Probably won't make the front page.

I challenge you to read this through.

Towards the end of last year (December 22nd to be precise) there was a pretty monumental occurrence in Charlotte -- but you probably did not hear about it.

Out on the West-side, at the Arbon Glen Outreach Facility, two organizations were having a Christmas party for potentially at-risk students. The kids came from local YMCAs, but the buses were relatively quiet, so you probably didn't hear them either. City Dive (a ministry endeavor of NewBirth Charlotte) and 2xSALT  made it happen. They gave those kids food, presents, music, basketball and biblical principles

You probably didn't know that the founder of 2xSALT played ball professionally with the likes of John Stockton and Karl Malone. I didn't.

The kids got to sing along to Christmas tunes with a true recording artist, Gabe Bello, who bleeds true humility. I am fairly sure they didn't know that... but neither did I. This cat plays the sax as well as anyone. Yes, I am jealous. If I had a fraction of that talent, I'd have a sax tattooed to my forehead.

But amidst all the fun, about two dozen kids -- and even a YMCA staffer or two -- walked down and made public professions for Christ. But that probably won't make the news... not even the Christian radio shows. It should, but I am a tad biased.

There is a lot of positive stuff going on behind the scenes. Literally. These are the groups going in and making a difference, and they are doing it quietly, right here in Charlotte, to little fanfare, one disadvantaged kid at a time. And while they were doing it on that overcast Thursday, they inspired the heck out of me.

It was a privilege meeting and hanging with Reggie, Ria, Gabe, Daryle and Bart. Thanks for all the stuff you guys are doing. Big shout-out to the team at CityDive. Thanks for not confining yourselves to Huntersville. Big thanks to Alan, who thought me worthy enough to attend that activity.

If you want a few ministries to pray for and support, I got your quota here.

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Christmas is over.

Christmas is gone again. Finally.

We can put away the trees, specialized yard gnomes, wrapping paper and Angry Bird Christmas lighting. No more wrapping paper, reindeer car ornaments or the questionable sweaters (and no... cats do NOT skate), and, maybe most importantly, we can put away the Christmas spirit.

I have begun to dislike the term. It's like we save all our righteous indignation for the season. We expend so much energy fighting to "put Christ in Christmas" that we forget to act like Christ before and beyond Christmas.

What a concept.

Not to discount the good that has been done over the season. It is all needed. But there will still be hungry, homeless people. There will still be people trafficked, children abused, and poor people without. We can't afford to wait till next Christmas to stand in the gap.

A friend of mine, Brian, posted a telling poster on his Facebook Wall a few weeks ago. Paraphrased, it said:

Instead of being so concerned about putting the "Christ" in Christmas, how about we work to be the Christ in Christmas?

A little bit more love... just a teeny bit, and no one will ever be able to stop us. I honestly believe if Christ was physically here, one of the last things that would bother Him is how much of Him is injected into a season that has little to do with the sacrifice of His life anyway. If I might be so forward, I do humbly believe He would be in pain with regards to the human condition.

I believe we need to feel the same type of sorrow.

So, I propose we make the "Christ in Christmas" phrase the most redundant one in existence by reflecting God all the time. Let's work to become the Christ people see all the time.

Image courtesy of James Fischer via Flickr CC

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The humility of leadership

Courtesy of Ian Britton via reelworship.com

There is a time, in every believer's life, that he or she finds out just how important they are in Kingdom-building.

You can be such a powerful tool for the kingdom. This precept should be a motivating factor in the life of every Christian. But even more importantly, one must realize that as important as we are, God will get things done... without -- or in spite of -- you. In other words, you might as well get on board, because God's will will be done.

Understanding and appreciating this intrinsic dichotomy is a serious, humbling lesson all Christians must learn, and I admit I am still getting a handle on it myself. It is a thought that frees me from burdening myself with self-doubt and the occasional spirit of reluctance.

