One of the things I look forward t0 is going out Wednesday night with friends from church. We have our normal hangout, Rick's Roadhouse, which has fine barbeque and pitchers of beer for 9 bucks. It's a good time and it's much needed to get us through humpday so to speak. The stress of everyday life takes a toll on all of us and getting out for a simple pleasure like a night at the tavern brings much needed relief.
What occurred to me yesterday was just how much I appreciate being served. Even though our server has a job and is getting paid, it still is nice how he looks out for us and makes sure our evening is a pleasant experience. For the past few weeks we have had the same guy serving us. I am trying to remember his name, I think he told us, but it escapes me right now. The servers wear nametags but they have these cool nicknames on them rather than who they actually are. That's fine, and it does give me an excuse for not recalling a name since I don't get a visual reminder of who he is each time he brings us some additional peanuts or another pitcher of "Lucky Cat."
Well, last night I thought of how easy it is to take for granted the simple things in life that give us pleasure. And more specifically I thought of how God uses people on so many levels to bring us even the most mundane, simple pleasures in this often abrupt and sometimes even hostile world. This is when I became convicted of how little I pay attention to people who enter my world. Somehow I have decided (and I'm probably not the only one guilty of this) that they are just incidental creatures who pop into my visual lens from time to time, and then somehow vanish into thin air. They exist for a moment to fill my needs and then when they exit, well, then they no longer exist.
But you know what? Those same people I have concluded are out there to serve me, well, these same folks are unique valuable creatures, created in the image of God. Not only that, but God, in the person of Jesus Christ, came to serve these very people. Christ labored tirelessly to develop relationships and minister to the same people who I each week take advantage of to meet my needs. This is a convicting thing and one that leads me to ponder the importance of prayer. Too often I think we treat prayer the same way we talk about staying in touch or "I'll write" when we know of a friend who is moving away. Sure we mean well, and we intend to, but do we really follow up? I know of the value of prayer, at least in theory, but too often I find myself guilty of practical atheism. While I say that I can't cultivate a really concerned heart for my neighbor, co-worker, boss, bartender...whoever I have regular contact with, do I really go to God earnestly and ask Him to give me a desire, an urgency to know and care about the needs of others? If God is really great and I don't seek Him out diligently in order for Him to change me into a more sensitive loving servant to bring glory to Him, aren't I somehow saying I really don't believe you can change me God?
One question that was asked by our server last night was this. Where do you guys come from each week? We told him we came from church. I then asked him does he go to church and when was the last time he went to church? After confessing that the last time he went was years ago after the death of a grandparent, I felt an uncomfortable uneasiness in the pit of my stomach.
And now as I finish this blog I really understand the debth of that uneasiness. Do I really care about the man who serves me beer each week? Can I follow up like Jesus and show him the value of his earthy existence and the future of his soul apart from a relationship with Christ? Many other questions cross my mind, but the most important was is this. Will I play lip service and dismiss him with a "I'll pray for him and about this matter" yet ignor the debth, responsibility, labor, and humility that requires.
I am a sinner, too often a selfish man who forgets the great blessings God has given to me and continues to give me, morning by morning new mercies I see as the old hymn beautifully expresses. May this blog remain fresh in my mind and the love of Christ as well while more and more people cross my visual path each day. And when they exit, may I remember that they are still just as real and in need of God's love as when they may be serving me or meeting my needs.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Vegetables and God
It's been a long day and I don't have much energy. The only thing crossing my mind is how hard it is to get my kids to eat their vegetables.I guess it's a common thing that lots of kids don't want to eat their vegetables. In fact I know of many parents who have the same old line regarding kids and their veggies. "How do you know you don't like them when you haven't tried them. " I'm not quite sure what it is with kids and their vegetables but they all have decided that they just don't like them.
And of course there is no use to try to reason with them about the benefits of eating their vegetables; nutrition, vitamins, etc. kids are just determined not to eat them. Plain and simple children will just be stubborn about it and it takes a patient and creative parent to turn kids around to the importance of them having them.
Stubborn is a common trait with kids and quite frankly it is equally common among adults. I bring this up because I think it is helpful when someone talks to me about something that may be to my benefit, yet I may be stubbornly opposed, that the person giving me the advice confesses to me that he too is stubborn and at least at one time was stubbornly opposed to the same thing that he is now trying to persuade me is to my benefit.
Talking about one's faith can be a difficult thing. And it stands to reason because hearing about faith and the idea of God is much like vegetables. People are like little children, but instead of saying, "yuck" they usually give the more mature "not interested." I bring this up because I want to put on the record that I at one time thought of God as just like vegetables. I had determined in my mind that I did not like God, did not need God, and I wished quite frankly that people who told me that I should try God, would "just shut up and leave me alone."
