I have a question.  How do you know you’re getting things done?  I mean valuable things accomplished, not mind-numbing work that you make up to make it look like you’re doing something.  When I was a young kid in ministry, I remember feeling bad if I envisioned and planned, so I just did countless hours of menial tasks intended to show people what I could do, not what I was actually doing.  I think most of us get caught in this struggle – the tension between getting something accomplished now and looking toward the future.

Here’s what I did to relieve some of that tension.  I wrote down the 5 most important things that I do.  They are general enough to umbrella a full work week and specific enough to focus on my goals.  Then I attempt to only do things that directly relate to those 5 things.  Obviously this isn’t always possible, but you’d be surprised at how many time it is.

Since that time, I’ve worked much smarter, and accomplished much more.

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I was listening to an interview this afternoon from one of my favorite writers, Donald Miller.  His new book comes out this fall called “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years”.  In the interview, Miller spoke of the importance of story and the study he’s done on the literature genre called story.  His insights were very interesting, but one of the most interesting things he said dealt with the main character in a story.  Your story.  My story.  It doesn’t matter.  He said that, in literature, the main character has to want something, or there’s no point in reading or participating in the story.  He also went on to imply – though he didn’t actually say this – that what the character wants says something about the character of the person, and how interesting the character is or isn’t going to be.  So I took a look at the things I want and the things I will do (or not do) to get what I want, and hopefully this will give me a good feel for what kind of story I make.
One of the things I want is to see my community transformed with the love of Christ.

What about you?

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My technology (and consequently, my blog) has gone Mac.  Thanks to all of you who had a hand in this from Fellowship Church and other friends.

The question is:

Will I ever go back?

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Recently I’ve had email discussion with my neighbor Michael.  This sounds funny to me because I’ve never actually talked to my neighbor Michael face to face.  This is about to change soon, as the next time I see him walking up and down the street I have promised to say hi to neighbor Michael, or he will say hello to his neighbor Marty.  Last week neighbor Michael made a surprise visit to his other neighbor Fellowship Church. Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to talk to neighbor Michael, though neighbor Carie and neighbor Michael chatted a bit, but this week neighbor Michael and I have had the good adventure of discussing life, liberty and “spiritual homes” via email.  Inside of our discussion, neighbor Michael pointed out the differences between the church he grew up attending and the FC.  His insights were so hilarious, I thought I’d share them with you.  It’s okay, neighbor Michael was kind enough to give me permission.  Enjoy!

“I don’t think FC is that different than the Catholic Church I went to as a kid except for:

• Exchange priest in white collar with pastor in jeans
• Out with the choir, in with the rock band
• Update paper church newsletter with blogging and tweeting
• Swap priest celibacy with pastor being pressured to have kids
• Convert from reading bible passages from the missalettes to reading them off PowerPoint slides
• Trade seniors (elderly) for seniors (high school and college)
• Substitute consistent traditional mass with unique weekly message
• Replace greeting by priest with holy water with teen greeter holding Monster energy drink
• Change holy wafer (Eucharist) with holy cheeseburger (turkey burgers too)
• Instead of name and address of new members, request Facebook and MySpace page
• Oh, and that Pope guy

Other than that, I’d say pretty similar…” -

Thanks neighbor Michael.  We really have to meet some time!

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Today I acted like the Alpha Male Car Salesman.

Please forgive me.

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Some days blow by us like they never existed, and some days stick in our minds for the rest of our lives.  The reason that those days stick in our minds is two-fold:  Either a building went down or those famous people died, or Something extraordinary happened because of  your influence on someone’s life or their influence on yours.

I want today to stick out in my mind.  I just don’t know how yet.

Any suggestions?

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One of the blogs I read on a regular basis is written by Penelope Trunk.  She’s a freelance writer, and an amazing one at that.  One of the things I like about her writing is her honesty and unwillingness to keep secrets.  I liked to keep secrets in my earlier years, and learned a few huge lessons along the way.  In the last 5 years, I have worked hard at authenticity, much to many peoples dismay.  People don’t like authenticity, especially in the suburbs (see Desperate Housewives).  Authentic Community is even a core value of our church, and it’s something that, combined with Intimacy with God,  is necessary to really live out the Christian life.  Anyways, I continue to work on this trait as I get older.  After all, I am almost 25 now.