As potential champions of social justice, we all have opportunities to impact our local worlds in positive ways. There is a need. God wants us to project love. He blesses our humble endeavors in that regard.

What are you waiting for?

What am I waiting for?


Let's dream big, and worry about meeting people where they are, and showing God's love, with no strings attached. Forget about Christmas Spirit (don't gasp!)... let's make it perpetual.

Let' make it happen.

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Would you hire Jesus as your pastor?

via Google images

Would you?

Would our present-day sensibilities preclude us from looking at Jesus as a success?

What would you consider to be a successful minister/ministry? Congregation? Size of edifice? Length of time on local radio or TV? Propagation of intellectual material? Use of high-end technology?

How would Jesus measure up in a world that is instinctively influenced by materialism? I think the answer might be a bit scary.

Now, flip it.

How do I measure up to Jesus (the true measure of success)? Do I battle for those that need to be fought for? Do I show compassion? Am I willing to sacrifice my comfort to present the gospel to people?

Do I reflect God in everything I do?

Hmmm... food for thought...

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Class and courage.

From rivals.yahoo.com

Courage is a term bandied around quite frequently when it comes to sports. Not to downplay the work ethic of multi-million dollar athletes, but if I made 5 or 6 (or, to be honest, even 3 at this point) figures a game, I'd hobble on the pitch with three broken limbs.

Seriously, I read about the type of courage that really matters... the courage to win by being  a brother to one's opponent. Two high school rowers, James Konokpa and Nick Mead gave up chances to win medals at a meet to help opponents.

These two boys actually quit racing to help out opponents that had capsized into frigid water. We live in a world where winning at all costs is celebrated. Even churches buy into this philosophy. We want to win so much that we forget that christianity is a collectives race.

In any case, I love seeing true competition germinating from within brotherly love.

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JoePa's last lesson (to the church).

Courtesy of frangrit via Flickr CC.

The Penn State child abuse scandal has everyone reeling. Frankly, it has been painful to even try to watch sports TV shows this past week.

A telling dichotomy emerged. Even as alumni and school officials publicly expressed shame and disgust, the students themselves seemed unanimous in their defense of Coach Paterno.

Like it or not, it seemed clear that contrary to what we might always have thought, college may not be the best place to teach our young adults about the realities of life.

In any case, there are some things that church staffers can get from this grave issue. The good news? Some are really, really obvious.

When it comes to working with children and young people, some non-negotiable accountability rules must be put in place.

Duh. 

The eyewitness account of one of the alleged offenses is excruciatingly horrid. The first question administrators should ask is: where were the controls? How did a coach/camp supervisor end up in a shower with a child?

Are there rules in place? Do the staffers understand them? Most importantly, are the rules actually enforced? A lot of times, the issue isn't with having rules present; the problem is actually adhering to them.

Secrecy generally leads to problems

Some things are meant to never see the light of day... ask Microsoft about the Kin. Staff issues with children? Deal with it, follow the law and put the broom and rug away.

Cooperation with law enforcement is key too.

Time alone does not heal these type of wounds, particularly when the alleged perpetrator is not held accountable. Which brings me to...

Be decisive in response to allegations.

I believe that if you create a transparent environment with protective rules, checks and balances, you won't have any allegations, but if you do, then act swiftly. 

Some folks may not agree with me, but I believe if any unsavory behavior is alleged, the prudent thing to do may be to ask the staffer to step down for a while. Why not? The church 's governing entity can decide upon the status of such a leave, but I do think it is prudent to remove, say, a child worker while any issues are being investigated.

Communicate.

This goes with everything else. Enough said.

I never thought that I'd see Coach Paterno not be at the helm at Penn State. It's a shame that it had to go down the way it did, but it should serve as a warning to the rest of us mere mortals. You can do a lot of good, but all it takes to tarnish a legacy is one major misstep.

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Troy Polamalu is a poser

via pacificpostnews.com

This is so cool that I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.

