LifeThoughts from Khris

How About a Holy Kiss?

2006-03-14T20:34:00.000-08:00

Ever notice how many times Paul tells his readers to greet each other with a holy kiss? It’s in the books of Romans, 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, 2 Thessalonians, 1 Peter and I’m sure there are others.

I think this is a lost art in the church today.

I know, I know a lot of people say our handshakes today are sort of like their kisses of yesterday.

I’m just not convinced. Are you? Didn't they have hands back then like we do today?

I believe the kiss was a little more serious than a handshake. Back then, it’s as if before the churches met they would offer the holy kiss to say I forgive you. To say you are in fellowship with me and I’m in fellowship with you. This was done so that when they sat down at the communion table there were no fractures in their relationships. How important this is…to have no fractures in your relationships with your brothers and sisters before you take holy communion.

It’s as if that kiss said we may have had our differences, but that’s all behind us now. I accept you. You accept me. That’s the way the church is. We need each other to get through tough times in a tough world.

There are quite of few kisses in the Bible. Many are kisses to be friendly or used as a greeting, others are kisses to be very friendly. And I guess that “greeting” kiss is what Paul talks about. Meaning, this is how Christians greeted each other as members of one family in Christ united in holy love. Anybody can shake your hand, but how do you know if its disingenuous or not? A kiss is quite different, isn’t it?

With all this said, that kiss from Judas was the most hypocritical kiss in the Bible. It's not that he shook the hand of Jesus and said hello and good to see you again. No, this was a kiss of greeting and acceptance. This fake gets under my skin. It makes me angry. But I guess I should ask how many times have I been like Judas to brothers and sisters…to Christ himself?

Now I’m not advocating that we re-employ this kissing thing, especially since back then men typically greeted men and women greeted women…and you know what our culture would say about that.

As a single guy, I would be open to bringing back that old tradition, but of course with a few changes. The Greeting Ministry would finally get the volunteers they’ve been begging for. And it certainly would enhance the reputation of the congregation of being friendly or not.

All kidding aside, I guess it’s a call that we all take the extra effort to mend what Satan loves and that is broken, fractured and even strained relationships in the kingdom of God. What do you think?

Family Roots

2006-02-13T20:39:00.000-08:00

One of the coolest things that I’ve ever received is my family tree on my Mom’s side of the family. I received this just before Christmas and it’s been fun to absorb it all. The farthest back it goes is to the year 1567. Here’s part of the tree (all a matter of public record of course):

1. Me
2. John, Jr. and Jackey Robinson (Mom and Dad)
3. Clarence and Elizabeth Woodard (Grandfather and Grandmother)

Here are the greats:

1. Will and Emma Woodard (great grandparents)
2. Jesse and Cynthia Woodard (great, great grandparents)
3. William and Milly Chipman (great, great, great grandparents)
4. James and Elizabeth Chipman (great, great, great, great grandparents)
5. Steven and Agnes Chipman (great, great, great, great, great grandparents)
6. Peter Perez “Paris” and Margaret Chipman (great, great, great, great, great, great grandparents)
7. John Hale and Hope Chipman (great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandparents)
8. a. Thomas and Agnes Chipman (great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandparents from Dorchester, England). Thomas was born in 1567.
b. John and Elizabeth Howland (great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandparents from Huntingdonshire, England). John was born in 1592.

Probably the coolest name is from my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather Israel Skelton from Ireland…what a cool name! And yes I am part Irish. Somebody kiss me.

Based on this information, I am also part Scottish, English and Choctaw Indian.

A lot of the info in this record of family history. It shows when and where they were born, as well as when and where they died…even many of the cemetery locations. Also, many of the listings show occupations. A lot of farmers in the family. One of my great uncles was James “Sport” Woodard. Another cool name was Audy Bee Woodard.

On my Dad’s side of the family, there’s a lot of Dutch in us. I’m taking the steps to get the family tree completed on his side. What great gifts for my children when they get older.

The Christmas Encounter

2005-12-27T07:32:00.000-08:00

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. This year I’ve been more deliberate about keeping Christ in Christmas. Too many liberal agendas out there to remove Christ from everything. Therefore, I’ve intentionally said “Merry Christmas” to just about everyone I’ve greeted…at the service station, stores, dry cleaners, etc. Every one of them returned the blessing with another heartfelt “Merry Christmas to you too!”

My Christmas goes on through the New Year weekend…that’s when we go to Missouri to see my Mom and Stepfather. In fact, I do my shopping for them after Christmas and I usually can get some pretty good deals. So, that’s the plan for today and tomorrow. I did brave the Galleria yesterday. Something happened that was quite disturbing:

I was in JC Penney in the Men’s Department looking for a new pair of Dockers pants (I always buy myself something for Christmas). I overheard this man who was obviously from another country. He spoke with an accent and I couldn’t quite make it out. It was either Middle Eastern or maybe from a place like Turkey. Since it was difficult to find a store employee to help him, he asked (in English, but with an obvious accent) another customer to help him understand this particular sale for a shirt. He also had a receipt with him as though he was comparing the sale price with what was on his receipt. The other customer, a man probably in his late 50’s or early 60’s said in a louder than normal voice, “Speak English! Speak English! I can’t understand you. You better speak English around me! Speak English!” The less than helpful man walked away mumbling, “I don’t know anything about it, I don’t want anything to do with it.” The guy needing help just stood there in shock. He looked embarrassed, very sad and hurt by this rejection. I couldn’t stand it, so I went up to him and asked what he needed help with. I was not able to help him with his question, but a store employee finally came and did. He was grateful and thanked me for being nice and trying. As I turned to leave, I noticed the older guy that refused to try to help was still in the Department, not more than 30 feet away. He was looking at some pants with his wife and we briefly made eye contact. I almost went up to him to tell him that he just took Christ out of Christmas, but I didn’t. But I’m sure the look on my face sent a message that seared his skull and, hopefully, pierced his heart….

For Christmas, I actually baked a pie. It’s called Razzleberry Pie…with lots of blackberries and raspberries!! It was fantastic! The only thing missing was a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. I guess I’ll have to bake it again and get some ice cream just to get it right.

I must say that my cooking skills have been greatly enhanced this past year. My daughter, Bailey, says I make the best spaghetti ever. Recently, I’ve added a Mexican Chip Dip and a Spicy (not too spicy) Soup with pasta that will warm your soul…I still have to come up with a name for this. All my friends at church have been impressed. Next up, I think I’ll try something like Hawaiian Chicken.

Anyone else hungry? I’ll make sure I have enough to go around. Any Christmas Encounters you'd like to share?

Born in the wrong era?

2005-12-20T09:19:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had the feeling that you were born in the wrong era? I’m not sure why I feel that way sometimes. Sometimes I wish had served in World War II…the height of patriotism for our country. I feel like I was left out. I can see myself in England and then landing in France and then on to Germany…or on a PT Boat somewhere in the South Pacific.

And then, to live in the 1940’s and 1950’s in America when things were simpler.

Back then, a kid could ride their bike anywhere and your parents would not be aprehensive about it at all. Today, that simply isn't the case, at least in many neighborhoods. Too many weirdos out there. And, there weren’t a whole lot of choices back then. Just a few brand of automobiles. Full service at the gas station with no extra charge from people wearing a uniform and a cool hat. A few brand of soft drinks…nothing diet. Lot’s of radio where your imagination could fly with shows like The Shadow or Jack Armstrong. And, you shared in a family meal…almost everyday. There were so few things to distract people with (i.e., video games), people pretty much had to relate with each other. You shared in community. You had to know people and talk to them. You knew the storeowners, a few doctors in town, the local sheriff, the town barber (Oh no, I just got a picture of Floyd in my mind!).

Don’t get me wrong, I know the folks back then had their share of trials and tribulations (there is nothing new under the sun).

And, I do like the era I’m in…better medical care…I can get cash from a machine…whole wheat bread…the NIV version…The Message…microwaves…blogging with a laptop, etc. But sometimes I long for a different time.

How about you? If you could live in a different time, when and where would that be? What draws you to that?

