Mosquitos

Here in the south, mosquitoes are a part of every day life, especially in the warmer months, which last about 11 1/2 months out of the year. Google tells me that there are more than 3,500 species of mosquitoes, with about 175 of them found in the United States. That means that the southern states have approximately 183 species of mosquitoes because I am convinced that we have them all plus a few that have yet to be discovered.

I live on the coast, which is a nice way of saying semi-swamp, and mosquitoes flock to this part of the state because, word is, that they can live a long and content life here. Fat and sassy, my grandmother would say. I can't prove this scientifically, but I've heard that 5 million mosquitoes can grow in a teaspoon-sized puddle of water. When the humidity is high like it is, I'm pretty sure we are cranking those suckers out by the truck load.

When I was young, I can remember the mosquito truck that used to barrel through my neighborhood releasing a potent cloud of DDT so thick you couldn't see through it. I am surprised that I have lived this long. A friend of mine named Brad once raced the truck for fun, only to run smack dab into the back of a parked pickup truck that he couldn't see in the poisonous fog. He had a pretty good story to tell at the ED that night.

Those trucks don't run anymore, at least not in the more populated cities. So we hired a company to spray our yard every twenty-one days with an Eco-friendly organic mosquito repellent. Apparently it's also mosquito friendly, because I got chewed up earlier today when I was mowing the yard. This company says to call them back if we see any mosquitoes in our yard between sprayings, but we have called so many times that they have stopped answering their phones, so I guess we are going to have to learn to live with them.

Some of my neighbors put up bat boxes in their yards. They heard that bats will eat up to 1,200 mosquitoes per day and that they are much less harmful on the environment. I have maybe seen one bat in my neighborhood over the past couple of years and it's very likely it could have been a confused sparrow. Either way, they aren't doing the job either.

I'm not sure exactly why God created mosquitoes. As they scratch at their many welts, my children continue to ask me this question. I usually respond with something about punishment for sin or to show us what Hell will be like if we don't turn to Jesus, but I'm not sure they always buy those answers. Whatever the reason, mosquitoes continue to stand the test of time and will be probably survive the tribulation as well as being an integral part of it.

My wife has a unique way of attracting every mosquito within a two mile radius. She is so susceptible to mosquito bites that she starts to swell up just thinking about the critters. Thankfully fall is approaching, which means the mosquitoes will go into hiding or wherever it is that they go when the weather gets colder. But every once in a while, when the winds get a little too bitter and we start longing for summer to come back around, one of us will spot a random mosquito flitting along in the breeze, reminding us that sooner or later the whole horde of them will be back.

The honest hypocrite

The Bean There, Done That looks like any other coffee shop near a major college campus. Olive colored walls, dim lights, students hidden behind laptops sucking in the free Wi-Fi, college-style music playing from a worn out radio in the background, stools and rickety tables scattered throughout, a well-worn bulletin board with fliers for the next great social event or call to action plastered all over it. Yet this visual panorama isn’t what captivates the senses. No, it is the smell that draws you in. That rich, almost floral scent of coffee that permeates the place and sticks to your clothes for hours after you leave. This place smells like heaven on earth and that’s why Stewart comes here almost every day.

Stewart is a bit of a celebrity at the coffee shop. His stay at the university has been a bit longer than most (six years and counting) but that’s because of the multiple majors and minors that he’s been pursuing. Philosophy, art, psychology, even a little bit of Mandarin thrown in. He considers himself incredibly well-rounded and is not afraid to share his opinions with anyone. If you have an opinion and the courage to share it, the table in the back will become his bully pulpit for punching holes in your line of thinking. Not that he is unpopular. He actually has a little bit of following at the shop, a fan club if you will. The running joke is that Stewart has a cot in the back room and that his apartment is simply an ingenious ruse to throw the government off his track.

Stewart’s professors are usually patient with their little protégé. There have been occasional clashes with the more lecture and business minded ones, but most of the faculty enjoy his constant questioning and interjections, even entertaining more of it after class. He has been groomed by so many of the staff at the university that one would think that his matriculation is more of a tenure.

But now Stewart has a problem. Well, not really a problem – perhaps more of a puzzle inside of him that can’t be solved by mere analysis or clever reasoning. And it all begins with a girl.

Sara caught his eye the second she walked into his Governmental Ethics class last fall. Yes, he thought that she was beautiful, but not in the way that everyone gushed over the plastic Barbie-type sorority girls who would never even look his way. Sara was different. Earthy, trendy, not made up or pretentious. And, she was easy to talk to. Stewart had uncharacteristically given up his prominent seat in the middle of the class (that way everyone could be blessed with his verbose wisdom and insights) to move to the fringes of the room where the slackers normally inhabit. That’s where Sara sat, not because she wasn’t studious but rather because she had another class halfway across campus as soon as Ethics ended so she needed a head start as she dashed for the door.

