My Story to Tell

I was hesitant at first to write this blog post. A big reason for that is because so many people have experienced a lot of life-altering events and I don't want to appear as if I am trying to play the comparison game with mine. But, at the same time, when life throws you a series of curve balls, it is often therapeutic to chronicle the twists and the turns that it brings. This is my attempt to do just that.

In January of this year I finally got around to making an appointment with my cardiologist over some concerns I was having about my heart health. I say "finally" because I had been experiencing some less than normal cardiac symptoms for almost a year, primarily a sensation that made it feel as if my heart was going to burst out of my chest with every heartbeat. Something inside of me told me that this wasn't normal, but since I had experienced a major open heart surgery in January of 2020, I wrongly assumed that what I was experiencing could be my new normal.

A visit to my cardiologist quickly corrected my error. I had developed what is called a fistula, a rupture between my aortic arch and my pulmonary artery, both major vessels that exit from the top of the heart. The situation I was in was a little more precarious than normal - my aortic arch was artificial (it had been replaced in 2020 due to an aneurysm) and the rupture between the two vessels was creating a lot of back pressure, giving me nasty case of pulmonary hypertension and placing me in heart failure. Needless to say, I needed another open heart surgery and I needed it soon. 

My wife and I jumped in the car on January 17 and drove to Winston-Salem so that I could undergo further testing from the surgical team that operated on me in 2020 at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center. It didn't take long to realize that surgery was the only option, so on February 2, 2023, I was whisked away for my second open heart procedure in the past three years. Once I succumbed to the anesthesia and I fell into a deep sleep, everything changed in more ways than I could possibly imagine.

The surgery itself was a success with my surgeon being able to fix the rupture and repair several other areas of concern, but my body had other ideas. Over the next several days I experienced a series of medical emergencies that literally had my life hanging in the balance. The medical team had to shock my heart back into rhythm almost a dozen times and it was if my body was waging a coup against all that they were trying to do so save me. At one point the medical team advised that my wife, Kellie, that it appeared I might not make it. I needed a miracle. 

During all of this time I was completely oblivious to what was happening. I never woke up after the surgery and I was in the midst of what would wind up being a two and a half week coma. While everything was crashing down around me and my family was hanging in limbo, I was in a deep sleep, experiencing a supernatural peace. It would take dozens of pages to document all that I saw and experienced during the constant dreams that I experienced in my coma, but suffice it to say that I knew that the Lord was with me and He was carrying me every step of the way.

About a week after the surgery, my surgeon advised the rest of the medical team that it would be best to let my body rest until the next day and then he would perform further procedures if necessary. My chest had been left open for a week with a balloon pump in place after the surgery due to recurring complications that I was experiencing, so the plan was to take me down after those needed hours of rest to the operating room to close it and consider further options. Those precious hours were all that my body would need to turn the corner. It was then that my body decided it was time to kick it into gear and get better. After he closed my chest the next day, my vital signs started to improve, my heart began to be more responsive to treatment, and I gradually began to pull out of the medical funk that I was in. Indeed I was experiencing a bit of the miraculous that everyone had been praying for.

What followed after that were several days of weaning me off of the nearly 20 medications that had been keeping me alive and pumping into my body for the past couple of weeks. Doing so would allow me to finally wake up and face the long road of rehabilitation that lay ahead. Eventually I began to respond to verbal commands, the intubation tube was removed, and on February 17 I was finally lucid enough to answer questions from one of the ICU doctors - although I'm not gonna lie, my answers to his questions were pretty bizarre! That evening they moved me to a step-down cardiac unit where over the course of a few more days I gradually began to eat and drink liquids, move with assistance to a chair, and gather my bearings. 

During all of this time I lost almost 30 pounds and with it the ability to walk and have full use of my arms. Once they deemed me strong enough, I was moved to a rehabilitation wing of the hospital where I would undergo daily physical therapy to learn how to walk again as well as perform basic daily routines. The physical therapists, occupational therapist, and recreation theraptist that worked with me were nothing short of stellar and they pushed me to recover much quicker than either I or the medical team thought that I would. 

On February 28, 2023, after 39 days in the hospital, I walked out of Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center and headed home. Never had I been more grateful to breath fresh air or walk on my own without assistance. Over the next several months I would gradually regain my strength and most of my weight and I was even able to go back to work on light duty in April. I did experience a setback in June when it was discovered that I had developed a bacterial infection around my heart. What followed was ten more days in the hospital and then six more weeks with a PICC line in my arm pumping in antibiotics 24/7, but I finally was able to resume some sense of normalcy and enjoy the last couple of weeks of summer. 

Let me just say that life is precious. I have always enjoyed life and sought to pursue those things that I felt were meaningful, but being on the precipice of death and making it back certainly do bring about a new perspective. Because I'm a list kind of guy, I want to finish this with some vital lessons that I learned and still carry close to my heart (pardon the pun) as I move on from this life-altering experience.

1. My wife is amazing. If you know Kellie, then you already understand this to be true, but let me tell you that I do not believe that I would have survived without her love, devotion, and advocacy as a wife and nurse. She left my side only to sleep, worked remotely from my bedside, entertained countless well-wishers in the waiting room all while trying to hold our family together, and asked  lots of questions of the medical team all in an effort to make sure I was receiving the best possible care. The emotional and mental toll that this took on her is incalculable yet her love for me and her belief in my recovery spurred her on. Without her, I truly don't know that I would have made it. It's not possible for me to convey how much I love her.
   
2. God is so faithful. My faith has always been my constant and this situation only strengthened it all the more. While in my coma, I had encounters with the Lord that I firmly believe allowed me to fight on and make it through. When the medical team seemed to be out of options, God was just getting started. I can confidently say that without the intervention of the Lord I would not have survived, and for that I am eternally grateful to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
3. My family and friends are blessings. There was extended family members such as my brother Chris and his wife Tiffany sitting with Kellie for hours on end and helping her to make decisions when she needed another voice in the room. My brother Parrish flying in from New York to be there for me and my family. There were neighbors and then aunt Carol from Kansas flying in to hold down the fort at home. Then there was my mother-in-law and father-in-law opening their home all hours of the day and night, providing amazing food, lots of comfort, and shoulders to cry on. Plus, my own four children came to see me even when I didn't know they were there, it was their presence, love, and prayers that pushed me forward. And the countless number of friends who called, dropped by the hospital, sat with me and listened to me ramble after I woke up, and sent cards, food, and care packages that cannot be underestimated in their importance. I would list their names but for the sake of offending someone that I might accidentally leave out, y'all know who you are. Thankful is simply not a strong enough word.
4. My medical team are rock stars. Simply put, my surgeon Dr. Neal Kon is world class as is my cardiologist and good friend Dr. Tim Winslow. All of the ICU nurses, cardiac team, and rehab clinicians were stellar and they were more than locked in every step of the way. While I would never wish what I went through on anyone else, I would recommend these guys to anyone who had health concerns. They are top notch. 

Every morning that I wake up, I see the day ahead of me as a blessing. I am still in the healing process and some days are better than others. One of the biggest struggles that I face is being patient with myself, knowing that I cannot push too hard too soon. Yet I know that I have been gifted a chance at life that I will never take for granted and always seek to embrace. God is good!

Hurry up and slow down

I have a confession to make: I am terrible at waiting. If patience is a virtue, then well, I ain't got much virtue. Truth be told, this is nothing new. Patience and waiting on events and schedules to happen has always been a sore spot for me.

Almost every Christmas Eve growing up, I was the kid perched at the top of the stairs starting at 3:00 a.m. anxiously counting the minutes until the sun would begin to poke its head on the horizon so that I could finally get a glimpse of the glorious presents that awaited me. I eat the cookie dough before it goes on the baking sheet. I'm sure you do too, but I eat A LOT of it before it can be baked. I was the senior in high school that got on the phone with Wake Forest University to find out if I had been accepted because I simply couldn't wait for that letter any longer. Thankfully, they said yes.

So as I recover from my heart surgery at home, you can imagine this is not the easiest of scenarios for someone like me to play out. My doctors have told me that I cannot drive for four weeks post surgery, I am not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds, and I must rest as much a possible. Now I love sleep as much as the next guy, but I also believe there is a thing as too much rest. Yet these are the doctors orders, from the ones who basically recreated my heart as if it was a ball of clay on a potter's wheel.

My days have been filled with cardiac rehab (treadmill, stretching, and yes, rest), reading lots of books, eating like a destitute goat so that I can put weight back on, spending some amazing time with my family, and coordinating class work with the many substitute teachers that my school has lined up to take over in my absence. All of these things are good and necessary. This isn't my first rodeo – I remember having to do all of these things twenty-four years ago when I had my first heart surgery. But things are different now and this is where my struggle begins.

When I had my first heart surgery in 1996, I was single, in grad school, and was able to recover at home with my parents, who to this day are still saints for putting up with me. This time around I have a wife and kids, a career, and many more obligations that require much more immediate attention. My life is different – better – and to have to sit on the sidelines like that kid who made the team but you know coach has no intention of playing is frustrating.

I know that may seem a little over dramatized, so let me step back a little bit. In the midst of what seems like useless time wasting, I understand why the waiting is so important even though I despise it. The body takes time to heal. Getting back into the game too early can be detrimental to experiencing a fully recovery. And the fact that I am even alive to be able to type this graphically illustrates that I serve a God who has allowed me to stay on this planet for reasons I may not yet even fully realize.