Christ Displaces Worry

2005-11-23T08:56:00.000-08:00

From Philippians 4 (The Message):

"Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in him! Make it clear as you can to all you meet that you're on their side, working with them and not against them. Help them see that the Master is about to arrive. He could show up any minute!

Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious--the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies."

I pray that we'll all be able to let go of our worries and allow Christ to be at the center of our lives...I know I need to do this. God bless and Happy Thanksgiving!

Little Known Facts About Me...tagged again!

2005-11-08T17:43:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged again.

Here's how it works. When you are tagged you must post 10 interesting and little known facts about yourself. Then tag 5-10 of your blog buddies! Here are my little known and interesting facts (not in any particular order):

1. Vermont, Rhode Island, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Utah, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming and New Jersey are the only states I have not been in...only 10 to go (I like to travel)
2. I tried out for the Cincinnati Reds (eons ago...prefer the Cardinals)
3. I love writing songs
4. I used to the be the Cartoon Editor for The Saturday Evening Post magazine
5. I have a fear of my legs going bald when I get old (I keep looking for a receding hair line...should go well with the Bermuda shorts and black knee socks)
6. I ran 10 miles around the Indianapolis 500 MotorSpeedway (4 times around)
7. I get a real charge out of hitting the sweet spot on a golf ball and playing my fade perfectly
8. I can do an Elvis impersonation while doing tricks with a yo-yo
9. Never been to Europe, but I long to visit Germany, Austria, Italy and Switzerland
10. I love reading history...especially about World War II

and one to grow on:

11. I can't understand why God would persistently pursue me with his tender mercy and love, but I'm so glad he does.

I tag:

Donna
Terri
Mae Ann
Greg
Garry

Tag, You're It!

2005-11-04T18:36:00.000-08:00

Looks like I’ve been tagged by Donna.

The rules:

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions. Ponder it for meaning, subtext or hidden agendas.
5. Tag five people to do the same.

Unfortunately, I’ve only had 22 blogs. So we’ll have to use that. Here is the 5th sentence:

“I’ve got a badly bruised shoulder.”

This was in reference to when my daughter and I were slammed into by someone running a stop sign.

I really can’t think of a deep, profound thought here. Other than a scripture a friend gave me:

“A righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from then all; He protects all his bones, not one of them will be broken.”

Psalms 34:19-20

Perhaps you have some insight on the 5th sentence? If not, I’m going to the library with Terri….

At any rate, I’m tagging:

Greg
Garry
Sheila
Mandee
Clarissa

If you’ve already been tagged, disregard. Thanks!

Precious Fractions

2005-10-25T20:16:00.000-07:00

It’s been a distressing two weeks. On October 17, while taking Bailey to school, a driver in a white Honda Accord ran a stop sign and slammed right into us. The greatest blessing is that Bailey walked away without a scratch. She was shook up pretty bad though. I’ve got a badly bruised shoulder. The Pathfinder was a total loss. I don’t ever recall getting hit this hard. There were no tire marks from her car, meaning she didn’t slow down a bit…a direct hit at 35-40 mph. Fortunately, we were hit in the left front side of our Nissan…a fraction of a second later and we would have been T-boned.

The driver said the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see the stop sign and she was on an unfamiliar road. She readily admitted she was at fault. In the end, her insurance company paid off my loan, paid my sales tax, title cost and gave me the down payment amount that I had put down on the Pathfinder so I can use on a new vehicle. When it is not your fault, the negotiations definitely weigh in your favor.

Bailey is now 13 years old and this is her 4th automobile accident:

1st: She was and infant. Her mother flipped a mini-van on the interstate. She was unharmed…just hanging upside down in her car seat.

2nd: She and her brother were just leaving my place. Andy was driving and noticed Bailey did not buckle up her seat belt (we’re very safety conscience). He reached over to buckle her up and he accidentally turned the wheel…a direct hit into a tree. Bailey smashed her head into the windshield. She did not go through the glass. A fraction more of force and she would have, but she did leave a bubble in the windshield. I hate to imagine what would have happened if her head went through the glass. It was bad enough with her head full of glass.

3rd: She was in the back seat of her mom’s car. Andy was in the passenger seat. They were driving back from Nashville on I-65 south...going about 75 mph. This accident happened at mile marker #11 near Pulaski. Witnesses say a lady in a brown Nissan Maxima was easily going over 100 mph and weaving in and out of traffic. She clipped their car and they went spinning. They landed in a tree. This is the miracle: Bailey was in the back taking a snooze (with her seatbelt on of course). Seconds before this happened, Bailey woke up suddenly and sat up in the middle of the backseat. She sat Indian style with her feat in the seat. At that very moment, they were hit. If Bailey had kept her feet on the floorboard, they would have been crushed. The left rear tire ended up where Bailey had laid her head to take a nap. A branch did penetrate the soft tissue of her throat right where your vocal chords, trachea, etc. hang out. The doctor said a fraction more and she would not be here today.

And now the fourth.

Quite frankly, I’m tired of her being the target of so many accidents. Our singing class Wednesday prayed that Bailey will never be in another car wreck for the rest of her life…she’s had way too much.

I am very grateful to God for keeping Bailey in her seatbelt and for holding our Pathfinder back and preventing a far worse accident. I’m grateful to God for keeping Bailey fastened in her car seat when she was an infant, for reducing the centrifugal force of her head as it crashed into the windshield in her second wreck, and for holding back Bailey from being hurt worse from the tree branch in her third. I'm so thankful for the precious fractions of life God has blessed her with.

Would you mind saying a prayer tonight for my girl? It’s tugging at dear old dad’s heart.

Desperate Destination

2005-09-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

Often as a young boy, me and my brother would visit my Grandmother (Granny) and Grandfather (Granddaddy) in Caruthersville, MO (southeastern Missouri, right near the Mississippi River) during the summer months for a few weeks.

We would hang out with my cousin, Tim, the whole time. My Aunt Betty (Tim’s mom) lived about 3 miles from Granny and Granddaddy. We always looked forward to going to Aunt Betty’s so we could go crawdad fishing in a nearby creek. We would steal bologna or raw bacon from her refrigerator to use for bait. We would just tie a small piece of bologna to the end of a string and we’d be in business.

Tim would ride his bike to Granny’s house to see us. There were so many times that the three of us would ride on one bicycle to get to Aunt Betty’s house. When one or three are desperate to get somewhere, you can get pretty creative.

One would be riding on the handle-bars, one would be sitting on the seat with feet on the pedals. The other would be steering. He would be sort of standing on the feet of the one sitting down helping him pedal. We called it double-pedaling.

The one sitting down always ended up with sore feet, because his feet were being scrunched by the other. The one standing up pedaling always had sore legs. And the other one on the handlebars had the worst of it. He had a sore rear-end, was nervous and was just plain vulnerable.

We would rotate these positions to be fair. But we would not be denied of our destination. On the way we would always stop off at the pet store to check out the exotic life of this world (turtles and snakes). It was always a refreshing, air conditioned break.

It reminds me of our journey to our real home…heaven. Sometimes I look back and see how desperate I have or haven't been for Jesus in my life. Sadly, too often I've been more desperate for what I wanted than for being close to God.

The journey can be downright uncomfortable and painful at times. And sometimes we need a brother or sister to help us double-pedal through some tough times. When you share it someone else, the pain can be coped with a little better. And, sometimes we need to take a break to get refreshed as we continue on the journey.

How about you? Experienced any creative ways to get to where you want to go?

"Speak"

2005-08-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

My good friend and brother in Christ, Ron Dodson, gave me a book to read. Ron is the Director of Secondary Curriculum and Instruction for the Hoover, AL School system...obviously, when Ron recommends something, I'm going to heed his advice.

The book is simply called "Speak". It's written by Laurie Halse Anderson.

He gave me the book because he has a heart for children and genuinely cares about them. I am grateful that he thought about my daughter. Bailey is 13 and has a shy, sweet spirit. She is headed for high school as a freshman in August 2006. Ron simply said I need to read this book and seriously consider getting Bailey to read it as well. He said the things that are depicted in this book occur in high school more often than we think. His word carries a lot of credibility to me.