Madame Tussauds is a world famous wax museum. Some folks say you know you've arrived when you have your likeness in wax placed there for any amount of time. Now, I truly wonder how some people make it there, but this does give me yet another opportunity to make an irrationally jealous dig at the Biebster, so let's move on.

I have thought that the seeing so many famous people eternally frozen must be disconcerting. Having one come to life, though, would be even creepier.

Now, if you know Troy Polamalu, you know that he is a scary guy. That are not too many people that walk around with his flowing locks in NFL and live to tell about it, but he is THAT good. It's as if the Steelers were named after him. So seeing one of the most feared defensive players in football scaring people is so worth it:

We have been talking about the concept of posing with my youth. Using Lifechurch.tv resources, we have been exploring why it is so hard to be ourselves in a world that does encourage what I call conformed uniqueness. We sometimes fall so in love with a projected image that we forget who we are, or worse, Who we are supposed to project.

We talked about the phenomenon on the social networks, and it sure ain't confined to teens.

Loving ourselves is a crucial component of realizing what God has in store, and appreciating what we bring to any table is part of that.

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Foray into Fitness

Courtesy of  Katja Giersig via Flickr CC

Enough is enough. And you are gonna help me keep it that way.

I can't tell you what has brought me to this point, but I surely got here. It could have been been when I caught myself wheezing after a gentle jog. Or was it when I was swarmed recently by old players, one of whom affectionately punched me in the stomach and told me I was "showing."

It might have been when I discovered my toddler daughter thought my midsection was a combo trampoline and pillow.

In any case, I recently decided that fitness will return to my neck of the woods.

It won't be easy. I like to eat. Ethnic, soul food, Qdoba burritos... I love them all. The thought of leaving the skin of chicken wounds my soul. I am also hearing that my 2 AM snack may have to go away, too. That alarms me.

It's not like I haven't tried before. Months ago, I decided that my fitness regimen would not just consist of Wii-based aerobics. I woke up before the sun, and told my groggy wife that I was off to recapture my youth. She rolled over.

I limped up about 45 minutes later. She glanced at me quizzically, but looked impressed.

"How did your run go?" then she noticed my injury. "What happened?"

"I hurt my hamstring" I dodgily replied.

"How?

"Stretching."

She wouldn't stop. "How far had you run?"

"Run? I never left the house. I pulled the muscle while stretching."

She rolled back over.

If I am gonna be completely honest, I can probably point out when sense of self-preservation overcame my built-in excuses. Over the summer, while escorting my youth group to a camp in West Virginia, I decided to go for a run. It was about time, too. Minus scrimmage time with my soccer teams, I hadn't run in like forever (well maybe not forever... just a decade. Or two). I strapped on my green and grey kicks, and was rocking my matching green shirt and grey shorts. Yes, yes... I was styling out in the mountains! You never know when Adidas might need a dark, svelte frontman. Or a dark frontman.

Had my music, Runkeeper software going, and I set off. I did a good pace, if I may say so myself. I pushed myself harder than I pushed myself physically in a long, long time. I ran till my eyes got blurry and I collapsed on the soccer field in exhaustion.

Mentally, I shocked myself. I instinctively knew I had ran something like a marathon, but I was humble enough to know I wasn't gonna be breaking any world or county records.

When I recovered enough to lift an arm, I checked my time. Without getting too much into it, something was wrong with Runkeeper. It claimed I had run 0.49 miles; I knew I had run at least 49.

You just can't trust this new-fangled technology anyway. Whatever. It was a near-death experience. And then the irritating piece of software asked if I wanted to share the results with my friends on Twitter and Facebook. Seriously? Where were these friends when I was in desperate need of oxygen?