So hurry up and wait is what I will do. After all, I did have pretty major heart surgery. Nobody expects me to take the field right away. And while I wait, I will do my best to enjoy each and every moment that comes my way. Wishing I was here or there and doing this or that only serves to cloud my vision for what's right in front of me. And that is what God wants me to see. Not the things that I want to conjure up for myself but rather the everyday, even mundane, things that He has placed in my path.

Heart surgery and life changes

Using social media to post every facet of your life is not always the wisest of choices, but sometimes it is the best way to disseminate important information. Since I have neglected my blog for way too long, I have decided to use this as the medium to give everyone a life update. I hope all of my 13 followers get this information.

Right before Christmas of this past year, my family doctor advised that I get the pneumonia vaccine since I have a heart history. Back in 1996 I had double valve replacement surgery and have been kind of on cruise control over since, but there is nothing like being a little extra careful. About a day after receiving the shot I was blessed enough to be one of the 1 in 1 bajillion to have a reaction to it, which was akin to being thrown in a freezer and then in an oven over a period of several days. I did survive it, but I was one sick dude and decided that I would pass the next time it was offered to me.

A few days after Christmas, I found that I was short of breath doing the most simple of things – sometimes walking the stairs, sometimes just crossing the room. In my mind I knew what the culprit was – that blasted pneumonia vaccine is now in my lungs! As the next couple of weeks passed, the shortness of breath seemed almost absent while at other times I was literally debilitated.

Finally on Friday January 10, I decided that maybe a call to my cardiologist might be in order. Of course, I understated my symptoms and settled on an appointment date a week or so in advance. That very afternoon as I was schooling my son Deacon in the finer arts of basketball on the hoop in our cul de sac, I found that after only a few moves in the lane caused me to basically double over trying to catch my breath. My wife Kellie, who is a doctor-nurse extraordinaire, gave me the "look" and proceeded to reach out to my cardiologist who happens to be also be a dear friend of ours. He told me that he would have me come in first thing Monday morning and to take it easy over the weekend.

As I lay my head on my pillow that same Friday night, I was feeling a bit more rested and not all that concerned. But when I awoke at 3:00 a.m.,, that confidence was shattered. I really could not breath lying flat on my back! So the next morning I went straight to my family doctor's office where they operate a weekend clinic, and as soon as the PA saw me she asked me how long I has asthma. That was it! I must be experiencing some weird "your almost 50" bout with asthma. After taking a chest x-ray, she pointed out that there was fluid pooling in the bottom of my lungs and that there appeared to be areas of my lungs behind my sternum that looked collapsed a little, but it was too hard to tell. She prescribed an inhaler and steroids but told me as seriously as she could, "You have to get in to see your heart doctor as soon as you can." Don't worry, doc, I'm on it.

The next morning was Sunday and my wife and I were sitting our screened porch enjoying coffee and solving the world's problems as we always do, when I received a text message from my cardiologist. He wanted to meet, within the next hour. So a little over an hour later Kellie and I are sitting in his driveway and he is telling me that he does not like what he saw on my x-ray the day before and he thinks that not only is one of my valves failing, but that I could be in early congestive heart failure (CHF) and possible have infection around my heart. I was told to be at his office at 8:00 a.m. the next day for blood work and an echo cardiogram. Yes sir!

Long story short, the echo revealed his fears – my aortic valve was a hot mess and simply wasn't working effectively anymore. A few hours later I was in the hospital receiving another more invasive echo (down my throat) and it confirmed everything. I needed surgery and I needed it as soon as possible. I appeared that my heart and pitiful valve had been compensating for their failure for some time and they could no longer keep up the fight. In all honesty without hyperbole, I was almost a dead man.

The next morning (Tuesday) I underwent a heart catheterization in the hospital in Wilmington where I live and then later that night I was transferred to Wake Forest Baptist Health in Winston-Salem for the surgery itself. My cardiologist had found a pretty good sized aneurysm near my heart a couple of years ago, so my surgeon in Winston said he would fix everything he could once he got in.

Friday January 17 was surgery day, and after over eight hours in the OR I came out with a new aortic valve, new pulmonary valve, a fixed aneurysm, and a coronary bypass for good measure. That's a lot of bang for the buck. Recovery was rough the first couple of days but by the next Wednesday they were ready to release me and I was ready to go. I still felt like a washed out garbage can, but at least I could rest at my mother-in-law's house in Winston-Salem for a few days until we made the trip back to Wilmington. Unfortunately, my plans changed.

I was home no more than an hour when a stomach bug decided to attack me with a vengeance, which meant that I was back in Wake Forest Baptist health on Thursday morning after barely twelve hours of freedom. Sick as a dog, I welcomed the IV nutrient pumping into my body and the doctors' and nurses worked to get me back on my feet again.

God graciously intervened on my behalf and I was released at noon yesterday, Saturday January 25. As I type these words on Sunday evening, I feel amazingly well but I know that I still have quite a road of recovery to go. In light of this, I want to highlight so many things for which I am eternally grateful:

• My wife, Kellie, who is my greatest advocate and supporter. Y'all, she is an absolute bulldog and you better know I got the best possible care I could get! There is no feasible way that I could express my deep love to her, but now I have several more years that I get to try.
• My Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Not only am I nothing without Him, but the truths of Him being my healer and sustainer have nveer been more real to me. Like I mentioned earlier, I probably should not be alive except by His hand of grace.
• My family. I had the chance to write notes to my kids the night before my surgery that my wife was able to mail back home to them. They were not notes of regret or fear, but rather of anticipation of the many wonderful years of this life that I now will get to spend with them. My extended family has been rock stars too, with my parents and in-laws available to help with anything, my brothers either being by my bedside or a close phone call away, and Kellie's aunt from Kansas even flying in at the drop of the hat to stay with the kids.
• My cardiologist in Wilmington, Tim Winslow. This man saved my life and our friendship now is based on more than he could possibly know. Tim, I love you. 
• Wake Forest Baptist Health in Winston-Salem. Dr. Kon is the Jedi Master of all heart surgeries and his extended staff, the ICU nurses on 7th, and the cardiac nurses on 5th took such good care of me that I am pretty sure I now have to put them on my Christmas card list. Thank all of you for being so aggressive to treat me physically and for being so encouraging to me in those early days of recovery. 
• My neighborhood in Wilmington, aka "The Hood." Once our neighbors found out that I would be out of the picture for a couple of weeks and that Kellie would be with me, they rallied around my family and got the kids to places they needed to go, provided meals (which they are still doing), and sending constant notes of support, prayer, and love. Let me just tell you now, if you don't a a group of people that you can call "your people", find them immediately. I can't wait to get back to The Hood!
• Our extended group of friends that received the play-by-play of all that was happening in real time. They have been ceaseless with calls and offers to help, and many have been there at a moment's notice in our time of need.
• Finally, Coastal Christian High School, where I try to teach the Bible to a bunch of high school kids who often can't find their way out of a wet paper bag. The administration has been unbelievably gracious to me and have assured me that I still have a seat at the table no matter how long it takes me to return. And those students...they aren't as goofy as they seem. They have all written me letters with encouragement and Scripture and my eyes may have sweated a time or two as I read through everyone of them. Can't wait to see y'all again soon. Yes, even you, Sam Morgan.

Tomorrow morning Kellie and I head back to Wilmington to resume our lives there. I am giddy with excitement to see my family and friends and my dog Bodhi. I am eternally grateful to have put this episode of life in the rearview and cannot wait to see what God has in store for me. Please, I ask you, would you continue to pray for me as I recover physically and for my family as we all strive to move past this and get back to a new normal? Oh, and since you now know all the details, feel free to send me message or text. I would love to hear from you!

Underdog

Steve reached into the kitchen cabinet for a real plate, not one of the cheap paper ones that his family normally used. With a large family, paper plates were the typical go-to for any occasion, but sometimes you need the real thing to get the job done, such as heating up leftovers in the microwave.

As he eyed the stack of mid-sized plates, he paused, not reaching for the one on top. Instead, reaching down to the fourth plate, he lifted it and gently slid the fifth one in line out of its position, careful to not let the stack slam back down when he was done. With his conquest in hand he could now commence with satisfying his hunger with leftover meatloaf from last night’s dinner.

Why grab a plate from the middle of the stack and not the one on top, you may ask? The answer lies in the story of the underdog. Steve considers himself to be a champion of the underdog, that one guy who will cast his bet on the horse with the longest odds or the team that Vegas won’t touch. Okay, so why is a plate considered an underdog? That’s a fair question that Steve is more than happy to answer.

Let’s begin with dishes and how they are washed, dried, and then stacked for future use. Unlike stock that is rotated in a grocery store, dishes are usually placed on top of others in the cabinet. This means that the dishes toward the bottom of the stack might rarely if ever be used, consigning them to a life of uselessness as other kitchen objects get all the love and the glory.

Sound crazy, maybe even a bit neurotic? Steve wouldn’t blame you if you thought he was and honestly, it does seem a little bit wacky to him, too. But to understand his desire to see all people - and kitchen objects - treated as equals requires that you dig a bit deeper into Steve’s background.