It's about a young girl named Melinda, going into high school as a freshman, and the unfortunate circumstances she would have to face. She was raped by a senior in high school at a party right before the school year started. It's surprisingly written in the first person. Her anger, guilt, shame, emotional struggle with family, with school, with relationships with students and teachers will embrace your emotions.

Although I had to wade through the first few chapters, once I got into the last three quarters of the book, I did not put it down until I read the last word. It is written in such a way that not only appeals to adults, but at the level of which a young teenage girl could relate as well.

My intention is to make sure Bailey reads this in the spring of 2006...right around the time when she is finishing up 8th grade.

I cannot say this enough: Any parent that has a daughter about to go into high school, that is currently in high school or is even in college, must read this book. And then, give this book to your daughter as a gift...make sure she reads it. In my opinion and if at all possible, it would be particularly pivotal if this was a gift from her dad.

Anyone that has a caring heart for teenage girls, please read this book.

I didn't realize that girls could be so mean to each other until I read this book. Is this actually true? Perhaps some of you ladies can confirm this? In the midst of her turmoil and desperation, Melinda becomes a teenage outcast.

"Speak" to your daughters through this book...please. Thank you Ron for recommending it.

The Age of Innocence Lost

2005-08-22T06:22:00.000-07:00

I recall when I was a young boy growing up in St. Louis, MO and the adventures me and my neighborhood friends would find ourselves in, especially during the summer months. School was always out the Friday before Memorial Day and did not start again until the Tuesday after Labor Day. So we had a full three months of recess. It was a time of real innocence. I guess it is good these days for some kids, but for us there was very little structure during our summers, so our imaginations took over. We didn’t have cable TV, video games or the Internet, for which I’m thankful. They tend to imagine too much for us.

Back then Little League baseball was over by the time summer began and we spent nearly every day playing pick up baseball games in makeshift baseball fields. The apple tree was always in play. We always pretended to be various players on The St. Louis Cardinals baseball team. I was always my favorite player. His number was 20…Lou Brock. My brother was Mike Shannon. After the game we’d all get on our bikes and pedal over to the QuickStop (this is also where my brother and I would occasionally go to buy bread for Mom or cigarettes for Dad) and we would buy Grape Slush drinks and a pack of baseball cards and apple bubble gum.

I don’t see the sandlot games being played much anymore…too bad. There is so much structure in our children’s lives these days. Today there are Spring Leagues, Summer Leagues, Fall Leagues and Winter Leagues for just about every sport and the kids are bussed around town in our SUVs from one game to the next. Hurry-up-and-get-there lives. These days, there has to be a schedule for everything that’s happening or else our chaotic lives wouldn’t be organized and we would literally feel out of control.

I remember the time Tom, Gary, David, Tim, Mike, me and my brother Bryant, would make our own go-carts out of plywood, two-by-fours, lawn mower and/or wagon wheels (no engines of course). Our steering was usually done with two pieces of rope, just pull to the right and you’d go right (most of the time). We would attach anything we could find to these Indy 500 race cars that would make them look cool, like a flashlight for the headlight. We’d start at the top of Sims Avenue (one road over from where I lived on Jane Avenue). It had the steepest incline in the neighborhood and man we would fly down that hill, unless of course a wheel came off. My dog Mucho loved to chase us. Nowadays kids would rather travel around in their own golf cart in the neighborhood. My, how times have changed. There was nothing like the adventure and the imagination when you were building your own.

We were big into comic books. At times we would get on our bikes and take a trip (about 3 miles) to the Ben Franklin dime store. There they had the comic book machines and each comic cost 12 cents. You’d put a dime and two pennies in the machine, pull the lever and out came your favorite superhero. We were in shock when the price went up to 15 cents. We would then cross the street to the soda fountain and order a Coke and one of those packaged hamburgers that would have to be heated up in a microwave. Not bad with plenty of mustard. We’d talk about the exciting things Spiderman or Captain America found themselves in and wondered what would happen in the next issue.

At night I would lie in bead with my transistor AM radio and listen to the Cardinals play baseball. With Harry Carey and Jack Buck announcing the games, I felt I was right there in the stadium…I imagined every pitch, every hit…every play.

Looking back, for me my younger days were like paintings by Norman Rockwell. Beautiful memories. How I miss those long-gone innocent days of youth. Any special moments for you that you miss when you were a child that you particularly treasure?

Here Yesterday, Gone Today

2005-08-16T09:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm back now.

Yesterday was a pivotal day for the Robinson clan. My son Andy and his wife, Amanda, moved to St. Louis. I woke up today and realized that all of the yesterdays before, Andy has been around. Never has he lived in another city away from Mom or Dad since he has been born.

I have close friends who are experiencing this for the first time as well this year (some others have gone through this already), and it is quite a milestone when it happens to you.

Amanda recently graduated from Auburn University and received a full scholarship for medical school at Washington University in St. Louis. Andy is still in the process of getting his undergrad degree and is transferring up there to a local college (he is doing quite well, by the way, with grades and all).

It was sad to see them take off with a u-haul trailer in tow at about 2:30 pm yesterday, hoping they would be okay. I was also excited for them and for what God will bring into their future.

Bailey is pretty sad about seeing big brother move away like this. Please keep them in your prayers.

I remember when I moved out at 17 years old. I had graduated early from high school. After saving practically all of my money from a summer job I joined the Army (to get the old G.I. Bill so they would pay 100% of my college education) for four years. Before being shipped out to bootcamp in November 1975, I took a little journey on my own. I flew from Indianpolis (where I lived with my Dad) to Los Angeles to visit some friends for a couple of days. I flew from there to Milwaukee (where my Mom was living at the time) for a couple more days. Then I flew to Memphis and took a bus to southeastern Missouri to visit my grandparents. After that I flew back to Indy and then on to Philadelphia and went fishing in the Deleware Bay with my grandfather...and then back to Indy and in to the military, which took me first to Fort Jackson, South Carolina. At that point, I was truly on my own.

How about you? Any interesting stories about when you or your child moved out for good?

Off the Beaten Path

2005-07-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

Oftentimes when traveling, I’ll try to take the ‘road less traveled by,’ just to see what’s there and to check the scenery. I have this desire to be away from congested interstates and intersections and would much rather take a scenic route that has a white-capped stream, mountains that reach for the sky, valleys that are rich with wonder…as long as it doesn’t take me too far out of my way.

Well I’ve been called for a three-day visit this week to the Asheville, NC area. I am really looking forward to this trip, not so much the destination. A few years ago I went to Lake Lure, NC (near Chimney Rock, which is near Bat Cave, which is near Asheville). Instead of the super slab route of I-20 from Birmingham to Atlanta, and then up the interstate through South Carolina and then on to North Carolina, I went to Cleveland, TN and cut across some backroads by the Ocoee, through the mountains and into Asheville.

It is quite picturesque. I’m looking forward to the same route again and glorifying God for what he has created. My thoughts go to Isaiah 55:8-13 (from The Message):

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD .
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the LORD's renown,
for an everlasting sign,
which will not be destroyed."

How about you? Are you always a beaten-path person or one that needs to discover and experience a different trail from time to time? Do you ever have the need to just get away from all the congestion? What has been your favorite trail that gave you an everlasting sign...one you discovered that really surprised you? Happy Trails!

A Reminiscent Dad

2005-05-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure where to begin with this post. My emotions are very mixed right now and it's easy for me to get all choked up. Andy, my only son (he's 22), is getting married this Saturday (May 28, 2005). I'm very happy for him, but I keep thinking back on his life and reliving some of the memories.

There are so many poignant moments to go back to. As he was growing up I always had this hope that he would not be lost or alone. I grew up as an Air Force brat...went to 3 elementary schools, 4 junior highs and 4 high schools...tough for a kid to make close friends (except for the 4-year stretch at the same school in St. Louis from 2nd-5th grade). I know what it was like trying to fit in, wanting to be accepted and relating with others. I'm still a loner and sometimes have a difficult time in a crowded room. I didn't want that for him.

