‘Nuff said.

Megatron: “Why throw away your life so recklessly?”
Prime: “That’s a question you should ask yourself, Megatron.”

~ Optimus Prime, during the climactic fight during the 1986 Transformers animated movie

It was hot.
Loud.
Stinky at times.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.  In fact, those words pretty accurately represent my vision of community.  And when I say community, I want you to know that I don’t just mean a group of people living together in one area, I’m talking about people who get into each others lives and get messy with the details.  That’s the kind of community I mean.  It’s the kind of community where it’s uncomfortable sometimes, it gets loud, and sometimes it’s not just pleasant smells and sights and sounds.  It’s the kind of community that jams all types of lives together in one room to watch grown men slam into each other for the right to be called champions.

It’s eating too many chicken wings, laughing at commercials, and meeting new friends.  It’s five people piled on a recliner.  It’s teenagers, adults, senior adults and toddlers all in the mix.  It’s the way the church should be.  I’m not saying that the church should only get together to watch the game, or that it should be disorganized, but I think sometimes that the church (the body as a whole, it’s people, Christians) forgets that community is sometimes best unplanned.  We get frustrated that we can’t program community, but then the reminder comes, when you open your house to teenagers and the flood inside and fill every available seating area and then some, that community doesn’t come from a program or a plan, but from an open house and heart.

This is why I don’t mind the housefuls of teens that sometimes come over, or why it wasn’t a big deal that I only got an hour of free time to myself yesterday.  See, my job is to point them to Jesus and to foster community, and if nights like last night are what it takes, then so be it.

When you get the people of God into a room and then you start singing-it just doesn’t get any better than that.

-David Crowder-

February 2, 2012, Memphis, TN

*Bonus*

IMG_1213

My dear friend Dwana gave me this painting a couple of weeks ago.  I knew immediately where I was going to hang it.

The classroom.  Which is right beside the kids bedroom.

I look at this every time we start school, I look at it when they are being rambunctious at bedtime.  I look at it when they are playing in the bathroom when they are supposed to be getting ready for bath/bed/church/school.

And I remember I need all of those things too.  I need grace, I need second chances, I need forgiveness, I need love especially when I’m doing loud really well.  And I almost always begin to sing a song by Carlos Whittaker.

Great Redeemer
We humbly respond
To the call of Your love
Gracious Father
Like a child we run
With our arms lifted up
So let the praises rise

You’re the God of second chances
You’re the God who still romances
We’re in awe before You now
And our hearts are bowing down
You’re the God of all the ages
Who are we that You would save us
We’re in awe before You now
And our hearts are crying out

Hallelujah to our God
Hallelujah to our God

Righteous Savior
By Your wounds we are healed
Your compassion draws us here
How amazing
Is the mercy of the Cross
That You would reach out for us
So let the praises rise

You rescue with unfailing love
Hallelujah to our God

Rather, I felt like they had quit me, so I responded in kind.  I was in 6th grade, the stereotypical nerdy, chubby kid with too many words and not enough social skills.  I would go to school every day and listen to the taunts and jeers of my classmates, then go to church on Sunday mornings and hear the exact same things.  I was the class joke.  It made me hate church.  It made me disinterested with God.  By the time I was ready to transition into youth group, I was nearing the breaking point.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when a boy threw my Bible out of the second story window into the bushes below for no reason other than to laugh at me.

Snap.

I went home and tearfully begged my parents to not go to church anymore.  My reasoning was that the church was supposed to be a loving place, and if that was true, I should be treated differently than I was at school.  People should accept and love me there.  But, that was not the case.  And that is not always the case in many churches across our country.  A place that stands for truth, love, and grace can often become a place of lies, hatred, and gossip.  I see it all the time as a youth pastor.  People who are difficult to love get pushed to the side in favor of those who don’t take much effort to minister to, or old friends that we are comfortable with.  That’s wrong.  It’s sin.

