Playground Theology

My buddy Jesse was at the park with his boys last week, pushing them on the swings. On the swings next to his boys, two 8 year olds were swinging. Here was their conversation:

Kid A: I’m nine.
Kid B: No you’re not, you’re eight.
Kid A: I know.

Kid B: God hates liars. Liars don’t go to heaven.
Kid A: I know, liars go to hell.
Kid B: We don’t say hell. We just say ‘don’t go to heaven.’

Kid A: (after a pause) I want to go to heaven.
Kid B: yeah, good luck with that one.

Pretty funny dialogue between Kid B, our fundamentalist in training, and Kid A, who needs a caring adult to build into his confidence level.

But it does bring up an interesting reality…on our own strength, it’s good luck getting into heaven. Due to the deceptiveness of our sinful nature, because of the habitation of dragons that our hearts are, we don’t stand a candle’s chance in a windstorm. There’s a Kid A in all of us, cocksure, rule making, judgmentalist, and morally superior creating the kind of proud, hard people that are incapable of seeing our arrogant position before God. There’s a Kid B in all of us, weak minded and weak willed, unsure of ourselves and doing and saying things just to fit in with the hard world around us, which means that moral compromise is a constant temptation. That’s why the good news of Jesus is such good news. He is the one who justifies, making it just as if I never sinned. He is the one who cleanses and forgives, who heals and makes whole. He softens our hardness and strengthens our weakness. He is the one who loves me, even in my unlovable places. He loves you in your unlovable places too. He loves both Kid A and Kid B, despite themselves.

The good news is that you don’t have to trust to good luck for heaven.
The good news is that you can trust Jesus.

I Pray for Miley

Today on my run, I confess that I listened to Miley Cyrus on my wife’s ipod. Already my friend Jesse would be mocking me, that is, if he ever read my blog. Through my daughter, Miley, or Hannah Montana, has invaded our home, via Disney TV, cd’s played in our car, and merchandise like cups, nightlights, and toothbrushes. Miley is a big deal around here. So I thought I’d write Miley a quick note. You are welcome to read it, too.

Dear Miley,
I pray for you. I invite others to pray for you as well. I bet that might come across sounding hard, or meanspirited, but that’s not my heart. It is offered with compassion and grace. Here’s what I mean:

Miley, you have achieved the kind of stardom and wealth that very, very few people ever achieve. I’m talking Solomon-like wealth. Flipping through an issue of Time, I read that last year, your merchandise net alone brought in 1.3 billion dollars. Bring in the way Disney has packaged your TV personality into a product. Add in the CD sales and your 3-D concert movie. Remember that you can sell out a stadium concert faster than anyone ever has. There’s a lot of gravy flowing, and Billy Ray’s little girl is riding it at breakneck speed. Since wealth is power, I pray that you’ll steward yours well.

As far as I know, Miley, you are like 16 years old. I can remember how chaotic and circus-like my life was at 16. There was friend drama, the weeks that circled around our Friday night football games, the invites to parties, the time I crashed my car, and of course the pinnacles and heartbreaks swirling around the quest for a girlfriend. And if life was crazy for me at 16, I can’t imagine how crazy it would be for a person who is an uber-gazillionaire. In America, celebrity is royalty, and Miley, you are the current reigning princess. That has to mess with your head. So I pray that it doesn’t.

Not only that, but I remember making some pretty dumb moves as a 16 year old. And the thought of having every bonehead move photographed and splashed on the front page of a gossip rag is just shameful. I mean that literally…it produces shame. To know that everything you do, every boy you go out with, every fight you have with your dad will be news…I imagine that produces an overwhelming amount of pressure. So I pray for you.

I ran to the punk-pop-beat of your songs today, and I was admiring them. The come across like 80’s tunes (I cut my chops on the 80’s) filled with energy, and a bubble-gum-smack voice that cracks at just the right time, like Cosette from my Les Mis Broadway Soundtrack (I am hoping this is a compliment to you both). But here is why I truly like them…the Lyrics. Wholesome, filled with themes of love, of falling in love, and of empowerment. You sing a song to your deceased grandfather called I Miss You, and it’s touching. You have a song with a chorus that says, “Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not strong enough.” And when I see my daughter belting those words out with all that she’s got, I get this crazy lump in my throat. There are so many negative and hurtful messages in the songs of our culture, and I celebrate the ones that are joyful or quality. And so I pray for yours.

