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Three Years Ago, Today…

Three years ago today I had no idea what I was getting into.

I laid on a chaise lounge trying to position myself in such a way as to not throroughly wrinkle my tuxedo.  I enjoyed listening to the music being played out on the porch, but was also wishing I was out there to hear the band that I had assembled.  People kept walking past to go to the restrooms and making that “I’m not sure I’m supposed to be here or be talking to you” face when they passed me.  I enjoy awkward moments.

We got the cue that it was time to head out.  I had 5 million thoughts (roughly) in my head, and was surprised that most of them were completely unrelated to the event at hand.  I kept wondering about the feedback coming from Joe’s microphone to my left.  I was thinking about what the people politely smiling were thinking about what I was thinking about.  If they only knew. I smiled, because it felt like I needed to.

15 minutes, 2 rings, 2 vows, and a prayer later I jumped, clicked my heels, and walked down the brick walkway toward the first of our getaway cars.  We really only got away to the back of the house, as I remember.  I kept messing with a new ring on my left hand, wondering if I’d ever get used to wearing jewelry.

We had a relatively short reception (there was business to attend to, and the weather took a turn for the chilly), but enjoyed dancing, getting caked in the face, and a much nicer second getaway car.

When we got to the Hilton, we showed up at the same time as Job, one of my friends who was supposed to drop our stuff off at our room before we got there.  Poor timing meant that we all got to share another awkward moment as he wheeled our stuff into the honeymoon suite.  I enjoyed every second of watching the normally-unflappable Job squirm in discomfort.

Fast forward three years, and it feels like time has gone almost as fast.  Now we have a little boy, a great group of friends and co-workers in Asheville, and a slew of memories for which to be thankful.  God has done some great things.

If I had it to do all over again, knowing what I know now (just a sliver of what I was getting into), I’d still “I do.”

Happy anniversary, Babe.  I’d still pick you over every woman on the planet.

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This guy is giving the church a good name…

Link: This guy is giving the church a good name…

I’ve written before about the church and our lazy copyright-violating practices that do nothing but alienate creatives.  A few days ago I stumbled across the work of Zach Bush.  I don’t know if he is a believer, but early on in the interview linked above he mentions “a guy from church.”  What a gifted graphic artist.  Thanks, Zach, for giving us a tiny glimpse of the creativity of our God.

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When you start to believe that real change can’t happen (in yourself or others), it means you’ve either stopped believing in the Holy Spirit, or started to believe you are Him.

Dave Desforge (one of our teaching pastors)

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The other Judas.

I just want to give you a heads up.  When you get to heaven, and you’re waiting in line for the all-you-can-eat crab legs, you’re going to introduce yourself to the guy in front of you in line.  (Since it’s heaven, and there’s no sin, lines are just an indicator of the most popular dish.  And let’s be honest, anything involving cream of mushroom soup will take a back seat to the crab legs.)  The guy in line will just be chatting it up, and slip into conversation with you that he is one of the original twelve Apostles.

You are going to be compelled to ask him his name.  And unless he is Peter, James, John, Matthew, or Thomas, you are going to need to get your poker face ready to pretend like you remember him being mentioned in the Bible.  I’ll default to the fact that my English translation of the scriptures probably spelled their name differently… “Oh, Bartholomew, huh?  Yeah, my translation must’ve just called you ‘not Peter’…”

Today I want to warn you of a second problem you might run into.  Our crab leg-anticipating friend might turn, look you in the eyes, and say “my name is Judas.”

There’s no reason to panic.  You didn’t take a wrong turn on the way to the buffet and somehow end up waiting in line for a side-order of eternal torment.  There’s no need to duck if Judas leans in to try and kiss you on the cheek.

There was another Judas in the “top 12.”  Talk about getting a bum deal.  Every time he is even mentioned in Scripture it says “Judas (not Iscariot).”  That’s like introducing myself as Benjamin (not Franklin or Button) each time I talked to someone.  Or like a friend of ours whose dad is named “Johnny Cash.”  Welcome to the same conversation every time you ever meet someone.

But at least for Johnny its an association with a famous-in-a-good-way person.  Having the name Judas in heaven is like wearing a “Hello, my name is Adolph Hitler” sticker at the world’s largest Bar-Mitzvah.

So cut the guy a little slack, and try desperately to think of another conversation you can have with him.  He’s tired of pointing people to Luke 6:14-16 and having to highlight that his name shows up right before the more famous Judas.

Oh, and avoid calling him “the other Judas.”  After all, I think Iscariot earned exclusive rights to being second in any list of Judases.

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