That near-death experience help me decide that I am tired of hearing folks say that I carry my 190 lbs on my 5'9" frame "very well". I don't necessarily want my weight to be a situation, but I wouldn't mind getting some tone like The Situation (but please, please, hold the tan for the love of all that is decent and natural). Franky, I am tired of everyone else getting fit. I see Derek taunting me with Runkeeper stats on Facebook. Like every day, seemingly. I got Cass over there, running marathons, and now deliberately getting on my nerves by doing triathlons. I mean, come on. Pam, Heather, Jen... all y'all infuriate me.

Even my kid brother is all out, running and getting in shape. This truly provokes me, because I suspect he could probably beat my 0.49-mile time.

I am calling myself out. Why? Because I know y'all will call me out,. I know y'all hold me accountable in my quest to preemptively prepare for the inevitable "Fit-Bodied Baptist Church Workers" reality series.

I am gonna need some Bengay.

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Excellence and Summitt

For the past few years of coaching young people, I have almost exclusively coached young ladies. Something that even male coaches ruefully note is the relative lack of female coaches in our sport at the youth level.

It is hardly restricted to youth soccer. You see the same in high school, college and the pros. It seems guys corner the market on coaching and training opportunities. And, while the situation is changing, there is much to be done in the matter of encouraging and retaining female role models in coaching. My organization has actively and tangibly worked to bridge any gender gaps.

I am not trying to talk myself out of a job; I just feel that there is definite value in finding female role models for young ladies to emulate.

When news surfaced recently that the venerable Pat Summitt, championship coach of the Tennessee Lady Vols, is battling a form of early onset Alzheimer's disease, the entire sports world gasped. Scratch that. Everyone gasped.

See, you don't need to be a sports fan to know Coach Summitt. Her scowl is legendary, and her glare strikes fear into friends and foes alike. But beneath that ferocity lies a history of excellence that is hard to ignore. Check how many of her students either have degrees or are working towards one. Here's a hint: if expressing the number as a percentage, you'd have to use three digits.

Ask her players, past and present, about her and they talk about a coach who is not scared to push them to succeed. A coach who would not accept 90%. She does things right, doesn't take shortcuts, and her methods make us all rest soundly in the assurance that good triumphs over evil in the long-run.

I'm saying a prayer for Coach Summitt... for selfish reasons. You see, she isn't just a role model to young ladies; she is a role model to me.

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Fearing the best

I hate to lose.

This weekend, both of my soccer teams had it rough. No goals for, plenty against. A single loss usually does good to put me in a dark mood, but running between two states for most of the weekend to get both teams going (kinda) and getting our teeth kicked in was especially hard to swallow. Tack on the player injuries, tight schedules and forced tan I got, and you can understand my feelings.

In the midst of the losses, there were some bright spots. It exposed our collective need to get better, but also showed how well we can do when we gel. Both sets of ladies never quit.

There was a point, during the last game with my older team, that I had to make a decision. Continue to push and express anger, with injured players all over the place, or be a resource to my players. I reluctantly (I admit) picked the latter option.

I smiled.

My hope was that being relaxed would rub off. And it did. My ladies seemed to open up. Granted, with the way we changed injured keepers and fill-ins, all one could do was smile.

It didn't stop the goals against us; we continued our free fall, but hopefully, the landing was softer than it could have been.

Another lesson learned... don't fear the loss. Deal with your response.

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Feuding

When it comes to Scrabble, I am The Man. I could try to downplay my awesomeness, or cloak it with false modesty, but sometimes, you just have to underscore the truth. When it comes to this word game, I'm Michael Jackson, and everyone else is Tito. I am William, you're Harry, and I'll look fabulous in ceremonial headgear -- and I ain't abdicating, baby.

One advantage of having a smartphone is the ability to play Scrabble clones against others. While Word With Friends is quite popular, my favorite is Wordfeud. Available on iOS and Android, it allows play between opponents over the air.

Yes...

I played a couple of games with my wife. I love the lady, but I unleashed such a continual can of terror on her that even I started to feel bad. So I had to seek out some new competition. I was getting weary of hiding this word-play genius, and I had to let the world behold it.

