Same Song Third Verse

If anyone had any question about how committed the BGCT was to real change in light of the previous administration's squandering of $30,000,000.00+, they need to look no further than the recommendation that comes for filling the position of Associate Executive Director.

This "leader" was not only asleep at the wheel, but did not see anything wrong with what had gone on the previous eight years. The fact that tithes and offering given sacrificially by rank and file Baptists, was misused, misspent and misdirected, did not matter to him. He indicated to me that he was proud of what the BGCT has done on his watch.

This "leader" is also a part of the new fundamentalism demonstrated by Texas Baptist Committed in their efforts to follow in the steps of the old fundamentalism of the SBC. In fact, I found myself feeling like I had lived the Amarillo convention before. And then I remembered when it was. It was in New Orleans when the fundamentalism ran rough shod over the opposition because they controlled the chair. I remember feeling like such action violated the basic tenants of Baptist life, so I was extremely surprised when Texas Baptist Committed orchestrated the same tactics at Amarillo. Those that control the chair control the discussion of which there never is any. Later I had confirmed the budget presented, approved by the Executive Board of Directors, and later presented to the convention, was unsustainable from the beginning. The building knew it, many on the Board knew it, and many in the audience knew it, but nothing was said.

Yep, what is ahead for the BGCT? Look at the last few years and you have your answer. When those who allowed the abuse of the past to flourish now are suggested to lead the staff you know where things are going.

Tragic choice that will bear bitter fruit undermining even a faint confidence that anything in the BGCT will be different.

It's Not Gas, Just My Ringtone

Every job has its war stories. Folks in ministry can tell both humorous and outrageous anecdotes about the life of the minister and the family of the minister.

Folks who work in law enforcement have their stories and those who work in prison have theirs.

So, my favorite so far is what happened on a unit in the area. Some years ago, Congress enacted what is called "safe prison" legislation that takes seriously the outcry of an inmate regarding sexual harassment, or threats of violence. Each outcry is supposed to trigger an investigation.

So, a man says his roommate is making improper advances toward him, and is immediately moved to a holding cell. This outcry triggers an investigation. When the cellmate is questioned, he denies the advances but offers this observation: "The guy wanted to move to get a better cell phone signal."

Cell phones are one of the many thousand of things that have become contraband in the prison for obvious reasons.

The officers drop their jaws. "He doesn't have a cell phone! We search his cell regularly!"

His cellmate is unmoved. "He has a cell phone and you won't find it!"

"Why is that?"

"He hides it up his butt!"

The officers, never easily phased, said, "Naw, can't be!" Then they look at each other. They leave and call the infirmary and schedule the guy for an X-ray. Word goes around the unit and when the X-ray is done, a crowd has gathered in the hall.

Sure enough, clear as everything, between his hips on the X-ray is an outline of a cell phone--and a charger! He had them wrapped in a latex glove.

It gives new meaning to the comment that wrong numbers are a pain in the butt!

He is commanded to "spit it up" or something sounding like that. He can't. So he takes a ride to Galveston where it is procedurally removed and confiscated.

Now, when someone tells me they have misplaced their cell phone, for some reason, I think of work.

My oldest Son

My oldest son is a police officer.

I got to visit with him this weekend and as he left, I suggested he could tell his friends that his father had finally gone to prison for his crimes! Tim smiled.

He is the miracle son, as is his brother.

When Anna and I married, we knew that we might not be able to have children. And it appeared our perception was going to come true as time passed.

Then Anna's brothers were murdered after Christmas and a great grief settled on the family. And then we discovered Anna was with child. Our first born was anticipated the following January.

Anna enjoyed every minute of her pregnancy and the first Christmas after her brothers death came and went. Anna went into labor and Tim was born a year to the date we buried Anna's brothers. We called him our miracle child because more than one gynecologist had told us having children was impossible. More than that, Tim became a symbol of hope to the family. He was not a replacement, but a deep expression of God's love at a time when our family needed an affirmation of His love and the hope of a better future than the recent past.