So the reason I share all this with you, is because this morning I read Penelope Trunk’s latest blog post, and I’d like you to read it too.  She shares why she is so authentic in her writing and in her life, even to an extreme.  Now this post is not for the faint of heart, and it’s not for people who think that all is well in the world if you just smile and be happy.  But it is a powerful lesson from an amazing writer who I have just learned to respect even more.

Enjoy and be ready to change!

p.s. Penelope Trunk is not a Christian writer, or even a Christian (as far as I know).

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Jarrod Jackson walked into his house mesmorized by the scent of flowers.  Halle, his 6 year old daughter,  had outdone herself this time by picking what Jarrod assumed was “the most flowers ever.”  This assumption came from a promise made by Halle herself the day before.  She picked flowers everyday from the bushes his wife planted years before, and when Jarrod sarcastically quipped that “the house could use more flowers,” her promise to pick “the most flowers ever” brought on a huge smile.

Jarrod loved Halle like any father  loves his daughter, except more.  She was everything to him, and he loved coming in from the station every day, walking into his house, and seeing her run into his arms.

Today he said hi to Karen Krittle the babysitter, then walked towards the room he knew Halle would be in, and of course here she came as fast as she could.
“Hey Halle,” he said tenderly as her lightweight frame and long blond hair leaped into him.  A mosquito could have done more damage, but the feeling was so amazing.  “Were you a good girl for Karen today?”
“I tried to be.  But I might have been bad once.”  Karen smiled from across the room, nodding no way in silence behind her back.
“Oh well, I know you can be better next time” He said with a big smirk on his face and tickle in his fingers as Halle laughed in return.

Karen said goodbye for the evening to Jarrod and Halle and walked out of the house, leaving Jarrod and Halle alone for the time being.
“What are we going to do tonight dad?”
“After dinner, maybe if you eat all of it, we’ll go get some ice cream for dessert?  How does that sound?”
Halle’s eyes blew up huge.  “Really?  Ice cream?  That’s amazing!  I’ll eat it all daddy.  Promise.”
“Well then, we’ll be going for ice cream,” the father patted the daughter on the head and sent her to wash up for dinner.  At 6’4″ and solid in frame, Jarrod hovered over his daughter like a mythical giant over the normal people of the world.  His size worked for his occupation as a Oakham police officer in Central Massachusetts, really close to the ends of the earth.

Real crime in Oakham happened once a month, and with Halle waiting for him to arrive home every day, that was no problem for him.  His real excitement started when he was off the clock.  As he started to place the Macaroni and Cheese that karen had made earlier in the day in the oven, he pondered how fulfilled his life had become.  He never thought it would be this way, but it was this way and more.

He didn’t move very gracefully across the kitchen quite yet, and he was thankful for the ways that karen went beyond what he paid her for childcare, like preparing the evening dinner for Jarrod and Halle.  She said it was much better than seeing them eat McDonald every night.  Jarrod guessed that she was correct.

Twenty minutes went by and they felt like forty as he tried to find the right utensils, plates, cups, and what to put in the cups.  Jarrod loves his Mountain Dew, and he was thrilled that Halle hated it.  Water was always good enough for her, just like her mom.  He called to Halle to come down for dinner, very proud that everything was ready.

Another 5 minutes went by and Jarrod ran out of things to do.  He called again, and heard nothing.  Immediately he imagined the worst and ran up the stairs towards her bedroom.  She sat on her bed, appearing okay, but with tears in her eyes.  “Sweetheart, are you okay?”  Jarrod said without scaring her, but with enough intensity to show his concern.
“Daddy, my tummy hurts,” she whimpered softly, allowing his heart to melt just a bit before he answered.
“Oh, it’s okay sweetheart, let’s lay you down here in bed.  I’ll bring some dinner up to you in a few minutes if you feel better.”
“Daddy, am I gonna be in trouble?”
“No, baby, why would you say that?”
She just peered over at the corner of the bed.  Jarrod needed to stand and walk around that corner to see where her eyes were.  As he turned and looked, a pile of vomit mixed with blood stared back at him.
He quickly turned to Halle.  “What happened Halle?  Is this yours?”  He felt kind of stupid asking the question because she was the only one in the room, but she had nothing on her clothes.
She just looked up at him with big eyes, then held her stomach and groaned a sad and pitiful sound.

