I know I’m not unlike most people at a particular point in life.  There are milestones that we all dread.  30 was no big deal.  At 40 I could look at most of my friends and still claim hair on my head.  It is 50 that has been the hardest for me.

It wasn’t a big deal until the summer after my 48th birthday – my 30th high school reunion.  At other reunions I was pretty pleased with my showing.  I felt like I compared favorably.  Come on.  Admit it.  That’s what everybody does at their high school reunions.  You look in the mirror before you go.  And, then you look at all the other people.  We revert back to high school essentially.  How cool am I?  Do I look good?

At 46, a few years before the reunion, I felt like I would make a good showing.  I had lost a bunch of weight, the first time I had seen 180 pounds since my late 20s.  I felt good.  My body did what I told it to do.  Then, I fell apart.  I hurt my neck.  I hurt my back.  My metabolism changed.  I didn’t stay at 180.  If only the reunion were two years earlier!

A driving trip from Florida to Kansas City for the reunion didn’t help my weight.  It only increased as I sat behind the wheel of my car in a sedintary position.  We did a lot of eating with friends and family.  Most of it was very good.  By the time the reunion rolled around, the photos exposed my age.  Even a dark room couldn’t hide it.

For the last 18 months age depression has weighed heavily on me.  I don’t look young anymore.

Turning 50 relieved the pressure.  This is how I am supposed to look – older.  If you are younger than me then you have a right to look younger.  I am 50 and this is how I am supposed to look.

Of course, my abilities have diminshed, too.  My basketball game is non-existent.  My knees lock a little when I jump.  My right arm hurts from the nerve damage as a result of my neck problem four years ago.  I’m not quick.  And, I don’t care.  The other day I told the group of guys I play basketball with that I am only planning on getting worse at this game and not better.  They better be okay with it because I am.

50 gave me permission to be who I am, an aging want-to-be athlete.  That coupled with my German genetic code means that I am stuck, uh, blessed with the body I have.  So, I’m done complaining about it or expecting more out of myself than I can give.

I’ll still play basketball.  I just played last night with several 70 year olds for two hours.  So, I know I can enjoy the game for a while longer.

I’ll still smile at myself in the mirror.  The guy looking back isn’t as strange and old as he has been the last few years.  He is just a guy who finally accepts himself as he matures through this next stage of life.  

Hmm, maybe this is what if feels like to finally get over the hill.

I have traveled this state backwards and forwards for seven years.  I have been to some desolate, out of the way places – coming back from the pan handle trying to utilize a “short cut” that took an hour longer but gave way to some beautiful countryside.  I have crossed a couple of swamps.  Alligator Alley at sunrise and at dusk is stunning.  The Green Swamp doesn’t even have a marked road on the map.  The locals had to tell me about it.  I traveled on that road at dusk for 45 minutes without ever seeing another car.  Amazing!

My eyes then landed on a green space in the middle of the state.  I said out loud, “I never have a reason to go through the Ocala National Forest.”  There aren’t any good north and south roads and the east and west road goes between Ocala and Ormond Beach, cities that I would never put in sequence when setting up my travel.

After returning home, ourselves, that night from our Thanksgiving vacation, the local 11:00 news ran a story on a temporary tree cutting license being issued for the Ocala National Forest.  People were allowed to pick from selected Sand Pines to use as their Christmas tree.  My wife said I should go cut one down since we planned to purchase a live tree for the front room.  I laughed.  I told her it would cost more in gas for me to go get the tree then it would for us to buy one from the lot around the corner.  I went to sleep wondering who, in their right mind, would go up there to cut down a Christmas tree!

The next day it hit me.  I had an appointment that night in Jacksonville and one the following morning in … you guessed it, Ocala.  I could pack my chain saw and a change of clothes and drive out to the forest on my way home on Monday.  I could already imagine my $7 Christmas Tree sitting in my front room.  It reminded me of when I was six.  My family lived in a three story house with a full basement, four fire places and ten foot ceilings.  The place was enormous, especially to a six year old.  That year at Christmas, my sister’s boyfriend cut down a Christmas tree for us.  I vividly remember everyone helping to bring this giant tree into our house.  When it stood up, the top bent over at the ceiling.  Note to self:  Be sure to get a tree that is the right height.

So, I told my wife my plan, packed for my two day excursion and took off for Jacksonville, which isn’t very near Ocala.  By midnight I was in a hotel in Ocala, pretty tired from two hours of meetings and five hours of driving. I fell asleep dreaming about finding the perfect tree.

