Disappointment (It's Not what You Think)

Last night, I went to choir practice. 

We had to have the obligatory litany.  You know, the one that starts off by someone saying, "How is everyone?"

I changed the litany last night by saying, "Disappointed."

Everyone kind of looked at me funny.

I continued, "I'm disappointed that my daughter isn't as good as I am yet."

That elicited a few interesting looks, so I knew I'd better get the story out.

"You see, because the kids had piano lessons today, they (and we) all ate at different times.  My middle child wanted to go play really badly, but she also knew she needed to finish everything on her plate.  Because I wasn't sitting at the table with her, she hatched a plan.  Went into the kitchen to get a drink, but she took her plate with her.  She took it outside and dumped it."

Snickers came from those gathered.

"Ah, but she made a mistake.  A little later, one of her friends needed a bicycle tire aired up, and she asked me to help.  I walked out the door, and I saw ketchup, peas, and chicken laying on the ground.  'Kaylee!' I yelled.  'Come here.'"

She rode her bike up to me.

"How did this chicken, ketchup, and peas get here?"

Kaylee then got the "look."  It's the look every parent knows.  The look of being caught red handed.

"Poor kid hasn't quite figured it out yet," I finished.  "She should have given her plate to the dog, and I would have never known."

"Did you tell her that?" one of the congregation members asked.

"Hell no!" I responded.  "She will hopefully figure that out one day, but for now, I'm disappointed."

There are Certain Things...(Part 4)

Which put life into perspective.

Such things make you think really hard about reality and how you put into practice the faith of Christ.

A Family Affair

One of the huge blessings in my life the past two years has been taking a week off following Christmas to visit with my parents and go hunting with my dad.  Prior to last year, it had almost been 10 years since I'd taken the time to hunt with my father, and after last year's trip, I decided to make it a yearly occurrence.

There is something wholesome about the relationships you foster with your parents and grandparents, especially as you get older.  After wading through the early years, the torturous teens, and the know it all college years, a person finally gets to the point where he or she truly realizes the wisdom one's parents and other relatives have.  I personally am enjoying the time I get to soak in their wisdom and listen to their stories--and realize just how much I am a product of their teaching and rearing.

This was really rammed home once again as my dad and I talked about our teenage years.  I personally didn't do much of the party scene whenever I was in high school.  Didn't drink.  Didn't do drugs.  Didn't sleep around.  No judgment on my peers who did--there really wasn't much at all to do in the town in which I grew up.  That scene just wasn't for me.

I found out that my dad was very much the same way.  He didn't engage in much of that activity while growing up either.  And it even went further.

Confession time: I have never been too good with reading those little hints members of the opposite sex send my way.  I don't pick up on flirtatious cues.  I don't notice such things--at all.  In order for a gal to get my attention, she's got to literally smack me up beside the head (read: be so obvious about her intentions, I can't miss it).  My wife was pretty obvious when we started dating, and look where we ended up.  :-)

Found out my dad was exactly the same way.  "Sometimes a week or so would go by and then I'd realize, 'Gee, I missed an opportunity to go parking and make out.'"

The apple didn't fall very far from the tree.

Intriguing, to say the least.

But it goes further.  Lots further.

In my talks with my grandfather (mom's dad), I found out some very intriguing things as well.  Grandpa, in his years of pastoring, was happiest when serving rural congregations.  He gardened, hunted, collected rocks and Native American relics (two out of three ain't bad).  He also had quite the disdain for gathering at "clergy conferences" (see deaneries).  He was stubborn and hard headed about his beliefs and uncompromising when it came to his understanding of the Gospel.  (Good Lord, reincarnation happens before death!!!)

But it goes further.  Lots further.

I found out once from my grandmother (dad's mom) that my grandfather (dad's dad) hoped at least one of his grandchildren would become a pastor.  The lot apparently fell on me.  Is it any wonder several very formative faith stories include this family member?

My dad is also very, very spiritual.  He and the Lord speak regularly.  He told me the Lord said I would be a pastor one day.