I remember when we first moved to Kansas City, MO and visited the Gladstone Church of Christ (where we ended up worshipping) for the first time. Andy was 5. The building was kind of odd. Obviously, an education wing had been added to the structure some time later after the original place was built and it was obvious it wasn't designed by the original architect, but all in all it was a very functional building. What was weird is that from the foyer there were two main hallways going to the educational wing. A set of classrooms and a conference room separated the two hallways. They would both connect to another hall and if you'd turn right you would get to all the classrooms. Then, you could go downstairs to other classrooms. There was a main exit door to the parking lot from the foyer. There was also an exit door from the downstairs classrooms. The sidewalk from that door would intersect with the sidewalk leading from the main foyer exit. Hope that explains it.

Anyway, Andy's Bible Class was in a downstairs classroom. After Bible Study I headed down to his class to pick him up. The classroom was dark and empty. Obviously, the teacher had led everyone upstairs after class. So, back upstairs to the auditorium. Only, there was no Andy. He must be in the foyer. Nope. Looked down one of the main halls. Wasn't there. Down the other. Wasn't there either. Okay, I decided to head back to the classroom and look in each class. No one there. I headed outside and looked out over the parking lot. Nope. Back up the main door into the foyer and back in the auditorium. He must be there by now. Still, he was not there. I kep thinking this can't be happening. Next, I looked down one hallway again. Nothing. Finally, I stationed myself at the end of the far hallway in the foyer where I was able to see the main door, the entry into the other hallway and the two entrances to the auditorium. After a few moments, I saw him at the end of the hallway. Whew! What really tore at my heart was his demeanor. He was very cautious. Unsure. It's as if he had been looking everywhere for me to no avail and now decided to search the entire building methodically. He was walking very slow...he would take a step and look around...take another step and look around. His eyes showed concern, but afraid to panic in front of strangers. He looked so lost and wanted badly to be found. Finally, he saw me and we met halfway in the hall.

I hate the thought of him being lost in a strange place. But if he ever would get lost, I wanted him to be able to find me easily. I know how easy it is for Satan to deceive one into being lost in the maze of life.

I'm struggling with us not being able to hang out as much anymore. One thing he and I have always enjoyed over the last 3-4 years is that he would come over and we'd have a Risk marathon night. We'd play the game of Risk and conqueor the world, eat fried chicken and watch a movie. We always enjoy making fun of movies (like the old Science Fiction Mystery Theatre).

I'm struggling with the mistakes I've made as a father. There are even times I could have spent a little more time with him, but didn't. I'm struggling with not being closer to him. I'm wondering why I couldn't have been a better dad. Don't get me wrong, there were many, many good times we have shared. But I can't help asking did I do everything I possibly could do as a father to prepare him for his life? I can honestly and sadly say no I did not do everything I possibly could have done. For that, I'm very, very sorry. I only hope that what I did do, that God will bless that and make Andy a better man for it. One thing is for sure, God can more than make up for my shortcomings and beyond.

About a month ago Andy told me about the book he is reading. He said he was reading "Wild At Heart" by John Elldredge. He said it teaches him about the male psyche. Oh Lord thank you. Let him always seek your guidance and your answers.

I pray that his marriage to Amanda Bonner will be a blessing to God. The wedding is supposed to be an Irish wedding...bagpipes at the reception. Just glad I don't have to wear a kilt (but I would have for him)....

God is a Bird Watcher

2005-05-13T13:39:00.000-07:00

There is an estimated 10,000 different bird species on the planet. Roughly 925 different species in the U.S. alone. There are 65 bird species in Antartica. Do you have any idea what the world population is for birds? I don't either. But, in 1951 there was an estimated 100 billion birds in the world. 1956, the U.S. was credited with 5.6 billion of our fowl friends (out of all of them, my favorite is the Morning Dove). Some fifty years later, I'm sure the numbers are at least that amount. Probably far more with all those baby boomer birds out there.

Now look at this: Estimates from the Center for Earth and Environmental Sciences to the Society of Conservation Biology to the World Book Encyclopedia estimate that there are anywhere from 2 million to 100 million different species alone in the animal kingdom (not counting the population for each of the species...totaling in the billions for sure).

Now look at this from the NIV:

Luke 12:4-7
"I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him. Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

God has not forgotten one sparrow on this planet. Out of the billions of animals and insects, not one is forgotten by God (even the bird from my previous post). Wow. Let that sink in. He provides for them and cares for them. God is really big.

No one has been forgotten. Including you and me. In fact, you and I are worth a whole lot more than sparrows. The Message says that you are worth more than a million canaries. God cares and values his creation. And cares deeply for you. No matter what, God is in love with you.

Do not be afraid...you and I are valuable to God. Often in my life, I need to hear these words. I can get wrapped up in a lot of worry and become afraid and I tend to forget that God is so much bigger than any of my problems.

I pray that your heart and mine embraces the fact that God completely loves and cares for us.

I Shot the Bird

2005-04-09T08:21:00.000-07:00

No, it’s not what you’re thinking (as far as you know). I was actually thinking back when I was in 4th grade when I literally killed a bird. It was a Robin and afterwards I felt terrible. It was a warm summer day in St. Louis. I walked out of our house on Jane Avenue with my brand new Daisy BB gun. This was going to be a great day! I was excited about shooting at apples in the apple tree and impressing my friends as I picked off a can here and a made-up bulls-eye there. I knew I could be The Rifleman (old western TV show starring Chuck Connors).

I was by myself walking through a wooded area near our home when I suddenly stopped. There it was. Not more than fifteen feet away, the Robin was perched in a tree. It never occurred to me why it didn’t fly away. It was on a branch that was just a few feet off the ground. What a great target, I thought. At 9 years old, I always knew I could be the greatest hunter in Africa and now this was the beginning for me.

I slowly took aim as it just sat there unaware of its impending doom. I fired. What? I could swear I hit the bird. It did nothing. It didn’t fly. It just sat there looking around. Okay, maybe I missed, but I was more determined. Take aim. Fire! Bullseye! Dead center. It just sat there. I became more brave (like it took bravery to shoot a bird) and moved in closer. Fire. It’s a hit! No movement. Closer. Fire. Another hit! No movement. Closer. Fire. Another hit! I must have put 7 BBs in this bird, but it never flew away, nor did it fall to the ground.

I started feeling bad about the whole thing and walked away…knowing this bird was going to die a slow death. I never shot the bird again. Or for that matter, any other bird…again. I felt terrible the rest of the day. Maybe it’s because it just sat there taking each shot. And maybe if it flew away I wouldn’t have felt so bad. But no.

Years later, sometimes when I think of that story I think of Jesus on a tree…just a few feet off the ground…taking all the shots I can give him. All of them. All of my sin. While He died a slow death. And how I can, even today, continue to shoot at Him with all of my sin and the mistakes I make…and He just takes it.

Dear Jesus I am so sorry for hurting you…please don’t leave me behind when you come back.

Fire and the Flame

2005-03-14T07:01:00.000-08:00

I wrote these lyrics a couple of weeks ago and wanted to share them with you. Hope you like:

Fire and the Flame

Verse 1
Faith came back
To my soul, I’d say
Back from doubt
That I had made

Verse 2
Hope came back
To my heart today
Back from fear
That I portrayed

Chorus
My soul whispers with hope again
The hours of my life became gray
Aliveness in my soul begins
Purified by fire and the flame

Oh the holy fire and the flame
Came to melt a heart made of steel
Confronting me with all my shame
Allowing me to love and feel

Verse 3
Love came back
To my heart I prayed
Back from hate
That I displayed

Repeat Chorus

Oh the holy fire and the flame

Copyright 2005 Khris Robinson

Calling Me Home

2005-02-07T18:13:00.000-08:00

It's 8:40 p.m., February 7, 2005. My grandmother, Elizabeth Woodard, is on the brink of saying goodbye to this world. She's 97 and has been suffering greatly. I'm not sure how all this works, but her lungs are shutting down, so she is now breathing from her stomach. She is retaining fluid and her kidneys are malfunctioning. Her body is simply not responding to anything. She is sedated. Also, my Mom is totally exhausted and the doctors have had to treat her because she's been hyperventilating.

