Losing

In April 2015, I traveled to Kenya for the first time. I don’t know about you, but I am always amazed at human ingenuity every time I fly. I cannot help but think of the creativity, the drive, and the intelligence of those who contributed to flight. The complexity of All these different individuals and resources coming together to produce technology that allows others to travel across the world in hours! So, during my trip, I found myself sitting over the northern Atlantic, reading signs in Arabic and English and amazed at the thought of flying across the world in luxury. Only a century before a trip of this size would have taken several months, if not a year to accomplish; and that would have been only one way! 

The months prior to my trip to Kenya had been a whirlwind. Writing letters, raising support, emailing back and forth with contacts in Kenya, texts and phone calls with the team leader in the States, etc….. Not to mention working full time and finishing up my last semester of graduate school. Along with that, I was prepping for the mission trip by writing sermons, spending time in prayer, and trying to discover all I could about travelling to Kenya. Needless to say, reading the travel warnings as you register with the US Embassy will make you want to stay at home.

*taken with Iphone 4S, baby!

As I sat looking out the window at the clouds over the Arabian Ocean on the second leg of my trip, I imagined all the new experiences I would have over the next 10 days. I would make new friends, see new places, eat new foods, learn about a different culture, and EXPLORE! (Did I mention that I was excited?!) As I thought about it, I could not wait to land, and I certainly could not sleep. (Or maybe that was the excellent coffee I had a few hours earlier.)

"Stirred, not shaken."

This trip was the culmination of several months’ work on my end. Not only had I spent time preparing sermons, I had also spent a lot of time raising support. (That’s a nice way to say that I was fundraising.) As I contacted people and advertised on social media, I was hoping that funds would be provided. Not to say that I didn’t invest in this trip from my own money, but I didn’t have a few grand lying around to immediately pay my way. While I was advertising the trip, several friends wrote in support, letting me know they had made a contribution and would be praying for me. (For which I am extremely thankful!)  Most of the messages were very similar, “Praying for you!” “Somebody made a donation, but I don’t know who…” “Let me know how the trip goes!” and so on.  However, one friend brought up an old memory that I had not thought of in years. This particular friend has travelled all over the world on short-term mission trips, and reminded me of a statement I had made in my younger days about not wanting to go on mission trips  because I couldn’t see myself not sleeping under the Texas flag.

That particular message came to mind as I sat miles above the Arabian Ocean, listening to the soft roar of the engines and looking into the dark sky. I laughed to myself as I thought how much I have changed in those short fifteen years. Back in the day I thought I was sacrificing a lot to follow Christ- giving up status, the freedom to do as I pleased, like smoking a Marlboro and have a cold Colorado Kool-Aid. That was also when I had a real “salvation by works” mentality, even though I didn’t know it. Compared to others who have lost family, jobs, friends, or freedom, I gave up almost nothing to follow Jesus. Even during the time I was prepping for the trip, There were some  who didn’t understand what I was doing. Giving up vacation time to go on a mission trip? Spending my own money to teach and preach? Missing my brother in law’s wedding? Leaving my wife and family alone for two weeks?

All of those are fair questions to ask, and rightly considered sacrifices. As I thought about the questions I had been asked, the small sacrifices I had made, I thought, “What am I really going to lose? From a completely secular perspective, I am going to teach and empower others to contribute to their societies in even greater ways than they already were. I would contribute to human flourishing. From a Christian perspective, I was following Jesus’ commission to go and make disciples. (It’s always smart to do what the boss says.)

(This image may or may not look like the real thing!)

In 1 Corinthians 3, Paul writes that he and Apollos (preachers of the gospel) are “co-laborers” with God, then goes on to state that the members of the church are part of a temple that they are building for God. Paul shifts the emphasis from himself and Apollo to the audience, stating that every Christian’s work will be tested, and they will be rewarded for that which survives. Think about this for a moment- Paul writes that he and Apollos (preachers of the gospel) are “co-laborers” with God, then goes on to state that the members of the church are a temple that they are building for God. As we participate in the spread of the Gospel, we too are acting as co-laborers with God.  As Christians proclaim the gospel to others, they are building a temple for God, a temple that consists of fellow believers (at this point, the word “Church” should be bouncing around in your brain).

Just as Paul and Apollos were preaching and teaching, I would be preaching and teaching, joining God in his work of building his temple. (disclaimer: I, in no uncertain terms, am not claiming to be an apostle, nor the stud preacher that Paul was.) Not only that, I would be travelling to a new land to do so. (Kind of like Jesus did when he came to Earth as a man.) That work will stand the test of eternity, and I will be rewarded for my work.

Maybe I'm not the one who's losing.

Left of the dealer

        Growing up, we played a lot of cards. By "played a lot of cards," I mean, A LOT. I have found memories of many nights at my grandmother's kitchen table, drinking coke over crushed ice in her green cut-glass cups, eating snacks, and staying up way later than any second grader should. Those nights of competition, laughter, and bonding continued through the tumultuous teen years and even into college. Nana shared so much of her home and life with all of us, family and friends.

