. . . does anyone notice? Yesterday marked six years of this blog. Huzzah.
I know I should write more, but the mere fact that I still post occasionally (this makes 48 posts for 2010—almost one post a week), still makes this a legitimate endeavor.
I'm glad I can do it. Good times.
Attempting to recap my past weekend is so daunting, it would be impossible to fulfill in just one post. So in the next few posts, I'm going to recall some of the many observations in my great urban camping expedition. In the first two installments, I'm going to go for the overview of the entire experience. Then, in following posts, I'll outline my refined public education philosophy, as well as the spiritual lessons I learned in this process. Since Kaelyn was in her mother's womb, I knew this time would come.
The big issue that many people have with living in the city is public schooling. In the Cincinnati Public School District, you are assigned a neighborhood school for your child to attend. This school is based on geography. For example, if you live in Walnut Hills (which we do), you are assigned to attend Frederick Douglass Elementary School. Over a century ago, this school (started specifically for the local African American community) was a national model of education success. Currently, however, the school struggles to perform and has numerous academic issues. While I would actually prefer that Kaelyn attend school in our neighborhood (we're fully integrated into the life of our community in practically every other aspect, so why not the school as well?) I just couldn't send her to Douglass. My involvement with our local community council has exposed the school's numerous flaws and they frightened me. Understand that I wasn't concerned about Kaelyn's safety; I know that she could exist just fine at Douglass. My fear was the educational philosophy of the school, namely, to merely prepare students for standardized testing. While I'm OK with taking stands for what I believe, such as fully embracing our community, I refused to subject Kaelyn to this in the form of a subpar education. We needed to explore other options.
And fortunately, in Cincinnati Public, there are other options. Even though CPS struggles in the same way that many large urban school districts do, there are superior schools to be found. Many of these are magnet schools. These schools act as a magnet from the neighborhood schools, attracting all sorts of students from various communities towards unique educational models. One of the more popular and academically successful schools for elementary education in CPS is the Fairview Clifton German Language School* (yes, children attending this school begin to learn German in Kindergarten). I became familiar with the school as many CCU faculty and staff have sent or are sending their children there to be educated. Everyone I have encountered who have been involved in the school speaks highly of the education provided there. Honestly, the presence of Fairview gave me confidence in moving back into the city, knowing that there was the opportunity to get my child a strong public education. We've always planned to send Kaelyn there.
Fairview is very popular, but its popularity presents some issues. There is a limited number of spots for students there and it is continually in demand. There are two ways to get your child into the school.
This enrollment period, which used to happen in the dead of winter, now occurs each November. The school announces how many spots are available for Preschool, Kindergarten and First Grade (after First Grade, they rarely admit new students because of the German language requirements); the lion's share of open spots are for Kindergarten. Earlier in the fall, Kelly and I went on a tour of the school and were told by administrators that there were approximately 72 spaces available for Kindergarten. This is a fairly large number compared to other Kindergarten years at the school, leaving me somewhat confident for getting Kaelyn enrolled. But I was secretly nervous, fearful that I might have to camp out to get here in there.
Even though the official registration takes place on Monday night at midnight, people get in line early. I mean really early. In previous years, parents had camped out for a couple of nights before hand to stake a place in line. Camping out has almost become a rite of passage for Fairview parents. Although the district can't encourage this practice, the school won't ignore that it's a reality. The majority of questions asked during our tour was concerning the potential line and the possibility of camping out. During this presentation, I made an attempt to calm people's fears, encouraging people to refrain from camping out as long as possible.
Of course, no one listens to me.
On Thursday afternoon, as Kelly, Kaelyn and I were enjoying a picnic before I taught my night class, Kelly received a call from a friend and current Fairview parent. Already, at 4:00 pm, there were people setting up tents. We were angry, but I still maintained a positive attitude. "There are plenty of spaces available," I reminded Kelly. "And there's no way we're going out there to camp tonight." I taught my class that night but by the 11pm local news, local TV stations were covering the camping parents. Still, my Facebook post that evening was, "I love my daughter but will not abandon logic and camp out four nights to get her into the right school (especially when there are plenty of spaces this year). Now one night . . . maybe."
I know nothing.
As I left for work Friday morning, I assured Kelly that we were going to fine. Still, I couldn't resist: curiosity led me to drive past the school to see the scene for myself. As I turning the corner, I was shocked. There were nearly fifty tents set up and people were continuing to roll in as news vans were parked all along. I quickly parked and checked the list that had developed: it was already over 55 people. Seeing the people continue to pull up and unpack made me sick. I called Kelly and let her know that it was inevitable—I was returning home to grab some things and get in line. By the time I went home, gathered some supplies, and headed back to the school, I signed in.
I was number 68 on the list.
While some of those in line before me were interested in Preschool or First Grade, the vast majority were there for Kindergarten. Fortunately I still had some room to spare. I was somewhere in the fifties out of 72 Kindergarten spots. At the very least, I now knew that Kaelyn was guaranteed to get in the school as long as I made it through the weekend until late Monday night.
So as I set up my tent Friday morning, still overcome by anger, I started to accept reality. I knew that this camping excursion had been coming for over five years now. It was finally time. I had accepted that the next 80+ hours of my life would be devoted to waiting in a line just to get my daughter into school.
______________________
* Fairview was originally located in a neighborhood named Fairview. Located near the University of Cincinnati, the old school building was architecturally attractive but too small. Two years ago, CPS constructed a new, larger building in Clifton proper, but they continued to use the Fairview moniker as well. As far as I know, people continue to refer to it simply as Fairview.
** In case you missed it, as I was getting settled on Friday morning, I was interviewed by an Enquirer reporter. There was even a picture of me published in the print edition. Click here to read the article.
. . . "I know, I know, it's been a long time since I've posted here." That's just life. I am unapologetic.
I'm very excited about all the cool things I'm getting to do right now, many of them involving immense amounts of writing. So when it comes to writing for fun, I tend to pass.
But I haven't forgotten this place. Maybe this week I'll get something new up.
I call them "rah-rah" moments. There are times when you just need to take a break and celebrate.
En route to Echo Church last Sunday night, I passed two churches celebrating anniversaries—one over 50 years, the other 100 years—and I felt somewhat inadequate. Five years of existence seems minuscule compared to those other congregations. But I like to think the humble beginnings of Echo makes us a true underdog story, so we continually need to reflect on how much God has blessed us.
I've always thought the cards were stacked against us:
And yet, we've lasted five years.
I'm happy. And Sunday night I took some time to share that with our church.
