i’m such a dorcas!

Posted: July 7, 2015 in fizzy faith
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In Acts 9:36-43 there is an incredible story of hope involving a woman with an unfortunate name.

Her name is Dorcas. (I wonder if she had a brother named Nerdly, sorry! I digress!)

She is proof that you can rise above a label and leave a legacy.

She lived in a little beach town called Joppa.

She was a really good lady who lived a really good life.

And then…she died.

Bummer.

She was known for her generosity. She had used her life making others better.

She helped out the left out and the left behind.

And then…she died.

Her friends had a problem with that.

They sent a message to the apostle, Peter: “you need to get here FAST!”

This is AFTER Dorcas has left the building, what do they expect Peter to do?

Peter shows up and enters a place of death and he is greeted with stories of life.

The F.O.D. (Friends Of Dorcas) start telling stories and that leads into an impromptu art show.

They show off the clothing that their friend had crafted for them.

Evidently Peter is intrigued.

He has heard the stories, he has seen the stuff.

He HAS to meet this lady!

He wouldn’t let a thing like death get in the way.

He makes everybody leave the room, he talks to God and then he talks to Dorcas…

“get up!”

And then…she does.

Then (I LOVE this part) He REINTRODUCES her to her friends.

Reintroduction is required because she is not the person that she once was.

She WAS dead, now she is NOT.

It’s actually a great picture of us.

God gives us the opportunity to be reintroduced.

No matter what we have been labeled,

He speaks life into our stories…

“get up!”

Suddenly we aren’t who we once were.

We are alive.

I want to be a Dorcas.

 

 

 

 

dandelions

Posted: June 2, 2015 in brain belches
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There’s really nothing pretty about a parking lot.

It’s concrete and cracks.

It’s hard and gray.

But, occasionally you will find something growing through the cracks…

A dandelion.

There it is, beauty in the bleak.

A flower in the middle of frustration.

It’s art emerging from the asphalt.

Sometimes life feels like a parking lot.

It’s cold, hard and gray.

You feel like you are just parked, not going anywhere.

You are living with more pothole than purpose.

Stop, take a deep breath and look around.

Find the dandelion.

Grab the beauty in the midst of the bleak.

It’s there, it’s always there, growing where you least expect it.

Don’t miss it.

RACE DAY!!

Posted: May 25, 2015 in fizzy faith
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As I write this, race week in Charlotte has ended.
My amazing bride and I spent many hours at the race track.
It was a special kind of high octane awesome!
There really isn’t anything like a NASCAR race.
It is sport and spectacle.
It is a multi sensory experience.
It is people watching at it’s grandest scale.

I’m a huge NASCAR fan!

I haven’t always been, I used to think it was just some dude driving around in circles…ANOTHER left turn!

but then we moved to Charlotte and something happened.

I drove by the speedway.
I went to some race shops.
I talked to some really cool people who are in NASCAR.

I started to realize what a great big, really fun deal that it really is.

Then in a moment of oil stained destiny, I went to my first race.
It changed my life! Suddenly I was a believer!
the engines roared to life and they made my soul tickle.
There is nothing like it.
It isn’t just what is happening on the track.
It’s the smell of the car fumes, coors and corn dogs.
It’s the mullets and the muscle shirts.
It’s cheering on the drivers that you love and booing the drivers that You hate. (You GOT to have a favorite driver or things aren’t nearly as interesting!)
It’s the overpriced funnel cakes and watered down lemonade.
It’s the American flag reimagined as every POSSIBLE item of clothing.
It’s super short jean shorts on women AND men.
It’s fat sweaty guys who suddenly feel the need to go shirtless.
it all combines to become a beautiful big slice of MURICA!
It’s a big ole redneck wonderland and I love it!!

With all of the redneck trappings, you could easily lose sight of something…

NASCAR is as much science as sport.

NASCAR is not hardly as simple as it might seem.

I’ve got some really cool friends who work in every aspect of NASCAR, as they have shared their stories I’ve listened.

As I’ve learned about the science of stock car, I realized that faith is a lot like a race.

There was a guy in the Bible who wrote a big chunk of the New Testament who thought the same thing!

His name was Paul.
I’m pretty sure, if he were running around today, he would be a serious race fan.
He wrote a lot about racing.
I think Paul was a redneck.
He might have even owned a muscle shirt.
He probably had some jean shorts and a truckers cap.
He talked a lot about races and he compared them to the life of faith.