I started playing with other friends who had Android devices. The result was generally the same: Me: Awesome, Them: Less so. I reveled in my new found celebrity status (work with me here). I was riding high, beating up on acquaintances and living the life. I beat my brother so badly that I could practically see the welts in his posterior.

Till I played Tee.

Wordfeud is not just any game. As any Scrabble aficionado can tell you, the game transcends just the need to have a wide vocabulary. It entails defense, blocking, letter awareness and strategic placement. Using all your tiles can make or break you, and having a 'Q' can help or hurt.

Everyone has a style of play. KB is a word savant; she uses the most words of any competitor, and she swings for the fences with longer words. Tee is methodical; make one mistake and you're toast. My brother J is annoying; he plays in boxes, grinding the game to a plodding halt while nitpicking words (remote play is necessary with him because you'll wanna choke him at some point. What in the world is "Qi"?).

Tee broke my run. In short order, my streak was gone. Babetta beat me. Karen beat me. Worse yet, my kid brother beat me. The last one hurt, and I had to fight back tears.

And confront my own mortality.

All in all, Wordfeud is addictive way for one to rediscover humility. However, with the roll that I'm on, I am gonna have to postpone that...

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People I dislike: Katherine Wolfe.

If you need a dose of inspiration, or wanna read about an old-fashioned hero that lives today, head over and read about Katherine Arnold Wolfe.

Beyond being a woman with untold courage, she managed to survive a life-threatening stroke. This wife and mother also fought to re-learn skills that she lost after the stroke.

People that are braver than me make me feel small. Katherine Wolfe makes me feel refreshingly minute, and it is a privilege to write about her. Every now and then, we meet or read about powerful beings that only wear human flesh. Katherine is one of them.

I am grateful God gave me an opportunity to read about her.

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An ode to uncoolness.

Here's a gem from David Meurer via New Man Magazine.

Think about: does the chase of coolness prevent us from being humble?

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Reflection.

Couple of things on my mind, that may or may not make you throw rocks at me:

• I admit I have to get myself in shape, even as I squarely place the blame on people like Cass and Jen... people I blame for not yelling at me.
• One of my players called me a softie. This angers me, because it goes against my self-described street rep. It also angers me because she might be right. Drat.
• I can barely beat my 7 yr-old and 4 yr-old in Wii baseball anymore, and, in any case, I then feel like I need Tommy John surgery.
• I was the oldest attendant at my brother's wedding last week. Hurray for getting old.
• Yes, I admit it openly. I like Tim Tebow.
• My wife says I am getting crankier in my old] age, and that makes me cranky.
• I think one of my youth may be hitting the Bible more than me, and this shames me.
• The next time I see my kid brother flaunt his Android-powered HTC EVO (a phone which I am waiting on, I will take it and bash him over the head with it. So there.
• I find myself referring to "urban dictionaries" more often.
• I googled myself last month. Twice.
  

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Prayers for TN

Just a quick note of prayer to our family and friends in Tennessee... the rain and resulting flooding has been devastating.

Just wanna throw a quick shout-out to Pete Wilson... if you have a boat and a heart to help, reach out to him and the folks at Cross Point Church, who are looking to help.

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The Punter? Why?

Okay...

Of all people to highlight on a card aimed to get season ticket holders to renew, why would NFL Buffalo Bills pick the punter?

Everyone knows the punters are not serious football players... where was the quarterback? Star linebacker? Where was TO? Then again, that could backfire...

But when you read this story by Pat McManamon, you ask yourself: where can you find a better representative for your franchise?

We don't usually look to athletes for inspiration (of the positive kind) anymore, so this is especially refreshing.

Hats off to Brian Moorman, a silent hero who just happens to punt pretty well.

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Healthcare shenanigans

On this, I'll be brief.

Check out this tweet from David Bean: Hope.