And Sara was smart. Ever since he took the empty seat beside of her, the way that she could carry on a conversation and organize her thoughts captivated Stewart. She wasn’t afraid to speak up in class and she showed even more courage in often disagreeing with Stewart, intriguing him all the more. Yet in all of this she wasn’t pretentious or proud. Sara seemed real, authentic, relevant. She also possessed something that Stewart had never experienced firsthand before and the thought of it almost terrified him to the core.

Time in class with Sara wasn’t enough. He had to have more than Tuesday and Thursday mornings to get to know her on a more intellectual and personal level. She barely had time to utter the words goodbye when class was over so he began to scheme a way for them to be together apart from the academic world. Therefore, Stewart decided to invite Sara into his world.

She met him at the coffee shop around 6:00 on a Thursday night. Sara worked part-time in the library and also volunteered at a local homeless shelter, so free time was at a premium. Stewart had patiently worked out this schedule with her and it took a couple of weeks before it all finally played out. As he sat at his table waiting for her arrival, he noticed that his heart was beginning to beat a little faster and that his palms were moist. Did his breath stink? Was his hair combed? Hey, get yourself together Stewart! After all, this isn’t a date. Or is it? He couldn’t let anyone see him like this so he snuck off to the bathroom to splash water on his face and get his wits about him.

When he returned to his seat he saw Sara searching the room for him. There it was again, the sweaty palms, racing heart, anxiety that he had never felt before. Trying his best to shrug it off he moved rapidly across the room to reach her, desperately hoping that she would not disappear out the door before he caught her. Before he arrived at her side she turned and saw him, immediately flashing that comfortable smile that melted him all over again. For the first time in a long while, Stewart wondered whether he was he was about to embark on something that might be too much for him to handle.

“I’m not much of a coffee drinker but I’m willing to try something new. What do you think I should have?” Sara asked. Eager to regain his composure, and remember that this was his turf and second home, Stewart walked Sara up to the counter and began to explain the different varieties of coffees and teas and their methods of preparation. The barista could barely hide her snicker when she saw this softer side of Stewart, and the look that he gave her suggested the he desperately wanted her to ignore this lapse and respect his reign in this coffee kingdom. Sara settled on a Chai Tea latte (she had really enjoyed sipping Chai Tea while on a mission trip to India when she was in high school) and the two of them settled back at Stewart’s regular table, he with a double shot espresso in hand.

Their talk at first was pleasant and non-descript, yet Stewart wanted to know everything about her. What made her tick? Was she a deep thinker like he was? Did she care about the same issues he was so passionate about? Why did she seem so mysterious to him? Who was she?

He decided to open up that can of worms first, telling her everything that he could think of about himself yet struggling to be purposefully brief so that he could find who more about her. Sara listened politely and seemed genuinely interested in his opinions and beliefs. Did she agree with him or was she just being nice? What is wrong with me? Why do I care so much about what this girls thinks?

For what seemed like minutes (it was actually only a few seconds) Sara took her cue and began to tell Stewart about herself. She was the oldest of four children who was on partial scholarship while working to earn the other half to pay for school. College was her first experience being away from home and this year was much easier than the first. The sorority life wasn’t for her (Yes!) and she didn’t seem to have much time for social events between her work schedule and volunteering. But she was involved in at least one campus organization that she was truly passionate about. Which one? Intervarsity Christian Fellowship! Seriously? Those words didn’t actually roll from his tongue but his look of bewilderment bordering on almost anger must have caught her off guard. “Do you have something against Intervarsity?” she asked with a tone of honesty that did not betray any hint of being defensive. Stewart felt all of the air leave the room. He feverishly tried to collect himself and his thoughts before he gave his answer. He liked this girl – a lot – and he didn’t want to blow his chance on their first “date.” Surely she wasn’t one of “those” religious people, was she?

“They” and “them.” That’s what it is has been about from the very beginning. Stewart hated it when his parents used to drag him to church. It was boring to him and he never quite believed all of those stories those two old ladies used to feed him in Sunday school. Miracles, raising people from the dead, heaven and hell, none of that made sense to him. His junior high and high school years were filled with even more skepticism, with such brilliant thinkers as Nietzsche and Sagan fueling his animosity for religion and his thirst for rationalism and “real answers.”

