Meet My Son...

My son came into this world screaming, purple and pissing on the kindly nurse who just wanted to have the umbilical cord cut and get on with her very long shift. He is 13 now, brilliant as his mum, and not nearly as hard headed as his old man. The moment he came into the world, my life was no longer my own. My life was to protect him, to round the sharp corners of the planet. The day we left the hospital I had such a relentless white-knuckled grip on his baby seat, I swear to you, a regiment of soldiers would have torn my arm straightaway from its socket before i could have let go of my son. What follows is for posterity sake, to quote the venerable mr. cummings "miracles are to come, with you I leave the remembrance of miracles".

e.e. cummings. 

These are the lessons my son taught me. This is the wisdom of childhood, unpolluted by the world-weary cynicism of the adult world, still teeming with a boundless imagination, tireless and sublime. This is the lens he sees the world through, these are the new eyes that he gave me. This is the miracle of being a father, this is the miracle of children.


The first lesson was stark and simple and unutterably profound, I realized the moment he was born that I no longer owned my own heart, it now beat outside my chest, now rested in the infinitely fragile frame of an infant child. As he grows that realization grows with him. As he hurts I hurt more, as he triumphs I am ever rejoicing. And the love I feel for him, transcendent and deeply visceral, was the very thing that broke my heart and compelled me to join the anti-child trafficking movement.


The second lesson was I am a selfish ________. Fill in the blank, you're prolly pretty close. Ask his mum if you need some more colorful words. Nothing like a child's total dependence on you to make you realize you still think of your life as your own. A child's world is as big as his belly. If he is hungry he opens his mouth and there is a very discreet amount of time allotted for it to be filled with food before it is filled with screams. Don't get me wrong, I LOVED feeding him, changing him, but seriously, I mean how much can a child eat??! And does he not realize where it all goes?!! And what is with the not sleeping, the multiple middle of the night feedings??!?? Really?!? But now, oh how I miss those moments, those first everythings, those tiny little hands grasping everything for recognition, those little legs peddling in the air prophesying running, bike rides, and long hot summer swims. Maybe the second lesson should be re-titled to: Don't be a selfish ________, you'll miss some of the best moments of your life. 

The third lesson was never underestimate a child, never give them a pat answer, never, ever ever ever think you are smarter then them. You. Are. Not. From the time my son was 18 months he was dedicated to consuming all knowledge known to man. He was intuitive, uninhibited, relentless in his desire to understand the workings of the world. He would say, "How does a car work?" To which I would answer. "Well son, it has an engine, that runs on gas, a bunch of little explosions of that gas create the energy that moves the car forward." Ignoring my insult to his superior intellect my son would again say "tell me how a car works". Slower this time and with maybe just a hint of condescension. So I would start with decaying plant matter in the ground, the heat and the pressure that turned it to crude, the drilling, the refining, the shipping, the pumping, the internal combustion, the pistons, rods, rocker arms, the tranny, the drive train, the rear differential..... And then when I was done my son would say. Tell me again. So I would, with the help of his corrections if I attempted to give an abbreviated version. After a few run throughs he wouldn't ask again. He had it. 18 months old. By 24 months he had his mind around the applied Physics of fulcrums and levers and pivot points. Now at 13 he speaks freely on every subject from sub-atomic particles to the dark matter hidden in the universe. I no longer require the use of Google. I have my son. 


There are of course a thousand other lessons my son taught me but none hit me with the blunt force of a thousand freight chains like this one: I was not prepared for the love I would feel for him. And then in that single most incredible moment when my heart was exploding I realized I was only feeling one single drop in the ocean of the affection God has for His children. I have never been so humbled, so speechless, so deeply affected by anything else in my life. So many misconceptions about the heavenly Father melted away in that instant when I held my son. So many times since then when my aching for my kid became a revelation of God's infinite love for me, for us, his silly, skint-kneed, snot-sniffing, broken, beautiful children.


I am not the father I had hoped to be, I am still so selfish, still consumed by so many things that probably don't amount to anything. But every time I am with my little man I want to be a better father, and patiently my son teaches me, each time anew, that the most important thing is just to give a child your time and affection. The rest kinda takes care of itself. This post is especially hard for me because I will be away from him for an extended time soon and because I am very private person, and oh so very protective of him. And because he reads my blog I want to say I love you Mosie. I am so proud of you. You are the best thing I ever did. This is the remembrance of the miracle you are to me, the miracle that you are to this world, and the many, many miracles to come.

Meet my son, River Moses.

Spoils of the climb. Riv finds a crocodile skull duck-taped shut at the bottom of Red Bluff.

At the Windsor Ruins in North Mississippi. River, never one to be so very meticulous in minding unnecessary rules, ignores the "Keep Out" warnings and explores the site.

