PHD in Passion and Vision

I read in the morning meeting notes from Pasadena that yesterday was the 40th anniversary of the death of Martin Luther King. That brought a marker to the forefront of my mind of the day I heard about this. It's one of those dates that remind you exactly where you were at the time; for me, it was a night in Room 408 of Hotz Hall at the University of Arkansas, reading an English assignment, In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Those were dark days of campus unrest and pessimism, largely due to the Vietnam War and a groundswell of cultural decline. I had wanted to major in art, but my family insisted that I go the business route so my upbringing and my personality allowed me to produce excellent grades as a Marketing major and acquire a BSBA but not with a lot of heart. In fact, there's not much from my college academic education that prepared me for anything I have done in my life--at least, so far. Furthermore, all of our lives and our daily education has been tainted by the likes of Ophah--not good--see http://youtube.com/watch?v=JW4LLwkgmqA.

USCWM. FMF. PSP. PCW. Everything has letters in our office. There is a move afoot to train new class coordinators in a greatly improved way (PCW)--not just how to fill out forms and conduct the class but to do all these things with passion and vision. I caught myself yesterday with my elbow on my desk and my chin in my hand, staring beyond the notes on my computer screen, thinking how every avenue of our education, unlike my college experience, should teach you how to walk through the motions but always with the ultimate goal of passion and vision.

One of the major things every good Perspectives student takes away is that the Great Commission of Jesus in Matthew 28 really means, "As you go, make disciples, teaching them identification with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and to do what He says--no matter how hard it looks or how strange. He says, "I will hold your hand through it all. You'll be really glad you did because we're the only Ones who will be around until the end of the age." Well, that's my paraphrase anyway. I feel like I've been in the under-achiever's track in my Great Commission class over many of my years, not headed for any degree really. By God's grace, though, He has put a desire in my heart for that PHD. And why does anyone want a PHD? They want to teach!

Ruined for the Ordinary: Personal Reflection

I am ruined for the ordinary. It happened after taking Perspectives on the World Christian Movement. In fact, so many of us have been ruined that, I--who now work for Perspectives, am editor of a newsletter that goes to Class Coordinators and Instructors called...yes, "Ruined for the Ordinary".

So what did "ordinary" look like for us? Going to church every Sunday, raising kids that would hopefully do the same for the rest of their days while meeting their need in every possible way to join in team sports, get the best education, be as comfortable as possible and enjoy all the American lifestyle has to offer, AND know how to get along with everyone in their world without carrying any emotional baggage into their adult lives so they could raise their children in the same way.

So what happened? Unbeknownst to us, God had had us on a collision course with the ordinary for some time. It was innocent enough--commit to read a big textbook and listen to 15 different people talk about their exotic experiences in places like tribal Indonesia and post-Christian Amsterdam. Somehow, the Spirit of God whispered to us, "Comfort and clean living put you at the starting block; now run the race!" After the first five weeks of hearing the Story of His Glory, all that has run through our minds is SIGN UP AND START RUNNING. And, by the way, prepare for a marathon, not a sprint.

So how are you doing? Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, like last night, and--I admit it--the ordinary still sounds really good. I don't know if it was going to our staff friends' daughter's soccer game and coming home feeling nostalgic about the days when our lives were busy with family activities. Thought balloons: They are ruined too, but they still have their family. I have boys and they don't keep up too well. It sure would be easy to go back to Little Rock where we had roots. I just let those thoughts roost a little too long. It's not Mile 21 where I've hit the wall. It's much more like where you slow down a little to grab the Gatorade being offered to you from the sidelines, to regroup and refresh, and to get your mind back in the game.

That's not ordinary. That's extraordinary. That's what I'm ruined for--the rush of spiritual adrenalin that comes to you in the low points and reminds you to run like the wind--a long obedience in the same direction, as Eugene Peterson calls it. I press on through sleepless nights for the upward call of Christ Jesus knowing there's a finish line. From the other side of the line, ordinary doesn't look like a very good option.

Hayden's World

Well, we did it. We have been saving our credit card miles for years now, and finally reached the point where we can cash them in for American Airlines tickets. They will only take us as far as Bangkok, but I'm sure we can find some interesting mode of transportation to Phnom Penh.

Excelling in Love

I woke up Thursday morning with an almost panicky feeling that I need to put every aspect of my line on Excel spreadsheets--projects, bills, maintenance (physical, emotional, and spiritual!), recipes, birthdays--everything! Now that I work in an office in this new season of life and I really know what an Excel spreadsheet does, I guess it's getting to me.