By the numbers, I listed the many things that has happened as a result of our church:
Numbers are nice, but I prefer to focus on all the different people God has brought our way. That's what we're about: connecting people with the God of the Universe. It's good work if you can get it.
And for that, we partied.
When we were nearing the completion of our first year of ministry, we took a group picture on the front steps of the church we rent. It was a great group of people. Here's Echo Church in 2006:
This past Sunday night, we tried it again. Even though there were some well-wishers in the crowd that aren't regulars, we were missing a quite a few people who were unable to attend. At the very least, it gives you a sense of how God has grown this vision.
And now that we're sufficiently motivated, we take down the party decorations and get back to work.
Sometimes, I think ahead. Early last year I realized that October 10th would take place on a Sunday. I knew that my preaching schedule called for me to teach through the book of Exodus in 2010, so I planned the series so I could begin the Ten Commandments on 10/10/2010. Pretty smart, eh? So on Easter we started studying the book. Now, starting Sunday, we're poised to look at each of the commandments a week at a time. But what I neglected to recognize then is that next week would also be the fifth anniversary of Echo Church. So a special day became even more special-er.
Please consider this your official invitation to join us at Echo Church at 6pm this Sunday as we complete our fifth year of ministry in the city. We'll be having a little pot-luck after the service and, rumor is, there will be a birthday motif in play.
God's been good to us. Let's party.
Throughout the fall, I've been teaching a good deal. It keeps me in the classroom until late at night. I knew that this would be problematic this past Tuesday night. The Reds had a chance to clinch the National League Central Division title and I wasn't going to be able to go to the game. But, if I played my cards right, I might be able to work something out.
Earlier that morning, I had picked up a ticket to the game. I knew I'd miss the majority of the game, but if the game didn't progress too quickly, I might have been able to catch the end and, most importantly, the postgame celebration. Sure enough, as I wrapped up class, I checked the score to discover that it was a tie ballgame at the beginning of the 8th. I ran to my car and started the decent from Price Hill to downtown. On the way, I was listening to the radio, hearing that Joey Votto was batting. Even though it might have been magical had he hit a home run, I was rooting against him; I knew I wouldn't be able to make it in time for the end of the game if he did. Votto struck out and, as I hit Second Street, I knew I had a chance.
I parked on the street about six blocks block away. Fortunately, I'm still in relatively good shape so my run to the stadium wasn't too strenuous. I made it in that stadium and discovered that there was a lady in my seat. The seat next to her was empty (and the whole crowd was standing anyway) so I took that place.
I never sat down.
I made it just in time to see Jay Bruce walk to the batter's box, swing at the first pitch, and send the game winner over the fence. I only saw one pitch, but it was the greatest moment in Reds baseball during the past decade. Even though I missed practically the entire game, I hung out for more than an hour after the game ended. I just wanted to soak up the scene. People were going crazy and I couldn't stop smiling. Our city is a much better place when the Reds are playing well. We love our team And I love for what it's meant to me over my lifetime.
As I walked back to my car, traffic was still gridlocked but no one cared. Downtown was littered with people and the sound of car horns blaring. Regardless of what happens during this playoff run, I've had a great time with this team. Even if this only lasts for the equivalent of one pitch, it'll be yet another memory etched into my mind for the rest of my life.
A little over five years ago, I entered the Walnut Hills Christian Church for the second time. While the first time was just a momentary opportunity to check out the facility to see if our new church could rent it out, the second time was a more thorough examination of the building. And this time I had my camera with me. I snapped quite a few photos that day, but one of them stood out among the rest. It was this one:
It might be difficult to recognize what this is, but it's a baptistry— a pool in which people are baptized; at the time, it was being used by the church for storage. I transformed that image into a visual allegory for our young church: that we were called to come into this neighborhood, shake off the spiritual cobwebs, and call people to repentance. The goal I articulated for our new church was to redeem this scene and put that baptistry to good use.
Throughout those earlier years, I would bring out that baptistry photo a couple of times a year to remind people of its place in our story. "We are here," I declared, "to see this baptistry get used again." It became a sort of unofficial mantra of our church. But an interesting thing happened throughout those early years:
We baptized no one.
This is not because we did not teach the gospel. This is not because we were an insular congregation. This is not because we don't care about lost people. This is because many of the people who came to us over the years were renewing their faith—having once devoutly followed Jesus, they were returning to the church once again.
Unfortunately, for my church tradition, the litmus test for church success is baptism—if you're not baptizing people, then you're not being faithful. As a result, I've been involved in situations where the M.O. was "baptize first, ask questions later." Over my ministerial career, I regrettably baptized some people that I shouldn't have; they were in a rush for a cleansing rather than a complete transformation. As we started Echo, I assured myself that I would never again cheapen baptism. So I refuse to coerce people into doing it. Obviously, I teach it from the pulpit (it's impossible to engage the Scriptures and not come face to face with baptism), but I'm not going to scare someone into doing it just so I can feel like we have a successful church.
All of this brings me to this year. Since January I have been thinking about this topic even more. We've continued to add more people over the past couple of years and I'm sure some of them might never have been taught about obedience to baptism. Perhaps this year, we would finally fulfill that mission I captured in a picture years ago. I knew I'd be preaching through Exodus and that in 1 Corinthians the apostle Paul used Israel's Red Sea crossing as a metaphor for baptism. I imagined we'd have a general baptism day where we could celebrate baptism and see it fulfilled before our eyes. We had that service this past Sunday.
We baptized no one.
But God used all of this for a valuable lesson.
A couple of months ago, Kathy approached my wife to talk about baptism. Although she had grown up in Christ, and had even attended a Christian university, she had never been challenged with baptism. Something I said in a sermon resonated within her and she decided she wanted to be baptized. On a weeknight this summer, we had the baptistry filled with water, and my wife, my daughter, Kathy's husband and I witnessed her baptism. Yes, without any fanfare, Kathy became the first person baptized at Echo.
But the interesting thing is I do not believe that Kathy wasn't saved before this moment. She had lived a faithful life before the Lord but she had never been fully exposed to this understanding of baptism. Her decision was one of obedience. And that is what we at Echo are attempting to do in our ministry in the city: call all of God's children to obedience, which includes baptism in Him. We might only have one baptism under our belts, but our church strives to daily live in godly obedience.
One other thing: I asked Kathy to share her baptism with our church on Sunday. I even suggested, since she is quite the artist, that she make a work of art to express what happened through this process. She did and her is what it looks like:
And a new allegory is born.