When I woke up I was ready.  I went for a run, ate a good breakfast and prepared for my meeting.  Everything was falling into place nicely.  My meeting ended at 11:45, in enough time for me to get back to the hotel, change and check out.  I called the Ocala National Forest and they said the Ranger Station was located 15 minutes east of Ocala.  I stopped for some lunch and calculated my arrival.  I should be back home by 3:30.

Okay.  Here is the one thing I didn’t calculate.  Ocala is extremely wide for a small town.  It took me an hour to get across it going from west to east.  I called the Ranger Station twice.  They kept telling me I needed to keep driving.  I finally arrived at 2:00.  I paid my $7 and received directions to the tree plantation which was further into the forest.  I was getting closer to Ormond Beach than I ever thought I would.

So, let me go back to Saturday when I heard the news item about the trees.  In my head I imagined hundreds of people scouring the marked off section of the forest looking for the perfect tree.  Not the case at all.  There was no one.  Well, there was me, of course, which brings me to my second miscalculation – no cell phone service.  I hope I don’t run into any violent “Save the Sand Pines” activist!

I found the tree plantation which consisted of a sign giving me permission to cut down a tree within the marked off section.  I stood where the section started.  I didn’t see where it ended.  There were hundreds, if not thousands, of Sand Pines.  They were of all shapes and sizes, growing mostly in pairs, which made for some lopsided Christmas tree possibilities.  The whole area looked as if had been part of a controlled burn and reseeding project.  It was a beautiful day to go looking for a tree.  The temperature was in the 70s and the sky was blue.  So, I started looking.

I walked and I walked and I walked.  I tried to memorize the skyline and the position of the sun in case I got lost.  I kept walking.  I imagined the headlines about some tree hunter getting lost in the forest.  When I imagined my embarrassment at this, I would backtrack to my car and head a different direction.  After 45 minutes of hunting, I found my tree near a burned cypress tree.  It was perfect.  It looked to be about seven feet tall.  Of course it wasn’t.  It is taller.  And, most importantly it had fullness on all sides.  Apparently, this is rare when trees grow wild and untrimmed.  I marked the spot, ran to get my chain saw and started planning how I was going to haul this tree back to my car.

The chain saw sliced the trunk like butter.  I caught the tree with my free hand and began to lift instinctively.  It weighed very little.  So, feeling like a hunter who just bagged his kill, I hoisted my tree proudly on my shoulder and carried it to the car triumphantly.

Sand Pines are whispy.  Is that a word?  There isn’t much to them.  They are light.  The needles are soft and fine.  In other words, if I had five Sand Pines on top of my car, it would have looked like I had done some hard work.  This just looked like I trimmed a few limbs in my back yard and I was hauling them off to the dump.  Embarking on this adventure, I imagined people staring at my car on the drive home.  And, they did.  But, the expressions I surmised to be more of a giggle than of awe.  Oh, well.

The tree is now in my living room now.  The lights are on it.  We finished decorating it tonight.  From the street it looks like the lights are hovering in mid air.  There just isn’t a lot of mass to this tree.  But, I like it.  It is my tree.

There is something to be said for things that require effort.  I tend to appreciate those things more.  And, this tree took me on an adventure I may have never experienced on my own, if not for all the circumstances aligning just right.  I’m glad I was paying attention to the opportunity.

May we all recognize opportunities of all sorts this holiday season!!!

The convention ended at 5:30 on Sunday night, plenty of time for our group to travel the six or so miles to the Pacific Ocean.  There were quite a few that wanted to dip their toe in the water since they had spent most of their life communing with the Atlantic Ocean.  I obliged and on Saturday spoke with the concierge of the hotel to find the best way to get to the beach.  He suggested taking the Trolley (rail transportation) to Old Town and Bus 35 to Ocean Beach.  He warned me to watch my time as the last bus back to the Trolley left at 11:15.  I located a restaurant on Ocean Beach so that we could watch the sunset and enjoy our last night in San Diego insuring a perfect end to a great trip.

On Sunday morning we all gathered in the hotel dining room for breakfast.  I paid the bill as I had the two previous mornings.  Only on this morning my business credit card wouldn’t work.  It had hit its limit.  Strange.  I mapped out the trip expenses before we left to be sure that I wouldn’t exceed the limit.  The cashier indicated that the hotel had a hold on my card for our rooms.  I paid with my personal card and went to the front desk to speak with someone about the hold.  Evidently there was an $80 hold for incidentals on each of the ten rooms.  That means they were holding $800 that I had no intention of spending.  That’s a lot of bottled water from the tiny refrigerator.  I pleaded my case but they refused to release the hold.