At the end of his life, our redneck buddy, Paul wrote:
2 Timothy 4:7: “I have stayed on course and finished the race, and through it all, I have kept believing.”

Paul is gonna be our spiritual crew chief the next few minutes.
We are going to look at some stuff that he wrote, and let him give us a little pep talk about how to run our race.

First, get in the race.
You have to run your own race. You can’t depend on a parent, grandparent or spiritual adviser to run for you.
Our redneck buddy Paul: “We all know that when there’s a race, all the runners bolt for the finish line, but only one will take the prize. When you run, run for the prize!” (1 Cor. 9:24)
Get behind the wheel, don’t be a spectator, that’s boring!
You are meant to run your own race!
I’ve stolen a glance into a lot of race cars, none of them had kid car seats in the back.
There are no ride alongs in the race of faith.
You run your own race or you don’t run at all.
You start the engine by simply choosing to follow Jesus.
Then hit the gas and chase him!
A pace car sets the speed and direction.
Jesus is our pace car.
Keep your eyes on where He is going and follow him.

Next NASCAR lesson: It takes a team to run for an owner.
During the race, one person usually gets all the attention, the driver.
But, racing is not about one driver. There is a huge team, most of whom are never seen.
Some are at the track, some at the garage. They all contribute.
There is a team owner, who has paid the price and made arrangements so the team can run.
Then, there are crew chiefs and car chiefs, gas men and tire changers.
(I’ve always been a bit of a gas man.)
I have a friend who builds brakes, you probably won’t see him on TV, but the cars aren’t going anywhere without his brakes. His job is as important as the drivers.
It’s a TRUE team sport.
Everyone has a role to play.
God is our team owner. He made it possible for us to get in the car. He paid the price.
We are part of a team, the church. It’s not a perfect team, but it is God’s perfect plan.
There are no lone wolves.
Everyone has a role to play.
Discover your role.

During the race, there is a real important guy who usually sits on top of the grandstands so he can see the entire speedway.
He is the spotter.
He can see things that the driver can’t.
He sees what is around turn four.
He is in constant communication with the driver. He tells him what is going on, what to expect, and how to handle situations.
The driver has to choose to listen and do what the spotter is telling him.
Sometimes, it’s something that he has to instantly respond to, like a wreck.
It requires the ability to listen, trust and respond.
In the race of faith, we have a spotter…the Holy Spirit.
He knows what is around the bend, He sees things we don’t.
He is in constant communication with us…it’s usually a still small voice.
Listen to your spotter, Trust, respond.
He knows what is going on around you, what is around the next turn.
Stay in constant communication!

Don’t break the rules.
Our redneck buddy Paul: “if someone competes as an athlete, he won’t win the race if he breaks the rules.” (2 Tim. 2:5)
NASCAR has rules about everything from the size of engine parts to the height of bumpers to when the crew members can jump over the wall. If you break the rules, you can get penalized or forfeit, If you break the rules you will get disqualified!
The good thing is that Jesus makes HIS rules pretty clear and simple: love God, love your neighbor as yourself.
Don’t forfeit!!

The driver wears a super colorful fire suit.
This gives them a chance for some serious product placement.
It also can save their life…that’s a big deal.
It protects them from fire.
It probably isn’t always comfortable. But it can save their life.
What they clothe themselves with makes all the difference.
I’ve never seen a driver choose to wear pajamas instead of a fire suit.
Well, guess what? Jesus is your fire suit.
Our redneck buddy Paul: “clothe yourself with the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ. And don’t let yourself think about ways to indulge your evil desires.” (Romans 13:14)
If you put on the righteousness of Christ, He protects you from getting burned…that’s a big deal.
It’s not about your ability to get it right that keeps you safe. It’s not about how good YOU are. It’s about putting on the RIGHTness of Jesus. THAT is what protects You!

Drivers have to pay attention to the instruments on their dashboard.
They tell them when things are getting overheated or about to blowup.
Life can get overheated sometimes.
We can blow up.
It helps if we are paying attention to our spiritual dashboard.
The fruit of the Spirit is our instrument panel.
The fruit needs to be our Filter.
Our redneck buddy Paul: “But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!” (Galatians 5:22-23)
There is no law against these things, there is no penalty when you check yourself with the fruit of the spirit.
When you use them as a dashboard for how you act, speak, treat others.
Ask yourself, “Am I operating out of love, joy and peace? Am I patient and kind? Am I good, faithful and gentle? Am I practicing self control?”
You can’t overheat if you are living the fruit of the spirit.