There is a funny thing though that separates God and vegetables. By me not eating vegetables, green beans and broccoli never got up from the plate and pursued me. They never told me that not only were they good for me but that they also loved me. They never told me that they would forgive me for being so stubborn and not eating them. In fact I was at war with vegetables just as I was at war with God wanting no part of either. Still while I was His enemy, Christ died for me. Vegetables can do no such thing.
And of course there is no use to try to reason with them about the benefits of eating their vegetables; nutrition, vitamins, etc. kids are just determined not to eat them. Plain and simple children will just be stubborn about it and it takes a patient and creative parent to turn kids around to the importance of them having them.
Stubborn is a common trait with kids and quite frankly it is equally common among adults. I bring this up because I think it is helpful when someone talks to me about something that may be to my benefit, yet I may be stubbornly opposed, that the person giving me the advice confesses to me that he too is stubborn and at least at one time was stubbornly opposed to the same thing that he is now trying to persuade me is to my benefit.
Talking about one's faith can be a difficult thing. And it stands to reason because hearing about faith and the idea of God is much like vegetables. People are like little children, but instead of saying, "yuck" they usually give the more mature "not interested." I bring this up because I want to put on the record that I at one time thought of God as just like vegetables. I had determined in my mind that I did not like God, did not need God, and I wished quite frankly that people who told me that I should try God, would "just shut up and leave me alone."
There is a funny thing though that separates God and vegetables. By me not eating vegetables, green beans and broccoli never got up from the plate and pursued me. They never told me that not only were they good for me but that they also loved me. They never told me that they would forgive me for being so stubborn and not eating them. In fact I was at war with vegetables just as I was at war with God wanting no part of either. Still while I was His enemy, Christ died for me. Vegetables can do no such thing.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Why Johnnywbred?
Actually the name goes back a couple of years now. First a little background. I lived a pretty uneventful childhood. What I mean is that I flew under the radar. I never was directly rebellious and I didn't really stand out. I will say I was shy as a youngster and though I had friends I wasn't involved in lots of activities. Girls? Please I was scared to death of girls and looking back I really don't know why. I didn't even go out with a girl til college and my first real girlfriend was after college.
Back to the name thing. It stands for Johnny Whitebread, meaning plain and ordinary. More specifically though it is a reference to me going to a high school with 1200 students and only 3 of them being black or african-american. I basically had no social contact with black people for my youth having one side of the city being white and the other side being more mixed. Anyway what is the point? Little known to anyone and especially my mother (much to her displeasure) is that I was really infatuated with black women. It first started by watching Bernadette Stanis (Thelma) on "Good Times" and later watching the Saturday show "Solid Gold" which was a review of top 40 music. This show had a dancer named Darcel who was so "freaking hot" (Oops will this blog need a mature advisory tag) and she was way too much for a teenage boy. Still this is probably not such a big thing and I'm sure many teenage white boys had similar thngs going on in their overly testosterone filled minds.
But what makes me Johnnywbred is that I ended up marrying a black woman. Me, fly under the radar, afraid to make waves, actually doing something that is, I think most people would agree is a little out there. And you know where we met? Church. I met her not long after my first girlfriend Linda brought me to her church ( which ended up being cult-like and falling apart) and then after Linda and I parted ways I began looking for a new church. While this was going on I had a birthday and I received a card from my Christian grandmother who said she was praying for me to find a wife (I was 27 years old at this time). Within an hour of receiving that card I got a call from my now wife who was inviting me to this church event that weekend. I had just started visiting her church which was overwhelmingly white (as many churches here in New England are) and she was only one of 2 blacks attending ( the other being her brother who was an elder there). But not only that she, her roommate, and I were the only ones in the church who came from a different city. It was convenient for us to drive together and go to community groups together.
Though I always liked black ladies on a shall we say primal level, I never in a million years thought I would end up marrying a "sistah" So that's why I am Johnnywbred. And this the latest edition of "Faith Unfiltered."
Back to the name thing. It stands for Johnny Whitebread, meaning plain and ordinary. More specifically though it is a reference to me going to a high school with 1200 students and only 3 of them being black or african-american. I basically had no social contact with black people for my youth having one side of the city being white and the other side being more mixed. Anyway what is the point? Little known to anyone and especially my mother (much to her displeasure) is that I was really infatuated with black women. It first started by watching Bernadette Stanis (Thelma) on "Good Times" and later watching the Saturday show "Solid Gold" which was a review of top 40 music. This show had a dancer named Darcel who was so "freaking hot" (Oops will this blog need a mature advisory tag) and she was way too much for a teenage boy. Still this is probably not such a big thing and I'm sure many teenage white boys had similar thngs going on in their overly testosterone filled minds.
