An addendum I wish were added to every support letter I send out.

A couple of days ago I posted a link to a letter we are sending out asking people for money for our upcoming trip across the country to minister in Santa Cruz, California.  One of my fears is that the process of raising support will be misunderstood to be solely a plea for money, or that we will be seen as insensitive.

I’m an American.  By virtue of that, I have deeply ingrained thought processes and assumptions about the nature of reality and humanity that, frankly, aren’t true.  One of the biggest of these assumptions is that independence is a virtue.  Of all of the movements in American pop culture over the past century, name one that has been a movement toward interdependence or selflessness.  Having trouble?  Perhaps only the civil rights movement and some of the hippie communes of the late 60s and early 70s were movements toward interdependence.  And even that dependence was self-serving.  Like Frank Sinatra famously sang, the key to being American is saying “I did it my way.”

So, take that assumption, and add it to the equation of raising financial support for a living.  I am, for all intents and purposes, a professional depender.  I depend on regular financial giving from people who share my passion for seeing the Christ-ian message of grace and forgiveness spread to the corners of the globe from the college campus.  Let me restate that.  I am the hands, feet, and tongue of Christ on the campus.  People that give the money are the heartbeat and life-blood of Christ on campus.  Without the heartbeat, I am shipwrecked, and without the hands and feet, my supporters are impotent.  We need each other.

I forget that fact far too often in my ministry on campus.  I try to disconnect the ministry going on from the people who are really making it happen.  What that looks like is sending out letters asking for support and then forgetting to let people in on what God is doing through them on campus.  Sometimes when I do personally engage supporters it is self-serving.  I often don’t have a mindset of service and worship as I raise support, but instead I frequently have one eye fixed on what’s in it for me.  I start to feel entitled to other people’s money.  That’s embarrassing to put into words, but it’s true.

So as I send out the letters sitting on the other side of laptop waiting to be stuffed into envelopes, I send them out with the recognition that God is doing something in me just as much as he is doing something through me.  Your financial gifts are precious to me, especally during these times of economic uncertainty.  Your giving reassures me that you place more trust in the God of the universe than the future of the American economy.  What a testimony and encouragement.  It is truly an honor to be Christ’s ambassador on campus.  God is using your gift not only to reach lost college students, but to reach me.  He is changing my mindset toward the whole process of raising support, and helping me to really begin to believe that it is developing partners far more than it is raising dollars.  My prayer is that God would use your giving to reach YOU as well.

Desperation.

Hey folks.  Most of the time the blog is a one-way line of communication.  I say things, and others just listen, with the occasional comment.  This time, I’d love some more interaction.

Our plan for this summer (as previously mentioned) is to go to Santa Cruz, California.  We’ll be gone from May 10th through August 5th.  We had some subleasers lined up to stay at our place while we were gone.

As of yesterday, the people that were staying here fell through.  Now we desperately need somebody (or bodies) to stay here, mainly because our dog needs somebody to keep her company while we’re gone.  We were going to charge folks around 500 bucks per month to stay here, but now that it’s getting down to the wire we are willing to waive the fee if you can keep the dog.  We’d love it if you could pay for any utilities that you use, but beyond that we will let you stay for free.

So, whaddaya say?  Would you like a mountain home for the summer, complete with a very loveable dog?  Pass this along to any(trustworthy)one you know.  Thanks!

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.

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.

"He’s 6′ 4", 106…"

That’s the info the nurses gave to the anesthesiologist right before my dad went in for (surprise) cardiac bypass surgery this afternoon.  If you’ve seen my dad, you might know that the last time my dad was clocking in at 106 on any scale was before he became the tallest 9th grader in his class.  He’s not a small guy.  So I was about to interrupt and tell the nurses their scale was broken when she clarified, “106 Kilograms.”  Right.  So, closer to 240 pounds.  That’s the dad I know and love.

He went in for surgery after a long day of tests revealed one of his arteries had 99% blockage.  Single bypass surgery, and he did great.  He’s out now, recovering.  The goal is to have him walking before bedtime.

Thanks for those of you who prayed.  I really appreciate it.  We’ll keep you posted.

Jacqueline and I came back to Asheville to get ready for the road trip (leaving at about 6 AM on Sunday to travel cross-country), but we’re keeping up with the goings-on back at Forsyth Hospital in Winston.