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!

But that’s what it feels like.  When a deadline looms on the horizon I feel myself staring it down the closer it gets.  As it nears, my adrenaline pumps and I gut out the final product.

I write a newsletter for the organization that I direct, the Youth Ministry Institute.  This blog will also appear in that newsletter.  No one has ever commented on a bit of newsletter faux pas.  But I am sure people have wondered about the name of the month the newsletter is issued.  No, I’m not making up my own names for the names of months.  The Romans have already done that for us.

For instance, today’s newsletter will be the November issue (issued on the last day of November).  It makes more sense if it were the December issue (one day early).  Fortunately, I know how my brain works.  If I changed the month on the masthead, December 1^st would arrive and I would talk myself in to something else on my to-do list.  The middle of December would meander towards me and I would decide that it is still December and I have plenty of time to get the newsletter out.  As the end of the month neared the December newsletter would look more and more like a January newsletter issued in December like it is now.  So, I’m sticking with my deadline and my accurate, yet somewhat flawed, choice of month that it is issued.

Christmas time brings another sort of deadline for me.  Since high school I have written the family Christmas letter.  There have been many years when I have invoked the 12 Days of Christmas rule.  In other words, if you receive my Christmas greeting within two weeks after Christmas, it still counts as a Christmas greeting.  I am pretty sure that I have found myself stuffing Christmas letters after Christmas more often than I have before.

So, deadlines are critically important to me.  They represent the finish of a project.  I gain a great deal of satisfaction when I accomplish a large enough task to warrant a deadline.  In fact, there may not be enough deadlines in my life.  I have a strong desire to accomplish more.  But, I’m not sure if I have the emotional strength to put everything on a hard deadline.  There is, of course, stress involved when you do that.

This always leads me to evaluate what is most important.  What deserves a deadline and what doesn’t.  Clearly family and faith fall at the top of that list for me.  Am I as firm with deadlines regarding projects that involve my family members and my own personal devotion to God?  Relationships tend to be more fluid and not prone to deadlines like other projects.  So, how does my sequential brain and task oriented personality spend time on what is really most important to me?

I am approaching Christmas this year with that question.  I don’t think I have it answered.  But, maybe, as with most things, simply asking the question heightens my awareness of my time and how I am spending it.  Maybe if I knocked some of my tasks out of the way earlier, I would spend more time focusing on what is important???  I don’t know.

So, it is nothing short of a miracle that I dropped my Christmas cards at the post office today!!!  Yes, a November post mark will appear on them for the first time in over 30 years.  You may wonder how I was able to do it.  The deadline wasn’t even close.  Where did the motivation come from?

Those of you who know me best have already figured it out.   My family moved this year.  We wanted people to know our new address.

So, the deadline was Thanksgiving, which evidently lasts until the end of November.

So, I did what any red blooded American male would do. Nothing. I self diagnosed. I determined (and I’m going to use the medical term here) I pulled all the little strings holding the insides of me together. So, I stretched. I did sit ups, leg ups, leg overs, bend overs, anything to feel like I was solving the problem. I was determined to solve this pain myself.

I have felt pain at other times in my life, too. I like to be liked. And, I am hurt deeply when somebody doesn’t like me. I used to determine that people don’t know me very well if they don’t like me. If only they knew me better, they would like me. Well, then there were some people in college who knew me pretty well and didn’t like me. Hmmm. I had trouble justifying that one.

In fact, one night my senior year, my own fraternity brothers (they knew me well) lit fire crackers in front of my door while I was asleep. The noise woke me up and my adrenaline wouldn’t let me go back to sleep. I never asked who did it. I had a few guesses. But, I really didn’t want to know who might dislike me to that degree. The burn mark on the carpet reminded me of their dislike. Honestly, it is still painful.

The pain of loss has been rather large in my life. My dad died when I was ten. That was a big loss, one I’ll never fully quantify. I have had lost relationships – friends and girlfriends. I could list names and still feel the pain of some of those losses, although it all dissipates with time and new found friendships and love. In other words, I’m thankful I’m married to the woman I am married to.