The other kids that went to church were just stupid sheep. “Sheeple” he called them. Mindlessly following the beliefs of their parents and following a God who, if he really did exist, certainly didn’t care enough about this world to make it a better place. He was smarter than them all, making his decision too early for them to brainwash him. If they truly believed all of this God and Jesus stuff then they would be better qualified to argue with him and answer his seemingly endless questions about their beliefs. Truth be told it didn’t matter what answers they gave him because he still wasn’t going to believe. He simply wanted to hold them accountable for their belief system. What was wrong with demanding a little intellectual integrity?

College would be his proving ground. This place wasn’t ready for a mind like his, he knew, but soon enough everyone would know about him. It wasn’t that he saw himself as arrogant or even as intellectually elite, it’s just that while other high school students were thinking about sports or the prom he was engrossing himself in the rigors of pursuing knowledge of philosophical and scientific constructs. They were building up their social networks and bodies while he was busy building his mind. His pursuit was more noble and advantageous for the greater good. They were the posers, he was the real thing. This coffee shop had become his little corner of the universe where he was championing his system of beliefs that had no room for the supernatural. It didn’t take long for most dissenters to keep their opinions to themselves. No one challenged him anymore. Not until now.

The sweat must have been visible on his brow. Stewart couldn’t begin to explain why he was having so much trouble formulating an answer. Never before had he flinched to come back with a caustic response that would prove once again that his view was superior to all others. But he didn’t want to do that with Sara. Alienate her now and she would never come to his way of thinking much less want to go on another date with him. Scrambling, he quickly came up with an answer that would deflect the true depths to which his loathing of religion went, yet at the same time pierced his soul more than any other reason.

“Oh, I have nothing serious against groups like Intervarsity. I just can’t stand the hypocrisy that surrounds Christianity. I saw it as a kid, people acting one way in church and then living opposite to what they claimed to believe. If you truly say that you believe in something then your life should reflect those beliefs. I don’t function well with those who don’t.” There, he said it, and all with a believable air of decorum. But how would Sara respond to that? Suddenly how she felt meant more to him than it ever had before.

To his relief Sara didn’t seem to be thrown off by his response. In fact, she almost seemed pleased. Her answer even caught him more off guard. “I understand your feelings about hypocrisy within Christianity. It bothers me too. But what I’ve found is that when you truly believe in something then your life will reflect those beliefs. Hypocrisy is incompatible with Christianity. For those that don’t live what they say they believe, one has to wonder if they truly believe at all.” 

Wow. But wait, where was she going with this. Was she agreeing with me or was she posting yet another rebuttal to my theory? He had to know. This ran much deeper than just an attraction. Here was someone sitting across from him who was intellectual just like him, yet was she claiming to cling to an untenable system of beliefs?

“So, you’re a Christian?” The words tumbled from his mouth almost as much as an incredulous statement as they were a question. Again Sara seemed unfazed. “Yes, I am a Christian, but perhaps not in the sense that you understand a Christian to be.” Okay, exactly who is this girl and who does she think that I am? Christianity holds no weight, period. What kind of Christian is there other than the deluded kind?

He took a slow sip from his now lukewarm espresso before speaking. He noticed that she had barely had any of her Chai and found himself concerned with whether or not she liked the drink at all. Wait! Don’t get off track. “So what kind of a Christian are you?” Surely he wasn’t going to hear anything he hadn’t hear before. All of this talk about Jesus and relationship with God was old hat with him. What more could she bring to the conversation?

“Stewart, a Christian is one who is a follower of Jesus. My goal isn’t to be religious or even a faithful church attendee. And I’m prone to the kind of hypocrisy of which you speak. But the standard I strive for isn’t to be like other people; it’s to be like Jesus. He saved me from my sin and gave me hope and purpose that I could never find on my own. I live the way I do not to earn favor with God but rather because God has shown His favor to me through the cross. Everything I do and say is with gratitude for the salvation that I have received through Christ.”

Hope. Purpose. Favor. The cross. Salvation. All of these were words that numbed the brains of the religious people that Stewart knew; yet when Sara said them they sounded different. Was it because he was attracted to her that he somehow wanted to buy all of this? Or maybe it was the fact that she did live a life that backed up these Sunday teachings that he learned as a kid. One thing was for sure, he had not run into many people that possessed this kind of peace that Sara seemed to have. He was almost envious of her.

