Posted in Life, memories

Summer memories

I’m a summer kind of person. While most of the people around me in Florida are complaining about the heat, I’m enjoying the warmer weather. I love the feel of the sun on my skin, getting sweaty while walking or working outdoors, and warming up after I’ve left a frigid air conditioned room. I know, I might feel differently about this if I cut lawns all day or roofed houses. Maybe not. I’ve always like summer.

A newsletter recently asked its readers to share their favorite summer memory. Summers are when there’s no school and families often take vacations. I have some great summer memories.

In junior and senior high school, my music teacher directed a summer band program, open to anyone of any age who wanted to come and play. We weren’t preparing for a concert. We got to play a lot of different music. Early on, you got to play with the big kids, musicians who were much better than you. When older, you got to show the noobs how it was done. It was just a lot of fun and the days and weeks were never long enough.

I spend most of my high school and college summers working concessions at Veteran’s Stadium in Philadelphia. That meant I got to see a whole season of home games and get paid for it. Most of the time, I was a cashier on a level that looked out over the field from behind home plate. Customers came in-between innings, so we got to watch most of the game. Oh, and eat whatever mediocre stadium food we wanted.

One year, instead of taking us away on vacation, my dad put up a swimming pool in the backyard. Our yard was a hill, so we first had to level out an area. I think the was only about twelve feet across and maybe three feet deep. Not olympic-sized, but we didn’t care. My brother, sister, and I spent a lot of that and the next few summers in that pool.

Band camp before my senior year in high school is burned into my memory, too. That was the first year of a week-long sleep-over camp devoted entirely to preparing a halftime show for the fall. Music and marching all day, volleyball games in the off times, and way too little adult supervision in the cabins. Perfect formula for summer memories.

I have one negative summer memory. I was in fourth or fifth grade, and my dad took us to Ocean City, New Jersey for a week of vacation. At that time and in that place (suburban Philadelphia), families vacationed at the Jersey shore. He didn’t even get to pick the week. He got vacation when his company shut down for two weeks.

Anyway, my parents enrolled us in a vacation bible school that week to get us out of their hair every morning. In hindsight, they were geniuses. But in the moment, we thought it was cruel to drop us off with a bunch of strangers while they enjoyed their vacation. That VBS was actually a two-week program, so we got off easy. I know how exhausting one week is. I can’t even imagine doubling that!

In the summer, families get to spend more time together, and I’ll bet that’s what forges some of our best memories.

Posted in God, Life

Time for a new battery

Rowl-rowl-rowl-rowl.

Uh-oh. I know exactly what that sound means. I’ll give it one more try.

Click.

Yep, I knew it. Battery’s dead. “Battery’s dead; I’m going to get a new one.”

“How do you know it’s the battery?”

It’s usually the battery. Life in the Sunshine State means your car will need a new battery every three years. It works fine one day, and it’s DOA the next.

Has it really been three years already? I rummaged through the glove box. Yes! I knew I saved the receipt. It’s a little faded, but I can still read it. It was a three-year battery. Of course, the three-year replacement warranty ran out last week.

The good news? The car was parked in my driveway, right next to my other car, well within jumper cable distance. I opened the hoods of both cars grabbed my jumper cables and got to work. I’ve done this lots of times, but I paused and decided to glance at the owner’s manual. Which car do I hook up first? On which car do I clamp onto the engine bracket? I just wanted to be sure. I have a lot of respect for that little black box I trust to start the car each morning.

That morning I had just read about God’s presence on Mount Sinai while Moses and Israel camped nearby. They were told to keep their distance. Don’t touch. Don’t even get near. I thought to myself, “I probably fear this small black battery in my car than I fear God.”

I’ll bet that’s true for most folks. We have little fear of God. He’s a friend. Compassionate. Merciful. Slow to anger. Abounding in steadfast love.

All of that is true. But God is also holy. Isaiah took that for granted until he found himself in God’s presence (read Isaiah 6). Then he feared for his life. After that, he got a very clear view of God’s mercy.

