Wind and Fire (No Earth)

This past weekend, Christie, the boys, and I were down in San Diego for the National Youth Workers' Convention (more on that later). I stepped out of a seminar on Sunday afternoon and knew immediately that there was a fire nearby. I could not see smoke until I stepped further away from the building to see over it, but the lighting had a very distinct feel to it that anyone raised in this area knows and dreads. As reports from family and others filtered in we soon discovered, as everyone else has, that much of Southern California was dealing with wildfires.

As we checked out of the hotel Monday morning, we were beginning to get a glimpse of the terrible toll these fires were taking. Evacuees were arriving to check in looking tired, wearing breathing masks, and carrying everything that was important to them. We hit the road as soon as possible and met more evacuees on the jammed freeway out of town. Traffic was terrible, everything reeked of smoke, and the sky ahead had an ominous look to it.

As we labored on through the traffic, Christie tried to call her sister, who lives in San Marcos just north of San Diego. We had spent a day with Carol and her husband at their beautiful house on the way down to the conference. How things change in just a few short days. Christie didn't get a hold of Carol, but we assumed the best and kept driving.

Oddly enough, the traffic broke free as we drove under a cloud so dark we had to use our headlights at 10:30 in the morning. Traffic remained relatively clear until we met the next fire in Irvine. This fire was very close to the freeway and, disturbingly enough, set intentionally after the area had been hit by 10 or so fires. It frightens me that some one would deliberately set a fire when resources were already stretched so thin, but I guess that's the point.

When we stopped for lunch, the smoke was quite thick. You could feel the pressure of it in your lungs and head. We were glad to be on the road again, but knew there were still several fires ahead of us. Thankfully none were close enough to cause traffic problems. We arrived safely in Thousand Oaks and saw the damage the wind had done here. It was remarkable. Some streets looked like war zones. If the smoke from the fires wasn't bad enough, our city was dealing with gale force winds that flipped wooden tables (Christie's parents'), destroyed gates (my parents'), and left this across the entrance to our street:


The tree didn't fall, it splintered.


The winds were so fierce, and the tree apparently so weak, that it just splintered all the branches off the trunk. Thankfully, I knew how to get in from the other side of our street (that is a bigger feat than may seem) and we were able to pull into our very own garage after a surreal drive home.

Soon after arriving, we discovered that Carol and Scott had actually been evacuated from their house at 3:00am on Monday. They were able to stay with some friends close by who were not affected by the fires. They were given the OK to return to their house on Tuesday, but chose to wait a little while, only to be told that their area had been re-evacuated. Their home is in a brand new development with open spaces all around, so they would definitely be susceptible to a wildfire.

Now, Carol and Scott have returned to their home. Landscape crews and homeowners have started picking up the pieces. The tree is now a stump. The weather seems to have turned in the firefighters' favor. And it looks like Southern California will survive another bout of wind and fire. Now my parents just need to figure out what to do with their gate that was, literally, blown to bits.

But for many people, rebuilding won't happen for a long time. Nearly 1500 homes have been destroyed, many more damaged, not to mention the businesses and other buildings that have been destroyed. Now they face the real struggle, trying to get their lives back. I can't even imagine the painstaking process they will have to go through.

All of this got me thinking about where we find our security. Is our security found in our homes? Our families? Our jobs? All of these things can be gone in the blink of an eye, or the gust of a particularly dry and vicious wind. We like to think that we are safe and secure in our nice homes with all of our stuff around us, but we really are no more secure than a homeless person sleeping in the gutter. Unfortunately, thousands of people just found that out this week.

In Luke 12:10-21, Jesus tells the story of the rich fool. The rich fool decided that he had so much stuff that he needed to build a huge barn to house it all and then retire happy. But as he finished building this monument to his wealth, God came to him and said,"You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you." (verse 20). How much time and energy do we spend on making ourselves feel secure, only to discover that true security can only be found in the eternal God. Imagine what your life would be like if you spent that same amount of time and energy devoted to God. I know my life would look very different.

And, please, don't forget to pray for the victims of these fires and the firefighters who are completely exhausted, but still valiantly battling the blazes around southern California.

Time

Time is an integral part of our everyday lives. So much so that it is nearly impossible to imagine a world without time. You can sort of start to wrap your head around the idea of eternity, but then you start to think about things not having any sort of sequence and the brain starts going in circles and you eventually giving up before your head explodes. Yet how often do we really think about time. Our perception of time definitely colors our view of the world, but do we really spend much time pondering the idea of time.

We all know how time is measured and most of us a have a pretty good grasp of our schedules, but what about the actual entity time. We think of it as constant, but we feel its elastic tendencies regularly. Seconds can feel like an eternity as we watch imminent disaster, while happy hours seem to flit away before we fully enjoy them.

