I can not think of any better example of what God does in our midst. The broken remains of the salvation humanity has tried to provide surrounds us. But into our crumbling lives. Into our broken hope. A man is at work – “raising the dead in the graveyard.”

This past week I was invited to take the church on a mission trip. A challenge to not just preach moving beyond our walls, but to actually go out on mission! In the Spring of next year we could take a trip to Haiti. To minister, to love, to rebuild. The trip will cost between 1500 and 2000 dollars. If anyone is interested – let me know.  I would love to lead a trip there!

To make a long story short – my telling rushed to finish as we dropped Ivy at Dogwood Elementary – the girls had to the take the deflated ball and journey to the Color Wizard. Through the dark forest they came to his office (he works at a factory). The receptionist showed them to the door, which opened to a long hallway. The walls of the hallway were covered with every color imagined. And as the girls walked they discovered why. The orange of their clothes was slowly pulled out – splattering against the walls. Soon their garments were  pure white. When the hallway ended they pushed open the doors and entered an office devoid of color. Everything was perfectly white. Without any changes in color it was difficult to discern the objects in the room. But their eyes were pulled to the sound of a typing keyboard. And there, clothes and hair bleached as everything else, sat the wizard…

Do you ever feel that this is trip we make to church?? A journey to cover up all our worries and brokenness. So that when we arrive we can join the crowd in our pure white gowns. Finally prepared to worship… 

Last night Meg spoke to our neighbor – the one I wrote about a few weeks ago. No not the garden hater, but the one with birds building a nest inside their grill. Anyway, she told Megan she was a new grandmother. Meg was surprised (knowing her college and teenage sons), but muttered congratulations. Then our neighbor explained. That day when she was checking on her birds, five of the six eggs had hatched! Of course I was suprised. As I wrote in my blog – I assumed she (or her husband) would remove the problem. But instead they celebrated the problem and found new life.

This is the Christ we approach. He does not drain the color form our lives. Instead he redeems our brokenness. He heals our sin – not by taking it away – but by loving us. In His love all our failures are accepted. I do not mean our missteps receive praise – they certainly do not. But in our failures the love of God is proved true. And in this He receives praise. 

So we should enter into worship boldly broken. Knowing the King has prepared a place for us – no mater how colored and varied our life appears.

… And do not stress, Princess Ivy and Princess Phoebe brought the ball to the wizard and he was able to repair it with a patch. Even more importantly, they convinced him to come out into the world with them. As they traveled down the paint covered corridor the color returned to their clothes. Ivy and Phoebe’s garments became orange. Then colors from every direction floated back to the wizard. His robes shimmered and glistened. And as the girls watched his clothes depicted starry nights and sunrises and… Then the wizard remembered how much he loved the colors of life and he rejoiced.

The girls bounced the ball all the way home. With each bounce a color went from the world back into the ball. The red of the grass splashed back, leaving the grass green. The yellow of the sky returned to the ball, leaving blue. With each bounce the world was made right. Then one final bounce and the orange of the girls clothes went form orange back to purple and pink. With everything back to normal they girls returned the ball to the wizard.

When they arrived back at the castle the girls began to laugh, because there was king daddy dressed all in brown… (Okay, I can not make a long story short… just shorter!)

And tonight amplifies that reality since the shirts carry the “Our Time” logo. The advertising brilliance that was supposed to herald in the new era. The endless youth and rebuilding movements finally paying off. Yet, after losing the first ten home games (part of a twelve game losing streak), “Your Time” would have been a more apt phrase. Gracious, that could have been the slogan for the last decade.

Which draws out the point. Advertising says nothing about reality. Words and images brought creatively together may get us excited. But the advertisement is imaginary until life makes it real.

Ponder the middle schooler drenched in Axe body spray awaiting the mob of ladies…

So it is with my messages. In part I speak a truth of the past, but I am also saying something for today. Yet my words are just an advertisement of life today. A truth? A lie? No one can know until our lives prove it to be real.

This is our time to Start – as I said on Sunday – to go out and prove the gospel true.

