Super Daddy

One of my favorite comics of the past decade was Calvin and Hobbes. This cartoon followed the adventures of a young boy and his pet (stuffed?) tiger. One of the most memorable story lines in the comics was when Calvin would ask his father a question and his father, not knowing the answer, would make one up. In particular I remember a strip where Calvin asks his dad how they know the load limits on bridges, to which his father replies, “They drive bigger and bigger trucks over the bridge until it breaks. Then they weigh the last truck and rebuild the bridge.”

I had a particular fondness for these storylines because I grew up in a house with a father who did the same thing. So it is no wonder that I have had my own personal amusement doing the same thing with my two daughters. Quite often they will ask me a question and I will make up the answer. Apparently this has become a family tradition that is passed down from generation to generation but it is a tradition to which we have added our own little flair. Now after receiving an answer one of the girls will normally ask, “how do you know that?” To which I reply “I’m Super Daddy!” I accompany this statement with a Superman pose (hands on hips and chest puffed out). One of them usually says something like “you’re the stronger than the whole world.” To which the other will correct, “except for God.” “Right except for God and Jesus” answers the other.

I must admit that as they have grown up I’ve very much enjoyed being Super Daddy in their eyes. It is an amazing thing to be a hero to your children. To have them come to you with any problem or fear or need and firmly believe in their heart that you can help them is nothing short of remarkable. And I wish I could, I wish I could do anything they needed. The problem of course, is that as they’ve gotten older I’ve begun to let them down.

It starts simply enough, one-day one of them asks if I can lift a car or tree out of the ground? Next it is can I make someone at school stop picking on her? The final failure is when I can’t make their hurt or fear or pain go away. Sometimes being Super Daddy is a tough job. It would be a lot easier if I really were a perfect father.

Which makes me wonder what it would be like to be a perfect father… and wonder what it would be like to have a perfect father. Which of course makes me think of God.

At the end of His Sermon on the Mount Jesus says an amazing thing about our heavenly Father. “ "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:7-11)

I find this to be amazing because Jesus describes God as a Father who loves to do anything he can for his children. Jesus describes Him as a Father who loves to have His children come to him with every problem or fear or need. And because He actually is the perfect Father he can do something about it. He can make the hurt and fear and pain go away. He can and He does.

Today is Father’s Day and I’m positive that included in our family’s celebration I will get a card or two addressed to Super Daddy. And it will make me smile and feel grateful that I am still Super Daddy for another year, at least in the eyes of my daughters. It will remind me of my father and how even when he didn’t have an answer he always tried to do what he could. But it will also remind me of the perfect Father that I have in heaven, the one who does anything for me. Including sending His very own Son to save me…. to make the hurt and fear and pain go away.

Happy Father’s Day!

Super Daddy

The Smile

Today I went to a funeral.  Not an uncommon event for me since I’ve officiated somewhere close to 75 over the past decade and a half.  But today was different because I went to the funeral of a…  Of a what?  Teacher, Mentor, Guide… Friend?  None of these words seem to be the right words when I think of this man, which is ironic because one of the things he imparted to me was a love of words.  And now I find myself at a loss for words.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was at the funeral of Glen Kirch today and I was mad.  But I wasn’t mad in the way some funeral mourners are mad, I wasn’t mad at God.  I was mad at myself.  A few weeks ago I heard from an old classmate that Glen was in the hospital although he didn’t know which hospital.  So I spent the afternoon calling around to see if anyone could tell me where.  After a few hours I gave up thinking that I’d see some old teaching colleagues of Glen’s the next day and they’d be able to tell me where he was.  And I was right.  I ran into a number of people who knew where he was.  But what none of us knew was that almost at that very moment Glen had left his earthly home for his heavenly one.  I was too late to see him, too late to tell him what an amazing gift he had been, too late to introduce him to my family.  Too late.

At the funeral we were asked to think of one word to describe Glen, which was kind of ridiculous because no one word could personify who he was.  Still, as a wordsmith I think Glen would have liked that little assignment.  And every single word that people mentioned were good words.  But the word that came into my mind was a word that described what I saw in my mind whenever I thought of Glen.  That word was “smile.” 

