From The Hills of Athens

Atlanta, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon, Graduation Sunday, Internsm Enchanted Rock, Comal River. That’s what the last 4 weeks have looked like. My Wednesdays and Thursdays have been my Mondays because I have just been flat gone from the office. And somehow over the past month, June has crept up and is waiting to catch me off-guard.
This is the second summer in a row that I do not have major plans of sitting by a pool for sustained amounts of time. The previous 6 summers, I spent the majority of my time lifeguarding, and the summers before that were arranged to include regular visits to the neighborhood pool. The first sunburn was always a momentous occasion. By mid-August I was completely tan, my hair had lightened, and my feet even had tan-lines where my flip flops typically sat. But each June as school was finishing up, I was embarrassingly pale.
I remember the trip to the pool on the first day it was actually hot. My brother and I would brave the cooler days simply because we wanted to swim, but there was always a day when slightly cool had morphed into sweltering heat. On this day, mom would always say something to the effect of “Don’t forget the sunscreen!” but who needed sunscreen. The memories of last year’s burning-and-peeling had faded just like my mid-August tan, and so I would swim for hours leaving my skin vulnerable to the death rays of the sun.
The result: cataclysmic sunburn. Red shoulders…sore back…tender stomach…burning eyes. Not long after, however, the redness would fade to a brown color, and the intense heat would die down. And thus, the first sunburn would pass.
I got my first sunburn of summer yesterday. The float down the Comal did me in. I know I need to wear sunscreen, but it usually just slips my mind. Some lessons just have to be repeated and repeated and repeated.

I leave for another journey tomorrow. The details of this trip are top secret, so I can’t divulge too much here. It’s going to be an arduous, death defying trip that will require talents that I rarely use. I’ll be back early Thursday morning, hopefully in one piece.

It’s about 2 pm on Friday…I think. My body is in the ultimate state of confusion at the moment. It’s been taken to Atlanta and back, then forced to stay up all sorts of odd hours, and then put in situations where it wasn’t allowed to fall asleep (such as driving back forth from the Metroplex). There are forces of exhaustion that are trying to overtake the excitment about the things I saw and heard at the Orange Conference.
My mind is swimming in the ocean of ideas I’ve had since we got back from Atlanta, and it is a deep, deep ocean. I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly what all has been going through my mind. Thoughts are racing about small groups, and Sunday School, and curriculums, and worship, and dreams, and what story I am playing out right now. If I had to pick the best thing I learned from Orange, I would say that I am totally appreciative of the environment that I get to do ministry right now.
Here’s what I mean: I have been in situations that are not conducive at all to collaboration. Staff who are more concerned with their own well being above all else. Teams that are fractured. Ultimately, ministry is hindered. Don’t get me wrong, FBC Athens isn’t a utopia where all the staff members get together 3 times a week to watch Grey’s Anatomy and talk about our feelings. But I do think we have some building blocks that will be an immense help as we try to re-activate the family as a place of discipleship.
First, we have a pastor who is committed to working with families. We don’t have to spend time convincing him that the church has got to do a better job. Second, we have a children’s and student minister that actually like each other. I like Cindy. She’s fun to work with, does a good job, and she can put up with all of the times that I make fun of her. And third, we have a ton of talented people who are ready to do whatever it takes to push ahead into unexplored territory.
Here’s to taking some of the Orange ideas, and actually seeing them fleshed out.

The Cobb Galleria Centre is much nicer than I thought it would be. (notice the transposed “r” and “e”…obviously it’s quality). The meeting space was big enough to hold the other 3,899 people here for the Orange Conference. The only thing it doesn’t have is wi-fi, which means I won’t be blogging too much about the conference.

I thought about blogging back at the hotel, but the Hawthorn Suites also doesn’t have wi-fi. Weird. The hotel has high-speed, but you have to be plugged in. What is this…2002?

Tomorrow is the start of The Orange Conference in Atlanta, Georgia. I’m travelling with 5 other people from FBC to learn about the blending of children, student, and parent ministry. Our church is currently attempting to pioneer a new way of helping parents disciple their children and students. It should be a really exciting conference.

If there is Wi-Fi, I’m going to try and blog as the conference goes along. Check back tomorrow evening for an update.

