Food for thought

I absolutely love this post from Twitter pal and youth ministry all-star Patti Gibbons. Patti really wrote a touching post about some things that, in my humble opinion, should be close to heart because they are painfully present in the church.

Each and every bullet touched me. How profound... it is funny what we focus on sometimes...

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What do you think?

What is the the most pressing issue facing youth today? What issue do you think impacts the life of our youth in the church, and how should youth pastors and youth ministry workers approach said issues?

Your comments are welcome!

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Mystery Shoppers in Church

So, I love reading Anne Jackson's contributions. She quite seriously has a few screws missing (and that is a huge compliment, by the way). Anyway, stumbled a recent posting of hers on "mystery worshippers." Seems like some churches are using consultants akin to the way retail establishment and entities use mystery shoppers to provide feedback on the experience.

Seems like The Wall Street Journal has chronicled the phenomenon.

Is this yet another sign that we are becoming too corporate?

I liked the final two paragraphs. I agree. I refuse to criticize the heart behind the people who I am sure sincerely want to document their own failings for good. However, I am a little uncomfortable with the fact that it is a serious issue if we have to turn to this to help fix the arguably most important function of church.

But if this is happening in the church, there will be many more applications. I can see my daughter hiring a friend from another school to mystery shop her kindergarten teacher. Heck, there are many things I'd die to mystery shop my parents for, like making us hand-shred important documents as a weekend chore when growing up. A "mystery child" would have been great help in documenting my concerns to the appropriate state agencies.

In fact, I can come up with a million scenarios where a mystery shop could be used, at the very least as a pitiful excuse. Houses of ill-repute and infidelity would easily be explained away ("Honey, I was doing research for Broken Home Alternatives. Honest!").

Or am I missing a life calling here? I think I would be gifted at this. I could blitz churches during Easter and Christmas, and have a prime time special the morning after cataloging various issues like ministers and pastors whose shoes don't match their belts, and which churches use modesty blankets appropriately. My very own red carpet show.

Then, just as in retail, underground movements to sniff out mystery worshippers will spring up. Anybody who looks too closely at the band, or keeps their eyes open during worship, or takes notes even more frequently and copiously than Deacon White during service would be suspect, and will be exposed to the local area via Twitter. Extra special care must be taken with the newbie who savors the donuts and coffee with TV advertisement-like severity.

Now, pastors will be forced to incorporate hand signals, and there will be an upswing in the use of "praise ringers" or folks used as Hype Men. Just what we need... Flavor Flav teaching us the finer points of getting things started right....

Anyway, dreams of career options aside, great story.

Much thanks to papanashul for the image via Creative Commons License (Flickr).

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Yep. Old.

So, I lamented about my age here a while back, and got some much unneeded affirmation this weekend at the tournament I coached at.

In the hotel lobby, I ran into an old player of mine, Chris. Now, I had known Chris since my rookie days as a high school assistant. In fact, I knew Chris since he was in middle school.

Well, guess who is coaching now? Yes, you guessed right: Chris.

You know you are old when your old/graduated players start coaching.

We had a blast reminiscing about the old days. Chris was a fiery player in his heyday, so I needled him by telling his current players of how their coach acted way back when, and I advised them to give him a hard time.

It was great to see him; I wish I had seen him in action.

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The Kingsport Chronicles.

Spent most of the weekend in Kingsport, Tennessee with my team, taking part in the SCOSA Appalachian Fall Soccer Festival.

It was sure to have a lot of subplots; first game since one of my angels broke her foot; the first game when I would have another angel back from another fracture; and the first game with our two new players. All that in the pleasant foothills of TN.

As always, I was somewhat nervous. I spent the solitary drive up windy Hwy 321 thinking and rethinking field combinations. I guessed we'd be playing some good teams, but not knowing the ability of the teams (or parent club) gave me pause.

In any case, our first two games went well. The scores (4-0 and 3-0) did not reflect the toughness of the teams we played. Our third game (a 9.30 am battle in seemingly freezing weather) was a toughie, but we eeked out a goalless tie.

That set up a last game that we really needed to win to avoid a final game (to win on points).

The last game was one we should have supposedly won easily on paper. However, the other team came out swinging. They scored in the first few minutes.

Fortunately, we put one in almost immediately after, and put two more grit goals in to seal the victory and the tournament top spot.

Great outing, my angels are champions, and they did it in style. 10 goals for, 1 against. I am so very proud!

Go Lightning!


Sent via my BlackBerry.

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10 Crucial Youth Ministry Laws

Youth ministry is a tightrope over a minefield. Youth pastors have to learn early that once you lose the facade of respect, you have lost the battle.

I do have a couple of pointers for the rookies and vets alike. They are gleaned from things I have seen. They don't teach these in seminary.

Of course, none of these were perpetuated by me.


1) Never use the word "chillax" at all. Ever. Period.

2) Do not get faux tattoos. Nothing kills your juice like cheap ink smears.

3) Resist the urge to use urban slang. Do not call the young ladies "shawtie" or the guys "cats." Terms like those are very easily considered offensive by the untrained ear, and you could get arrested. Seriously. Ask The Kingsmen about Louie, Louie.

4) Crying is cool, but like shrimp and William Shatner, moderation is key.

5) There is no law that I am aware of that forces youth pastors to dye their hair blonde. There is no biblical exhortation either. Unless you are a biblical Nazarene (like Samson), regular haircuts and dos work just fine. Think about Eminem and Grace Jones. They are not youth pastors.

6) Don't challenge your youth to dunk contests.

7) Don't challenge your youth parents to dunk contests.

8) Don't invite your mother to speak to your youth group, unless she has lockjaw, mouth surgery or is otherwise unable to talk. Nothing hurts your ministry more than anecdotes of you running down the street naked at age three. Pictures hurt more.

9) No dancing. It is a lose-lose proposition. You'll either look like a Tin Man impersonator or a video hoochie. Definitely don't do splits. When you do splits, nothing is gained; there is plenty that can be lost.

10) Never be too embarrassed to say the phrase "I don't know" in response to a difficult question.


Prayin' for ya!


Sent via my BlackBerry.

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Soccer Life Lessons.

Sometimes, the important things in life can get hidden behind fear.

This weekend, again, I relearned a few life lessons.

1) Courage comes in difference sizes. It can appear in a 5'2" frame, carried off the field of play with a serious fracture, or in a 5'7" frame who is hurt but refuses to leave her teammates, and every height in between.

2) Courage doesn't always mean confronting your fears head on, on time. Sometimes, it means coming back to be there for your team before it is too late.

3) Nothing -- exhaustion, superior numbers, seeing a friend rushed to hospital -- nothing is bigger than pure heart. Want to know the definition of team? Come watch Lightning play.

4) Nothing is more overwhelming than a bunch of 11-yr olds looking at you for direction. Trust personified.