The holiness of God not only reveals the depth of our sinfulness, but also the depth of grace. We need both to grasp how high and wide and deep and long is the love of God.

Posted in Life, memories

“I got to watch a delivery!”

I sat in on a nursing school labor and delivery class yesterday. The professor was my wife, so I had permission to be there. Just before the lecture began, I listened as the students talked about their clinical experiences.

“I got to watch a delivery!” Timing is everything. There is no guarantee that a baby will arrive during your birth center clinical hours, so not everyone gets to witness a birth.

“I got to hold a mother’s leg to help her push.” Even rarer is the chance to assist in a birth. The nurse you’re following may want to watch from over there and stay out of the way. Or, they may give you the chance to be a part of the moment. You never know.

I smiled and whispered to my wife, “I got to watch three!” The memories of the births of my three children are vivid. I may have written about this sometime in the past, but it’s worth remembering again.

My oldest was born in the dead of winter on a snowy February day in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Sitting upright and cross-legged within my wife, he wasn’t going anywhere without surgery. When we arrived at the hospital, I was told, “Put this on, sit there, don’t move, and don’t touch anything.” In a yellow gown and cap, I sat on a stool just to the left of my wife. I sat up really tall and could just see into the sterile field as the doctor made an incision and suddenly I was a dad.

Number two, a daughter was born less than two years later in Manchester, Connecticut. She also didn’t get the memo about turning to be head down for her birthday. While the doctor knew how to turn a baby in utero, she too was born by c-section. In scrubs this time, I got to sit a little closer and had a better view of the birth. When the big moment arrived, the doctor said, “Get your camera; here we go.” I took a whole roll of film to capture her birth. In a few minutes, I was ushered out of the room, but not before the nurses handed me my cleaned-up and wrapped-up daughter and said, “Hold her while we take care of your wife.” Gladly! I rocked her for forty-five minutes until my wife was ready to meet number two.

Our youngest arrived eight years later. In the late-90’s, before lawyers got involved, vaginal birth after caesarian (VBAC) was encouraged. With a week to go, my wife was induced and I got to be an active part of a delivery. About eight hours in, it was time to push and I got to help hold my wife’s legs and hands as she pushed. Another daughter arrived, I cut the cord, and watched as she met her mom face-to-face for the first time.

I’m blessed to have experienced these moments, too!

Posted in friends, Life

You don’t know me, but I know you

“Was that crack there before?”

My heart sunk. Yep, a curly crack ran down the center of the windshield. I couldn’t see any place where a rock had hit, so the relentless summer heat and suddenly cooling-off afternoon showers must have been too much for it.

I knew that my insurance would pay for a replacement. All I had to do was set that process in motion.

“Thanks for calling your insurance agent. This is Courtney, how can I help you?”

I explained the reason for my call. She replied, “Okay, lets bring up your policy and get a claim started.” A few seconds after I gave her my name, she said, “Oh. Now I know who you are. But you have no idea who I am.”

She was right. I had no clue. But when she gave me her first and last name, I remembered teaching her as a teenager many years ago. It’s a small world.

It’s a small world indeed. I encounter people from my past just about weekly in our community. Some of them went to our preschool. Others came for vacation bible school. A few were school friends of my children. Occasionally I run into some of their middle and high school teachers. Former church members and class students, like Courtney.

These people from the past check me out at the store, take my order at the drive through window, workout with me at the gym, dine at the same restaurants, work booths at a home show, come to repair my home, and go to the same doctors.

Whenever I recognize a voice or a face from the past, I feel better. Suddenly, the world feels like a smaller and friendlier place. I’m always thankful for that.

Posted in coffee, Life

Just a small black coffee…

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

“I’ll just have a small coffee.”

“Any flavors or creamer in that?”

“Nope. Just black.”

I know. Boring. But I like coffee. I like it a lot and I like it straight up. Okay, once in a while I’ll get a latte, but always with an extra shot to up the coffee concentration.

