It Was Twenty Years Ago Today. . . .

I'm not sure what the experts would call it, but I measure my life in increments. Two weeks ago today. . . one week from today. . . ten years from now. . . . etc. I'm not sure why I do it, but it helps me to both remember and to plan ahead. Playing that little game today has some extra special meaning for me. The first words of The Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" have been in my thoughts for several days. You see, we moved here to Elizabethtown on August 31, 1991. Twenty years. So hard to believe. Our days truly are like the grass of the field.

This anniversary is important to me for what it reminds me of. We had been living in the Philly area for six years and were one year into what we are doing now. We had three of our four children and they were little. . . sharing a tiny bedroom we called "the bunkhouse" in a house we were renting from my folks. A move to a bigger place was necessary but the rent for anything bigger in that market was way out of our league. Through a series of miraculous God-planned circumstances, we discovered we could build a house in Elizabethtown for less than renting in the Philly suburbs. Not knowing where the money would come from, we started the process. Along the way, God provided in some amazing and very humbling ways.

That's why I need to pause to celebrate and remember. We never asked for financial help. . . but offers of all types came in from God's people. Generous checks came as we needed them. . . appearing from almost nowhere. I still thank God for those folks. You know who you are. A builder named Gerry Horst stepped up out here and built us a house at what we could afford, making it affordable by allowing us to leave some of the house unfinished while also allowing us to drop the price by doing some of the finish work ourselves. My brother Mark - the most talented wood-working craftsman I know - hung doors, trim, and cabinets. His miter joints still look remarkably perfect! A small army of people came out to help us paint. I can't remember everyone who helped us apply two coats of Pittsburgh Paint's "Bone White" to every square inch of the place, but I do remember Jeff, Bob, Randy, Judy, and Dave as being among the many who drove the 90 miles to help us out for a few hours. Then there was the moving day with the big rented truck and the host of people on both ends who helped to load and unload. Every day that I walk out into our driveway I am reminded of that moving day by the small indentation left in my driveway from the corner of the rental truck lift.

Lots has happened in the twenty years since. I've been thinking about that all week. Over the years I've tried to remember to thank God everyday for the gift of the house we live in. In many ways, I still can't believe that it all happened. We added a child at this house and they are now all grown. The place is filled with amazing memories both inside and out. I've thought a lot about that over the last few days. But there are two overwhelming thoughts I've had as I've pondered the twenty years we've spent in this place.

First, God has reminded me that life on this earth is not what it's meant to be. There's been a lot of pain and heartache since 1991. When I think about the army of people who contributed to our house and our move, I realize that the years and all of our lives have been filled with disease, death, divorce, discord, and all other sorts of messy stuff and brokenness. The rotting window wood I fixed this summer is really representative of life. Moth and rust continue to creep into everything.

But I'm glad there is a second reality. I've also learned that God is and that God is in control. He's in the business of carrying burdens, redeeming suffering, and making all things new. There's a day coming when He'll fix it all and we'll inhabit the new Heaven and the new Earth.

Today, I look back to a great day and thank God for what He did. Today, I look forward to an even better day when all that bad stuff I already mentioned will be healed and happening no more. I was reminded of that once again just yesterday when a pastor friend told me about a woman he knows who was asked, "Tell me about the best day of your life." She answered, "It hasn't happened yet!" I look forward to that moving day as well.

Ready Or Not. . . Here She Came. . . .

It's hard to believe that in our post-Katrina world, people would actually be complaining about over-preparation for Hurricane Irene. . . but they are. The older I get, the more convinced I become that you can't be too prepared for the things life throws at you. . . whether it's the weather or the storms of life.