Growing up in the 1970’s, there simply wasn’t an easy way to follow sports from across the country. There were no 24-7 sports channels or internet sites that gave real time scores and information. Instead, you had to rely on the newspaper or the occasional Saturday sports broadcast on the national networks. Because of that, local teams gained a much more loyal fan base since they were easily accessible. Steve, naturally, followed his beloved Demon Deacons of Wake Forest University, his hometown team.

If you know anything at all about Wake Forest University then it’s probably because you grew up near the school or you are a fan of ACC sports. With an enrollment that hovers around 4,000 students, it is one of the smallest universities that participates in NCAA Division 1 sports. And with schools such as UNC, Duke, and NC State right up the road, recruiting gifted athletes can be a most difficult prospect, leaving Wake fans to be believe that they often received the leftovers that the other big schools chose not to pursue.

Attending Wake Forest football games on a crisp fall afternoon always gave Steve a thrill, even when it was obvious that the opposing team often had more fans in the stands than Wake Forest did. And then there were the consistent beat downs received on a given Saturday. But these lopsided scores didn’t faze Steve. If anything, they endeared him even more to his beloved Demon Deacons, for with each gut-wrenching effort his boys gave on the field he could see a fierce pride in the eyes peering behind the face masks, even if victory was a far fetched proposition. As a result, Steve never saw the Wake Forest players giving up on the field so why should he give up on them?

Sure, there were those glorious days when victory was achieved and the thrill of it was sweet. Consider the 2006 football season. Picked to finish dead last - again - Wake Forest put together a season that ended with an ACC championship over Georgia Tech and a trip to the Orange Bowl in Miami, FL, which they ultimately lost to Louisville. He vividly remembers looking around at the sea of black and gold in those stands in Miami, not sure that he had ever been prouder. He couldn’t remember exactly where he had heard it, but it was said that there were more Wake Fans assembled at that Orange Bowl game than at any other even in the history of the school. Steve believed it.

Off and on for decades, Steve had experienced the highs and much more often lows of being a Wake Forest fan, and not just in football. Wake Forest basketball had long been considered the calling card for the athletic program, but even then the victories were more often overshadowed by the difficult defeats. Winning back-to-back ACC tournament titles in 1995 and 1996 with the likes of Tim Duncan and Randolph Childress at the helm were some of the most exciting times that Steve could remember, but even then the disappointing early NCAA tournament exits left an even more bitter aftertaste.

Still, Steve was not going to ditch his team in spite of inconsistent performances and years where the rains never seemed to quench the parched land. He had followed the Atlanta Braves during their brutal seasons in the 1980’s for goodness sakes, refusing to jump on the bandwagon of other more successful teams. If it meant that cheering for his beloved Demon Deacons meant that he would be championing a perpetual underdog year after year, then so be it.

Unbeknownst to Steve, this devotion to a team that he knew would have more of its share of losses than wins would cause a shift in how he viewed people as well. The changes were subtle at first but over time they became a habit that never faded away. For instance, there was Edward, the guy in high school who didn’t wear fancy clothes and whose glasses were held together by tape in at least two places. As the other guys mocked and jeered at him, Steve stood up for Edward. He often spoke to him when he saw him in the halls, learning that he was a whiz at math and science and that he had a chance to attend the North Carolina School of Science and Math his junior year. When his acceptance letter came, Edward sought out Steve first to share the good news. While the rest of his crew of friends look on perplexed, Steve was busy giving Edward high fives along with a roar of approval. Here was a guy, one of whom most people thought very little, going off to do great things in his future. Chalk one up for the underdog.

And then there was the softball team at his church that Steve played for. A gifted hitter and fielder who was able to track down almost any ball in the outfield, Steve was a sure lock to play for the gold team, the adult church recreation team that almost always won the coveted county trophy each year. But Steve didn’t want to be just another good player on a team of good players. Instead, Steve chose to play on the youth coed softball team, positioning himself in center field and allowing his female teammate in right field first chance at catching fly balls that came her way. There was no doubt that he could have shagged every fly ball that came within fifty yards, but Steve was more satisfied offering encouragement to his teammates, giving them praise when they made a good play and backing them up when they dropped the ball. Although they didn’t come close to finishing in first place, the coed team was able to win a few games and he saw the flame of confidence burning brighter in several of his teammates. Once again, chalk one up for the underdog.

Where did Steve’s passion for seeing the little guy do big things come from? Perhaps this view was first formed in him from his first days of Sunday School, where he learned about a man named Jesus who gravitated towards those who were less fortunate or whom the world seemed to care little about. Jesus was a man who could have commanded the best seats at any of the most prestigious banquets, yet He preferred to invest Himself and His time in those who had very little if anything to offer to Him.

“Hey Jesus, want to join us on the A-list for this weekend’s big party?”

“Nah, I’m okay. There’s this widow that I want to visit and then there is this guy who used to be a tax collector who wants me to come to dinner with him and some of his other ex-tax collector buddies. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Time and again, Steve heard stories from the pages of the Bible of how Jesus would go to the “least of these” and do whatever He could to not only meet their needs, but also to show them how much worth they had in God’s eyes. These stories fascinated and motivated Steve, causing him to see others in a new light. Suddenly the “dorky” kid at school who nobody wanted to eat lunch with didn’t seem so dorky to him when they were eating a sandwich together. And the girl who always sat in the corner by herself during recess? Steve began to invite her to play four square with the rest of the kids, in the process finding out that she was really good at playing the piano and singing. How cool!

One phrase spoken by Jesus seemed to stick with Steve more than any other. In the New Testament in Matthew 9:12, Jesus was confronted by a group of religious critics who couldn’t understand why He spent to much time hanging around “sinful”people who obviously didn’t have their acts together. His response to them was amazing to Steve: “Those who are well don’t need a doctor, but the sick do. For I didn’t come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” In other words, Jesus came for the underdog, not for those who believed they had it all figured it out.

It was words such as these that led not only to Steve’s own personal faith in Jesus but also to a life of serving all the underdogs that God might put in his path. This is why he chose to volunteer with students in the youth group at his church. Steve’s love of the underdog also prompted him to get more involved in his community, giving his time to his elderly neighbors when they faced challenging household projects as well as serving as a mentor and a tutor to several underprivileged kids at the local elementary school.

Today, everywhere that Steve goes, he looks for those whom the world has stopped having faith in or has simply forgotten altogether. And while this shift didn’t happen overnight, it has taken Steve down a path that has led to more joy and real friendships than he could have ever imagined. This is also why Steve chooses a plate in the middle of the stack instead of the one on top, because he believes that every underdog deserves a champion.

Jesus in the midst of instant replay

I want to go ahead and put this out there from the very beginning - Lost is the greatest television show that has ever been broadcast in the history of entertainment. If you ever attempted to watch Lost, then you know that it was a thrill ride of twists and turns that often made little sense unless you were able to go back and reevaluate just exactly what it was that you had just seen - if that was even possible. I’ve watched the series all the way through several times and each time I discover some new wrinkle of information that I never noticed the first couple of times.

In the sports world, instant replay has allowed officials - and all of those armchair officials at home - to reanalyze ad nauseam every angle of a controversial play to find out exactly what did nor did not happen so that the outcome could be properly employed. Every time that an instant replay cycles over and over again on the TV while the officials hash it out, it’s then that we see all sorts of things that we never noticed when the action was being played out in real time. Sometimes I wish that instant replay would be banished since it takes away the purity of the game, but then I instantly change my mind when I realize it sometimes benefits my team.

Rarely do you or I ever fully understand everything that we encounter the first time we see or read it. That doesn’t mean that we are unintelligent or dimwitted, but rather that our minds are capable of processing only so much before they go on overload. Instant replay, whether it is re-watching a show or reading the same book or passage numerous times, helps us to grasp what we have missed.

If you have ever tried to read the Bible, then you know that this applies. I have made it my goal to read the Bible daily and more often than not I encounter something that I either never saw before or suddenly realize that I don’t truly understand its full meaning. That happened to me this morning.

Matthew 21:18-22 is a passage that, until today, I simply read without really thinking about what it meant. In the first couple of verses, we see Jesus cursing a fig tree, which in turn withers. He does so not because He's being petty and mean but rather as an object lesson about Israel - their rejection of Him as the Messiah signals their failure to flourish as God's people. That part I get. The next part is what I struggle to understand:

When the disciples saw it, they were amazed and said, "How did the fig tree wither so quickly?" Jesus answered them and said, "I assure you: If you have faith and do not doubt, you will not only do what was done to the fig tree, but even if you tell this mountain, 'Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,' it will be done. And if you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer."

 Hmmm. Does this mean that I can do cool tricks like killing trees or moving giant obstacles great distances if I only believe that I can in Jesus' name? And if so, what is the point in that? As I sat and scratched my chin at the possible meaning of this, it suddenly hit me right between my eyes. Jesus wasn't trying to tell me about all the things that I can do if I believe, but rather He was showing me - and all of us - how amazing He is if we will simply look.

The Jews of Jesus' day missed it because they were looking for someone different - a Messiah that they wanted to craft into an image that fit their own narrative. That's why they withered like the fig tree in the story. But we - if we seek Jesus in faith with all that we have - won't wither; we'll thrive! Following Jesus taps into His incredible power, greater than anything we can imagine and certainly greater than causing a tree to be unproductive. Think moving mountains and you get the idea.