But it was really the death of my cousin, Dan, where I felt the most pain. I realized shared memories that go unwritten do die once both who share it are gone. I miss the ability to share those memories that are only special to me and Dan. Frankly, no one else would understand. They wouldn’t see the humor in the things we laughed about.

So, my back still hurts – 16 months later. The strings have localized to a spot. But, I’m convinced this pain will never go away. I still play basketball and run. I get up slower. I’m not as quick. But the pain remains.

I have learned to live with it.

And, even more importantly, I have learned not to focus on it. My life isn’t all about pain. It is really about the joy in the midst of pain. I look fondly back on college as an incredible learning and growing experience. I am better for all of the relationships I have had. And, even the pain in my back reminds me how fragile life is and how I might want to live each day to the fullest.

I’m convinced it is not whether we have pain or not. It is what we do with the pain we have that matters.

Our previous house of 15 years was 1200 square feet, which was fine when it was just my wife and I. Then, we added a dog, a cat, a human girl and two human boys. Oh, and by the way, for those of you who don’t live in Florida – we didn’t have a basement. Northerners don’t know how Floridians can survive without basements. Pile on the fact that we didn’t have a garage AND our cars parked nightly under a pine tree that continually dripped sap.

An aside: a few years ago I took my car to the car wash – one of those car washes where they have three guys prep it, send it through the 100 foot tunnel and then, at the end, another three guys wipe it down. My car is a 1997 Explorer and doesn’t get treated to this kind of car wash very often.  At the end I claim my car by handing my ticket to one of the guys. Usually they say, “Thank you very much, sir.” This time I was scolded for parking my car under a pine tree. “It is ruining your paint,” he said. The pine tree covers my drive way. So, a couple of weeks later I parked my car on the street because my wife’s car was parked in the middle of the driveway. That night the neighbor across the street backed into my car leaving a big crease on the driver’s side door and quarter panel. I wanted to take my car back to the car wash and say to the guy, “See. I didn’t park it under the pine tree this time!”  Of course, the best way to get rid of the sap was to have the whole quarter panel replaced.  The next time I should ask my neighbor to drop something on top of the car as this is where most of the sap hardens.

Back to the new house and my guilt. Our new house is 2800 square feet with a three car garage. Ugh. There, I said it.

My bedroom is bigger than the living room at my old house. There are places I can go where I don’t hear the other people with whom I am living. I have a bathroom with a real door that locks (I know. That is good for another story at another time.) My wife and I can occupy the bathroom at the same time without touching one another! We have a living room and dining room that are empty because these rooms didn’t exist in the old house. I’m not really sure what they are used for. I think I’m going jockey for a pool table and some arcade games. It is easy to tell that this experience is causing monumental changes in our lifestyle!

My wife and I were also shopping for a neighborhood that would be great for our kids. On the second day after we moved in, five neighborhood kids came and introduced themselves. On the third day our kids were out playing with them – hide and go seek, bike riding, swimming at their pool. For three hours we trusted that our kids were okay playing outside without our supervision. We wouldn’t have done that in our old neighborhood. We didn’t know that this was still possible in the 21st century.

Why is there an instant level of trust in this community? You see, our development is a half mile square and is ringed by a wall with one gate leading into the 77 homes. When we tell people where we live, they say, “Oh, yeah, behind the wall.”

Here comes my guilt. I have always made fun of people in gated communities (behind their backs of course). I have always felt that a gate gives a false sense of security. What if the criminals lived inside the gate? Or what if people with gate access let the nar-do-wells in? To prove my point, our gate has been broken for the last three weeks. Anybody can come in!

I have also had a certain prejudice about people that live in nice houses and nice neighborhoods. I’m sure that most of it stemmed from jealousy. I wanted to live in a nice house and in a nice neighborhood.

So, I know that you are asking, “How can he afford to live there? He is a youth minister. He can’t make that much money.” I’m asking myself the same question.

There were four houses for sale in this community. After we looked at the first one, our realtor asked me, “What do you think?” I said, “I’m not thinking because I can’t afford this house. They are asking way beyond my ceiling. Let’s not come back here.”

What I discovered is that the combination of a flooded market in this neighborhood plus overall declining housing prices, low interest rates and the amount of equity I had in my old home (which sold in 19 days) allowed me to buy a house within my price range. I could afford it.