“Here you go, a small coffee.” I made a face when I took my first sip. It tasted good, but it tasted sweet. Well, some coffees have a little sweetness, so I gave it another try.

I said to my wife, “Taste this. Does this taste sweet to you?”

She took one sip and said, “Oh, yes.” She made a face. “Artificial sweetener.”

I hardly ever take anything back at a restaurant or coffee shop. But this day I did. “I think there’s sweetener in this. I just wanted black.” It was no problem. They made me a new cup. Much better.

My wife ordered a latte made with almond milk with just one pump of vanilla. Her typical order, nothing complicated.

After a few sips she lifted the lid and said, “There’s not much milk in here.”

I tried it and said, “That’s not a latte. That’s just coffee with milk in it. A latte is mostly steamed milk.”

She didn’t take her cup back. The poor guy who took our order was either inexperienced or having an off morning. He wasn’t a barista, just a young man working behind the counter. And the pastries were really, really good.

This coffee shop opened up in a rundown area of town in an effort to revitalize the neighborhood. Sponsored by a church, it subsidized many children’s programs, employed people just getting into the work force, and made important faith connections. They started in a bus, traveling from place to place. This permanent location had only been open for a few months. You can check them out here.

Trying out coffee shops has become a new hobby. They are tucked away in strip malls, industrial parks, and the corners of larger stores. With our coffee radar switched on, we’ve discovered many cool places.

Posted in Life

Birds in flight

Photo by Sam Bark on Unsplash

I get to watch all kinds of birds from my backyard patio. Birds are distinguished by their size, color, and song. But I’ve also noticed that they have different flight plans, too.

The herons fly overhead in a straight line. At both dawn and dusk, they are on their way from one body of water to another “as the crow flies.” They are all business, and probably frequent the same ponds and lakes in search of fish.

The cardinals, however, flit from yard to yard and tree to tree. Each male and female pair playfully flies in and out of the wooded lots, as if playing a game of tag, in search of seeds to eat.

The hawks circle hundreds of feet overhead, watching for the movement of a rodent or snake in the grass. They never seem to be in a hurry as they keep an eye out for their next meal. Their wings never seem to move as they catch an updraft to keep them aloft.

The hummingbirds hover before flowers or feeders like miniature helicopters, their wings a blur.

The geese are way up there, long haul migrators in a v-shape.

What’s your flight plan today? An easy, relaxing glide above it all, a long trip, or a frantic day filled with activity?

Posted in Gospel, Life

Yard sign evangelism?

On a recent dog-walk around the block, a couple of yard signs caught my eye. A homeowner displayed two familiar (at least to me) scripture verses in front of his or her house.

“Repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15).

“Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in will live, even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die'” (John 11:25).

Classic words filled with gospel truth. As I walked by and got a picture, I wondered, “Who will those signs affect?”

Well, for one, it affected me. That good news certainly resonates with me, a follower of Jesus Christ.

But what if you aren’t a believer? Would a typical non-Christian even know the meaning of the words repent, resurrection, and gospel?

This neighbor’s intentions were good. God’s Word is powerful, creating, saving, and changing people’s lives.

But Jesus never delivered that good news in sound bites. These sentences are part of a relationship Jesus had with people. These words are part of a longer conversation Jesus had with people who were questioning, grieving, struggling, and searching for hope. When Jesus said, “Love your neighbor,” he didn’t mean hand out a brochure, tweet a bible verse, or put up a billboard. He meant get to know them, find out what they need, and then help them with that need. Let them experience the gospel before you talk about it.

Scripture verse signs simply blend in with the For Sale signs, contractor signs, clean-up-after-your-dog signs, political signs, security system signs, no soliciting signs, and yard sale signs scattered throughout the neighborhood.

Let’s honor Jesus with something a little more substantial. God sent the good news in the form of a person. He still does. It’s you.

Posted in Life, Travel

Some of my heroes: shuttle drivers

During a typical trip to Dallas to visit my son, we encounter at least four shuttle drivers. This latest trip they made my travel a pleasant experience.