Don’t get wrecked.
Your opponent is a cheater.
He is trying to take you down.
He races dirty.
He hates the owner and he knows he can hurt the owner by taking out drivers.
Don’t let him wreck you!
Our redneck buddy Paul: “you were running superbly! Who cut in on you, deflecting you from the true course of obedience? This detour doesn’t come from the One who called you into the race in the first place.”
The best racers turn opposition into fuel. They don’t let the haters get into their head.
Don’t get wrecked. Don’t listen to the lies. Don’t fall for the tricks.

Don’t quit. There are drivers who have made a career out of being “start and park” drivers.
they start with no intention to finish and no desire to win.
They just show up. They do the bare minimum to get paid, but they don’t want to take any risks.
Don’t be that guy!
Sometimes, it would be tempting to pull over and park. Don’t do it. Run like your life depends on it, because it does!
Our redneck buddy Paul: “May we never tire of doing what is good and right before our Lord because in His season we shall bring in a great harvest if we can just persist.” (Galatians 6:9)

One last lap…
One of the coolest things to get when you go to a race is a hot pass.
It gives you access to the pits and the garage and everything.
You get up close to the crew and drivers, it’s pretty cool.
We had one this week and it was like a golden ticket. We would walk up to place where others couldn’t go and we got instant access.
We only got a hot pass because of who we knew.
We have an awesome friend who hooked us up.
Otherwise, we would have been standing outside of the gate, unable to get in.
Here’s one really cool thing about getting up close and personal with God. Jesus is our hot pass!
Our redneck buddy Paul: Eph. 2:18: “Now all of us can come to the Father through the same Holy Spirit because of what Christ has done for us.”
Because of what Jesus did on the cross, we have instant access to the owner.

WOW! Days of thunder become days of wonder.

If our redneck buddy Paul were here, I think he would straighten his #18 trucker cap, look you in the eye, grin and say “STEP ON IT SON…or…um…DAUGHTER!!”

Today, I want to start something.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

I want to get something started.

I want to banish boredom.

I want to notice the small things like june bugs and the smell of leather.

I want to listen to a child tell a joke.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

I want to cuddle with a beagle.

I want to live with a wide open appreciation of the gift of life.

I want to laugh out loud…a lot…maybe at inappropriate times.

I want to use my words to celebrate instead of criticize.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

I want to talk like a pirate for no apparent reason.

I want to eat a burrito that’s bigger than my face, or a corndog slathered in mustard, or a tomato sandwich.

I want to high five a stranger.

I want to sing in an elevator.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

I want to spread fun like chunky peanut butter and leave a little everywhere I go.

I want to burp as loud as I can.

I want to tell stories of hope.

I want to wear socks that don’t match.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

I want to be left breathless by something other than a treadmill, like maybe a rainbow or my wife’s beautiful smile.

I want to be uninhibited, unhinged and maybe a little uncouth.

I want to let the sun warm my face (unless it’s raining, then I want to let the rain beat down on my bald head).

I want to listen for the music that only I can hear. And, when I hear it I want to dance.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

I want to jump without caution and love without condition.

I want to learn at least 4 things.

I want to create something out of nothing.

I want to be amazed and amused.

I want to incite joy.

I want to wake wonder.

Then, when I finish the day I will be a little younger than when I started it.

And tonight, I will lay down to sleep without regret and I will wake up tomorrow and start something new.

A little over a week ago, our only daughter, Delanie, got married. it was a really good day full of love and laughter and a few tears. on her wedding day I gave her a letter. I tried to capture some of the love, pride and hope that I feel for her. now that the confetti has settled, with her permission, I share my feelings…

Sweet child of mine…

My Dearest Delanie,

Wow!

Today I will walk you down an aisle and give your hand to a tall bass player.

I remember the first time I ever saw that hand. It was in a hospital in Tulsa.

Time stood still as I counted your perfect little fingers.

I instantly loved you.