But what makes me Johnnywbred is that I ended up marrying a black woman. Me, fly under the radar, afraid to make waves, actually doing something that is, I think most people would agree is a little out there. And you know where we met? Church. I met her not long after my first girlfriend Linda brought me to her church ( which ended up being cult-like and falling apart) and then after Linda and I parted ways I began looking for a new church. While this was going on I had a birthday and I received a card from my Christian grandmother who said she was praying for me to find a wife (I was 27 years old at this time). Within an hour of receiving that card I got a call from my now wife who was inviting me to this church event that weekend. I had just started visiting her church which was overwhelmingly white (as many churches here in New England are) and she was only one of 2 blacks attending ( the other being her brother who was an elder there). But not only that she, her roommate, and I were the only ones in the church who came from a different city. It was convenient for us to drive together and go to community groups together.
Though I always liked black ladies on a shall we say primal level, I never in a million years thought I would end up marrying a "sistah" So that's why I am Johnnywbred. And this the latest edition of "Faith Unfiltered."
Sunday, November 16, 2008
The "Smoking Car"
It was not that long ago when my wife and I were going out with some friends to a restaurant. We had lost touch with these friends who we had gone to church with for quite some time; moving, marriages, changes in life had drifted us apart. It was nice getting together and I was looking forward to the evening.
Getting seated at our table one of our friends said isn't it nice now that all the restaurants our smoke free ( the state had recently passed a no-smoking ordinance in all restaurants.) This bugged the crap out of me and I commented that I didn't like it one bit. I brought up my libertarian leanings and the rights of a business owner to run his business any way he liked. My comment fell flat and I knew these guys weren't going to see things along these lines so I tried to put it behind me and enjoy the evening.
I pretty much did enjoy the meaning but the smoking thing got me to thinking about a train ride home from NYC back when I was in college. I had just visited my dad who took me to see a well known specialist in the field of depression which I was struggling with my junior year in college. Actually he was a psychiatrist but I think specialist is better cause I don't want you to think I'm a lunatic blogger who has no credibility. Riding the train home I noticed that the train seemed much more lively and even neighborly than ever before, and I've taken the trip from Penn Station to Providence quite a few times. I was sitting next to two Jamaican women and they were quite talkative and they tried to draw me into the conversation which was unusual to me. I chalked it up to them not being American, certainly not New Yorkers, and enjoyed the conversation.
About 20 minutes into the trip I noticed these ladies lighting up cigarettes, and looking around I noticed many others on the train also were lighting up. Never really noticing anyone smoking on previous train rides it dawned on me that I was in the "smoking car." And during this ride I got to hear some spiritual songs about Jesus, many people singing along and lots of laughing. The smoking car seemed like a fun place and there was real community in it unlike all the other sterile rides I have had on the train before.
Needless to say I got a soft spot for the smoking culture. I miss the fact that the lunch room at work no longer allows smoking. I remember with fondness trying to break through the cloud of smoke while eating a ham and cheese sandwich. Today smokers are second class citizens having often to go outside in subfreezing temperatures to sneek a puff. But to me, hanging with some marlboro folks in a cozy, laughing, singing smoking car of a train warms my heart. And if they were to be some background music at some restaurant where I was dining it wouldn't bother me at all.
Getting seated at our table one of our friends said isn't it nice now that all the restaurants our smoke free ( the state had recently passed a no-smoking ordinance in all restaurants.) This bugged the crap out of me and I commented that I didn't like it one bit. I brought up my libertarian leanings and the rights of a business owner to run his business any way he liked. My comment fell flat and I knew these guys weren't going to see things along these lines so I tried to put it behind me and enjoy the evening.
I pretty much did enjoy the meaning but the smoking thing got me to thinking about a train ride home from NYC back when I was in college. I had just visited my dad who took me to see a well known specialist in the field of depression which I was struggling with my junior year in college. Actually he was a psychiatrist but I think specialist is better cause I don't want you to think I'm a lunatic blogger who has no credibility. Riding the train home I noticed that the train seemed much more lively and even neighborly than ever before, and I've taken the trip from Penn Station to Providence quite a few times. I was sitting next to two Jamaican women and they were quite talkative and they tried to draw me into the conversation which was unusual to me. I chalked it up to them not being American, certainly not New Yorkers, and enjoyed the conversation.
About 20 minutes into the trip I noticed these ladies lighting up cigarettes, and looking around I noticed many others on the train also were lighting up. Never really noticing anyone smoking on previous train rides it dawned on me that I was in the "smoking car." And during this ride I got to hear some spiritual songs about Jesus, many people singing along and lots of laughing. The smoking car seemed like a fun place and there was real community in it unlike all the other sterile rides I have had on the train before.
Needless to say I got a soft spot for the smoking culture. I miss the fact that the lunch room at work no longer allows smoking. I remember with fondness trying to break through the cloud of smoke while eating a ham and cheese sandwich. Today smokers are second class citizens having often to go outside in subfreezing temperatures to sneek a puff. But to me, hanging with some marlboro folks in a cozy, laughing, singing smoking car of a train warms my heart. And if they were to be some background music at some restaurant where I was dining it wouldn't bother me at all.
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