In fact, the biggest reason that I pray for you, Miley is my daughter, Alex. My daughter is 8 years old. She wears glasses and plays soccer. She has the most beautiful, innocent, compassionate soul that I’ve ever seen. She befriends everyone, especially the kids that don’t have a ton of other friends. Once her teacher brought in a new student, mid-year, who didn’t speak much English. Alex moved her seat to sit next to her, and stayed with her all day showing her around school, and introduced her to all her friends. The only reason I know this is because her teacher emailed the story to us, and both my wife and I teared up when we read it. I’m tearing up right now as I try to figure out how to communicate the absolute golden nature of this beautiful child of God who has Jesus in her heart and Hannah Montana on her wall. For one reason or another, Alex has made room for you in her heart. Miley, what you say matters to Alex. How you live matters. The lyrics in your songs matter, and the choices that you make…I just want you to know, they matter.

They don’t matter to the paparazzi who want to exploit you for a buck. They don’t matter to your PR folks who can figure out how to spin your life in an interesting way and sell the story to VH1. They don’t matter to handlers and managers, because the wild exploits of celebrities are what keep them in business. But they matter to little girls who have never had a hero before, and who have decided that you’re it. Life is going to try to knock those stars out of her eyes soon enough, and so I’m hoping…I’m begging…I am praying for you. I’m praying that you would please handle her heart with care.

And as I pray for you, I’d love to remind you that at the end of the day, this voice, this honor, this wealth, this ride, and this life that you’ve been given…you’ve been given it all by God. He loves you just because you’re you, I know you know that. And the greatest thing you can do, is to offer it all back to Him as a gift.

I’m praying for you.

Sincerely,

Just a Dad

Random

When I was 19 I lived in Heidelberg, Germany as a part of a study abroad program with Pepperdine University. My good friend, Toph, was there all year, and I arrived for the second semester. I wrote a book about it called Miles to Cross, which has sold dozens. You’d like it. I’ll make you a good deal. I’ve got a few in my garage.

That’s not what’s random.

In the fall of 1989, before I joined them, the Pepperdine Students from Heidelberg were on a field trip to Berlin. The city was in an uproar, with thousands of protestors on the streets, gathered at the Brandenburg Gate, and standing on the wall. THE WALL. The Berlin Wall, splitting the city and freedom in two, and standing on top of the wall, right smack in the middle of an historic moment, were my friends from Pepperdine.

That was the night the wall fell. People from the east were helped up and over, and the crisp wind from the west stung the tears running freely down hopeful faces. I visited the wall a couple months later, and chipped off some pieces to save before it existed only in memory.

None of this is what is random.

Today, I’m walking through the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte, NC. Billy is such a total and complete stud, a true hero of faith, and a pillar of integrity. Throughout the museum, there are film clips of moments of history that Billy Graham contributed to. There were clips of the times he visited behind the Iron Curtain, where people gathered in mass to hear him proclaim good news in a cold war. And he was able to enter soon after the wall fell and crowds upwards of 150,000 came out to try to hear him. Again, not qualifying as random.

Here is what is random:

One of the film clips shows two students helping people up onto the wall. One of the students is wearing round glasses and a red coat. Both students look familiar, so I do a double-take. My eyes pop out of my head, Roger Rabbit-ish. It’s my buddy Toph and our friend Barry, helping people up and out. A triumph of freedom, a pivotal moment in history, and two college students blissfully participating in the revolution.

Since I don’t really believe in random, I’m struck by thoughts: 1) the world is really small, and 2) God is really good. I imagine him smiling at the way he jumped me with joy and friendship in the middle of a Library in Charlotte.

And 3) you really never know when the camera is rolling.