       It’s amazing how many life lessons we learned around Nana’s table. We learned that a little competition never hurt anyone, that you should stay focused on the game, laugh a lot, be a good loser (and winner), and always be ready to play. Now, my niece, nephew, and own children are old enough to begin playing games with us. We are passing the torch of family, camaraderie, and learning to be good sports on to the next generation, just as Nana passed it on to us.

       A few months ago, I went on a mission trip to Kenya. It wasn’t my first time to travel internationally, but it was my first time to travel to a third world country. It was also the farthest I have traveled in my life. The journey to Kenya began in Dallas, TX and had two legs; DFW to Dubai International Airport, then Dubai to Nairobi. When I met my teammates the morning of our flight, I was excited. I knew communication might be sparse, but was confident in my safety and my return. While I would not have cell service once I left the plane, I was informed that I would have wifi in Dubai and could contact my family then.

       When we boarded our first flight, I was a little disappointed I would not be sitting with my friends, but not too disappointed because I had great leg room! After a fifteen hour flight, we landed in Dubai in the middle of the day. While signs were in English, I stuck closely by Richmond and Kevin, both veteran travelers. I made sure to follow where they went, say what they said, unload the same things from my luggage, and mimic their actions. After we passed through security and were sitting in the terminal, I pulled out my phone and turned it on. I was ready to talk to my wife and daughter! Unfortunately, the free wifi offered in the Dubai airport was so slow that I couldn’t even get a text through, much less a call. I was a little disappointed, but the excitement of being in a new place and culture overrode any disappointment.

       After a quick meal, we made our way to our gate for boarding. We still had plenty of time, but my travelling companions wanted to go on and wait for boarding. I was not sure how much food I would have for the next ten days in Kenya, so I decided to fill myself up even more and have a smoothie while we waited. I watched as Richmond and Kevin went through the security checkpoint, made my way back up to the main terminal area, and found the smoothie shop. I had some trouble with communication as I ordered my smoothie, but didn’t think too hard about it.

As I walked back to the gate, sipping my smoothie, I looked around at all the different signs and languages, and began to feel a little lost. I went down through the gate to the waiting area for boarding, and Richmond and Kevin were gone. I walked up to the counter, and a stewardess with a heavy accent pointed down the walkway. I looked at the rack of Arabic newspapers that I could not read at all, and a small voice in the back of my head wondered if I was getting on the correct plane. I walked down the ramp, and came to a fork. I had never seen that before. The little voice spoke more loudly that time, but I walked on. I entered the plane, and the stewardess greeted me, looked at my boarding pass, and directed me to the back. The plane was not full, but there were no other American passengers. I had to tell myself that I was on the correct flight or else the stewardess would not have let me on.

 Finally, as I walked into the far rear section of the plane, I saw two heads sticking up over the seats with blond and black hair, and recognized my travelling companions. The near panic attack was averted, and I settled into my seat like an old pro. I looked at the seat in front of me, and saw the instructions in Arabic where I would normally see English, and the thought settled in that I was for sure going somewhere that I couldn’t get around without depending on someone else! As the plane took off and reached cruising speed, I reached into my backpack to find something to read. I had brought along Defying Isis (believe me, the irony did not escape me as I saw the flight path skirt around Yemen and Somalia).

                       

          After a few hours of flight, I got up to move around and step into the restroom. Maybe I never paid attention before, or maybe it was the fact that I was feeling very out of place, but I had a small panic when the lavatory light didn’t turn on when I closed the door. I stood in the dark for a moment, thinking, “I’m lost!”  until reason asserted itself and I pushed the door open to look for a light switch. That’s when a stewardess informed me that I had to close the latch for the light to come on. (I took some comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t figure out how to turn on the light if she had to tell me without my asking.)

        For the rest of the flight, I sat looking at the maps on the screen in front of me, the people around me, and watching the ocean and land out the window. I reflected on the loss of contact and familiarity. Richmond and Kevin seemed so confident and knew their way around. I had to remind myself that they had been to Kenya several times, and traveled internationally a lot, unlike little old me. I told myself, for the first time of many times, that thousands of people do this every day, traveling around the world. Most travel as individuals, and they make it there and back. If they did, I could, too.

       We landed in Nairobi and deplaned, and the next step of my journey began. Over the next week and a half, I would change locations many times, traveling with others that I didn’t know, even separating from my friends for a few days and traveling off into the bush alone. Many times, I would start to get nervous as I realized that I didn’t speak the language, know the customs, and wasn’t too sure about my sense of direction and location in a foreign country. I would remind myself many times that God had called me there, and whatever happened, I was in his hands. Obviously, I made it back, or I wouldn’t be sitting here writing about my experience. (More details to come!)