I think the majority of people are very aware of the quantity of time (seconds, minutes, hours), but rarely the quality of time. We pack our schedules to the brim with more and more appointments and errands. We know the exact amount of time it takes to get to and from work, the store, etc. and plan our lives around how much we can squeeze into each second that isn't otherwise occupied. And if there is anything that interrupts that schedule, we immediately start planning alternatives to get us to our next to-do to minimize any inconvenience.

But I fear that we are scheduling away our very souls. Life is not lived in a day planner. It is lived in the moments that make us stop and think. Those transcendant moments that take our eyes off the here and now and thrust us into the eternal, some times against our bidding, are vital to our being. They are wake up calls that remind us that this is not all there is to life. These are the times when we feel God's presence most keenly.

What would life be like if, every now and then, we threw the calendar out the window? How would it change our perspective if we stopped being so consumed with deadlines, and took note of life going on around us? It would be nice to be able to just press the pause button and stop everything so we can enjoy those moments, but perhaps the loss of time is part of the joy. Perhaps when we stop to enjoy life, we are trusting the Maker of Time to redeem the time others might think we are wasting. I hope this time has been rewarding for you.

The Room

There is a room.

It is not like any room you have ever seen. It is enormous and filled with people from every imaginable place. The people mill about, engaging in those activities people engage in: talking, arguing, laughing, playing. Some walk with great purpose and determination, while others stroll about as if there is nothing of import to do.

As you work your way around the room, you notice a great number of people gravitate toward the walls. Out of curiosity, you find yourself drawn along with them. There is nothing specifically interesting about the walls themselves, nothing more than dull concrete slabs, but it is the doors that line them as far as the eye can see.

You decide to walk along the wall, perusing the various doors. They come in every shape and size. Some are very colorful, some very dull, and some have been so gaudily decorated you can barely stand to look at them. Some are large enough for elephants to fit through, others so small that people have to crawl on their hands and knees to enter. All seem to be trying very hard to hide what truly lies behind them.

The doors are not alone. Each door has hawkers expounding on the exceeding value of their door. They wear special clothing that matches the décor of the portal they sell. Some use lofty words; others speak with disgusting vulgarity. All are thoroughly convinced of the rightness of the way they offer. And as people are persuaded, the hawkers usher them through their doors with great fanfare and dignity, though you detect an hint of desperation and futility.

As you continue to observe, you discover the source of your unease. Behind the doors are many things, but none is what the entrants are looking for. One door leads to an endless maze, where thousands of people cry for help. Another leads the new initiate in a circle only to have them exit the same door, now a hawker, proclaiming the glories of their door. Still another opens to reveal nothing more than a blank wall, which people ecstatically walk into, and then speak of great revelations after bouncing off. And, to your horror, one leads to a grisly death for all who enter.

You reach out to grab a new convert before he enters the door of death. You frantically try to talk some sense into him, but you must be garbling your words in your haste. He merely nods vacantly, turns, and walks straight to his doom.

You run from door to door, imploring the hawkers and listeners alike to see the truth of their doors before it is too late. Some listen and wander off to other doors, but most dismiss you. You slowly leave them behind, tears welling in your eyes.

You walk along aimlessly, lost in your grief. You pass by more crowds of people, gazing at doors, mesmerized by the hawkers. You pass by others who preach their own ideas about the doors. Some say that all doors lead to the same place, so it matters not what door you choose. Another encourages people to not worry about the doors, but to have as much fun as they can and the door will find them. One large group stands facing the center of the room, chatting very haughtily. You listen as you walk by and hear them scoff at the silly rabble who still believe in the doors. What nonsense!

You continue to wander until something causes you to stop. Did someone call your name? You look at your surroundings for the first time and see a simple door in front of you. It is different than the other doors, somehow more real. It is not the overdressed or preposterously sized doors that most hawkers offer. Then you notice the quietness. There are people who stand by the door and talk about it to others, but they are not hawkers. You feel peace, rest, and you know that this door is the truth. You look at the others around you and discover that some heeded your warnings and followed you, but are now wary of yet another door.

You step closer and ask about the door. A kindly, older man gently and respectfully answers all your questions. He does not have all the answers, which you find refreshing after listening to the ridiculous theories of the hawkers, but is not afraid of them either.

You have trouble keeping your eyes off the door. It fascinates you. You can’t totally explain why, but it absorbs your attention. It seems to almost be a living thing. It calls to you, beckons you. To your surprise, you find yourself irresistibly drawn step by step to the door.

You touch it.

Oh, the sensation! You feel like you have discovered a missing piece of your soul. You catch the fleeting glimpse of what it is like to be truly whole and loved. Tears well in your eyes again and your knees give out beneath you. Your breath is snatched away and you almost hope it never comes back.

But it does, and you find yourself panting on your knees before the door. You must know what is behind it. You seize the handle and a jolt of electricity runs through your deepest being. You open the door and step through.