I’m still feeling guilty. I’m a hypocrite. Even though I am living well within my means, I feel like I’m living beyond them.

I am very very thankful to have found the house in this neighborhood. It is exactly what we were looking for and more. I guess, what it boils down to is that I expected to find what I was looking for. I didn’t expect something beyond my comprehension.

I’m not saying God gave us this house even though I am very thankful to God for every good thing that happens in my life and the lives of my family and others. I would venture to say that God does give us experiences beyond our comprehension. I have experienced that in this instance and at other pivotal times in my life.

And, just like God’s love, I have trouble getting my mind around it. So, instead of simply accepting it, I have to rationalize it and end up feeling guilty for not being worthy of the gift.

I plan to get beyond guilt and rational thought so that I might enjoy all the extravagant experiences that God has planned for me. I know it will take some time. But, I want to enjoy this stage of my life, too.

By the way, let me know if you would like the gate code.  Or, who knows, it might still be broken.

I am not surprised by the verdict.  Nor am I surprised by the responses to it.  Many feel she is guilty and are upset by the travesty of justice.  Therein lies our problem.  What is justice?  Some seek justice for Casey, some for Caylee.  According to a pole conducted by a local television station, about 18% of Central Floridians are okay with the verdict.  I would imagine they feel as if justice was served.  It wouldn’t be just to convict someone on evidence (or the lack thereof) that doesn’t connect a person directly to the crime.  Too many inferences and too many leaps in logic cause reasonable doubt.

So, what is missing?

Truth.

I’m pretty confident that’s why many people are still upset.  There is no closure to this case.  Caylee’s disappearance and cause of death remain a mystery.  And, we feel like there are people that know the truth.  They just aren’t saying anything.

Our justice system does not hold truth in high regard.  Our presumption of innocence until proven guilty can be interpreted, “I didn’t do it until I am caught doing it.”  There are few rewards for honestly confessing crimes.  We would prefer to punish people for their crimes.  Therefore, if we are going to punish them, we need to make sure that they committed the crime – beyond a reasonable doubt.

I’m not suggesting we change the system (although some would).  I am suggesting that we acknowledge and accept what our system of justice does to our society.  The results are all around us.  Wall Street executives lie until they are caught.  Athletes do the same.  Statistics show that our children continue to cheat in school at increasing rates.  Why?  Because, we live in a society that values punishment more than truth.  I’m not surprised.

In fact, it is as if I can stare in the mirror and watch the wrinkles set in and the brown in my hair turn to gray.  That is, if I had enough time to stand and stare into a mirror.  Because of the stealth nature of time, I’m finding it difficult to get done all the things I would like to do (that is a subject for another time).

I have found the most effective way to prove all of these things factual.  Go to a reunion or two or three. I found some time to do that.  In the interest of diminishing time I knocked two reunions out in one weekend.  Located in two different states, one day apart, I came face to face with people I had not seen in 20-30 years.  Sobering, huh?  It is especially mind bending to hear people say, “You haven’t changed.”  Right.  I’m 25 pounds heavier.  There is good amount of gray in my hair.  I would admit, I resemble the 25 year old I used to be.  But, I am not him.

Last Friday night I flew to Dallas to attend the Schneeberger/Kaspereit Family Reunion on Saturday.  This is a yearly gathering.  My brother goes every year.  I haven’t been since sometime in the mid 80s.  I attended at my brother’s generous invitation.  I’m glad I went.  My dad was an only child.  So, it makes all of the relatives on this side of the family 2^nd and 3^rd cousins, great aunts and great uncles.  The family tree is confusing when it branches out so far.  I tend to get lost in it.  Two other factors make these connections difficult for me.  My dad died when I was ten which curtailed our yearly attendance.  And, there are only three other cousins that were born within five years of me.  Our age group is small in numbers.

This year’s reunion was very nice.  I enjoyed talking with everyone.  My relatives are really nice people.  Half of them weren’t alive or hadn’t married into the family the last time I attended.  That left about ten people who I had any familiarity with and six of them were my brother’s immediate family.  I am very happy I attended.  But, I left knowing that it would be a while before I came back.  And, I’ll be a little older when I do.