I was thinking about this over the course of the weekend as we worked to get prepared and as we watched a diminished Irene blow through. Our preparation started unexpectedly during a two-day trip to visit our friends Randy and Tammie at their place in Ocean City, NJ. Just as we were preparing to say goodbye and head home on Thursday afternoon, the rains started. Randy has a 16-foot Hobie Catamaran sitting among a dozen other almost identical boats on one of Ocean City's three boat beaches. With only a couple of days until he was heading home for good, he was thinking ahead to the annual routine of getting that boat off the beach and back into storage. He accepted our spontaneous offer to help him with the task before we left. The entire ordeal would have made a great YouTube video as the four of us struggled to lower the mast and carry and trailer the boat in the midst of rain, thunder, and lightning. When Randy asked me to steady the mast with both hands I wondered how long it would be until I was treated to a flash, crack, and front row seat to seeing my entire life re-run before my eyes. Still, we got it done, we laughed, and we wound up with a great memory. Most important. . . we prepared for the storm that was coming.

I did the same when I got home. Our patio furniture and all other potential projectiles were put in the garage. My garbage cans and lids joined them. Since we have a well at our house, I filled coolers with water just in case there was a power outage. I think we were ready.

Storms in life are inevitable. The big difference between life and the weather is that forecasters don't exist who can give us details about the tragedy, struggle, or surprise that might come blowing unexpectedly into our lives as soon as tonight or tomorrow. That's why constant vigilance and preparation are so important. The Scriptures tell us that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. The Psalms are full of laments occasioned by those rains. Wise men and woman build the houses of their lives on the solid and rocky foundation of God's Word. Remember singing that song? The older I get, the more and more convinced I become of my need to go to the well of God's Word moment by moment each and every day. It is from that well that we are able to draw our strength.

No storms may hit me today. . . or maybe they will. I don't know. I just need to be prepared. . . over-prepared.

Why I Couldn't Watch The VMAs. . . .

Much to my own surprise, I just couldn't do it this year. Truth is, I just decided not to. For years I've been watching the MTV Music Video Awards. I don't think I've missed one since they started. Every year I'd assume my spot on the couch with pen and legal pad in hand. In recent years, my laptop's been at my side. I've watched carefully, processed, thought about, and written/blogged on this annual event that serves as a cultural barometer. I'm convinced that the VMAs offer a window into where we've come from, where we are, and where we're going as a culture. That hasn't changed.

So, what happened this year? I spent the days leading up to last night's show preparing to watch. Then, halfway through the afternoon the thought of watching became increasingly troubling to me. I sensed strongly that there would be better ways to spend my time. One of the things I've learned over the course of 21-plus years of full-time youth culture watching is that sometimes you just get tired, especially when culture watching includes a lot of trudging through muck. It wears you out. That's where I was at yesterday. I was too tired to be looking for signs of life in the midst of what always turns out to be two-hours of discouraging muck that all-too-often leaves me grieving over the muck-makers and the kids who so willingly ingest the muck. Make sense?

As the VMAs kicked off last night, I climbed into bed with a book. I decided to use the time to focus on the light that penetrates our cultural darkness. The book that seemed most appropriate to me was a new book that's been sitting next to my bed ever since it arrived. Byran Chapell's The Hardest Sermons You'll Ever Have to Preach is a collection of sermons preached by some highly respected contemporary preachers in response to some of life's hardest circumstances in tragic times. I read George Robertson's sermon that he preached at the funeral of a teenager who had committed suicide. I also read Dan Doriani's sermon in response to the tragedy of child abuse. Both sermons threw the reassuring light of God's Word into the midst of the darkness of two social problems that pervade youth culture today. I went to sleep pondering the life-giving realities of God's Word rather than two-hours of mostly-troubling sermonizing by the cultural icons who are nurturing our kids. I'm glad I did.

At some point I'll be watching this year's VMAs. It just couldn't be last night. All of us need to regularly step away to pause, pray, and reflect on that which is timeless and true. For me, one of those times was last night.

College Football, Entitlement, Miami. . . and Kirk Cousins. . . .

My friend Dan Sterk, a youth worker in Michigan, sent me an email this week. It was short and it wound up being very sweet. Dan was raised to be a fan of the Michigan Wolverines. He married a young lady, Kristen, who is equally enthusiastic about rooting for Michigan. I'm not sure, but it might have been a requirement for him to marry a Michigan fan. Dan told me all that before pointing me to a very interesting and curious YouTube link. . . .