Immediately Jarrod cradled his daughter in his arms and headed out the door, down the stairs and into the garage.  He wished he had cleaned it out because he was forced to wiggle his way through countless boxes that he had never unpacked when they moved into this house.  Finally he found the 2005 Nissan Sentra he would be driving to the hospital, and gently placed Halle inside the back seat.

Running back inside to grab his keys and his cell phone, he tripped on one of the boxes again, and this time, almost broke his foot in the process.  This might be fitting, he thought since he was going to the hospital.

Finally in his car, he backed out of the garage, and almost hit Karen’s car on the way out.  I told her not to leave it here again after work hours without telling me, he thought to himself, realizing that mistakes happen and he had more important things to deal with at the moment.  Occasionally Karen’s husband Bob would pick her up from the house and they would leave the car overnight in the driveway.  This was fine with Jarrod, but he was afraid he would hit the car if he was ever in a hurry to leave.  Like at a time such as this.

The drive to UMASS University Campus was about a half hour.  To live  as far away as he could from the world in a place like Oakham always seemed so wonderful until today.  Now he couldn’t get into Worcester fast enough. He was a cop, after all, and it would be easier to get forgiveness than permission, right?  Halle seemed okay, but he wasn’t taking chances.  He’d already lost his wife, and this circumstance was doing an amazing job helping to remind him of that fact.

Halle looked so much like Chloe, her mother, and the love of his life, that every time he turned around, he could see his wife lying back there, in a much bigger car, but with the same awkward groaning and facial expressions.  His foot kept pushing harder on the accelerator at each thought that strolled through his head.

They finally arrived at the emergency room, where he parked at the  front glass doors of the newly designed wing, and quickly threw the keys to the valet parking guy in the red polo shirt, who for some reason was taking his time getting to the car.  It doesn’t matter, Jarrod thought grabbing the back door and reaching in for his daughter, who by this time seemed to be mostly asleep.

Moving swiftly into the rotating automatic doors, Jarrod headed straight for the nurses station.
“May I help you?” she said quickly, realizing there was some gravity to this situation.
“Yes, my daughter, pretty all of a sudden, started complaining about a stomach ache, then she showed me a place near her bed where she had vomited some stuff and it was mixed with blood and she needs to see someone very quick.”  He was urgent in his delivery, understanding what it takes to see someone in emergency rooms, in America, Canada, or anywhere else in the world.

A female nurse, hearing the uproar, and seeing the 6 year old girl in his arms, motioned the man in the Oakham police polo and kacki shorts to bring her to the table next to her about 15 feet away.  He immediately obeyed.

“Thanks for seeing her so quick.  Really quick actually.”
“Well, keep in mind I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse, and I’m just doing a preliminary examination, to see where we stand right now.  In a few minutes, you’re going to have to give your information to the front desk, so we have a long way to go.
Now honey”, she said to the recently wakened Halle, “Tell me what hurts.”

“My tummy” the girl said almost inaudibly
“How long have you had this tummy ache sweetie?”
“Right before dinner.  Daddy was going to make me Mac and Cheese,” she said smiling.
“Yum, I love Mac and cheese,” the nurse said repaying the smile, then looking at Jarrod.  “Okay, Mr…?”
“Crowe, Jarrod Jackson.”
“Okay Mr. Jackson, what I need you to do is to take this sweet girl back into the waiting room and make sure she’s as comfortable as possible until the doctor is able to see her tonight.”
“What?”  he said shocked.  “Did you hear what I told the other nurse?  She vomited blood.  That sounds like she needs help now.  Right now!”  He said this loud enough to cause the security guard at th front desk to walk back and extend his chest.
“Sir, she is going to be fine.  I know what to look for in an emergency, and I know how she’s doing, and right now, there are others we have to look at, okay?”

He just stood there for what seemed like 5 minutes, but actually was like 5 seconds, and gazed at her and the security guard and his beautiful daughter.  She looked scared now because he looked scared, so he scooped her into his arms and carried her slowly past the front desk into the waiting room.  He laid her down on a long brown leather flat chair and sat next to her, whispering in her ear to sleep so the pain wouldn’t be to bad.