But time never stands still for long…

On this very special day, I think back to so many other special days…

Memories flood my soul like vividly colored snapshots…

I might be a bit biased, but I’m pretty sure you were the cutest baby ever born (you can thank your mom for that!)

you had super chunky little arms with folds perfect for hiding Cheerios. (you can thank me for that)

We were shocked to learn that you didn’t come with an instruction manual. We had no idea what we were doing. When we first brought you home we were so afraid we were going to break you. We checked constantly to make sure you were still breathing. We kept calling Nanny and Poppy and they were always there to help us and to snuggle with you.

From the beginning you liked to dance to your own beat. Before you could even walk, We would crank up “baby likes to rock it ” by the Tractors ( it was your jam) you would start shaking and bopping in your yellow little tykes boat.

I remember the first day of kindergarten, you bravely marched up the sidewalk carrying a power puff girl backpack full of dreams, a big box of crayons and a slim jim (which was the only thing you would eat for lunch). We let go of your hand and watched you walk away…and we bawled like preschoolers.

I remember our daily daddy-daughter trips to 7-11 to get Slurpees. Red slurpees were the perfect remedy for a hard day.

Instead of butterfly kisses I got Slurpee smooches that left my cheek sticky and stained.

I remember spending summers at Camp Whispering Oaks. You got the run of the snack shack and hung out with the interns. I remember one day when we were driving around in a golf cart, i took a corner a little too fast and you went flying. I still feel bad about that. I watched your little body propel out of a golf cart and roll down a red dirt hill. I instantly thought “OH MAN! Diana is gonna kill me!” Fortunately You were fine, just a little twitchy. I bribed you with candy to never mention it to anyone. But, you ran straight to Fran Westbrook (my boss) and blurted out “MY DAD ALMOST KILLED ME!”

I remember Horse camp and watching you ride around on the final night. I couldn’t help but think that your great grandpa would be really proud. I also remember the second year of horse camp. I missed the final night, because some mean church elders insisted on having a meeting and I caved in. I later watched the video of you riding out, looking around and asking “where’s Daddy?” It broke my heart that I wasn’t there for you. That is one of my greatest regrets as a parent, I swore I would never do that again.

I remember driving around together in a little red truck singing along as loud as we could to country music.

I remember the Daddy – Daughter dances where I would take your hand and we would dance to Disney channel hits. Then you would get bored and run off with the Walshes. I would stand on the sidelines and watch you laugh and your laughter was the sweetest song.

I remember a refrigerator door full of art made from macaroni, glitter, sand and shaving cream. (Thank you Miss Cassandra and Ms. Kimberly!)

I remember when you were 4 years old and you gave us a glimpse into your future when cut your own hair. You wanted to look like a Dixie Chick.the results were…interesting. You looked more like Bjork than Natalie Maines.

We spent countless, priceless hours at Six Flags and Sea World. The smell of freshly paved asphalt still takes me back to Looney Toon Land. We rode rides and pet dolphins. I remember you being really upset because of the stupid “you must be this tall to ride this” sign. It kept you from riding the steel eel. I felt your pain! We went to Wal-Mart and bought you some wedge sandals and suddenly you were tall enough. you rode it the next day. I loved that you loved roller coasters.

I remember sitting in unbelievably uncomfortable metal bleachers and watching you play softball. You were a beast. You were a seriously amazing catcher. You were ticked if you didn’t get to play the whole game. You played so hard and gave it your all. I’ve never been a super competitive dude but I really can’t explain the crazy competitive feelings I had when I watched you play. It ignited something in me.

I wanted you to win and sometimes you did.

I also watched as sometimes you didn’t.

You learned that sometimes you lose and character is the most important trophy.

I remember Oklahoma, and Indiana, and Oklahoma again, and Texas, and finally…North Carolina.

AHHHH…North Carolina…a magical place where you met a boy from Georgia.

Tomorrow you wake up with two names that people pronounce wrong…good luck with that.

I really couldn’t be more proud of you.

I’m so glad that you didn’t allow others to define you.

You have always been an incredible combination of independent spunk and sweet vulnerability.

You didn’t let anybody clip your wings and now you get to fly.

I’m so proud of the lady, artist, and friend that you have become.

You are an incredible, interesting individual.

You are passionate about what you believe and who you love.

You are a woman of God and you inspire me.

I believe in you.

You are Beautiful inside and out.

You are courageous!

YOU are the greatest art I ever made.

Go live some big dreams baby!