Tim grew up and finished college and he followed his brother to East Asia. Tim was drawn to an opportunity that meant he would back pack in the Himalayas sharing Christ. He loved his work but continued to suffer physically from the primitive conditions. So he returned home to marry and give us our only grandchildren(to this point).

In the faces of my grandchildren I see my sons growing up yet again. Yet, these little kids fill my heart with joy and not much responsibility. I look at them and remember a friend who remarked, "If I had known how much fun grandchildren were, I would have had them first."

Tim has had a short but distinguishing career as an police officer. He will be at his post five years after the first of the year. In those short five years, he has been honored as "Officer of the Year," become a field training officer, a fire arms training officer, a fill-in shift officer, and recently a member of the first SWAT team his department has ever had.

All of that aside, he is a son in whom I take great delight because--well because he is my son and that is enough in our family for the favor and blessing to rest.

I remember reading in seminary Myron Madden's book, "The Power to Bless." In it he tells about the parental power to bless or to fail to bless. The blessed child, according to Madden has the resolve to try new things, leave home, and take new challenges.

Long before Anna and I married, I resolved to be the kind of parent who "blessed" my children and communicated to each of them " I am glad that you are and you are the child in whom I take great delight." It has served us all well.

I remember when J.D. came to live with us, he soon picked up on how much his mother and I loved our other boys. He asked me one day, "Dad, do you love me as much as you love Tim and Joseph?" It was a good question for me. It was a sobering question. What does one say?

My answer? "I love you as much as is in my heart to love you!" To me, that is always enough.

Back in the Saddle Again

My family needs a church home. So, we are get acquainted with the churches in our new home town.

Last week we visited with our family's church and heard an elderly man ramble for 30 minutes. He concluded his message by singing all the verses to "Back in the Saddle Again."

It was a great spiritual moment.

Today we went to a BGCT church in the area. All I can say is from beginning to end, I found myself missing my home church in Abilene. I found myself thinking of how all of us in that fellowship had taken for granted our worship from week to week. We have extraordinary music both in variety and presentation. It was always such a joyful gathering.

Today, I was with the frozen chosen who were as joyful as a room full of people waiting on root canals. I wanted to stand and sing and clap my hands and infuse a little life into this group of believers. My quiet style of worship has been reset far beyond the experience of many rural Baptist churches.

I found myself thinking, "If we are going to heaven, why do we look like we are on a super highway to Hell? If we have life, why do we look like we are all recovering from hemorrhoid surgery?"

David danced before the Lord as he led the ark of the covenant into Jerusalem. How much more should we sing for joy as the presence of the Lord fills His people and His church?

While worship aught to be serious, it must be be overflowing with joy.

That will be the way I know it is Sunday and I am not in prison!

The Adventure of Life

When I have traveled, I can be a little high strung.

I have been known to get irritable if things don't go like they should, well, let's just say it is not pretty. And what I know is when I travel, something always goes wrong.

It was years ago, traveling into Amarillo to catch a flight to Austin for a conference that I came to a life changing decision. I decided to relax and enjoy the adventure of living and not sweat the small stuff. In fact what I decided was that rather than getting upset, I would try to see the humor and tell the story.

It happened this way.

I was with a friend who offered to drive. He had a root canal the day before and unknown to me, had taken pretty heavy pain medicine when he started the day. We were on I40 when he told me he was a little under the weather and was "on drugs." So getting to the airport was a feat in itself. Then we checked in with our non-refundable tickets. The clerk took my ticket and only after checking my bag told me our flight was being diverted from Austin to San Antonio because of the fog at Austin. I asked her when I would arrive in Austin, and she guessed that it would be late in the afternoon. At that point, I realized the absurdity of this and laughed. I found myself saying, "I am attending a 24 hour conference in Austin. That is why I bought a ticket to Austin. I know no one in San Antonio and have no business in San Antonio. Why would I want to board a flight to a city I have no business in instead of going to the city where I have business?"

She looked wide eyed at me, paused and said, "Well, that makes sense. I guess you wouldn't."