       Everywhere I went, I traveled with a guide who knew their way around, spoke the language, and helped me learn the local customs and ways. Each person taught me more than I could teach them, and I am glad that I had the opportunity to travel to Kenya. Next time, I will know the ropes, and travelling will be much easier. As a matter of fact, I plan to invite others to go with me so I can show them the ropes!

       In card games, the first player sits to the left of the dealer. Someone has to go first, then others join the game. When will it be your turn?

Breaking bad

On Friday, April 24, my wife had a sonogram checkup for our new baby. Usually, I am able to go to these appointments with her. Each session is a celebration as we see the life growing inside Kara on the monitor and hear the baby's heartbeat through the speakers. I enjoy watching our child grow through the different stages of pregnancy, until eventually we meet face to face on the day of their birth. Unfortunately, events conspired so that I was not able to go with her. She called me after the appointment, and was a little shaken up. It turns out the tech had some trouble finding the baby's heartbeat, and mentioned some irregularities. Since we've experienced the loss of a child through miscarriage, things that seem small to others are not to us. The OB checked Kara and the baby, looked at the sonogram, and said everything looked fine, but did mention that we could have a blood test done to make sure everything was okay. As Kara and I discussed it, we decided to have the test, called Verifi, performed. We would know more about our baby and the gender weeks earlier than expected.

A few days later, Kara dropped me off at the airport for my flight to Kenya. I was doubly excited since I was headed to a new place, and would return to news of a boy or girl. The days went by quickly, and I deplaned on a Thursday morning, expectant to hear news of my baby. I discovered that the doctor's office had not called yet, but was not worried. Friday morning rolled around with no call from the doctor's office. We moved through the day, waiting to see the OB's number pop up on our caller id. Finally, around 4 pm the phone rang. Our OB was on the other end, and she was very nice, but I could sense hesitation in her voice.

She was very gracious, courteous, and professional as she informed us that our baby had tested positive for Trisomy 21, otherwise known as Down's Syndrome. She immediately informed us that everything else seemed good, the tests weren't 100% accurate, and there was a small chance that it could be a false positive. As we ended the phone call, emotions coursed through both of us. Excitement about our child. Gratitude that the baby was healthy and yet some sadness at the news that our child most likely has Down Syndrome. Immediately, worries arose. "Will we be able to meet the needs of our child?" "What if the baby has heart or kidney problems, or another serious defect?" "What will I do if someone mocks or ridicules our child?" "Will our little one be able to live independently?" "Will she be accepted by others, including extended family members?" The fears, worries, and selfish concerns all swarmed in my head and heart.

Psalm 127 tells us, "children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward." In Psalm 139 one reads, "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

Through the evening, we called our parents and family members to tell them the news and ask for prayers. There were tears, reassurances of love and support, and joy over the life of another grandchild! That night, Kara and I spent a few moments praying to the Lord, thanking him for the blessing of a new child, her health, and asking that she be protected from any dangers faced by Trisomy 21. We also asked that, if possible, our child could be healed and not have Down's Syndrome. Yes, it sounds and feels selfish for us to pray that, but we're in good company. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus did pray that if it was possible, God’s wrath could pass from Him, but he asked for God’s will to be done. That’s what we will continue to pray.

Did we receive bad news that Friday morning? Some may consider it bad news, but we will rejoice in the gift of a child. In our society’s rush for perfection, we lose sight of the importance of all people, made in God’s image. People are judged by their contribution, their production, and their ability. But that’s not God’s ideal for us; the ideal is found in our being. That’s why salvation is through grace, not by any work we do. With all of our foibles, imperfections, and weirdness, God views us as valuable because we are. Christians are his children, and completely accepted by him (check out Colossians 1:21-22). You see, what bad news was for One, turned out to be good news for others! Our new child, a gift from the Lord, is good news! We will rejoice!

Look on the bright side

Runners and marathoners place stickers on their cars to let everyone know how far they have run in competition? You may have seen the little white ovals that say 13.1 or 26.2 and not realized what they were for, but now you know. The other day I saw a meme on Facebook that had the 13.1 and 26.2 stickers, but if you looked at the fine print, it read “13.1 hours: my longest Netflix binge,” and “26.2: the most oreos I’ve eaten in one sitting.” While I’m not quite the definition of this meme, I can certainly relate to it, and am a lot closer to the Netflix binge than I want to be! I justify it by thinking to myself that Netflix is cheaper than running. Read that again; Netflix is cheaper than running. I’m not talking about a gym membership, but running down the roads and trails. That might be free, but running gear isn’t! Granted, I haven’t put pencil to paper, but I think the per show cost of Netflix is cheaper than the per mile cost of running!

Needless to say, I watch Netflix. For those of you who have known me a long time, you know that I enjoy science fiction, particularly Star Trek. I grew up watching the original series most afternoons, then Star Trek: The Next Generation. For a span of several years, new series spun off of the Star Trek name right and left. I tried watching one or two, but just couldn’t get into them, and ended up dropping my commitment to Star Trek. Maybe I was a Trek purist, or I obtained my driver’s license and found better things to do. Either way, for several years I didn’t even think about Star Trek.