I will miss my grandmother terribly, but I will celebrate her salvation in Christ (where there are no goodbyes). When Lynn Kirkland's dad died, I wrote the following. I keep thinking about this:

Calling Me Home

Verse 1
It’s the song of angels
The whisper of your heart
The mark of a new life
Like a dove flying to the ark

Verse 2
The doorway to Canaan
A land full of promise
It’s a faith that is sure
Sure as a mother’s loving kiss

Chorus
Feelings of home again
Mornings eternal joy
Inviting me to live
Like a child with Christmas toys

A ship sailing to shore
The call of love’s poem
The voice of a Savior
Is calling me home
Is calling me home

Verse 3
That far country homecoming
A father’s acceptance
A smile that’s found again
Cheering eternity’s dance

Verse 4
The weight of the world gone
New life in these dry bones
A melody for me
I hear it calling me home

Repeat Chorus

A ship sailing to shore
The call of love’s poem
The voice of a Savior
Is calling me home
Is calling me home

Copyright 2003 Khris Robinson

I will speak at her funeral...there is so much to say from my heart, but I'm struggling with my thoughts right now.
Appreciate the prayers.

Last Words

2005-01-14T13:40:00.000-08:00

Today is January 14, 2005. The 22nd will be the anniversary of my Dad's death. A lot has been on my mind lately about him. His birthday was also January 5.

One of my favorite ways to express myself and my love for the Lord is through writing songs or poetry. It is my time with God. Below is a song I wrote about Dad when he died. But first, some context. My dad had become a Christian decades ago, but as time passed he never grew close to Jesus. Didn't go to church and never was involved with kingdom business. Never took me or my brother to church. During the last couple of years of his life, he became very ill. Much of this was from a lifetime of smoking. He had severe emphysema. He also had two anyeurisms...both caught in time and surgically removed. One was on a main artery of his heart. This surgery, along with other ailments really took a lot from him. From this point on, his physical health began to fade quickly. Over the last year of his life, he was put in the hospital at least 5 times for pneumonia.

I remember being with him in the hospital shortly before he died. I was alone with him and I asked him, "Dad, have you been praying? Have you been talking with God?" What he said next was what I longed to hear all my life. He said, "Yes, I've been praying. Sometimes just sort of half way, but I have been praying."

I told him that I was proud of him and I thanked him for being my dad. I told him to keep praying even if it was just half way, because the Holy Spirit will pick up where he left off.

Later that same day my brother and I was in his room when the medical staff came in and told him there was nothing more they could do....Hospice would have to take care of him at home until he died. No matter how bad off you are, those words are quite shocking. He cried. I stroked his hair.

Below is the song I wrote called "Last Words". I've shared this with Greg Miles and a few others and I've always been grateful for their love and friendship.

Last Words

He said I'm sorry for the life I lived
Wishing I could do things that I did not
Wanting to take back a path from my heart
Will you forgive me and take...back the lost

He said I'm sorry for what I didn't give
The times that I could but chose not to spend
With a hurting heart or to hold a hand
I see all I missed, now I...need a friend

As the years disappear as precious time
And looking-back lives see all the regrets
Is there hope to ease the heart and mind,
Is it too late to turn and cry for forgiveness?
As life here floats away like a feather
Your last words can be your first...forever

He said I'm not able to make my bed
Hold a broken man's heart and keep it near
Will you fold my linens and keep them close?
Amazing grace how sweet the sound...to my tears

As the years disappear as precious time
And looking-back lives see all the regrets
Is there hope to ease the heart and mind,
Is it too late to turn and cry for forgiveness?
As life here floats away like a feather
Your last words can be your first...forever

Your last words can be your first...
Oh your last words can be your first...
Your last words can be your first...forever

Copyright 2004 Khris Robinson

Love is Extravagant!

2005-01-04T18:30:00.000-08:00

Her eyes lit up as my mom, Bailey and I walked into her room at the nursing home. She masked the pain she was feeling with a beautiful smile of surprise. “Merry Christmas” “We’ve missed you” “You look great!” “Remember when…” all phrases that have been repeated for years, but still rich with meaning and love.

My 97-year old grandmother (Elizabeth Woodard), affectionately known as “Granny”, lay in her nursing home bed in Gideon, Missouri as we visited New Years weekend. My dear Granny. How I miss your homemade cinnamon rolls and chocolate pie. We showed up while she was in great abdominal pain. I know they’ve been changing her medication, maybe this was the cause…. After a few moments, we needed to call for assistance. I stroked her hair and told her I loved her and that help was on the way. “They” showed up and gave her something…we had to leave while the medical staff ministered to her.

But soon we were able to return and she began to feel better. Some day sweetie you will be in a place where there will be no more pain. It was a wonderful day to spend with her. She said she would die with a smile on her face because she knows she’s going to be in heaven. Thank you Lord for her life…she’s the one that led me to you.

I cherished the time we had to talk and share memories about our time together. We talked about a lot of things that have occurred in this world during her life (World War I, World War II, Korean War, Vietnam, Gulf War, Industrial Revolution, Technological advances, music, Berlin Wall, travels, camping…everything! Including the Lord’s blessings). Lord, I hope you have a place for Granny to fish! It’s always fun to watch Bailey with her. She and Granny have always been real close…like two kids playing.

It was painful to leave. I didn’t think she was going to stop hugging Bailey. She cried thinking she would not see us again. Love is extravagant! She cried softly, “I don’t want you to leave me.” She’s been without Granddaddy now for some 27 years. Never remarried. Her loyalty remains. Love is extravagant! I still feel her words clawing at my heart. Words of not wanting to be left behind. I still see my Grandmother’s frail, 97-year old body lying in the bed. Thank you Lord for blessing my life with hers….her life will always be a blessing to me...Lord, your sacrifice, your gifts and your love is truly extravagant!

Polka-dot Basketball

2004-12-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how God works in our lives. Some time ago I blogged about my daughter, Bailey, not making the cut on the middle school basketball team. The sting of rejection was apparent in her eyes when she found out. Looking back I realize that God was perhaps showing Bailey that rejection is a part of life. And that Jesus promised He would always meet her there in rough times. She will never have to be alone. And it’s how we respond to situations like this one that will help build character over time…and help her to deal with potential “bigger” rejections (hope they’re not too big) as she gets older.

The neat thing about the story is that we quickly went over to the Vestavia Hills Rec Center to inquire about their basketball league. We had missed the deadline. But, teams had not been selected and assessments had not taken place so we were able to get her in. Of course, we had to pay for her brand new membership at the Rec Center along with it. She was thrilled about that, although she was a little concerned about not knowing anyone there.

Assessments were made and the teams paired up. What’s even cooler about the whole situation is that she is a teammate of Mallory Porterfield. We used to go to church with the Porterfields at the Hoover Church of Christ…that was over six years ago (hard to believe). Plus Stephen Porterfield (Mallory’s dad and an old friend) is one of her coaches! Donna Porterfield (Mallory’s mom) called me and said how excited they were to reconnect.

Also, Bailey is a teammate with Melissa Parrish. We used to go to church with the Parrish’s at the Homewood Church of Christ when we first moved to Birmingham about 16 years ago. Lynn Parrish (Melissa’s mom) is the daughter of Ned and Suzanne Heffington (former shepherd at CrossBridge).

Bailey is so fired up about her team and playing again…God’s beautiful fingerprints are all over this.

The only thing she is not too excited about is the name of her team. The choices were the Pink Panthers or the Pink Polka-Dots….much to Bailey’s chagrin, the team voted for the Polka-Dots.

I told her there was nothing more enjoyable than to have a team named the Pink Polka-Dots beat a team with a name like the Lions or the Tigers or the Bears. Won’t they be embarrassed….I’m not sure Bailey is buying that, but she is thrilled to be playing again. The games will be played at her school (where she didn’t make the cut) every Saturday morning....

The Duke of Hazard

2004-11-17T18:31:00.000-08:00

The dream happened just a few years ago, but I’d like to share it with you. It changed my life. The dream is still as vivid today as it was then and it has opened my eyes to who I am and how Jesus feels about me. I’ll set the context for you:

I grew up loving John Wayne movies. My favorite is The Searchers. I wanted to be Uncle Ethan (J.W.) in the movie. He was the hero. The tough guy. The one driven to chase down the Indians that killed his brother and his family and kidnapped his 8-year old niece. It took him over five years of searching and fighting the roughness of the land to finally come face to face with the outlaw Indian chief named Scar.