The next morning I flew to Kansas City, rented a car and drove to Valley View United Methodist Church, the church I attended when I was a teenager.  The last time I attended a Sunday morning service there may have been when I was in college.  I walked in and immediately ran into the mother of a friend of mine.  “Wow,” I thought, “This will be great.”  I kept looking for people I remembered.  They must all be older.  Nobody else talked to me.  Well, it didn’t matter.  I walked around the building imagining the activities and the people from the past in each of the rooms I passed.

Then, I entered the sanctuary.  Now, this room is unique.  It is a hexagon with the altar in the middle.  There are no windows.  So, the room can be lit in a number of ways to create different atmospheres.  I sat down in the place my mom and I always sat 15 minutes before the service started imagining all of the experiences I had in that sanctuary.  I was confirmed there at the communion rail just to the right of where I was sitting.  I imagined the youth group performing the dramatic musical, Celebrate Life.  I stood with Matt and Laurie on the right.  We narrated the musical.  This became a pivotal experience in how I understood Jesus in my life.  As the room darkened for prayer, I remembered how Chris and Janet, my two good friends, would always go to the altar to pray whether anyone else did or not.  I recalled the play I was in when we cleared the altar and the communion rail.  I could see our youth choir (I wasn’t in it) circle the altar as we began the early service each week.  I remembered giving the sermon as a high school student, this time from the left side.  I have no idea what I said.  But, my church allowed me to say it and affirmed me.  The service I was attending ended with a pretty poor sermon and I left without being greeted.  It didn’t matter.  I’m not sure if I had enough emotional energy left to say anything to anybody.

Next, began the 45 minute drive to Baldwin City, the home of Baker University and the Baker Institute, a summer church camp experience in dorms.  It is the 100 year anniversary of Institute and I was going to celebrate with present day Institutors and generations of people who were impacted by the experience.  It proved to be another trip down memory lane.  I ran into people I hadn’t seen since the 80s.  I guess I have been out of touch with some people for a couple of decades.  My friend, Kurt Cooper, put together a three hour program that took us from 1911 to the present.  It was fascinating to hear the continuum that made up the Institute Experience.  I was able to talk with and sit next to people who impacted my life through the experience I had there.

In addition I was asked to write and talk about one of the decades.  You guessed it.  I talked about the 80s, since evidently, that is when I disappeared from the lives of many in this part of the country.  I won’t recount what I said here.  I may copy it into a separate blog.  But, suffice to say, this was an important part of my life at a time when the experiences I had would impact me the most.

So, I do feel old.  These experiences were long ago and now are part of history.  In fact, the Institutors that were gathered there to begin their week weren’t even alive when I had my experiences there.  I left early to catch a flight back to Orlando so that I could be in my own house on Fathers Day, if even only for an hour.

As I left (before the program was over) I, again, felt emotionally spent.  However, I was spiritually satisfied.  There was something right about going to the reunions I attended.  There exists a wholeness in me when I connect fully with my past and attempt to bring the memories into clear focus in the present.  I laugh and cry.  Both come out of a good place in my heart.

However, like everything, there wasn’t enough time.  There wouldn’t have been enough time if I was the last one to leave each reunion.  There is never enough time.  As my 20 year old friend reminded me, “The days seem to move faster.”

People are released from their work assignments all the time for any number of reasons. Some are downsized out of a job. Some simply fail to produce the results that were expected. This happens in all industries under all sorts of circumstances.

But, I believe there is one thing that is a constant in all termination proceedings. One sheet of paper draws all professions together. What is it?

It is The List.

I’m a big fan of The List. It is the two minute warning of the working world. It means that you better get it done now in regulation time or your time here is over.

Again, let’s go back to my world of youth ministry. Many churches do a poor job of communicating expectations. They begin with a job description that outlines the duties of the job. But, very rarely does a job description communicate the expected outcomes of those duties. Therefore, it is not unusual for a youth minister to check off on the job description while at the same time not meet the expectations of his or her supervisor and the rest of the church.

That is why I like The List. It always clearly communicates the outcomes desired. Unfortunately, The List comes into play way too late. It is usually the result of a great deal of frustration and the unmet goals of the rest of the church (not the youth minister). When somebody gets served with The List, there are but two choices.