Above, River sends unsuspecting seagulls squawking at the beach in Gulfport, MS. Below, my handsome, incredible, brilliant young man.

Bin Laden Is Dead.

Bin Laden is dead. The people are salivating. The twitter chatter like a jr. high sleepover, giddy and godless. The facebook statuses like a million little epitaphs, cruel, and callous and cavalier. So why do I feel sad? Is it un-American to say I don't feel better. I don't feel a sense of closure. And the dish of revenge, served cold, tastes alot like bloodlust.


Is this the face of evil? Is the world safer? Is the night through, has day dawned eternal? Does my Savior rejoice tonight? Surely the man was a blunt instrument of darkness...but when we rejoice in death...does life lose a little of it's sanctity? Fascist Islam has a new martyr, our president and his people a new trophy, and hell, hell has another soul on which to dine.

Mr. Bin Laden. You were a real son of bitch. But I never prayed for you. I never once asked God to convict you of your rebellion, your brutalities. I never once asked him for your salvation. Murderers have often found redemption in the heart of God. Moses murdered. King David. The apostle Paul. They killed for some of the same reasons you did. And yet God forgave them. Used them to deliver a nation, rule a chosen people, build the church as we know it.

Am I glad that Bin Laden cannot kill again? Sure. If the war on terror is over, if the great utopia begins, heaven on earth, swords into plowshares, lions laying with lambs and such. Yeah, that'd be great. But the storm is coming. The great storm to end all storms. Pray for your enemies now, while there be few, for the day will come, and it may be soon, when your enemies will outnumber the stars.

Forgive me Father for not loving my enemies. When You set the example, when I was still Your enemy. You laid down Your life for me on the cross, because You are love.

Glorious Reunion!

Never has there been a better picture to me of our hope. Never a more heart gripping, tear jerking preview of what's to come. When we are caught up in the air to meet our Savior. When we enter our rest, when we make it home. When finally we hear those words we long to hear, when our Heavenly Father says, well done daughters, well done my sons.

More @ Welcome Home Blog.

(Church) Signs Of The Times

Well, to be honest, this has been a long time coming. My friend Mari, God bless her ever-loving freckled Irish heart, who listened to me rant for hours last night, finally gave me the push to put this down. So here goes.

We've all been slightly offended, amused, befuddled, bewildered, enraged, etc...at a church sign. So I thought I'd share some of my least favorites and tell why these are so detrimental to the tender heart and purity of the gospel. Now for times sake, these pictures are not the ones I took, but are all signs I have seen personally, somewhere, not necessarily on the particular church represented. And also this is not a diatribe against those churches, nor a judgment on their hearts or their theology or whatever.

Sooooo....for Mari, the daydreamer, who runs 'til she flies, and my buddy Adam whose first blog post is up for your perusal, and for the rest of you who may or may not stumble across this page and have ever blown a head gasket at one of these signs.....



Saw this one yesterday. It got me going pretty good. Geez. Where to begin. This, like so many other church signs smacks of smugness, using levity to express the most horrific of realities, that those that do not know Jesus will be forever separated from His love. Would they be so cavalier about that if it were their child mired in spiritual blindness? Argh.

This was on the back of the same sign yesterday.




This one isn't especially egregious, it's just the triteness of comparing church with a mega-retail department store. Debasing the sacrifice that payed the price for our eternal souls, comparing the brutal crucifixion of Jesus that canceled our debts to marked-down prices. Oh my.

Some of the church sign standards are the bad puns. Now, it may seem nit-picking to berate anyone for these, it's just that I find the gospel an intellectually compelling and psychologically stimulating truth. And these are just stupid. Not to mention trite. Oh dear. Punday morning...







This one just pisses me off, pardon my French.




The debate over which version of the Bible is correct, and the many councils and committees and congregational splits that have happened to this end, are the dirty laundry of the church and a very public bill-board may not be the best place to air them. Also, Jesus never spoke in Thees and thous, King James did. And to be perfectly honest, though I understand the dilemma of bad translation, the Holy Spirit will lead into all truth, we just need to introduce them to Him, not invite them to join a book club.

A club that serves free coffee and oh yes, subsequently and of equal importance, eternal life.....





The very last thing the Good News is, is antagonistic. It is a submissive posture, it turns the other cheek. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall see God. So this is not ok...




To attack someones religion or lack there of is just bad evangelism. When the Apostle Paul came to Athens and found multiple idols he did not start by tearing them down. He looked at the people with compassion and found the common ground from which to share the truth. Atheists, or Agnostics or Pantheists or whoever, are all searching for truth. They all are asking the same deep, heartfelt questions. "Why am I here?" "Where am I going?" "Why is there such suffering in the world?" "Is there any hope?" We can answer those questions with the Gospel, but not after we have disparaged that which they have put their faith in with pre-pubescent pot shots.