I have to search long and hard in my mind to come up with a memory of Glen Kirch that does not include his smile.  He smiled the day that I convinced our English class to turn all of the desks around to face the back of the room after he had stepped out.  One day a classmate was gone from school, he had gone on a family vacation to Hawaii.  As Mr. Kirch took role call he asked about the missing student and I said, “He’s getting leied in Hawaii.”  Mr. Kirch just smiled (although I believe that was one of the few occasions he was at a loss for words.)  I think it is safe to say that all of my memories of him include his smile.

So I sat at Glen’s funeral mad at myself for waiting too long yet surrounded by pictures of him with his smile.  And thinking about him with his smile, thinking about what kind of man was behind that smile suddenly made me smile.  Which is what I needed at the moment.  I needed to smile and I needed to think of Glen’s smile.  Because there was a part of me that reacted to his death by thinking that the world was literally a worse place without him in it.  With his passing, something that was truly special, truly great, truly beautiful was gone. 

One of the very first things I learned from Mr. Kirch was a love of words.  And not just a love of words but a love of true words.  I learned from Glen to read everything, from the newspaper to a great novel, always searching for the words that were true.  Because as much as Glen loved words he loved THE Word even more.  And taught me, even though I hardly realized it at the time, that all truth is God’s truth, that all true words are reflections of the true Word.  And that has literally changed my life. 

All of that made me realize that the world was not a worse place now with Glen gone.  Far from it, in fact just the opposite.  The world was a far better place because of him.  All you needed to do was look around the church and see the countless people he had touched over the years.  And I suddenly thought of some of the true Word of which Glen was so fond. “Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” (I Corinthians 13:8-12)

There is something very “right” to me when I picture Glen in heaven, Glen seeing the truth completely, no longer dimly as in a mirror.  There is something true about the picture I see of Glen, known as he is fully known, and smiling.  But even more there is something real about God’s unconditional love that re-made Glen into the person he was.

So today I left the funeral of a friend thinking of his smile but even more, thinking of the love that was behind that smile.  It was a love that I know was not perfect but it was a profound love nonetheless.  It was a love for Jesus and all He created, it was a love for all of God’s children no matter how smart or pretty or cool they were.  It was a love that I believe everyone who ever met him experienced.  It was a love that was never perfect… until now.

And while I regret not introducing Glen to my family I left today trying to imitate his smile.  Tomorrow I’ll try imitating the love behind it.

(Note – Any writing errors in the above, whether grammatical or stylistic, is solely the fault of the student and not the teacher)

Glen Kirch – 11/10/33 – 6/18/09 - ∞

Failure

I’ve been thinking about failure a lot lately. I’m not thinking about trying to fail, instead I’m trying to decide if I have already failed. To be honest it isn’t something I like thinking about, probably most people don’t. But I may be more predisposed to dislike failure than some of you.
• First, I am a guy.
• Second, I am a first-born guy in my family - if you put any stock in the birth order thing.
• Finally, I’ve been professionally trained in the “find success in any failure” technique and have many years of practice.

So to begin with I ask myself if I feel like a failure? The answer to that is yes. There are plenty of moments in the day when I feel like a failure. I fail to be the husband I want to be all the time. As a father I have countless moments each day where I flash to the future and see one of my daughters on a therapist's couch saying things like, “Well, when I would spill my juice at the dinner table my dad’s head would explode…” I very deliberately do not have a “Jesus” fish or cross on my car since at least once a day I comment on the relative driving skills of a fellow driver. Usually a comment on their mental capacity (“moron”) or an anatomical comment ("drive like you’ve got a pair") is the mode of my failure.

I fail to take care of myself as I should. I fail to take care of my family; I forgot my sister’s birthday this year, again. I fail to follow and sometimes I fail to lead. I almost always fail to see the point. I fail to communicate….”which is the way he wants it, well he gets it.”

But I also realize failure is a perspective from a specific point in time. Abraham Lincoln failed 47 times (or whatever it was) until he “succeeded”. So yes I know that what seems like failure at the time can just mean you’re not finished yet. But I also know that plenty of people, probably most people, actually fail. We run into them everyday, people who have clearly failed but they don’t even know it. So what is the difference between “not finished yet” and “failed but don’t know it”?