Here is the point: As you move on in life and seek out what it all means, don't miss Jesus because it's all about Him! Forget what you have heard from skeptics and overzealous Scripture-twisters. Open His book, the Bible, and see for yourself who He truly is. Ask tough questions and then dig for the answers. Ask others for help along the way while allowing Scripture and His truth to be your guide.

Keep on reading and keep on seeking the truth of Jesus. Like instant replay, the more that we dive into God's word, the more we will see all sorts of amazing things that we missed on the first couple of passes. Jesus is someone you don't want to miss.

Give me those old time relationships

When I was a kid the world around me was unique and often intimidating. The mall where my parent's shopped was this huge complex of endless stores and easy places for kids like me to get lost. Fast food restaurants were exotic stops reserved for special occasions where I could peek over the counter as the workers whipped up a milkshake for me while steaming hot fries awaited me beside a fresh made burger. Even my backyard appeared as big as a football field on which I could wear my little self out everyday running and playing with my brothers and my friends.

As easy as it is to romanticize about the "good old days," it's also easy to realize that those places and events weren't so exquisite as I once believed. I can now walk from one end of the mall to the other in a matter of minutes and there are virtually no stores in which I would choose to venture, much less get lost in. Those milkshakes, fries, and burgers are certainly not a treat anymore and the older I get the more I realize that meals from those places did not constitute special occasions; rather, they were convenience stops when life got too busy or mom had not gone grocery shopping yet. That old backyard is still pretty awesome, but it's really more the size of a tennis court than an NFL stadium.

Perspective is everything when it comes to assessing the experiences from our youth. I still choose to romanticize those early days of my existence because those times were so essential to my formation as a young man. Even when those good old days turn out to be not as sacred as I remember, I still find benefit from clinging to a version of the past that causes me to pause and smile, pondering simpler times and experiences that appeared bigger than life. No harm in that, right?

Don't you wish all of life's experiences were that way? Unfortunately, reality has a way of smacking you in the face as you approach adulthood and you realize at some point that living in the past isn't going to get you all that far. This doesn't mean that you have to grow up as a cynic - life is still pretty sweet and the new experiences that you face everyday can be just as good as the ones in your past, ones that you will probably romanticize about ten or twenty years down the road.

Some of my fondest memories are of sitting beside my grandfather on hard wooden pews in a small Baptist church as he gently nudged me to stop fidgeting during the sermon and then listening to his deep baritone voice as he belted out the chorus to I Surrender at the altar call. I don't remember all that much about the content of what I heard or the organizational structure of that little church, but I do remember the people there and how special they made my experiences in Sunday School and at church fellowships. It was those humble beginnings that fueled the fire within me to serve the Lord full-time in vocational Christian ministry.

As good as those times were, I knew that they could not last. Today, that little church is a shell of what it used to be. Most of those congregants from my early days there have either moved on or gone home to the Lord, while the church never was able to move on beyond those simpler times in the 1970's. Those traditional ways were eventually eclipsed by the inevitable shift in our culture with people today preferring a more modern approach to their Sunday experience. Debates have been raging for decades over whether the traditional style church has its place anymore or whether the contemporary structure is what we should all embrace.

Yet if we take a really close look at what is going on in the churches around us, we will see that it's not really about stye or structural changes that are getting people all worked up. Instead, it is the radical change in relationships that so many are experiencing as life gets more complicated and families have less and less time.

Today, people are hungry for real "I-get-you-and-you-get-me" relationships - but they always have been. That's what held that little Baptist church together for all those years, the men and women who "did life together" and invested so much time in each other. Having the pastor preach a sermon that was rooted in the truth of God's word was and still is essential, but even when he had an "off day" those members still had their community rooted in faith to stand upon.

Those memories of people who loved and invested in me are the ones that I cherish the most but they also remain my deepest desires. I honestly no longer have all that much of a preference of style when it comes to church because I believe that when the men and women of God are seeking His face above all else and intentionally engaging in meaningful relationships with one another, all of that pans out in the end. I'm not so sure that we need to "rethink church" or craft newer expressions of worship. Maybe it's as simple as reevaluating the relationships that we have with each other regardless of the size of our gathering. When Christ is central and we are seeking to meet the needs of each other, I will romanticize about that all day.

At the beginning and the end

Today I am officiating a wedding and also speaking at a funeral. I love officiating weddings because they are beautiful opportunities to be a part of the beginning of something so special between a man and a woman. Being able to speak God's truth into the lives of a couple as they say "I do" is a powerful thing. Plus, there is the benefit of enjoying all of the food at the reception - definitely a plus.

Funerals, on the other hand, are not so high on my list. It's not that a funeral isn't important - it certainly is - but the reality is that a majority of the time they are somber and incredibly sad events. Even when the one who has passed has lived a great life and is now in eternity with Jesus, those left behind still feel the sting of their lost presence.

But regardless of my feelings towards funerals, I have the honor of speaking at the service today of a woman named Cheryl who passed from this earth on Monday at the young age of 38. Let me tell you about Cheryl. I met her last year at my church and was immediately struck by her warmth and grace towards others. Cheryl was pretty much on her own - not much family in her life - yet she found herself surrounded by a community of friends and faith that loved and supported her and became her true family.

About the time I met Cheryl she informed me one Sunday that she had been diagnosed with cancer of the liver. She told me that she was going to fight it with everything she had. Once the treatments began she shaved her head as an act of defiance against the inevitable effects of chemotherapy and not once did she gripe or complain about the process.

As the months and treatments went by, Cheryl continued to fight but it became apparent that her cancer was fighting just as hard. Over the past several weeks she began to face complications and hospital visits became a part of her weekly routine. Last week, her best friend took her to the hospital one last time.

This past Sunday I received a text from Cheryl's friend asking if I could come see her at the hospital. I arrived at the ICU unit to find her hooked up to a respirator, dialysis, and all sorts of other tubes that were feeding medications into her failing body. She was resting peacefully, as if none of this cancer nonsense was all that big of a deal.

The next day I received another message - Cheryl was ready to go home. The decision had been made to terminate all of the artificial measures that were keeping her alive and I was asked to be there when the time came to turn them off. I'm not going to lie, I was conflicted. Watching as someone passes from this earth is incredibly difficult and is not something that I would naturally choose to do. Nevertheless, I drove to the hospital to be there with Cheryl and her friends when the time came.

As we were waiting in her room for others to arrive, I talked to Cheryl and read passages of Scripture to her - Psalm 19, Psalm 23, I Corinthians 15, and Revelation 21. These passages are beautiful reminders of God's love and purpose for us, not just here on earth but also for all eternity. Throughout the entire time she remained in a deep sleep, but I do believe she heard me. It is widely accepted that hearing is the last sense to leave prior to death and I firmly believe that she could hear and process my every word.

When the time came for the machines to be unplugged and the IV lines to be shut off, there was peace in the room. We all gathered around her bed and prayed over her, telling her that we would miss her but that it was okay to let go and go home to Jesus. As the minutes passed her vitals signs began to slow until she quietly took her last breath and the monitors fell silent. Without realizing I was even saying it, I exclaimed, "She's home!" and her friends gathered around her for one last goodbye.

Over the past sixteen years I have had the privilege of being in the room as all four of my children were born, assisting in the delivery of two of them. I've watched in awe and wonder as new life entered into the world, taking in that first lung-full of breath and crying out with the announcement that they have arrived.

I've also enjoyed the honor of officiating many weddings, celebrating with the bride and groom and their families as two lives merge together on a new and exciting journey. Their shared enthusiasm and giddiness during pre-marital counseling, the look on the groom's face when we first sees his bride, and the exhausted yet deeply in-love look they give to each other at the reception are memories that don't easily fade from the mind.

And then there is the end of life. Contemplating someone's years on this earth as you honor their memory is very sobering, yet it is also a wonderful opportunity to consider just how good and faithful God is. In the New Testament, James wrote that "life is a vapor," just a moment on earth in contrast to the continuum of eternity (James 4:14). During our time here, we live and breath because of a God who desperately loves us and wants us to know Him in a real and personal way through faith in Jesus Christ.

I am so very grateful that my friend Cheryl knew this and placed her faith in Jesus some time ago. As I speak on her behalf today, finding the right words won't be all that difficult. It's easy enough to speak about a life well lived. It's even easier to speak about a life well lived for Jesus.

Location:At the beginning and the end

We aren't starting over, we're just turning down a new road

This past Monday morning June 19, 2017, a couple of trailers and a whole host of people showed up at our town home in Southport, NC, to help us pack our lives up and move us up to Wilmington, NC. For several hours we sweated, laughed, grunted at ridiculously heavy pieces of furniture, and laughed some more.

Our journey to Wilmington began towards the end of last summer with a bit of a nudge. Both my wife and I sensed that God was moving us in that direction, but we weren't exactly sure why. My position at the church I was serving in was going and growing well - I truly enjoyed being both a Teaching Pastor and Connections Pastor there, helping people plug in and take their next step with God. Even though my wife is a nursing professor at UNCW, she was okay driving back and forth a few days a week. Our kids had all of their friends in Southport and we lived in a really cool community. Why move?

God continued to nudge us and we continued to pray for His wisdom and guidance. At the beginning of December, some dear friends of ours from Wilmington told us about a house in their neighborhood that had just gone on the market, for sale by owner. They said it would be perfect for our family and we should check it out. Being familiar with the neighborhood and loving how it was laid out, we said why not, let's take a look. We loved the home the moment we set foot inside of it.