"Exactly! So, if you cannot get me to Austin, I might as well go home. So if you will refund my ticket, my drunk friend and I will return home." Her wide eyes became wider. "I can do that!" She set about to refund my ticket and then looked up and said, "I'm sorry, but you have a non-refundable ticket! I cannot refund your ticket price."

"Even if you cannot get me to my destination in a reasonable amount of time?"

Our discussion was cut short by the later word the fog had cleared and we could now board for Austin.

As we moved to the jet way, I found myself saying, "This is too rich to get upset about. It is something to chuckle about.

I have been chuckling every since. Little did I know that this little silliness was only the beginning of a life of travel and the ensuing glitches that inevitably come.

Whose been sleeping in my bed?

My orientation for my job began Monday in a facility 99 miles away.

My employer paid for me to stay in an "extended stay" hotel. "Extended stay" is a euphemism for "no maid service."

I don't exactly remember when my problem started with hotels, but when Anna and I were to marry, the hotel lost my family's reservations three times. That started a trend that varied from lost reservations, rooms with plumbing not working, doors kicked in, beds broken and various and sundry other small things.

This hotel first lost my reservations. The clerk was mortified. She kept apologizing and apologizing. I explained to her it was not unusual for this to happen to me. So it took about thirty minutes to check in.

Then I went to my room which was a handicapped accessible room because that was all that was left. I asked if the handicapped parking came with it. Sadly not!

So, after the drama of packing up the house, driving to a new home, I was glad to settle into a room with a semi-comfortable bed. I brought some popcorn and burned a bagful.

I crawled into bed for an uneventful evening of television on a channel I rarely see.

And then it happened!

My foot brushed against something at the foot of the bed. It felt like a dryer sheet, so I fished it out with my foot. It was not a dryer sheet!

What it was--a pair of woman's underwear.

I hurled it to the wall and jumped out of the bed. I was later surprised this old man had such agility and speed.

It occurred to me the lady's panties could have been mixed up in the wash and my bed was clean and freshly made. That did occur to me, but what if the other was true. Eeweeeee!

So, at my extended stay hotel, they made me feel right at home. Before I got to sleep, I changed the sheets on my bed. What an effort at hospitality.

Wet Hands, Who you gonna call?

We stopped our packing and made a mad dash to my favorite onion ring/hamburger/steak finger place. It is just a few blocks from our home, so I rarely use their facilities.

However, I forgot to wash my hands and they were dirty with all kinds of stuff one acquires when packing. So after I ordered, I went to the bathroom. I washed my hands and turned around. And there it was: the box.

It gave no indication of whether it was full of towels, partially full of towels or full of hot air. Yep, it just hung on the wall.

So I began to assemble the clues while my hands air dried. There were towels close to the trash can (for a men's room that is close enough). There was no big,round chrome button on the unit. In fact, there was no button at all. So I decided it was a new fangled towel dispenser that was activated by motion. It was certainly not activated by moisture. So, I began to wave my hands gently. Nothing! Then I waved my hands more vigorously. At that moment, I caught a mental picture of every man in the bath room waving his wet hands frantically in front of a rather unresponsive but mildly amused machine.

Bathroom fixtures have been mocking us for years. Perhaps I should more accurately say, bathroom fixtures have been mocking me for years. I am easily confused in the place I need to be the most straight forward.

If I have a problem figuring out the toilet, that is no problem, I just leave it for the next guy. Except in Taiwan. The swanky hotel we stayed in had a public men's room the toilet of which had a sophisticated seat not unlike a fighter pilot cockpit seat. It had controls, and gadgets, and widgets, and I strongly suspect an ejection seat.

Mostly, I have had trouble with sinks. I remember the British Museum of Natural History. One you got past the dinosaur in the lobby, everything else seemed so-- well, small.

But, in the men's room, I found myself standing across from an Asian man joining me at the fount looking for how to turn the darn thing on. We both had approached from different sides watching the water stream forth until--we stepped up. Then the water stopped. We waved our hands like we have been trained to do. We turned our heads sideways to see if there were some hidden faucets. Then like mimics, we shrugged our shoulders(the male universal sign of "what's up with this"). Then we watched as another man, obviously of English descent, come between us and like a pianist playing an instrument, hit the foot pedal and "walla" water.