In small group the evening before everyone was surprised that we were putting in a garden. Not, as you might think, in fear that we would kill all the plants. Instead they were surprised our neighborhood association would allow gardens. Since we bought a foreclosure we did not get the HOA handbook – only hearing the legend of the 75 page document – so this was the first I heard about the evils of gardening.

And this was the news my neighbor came to announce: Gardens are outlawed in our fine neighborhood. I immediately began to imagine tearing down the garden. I had to drill 5/8 in pilot holes to hammer the nails into the boards… I was sure I would have to hire someone to take them apart!

Of course I also imagined continuing the garden and telling the HOA where to stick it. But then I envisioned how they would change the locks on the pool and I would have three (maybe four) crying girls… meaning the HOA was going to win…

Then the neighbor said, “Well, lets call the president and get you approval.”  And right then he called the President (left a message). So he called the Vice, who was in a meeting. But meetings do not prevent texting – so a few texts and the rule book was superseded.

Now I could finish up the project and  as the neighbor left he called me “Sean”.

I like our neighborhood. I do not mind the yearly dues, since they provide a pool. But giving up the right for a garden? Why? So everything in the neighborhood can look the same? So everything can be clean cut? When did democracy produce cookie cutters?

Of course I do not want to be a cookie cutter. But as my neighbor left he also mentioned a rule about no cars on the street. I do not have cars on the street (I am always impressed when our three car garages still force a car onto the street!!). But I knew he was referencing a few of the neighboring houses. One in particular has a car that leaks oil like crazy (literal puddles). And I would love this person to follow the rules. Keep that car off the street – think how it makes the neighborhood look…

So maybe I want everyone else to be cookie cutters… just not me…

Our backyard neighbor fired up the grill over the weekend. Starting the propane blaze without cracking the lid. But rather than the clear propane smoke, back smoke poured out of the grill. He opened the lid to find the charred remains of a bird nest. Thankfully no birds. (Or unthankfully if you are fan of suburban wildlife!) Then Monday I captured these photos. Two bird returning. Twigs and straw in their beaks – ready to rebuild among the ashes!

You might think the birds would have noticed the danger. Taken a moment to ponder what happened to the first nest. But I imagine the prospect of a sturdy place with three skylights, plus the aroma of grilled meat (though I doubt they noticed the hint of charred nest), was all too tempting. So they rebuilt a nest bound to be burned down. I guess this is the root of the phrase “bird brain”.

From my perspective, sipping coffee from the deck, it was fun to watch the story play out. The black birds rushed in and out of the grill. They would rest on the edge of the pipe and then pop down inside. After a moment they would exit out of another pipe. In some unwritten agreement the left became the entrance and the center became the exit. The right was forbidden - for whatever reason. The birds marked their home with an array of paints (bird droppings – notice the right was clean, forbidden). And yet I knew how this would play out. Of course I could not warn the birds. I would in the coming hours warn the neighbors, so the nest was not bound to be charred – but removed.

Still, for the moment, the birds had arrived. A Luxury villa for a home. A neighbored devoid of squirrels to battle for suburban supremacy (since our trees are still new). The neighboring backyard with freshly turned over soil revealing juicy worms (my yard in preparation for our home garden). So sipped my coffee. I enjoyed their moment.

And did not stress about what their tomorrow would hold.

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” – John 13:34-5

The first encounter began on my way from church. I doubt this is how these stories normally begin (though child protection could probably be called on us as we get our kids to church). Still in my tie, coat laid in the back seat, I drove to Liberty Hospital. I was on my way to see Mike. And I guess I was in a hurry to see him… because 70 in a 55. Which is not as bad as it could have been, since I just left the 45 mph construction zone…

I refuse to let me kids to make excuses (Not that this stops them from trying…). It does not matter if it was an accident. They still knocked down their sister (or whatever). So they need to take responsibility for their actions. To step forward and confess… yet, there I was on the side of the road pondering excuses. I’m a pastor on my way to the hospital. I did not realize how fast I was going… I might as well have been saying it was accident or I forgot or Mike made me do it or… I am my children!

And just like my children, I was irritated at the police officer for giving me the ticket. Irritated I had been caught. Irritated at Mike for being in the hospital – pondering if I could send Mike the bill (which gave me a little joy, picturing Mike opening the card…). Pondering all this when I just needed to take responsibility. The “why” does not matter. I was speeding. And not even half heartedly. I was committed to speeding.