We're going to get this picture framed and hang it somewhere in the building. That picture of a baptistry used as storage space will now be replaced with this image of art by a person who embraced obedience to the Lord. It's a powerful image.
I'm thankful that it's now part of our story.
Sometimes I wonder why I still have a blog. I'm incredibly inconsistent in my posting, but I've finally become OK with that. Facebook and Twitter have severely neutered the popularity of blogs, but I continue to love the medium even if few read what I write. It helps me keep track of my life. Just the other day, I was wondering when a certain event happened. Since I knew it happened in the last six years, I was able to look in my archives and check the date. So even though you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or Flickr, I'm still keeping this thing going. Sure, I'm using it more as an online diary now, but all is well. So for you who still check in from time to time, thanks for reading. I'm sorry I'm not contributing great content right now, but allow me to present a litany of excuses.
1. The house is still for sale. One month ago we made the decision to start. We've only had one viewing thus far, but it's only been on the market a couple of weeks and we have yet to host our first open house. We're still feeling good about things, though. You wouldn't believe how clean our house is.
2. Church is amazing. We had another good summer and are developing great community. I continue to feel pride for the people of Echo and how God is using them throughout our city. We're studying Exodus right now, and will examine the Ten Commandments this fall. October will mark our fifth year of ministry. I'm wondering if we can still be classified as a new church . . .
3. The day job keeps me busy too. We have a two-tiered fall admissions which means there's been no let-up. I'm still enjoying it. My job allows me the opportunity to meet some amazing people embarking on life change. It's a good gig.
4. I'm teaching again. I basically had the summer off, which I thoroughly enjoyed. But I do love spending some time in the classroom, so it's exciting to get back at. Right now, I'm teaching every week throughout the rest of the year so the break was a blessing.
5. Kaelyn is starting preschool next week. Needless to say, she's growing up. I think it's affecting me more than Kelly right now. But everyday with our little girl is a pleasure (even when she isn't at her best). She's more aware daily and I'm loving the person she's becoming.
6. Kiddie soccer is starting up again. This will be the third session I'll be coaching the Mount Adams kids soccer. It's just practice—no competitive games— but it's just another thing on the schedule.
7. I'm taking yet another class. I'm conditionally accepted into my doctoral program until I complete two more seminary courses. I opted for an online class this semester, but I'll soon be able to set my academic focus soley on doctoral work soon.
So, yeah, blogging takes a back seat. But even though things are a little hectic, I'm loving life.
And having a wife who is able to keep everything behind-the-scenes working seamlessly is the greatest blessing of them all. I couldn't imagine what I'd do without her. Kelly makes my busy life enjoyable. We've had some great family time over the summer. We're looking forward to the fall.
That said, here are five things that I'm excited about right now:
1. The Walnut Hills Festival is this week. Echo has been involved in it since the beginning, and it's been a great vehicle to establish our relationship with the neighborhood. If you're not doing anything next Saturday (September 11th), you should join us at the corner of Kemper and Taft for food, folks and fun.
2. Shawn and Melissa are getting married. I'm claiming this as our first official Echo wedding as Shawn was part of our core group before taking a ministry and Melissa has been with us since she graduated from college. I'm excited that I get to officiate and can at least say that if our church has done nothing else, it is responsible for a marriage.
3. My sister is having her fourth child. That'll make 14 grandchildren among my siblings. That's insane.
4. The Cincinnati sports world is alive. It's been 11 years since September baseball has mattered in Cincinnati. I'm not saying that the Reds are a dominant team, but once you get into the postseason, anything can happen.
5. Fall television is ready to roll. I know that sounds peculiar, but we're TV people. Our DVR will get a workout this fall as we get the most out of our cable bill.
If you need me, I'm around.
I've been somewhat off the grid the past week or so. It wasn't for a lack of ideas or comments. We're trying to sell our condo.
It's insane, really. We're satisfied with where we live and it has served us well. But as we look towards the future, and our desire to spend the rest of our lives here in Walnut Hills, it feels like time to transition from a condominium to a house. Even the market is a bear right now, we're thinking that there's not going to be a significant upswing in the next couple of years, so why not now?
This decision was a significant one for our family, but we decided to go all out. In this market, it isn't enough to just list your home—it means making your home attractive to the buyer. Our constant HGTV watching has been helpful in this process because we believe that we now know the common selling mistakes. Despite having a beautiful place, there was a list of projects that we had been thinking of for a while. I made a spreadsheet (an obvious sign that I'm a dork) and it numbered over 80 different tasks. I took some vacation days last week in order to work the list. By Monday of this week, we made it completely through.
Among other things we rented a storage unit, decluttered, made multiple trips to Goodwill, and painted practically the entire home, cleaning it from top to bottom. I'll admit that because of the working conditions and stressed involved, Kelly and I had a couple of arguments. But when it was all over, we were happy and pleased with the process. For you voyeurs out there who are curious to see the finished result, I posted some of the photos the realty photographer took of our place. To peek at them, click here.
We've been really appreciative of friends who have offered support. Multiple people have told us that they're praying for us. It seems kind of peculiar; there are much greater needs in this world than us selling our place when he don't have to. But that's why we're not sweating it. It if happens, praise God. If not, we'll be content to stay where we're at . . . and we'll have a practically new place.
I'll keep you posted.
Now that I've had a week to digest it, I've decided to record the events of last Friday night that resulted in damage to my Ford Explorer. It's a long story, but I've repeated verbally so many times this week that I thought a written record would be helpful. And, yes, it's so long that I broke it up into sections to make it easier to read. INTRODUCTION
As a preface, I should note that I didn't sleep well last week. I think it was the heat. I tend not to get the most out of my sleep during the summer (I sleep best in cold weather). Combine my bad sleep with a loud bang at 3am and I immediately woke up.
It sounded like a large dumpster hitting the pavement. I was aggravated that Rumpke would drop off a dumpster in the middle of the night, but I then heard a motor burning up. That's when I realized there was something more here. For safety's sake, I grabbed my collapsible metal baton and headed out toward the street. Still half-asleep, I could only tell that there had been an accident and my African-American neighbor from up the street was yelling at a guy in a wrecked car.
SIDE NOTE: I established the guy's race because it will come into play later. It reminds me, however, of how bothersome the identification of race in a story can be when it's trivial information. Many times I'll hear people say, "So this black guy came by. . . " when the guy's race had no bearing on the story whatsoever. If you're in the habit of doing this in your stories, it's about time that you stop.