Then Netflix came along with instant streaming. Lo and behold, one day I found Enterprise in my suggestions menu. I decided to watch it, and enjoyed the series. I slowly worked my way through it all the way to the end of the series. (I’ll admit that I thought it was actually pretty good, unlike a lot of the other Trek spin offs that are as cheesy as the original.) Needless to say, over the past few years I’ve worked my way through Enterprise, Voyager, and the Star Trek movies. (I tried watching the original series and The Next Generation again, but just couldn’t do it. Too much cheesiness, I guess.) I am finally watching Deep Space Nine, and enjoying the series. The Dominion/Federation war has just begun, so don’t spoil it for me if you know how it all ends.

Why wasn't he ever on Star Trek?

Needless to say, most Star Trek series have the same characters. The strong commanding officer, the straight man, the single ladies’ man, the gung ho security type, the ultra-handy engineer, the pessimist, and the eager youngster. On DS9, the pessimist is the station’s chief security officer, Odo. He’s always the negative one of the bunch, finding the “cloud in the silver lining,” as one character told him while I watched the other night.

I’ll admit my guilt: I’m really good at finding “the cloud in the silver lining.” I don’t know if it’s my problem-solver attitude, a learned behavior, or just a pessimistic nature, but I have to battle against it. No one wants to be around a wet blanket, including the wet blanket! So I work to “keep it light.”  That can be hard to do in today’s world. The news revolves around the latest perceived crises, public figures of all stripes are proclaiming doom and gloom, and social media is littered with bickering dialogues of extremism. Fortunately, the world goes on as people everywhere live their daily lives, going to school, work, raising families, socializing, and participating in community activities. (If there were ever an argument for hope and the persistence of the human spirit, that alone is it. Media and public figures can drum up crises all day long, but the rest of us have to work for a living and keep society moving.)

You have to find some relief somewhere! Laughter is good for both the soul and body. According the pundits, there isn’t a lot to laugh about, so sometimes you have to create your own. Therefore, my dog has a fan page. The Pete Holmes Fan Club currently has 34 fans, and posts every few days. I use it as a form of stress relief, creating some opportunities for laughter and fun. Also, Pete is the coolest dog ever. Weenie dog, happy attitude, cute and snuggly, somewhat playful, and as laid back as can be. I like to post some funny pictures, dachshund jokes, a little cultural commentary, and of course, pictures and comments from Pete himself (or at least my imagining of Pete’s comments).

Some people like to laugh at me for creating a The Pete Holmes Fan Club, but I don’t mind. The point is to create laughter, and it’s doing that. Proverbs 17:22 tells us “a cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” In other words, laugh! Laugh long, laugh loud, and laugh hard! King David, who saw some hard times, even wrote in Psalm 16 “in Your presence there is fullness of joy.” (He’s talking about God’s presence, in case you didn’t know.) In a sense, when we laugh with joy, we align ourselves with God’s will. We show that we trust Him; and His sovereignty; and his plan for our life.

When is the last time you had “fullness of joy?” Maybe today would be a good day to look on the bright side.

The Winner

“I can win an argument on any topic, against any opponent. People know this, and steer clear of me at parties. Often, as a sign of great respect, they don’t even invite me.” Dave Barry, a syndicated columnist and Pulitzer winning journalist, is noted as saying. In my earlier posts about speaking up and dialoguing with others, especially those of opposing viewpoints, I noted that we must be able to have actual conversations with others, and seek to understand their side before we begin to bash it.  Unfortunately, most of us either a) retreat into silence when confronted or b) use violence to dismiss and condemn other viewpoints. (Find out your style here.) For all my talk about shyness and timidity, I realize that I pride myself on winning arguments, and am guilty of these two extremes (and all points in between) when interacting with others. If I am unsure of my knowledge on a topic, I will be silent. If I am confident in my knowledge, I will go in swinging (metaphorically) forcefully dropping facts and opinions to cause the other person to retreat into silence.

I often use these tactics when I am caught by surprise. Many of you know that I am headed to Kenya in less than two weeks, and I am set to go no matter what happens. I committed to the trip several months ago, and have been advertising it on Facebook and through emails, asking for people to pray, give towards the trip, or share the pictures so that others can do so. Most of the feedback I have received concerning the trip has been positive. At least until the shooting at Garissa University in Kenya on April 2. Upon seeing the news, my wife immediately emailed me, asking how close that was to where I would be staying while I was in country. (You can read about our exchange here at my wife’s blog, if you’re interested.) That did not surprise me. (I will admit that being a husband and #girldad made me think a little harder the dangers involved.) As a matter of fact, I spent the next few days fending off queries from my family about my trip, not realizing they were only expressing concern for me. I was busy defending my theology, and my pride. I was also winning, at least in my mind.

