LONG-RANGE VIEW: Why risk it?

  
     In their day, the Pilgrims were called Separatists because they separated themselves from the Church of England. They met in their homes in secret to read the Bible and worship freely. This was in contrast to the Puritans who remained in the church of England with the hope of purifying it. For the Separatists, this meant that the king and his officials became their enemy; Separatists were the “trouble makers” and were officially persecuted. The government broke up the secret meetings; they took their positions, their properties, and arrested them. This is how the Separatists became wanderers for their faith, pilgrims; they left England and fled to Holland in 1608.

    Settling in Leyden, Holland, they were able to worship freely. The Dutch had been persecuted by the Spanish years earlier and were much more tolerant of different ways to worship Jesus Christ. In Leyden for twelve years, the Pilgrims worked hard and sought to make it a home, but it was not to be.

    Language was a barrier. Making a living was difficult. The culture was foreign to them. Over the twelve years there, they realized that their children were growing up speaking a different language, learning a strange culture, unaware of their own heritage, and straying from their faith. Their ability to shape the hearts and minds of their own children was dangerously hampered. Something had to be done.

    This was a key factor in motivating them to take the risk to go to the New World. God had given them the insight to see past their own generation into the next. Why did these men and women risk everything to come to America? Why leave civilization to go to the wild regions of an unknown place? They were looking to the future, toward their children and grandchildren and beyond.

    That’s why they secretly returned to England to board ships bound for America. They risked their lives in order to gain a future for their children. They sacrificed, but they did not call it that. They called it opportunity; they called it God’s will.

    They were like the children of Israel that Moses delivered from Egypt. They were like Abraham who heard God’s call and followed. They were also mothers and fathers who were moved to action so that they could offer their children the opportunity to know Jesus Christ who was the reason behind it all.

    I have a friend who runs an orphanage in Reynosa, Mexico. He established their own school in order to sow faith in the children there. That was not an easy task.

    As the principal of a Christian school, I see parents each year sacrifice in order to sow a future of faith in their children.

    Some homeschool, some teach Sunday school, some get involved in youth groups, some move to different cities, some turn down promotions, some curb their travel and consequently their income.

    Like the Pilgrims, parents today all around us are driven by their faith to sow eternal truth in the hearts and minds of their children. Often, it is sacrificial.

    May we be among them! Hear their stories. Discover our own. We are pilgrims, too.

RELATIONSHIP: "Eat your food, son..."

     This blog is not ours, not directly. It is Jean-Luc's. He wrote this not long ago, and I asked him if I could reprint it on our blog. So, from Jean-Luc's perspective, come sit with us at dinner.

     Our dinner table was always a center of laughter, of joy, of stories and songs, of the day's events, of schedules and commitments, and of discipline and correction. I view our table with deep fondness...it has fostered so much that I see as necessary to my growth. It also fostered memories which I cherish and will re-live when my childhood is far behind me.

     Our table was a place where we entertained guests, foreigners, the homeless, the helpless, relatives, outcasts, and friends. It was where Dad taught us to sing, and dutifully bore our painful, childish screaming attempt in the process. Our table heard conversations about God, life, government, sports, money, marriage, children, wine, food, church, the military, family, and about love.

     The round shape of our dinner table has puzzled me. When I was younger, I viewed it as an oddity (after all, none of my friends had round tables). As I grow older, it signifies the respect and equality which my parents show us when we come together as a family. No person's opinion is omitted or overlooked; everyone is responsible to contribute. The things for which the table stands are an integral part of my being. I was shaped and molded, I grew and developed, I laughed and loved (and even lied occasionally) at our round table. That table represents values, memories, and lessons which I cannot divorce from my childhood. The importance is inestimable; the lessons, invaluable; the memories, irreplaceable.

     It was at the table that I was taught to serve. Meal times were a priority in our house. We sat, ate, and prayed together. Because of the large fanfare it took to feed six children and two parents, meals were a daily, family activity. Through setting the table, wiping the table, bringing food, sweeping, etc...I learned humility. I had to humble myself, submitting myself to the will of my parents and siblings, and serve them. I learned that service requires humility.

     It was at the table that I was taught to love. Meals were not always a smooth affair. Occasionally, conversation became heated (or I would kick my little brother under the table). Drinks might be spilled, or food catapulted across the room. Through the chaos, we conversed with one another, and shared life together. I learned (and am still learning) to care about what others were saying, and about what they thought. My parents practiced endless patience and love in dealing with me and my siblings.

     It was at the table where I learned to listen. Listening, for me, was, is, and will be one of my most difficult challenges. As a young lad, I came home bursting with stories of the day's adventures, happenings, and mishaps. Meal times were an opportunity for me to narrate the day's fantastic events to an audience of seven interested listeners! Or not.
      Dad was constantly correcting me, "Son, it's not about you. How many people are at this table?"
      "Eight." I responded.
      "Therefore, you should talk one-eighth of the time, and listen the other seven-eighths."
      When I did talk too much (which was often), he would calmly redirect my exuberant energy..."Eat your food, son."

     Meal times, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, forced us to listen to one another. It forced me to focus on someone else's day, priorities, agenda, or story. It forced me to hear what was going on in their lives, thereby forcing me to be a part of it. And this coercion was in no way demeaning nor detrimental to my development. On the contrary, it made me value people where I otherwise would have focused on myself. "All the world's a stage," but I am not the main actor.