Lot’s of times my daughters will bring me something they are coloring or drawing. “Daddy look at my picture, what do you think?” “It’s very nice, I like it. That giraffe sure has short legs though” I’ll respond. “Daddy, that’s not a giraffe. It’s ants carrying a picnic basket with a giant corn dog in it.” “Sorry, I thought those spots on the corn dog made it look like a giraffe.” “Well I’m not finished with it yet!”

If I made a list of where I should be, of what I should be, nothing is where I’d like it. In every area I am either “not finished yet” or I “failed and don’t know it.” Realistically there is very little difference. And in many instances it doesn’t really matter.

In the Bible there is the well-known “Love” chapter, Paul’s 1st letter to the Corinthians, where he says a lot of very cool things about love. One of the best is “love never fails.” (I. Cor. 13:8a) For years I’ve thought about that statement and been faced with the harsh truth that my love does fail, a lot. Too often if I’m honest.

Even though I know that chapter is about God’s love it is hard for me not think about how my love fails. Skipping over the usual platitudes I’m learning what it is like to fail - professionally, personally, emotionally and even physically. I’m not who I was and I am not who I’m supposed to be. I’ve failed at every single thing I’ve tried. And if some of those failures are “not yet finished” that’s fine. If some of those are “failed but doesn’t know it” then I’m probably better of not knowing it.

If I think about it in terms of God’s love it is very awesome, even comforting. His never fails. It doesn’t say “His love isn’t finished yet” but His “love never fails”. His love never fails even though I do, even though my love fails. I don’t know what it is like to love with an unfailing love but I do know what it is like to be loved with an unfailing love.

The love that never fails is the love that I receive and not the love that I give, I’m convinced of that. The love that never fails is in my wife’s smile, my girl’s kisses and the dog’s wet nose when I come home. That unfailing love is in all the little things around me because they are all part of that never failing love my Father has for me. They are all small ways in which God reminds me “you are not finished yet.”

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” (Philippians 3:12)

Want to go deeper? Check out Philippians Chapter 3.

Free

A few weeks ago the whole family went out to dinner. We went through the usual routine of placing our order including beverages of choice. Milk and/or water for the girls, Dr. Pepper for me and Julie drinks Diet Coke. In the appropriate amount of time the waitress brings our drinks. Julie and I both notice that the waitress has taken the time to put two straws in mine and one straw in hers. This is good because there are few things on this earth as horrifying as lifting a carbonated beverage to your lips expecting it to be Dr. Pepper and then tasting Diet Coke!

One problem though, she still mixed up the drinks which Julie and I discovered as we took simultaneous sips and then simultaneously handed our drinks to the other followed by simultaneously making what I call “the Face.” There are few things on this earth as powerful as “the Face.” This non-verbal form of communication carries with it such loathing, such judgment, such derision that could be classified as a form of torture or even mental abuse. If you think I’m exaggerating then you’ve never been on the receiving end of “the Face.”

Julie and I both made “the Face”, not at each other or the waitress but more at the repulsive drinks held by the other. Then we each took a sip of our preferred beverage (addiction?) which was followed by a sigh of deep contentment and a smile, in that order. And as soon as this little ritual was done I was struck with the thought, “what must the people watching us be thinking?” That thought was followed almost immediately by the answer, “probably nothing, it’s probably happened to them lots of times before.”

Ok, so what if someone from another place was watching, like another country? Better yet what if it was someone from a different planet or time who didn’t know about dark colored carbonated beverages, what if they were watching? Because to the outsider those two drinks look exactly the same. Even in clear glass it is hard to tell the two apart. I spent the better part of a morning trying to track down the chemical difference between the two, to no avail. But a quick look at the ingredients lists many of the same. And I bet that if you never had tasted a carbonated beverage before, both of them would cause you to make “the Face.” But over the years I’ve become accustomed to and comfortable with Dr. Pepper.

But it made wonder if perhaps there are other areas of my life in which I behave the same way. Do I have strong convictions about something or have I simply grown accustomed to them? Lots of those things I would classify as important and insist that one is fundamentally better than the other... But lately I ask myself how do I know that for sure, perhaps it is just what is comfortable.