Questions from my family did not surprise me one bit. They’re supposed to be concerned for me, after all. It did surprise me, however, when Sunday morning rolled around. Easter Sunday morning, to be exact. (If you know what Easter is about, the irony should not escape you either.) I walked into church like any other Sunday morning and began making my way around the building, greeting people and preparing for the day. To my surprise, one of the men of my church almost jumped me as I passed through a doorway. “Trey,” he said, “You’re not going to Kenya now, are you?” “I most certainly am.” I replied confidently. “Jesus told us to go, and unless the organization I’m travelling with cancels the trip, I’m going.” I was really surprised that someone else, a fellow follower of Christ, would have that attitude. Even though I know it exists, I have never had people say I should not travel to tell people about Jesus. (That, in itself, is not so much a condemnation of the church, but more a reflection of the easy life I have led as a believer in Jesus.) We discussed it some more, with my companion assenting to my affirmation that we are told to go to the ends of the Earth, no matter the cost. I think I even threw in the quote from Tertullian (probably the Major John Reisman  of the early Church; except maybe without the gun) “the blood of the martyrs is the lifeblood of the church” in the conversation. (As if that settled everyone’s nerves who was listening!) I had “won” another conversation!

 A few days later I was at a meeting, waiting for it to start and chatting with others. Another woman walked in and said, “Trey! I heard you’re going to Kenya soon. Is that true?!” I replied in the affirmative, and she said, “You can’t go! Those people over there are butchering each other, and you may be killed or hurt. They’ll kill someone just for the fun of it.” I don’t know what caused me to light up more: “those people” or the blanket statement concerning another people group, automatically condemning them. Immediately, my hackles were raised, and I was about to start in on her (I sure am brave! Verbally jousting with a woman who was only speaking out of concern for me) when a passerby quietly interjected into the conversation and said, “The Bible tells us to go, we go, and Jesus goes before us.”

If you’ve read my post about encouragement before, you’ll know I believe that some people are mouthpieces for the Holy Spirit. They will say things that ring true without knowing what they are saying, and that wisdom can only come from above. This man is one of those people, and someone whom I greatly respect. Almost immediately, the tension bled itself from the air, my hackles laid back down, and she looked a little surprised. In a matter of seconds, the situation had gone from tense to calm. She looked at him, then at me, and said, “You know something? He’s right. I’m glad you’re going to Kenya to serve and train other pastors.” I had not even opened my mouth, and her attitude completely changed (so had mine). Throughout breaks in the meeting, she would say encouraging things about my trip to others, surprising me with the sincerity of her words and tone. All because of one person’s words of persuasion, not force.

In Proverbs 25 one finds this little gem: “A word spoken at the right time is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” In other words, it is very valuable! I write this post not to make myself sound like some verbal J.J. McQuade, practicing my judo chop words on everyone I encounter, but to show that I often need to recover old ground in my life, so that I can make improvement. Not self-improvement, but other-improvement. (Yes, I made that up!) If you find yourself in these stories, I apologize for my words of arrogance and pride to you, and admit that I should have recognized the concern and value you see in my life (one of you even told me that, but I missed it at the time), and have (and see) those same things for you in return.

Do I feel strongly about missions? YES, but my wife can express the same feelings I have concerning missions much more eloquently than I can, and you can read her blog to discover them. So for the next week or so, I will try to drop my black-and-white attitude about missions, set aside my distaste for the effeminate church culture that values safety over mission we find ourselves in today, and work to bring unity into the Church, not division. After all, St. Paul the Apostle, the Han Solo of Christianity, when he spoke to the elders of the Ephesian Church for the last time, did not reprimand them, but spoke to them in a way that brought closure, unity, and peace. Paul wasn’t trying to win the conversation; even in disagreement he sought to keep the conversation open. So, instead of trying to win conversations, I’ll work to set aside my pride and seek to honor others who don’t share my view. Will you join me?

The Cowardly Lion

For most of us, politics and government are things we don't think about until we file taxes or see flashing red lights in our rear view mirror. Sure, we put bumper stickers on our car, vote in elections (hopefully), watch our respective politically aligned news program, and complain about the current president (whether we voted for him or not). In reality, though, most of us operate day to day without a thought about personal rights, government's role in society, and personal responsibility.

That is, until we join Facebook. Then it's an all-out offensive of sharing posts, opinions, stacking facts like cards in a deck, name-calling, unfriending someone who's too extreme, friending another whose posts we admire, and generally having a free-for-all. This is a battle that I have been content to quietly observe for years now, even though I am keenly interested in politics and culture.

Why? Because I'm a coward who knows only two extremes when it comes to disagreements: fight or flight. Sure, I enjoy attending conferences and reading political philosophers, but I don't really enjoy debate unless it's with people who think like I do, or people for whom I have a deep respect and a relationship with. Either way, debates, for me, are few and far between. 