1.                  Do everything on The List, exceeding expectations where possible.

OR

2.                  Go and find another job —- quickly!

Because if one doesn’t fulfill the expectations on The List in the time frame in which they are requested, The List is then used to justify one’s termination.

So, there are a lot of ways to look at The List. One could see it as the enemy. “What do they know about how I do my job?” “I’m the one hired to do this. Why are they telling me what to do?”

One could also use it as a wake up call. “Hmmm. I guess I need to get to work here if I want to keep this job.” “Am I well suited for the job they are asking me to do?” “What kind of help do I need – more training, counseling?” And, in some instances, “Do I need to seek legal counsel? This doesn’t feel right.”

What if the church started laying out expectations from the beginning? Produce The List early before things start going poorly. Or, (this is even better) how about developing The List with the youth minister’s input at the outset of their employment? The List could become a dynamic set of goals that are reevaluated and assessed periodically.

Why am I a big fan of The List? I just think it needs to be used differently. There is nothing wrong with communicating clear expectations and reviewing the outcomes as they happen. There is a great deal of health in knowing strengths and shortcomings before things get difficult.

And, finally, an employee can be proactive here. Produce The List yourself. Show up to the next board meeting with a well thought out set of goals and outcomes. Be sure to make it realistic. You wouldn’t want to be fired on account of your own list. I have yet to see that happen, however. People in leadership are always impressed when someone develops and lives by their own metrics.

So, here’s hoping that the only list you will ever see is The List you write or help write yourself!!! I bet you’ll keep your job if you do.

I mean that my life has been a whirlwind the last two months. How do I know? Because I messed up two appointments in the last week.  The first:  I advertised a meeting at a time different from what the chair of the committee communicated to me.  I corrected it before too many people were aware of the set time.  Sorry, Todd.  And, right now I’m sitting in my car in an Applebees parking lot in Tampa typing with my thumbs on my phone because I showed up to an appointment early – one week too early.  Ugh! Luckily (or unluckily) I got the next appointment correct – at Applebees in 90 minutes.

I live with stress as we all do.  After all, I have a job, wife, kids and bills to pay.  When my stress affects the way I function and feel, I know that I’m overtaxed.  Usually I sleep a lot, mess up appointment times or crave chocolate ( I just finished off a hot chocolate I felt obligated to buy from the coffee shop I sat in waiting for my next week’s appointment).

I am also only aware of my most intense stress after I have already been through it.  When I am in the middle of it, I’m pretty hyper focused on the next task.  I move from task to task with only sleep as my respite.   Today is the day I have become aware of what I have been through the last couple of months.  So, now that I am beyond the intensity, allow me to reflect.

February and March are filled with a frat deal of travel around the state. I meet with people (usually pastors and youth ministers) to tell them about the Youth Ministry Institute in hopes that they will participate or that they know of someone who will.  My goal is to get the next year’s class together by the end of May.  I put 3000 miles on my car and talk to nearly 75 people.  I balance that with being the best father and husband that I can be.  My absence from my wife and three children carries with it a certain amount of guilt.  This, of course, adds to the stress.

In addition to all of what I would consider normal stress that I (and my family) have grown accustomed to, my wife and I decided to sell our home in hopes of eventually purchasing a larger one.  1200 square feet feels a lot smaller than it did three children ago.  We ironed out a plan in February that would take seven weeks.  It comprised of renovating two bathrooms, painting most of the interior walls, and taking everything that was non-essential and/or ugly and putting it in storage.  Our goal was essentially to make our house look like ghosts lived there.  Not the spooky kind.  The kind that don’t eat, sleep or leave a trace of their existence.  It took eight weeks (no surprise) and non-stop work (except for sleep).  But, we made it.  On Monday night, we signed the paperwork and already we have shown our house four different times.  Whew!!!

That doesn’t mean the stress has ended.  In fact, I’m not sure if it is healthy to live without any stress.  Stress creates a tension that allows me to excel to my highest level of productivity.  I am able to do things that I wasn’t previously aware that I could do.  Prolonged tension does cause me to snap, however.  It is the snapping I would like to avoid.  Next week I will work on web site design, write articles for a newsletter, draft a partnership proposal and write some assessments for some of our students.  These will all be hard work for me.  But, I’m not underwater anymore.  I think I can manage all of those things.