Other movies depicted similar character roles for John Wayne. Movies like The Green Beret, The Sons of Katie Elder, Big Jake, The Longest Day, Rio Bravo and True Grit. Movies I can still watch over and over. This giant of a man could seemingly speak every Indian language (at least west of the Mississippi River). He knew what every enemy was thinking. He was always one step ahead. He would have been an incredible professor of cultural history of the frontier west. He was rough and tough and won all the battles. And he left quite an impression on a young boy.

One of his great lines was as the centurion in The Greatest Story Ever Told: “Surely this was the Son of God.” Another great line of the Duke was: “Believing in God is different than drooling over rubies and emeralds” from Legends of the Lost. And then one of my favorite lines was from El Dorado: “I’m lookin’ at a tin star with a drunk pinned on it.”

John Wayne was in my mind a man’s man. He is who I wanted to be. I guess he also affirmed that this is how I should be…since his movie traits were very consistent with my Dad’s…stoic, not one to show outward emotion, stable on the outside, often alone, tough. This is what I thought a real man was all about.

The dream? It was a yellow painted kitchen. An older kitchen like one in a suburban house in the late 1950s. One with Formica counters and an old Formica-style, metal-legged kitchen table with matching chairs. John Wayne was sitting at the table dressed in his familiar tan-colored cowboy pants with a red shirt, blue scarf, leather vest and cowboy boots.

I could not see the face of Jesus for I was standing behind him. His back was to me. He was facing the Duke (Wayne’s nickname for those young enough not to remember). Jesus was dressed in a suit and tie….

Mr. Wayne was eating. He had a paper-plate over-filled with corn bread. In the next scene somehow a good portion of the cornbread ended up on the floor directly underneath the table. And then John Wayne was on his hands and knees under the table eating the cornbread. His face was close to the floor, looking like a dog eating, sort of like a beggar. He was eating with one hand while the other kept him propped up. He had a sad look on his face and would not look up at Jesus. He just kept nervously eating his cornbread. He was obviously distraught.

Something then happened beyond my belief. All of sudden the cowboy of cowboys began to cry. No, not crying, but rather sobbing. He was wailing like I had never seen before. I was awestruck. Here is my hero, the one who never cries. The one who never shows emotion. The one who is supposed to be a man. In control! He can’t do that! The tears flowed like a river down his cheeks.

Then Jesus kneeled down and put his hand on John Wayne’s shoulder. And he said softly, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Then my world was turned upside down. In an instant John Wayne was no longer in the scene...I had taken his place.

I was the one kneeling. I was the one weeping. I was the one broken-hearted. I was the one showing the emotion. I could not stop crying. The sins of my life played over and over in my mind, bringing me back to those traitor moments. I was so choked up from sobbing that I could not speak. But my beggar’s heart ached and cried out with a penitent “I’m sorry.” And the hand of Jesus was on my shoulder. In a beautiful, smiling, assured and soft voice, he said, “It’s okay Khris…I’m here...It’s okay.”

Wow. His hand on me and my name being uttered by the God of the universe was overwhelming. I have always wanted to hear my name spoken by Jesus. And to feel his hand on my shoulder was my heart’s eternal sign of “I Love You” and you are mine. I have never felt so forgiven and so saved in all of my life as I did that moment.

Needless to say the next day was one of great reflection. Does God speak to us in dreams? I know that he can. There are many examples of God speaking to people in dreams in the Bible. Was he speaking to me here? Maybe. Or it could have been so much piled up in me that this was a way for it to be released. No matter, the results of the dream were life-changing.

It’s as if I was coming to grips with all of the facades of my life. That the life of a John Wayne wasn’t real…therefore, part of who I had become was not real. And that it was time to become real. To become the real me…what God had always intended (I’m still working on that one) for me to be. I was forgiven and given. Forgiven of the past. Given a new future and a savior.

I was struck with sadness that so much time in my life had been wasted. The opportunities to really live for Him, for my children, for others were missed. There was so much more I could have done. But then I kept thinking it’s not about doing. And his words of “it’s okay” kept coming back. Calling me to just live in His presence and that a new day has begun.

What about the cornbread? I have no idea what it meant. The yellow kitchen? Who knows? The suit and tie? Maybe it was a reminder of who I had become and how trapped I was. In those days I was just another walking gray suit going through the assembly line of life.

Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have tried so hard to analyze the dream. Maybe I should have just let it go and enjoy the new found freedom in Him. But no. Just as we learned at CrossBridge’s last Men’s Retreat where we studied the “Wild at Heart” book by John Eldredge, sometimes a man has to go into his wound to be set free. Jesus was meeting me there. Looking back, I’m convinced that dream was the beginning of the journey for me. The reassuring words of “I’m here” gave me courage to begin peeling back layer after layer of the wounds of life all in order to be fully free in Christ and to live solely for Him…to be who he made me to be…and to know I would not be going there alone.

That old buckaroo John Wayne is still one of my favorites. But just like me in many ways, he was just acting. The real script of life is now written in my heart and it only says one thing: “Jesus”. It’s the only line I need to remember. I guess I really have become one of The Searchers.

How about you? Had any interesting dreams?

The Tattoos of Life

2004-11-08T06:41:00.000-08:00

My 21-year old son, Andy, has tattoos. Not the kind you wash off at the end of the day of a Fall Festival, but real tattoos. He’s got some on his arms. They center mostly on his Irish heritage, of which he is really into. One is even a Celtic cross. For a long time, I’ve tried to process this old and new again cultural practice. I guess I was stuck in that generation where we didn’t pierce anything or burn things on our skin. So, I’ve struggled with this until recently.

Looking back on my generation, in my early teen years, I had a “Beatle” haircut that covered up my ears. Some of my grooviest clothes to wear were black Beatle boots, black straight-legged pants (not jeans), a black long-sleeved turtle neck shirt, a gold belt with gold socks (I always wondered if I held them up to a light that they might glow in the dark, but I never tried it)…a stunning fashion statement if ever I saw one (just not sure what it was saying)!

In my day we also wore bell-bottomed jeans, beads, cool medallions, psychedelic shirts…we wanted to be different…we wanted an identity and struggled with that separation from the previous generation with a statement that said “I’m somebody, but I’m not you.” The long hair and keen clothes in our minds was “right on”. The music of the day was what we identified with. We liked The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Yes, The Beach Boys, The Temptations, The Doors, Three Dog Night, Simon and Garfunkel, The Who, The Guess Who and of course, the deep, profound lyrics of The Monkees (confession time: I was a member of their fan club). It is fun to reminisce.

To many in the previous generation, we were taking the fast train straight to hell…all of this radical stuff was sinful.

Sadly, when my son got his first tattoo, I felt I failed as a dad. Why? I felt he was taking the fast train straight to hell, of course. I no longer feel this way. But I know how parents in my generation felt. Those feelings, although masked by anger, fear, misunderstanding and disappointment, are feelings motivated out of love. And I’m sure parents of today would prefer Andy not be around their children just so he won’t influence them to get a tattoo or something. It’s viewed as too extreme. He has never said anything, but I think he senses some rejection there.

One thing about my son, he is a cool dude. Here’s a guy that looks like a young Elvis Presley. If you really get to know Andy, you’ll find that he has a sensitive heart. He wants to be part of something bigger than he is; he likes to help. He needs to be wanted. I pray that God will lead him to a place of service in the kingdom, because he really has a servant heart.

Except for this year, he has gone to Honduras for four years in a row to help build homes for Hurricane Mitch victims. But also, to be with the children who are starving to be cared for. Andy has shared with me how God has put this on his heart to go and he looks forward to it each year. It’s as if he found a purpose and that it was communicated from God himself.

Last year I had the opportunity of going to Nashville to pick up the church group at the airport as they returned. I will never forget what Andy said in the van. Garry Brantley asked the group what was the most meaningful thing to them on the trip. Andy said, not just seeing old friends again, but the most meaningful thing to him was his first experience at the Blind School for Children in Honduras. He held an orphaned, blind, 4-year old little boy in his arms. He said the only way the young boy could see him, was by letting him touch his face. What a profound statement from this young man. I choked back tears as I drove thinking how proud I was of Andy letting this boy “see” him.