People, no matter what side of the aisle your sympathies lie, God is in control. The God who heals the sick 2000 years ago still does it today. That is true healthcare coverage that outlasts anything we can or cannot come up with it. Wonder why I am blissfully apolitical? There ya have it.

That is all.

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Heroes: David Benke

Since I work with middle school and high school students, any and all stories of school violence hit close to my heart.

So, when reports surfaced today about a man going on a shooting rampage in a middle school just three miles away from the tragic Columbine school shooting, my heart skipped a beat.

Pray for our young people. Pray for our "older" people.

Thank God for David Benke.

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Retrusting God

A few weeks ago, I was coasting on a high. Things were really looking up; everything was pretty much lining up. More and more doors seemed to be opening simultaneously.

Then, the floor dropped out.

My nephew Nate, one of the sweetest kids you could ever hope to know, was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in his brain. All this while going to hospital for something else

I have four nephews, all of whom I love dearly, and Nate is the youngest. Same age, in fact, as my son. The two of them are road dawgs; whenever they are together, you can count on joint operations of a destructive kind. We (the parents) always wondered how two 3-yr-olds could wreak so much havoc.

When the tumor was found, I went numb, and wrapped myself in the supposedly proper male facade of silent strength. My wife was devastated, and holding her while she cried allowed me to hide the condensation that immediately formed in my own eyes.

I prayed. We prayed. But somehow, the lump in my throat would not leave. At night, I cried. And the cycle repeated every day. Public prayer, and private tears, followed by more prayer and a few more tears

And then I became angry. I had reason to be, right? Forget the stuff I taught my youth for a quick second; I could divest myself of faith for a little bit... right? Right?!

Why did my nephew have to go through this? What did his parents do? Why did my boy have to have this dangerous mass pressing into his brain? WHY? Tell me... why. I have EVERY right to be angry and mad and infuriated. And helpless. And a little bit lower than optimal on the faith-o-meter.

No.

I'm gonna see this one through. I am gonna see my nephew win this. I am gonna be able to hold him again. I am gonna see him go through chemo, and probably get tired, maybe nauseous... but I am gonna see him beat this. Because I know, I believe that there is power in prayer, and that the God we serve is a God that still makes miracles happen. And every tear shed (like the ones dripping now) are just precursors to the tears of joy we'll be shedding on the other side of trial.

I am going to retrust God. I admit it may have to do with the fact that I have nothing else, but now that I am on this path, I'm in all the way.

Pray for my nephew, please. You'll be doing yourself a favor; you will want to know that you were part of this miracle, so get to it.

Love ya, nephew!

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The Inspiration Currently Known as Bree

I latched on to this story from David Whitley via FanHouse, and I hope it touches you as much as it touched me.

It tells the story of Bree McMahon, a senior at Freedom High School in Orlando, Florida, who overcame an event that would crush almost anyone else.

The varsity soccer player lost her leg.

The manner was excruciatingly tragic. While at a carwash fundraiser for the soccer team, a fellow player hit the gas pedal in a vehicle by mistake and pinned Bree to the wall.

But, as Whitley notes, the SUV left Bree's spirit unscathed.

Now, I cannot tell this story better than David Whitley, and I am not gonna try; all I can say is I wish God will bless me with the a percentage of the grace that this 17 yr-old possesses, so much so that while waiting in pain for the ambulance to arrive, she was able to tell her despondent teammate how much she loved her and how she understood it was an accident.

As a former keeper, there are few people I think can EVER score on me. We cultivate that confidence. Mia Hamm is one person I am wary of. I admit it.

Bree, when Mia Hamm says you are her hero, that it big time. And I just wanna say, you are mine too.

Here's to #12... what an honor to hear of your story. What an honor to have you play Joga Bonito, and what an honor to see the courage you displayed when you took the field, crutches and prosthesis and all, a beautiful example of the character I'd love to see in my own players... and myself.

Image courtesy of Orlando Sentinel/FanHouse.

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