For many years I’ve been a regular voter in a particular political party and to varying degrees felt strongly about that. But to be honest I’m beginning to think they are about as different as Dr. Pepper is different from Diet Coke. There are some VERY big difference between the GOP and DNC but in the end they both seem to succeed in “leading” our country to the same degree. Their effectiveness seems to be the same as Dr. Pepper and Diet Coke’s effectiveness in hydration – the taste of one is familiar and the other deserves “the Face” but they both are worthless as a replacement for water.

And if I can somehow be tricked into equating the “familiar” with correct in soft drinks and political parties where else might I go astray? For years I’ve been making “the Face” at all the things that have been changing but shouldn’t have been changing, or so I thought. But lately I’ve begun to wonder if I even know how to use “the Face.”

There is one verse in the Bible that I haven’t been able to get out of my head lately. It is from Galatians 5:1 and in it St. Paul says, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” And in that particular letter St. Paul is writing to correct a bunch people who believed that Christians had to “follow” the Old Testament in order to be a Christian, in particular they taught that a Christian man must be circumcised.

Read Galatians 5

Now of course there is a lot background to that story but it in the end it comes down to a group of people believing that they could not have a relationship with God in any way except as how they always had. In fact, they didn’t believe anyone could have a relationship with God expect by how THEY had a relationship with Him.

Now St. Paul would be the first one to deny any sort of “relative” approach to God, like the modern day “all paths lead to the same place” kind of thing. But what is interesting is that he is warning this group of Christians of the opposite extreme, don’t think God is defined by your rules and regulations.

I’ve spent a lot of my life making “the Face” at changes in this world. I’ve hollered about the good old days, I’ve pounded my fist about tradition and the value of what has been handed down in the past. And I still believe that is true. But now I’m trying to be on the lookout from the other side. I’m keeping an eye open for the part of me that makes the traditional, or what is comfortable and familiar, a rule - that turns it into law. And I don’t like being a slave to the law. I like being free. I like knowing that Christ came to set me free.

I love knowing that God wants me to be free, that he has set me free! Free from fear and pain and failure. Free from having to get God to love me by what I do or don’t do. Free from wondering when I’ve done enough or what happens when I fail. I love being free. But what I’m still learning is how to live free. And not free as in “I do whatever I want” but free as in “I love being free so much that I want others to be free.”

And if I’m going to do that then I’m going to have to figure out the difference between what is better and what is familiar, what is right and what is comfortable. I might even have to retire “the Face”… Someday.

Why

The question I was asked most often at this time last year was a simple one, “Why?” Why would I donate my kidney to someone I had known for only a year? My favorite was from the Denver Post reporter who, when I mentioned that we were having a special day at church to thank God, put it this way – “Why Thank God?” That one still makes me laugh.

But my purpose is not really to tell you that story, but more to tell you what I have learned a year later. In some ways this story is really a snapshot of my purpose for the blog, to tell people what I have learned as a Christian. I by no means am an expert; for the most part this blog is a “don’t do the dumb things I have” list. But I also have some very strong beliefs about God and how he works and they are vital to me. And since none of us make this journey we call “life” in isolation, perhaps some of what I’ve learned or am learning can be valuable.

Because there is one thing I know absolutely - I have no idea what I am doing. But I am learning, I’m learning each and every day who I am. I’m learning who God created and recreated me to be. I’m learning what it means to follow Jesus.

Jesus said it clearly enough, “Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.’” Lots of people have had their idea of what Jesus meant when he said that. One of my favorites comes from a German Pastor named Dietrich Bonheoffer who wrote, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die." (The Cost of Discipleship)

And in my opinion this is where God made a BIG mistake. Actually I guess you could say he made a mistake from the very Beginning. For In the Beginning God created his people to be part of how he works. In the simplest of terms God, who can do anything, wanted us to join him in what he is doing. He wants to use us.

Which is how I ended up in a hospital bed with one kidney. Because as I prayed with Jon the first day he was in the hospital with kidney failure and as I continued to pray for Jon over the next year God was slowly but surely answering that prayer. I just didn’t know how intimately I’d be involved in that answer.

Of course, God could have zapped Jon with a bolt of lightning or even healed him with a TV evangelist. But he didn’t. Because in “healing” Jon he also wanted to heal me. He wanted to shape and mold me, to change my heart. God wanted me to learn what it means to follow Him.