In the meantime my wife, back in Florida, received a call from our credit card company because of “unusual” activity on the card.  My wife assures them that I’m in San Diego on business and authorizes the breakfast purchase.  They make a note of my business trip to California in their records.  My wife sends me a text to let me know what has happened.  I feel pretty confident that my other “unusual” expenses for the next 24 hours of the trip will not be flagged by my credit card company.

I would like to tell you the rest of the day went along as planned.  It did not.  The convention ended 40 minutes late thereby guaranteeing we would only be able to view the sunset from the Trolley platform and not the beach.  The picture at the left is what it would have looked like had we arrived on time.  Only one of four Trolley ticket machines worked.  So, I swiped my card 20 times for our individual $7 round trip tickets.

We took the correct Trolley two stops to Old Town, transitioned onto Bus 35, walked five blocks to Ocean Beach and had a fantastic dinner together.  Okay.  So, we didn’t get to see the sunset.  Not a big deal.  The ending message of the conference was worth the sacrifice.  At 9:15 we had enough time to take a group picture and wander down to the beach for a while.  Our shuttle to the airport left at 5:20 a.m. the next morning.  So, I didn’t want to get back too late.

I gave our server my personal credit card for the meal.  She returned to the table to tell me that my card was denied!  Really?  Capital One knows that I am on a business trip to San Diego.  Luckily, I always carry a third credit card for just this situation.  I worry for a few minutes that because of its reserve status and relative inactivity that it too may be denied.  I wonder if restaurants really make you wash dishes if you can’t pay the bill.  Luckily, it works. 

But, I don’t let it go.  I’m a little upset.  I call my credit card company to complain.  It goes from bad to worse.  They are not helpful and refuse to turn my card back on as they have a report that my identity has been compromised.  I surmise my identity has been compromised by the nearly two dozen $7 Trolley tickets I purchased earlier in the evening.  They disagree and aren’t at liberty to release any details because it is now part of an “ongoing investigation”.  So, therefore, they need to issue a new credit card, which they can express mail to me over night.  I remind them that won’t help me as I am on a business trip, responsible for 20 other people, and we are all leaving early in the morning to fly back to Florida.  The card they plan to turn off puts us in a difficult situation for the next 12 hours.  I exaggerate the situation, telling them that we won’t be able to eat or check our luggage.  None of my attempts at manipulation works.  They refuse to turn the card back on.  Needless to say, I’m simmering with anger.  It is, after all, my credit and my identity.  I should be able to choose whether or not it is stolen or compromised.

I hang up without saying goodbye.  I really showed them who’s boss.  I am outside the restaurant.  I descend the seven steps to the beach still simmering from the phone conversation when someone in our crowd tells me that, according to one of the restaurant employees, Bus 35 made its last Sunday stop at 9:15, but that we might be able to catch it at another stop at 10:08.

Aughhh.  My first instinct is to scream.  I don’t.  But, I am pretty angry.  The plan is falling apart.  Deep breaths.  What time is it?  9:40. Where is the next stop?  Wait.  Maybe the hotel will pick us up.

I call and explain our situation and ask for someone to come pick us up.  After all we did rely on the concierge’s information.  The hotel employee says, “I’m sorry, sir, but you are outside the 5 mile radius.  We can’t send someone to pick you up.  I can give you the name of a taxi or bus service.”  Really?  Now the hotel is conspiring against me.  I tell her, “No thanks,” because we have enough time to walk to the next bus stop.

10 blocks later we arrive at the stop at 10:05 only to discover that bus is the same Bus 35 that has stopped running.  I call the hotel, again, requesting a ride, thinking that we are now within the five mile radius.  She tells me, “No, sir, we can’t pick you up.  We don’t let our bellman leave after 10:00.” 

Frustrated and tired, yet still angry, I ask the rest of the group what they would like to do.  Six elect to take a taxi home.  The rest of us decide to walk the remaining two miles to the Trolley.  Two miles.  At least, that’s what a convenience clerk at a store next to this expired bus stop led us to believe.  It was not two miles.  It ended up being four.

During this stretch of the walk, over an hour long through the streets of San Diego, James, one of our youth ministers, asks me on several occasions, “What do you think God is trying to tell you, Steve?”  The first two times I told James that I was just too mad to understand what God was saying, if anything, to me.  “James, just leave me alone!” I wanted to say.  But, his words sunk in the last time and I have thought about it ever since.

What is God telling me about myself?  What does God continue to tell all of us?

Here it is after a couple of weeks of reflection. 