I hope next year Andy will be given a chance to go to Honduras or somewhere to have his heart and face “touched” by God again. It was such a significant moment in Andy’s life…and in mine.

In fact, I have a picture of Andy holding God…God just happened to be disguised as the 4-year old blind boy. Of course, I don’t know if that was actually the case, but I don’t think I’m too far off on the thought. And, out of his experience, I wrote a song for Andy called, “I Can See You Now”. Even though it is well over a year old, he has never seen nor heard the song. But for Christmas this year, I will have it framed with the picture and give it to him.

The tattoos of life? Scars on the heart. Joy. Being rejected. Blindness. Hope. Groovy things. Tears. Lines on your face (and arms) that tell your unique story. Being different. Being orphaned. Not being picked for the team. Nail pierced hands. Reaching out. Laughter. Being chosen. Serving. Being part of something bigger than you. Needing grace. Holding on. Love.

I accept my son’s tattoos, even if others don’t. They’re a whole lot better than gold socks. I know others struggle with it, just like I did. I pray that they will see beyond them and look deeply into Andy’s heart…right on!

Lord, thank you for my son, Andy. I know that you accept him and I pray that he is accepted by your church as well….wherever that might be.

Did I Make The Team?

2004-10-26T13:42:00.000-07:00

She walked up to the door to the gymnasium with great anticipation. She wanted to go by herself to find out the news. One, she likes to break good news when it happens to see the excitement on someone else's face. Two, she wanted to face any bad news by herself...not wanting to be embarrassed in front of anyone. Taped to the outside of the door was a simple piece of paper with the names chosen for the team....

Bailey has been playing basketball in the Upward league for about 4 years now. Now, it's the big time: 7th-8th grade middle school girls basketball. I've watched her develop her skills along the way. How she has learned to take advantage of the opponent with her left-handed shot that would make Pat Summit dish out scholarship money at the earliest of opportunities. Bailey isn't extremely fast, but certainly not slow. She's deceptively fast. I've seen her take the point and dribble the ball down. Watching her eyes you could see her look at the angles, looking for the open lanes...Driving in fast for the lay up. I've seen her drift to the outside without anyone noticing. Suddenly a teammate would dish the ball to her and...Two points. She's got an incredibly smooth shot and hits the bucket more times than not. She's now dribbling the basketball between her legs.

Her love for the game has grown. Through the usual bumps and bruises...She has braved through getting hit in the head with the ball, an elbow here, a trip to the floor there. But still her courage to get in there would always come back. Most of all, she just had fun.

She also likes to watch the games on TV now...She particularly comments on certain plays that are developed (something I've never quite mastered).

Actually she had it in her mind that she was not going to try out this year. This was when she heard rumors that she would have to do fingertip push-ups. The closer try-outs came, fear was replaced by excitement.

Try-outs were on Wednesday-Friday from 3:00-5:00 pm right after school. Each day she made sure she had her uniform. She heard words of encouragment from her friends and teachers...of course, her family.

All for this moment. Am I on the team? Who got cut? Emotions mixed. What if? I told her before we drove over to the school that Friday evening that we are going out to celebrate. "Dad, we don't even know if I'm on the team." I explained to her that we are going to celebrate regardless. We're going to celebrate the fact that she gave her very best and that's all that mattered to me and that I was very proud of her.

As she left the car to go look at the list, I prayed to God that whatever His will was, that Bailey would glorify Him for the experience. And, that whatever happened, she would learn a great lesson from this. And, that whatever happened, she would not give up. And, that whatever happened, she would come out of this with stronger character. And, that whatever happened, she would never lose her love for the game. And, that whatever happened, she would always have fun playing basketball. And, that whatever happened, as her Dad, I would provide support, love and encouragement and whatever else Dad's are supposed to do when their child makes the team or doesn't make the team.

She walked to the door. Walked back to the car. Got in....and slowly bowed and shook her head no.....

Strangled by Thorns

2004-10-19T13:39:00.002-07:00

I don't know about you, but I struggle with thorny soil...a cluttered life.

We live in a fast-paced culture and Satan loves to take full advantage of it! Just piling more and more into our lives, attempting to render us ineffective in so many areas of kingdom business...and I am often times one of those victims.

With incredible technological advances, many people (including me) are caught up thinking, "This will save me time" (Of course there's no such thing as saving time, you can only spend it). Our culture has conditioned us to add more to our already busy lives because now we can do more things in the same amount of time. At least we think so. And if we don't, we end up feeling guilty. We're conditioned to go, go, go. Fast food, quick lube, microwave ovens, 'convenient' stores, the shortest line, drive thru this and that...hurry, hurry, hurry so we can get to the next thing (can you think of some other examples?). If we think we have more time, we'll add more to our list of things to do. It's all summed up I think in a quote from Billy Crystal in the movie City Slickers: "We don't know where we're going, but we're making good time."

We're also inundated with so many choices that have the same paralytic effect. I go to the grocery store and I stop in my tracks in the cereal aisle...I just stare...there has to be hundreds, maybe thousands (or so it seems), of choices. I'm lost in the world of extra crunch, freeze-dried berries, extra fiber, less sugar, low fat and high in vitamins. All sold to us by ficticious, cartoon characters...as if they are credible enough to recommend something. You know, there used to be only one brand of Cheerios. Two hours later (exageration), I pick the generic brand of Bran Flakes. There must be over 100 brands of bread...at least 20 brands of water (different ingredients?). How many cola drinks are out there? You get my drift...now walk out of the grocery store and look at the choices you have (cars, flooring, lawn mowers, music, cell phones, banks, cable channels, etc.)...there are so many choices you end up lost in a world of out of control consumerism.

I realize that we all have to learn to discern, but I am concerned (hey I rhymed!) about the effect this type of culture will have on our children as they grow up.

Check this out from Mark 4 (from The Message):

"The seed cast in the weeds represents the ones who hear the kingdom news but are overwhelmed with worries about all the things they have to do and all the things they want to get. The stress strangles what they heard, and nothing comes of it."

From the NIV:

"Still others, like seed sown among thorns, hear the word; but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desire for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful."

Ouch...the stress strangles and nothing comes out of what was heard...unfruitful.

I am way to busy. Even too busy with church programs. I want to spend more time building relationships and encouraging others. I don't want my busyness to choke the word any longer...to strangle a fruit bearing life. I think that's why I even look forward now everyday to that cup of coffee on the deck early in the morning to pray and listen to the world wake up. I don't want to be managed by my daytimer anymore. It feels good just to say that....

Anybody else ever feel that way?

Lord, please slow me down so I don't miss the opportunities that you send to me everyday to touch someone's life. Help them to see Jesus in me. Help me to be purposeful in looking for those that need a kind word, their name spoken, a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, a listening heart, encouragement, another person to laugh with, a prayer.

It's beginning to look a lot like....

2004-10-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

Can you believe in only about two months it's that time of year again?

This year will be very different for me. I can't celebrate Christmas with my dad. No phone calls. No visits. No cards. No gifts to give and receive. No anticipation of seeing him again. No sharing of all the things that happened the past year. No reliving old memories. No food to share. His boisterous laugh will not be there.

He died January 22, 2004.

He was always very festive. He loved the holidays. His Christmas tree was like Butterbean on a basketball court...a real wide body.

For him, Christmas brought back memories of when he was a young boy growing up in Pennsylvania. There was usually a white Christmas. He loved the sounds, sights, smells and excitement typically associated with this time of year. The Christmas lights and colors danced in his eyes as if to take him back in time...as if he was a young boy again. Doesn't Christmas do that? He loved the old movies and the music...And, he loved his family being there.

But only this time, he is the one that will not be there.

I reflect back on my life and I am exactly like my dad.

Like my dad, I'm a festive-kind-of guy. This is my favorite time of the year too. While others are dreading to dust off the Christmas CD's, mine are playing in the car. I'm breaking out the sweaters, envisioning where the tree will be placed, starting my list and checking it twice. As I am writing this my senses are alert to: pumpkin pie, turkey in the oven, hot buttered rolls, peppermint, pine, hot apple cider, "Silver Bells" in the background, "It's a Wonderful Life" being cued up, mashed potatoes and lots of gravy, cool autumn air.

