into uncharted territory

As a child, when we were allowed to wander freely in the vast wildness near our home, it was thrilling. (We lived in the boondocks, so there was plenty of wilderness to explore.) Near our home was a dense dark wind-swept forest that gave way to a deep rugged valley with a wild river wending its way through forbidding marshland. We would fight our way through thick underbrush to the edge of the river, ford it with great trepidation and wander through wild lands no one had ever been before, where wart hogs were surely hiding, waiting to trample us to death. I never understood how my mother would let us wander this pathless wild.

I didn’t know that she could see us from the living room window…hmmm.

Of course the wilderness looks different from the safety of a home. The dark forest was a stand of tall red pines with the breeze whispering through the boughs. Our trudging through thick underbrush was nothing more than a field of Deer Fern one hundred yards from the back door; the deep ravine would not conceal a fully grown man, and the raging river was a creek (pronounced crick) a yard wide and less than a foot deep.

Everything, it seems, depends on perspective, upon the direction and the height from which we are looking, or being looked upon.

Sad Sundays could easily turn into melancholy Mondays. Faithful friends I thought would always be there haven’t been; but new true friends have steeped in at just their right moment, even when they didn’t know how their presence had answered a prayer. We have experienced God’s Grace and Love through many acts of kindness; and the greatest present has been the presence of true partners in life, not just ministry.

We have been humbled, and reminded almost daily of our obligation to return the favor and pay it forward as financial fortune someday comes our way. No! We will pay if forward in grace, love, justice and mercy regardless of fortune of famine.

Looking away from that which we were called can be painful even as we look forward  to which we are now called. Not for the first time we are heading into uncharted territory.  The path is not always clear, but it is always guarded. We could see a deep, dark, deadly journey ahead of us. Or we could see a new adventure right around the corner. We go forward excitedly because we know who goes before us, and we know who goes alongside us;  it helps us gear up for our new adventure with God.

Christian terroists

Why is it the only time we see Christian terrorists is in works of fiction? And why is it when popular media needs a murderous religious zealot they never use a Jewish fundamentalist, a Buddhist fundamentalist (I am not kidding, these guys are seriously dangerous and we hear nothing about them.) or Muslim Fundamentalists. We only see gross exaggerations of Christian Fundamentalism. What’s up with that?

I wrote the paragraph above and got stuck with the big “so what” and couldn’t finish. Then last night I went the see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and came away with at least part of the answer.

One reason that so many have the wrong idea is simply because followers of Christ make such an easy target. We allow crackpots to be our public spokesmen and wonder why we are ridiculed. I won’t mention any names in case your favorite TV preacher is a crackpot, but I think we all know some who represent that label well, and instead of telling them, “sit down, you are embarrassing us,” we send them money. And Christians so become an easy target.

The second reason came to me during one of TSOs refrences to drinking. Often times we spend too much time telling people what not to do that we forget to talk about Grace and Forgiveness, two things that the world needs very much right now.

The third reason is because so few of us act like we really believe this talk about love, mercy and justice.

I think the biggest reason came to me one of the last songs TSO did. I don’t know the lyrics word for word, but they are something like:

“Don’t turn away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand

I’ll be right there
I’ll never leave
And all I ask of you
Believe.”*

We sometimes make it too hard for people to meet Jesus and to just believe.
The reason many make fun and miss the joy of following Christ is that they have never met the Prince of Peace.

Because we have been too busy to introduce Him.

*From the song Believe, from the album, Night Castle, by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

Silver (and gold) linings

One nice thing about living where we do is that the weather is constantly changing. Living this close to a large body of water there are almost always cool cloud formations lurking about. There are very few clear, cloudless days. And although I like blue, especially sky blue, the interruption of all that blue with a bit of whit or gray is rather nice. And sunsets are always more spectacular with a few clouds around.

So as I have been looking at clouds lately, I’ve been thinking of the silver linings a bit. So in no particular order, here are just a few.

My faith is not theoretical.

My friends are true friends and not fair-weather friends.

I have spent more time with those I love than any season in my life.

I have been prayed for more than any time in my life.

I have been told, “I love you. ” by more people than I can count.

I have learned how to receive.

I have spent more time out doors than I have in years.

I have developed empathy for the unemployed.

I have discovered new gifts and abilities.

I have had more time to write, think, and pray then ever.

I am still working alongside my best friend and wife.

This is just the start of something new and bigger than ever. I can’t imagine it being better, but God has a bigger imagination than I.

Look around you, ugly is everywhere.