I’m feeling kind of hopeful.

Hmmm. I guess I’m ready for Easter!

I sure hope the Easter Bunny brings some chocolate!

Another show I watched when I was very young was Mission:Impossible.  Thanks to Tom Cruise, everyone knows about the premise of this show.  In the TV show, the IMF team were good guys – none of this double crossing confusion.  It was straightforward.  Jim Phelps would hear the mission via an audio tape.  The tape would self-destruct in 5 seconds and the show was off and rolling.  The team would gather to accomplish the mission using great ingenuity and near flawless timing (or in its absence, good luck).  They righted the wrongs of the world one at a time.

I love that concept!

That’s why I go to church.  No, I don’t wear disguises or an ear piece or carry a weapon.  I go to church because I believe in the mission.  I don’t go because I want to be entertained.  I don’t even go, most of the time, because I want to be inspired or challenged in my faith.  Crazy, huh?  I bet a lot of people are looking for those things.

So, what is the mission, you may ask???

Ironically, Jesus put it pretty simply.  I’ll paraphrase it.  Love God by Loving People.  Love rights the wrongs of the world.  I can’t do that by watching the tele-evangelist on TV every morning.  I can’t do that by hiking in the woods.  And, yeah, I can’t do that if I just sit in a pew on Sunday mornings and sing songs either.

But, I have come to realize that the most dramatic movement for good in the world continues to be the Christian church (at least when it stays focused on Jesus, the Christ, and not some narrow interpretation of who deserves God’s love and who doesn’t).  The Peace Corps does good work.  There are other organizations that have done very good things.  Bill Gates is even doing his fair share of good things.  But, all of that is temporary fixes for long term problems.  The Christian church has stood the test of time.

2000 years is a long time to keep a movement moving forward.  How can you ignore the track record?  Sure, there were setbacks.  The Crusades seems to be the setback that most people talk about.  Yeah, the Crusades were embarrassing and wrong.  And, it might prove why government and religion make poor bedfellows.  But, the beauty is that with every setback, the Christian church bounces back when it becomes refocused on Jesus and his teachings.

Love God by Loving People.

When I go to church on Sundays, I sing the songs.  Occasionally I am inspired.  But, I sing them because I believe they move me and the people with whom I am singing to do something that is in line with the mission.  It starts in the community of people with whom I share the mission.  With their help, we are more able to do more.

I can’t do it all by myself.  In my church (which isn’t different from a lot of churches) we participated in providing housing for the homeless, services for the needy, identification cards for the poor, and homes for the working poor.  We provide a place where music and the arts can be celebrated in multiple expressions.  We provide child care for working families, a place for teenagers, a break for families with mentally and physically disabled family members and a respite for those in the later years of life. I am sure that I am leaving out 50-100 things that our church does weekly.   I’m sure there are many other things that we could do that we aren’t doing.  The fact is that there are many things that we want to do, but simply haven’t started yet.

Show me a single civic club or any secular organization that does it like the church.  Oh, there is messiness in the church (and all other organizations, for that matter).  People cause the mess.  Not everyone gets along all the time.  People become distracted from the mission.  Some forget the mission and try to grab power.  Some want to personally benefit.  Hmmm.  Sounds familiar to me.  Jesus had to deal with the power hungry in his own circle of friends.  One wanted to benefit personally.  And there was plenty of confusion and redirection.  It is difficult, and often messy, to get everyone moving towards the same goal at the same time.

Today a friend of mine, Sherrie, told me how her husband termed the messiness.  Again, I’ll paraphrase.

Noah had a mission.  It seemed a little crazy – build a giant boat to get ready for a giant flood.  The mission was clear.  The rain came.  The land flooded.  And the giant boat represented the only hope for a broken world.  As the days went by, can you imagine the smell that developed inside that boat?  It was messy.

Stay with the messy boat.  Believe in the mission.  Or, swim on your own and drown.

I’m staying with the boat because I believe in the mission.