Things began rolling after that. Within a week's time we had come to an agreement with the home owner and on January 31, 2017, we closed on our new home. We decided that we would wait until the end of the school year before we moved in, giving our children the chance to finish at their respective schools and to have that valuable time with their friends. In the meantime, we would venture one or two days a week to change paint colors and put our own touches on the place. Three days ago that house officially became our new home.

As you read this story, you may notice that there is one element missing. What am I going to do as far as ministry is concerned now that I am in Wilmington? That's a great question - I'm glad you asked!

Even though the future for my ministry was unclear, from the very beginning my wife and I had a peace about this move. Let me rephrase that. We had a intermittent peace about the move, interspersed with doubting and second guessing and moments of panic. Are doing the right thing? Maybe we misunderstood what God was trying to show us? Why move now when things are going so good?

As we wrestled with these realities, there was one constant at the forefront of all our planning, dreaming, excitement, and worries - God is faithful. He has a plan and His plan is always better than anything I could possibly scheme. So as far as what I will be doing up here, the moment those trailers pulled up in front of our new home this past Monday, my new ministry began.

I want to be the best neighbor that I can possibly be, loving my new neighbors well and being a godly influence in my new community. But my plan is not to just sit at home and be nice to people - I am actively seeking opportunities where I can serve and work and give of myself, utilizing the gifts that God has given to me. We are also now just a short drive from UNCW, which means that our new home will be open to college students who are looking for a place to "get away." In short, this new home is the beginning of an exciting new ministry for our family.

Moving is hard and unbelievably fatiguing. But moving is also exhilarating when you are following the path that you believe God has set before you. For me and my family, moving to Wilmington doesn't mean that we are starting over, because God's path for our lives hasn't changed. Instead, we are taking a turn along the way to somewhere new. Life is a journey and life is ministry. Y'all come see us!

Dream shots and hitting the mark

My goal in life has never been to be rich and famous and so far that goal is well within my grasp. Compared to the billions of people on this planet, my world is relatively small, but I still long to make an impact for someone greater than myself. But there was this one time when the world around me stopped to take notice. At least the guys in one of the basketball gyms at Wake Forest University did anyway.

I will be the first one to confess that my skills as a basketball player have never been much to brag about. Pick-up ball games at the church gym with the fellas that I grew up with were pretty much my only experience with the game, and every once in while I would chuck up a deep ball and see it tickle the twine, but that was not the norm. Being a short guy who could only dribble with his left hand, my specialty was playing annoying defense and fouling the opposing players, which I became pretty adept at doing. But my church buddies didn't seem to care all that much - I guess all that teaching on grace had begun to sink in by then and they quickly forgave my erratic performance.

Fast forward to my junior year in college and my game had actually improved quite a bit. I still couldn't do much with my right hand, but I was quick and could knock down a jumper or two, although I preferred (and still do to this day) to dish out a dime to a teammate whom I knew could make the shot. Pick-up games at Wake Forest were usually pretty intense, with the first team to eleven remaining on the court until they were jousted by a more talented  - or less fatigued - group of five, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Waiting to play in a game was almost as bad as trying to find a team to get on that would last more than one round of play, but every once in a blue moon I was able to weasel my way onto a pretty decent team. One spring afternoon in 1991 I believed I had finally hit the jackpot.

The games had just begun that afternoon and my team had a Wake Forest basketball player on it, a guy named David Rasmussen who had just transferred in from another college. He was tall and could shoot from anywhere on the court, which meant that all I would need to do was get him the ball and hang back on defense. I at last might be able to stay on the court for a few sessions before languishing on the sidelines awaiting my next opportunity to play.

As David gathered our team together, I noticed that another team was assembling that made my knees shake just a little. There was Chris King, the starting power forward for Wake Forest who would play several years in the NBA, and he was standing alongside Derrick McQueen, the starting point guard for Wake Forest, putting together a unit of their own. My first thought was that those two could beat the five of us on their own, but at the same time I was excited about being on the court with a few Wake Forest players. When was that ever going to happen again?

We took the court and play began. There was nothing formal about pick-up ball in the gyms at Wake Forest. The action was fast-paced and fouls were rarely called unless someone came up bleeding. I was matched up against Derrick McQueen, who didn't seem too impressed with my lack of physical acumen and thus paid little attention to me when my team was on offense.

Early in the game my teammate David Rasmussen found me on the fast break around the free throw line, and I floated up a jumper that went in. Of course, we could do little to stop the other team from scoring but it felt nice to contribute a little. A few possessions later is when the magic kicked in for me, forging memories that my mind can see just as clearly today as if they happened yesterday. You see, I got the hot hand and nailed a few deep baskets.

The first long shot came after the other team had scored. Chris King could routinely pull up from half court on those side courts and hit shots, and today was no different. After a basket by King, one of my teammates inbounded the ball to me and no sooner had I taken a step or two past half court, I launched a deep three point shot. Swish. The next time that we had the ball I did the exact same thing, launching a three point shot that barely moved the net as it passed through. I would never dare compare myself to an elite basketball player, but in that moment I truly believe I was in what athletes call "the zone," even if it only last for a few minutes.

My teammates were looking at me like, "Who is this short guy with the receding hairline hitting these shots like he's Larry Bird?" David Rasmussen gave me a knowing look and confidently said, "Keep getting open and I'll get you the ball." Seriously. Did they know that I could never hit those shots again in a million years? Besides, McQueen wasn't even playing defense on me, so I was open as I could hope to be each time down the court. All that would soon change.

During the stretch of our game, I noticed as a rather large muscular guy strolled into the gym and stood on the sidelines to watch our game. It didn't take me long to realize that this was super freshman Rodney Rogers, a McDonald's All-American - the first one I believe that Wake had ever signed - who was known as the Durham Bull. Rodney was an absolute beast on the court and we had all watched the Wake games in awe earlier in the year as he took over time and again, scoring with monster dunks and unguardable post moves while making opponents look downright silly. And here was Rodney Rogers, watching the pick-up game in which I was nailing shots against his varsity teammates.

It was after my third basket ripped the nets that I heard those words I will never forget. "Yo Derrick, white boy is showing you up!" shouted Rodney, aiming his words at his point guard teammate who up until now had paid little attention to me. In that moment, something came over Derrick McQueen. He had been called out and there was no way he was going to take that, especially from a teammate who, even though he was everybody's All American, was still the new kid on the block. Now it was on.

As we jogged down the court, the sting of Rogers' comment still ringing in his ears, McQueen looked at me and said, "Man, you need to slow down. You're gonna hurt yourself!" I feebly muttered back something to the effect that this was just a fluke and I'm sure it won't happen again, but I'm pretty sure he didn't listen. All I know is that suddenly Derrick McQueen was paying more attention to me than I could ever desire.

Any time I get near the ball, McQueen was in my grill. When he had the ball on offense he went straight at me, daring me to stop him. There were times when he actually tried to post me up in the paint, bullying me with his larger frame in an attempt to show me that he would not be taken lightly. All the while the game is continuing to be played by the other players who were shooting and missing and rebounding in spite of this personal battle that was now being waged.

A few minutes later it was all over. My team had lost by a few baskets and I had not so much as sniffed the leather on the ball once Rodney Rogers had uttered those fateful words. But I did outscore Derrick McQueen in that game three baskets to two, a point of satisfaction that still stays with me to this day.

Walking off the court, I thought that surely my MVP performance had been noticed by my teammates and they would present me with some sort of trophy for attempting to slay the monster of playing against Division One college players, but that was not the case. There were no post game handshakes or good game back slaps, just another round of first-team-to-eleven and waiting again for another chance to play.

Nevertheless I was feeling a bit euphoric and couldn't wait to get out on the court again. That's when I noticed that Rodney Rogers was still standing there on the sidelines and that no one was around him. Did this mean that he was available for the next game? Would I actually be able to play on the same team as Rodney Rogers?

Visions of lobbing ally oop passes for slam dunks and post-game fist bumps with the Durham Bull raced through my head. I had to make sure that no one else had approached him to be on their team. This was MY dream day and I was determined to keep on living it.

I sheepishly made my way over to where Rodney was standing, his giant frame casually dribbling a ball between his legs. With a faux wave of confidence, I asked him if he wanted to call next game with me and to my surprise he looked down at me and simply said, "Yeah." I was so overjoyed that you would have thought that he had just accepted an invitation to be my BFF, but I played it cool, not wanting him to know just how much of a homer I was.

The current game was drawing to a close, King and McQueen's team again ruling the court. "Not for long, suckas!" was all I could think as I eagerly awaited my turn to take the court with who at the time had been the most sought after freshman to ever don a Wake Forest basketball jersey. It was game point, and in the next few minutes my road to greatness was going to widen from a two lane back road to a four lane highway.

And just as quickly as my joy was about to reach its pinnacle, it all came crashing down. "Hey guys, coach wants all of you in a team meeting. Now!" I turned to see an assistant basketball coaching peering through the doors of the gym, the messenger for the Wake Forest head basketball coach who unknowingly was crushing my dreams.

Within seconds all of the varsity players were heading toward the door, Rodney Rogers included. "No! This isn't fair! I was about to play a game with Rodney Rogers. You can't have a team meeting now. I'm about to meet my destiny!"  I'm not sure if I actually said those things out loud or just thought them in my head at a maximum decibel level, but at that moment my heart sank as I realized my glory days as a baller were ending just as quickly as they had begun. The dream was over.

