I’m not advocating this, but for the first 4 years I had a car (ages 21-24), only the first year did I have all the up-to-date “state-needed” credentials to owning and driving a car.  Ya know, things like car insurance, registrations, etc…?  For whatever reason, I had this great fear of the RMV.  So I learned to drive cautiously, like a scared bird flying over a gang of alley cats.  Every time I drove, I had all eyes open and ready to pull in some strange parking lot or driveway for fear that I would get stopped by a patrolling officer ready to take down the evil “non-compliant” boy from the midwest.

One time my first year in Holden, I was driving back to my apt. from a late night Boston excursion with some friends, and I finally arrived on to Bullard St around 2 am.  As I drove the mile down the street to my apt., I passed a cruiser pulling on to Bullard from one of its 4 side streets in that mile.  I was driving slowly enough, but the cruiser turned my way and followed me from a distance.  Knowing I wouldn’t speed up, and he would eventually catch up to me and probably see one of my many “non-compliant ways”, I gambled a bit.  I pulled into the driveway of  a house on Bullard St.  I had no idea whose house, just a house.  About the time I came to a complete stop, the cruiser slowly drove by, and I was left to wonder what I should do.

The cruiser turned right on to the next street, but I knew that the next street was a big loop and the officer had to eventually return to Bullard St.  So quickly I got out of the car, walked over to a huge (and wondrously low to the ground) pine tree, and dove under the pine tree.  Sure enough, the cruiser came out on to Bullard St and passed the house and my car once again, and this time even more slowly.  When the cruiser finally left my sight, I jumped up, rushed to the car with an adrenaline shot twice as powerful as any Monster drink, put it in reverse, and drove the rest of the half mile trip I had left.

Not that night, but eventually, I did get caught in my non-compliance, and I did turn from my evil ways and get all the credentials I need to be a good and safe driver in Massachusetts, but the one thing I, and my lovely wife Carie always remember is the way I drove during that time.

For this weekend, as we drove from Leominster back to our house in Holden, Carie complained that she was getting sick.  So she begged me:  “Please drive nice.  I’d like you to drive nice.  I’d like you to drive the way you used to drive before you started driving legally.”

I laughed, slowed down a lot, and looked around for a driveway or a parking lot.

I have a fear that when we have a “good idea” at Fellowship Church, the idea in our minds won’t translate to getting across a real point of spiritual significance, but will translate into “Man, that sucked.”

Several weeks ago, Carie and I celebrated our 5 year anniversary at the Italian restaurant where Carie’s sister Jessica works.  It’s a nice restaurant that only recently opened by occupying another failed Italian restaurant.  The experience was enjoyable, the food amazingly delicious, and the only negative was the ambiance given off by the restaurant’s 1970ish looking decor.

Fast forward to last weekend when Carie and I decided to hit up a brand new Italian Restaurant in the same city that reoccupied a closed McDonalds.  To say I was skeptical of whether it would be a good experience or not is to under-exaggerate.  I figured that I would not be able to get past the fact that I had spent some time ordering “two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun” at this establishment.  For a short time at the new restaurant I felt this way, but eventually they won me over having redecorated the entire building, so only the outside was reminiscent of the golden arches.  Then the wait staff was outstanding, and the food was even better than the aforementioned Italian restaurant we visited on our anniversary.  (It should be mentioned here in all fairness that we have only eaten at both restaurants once, and in both cases the food was great!)  Also, the restaurant was packed, for this particular restaurant has four other restaurants in Massachusetts, and they clearly did a great job of building their platform nicely on this launching weekend.  Food, check.  Wait staff, check, check.  Atmosphere, triple check.

On the way home, Carie wanted to encourage her sister, who was working at the first restaurant, so we decided to stop by there for dessert.  The first thing we noticed as we walked in was the number of cars in the parking lot.  Clearly most of the Italian restaurant connoisseurs decided to eat we ate that night, as the parking lot loomed largely empty.  As we walked in, the same vibe that had illuminated Jessica’s place of employment 2 weeks earlier had clearly disappeared as we wondered if this was really the result of a new restaurant in town.

