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It’s time to break the silence. So in a minute I’m going to tell you the most shameful, disgraceful thing I’ve ever done. Then I’m going to tell you the second most shameful, disgraceful thing I have ever done. I’m not proud of either (hence the terms “shameful” and “disgraceful”), but in the spirit of James 5:16, there is healing to be found in honesty and vulnerability.
More on that in a minute. But first, here are seven new half-baked ideas that are still baking up in my oven… [click to continue…]
You came into the world a bit sooner than you were due, but no sooner than you were planned by your Heavenly Father. And I can’t imagine a more beautiful baby has ever been born, or to more loving parents. While you are our second grandchild, you are our first grandson, and will always be the firstborn of your mama and daddy. For them, this has been a day of labor and risk, of waiting and prayer. And today, February 23, 2010, you have made it worth it all.
You entered a family who has seen its share of joys and sorrows, laughter and tears. But through it all, your family walks with a faith in the heart and love of the living God. Your name means “priest,” and it was well-chosen. You will live as an ambassador between God and humanity. As you trust your life to the Lord Jesus, you will be part of a kingdom of priests – and you will be one of its standard bearers.
Your middle name, David, reflects both a noble family heritage and the Sweet Psalmist and Shepherd of Israel – the man after God’s own heart. I pray that you will spend a lifetime discovering what that means.
You were born into a world filled with change and challenges, and no shortage of opinions. In many ways the world you inherited is not kind. [click to continue…]
Martin Lindstrom has learned what sounds – branded and unbranded – are most likely to turn your head. Or move your heart. Or open your wallet. Hmmm. Suppose the above video may be a hint?
Together with Elias Arts, a sound identity company in New York, Lindstrom’s company, Buyology, Inc. tested 50 volunteers and measured their responses to a wide variety of sounds. He has made a list of the 10 most powerful and addictive sounds.
You can forget waves, rain, or birds.
But if you hear the five tones of the Intel jingle, you are very likely to be drawn to it; it’s the second-most addictive sound in the world right now. Third on the list (and you know that’s right… a cell phone set on vibrate).
To find out what the number one most addictive sound is, as well as the top 10 in both branded and non-branded categories, [click to continue…]
I hated Ann Finch.
Three times she sent me to the principal’s office, and two of those times I emerged with a butt-on-fire.
One time she made me stay after school in an Ann-imposed detention. I lied to my mother and told her I needed to stay late because of band. When she picked me up, who should be walking out of the building but Miss Finch? She tattled on me, and then it was double trouble.
Once I ended the grading period with an 89.4 average. She gave me a “B” for the quarter. One lousy stinking tenth of a point! Too bad. She wouldn’t budge.
I liked Ann Finch.
Probably for the wrong reasons, but I liked her nonetheless. She was so easy to pick on. [click to continue…]
To celebrate in another that which makes him gloriously unique…
To raise her to a position of influence or respect – even if in your heart alone…
To turn to him in need, confident that he’s faithful and capable of meeting it…
To admit your failings, trusting that her grace is greater…
To forgive his offenses of motive or action…
To find in her the safety that only the strong arms of love can deliver…
To remind them of who they are and what they possess…
This is the gift of honor… the finest offering and most God-like language you have.
Often imitated, never duplicated.
It could alter traffic, change work schedules, and send us into bone-chilled terror. When we weren’t busting out laughing.
I’m talking about “The Look.”
Mama copped to it – even called it “The JoAnne Look.”
My most recent encounter with it came last October when we were sitting in the lobby of Providence Hospital waiting for my dad to get a test. Secluded in a waiting area, we could hear somebody on the other side setting up some sort of display by dragging eight-foot tables with an annoying racket. Especially annoying if you had a bad headache, as Mama did.
I could see it coming.
Those poor people had no idea.
Dear God, here comes The Look. [click to continue…]
The house was profoundly quieter now. The funeral service was a sweet combination of faith-filled worship and fitting tribute. The dozens of family members, cousin-strangers, and delightfully helpful friends and neighbors have retreated back to dock with “normal.” All that remained this evening were my dad, my sister and me.