Read 2 Corinthians 5:14-21

So over the days and months of praying with Jon, through all the screening process at the hospital, God was slowly but surely teaching me what it means to follow Jesus. It means that I no longer live for myself, it means that I am part (however small and insignificant it may seem) of what He is doing. And not out of any compulsion, or guilt or even because I “owe” it to God. But simply because this is who God made and has remade me to be. This is what it means to be in Christ, a new creation. It’s not complete yet, not even close. But I am learning, I am learning who I am.

So this is what I have learned a year later. Pray, pray and tell God what your need, what you are afraid of, what you are facing - because God does indeed hear and answer. In fact he loves doing it. But I’d also encourage you to pray and ask God to show you how to be His answer to someone else’s prayer. Why? Because that’s who you are.

P.S. Even as I write this God has brought another person to our church who needs a kidney transplant. Her name is Shelly and she with her husband and son need your prayers. And if you’d like to learn more about organ donation check out http://www.donatelife.net/

Home

It is good to be home. I was traveling this past week, something that I don’t do all that often anymore. But it did get me to thinking about all of the places that I’ve called “home” over the years. The first one to jump on the list would be my house growing up; 5280 Tabor St., Arvada Colorado, 80002. So beginning with that one and Google maps, I just took a quick trip down Memory Lane. House in Arvada, dorm rooms in Irvine, parent’s house in Maryland, dorm rooms in St. Louis, apartment in Florida, house in Nebraska and 2 houses back in Colorado.

All of the sudden it stuck me that not every house was a home to me. And this made me think of, not the song or the book, but way back to my confirmation days. When I was in 8th grade we were required to memorize a lot of stuff and one of the things we memorized was Martin Luther’s Small Catechism. I can still hear it echoing in my head, the explanation to the Apostles’ Creed: “I believe that God… also gives me clothing and shoes, food and drink, house and home…” And most of those pairs seemed to make sense, clothing is great and even better with shoes, food is necessary but so is drink. Yet for the life of me I could never figure out the difference between house and home.

It is not just how long you lived someplace, I lived on a couple of campuses for years but they were not home. It is not just who else is there. My college roommates where some of the greatest friends with which God ever blessed me. In Nebraska I lived alone (except for the dog) and that somehow was home. House and home now is simple. It hasn’t been this simple since I lived in my childhood home. Now days I come home from a trip and the dog is excited to see me (still), my wife is excited (still?) and my daughters knock me over with hugs and questions. The house is never the same as I left it (as it was in the bachelor days) and there is always something new to fix. But there is no question, this is home.

There are also times when I come back to an empty house, everyone at school, work, gymnastics – whatever. So I’m at my house but it doesn’t seem like home. To be honest all the peace and quiet makes it seem better than home! But that only lasts a moment and I wish “home” would come back home.

So it is not just the building and it is not just the people. It is some rare, some unique combination of things that put my soul at ease. I’m home… Is there any other way to say it? I know I’m home.

It has made me wonder if perhaps that is why God seems to have such a hard time describing what “home” is like. It would be like me describing to you what my home is like. It is a place, a location which is extremely important. But no amount of pictures or architectural plans or fabric swatches or paint palates will really convey to you what makes my house home. And so too with the home of which God speaks. It is, I believe, a place. But to focus on the what of that place largely misses the point.

I think that is why Jesus uses the picture of returning home so often. One of my favorite chapters of the Bible is Luke 15. In it we get three quick stories, lost sheep, coin and son who all end up “home” at the end. Especially vivid to me is when the son “comes to his senses” and realizes “hey, this place sucks I should go home.” And he does. He goes back to his Father’s house and more importantly he goes to his Father’s home. And in my mind I can see it. I can see the peace that comes over the son as he realizes it, “I’m home. I’m the place where I’m always welcomed, always loved, always forgiven. I am home.”

So while I didn’t click my heals together yesterday and say, “there’s no place like home” I did lay down in my bed on my pillow and say a little prayer of thanks for being home. Because the only thing that is better than being home, is being Home. It is great to be home.