Now obviously my life was not ruined just because I never had the chance to play a pick-up basketball game with Rodney Rogers. Besides, hitting those big baskets against the point guard from a Division One school was exciting enough, even if it was a bit of a fluke. But here is one thing that I do know: Had I not thrown those shots up there, then there was zero chance that they would have gone in.

What is true in basketball is also true in life. Sometimes you just gotta throw it up there. I like to joke with my son whenever he plays recreation league basketball that he has never seen a shot he wouldn't take. And while no one likes a ball hog, there are also many times when you are be open yet will be too afraid to pull the trigger. Sometimes you just gotta take the shot!

How many times have you missed opportunities because you doubted your own abilities or you assumed that someone else was more qualified than you? Did you not take on that leadership role in part because you were scared of letting others down if you failed? Or maybe you are driven more by the fear of failure than you are a desire to success and be a change agent in this world?

Whatever the circumstances, God has not placed you here to simply settle for average. Think about the men and women of the Bible who took the big shot despite the odds that were stacked against them:

• Abraham, an obscure guy who didn't even closely follow God, yet went by faith when he was called by God to go to a land where he had never been before so that he could be the beginning of a great nation (Genesis 12:1-5)
• Rahab was a prostitute, yet she gambled her own life to honor God and as a result found herself in the royal bloodline of King Jesus (Joshua 2; Matthew 1:5)
• David was the youngest of several sons and spent his days watching sheep, yet he stepped up to the line to defeat a giant and subsequently lead a great nation (1 Samuel 17; 2 Samuel 5)
• Then there is Paul, a former Jewish leader who placed his faith in Jesus, risking his life to spread the gospel throughout the known world (The Book of Acts)

If you take that big shot are you guaranteed to make it? No, but you will never make it if you do not even try. We are able to dream big dreams because we have a God who is all about big dreams. As an image bearer of the God who knows no limits or boundaries, the ball is in your hands and it is your turn to take the big shot.

Living the other six

Growing up in a Christian home, church on Sundays was not just something that we did. It was something that served to define who we were. I have fond memories of attending Sunday school classes where I learned about Moses crossing the Red Sea, Daniel and the lion's den, and Jesus healing sick people all from the magic of the flannel graph board. The pain of sitting beside my grandfather on those impossibly hard wooden pews was dulled by hearing his rich baritone voice singing those beautiful old hymns. Those were simple, good times, but they served to give me a spiritual foundation that I have never forgotten.

As I grew older and eventually left home, going to church shifted from something I had to do as a child under my parents' authority to something I could choose to do. As a young man who was entering the ministry, continuing to attend church was a no-brainer for me - why would I NOT want to go? Yet at the same time, I began to notice traits within me bubbling to the surface that up until that point I had never really noticed before, particularly the slick ways that I could play the part of good church-going young man on Sundays while living a less-than-holy way during the week. Instead of simply going to church, I had begun "showing" for church.

If you are a follower of Jesus or grew up going to church, this is not a foreign concept to you. We've all heard preachers exhort us to live out our faith on Monday through Saturday, "Because Sunday is coming!" And the term "Sunday Christian" needs no real explanation. Yes, it's easy to live righteously when all eyes are on you - especially the preacher's eyes who see you sitting on the back row!

I am pretty sure that for the early Christians, this idea of struggling to live out their faith in Jesus on the other six days of the week made no sense to them. After all, their lives were in danger every day because of their faith and choosing to follow Jesus was an all-or-none proposition for them. Yet even then not everyone got it.

In Jesus' day, many of the Jewish religious leaders were not too thrilled about His ministry and His claims to be the Son of God. These were the guys on the fringe whose devotion to religious ritual had effectively numbed them to the reality of true faith. So when they saw all that Jesus was doing in the communities around them - healing the sick, bringing hope to the hopeless, and bringing truth to the lost - it drove them nuts.

One guy in particular, a leader in a local synagogue, became the poster child for the religious idiocy. We find his story in Luke 13:10-17 and it goes something like this: Jesus heals a woman on the Sabbath, a day on which the Jewish people believed that no work should be done (the definition of "work" was rather dicey at times). Enter the synagogue leader. He can't believe what he is seeing. No, he's not overwhelmed at the amazing miracle from Jesus that he has just witnessed. Instead, he's ticked off that Jesus chooses the Sabbath of all days to do the work of God. Boiling over with anger, this synagogue leader asks, "Can't you do your amazing works on one of the other six days of the week instead of the Sabbath?" Now I don't know about you, but if I was face-to-face with Jesus I'm pretty sure I could find a better question to ask of Him!

Unbeknownst to him, our synagogue leader friend has flipped the script and turned the tables on US by asking Jesus this ridiculous question. Put in another context for our enjoyment, he might be asking all of us, "I see your devotion on your days of worship. But what are YOU doing the other six days of the week that are pointing others to Jesus and creating a stir in your community?" It was obvious that Jesus taught amazing truths and performed incredible works everyday of the week. His disciples were known to follow suit. Can the same be said about us?

Sundays are a special time for Christians because it is the one day of the week where we can all intentionally gather for corporate worship and celebration of Jesus. We should never overlook these times of assembly and should come expectant to hear from God and give back to Him all of the worth that is due Him. But we should all realize that church on Sunday is not the time that we gather to impress God or each other with our personal notions of holiness and piety. Sunday gatherings (or whenever you gather as a body of Christ followers) are for God to be worshiped, not for us to ring the bell of our own self-proclaimed spiritual awesomeness.

The true call of the follower of Jesus is to live for him daily. It's nice to gather once a week with a bunch of people who think and believe as you do. Yet it's far more urgent that we live this faith in Jesus the other six days of the week so that the world around us can see just how great and worthy our Jesus truly is.

Better heroes than you will find on TV

My wife and I were sitting on the porch the other day sipping coffee together and reminiscing about how easy life was when we were little kids. We tend to do that from time to time when our schedules get out of whack and it feels as if the calendar is our nemesis rather than sheets of paper held by magnets to our refrigerator. Memories have the ability to allow you to escape like that.

On this particular morning we were talking about our grandparents on our mothers' sides, all of whom have already passed on from this world. I brought up the old show Hee Haw that I watched on so many Saturday evenings in my grandparents living room when my wife lit up and told me about the many times that she too had lounged in her pajamas in her grandmother's living room in Topeka, KS, and watched Roy Clark and Buck Owens lead a cheesy cast of comedic characters across the old tube television set with the wood grained sides. 

My wife never had the pleasure of knowing her grandfather as a child, but her Grandma Becky more than made up for that. She spent countless days with her grandmother as a girl while her mom was at work, helping out at the Mason Lodge and running errands across town for one event of the other. She sighed gently and smiled as she recalled those many hours listening to Grandma Becky's stories and tall tales.

For years Grandma Becky published a family newsletter entitled The Kansas Korn where she would voice her odd mix of conservative and liberal views for the benefit of her family and closest friends. While the rest of the family would silently groan when they saw the thick envelope in the mailbox, my wife would readily pull open the sticker tab and read every word that Grandma Becky put on those pages. Most of what she wrote would be considered political satire, but that woman had a way with words and she wasn't afraid to share them with the world. When age began to overtake her and she passed on several years ago, more than just a comical newsletter was taken out of circulation. My wife lost one her best, and at times only, childhood friends. 

My grandfather on my mother's side was affectionately known as Pop and his wife, my grandmother, we simply called Grandmother. Pop was the only grandfather I ever knew since my dad's dad had passed away before I was even a thought in his mind. He was a WWII veteran who worked for the USPS after the war before opening up a mom-and-pop store with Grandmother called Food Land. Pop was a large man but even if he had been skinny as a pole he would have still been larger than life to me. He was funny and witty in an archaic kind of cool way. Pop never talked about the war - I only learned about the B25 bomber he had flown on in the Pacific theater and saw the amazing pictures of Papua New Guinea after he died in 1990 - but he was quick to share with me stories about everything else in life. 

On Sunday mornings at Antioch Baptist Church I would love to slide in next to Pop on that hard wooden pew because he had a way of entertaining me during the sermon so that I wouldn't fidget my way into too much trouble while at the same time maintaining a laser focus on the pastor as he preached. More than anything I loved to hear Pop sing. I can still hear his deep baritone chime in on the secondary chorus of I Surrender All, a staple invitation song at sermon's end. 

There were many Sunday's when we would take the short drive down Palmer Lane to Grandmother and Pop's house where Grandmother would have a literal feast prepared. You would have thought she had invited the entire neighborhood! Cube steak and gravy, fried chicken, collard greens, corn, green beans, biscuits, banana pudding, and sweet tea were just a few of the options that we would gorge ourselves with before collapsing on the couch to snooze between innings of an Atlanta Braves baseball game. Breakfast at Grandmother's was even better - country ham with red eye gravy, thick sliced Neese's country sausage, grits, chipped beef with gravy, biscuits, and sweet stewed apples - but that's another story for another time. 