My son, Andy, has always enjoyed the holidays, but Bailey (daughter) is totally immersed in them. In fact, when I came in from LifeSong rehearsal last night, I noticed she had taped a note on the wall. It simply said: "I love you Daddy. Merry Christmas!" She can listen to Christmas music year round (don't tell her I told you that!). She watches the movies over and over.

I miss my dad. But it looks like he'll be there afterall...he's seen through the memories and festive spirit he handed down to me and my family...It's going to be a great Christmas....

....is anybody else hungry?

Overwhelmed

2004-10-05T16:41:00.000-07:00

I'm still absorbing like a sponge the Zoe Leadership/Worship Conference. There were so many special moments of worship and fellowship. Above all, I feel the video about the loving father that cared so much for his boy will be emblazoned on my heart and my mind forever. I can't even remember their last name (I think it was Rote...someone correct me). How the father and son completed together a triathalon.

His son had been physically paralyzed from birth (but certainly not mentally). The pictures of his dad pulling the raft occupied by his son as he swam ahead; how his father carried him from station to station; how his dad made his son fly on a bicycle as he pedaled for miles and miles; and how he pushed his boy along while he ran and ran and ran. He seemed to get stronger with each step along the way. And the joy when the race was completed was overwhelming.

The tears of 1,200 broken souls in the Great Hall was overwhelming. There were tears of victory, tears of brokenness, tears of hope, tears of sadness, tears of conviction, tears of repentance, tears of joy, tears of cleansing. All of those tears traced back to the cross and were touched by a Savior.

I kept thinking how God loves his children so much and how he will always carry us, love us, cheer us on, run with us, want us, pull and push us along and celebrate with us. I felt so convicted of the times that I ignored his invitation to just be with me.

I'm taken to Ephesians 3:17-19:

"so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."

There was power in that room that night. And the saints were grasping how wide and how long and how high and deep the love of Christ is...through the power of the ever-present Holy Spirit. And all we could do was praise Jesus. That weekend cannot describe what our home will be like in heaven, but what a wonderful glimpse it was.

When I got home back in Birmingham, my daughter handed me a note: "Hey Daddy!" (that's really all I needed to read) "You are the best dad a girl could ever have. You are so awesome! I love you very much." Bailey

That was my second mountaintop experience that weekend...

Lord, please give me the strength to be a dad for Bailey and Andy like Mr. Rote is for his son...one who is willing to sacrifice it all for his child. Once again, I am overwhelmed with your love. Please Lord come quickly....

This Magic Moment

2004-09-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm "Blog In The Saddle Again"...it's been a week or so since my last blog. It all started with being excited about blogging that I totally forgot my user id (stop laughing). Well, after an extensive trial by error exercise, I've got it back...now it's written everywhere. How embarrassing.

Anyway I've been anxious to share a Magic Moment that occurred last Sunday at the CrossBridge worship service. First of all, we had a fantastic lesson from Garry centering around Hebrews 5:11...you know, the spiritual milk to solid food scripture. Well I found out later, that one of the Adult Bible classes centered on the same scripture and none of this was planned (by man). Then I found out that the High School class also had a class on Hebrews 5:11. Again, this apparent spiritual coincidence was not planned by man. Then, later that evening at our Singles LifeWalk group we had another lesson. We're studying the book by Tony Evans, "Life Essentials". And, of course, the chapter in the book that was studied centered on Hebrews 5:11. Wow.

Obviously, God was trying to tell an entire church something that day that centered around this beautiful passage. I kept thinking, God's word will speak to each person in a different way depending on where they are in life and where they are in their relationship with Him. But, was there a core message here for all?

A lot was discussed from Garry's lesson to the LifeWalk Group. Things like the sin nature versus God's nature and which one in my life was being nourished the most? And whichever one was nourished the most would be the stronger one. What is the source of the nourishment for God's nature (the Word, prayer, a cup of coffee with a fellow Christian, a song of praise, a memory, worship, dependency on Him) versus the source of sins nature (selfishness, greed, pride, the media).

We even looked at Spiritual Pacifiers like: just showing up at the building, feel- good programs, routine and entertainment. I kept asking myself why don't I feed on God's word more often. And when I do, how come I don't clean up the entire plate (as Tony Evans put it)? And I learned that too much time is spent being satisfied with substitutes.

And then, it hit me. It may not have been the core message for everyone (but I have to think for most it was), but it was the core message for me. In our LifeWalk group we moved on to chapter 6:1-3. I've read this many times, but I finally woke up to it. Check this out:

"So let us stop going over the basics of Christianity again and again. Let us go on instead and become mature in our understanding. Surely, we don't need to start all over again with the importance of turning away from evil deeds and placing our faith in God. You don't need further instruction about baptisms, the laying on of hands, the resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgment. And so, God willing, we will move forward to further understanding."

Now, I know that each of us is responsible for going deeper with God and moving on to solid food. However,....as I pondered this thought I really think the Church as a whole, has failed with helping the body to "train itself to recognize the difference between right and wrong and then to do what it right." From my perspective, the body (that includes me) has been living on recycled milk for way too long.

Don't get me wrong, discussions about baptism, etc. are important. But that can't be the center of our teaching. The basics? Baptism. Laying on of hands. Turning away from evil deeds. Resurrection of the dead. Eternal judgment. Importance of faith. It's a shocking indictment to think that me and I'm sure many others who have been around for a while, still have to learn some things about the basics.

Looking back, I realize that I grew up in an era where the basics were viewed as the solid food. Now I know that Christians should always teach new Christians the basics, but now my children are asking solid food questions and all I have are milky answers. Scary.

And as one commentary put it, too often in my life I wanted "God's buffet of spiritual knowledge before I was capable of digesting it." This digesting was dependent upon my spiritual growth.

So what's the solid food? Where do we grow to?

Discernment. Knowing right from wrong. Training the conscience, the senses, the mind, the body to distinguish good from evil. Another commentary says being able to recognize temptation before it ensnares you (of course, Satan is good at setting a trap that you cannot even see, but maturity is how we respond to the trap). Maturity is not moving away from the basics, but moving beyond them to a greater understanding and experience with faith. And on the journey as this becomes who we are, spiritual growth and maturity is the result.

I only hope and pray the church will allow itself to be a source and foundation for spiritual maturity for the body. Moving beyond the basics. Lord knows He's changed enough diapers for me.

What do you think? Am I making any sense on this?

Khris

Undiscovered Country

2004-09-06T14:41:00.000-07:00

Well, here I go! My first blog on my own site...kinda scary and I can blame Greg Miles (one of my best friends and the Worship Leader at CrossBridge Church of Christ). This is definitely undiscovered country...you know, as far as writing about life experiences and revealing who I am (I hope you'll see Jesus, but I know that's not always true in my life).

I'll start by recommending a fantastic book to you. It's called Finding Faith and it's written by Brian McLaren. It's the study of how more than why to find faith. Don't worry, it's not like Twelve Easy Steps to Find Faith in Your Lifetime and You'll Be Okay for Eternity. Reading this book has really entered me into the 'Undiscovered Country' in my life. Especially when he talks about doubting God. Here I am, 46-years old (a Christian since July 1976) and I'm just now learning that I've been relying too much on my faith in my faith. And, I've always equated my faith in my faith to my faith in God...subtle, but two very different things.

And, whenever I have depended on faith in my faith and I have failed, I've always felt guilty and doubted God. But now I know that when my faith in my faith is weak, that's when my faith in God can really increase! That's when I'm not leaning on my own understanding! I'm discovering the undiscovered and finding who God has really called me to be.

I can't wait to hear Brother McLaren speak at the Leadership/Worship Conference in Nashville at the Woodmont Hills Church on September 30-October 2. Many of us from CrossBridge will be attending (this will be my 5th year) and I am blessed more each year for being there.

How about you? How's your faith journey? Am I the only one who has relied on faith in his own faith? If so, I could use your advise. Or at least a helping hand on the way.

Khris