I was raised to be a conservative who unquestionably clung to his Bible (which I never read), his God (who I didn't follow), and his guns. Anyone who didn't agree with me was a free-loading liberal idiot, and I didn't even want to be associated with them. Then I grew up (a little bit), my worldview expanded, and I was very libertarian. I firmly believed in personal responsibility and the fundamental human right to be absolutely, unquestionably, face-palm stupid. Let every man do as he wishes, as long as it's in the privacy of his own home and doesn't hurt anyone else!  

But then I started following Christ in a very serious way and reading my Bible. I discovered that God is very concerned about treatment of the poor, the down-and-out, the widow and the orphan. In others words, the fringes of society. I struggled for years to settle these concepts in my mind, and I began reading political philosophy and economics, as well as theology. I did it mostly to learn, not to reshape my mind or change my political views.

I did realize a few things. First, a society does need a certain amount of law in order to flourish, and that law may infringe upon our guaranteed human right to stupidity when absolutely necessary. Some type of moral framework is necessary for individual rights to be protected, and sometimes the law must force someone to recognize the dignity of the human person, even if they don't recognize it themselves. 

All this to say that I'm one of the few people I know who has actually become more "liberal" as I've gotten older, unlike many who become more conservative. 

But what does all this have to do with Facebook? Needless to say, over the years I've collected a number of friends of all stripes and creeds. I've read post after post in which they proclaim their stances (even ones I disagree with) and quietly sought to understand their point of view.

Enter my friend Victor. He's a guy who helps his parents with their small business (the backbone of individual liberty and a free society!) on his days off, which means that most Fridays he comes through the church offices as he cleans the place. For some reason, we've always covered these deep topics (even hot-button issues) and tried to uncover all sides, viewpoints, etc... I don't know that we ever reach a conclusion, but I enjoy the conversations we have. Even when we disagree, I still like Victor and respect his opinion. I've mentioned several times we should get a group together to discuss ideas and cultural issues in a setting of respect and discovery of other's viewpoints without judging them.

So on Good Friday afternoon, while the office was closed, I snuck in to work on sermons for an upcoming mission trip. Since it was a holiday, I didn't think anyone else would be there. While I was sitting there, typing away, the lights come on and in strolls Victor. It had been several months since I'd seen Victor, so we greeted one another and he said, "Dude, I'm glad I ran into you! I want to get your opinion on the stuff in Indiana." We began to discuss the issue of religious freedom, discrimination, totalitarianism, civil disobedience, and the like, both on opposite sides, yet having a civil, even fun discussion. At some point in most conversations we have, one of us will ask how we can disagree on things, yet still have these really cool conversations. The other usually answers that it's because we respect each other's opinion and viewpoint and are seeking to understand, not condemn. Of course, we bring the discussion to the national level, wondering why America seems to be so divided.

Last Friday we stumbled upon the answer: As a nation, we've lost the ability to dialogue with one another in a civil way. We're so busy "asserting our rights" that we don't even listen to opposing viewpoints; we smear, slander, and insult those who disagree with us. Instead of looking for the common ground, we immediately dismiss ideas that are foreign or scary to us. Division always leads to isolation, and isolation to destruction. (Not to pull out my “follower of Jesus” card, but that’s biblical. See Proverbs 18:1) That's where we're headed as a society if we lose the ability to dialogue with one another.

I have a good friend who was a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) in his working career. I like help him with farm chores on the weekends, in essence bartering counseling for labor. The last time I was there, I was telling him about problems I have with individuals whom others have written off 9me. He made a statement that stuck with me. He said, "Whenever we encounter a problem, we have two choices: we can either move closer to it or we can move away from it. Generally, problems are solved when we move closer to them." (At the time, it didn't seem like the profound statement it was.) 

This is the deal: for years, I've been watching my Facebook feed, quietly posting my jokes and family pictures while ignoring other's posts that I disagree with. Fortunately, my friend Victor helped me by forcing me into the open. Monday night, he posted a video of a political debate from 1986, tagged me and another guy, then asked, "What do you think?" YIKES. I'll tell you what I thought, "I'm supposed to answer this? In public, where others can read it and judge my opinion?" Then I thought (because I read it somewhere), "A philosopher who never debates is like a boxer who never spars; because he's not one!" So I began typing. Not with the intent of winning, but with the intent of dialogue and discovery. Of pressing into the "problem," and moving forward in respect. It wasn't so bad, and I didn't find my inbox full of scathing comments from others. (I even put my opinion in another conversation between two friends with extremely different opinions than mine.) I'm sitting here a few hours later, still alive, and doing fine.

So back to RFRA. (I know it's old news by now.) Do I believe in the right of free association for both service providers and consumers? Yes! Do I believe hateful discrimination is okay? No, but I think we need to have a conversation about what discrimination really is. Do I think we're moving towards a totalitarian government? Yep, but that's the nature of any bureaucracy, especially one with an army. Do I think that Jesus, if he were a baker today, would make a cake for a homosexual wedding? Maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't, but I do think a) he would have kept the lines of communication open and b) called sin what it is: sin. 