SURVEYING THE SCENE
So, anyway, my neighbor was yelling at the driver in the car who was very, very drunk . . . and also black (reference the previous note and stick with me here). So drunk was this driver that he had clipped the median with his car and crashed into my car. Two other neighbors were out there (their race is unimportant to the story) and told me that the driver had rammed my car and was trying to escape. Unfortunately for the drunk driver, his front tire was shredded and he wasn't going anywhere. Still, that didn't deter my neighbor from opening the car door and yelling at him. The drunk driver kept hitting the gas, but all it did was drive his bare rim into the road.
I immediately tried to defuse the situation by identifying myself as a pastor. I know this sounds silly, but there's still some respect for pastors out there. At least, I figured, that might keep anyone from getting too crazy.
I called the police, but it was a busy night; there was the Jazz festival downtown, in addition to a sold-out Reds game which we had attended earlier. As the police were nowhere to be found, I told the drunk driver that he should step out of the car. He was incoherent and not paying attention to me.
A NEW CHARACTER
Then, a dude came running up the hill. He yelled out, "That's my cousin! He dropped me off down at the corner. I told him not to drive!" After yelling at his drunk driver cousin, he came over to me to talk.
"Is this your car he hit?"
Yes, I responded.
"It's O.K., he has insurance."
I was reassured. But then he told me something else.
"Well, I have a couple of felonies on me, so I'm going to get out of here before the cops come."
Brilliant. I can't blame him, really. And since he wasn't in the car at the time of the accident, I told him to have a good night and refocused on the scene.
TALKING DRUNK
You see, at this time I realized that my neighbor, the one who happened to be black, was also drunk. He kept going back to his house and coming back to the accident scene to talk. He, however, was making more sense than the drunk driver who, at this point, was sitting down on my front steps. So my neighbors continued to survey the scene, talking and wondering how the cops hadn't arrived in twenty minutes.
At this point, the drunk driver was on his feet, claiming that he wasn't actually driving the car. This made my drunk neighbor angry, causing him to start cussing at the driver. In the midst of some adult language, to which I wasn't particularly paying attention, something caught my ear.
It was the N-word.
The drunk driver (who was black) called my drunk neighbor (also black) this slur.
This is when I started to pay attention to the conversation, specifically as my drunk neighbor said, "I dare you to say that to my face again."
CONFRONTATION
At this point I moved towards them as the drunk driver, yet again, dropped the N-bomb. I had grabbed my neighbor's left arm but he used his right arm to deliver a fore-arm shiver.
The drunk driver, standing on the curb, was knocked back, lost his footing, and landed with his head to the pavement.
I grabbed my drunk neighbor, telling him he couldn't do that (despite the fact that he just did). My neighbor has a good house, nice car, great job— a lot to lose for an assault to a drunk driver. My neighbor yelled at me, telling him that he'd hit me too if I called him the N-word. Duly noted, but irrelevant, I told my neighbor to get out of there.
It was then that I turned to look down at the drunk driver. He was lying in the road and blood began to pool up under his head. He was totally still, so I feared that he might actually be dead. I stood over him and saw that he was breathing—always a good sign. I felt a little better.
Still, since he had been drinking and knocked unconscious, he urinated himself as I stood over him.
But at least he was alive.
And still, no police.
REMEMBERING WHERE I LIVE
I failed to mention that all this took place on a busy night on our street. People were returning from the jazz festival. And (invoking race again) since the festival attracts mostly African-Americans, and there is a high density of African Americans in my neighborhood, it was a constant flow. As I stood over the drunk driver, pools of blood and urine underneath him, the cars driving by slowed down to watch. People asked if he was OK and I could only answer that we called the ambulance (something my sober neighbors did after the confrontation).
Then, as I stood over the drunk driver, a car full of four black young men stopped beside us. They said nothing but just stared. I'm thinking that they were wondering what this white dude was doing hovering over a knocked out black man. I (somewhat confidently) yelled out, "Don't worry. He's breathing. We called the ambulance," and looked back. They continued to stare, and then drove off.
I was glad they did.
FINALLY THEY ARRIVE
Still not hearing sirens, I ran inside to tell Kelly to grab a towel for the guy; I didn't want him to lie bleeding in the street. By the time I came back out to the street, the police had finally showed up.
Twenty-five minutes later, mind you.
The first office on the scene was assessing the situation and could tell that there was an altercation after the accident. He asked me what happened and I had to tell him the truth; no matter how much I like my neighbor, I wasn't going to ignore the fact that he had assaulted the dude. Upon hearing the story, the officer said, "Well, I'm not even going to worry about the assault."
Alright, then.
In the same vein, another officer came up to me and asked, "did you punch that guy for hitting your car?"
"No ma'am," I responded.
"Well I would have," she said.
And now I know.
CONCLUSION
So my car will finally go into the shop next week. The damage almost totalled it. I still haven't heard whether or not the drunk driver had insurance.
I've told this story a few times during the last week. Some people have viewed it as yet further proof that city life is crazy. And I can't really refute that.
But this is my neighborhood. This is where I live. And regardless of the craziness here, I absolutely love it. And I'm going to continue to love it despite all the imperfections it displays.
It's a broken world. I'm just doing my little part to fix it. And I can't do that unless I live in it.
I was out of town when LeBron James made known his intention to "take my talents to South Beach." I had planned on writing up my view on the situation but discovered this week that Bill Simmons took the words right out of my mouth. He opines:
In pickup basketball, there's an unwritten rule to keep teams relatively equal to maximize the competitiveness of the games. That's the law. If two players are noticeably better than everyone else, they don't play together, nor would they want to play together. If the two guys have any pride at all -- especially if they play similar positions -- then getting the better of each other trumps any other scenario. They want that test. Joining forces and destroying everyone else would ruin the whole point of having the game. It's like a dad kicking his young son's a** in a driveway one-on-one game. What's the point? When LeBron and Wade effectively said, "Instead of trying to whup each other, let's just crush everyone else" and "If these teams end up being uneven, we're not switching up," everyone who ever played basketball had the same reaction: "I hate guys like that."
Link: The Sports Guy
Having attended two Reds games in less than a twenty-four hour period, I'm on a baseball high. I'm a little dismayed that the Reds are playing great baseball yet have fallen to 1.5 games behind the Cardinals in the division. St Louis has yet to lose since the All-Star break, but the two teams they've played have been prone to self-destruction. I'm going to venture to say that they'll come back to earth fairly soon. I like Cincinnati's club. Sure, we have some bullpen holes, but so does the vast majority of MLB teams. If the Reds win Thursday afternoon, that's winning two straight series since the break. And if they continue to do so, we won't have to worry about the Cardinals. Plus, I was loving the atmosphere last night. It's been over a decade since I saw the ballpark (er, Riverfront Stadium) that engaged.