In my opinion, one could look at these things in a couple of different ways:

1. Everything was completely planned out and I have absolutely no control over who I am and what I have become.  Everything is completely determined and free will is absent.  I am simply doing what others along the way decided I would do.  I am nothing more than a robot simply acting out commands programed into me by family, genetics, with a touch of God mixed in.

or

2. The influence of one's family cannot be ignored.  It shapes us tremendously, and it equips us in a certain fashion.  At some point, we have the ability to realize just how influential our families have been, and we have the choice to continue in that vein or change.  We have the ability to see and then say, "This is where I want to stay and who I want to be."  And when it comes to the faith we had passed down to us, we can say, "Yes, this is right." or "No, this is not where I want to be."

At some point, I believe every person must come to "know thyself."  Every person must become self aware in the sense that he or she realizes why he or she does the things done.  Every person must delve into asking "Why do I do the things I do?"  Such knowledge helps a person make better decisions; control impulses; and handle problems through thought instead of simple reaction.

We learn most of our ways of handling things in our families.  But eventually, we must make them our own.  Family affairs are just the beginning.  In life and in faith.

Thanks, Grandpa.

"I didn't accomplish much in the eyes of the world, but the Lord and I are on pretty good terms."

The words brought tears to my eyes as my 94 year old grandfather spoke them.

I make no bones about some of the deepest desires of my heart.  I know myself, and I know what is down there.  I want to accomplish much in the eyes of the world.  I really do.  I want, not just to be a good pastor, but a pastor who is recognized as a great proclaimer of the Gospel; a tremendous advocate for the Christian faith; a builder of congregations to where they are full and overflowing.  I want to be recognized as a writer and apologist of the faith--who makes a generous salary by his working and who can enjoy some of the pleasures of life while generously giving of what I received to others, so that I can again be recognized as generous.  I want to be noticed for what I do, what I proclaim, what I say, what I write, and so on and so forth.  I know this about myself deep down, and I also know that such desires oftentimes run counter to what Jesus actually calls His disciples to do and be.

This January, I will turn 40.  For some, it's not a big number, but given the average age males live to, it's pushing half of my life.  Taking stock of things, I realize that I am well known in my particular neck of the woods, but according to worldly eyes, I haven't accomplished much.  Don't know that I actually will.

Part of me grieves to say that.

Really.  I am not joking at all.

"Put your finger in a bucket of water, and then take it out.  That's probably all the difference you will actually make in this world."

I didn't want to believe that statement, but given the scope of things in the world, it's a pretty honest statement.

"I didn't accomplish much in the eyes of the world, but the Lord and I are on pretty good terms."

Grandpa didn't make this statement filled with any sort of haughtiness or pride.  It was the statement of one who served God, served Jesus Christ for his life.  He preached the Word in several places throughout the United States of America, always at rural congregations none of which grew to tremendous size.  He spent hours gardening and taking produce to his congregation members who needed fresh vegetables.  He visited the sick.  He kibitzed with parishioners.  Raised four children.  Was a devoted husband.  None of these things moved mountains or brought about justice and peace on earth.  None of these things brought about perfect harmony in the towns he lived or ensured congregations he served were free of conflict.  He didn't climb any ladders.  Didn't accumulate boatloads of wealth.  He has to watch every penny as he tries to manage with arthritis and the weakness of muscles that living 94 years brings.

But he doesn't complain about it.  He doesn't get worked up about what he can or cannot accomplish.  He has come to a place of peace.  He knows that his time on earth is relatively short.  He knows that there is one surpassing value--a value which will last forever: his relationship with the Lord.

"I didn't accomplish much in the eyes of the world, but the Lord and I are on pretty good terms."

I teared up when Grandpa spoke those words because this is where I want to be.  In my estimation, those words are filled with wisdom as they grasp what is truly important.  I have begun to pray, "Lord, take from me the desire to accomplish much in the eyes of the world.  Through Your grace, I know we are on good terms, and that is enough."

Thanks Grandpa.

Sick of Racist, Prejudiced, Identity Politics and Theology

This is a follow up on the Justice for Trayvon post from earlier this week.