The hostess sat down in a booth, and within two minutes of sitting, we noticed something was going on about 20 yards from us on the other side of the bar.  It looked like…No, it couldn’t be.  “Are they setting up for Karaoke?” I asked Carie in disbelief.  Alas, the woman leading the karaoke in charge was about to answer my question as she picked up the microphone and made an announcement that singing and good times would begin in about 5 minutes.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked Carie and now Jessica as she also stood in apparent disbelief, having not known about this before we walked in.  In the next 5 minutes, three couples formerly sitting in booths and enjoying the remains of there dinners quickly left the scene.  And then as tradition has it, the woman leading the Karaoke charge takes the mic, asks the Dj to push play, and begins to bellow a nasty country song worthy of any honky tonk on any side of the ‘ol Mississip.  A new couple walked in holding menus and walked towards a booth, then realizing what was happening, and about the time they were passing our booth, silently and with cat like prowess, they turned around and walked out.  The woman leading the Karaoke charge kept on bellowing.  Nothing could stop her.  And Carie and I were witnesses to the unraveling of a classy Italian restaurant.

Jessica served us our fancy desserts as some guy who had a halfway decent hit a grand slam with a U2 song, the only runs of the evening.  She responded to my inquiries about who in the world thought it was a good idea for a nice Italian restaurant to host karaoke by telling me the Chef was pissed and felt like the evening was a slap in the face to him and his kitchen staff.  By the time we walked out for the evening, the bar held a handful of wedding singers and the booths were practically empty.  Later, the owner confessed to his staff that he was trying to boost his bar numbers, and thought this was a great way to do it.

So he compromised what his restaurant was great at for a lackluster attempt to resurrect what was not going so well, and the result -  at least for that evening…

An epic failure in every area of the restaurant.

This weekend is July 4th weekend.  I live in Massachusetts.

The big thing to do in Massachusetts on July 4th, and I mean really big, is go to Boston.  I’ve done this a few times now, and it is really big and really awesome.  The drawback is that millions of other people agree with you and will be there with you, making the ride to leave the city of Boston impossible to do at a decent hour.

A few years ago at Fellowship, we started a new “tradition” on the Sunday of July 4th weekend.  We began having an outdoor service and a party on our property that day.  Last year, the church surprised me by celebrating my 10th anniversary here at this church.  It’s amazing to be around the people you love.  To hang out and play games and talk and enjoy the beauty of God’s creation with your closest friends.

This year, the two events happen to coincide:  Boston’s July 4th, and the Party in the Park.

And if I had my choice (cause really I don’t this week), I’d go relational before I would experiential.

We love the experiential, don’t we?  To experience big things and huge events and the next great adventure.  But one thing I learned a long time ago is that if I had the choice to do experiential or relational, I should pick relational.  I should be where I know people love me and care about me.  I should pour into them and allow them to pour into me.  And I should wallow in the experience of being with my community.  This is why I’ve turned down free tickets to huge games and concerts to attend date night with my wife or small groups during the week.  Because I know at the end of the day, my wife, and the people I share life with, are going to be there with me long after the season ends or the newest tour is finished.

When I was in high school, I had the opportunity to travel on a trip to Mexico with my friends, classmates, and teachers.  It was kind of a missions trip and kind of a learning adventure to an area  of Mexico called Monterrey.  The trip had been planned and we were all pretty excited to go, when I received a call from my uncle Matt, telling me he had some tickets for me to see DC Talk at his church, and then he was sure I would be able to meet them.  I loved DC Talk!!!  It was going to be so epic, and I couldn’t wait, and it was right in the middle of my planned trip to Mexico.

Naturally, I begged my dad to let me go.  I told him it was only Mexico, like one country away, and I could save my traveling for going to a country farther away some day, and that this opportunity wouldn’t last forever, and that DC Talk’s Free at last was the best album ever.  My dad wasn’t feeling it though, and he calmly said I could go to any concert I wanted after I came back from Mexico.

