phil Mickelson’s final putt to win the Master’s last year in Augusta as his wife was looking on in the gallery moved even the most hardened golf fans to tears. Amy Mickelson was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009. Last year’s Master’s was the first tournament she had attended since her diagnosis and subsequent treatment. It was a great moment whether you are a golf fan or not. I will never forget the look on her face as the ball went in the hole to secure his victory.

The Master’s is a tournament chalked full of intriguing traditions. For example: the reigning winner is allowed to choose the menu for the Champions Dinner which will be held this evening in Augusta. Only those that have won the Master’s are invited to this exclusive event. Phil is choosing a Spanish cuisine of some kind as a way of honoring his golfing mentor, Seve Ballestros.

Ballestros won the Master’s in 1980, but he is unable to be present for the dinner tonight. He is fighting cancer himself, having been diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2008. Mickelson, who has always looked up to Ballestros said: I wanted to kind of honor him.”

In a world full of big egos, Mickelson’s kind gesture goes a long way. How often do we call out to have things done our way? We expect the sun to rise and set on our desires and expectations. It is my show. It is my deal. I earned the right to have it my way!

Mickelson really did earn the right to select tonight’s menu, but he chose to take the focus off of himself. I like Phil. I think he has a little class. I think we could all learn a few things from a man who has stood beside his wife and his mother as they have both fought breast cancer since 2009. Cancer changes people in more ways than one...

In regard to Phi’s 2010 Master’s win, his wife Amy was quoted recently as saying: “"I still get emotional just talking about it.” And I just don’t blame you Amy. I like Phil. And I will be cheering him on this week as maneuvers his way through at Augusta National. I kind like the idea of Amy embracing her husband on Sunday after he wins again!