Parents, make the most of time. In middle school, my mother decided she needed to be very intentional about family time together. We all had our evening meals together and Sunday after church family lunches when my father didn’t have hospital rounds, but that was about to change with our rehearsals and practices and all the things that begin to require time away from home about that age. Mom enrolled us all in weekly snow ski lessons through a local community college. The lessons, equipment, and lift tickets were all much cheaper than what the ski mountains charged and so it was not too expensive for a family of four. So, for 6-8 weeks each winter for 4 winters we took off Tuesday nights after school and put on our warm clothes. In the beginning, we felt like Ralphie’s little brother Randy in the movie “A Christmas Story,” overstuffed into too many layers of warm clothes…”I can’t put my arms down..” Though we soon learned how warm you can get while wrestling a pair of skis, gripping a tow rope and trying to avoid the ankle biters that point their little skis down hill and take a straight line down with Kamikaze abandon. We went to the Rolf Lanz Ski School in Gatlinburg the first year. Rolf wanted more and more people to enjoy his favorite sport even in the South. He would come out and say something funny in his Swiss broken English and we would all laugh, pretending we actually understood him. He encouraged us and sent us out with his Ski School instructors. The college changed the classes to Cataloochee Ski Mountain the next few years. It was less than 2 hours drive each way and we skied the night session from 6-10. You definitely didn’t want to fall near the snow making machines or you would be flash frozen like meat and coated in wet ice. One year we added some cousins from Morristown to our snow family. We carpooled with them from a stop on the interstate. This was Southern Appalachian mountain skiing at its best, with man-made snow, lots of icy patches and long lift lines, but we had a blast… we all eagerly learned a new sport together as a family. This was an “US” experience that we got to enjoy together, making lifelong memories of what it meant to be a part of our family. We talked excitedly on the way about what we hoped to learn that night, spoke about how many inches the base snow may be, and teased each other about who would fall first. My mom always had a great sandwich dinner, snacks and hot chocolate for the trip, though we still all got a little hungry when the instructor told us to put our skis in the “pizza slice” position so we could turn and stop easier, later we learned the “French fry” position when we learned to turn with our skis parallel. When we arrived on the mountain we got some equipment and learned to put on our boots and skis… they wisely gave us no poles for fear of impalement of self and shish kebobbing of other skiers in uncontrolled falls. Skis could also be feared projectiles if they came off in this pre-ski-brake era of the 1970’s; my sister was a victim of a runaway ski and had to be taken to the ski patrol first aid room for evaluation… she was fine, more scared than scarred. After skiing, in tired amusement, we drove home and laughed with each other about falling as we got our glove pulled off on the tow rope, or experienced the T-bar that hit you in the butt and dragged you up the hill as you sat on it and hoped you got off before being whipped around the pole at the top and dragged back down the hill, or when we locked our skis with someone in line, falling into a frozen game of Twister, which other beginners often joined as they were unable to avoid the human avalanche that moved at a glacier pace down the bunny hill. We arrived home very late, fell into bed happily exhausted, and had no trouble sleeping a little before the school bus arrived the next morning. By the end of the first season, we had become novice skiers, we had graduated from beginners and were on our way next year toward intermediate and the actual ski lift. We also learned a little more about each other on the rides back and forth. The next day at school we were a little tired, but it was all worth it for some fun and intentional family time.