We had a yard full of grackles yesterday morning…at least fifty of them trying to get something to eat. And we kept trying to scare them out of our yard. The cats didn’t help much.

These ugly, noisy birds didn’t realize that we put up a bird feeder for the cute and pretty birds…the ones with pleasant songs and bright feathers.

Maybe it was because Shreck was on the other evening, but it made me stop and think, is the law of attraction as strong as gravity? I’m not talking about quantum mechanics here. Yet even as I write that sentence I wonder if perhaps I am. There is something beyond our understanding that makes certain things pretty and others ugly. Why do we only like pretty birds, pretty girls, pretty fish, even? (I say that only in the broadest sense of course; readers and writers of this blog are surely not that insensitive.)

I mean, I understand evolutionists would say we are attracted to certain other people in order to keep our species alive, but that wouldn’t explain my disdain for grackles or anarrhichthys ocellatus. (Even the name of this poor fellow is ugly.) A lack of symmetry or supposed beauty in my perception of fish doesn’t seem to serve any purpose.

Could it be that this is something that God has placed in us? Like the need to see order and patterns in chaos, we have an innate desire for attractive things. I understand, as Hill would say, we can think and grow rich; and I get it that a similar “law” is at work in us that makes us believe that the pretty kids are popular. But why do I like ugly fish?

I suppose it’s because our creator gave us the ability to distinguish between a supposedly ugly creature and an attractive one so that we would recognize the true beauty of our creation. That even as we are repelled from one we are drawn to another. As opposed to seeing everything as equal in beauty, in value, in usefulness, we see variety. God wants us to see his creativity, his imagination. So even as God made the Cyclostome he made the Pterophyllum scalare. Even as there are grackles there are juncos.

So look around you, ugly is everywhere, and it’s beautiful.

You are being watched.

When I was a kid I sometimes watched as my dad worked on his cars.
He used simple tools; a pair of vice grips, a screw driver and a hammer. Sometimes he sent me for his saw.

My dad didn’t teach me how to fix cars. He didn’t know how to. Car repair was almost always an emergency and an experiment for him. He never said things like “The flux capacitor is shot so were going to have to transmogrify the thing. My dad mostly just said things I can’t repeat in polite company. I didn’t learn about cars from my dad because he didn’t have anything to teach.

What I did learn from my dad is you go to church every week. And while “choosing to follow Christ” wasn’t part of his vocabulary, I learned about God and about church, so when God called my name, it was a familiar voice I heard. And I chose to follow Christ.

Are your children learning to recognize the voice of God in your home? What are your children learning from you? You can’s say, “nothing” because even if you aren’t actively teaching them, they are watching and listening all the time, so they are learning from you.

So what are you teaching? Is it worth learning? Will your child be able to take their ability with a scroll saw, or a jackhammer or a pc or a paint brush or a football with them into eternity?

Will they be able to take it into life?

You are being watched. Make it count.

It’s not over.

Before 8 Am this morning the radio stations had all switched back to their previous style of music. Christmas is over at the radio stations. There are after-Christmas sales at all the stores, so they are very busy. If not for this business, their decorations would be down to make room for Valentines. Christmas is over at Wal Mart and Target. Most churches even get back to business-as-usual in the next few days.

But it’s not over.

We had a great gathering of friends on Christmas Eve eve. and on Christmas Eve we had a fun joyful get-together with another group of good friends, and then attended a truly worshipful Midnight Mass. (Yes we chose to go to Mass!) And on Christmas Day I spoke with my mom on the phone and then had another great time with great friends and their family.

But it’s not over.

There are two (at least) reasons it’s not over for me. First, the December 25th commemoration is, for Christ Followers, just a day to celebrate our Forever Event; and it serves as a great reminder for the rest of the world of the Incarnation. The Great Reaching Out, the Intervention continues, so we must continue to celebrate.

Second, while we have had lots of reason to gather with friends, the friendships did not end on the 25th. We will continue to make excuses to get together because we enjoy being with our good, good friends. And our friendship is a reminder of the Redemption.

So it’s not over.

In fact, we will keep our trees up long after it is acceptable to do so, and we will keep Christmas music on far longer than most, because we want to celebrate for as long as we can. So we will.

It’s not over, it’s just beginning.

Sleep well

When people say they sleep like a baby…

Do they mean
Awake and screaming every two and a half hours?
A four year old on Christmas Eve?
A seven year old with battling parents?
An eight year old with an empty stomach?
A nine year old with unfinished homework?