It won’t be easy, but you have a very good man standing beside you.

Cover each other. Be a safe place for one another.

love without expectation and forgive without limit.

Laugh every chance you get because joy is one of the greatest weapons ever.

Make Jesus the center of everything.

Together, you two are going to do great things.

When things get crazy, slow down and have a red slurpee.

And please know that you are forever beloved.

I love you,

Dud.

Except for one misguided week in college, I’ve had some form of facial hair my entire adult life.

It is basically the only thing that prevents me from looking like a chubby 14 year old boy. Without facial fuzz I bear a uncanny and unnatural resemblance to Bobby Hill. I’ve experimented with every possible expression of whisker. I’ve had full beards in varying lengths, I’ve sported a goatee, I tried the truck driver mustache, I have even had a modified Fu-Manchu that scared small breeds of dog. I finally decided to let my chin fruit to grow wild and define itself. It has, I believe by divine design, evolved into what I call a “chullet”. It is a chin – mullet. The message is clear: my face is a party.

I think we are living in a golden age for beards, they are everywhere.
They have become a beautiful hairy art form.
Many people celebrate the beauty of the beard.
But, there also appears to be a clean shaven army of Beard haters.
Evidently, goatees really get their goat.
They are pretty vocal.
They hate beards and they make that pretty clear.
They spread ugly rumors about the bearded brotherhood.
The latest one has to do with facial feces!
A story began to circulate online the last few days claiming that a “study” assessed the average beards of average men and made a shocking AND scientific discovery: they are basically dripping with poop!
They contend that bearded men are basically carrying around little fuzzy toilets on their faces.
This would be really be gross IF IT WERE TRUE!!
I’ve had several people feel inclined to show me the study in the last few days, including some strangers.
This is basically their way of saying “hey poop face! Have you seen this?”
This story has even been reported on several news outlets as actual news.
The thing is…IT’S NOT TRUE!!
Turns out that’s it’s a bunch of…well…poop.
It’s just another blatant attempt by the beard bashers to put the beard in a box.
It doesn’t end online…
I have repeatedly been the Victim of facial profiling.
I get patted down at every airport I go to, even when I’m not flying.
I’ve been called homeless, lazy, uncultured, Gandalf and Santa (come to think of it, those last two are pretty cool).
Strangers have told me of their repulsion of my face.
I had a sweet little old lady at church violently grab my chullet and try to pluck it.
My own mother has expressed her strong dislike for my chullet. Until recently She would shake her head and say “You still have THAT thing!”…so much for having a face only a mother could love.
Beard discrimination is real!
I have a good friend who has a truly epic beard.
He keeps it groomed and properly slathered with beard oil.
Some ladies recently felt it was their moral obligation to make sure that he is clean shaven. They passed around a petition to make him shave!! True story!

Don’t fear the beard.
Don’t hate the whiskers.

Clean shaven, stubbled or bearded…
Can’t we all just get along?

I have no animosity towards shiny faced men.
If you feel compelled to shave, pick up that razor and go for it!
One of the greatest things about having a face is that you should be able to do whatever you want with it!

Do whatever you want with your face, I choose to party with mine.

I can safely say that the chullet is feces free. I shampoo and condition it once a day. Then I apply a magical beard elixir called Dreambeard. It is so clean that you could eat off of it, in fact I often do!

I don’t know why some people hate the beard. Could be a phobia or envy.
I do have a theory, beards look untamed and wild, some people can’t handle that.
They like tamed, predictable and safe. They are freaked out by the facial fuzz.

The bottom line is…
just because something looks untamed doesn’t mean that it’s unclean.
That’s true of beards and it’s true of people!
Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to go.
I just found a Cheeto in my chullet.

God knows my curves…

Embarrassing confession: a while back, in an effort to look a bit more buff, I tried on a man spanx shirt.
Yup, It’s like a guy girdle…and I wore one for at least 27 minutes.
It took me almost half that time to put in on.
I was trying to force myself into something that wasn’t made for me.
My wife, Diana, had to help.
We had to use some W-D 40.
When finally put in on, I looked in the mirror, expecting to see my new svelte self…
It didn’t make me look like a stud, instead I looked like a sausage.
I was trying to tame my curves and fight the flab. It didn’t take away my curves it just kind of restructured them, moved them around a little.
It was all about conformity and it hurt.
It was like some weird fabric torture device. It make it hard to move and I really didn’t have room to breath. It was constricting. I couldn’t lower my arms.
I thought I was going to need the jaws of life to get it off, but I finally wrestled myself free.
It was like opening the flood gates (or flab gates).
WHEW!! I could breathe, I could move!
I felt lighter and free from my fabric yoke.