Anyway, what I really want to reflect upon was the spectacle I saw on Wednesday night. Stephen Strasburg has been anointed for awhile now as baseball's next big thing. His start, combined with a competitive Reds team, led to a midweek sellout a Great American Ballpark. While I saw a decent amount of Strasburg shirts and signs, do not misinterpret the crowd: the masses wanted to see him get beat. He lasted 5 2/3 innings and struck out 7, yielding 3 earned runs.
My reaction to his greatness: eh.
Look, I get it. Strasburg can throw stuff that not a lot of guys have. But he does so from a total power perspective. Greg Maddux, he is not. This is not to say the Strasburg isn't impressive, but he's not lights out yet. Heck, what I've seen recently out of Reds pitchers Mike Leake and Travis Wood has been much more impressive.
Why am I being this critical? Because of how people are dealing with him. Since I attended yesterday, I was interested to see how the media would react to his outing. The Washington Post (albeit his team's hometown newspaper) waxed on elegantly about Strasburg's performance. ESPN (gotta love 'em) dropped this gem: "A day after his 22nd birthday, Strasburg pitched beyond his years again, passing one of his toughest tests." I also heard Strasburg performed open heart surgery on a patron between the fifth and sixth innings, but I've been unable to verify this fact.
I tend to rebel against the hype.
I find the times in which we live fascinating. We're so excited about what could be that we're ignoring what's happening now. LeBron James' "Decision," a live broadcast where millions of viewers tuned in to see which NBA team would benefit from his "talents," should be proof enough of this. Both these phenoms can do amazing things, but beyond expanding their bank accounts, what has it brought? The Nationals are still horrible and most Clevelanders still haven't witnessed a championship.
Hype is interesting, but it isn't filling.
I kinda feel bad for Strasburg. The bar is now set unreasonably high. Unless he retires as one of the greatest to play the game, many will view him as a failure. And I'm not convinced that he's wired to deal with that. Barring injury, he'll have an amazing career. But will we appreciate it?
In baseball, as in life, we ought to be careful of putting our hope in a future that's almost impossible to come true.
I was peed on. I can freely admit it. After a long day of set-up at the North American Christian Convention in Indianapolis, I was unfortunately saturated while walking back to my automobile. And, yes, the offender was female. As a simple Tweet cannot properly explain this situation, and because many have doubted that this is a true story, I've decided to relate the story in detail with the assistance of visual aids. You see, as I waited for our moving truck at the end of the convention, I took the opportunity to return to the crime scene and snap some photos on my phone. Sometimes, seeing is believing. So journey back with me, won't you?
At approximately 4pm on Monday July 5th I was walking south from the Indianapolis Convention Center towards a parking lot adjacent to the Lucas Oil Stadium. This path took me underneath a set of train tracks. Image 1 will give you a view of the trek back to my Explorer.
Note the large building in the right side of the photograph. It is a power plant that is very loud, and passing underneath the bridge meant that I couldn't have heard my attacker even if they were brazen about their actions.
At the time, I was searching for directions on my iPhone; I was spending the night with my sister and her family and I've only been there a few times. Thus, I was both walking and typing in my phone and my eyes were focused downward. This is why when I felt some wetness on my arm, I originally thought nothing of it; all my city marathon training has ingrained in me the fact that underpasses usually drip water. But I noticed that I was no longer under a bridge, but at the separation point between two bridges, as you can see in Image 2.
It was at this moment that I was again sprinkled. Noticing that I was no longer under a bridge, and thinking it could actually be starting to rain, I glanced up.
And a saw a moon.
But it was the afternoon.
And therefore it wasn't THE moon.
No, it was a woman in her twenties using the bathroom.
On me.
I will refrain on going into further detail as to why I know this was a young woman. I'm just asking that you trust me on this one.
For the remainder of this retelling, I will refer to the woman as Cynthia Story—Cindy for short. Why, you ask? Because the following graffiti was etched into the bridge where the crime was committed. In my mind, this is Cindy's regular restroom spot and she has claimed it by engraving her name into the nearby steel.
The question that looms large here is why was Cindy using the bathroom in public and, specifically, on me? As I revisited the scene of the crime, I think I have figured this out.
Cindy really had to go. We've all been there, right? It's usually much easier for men to participate in public urination and Cindy was faced with a problem: where could she go where she wouldn't be seen? Somehow, she made her way to these railroad tracks and took solace in the space between two bridges. From ground level, she would have been obscured from sight. No one would have known. And to fully understand this, observe Image 4 and her perch:
Cindy was facing a concrete wall with barrier to the right and left on her. While she thought she was hidden, her rear end was fully exposed to the sidewalk below. I'm sure when she first began doing her business, she looked to the ground seeing only roadway. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
When I finally realized what was happening, all I could think to do was yell "HEY!" at Cindy. She was obviously startled and fled immediately. I didn't bother to chase her down; what would I have done anyway? I drove the entire trip to suburban Indianapolis with my arm extended. Upon arriving at her house, my sister insisted I take a shower immediately. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY
Believe it or not, I wasn't that angry about the entire situation. Sure, there are moments in life where we feel like were getting . . . well . . . that we have our own personal Cindy's who are doing their business upon us. In the past few years of my life, I've felt this way many-a-time. So when this happened literally, all I could do was laugh. I've been milking this story for a week now.
It was just a good reminder for me not to take things too seriously. I tend to do that more than I usually admit. I'm not sure if I'm completely reformed, but I'm getting there.
And no matter how much some of you reading this dislike Cincinnati, I've never been peed on here. Thanks, Indianapolis.
For the past month, my life has been dominated by the world's game. I'm sad that I won't get the chance to view any more games with my family and friends. As the Spainiards hoisted the World Cup trophy earlier today, it's now prime time for me to summarize my thoughts about the 2010 tournament.
And a few final thoughts about today's final match:
Still, it's all over and I can now remove the television from my office at work.
Packed weekend. We've been enjoying it. A few things as I recap:
In short, life is good.
I find that I tend to use bigger words in average conversation now than I did just ten years ago. I'm not sure whether it's the fact that I'm involved in academics or that I finally know some big words that have brought me to this change. It might simply be that I used to think I couldn't be both deep and down to earth and I've finally come around. Regardless, sometimes nothing else makes quite the same impact as tossing out some polysyllabic words. In my life's context, constantly dealing with people who know everything, you have to sometimes let 'er rip. And that's the preface to this post's title. It's really not that complicated, but it's the first thing that came to my mind when I started writing this post.