His freshman year roommate convinced him to come to church with him once. Stewart didn’t want to go but it seemed that his great mental acuity was keeping him from gaining many new friends, so what did he have to lose? He would go, hear the same old crap he had always heard, see a bunch of sheeple following a hypnotized shepherd, and then he would have no problem poking holes in all that garbage. It didn’t seem to bother him at the time that what he saw and heard was unlike anything that he expected. He was so hardened against religious things that nothing was going to change that. Yet the words of the pastor seemed to ring true in his heart that day and those around him didn’t seem to just be going through the motions. They were taking notes, carefully reading the book in their laps. Mind control did not seem to be taking place. These people seemed to really believe. But it was just an act, right? All religion was the same. Right?

His mind raced back and forth from that day freshman year to the present moment with Sara. Why was he now feeling so conflicted? Had he so repressed his feelings with rational thought that he was incapable of processing anything that required more than just knowledge to accept? He vividly remembered on numerous occasions explaining his rationale for believing that the origin of the universe could be proven scientifically, even when his mind was conflicted with his inability to explain where matter came from in the first place. This wasn’t a leap of faith like those religious zombies had to make. The whole of science made so much sense. What was the problem?

Until now there had not been a problem. Stewart had carefully skirted any potential potholes in his intellectual road with further reading and commiseration with those who shared his like-minded worldview. Then came Sara. In the brief time that he had known her he had sensed something about her was special, different, intriguing. And now she tells him that she is a Christian and suddenly what she is saying is starting to make sense. She doesn’t appear to be a hypocrite. Maybe he could debate her into the ground with all of the inconsistencies of the Christian faith and that would solve the problem. But what solution – or even relief – would that really give to him? Certainly it would not assuage the war that was suddenly raging in his heart, conflicting him on all sides.

It felt as if the room was now empty except for him. Here he was, confronted with a reality that he had spent his whole life trying to disprove if not altogether avoid. The hypocrisy angle was getting weaker by the second and his desire to offer yet another humiliating blow to those gullible in the faith was nonexistent. These simple words from a girl who seemed as real and authentic as anyone he had ever met were now branded onto his heart. What in the world was he going to do?

Coming back to reality, Stewart rather suddenly and politely excused himself to go the restroom. He washed his face again and tried to get a grip on himself, but all he could think of was if his life had any true meaning. Why was he here? Was there more than just this life and reality? Can science really explain everything? Why can’t all my years of study and learning help me right now when I need it the most? God, if you are real, what am I supposed to do?

He wasn’t sure if he asked that last question audibly or not, but those words shook him to the core. Had he just really called out to a God in whom he claimed not to believe? An unexpected thrill of exhilaration coursed through his body. He slowly made his way back to the table, suddenly unsure of how much time had passed since Sara answered him with those haunting words. She was still there, smiling that simple smile and finally sipping on her latte. Never one to give in to the opposition so soon, Stewart changed the subject to talk about their Ethics class and Sara diplomatically obliged the change of course. An hour passed, one filled with laughter over the professor’s obvious hairpiece to their personal views on topics ranging from just war and abortion. While their opinions tended to differ fairly radically, he found that she didn’t judge him or seem to mind that his views were so diametrically opposed to hers.

Glancing at her watch she noticed that it was almost 8:00 with an hour of calculus study lying ahead for her. Although he normally stayed at the coffee shop until closing, Stewart muttered something about needing to study as well and he slowly walked with her until they were out the door and onto the sidewalk. The night air was crisp and cold, betraying the fact that it was only early October. There was an awkward pause, a moment that he desperately wanted to fill. Sensing that he was squandering an opportunity that he might not again regain, he asked her when and where the Intervarsity group met. “Friday nights at 8:00, Mackey Hall room 121.” “Cool, I’ll try to make it,” he said. And he meant it. 

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

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.

Do. Not. Worry.

On a scale of 1-to-Insane, how worried you right now? If not now, how has worry eaten away at your core in the past? Worry affects everyone, whether you are a follower of Jesus or not. And just because you declare Jesus as your King does not mean that you are immune to the effects of worry.

Jesus directly addresses worry in Matthew 6:25-34. He tells us simply not to worry about your day-to-day needs. If you do, it might cause you to look past God, the only One who can provide all your needs. God is not just a provider, He is THE provider. As Author and Creator - indeed King - of the universe, it is all His and He is the originator of it all.

Those who reject God altogether are a god unto themselves and they seek to make their own path, all the while fretting themselves to death in the process. God knows what you need. He knows everything! He always has and always will. Do you want proof of this? Think about about the birds. Do they have to work for their food as if it were a 9-to-5 job, or does God provide it for them? Or what about beautiful flowers? How many long hours do they need to toil at work to adorn themselves in such splendid fashion? Both questions have obvious answers. And you must not worry about such things, because you are far more valuable than a bird or a flower because you are made in the very image of God.

