I've got joy in my heart!

Her mother asked me to talk with her Sunday..."she's only eleven, she doesn't understand...will you help her? Maria was only 42. She wasn't seriously hurt in the accident on Wednesday, so they let her go home. Why did she die two days later? Why are two little girls left without their mother? Why did her husband lose his job the day before?" I had no true words of relief or encouragement for Lillie. I just told her that I did not understand either...that we simply have to trust that GOD has a plan for good...even in the midst of this darkness. Why was Jenny Bazaillion buried this afternoon after only 32 years in this world? Why does GOD allow such heinous atrocities to occur? No, Lillie, I just don't understand. I am comforted only by the belief that Maria and Jenny are together and that they are better off than any of the rest of us. I watched the grief and the comfort and the joy in Joanne Rochette as she skated to a bronze medal tonight after her mother died Sunday.
Yes, there is joy in the midst of struggle.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Cheap grace doesn't buy much joy.
I am blessed. Yes, I am full of joy.
Welcome to this world Zachary Stone Campbell.

snow day revisited

There's a guy who has lived under the IH 20 bridge for the past two and a half months. I've stopped to visit with him. He did not seem a man of many words. He told me he had everything he needs. Over the past weeks he has collected a new sleeping bag, new tarp, new jacket, a plethora of Walmart bags and empty peanut butter jars, a new vest for his puppy and a pet carrying case. He's settled in. I worry about him during these cold days and nights, but he has assured me he is content. He has no need to go to a public shelter, 'cause they don't take dogs. He sleeps most of the time I drive past and only ventures out during the warm afternoons. I wonder why he's there.

I'm intrigued by the shallowness of passing conversation ... how quickly our talk turns to the weather ... our satisfaction with it or our anticipation of a change. We don't have much insight into first century Palestinian weather...only the references to storms that Jesus was able to calm or walk calmly amidst - even on the water. He did not talk much about what a nice afternoon it was to hang out on the warm side of the synagogue with the disciples or to rest in the shade of the west wall in the summer heat. He did tell us that "the Son of Man has no place to lay his head..."

I wonder if it snowed on Jesus...

Porcelain is my friend

Bill Cosby used to do a monologue on the results of too much partying and waking up in the middle of the night next to the toilet and reflecting on how good was the feel of the cold porcelain. I am worn out from battling an intestinal virus overnight. I think I'll live ... but it has been physically 'draining'. I don't like the feeling of arising from a night of sleep and feeling more tired than when I went to bed. On the other hand, I thought several times how wonderful to live in a climate controlled environment only steps away from that porcelain friend. I've played this game from a tent - having to quickly dress in some minimal garb and trudge down a mud filled path in the cold rain to huddle under the protection of a tree. As I lay awake last night awaiting the next episode I thought about how many in this world live with a regular occurrence of this activity ... from under an interstate bridge, in the high rise apartment of some metropolitan city where the water is turned off at night, along the streets of Bombay or Rio de Janero, or from a small hut in equatorial Ghana. I remember how blessed I am. I'll not complain. I have hope. ...and porcelain is my friend.

Valentine's

Are we in it for the magic or are we willing to follow Jesus to the cross - and die? We're either in it for the magic or the mission. At least that's what Randy Harris told us yesterday. He makes a good point, but I'm not quite so sure that it's that cut and dried...that black and white. His point was that the lady who reached out to touch the hem of Jesus' garment was only reaching for the magic and that the young synagogue ruler who asked for his daughter to be healed also had the same motive...that neither was in relationship with Jesus. I'm not sure I trust anyone who wears all black on Valentine's Day. I think an equal argument could be made that these two were desperate and reached out in a last attempt to salvage life. I've become more concerned with what happened to these recipients of miraculous powers after the shadow of Jesus had passed. We don't have those stories do we? I wish Paul Harvey had written a sequel to the miracles of Jesus ... a gospel sequel..."and now for the rest of the story". I'd prefer to think that this woman who'd been suffering from a bleeding disorder for twelve years was transformed by the healing power of our Savior ... and I believe she was. But I know too that she was human and quite possibly ... over time ... lost sight of that moment in which her life was changed. But I'd prefer to believe that also she was changed... because of Jesus. It's not an either/or situation, it's a both/and opportunity. Because of the magic - she had a mission. Me too.