Middle School Disciple Now is t-minus 32 hours away. No matter how many events, I get ready for, there is always some sense of anticipation and excitment coupled with an unnerving feeling of dread. I have been the person of utmost responsibility for over 7 weeks of youth camp for up to 650 students each week, at least 6 different pre-teen camps, various other retreats and trips for campers and camp employees. I have been directly involved in another 5 years worth of camps and retreats and single day events for all manner of groups. But despite all of this previous experience, the sense of dread stays with me. It will never go away.
I think in some respects, it’s helpful to always feel a little worried. It keeps me sharp and thinking ahead to what other things need to happen. But mostly I think I am scared that somehow or another the weekend is going to prove my worth (or lack thereof) as a human being. I have yet to break from the cycle of feeling that I am only worth something when I perform well. I cannot get my head around the fact that whether or not this weekend is amazing has nothing to do with who I am as a person.
But I know that I am wrong. Scripture affirms that I am worth something to God simply because I exist. He loves me right now as I am sitting here typing, and He loves me when I am asleep, and He loves me when I am failing miserably at trying to communicate the truth of the Gospel. He simply loves me. Well, not just me. He simply loves you too. Just because. You don’t have to earn His love. You can’t lose His love. It will never go away.

First of all, the front page of ESPN.com says this:
"39 years after Martin Luther King, Jr. imagined the Promised Land, two black NFL coaches got there"  Is that really what MLK had in mind?  The Super Bowl is the Promised Land?  Call me crazy but I thought there was a little more to MLK than football.

Secondly, someone made it my blog by searching for the following on Google:
"Damien Rice is the Roger Federer of Music"  If that person shows up again, can you please explain that to me.  I like Damien and all, but I can’t quite get my head around that comparison.

After Tyler Lowe and I spent some time discussing the state of the world over lunch at McAllister’s, I was back in my office listening to some music.  As I scrolled through my iTunes, I noticed how ahead of the times A Flock of Seagulls was.  They were talking about the middle east a long time ago, and most people just skipped right over it.  Haven’t you heard the song "Iran (So Far Away)"?  They even know that Iran isn’t just around the corner.

Here’s to you Flock of Seagulls.

Is there an athlete more dominant than Roger Federer?  Don’t say Tiger Woods or Steve Nash.  Not even that Japanese hot dog eating guy could touch the Swiss tennis master.  He got rid of Andy Roddick like he was Mandy Moore.  I’m also a semi-fan of Maria Sharapova, but she’s about to get waxed by Serena "I Am Way Too Out of Shape to be Winning" Williams.

Why wouldn’t ESPN film the Australian Open in High Definition?  There are only four Grand Slam events a year, and the other three finals all end up on network TV (NBC I believe).  If I was running ESPN’s tennis division, I would do everything I could to turn our broadcast into the broadcast to end all broadcasts.  I would try and find some ultra-HD way of showing the tournament.  But I’m not in charge of ESPN.

That title is a bit of misinformation.  I have a pretty good idea of a few things that are sad at the moment.  Debbie Adcock’s funeral was today.  Carrie and Lindsay’s mom is gone, and Ron is a widow.  I only knew Debbie for a small fraction of her life, but I was privileged enough to see many lives that she had touched.  The funeral was filled with people who love her and her family.  And now she’s gone.  I am sad because of that, but there is something deeper.
There is this phrase that keeps running circles in my head: "This is not the end.  Death does not win."  I would love to say that I grasp that concept, but would that statement even be true?  How can you grasp that death is not the finality that it seems to be without actually dying?  My mind understands that God has designed us for eternity.  I know Steven Curtis Chapman’s "More To This Life" backwards and forwards.  But that’s just it…I understand that this life isn’t the end.  But I don’t understand (extra emphasis) that.
And therein lies the cause of my sadness: my faith feels so small today.  I can’t mesh together the image of a coffin in the front of a church with the idea of eternity.  I want to believe in heaven.  It makes today easier.  But there is still some part of me that needs redeeming; there is a part that can only understand the end of this life.
But through all of this, I cling to the small faith that exists within me.  I derive my hope from it.  Because ultimately, death does not win.  This is not the end.