Really!?!! There is so much wrong here. See examples 1-7. Geez! First and foremost SHUT UP!! Not Punny! Your obnoxious smug tone makes me want to punch furry woodland creatures. Ahhhh! And why is it a warning? Is it a bad thing? I mean, is it not sufficient enough and much more eloquent to just say "For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son. That whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have everlasting life"???

....to be continued.

Child Like Faith.

Faith is a much maligned concept. For the Marxist it's the delivery system of the opiate of the masses. For the Scientist it is that bothersome admittance "we don't know" or at very best the ongoing challenge to prove everything. For the Theist it is in some form or another, that way in which a soul touches god. Many a Christian sermon (and certainly many non-christian ones) have been preached on the subject, for better or worse, trying to capture that element of knowing that transcends belief, for without faith the scripture tells us, it is impossible to please God.

We live in a modern world, full of miracles of medicine and marvels of technology. It has caused a certain level of "sophistication" that makes modern man much less susceptible to un-skeptical belief. Think of a prophet four thousand years ago seeing his predecessor taken up into the air in a chariot of fire and then put that in the modern context of the many types of aircraft that actually to do just that. With a little imagination most of the miracles of the bible can, at least on the surface be somewhat explained away by rational if not modern conventions. And on the converse, many of the mechanizations of modern society would seem like miracles to even the great fathers of our faith.

India has been so much in my thoughts this month. Last night as I was driving home from work a little before midnight, I thought about a young boy I met one night at a believer's meeting. After the service many of the youth came forward for prayer, most wanting some measure of supernatural ability to pass their exams or for divine favor with instructors or school administrators. (One cannot overstate the borderline obsession in Indian society with excelling in school. It is the one road out of poverty, that one chance to escape the wheel of fate. And as I so painfully learned, the suicide rate among teenagers is spiraling upward as those pressures increase in light of emergent Indian middle class.) But other prayer requests were for healing, some for themselves or for a family member. After the long line dwindled to a few stragglers a woman approached me with her son. They had not been at the meeting but had been told someone was praying for the sick.

The young boy, barely a teen, had a look of pain mingled with apprehension on his feverish face. He was holding a bandaged hand upward in his other hand. He grimaced with every step. The "bandage" looked more like he was holding a fistful of trash in his little hand. The dirty, yellowed tatters taped together in a most distressing fashion. I carefully removed the bandage exposing a festering cut on his thumb. The original gash probably a quarter of an inch had blossomed into a infected gouge almost four times that size. The boy was worried sick and hot all over. I went to my room and grabbed an anti-bacterial wipe, a bandage and some triple anti-biotic cream. I gently wiped his hand clean and then put the cream on with a clean bandage and told them to come back the next day. I said a prayer for the boy as I returned the items to my room.

The next night the boy was back and we repeated the careful process of unwrapping his damaged thumb. There, after 24 hours, was a tiny cut, mostly healed. The boys fever was gone and the look of wild wonder and incredulous awe on his face was only eclipsed by his relief and thankfulness. I reapplied more cream and a fresh bandage and never saw him again. Until last night that is, when his little face popped into my tired brain and the Holy Spirit showed me what I had missed from the whole incident.

Jesus said unless you become like a child you won't enter the Kingdom, that the Kingdom belongs to such as these. In our modern "sophistication" we lack the ability to be amazed by God. We lack that wonder and awe that transposes the mundane into the sacred. I have long since ceased to be impressed by the internal combustion engine, I take for granted the impossibility of space travel, I can call or email anyone in the world instantaneously and I don't give it a second thought. But that young Indian boy, who was suffering needlessly, experienced a tiny bit of modern nicety and was blown straight away.

I have heard many a Christian lament the lack of miracles in the modern church, heard them blame the "ye of little faiths" that populate the pews in the 21st century. And I share their frustration. But it may just be that our faith has become so "sophisticated", so grown up, that we can't see the many miracles all around us. The perpetual miracles of sunrises and sunsets, the incredible and infinitely practical force of gravity, the all surpassing miracle of salvation. I believe we are so bored by our ease and excess, so inoculated by advancement, we can't see the wonderment of the infinite in our midst. And when we are not thankful for the little miracles, when we hold a sense of entitlement to them, it hardens our hearts, steals our awe.

We must become like little children again if we ever hope to see both the miraculous we long for and the very face of God. For it is the innocent of heart that see God. The scripture tells us that it is the Holy Spirit in side of believers that cries out Abba, literally, Daddy. It is the indwelling Spirit then, in this sense, that allows us to see everything through the filter of this impossibly intimate paternal relationship. Everything, from sunsets to space travel becomes a function of that intimacy, the lens of our perpetual understanding is focused by it. We are given back our awe, restored of our innocence by the Spirit of adoption, literally, born again.