5) You realize that even though some players may support Virginia Tech or Notre Dame or (God forbid) Duke, they are still angels in your book. After all, it is usually the parents who are making horrible mistakes. Not everybody is nice enough to be a Carolina fan.

Win or lose, these ladies have won my heart, and I am learning, at the very least, as much from them as they are learning from me.

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What a weekend...

Wow.

So, it started well enough. We won our game on Saturday. Not our prettiest showing. We scored "grunt" goals, and a defensive miscue led to a goal conceded, but a 3-1 win is something to celebrate.

Sunday was a nightmare.

We were scheduled to play one of the top teams in our league. I had broken my toe the day before, so I was already a little less than optimal.

The game started... we were doing well (if a little gun shy). A few minutes into the game, one of my players went down and didn't get up. As was customary, I ran out to check on her as play was stopped.

I was slightly concerned when I found her crying, knowing she is generally one to pop back up after collisions. I became more concerned when she couldn't move and I had to carry her off the field.

My heart froze when I saw her ankle. By this time, her parents and my manager had made it to us on the sideline. After looking at her leg, we made the immediate decision to take her to the emergency room. I suspected that her ankle was broken.

So, I returned the game really bummed out. The girls were bummed out too. The rest of the half was a blur.

As for the game itself, I was now down to eight players (no subs). Then, another of my ladies fell sick right before the second half began. Yep, I had to play the opposing team a player down. I also had to spend halftime talking and settling my ladies (and myself) down.

I made the adjustments, killing one wing, and then consolidating the middle. Somehow, exhausted, my girls rose to the occasion, and actually controlled the game.

At one point, one of my players went down. She needed to come off, but she looked up, saw her teammates needed her, and jumped up on one foot. To be careful, I took her off anyway, so we we had to play down two players for a spell.

Somehow, some way, it ended at zeros. I was so proud!

Went to the hospital afterwards. Sherry had broken her heel, and was about to be operated upon. It broke my heart to see her in her hospital room.

The operation was a success, and yesterday, we skipped practice to hang out with Sherry at home. Great time. Sherry will be gone for 10 weeks. We also found out that my other player who broke her heel should be back with us next week.

Crazy weekend!


Sent via my BlackBerry.

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The latent racism of 8-ball

Incredibly, it had never occurred to me before. Ever.

It was during my freshman year at college. My friends and I were on campus, and we were actively taking advantage of the resources available. We were treating ourselves to a game of pool. Winner retained the table; challengers paid the dollar necessary unpocket the balls.

I was playing L, who was a shark in his own right. He had dreadlocks, and always had the aura of being deep inn thought. In retrospect, it is clear now that he was deep into something of a more organic nature; but for eighteen and nineteen yr-olds, he was cool.

I was lining up for shot. With the sticks in the game room, you needed a periscope and prayer to overcome the bowed equipment.

"Have you ever analyzed the racism involved?" he asked out the blue.

"Huh?" I had long since realized that I wold never make a living off the cue table; still, I needed all the concentration I could get. Starting what I assumed was gonna be a treatise on the socio-economic status of African Americans in the Dirty South was not going to help me at this moment.

He persisted. "Why is the object of the game to use the white ball to knock in every colored ball, and to finally knock the black ball in?"

"What?" That truly went over my head.

"You have to look at the big picture, man. Nothing is ever how it seems. Pool is an expression of white superiority."

I stood up.

I don't claim to be a great thinker. However, this bothered me. I cannot believe I never noticed this and came to this conclusion. In other words, I honestly thought he was pulling my leg.

He wasn't. He was dead serious.

Now, I had a problem. Since I had so clearly fallen prey to the subliminal message, I had a limited amount of time to recoup our loss. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was easier said than done:

1) Switching the cue ball and the 8-ball does not work. Really. If you're playing on the pay-to-play type tables, don't scratch; it'll get expensive. Plus, everybody (black and white) will look at you funny.

2) Billiards is just way to pretentious for regular people (pretentious, as used here, is a euphemism for complex). Real Gs play pool.

3) Bowling doesn't work. Yeah, on the surface, what is better than 10 white pins waiting on a gleaming globe of ebony to knock 'em down? Well, you try finding an all-black ball that fits correctly at the bowling alley. And how do spares work in the big picture? What about midnight bowling? Too many unexplained variables.

4) Dominoes and oreos just confuse me.

I am not trying to make light of a serious issue; I want to kick the door in. I believe that while issues do exist in the real world, we all need to focus on the numerous ones that are out in the open, versus grasping at supposed concepts buried in the ground.

Today, it is trendy to get fired up. About something. About anything. For example, I am furious with Meck County for closing the game fields this weekend. I am not too happy about Argentina winning soccer gold at the Olympics, and I am quite ticked about Chuck Norris singing the opening theme to Walker, Texas Ranger.

Love supersedes a lot of wrongs, including theme songs and 8-ball conspiracies. Preaching acceptance is easy, but practicing it is a whole different concept. And, I am aiming that to a different demographic than you may have initially guessed. The only thing worse than letting an ill-doing hold one back is allowing a perceived ill hold the same weight.

I don't think we ever finished that game. I wonder if I could get my dollar back.

Another big shout-out to Brent and Dennis. If they are cue balls, they are the type that knock change into occurring.

Much thanks to Reijii and rlr77 for making their fantastic work available via Creative Commons License on Flickr.

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Am I the next Billy Graham?

Loved this writeup by ProdigalJon, blogger extraordinaire. As I commented on his site, I almost qualify, but the ridiculous Grape Nuts requirement was asking for too much...

Love hitting that site...

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Ministry Hues

It hit me, somewhat literally, a few years back.

I was in a training class, learning strategies on how to deal with teenage girls in a Christian setting. As usual, the trainer led us through pre-class worship, a cappella. Today, as promised, he was taking our pre-conference staple to a new level. He brought a tape deck.

After we finished, still caught up in the alternative tunes still playing, he asked me what I thought of the music. I replied that it was okay, which was true; I liked it. He was dismayed by my answer.

“Cool? How about Dy-No-Mite!!!! You cannot tell me that you don’t love this band. I don’t believe that you don’t have their CD.”

Somewhat fearfully, I intimated that I did not know the band at all, much less own any of their material. Big mistake.

In a fit of panic, our instructor jumped up, flailing his hand, and his pen flew out and clunked me in the head. Amid his apology, I made a mental note to clone his CD collection for private study to protect my health.

“You have to be kidding me… you have not worshipped to this?! What about Sonicflood?” He proceeded to rattle off the names of several Christian rock and alternative bands. To each, I had to reluctantly admit to not being a fan. He was beside himself.

After an awkward pause, I found the courage to ask him a question.

“You ever listened to Trin-i-tee 5:7?”