Let's break down this phrase: "ecclesiological false dichotomy." For starters, "ecclesiological" is the theological study of the church— how we Christian folk do stuff. And we all understand what "false" is, true? Finally, "dichotomy" basically means "split into two parts." Often, a dichotomy can simply refer to choices: choose one or the other.
So when I'm thinking of "ecclesiological false dichotomy," it's an instance where the church has made/must make a decision, but the choices offered are not really the only choices. What led me here was an article at the interestingly named website "Church Marketing Sucks" that discussed a major outreach in Atlanta, Georgia. Almost 80 churches in the region will be cancelling their weekend worship services at the end of July in order to go out and do service projects. It reminded me of something I read a few years back where a church did the same thing. I was so fascinated, I even saved the pastor's quote in a Word doc: "we need to spend less time GOING to church and more time BEING the church."*
I've refrained on commenting on this for awhile, but it has finally worn me thin. I personally know quite a few churches who have done this same thing. They have great intentions and do some very good things while cancelling their worship services.
But they are misguided. And I think I'll go as far to say that they are actually wrong.
And here's where the "ecclesiological false dichotomy" comes into play. People would have you believe that there are only two choices in this issue: 1) Going to church or 2) Being the church. But it's much more complicated than this. As I've already offended some of you who think this is an phenomenal idea, you're likely crafting a response in your mind that creates a false choice. Go ahead and pick your poison:
I'm sure there are others I didn't think of. In the end, those who dare to critique cancelling services for service are offered only two reactions: buy into what we're doing as brilliant or come off as a negative, stick-in-the-mud Christian who doesn't have a heart. Frankly, I am not satisfied with those choices.
So now that I've decided to criticize, let me offer my full critique. I ask that you grant me some patience as I break this down. And it all has to begin by asking "why?"
1. Why do Christians gather every week for "corporate worship" (a.k.a. the worship service)? Why do we sing songs, read the Scriptures, pray, and have communion together? My response: we gather on Sundays to worship together because it is the biblical/historical mandate; this is what the first Christians did, it's what those immediately after them did, and it's what the church has done for almost two-thousand years. By and large, most Christian worship services still adhere to these basic elements of a corporate worship service because it's in the Bible (Roman Catholics might frame this answer differently, but they'd still agree that the Bible offers a template). Ultimately, our Sunday worship gatherings are regular and consistent because it is what the church has been called to do throughout its existence.
Protestant Christians don't view corporate worship as sacramental (that is, something we must do for merit) but rather as something we do out of love, honor, and respect for God. Yet we must understand this: what we do in corporate worship has a definitive purpose—to please God. Even though we might want to be "seeker sensitive" and not offend any non-Christians in our midst, the service is intended for believers to worship God together. So when the world criticizes the church for coming together on Sundays to worship, we mustn't be surprised. They don't understand why we do this. We do it for the Lord.
2. That said, we must admit that God also has called us to do good works; we cannot be "so heavenly minded that we do no earthly good." Yes, good works are good. As of late, churches have started to see this as one of our callings. Social justice, once only the tool of liberal Christians, has been reclaimed by evangelical Christianity. Jewish mystics refer to this as "tikkun olam," or "repairing the world." We are finally doing good works in our communities and throughout our world.
3. But we must admit that we've become rather proud of ourselves. This is not good. I know this is low, but I'm going to unleash some wisdom of Jesus to confirm my point.
"Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven." Matthew 6:1**
Yikes. You see how this is difficult? While we are called to do good works, we should be careful of letting people know about them. Yet I continually hear of churches around the country cancelling worship gatherings to go out and serve. This is fascinating because I don't attend any of these churches. So, somehow, the word of these acts of righteousness is getting out; we're not as subtle as we think.
And here I will insert a quick sidebar: why are many churches motivated to do service outreach/projects in the first place? We'll usually explain that we're just trying to do some good in the world for Jesus. People tend to enjoy service because it makes us feel good (I'm reminded of the episode of Friends where Phoebe tells Joey that there's no such thing as a truly unselfish good deed). But, more than this, I believe that there are many churches who see outreach as an opportunity to add to the flock; I'm not talking about the traditional "win-lost souls-to-Jesus" addition, but rather the "I-wish-our-church-was-as-outward-focused-as-this" addition. Listen, I'm a minister and I've been there. We already go to extreme lengths to make our congregations look attractive. Church service projects can be used in the same way—as a way to steal sheep. There, I said it.
4. Good works aren't performed by Christians only. I think this is something we must readily admit: Christians aren't the only people doing good things in the world. There are Muslims and atheists and Buddhists who do as many good things as we do. Heck, even corporations allow employees to take off work to do service projects, so our pride is usually misplaced. Still, I would offer that just as all truth is God's truth, all good works belong to Him as well. But let us not deceive ourselves that only we are the only ones who do good.
5. Ultimately, these churches hold to a theological misunderstanding. Churches cancel worship services to do service projects because they equate manual-labor worship with corporate worship. "Worship is worship," they claim, whether it's painting a house or singing hymns together. But this is neither biblical nor consistent. It's not biblical in that, while our service can be worship (observe Romans 12), it isn't the same thing as corporate worship; there's a textual difference between working a soup kitchen (good works) and the Eucharist (communal/corporate worship). And it's not consistent because we don't encourage abandoning corporate worship for other forms of worship. If I use this logic (that service projects and corporate worship are equal) then a walk in the park on a beautiful Sunday is the same thing as worshipping with the church. Eventually, if I adhere to this thinking, the church itself is irrelevant and I can do just as well living the Christian life on my own.***
And that's what lies behind this false dichotomy: a confused view of worship. We Christians worship through service, we worship through fellowship and friendship, and we can even worship alone. But our communal worship, when the church gathers specifically to give praise to God, is something all-together different. And it was never intended to be abandoned or replaced by whatever we prefer.
I'm not only offering critique here. Here are a couple of thoughts that can work towards solutions.
1. First, we shouldn't be afraid of being criticized for worshipping together. The world mocks Christians continually, especially for taking time out of their week to gather to worship God. "Isn't there a better way they could spend their time," people ask. I find this fascinating: are you telling me that these critics waste no time during their week? I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that a couple of hours with the church isn't any sillier than watching a Desperate Housewives marathon. Christians need not be apologetic for the time we spend worshipping together.