His phone rang.  Bob, karen’s husband was calling, but he had no use for small talk about the Red Sox tonight or a make up call about their car being left in his driveway.  He just didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Time elapsed and people came and went.  Two ladies talked loudly about their combined 9 recent trips to this place.  It wasn’t difficult, but from what he could hear as he half paid attention, one had feet circulation problems, and one had “bathroom issues.”  An odd trilogy of people, two guys, one lady joked against the West wall of the waiting room that the lady had an Ipod touch in her purse for more than 3 months, and she left the store casing around it.  About 3 times, Halle woke up, complaining that she “had to go to the bathroom”.  He took her with the care of a member of the royal guard around Buckingham palace.  One time he had to wake her up just to go answer insurance questions at the front desk.  Time just passed, and eventually, 3 hours later, they called her name.

“Halle Jackson!”  the words sounded like the London Symphony Orchestra or better.  he stood her up for what he hoped was one of the last times of the evening, and carried her to the small room the nurse had pointed him to go.  he walked in, and there was more waiting.

Sitting in a room like this brought back the memories of Chloe, and what she had gone through.  Correction.  What they went thrugh together.  Phone call.  I’m not going to answer the phone Bob.  Ugh.

The doctor walked in smiling, and began his interview, asking Jarrod a few questions first.  He answered robotically, and eventually, the attention was on Halle.  As the doctor began the examinations, he remembered these were the same questions they had asked Chloe.  All of them.  They were routine now, but soon, they would ask about the vomit and the blood, and they would become more pointed.  Ultimately they would need to “run some tests” and then what?  Is stomach cancer hereditary?  Does his beloved daughter have what his precious wife had when she passed away 3 years ago.  Oh God! Big beads of sweat began to drip through his hairline and down his forehead.  He started shaking.  The doctor noticed and asked jarrod if he was okay.

The phone buzzed again.  Text message from his captain telling him to call him asap.  “Excuse me doctor, but I have to call my captian.  as you can see (motioning to his shirt) I’m a police officer, and he’s asked me to call.”  The doctor nodded, somwhat irritated at this intrusion, and continued asking Halle questions.  Jarrod dialed the number – 508-882-3346.
“Hey Captain, what’s up?  I’m kind of busy.”
“Where are you Jackson?”
“At UMASS, the emergency room for Halle.”
“I hope she’s okay, but I have to tell you something hard.”
“Uuhh, ok, shoot.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but Karen Krittle, your babysitter was found dead today in her car parked in your driveway.”
Stunned, Jarrod immediately sat down in the empty chair to his right.
“What…what happened?”
“Apparently she drowned in her own vomit.”

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I have been pressured many times in my life to head to another stage of life prematurely.  I think driving was the first .  “I bet you can’t wait until you’re able to drive, can you?”  This was the first and only pressure situation I agreed with, probably because of my immaturity.  The ones that followed – not so much.

After I left college, I was asked time and time again when I was going to get married.  Over and over for the next 10 years people asked me that question, much of that time I was doing my part for the kingdom of God.  “Good pastors have good wives,” I would hear adult men and women say.  In my head I would respond, “Yeah, a lot of bad pastors have good wives too,” and “a lot of good pastors have horrible wives as well, what’s your point?”

But my clearly negative reaction to the questions never stopped them from coming.  Who cares what Paul said in 1 Corinthians 7, our culture says that pastors have to get married so they don’t burn (I think that’s in the Bible, right?), so it doesn’t matter who you marry, just do it quick!!!

Praise God for Carie!  I don’t know how many more questions or accusations of being gay I could have taken, but when I finally found the woman who was perfect for Martin Jon Holman, unbelievably the kidding and questions stopped…

for about 6 months.

(guess what the pressure is all about now?)

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An awkward silence hovered over the West Middleton Community Church.  Sides drawn, sharp eyes that pierced into one another like swords drawn on a Civil War battlefield, and pure hate described this church business meeting.  Church business meetings generally don’t go smoothly in any Midwest setting, but to say this wasn’t going well was an understatement.  No one took leadership.  Everyone took leadership.