“No. Who is he?”

“They are a female gospel trio. Huge following,” I supplied.

“Oh… no… never heard of them.” He became thoughtful. “Touché.”

Believe it or not, I was not on a crusade that very moment. While I did feel smug, I honestly was not trying to go for a civil rights victory. I do believe that despite all the time we had spent together, this was the first time he noticed me. Yeah, he knew I was black; I am sure that he knew that I would never be able to give candid advice on which sun tan lotion to use. However, I think it finally occurred to him that culturally, I was a little different, and I am not sure he knew what to do with that.

Since I have lived in mostly huge metro regions in the south, I am familiar with the oft-recounted tales of Sunday Morning, the so-called Most Segregated Day in America. Being the son of immigrants, an exposure to cultural diversity was a priority. Thus, we attended mixed congregations, but almost always defaulted to predominately white churches. Going to college in Chapel Hill reinforced this norm.

Of course, when I started working in the church, I gravitated to the same; mixed membership churches where I could fit in but not disappear. I prided myself with the ability to learn how to adapt to any environment without losing my own personality. I was able to retain my love for gospel music and urban mannerisms even while worshipping with the suburban folks. However, my first few forays into youth ministry left me feeling like a poorly-cast understudy of Sidney Poitier in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.

One time, when I arrived for an interview, the confused church secretary had me wait in the foyer for a half hour while she held what must have been an emergency conference with the senior pastor. Seeing an African American show up in a suit and tie was just too much for the sweet lady’s sensibilities.

She came out of the office, and asked again, “Are you Tre?”

“Yes, Ma’am” I replied.

“Are you sure?”

Strangely, I did get an offer from that church, so I guess it could have been worse, particularly since I never thought to double check my identity.

At one church at which I served, I got to meet the parent of one of my more active teens. He did not regularly attend church, but had heard about me a great deal, he said via email, and had been browbeaten into attending our Fall social. When I walked up to him, he actually shook my hand and walked by me and introduced himself to our senior pastor, thinking that it was me.

No sweat… I figured he’d come back eventually. He did.

It was easy to justify the resentment that built up. During a job hunt, one pastor was honest enough to tell me that I was perfect for a position, but that due to recent issues, the appointment of a black person could potentially split the church.

Honesty hurts sometimes.

See, I just refuse to see things as black and white (pardon the pun). Humbly, I have seen way more than most people will see in terms of pain. I spent time being tortured because of my faith when I was a teen, and most of the physical and mental pain was inflicted by people who outwardly looked like me. At the end of the day, there is a simple choice to be made: I can either use differences as a crutch, or I can roll with it. In fact, allowing people into my soul allows me to accept them, and hopefully be a good reflection of the One we serve.

Race will be a hot button topic for years to come. Globalization has ensured that we have had to get closer, maybe faster than we were comfortable with. Tough.

There has always been an unspoken rule… things that black guys shouldn’t do. Like skiing. Or whitewater rafting and skydiving. Some would add swimming competitively to the mix. In any case, to keep my Urban Card active, there were activities I could not enjoy.

I have been the black youth guy, the token staff mixer, the lone injection of culture and the beacon of integration. I used to resent being the standard bearer. Now, I think it is somewhat of an opportunity: an opportunity to broaden my own horizons. Learning that it is not my mission to integrate the races was a humbling, but necessary step in my own spiritual journey.

The answer is not throwing in the towel and choosing to return to secular work; it isn’t becoming a race martyr in my own mind. It is simply acknowledging the good, forgiving the bad and remembering that people will be people.

Standards today are different than they were decades ago. I am less of an anomaly, and that is a good thing. We minister to people with varied backgrounds. The lines that separate the races are blurring, and some mores of old are fading to obscurity. My job is to make sure that I don’t settle for being the diversity quota; I can be an agent of change

So, I did go skiing. Most of the trip was spent reflecting on how something so seemingly pure and beautiful could inflict so much pain. My ego will forever be scarred by the little kids who pointed and giggled at my predicament on the zero-degree bunny slopes. Years of playing soccer could not prepare me for the sore shins I obtained. God may have intended for minorities to ski, but I am thankful He did not make it a requirement to get to heaven. Even watching snowboarding on TV makes me break out into sweats.

When I think about it, through the years, I have felt most accepted by the teens themselves. I have been blessed to mentor teens that see me through colorblind eyes. And at the end of the day, that is what it’s all about right?

Recently, after an especially strenuous game session that preceded our Saturday youth meeting, my hope that I would be given a few minutes to lick my wounds and catch my breath were thwarted by Stephen, one of my newer young people. We had talked about haircuts a while back, and he had wondered about the texture of my hair. Why did I have my hair cut it so often, he asked.

“Well, we black dudes tend to do that.” I said without really thinking.

He looked at me, and in complete astonishment, said, “That’s right! You aren’t white!”

Now, Stephen looked down at me and told me he thought I was great (he must not have seen me play snatch the bacon).

Perplexed and humbled, I looked at him wordlessly.

“When I grow up, I wanna be cool like you. I want to love God and work with the difficult kids like me.” And with that, he walked away.

While I do admit I have seriously considered adding that to my email signature in bright orange with a link to audio attached, in my more lucid moments, I am unashamed to say that in that instant, I am quite sure I got more from him than he did for me. Forget culture. I want to learn from people like him, and I thank God for showing me how important that is.

White water rafting is on hold for the time being. Hey, we all have our limits…

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Bittersweet Symphony

So, Sunday was a mixed basket.

On the positive side, my team bounced back and effected a convincing 6-0 victory. 2-0 at the half. We keep on getting better.

Now, for the sad stuff. One of my players was hurt during the game, and left bleeding. She is okay. Another player was hurting after the game. Well, today, I found out that her foot is broken.

Tough cookies, this lot. Incredibly resilient, and hard as steel, but real angels.

I hate when my players get hurt...

Sent via my BlackBerry.

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Funny how things work out...

So, I wrote earlier that I had $50 stolen from me on Saturday. We are on the tightest of budgets during this transition, so we have been more careful than usual.

My wife did her best to console me, but I was quite upset.

In any case, we visited my Twit pal Derek at the church he pastors on Sunday (okay... "Twit pal" sounded cooler in my head). The youth ran service, and we had a blast. Pastor Scott's message was on point, and the worship was sorely needed. As we left to introduce ourselves to Derek, right after offering, this guy -- a complete stranger -- furtively squeezed a C-note into my wife's hand.

Quite confused, we continued out into the lobby, where Derek and I "met" each other.

After introducing each other to our respective spouses and laughing about Twitter, I told him about the gift, and why we had to give it back.

He was genuinely unfazed.

"That is the type of people we have here. I am sure he felt God stated you had a need, and he listened."

He ignored my prideful protestations. "He blessed you. That's what people do."

