Come Spring! Things the groundhog doesn't know.

Yesterday is was 50 degrees. Today it's supposed to snow 10-12 inches.

“Will it be the winter of despair or the spring of hope?” asked Charles Dickens. In a thousand different ways in a thousand different times I've asked that very question in my heart of hearts. I'm not alone. It even comes out in playful traditions, like Punxsutawney Phil, the erstwhile groundhog in Punxsatawney, PA, who saw his shadow this morning.

These days we stand on the precipice of seasonal change. For some, winter was harsh with its cold and snow, wet and wind. It seems like it never ends. For years, I lived in a Wyoming climate that guaranteed five months of snow on the ground.  There was nothing like the day when the sun broke through, mud was everywhere, and although the temperature was no more than 40 degrees, college kids were in the parks throwing Frisbees with their shirts off.

Dickens continued to write of in aTale of Two Cities.

"It was the best of times, the worst of times.
It was the age of wisdom; it was the age of foolishness.It was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of lightIt was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness "

We all live in that contrast. If not personally, we certainly experience it interrelationally.

When things are going well for me, I’m often cautious about expressing my joy. Someone may be in the throes of despair and I don’t want to be only one living a party. Conversely, when darkness descends on me, I’m reticent to talk about for fear I’ll extinguish their hope.

Most of the time, I can endure my own despair, but I can’t really handle someone else’s hope.

We walk in a world of contrast, light and dark, good and bad, beautiful and ugly. The great philospher Arlo Guthrie once said, “If you don’t ever know the darkness, man, you’ll never really appreciate the light.”

That’s why the first bulbs of spring give such delight. We have seen the short, cold days of a long winter and we just don’t like it. The buds of promise push through to our hearts and warm us up to tomorrow.

Come Spring!

Comparing Scars

I remember sitting on the front step with my buddy, Rodney. Our bikes were leaning against the house, caked in mud. He had a "Don't Tread on Me Flag" mounted behind his seat. I had a stick mounted on my handlebar like a spear. We picked at our scabs and talked about our adventure for the day. We wore our hats backwards and burned ants and threw rocks at jars for target practice.

He stuck his knee out and traced a two inch scar with his finger. A grin spread on his face, "Cool, huh?" Last year, he had jumped from a back deck and landed on a piece of metal. He wanted to forget the tears and cries for his mother and the wincing at the doctor's office. Now, it was a badge of honor.

The only scar I had was on my scalp. When I was nine, I was in a car wreck and went through the windshield. I was angry that the long gash was covered by thick head of hair.
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I'm older now and I've accumulated some other scars. An elbow surgery, a nasty fall from a rock, and a wild wallboard knife all cut deep into my flesh, leaving marks. And there are those hidden scars -- Angry stares from those who once cared for me, friends who turned their back, and a love who chased after foolishness

There are the scars I have accumulated, and those that I have imposed on others. I have my share of selfishness, painful words and deceit toward others. I have hurt more than a few, and some for a lifetime.

When I am alone, I run my fingers along those scars, recounting the moment of the cut, remembering the searing pain and the long recovery. I hurt for those I've hurt.

For a long while I thought my scars would keep me from ever being complete. I thought a true man of God would have lived his life in such a way to keep away from such things. Never going too close to the edge, there are those who have endured a lifetime with no marks. Not me.

I find comfort in Paul, who was a biblical bad dude. A political and religous powerhouse, he wanted to eliminate Christians from the Jewish culture. From house to house, he pursued them. His driving passion was to dismantle and extinguish this Jesus talk. Until he was stopped in his track, confronted with truth and the fire was lit.

He had some scars to show and plenty that he had caused. He rolled up his robe and pointed to the scars, one by one. Showing off his cred, he almost bragged. "I don't deserve any of this." That's how I feel, too.When I compare my life to his, I guess I'm pretty good. But that's not the point. It never was.
"But by the grace of God's, I am what I am," he writes. "His grace toward me was not in vain."

If I laungish in the muck and the mire, I'm telling God that his mercy simply isn't enough. I'm overriding his grace. It's the ultimate act of pride to dismiss his gift..

He has scars to show off. There's one on his side. Another in each wrist and his feet. Kevin Burgess at Chaotic Soul reminded me that Christ's scars remained after the resurrection. Whenever I start feeling small, he shows them to me and I remember. I can't even come close to comparing mine to his..

Amazingly, A couple of other bloggers are tracking on this same theme today. Julie, write, "He Loves me Anyway" at a Journey to Beloved, and Sheila LaGrand, who writes about The Red Velvet Dress at Godspotting.

What's better for kids? Taekwando, or church?

My next-door neighbor, Bob, is a good guy. He's a kid's doctor. He drives a motorcycle and has tatoos, but has a gentle nature that children ... and their parents ... adore.

In summers past we have leaned on rakes and talked politics and weather. We have shoveled the shared sidewalks in the freezing cold and dug out fence posts that blew over with strong spring rains.

He has two great kids who are polite and fun-loving. They look adults in the eye when they speak and always say thank you and please.

But there is a chasm in our beliefs much wider than the 15 feet between our houses. We've talked about eternity, and meaning and purpose. We've talked about sin, and the need to fix our human condition. He'll have none of it.

My Sunday family tradition is a quiet morning and a couple of hours of worship, praise and teaching. It's been that way since I was a child. But for the neighbors, every Sunday morning the kids run out to the SUV with the Darwin fish on the bumper,  dressed in white pants and  a long shirt tied off with belt. They come home and eat a breakfast with bacon -- I can smell it wafting on the wind.

Bragging about his kids one day, Bob told me how well they are doing in Taekwondo . "It teaches them discipline."

It might teach you how to say please and thank you and how to respond to bullies. But it doesn't give one iota of insight into eternity.

What do you think? What kinds of things do you see your neighbors doing on Sunday? Comment here.

The Knots of Faith

He pulled the rope taut, and with a flick of the wrist and lightning quick motions with his thumb and forefinger and he had a knot.

I was nine and amazed.

Image by mr.smashy I wanted to tie knots. I began to dream  of all the things I could connect rope to. I could tie one on the branch of a tree and swing on a tire like I’d seen on The Waltons. I could pull my wagon with my bike with the right knot. I could save someone drowning in the lake if I could tie a loop and throw it to her. But mostly, I just wanted a good knot that my brother couldn’t escape from when I tied him up.

Mr. Ledbetter was my Webelo leader and he worked at the grocery store. But in his spare time, he could do anything. Like tie knots. And he could read a map and tie a tourniquet and peform CPR on Rescucitation Annie.

By the end of the year, I could do all that – and more.

During those same years, Mrs. Triano would open her bible and teach us a Sunday School lesson at the church on Wildwood Drive, the one built out of knotty pine. Danny, and Daryl and I and a  couple of other kids would squirm and find ways to pass the time. And there was Sammy, the preacher’s kid. He never listened.

But somehow, it sunk in. To this day, I know the stories, the lessons, and the Lord behind them.

Before long I had James on my knee, my own flesh. I would teach him how to tie his shoe and how to snug his hook with knots. I would teach him how to put the bandage so the dirt wouldn’t get in. And I taught him the same lessons from the other side of eternity. And then Josh came along and he too, learned.

Some day, they'll have their own and the legacy will live on. I pray that my grandchildren one day will learn how the knots of faith can be woven, tightened and used for everyday life.

The Lessons I learned. The Lessons I'm learning. What will I learn today?.

Care to comment?

An optimist's view of a pessimistic world

There's plenty to occupy the mind of the pessimist. A Bleak economy. Bad news around the world. A protracted war. Heavy traffic. Moral decline.Indigestion. Post nasal drip. You name it – and it’s happening in very real ways.

Image by Ankher via Flickr

If you are pessimist by nature, you've got to be feeling a little smug right now.  It doesn't help that the current presidential selection process is based on who has the worst news to reveal.


I can hear the nay-sayer now. "I told you so!" 


Getting some people to see any glimmer is nearly impossible. They have the uncanny ability to stare down the brightest light until they force it to go dark.