Tuesday, November 24, 2020
Parents, Make the Most of Time!* Words From COVID 19 quarantine
Monday, November 23, 2020
Parents, Good Tidings of Great Joy!* Words From COVID 19 quarantine
Parents, Good tidings of Great Joy. I was reminded of a wonderful childhood Christmas season memory, as I was preparing to lead a responsive reading from Luke 2 in a pre-Christmas event at my church last night. At the event, called A Family Adventure: One Christmas, our international pastors read some Christmas scripture in two languages and pastor J.D. Davis explained many of the traditions of Christmas and how these symbols point us to the Gospel of Christ. Every year my family eagerly awaited the announcement about when the Charlie Brown Christmas would air. We would take our bath earlier than usual that night, put on our red footed pajamas and gather around the tiny black and white TV that Dad had built a shelf for in the kitchen. (Why it was in the kitchen, I don’t know, but it was a place we liked to gather together for a meal, the day’s news, and shows like Ed Sullivan, Carol Burnett, Lawrence Welk, or Andy Williams that entertained us before bed). The 4 of us would congregate in the breakfast area around the white round formica table and sit in the mid-mod, black vinyl “spinny” chairs (that we would sometimes spin round and round in until we were so dizzy we couldn’t walk). For the Peanut Special, Mom would pop some popcorn and make some hot chocolate with marshmallows and we would watch intently. Charlie Brown was tasked with doing a Christmas play about the true meaning of Christmas as well as finding a Christmas Tree to decorate the stage. As all the peanuts characters revealed their reasons for Christmas, Charlie Brown, depressed as he was, though he couldn’t put his finger on it, knew something just wasn’t right. As he looked for a tree, all he could find was a pitiful, scraggly little hopeless looking live tree that was losing its needles and it could only hold one little ornament that he took from Snoopy’s award winning decorations. Charlie’s sister Lucy would say, “you’re such a blockhead Charlie Brown.” Charlie Brown raises his voice and asks in exasperation, “does anyone know what Christmas is all about?” And Linus says he does and he recites the Christmas narrative from Luke 2, then uses his blanket to prop up the hopeless little tree as the other Peanuts characters, whose hearts are also changed, come together around the tree, that miraculously emerges as a new beautiful tree. The kids sing “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.” What a picture this is of Christ's work in our lives, we are hopeless and pitiful, incapable of bringing much joy to anyone and Jesus’ Advent into this world brings “Good tidings of Great Joy” as He moves into our lives and changes us and makes us whole spiritually. How joyful to know that God loves us so much and wants to be with us so much that He sent Immanuel, God-with-us, God Incarnate, to earth to connect with us and make us a new creation so we can share His great joy back to Him and with others.
Tuesday, November 3, 2020
Parents, What to Say on Election Day: Words from COVID 19 quarantine*
Parents, what to say on election day. In middle school one year there was a great presidential election. Each candidate campaigned hard and it was on every TV ad and radio program. Our teachers decided that it would be a good exercise for the students to participate in our own campaign and voting process the week before the national election to gain perspectives and insights on some of the ways democracy worked. It included some explanation of the Electoral College, but none of us really understood the reason for it in our early adolescent brains. This apparently was a good exercise for me, because I only knew one viewpoint, one perspective, one candidate whom I knew would make the best president. I thought who could possibly vote for the other candidate. My friends on my bus were all aligned on the side of my favorite candidate, and so I assumed every other kid on every other bus would vote the way I did. I thought, this should be a landslide victory. When the day came to vote, we all voted, and I was shocked to learn, at the end of the day, that the other guy had won… not only won but it was not even close. Classroom friends whose candidate had won, learned how I had voted and taunted me and others who voted as I did. The winners even sang the old elementary school playground victory song, “I’m better than you, nanny nanny boo boo, stick your head in doo doo!” I wanted to sit in sackcloth and put ashes on my head… mourning and grieving, incredulous that my candidate had lost big… okay maybe a bit of overdrama, but we were greatly filled with angst as middle schoolers sometimes get when things don’t go their way. Our bus ride home was relatively quiet that day except for one emotionally charged neighbor kid who refused to believe that it was a fair election. His rant included name calling, and questioning the teachers who ran the election and he demanded a recount. We all knew that this kind of landslide victory was not a simple miscount, unless... as he argued, that it was a system corrupt from the core. The candidate by the way, did win the real election the next week. In my middle school mind, when I wasn’t trying to figure out girls, how not to stink with the wrong deodorant, remember to brush my teeth and somehow hide the stench of my smelly vinyl tennis shoes by sitting on them, I thought that president was a total disaster for our country. All the markers that I thought were most important had absolutely tanked, taxes went up, inflation went up, foreign diplomacy tanked and U.S. positions were compromised, however, apparently there were also some really good things that happened too.But, I can’t remember them, because they didn’t fit my narrative of what I thought our country should look like. It wasn’t until later, when I was learning about other oppressive forms of government in the world, that I realized, “wow, what an amazing gift we have to be able to vote for our own leadership.” Sure, it has its own challenges and ways it can be manipulated, but what a wonderful concept… to trust people to make wise choices about whom they choose to lead them. I pray that democracy will continue so that people are valued and that we have a voice and a vote in how things happen. Ultimately, there is a Divine Hand in what happens in our world. God always led His people, when they followed Him or when they rebelled. He is always in control, even when His people were overrun, taken into slavery and persecuted, so that, BTW they would seek His face and return to Him from their rebellion.