That simple... and he was right.

I'd love to say that I listened, and that my pride allowed me to humbly accept.

I ran around the church looking for this person. Without success.

Later on, during quiet time, I allowed myself to focus on what I was supposed to learn. Was I too concerned about perception to accept a blessing? Or am I man enough to be graceful while adding an important clause in my mind to bless others as well?

Thank you, Lord, for being good even when I too dumb to appreciate it.

Sent via my BlackBerry.

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Hanging wit' the Police

Not my best day.

We played our sister team today. It was a game I would frankly like back, and I am quite sure that my ladies feel the same.

To summarize, we gave up a goal early, and it took a concerted effort to pull out the tie in the dying minutes.

The opposing coach was masterful with her game plan, and used her players in a very clinical way. I still cannot get away from the fact that I was not able to get my girls to clinch a victory.

Then, we discovered that one of our parents cars was broken into. The crooks got away with just under $1000 in cash, an iPod, a pocket book full of personal effects amongst other things.

My car was rifled through, but I did not notice anything taken; my Blackberry, bluetooth headset and cardholder were left untouched. I figured that my delayed car alarm spooked them off in the act.

Stuff like that burns me. Having dealt with fraud and dishonesty at the corporate level, any type of theft infuriates me, and reawakens the thirst for putting such people away.

So, I hung with my player, her mom and sister waited for the police to arrive to take down a preliminary report. Seeing how dejected they were ripped at my heart strings. This particular player is recovering from a broken foot, but is still there for spot duty; never complains, and is always there for our team. Like the rest of my ladies, seeing her hurt made me wanna go for the baseball bat.

When I got home, it hit me. I almost never carry cash; I always have an emergency $50.00 stashed in my work bag. Well, guess what was missing from the car (along with paperwork, game paraphernalia and a keyboard)?

What a day...


Sent via my BlackBerry.

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Decision 2008

Every so often, we are lulled into thinking that we are all one big, happy family. We forget our differences, and come together to celebrate long lost concepts like brotherly love and understanding.

Now, you and I both know the natural balance has to be restored periodically. This is why we have election years. They remind us how much we really dislike each other.

I can see why the folks behind campaign ads are in high demand. It takes a special type of genius to strike the delicate three-way balance between sadism, fantasy and outright comedy. It's like a juvenile game of one-up. Since all candidates are so clearly bad people (as told by the respective opponent), I am torn. Coin flip, anyone?

I can also see why our Model removed Himself from the political arena, and resisted the draw of earthly power. It's crazy.

I contend that we -- the church -- should really focus within. We need to worry about the speck first. We are dropping the ball on easy things. You know, loving and ministering to people, and being a little less judgmental. Making an impact socially -- locally as well as worldwide.

I know it might not be the most popular view, but it is one that I sincerely believe must be addressed if we are to be relevant.

It is gonna take a little bit more than donut holes -- or rhetoric -- to reach those we need to reach, and it is gonna definitely take more than electing one man.

Sent via my BlackBerry.

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Hats off

Being the cynical guy that I tend to be, I have this unenviable ability to freeze my emotions regardless of situations or circumstances. Having seen some interesting stuff in my own right, I almost instinctively desensitize myself from stories that affect others.

Recently, I had the opportunity to talk with Derek Turner, Pastor of The Branch Family Church here in Charlotte. I had an opportunity to hear his story, and was humbled to tears.

His story reminds me that even in the depths of disaster, God's plan can be established. I believe that this clearly shows in plenty areas, especially in the fruit of The Branch.

His fortitude, which is expressed in an open type of warmth, is an inspiration.

Big shout-out to The Branch!

Sent via my BlackBerry.

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Video on Blackberry

The following is a review of a program that helps create movies on the BlackBerry from DVD. I wrote it a while back for fellow Pinstackers. Why? Well apart from the obvious personal entertainment value, I have used the clip I linked here to serve as a lighthearted icebreaker.

Read and enjoy... not freeware, but good stuff.



One of the biggest continuous discussions in tech land is how to conveniently fit videos on handhelds and smartphones.


In ministry, I have found that something as simple as a short comedy clip can be a great ice-breaker in small groups. Thus, getting video on my T5 truly made it a true multimedia device that was capable of really being a partner in what we do. A web search easily yielded different ways to get legitimately owned videos to play on PalmOS devices.


I like to get movie excerpts that underline my message. When you lack expensive multimedia equipment, you have to be creative; splitting up groups and having each group watch the clip in turn was a great method of facilitating discussion and participation.


For BlackBerry, it is seemingly a bit tougher. For one, the free staples that abound in the PalmOS world, staples I took for granted (like Coreplayer, the old TCPMP), are simply not available for BlackBerry. And, while there are freeware offerings that are dedicated to video encoding and transfer, every attempt I made was met with complete failure or substandard results. The annoying part was that I couldn't always figure out if it was a glitch in the software or user error (I should add that many BB users have reported usable results with freeware).


While forum-hopping in the BB web universe, I re-discovered a great tool that I had played around with when I was still entrenched in PalmOS. Makayama has been a front-runner in making media software for handhelds and smartphones, and that stable includes current BlackBerry models and the iPhone.


Here's to Media Studio for BlackBerry by Makayama. It promised to simplify the task, and to cut down on the time as well.


Okay, I thought. This definitely gonna be interesting...


Ordinarily, I found the DVD-to-BB process similar to the Palm method: it generally involved more than one computer download, and the user had to get the settings on each piece of software just right.


With MSB, I downloaded the desktop application to my PC.


That was it.

Okay.

Next, after starting the program on my laptop, it led me through to the start-up screen.

Now, I am really going to try to make this sound as technical as I can. Two clicks and about 45 minutes later, I was watching a movie on my Curve with the built-in media player. It converted into six equal-length sections.


Wow.


Movie quality was excellent, and the sound was responsive. I played the finished product alongside the "real" version on my laptop, and could detect no lagging or jumping. At the end of every segment, you simply exit and start the next. I was quite pleased with how simple the whole process was.


MSB defaulted to encoding the movie in six parts. This is the optional "Safe Mode" that is new on version 1.3, and anyone who has done this on any sort of handheld knows why this is a great feature: it reduces the effect of conversion errors. Of course, the movie can be encoded in one piece if the user so chooses.


The comparative ease was the biggest winner for me, and frankly, was borderline unbelievable, particularly when you take my prior experiences with this platform into account. It also seemed as close to guaranteed as one can possibly get with video on the BlackBerry, and I am big fan of guarantees.


MSB also offers to convert suitable YouTube and camcorder videos, and to compress up to eight feature films on a 1 GB memory card.


The service at Makayama is top-notch. They clearly take pride in their products, and were quick to answer all service questions promptly and effectively (big thanks to Vincent).