But one thing I do know. Jesus, instead of dismissing people, ignoring opposing viewpoints and pointing fingers, would have moved closer to the problem, built a relationship, and spoken truth into the situation. After all, he did come from Heaven to earth, setting aside his position and authority, and died for humanity's sin, to solve the problem. Did I mention that he was wrongly convicted and given a punishment greater than the crime he was convicted of? You might even say he was discriminated against.

So maybe we need to quit pointing fingers, throwing out arguments, and enter into honest, civil dialogue with fellow human beings who are made in the image of their creator. Several on both sides on the aisle (no pun intended) are already doing it. I’ve decided to join the conversation! How about you?

Letting go

Last Thursday morning I found myself standing in the terminal wearing a diaper bag backpack and holding my daughter's "manket" as a bunch of college guys in suits walked by and looked at me like I had a third eye. "Give it a few years, boys," I thought to myself as they strolled on, probably not thinking about much more than the flight ahead and their destination later that day. I chuckled to myself as I thought about comments I would have made seeing a guy like me standing by himself in the airport when I was in college. How times can change, and how different life is that we expect it to be when we're young. So how did I find myself in Love Field at 5:30am on a Thursday morning?

A few hours earlier, I rolled out of bed at 3:15am and into the shower. My mother-in-law had knee replacement surgery a few days before, and Kara and the kiddos were flying to Atlanta to help Kathy with her recovery. While I am all about my kiddo seeing her grandparents as much as possible, I was a little bemused at the thought of nurse Kate taking care of Marmee. Having been the subject of my three year old daughter's "care," I can easily tell you that while she has good intentions, she's a long way from fulfilling any form of the Hippocratic Oath. All that aside, I loaded the luggage, changed Jake's diaper, loaded his car seat, and everyone climbed in for the ride to Love Field.

The weather was good, traffic was clear, and I was confident we would arrive in plenty of time for my family to check in, make it through security, and board the plan. Surely a Thursday morning 6 am flight couldn't be that full! As we drove towards the airport, traffic slowly became heavier. By the time we turned into Love Field, it was bumper-to-bumper, with a wreck in the way. The adults in the truck were sweating it a little, but Kate was her usual happy-go-lucky self, not worried about a thing. (Ah, the life of a three year old.) Since we were late, we decided to splurge and use the valet parking right by the ticket counter. We pulled up, valets came running, and we deposited kids, luggage, stroller and carseats on to the curb. We walked into the terminal, and I began to worry a little bit because the ticket counter lines were loooong. 

Playing it cool, we hopped in line, and thanks to Southwest Airlines' great customer service, within a few moments or so we stood in front of a smiling clerk. After the customary greeting and a few questions, she looks at me and asks, "Would you like an escort pass, Mr. Holmes?" I thought they had stopped allowing escort passes, so I was a little surprised. Thinking of the small pocketknife in my pocket (where else?) plus every conspiracy theorist horror story about being held by the TSA for days with only water and a granola bar, I stammered a little bit while my wife looked at me expectantly. Being my chivalrous married-for-six-years-self, I said, "No thanks, I can't today." Kara looked surprised, and asked, "Why not?" My mind immediately thought, "Holy cow, woman, when your habitually pistol packing, knife carrying husband declines the escort pass in the airport, YOU GO WITH IT." My lips said, "Well.....I need to get to work and traffic was heavy...." The clerk said, "Oh, you have a pocketknife? Just leave it here and you can get it on your way out." Problem solved. (WELCOME TO TEXAS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.) 

My pass was printed, and we headed to security, only to run into another LONG LINE. (Surprise!) I could tell Kara was a little anxious, and my mind was racing as I wondered what other contraband I could possibly have on me. Even though I had nothing on me but my wallet, glasses, and hearing aids, I still had this nervous fear. I guess I have a guilty conscience or something, but I always get nervous going through security. Meanwhile, Kate is wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, excited about flying on a plane and seeing her Marmee and Gramps. The agent in the pre-pass line waves to us, calling us forward from the rear of the line because we had little ones, and put us right through. I was waiting for all sorts of questions about why my boarding pass was blank, where I was travelling, etc... and for them to whisk us away to a small room with no windows and 1 bare bulb for the bottles of formula in the baby bag. (I think I saw one too many movies like Enemy of the State when I was growing up.) Every agent was super nice and really helpful, helping us get all the carry-on luggage and kiddos through with no problem. I have never had a bad experience with airport security, but I have to say that when we were through I thought to myself, "That was the best trip through security I've had. I'm taking the kids along every time!"