Our God, who is the creator of the universe, has a plan for all people, bigger than any country or government. Daniel, who was in exile when God’s people were taken captive to Babylon because of their rebellion, was in the service of King Nebuchadnezzar. King Neb had a disturbing dream about the future of not only his reign, but the future of the world. Daniel asked God to show him the dream and the interpretation. When God had given Daniel Neb’s dream and the answer, he responded to Nebuchadnezzar with praise for God and the meaning of his dream. Part of his answer is an encouragement to all of us as we navigate any election season. We read, “Daniel praised the God of heaven and said: ‘Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever; wisdom and power are His. He changes times and seasons; he sets up kings and deposes them. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning.’” Daniel 2:19-21 (NIV) Anita, is always quick to remind me of this passage when I get all worked up over politics, that all “wisdom and power are(God’s)” and that “(Our God) sets up kings (and presidents, senators, congressmen, etc...) and deposes them.” Regardless of the outcome of this or any other election, we gotta remember the FIRST thing to do, according to Paul, is to pray for “everyone... and ALL those in authority,”even if we do not agree with them. Paul says to young Timothy and the Ephesian church, “I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone-- for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all men to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth. For there is one God and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all men--the testimony given in its proper time.” 1 Timothy 2:1-6 (NIV) So, the best thing to say on election day is “God has a plan and I’m praying.”
Hang in there people! God is with us! I’m praying for us all!
Thursday, October 22, 2020
Parents, Are You An Angel? *Words From COVID 19 quarantine
Parents, are you an angel? I was headed home from a friend's house when the crash on the big green bridge happened. The Summer was waning and I was soon to be headed to South Carolina for college and we wanted to hang out some more, but it had gotten late and it was pouring rain. The rain still couldn't dissuade my Krispy Kreme cravings for “Hot Donuts Now”as I had to drive right by the glass and brick sugar box. The big flashing sign was like an irresistible magnet for my car. The contents of the white and red KK boxes left a delicious sugar/grease film on the bottom from each donut that was lickable after the contents were gone. Inside said boxes were both high sucrose and lipid self-medication for my teenage anxieties/angst AND they also served as a peace offering for my parents as a sugar coated penance for coming home later than usual. But I digress (see June 23 post on KK). I had just gotten 2 new tires for my newly restored ‘67 convertible mustang and the wisdom at the time was to put the new tires on the front of the car. This made for disaster when the slicker rear tires hydroplaned as they hit the expansion joint of the old green steel bridge that spanned the Tennessee river, not far from the convergence of the Holston and the French Broad Rivers. The bridge had long connected Alcoa and Maryville (pronounced Mur-vul) to Knoxville. The baloney skinned rear tires no longer had traction and became like inner tubes floating up the river of water torrenting down the bridge. This sent the back of the car slowly around to overtake the front of the car in a clockwise rotation. When I realized what was happening, instead of turning into the spin like my friend, Driver Ed, had taught me, in my panic I had turned away from the spin, sending Mustang Sally into an uncontrolled vortex. The front left bumper hooked the side of the bridge sending the left side sliding down the bridge, then the rear of the car spun around just enough to make a solid impact, which catapulted it back into the middle of the bridge, coming to rest with half the pony car in the oncoming traffic lane and half in the passing lane. The left side of the car had a smashed headlight so any oncoming traffic would not be able to see it. It was very dark with no street/bridge lights anywhere. As the sound of wet skidding tires and crunching metal became silent, I peered out and saw just one beam of my right headlight shining eerily into the deluge of large reflective water droplets with pitch black beyond. Thank goodness at the time no cars were coming either direction. As it was happening, all I remember is hanging on to the steering wheel for dear life and seeing myself bounce around in the rearview mirror in this pre-seat belt era car. I was unsure what to do as I exited the car, but God had a plan… another car slowly came