Currently, there is a special going on for purchases. Use special promotion code SPECIALOFFER during checkout. It is pertinent to note that there is also a free trial download available.



Visit the Makayama site for other software utilities for iPhone, Pocket PC, PSP, and others.


This software was tested on a Blackberry 8320 on T-Mobile.

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Grey Hair

I am getting old. Not older.

Old.

I was talking to one of parents the other day, and realized that my parents were not that much older than me anymore. I had gone from being the young buck who mentored their kids to actually thinking like them.

Cool. Right?

I see what I will euphemistically refer to as maturity in everything. While visiting my parents, I started ragging on my kid brother about the chrome wheels he had on his ride. While it was a bit too "urban" for me, the blaring music and leaned-back seats pushed it over my top, and I gave him a quick lecture about the importance of image.

He listened, and wordlessly went into the garage and fished out something to present to me. It was a pair of plastic gold finish windshield-wiper covers. I was aghast. I remember purchasing them more than a decade ago to put on my Geo that had no stereo and that had sported some flames on the side that wreaked havoc on the eyes.

"Touche,'" I said. I then did what any respectable, older brother would do: I snatched the hideous objects and chased him round and through the house, beating him with them the whole while.

Thing is, not that long ago, I would have been spending the afternoon polishing my chrome wheels. How times change.

Kids call me "sir" by reflex, or worse, "Mr Tre." I actually have not bought a pair of designer jeans in years, and I actually have considered wearing a shirt and tie to games that I coach, as I have come to prefer getting decked out. I even buy spray starch in bulk. I admit that I have fantasized about having a head full of wavy, glorious white hair. Or, at least a respectable salt-and-pepper. Please God.

The boys I coached recently thought it made good sense to spot me a few yards during a race we had. My siblings (all younger) think it is good form to refer to me as "pops." And those stupid forms with the age data just compound the problem. Why does it have to be 30-40? Why not 18-35? Sounds like a valid age group to me.

It's not all bad. Yeah, beyond the nervous ponderings pertaining to prostate exams and nutritional supplements, there is something infinitely cool about my recent surge into my thirties. There is a renewed sense of appreciation of life. I love having kids at this age, where my juvenile tendencies are reborn in them. Ministry-wise (as in life generally), it gives one a great badge of responsibility, but also touches on the realization that you have so much more to still learn. Still.

So, give thanks for being old. It is clear than in this day, it is not a given. It is a true blessing.

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Sticks and stones

I loved that commercial... fairly funny, and the first time you hear it, you really have to do a double take to make sure you there aren't a few sailors in the clip.

Even funnier is the fact that the meaning is clearly not hidden in the made-for-TV euphemisms that were created to take the place of venom-laced profanity.

"What the french toast?"

Most people will tell you that words do indeed hurt, sometimes worse than sticks, stones, switches and paddles. Words carry the power to build, but can also create destruction. They can build needed compromise, or can fuel strife.

If you ever need a learner on the intricacies of flowery speech, watch C-Span. Shoot for a UN meeting, or statements from foreign leaders. It is remarkable how friendly folks can be on the surface, while the palpable hatred steams just below the surface. A misplaced word in diplomacy can create ripple effects for years to come.

Different situations call for different responses. Anyone who has coached both boys and girls can relate. I have learned that the way I correct a miscue with the average boy might not work for the average girl. A cutting glare does not have the same effect; Yelling "Why?" can be interpreted a million ways with a difference in tone and inflection.

I think we underestimate the power of words, particularly when we feel the urge to use them negatively. Conversely, we underestimate the power of timely words in the lives of people who need encouragement and kindness. A biting word can live for ages, creating alternate or even primary psyches that underline the owner's damaged perception of self. I wonder how many family feuds have been created from a "simple" word said in anger or disgust. I bet your bottom dollar that Romeo and Juliet sacrificed their lives of one.

But even in reality, the truth is self-evident. Look in the newspaper. "Racca-ing" is alive and well.

Now, I am not saying that the truth should not be told. Heck, the other day, my little girl was singing. Let's just say that she is not ready for a major singing contract just yet.

"Did you like that, Daddy?"

"Sure... kind of..." I replied uneasily, I mean God loves a cheerful noise, right? She kept on singing.

Eventually, I couldn't take the screeching any longer, so I hushed her up and got her to practice reading. Harsh? Maybe, but American Idol auditions are populated with people whose parents refused to tell them the truth early on. So, for now, she has to focus on studying; best for her to rely on her brains...

Just an early morning thought. Say something nice to someone today. Words can hurt us, but The Word sets us free.

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Those donuts are not for you...

Okay... I am kind of twisted, but this had me in stitches. I copped it off of the blog of Josh Griffin, Youth Pastor at Saddleback Church.



No donuts for you!!!

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Ministry Hues

It hit me, somewhat literally, a few years back.

I was in a training class, learning strategies on how to deal with teenage girls in a Christian setting. As usual, the trainer led us through pre-class worship, a cappella. Today, as promised, he was taking our pre-conference staple to a new level. He brought a tape deck.

After we finished, still caught up in the alternative tunes still playing, he asked me what I thought of the music. I replied that it was okay, which was true; I liked it. He was dismayed by my answer.

“Cool? How about Dy-No-Mite!!!! You cannot tell me that you don’t love this band. I don’t believe that you don’t have their CD.”

Somewhat fearfully, I intimated that I did not know the band at all, much less own any of their material. Big mistake.

In a fit of panic, our instructor jumped up, flailing his hand, and his pen flew out and clunked me in the head. Amid his apology, I made a mental note to clone his CD collection for private study to protect my health.

“You have to be kidding me… you have not worshipped to this?! What about Sonicflood?” He proceeded to rattle off the names of several Christian rock and alternative bands. To each, I had to reluctantly admit to not being a fan. He was beside himself.

After an awkward pause, I found the courage to ask him a question.

“You ever listened to Trin-i-tee 5:7?”

“No. Who is he?”

“They are a female gospel trio. Huge following,” I supplied.

“Oh… no… never heard of them.” He became thoughtful. “Touché.”

Believe it or not, I was not on a crusade that very moment. While I did feel smug, I honestly was not trying to go for a civil rights victory. I do believe that despite all the time we had spent together, this was the first time he noticed me. Yeah, he knew I was black; I am sure that he knew that I would never be able to give candid advice on which sun tan lotion to use. However, I think it finally occurred to him that culturally, I was a little different, and I am not sure he knew what to do with that.

Since I have lived in mostly huge metro regions in the south, I am familiar with the oft-recounted tales of Sunday Morning, the so-called Most Segregated Day in America. Being the son of immigrants, an exposure to cultural diversity was a priority. Thus, we attended mixed congregations, but almost always defaulted to predominately white churches. Going to college in Chapel Hill reinforced this norm.