Reese Roper, who was/is the lead singer of one of my favorite bands, Five Iron Frenzy, helped start a church in Denver, Colorado for people who felt left out and abused.  What did they name it?  Scum of the Earth.  I love that name.  Sure, many churches wouldn’t want a name like that, but their mission is right in the name!  They are there to reach those considered the scum of the earth.  The difficult.  The addict.  The dropout.  The “special”.  The outcast.  The orphan.  The very people that Jesus told us that he came for, the very people that God commanded his people over and over again to help in the Old Testament.  What we forget sometime is that we are all scum of the earth.  Because of our sin, Scripture tells us that are God’s enemies, the targets of His wrath, and separated from Him by our own wrongdoing.  We are not holy….we are filthy rags, unrighteous….scum.

I was talking with an older gentleman who works with our youth yesterday.  He’s become a mentor of sorts to me, and I was talking to him about my past, and he was shocked.  He told me he’d always assumed that I had grown up in church, that I was a good little church boy that had never had any doubts or problems, but that now he saw differently.  I was reminded in that conversation of why I do what I do, why I gravitate toward the broken and abused, and why when they walk through the door of our youth ministry I want so desperately for there to be no judgment for them.  Because they are broken, just like you and me, just like all of us.  And they need the same redemption that I was offered, that I have experienced in life, the same salvation that all people are freely given.

So, as scum of the earth, I reach out to fellow scum of the earth, knowing that we all have some kind of hurt, some kind of story to tell, and redemption waiting in the wings for each and every one.

Then, there are the books!  If you know me, you know I love books.  I love to read.  Right before Isaac was born I was going through 2 young adult fiction books a day.  I love that books can transport you anywhere from the comfort of your recliner.  I feel what they feel, I know what they know (sometimes before they know it), I grieve when they grieve.  Reading is one of the most wonderful gifts to have.  I had a whole library of children’s books before my kids were even born.

Today we checked out our usual 5 books per child.  Is it a little weird that I was excited to get the original Skippyjon Jones book so that I finally know why that silly Siamese cat thinks that he is a Chihuahua?  It is.  Well, then that’s not why we checked the book out at all, it was totally the kids’ idea to get it.

Ahem.

Moving on….In the back of one of the books we checked out, Winnie the Pooh’s Valentine, there was a small envelope with a 3×5 card stuck in it.  Most of you my age know exactly what that is.   Annaliese was confused by it and thought it was another piece of paper she needed to practice writing her name on.  The library card.  We had lessons in school on the card catalog, and how to fill out a library card, where the author’s name goes and the dewey decimal system.  In Sixth grade I was even allowed to be a library helper, it was heaven, in part because she let us have the New Kids on the Block posters from the magazines when new ones came in.  The library card was your passport to freedom, adventure, being a sixth grader in Sweet Valley, or a member of the Babysitter’s Club.  But what I loved most about it was that you listed your name, the date you checked it out, and I think perhaps some other number.  You could know who had previously checked out the book you were going to read.  You could know that the cool older girls had read the same books as you.  You could know that the 8th grader you had a crush on also read Huck Finn.  You could know whether or not you had checked the book out previously.  There was solidarity.  Or at least that’s how I saw it.

But now, there’s a scan tron thing on the back.  So instead of hearing, “oh I see some other kids your age really liked this book”, you hear, “bloop, bloop”.  Instead of my kids getting to write their name on the 3×5 card and take ownership, they hand a credit card looking piece of plastic over and get a receipt of their purchases (I really don’t know what else to call them).  I’m not anti technology and I’m sure this makes things easier, however I miss the community.

So, I guess I got a little nostalgic for days gone by.  And have you ever tried to explain something so “old school” to a 3 year old?  Tough!

As I talked about in my last post, I’m struggling with my weight issues and what that means for me, my church, my faith. But really it makes me pay attention to my family and what we eat, which I think is a good thing. I want to make smart choices. I want us all to be healthy and live long lives marked by health and the ability to serve as best we can. Well, I’ve begun to notice that when I love something, especially the way I love my family, I want to control every aspect of it. Every. Single. Aspect. This is not good for anyone, least of all me. This led to a (ahem) discussion between Marty and myself this weekend.