up to me and the driver asked if I was okay. I told him I thought so. He told me to get in his car, out of the rain, and away from danger. He said he would call the police. This was very strange to me, because very few people had what we called a “car phone,” which, at the time was a big box on the floor connected by a wire with an old fashioned, black banana shaped handset with a mouth and earpiece on the ends. So, we drove to the end of the bridge and pulled over with emergency flashers on. He then called the police on the phone tethered to the black brick on the floor. A wrecker was dispatched. I called my parents with the dreaded phone call… “Dad, I’ve been in a wreck, I’m okay, no one else is involved, but the car is not good”… I was able to tell him where I was and he and mom were there in no time. We found out that my early adopter, cell phone pioneer, mysteriously appearing, angelic rescuer, God messenger, was a pastor, whom we strangely never saw or heard of again, he apparently just happened to be in the area at that moment. Dad had the car towed to our house where it sat in the backyard, three sides smashed as a classic pony car convertible “planter, ‘ as he liked to call it. He finally sold it for scrap and parts when I left for college. I was glad to be alive, but didn’t fully understand what had just happened.
Monday, October 19, 2020
Parents, Don't Throw the Hook!* Words From Covid 19 quarantine
Parents, don’t throw the hook. When I graduated high school, a wonderful and generous friend of my father was going on an ocean fishing trip to the Bahamas and invited us to go with him and his son. We left West Palm Beach in a fancy 24 foot Mako boat and joined a regatta of about 30 boats toward Walkers Cay, which was about 100 miles East. It would take us about 4 hours to reach the island, which would be our home base for fishing in a Blue Marlin tournament for a couple of days. I love the ocean, but most of my experiences had been close to shore, so this trip was an amazing experience. Once we reached about 12 miles away from shore, we could no longer see land… this was an eerie, slightly agoraphobic feeling, but the regatta with a few larger boats and radios were some comfort. The skies were a beautiful blue and the ocean was an amazing blue-green. At one point we passed an old shipwreck of a vessel run aground, its hulking, rusted ugly hull stood in stark contrast to the beauty of its cerulean resting place. The water was so clear, most of the time you could see all the way to the bottom of the comparatively shallow ocean though you couldn’t always make out what you were seeing. Once, as I was watching the bottom as we travelled at about 22 knots (or about 25 miles per hour for us land lubbers), the whole ocean floor under us was covered with a giant black "something" for a few seconds until it swam another direction. I still don’t know what it was, maybe a giant manta ray or large fish, but whatever it was gave me a vulnerable, “sinners in the hands of an angry Poseidon,” perspective aboard this tiny ship… “the mate was a mighty sailing man, the skipper brave and sure.” (Sorry, too many episodes of Gilligan’s Island!) I had a little thalassophobia, i.e. fear of the sea, its waves, depths and creatures. I began thinking, it would only be by the grace and mercy of God that we would make it to our destination and back. (What great faith it must have taken our forefathers to sail across the entire ocean for days of uncertainty to reach a new world of uncertainty for freedom.) Later, as we began to see our tiny island destination, we all got excited about fishing the next day, about our island stay, and to be back on dry land for a moment. The water was even clearer, so clear you could see conchs 25 feet below at the bottom, and the young local as he swam from the dock to collect it for his dinner. We disembarked and found our lodging. It was so hot that day, I went straight for the pool. It was salt water, so it smelled, felt and looked different, but somewhat refreshing all the same. I took a bounce on the diving board and the salt rusted bolts holding it snapped, sending me into the water with the board hurling in behind me, hitting me on the back. This was a fishing village, not a luxury vacation spot at the time, so pool maintenance was obviously not a big priority. We got some sleep and began fishing early the next morning. We trolled all day in great anticipation of catching a large billfish, but with no luck. The ocean and skies once again, were marvelous. The next day we trolled, but gave up on the Marlin and started bottom fishing at some point. BAM! Something hit my line and took the tip down toward the water unlike any fish I had ever caught in the lakes around my house, one that, for all I knew was big enough