Of course, when I started working in the church, I gravitated to the same; mixed membership churches where I could fit in but not disappear. I prided myself with the ability to learn how to adapt to any environment without losing my own personality. I was able to retain my love for gospel music and urban mannerisms even while worshipping with the suburban folks. However, my first few forays into youth ministry left me feeling like a poorly-cast understudy of Sidney Poitier in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.

One time, when I arrived for an interview, the confused church secretary had me wait in the foyer for a half hour while she held what must have been an emergency conference with the senior pastor. Seeing an African American show up in a suit and tie was just too much for the sweet lady’s sensibilities.

She came out of the office, and asked again, “Are you Tre?”

“Yes, Ma’am” I replied.

“Are you sure?”

Strangely, I did get an offer from that church, so I guess it could have been worse, particularly since I never thought to double check my identity.

At one church at which I served, I got to meet the parent of one of my more active teens. He did not regularly attend church, but had heard about me a great deal, he said via email, and had been browbeaten into attending our Fall social. When I walked up to him, he actually shook my hand and walked by me and introduced himself to our senior pastor, thinking that it was me.

No sweat… I figured he’d come back eventually. He did.

It was easy to justify the resentment that built up. During a job hunt, one pastor was honest enough to tell me that I was perfect for a position, but that due to recent issues, the appointment of a black person could potentially split the church.

Honesty hurts sometimes.

See, I just refuse to see things as black and white (pardon the pun). Humbly, I have seen way more than most people will see in terms of pain. I spent time being tortured because of my faith when I was a teen, and most of the physical and mental pain was inflicted by people who outwardly looked like me. At the end of the day, there is a simple choice to be made: I can either use differences as a crutch, or I can roll with it. In fact, allowing people into my soul allows me to accept them, and hopefully be a good reflection of the One we serve.

Race will be a hot button topic for years to come. Globalization has ensured that we have had to get closer, maybe faster than we were comfortable with. Tough.

There has always been an unspoken rule… things that black guys shouldn’t do. Like skiing. Or whitewater rafting and skydiving. Some would add swimming competitively to the mix. In any case, to keep my Urban Card active, there were activities I could not enjoy.

I have been the black youth guy, the token staff mixer, the lone injection of culture and the beacon of integration. I used to resent being the standard bearer. Now, I think it is somewhat of an opportunity: an opportunity to broaden my own horizons. Learning that it is not my mission to integrate the races was a humbling, but necessary step in my own spiritual journey.

The answer is not throwing in the towel and choosing to return to secular work; it isn’t becoming a race martyr in my own mind. It is simply acknowledging the good, forgiving the bad and remembering that people will be people.

Standards today are different than they were decades ago. I am less of an anomaly, and that is a good thing. We minister to people with varied backgrounds. The lines that separate the races are blurring, and some mores of old are fading to obscurity. My job is to make sure that I don’t settle for being the diversity quota; I can be an agent of change

So, I did go skiing. Most of the trip was spent reflecting on how something so seemingly pure and beautiful could inflict so much pain. My ego will forever be scarred by the little kids who pointed and giggled at my predicament on the zero-degree bunny slopes. Years of playing soccer could not prepare me for the sore shins I obtained. God may have intended for minorities to ski, but I am thankful He did not make it a requirement to get to heaven. Even watching snowboarding on TV makes me break out into sweats.

When I think about it, through the years, I have felt most accepted by the teens themselves. I have been blessed to mentor teens that see me through colorblind eyes. And at the end of the day, that is what it’s all about right?

Recently, after an especially strenuous game session that preceded our Saturday youth meeting, my hope that I would be given a few minutes to lick my wounds and catch my breath were thwarted by Stephen, one of my newer young people. We had talked about haircuts a while back, and he had wondered about the texture of my hair. Why did I have my hair cut it so often, he asked.

“Well, we black dudes tend to do that.” I said without really thinking.

He looked at me, and in complete astonishment, said, “That’s right! You aren’t white!”

Now, Stephen looked down at me and told me he thought I was great (he must not have seen me play snatch the bacon).

Perplexed and humbled, I looked at him wordlessly.

“When I grow up, I wanna be cool like you. I want to love God and work with the difficult kids like me.” And with that, he walked away.

While I do admit I have seriously considered adding that to my email signature in bright orange with a link to audio attached, in my more lucid moments, I am unashamed to say that in that instant, I am quite sure I got more from him than he did for me. Forget culture. I want to learn from people like him, and I thank God for showing me how important that is.

White water rafting is on hold for the time being. Hey, we all have our limits…

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Tech integrity

Interesting post over at MMM pertaining to integrity. Now, Antoine is one of the most genuine people I have ever met; sad, because not too long ago, he was in the Maryland Area, and I was in Ohio. Now, we are both in the Charlotte area, and we still haven't gotten together.

In any case, since I review items myself, this went straight to the heart. Thanks for the write-up, A!

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Drawers Police

Seems like underwear will continue to be a theme of discussion in the 2008 Olympics.

I admit, this story leaves me feeling very uncomfortable and frighteningly vulnerable for some reason...

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Horrible stats... 9,000 missed basketball shots?

9,000 missed shots? 300 lost games? Why on earth would they ever give him a ball?

Stumbled on Brent Carl's blog. Interesting blurb on MJ's "other side."

It should not be that hard to believe, should it? Failure makes us better.

Great writeup, Brent.

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Stripped away

I am a fairly confident guy. I am sure that a lot of guys, like me, sometimes have a problem striking a balance between necessary confidence and outright arrogance.

Whenever I make the inopportune step towards the obnoxious, I have a built-in balloon popper: my wife. And on the the extremely rare occasions when she does not get the the job of pulling me back down to earth, God conveniently steps in.

I have learned to generally back down at step one. Every now and then, I get so caught up in the fabulousity of Tre that I miss it.

In any case, in the past two weeks, it seems that the balloon poppers have been coming from everywhere. I do believe there is a celestial conspiracy to keep me level-headed. How do you explain the inexplicable loss of my BlackBerry on trash day? I had just given my wife an old phone to use while figuring out what to do about getting her a replacement. I did make a tongue-in-cheek comment about her not needing a power-phone like mine because she had not yet earned the status of power-user. A few hours later, this self-proclaimed power-user was phoneless.

Whatever.

Then, while checking out the hits to my blog, I was astounded. I had finally hit the big times. Someone had read my blog from Finland! I leaned back in my chair, imagining the web awards and accolades I was sure to get. I mean, seriously... how many bloggers can say they have readers from Finland? I started thinking which wedding picture would be taken down to make way for my blown up "Blogger of the Year" plaque.

Well, at one of the games I coached Saturday, I was reacquainted with one of my players who had just returned from vacation. Where? Not Belgium, which I hear is beautiful this time of year. Not Australia, with Outbacks to die for. Did they go to Panorama Point, Nebraska? Of course not.