Not many things turned out as they are planned. 

I get it in my mind what I want.  But, that isn’t always what I get.  Frankly, the walk was kind of fun once I got over myself.  I enjoyed the people I was with and had more opportunity to get to know them better.  As I reflect on life, I realize there haven’t been many things that have turned out as I planned.  Almost none.  Some are disappointing.  Most are a relief.  I have spent time charting out my future, whether it is my career or my next important conversation.  None of it has turned out exactly like I planned.  And, most of it has worked out for the better.

So, here is the other thing. 

God exists especially in the things that don’t turn out the way I had hoped.

This is huge.  I’m not sure why I don’t own this bit of wisdom when I am in the midst of being angry about not getting what I anticipate.  God is incredibly present in these moments of flux and incongruity.  In fact, that is where God tends to be most impactful in my life.

It is difficult to overlay life’s lessons in the midst of experiencing life.  That would be a noble goal, right?  I write this as a reminder to me and to you.  So, let’s hope I can remember all of this the next time my credit card gets cancelled or my ride doesn’t come for me or some other calamity tries to distract me from God’s intended involvement in my life!!!

I will confess.  I didn’t really want to do any of it.  Oh, sure, I put on my running shoes and ran around the block on Monday.  I got up at 5:15 a.m. to get ready to go play basketball on Wednesday and Friday.  And today, I got out of my beach chair at 1:00 in 90 degree weather to play soccer against a bunch of 9 year olds.  But, I didn’t want to do any of it!

Why?

I hate what if feels like at the beginning.  The first lap around my neighborhood feels horrible.  My muscles are tight.  I feel like I can’t breath.  When I play basketball it takes me 20 minutes to get my body feeling that it is okay to jump when I shoot.  And, sweat.  Can we find a way to play sports so that we don’t sweat?  I thought I could play in the soccer game just hard enough to make it challenging for the kids, but not so hard as to deal with the sweat. My shirt was soaked after five minutes.

I know.  I need therapy.  Don’t we all.

But, what is it that makes it so hard to begin something?  Am I afraid of the commitment to make something new happen?  Is it knowing that beginning most things takes more effort until it gets fully ramped up and going?  Do I have a penchant for laziness, preferring to sit in my over stuffed chair in front of the TV eating pecan sandies (I had two a few minutes ago)?

Yes, yes and yes!!!

It is just hard to get going.  So, why do I put myself through such agony?

I also know what it feels like once I’m going.  My body adjusts to a new equilibrium on the second lap around my neighborhood.  My breathing gets easier.  The muscles expand and contract appropriately.  I’m nowhere near “The Zone”.  But, I feel like I can run for a while and not die.  On Friday, I played some of my best basketball of the year.  I wasn’t the best on the court – not even close.  But the rhythm of the game came to me.  I could dribble, shoot and pass with confidence.  I hit two game winning shots, a pretty lay up off a fast break and dribbled behind my back on a nice sideline cut.  It was incredibly fun.  And, soccer.  Well, I scored the first goal against those tough 9 year olds.  I almost ripped my shirt off in celebration!!!  But, then I remembered where I was and what my torso looks like in the mirror.  I kept my shirt on and the celebration to myself.

Once I’m over the hump it feels great to invest in something worthwhile.  I’ve been talking sports this whole time.  But it also has felt good to invest in other things like my marriage.  Our first year was very difficult.  It has been the right thing to have children.  I have never been so tired as I was the first few months after each of them were born.  I’m glad I went to college even though there was a significant period of adjustment.  Moving to Florida was a great decision but didn’t feel like it in the first six months.

Starting a new business seven years ago felt like the right thing to do at the time.  And, then, the next year, the recession hit.  Talk about scary.  Now, I’m looking at the most productive two year cycle we have had.  It is amazing!  

I guess I’ll just keep gutting it out at the beginning knowing what lies beyond the fear, fatigue and stress.  And, I pray that you will do the same.  Just keep your shirt on!

Everything in my house seems to break at once.  About four months after we moved in, three of the four light bulbs in my kitchen burned out within a week.  What’s the big deal, right?  Well, we have vaulted ceilings in all of our common rooms downstairs.  I had to buy a pole with a suction cup on the end of it to grip the light.  To change the bulb I climbed a ten foot ladder, extended my pole, locked the suction cub onto the bulb and turned it ever so gently so as to not lose the effect of the suction.  And, then, when I successfully unscrewed the bulb, I had to maintain suction and balance so the bulb didn’t come crashing to the floor.  My first attempt nearly ended in disaster with the bulb somehow falling into my free hand.  I repeated this process two more times wishing that light bulbs wouldn’t burn out in the first place.

Last month it was the toilets.  How do all the toilets in my house break at the same time?  I’m sure next month it will be something else.

Broken things always need fixing.

I have come to realize that people are like this.  This can be frustrating when one works with people as I do in the church.  I have joked most of my career that ministry would be great if it weren’t for all the people.  I have a couple of other more productive epiphanies – all joking aside.

Everybody is broken.  I used to not think this.  I would hold someone in high regard and think, “If I could be like him (or her) I would have my act together.”  It only takes knowing someone well to really begin to appreciate the fact that there is brokenness in their lives, too.  They don’t have it “all” together.  Every person struggles with their own history, their own present and their own future.

The other day I was in a conversation with a group of people and they were singing the praises of a couple I know, telling everyone how much they admire them.  Well, I guess I am a party pooper.  I affirmed the accomplishments that this person deemed noteworthy and then I added, “I know these people well.  Trust me.  They are just like us and struggle with their own stuff.”

Even my wife used to wonder how other people kept their house so clean and neat.  She would be frustrated by the apparent messiness of our house (note: our house looks pretty good most of the time).  The truth was that these people cleaned up for guests.  In between visitors, they fought messiness, too.

That brings me to my second observation.  We are really good at hiding our brokenness.  A friend of mine once said that we have become sophisticated at hiding our pain.  A baby cries when they are hurt or need something.  As we grow older we have learned to mask those things well, often times hiding when we need to be found the most.

That brings to mind the obvious sorts of brokenness – the ones for which we have developed support groups to deal with – alcoholism, drug addiction, sex abuse, etc.  However, these are, more often than not, symptoms of something else that is broken. Until we deal with the depth of our brokenness, we never really solve what our body does to cope with it.

If we dig a little deeper into ourselves, we will also discover some minor breaks.  I have had chronic back pain for two years.  Some days I don’t feel it.  Other days it immobilizes me (kind of).  I still play basketball.  I just do it with pain.  I keep telling myself that I will go to the doctor to get a diagnosis.  I don’t.  It is brokenness I choose to live with even though there may be a solution for it.

There are minor emotional breaks that we all have.  Whether it is a relationship with a friend, family member or acquaintance, these breaks can continue to cause us pain – pain we don’t talk about, pain we simply play through.

My last observation is similar.  Some people are pretty open with their brokenness.  This can be refreshing to those that value honesty and transparency.  It can also be a source of discomfort for others.  It is actually a relief to the person that is sharing.

However, there are some that never concede, even though those around them can see their brokenness.  These are the people for whom I am most concerned.  They tend to keep people at arms length, convincing themselves that because of the distance, others won’t see what is really wrong in their life.  That is true to an extent.  Other people aren’t able to name what is wrong.  However, they know that something is wrong.

People are broken and broken things always need fixing.  And, it is our willingness to be fixed that allows us to feel whole once again.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t go to see movies more than once or read books more than once as a general rule.  I feel that once I know the ending (and the middle and beginning for that matter), I don’t need to relive it all over again.  So, I have read about five books a second time – The Bible, The Foundation trilogy (much better when I was 13) and Messy Spirituality by Mike Yaconelli.

I was drawn to Messy Spirituality because I gave away my original copy to a friend and wanted the chance to mark up a second one because the original was so helpful to me.  It was a great second read.

I’m reminded that my spiritual life isn’t a straight line trajectory.  It is a meandering journey through wilderness and high vistas.  It is bitter and sweet.  It smells bad sometimes and great at other times.  And, many times I just don’t notice that I am even on a spiritual journey.

One of the many things that caught my attention in Yaconelli’s book was Non Principle #4 of Spiritual growth – Reluctant Growth is Still Growth.  He tells a couple of beautiful stories about people who were in situations where they didn’t want to be and found God anyhow.  These weren’t burning bush experiences.  They are experiences that come out of the normal rhythm of life and, sometimes, out of undesirable situations.

I think about my mundane life and how God shows up even when I’m not a willing participant.  I reflect on ordinary conversations or simple acts of kindness that may not seem very significant, but at the very heart of the experience God was there all along. 

In the last three months, my church has asked me to do a role that I’m not particularly fond of.  It is part time and they saw some value in me doing it.  I don’t dislike the role.  It just isn’t a role I would have ever chosen.  BUT (and there is frequently a “but” in my life), God has shown up in ways that have been surprising.  I have received affirmation because I have helped others in their role.  I have entered into life with people whom I didn’t expect to enter into.  I have learned a great deal about myself and have had the opportunity to grow in ways that I (obviously) wouldn’t have chosen.

But (another one), it has been anything but clean!  It is MESSY!!!  It has been difficult.  I have worked hard without always getting the results I had hoped.  I’m not sure if my work is always appreciated.  I’m not sure if I always appreciate it.

Wow, what life lessons, huh?  They are lessons I would have chosen to avoid for sure.  That’s why it was important for me to read Messy Spirituality right now.  I knew I was wading in the mess and needed to see the significance of it all.

So, the truth is that everything has significance and God exists in it all.  It is up to me (and you) to discover for ourselves the meaning.

Add on to all of that is the fact that I had been working on a relationship with this church for 18 months.  It started with a great conversation I had with their administrator, an ex-attorney.  I still remember speaking to him on the phone when I was watching my daughter at softball practice.  We really connected.  That conversation resulted in me coming to his church to do a pre-hiring consultation for their youth minister position.  I even recommended the person they ended up hiring.  She seemed like the perfect fit for what was a very unique situation.

So, I don’t remember my exact response when the pastor shared his surprise at the cost of the two-year program.  It didn’t matter.  I have concluded that there wasn’t a good response available.  Either I didn’t do a good job in laying out all the parameters of our program or the senior pastor didn’t do a thorough job in investigating my program.  Either way, it was unavoidably embarrassing.

We were pretty far down the road.  The church had already turned in its application.  Their youth minister had attended two of our retreats.  A coach had been assigned.  Airline tickets were purchased for the conference we were attending the next month.  We had begun the assessment process.  So, I determined (and hoped) that this was possibly just a hiccup.  I thought that once I clarify that our program is a $23,000 value and churches only pay 60%, everything would get right back on track.

And, then, ten minutes later, before we are finished, the chair person of the personnel committee gets up to leave claiming another engagement.  So, quickly I grab the contract and say, “Well, you might want to read and sign this before you leave.”  My gut felt like this was unraveling.  I was right.  He didn’t even make eye contact, didn’t thank me for driving the two hours to their church and quickly brushed by the piece of paper without looking at it.  He was gone.

Ten minutes later, I wrapped up the orientation with the other twelve people in the room.  I met with the senior pastor to go over the contract and left the paperwork with him.  I thought there was still a chance that this might work out.

It didn’t.  The contract never came back to me signed.  Within two weeks, the senior pastor reported to me that they had reconsidered and were withdrawing their youth minister from our program.  By the following year, they fired the youth minister.  Obviously they didn’t agree with my assessment of a perfect fit.

I tend to learn more from my failures than my successes.  This one particularly bothers me.  I replay some of the scenes and haven’t fully grasped the lesson.  Sure, I should have made sure that I communicated the cost up front.  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so strong in my recommendation.  But, what else is there?

Or maybe the real lesson is that nothing can prepare us for the unexpected.  Life happens.  People respond.  Sometimes we are left scratching our head.

This week, in Orlando, two teenagers were brutally killed.  Their burned bodies were left on a popular running and biking trail, evidently to send a message.

I’m not implying that my mishap compares to the loss of life.  But, it certainly does leave us scratching our heads.  What happened?  Why would somebody do that?  Could this have been avoided?

Some may claim that this is all part of God’s plan.  Hmm.  I wonder.  I believe that God has a plan for us.  God wants us to experience the richness of this life.  God wants us to share love with one another.  God wants nothing but the best for us.

However, God’s plan doesn’t always get followed.  Life happens.  People respond.  And, sometimes they respond in a way that deviates from God’s plan.  And, we are left scratching our heads. 

We say things like, “I thought this was supposed to turn out differently.  It all seemed to be going the right direction.”  Friends of these teenagers have said how they just saw them the other day and everything seemed to be okay.

So, the plan appears to be ripped to shreds.  And, we are left to pick up the pieces and start all over.

Ahh.  There’s the lesson.  What do we do after the unexpected happens?  How do we recover?  Do we run from God or towards God looking for an alternative plan?  There is a great deal of observable inspiration from the latter – stories of people that have successfully navigated the unexpected and have turned defeat into opportunity.  There are equal numbers of people on the other side who have run the other way, burying their feelings, becoming bitter, angry and resentful.  That surely isn’t the way to live life, is it?

Well, I’m pretty confident that my expectations will be thrown for a loop again.  And, after an appropriate time of anger and sadness (sometimes this lasts longer than I think it should), it will be time to move on and look for the opportunities – living back into God’s plan.

A few years ago, my wife gave me an architecture program for my computer.  Within 6 months I had seven different renovation plans for our home.  Shortly thereafter, during a three month remodel of our pool that drove my wife crazy, I realized that we would never remodel our home, thus all my plans only served as entertainment.

We have since moved into a newer home that doesn’t need any remodeling.  I threw away the computer programs last week.  I guess I need a new outlet.  So, I turn to the metaphor.

Imagine that you are in a room.  It can be large or small, full or empty.  The important image is that you are standing in one place in the room, looking at everything that is in it.  That place provides you with a perspective of the room.

In our new home, we are hanging pictures.  In fact, my wife created this giant picutre wall with nearly 30 picture frames.  When I stand in one place in the room, I get one view of the wall, with the front door in the background.  From another point in the room, I’m looking down on the wall from the stairs.  Each view of the same wall, gives me a different perspective of the room.  If I move my eyes around the room from that same perspective I can see some things more clearly from that point in the room than I can from another point in the room.

Our perspective is singular.  We tend to see the world from where we stand.  

Take any political or social issue.  State your opinion and why you think that.  Now, try to move around the room.  Difficult, huh?  

For some reason, people in our culture believe if we change our perspective, it communicates a weakness in our belief system or an inability to make definitive decisions on things that are important in life.  Hogwash.

It is the ability to move around the room that opens up a world of possibilities.  Yes.  Cause and effect become more complicated.  The room goes from being black and white to a multi-color status with one color bleeding into another.

And, when I begin to move around the room in my home, I realize that while the front door is closed, there are three other doors in the room and one may be open, thereby leading me into another room with even greater possiblities and, yes, a completely new perspective.

Since I began the Youth Ministry Institute six years ago I have been walking through a lot of open doors.  Early on, I banged my head on a few closed doors, too, trying to get through.  But, I quickly realized that God wanted me to move around the room and only walk through open doors.

About the same time as YMI came into being, my wife and I started praying a prayer when we came to a crossroads regarding a family decision.  It went something like this, “Dear God, make it stinking obvious!”  That prayer became a centering prayer for us.  It centered us on God, while we changed our perspective.  The number of open doors we have walked through in the last six years are too numerous to count.  Our friendships are deeper and broader.  Our sense of purpose is clearer.

I guess I’m having fun with the architecture of my life, knowing that I’m not the designer.  I simply get to wander around that which has been constructed for me.  Oh, I’m still making decisions.  The big decision was to move off of the spot in the first room.

Another momentous birthday took place the day before my dad’s.  My friend, Ian, turned 50.  I can’t believe I have friends that old!!!  I called Ian, who lives near Calgary, Alberta, on his birthday.  We haven’t seen each other in decades.  But, we have talked on the phone almost once a year over the last decade.

Ian and I recalled the special nature of our friendship.  There were actually three of us that hung out together for about a six month period beginning in the summer of 1975, some 18 months after my dad died.  I was in the 7^th grade and my mom and I were recreating our lives in a suburb of Kansas City.  We lived in a two bedroom duplex that was on the border of a big highway construction project.  Ian lived on the other side of the construction project, an area we called “The Field”. 

The Field became our playground.  There were mounds of dirt and an expanse of rugged terrain that made it, at the same time, mysterious and safe for young teenagers.  We filmed movies, made up games, built forts and dams.  And, when we weren’t in the field we were creating other methods of play.  There were no board games for us.  Electronic gaming hadn’t been invented, yet.  We were still a year away from “pong”.

We would spend hours at night on a hill we called “Thepid” gazing at the stars, wondering if life existed beyond our tiny little home.  In fact, we began asking a lot of the big questions about life during this period of time.  It was a time of rapid inquisitiveness and exquisite creativity. 

And, Ian drove it all.

He had an unquestioned philosophy of life.  I wouldn’t say it was spiritual, but it bordered on that.  He lived into a moral framework of how the world should operate.  And, if we didn’t agree, we weren’t cool.  Ian was his own person, choosing not to hang around one particular group at school, but rather be his own person that had friends in multiple groups.

There was a dress code, however.  Flannel shirts with unbutton cuffs, bell bottom Levis faded (because of use, not because they were purchased that way), and a jeans jacket, no matter how cold it was.  In the summer, we wore cutoff jean shorts, no shoes and no shirt.  Again, if you didn’t dress the part, you weren’t cool. 

It sounds like a cult, right?  I guess in some ways, it may have been at least cliquish.  Except the moral code was always the most important.  Others were treated with respect.  It was important to think about the questions of life and not necessarily come up with any of the answers.

So, on Tuesday night, after wishing him a happy birthday, I thanked Ian for saving my life.  He didn’t know it at the time.  But, I was a boy looking for male leadership in my life.  All of the sudden Ian was there.  He wasn’t perfect.  But, in retrospect, he filled a void in a big way. It isn’t just coincidence for me that his birthday and my dad’s are one day and 40 years apart.

After six months Ian moved to Chicago.  Luckily his influence didn’t leave with him.  We wrote long letters (in the days before email) to each other for years after that.  It was reminiscent of sitting at Thepid, talking about all of the big ideas that existed in the universe.

So, happy birthday, Dad.  Happy birthday, Ian.

After writing a number of blogs over the last year, I’m realizing that my life really encompasses some particular themes.  I am very connected to my past and I place a great deal of value on my roots as I define them.  Now I have no particular interest in family genealogy.  I’m leaving that to some family members who have great interest in the subject.  But, I am interested in what makes me the person that I am.

Read the blogs.  I had a number of emotional trips to Kansas City for reunions and a funeral.  This caused me to reflect on the impact individuals and circumstances have made upon my life.  In a trip this summer that I didn’t blog about (I insinuated I would since I called my blog about my first summer trip “Reunion Part I”) I ended up taking my family on a twelve day driving trip to Kansas City and back primarily for my high school reunion (#30 if you must know).  We spent time on the way up and back staying with and reconnecting with close friends and family. We stayed with one of my best friends in Kansas City and also with a cousin who really I think of more like a sister. Literally, within a two week span I had an opportunity to visit with most of my close friends and family.

I also wanted my kids to see the places that influenced me.  So, we drove by the houses I lived in, visited all of the schools I attended.  Well, that is a lie.  I attended two elementary schools in southeast Kansas and the school I attended in 2^nd through 4^th grade is now an empty field.  We discovered this when I announced to my family, “Coming up on your left is Mohawk Elementary School!  Tada!”  The field wasn’t very impressive.  But, Hillcrest (now Westridge Middle School), Shawnee Mission West High School (we toured the whole thing as part of the reunion), Baker University and the University of Kansas (I stayed too long in the new Hall of Fame at Allen Fieldhouse) were very impressive and in much better shape than when I attended them.

So, believe it or not, my kids liked the trip.  It was a great reconnection for me and I felt like these pieces of me that are so significant now have form in their collective memories.

Therefore, without hesitation, we scheduled a trip to Grandma and Papa’s house in California.  My children have never been to their house.  We spent Christmas at my brother’s house in Los Angeles (my sister lives in LA also) five years ago.  Only my daughter remembers what wasn’t recorded in pictures.  Again, a long visit with family and a chance to draw my children closer to the people who molded me into the person I am today.

I really wanted my kids to connect with my brother and sister.  They are both quite a bit older than me.  My relationship with them resembles that of an uncle and aunt rather than siblings.  I didn’t want to force the interaction.  But, let me tell you a few of my observations.

One night my kids ate dinner at a table with just my brother and my niece, my brother’s daughter – the kids table (for kids of all ages on this night).  They did what I had hoped.  They laughed at his quirky sense of humor.  It is the same humor that he and I share and has made me laugh all of my life.  It was awesome to hear them laugh and giggle.

They have interacted with my sister on a number of occasions previous to this.  It is still fun to watch her talk to them the way she used to talk with me when I was their age.  She really cares about what they say and how they feel.  Her deep interest values them as she valued me when I was young.

The interaction went beyond my siblings, of course.

We took a number of day trips.  I drove the van while my step-dad sat in the passenger seat.  My wife sat behind me and my daughter next to her.  In the way back sat my two boys and my mom in between them.  I simply listened to their banter.  She would ask questions.  They would respond with silly answers.  She would laugh at their answers.  My wife commented that her joy for life and easy laugh is one reason that she has lived such a healthy life.  I countered that it is also her most endearing quality to others.  Mom always laughs at my jokes and now laughs at the jokes of my children.  We all love it and love her because of it.

All of my children’s first cousins are quite a bit older.  But, my kids easily connected with all of them, playing games and going on walks.  It is their second cousins that are their age.  Playing was easiest with them, of course.

All of my trips in 2011 have been unusually rewarding.  I can’t think of another year in which I have reconnected with people so thoroughly.  I don’t live in the past.  But, I certainly value it as it has shaped the person that I am today.

Even more importantly, I recognize that the present quickly becomes our past experiences.  All of that is definitely worth more than the price of multiple plane tickets.  Now, I just wish I could sleep!