Sometimes we think if we really follow God it will be like spiritual spanx.
Tight…constricting…conforming.
But, I just stumbled across this breath giving promise from Jesus…

“Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Put My yoke upon your shoulders—it might appear heavy at first, but it is perfectly fitted to your curves. Learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. When you are yoked to Me, your weary souls will find rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Jesus makes a crazy invitation to the burnt and bruised.
Tired?
Feeling over-burdened?
Come here and Take my burden.
Take my yoke…then…the YOKES ON YOU!! (Sorry, I couldn’t resist)
Come…it’s not about conformity or chore, it’s about communion.
When Jesus painted this picture, Yokes were used to attach oxen together.
Jesus lovingly invites us to get attached to him.
Let’s do life, let’s walk together…
He knows our curves, the sudden twists and turns that life throws at us
and He has perfectly fitted us with what we need.
When we are attached to Him, finally our weary souls find rest as He carries us down the curvy road together.
His yoke is the only thing that really gives us room to breath.
God knows my curves and I’m glad.

True story: Diana and I were having a ridiculously great evening. We had just enjoyed a great meal at one of the best restaurants on the planet, Babe’s Chicken House, right outside of Dallas. It was a beautiful night and our bellies were filled with country fried goodness, life was very good. As we were walking out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, an all-American family was walking into the restaurant: a mom and a dad and their two well-dressed kids. I’m guessing their son was about five or six years old. The little boy looked at me, and then he doubled up his chubby little fist and punched me as hard as he could in the stomach. I must admit, he hit pretty hard for a little kid. It hurt! And I had no idea why this little demon-child I’d never seen before in my life would hit me.
His parents were mortified. My wife was laughing so hard she was about to cry (thanks, Hon). I was doubled over—not because I’m a wimp, but for a five-year-old, the little punk had a killer right hook. I looked up to see the boy glaring at me as if he’d have killed me with his bare hands if his parents would’ve let him.
I still have no clue what I did to provoke this beating. For some reason this kid wanted to pound me.

And yes, I see the twisted irony, I was Bullied by a babe at babe’s.
Bullies bug me.
Bullies come in all different shapes and sizes.
It seems like the Common denominator is insecurity.
They have a need to elevate THEIR place by putting YOU in YOUR place.
They lash out at you because you are different…because you are other.
Or maybe, they lash out at you because you are the same and they don’t like what they see.
Whatever the reason, they bully.
They use whatever means necessary to put you in your place.
As I write this, I’m sitting in the lobby of a middle school.
There is a hand painted poster board about protecting yourself from cyber bullies hanging a few feet from me.
The lobby is busy and I can’t help but listen to the awkward social dance of middle school students and I remember…
I remember that this is the scene of the crime for many of us.
The first place we felt the bitter sting of the playground punch.
I remember Alan, who was a few inches taller than me, and reminded me of that every day by making my life hell.
The punch of the playground.
Sadly, it didn’t stay in the playground.
Bullies never go away, they just get slightly more sophisticated, more sneaky and stronger.
I’ve encountered bullies many times since 7th grade.
In restaurants and workplaces, telemarketing calls and special events.

I’ve come to believe that religious bullies are the worse.
They are terrorists of the heart.
They manipulate and coerce just to get their way.
They impose their own will rather than invite God’s will.
They judge and justify.
They belittle the different…the other.
They pound you in the soul with their expectations.
They are intent on sucking all the liberty out of freedom.
The punch of the pulpit.
If you have experienced the sting, I’m so sorry.
Please know that the religious bullies are wrong.
What they do is all completely contrary to the one they claim to represent.
Jesus didn’t come to bully, he came to BE love.
He didn’t come to put people in their place, he came to invite them into a new place…a place of belonging, not bullying…a place called beloved.
Jesus had a group of religious haters constantly try to bully him.
They lashed out at him because he was more about people than protocol or position. They couldn’t bully him, because he knew who he was, so they killed him.
He refused to be bullied.
He refused to be belittled.
After all he came to BE love.
Lean hard into BE love.
The secret to being bully proof is all about identity and ownership.
Know who and whose you are.
The soul that is beloved refuses to be belittled.
It knows that the ONE who owns you gets to name you.
Don’t be owned by anyONE who didn’t make you!
That narrows it down to the ONE who came to be love.
Don’t let the bullies win.
Let love win.