Eventually time and age took us to different places in our lives. My wife left Kansas at age 19 and I met her in Clemmons, NC, a year later. We fell in love - and are still falling to this day - got married, had four amazing children, switched careers about half a dozen times, and finally settled on the coast of North Carolina, which I am convinced is a little slice of heaven. We have been unable to figure out how to get our kids to stop growing, so as a result we spend much of our time trying to stay caught up with their lives and activities. My parents and my wife's parents are now our kids' grandparents, and we diligently try to keep them connected from four hours away. FaceTime and texting seems to have taken the place of Saturday evenings in front of the TV watching bluegrass inspired family comedy. 

Yet not a day goes by that we aren't grateful for grandparents who in a big way served as larger than life heroes. By the time high school and college rolled around, we didn't think that an evening in their house watching TV with only three channels was such a fun idea, but as an adult there is no doubt that those were some of the best and most meaningful times in our lives. Which is why when we go home to visit, we sometimes hide in the background as our kids lounge on couches with their grandparents watching Discovery Channel shows or root around in their kitchens looking for a snack that they can help bake or help pick weeds around the flower beds out in the yard. With all of the negative options that my children have in this world, I am so grateful for grandparents who can serve as heroes just as our grandparents did for us.  

One size does NOT fit all

I took my middle and high school students to camp this past week and we had a great time with all the stuff camp brings - lack of sleep, filthy living conditions, every middle schooler wanting to challenge my manhood, stuff like that. But it was so good to have our students together for a week away from most distractions (we let them have their phones one hour every night, the rest of the time they are in the "Box of Woe") and to focus them more on Jesus and what He wants for their lives.

Now when you gather over 1,000 students in one place from churches all over the map, you know you are going to get a mixed bag of personalities and backgrounds in that place. Where I live, church is usually an afterthought, so many of my students don't have a church background and really don't understand church culture, which is perfectly fine with me. It's refreshing to have a clean slate with so many of them when it comes to questions of faith and how to live it out.

I don't usually throw the "I've been working with students for over 20 years" card, but the truth is I feel pretty connected to youth culture and what they do and don't relate to. I am certainly no expert, but I've had my share of hits and misses over the years. So to me, it is so interesting that churches and denominations and organizations are so quick to adopt a one-size-fits-all approach to not just student ministry, but to reaching people for Jesus in general. This week has definitely been a super fun week with lots of spiritual meat to chew on, but it's also been one of those weeks where I have looked around and realized just how limiting some approaches to ministry can be.

You see, I don't know what the dynamics are of the other youth groups that we shared the week with, but I do not that most of my students fall into the category of unchurched and dysfunctional family. There have been moments where they totally get it followed by that glassy eyed look that totally says, "You just lost me." And that's okay, because students aren't going to get it all the time. This is why I am so thankful that we can have these big weekly events together that don't have to define or limit how we are going to reach students. 

If there is one thing that I have learned over the years of working with students, it's that not one student is the same. Not one. The way that I approach students when I served in a rural county is different than when I served in a more metropolitan area which is also different than the approach I take now, serving in a coastal county that is over 80% unchurched. That's because one size does not fit all.

The only way that we are going to reach students - and all people for that matter - is if we seek to understand where they are in life now, not where we want them to be in order to fit into our template. And this is so difficult because I know that I learned a certain model of ministry when I was serving as a church intern and in seminary, a model that simply doesn't fit the context in which God has placed me now. 

So what do we do? We pray, we look, we listen, and we ask questions. And once we see students as real and diverse people with unique needs and backgrounds and not just a glove that we can force on a hand, we will continue to see so many of them walk away from Jesus. That's because one size does not fit all.

And the next President of the United States will be...

When it comes to politics, I typically keep my opinions close to the vest, and that is not really going to change now. As a registered Independent, I love the feeling of not being key holed into one particular party or ideology. I'm a maverick, a renegade who arrives at the voting booth on a Harley wearing a leather vest while the crowds part as I swagger my way to the voting booth. Or at least I like to see myself that way. In reality, I am just like everyone else when it comes to politics. I have to make an informed decision and so do you. This is where it starts to get tricky.

This election cycle is unlike any I have witnessed in my 46 years on earth, at least from the years that I can remember. I purposefully don't get too involved in political discussions because I value healthy relationships and a stable blood pressure. Besides, I've never engaged in a political debate where either side has emerged saying, "You're exactly right! Silly me, I see it your way and now I've changed my mind!" 

Yet what lies before us on the presidential political horizon is truly historic. The candidates that are set before us are almost cartoonish - not that they are unqualified on some levels, but it's as if someone reached into a grab bag and pulled out the first two items they could get their hands on and said, "Choose one!" I almost expect to find a hidden camera somewhere gauging America's reactions and at any minute a TV host will pop out from around the corner and yell, "Smile, you're on Candid Camera!" Yet all of this is very real and, as Americans, we have some really important decisions to make in the coming months.

So what are we supposed to do? Some of you reading this might be thinking, "What's the problem? My guy/girl is gonna get the nomination and I'm pumped!" If that's you, then this post probably won't mean that much to you. Others of you are already declaring gloom and doom and are preparing your bunker somewhere in the desert where you are convinced you will survive as the world implodes around you. If that is you, then I also suggest that what I am writing may not be of much help. But if you are like most of the people that I know, the future of our country concerns you and you have felt this way long before this election season began to dawn on the horizon.

November is coming, whether you like it or not. I will not tell you how you should vote, but I do want to share a few facts that I hope will be helpful to you in the decision process:

• Whether you choose to vote or not, SOMEBODY is going to be elected as the next President of the United States of America. With Cruz dropping out of the Republican side, it looks like our options will be Trump, Hillary, and a possible third party candidate, that is unless some back room deals take place to totally throw the nominees in disarray. If you are boycotting this next election, then please do so with a clear conscience. I am going to vote, and you should too. If you don't you lose any voice that you want to have. And understand that someone will be elected regardless of whether or not you are part of the process.
• There has never been a perfect presidential candidate and there never will. As a follower of Jesus, I always prefer a candidate who shares my faith values to be the man or woman in office. However, I have never expected that when I cast my vote I am doing so for a messiah who will make America into some sort of theocracy. That's not gonna happen. Regardless of whether the commander in chief shares my faith in Jesus or lives as a blatant hedonist, that will have no effect on how I will live and serve my Savior. The president is not my king - Jesus is.
• Finally, and most important, whoever the next President of the United States is going to be will have absolutely no effect whatsoever on the sovereignty of God. I know that saying "God is in control!" sounds pithy and kinda churchy, but it is absolutely true. There will be no man or woman who can take the reins of control of this world out of the hands of the Creator of this world. Even though events happen that will often shake us to the core of who we are, nothing that occurs will ever catch God off guard. Where we are as a nation, society, and world is exactly where we have been heading since Adam and Eve's first act of defiance against God thousands of years ago. And God's ultimate plan has not changed: Jesus will return one day triumphant and all evil, heartache, and pain will be finally vanquished in full.

Truthfully, I do not know how I will vote in the coming presidential election this November. I do know that I will do my homework on the candidates and the issues that they represent, and that I will always vote my conscience. In the meantime, I will continue to pray for America and for who the next president will be, not because I am worried about the candidates that are looming on horizon but rather because I so strongly desire to see a mighty move of God in this country that I call home. And whoever the president is, he or she will continue to have my prayers for wisdom as they lead this great nation.

Yes, I want there to be political and economic stability in this land. But more than that, I long to see men and women place their faith in Jesus and receive the incredible gift of forgiveness, salvation, and hope that only He can bring. And I'm pretty sure that there is no president nor ballot issue that can limit that from happening.

Don't sing it, bring it!

Several years ago I became the new youth pastor at a church in Yadkinville, NC. In case you've never heard of Yadkinville or you have no idea how to pronounce it, the "d" is silent and the "i" is more like a hard "u", so it's pronounced "Ya-kun-vull" by those who really know who to speak Yadkin-ese, the local dialect there. Anyhow, the students there were all awesome and a little on the country side, which was cool because it challenged me to be a little less "city" and uptight about certain things.

Early on in my time of service there, I realized that I had a group of guys that were gifted at talking junk. You know, the kind where you playfully goad other people verbally to engage in physical challenges, all the while strutting like a peacock and "bowing up" to them. If you don't understand, then you have to accept that it's a guy thing and it's just what we do at times.

There was one kid in the group who was small for his age, but he made up for it with his vocal abilities. And boy, was he country. When he spoke, you could almost see the syrup dripping from the air. His one liners were classic as well - he would threaten to "Put a knot on the side of your head so big a calf could suck on it!" or "Knock your teeth so far down your throat you've got to drop your breeches to chew your food!" This kid was funny with his junk talking, but also a bit annoying at times because he just never seemed to stop. I loved him anyway. Most of the time.

One of this young man's favorite sayings, however, was in response to junk talk that other people delivered to him. If I ever called his bluff or threatened to hang him out of the window by his toes - not that I ever did threaten to do that, necessarily - he would come back with this line: "Don't sing it, bring it!" In other words, put your money where your mouth is. Funny how he never backed up his bravado but, then again, he was all bark and no bite himself.

Don't sing it, bring it! This is a call to action to stop talking and start doing. It's easy to talk about all sorts of things that you are going to do in your life - do better in school, make necessary lifestyle changes, be a more committed spouse, make more of a difference in this world for Jesus - but when it actually comes down to fulfilling those words, well, that's when it gets hard. It's easy to say it, yet much harder to do it. Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Think about politicians. Okay, don't think about them if you can, but that's gonna be hard because that's all we see and hear on the news today. Where was I? Oh yeah, politicians. They are the masters at saying whatever it is that they think you want to hear just so that they can win your vote, and then when they take office they are notorious for not delivering on their promises. They know how to sing it but not bring it.