There was a stainless steel hula hoop right off the floor when activated by the foot, caused the water to run.

So, my mirror image shrugged his shoulders again, washed his hands and off he went. I went off looking for the towel drier thingee.

Ella, The Way Under Dog

Our home was visited Sunday morning by an uninvited guest who came in through the window, left through the front door, with several hundred dollars.

Ella our "way under" dog either watched (as she misunderstood watch dogs are supposed to do)or she let out a non committal bark that frightened the burglar away.

Now, Ella is fierce when someone comes to the front door and rings the door bell. She acts as if she is the queen of the jungle. However, climbing through a window in the dead of night does not evoke the same response.

I have a theory that if Ella's groan did not frighten the thief away, she would go into her well honed skills of autosuggestion.

Ella is a good hypnotherapist. She can enter a room and scan the people and approach one. She will then stare at that person and project a powerful, irresistible thought into the mind of the person in front of her. It does not matter if it is male or female. All are equally susceptible to her powerful hypnotic rays. And what does Ella communicate? I have found her interests run along two lines:

"You want to pet me! You really want to pet me! The compulsion is so great you cannot resist petting me." And they do, they always do. Her mental powers are enormous.

Then there is the other suggestion: "You want to get me a snack! You must get me a snack! You feel the overwhelming urge to get me a snack--not that nasty snack, the other one!"

Excuse me, I need to stop this and get Ella a snack and pet her while she eats it. Resistance is futile.

It's that Time Again, YUK!!

Grit your teeth, hold your nose, it's election time again.

I should like to send out into the streets of America the V-8 "dope slap" team to help us get pass this distasteful plague on Americans.

Basically, the "dope slap" team would split off and go with every candidate large and small. Their sole responsibility would be to "dope slap" a candidate when he or she got off on telling everyone what his or her opponent believed instead of what he or she believed. Every time they reached down in the mud to hurl some at their opponent, the "dope slap" team would get there first, get the most, and hurl it back.

The problem is way too much money is being spent tearing down the other guy. So it should come as no surprise when the election is finally settled, about 50% of the population don't trust the winner, and most folks have doubts about them all.

If a candidate were going to persuade me to vote for him or her, I would need to know several things of substance.I would want them take about the roots of their character formation and who were their models and heroes growing up. I would want to know what was the basis of their moral code. I would want to know if they believed in supporting charities and mobilizing volunteers to be a vital force in American life. I would want to hear some practical ideas to make taxes better spent, programs more efficient, troops more prepared with all the equipment they need. I would want to know how to be a global power without a swaggering arrogance and how to lead the way in reaching out to the least in our world.

I would want to know if our model of democracy is adaptable to other countries and if not, why not, and what would work for those emerging nations. Tyranny is a non-starter for me.

I could even imagine an election one day where all we heard was great ideas, great philosophies, great cooperation, and great governing.

When I talk with conflicted couples, one of the first challenges I have is to change their way of thinking about each other. What is it I say to they? Simple really, "You guys are on the same team.In marriage, in raising a family, parent to child, mom and dad are on the same team. Forget that and you are dead!"

Our campaigns have forgotten that we are all on the same team. We may occupy different possessions and some will play defense to another's offense, but we both playing the same game.

Perhaps if we could get that through our partisan heads, the United States might begin to work together again.

My Wonder Boy

These are tough days for James. In some ways, he is better at moving than his mother and I am. By the time he reached us, we were this fifth set of parents, and James had lived in more homes than that.

So, like so many children who come from similar experiences, security is where you find it. James found his in stuff: working stuff, fancy stuff; battery powered stuff; broken stuff; and more than once, sticky stuff that gooed all over everything.

When James came to live with us he brought some clothes and boxes and boxes full of toys of all kinds. He had every game from every happy meal he had ever eaten and mixed in with those were some pickles and shriveled up fries--yum. It did not take long until there was no place to put anything and every effort to help him give something away was generally fruitless.