I learned some big lessons on that trip.  I remember eating a jalapeno so hot that it made me vomit in the middle of the street.  I remember the exhilaration of having a high school crush to the experience of said crush taking my heart and crushing it in her cold bony fingers (that’s poetic more than literal, btw).  I remember the beauty of the mountains in Mexico, and the smell of the marketplace cooking in the towns.  But most of all, I remember the people I met there and the people with whom I traveled.  Amazing people.  People who poured into my life for years and helped make not only this experience, but most experiences in the early part of my life much better.

I’ve since gone to numerous DC Talk shows, and seen about 100 other incredible concerts since then, but the one thing I have since learned, that I believe helped change my life, was when it comes to making a decision – Should I do this or this? – Always make that decision with the people who love you the most in mind.

Experiences will come and go, but relationships will tell the world who you really were.

*By the way, this post isn’t even about how horrible July 4th in Boston is.  My friend Jay goes every year with his closest friends (minus me) and makes a day of it.

Something about the human nature that you’ve no doubt seen or experienced, and the chances are good that you’ve done it:  Most of us have probably gone on record in social networking either by blogging or twittering or “facebook statusing” to make some sort of reactionary statement against something that has either happened to them in the past or a perceived popular notion that easily has another side that’s been apparently neglected by whoever came up with the notion.

I’m thinking about this because recently I’ve seen many people take a few jabs at Rick Warren in the Facebook world.  Now I understand taking jabs at some extremes like the KJV only position or preaching against alcohol or any number of insane extreme personal convictions that are not backed up by Scripture but simply by the Holy Spirit convicting an individual (this of course is not wrong, and I applaud those who have different convictions from others), but come on, Rick Warren?

The guy preaches what he preaches, and it is the gospel, gives away 90% of his income, and so now countless numbers of people decide that this guys fluff, why?  Because he’s not reformed or uses his influence to reach far outside of the church?  One thing I’m learning about the church and myself:  We need to pick on someone.  We have a desire in our hearts (clearly not from the Spirit, so where’s it coming from?) to find what we assume is a weakness in someone because of what they didn’t say or what their book didn’t point out, and we call them out.  I call them out.

Enough of that crap!  I’m not doing it anymore.  If someone’s preaching a gospel that’s different than the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus, that’s one thing.  But Fellowship Church in Massachusetts will not be known for our who we pick on or who we call out.  We are called to build up, and encourage, and esteem others better than ourselves.  And that starts with me.

And that starts now.

I’ve been thinking about this concept all day, and to be honest it kind of hurts my head, so I thought I’d share it with you, and maybe release some of the pressure.

Should my identity be made up by my ideas?

To break it down, I’m basically asking, “Should Marty be Marty and be seen as the Marty that people know because of what Marty believes to be true?”

I used to think yes, but now I’m not so sure.  Why?

Because it’s almost impossible (if not impossible) to love someone whose identity you associate with someone who diametrically opposes you in terms of belief.

I grew up a Creationist.  Not in the scientific realm, but in the “God said it, and so did my parents, so I believe it” realm.  When I first moved to Massachusetts, I remember  having lunch at the 99 with a friend of mine who had a science degree from WPI, and my friend basically told me that he believed in evolution, but he was also a Christian.  He called it “Theistic Evolution.”  Because I grew up associating the identity of people with what they believed, my world was crushed as this person who I trusted had quickly become someone who, to me, not only believed scandalous things, but could not possibly be a a true Christ follower.

Thankfully, I reconciled with my friend, and to this day we have a great relationship, but first, I had to separate my friend from what he believed.  Not that I should have to agree with or ignore what he believed, but I first am called to love people before anything else. (See Deuteronomy and that guy who “gave His life” in the New Testament).  So…

I am Marty.  And the first thing you need to know about me is I am loved and am created to love.

Mike Burns.