Once upon a time…

Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper…

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…

YABBA DABBA DOO…

Won’t you be my neighbor…

Waka waka…

Nanu nanu…

Duunnn dunnn…duuunnn duun…duuunnnnnnn…

Up your nose with a rubber hose…

Hulkamania is running wild brother…

Just the good ol’ boys…

Stay gold ponyboy…

I’m just a bill, yes, I’m only a bill…

Sit on it…

Ten four good buddy…

Give it to Mikey…

I pity the fool…

Well the south side of Chicago…

Hey, Hey, Hey…

HEY YOU GUYS…

Come on down…

FOOD FIGHT…

I’ll tell you once more…

You meddling kids and your dog…

It’s the great pumpkin…

Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout Willis…

MARCIA, MARCIA, MARCIA…

A-B-C, easy as 1-2-3…

YO Adrian…

You can tell by the way I use my walk…

I think I love you…

We will…we will rock you…

I want to rock and roll all night…

I’m a little bit country…

DYN-O-MITE…

Live from New York…

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y…

It’s fun to stay at the YMCA…

They just wanna, they just wanna…

Walk like an Egyptian…

Schools out for summer…

Let’s be careful out there…

Luke, use the force.

 

 

fear is for the birds.

Posted: April 13, 2015 in fizzy faith
Tags: , , , ,

Brace yourself…I want to share one of the most frightening episodes of my childhood.

To my preteen mind it was gut wrenching terror….

When I was growing up, I walked out every day to get the mail.

that probably doesn’t seem like a big scary deal.

But, we had a huge front yard, so it was a good little walk.

AND right in the middle of the yard there was a bird house.

When I was about 9 years old, a blue jay with an attitude problem moved into the bird house.

That blue jay hated me.

For some unknown reason that bird had a personal vendetta against me.

When I would go out to get the mail, it would dive bomb me.

I would just be walking through the yard and here it would come.

It was viciously flying towards my head.

I had a wild imagination and I had seen the Hitchcock movie, “The Birds”.

I was pretty sure that this bird wanted to eat parts of my face, or at the very least, nest in my hair. (This was when, I DID have hair)

I would frantically run from the blue jay assassin while screaming like a girl.

I might have wet myself once.

It wasn’t my finest moment.

Sometimes it takes real courage just to go outside!

I was afraid to go into my front yard.

I was bullied by a bird.

My Dad gave me one of his super inspiring pep talks, “WHAT? Are you kidding me? don’t be a baby, it’s just a little bird!”

My much more supportive Mom gave me a hug and a fly squatter.

I took a deep breath and opened the front door.

I looked my fear in the face and it was flapping.

And it was smaller than me.

I mustered all of my shaky strength and I frantically waved the fly swatter and made some strange guttural noises. This didn’t really scare the bird as much as confuse it.

Sometimes that’s a pretty good strategy: live in a way that confuses the things that scare you.

I also found a different route to the mailbox. I walked out of my way to avoid the bully bird.

The best strategy was to take a friend…my dog. My body guard was a beagle.

Eventually seasons changed and the bird went away.

Seasons change and if you don’t feed the fear it goes away or dies.  

Sometimes it takes real courage just to go outside!

Maybe your bully isn’t a bird, it’s something else.

You can get through the yard!

You can do it!

We get scared of things that others laugh at.

It doesn’t seem like a scary thing to other people.

It doesn’t make our fear any less real.

We only think Fear is irrational when it’s someone else’s.

The yard can be a scary place.

You got to stare down your flapping fear.

you might find that it’s smaller than you.

go outside…

You can do it.

Maybe you need to step out into the front yard.

Maybe you need to find a different route.

Maybe you need a fly squatter or to shout.

Realize that seasons change, don’t feed your fear and it probably won’t stick around.

The best strategy is always to take a friend with you.

The bigger the better!

Here’s a promise from the biggest friend of all…

“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Sometimes it takes real courage just to go outside!

Find that courage in the fact that you aren’t going alone.