Still it was surprise to find a police offer at my door in the middle of the night. I guess it figures – since I am committed to breaking the law. But rather than arrest me, she just asked if I knew my garage door was open? Of course I did not. So sleepily I thanked her and walked downstairs to find the garage door open AND my car door open! I guess I was in a hurry to get home and see the girls…

Which as least that makes some sense.

“There’s no crying in baseball.” Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own

Of course crying in t-ball is another matter altogether. At Ivy’s first practice the coach lined up the girls to play catch. Each little pair of girls was given a t-ball baseball (rubber core, but still hard) and then the throws began. Soon enough someone was hit in the head. Of course not by her partner, since the girls could only aim in general directions… so now the tears were following.

And the tears do not stop. Sand is in someone’s shoe. Another person is hit with a ball. Some tears do not have explanations… I doubt Tom Hank’s character could have ever recovered from alcoholism is this environment.

Yet, there is something else going on. In between aligator catching ground balls little girls are dancing in line. Laughing and telling the coaches every detail of their day. Calling out to parent’s after making a catch. (At least Ivy was doing all these things!)  In many ways it is pure chaos. And yet in another it is life to the full. To the edge with every emotion. More joy (and sadness) in a few moments than I have felt all day.

“The core belief from which we operate is that a better future can be accomplished by better problem solving…. Talk radio and TV are visible barometers of our attachment to giving primacy to problems.” Community by Peter Block

In the coming years these girls will become softball players. The emotions will take a back seat to focus and determination. Their dance sessions will become increasingly rare… until one day no one is dancing. That day their faces will be dry of tears. But the day when there is no crying – will there still be unconstrained joy?

In everything we set goals. Goals we build around correcting problems. So we work to eliminate the faults. The little girls are not catching or hitting or… even tying their shoes! … What is preventing them from learning to play (what is the problem)? The tears are a problem. As is the dancing in line. The girls need to toughen up. They need to focus. This game is serious. And the girls need to become serious too…

But what if we did not focus on problems? Instead, what if we focused on strengths? What if we worked to increase the good points? These girls are playing a game with joy. How can we increase their joy? … Learning to play makes it more joyous – so we would continue to teach. But maybe we would let them keep dancing…

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In the church I have a list of our problems. Things I am working on to correct. Issues to solve. But I wonder, when all the problems are solved will Chandler have lost something wonderful in the process?

“Is the Easter Bunny a real bunny or a man in a costume?” ~ Ivy while playing “catch” in the backyard.

There are some questions I can not answer without rambling. Which is a good strategy – because no child can listen to their parents rambling, and instead they imagine the answer… After our conversation about the Easter Bunny Phoebe announced, “I don’t want the Easter Bunny to come to my house.” Considering the options – either a ginormous rabbit or a man dressed as a ginormous rabbit, Phoebe’s thought is the most rational thing I have heard in a long time. Of course most are hoping for his arrival… and irrational hope brings us to the Royals.

“…for it is waking that understands sleep and not sleep that understands waking.” – Perelandra by CS Lewis

Every Spring hope awakens inside. This year, as the Royals begin on Good Friday**, there is legitimate hope. The pitching is still in need of prayers, but the line-up is exciting. Not with potential, but expectations: Gordon, Hosmer, Butler, Francoeur, Moose… This really can be “our time” (Royals slogan). This can be the year the team finally breaks out of the doldrums… Of course some would say I am dreaming.

** Good Friday could be a sign of blessedness – if you did not know all that “Good” entails (plus I hope the calendar is not pointing to any signs – the home opener is the following week: Friday the Thirteenth).

“Thank you that the snakes are far away and that they won’t get me.” ~ Part of Phoebe’s nightly prayer – the only part that does not change.

As Royals’ fans, the last ten year have been difficult (last twenty?). Which has built in us a healthy dislike of the Yankees, but also a fear that our team will never be good. Anytime we start to believe, it feels like a “pipe dream” that might as well be flushed.** I imagine if the team started to win I would have a “pinch me” moment wondering if I was asleep! So, right when I start to get excited I recall Perez is hurt (as is Soria, though I am not so worried about the bullpen). Or I remember that our starting pitching staff is a question mark, with Bruce Chen as the lead… and yet a deep breath of the spring air and hope arises. Hope will not be denied. This is the year.