You guessed right. She had been in Finland.

Last week, I decided to talk to my mentor, Ernie. Ernie is a man I respect immensely. I had coached his daughter Haylee, who in turn was something in-between a daughter and baby sister too me. His family had been there for us through tough times, and we love them all dearly.

I found that Ernie had changed his phone number and email address. Undeterred, I texted Haylee, asking where the heck her dad was.

"Who is this?" She asked back.

"What do you mean? It's me -- your favorite coach ever."

A few hours later, I got a text back. "Allen? How are you? Where have you been?"

I hate Haylee. A lot. I refuse to speak to her or her Dad (as he'll will no doubt find it extremely funny) ever again. So there.

Nothing builds you up (and conversely keeps you grounded) more than interacting with people. Love makes us float; love also keeps us humble, one way or another. When we don't allow it to, unfortunate things tend to happen.

The failings of public figures show this. Recently, the extramarital affair of a former presidential candidate was plastered on the news. What made it even more wrenching was the circumstances that surrounded it, specifically the health issues being faced by his wife.

When you peel away the bevy of partisan commentary, all the condemnation, excuses and requisite statements and rebuttals from the pundits, what you have is a person who admits that he started believing the hype. And therein lies the lesson.

The loss of my phone (coupled with smashed laptop) allowed me to reevaluate real time with my family. My player from Finland is an angel, and I would not trade her for another player. Plus, I still have a Finnish reader.

Haylee... I am still undecided on. I really did think I was her favorite coach, and if I am not, I'll beat her till I am.

In Him,

TL.

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Youth ministry gone bad...

Caught this on Scott Hodge's (Pastor at the Orchard) blog.

Note to self... motorcycles and ministry don't always mix, particularly when the mixing is attempted away from open roads...


http://view.break.com/545222 - Watch more free videos

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Another great day on the field

Day Two of the tourney... and it started out drearily.

First, I was good to go at 7.00 am for what I thought was an early game. It was cloudy, and a bolt of thunder prompted me to check the weather and my email before leaving.

Turns out that the games were pushed back due to inclement weather. Further information would be relayed to us.

So I spoke to my team manager, and she explained that the game was scheduled for noon. Well, being hearing dyslexic, I thought she said 2.00 pm.

So, one can understand my consternation when I arrived at the field thinking I was very early just to find out that my ladies were already toiling without me. With what we have been through, they didn't need a missing coach added to the mix.

I was really upset.

We lost that game 2-1. I hated that we lost. Still, we played with no subs against a Classic-level team, so I think we should be proud.

The second game was a nail-biter. We held on for the 1-0 win against another Classic team, so the ladies really deserve kudos. We played the last five minutes a man down again due to an injury, and the ladies kept at it, and won.

Gotta say that I loved the coach of the second team. He was gracious, respectful and compassionate. When one of my players got hurt, he made sure she was okay and even offered ice (and we were winning at the time). I found out that he coached the sibling of one of my players. In any case, my kind of coach.

Seeing my ladies with their parents, smiling while accepting their trophy and individual medals is another memory to be cherished.

I am proud of these warriors!

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What a day...

So...

Coached my ladies for the first time today. Two practices, and then we had a tourney this weekend. Uh oh.

As if that was not dicey enough, we had to play with only eight players (meaning no subs in an 8 v 8 game) as one of my key players broke her foot. Add in the heat and fatigue, and you'll understand why I was ready to temper my expectations, in a matter of speaking.

Well, the girls decided to shock me. First game, they came out swinging. The fatigue began to set in, but they kept at it, not complaining, and actually had some great opportunities. We actually went up, but gave up an almost inevitable goal in the second half. The opposing coach did a great job of using our fatigue to his advantage, and made timely substitutions accordingly.

All in all, it was a game where my ladies showed their grit. Salvaging a 1-1 tie made me extremely proud, particularly when they could barely run against ever present fresh legs.

The second game was a bit more lopsided in our favor. At first, we just could not convert the opportunities. But when we scored, the floodgates were opened. We scored 7 goals in quick succession to close out the half.

Now, one thing I learned from one of my mentors is that during games, each coach is coaching 22 (or at this level, 16) players at a time. In other words, each coach is also responsible for the other team as well. Your actions and directives as a coach weigh on the psyche of the opposing team almost as much as they do on your own team. Therefore, I feel strongly about running up the score; I always try to keep the score in single digits.

In any case, the ladies acted with class, and we won 9-1. The other team would not quit, and credit has to go to them and their coach for that. We were just very fortunate to be able to match them very well 1v1, and I was even able to surreptitiously (I hope) yank out players for breathers and sips of water while evening the game somewhat playing a man down.

I always marvel at how phenomenal young people can be. Here they were, drained from the sun, exhausted and a little dehydrated, but they did not question my request to respect the other team and the game. It's moments like these that make it all worth it, even more so than the win. Again, my players teaching me... I live for that.

All in all, I am excited about this team and parents. I could not have asked for classier. I know tomorrow will be tougher, but today, I could not have been prouder.

Woohoo!!! Go Lightning!!!

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Polling booths, donkeys, elephants and ministry... oh my!

Was reading a youth pastor's blog, and came across some commentary aimed at the current political climate. A comment from another minister made a passing reference to discussing such issues as the fact that the "right candidate" was crystal clear.

Okay.

My thoughts on this might not be the most popular. I am of the opinion that youth work and politics outside the most general of concepts just don't mix.

If I may be so forward (and potentially burn bridges while doing so), I was dismayed by the amount of influence the church attempted to exert in the last major political decision. I humbly believe that our Model could have done the same in his time -- but chose not to.

Back to youth ministry... political leanings should be left to parents. There is never enough time to discuss daily issues that are right in-front of our eyes. Why split that time with issues outside our realm of focus?

Recent news about the failings of prominent politicians brings such discussions to the forefront. Kids today are also way more in tune with current affairs than we seemed to be. Even more interestingly, they seem to care more. Still, I think it is important to set boundaries when needed.

When I was on staff at a christian school years ago, one of my kids had the most interesting views, views which he never hesitated to share. They were not crazy or extreme; I marveled at how defined his political and philosophical leanings were at his age. When I met his dad, it became quite clear as to who his influences were.

We (hopefully) have a lot of influence with the people we work with. Hopefully, what we try to impart is repeated to friends and family. When my young people are discussing our time together and what we discussed, do I really want discourse on tax breaks and international detente to litter the landscape?

A healthy respect for the political process is good. In fact, I'd say it should be expected. The specifics, however, may be best left outside youth ministry-related discussions.

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New season

I have coached soccer through the years... different age groups, both sexes. Having just moved back to North Carolina (where youth soccer is huge) I have been blessed with an opportunity to work with two teams for two clubs.