The same is true of many of us who are followers of Jesus. Have you ever read something in the Bible or been given a challenge in a message that truly stirred your heart and you committed right then and there to live out that truth, only to fizzle out later in the day? I have. Or how many times have you lifted your voice in worship to an amazing God who you had no trouble praising with your lips yet never could seem to glorify with your actions? Been there, done that.

Why is it so hard to back up the words that we say? It might be because we overestimate our own abilities while at the same time underestimating the power and nature of God. You see, our God is a God of action, not merely words. When He proclaimed something in the Bible, it was always because He was about to act. There was no doubt that when He said it, those things would happen.

James knew this about God and he also knew that we were weak in the area of faithfully doing what we said we were going to do. Look at what he so skillfully writes in James 2:14-27

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

Do you see what James is saying? If we say it but don't do it, then our faith is essentially useless. It's dead. That puts most of us in a bit of a pickle, because we've said and committed to certain things for God in our faith that in the end we've failed to actually do. And when we "sing it but don't bring it" for God, then it affects not just our relationship with Him, but our relationships with others suffer as well because they miss out on the work that God wants to do through us for their benefit.

Since it's almost election season, I vote that we commit to be people of action and not merely words. If you don't think you can follow through, then don't say that you'll do it. But if you do lift up your voice to the Lord in praise, or have your heart stirred by the Holy Spirit to make changes in your life, or you believe that you are being compelled to live that life on mission that God has called you to, then don't sit on that. Do it.

Acknowledge that a living faith is one that is backed up by action. Change your ways. Repent of the inaction of your past. And do what you know you should do for the glory of God. Bring it, don't just sing it. 

I ain't skeered! Are you?

Have you ever seen a big, strong weight lifter scream like a little girl when he sees a spider? Or how about a seasoned defense attorney freak out over a paper cut to her index finger? Maybe you haven't, but you can certainly picture the scenario in your head and have probably seen something similar.

We live in a world where we all want to be seen as tough and fear is a taboo to be avoided. How many movies do you see where the coward is the hero? Yet in spite of our best efforts, if we were to sit in a support group circle together and allow our defenses to come down, we would all admit to being scared of plenty of things.

• The possibility of our health or the health of our children being compromised
• Losing a job and being unable to support our families
• What the future of our country will look like, which means we either have Trump-phobia, Hillary-phobia, Bernie-phobia, Republican-phobia, Democrat-phobia, etc. ad nauseum.
• Or maybe we are afraid of what we see as international threats, such as ISIS, nuclear capabilities of North Korea, or our perceived leaky borders. 
• The eventual takeover of the world by the Illuminati and the One World Order (c'mon, everybody is scared of a good conspiracy theory now and then!).
• Spiders. Because spiders are ALWAYS scary.

Whatever it is that you fear in this world, you often feel justified in your fears because the media has a unique way of stoking the flames of paranoia and hysteria. A few clicks on the keyboard will open up a cornucopia of websites and facts and figures as to why your fears are legitimate and you had better start stocking up on Spam and freeze dried vegetables right away. The fear is real!

But what if you realized that your fears don't actually help you cope with the looming gloom and doom that you are so certain is coming? What if you realized instead that in spite of being helpless to defend yourself against the coming Armageddon of bad healthcare/skewed politics/imminent poverty/etc., you are perfectly safe right where you are? Would you believe that?

Truth is, bad things are going to happen in this world. We've been working for centuries to fight diseases, boost the economy, defeat fascists, and improve the environment, yet time and again we have still seen people suffer and lives lost. It's at these times we are tempted to climb in our bunkers, put on our tin foil hats, and hope for the best. What we need to realize is that not only is help on the way, but that help is already here.

Whether you see it or not or agree with it or not, God is in control. He is what we call "sovereign." Nothing escapes His sight and He is well aware of the condition of our world right now. After all, He has allowed us to make the decisions that have gotten us into the messes in which we so often find ourselves. And if you believe that and you believe that Jesus came to give you life and the relationship with God that you were ultimately created for, then you probably already know that one day the Lord will return and rescue us from this mess and carry us with Him into a perfect eternity. The best is yet to come!

But for now we must live in hope and endure the hard times. God has not left us here to blow around in the winds of uncertainty, but rather He is with us every step of the way. I love the words that He spoke to Israel a few thousand years ago when they found themselves enveloped in a tempest of uncertainty:

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand... For I, the Lord God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the one who helps you."      (Isaiah 41:10, 13)

Twice they were told to "fear not" because there is truly nothing to fear. Did the "wrong" candidate get elected? Fear not, God is in control. Are you afraid of what the doctor's lab work will show? Fear not, God has you in His right hand. Terrified of the world that your children will have to face in the future? Fear not, God's got this.

If we are going to "fear not" then we have to believe that God is bigger than our fears. There will continue to be many things beyond our control that will cause us to wring our hands and worry about the future, causing our fear meters to spike. Yet we can take comfort in knowing that we serve a God who is greater than all our fears. 

Christian Cuss Words and Other Lame Excuses

I was informed by a student yesterday that there are such things as "Christian cuss words." Did you know about this? Apparently you can call people names such as "butt-monkey" or exclaim "Shut the front door!" and these are acceptable alternatives to those words that we shall not utter, at least while no one from church is around. What a relief to know that we can cuss holy, right?

Funny story, I know. "Those crazy things that kids say!" might come to mind. But let's be honest, the concept behind the "Christian cuss word" has oozed its way into our thinking so stealthily that we apply this illogic to so many areas of our lives.

Let's consider the issues that many Christians champion, for instance. The entire world is well aware of what Christians are against because we do such a darn (oops, Christian cuss-word, sorry!) good job of vocalizing those very things. We are against abortion, against same-sex marriage, against radical Islam, and against anything anti-Chick-Fil-A. And don't get me wrong, if you are follower of Jesus, taking a stand against things that offend the heart of God are what we should be doing. Yet I am afraid that while most people know what Christians are against, they aren't quite sure what they are for.

So, if you are a follower of Jesus, what ARE you for? Better yet, WHO are you for? The way you answer this question is incredibly important, because I have never known anyone who was shamed or bullied into an authentic relationship with Jesus. Just in case you aren't sure how to verbalize what you are for as a follower of Jesus, let me remind you of what Jesus is for:

• Grace - Jesus gave us the greatest gift possible without the hope that there was anything we could to earn it. His death gives us life, His shed blood forgiveness. Jesus is all about loving the unlovely in spite of the fact that no one else does. We should be too.
• Forgiveness - Hurt feelings yield hard grudges. But not so with Jesus. Whatever sin you commit, you ultimately commit against the heart of God, and this is incredibly personal to Him. Yet Jesus offers forgiveness for a flat fee of $0. In fact, Jesus offers you forgiveness before you know you even need it. We need to be like that.
• Second Chances - I love the story of The Prodigal Son found in Luke 15:11-32. Long story short, youngest son takes dad's wealth and blows it on sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll lifestyle before coming to his senses and crawling back home. Dad, who represents God, sees him coming and runs to welcome his son back, offering him a second chance to live life the way that God intended. Jesus came so that we all could get that second chance from God. Has anyone in your life blown it so bad that they don't deserve a second chance from you?
• Obedience Over Perfection - In 1 Samuel 15:22, the prophet Samuel told King Saul that "to obey is better than sacrifice." Translation: God loves it when you do your best for Him, but what He really wants is your heart. He isn't looking for perfect Christians because there aren't any. But God is looking for those who will love Him with heart, soul, mind, and strength. If you anchor you ship to your works, you'll go down with that ship.
• Loving Others - Jesus tells us in Mark 12:30-31 that the two most important commandments are to love God and love people. Some of you are really good at loving God but pretty lousy at loving other people, especially when their skin color, lifestyle choices, political beliefs, or past failures get in the way. So get this: If you can't love people, then you really don't love God in the first place. Jesus is for others.
• Personal Holiness - If you take any time at all to read the gospels (the first four books of the New Testament in the Bible), you will find that Jesus spends a lot of time rebuking those who thought themselves to be uber-religious. Why? Because they flaunted a version of holiness that was phony at best and hypocritical to the core. The whole plank-in-the-eye analogy is for those of us who believe that we have the right to regulate the lives of others without first making sure that our walk with Jesus is actually a walk in the first place.

This list could be much, much longer, but you get the idea. What does any of this have to do with "Christian cuss words"? I'm glad you asked.

When we choose to live out our faith in Jesus screaming about what we are against rather than who we are for, we are doing nothing more than making excuses for our lack of spiritual integrity. Maybe we think our Christian activism will make up for a lack of personal responsibility and holiness that we pray no one sees up close. I realize this may sound harsh and unfair to paint all Christians with such a broad brush, but when we choose to lump ourselves together to fight for causes, we ought to be able to take it on the chin when we lose sight of where we are going. And yes, I include myself in this discussion as well.

Let's not be this way any longer. May we be a people united for the cause of Christ, desiring to see as many men and women come to faith in Him as we possibly can. And let the world see us loving the unlovely, seeking to lead the broken, hurting, and confused to healing and hope found only in Christ. Because dangit, we don't need any more excuses.