Then--a most comforting thought came to me--The Lamb's Book of Life only has two columns--my name and "heart". When I stand before Him one day, He will not get out a big wide notebook with my spreadsheet and an infinite number of columns of minutes or days and how I organized my thoughts on any given day, he only looks at the first column--her love for Me--her heart. That's it.

English Country Dancing in Fayetteville

Always looking for the unusual and the exotic in the fine print in the Weekend section, we discovered a group in North Little Rock somewhere in the 90's that did English Country Dancing every Friday night. Venturing over to a rustic (un-air-conditioned) VFW Hall became a regular part of our lives for a couple of years. The high point of the year was the Twelfth Night Ball at the Old State House where we dressed in period costumes and danced the night away. Think "Virginia Reel" or line dancing in Jane Austin movies. The intimidation factor was always present for me as the caller called out the steps and we would respond and intertwine our steps with the others in our circle or line. The good part, though, was that when someone inevitably turned the wrong direction or forgot what to do, everyone rushed to your rescue to restore the smooth execution of the lovely union of steps and rhythm.

Allemande left the lady on the left

Come back and swing the one you left

Opposite ladies chain over and back

Right and left through with the left-hand two

Do the same across from you.

We drew many friends into "the dance", a lot of whom really didn't want to go but were so proud of themselves later for going and experiencing the satisfaction of having gotten out of their comfort zone.

This week at the US Center has been a sort of Kingdom Country Dancing. We squeeze all 16 weeks of a normal Perspectives course into 8 days of classes, reading, and discussing the Kingdom of God in our midst. What normally happens once a week happens here twice a day--no wonder they call it an "Intensive". The Dance begins for the staff here, taking cues from the Coordinator--as well as serving the students, we make airport runs, feed, house, nurse ailments, arrange meetings, and otherwise accommodate the Instructors who come in for one morning or evening. It's the "Twelfth Night" dance, as the Instructors who touch down here are the best of the best in our circles and we've snatched chunks of time here and there to sit at their feet as well. We are going to be so sad when the dance ends next Wednesday, even though it has taken all our energy and focus.

We are blessed to be partners in our line here, continuing into eternity cued by the Great Caller of The Dance. He wants that line of dancers to be long and the costumes to be from every tongue, tribe and nation!

Nashville--City of Dreams

Even if you were like me and grew up avoiding the room your dad was watching Merle Haggard and Porter Waggoner in on Saturday afternoon, I am now of the opinion that everyone should spend at least a little time in Nashville observing the culture of music here. It is hard to miss the fact that these people love what they do and are proud of their musical heritage. And--surprising to me--it's contagious!

We met Lyle and Anne here this weekend and decided to make an outing of the Country Music Hall of Fame. As we walked in at 12 noon, we were directed to a songwriters workshop they assured us we did not want to miss. You probably wouldn't recognize the names of the two guys--we sure didn't--but they were masterful musicians. They joked about "feast or famine" lives, but they obviously were doing what they loved, and we were fascinated by them.

Last night, the hotel sponsored a group where the lead singer told us how she almost made the Big Time by recording "Harper Valley PTA" but Jeannie C. Riley beat her to it. She's still around though, singing her little heart out in lesser arenas because that's what she loves to do. What a picture of pursuing your dreams, and dreams are as different and varied as the dreamers themselves. It's hard for me to imagine anyone aspiring to play the dobro (ugh!) in the Grand Ol' Opry, but what I admire and seek to understand in my own life is their perseverance, risk-taking, and drive to follow those dreams. Quite a study!

I Feel Sorry for Pepper...

Salt gets all the attention, and we want to say, "Let's hear it for pepper!". We have always spurned the already ground type in the can from Kroger's for the oh-so-fresh ground type from pepper mills. John's dad, Bockie, was a woodworker and we have pepper mills that nostalgically remind of of him. This Christmas, We got a really big one like they bring to your table at the restaurant and say, "Say when." With us, I'm sure the waiter is wondering, "Are they never going to say 'when'?"

Peppercorns do you absolutely no good until they are ground and crushed, and all the oil and flavor is newly released, ready to do what they were made to do--season food and allow you to enjoy it to the fullest. Yes, we are called to be salt and light, but consider those times when the sometimes crushing circumstances you face release in you, obvious to all, your extraordinary responses of love and hope, made possible by a seasoned life of walking by faith not by sight. Yea, pepper!