Most of you know that about a year ago Marty had a pulmonary embolism, which is a blod clot in the lungs. He had 2 of them. This was brought on by his flight to and from Romania last summer. I think knowing what he knows now, he would do the same thing. I know that he was obedient to the Lord’s will in that trip. But what he hasn’t known is my side of the story. It was a Tuesday, I had gone to Jackson to eat brunch with my sister before she headed back to Texas for Seminary. I got home right about lunchtime, which I just decided to put the kids straight to bed, they had lunch earlier with us and were really tired. We had just started the Prism diet and Marty was struggling with it. For a man who only ate fried food and meat and potatoes this was a huge change. He had been feeling bad, it was a really hot August, he has asthma, combined with the new diet that’s what we thought it was. I also thought this vast change in diet was gonna tell us that he/I/we have diabetes. So I was determined that was part of it. So we were putting the kids to bed, Marty sat down, I turned around to do something and I hear Isaac saying, “Daddy wake up!” I turned around thinking he was playing and see that Marty has passed out or was dead. That’s really what I thought, he has died, I ran for my phone, punched in 911 and was hitting send when he woke up (Isaac pounced on him about that time). But in my mind, he’s had a low blood sugar thing (I’m still convinced it’s diabetes) and I get him a banana. We make some phone calls, and decide he needs to go to the emergency room. I have to stay with the kids cause I don’t want them waking with both of us gone. Evan, one of our college students, drives him to the hospital.

Word gets out and I get several calls to watch the kids, I’m convinced they’re gonna tell me everything is fine and Evan will drive him home. Finally Regina Stanfill shows up on my doorstep and tells me to go (thank you for that btw). Long story short, 8 days in the hospital, and he comes home on blood thinners with the knowledge that only 5% of people survive what he’s been through.

After that, I took a personal vendetta against junk in my home. It was gone, no sodas, no high sugar, highly processed snacks, lots of fruit and veggies. It was then that we determined we were not doing ourselves any favors by letting Isaac dictate his own meal for the night, so that stopped and the policy of “if you don’t eat what’s put before you, you don’t eat” was instituted. I became very concerned with everything everyone ate, and my parents and in-laws can attest to the fact that if I didn’t like what you were giving them you would know it. I was determined that any bad habit Marty and I had the kids were not going to have it. TV time became more limited (it had always been only pbs, disney jr. or nick jr. but there was never really a time limit) outside activities became more of a must. They were not going to end up 30 something and in terrible shape if I had anything to do with it!

I realize I sound at times like a total nut job to some people. I know that I cannot control every aspect of everyone’s life (no matter how badly I want to). I used to (8th grade) say things like, “America should go back to a monarchy and realize that I’m royalty, cause these idiots are messing everything up!” I don’t know where that comes from, cause I don’t want to control things I don’t care about. But the people I love, I want my hand in every bit of it, and I want it done my way. I don’t want to miss a moment and I want it all to be done “right.”

But then I know that when I’m in control, things get messed up, and often they’re not happening the way they should. I have to let go of my ego and remind myself who is in control. That I can do small things by my own power, but if it’s done by my power it’s not done with God’s. I want His power to be in control of my life, of my children’s life, of my husband’s life. That is the best way that I can love them. Release my control for Christ’s, get over myself and move on.

~Francis Chan

(Me at 9 months – look at those cheeks!)

I was born a 9.5 lb baby.  I was 9 days overdue.  I come from a large boned people, but those are also people who love food.  And not just any food, we love good food.  Homemade chicken and dumplings.  Shrimp and grits.  Brisket and twice baked potatoes.  Don’t get me wrong, I love vegetables, but I love them even more when they are covered in flour or meal and deep fried.  I grew up in a family that believed you had to clean your plate to get dessert.  We stayed with my Ma and Pa in the summer while Mom worked, and they always had dessert.  There was just something in me that loved food.  Some experts would say it was because I was bottle fed, some would say that I have a gene that makes me overweight, others would say that I have some deep psychological issue.