2. And perhaps the most simple solution: why not do service projects on a Saturday or on a Monday night or any other time of the week. And if it must be done on Sunday, there's nothing wrong with worshipping corporately in the morning and serving later that afternoon. But why completely cancel the service? At the very least, if there is no other time, couldn't you gather first as a church and have a shortened worship gathering? We shouldn't be forced to choose. You can both "go to church" AND "be the church." Cultivating pride in the fact that our church isn't afraid to cancel worship in order to do service projects exposes traces of a shallow Christianity; it makes as much sense as fasting from God to make Him happy. Even if we are doing this with the proper motivation, it's self-defeating.
In the end, I'm just asking church leaders to ask ourselves "why?" Why are we doing this? Are we doing it because it's what God wants or because it's what we'd prefer that God want?
Dichotomy is rough, eh?
_________________________
*As I read the Church Marketing Sucks article I was sure that, somewhere on the webpage, the phrase, "be the church" would be found. Sure enough, someone used it in the comments section.
**Contextually, I might be using this verse broadly. Some will say that the "acts of righteousness" referred to religious disciplines and not to serving in general. Maybe someone should write an article about it.
***Frank Viola wrote a book entitled Pagan Christianity that would take an entirely different perspective of this issue. He believes that the majority of what churches do today (such as owning buildings) is unbiblical and should be abandoned. He would likely endorse the idea of calling off corporate worship to do service projects. While I disagree with many of his assertions that serve as the basis of his thinking, at least his thinking toward the conclusion would be logical.
I thoroughly enjoyed my Father's Day. Wake up, watch soccer, eat fantastic Mexican (if you're in Cincinnati and you don't frequent El Rancho Grande, you have issues), and preach at Echo Church. The older Kaelyn gets, the more I enjoy her company. She's becoming her own little person. Sure, she still throws a fit here and there, but overall she's fantastic. I can't wait for her to continue to mature. I'm anticipating some fascinating conversations in the years to come. Our little creature of habit loves ending her day by viewing one of her shows. The advent of the DVR allows us to easily record her favorite shows for viewing at her bedtime. We she was smaller, she loved a show on TLC called Peep and the Big Wide World. While she still enjoys an occasional viewing of this program, it's no longer her passion; she has made the transition to PBS shows. But instead of enjoying the puppet characters of Sesame Street, she has chosen another genre altogether.
Kaelyn's latest obsession is the PBS show Dinosaur Train. It's a computer animated show produced by the Jim Henson company (at least that's somewhat close to the Muppets). The premise is that a dinosaur family (Pteranodans and an adopted T-Rex) learns about their kind traversing the dino-world on a train. But not only can the train travel distances, it can also travel through time by entering a tunnel. This is the vehicle by which the dinosaurs learn all sorts of things, and the information is passed along to the child in an entertaining way.
But more so than any other of her programs, this show has started to annoy me in endless ways. I try not to pay attention to it, but it's somewhat grating and I have to get it off my chest. Even though you might be unfamiliar with my gripes, I present to you my list:
1) I have yet to observe any money exchanged in this dinosaur world and yet tickets are necessary to ride the train. What kind of currency do dinosaurs use? And how do they hang onto it, as I've never seen it in their hands and they have no pockets?
2) So the dinosaurs developed the technology not only for rail travel, but for time travel as well. If they were this technologically advanced, why couldn't they avoid becoming extinct?
3) And if these dinosaurs could harness the power of time travel, why are they limited to traveling only in the dinosaur era. I would be interested in episodes that had the dinosaurs assaulting serfs in medieval Europe.
4) The conductor on the train always declares, "Time tunnel approaching." But this is a false statement. The tunnel is stationary; it ain't going anywhere. In reality, the train is approaching the time tunnel. I've attempted to explain this to Kaelyn, but she isn't having it.
5) The show continually references the difference between carnivores and herbivores (meat-eaters verses plant-eaters). But they manage to do this without recognizing the major flaw in the show's premise: one day, when the T-Rex grows up, he will eat his Pteranadon family. I eagerly anticipate this very special episode of Dinosaur Train, the cultural parallel to Jessie Spano's caffeine pill abuse episode on Saved By The Bell.
6) In a holiday version of Dinosaur Train, the family celebrates the winter solstice. I can predict why producers did this: no one wants religious wars being waged during children's programming, so assert that the prehistoric era was before Judaism and Christianity, so the dinosaurs wouldn't celebrate Hanukkah or Christmas. But winter solstice is a pagan holiday, created by humans who (supposedly) lived after dinosaurs as well. So in an effort to be politically correct and religiously neutral, the Dinosaur Train teaches my daughter to be a good pagan. SIDENOTE: I will continue to deprogram my daughter from the many pagan rituals she will be exposed to throughout her childhood.
7) And, finally, when the paleontologist ends the episode by relaying his "scientific expertise" he often admits that he's just speculating. So they're teaching these kids "facts" that aren't necessarily facts, but he's still smug about it.
In the end, I know I should just lighten up. Kaelyn now knows more about dinosaurs than I do (even though she would be expelled from the Creation Museum). I ought to simply be thankful that it isn't Teletubbies.
The interwebs and local media were abuzz today concerning the Jesus statue in front of the Solid Rock Church in Monroe, Ohio (while the official name of the statue is "King of Kings," most locals refer to it as either "Touchdown Jesus" or "Butter Jesus"). A violent storm ripped through the area last night and lightening struck the statue. Apparently the material of the statue wasn't fireproof and the lightening strike ignited it. It burned to the ground. Whenever discussing anything Jesus related, there's bound to be controversy. The statue itself, considered by most to be an eyesore since its construction in 2004, has been the subject of scorn, so its burning was greeted with gladness by many.
Personally (shocker), the statue was not my taste. But I can understand why a church like Solid Rock wanted a large Jesus monument along the highway: they're the kind of congregation that believes such bold statements define faithfulness to God; locals will remember that, long before the Jesus statue, Solid Rock was best known for their extremely bright digital highway sign. There are numerous churches that subscribe to what I call a "flaunt-your-faith" attitude (if you've ever seen some churches in the south that erect huge crosses, you understand what I mean). What I'm saying is this: while I could never comprehend being part of a church who would construct such a statue, I understand the thinking that leads them to building it.
This brings me to has really been bothering me today. My Facebook monitoring has revealed a ton of cynicism by Christian folk who believe this lightning strike was just desserts: essentially, lightening striking the statue, while not necessarily being the judgement of God, was saving us from having to observe this visual vomit. More than this gratification its demise has brought us, we justify this disgust is as follows: Solid Rock Church wasted thousands of dollars on this statue, money that could have been better used by feeding the poor or ministering to the neglected.* While I do agree with this view, we must make sure that there aren't any two-by-four's obscuring our vision.