Or do they mean
A well fed newborn.
A child whose parents love him to matter what.
A girl who knows that Jesus loves her.
A boy who had an adult who prays with him.
Kids who know they belong.

In a world where children sometimes have more to worry about than their parents do, may you experience the peace that passes understanding from the Prince of Peace

Why I weep on weekends.

Because I did not have to stay around longer on Saturday evening to do a last minutes walk through.
Because I did not have to arrive an hour early to pray with my loving team of ministry partners.
Because I did not leave it all on the floor in the morning, I did not need a nap in the afternoon.
Because I did not have to stay after the last service to talk to parents about the decision their child made this weekend.
Because I did not have to take time between services with my worship team to go over the new song one more time.
Because I did not have to take money out of my own pocket to buy coffee for my tech team.
Because I did not have to prepare for a training meeting.
Because I didn’t miss lunch with my wife so I could meet with staff.
Because I wasn’t asked at the last minute if I could find a sub for a 4th grade small-group leader.
Because no one threw up in the middle of the main entrance.
I weep on weekends because I am not currently ministering to children.

Happy birthday memories

Today is the shortest day (or longest night) of the year. One-hundred-and-six years ago Douglas A. Swanson was born, the only child of an only child. Tonight, the only child of this only child of an only child and I are making Swedish meatballs, a Christmas tradition at least thirty-five years old. I suspect that the tradition is much older than that.

Diane’s father has been gone more than a dozen years now, but he leaves behind reminders of himself all over his daughter. She has his tenacity, work ethic, and his warm friendly smile that fills the room, not just her face. She has his spirit, his faith and wonderful contagious laugh. They are (were) both more interested in justice than fairness; goodness of spirit rather than greatness of title, and they both love Jesus.

I know Doug Swanson was not a perfect man, but my memories are all fond ones. One day we were cleaning up his yard he came out to help, even though he was in his late eighties at the time. He wore an expensive dress hat, good wool sweater and a beautiful silk tie (always a silk tie) to help us weed. He picked a one-square-foot spot and weeded that spot spotless. For over an hour he squatted (my knees ache thinking about it) in the same place until not a sign of foreign plant matter was left.

I remember asking him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. He just got up and left the room. Diane and her mom and I just sat and stared at each other. Finally he gave her away, but I wasn’t sure he would. She was too precious to give to just anyone.

So we will have our through-thick-and-thin friends over to celebrate Christmas (Mr. Swanson would take 20 minutes to open a single gift.) and they will see hints of Doug Swanson all over the place. They won’t notice, but I will. And I am not talking about his child high-chair, his family china and his meatball recipe. I am talking about the legacy of faith and love that he left on and in his daughter.

I will miss him-fondly.

Words and Music by…

I am trying to get past this writers block, so I’ll write nonsense until something interesting happens. So if you are one who will stay with me through the musicless noise I cannot guarantee that you will be rewarded with anything other than drivel, but thanks for hanging around.

I am reading The War of Art in an attempt to break through, and I have a great friend poking me every now and then. I think I should put the book down and write. (As an interesting aside, I tend to like reading about guitars more than I like practicing, but I don’t play any better after reading.)

But as long as I am reading let me share a thought or two from Steven Pressfield. “How many of us have become drunks and drug addicts, developed tumors and neuroses, succumbed to painkillers, gossip, and compulsive cell-phone use, simply because we don’t do that thing that our hearts, our inner genius, is calling us to?…If tomorrow morning by some stroke of magic every dazed and benighted soul woke up with the power to take the first step toward perusing his or her dreams, every shrink in the directory would be out of business. Prisons would stand empty. The alchohol and tobacco industries would collapse, along with junk food, cosmetic surgery, and infotainment businesses, not to mention pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, and the medical profession from top to bottom. Domestic abuse would become extinct, as would addiction, obesity, migraine headaches, road rage and dandruff.” (From the introductory chapter- The unlived life- The War of Art, copyright 2002, Stephen Pressfield, Grand Central Publishing, New York)

So maybe I won’t write anything that is of any use to you…but write I will until I cannot. You may never see liner notes that read, “words and music by Tim Miller. The Last Dragon In Michigan may never show up at Borders, but I will write. I will write about what interests and entertains me, in the hope that it also engages you, but I can’t help it if it doesn’t. What I do know is that I won’t make you laugh if I don’t tell a joke; I won’t make you cry if I don’t sing a song, and I won’t make you think if I sit around and sulk.

Sorry for the wait.

Thank you.