As Mike sits in my living room doing work while I write this post, I think of the first time I met him.  He sported a white baseball shirt with yellow sleeves, Royal blue shorts with a white stripe down the sides that said he stole the outfit from the set of “The Royal Tennenbaums”, and had in his hand his Les Paul electric guitar that he was uniquely qualified to make sound like he was born to play.  So I use this Fridays edition of “3 reasons you should know” to highlight one of my closest friends, who lives in Germany.  So here they are:

1.  He will question in order to find the truth.
You don’t want to walk into a conversation with Mr.  Burns without knowing what you believe, and even if you know what you believe, it would be idiotic of you to make outlandish statements that you read in a forward email in order to make your point.  Mike has a thirst for the truth, and seems to focus his life on eventually finding it.  He will seek an answer and research every possible option before coming to his conclusion.

2.  He is one of the most talented people I’ve met.
Whether it has been playing the guitar (he’s one of the best guitarists I know), or making a video, building a web site design or engineering his own sound equipment from chewing gum and an earring the same way MacGyver builds a bomb, Burns can do it.  I’ve only met a handful of people just as talented, and I’m thinking even fewer than that more so.

3.  He acts like a child.
I mean this in a very literal way, both good and bad.  He will do anything, anytime, and anywhere.  He is into experiences, and this thirst brought him from Maine to Massachusetts and presently to Munich where he has an amazing job that allows him to travel as far as Ireland, Italy, and the Ukraine.  This has been one of the things that has impressed me the most about Mike.  We are called to be childlike in our approach to God, and though he’s far from perfect, I have this sneaking suspicion that this approach to life allows him to hold God as an important part of his life, despite all the questions that haven’t been answered in his mind.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Mike Burns.

Hanging out with Mike and Roo after an 18 hour drive

The times I remember the most are the ones I had to get off my duff and have.

The time Carie told me she’d never ever date me, then two weeks later, after she had time to reconsider, I remember watching the sun set on a Friday night (August 29, 2003, if you were wondering) listening to the reasons why she changed her mind.

Or the time I drove to Massachusetts in 1997 on about 2 hours notice because I had 5 days of nothingness.  The trip took 18 hours of driving solo.  Then after hanging out with my friends Ruben and Mike for 2.5 days, I headed back 18 hours to Atlanta.  Oh yeah, and I had just arrived into Atlanta from Tucson, AZ (35 hour drive) that evening.

Or the time Dave and I decided to gank a newspaper machine from out front a dollar store.

Or watching a play I wrote and directed be performed on Easter 2001 here at Fellowship Church.

Or taking pictures with the family in Mexico that our team had built a small house for.

Or the time last Saturday when I stood inside of a crowd of people, mostly younger, and jumped up and down to a few hard core Christian bands for the first time in more than 5 years.  I kept thinking to myself, I’m too old to be here.  But after reading Donald Miller’s newest work of art, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, I realized I was just creating another memorable scene in my life.  The kind of scene that I will look back and and be happy that God put me on this earth to live out an incredible story of memorable scenes.  Not necessarily a story (on this earth anyway) with an incredible climax where all my problems go away and my life eventually resolves itself, but one of fulfillment through Jesus and…

a whole lot more memorable scenes.

I did it last week.

I walked up to the man I had waved at for the last 5 years (at least) and said “hi, I’m Marty”.  It took me a while, but I finally did it.  For years I had been driving by his house and like a good neighbor from about 5 houses down I would beep and wave and he would always beep and wave back with a big smile on his face.  So one time a few weeks ago I drove by and waved and he waved back, and this time, after I’d driven by, I decided to turn around and pull into his driveway and say hello.  I did that, but when I pulled in, he was nowhere to be found.

So last week I had a second opportunity.  I had driven to get lunch, and was on my way back to the office, when I saw him again.  the man knows how to take care of his lawn.  It is always immaculate and perfect.  Like he’s a barber of his lawn or something.  So I drove by and waved, and then thought about turning around again.  “But my lunch will get cold” I tell myself.  “Who cares?  It’s just food”, my other shoulder quipped.  I hit the brakes and turned around.

He was there and we talked.  For the first time in over 5 years of waving and 10 years of “relative” neighboring I stopped, got out of my car, and said hi to the man.

His name is Bob and he’s been retired for 25 years, living here in Massachusetts.  He used to work in masonry and brick laying, loves his wife, has grown kids, and smiles at me because he thinks I look like his son.  We talked for about 20 minutes, then his wife called him in, and I drove back to the office, smiling that I met a new friend that day.