Ask yourself this: what is your church spending large amounts of money on that could be better spent either on the poor or ministry? Does your congregation own thousands of dollars of technical equipment (intelligent lights, high-defintion projectors/cameras)? Does your church offer free coffee to thousands of people every week? Does you fellowship finance huge children's programs that come with a huge price tag? If so, your church really isn't different than what Solid Rock is doing.
Ouch, eh? But it's the truth.
The Scriptures offer churches latitude in how we should accomplish our mission and, over thousands of years, people continue to view this differently. We spend our funds in ways that help us to fulfill the Great Commission Jesus issued in Matthew 28. Some churches invest in property and buildings, others invest in staff, still others invest in outreach. Churches tend to justify these lavish expenses with the idea that there is no cost too great to win a lost soul for Jesus. But if we are willing to adopt this posture for our own church, then we ought not be too judgmental on how others seek to accomplish this goal.
Even though I thought the Jesus statue was ugly, I have actually met people who decided to attend Solid Rock because of it. Like it or not, it accomplished its purpose, as does top-notch technology, rocking kids' programs, or free coffee.
This is the burden of church leadership, especially in a small church like Echo. I'm continually concerned that we're being good stewards with the tithes of our congregation. It makes me paranoid. I believe that one of the reasons that our congregation has been effective is that we continue to be frugal with our resources (example: we continue to rent our facility which enables us to give almost 20% of our offering to missions). All church leaders need to struggle with this: are we investing kingdom funds into areas that truly need it, or are we using them to perform services that expand our own kingdoms.
So when you decide to look down your nose and scoff at the bizarre burning Jesus on Interstate 75, ask yourself whether or not there's a similar statue in your church parking lot.
And since I've already gone there, why not get really introspective: are there any Butter Jesus' in your personal life?
_____________________
*Does that mentality remind you of something biblical, say this?
I have been feeling ill as of late. Perhaps it's a result of my fever . . . WORLD CUP FEVER! I know that many of you are soccer haters, and that's fine; don't watch the beautiful game. My only request is that, if you must bash it, legitmize your complaint. Merely declaring, "it's boring," is insufficient. As a baseball fan, I will readily admit that it's boring, but I love it. And considering that the actual action in NFL games only lasts 11 minutes, boring is definitely a subjective term. Just because you do not like something doesn't make it boring.
But this year's World Cup in South Africa has supplied haters some new ammunition: the vuvuzelas. If you've watched any matches up to this point, you've heard the cicada-like buzzing of these plastic horns. Many people, fans and players alike, have asked that they be banned. Locals claim that the vuvuzelas (pronounced "VOO-VOO-ZAY-LUHS") are part of South African culture, and should be accepted by the world as such. FIFA president Sepp Blatter equates requests for vuvuzela silence as another attempt at European cultural colonization. Others have opined that the call to eliminate them from World Cup matches is racist.
OK, let's get back to reality.
These annoying horns have nothing to do with South African tradition. A quick look at its entry in the always reliable Wikipedia attests that they actually originated in Mexico in the 1970s. Heck, one of my grade-school friends had one that he would take to Bengals games (we just called it a plastic horn). While some South Africans say that they have a cultural depth, they weren't mass-produced there until the World Cup was awarded to the nation. In short, it's just an annoying fad.
If FIFA officials were wise, they would recognize this and ban them. If they don't, I guarantee they'll become a regular fixture at every soccer match in every nation, just like those annoying "thunder sticks" that infiltrated American sports a few years ago. The actual tragedy is that there many African fans playing drums, a truly cultural expression, but they're being drowned out by those cheap plastic horns.
So feel free to hate the horns, because I'm a fan and I do. But don't hate the sport because of them.
Oh, and the games have been pretty boring up to this point. But at least I'm admitting it.
Last weekend was my parent's 40th wedding anniversary. It's extremely difficult to orchestrate a gathering of my siblings' families, but we were able to pull it off and surprise my parents. We had discussed possibly having a large gathering of friends, but we decided that a crowd consisting of 13 grandchildren was quite enough (take a look at the picture of the bottom of this post to observe the ever-growing Carr clan). My mother and father were married in Maysville, Kentucky on June 6, 1970. The late Lewis Foster, esteemed New Testament professor at the Cincinnati Bible Seminary, was supposed to perform the ceremony but his father had passed away the night before. They had to get a replacement minister, a gentleman that my father claims was not licensed to perform weddings in Kentucky. He uses that anecdote to set up the joke that he and Mom were never married. He's like that sometime.
It was a very basic wedding ceremony as I understand it; the pictures of their special day reflect the simplicity expected in the union of the daughter of a tobacco farmer and the son of Appalachian field workers. But many times power things have rather humble beginnings.
It has not been until recent years that I have truly begun to appreciate what my parents have. They learned to accept life as it came to them and make the best of it. My mother prolonged her entry into college in order to save up the money to pay in full; she used to instill guilt in us by relating what she went without while laboring towards her professional degree. My father drove a truck long before he was legally allowed to do so in order to make money for his family. He served faithfully in the Marine Corps in Vietnam and then returned home, meeting my mother at his home church. Instead of lamenting the many hardships before them, they modeled their marriage on work and service, always putting forth a supreme effort. From nothing, they built a successful business. And into their children they planted seeds of education, fully understanding that this was the key to life success. My siblings and I have truly benefited from their efforts, obtaining a strong work ethic and a leg-up in having stable adult lives.
But, ultimately, my parents' marriage is best summarized by their faith; it has been the constant throughout their relationship. Many a morning, as I woke up to get ready for school, I would hear my parents in their room reading the Bible and praying. They made sure that we were at the church building practically every time the doors were open. Again, these habits were passed on to my brothers and sisters as all of our families are currently dedicated servants in local congregations. And my parents' loyalty to the Price Hill Church of Christ over the course of their marriage amazes me more than anything. Few people today can claim that they've remained loyal to the same community of believers for 40 years. Perhaps it's the fact that the church is what brought them together. Regardless, their Christian family has been a driving force throughout their marriage.
I know it hasn't been easy for them but, still, 40 years later, they love each other as they did when they were young. I am more proud of my parents than I could ever articulate. I was raised with a front row seat to a great marriage. And it has made all the difference mine and my siblings lives. And this is why WE celebrated their forty years last week.
_________________
Last week, while pondering my parents marriage, I found this video about the late John Wooden and his relationship with his wife. Somehow I kept seeing that as the equivalent of my parents' love for each other.