While watching the video, I couldn't help but think about what sports have become in our culture. I thought about athletes and the sense of entitlement they feel. Thanks to role models who flaunt entitlement, we have an entire generation of grade school athletes whose aspirations seem to include a combination of college scholarships and arrogance. Humility is no longer seen as a virtue. I also thought about what's happening at the University of Miami and how the NCAA will respond.


The video features a short speech from Michigan State Quarterback Kirk Cousins. The speech was given at the annual Big Ten Kickoff Luncheon. Cousins was chosen to speak on behalf and to all the Big Ten Football players. In a sports culture that increasingly seems and smells like a cesspool, this one is a diamond. Cousins' message, delivery, conviction, and boldness sent a shiver up my spine. . . really. This is a speech that I trust will be seen, heard, and heeded by coaches, athletes, parents, and fans of every age and every sport.

Thanks Dan, for the heads up on this one. And yes, maybe you should shift your allegiance for a year!

12-Year-Olds And The Little League World Series. . . Too Much Too Soon? . . . .

I don't know if it was every little boy's dream, but it was certainly mine. I played Little League Baseball for the East Abington Little League. My first year at the Double-A level was a year that I remember was filled with aspirations. I'd say that about 95 percent of my aspirational energy was spent dreaming about one day playing on the lush green grass of Connie Mack Stadium. The blacktop of a church parking lot and patchy grass of the neighborhood backyard ball field was consistently transformed in the confines of my imagination into Connie Mack. It happened whether we were playing a game of pick-up or if I was alone throwing an endless number of two-out, bottom-of-the-ninth pop-ups to myself.

The other 5 percent of aspiration kicked into gear this time of year with the arrival of the Little League World Series in Williamsport, PA, an event that culminated with the championship game played on Saturday afternoon before a live television audience tuned in to ABC's Wide World of Sports. A kid can dream, can't he? Of course, our teams never made it.

This year, every game of the Little League World Series is being carried on ESPN/ABC. I tuned in last night to watch our Pennsylvania team record another win in an elimination game. The match-up had been moved from the afternoon slot due to the fact that a crowd exceeding 40,000 was expected. Wow!

What does this growing surge of interest in 12-year-olds playing baseball tell us about who we are? What - if anything - does it do to the kids? I've been thinking about this since reading an article in last Friday's USA Today: "Hershiser says kids crave LLWS attention." (scroll down once you link to find the article). Orel is once-again serving as an analyst for broadcasts of the games. As people wonder if the TV coverage (which, by the way, you have to check out - It's a multi-camera graphic-heavy package) is putting too much pressure on kids (that is, after all, what they are), Hershiser is saying that his focus is on relieving pressure. He accomplishes this by praising the players and focusing on the positive rather than on the inevitable mistakes. But watching the whole package leaves me with the feeling that once again, we are pressuring kids out of childhood, while valuing things that just shouldn't be over-valued as they are.


One of the new books that I'm excited to read is Joe Ehrmann's Inside Out Coaching: How Sports Can Transform Lives. You might remember that Ehrmann is the subject of Jeffrey Marx's wonderful book Season of Life. . . one of my all-time favorite sports books. I was flipping through Ehrmann's new book this morning and came across some familiar words regarding the three fundamental cultural lies that every boy is fed regarding his value and worth as a man:

1. Your value and worth lies in your athletic ability.
2. Your value and worth lies in sexual conquest.
3. Your value and worth lies in the level of economic success you achieve.

Sadly, those three lies all find expression in our sports culture. . . a culture that tends toward not only idolizing all three, but weaving them all together.

I'm afraid that what used to be boyhood aspirations are now cultural idols. If you get a chance to watch the Little League World Series this year, think about that as you watch. . . the players, the coverage, the fans, the parents, etc. Have we gone too far?

More Reason To Not Like Abercrombie. . . .

Al Lewis had a great little column yesterday in the Wall Street Journal supplement that runs in many newspapers across the country. Lewis exposes the obvious marketing and publicity push by the edgy and always-envelope-stretching clothing retailer that involves Michael "The Situation" Sorrentino of MTV "Jersey Shore" fame.