(Why on earth do they make flowery fat girl clothes? Why on earth did no one stop me from wearing this?  Sara I’m looking at you, you’re the one with fashion sense in our family!)

Like I said, I’ve always been fat.  For a long time I couldn’t say that word, there was so much emotion tied to it.  But let’s call a spade a spade.  I am a fat girl.  College was when I became okay with it.  Since then it really hasn’t been an issue.  In Kindergarten, I was roly-poly Foley, in 4th grade I was lard butt (the sad thing was I knew this was an insult because of the venom it was said with but I had no clue what lard was), and by 8th grade I had to start shopping at Lane Bryant.  At 15 I was freezing Slim fast cans overnight and bringing them to school in my purse.  I lost quite a bit of weight, slimming down to a size 16.  Still plus sized.  That’s the smallest I’ve been in 17 years.  I kept the weight off for a little while, then came college, working crazy hours and eating out a lot, a horrible break up, and marrying a man who gagged at the sight of vegetables.  Understand me, none of those are excuses.  I made choices: horrible, bad choices.

I have felt that my whole life is controlled by my weight.  I assume people are going to judge me because of it. I know people will not like me because of it.  We even began to pass it on to our children.  Isaac’s first table food was french fries from Wendy’s.  We’re paying for that one to this day.

(Me at 16 and a size 16 with my Winter Formal date Matt Medearis, who was my go to date for any function, bless his heart!)

A year and a half ago we began the Prism diet.  We made a commitment, we counted calories, we turned in our sheets and for the first time we talked honestly about weight and food in a church setting.  Then Christmas came and the diet ended.  I have maintained what I lost, but old bad habits have started to creep back in.

I guess my issue is the way the church has handled this problem.  I don’t mean our local church, but the global community of believers.

Never in a sermon have I heard that overeating is sin.  I know it is, it’s in the Bible right beside some of the things I’ve heard various sermons about.  I was not born with a desire to drink myself into a stupor, but some people were.  I was not born with a desire to be in sexual relationship with a person of the same gender as myself, but some people were.  I was born with a desire to eat myself silly.

Until just a few days ago no one had ever tried to hold me accountable in the church with what I ate or drank.  Yes, a fellow church member had confessed that they’d been making fun of me behind my back when I was 9 months pregnant with Annaliese, and in my opinion, they could have kept that confession private!  I have made the commitment to not drink soda for 2012 (why would i want to? have you seen what that stuff will do to a car window?).  I’ve told a few people.  Well, I was at a baby shower Sunday and poured myself a big ole glass of punch not thinking about the ingredients.  I sat down with a few ladies and had taken one drink when they said, you know that has Sprite in it right?  And I did, I watched them make the punch, but because I don’t drink Sprite, Coke Zero is my downfall, I totally did not make the connection.  So I had to make a decision: keep drinking or keep my commitment.  I was very appreciative of the rebuke, I want to keep my commitment.

So I guess that’s my question, why do we preach so hard about some sins and totally ignore others?  Why do we preach against the “big” ones, but the little things like over eating, overspending, gossip, slander we ignore?  Why have I not been kicked out of the church for my sin?  Instead, we laugh that fried chicken is the Baptist bird. Here I have one huge obvious flaw, probably more visible than if I were attracted to girls.  What damage have I done to the cause of Christ by very visibly not living according to His principles?  Where is my self-control?  Where is my love of Christ rather than loving myself?

I think it’s pretty evident by my pant size.

But, and that is a wonderful word, Jesus promises that He makes all things new.  He promises that He will give me a way out when temptation comes.  He promises that I will get a second chance (and a third and a fourth).  He promises that I am free from sin.  Sin that He wants to keep me from, to keep me safe.