We stopped for moment to put our shoes and belts back on and gather everything up. We realized we had time to grab breakfast before Kara and the kids boarded. Kara went to Whataburger, but the Princess wanted Chick-fil-a, so Daddy took her to Chick-Fil-A. Surprisingly, the line moved slowly and we had to wait long enough that Kate became antsy. (They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and my daughter inherited my metabolism, which means she gets hangry.) Kara walked up, and Kate was standing (standing being a relative term) about 6 feet away from me when she tripped herself, fell down, jumped up, and said, "Daddy, don't push me!" Speaking of apples and trees, my parents still laugh and tell stories about me as a little kid doing the same thing many times. I haven't done that as an adult, so Kate couldn't have learned it from me, which is an argument (albeit a small one) for nature versus nurture. Either way, I almost fell down myself when she said that.

In the midst of this, they called my name and we picked up Kate's order. Mind you, we were watching the clock and could see that our gate had begun boarding. Kate was extremely concerned about drinking her orange juice so Kara handed it to her. We entered the boarding area, and a Southwest attendant saw us, came over, and waved us to the front of the line. (Another reason to love Southwest and travelling with little ones.) As we hit the jetway entrance, I pictured a nice goodbye consisting of hugs and kisses from my wife and daughter. The ideal is often not reality, however, and when we walked up to the desk Kate jumped from her stroller, orange juice in hand, and helped Kara present her boarding pass to be scanned. I stood there in shock, arm outstretched waving goodbye, as my little girl strolled through the jetway door without so much as a look back. My Daddy heart was breaking, and I managed to say, "Bye Kate! Daddy loves you!" as she disappeared around the corner. Kara hurriedly gave me a smooch as I tried to hug Jake and moved off to catch up with Kate. Just like that, I was alone.

Being the introspective soul that I am, all this occurred in slow-mo, and what I saw as a Kate strolled jauntily off into the wild blue yonder was an image of my little girl 15 years from now, flying off to the other side of the globe with barely a goodbye for dear old Dad. As I walked back through the terminal I had this turmoil inside of me. Part of me was torn that my daughter was so independent, but the other part of me was horrified at the thought that she might have run halfway down the jetway, turned to look for me, realized that I hadn't followed her in and wasn't going on the flight, then broke down crying. The agony of being a girldad is frightfully heavy at times. (Not "girlydad", but "girldad.") (I'm coining that term, by the way.) 

I strolled on through the terminal, past the exit, the baggage claim, and out to my truck, as the crowds swept past me going the other way. I thought to myself, "Parenting is tough. It's not for sissies, but for the bold, the determined, and the courageous. Especially when you have a little girl." Somewhere, I have seen a quote that says "There's no experience in the world like having a child. It's like having your heart walk around outside your body." That is capital "T" truth! It hasn't been so bad having a little girl, but this past year is killing me, and the following years will do so in even greater detail. But it's worth every heartache I can ever have. Watching my little one, I can see the woman she is going to be. Strong, independent, and beautiful, just like her Mom. 

I'll spend the rest of my life letting go of my little girl as she matures and becomes an adult. That vision will spur me on, keep me going, providing experiences and challenges for her through these next two decades. Because I can see the end of the process. That's why God can look at us, with all of our miserable, selfish ways, and take delight in us. (If you're His child.) Because he knows what we'll eventually become and can see the end result, even when it angers him, saddens him, and breaks him in two emotionally. Romans 8:28 says, "For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers." 

Earlier, in Romans 1, Paul describes humanity's sin, noting how men turned from worshiping their creator and began to worship parts of creation. He wrote that God gave men over to their worthless minds, to do what is morally wrong. To sin over and over again, defiling creation, degrading the dignity of other humans, and continually rejecting God. It is easy to ask how a loving God could allow this to happen. Because, in creating men in his image, he gave them knowledge and choice. In his infinite knowledge, God knew that some would turn back to him, and regain the image they were made in. In Paul's wordiness, he takes several chapters to conclude his thoughts begun in Romans 1, but he eventually does. He notes that all have sinned, and acknowledges that he, like his readers, still struggles with sin. But he, being one who submitted his life to Jesus, will be made into his likeness, regaining his full humanity! That's why he could write Romans 8! God rejoices in his children, because he knows the end result!

Fast forward almost exactly one week from Kate strolling onto the jetway without so much as a wave goodbye. I stood right at the line of the security barrier, watching as groups of people walked down the terminal towards the baggage claim. Every time I saw a woman with a stroller and diaper bag, my soul gave a little leap, then sank as I realized that it wasn't my family. Finally, after watching what seemed like droves of people walk by, I saw Kara pushing a stroller in a group. I jumped up and down, waving my arms in the air, not caring that I looked a little foolish. I saw Kara wave and point, then heard, "Daddy!" and the patter of little feet running on the tile floor. Kate burst out of the group and dashed toward me while I waited at the barrier, arms open wide. She hit me at a full run, and I scooped her up, glad to have her and my family back home. I had let her go a week before, knowing she would return. The moment we recognized one another, it was a race to be reunited. Letting go is always worth the reunion!

God has let you go. When your journey concludes, will you be running towards him? Better yet, will he recognize you? I hope so!