I’m glad I turned around.

1. Worcester Scary Scavenger Hunt

2. 12 Days of Christmas parties

He grabbed his hard hat, keys, and what was left of his wallet, and headed out the door.  George Wikley emanated a complete sense of frustration at what was happening at his home this morning.  George woke up having to work like any other Saturday, and the idea of fighting with his wife AND teenage son wasn’t first on his “to do” list.

Let’s see, he thought to himself slamming the door of his 1950′s cape style house in Paxton, Massachusetts, They’re mad because I was too loud.  They’re mad because there was no food in the house for breakfast.  Gee, I wonder if there is anything else we can blame me for? I’m glad I wasn’t around for Pearl Harbor.

The problems George faced paled in light of hunger, AIDS, and famine in Africa, or war in several other parts of the world, or even financial difficulties that so many fought against right there in suburban U.S.A. because of layoffs and the economic breakdown.  No his problems stemmed from relationships.  He hated his wife, and he hated his son.

No, not really hated…but almost.

Communication at this point in the Wikley household consisted of asking George for money, asking George for more money, or swearing at George because he announced after the question (or sometimes before) that he had no money.  And so on a daily basis George yelled, screamed, and swore back, leaving him a zombie each time he walked out the door of his own house.

Thankfully this Saturday was sunny and cool, not really a normal late June day even in Massachusetts.  The last several weeks brought little but rain, rain, and more rain to his world, so if nothing else, today was a brief respite in the sky.  Thank you weatherman, he smiled as he opened the door of his Verizon truck the supervisor postion he held at the popular phone company allowed him to drive home.

After a few minutes of driving as the sun beat down on his face, the newness of the beautiful day wore off, and the clouds of his heart came flooding back to him, remembering the earlier fight with his family.  He transformed into a zombie again.  Realizing he needed gas before he drove in to get his orders for the day, he turned left instead of his usual right onto West Mountain St, then an immediate right onto W. Boylston St.

The Mobil gas station was the closest, so he drove in, got out of his truck, and started pumping gas.  Today he didn’t care what the environmentalists thought about the company.  It was the closest, and he would almost be late.  Plus his son was a newbie environmentalist, thanks to the local  “treehugger” club at the Wachusett School he attended.  He joked to himself, He always had the money sucking vampire traits of my wife, and the desire to change the world like me.  Sick combination.

Through the intense thinking going on in his mind today, he neglected to realize the pump kept stopping and he kept squeezing, causing the gas to eventually flow out onto his brown work boots.  That’s okay.  Brawn (his best friend at work) smells like gas every day at work. He jumped into his truck, turned the key, and began the short half a mile drive to work from this station.  He drove around the back of the gas station, and towards the exit deep in thought.

As he drove past the pump on the other side of the station, a women got out of the passenger side of a white GMC Sierra 1500, and leaned her arms on the truck bed, stretching her legs out a few feet into his driving path.  Besides the woman was blond, small, and beautiful, he had to get to work.  George always froze when he talked to beautiful women, so he decided instead to beep her out of the way.  Clearly her husband or boyfriend or whoever he was that was pumping the gas on the other side of the truck did not like the beeping of his woman from 4 feet away, because he moved around the front of the white truck and had a few words to say for George and his “stupid Verizon truck.”  But those were the only intelligible words he could understand as he drove out of the parking lot, and back the way he came.  So I guess I won’t tell that dumb idiot that he’s putting regular gas into a diesel engine.

George remembered when he used to care about people.  What they thought and who they were.  He remembered having a desire to help people and to do something important with his life, because as his priest used to say, “More bliss can be got by serving others than merely serving oneself.”  Yeah well, I wish I would have kept going to church and dragged my wife and kid along too.

George finally arrived at work thinking about what he used to be like and what he used to want. He parked next to Brawn as he always did, and the two walked in together as they always did.

“How ya doin bron (as George pronounced his best friends nickname)?”
“Oh, I’m great for a fat old man George!” Brawn responded.  But I’m about tired of  my wife and daughter.  You wanna trade families?