When has worry ever worked to your benefit? Think hard before you answer. Many of you recall the feelings of anxiety that accompanied procrastination which in the end yielded beneficial results for a project or a task. But what did you give up in the process? Peace of mind, sleep, health, perhaps even relationships that were sacrificed because of your incessant response to stress. Worry and stress are not the same, but they are roommates and the best of friends.

The solution to worry is given to us by Jesus Himself in Matthew 6:33, a beautiful and powerful verse of truth: “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided for you.” We combat worry with trust. When we live as citizens in God’s kingdom, we acknowledge with our lives that our King is good and will provide for our needs. Should we still work? Yes! If we do not, we do nothing more than treat our King as if He exists to serve us, not the other way around.

Worry is the enemy of the Kingdom of God. It takes focus away from the one true King and puts it squarely on our shoulders, from which we face the cruel reality that we are helpless to provide for and fully meet our own needs. Worry spills over and compounds, never satisfying that which we need the most. Only God can fulfill our needs.

I'm drinking the Kool Aid

One of the things that I like to do is substitute teach at the local high school. Some people tell me that this is absolutely crazy because, as everyone knows, substitutes are the sacrificial lambs that get chewed up and spit out each and every school day. When students find out that they have a substitute, it’s like the class becomes Anarchy 101.

I’m not saying that I’m the best substitute teacher ever - I let the students determine that - but I will say that I have yet to encounter a situation that has made me run for the door or scream for the principal. Maybe it’s because I have worked with students most of my adult life, but I usually relish the opportunity to be in the classroom with teenagers on their own “turf.”

You see, I believe that students today - whether, elementary, middle school, or high school - get a bad rap. They get labeled from day one, whether as a good kid or a bad kid. Yes, many earn those labels honestly, but it does make me wonder how it got to the point that they consistently live up to the reputation that they have earned. I’ve always believed that people will usually reach the bar as LOW as you set it for them, which means that oftentimes students just accept that they are not smart enough, good enough, talented enough, pretty enough, popular enough, etc. Thus, they live out these low expectations that they and others have set for them.

I’m not okay with that.

I wish I could wave a magic wand and see students all across the board excel. I wish that their home lives were healthy and that they didn’t see the need to please others while sacrificing their true identity. I wish that whenever they walked into the room that every stereotype and label that has been assigned to them would be dismissed by adults and fellow students alike. I wish we could all be that way.

As I process this tragic waste of emotional and psychological energy, I realize that the issue runs far deeper than just how good or bad a student’s environment is. The way that students are seen - and how they see themselves - is truly a spiritual problem. Yeah, I realize that those who are not spiritual will scoff at this notion, and that’s okay. But whether or not you believe in God and that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life or not, there is one truth that I believe could totally revolutionize the way that we not only see students but also the rest of the world:

All people have value.

You see, we live in a world that is so busy arbitrarily assigning value and worth to people that we forget that it is not the world’s responsibility or even their right to do so. A person’s value has already been established by God and cannot be diminished by man, no matter how much we despise other people. Since you are made in God's image, you have incredible value. You are not an accident or a mistake. You are treasured by God.

If you tell me that you hate someone or think that they are worthless, then more than likely you are basing that opinion on something that they have done to you rather than who they truly are. Even though someone may speak and act in ways that make you cringe, that person is still valued - treasured - by God. And because that is the case, there is not one person who cannot turn the page and experience redemption in his or her life.

The only possible way that you can appreciate the value of someone is if you see him or her as a person and not an object. This may sound crazy, but we are more prone to treat people as objects who irritate us, get in our way, anger us, or are not worthy of our attention or time than we are as real people who have desires, needs, and dreams just like we do.

When was the last time you saw a teenager and wondered what his or her dreams for the future were? How about a homeless person - have you ever wondered how he got in that situation before you automatically dismiss him as an alcoholic/addict/lazy bum? That teacher that always seems so stressed out and yells at her students - what could possibly be going on at home or in her personal life that has her so off-balance?

These are the types of questions we need to ask ourselves before we drink the Kool Aid of automatically seeing people as their reputation has labeled them. And this takes work, because when are committed to see others as people and not objects it means that we often will have to make time to get to know them and listen to them. But what if we were committed to doing that, to truly valuing people ? Can you imagine how our schools would change, how much less crime and poverty might exist, and the amount of cooperation we could see in our government if everyone was committed to see others as people and not objects? I would drink a giant glass of that Kool Aid!