Words

Did you ever notice that God spoke the creation into being? Words are important. Have you ever thought that the best feelings and worst feelings you ever experienced were because of words? Words are important. Have you wondered what someone was saying about you to someone else? Words are important. Was there ever a time when you wished you could take words back with the knowledge that you couldn't? Words are important.

Words allow us to say things like, "Thank you." The spoken or written word also allows us the amazing blessing of making an ass of ourselves by saying, "I hate you," or, well, you can fill in your own thoughts.

I'm a user of words. I'm also an abuser of words. There's no group of which I know that meets to say, "Hello, I'm Clint, and I'm a Word Abuser."

"Hi, Clint!"

God spoke. We were spoken into existence. We heard speech to help us to learn to communicate. We speak.

Sticks and stones is a bunch of boloney, bologna, or whatever type of crappy meat you want to call it. The tongue is an amazing thing.

The tongue can say, "Here am I send me."

The tongue can also say, ".......

The Lunch and The Look...

I just left a board meeting luncheon at a private club atop a downtown bank building. It was a meeting attended by very important people wearing expensive suits and dresses to discuss important Rotary Club events. I exited the elevator, strolled through the important looking lobby with the marble floor and out the door to finish the second half of my day.

As I pulled away from the parking lot, I noticed that I needed fuel so I pulled into a nearby downtown gas station and convenience store. I walked into the store to pay the clerk for the gas that I had pumped when I encountered a strange conversation:

"All I have is $2, give me a break," the lady said as she tried to pry the hamburger she ordered from the hand of the clerk behind the counter. I'll eat a lot of things, but, I've always said the only acceptable food to eat from a convenience store/gas station is one of those nutritious and delicious fried burritos. So it was then I knew that this lady MUST be hungry.

The lady looked terrible. She was rail thin, missing teeth, hair matted, and she smelled worse than she looked. She was obviously drunk or stoned or most likely both as she was unsteady on her feet while arguing.

The lady behind the counter was wearing a nametag on her uniform that said simply, "Mo." She answered her customer, "I've told you not to come in here anymore. You ain't never got the money, and you always act like we OWE you something to eat. PAY OR GET OUT!"

"But I'll pay you the rest tomorrow. Please. Don't be a..." I'll stop there because that's when I decided to get involved. Remember as I mentioned earlier I'm important. I had important things on my schedule that afternoon and I didn't have time to listen to an argument between a gas station clerk and a, "customer."

"Just let me pay for her order and my gas and we'll all be on our way, alright Mo?"

"Mister," Mo said back, "you don't want to do that."

"Ohhhhh yeah, I do. I want to get out of here and it seems as you two are at an impasse."

"A what?" asked Mo as the other lady looked on.

"A standstill. Just let me pay for her burger and my gas and all will be well." I answered.

"The hell it will. It's your funeral though. Your total is going to be $27.93," Mo said with a smart-alecky grin on her face.

That's when things got really uncomfortable. As I reached for my wallet to pay the tab, the lady beside me, for whom I had just bought a hamburger grabbed my hand. Not violently, just to hold my hand in a way that seemed familiar to her and terrifying to me. It was at that moment I realized that my new friend misunderstood my purchase. She thought that I was buying her food as a down payment on services to be rendered later. As hard as I tried I couldn't wrest my hand from hers. Mo handed me the change and grinning ever larger said, "Have a nice day. Good luck."

I couldn't believe how amazingly strong this gaunt woman's hand was. We walked out the door hand in hand as I tried and tried to pry my hand from hers. I finally got my hand free from her and headed toward my pick-up truck then she spoke to me:

"Could you just sit with me while I eat?"

NO! My mind was screaming, NO!!!

"Please sit with me since you paid for my food."