The first picked us up at long-term parking and takes us to the departure terminal. We waited less than a minute for him to pull up next to our car, load our larger luggage, and learn who we’ll be flying with. With a big smile, he welcomes us onto his little bus. Without losing his cool or breaking a sweat, he negotiates airport traffic, an amazing assortment of clueless, rude, and impatient drivers clogging up the drop-off spots. He unloads all our luggage onto the curb and wishes us well on our journey.

After we land in Dallas, we grab our luggage and head to the pickup area for the car rental shuttle. All the car rental companies share one building, so there is always a crowd watching for the arrival of the big blue shuttle bus. After the driver makes sure all our bags are in the racks, he begins our trip to the rental center. On my most recent trip he welcomed us to the Dallas-Fort Worth and encouraged us to take advantage of the many things to do, like taking bull riding lessons! That got a smile from everyone on board.

On the way home, we first dropped off our rental car, and then hopped on a big blue shuttle bus that would take us to our departure terminal. Even though the sun was barely up, the driver was enthusiastic about his job and cheerfully welcomed us on board. Before pulling out, he reminded us to be sure we had all our belongings from the rental cars, from phones to chargers to luggage. But, most importantly, he reminded us to leave the car keys behind.

Once we landed and were ready to head back home, a shuttle driver picked us up to take us back to our car. After we got on board, he welcomed us back home and waited a few minutes for more passengers. None came, so he pulled our and as soon as he did, his radio alerted him to more passengers. He chuckled and said, “I was looking right at them, and they were all on their phones! But don’t worry, another shuttle will be by in a few minutes.” He then told us that some long term parking shuttles only run once an hour! He pulled up to our parking spot and put all our luggage into the back of our car.

It takes a special kind of person to deal with travelers all day long. Some are frantically trying to make a flight. Many are tired and cranky. Others have way too many bags to carry or have a bunch of kids to keep track of. These drivers get you there quickly and safely, smiling through it all.

I’m not sure if they are trained to work with people, or whether it comes naturally to them. But this last time to Texas, I noticed and appreciated (and tipped them for) all they did.

Posted in Life

When he saw her, the look on his face was priceless.

We walked into church just as the congregation started singing the first hymn. The only one who knew we would be there that Sunday morning was my daughter-in-law. She gave us a big smile as we slipped into the pew. Two of our granddaughters were sitting with friends a row in front. The youngest was with a friend in the row behind. My grandson was on the other side of his mom. We made the trip under the radar to surprise my son, whose church was celebrating his ten years of ministry there.

When I tapped the shoulder of the oldest, her eyes got big and she mouthed, “How did you get here?” I answered by putting my arms out like an airplane. Next to her, number three, gave us a big grin. Looking behind us, the two-year old just gave us a look. And when we got the attention of my six-year-old grandson, he kind of smirked as he read along with the service.

I was sitting on the aisle, in plain view of my son as he did his parts of the service. I thought for sure he spotted us. But he didn’t until the other pastor got up to preach. At that moment, looking out into the congregation, my son spotted his mom, tilted his head, furrowed his brow, and flashed a quick smile, totally surprised to see her in the crowd. The look on his face was priceless. My wife’s recently grown-out hair made him pause, too, reacting to a look she hasn’t had for a long time.

The whole event, including a potluck lunch after worship, was a successful surprise for my son. He sensed something was up, but had no idea what had been planned. Afterwards, he commented that the bigger surprise was how good the food was. Previous potlucks hadn’t been as well-prepared as this one.

It’s hard to pull off a surprise like that. The churches I served were never able to do it. I would pretend like I didn’t know anything when I got a copy of the email sent to the congregation about a surprise or gift. Letters to the congregation would be left in the duplicator where I would find it when I went to make copies. People would apologize to me for not being able to attend an occasion that was supposed to be a surprise for me. Apparently no one had the spiritual gift of keeping a secret!

When’s the last time I looked out and saw someone totally unexpected in the crowd? It must have been when a few friends from previous churches have stopped in unannounced. I’m sure I had a great look on my face, too.