It seems that Sorrentino is annoying and upsetting Abercrombie by wearing their brand on "Jersey Shore." The reason? According to a release from the retailer, "We are deeply concerned that Mr. Sorrentino's association with our brand could cause significant damage to our image. We understand that the show is for entertainment purposes, but believe this association is contrary to the aspirational nature of our brand, and may be distressing to many of our fans."

OK. . . are you kidding? Yep. . . Abercrombie's fans have been nurtured by the brand into a batch of high moral standards that far exceed the questionable morals promoted by "Jersey Shore." Remember - as Al Lewis reminds us - that this is the same retailer that peddled "Who needs brains when you have these?" T-Shirts for girls a few years ago.


Thanks Abercrombie, for once again looking out for our kids!

Seriously? If nothing else, Abercrombie offers a great case study in how to effectively market product and worldview in today's self-absorbed brand conscious world. Sadly, their strategies work. The brand continues to grow and a host of shallow people continue to indulge their shallowness by buying the product and the worldview.

Should Christians think differently about Abercrombie? Or, am I just an alarmist?

(Click here to see a post I wrote on Abercrombie a few months ago.)

Redeeming My Mouth. . . And Singing About It. . .

The other day I was up at the track and I spotted a young female runner who looked familiar. . . but I wasn't sure. I was afraid that any effort on my part to get closer to grab a look would be interpreted as incredibly creepy, especially if she wasn't who I thought she was. It wasn't until Meghan finished her run and was walking in my direction that we officially recognized each other and stopped to chat.

Meghan and my daughter Bethany were great friends in high school. Afater graduation, Meghan left town for college and I'd only see her sporadically. As we caught up, Meghan told me that she's soon leaving for graduate school. "To study what?," I asked. "Speech Pathology," she responded. That answer is always my cue to spout off on how a speech therapist changed my life in big, big ways. I spent several years during early elementary school getting pulled out of class for regular sessions of one-on-one speech therapy in an effort to overcome a horrible lisp. . . . you know. . . the kind where every "s" you utter comes out like sounding like a "th" . . . which would have required me to marry a girl named "Leetha."

As I've gotten older and thought about the hours my speech therapist invested in my life, I am grateful in so many ways. Pragmatically, I was spared lots of harassment I'm sure, thanks to her efforts. I doubt I'd be doing what I'm doing now if it hadn't been for her. I would have most likely had my extroversion squelched and I would have chosen a vocation that required little or no communication skills. But I also think theologically about that experience. The Biblical drama of Creation, Fall, and Redemption were worked out in a small way as a woman chose a vocation centered on redeeming broken speech. That's not at all a stretch.

The dualism of the sacred/secular divide we've imposed on our understanding of the world is one that needs to be shattered. Those involved in "full-time" ministry are not about the sacred any more than those who butcher, bake, or candlestick make. Every possible vocational pursuit - in fact every pursuit of life - is sacred as we are to pursue it in praise and honor to God.

After telling Meghan about my own experience and the value her career path played in my life, I got back to walking. While thinking about the redemptive nature of Speech Pathology, I was reminded of the first hymn we sang in my first chapel service on campus as a new student at Gordon-Conwell Seminary back in 1982. "Earth and All Stars" was new to me. I had never heard it before. The words lit me up and sent shivers down my spine, especially the words of stanzas 4 and 5. It reminds me of our need to teach our kids about what it means to live redemptively in all of life.

1. Earth and all stars, loud rushing planets,
sing to the Lord a new song!
O victory, loud shouting army,
sing to the Lord a new song!

Refrain: He has done marvelous things.
I, too, will praise him with a new song!

2. Hail, wind, and rain, loud blowing snowstorms,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Flowers and trees, loud rustling leaves,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

3. Trumpet and pipes, loud clashing cymbals,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Harp, lute, and lyre, loud humming cellos,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

4. Engines and steel, loud pounding hammers,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Limestone and beams, loud building workers,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

5. Classrooms and labs, loud boiling test tubes,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Athlete and band, loud cheering people,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain

6. Knowledge and truth, loud sounding wisdom,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Daughter and son, loud praying members,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain