Stewardship

Life is Not Always Fair, Thankfully

The first house I remember living in was in Colorado.  Whenever you mention Colorado, people think of the majestic mountains and breath-taking scenery.  Although located in the same state, the little town where we lived was nowhere near the Rocky Mountains, and the most breath-taking aspect of the scenery was the miles and miles of desolation.  It was in southeastern Colorado, much closer to western Kansas and the Oklahoma panhandle than ski lodges and trout streams. 

Returning to see our old home after becoming an adult, I was disappointed.  I remembered a large two-story house in the center of town, across the street from the fire station.  Turns out, it was actually a two-story cube, probably little more than a thousand square feet in size. 

We did not have much stuff, or the money to buy much stuff, when I was young.  My father was the pastor at First Baptist Church, but in Colorado that does not carry the same distinction as it does in Texas.  The church rented space in a garage for Sunday meetings, and I remember my Dad bragging that they were the only church in town with a grease rack.  In today’s world, you could probably use that as a marketing tool and offer free oil changes to first-time visitors. 

My intent is not to regale you with tales of deprivation from my childhood. The reality is that my older sister and I did not even realize that we were poor.  My parents always found a way to provide for us so that we never felt underprivileged.  I do not know how they did it, but I always felt like they treated my sister and me equally.  I was never jealous, because I knew if she received something then my time was coming.  The only thing I can remember that might have been considered unfair is that my mother would spend hours making a new dress for my sister, but she did not like to sew boy’s clothes.  No doubt, my mother knew I was not very interested in wearing homemade shirts. 

As a parent, you love all of your children equally.  However, that does not mean that you express that love in the same way.  The key is to discover the best way to communicate to the child that they are loved.  What says love to one may say very little to another. 

A great example of this kind of love was expressed by the father of the prodigal and his older brother (see Luke 15).  The younger son came and requested a division of the family property because he wanted his fair share.  No doubt, the father knew the boy would waste the money.  He had probably demonstrated a tendency to live a wanton life.

Stop Trying to Tickle My Ears

I attended the Christian Book Expo last week at the Dallas Convention Center.  The word was out that they were expecting 10,000 Christian readers seeking the latest books to fill their shelves, which made the expansive Convention Center seem like the ideal location.  I planned to arrive early to beat the crowd but a couple of unplanned stops kept that from happening.  However, early arrival proved to be unnecessary. 

This is just my estimate, but if you remove all the workers, exhibitors, volunteers, and other paid staff from the equation, all of the attendees could actually be squeezed into my house.  It would be a tight fit and some might have to stand in a closet, but I think we could get them all in the front door, especially if we could use the garage for overflow. 

The smaller crowd was actually a good thing from my perspective, especially as I waited in line to get a five-dollar chilidog for lunch.  I encountered some old friends, made some new friends, attended a couple of interesting workshops, and gained perspective on the condition of Christian book publishing.  I came away from the experience with a couple of observations.

Christian book publishing is alive and well in 2009.  This was a very professionally put together event, first class all the way.  The printed programs were colorful, thorough, and expensive to produce.  The number of workshops and seminars was overwhelming; the exhibits were festive and inviting.  It was an opportunity for Christian publishers to put their best foot forward and they did.  As a prolific reader, I am now convinced that books will be in fashion for a long time.  It might be accurate to say that the Internet has actually created more writers than ever before.

Christian publishing has been instrumental in the spread of the faith and training of leadership since the invention of the printing press.  It is great to see that Christian publishers are on the front edge of technology and technique.  Publishing will be just as important in the future, as it has been in the past. 

I not only noticed that Christian publishing is vibrant; I also left with the opinion that the church might be in trouble.  A significant number of new publications by Christian publishers might not be Christian at all.  One of the top sellers is Joel Osteen and his latest book, “Become a Better You.”  The Library of Congress actually categorizes the book under the heading “self-actualization (psychology).” 

The Beat of a Different Drummer

I was a member of the High School band; specifically I was third chair trumpet.  That does not sound like something to be proud of except for the fact that first chair belonged to Larry Seckman who was the finest trumpet player in the state of Colorado.  He went to the University of Colorado and became first chair trumpet his freshman year.  Number two belonged to Joe Starr who attended a college in southern Colorado were he was also first chair.  Then there was a large talent gap before I came along at number three. 

Although I was in a wheelchair and obviously could not walk, I was not exempt from practice and performances during the marching season.  I was required to learn all the music and participate as much as possible.  When the band marched in a parade, the Director, Mr. Preizner, or one of the sponsoring parents would push my wheelchair down the street alongside the band.  During football games I sat in the stands and played although I did nothing more than watch during halftime performances. 

It was during one of those halftime shows at a football game that I had one of the most memorable experiences as a member of the Mapleton High School band.  We had a band member whose music career only lasted one school year.  His name was Louis Stryker and his appearance was as unusual as his moniker.  Louis was probably seventy to eighty pounds overweight, and it was that doughy, smooshy kind of weight that indicated his poor physical condition.  He wore clothes that never were fashionable, the kind you find at a garage sale in a poor neighborhood.  They always seemed to be a size or two too small. 

Louis appeared as if out of nowhere; at least none of us knew him.  The only rumor that circulated around the campus about Louis was that he lived with his mother and that she was a professional wrestler.  It was a great story, but I do not recall ever seeing any evidence that it was true. 

When he signed up for classes, Louis must have registered for the band.  The only problem was that he had never played an instrument.  What do you do with a band member who knows nothing about music and cannot play an instrument?  Bass drum of course.  Louis was big enough to carry the drum and apparently he possessed enough rhythm to count to four and walk at the same time. 

That brings us to the memorable halftime show.  The band was performing a rather simple maneuver, marching in parallel rows with the percussion instruments, complete with the bass drums, filling the final line.  As each row reached a specific yardage marker on the field, they made a one hundred and eighty degree turn and marched in the reverse direction.

Do You Not Care That We Are Perishing?

Being an early follower of Jesus, one of the original Twelve, meant there were many long, tiring days.  The adrenaline rush of witnessing the opening of a blind man’s eyes followed by the confusing discouragement of being driven out of town by those you had always respected as religious leaders, was emotionally taxing.  One moment the amazing words of Jesus would challenge you with concepts you could barely grasp and the next moment you are smack in the middle of a debate among theologians.  When the disciples responded to the call to forsake their families and business, it was not an invitation to a relaxing vacation. 

It was at the conclusion of one of those days that the Twelve found themselves in a fishing boat in the midst of the Sea of Galilee.  They had spent the day trying to unravel the parables of Jesus.  He actually explained a few to them, but who is ever confident that one of Jesus’ parables is completely understood?  To have the mind stretched can be more tiring than physical labor, especially for those accustomed to that labor.  “When evening came,” (Mark 4:35) they climbed into the boat with Jesus and headed away from the crowd to the shore across the lake.  They were probably eager to have a few hours of mental relaxation, even if it meant taking a turn with a boat oar. 

If the disciples were exhausted from the day’s activities, imagine the fatigue felt by Jesus.  In fact, they had not been in the boat very long when they noticed that Jesus had fallen asleep on one of the cushions in the back of the boat. 

I ask your patience as I stop our visit in the day of the life of the disciples and pull into a scenic overlook.  That fact that Jesus took a seat and then fell asleep in the back of the boat seems significant to me.  Jesus was obviously the leader of this group of men.  He is the one who said, “Let us go over to the other side,” (Mark 4:35) as he completed the day’s activities.  Regardless of Peter’s assertiveness or the desires of James and John, no one would dispute that Jesus was in charge of these men.  Notice that his style of leadership allowed him to be comfortable, in fact comfortable enough to go to sleep, by sitting in the back of the boat.  He did not always need to be up front.  There was no need to plaster his face on the billboard.  Jesus provides an example of a leader who is confident to allow others to operate. 

Meanwhile, back in the boat, the disciples are tired mentally and physically and a storm came up.  The storm was strong enough to push waves of water into the boat, bringing them the point of sinking.  It was powerful enough to scare these experienced fishermen.  They ran to Jesus, a good first step in the midst of any storm, and asked, “Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?” (Mark 4:38). 

A Changed Life

As I remember, it was a typical evening at our house. Some might consider it late, but not for Sharon and me. The ten o’clock news was on television, but neither of us was paying much attention. The reporter was describing a police chase, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed them grab the culprit, handcuff him, and place him in the back seat of the police car. It caught my attention because he looked a great deal like our nephew Jay.

As I hit the "back" button on the remote, I asked Sharon if she thought the man looked familiar. This time, as we paid careful attention to the apprehension and arrest, it was clear that it was Jay. We listened to the entire report and learned that as he was being arrested for drug charges he ran from the police and led them on a rather long and rather slow chase.

We had not seen Jay in several years. He was born between our oldest and middle son. Sharon’s sister had three children that matched up well in ages with our three. Many summers all the kids spent time at our house for several weeks and they were all close friends. However, Jay wandered off, never able to find his way after high school and eventually got involved in drugs. At the time of his arrest, he had been estranged from his family for nearly three years.

Later that night as I lay in bed reflecting on Jay’s situation, I felt a compelling urge to visit Jay the next day. I was not sure that it was possible or how it might happen, but I knew it was something I had to try. I went to the office the next day and just before noon an idea came to me. I called a friend. He was a pastor in Duncanville and Jay was locked up in the neighboring town of DeSoto.

I explained the situation and asked my friend if he had any connections that could help me. Amazingly, he said he was leaving in a few minutes to have lunch with the Chief of Police. He promised to present my case and try to gain permission. I was able to visit Jay that afternoon and I will never forget the smile on his face as he said, "Uncle Terry, what are you doing here?"