A breath of...air

First day back at work after a week spent representing Samaritan Ministries at the National Youth Workers Conference, held at the Gospel Light Baptist Church of Hot Springs, AR.

It was awesome.

More than anything, I came away with the realization that I'm not the only one experiencing some of the conflicted emotions that have come with being in the circle of churches I've grown up in. That there are others (host pastor Eric Capaci and host youth pastor Bob Ritter, in particular) realizing the need to think outside the box, to address some of the inward-focus issues that have led churches away from being God's voice in our world.

In particular, a session by Pastor Kurt Skelly was almost down-the-line in expressing some of my thoughts/frustrations with how things have been done. I've ordered the audio, and I'll post transcripts of some excerpts from his session. I walked away from his one session realizing that Pastor Skelly is one to listen to.

And I got to hear David Gibbs, who has been accurately described as one of America's greatest Christian orators. He has a way of conveying profound thoughts with a concise, easygoing yet earnest style that you find yourself just drinking in.

Dr. Gibbs gave a session on leadership types, and the last type he addressed was the Visionary. He observed that among our circles (independent fundamental Baptists), the numbers of these leaders had dwindled. He remarked with visible sadness: "Sometimes we forget that the practices we hold to so dearly were considered revolutionary thirty years ago."

A sentence so laden with meaning, I can hardly sit still. I almost shouted out loud the moment he said it.

God, please allow me to be a Visionary.

They've got my number

Here's an account, as described to me, of an actual conversation between two pastors.

Pastor 1: Brother, I don't know what to do. Our attendance keeps going down, offerings are down, there's no excitement, I don't know what to do...

Pastor 2: I know what you mean, Brother. Same here. Hang on - Jesus is coming.

That's almost verbatim.

I'm not quite thirty years old. If all I have to look forward to in a lifetime of ministry is hanging on until Jesus comes, well...I've got other things to do.

With every fiber of my being, I do not - can not - believe that the sentiment expressed above indicates the attitude Jesus wants me to carry into my ministry, or my family, or my life.

And He's the one that's coming.

- - - -

I bring up the above account because I mentioned it as part of a message I preached Sunday night. It was a message I preached to a congregation in need of a pastor, in an area that needs to see the Gospel lived out in the worst way. The church has a building in a location central to reaching an area that isn't currently being reached, and it has people who, despite being few in number, want to keep the church going.

It's the kind of place I was pretty sure I was looking for. And it's way closer to the stomping grounds than I ever thought God might let me be.

So I'd mentioned that I was interested in being their pastor. And they seemed receptive, loved Kristy and the kids, had us back on three separate occasions. Doors seemed to be opening, and Kristy and I began to get excited about the possibilities.

So this past Sunday evening, I gave the message everything I had. I prayed, and God had given me a message appropriate for the moment the church found itself in. I had visual aids for the main thought of the message, and I allowed all my personality to come through. I hid nothing of myself, and I shared as much of my heart for what God has for me - and for them - as I could in the context of the message. The people laughed, they concentrated, they grooved with me for most of the message.

A man with no connection to the church at all walked in off the street. He was the first black man I'd seen there in the five different times I'd attended services there. He enjoyed the service immensely, and I prayed with him during the invitation.

I closed the service, and the people were very gracious in expressing their appreciation for the message.

After everyone else had left, the treasurer handed me an envelope and said, "We've got your number."

You've got my number? That wasn't going to cut it. Not after this long. So I asked if there was any movement in the search for a pastor.

No, none at all, he said.

Another man standing nearby, another member of the recently formed pulpit committee, overheard my question. He mentioned that they were considering asking an area pastor to serve as interim pastor of their church. The treasurer replied that they hadn't decided, including a look that indicated he'd just as soon that hadn't come up.

- - - -

So, it seems, we've reached another fork in the road. In discussing the possibilities of this church with my family and personal friends, I always said that a lot of things were in place, and a lot of doors seemed to be opening: but the one thing I didn't know was if the people were ready. As it turns out, the ones who needed to be ready, weren't. The one thing that might keep a seemingly great opportunity from working out, turns out to be the one thing that shuts it all down.

We loaded the kids in the van and drove away. "So...?" After the service, Kristy's voice was hopeful.

"Nope." I just let the word fall out of my mouth, too weary to put any emotion behind it. I'd just noticed that, in the process of preaching, I'd soaked my shirt with perspiration. I couldn't remember doing that before.

"I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on my arm. As we drove away, we passed people I'd let myself dream of reaching, neighborhoods that were going to be impacted, the beautiful downtown and waterfront.