After thank-you notes, food rearrangement, guest dish collecting and sorting, and a pause for supper, my dad decided to start the process of going through stuff. Her stuff. While my sister began looking through and sorting out her desk, he emptied her purse. Inside was what I suppose is a typical example of a 71-year-old woman’s typical daily haul. A wallet with all the ID cards, insurance and AAA whatevers, and credit cards. A wad of keys. Pills – lots of pills. Fingernail and lip stuff. A comb.
And a receipt.
“Hey,” Daddy said, looking over the receipt. “You know what? I’ll bet she bought me a Valentine card.”
That’s sure what it looked like. A loose receipt in Mama’s purse revealed the purchase of a greeting card sometime early last week or the week before. But where was it hiding?
We started looking everywhere. The desk. Files. Closets. I asked about the car. Alas, no card.
“I sure wish I could find that card,” Daddy kept saying.
Finally, my sister found it in what should have been an obvious place, just above the workspace on her desk. And sure enough, he was right. She had bought him a card that was just waiting for her signature. And here is what it says: [click to continue…]
Watching TV for the last 70 years has given us a steady stream of midwestern news reporters, California actors, a Motown pop culture, and other invasions of Yankee influence. Of course, we Southerners have made a few inroads of our own; I don’t think we can fool many northerners into thinking that grits grows on trees any more.
Bottom line is, our nation is slowly losing its regionalism. By and large, that’s O.K. Oh, you can still tell generally where a person hails from by hearing them talk. But sadly, some of our most picturesque phrases and words have all but disappeared. Not long ago I actually heard a young mother at the hospital asking her daughter if she could “tote” her food tray. [click to continue…]
“I can’t hear in that ear.”
As long as I knew her, Mama was deaf in her right ear. Because of that she was always sensitive to multi-sensory sound. “I can’t stand all this noise,” she would say as the TV, piano, stereo, and/or people talking (I usually had some role in most of that) all converged at one place. Most often, though, I encountered that deafness when I wanted to whisper something SECRET in her ear as a child.
I can still hear in both ears, but I don’t know that I’ve ever been more aware of a cacophony of sound as I am today.
Lubbock to DFW
I guess I may have slept a total of two hours. There were the calls. The updated information. The relaying of information to my adult kids, and back. The processing. The adrenaline rush of a life-in-crisis that demands action. Now! Sleep, miles, and other needs be damned.
This morning I’m feeling general anger at every phone call, interruption, or other delay. It’s never convenient when the phone rings. But today, it feels downright rude. Unless I’m the one calling, of course.
My sister calls while I’m in the security line. She tells me the neurosurgeon has come in and said there is nothing they can do. “He said if they take her off the respirator, she could last until you get here this afternoon…”
“No, don’t wait,” I say. [click to continue…]
“If only I could build an exit ramp. Something that would allow me to escape the rules and the never-ending expectations. Why doesn’t he realize that I’m just not cut out for this kind of life? That he and I would both be happier if I were on my own?”
Sound familiar? It should. Thoughts like that are repeated daily, as people try to define freedom in their own terms.
We all long for authentic freedom – the power to make choices yourself, and joyfully live with the consequences. The good news of our relationship with Christ is that He came to set captives free! Unfortunately, many believers fail to experience that freedom because they pursue a counterfeit form of it in one of two directions.
In one of the most often-repeated stories in the Bible, Jesus reveals God’s heart toward His children. It’s the story of a father with two sons – an older one who served faithfully for many years, and a younger son who longed to be “funky and free.” Each son pursued and believed in his passion. Neither understood the life of joy and abundance their father wanted to give them because each pursued passion in his own terms. One sought it through pleasure, the other through outward performance. To the younger son, freedom meant license to do what he pleased. To the older brother, freedom meant legalistic obedience to the rules.
At any given time, you, too, can be a Prodigal or a Pharisee. All it takes is a desire to find freedom apart from an intimate love relationship with God. [click to continue…]