Around our first Christmas, we hit on an idea. Every new toy that came into his room meant he had to surrender one to give away. That began to work and off we went.

Fast forward a couple of years and James has found out we are moving and he will probably have less space in his room that he presently has. Nothing much else is said.

In a little while, James comes out of his room with his Nintendo 64. It came to him as a gift from us as a welcome home present. He had sense received an X-Box which is the focus of his attention. I asked him what he is doing with his Nintendo 64, and he looks up at me, and says, "I am giving this to Isaac. He doesn't have one just some games and I want him to have my old game box."

Wow, I stood and watched as this innocent little kid was taking some very positive steps toward being a responsible adult. Responsible adults think of others.

Yes, James is my wonder boy. And such a blessing to our family.

Men In White

Prisons and jails have the same smell.

It is the acrid smell of failure. From a distance, the population all dressed in white may give a rather interesting scene, but get closer and the high walls, the limited freedom, the smell inside the walls and there is nothing here to like. The prisoners don't like it, the guards don't like it, and everyone may wish they were somewhere else.

Who has failed? Well inmates have failed or they would not be in prison. At the very least, they failed to be represented by competent attorneys who could get them off. The larger picture is that person after person found societies rules too confining, societies ills to depressing, life too meaningless, and what other folks had more desirable than what they possessed. So they stole to buy, killed to rob, or just needed to settle a score that was not earlier settled to their satisfaction.

I also think families have failed. Many years ago, when I started pastoral ministry, I required young couples to have premarital conversations with me about their choices in marriage. Some of the prospective grooms were a little haughty about those things being none of my business. I had a standard reply, "If you marry poorly and propagate, which seems to happen to a lot of shaky marriages, then your children will grow up watching their parents scream at each other and them. They will grow up without supervision and without rules. You will either think they can do no wrong, or believe they can do no right. One way you don't discipline and the other way you break their spirit. In some ways it all comes out the same. Your kid goes out and steals my hubcaps. That makes it my business and all our business. You marry poorly, parent poorly, and we all pay. And that is what we have had.

I also believe churches have failed. I have been aware of my church's background was one of teaching the "don'ts" of life. Pretty dreary subject. I believe it really turned off teenagers during a time when they are wondering what they should do. Churches have talked little of meaningful sex, of understanding how sexuality is one of God's great gifts, and when it becomes blessing in our lives.

I believe society has failed. We are more swept away by fluff than substance. So, we get energized over the latest sport that is season, but can't do anything but yawn over UIL competition. What we exalt teaches children and youth values. What we sideline teaches children these things are not important. So we feed the body, entertain the body with bread and circuses, and trudge through an aching emptiness of soul.

Men in white reeking with the acrid smell of failure. It it were only a smell, a bath would cure it. This smell is mind deep, emotion deep, soul deep.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

I got my "Welcome to Polk County" Sunday evening.

The officer who pulled me over was my new best friend. We will also be close because with the stroke of a pen I now help pay his salary. The questions proved only slightly embarassing. When he asked what I would be doing moving to Livingston, I replied, "I am going to become the 'Responsible Psychotherapist' at the prison--except this is not too responsible!"

I have had this heavy foot problem for some time, but have managed to only pay up in small communities.

I have perfected the art of the "stupid, naive, ah shucks motorist." With highway patrol it usually works pretty good. Fortunately, they are not trying to earn their way with fines. The local police are equally nice but someone has to pay for their salary.

On this dark and stormy night, a tree limb had broken off, fell on a squad car and the building. The office told me it destroyed half their department. Somehow I had the sense I was going to pay my fair share of the repair. Oh, well!

Although I did not have the good sense to see the lower speed limit sign, I did have the good sense not to make some remark about the size of the department or that it was unfortunate that one more tree branch didn't fall and prevent our conversation. That would have been rude at best and strategically unwise.

So, off we go. New job, new town, but same old habit.

I really have to work on that!

Prison here I come

Did you know the greatest mental health provide in the state of Texas is our jails and prisons?

Sad but true.

So the prison becomes a wonderful opportunity to work with the "least of these."

I have thought a lot about this new door of ministry for my life.