What would Jesus do? I always hated that bracelet. I can't say I'd do the same thing now, but, for some reason I sat down on a parking bumper in front of the convenience store while the womans shaking hands opened the wrapper of her hamburger. I noticed Mo had gotten the other employees to look out the window and laugh as she ate next to her new friend. I hadn't seen an adult scarf down food like that in my life. She ate like she hadn't eaten in days, and I imagine that she hadn't. We didn't speak. I only listened to her eat that cheap food that I would only imagine made her sick later.

She finished her food after only a few minutes and I stood up to leave. She grasped my hand again and I was filled with a sense of dread I've known only a few times, and this time I hadn't done anything wrong. I turned back to her to say, "I've got to go back to work.""

Before I could say a word she looked at me with a look in her eyes that I'd never noticed.

She said, "Thank you."

It was thanksgiving with a look of humanity. Broken, defeated, hurt, and still hurting humanity. I didn't realize beforehand that she was a human being, I thought of her as a burden in the way of the rest of my day. I thought she was nothing but a bum, a whore, or worse. It was in her look that I realized she was someone's baby girl.

Life happened to her, and it happened badly. She surely made choices that led her to the place that she needed a stranger to buy a cheap meal for her so she could then get her next fix. But I knew not the road that she had trod to be where she was. Her look was one I hadn't seen before.

The look was one that I read, "thank you for feeding me and seeking nothing in return. Thank you for not hurting me or taking advantage. Thank you for seeing me as a person."

I didn't feed her to be Christian. I didn't buy her lunch to value her. I wanted her out of my way to face the rest of my self-important day. What a day. Only in her humble thanksgiving and the look of pain in her eyes did I realize that she and I were the same.

I learned more from that lady than from many professors. She is someone's little girl who sold herself to the world and it turned out badly. I am someone's child who has also sold himself to the world in many ways, clothed in a navy blue suit. We're all someone's child, we're God's child. We've all sold ourselves to the world in ways, but God loves us, redeems us, and clothes us in His grace and mercy.

I can't believe I did it, but, it's amazing what you can learn from spending a few minutes sitting in a parking lot.

Callings

Over the past 15 years I've preached hundreds of sermons, and there is one thing that irritates me more than critiques of my sermons, it is when they are quoted back to me. It is almost always appropriate when I'm reminded that my words and actions don't equate, and always so when my wife is the one reminding me.

She reminded me yesterday of words that I've spoken more than once:

"If you'll read the Bible closely you'll notice that when God calls someone, the hearers life usually becomes more confusing, complicated, challenging, but even more so, blessed."

I sat at the lunch table with my wife trying to distract myself with a cheeseburger and fries after announcing to the congregation that I love dearly that I was leaving for another ministry position. I was chewing, thinking, mourning, chewing, (it was a good burger, but I digress) when the thought leaped into my consciousness.

"I'm insane!" I blurted out to Chrissy.

"We've known that for some time haven't we honey?"

"No, seriously, I feel like I'm crazy. I just announced to a congregation that I love, and a congregation that loves us and takes care of us that we're leaving. Leaving FOR THE UNKNOWN!" I answered.

That's when it happened. She quoted my sermon. She reminded me that when God calls, we can't ignore the call, no matter how hard we try.

I think of Abram's call to leave everything familiar to him, uproot his family and head toward the land God said He would show him. Insanity!

What about Moses' call to lead a group of whining, complaining, grumbling people who would rather be enslaved than follow. Why didn't he come to his senses and refuse.

I know that the Prophets were popular for their messages. Didn't the Prophets know that no one should talk about religion and politics?

The 12 disciples come to mind when you wonder why someone would leave steady income to follow a homeless preacher.

I can't leave out Jesus' mother Mary, who upon saying to God, "May it be to me as you have said," surely dealt with judgmental family, a blaming public, and humiliating stares of those who thought she had done something wrong. Why did she say, "yes?"

And so it is as I begin the process of saying goodbye to a church family I know and love dearly that I must remember my own words. Westmont I love you, I always will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

Now it's time to head to the land that God will show me.

