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Theme

New posts are up Monday - Friday on most weeks, with each day of the week having the various themes: Ministerial Mon. - Lessons and insights from the ministry front Teaching Tue. - Current thoughts from messages that I am preparing Whining Wed. - Complaints and rants about the way things are Thankful Thurs. - Things that I am truly thankful for in this world Forgotten Fri. - How to savor life, memories and relax.

Past Posts

Below you can find posts from the past. Grab a cup of coffee (or tea), stay and read a while. If anything makes you think, join the discussion by clicking on the number to the right of each title.

Archives

The Presence of Every Moment… Thursday |

I was looking through a Winterthur catalog today and came across a stepping stone that one could put in their garden with the words “You Are Here” inscribed on it. I was instantly attracted to the simple statement and pictured myself standing on it, content with the truth that it conveyed. The truth is, I am hardly ever fully present in the space that I occupy.

Maybe I will use a style of music, maybe I will use a movie, maybe the TV, perhaps a book or magazine, maybe it’s thoughts of future plans or what needs to be done, but I willingly give into the escape of the present moment on a regular basis. I am often, not fully listening to my wife, not fully playing with my kids. I waste many moments longing for more, something different, somewhere different, and this feeling persist no matter the place or time.

A few years ago, I went through a difficult time when I was not sure if I would be alive to see the birth of my first son. I remember one day a year later, he was laying on my belly while I lay on a hammock in our backyard. It was a perfect spring day, with bright green and blue colors everywhere. The wind was blowing the branches and my son was pointing up to the trees and smiling. And I remember feeling a deep appreciation for that moment, like I should not have been experiencing it. Like every second I have on this earth with my loved ones, old and new, is a gift. This is the presence of every moment.

The secret of contentment lies in being fully aware of every smile, conversation, kind deed. It’s looking deeply into the eyes of those who are speaking and listening attentively to their words. It is practicing the gift and lost art of relational hospitality. And it’s realizing that all we long for, we already have.

I Can't Read Easy |

Through the years, I have found that I gravitate less and less to easy reads. By that, I don’t mean that I enjoy reading books that require me to have a dictionary & world history book nearby for reference. Rather, I enjoy books and magazines that requires me to put the material down and silently contemplate what I just read. Do you know what I mean? Our society is increasingly becoming an instant one that craves the bottom line. But the older I get, I find the grey areas much more interesting and, dare I even say, Godly. Jesus hardly ever answered questions directly, more often than not, He answered with more questions. When Jesus spoke, he spoke with such originality and insight that he often silenced his listeners. I mean, they had nothing left to say, I can barely imagine someone speaking like that to today’s society. We believe that what we think matters most and our opinions are the right ones (this blog makes my point perfectly), and darn it, we will be heard. I crave to listen, but so much of the talking on our airwaves as well as much of the current written word is unoriginal, the same easy answers and catch phrases and black and white views which can pit people against one another or leaves them with the feeling that they are never good enough, there is always something more they have to do, to become. I am not sure if we can even grow until we first learn just to BE with God.

There was a time when one generation would pass on its stories and wisdom to the next in the context of relationship. That generation would add its own to the mix and rich heritages would evolve. For a number of years now, there have been best sellers concerning 10 steps to success or 3 things we ought to know about parenting or 7 great habits, or 12 things millionaires know, yada, yada, yada. I am not interested in what I should do to be successful, tell me how to think well! Give me a philosophy on life, from which, I can learn to approach everyday living, not a how to guide that takes my own ability to reason and grow out of the process and just gives me the bottom line. I want thoughts, not opinions. I want stories, not steps. I want something that will cause me to respond, not react. One comes at me, externally, pressing me to change my behavior; the other rises up from within and actually transforms me.

Jesus was this kind of teacher. He operated from and always went straight to…the heart. Because from that place, springs life. This is where the work must be done. And that work requires no easy fixes, reactionary dialogues or bottom line promises. It is a work of the Holy Spirit for sure, but it is also a work that we must tend to. It is a work that requires silence and contemplation. I can’t read easy because easy takes me away from these things. Easy keeps me asleep, unaware and unworked.

Letting Go |

The following story from my teen years is dedicated to all those who have graduated or who are going through a life transition:

She called me on the phone out of the blue. I didn't even know she was home from college. I hadn’t seen her for almost two years. I hadn't spoke to her for over three months. Hearing her voice again and knowing that it came from only four blocks away as opposed to 1200 miles rekindled something within me. She was my best friend since I was thirteen. During those years we had countless late night talks and walks around Clayton, NJ, the small town where I am from. We also had many adventures that you would not believe if I told you: Getting lost, scary moments, hysterical mishaps. I laughed, cried, wondered, and talked more during those years than I could think possible now. Through it all we struggled through questions of faith, rebellion, future and friendship. It hurt when she left for Bible College. I remember feeling like my heart was torn out. I remember feeling bad enough to tell my best friend, but I couldn’t. She was gone. I went on with life as usual in Clayton, while she was surrounded by new places, faces and quickly making new friends.

Now, one wintry night in 1986 she was back home. I wondered if things would still be the same. We agreed to meet in the graveyard; strange choice I know, but while Clayton had plenty of wide-open spaces, none of them were public and the closest thing to a park was the town graveyard. When I was younger the youth group that we all went to would meet and even play there after our meetings. The guys loved scaring the girls and we all loved the adventure of it. As I left my house and began walking down Center Street, the snow was falling at a slow and peaceful rate. No sounds could be heard except a light wind and crunch of snow beneath my feet. As I approached the graveyard I recognized her familiar walk as she came from the other direction. We never did have to wait for one another. We always arrived at the same time.

We embraced and exchanged the usual sentiments and began to stroll around the cemetery. Underneath the tall snow covered pine trees, we tried to catch up on conversation, but to my surprise, talking did not come easy. There was a time when we talked for six to eight hours without even realizing it, now, suddenly, one minute seemed to last for hours. We had to work to talk, work to laugh…we had to work. I think we both quietly wondered if the life between us ceased.

It was then that something unexpected happened. She pulled out two pieces of cinnamon gum and as we both chewed, the air around us began to contain the familiar fragrance. Cinnamon gum was all she chewed since I first met her and the smell of it now was warm, comfortable. Soon we were walking out of the graveyard towards the High School football field. As the cemetery faded in the distance, we began to talk about memories of all the crazy things we said and did together and we quit naturally laughed in disbelief that we really did those things.

Arm and arm we walked late into the night until we came to a big field of undisturbed snow. She jumped in and carefully began to place one foot in front of the other as she began to spell out words. I joined her and when we were done, we stood quietly and reflected on the six words.

After walking her to her house and saying goodnight, I walked by the field again on my way home. The words were now being filling with falling snow. They read: “Liala and Vince, Best Friends Forever.”
I watched them fill until they were barley readable.

 1 Corinthians 13:11

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