Glosoli II

I found this poem, and it fits perfectly with the Glosoli entry from last week:

Come to the edge,
He said.
They said:
We are afraid.
Come to the edge,
He said.
They came.
He pushed them.
And they flew…

-Guillaume Apollinaire

Chalk Poet

I finished another long run on Friday. As I was walking to my car at Riverfront Park, I noticed a message. It was written in chalk on the pavement, in nice, curly script, as if it were written by a careful and intelligent young girl. Here is what it said:

“As I sit here
I have noticed
That the drop of a hat
Or the turning of a wheel
Can change everything.
I have decided that means
That I should make
My life count
And I think
You should too.”


It moved me, as I imagined a young girl, marred by tragedy in her life, nevertheless chooses to live.

I did a funeral for a man named Bill. He was a great man, a good husband, a gentle father, and a committed follower of Jesus. He used to say, by way of commentary on the difficult things in this world, "Life is but a vapor." It is.

Life can change. It can end, or it can reveal sudden glory, and many times it ends up doing both in an instant. At the drop of a hat, or the turning of a wheel. And this reminder, leaping suddenly upon me from the wet pavement, to make life count.

Jesus calls us to life. To make life count. Full life. Rich life. Abundant life. And then, eternal life. It’s being offered right now. He offers himself. And having Jesus crash into your life, crash into even the most broken and wounded places of your life, and covering it with this indescribable love…that is an event that happens in an instant, and changes everything. In an instant in my life, on a rainy beach in Malibu, everything changed. I have decided that means that I should make my life count. And I think you should too.

My thanks to the Chalk Poet of Riverfront Park. My prayers as well.

Let’s make it count.

My Son's Tooth

Caleb lost a tooth.

He's thrilled. He really wants to meet the tooth fairy. He lost the tooth at Tae Kwon Do. His instructor pulled it out. It bled a little bit and Caleb grinned ear to ear. When I saw him I hugged him huge and he told me the story, with a new little whistle in his cadence.

Stop growing, I told him. And I meant it. Not really. But I want to savor these days while my kiddo is still a boy. This is one of those milestone days.

He's also shaving, I might add. He uses shaving cream, and a disposable razor that has the plastic cap glued on it. After he finishes he rubs his chin and whispers, smooth...smooth. Stop growing, dude!

Oh, and I think he has a girlfriend. I know he has a girl that likes him, and spends time with him at school, and who follows him around quite a bit. I was at the Ice Cream Social. I saw it. I don't know exactly how he feels about her, but I know he likes being friends with her. To be fair, he's got a ton of friends who are boys. But then again, there are also 5th grade girls who think he is just so cute, and wave at him, and hug him goodbye. STOP GROWING! Seriously.

For now, the tooth fairy is excitement enough.

Marathoning

The Bible says that a believer without a church home is like an organ without a body, a child without a family…
Or, I might add, a marathon without a running partner…

Last year, I rand the Rock and Roll Marathon in San Diego…this year, Portland. I ran the last one with my buddy Toph, this one with my buddy Stooky. I call him the The Stook. It sounds more like a mafia name, which is a plus. Don't mess with The Stook.

I haven't been training as well for this one. I ran a 22 miler last Friday, and my knees almost went into full revolt. Ice and Ibuprophen, both are gifts from Jesus, both helped tremendously on Friday night, both begin with the letter i, as in the sentence, "I need some help with the pain in my knees." Needless to say, I'm sweating this one. I was well trained for the last one, I knew my pace, I knew what splits I needed to maintain to hit my goal, I was ready. But even in last year's race, my knees started to hurt. My IT bands tightened up. And honestly, around mile 16, I was just plain tired. If I was running alone, I would have just bagged it, it was that bad. But you see, I was running with my buddy Toph.

And because we were running together, I WAS encouraged by him. He’d say things like, “Let’s just run the next four miles together. We’ll just do a little four mile jog. No worries. Anyone can run four miles.” We’d ask each other “how you doing?” but honestly, the biggest support I think we both gave and received was just the support of being in the race together.

And this faith is a race, and we’re running in such a way as to get the prize. But I guess what I'm trying to say is just this... that faith is one race is one you can’t run alone.