And we drove toward what God has for us. Right now, it looks a lot like what He's had for us the past six months (six months!). But I know that what He's got doesn't look like hanging on 'til Jesus comes. It looks more like taking the message of God's love and salvation, and building a community of Christ followers that makes an impact in their world.

That much I know.

Two Precious Girls

So yesterday was a big day. A big, fill-me-up-inside kind of day.

I took Kristy to the OB for a sonogram of the baby. This being our fourth, we had decided to find out the gender of the baby. We'd teased for several weeks: did we want a second girl, or did we want a third boy? Trey wanted a brother, Gracie a sister, until Trey wanted a sister, in which case Gracie wanted a brother.

I thought either one would be good, but a second daughter would be nice. I'm pretty sure I'm a better, more socially and emotionally well-rounded, more-like-Jesus person because I'm the father of a girl.

Kristy said she wanted a girl, but seemed resigned to having another boy. She'd convinced herself there was a guy inside her.

So we're in the office, then we're in the sono room, and then the tech starts waving the magic wand over the magic sticky gel stuff, and...poof!



"It's a girl," said the tech. She said it with a great deal of confidence, I thought. And my observation of the picture on the screen was that, yes, it was a girl.

"Are you sure?" Kristy wasn't buying it.

I looked down at Kristy. This lady's done five sonograms today, and 3,000 in her career or something, and you're asking her if she's sure? It seemed like a move that took some nerve.

So for Kristy's sake, the tech made sure. And then Kristy started to cry.

"We're having a girl!" She looked up at me, her eyes giving expression to the joy of an answer to prayer that she hadn't allowed herself to believe she could have.

It was at this moment that I announced my decision to go public with my campaign. To bring public pressure to bear on a subject I believe in strongly.

I want to name her Audrey Joan Rowell.

The Rowell part is settled. The Joan part (Kristy's mother's name) is settled. The Audrey part? Far from settled.

I campaigned for this name up until we found out Derek was a dude, and I've campaigned for it since we found out we were having another one. Now I have a real opportunity to have a female child named Audrey, and Kristy still doesn't like the name.

Kristy says she needs to see what the name means. Unless "Audrey" is Gaelic for "eats toejam and boogers," I'm still pushing for it.

Anyway, we left the office and went to Papa and Meme's. Told them the good news, spent a little time hanging out and enjoying the weather. Watered the goldfish in the washtub in the flower bed, watched Trey and Gracie get motorcycle rides with Papa.

Then we left, and headed back into town to catch up with Ashley. She wasn't home, and we were headed home when I realized that we were going by Christen's house. And I knew we had to stop.

Christen is one of our daughters in the faith, an incredible young lady whose faith has been proven through some really rough life experiences. She came to our church with her two sisters for many years, and was an important member of our youth group. Her desire to walk with Christ has always been an inspiration to me, and I know God has huge things He wants to do with her life.

Circumstances have made it that we haven't seen much of her for several months, and, to be honest, it's eaten me up inside. Mrs. Kristy and I miss her so much.

So we stopped by the house, and her stepdad was standing in the driveway. He greeted me warmly, congratulated me on the baby, and told me Christen was inside. So I went inside, and she came to the doorway.

"Come outside. Mrs. Kristy has something to tell you."

So she and her sister came out, and gave Kristy a huge hug. Christen hugged the kids, and Kristy told them about our girl. They were excited for us; and I even got Casey to agree that Audrey was a good name, although not with the greatest amount of excitement.

And then, for the next half hour or so, we got to catch up with Christen's life. She spent a couple weeks on a missions trip with the youth group of her family's church, and her eyes lit up as she described the experience. She told us about her job, her classes, her rusty brown truck that she loves to drive, her families...her life.

And as I listened to her talk (and watched her talk, which, if you know her, you know is possible), I saw that...she's okay. Her spirit, her heart for Christ, are alive. She seems at peace with things.

Which, in the end, is the best thing I could pray for.

See, I haven't had kids old enough to leave the house yet. I don't even have kids old enough to do boneheaded things that don't come off as at least a little cute. But after the years that Kristy and I spent with our teens, leaving them to pursue a pastorate had this leaving-the-nest dynamic to it, except in reverse: we, the "parents," were the ones leaving.

And, in true freaked-out parent fashion, I've worried about them. Most of them, I've been able to stay in contact with, at least time to time, some quite a bit. And I've found that, while their journeys are not the same as they would be if we were still in each other's lives the way we were, they're finding their way, and headed in good directions.

God's taking care of them. That is, after all, His job. Yesterday, I got to see that He was doing that for Christen.

And He's taking care of us. Yesterday, I got to see that, too.

Yep, I'm full.