Things 'n' Stuff

Yesterday, Christie and I were up at church with the boys. As we were heading out to the car to leave, I saw what appeared to be a large rock sitting on top of our car. That seemed rather odd to me, and as we approached we noticed some glass all over the place. Again, something seemed amiss. As I stepped around the driver's side I discovered that the window was missing, and there was a large rock sitting in the center console, with shards of broken glass strewn all over. Some one had broken into our car. As I looked closer, I discovered that they had tried multiple times to break all three windows on that side by throwing rocks at them. Sadly, they were not very good at this and dented up the whole side of the car. Once they got fed up, they took a rock about the size of a person's head and smashed through the driver's window. Once inside they took out the change drawer and rifled through the glove compartment. Unfortunately for them, all this hard work had yielded them at most a couple dollars in change.

At first, I was mostly just shocked. My window was gone. My car was dented and filled with broken glass. And all this for a handful of change. I laughed at the stupidity of breaking into the car of a youth pastor with a "Twins on Board" sign in the window. Obviously, they don't know what a pastor's salary is like, or have children.

As we began to take hold of the situation, we realized we would have to call the police and should try to disturb the scene as little as possible. I asked our music pastor, John, to call the police while I got whatever the boys would need and called my mom to come get Christie and the boys while I waited for the police.

As I waited with John and talked with a few others, I found something strange. Other people seemed more upset about it than I was. Granted, I hadn't slept much the night before (did I mention the twins?), but still, I felt more saddened and confused. Saddened because the people who had done it were so desperate for something (money, thrill, I'm not totally sure) that they were willing to risk jail time for a handful of change. Saddened that, while they were on church grounds, their thoughts were on crime and destruction, not God. Saddened by the total disregard for another's property. My confusion stemmed from the question of why. Why do this? What's the point? There was nothing of value lying in plain view, and ultimately for them, nothing of value whatsoever, so why bother? My car was certainly not the nicest, nor the newest, but perhaps the easiest, being further from the building than the rest.

The officer who took the report and others were just blown away by the brazen act. They broke in during the middle of the day, and were not exactly efficient and quick. While things are pretty quiet right now, there is still regular traffic through the parking lot. Some were very angry about it, which surprised me, because I wasn't. I'm not totally sure why, but I am still not angry. Sure, dealing with insurance and everything is going to be a pain, and my day was quite disrupted yesterday, but I'm still not angry.

But then again, why should I be? It's just a car. Nothing of significance was taken. Christie and the boys are fine. We are obsessed with stuff, possessions, property. But the Bible says that everything belongs to God and what we have is just a gift given to us to to glorify God. Maybe this was a wake up call for me. Maybe I have been putting too much energy and effort into my stuff. Maybe we don't need that brand new SUV we've been dreaming about. Maybe we need to stop worrying so much about the things we own, and just trust that God will provide for our needs.

One thing that sticks out to me was a comment from a church member who happened to drive by as we were waiting for the police. He suggested that maybe the police could get some fingerprints (they didn't bother) and if these guys had been in trouble before, they could bring them to justice. "That would feel good," he said as he left. Yes, it would be good if they didn't get away with the crime, but wouldn't it be better for them to be brought to grace and forgiveness?

A Brief Manifesto

I figured it would be good to establish why I finally decided to create a blog. The first thing to understand is why I have been so hesitant to even start blogging to begin with. There is a commercial that came out a few years ago, that I absolutely abhorred. It featured a professor telling his writing class the minute likelihood of any of them ever being published. To which a student stood and began to declare that with online publishing, we can all become published authors and blah, blah, blah. What bothered me was the question of whether everyone is worthy of becoming a published author. I never want to perpetuate the mindless drivel that pollutes much of the internet, prattling on about the inane details of their bland lives, boring everyone into a stupor. Please don't misunderstand me. I have many friends and family members whose blogs I visit regularly, and thoroughly enjoy. But that is because they are good writers, and people whose lives are connected to mine.

So why create a blog if I have such disdain for much of the blogging community? Over the past few months, I have felt a growing need to express myself in new ways, to create new avenues of discussion, and a safe place to ask questions. I have been in ministry, paid and volunteer, for more than 10 years now and have discovered the value of questions. So often we try to teach by telling people what they should think or know, but as I have watched people grow (or not) over the last 10 years, the biggest influence I see is questions. The students who ask questions grow. Those who don't often get stuck and fall away. So I wanted to create a blog where I can share observations of life, God, ministry, etc. and ask questions. The questions may not have answers, but I am willing to let them, as long as the question is out there and being pondered.

Now, for the readers, I have a simple request. If you have any feedback, please give it. Let me know if you think I am way off base, or if you agree, or if you have more questions. Also, I never want this blog to become a rant. I despise the blogs that just complain about the world and have no ideas how things can be better. There is no benefit to railing against something with no positive input. It just makes people angry. So please be sure to keep me accountable to my own standard and warn me if I ever have a rant post.

Finally, I hope my writing spurs some thoughts and ideas that are new and interesting. My wish is that through my words and questions, I can encourage others to see things they have never seen before. Enjoy!