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Thursday, April 29, 2010

Generations

After being cussed out by a dad who didn't appreciate the fact that his daughter had been in a church, much less that she participated often enough to earn a trip to the church's summer camp, I headed to the next house to try to get permission for another kid to spend a week at camp. On the short walk from one house to the next, I stopped on the corner to visit with some kids who had been to camp in the past. They were all dealing drugs and my visit slowed their commerce for a few minutes.

The futility of the situation didn't improve when the mom answered the door at the next kid's house. She was clearly strung out on heroin and nodded off as I talked with her.

Until she heard the word "camp," that is. Once that little word came out of my mouth she connected. Not with me, but I could see she was off in a different space than where heroin usually takes someone.

She turned to me and said, "When I was a kid I went to a camp with a church one summer. I want my kid to do that, too." She signed the forms.

It's so easy for me to get caught up in today. So much of life seems to be an exercise in banging my head against a wall followed by people complaining that I didn't bang it hard enough to do any good. And when I look only at today (and maybe the last couple of years) then I can only agree.

But that mom's lucid moment forced me to refocus through the eternal lens that disciples of Jesus are privileged to have. The woman's life was clearly a mess, but the faithfulness of the church of her childhood was opening doors for her son's future that might not have been otherwise open to him.

And when I can look through that lens I have just a bit of hope. That hope is not for today but for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I think of what could happen if Jesus' disciples will continue to surround and bless this family for generations to come. Is it possible that each generation could grow just a bit closer to Christ than the last? Could a family's testimony of growing in Christ from generation to generation empower disciples for generations to come?

When I look through that eternal lens, I can have some hope that the former campers who were dealing drugs that afternoon will not only let their kids come to church and go to camp but will encourage them to do so.

And I can hope that the girl whose dad cussed me out because she was in church got enough good seed planted in her so that she won't cuss out the pastor who comes by ten summers from now inviting her yet-to-be-born kids to a week of Vacation Bible School.

Because my God has plans for this world that are bigger than the span of my life. I get the privilege and responsibility of remaining faithful and being a blessing in this generation, trusting that other people of faith will build on those blessings in the generations to come.

Lord, let me see with Your eyes that I may see the worth You've put in each person and the hope You have for them and their descendants.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Keys

The keys were just hanging there. Apparently, someone had unlocked the door and left the keys in the lock when they went inside. All their treasures -- the house, the car, and who-knows-what else -- were now available to strangers just for the taking.

I happened upon this scene when I was delivering fliers one morning. I'm sure the keys hadn't been in the lock very long because some people, casually loitering across the street, seemed to be looking for a clearing in foot traffic so they could take advantage of the opportunities for treasure those keys provided.

So I knocked on the door. No one replied. I knocked again. Still nothing. I knocked harder. Cussing came out but the owner didn't. I knocked again.

The door flew open and I was in the shadow of a very large, angry, burly man. He was not happy and proceeded to loudly tell me so. (The collar I was wearing, I believe, saved me from some even more colorful language than what I was already getting.)

Without a chance to get a word in I just pointed at the keys. He glanced at his door. Then he LOOKED at his door and quit talking.

He took the keys out of the lock and looked across the street at the loiterers who were now casually dispersing.

He started talking again, only these were words of thanks and relief from fear and panic from what might have happened had I not been persistent or had he not come to the door.

I wish I could say that I didn't know how this guy felt. I do stupid things all the time. Yes, I've left my keys in the door, though it was when I lived in Iowa so it was a much less risky error than if it happened here in da 'hood. But I'm oblivious to many of the mistakes I make and would be horrified if I recognized the consequences.

And so I need to be open to having someone knock on my door and offer correction. Honest, thoughtful correction isn't the enemy; it's just a friend I might want to yell at.

Now, just because someone knocks on my door doesn't mean they have my best interest in mind. People knock on my door all the time looking to sell me meat out of the back of their truck. Or it might be someone at the wrong house looking for my neighbor. Or it might be someone asking for money. Maybe you don't have this problem, but I have an abundance of people who have wonderful plans for my life if only I would do things their way.

But when honest correction with my interest at heart comes knocking, I best look at where it's pointing. It will show me the keys that I didn't know I was missing that unlock the treasures God has in store for me.

Thank you, Lord, for loving me enough to not leave me as I am. Correct me and help me to accept and implement Your wisdom and truth in my life.