I worked with a coworker who just brought everyone down with him. He was certain the world was against him, or at least plotting against him. There was never a good day without a pain, a bad relationship or a fight to pick. Darkness followed him.

I have a relative who would rather see the sin than the grace, the wrongs more than the rights, the punishment over the salvation. The joy of heaven is drowned out by the shouts of finding yet another fault in someone.

I have people who pick apart every word I write on this page, finding error with me, or the church, or the world. Bleakness seems to be their only friend.

But I'm being honest here. I often take some comfort in my own grumblings and revel in my mumblings. I have some fellow soldiers in this battle to the bottom, and we all drag our feet and become slaves to the steady, droll drumbeat of an apathetic world. After all, it takes zero work to look at the dark side of situations. 


Some Scripture needs to be understood, or translated or studied. Some just stands on it's own, like Phillipians 2:14. "Do everything without complaining or arguing."

Unsettling? Try downright frightening for some of us. To live and speak everything without complaint or arguement punctures a hole in the Bad Ship Lollipop. It sinks the comfortable, negative world. It suddenly changes the world view away from me and my cranky attitude. 

"Be positive? How?" 

It starts with a different vision – a way to see things that are unseen. To see this world through the Father's eyes. It means finding good in the bad, hope out of the hopeless, and blessings out of brokenness. 

Got a comment, In all the ugliness around us, how do you find beauty? Please comment here. 

The toys I cherished

The best-selling toys from this last Christmas season were hi-tech inventions, full of innovation and wizardry. Many of them need batteries or a manual. If I was a kid, I might be fascinated with them for a while, but then go back to something simple.

If you look at the best-selling toys of all time include the Hula Hoop, the View Master, the Slinky, the Pet Rock, Zhu Zhu pets, Mr. Potato Head, Cabbage Patch Dolls, Gameboys, Barbie, and Nerf balls – most succeeded because of their creative, ingenious simplicity.

I have owned many of them, or at least my kids did. After they were safely tucked in bed, I might even play with them, for research sake of course. But my best toys as a kid were the simple ones -- A stick. A ball. A box. And it’s been that way for generations.

Courtesy The Kiln Photo Workshops

Don’t get me wrong. My parents bought me toys, although they rarely bought anything for themselves. But when I was out with my brother and Joey and Tom from down the street, it was a stick that we used. With sticks we poked at the frogs in the drainage ditch. With sticks we would fight each other, pretending to defend the castle. Everyone needed a stick.

And every kid needs a ball. We had a basketball that we wore thin down to the core. We would play horse and pig, shooting baskets until the light was completely gone. And we had a kickball that we found tucked in the weeds down on Laura Drive. It was abandoned and just begged for some kids to love it. We showered it with affection as we kicked it back and forth.  We had baseballs too, and nerf balls, and a big red ball. A big tub in the garage was supposed to be for the balls, but they were always in the lawn or in the garage for my mom to stumble over.

Life was sweeter whenever we found a good box. A shoebox was a place for a frog. A milk carton ws a place to haul dirt. Refrigerator boxes were the best, buecaseu we cut cut them and create forts or temporary homes, that we could store our balls in and defend with our sticks.

What more does a kid need than a stick, a ball and a box?

The older I get, the more I’m reminded of the simple days and the simple ways. What do I really need in life?

A friend.

A book.

And a Savior.

I’m happy.

The One Thing We Can't Talk About

His name was Ed and he liked to talk.

The administrator down the hall was one of those guys. He had a story for every situation. He'd been everywhere. He'd done everything. Ed had driven trucks for 12 years. He ran a pool hall for six years. He served as a hunting outfitter for four years and had been in

his current job for 21 years. When I did the math, he was well north of 80 years old -- but I never challenged him on it. No need to ruin a good story.

One day I was having coffee with him and I mentioned that my Life Group at church was talking through some interesting discoveries, that the cosmos and the world around us suddenly weren't so small. He put up a hand to my face. "Not gonna go there," he said sternly. "Can't be talking about that stuff."

Here's a man that talk about just about anything and anyone, but he simply was afraid to walk down the path that a simple conversation about God might take him.

