It’s 11 a.m. and time for your coffee break. Leave the office and stroll the 14 steps to the café next door. Your iPhone vibrates and asks if you’d like the usual double-wet cappuccino. Of course you do, so you tap Yes. Within a minute your name is called and you have your caffeine-rich libation in hand. Again, no cash or credit card necessary because your iPhone automatically picked up the tab.
Discovering a whole new world.
It has been fascinating watching little Ben become more and more alert, as well as increasingly responsive to the world around him. I’d love the ability to read his little mind as he goes about his days. Here’s how I imagine it going:
You would not believe the three weeks I’ve had. These strange masked people grabbed me, promptly cut off my belly-button buffet, and started prodding all over me. Everything was so bright. I could really have used a nap, but every time I got close to one some new-sounding and equally blurry person came and poked on me some more.
After the first few days, life isn’t so bad. I get to eat all the time, and get this… instead of it going straight in my belly, it goes through my mouth. I know, I didn’t see that coming either. I have to say, it’s pretty sweet. The only downside is that it doesn’t all stay in there. It comes out the other end. What a strange design.
I recognize two voices. One is the person I was inside all the time, who now is the one who feeds me. She’s really pretty, and is becoming less and less blurry. The other is a deeper voice… the same one that used to only tell me in a really muffled way about “Tar Heel basketball” —whatever that is. He is much scratchier when i lay on him to take a nap.
So I got hungry the other day, and tried to say “hey mom, can I eat now?” And you will not believe what came out of my mouth. It sounded like a mix between a siren and a weedeater engine that is out of oil. Needless to say, mom couldn’t figure out what I meant, so she took off my pants. I tried again to let her know the problem, and this time when the siren went off, I peed on her. I didn’t mean to, and I’m not proud of it, but it happened.
The last thing I want to mention is the strange mini-world they put me in from time to time. The rest of the world is a sort of muted tones, Banana-Republic-meets-Goodwill sort of place. Then they plop me down in this place that seriously is sensory overload. Words can’t describe it, but I’ll give it a shot. Take a rainbow, a giraffe, several mirrors, a parrot, something that looks like a stuffed chicken, a palm tree, and a half gallon of kelly green paint. Mix them all together and stir vigorously. You are getting close to the looks of my mini-world. Most of the time I just close my eyes and pretend to sleep to avoid the headache.
So that’s a glimpse into my boy’s world. I think. I’m just impressed he can already tell we shop at Goodwill.
"You should be in sales"
I just got off the phone with a sweet lady whose name I was given by a friend of a friend and told she would have a heart for ministry, and would be encouraged to hear what we do with Campus Crusade here in Western NC. I have had a hard time connecting with her, left a series of messages, and then when I do get in touch with her, two things are clear. First, she is a very busy lady, and has a lot on her plate. Second, she seems to have a real heart for the Lord and is very nice.
<aside>I go to great lengths when calling folks to try and set up appointments to not be the guy that is just a slick salesman telemarketer trying to con my way into getting people on the hook by the end of the call. That’s not my heart at all. I am not selling them anything. I am offering what I believe to be a great way to invest their time, energy, prayers, and finances. I really believe what I am doing to be a calling, not just a job, and I believe that just as God has called me to share the gospel on college campuses, he has called others to support me, my wife, and my child while I go about doing that. Furthermore, I believe he has called me to join him in developing that team of financial and prayerful partners, by making phone calls, setting up appointments, sharing joyfully what he is doing, and asking boldly for people to join with me.
</aside>
I tried to communicate all of that (in two minutes) to this sweet lady, and what I heard happening (despite my best efforts) was her feeling pressured. She said that she was not able to help financially, and I responded (very truthfully) that one of the main reason I meet with people is not the finances, it’s the partnership. I want people praying, aware of what God is doing, and excited about it. I also don’t know enough people in the area that have a heart for the Lord, and have spent the past week calling the same 10 people each night. So another reason to meet is to allow her and her husband to introduce me to others in their sphere of influence who I might call and invite to join us in reaching college students for Christ. When I said that, she said she’d love to meet, would love to hear what we are doing, but are just slammed with many things, ranging from planning a wedding for a daughter to running a business, and that I should “call back after we get her married off.”
I totally understood, communicated that, and asked if August or September would be a good time to contact her. She laughed and said “I don’t know Ben, but you should be in sales!”
I didn’t take that as a compliment. I was trying, in fact, to communicate exactly the opposite message from that of a salesman. A salesman is worried about the sale. I was far more concerned in the conversation with hearing her, and all of the craziness in her world, and wanted to figure out when I could call back and not be a bother, but instead be a blessing. So I asked for a specific date to call back. She seemed bothered by that.
Instead of clearly communicating what I did in the last paragraph, I stammered something about getting in touch with her in the fall, and hung up the phone.
I share all of this to provide some context for those of you who have never raised a significant amount of financial support. I am not just about people writing me a fat check. (Though fat checks, made out to Campus Crusade, and mailed to me are never frowned upon) I am about giving people a chance to worship God with their wallets. Do I think I am the only missionary worth giving to? Absolutely not. Do I think that I am somehow entitled to people not confusing me with a telemarketer? Nope. But I am human, and doing something of far more worth than telemarketing.
So, even though I might be a good salesman, please don’t suggest it as a career path when I call. I’d be a terrible salesman. The reason I am so persistent in my current profession is because I really believe in it. My career is evangelism, or trusting God to do the impossible, in bringing his enemies into the family, and giving them a new heart. I need people to support me in my current career, I don’t need a new one.
Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles Song (via RhettandLink)
Strollin through parenthood.
Little Ben and I just got back from a trip around the neighborhood. He was in the stroller, I was walking behind the stroller wheezing as I pushed it up the hills. He has been doing great, but both Jacqueline and I have realized that this parenting thing is certainly no “paint by numbers” game.
I guess coming into parenthood i had certain expectations. But like any relationship, what I am finding is that those expectations are not going to be correct, because there are other people involved. It’s not like a relationship with my computer. I wake up each morning to the same computer. It hasn’t grown, changed, had a bad night, or in any way pooped on itself. I enter in certain data, and I can expect certain results.
Not so with parenthood. Just because he slept 5-8 hours per night the first week we had him home from the hospital doesn’t mean he is going to do so the next week. We found this out. Does it mean that something is wrong? No. He’s not a computer that produces the same result every time you enter certain data. He’s a person. And he has good nights and bad nights.
It works the same way with Jesus (you knew some type of metaphor was coming… it was just a matter of time). He is a person (albeit a much more perfect person than my son), and so anytime I try to just plug in a formula—read two chapters a day, journal at least a page, and don’t drink too much beer—it doesn’t work, because that’s not love. Love is a relationship, and a choice. I am spending time with a person, not a machine.
Thanks, Jesus, for a little boy not sleeping through the night teaching me some lessons.