Mad

A friend of mine asked me last week how things were going with Holy Week. He is another pastor and this is how pastors talk to one another during Holy Week. It is kind of like our April 15th if we were accountants. By tradition Pastors are supposed to complain about how busy they are and try to one-up each other. Kind of like old soldiers comparing war wounds. I think I may have surprised him when I responded, “God and I are in a fight. We’re not talking right now.” I say I think I surprised him because his response was “I think you can take Him.”

Which is of course ridiculous because I can’t take God. Jacob may have wrestled with God but I’m not Jacob and I haven’t wrestled since High School. So instead, God and I seem to be in a very common place for people in a relationship, we aren’t talking. We are giving each other the silent treatment.

Which of course leads you to ask why and to be honest I guess I’m not sure. I think maybe I’m having a “Bruce Almighty” kind of moment when I look around and think that God could be doing better. And it isn’t even the usual “big” questions like the existence of evil or anything I see on the evening news. For me it has been more about the people around me. People who are facing tough things; unemployment, cancer (again), other health problems for them or their loved ones, divorce… I guess the usual list of things. But lately I just feel like no one can get a break. And if they could, wow, what a difference it could make. But I know that I don’t know everything and God knows what he is doing. He has showed me that personally time and time again. But still I’m kind of mad… and God and I aren’t talking.

Or maybe I’m not talking but He is… and I’m not listening.

Last week I picked up my oldest daughter Jessica from school and the first thing she did when she saw me was whip out the Easter egg she had colored at school. Not a real egg but a big paper cutout with lines all over. It was pretty, she did a good job. But I had number of things to do that afternoon including a hospital visit, so I hustled her to the car. “I’ve got to visit someone in the hospital today. Do you want to go with me or should I take you home?’” I asked. She said she’d go with me but wanted to know who was sick. I told her it was Mel, who is 98, he was in the hospital, again. So we made the drive to the hospital and the whole way Jessica told me about her egg and how much she liked it and could we frame it and hang it, not on the refrigerator like most of the time, but in her room. It was too beautiful and too important for even the refrigerator. I said something like, “Sure whatever…” We reached the hospital and I parked and walked around to help her out of the van. She jumped down and turned to look at her egg lying on her backpack. I didn’t say anything but I could see the wheels turning as she grabbed the egg and followed me into the hospital.

In the elevator people commented on how pretty it was and Jessica thanked them politely. We got off on our floor and made our way to Mel’s room. He was sitting up finishing his lunch but when he recognized us he sat up even straighter and greeted us with a big “hello!” And as you can guess by now Jessica walked up to Mel and gave him her egg and said, “I hope you feel better.” And as you can also guess Mel was excited, thanked her and placed it on his lap.

The visit went on and Mel told how great he was doing and what a great job the nurses were doing and how he even prayed with a few of them. He also said, as he often does, that he was ready to go when either Jesus or the doctors said it was time. Jessica chimed in a few times, especially to remind Mel not to chew with his mouth open…

And as we left the hospital Jessica got a little sad and said “Daddy, I really wanted to hang that Egg in my room.” I replied, “I know, so why did you give it to Mel?” She gave me a look as if I had asked her why she liked Barbie and said “Because he’s sick dad, he needs it.”

When your job is to help people understand and connect with God you can’t help but recognize the irony and the appropriateness of God using a 5 year old girl and 98-year-old man to remind a 37 year-old pastor of what He is doing.

Because the paradox is that God could just give the word and put an end to the problems of all those around me, put an end to the problems of the world. But for some reason he wants us to join him.

Read John 21:15-19 (http://www.biblegateway.com)

Actually God did give the Word and put and end to all of it, so the paradox is that even after Jesus has shown that he holds all things in his hands, even life and death, he still asks people to help. For the disciples he ends the same way he began, “Follow Me.” And it took a 98 year-old man in the hospital praying for his caretakers and a 5 year-old girl giving away her Easter egg to remind me, “Take care of my sheep.”

So I know God is still talking to me even though we’re fighting, or I guess I’m fighting. And I’m trying the silent treatment even though he keeps leaving me messages. And to be honest I’m still kind of mad. But I know what he is telling me. I know he is saying, “Follow me.” He is saying, “I’m going to visit the sick, the lonely, the hurting, the despairing. Do you want to go with me?”

P.S. I went and saw Mel at home yesterday. He had that Easter egg hanging in his room on his dresser mirror. Maybe it was too pretty for the refrigerator…