My ministry has been shaped by listening. Early in the first church I served, I realized I was not trained to listen like I should. So I started learning and listening. In my opinion, the Spoken Word on Sunday needed to be supplemented by the listening ear on Monday. So, I started listening.

In those early days that was about all I could offer. But for many folks, that was enough. They needed someone to hear like God hears--overflowing with acceptance, grace, and mercy. They needed somewhere safe to park their secrets with out loud. Only later was I to learn the power of saying things out loud. But somehow God was in the room and grace and direction came.

So after years of listening theologically, pastorally, and patiently, I came to get an advanced degree in psychology. So, I was introduced to the interior of the human life and how we might think and feel and decide and even understand. Then came a license and an expanded ministry that been successful. The church I proudly served for 15 years allowed me to take to the road listening. First to missionaries on mission trips, and then to missionaries in their natural surroundings and in planes,trains, cars, board rooms and outside the board rooms.

Now my listening leads to prisoners in their natural surroundings.

Some predict failure in this new venture--but there were some naysayers about my pastoring. Some predict the confined environment will wash me out. Some said that about pastoring. Some say I won't be able to stand the horrible language. They have never sat in a deacons' meeting and heard what was said short of cursing. I knew some of the red faces were the language restraints they didn't observe outside the building.

But I believe they are wrong. Pastoring has toughened me up. It has made me stand up and hold my ground. This new venture will actually allow me to control my environment better that I have ever been able to do in a local church. I am led to believe by my new supervisor that bad behavior can be controlled in the prison and I can order a inmate back to his cell.

So, I recently drove by a woman's house who has given me fits for eight of the 15 years I have been here. She carries a diagnosis she refuses to acknowledge to me. But I found myself thinking, "In the prison where I am going, she would be in a cage and I would be sitting at a chair outside doing my work!

How cool is that!

One more passing grade on another test

I passed another test today.

At the beginning of the business day, the call came that I had passed my drug screening test. Most tests I crammed for and more than I can remember passed. But this test, this test was about peeing in a cup. Not just peeing, but peeing stuff that didn't have stuff in it. So I passed! Few tests have I passed by what I didn't have, but now it is official. I am hired!

So, on August 18, I shall begin the journey of becoming the Responsible Psychotherapist for one of the prison units out of Livingston, Texas where we are moving before the start date. Basically, I will run a mental health clinic in the prison for the inmates who need psychiatric services.

In some ways, I have been preparing for this all my life. When God began to woo me to ministry, I visited with my wise pastor about what I was sensing. He started with youth ministry. "Do you feel drawn to work with youth?" I was a youth and at time working with my peers was more like a prison sentence or a horror movie. No, I did not feel called to work with youth. "Do you feel called to do education?" Frankly, there was not an exciting way to say that. Education ministry is vital to church but to spend my life doing what I saw our Minister of Education doing was a non-starter. The same question about music, except this time he answered, "I have heard you sing, forget that!" We laughed but, my brothers had the voices not me.

And with that, in that day and age, the only thing left was being "called to preach." I did not feel that either, but I did know I was called to ministry. Far be it for me to know that such a sense and such a calling was the future in our midst.

In my time, what I do and call preaching is often called teaching. My definition of preaching in the popular church culture is still selling without substance, shouting devoid of Scripture, and enthusiasm that is infused but quickly dissipates like snow in our West Texas yard. I cannot think past the preacher who wrote in the margin of his message,"Weak point, yell like hell!"

Over the years, the weak points have come together to make a weak church. I know that is where I will struggle. I will launch out to find a pastor who can preach in ways that challenge, inform, inspire and lead me to better devotion and service. Matched with my own devotional life, I will love and serve.

So, my call to ministry has taken many paths of exploration. It all ended with pastoring, and I have loved it but I was open to missions, to chaplaincy, to pioneer missions, to counseling. All of those have passed before my heart and I have told God I was willing. I believe, in my heart, I would go anywhere God led--even out of Texas. But I was a captive in this great state. But, in this great state my pastoral ministry has been shaped by each of those great works.

Now that call leads to the prison.