Pastor Sorenson had no idea what was happening.  He did notice however, that the atmosphere was strange and a bit chaotic this evening.  As the meeting began, a short, chunky man named Wally walked to the center stage.

“Thank you for coming tonight to our business meeting.  As many of you were notified, we have some extremely important business to take care of.” This perked Sorenson’s ears up as he had not authorized any business meeting.  He looked startled as Wally continued.  “There have been some. . . accusations made against Pastor Sorenson, and we’re going to address them immediately.”  Pastor Sorenson’s eyes grew big.  What the …? Was the first thought that came to his mind . . .then . . . Was this why his church had sent him and his wife on vacation?  Was this why hate and bitterness crowd the faces of the church tonight?  Why is Wally doing this?

Pastor Wally continued, “Right now Mrs. Craig, if you will come to the front and speak?

The audiences eyes glared toward the front as Ms. Ann Craig, the present church secretary, stood proudly and walked to the front.  It appeared she enjoyed the spotlight a bit too much.  Ms. Craig was only the second secretary to fill the position in the last 25 years, and her mother Louise held the office before that.

She spoke forcefully and with a purpose.  “My friends at West Middleton Community Church, I have been the secretary of this great church for 12 years now, and my mother before me.  Many of you knew my mother, Louise Craig to be a wonderful, devout woman of faith.  I too knew her to be that.  She died at a relatively early age, but before she did, I specifically remember one thing she shared with me after she worked with our pastor for many years.”  She turned and looked coldly into the eyes of Sorenson.  Hatred reflected off their eyes like a never-ending game of ping-pong.

“She told me to beware of pastor Sorenson because he was not a man of integrity and he was not the man we all thought he was.  I was quick to dismiss her remarks as those of a sick woman.”  Ann’s eyes began to water.

“But now I know that she was right.”  Tears flowed around the room at this point, and everyone hung on to her every word.  Pastor Sorenson sat helpless, fending off the ugly stares that came his way by the scores.  His wife attempted to stay strong, but as Ms. Craig’s next words came out, failed miserably.

“As most of you know, there is a young lady that lives here in the church apartment.  Her name is Erica Blanchard.  It is not uncommon for our Pastor Sorenson to refer to her as ‘his daughter.’  But I have here his cell phone records with no less than 100 calls made to her number last month.  Tell me Pastor Sorenson, how many fathers do you know that continue to call their 25 year old daughters more than 100 times in a month, when they live only a block away.”

More tears.  More stares.  More confusion.

Erica Blanchard sat in the center of the sanctuary weeping.  Her dirty blonde hair, small hands, and torn Bible hid her face from everyone.  She was well-liked around the church, always giving of her time and talents, and in one moment, one accusation, everyone ‘knew’ why she was giving so much.  Ms. Craig continued to throw the darts.

“Last month, as I began to have these suspicions, I drove to the church each night.  I couldn’t believe what I found.  27 days!  27 days this month!”  She repeated for emphasis.  “Our pastor Sorenson stayed at the church past 9:00 in the evening.”

Horrified gasps could be heard across the sanctuary, and Pastor Wally stood on the back of the stage with a frown on his face and a smile in his heart.  The people would know who to come to.  Then the fireworks started.

Sister Martha Saklon stood, pointed her crooked finger at Sorenson and began the screaming, “How could you do this to us?!  We loved you and thought you were a godly man! How could you do this to us?!”

Agreements were scattered around the room when Fred Johnson shouted from the sound booth, “You dirty womanizer!”

Then Barry Graystone stood from the front and scolded back, “How could any of YOU even consider responding to these accusations like this?  You haven’t heard him answer these charges yet!  As far as we know, Ms. Craig could be lying through her teeth.  I don’t trust her anyways.”

From then on it was chaos.  A bitter division had taken place and members were finding their sides quickly.  Pastor Wally, who quietly enjoyed what was happening, decided to take control.  “Ladies, gentlemen, please calm down.  Please sit down.  Martha, Joan, would you please take a seat?  Now I understand that this is not an easy subject in which to think and behave rationally, but we must take this opportunity to show the world that we as believers can settle our differences without hate and prejudice.”