It's Later Than You Think

"It's later than you think Clint. You know what I mean don't you?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was a church leader named Joe in the congregation in East Texas that I served. Cancer had taken Joe's wife from him and I called to tell him that he and his family were in my prayers.

"Joe, I'm not sure what you mean," I answered.

"Well, Clint," Joe continued, "Before Pam died we always said we would get around to this and that sooner or later. It wasn't until she got sick that we realized that it was later than we thought. Don't waste time because it's later than you think."

What wisdom in the midst of grief that Joe shared with me. I look backward through time and see missed opportunities, wasted time, and a host of events that I didn't relish as I should with my wife and kiddos, because I forgot that it was later than I thought.

The beauty is that it is never too late to realize that while we've missed chances at living fully, we still have now. Time is unfair. We know everything about the past and can do nothing to change it. We know nothing about tomorrow, and we have so much we can choose to impact it.

So, when the tyranny of the urgent tries to squeeze out the truly important, remember it's later than you think.

I'm going to play a little catch with Connor because the day will come that it's too late. He'll need to be playing catch with his little ones, and changing my diapers.

The Blog

I was asked a while back to write a blog. I started several times, and if you'll notice this one was started some time ago. I hesitate, because, when you put your thoughts out there you risk.

Well, here goes the experiment. I hope that my thoughts can be encouraging, challenging, or helpful to others.

I remember the first English class I took in 1988 at Texas Tech University. We had to write and present a paper to the class. When finished the class was asked to give feedback. I still remember a fellow classmate who said, "I hated it." If I get the opportunity to meet him again, I'll listen attentively to his criticism. Then, I'll punch him in the throat.

If...

Our sermon series at Westmont for the past few, and next few weeks is titled, "IF..."

I believe that the word, "if," is the most powerful two-letter word in the English language. "If," can be empowering or paralyzing, positive or negative, regretful or hopeful. Consider:

"If I say only nice things to my wife today..."

"If I could get a job I don't hate..."

"If I hadn't yelled at the kids..."

"If I take a risk..."

"If only I hadn't done that..."

"If she would say sorry..."

"If...If...If..."

We're constantly dealing with if's. The beauty of the, "if's," of life is if we can recognize the questions over which we have control to make our lives and the lives around us more beautiful.

"If I'll just follow Jesus more closely each day, what a life I would lead..."

An Ordinary Life

I quote Garrison Keillor when I say that I, "once was afraid, afraid of living an ordinary life." Now I pray for an ordinary life. I long to be an ordinary guy who isn't afraid to eat cholesterol for breakfast. One who doesn't quit running when an approaching car may see the fat guy on his morning jog. I want to be the ordinary guy who isn't filled with dread when the phone rings wondering what the next tragedy is. I hope to someday be ordinary enough to to say, "I don't care," when leveled with a critique from the one who feels privileged to tell the minister that he is not Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent clothed in a super suit.

I want to be ordinary instead of sub-par, and sometimes, self-loathing.

Too many people struggle against being ordinary because too many people feel they were born for some exciting purpose. To live a life created by a screenwriter and directed to perfection. The grand purposes have been true for some, but for others, their lives are much less grandiose than their dreams. But we're born ordinary, and we die ordinary. I've seen the wealthiest people I know die in plain hospital gowns, feet bare, and mouths wide open.

Ordinary is alright, and many folks would pray for an ordinary life.

Ordinary has different faces, but secure beyond tragic, worthless, or sad. I come from ordinary people; hard working and faithful, ordinary people. To me ordinary is different with each passing day.

Sometimes ordinary is watching my daughter sing on stage, or act in the lead role of a play. Other times it's watching my son in a pile of other little league baseball players after winning a championship.

Ordinary can be losing my breath when my wife walks into a room and I am stricken with the feeling that only she can cause within my heart and soul.

Sometimes ordinary means getting up in the morning, brushing my teeth, and washing my face with cold water. Brewing coffee while I shower, shave, and dress. Then putting one foot in front of the other all day long, doing what I am called to do that day.