to swallow me were I in the water rather than a boat. I began trying to reel, but the fish just unspooled the line like it was nothing and it was a strong deep sea line, with the drag set accordingly. They strapped on the fish fighting belt, and the captain fired up the engine and we chased this fish to get some line back on the reel. Eventually, it was just me and this fish, I wrestled this sea monster for hours and it pulled the boat over a nautical mile. Finally, as we knew that we didn’t want to be out after dark, we tightened the drag and I began to pull and reel with all I was worth, we would either get this fish in the boat or snap the line trying. Just as I thought we may get to see this fish, he threw the hook. We guessed it may have been a large tuna, because of the way it was running and sounding, but we will never know. My Hemingwayesque adventure of the “(young) man and the sea” is one I will never forget...the beauty of the experience, the generosity of our host, the unique and new experiences, and the realization of God's grace and mercy to provide for us keep us safe and in His hands everyday.
Saturday, October 17, 2020
Parents, How Can We Love Big? Words From COVID 19 quarantine*
How can we love big? One staff kid at a former church was the daughter of one of the Administrative Professionals. Though I have permission from her Mom to tell this story, we will call her Addy, so we don’t embarrass this now teenager. The pastors and staff had known Addy from before she was born… I had the privilege of praying for her health, her family and even her eventual salvation at the hospital on the day she was born. All the pastors and secretaries watched each other’s kids grow up and invested in their maturity. We made it a big deal when the kids came to the office. They received words of affirmation, hugs, high fives and candy when they would do something great like get potty trained, do well in school, or be baptized. We encouraged them when they had a bad day. When Addy was about three, she was in the church’s award winning, 5 day a week Child Development Center. I would occasionally go down the hall from my office to the CDC and check on the director and teachers to offer some encouragement, prayer, or just let them know we care about them. One day I was talking with the director in the hall and Addy spotted me from the open door of the classroom. Before the teacher could get to the door, Addy had sprinted out and was headed toward me. One children’s minister I had worked with told me that getting down on a child’s level was a way to let them know you are glad to see them. So, I knelt down to greet her. I was a bit off balance, since I didn’t frequently do deep knee bends, but I thought, surely Addy will slow down before hugging me… nope, she hit me full force with her three year old body, arms open wide, full of joy, in a toddler sprint. She jumped, wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed. I tumbled over like a number seven pin and she was the bowling ball with a healthy topspin, picking up the spare. We both fell over laughing. I felt like a turtle on its back, unable to get up for a moment. The Child Development Director was not laughing so much, it was not something that had ever, and probably would never happen again, in that 3 out of 3 stars Child Development Center… that a child would escape an open door and tackle a pastor in the hallway. I went back to the office and told her mother what had happened. She laughed and said yep, that’s Addy, she loves big! She lives full speed relationally. Wouldn’t it be great if God’s people were all so glad to be with each other, that we gave each other full on topspin-sprint-tackle-hugs? Or the adult relational equivalent to avoid injury and bodily harm? The love Addy felt from her family, the church staff, CDC teachers, the director, church soccer coaches, and her Sunday School teachers is what is she needed to learn and grow. That kind of love is necessary for all of us to learn and grow and mature as humans and as God’s people. Addy was glad to be with those who were glad to be with her. She was glad to know what Christ’s unconditional love was like. She was glad to belong to a group of people who cheered her on. And, though she didn’t always enjoy it at the moment, she was glad when her family, teachers, and friends lovingly corrected her when she was doing something that was not okay. Addy and her family moved to another supportive church a couple of years after the hallway tackle and I learned that she was baptized there about 5 years ago. She had grown in her faith from a simple understanding as a toddler to a realization of what connection with Christ means. She continues to grow in her faith surrounded by people who love her and are glad to be with her.