Being a coach is a huge honor. You have sponges in front of you, and everything you do has to be up to par. Thus, you rise up to the challenge of being a better person, or you get tossed to the wayside. There is very little room for moral ambivalence, so you tend to be surrounded by upstanding folks, and good company tends to breed good habits in oneself.

I have learned not to make promises, particularly with girls. Never, ever say that you will do some act if they win some difficult game. This is why I have pictures that may preclude me from ever holding public office.

The best part is that you learn how to learn. You almost always take something away from every team you are involved with, if you are open. The relationships you develop with players and parents are meant to be cherished. I still call some of my "original" parents today, who live far away. Some of my "kids" are in college, and the phone calls are things that will never get old.

I love the game, but it is the people and experiences that make it so worthwhile. I cannot wait to create new memories with my current team.

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Out and about in Concord

Quick blurb about some great church people I met in Concord.

First, had a great time with Steve Petty and Eric Pruitt from Concord Christian Church. Steve serves as the Family pastor, while Eric pastors the youth.

Steve and Eric were warm, and we talked about growth and respective ministries. I came away with a lasting impression, which was cemented when I took them up on an offer to visit them on a Sunday.

So, I did, and was really impressed by the service. I admit to attending with preconceived notions, but we really enjoyed the service. The music was relevant, the guest minister was engaging, and the members were truly welcoming. No, not talking about the fake plastered-on see-right-through you smiles; these folks took me around without knowing that I knew anybody there.

Bottom line? I would go back. That church seemed so alive, yet close-knit, and we left touched. Plus, after service, Steve and Eric took the time to still meet and spend time with us. Whatever KoolAid they got, I'd be happy to drink, because it is a great reflection of Him.

Also, I mentioned attending a networking sit-down with some local pastors. Two of the guys I met, Jon Hernandez and Nathan Goss, are on staff with Concord First Assembly (high school and middle school pastors respectively). Now, these fellas are the Cheech and Chong of youth ministry. Their chemistry is astounding, and I can only imagine how they leverage that into church ministry. The fountain of ideas was endless, and I picked up some great organization from them. They are running point on what looks to be a great youth ministry programming get-together: Vibe. As soon as I able to beat them up for more info, I'll be posting.

Now, CFA is a vibrant church as well, particularly interesting considering its size. I love the folks there, and not just because Pastor Ross is a fellow Crackberry; not just because he is a UFC fan; but also because the genuiness you see in his youth staff seems to emanate from him.

Quick shout-out to CFA Lead Associate Doug Witherup.

I wanna also name another gem in the area: Matthew Hunt, Youth Pastor at New Hope Worship Center. He is point person for the Youth Commission in the area.

Great youth people in this area.

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Taking charge of technology

I am a techie at heart, so I love to see technology harnessed for the purpose of ministry. I am big fan of "taking it to the streets" and meeting people in their own environment.

When it comes to youth, though, we inevitably face one of two problems. It seems we are either left behind or we become too entrenched in the fad.

I recently read a thread about a youth pastor who wants to initiate bible study with his youth via AIM. I love that, and would be very willing to try it. I think an informal bible study would be great, not just for youth groups, but for small groups as well. It could bridge the gap between the one or two formal church days and the rest of the week.

It would be fairly easy to set up; many phones are equipped with IM-pooling services, and every youth in my last group had unlimited texting plans. You could even use the latest social crazes (think Twitter and Facebook) to enhance such studies.

Point is, our kids are moving, and we need to keep abreast, as long as their interests are served and God is glorified. I believe there are empty spaces; why shouldn't we try to fill it up?

But then there is the flip side; becoming overly dependent on remote servers, and killing the "people" part. Are we prepared for the moments when a text, MMS or email won't just do? Do we remember how to emote, or do we become trapped in a world of cyber-smilies and abbreviations? Do why unconsciously tie in a church's worth to the "quality" of its website and availability of podcasts? Do we measure our respective ministries against the corporate feel of our Blackberries, iPhones and Treos?

Just food for thought... I have been caught in the trap before. I started loving the technology way more than what I supposedly got it for. The presence of Bibles on my Palm became more of draw than the content. I was content to allow my devices and supposed technological know-how transform to the object of my ministry, versus its rightful place as a tool.

Still, temptations aside, I love challenges likes this, and seeing guys and gals thinking outside the box. Bottom line is that we can allow the pulpit be an anchor or we can haul it off with us. As we set the pace for Him.

Another blog that explores how to use technology for ministerial endeavors is Mobile Ministry Magazine. I do contribute there from time-to-time.

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Blast him in the head!!!

Fellowship can come in many different flavors. I think the savvy youth minister realizes this, and allows him/herself to be a credit to His kingdom.

I take my hat off to Ben Morro, youth leader at Broadus Baptist Church in Concord. I love to see folks thinking outside the box, and Ben has done just that. He and his team came up with the idea of hosting a dodgeball tourney, and are opening it to like-minded youth groups in the immediate area.

Now, I have never met Ben in person, but I want to take the time to celebrate a fellow minister busting through to open doors for people. Sometimes, it really does not have to be some earth-shattering discovery; it can be as simple as a well-aimed projectile to the head.

Enough of that... you guys wanna know more about the tournament, right?

Contact Ben at bfmorro at yahoo.com.

YIC,
TL

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Stepping stone

Youth ministry is probably the most fluid segment of pastoral care out there. When I say "fluid" I am being a tad bit euphemistic.

I don't have precise numbers, and I am very reluctant to muddy up the waters by making inferences across denominational lines. Simply put, why the heck is it that youth pastors move around so much? And if they don't, why the heck is it the misplaced belief is so pervasive?

There are a few youth leaders who proudly proclaim their calling as career youth workers. Still, with the amount of seminary grads popping out annually, it is obvious there is not that many pastorates out there. Even with the rise in church plants, there is not enough churches to house the pastors. So, seeing the "step-down" into youth positions is almost inevitable.

In all fairness, how many 22 or 23yr-olds are ready to lead flocks (yes, the same can be said for the average youth group, but humor me). Where are these folks supposed to get the seasoning they need to be what they need to be?

Another way of looking at it is asking how many senior/lead pastors today started or served as youth leaders in the past. I believe that when you look at it that way, you get a whole different appreciation for youth ministry.

The jury is still out. Is youth ministry a stepping stone, or a useful builder of character? I think I might do an impromptu localized survey.

Stay blessed.

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Together

So, I met with a couple of guys yesterday, part of a youth ministry networking group that meets in the area.

It was quite refreshing to see like-minded youth pastors talk passionately about their craft. It is even more refreshing when you consider the fact that youth pastors meeting together to plan joint activities is not as common as one would like, at least in my opinion.

All in all, it was a nice time of fellowship, and I picked up some software and event ideas.

More on this later...

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