Pastor Wally savored all the looks on their faces as they intently looked at him now as their shepherd, the man in charge.  “God has a purpose and a plan for the church, and no one person or situation will cause His plan to swerve.  His plan is perfect.”

The accusations and the confusion went on for hours as friends and family became enemies.  Pastor Wally decided he had enough entertainment and brought things to order once more.  He then announced that a vote would take place after Pastor Sorenson shared his heart.  The vote would answer the question whether or not Pastor Sorenson would continue to be the pastor of their church.  Finally, it was Pastor Sorenson’s turn to speak.  The crowd eyed him accusingly and lovingly, depending on which side of the church they sat.  Unfortunately, as it stood, 80% of the church sat on the side that wanted Sorenson out, never to return.

He walked slowly and cautiously to the front, sweat soaking his balding head, sadness overwhelming his spirit, and pressure from one side to confess and hope on the other side to deny.  His words began slowly, then defensively, then attackingly.

“My friends, I’ve been having some problems lately.  I’ve been struggling with doubt and a sense of depression.  Perhaps fear that I was not doing our congregation here at West Middleton justice?  Maybe that I was not being the right kind of pastor?  I guess you could say that I had some serious self-esteem issues.

“As you can probably imagine, sharing this with too many people in your congregation, especially a congregation such as this, with some who believe themselves to be as close to God as the angels above, can be a bit frightening.  So this compounded the fear I already was experiencing.

But this ‘scary’ controversy only brings me more to the great realization that none of us can live without God, even though many times this is what we attempt.  Can you imagine?  We try to live without the power of God in our lives, and when we do we end up feeling down and discouraged, or that we just cannot do the job God has put us here to do.  And then we begin to pass judgment on those who may be jealous of or those whom you want revenge against.”

Pastor Sorenson turned and glared at Pastor Wally and his former secretary who seemed somewhat offended at his last comment.

“I feel somewhat hurt . . .and angered that many of you listened to these accusations and never once came to me.  I guess it is human nature though, to turn from God and to follow your flesh.  To turn from doing what’s right and listen to gossip and hate.

To get to the point though-to answer what you’ve all come here for-to finally get down to business, I have never had any type of inappropriate relationship with Erica Blanchard.  She has indeed always been like a daughter to me, and always will be, but on either side, and she will attest to this, there has never been any type of inappropriate behavior between us.  And that is that.

“Ms. Craig prides herself in her meddling, and what she has allegedly come up with is a relationship that she wishes her daughter had with me-a loving, father-daughter relationship.  Ms. Craig would presume you to believe that there is more, because she has lived her own life in a great soap opera.  But many of you have listened, and will continue to listen, because you live in the same fairy tale that she does.

“I love Erica Blanchard-as a daughter and as a child of God-nothing more.”

A great hush overwhelmed the crowd as both shame and confusion stood like cemented poles in a windstorm.

Slowly Pastor Wally stood to his feet and walked past Sorenson on the stage.

“Well, as announced, we will now take the vote.  Ushers, if you could move to the front pews, gather the blank paper sheets, and pass them around.  Each of you will take the paper, write “yes” if you believe Pastor Sorenson should continue his pastoral duties here at West Middleton and write “no” if you do not believe that is possible.  You may . . .”

“Hold up there Wally!”  Barry Graystone interrupted, much to Pastor Wally’s dismay.  The two had gone through more than than their share of disagreements, and only one of them was Graystone’s failure to call him by his “proper title.”

Graystone continued.  “I’ve had enough of this “pious smut” from you people.”  Heads turned quickly at the rising tone of his voice.”  We are in a church, and you can’t find time before something like this, as ludicrous as it is, to offer up a prayer to the Lord?”

Pastor Wally stood speechless.

“Well, if you won’t, I will.”

The thought of being caught “less spiritual” than a parishioner frightened Wally, so he acknowledged his fault and began to “call out to God.”

They took the vote.  60% to 40% in favor of keeping Pastor Sorenson as their pastor.  His speech . . .or God, certainly changed many hearts that evening, and as people began to slowly shuffle out, his supporters flocked around him in love.  The other 40% probably drove home and walked to the yellow pages, opening the large info book straight up to the heading, “Churches.”

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