     We loved one another; therefore, we listened to one another. Through listening we learned about each other. As we learned, we discovered what each person needed, and we met those needs. By meeting each family member's needs, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, we were serving. By serving each other, we loved each other. Because we loved one another we valued the other person, and their thoughts and ideas. Because we valued them, we listened to them. As we listened, we discovered their needs, and met those needs. We served. We loved. We listened. And the cycle continues. Serving, loving, and listening are all interconnected. As you follow the cycle, relationships are taken deeper – to new levels. More listening creates more service which shows more love, and so on. And the relationship continues to deepen and germinate, and soon there is rich connection.

COMMUNICATION: We all need a word-wash

Ernie (not the muppet) was my friend in my first year of college. He was a solid, good guy—the kind of person you want as a friend. He was one of those people who had no guile about him but spoke his mind in trust and openness, often making himself vulnerable for a good-natured jab or maybe a humorous quip by those who were near. Unfortunately, I played that role with Ernie. In what I thought was “just joking,” I often turned his words into a laugh for others who were present. One day, Ernie had enough. He told me—in the middle of our little group—that he was sick and tired of my constant ridicule of him, that he was deeply hurt, and that our friendship was ended. Then he walked away. . .and out of my life.

Proverbs18:21
The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.

It seems that most people have trouble with words. There are a few exceptions, but for most of us, words trip us up. For each of us this happens in different ways. Sometimes we just don’t talk; we’re the “strong silent type,” or at least the silent type. Sometimes we use our deep, naturally loud voices to exert our authority and indicate that we are in control. Sometimes we save our words until we are angry enough and then spew them on those around us. Sometimes we whine and wheedle to get something we want. Too often we use words as weapons on the ones closest to us.

And then, sometimes we get it right and our words bring health and healing and life.

The Bible has a lot to say about words and the mouth and the power of the tongue. When I use the Bible like a mirror and evaluate my words, I simply fall short.
The following verses from Ephesians 5:25-27 challenge me as a husband and father:

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church. . .

My words can wash my wife, and family as well, making them radiant! Am I using my words with that in mind? That very possibility intrigues and challenges me. Can I use my words to wash and cleanse and shine and polish the people I love? If that is true, then I have some work to do. And I have a feeling that maybe you do, too.
Let’s agree with the Lord that we will use our words to wash and cleanse, to build, to plant, to encourage, to communicate value, to praise honest effort.
After all, the people in our lives are created for a glorious eternity. C.S. Lewis says, “There are no ordinary people. . .But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.” All day long we are helping one another become one of these two things—a horror or a splendor.
Our greatest tools are our words. They can be knives or they can be soothing balm. They contain the power of life or death, health or hurt, joy or pain.

Create radiance in others. Speak life.

RELATIONSHIP: We are raising children, not flowers!

I remember reading a story about a dad who had a green thumb; you know, one of those guys who can grow anything in his garden, making it beautiful. He took great pride in his gift and he should have. He also had a loving wife who appreciated his gift and a ten-year-old son who was . . . well . . . a ten-year-old son.

On this particular Saturday, the dad was passing on his gift to his son on how to care for the yard. We call it mowing the grass. For several Saturdays the son had ridden with the dad on the riding lawn mower as dad carefully allowed the young boy to steer the mower. But today, today was his solo run. Driving the mower solo for the first time was big for this ten-year-old because . . . well . . . he was ten years old. He had learned his lessons well. As dad supervised from the front porch, the young protégé made his dad proud: focused and attentive.

It was at that moment that mom stepped on the front porch to see how things were going and to ask if anyone needed refreshment. Dad bragged and the ten-year-old waved, proud as a peacock. That moment of distraction was unfortunate, for the inexperienced driver ran the mower right through the center of a previously gorgeous bed of spring flowers.

For a moment time stood still: the ten-year-old braked and looked up in horror; dad lost his color; and mom, the distraction, laughed. Then she leaned toward her husband’s ear and said, “Remember, dear, we are raising a child, not flowers.”

This mom got it right. The value of the child is far greater than the value of a bed of flowers, or the worth of a perfectly ordered room, or any other personal preference we might have.

Here’s what we must remember. God made people in His image. That includes us. That includes our children.

Let’s start with us. 1 Timothy 3: 4 “He (an overseer) must be one who manages his own household well, keeping his children under control with all dignity.” Those last three words (with all dignity) create a challenge for us. Learning to keep our dignity as we control our children calls us to the standard of being in God’s image, representing God the Father in what we do as parents. Controlling our reactions, choosing our words, governing our tone of voice: these things add up to communicate who we are, and who God is, to our children.

The clearest picture we have of what God the Father wants us to be like is Jesus. He is the “exact representation of the Father’s nature.” (Heb. 1:3) I encourage you to prayerfully read the book of Luke with the idea of seeing how Jesus “fathered” the disciples. He is the source of our dignity. Read the gospels as a parent who wants to “catch the spirit of Christ.”

Now let’s get to the kids. Jesus respected kids. He made room for them. He did not let them lead, but he did not push them aside. He did not let them direct his schedule, but he made them a part of his schedule. He gave them his attention in the same way that he gave adults his attention. He embraced them.

Remembering that our children are made in God’s image will help us to lead them with God in mind.

We’ll have to pick up on this next week.