DDDD

Last evening I had the privilege of attending the Daddy/Daughter Dinner and Dance at Highland. (Yes, I know my father is turning over in his grave to think that we actually sanctioned a dance within the church building! ... guess he'll get over it) I'd never attended this event, since it did not start until just a few years ago and is intended for daughters between three and eleven. I had invited Finda to go last week. Finda is the eleven year old daughter of my friend Prince from Liberia. A week ago I did not think he would be able to attend with her, so I invited her. By the grace of God he was able to go last night and I went ... as a social interpreter?
I suspect if one researched the history of Valentine's Day one would find it's roots in the Hallmark Corporation and the Wholesale Florists of America lobby. It is not an international holiday and apparently not celebrated in Liberia. It was a blessing to watch so many fathers eating and interacting with their daughters ... something also foreign to my friend. After dinner, the dancing began ... from the 'twist' to 'the mashed potato' to some 'Hanna Montana' thing and culminating in a waltz ... I watched as Prince and Finda joined 75 other "couples". Prince interrupted one dance to call his wife and "inform her that he was dancing with his daughter!" I was the "oldest daddy" there and he was the only one with an orange sweathirt. Love it! As I watched from my seat on the flowerbed in our church atrium, I was overcome with emotion as it dawned on me that these fathers were "dancing with their daughters" in a dance that will carry them through their lifetime together. All the 'dancing' Garth Brooks songs ... "I hope you dance" ... "may I have the last dance with you?" ... suddenly began playing through my head - all at the same time.
I closed the night with a waltz with Finda - which she had never seen before - watching Prince grin as he watched us! On the way home he told me, "this evening gave me great joy! I will begin planning for next year. I must learn to dance."

...and yes, I look forward to again ... dancing with my daughters.

snow day

Yesterday I left Abilene at 5:30 AM headed toward the metroplex in a school bus with 40 kids to go to a Genetics conference. There was a light rain and it was cold, but not freezing. By the time we reached Ranger Hill there was an inch of snow on the road and it was snowing heavily. We decided to turn back. Yes, it was a disappointment and an inconvenience for the rest of the day, but it was the right thing to do. Sometimes the right thing to do is difficult, inconvenient, a disappointment to others. Later it became apparent that north Texas had the heaviest snowfall in recent history. Good call. We don't get snow that often in the big country, but when we do I'm reminded of it's effect on our perception of our world. As I look out the window this morning at the five inches of snow that cover my yard I note that even the simplest of naked tree branches have become an artform - unique and temporary. The filth and the trash, the mud and the horse manure are covered in a blanket of white that covers the ugly parts of our world and for now, makes everything 'the same'. Sounds familiar, huh. KP and I went to New Mexico in October to hopefully experience a dusting of first snow as we hiked the Pecos Wilderness. Maybe that was subconsciously why...every now and then we all need to have the experience of being immersed in something as white as snow. Praise GOD.

Mending the wall

Sometimes when I have one of those "aha!" moments I think perhaps I should write it down so I can remember it. This past week has been one of the busiest and most troublesome I can remember...not in my own life...but in dealing with the problems of others. I feel like the farmer who is attempting to clear his field and keeps running into rocks. Although I am in familiar territory, it is though I am plowing new ground...and with each pass new rocks are turned over. I was reminded of this field I fell upon on the border between England and Scotland ... near the town of Berwick upon Tweed. This beautiful field of rolling hills covered in grasses and wildflowers was, I suspect, not always so lovely. For generations those who plowed these fields have carried the rocks they turned over to the edge of the cliff - overlooking the North Sea. Rather than toss the rocks over the edge, they have built a wall about three feet high that runs for miles. I was this morning reminded of the Carl Sandburg poem, "Mending the Wall" where he reminds us that 'good fences make good neighbors'. When I encounter those rocks in my life's walk... I need to remember not to attempt to get rid of them, but to use them to establish the boundaries to my life. This takes more time and more effort, but perhaps then ... these will not be barriers, but will become a thing of beauty that remind me (and others) of the efforts to define our parameters ... and will remain a legacy for generations to come.

Ananias

A family I've known for several years has suffered through domestic violence and general dysfunction to the point that two weeks ago they sought refuge from their father and husband through a local agency. Over the past year and a half I've had no relationship with him (his choice). Though many efforts were made, he could not hear me. A week ago I wrote him a letter in an attempt to reach him, since we simply could not talk. His ears were closed. He had become despondent and suicidal, so agreed to counseling. After his first visit, he called to tell me of the change that GOD had made in his life. He said "I was like Saul, causing pain to GOD's people - even my own family! But I received the word of GOD. I did not eat for three days...I was weak and broken...but by the grace of GOD I was rescued. You wrote to me and made me see the pain I had caused. My eyes were opened. From now on I shall call you Ananias!"

Well I relate this story because it is evident that this man has truly been changed and he rightly gives credit to GOD. I am thankful that GOD chose to use me for his glory in this situation. Please pray for healing in this family. I'm quite amazed at the changes I've seen in a man who only two weeks ago called the police to accuse me of stealing his children. Now he calls me Ananias.

GOD is good ... all the time.