Faith is between a person and God, but faith is fully lived out in the context of relationships with other people that God loves. Jesus pointed out to His disciples, and lived out in front of them, how important both the vertical relationship with God is, as well as, the horizontal relationships with other Earthlings. The Gospel is not just about what we say we believe, but a healthy relational connection with God and those He loves. Jesus knows that these truths can be easy to forget sometimes, especially when things get difficult and emotions run high. So, He reminds us with these words, “This is my command: Love one another as I have loved you.” John 15:12 Right now in our world, many of us seem to have forgotten Who loves us and that He "commands" us to love each other. We need to be like Addy and love big… greet people with a tackle hug… well maybe it’s not a great idea to topspin-tackle-hug someone, it may be misunderstood... but we can find other ways to love big... like Jesus does us, arms open wide in a full sprint from heaven toward us, bowling us over so our lives are changed by His big love for us.
Hang in there people! God is with us! I’m praying for us all!
Monday, October 12, 2020
Parents, Do You Love Your Work?* Words From COVID 19 quarantine
Parents, Do you love your work? At a crucial point in my life, God allowed me to recover from a very challenging ministry by serving a church with a really fun loving staff. We worked hard together, but we also played together. We had group sermon development meetings each week and had lunch together regularly. Staff meetings included a lot of laughter and they were surprisingly more productive when they included a good dose of levity along with prayer and hard work. Church wide IMPROV comedy nights hosted by the staff were hilarious with these creative and very funny staff members. Once, we had a staff football game that included some other people to fill out the teams. It began as a fun game of touch football, but as some games go with a group of energetic people, the intensity escalated shortly into the game… still fun but a bit more competitive. For what would be my last play in that game, I was sprinting down the field (first mistake... sprinting with my less than youthful body) determined to catch the long bomb hurled from a young college man from several yards away (second mistake… lack of awareness of a defender sprinting from across the field to defend). I was looking over one shoulder watching for the perfectly thrown ball, accelerating to catch it, when, from out of nowhere, another younger and obviously faster staff member came up unseen behind me. Just as the ball was about to sail above my outstretched hands, I jumped. As I was air born with my amazing 3 inch vertical jump, he made impact as he left his feet and reached up for the ball too. The ball tipped off our hands and we rolled over and over like a Texas tumbleweed blown by a dust devil. I had no idea what had just happened, but he jumped up laughing. Apparently, that kind of uncontrolled fall was something he enjoyed and often hoped would happen again and again. I was having post traumatic flashbacks of a concussive flag football game in college (see earlier post http://williampmcg.blogspot.com/.../parents-when-we...). This time, there was no concussion, just a very sore body… stove up from head to toe, to remind me of the fun I enjoyed with my friends and fellow staff members. I wouldn’t have traded the fun times, refreshment, and laughter we had at that church. The staff connection God allowed us to enjoy was seemingly infectious with the whole congregation during those years. The church was growing and people were glad to be together. Weekdays and Sundays were a joy. We were able to witness God at work in people’s lives in many wonderful ways.