This scene is often replicated in today's society in one way or another. We can talk about our kids, our grand kids, our parents and our weird Uncle Al, but we can't talk about the Father. We can talk about history, places we've been been and plans for the weekend, but we can't talk about eternity. We can talk about what we think about politics, the workplace and the community, but we can't talk about the King. 

Today’s Christians are in a quandary. We know the divine imperative to live out our faith and we understand that living out our faith involves talking about our faith. Hiding who we are goes against our calling. So, just what are we supposed to do?

Many of us try to walk the middle ground by dropping non caustic code words like “higher power” and “faith.” We display cozy spiritual things on our desks like rainbows and angels. But they fall short because they don’t do a thing to help improve the human condition of those around us. Eventually, we have to talk about it.

Even though Ed didn't to talk about it then, eventually he did. 
You can't keep a good story to yourself.

"Respect." What Tim Tebow did for his teammates and what I can do for mine

How do you gain respect in your workplace? Leave a comment here.

Sports fan or not, if you want to be respected, this post is for you. The big news in the sporting world is that Quarterback Tim Tebow led an unlikely charge of the Denver Broncos into the second round of the playoffs. They lost to the Patriots, but there's more to the story. 

Image by Jeffrey Beall via Flickr

Tebow was a Heisman Trophy winner and led the University of Florida to two national championships. The Broncos drafted him in the first round two years ago, but for the most part he has been standing on the sidelines, clipboard in hand, eyes watching with intent every play.


I can't comment with any authority on his football ability, and that seems to be arguable. But the man just knows how to win, inspiring those around him. And to be honest, I have watched only a handful of games in my life -- until now. Not missing a snap, I'm wearing Orange pajamas and brushing my teeth with Timmy Teeth-Bow Toothpaste.

But I have been observing how he handles himself.  All that pressure. All that talent. All that attention. He's got a genuine approach to life that is teaching me a thing or two about my own.

In October he was a second-string quarterback. Last week, he was named by ESPN as the most popular athlete. He may very well be the hero-type person America needs right, someone who can rally a nation and make us feel good again about the right and pure. USA Today even wrote a piece called, It’s Tebow time: Denver quarterback inspires nation.

That's a lot to put on a kid, but in his book, he understands the platform God has put him on, and he plans on using it not to glorify himself, but his Lord. 

Tebow has been a superstar probably since he played Pop Warner football. He's been lauded with awards, attention, media and lavish praise for a long, long time. Yet, he continually responds with humility, grace and honor. And he's an outspoken believer in Christ, speaking about his faith intelligently and naturally. 

He was known for painting Bible verses in the grease under his eyes, so a million people would watch him take a snap for the Gators and at the same time be reminded of John 3:16, or Phil 4:8. After he graduated, they changed the rules so no one could do that again. It's not a ploy, but a reflection of his heart and that makes all the difference.

In the locker room and on the field, he's a leadership magnet. Tough players, hardened by the world and not necessarily comfortable with his Christianity are drawn to his athletic ability, but more so by his character. He is a leader, a friend and a motivator. His love and passion for the game is backed a boundless enthusiasm. His teammates adore him. What's not to love about this kid?

My friends Pat and Tammy McLeod, who are chaplains at Harvard University, have a son Zach who suffered a brain injury while playing football. Tebow is bringing them to the sideline in Boston to spend a few minutes with him, to hug and pray.

I  read an interview earlier this year, where the reporter was trying to goad the then second-string Tebow. "Why aren't you starting? Isn't sitting on the bench humbling for you? Don't you think you should be leading this team, the same way you led the Florida Gators?"


Tebow said this, in so many words. My job right now is to learn. I'm just a young player. The only thing I'm trying to do right now is earn the respect of my teammates. I need to  be an example to them in my professional and personal life.


When I look at my own world of influence, I try to strut my stuff, my ability and my experience. Rarely do I think about just earning respect the right way. He talks about his faith. But even more, he lives it in a way that is attractive and real.

How do you gain respect in your workplace? Leave a comment here. And one more thing. I encourage Tim to endorse my friend Dan King's book, the Unlikely Missionary. The rest of us should just read it