I listen to a lot of rhetoric--from politics and from theology.

I listen to a lot of the talk about race, racism, and prejudice.

I hear the voices out there talking loudly and clearly about systems which promote racism.

I hear the voices tell me that racism is about prejudice combined with power therefore, minorities who (according to the people arguing) are incapable of racism.  I remember a college professor who spoke these words passionately to proclaim the impossibility of him being racist.  Under my breath I muttered, "No power, huh?  What the hell does he think his grade book represents?"

I hear the voices clamoring and claiming and counter-claiming.  I find it interesting how each particular ethnic "group" finds people to speak for and represent that particular group.

But do you know what "group" I see missing?  (Well, aside from the fact that in the George Zimmerman trial, I heard very little--at least in the national media--from Hispanic groups.)  I don't see much commentary from truly integrated groups.  Groups like my family.

As I said earlier this week, my family is truly integrated.  My two daughters have different skin color than my own.  They are adopted.  My son actually has a skin tone which is a few shades lighter than my own.  He entered our family naturally.  These points will be revisited in a moment.

The systems of which I am a part loves to make distinctions based upon skin color.  When it came to filling out the U.S. Census there were boxes for me to check regarding the ethnicity of my children.  Technically, I should fill out African-American for two and Caucasian for one. 

The church denomination of which I am a part wants me to fill out forms at the end of the year designating what race/ethnicity members of my congregation are.  Based on skin color, I am supposed to designate my two girls as African-American and my son as white.

The nation I am a part of panders in politics to racial groups.  There is talk about winning the "Black vote, the women's vote, the Hispanic vote, the homosexual vote, the male vote, etc. etc."

The church of which I am a part embraces identity theology coached in Liberation theology--Black Theology, Latin American Liberation Theology, Feminist Theology, GLBT Theology, and so on.

The church of which I am a part seeks diversity by starting ethnic congregations: A black church here, a Hispanic church there, an Asian church over there, etc.

I find all of this sickening.  Really.  It actually nauseates me, and then I get angry because I don't want to be nauseous.

You see, being a part of such systems which focus on these distinctions actually causes me quite a bit of cognitive dissonance.  This dissonance comes from the reality of my family versus the reality that the national system and the church system tries to force upon my family.

Let me make this as plain and simple as I possibly can:

Whenever my family and I go out and we meet someone and it comes to introductions, I do not say the following:

This is my black oldest daughter.  This is my black middle daughter.  This is my white son.

Neither do I say this:

This is my adopted oldest daughter.  This is my adopted middle daughter.  This is my natural son.

Honestly, this would be a dumb a$$ way to introduce my family.  Neither is it the way deep down I understand my family to be.  Whenever I introduce people to my family, I say without hesitation, simply:

This is my oldest daughter, Kiera.  This is my middle daughter, Kaylee.  This is my son, Kevin, Jr.

 Sorry to yell, but dammit, this is important I DO NOT MAKE ANY SORT OF DISTINCTION WITHIN MY FAMILY BASED UPON THEIR SKIN COLOR OR WHETHER OR NOT THEY WERE ADOPTED OR NATURAL.  I love my children without any sort of distinction or attention given to their obvious differences.  Families do that, you know.

I mean, do you honestly believe that if God were introducing His children around, He would say, "This are my black children.  These are my white children.  These are my brown children."  Do you think God makes distinctions like this?  (Read Galatians 3:27-28, and you will find the answer.)

And then I run into a society and church culture which wants me to begin making those distinctions.

No.

I refuse.

Go play your identity games.

Go try to make distinctions and divide based upon your fabricated notions of race, prejudice and identity politics and theology.

But don't try to make me play along.  You see, I don't just talk about integration.  I don't just talk theoretically about race being a non-issue.  I live it.  Every day of my life--I live it and love it.  And I will uncompromisingly fight to protect my family from divisive politics and theology whether it is in society or even in the church.  

As I have written before, so I write again.  I remember vividly when asked by a congregation member who has now passed on, "I don't understand why you didn't adopt within your own culture."

Without hesitation, I said, "God doesn't care about such matters.  Neither do I."