** Random, I googled “pipe dream” and it has nothing to do with plumbing. All these years I have been incorrect…

“Hope is the only thing more powerful than fear.” – President Snow from the Hunger Games

Hope is a surprising human trait. In some ways it makes humanity irrational, but we all have hope – need hope. We are no longer human when we lose the capacity to hope: to believe that good will come. We believe good will come even in our broken world. A world filled with the destruction of Pandora’s Box. But at the bottom of Pandora’s Box was hope. A reminder that things were once different. That things were once good. And a belief that things will be good again. To this we cling.

So it is not nuts to believe in the Royals. Instead it is an extension of what is good in humanity. Our capacity to believe in something better. To trust there is more than this current reality.

Of course hope in baseball is just a reflection. Like believing Good Friday is only opening day. We know that this day represents so much more. This day is a definition of Good that goes beyond pleasure, because it was the moment when hope was lost. Yet in the darkness hope was reborn. Resurrected. And became our Hope.

Trusting this Hope is what returns our humanity – our creation in God’s image.

We arrived home from a trip to Silver Dollar City and found a leak in our basement bathroom. The upscale particle board was swollen with moisture. Of course inside the cabinet everything was dry. Plus all the moisture damage was below the cabinet floor. Time to get the tools (and call dad before I do anything too insane!). A few test holes revealed there was water behind the cabinet, flowing underneath. So out came the back of the cabinet (the picture above) – only the leak wasn’t there, but dripping down the drain pipe.

My head is now in the wall, the trail of the drip led straight up the pipe. But even with the water running it was hard to follow the thin water line. Then I noticed the screw holding up the light fixture (see picture). So down came the light fixture and a new hole in the wall revealed… a minor scratch. An expert plumber probably realized the screw had not penetrated the PVC – alas I am not. So after the light fixture was back in place – with the screw in a different spot – I was again searching for the hole.

Where was the leak? You can actually see it in the picture. But looking from six feet below it was hard to tell where the trail started. Until we started the water again and saw the slightest bubble from the pipe.

Of course the leak was right in the middle of the bathroom mirror. A mirror that was glued to the wall.  I can not fathom why they did not use screws and the plastic clips – because getting the mirror down resulted in cratered drywall and a broken mirror… what will the next seven years hold? Sorry church!

Another cut in the drywall revealed the leak. A small round hole right through the side of the pvc drain pipe. I can only assume it was a nail – but when? The leak was not on the wall side. Nor were there any nearby holes through the drywall. So did the builder use damaged PVC?? When we bought the house the cabinet had old water damage. The house inspector assumed it was from a basement flood… Or maybe this leak was the privilege of buying a new house.

How easy it would have been to fix right away… but the easiest thing for the person putting up the pipe  was to leave it.

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In life we cut corners. Not often for ourselves – we do not want to clean up the rotting cabinets! Instead, as we serve others we rarely give them our best. We give leftovers… and expect them to be happy.

I wonder what life would look like if we always did our best?

“I learned that if you leave [a glove in the microwave] for a minute, it starts cooking. You can pretty much eat it.”  Angel’s Outfield Tori Hunter (From ESPN.com)

While Ivy and I have been playing catch – sort of – Meg has been stuck inside. Not just because of little Darcy, but her glove was not a part of her dowry. Just like my dad’s baseball cards were not a part of his – instead they became garage sale profits (To discuss sadness is to sit with dad and consider the cards he had…). Anyhow, a gloveless Meg would watch us play catch. So I went out yesterday and bought her a new glove. Random: the market for left handed folks is a racket. The selection is tiny! And pricey.

Now begins the process of breaking in the glove for her. But when I read the card attached to the new glove there was a great piece of wisdom, “Placing your Wilson Ball Glove in the microwave or oven WILL damage…” WHAT? Who would put their glove in the microwave. Unlike sliced grapes** this could not be a good idea. A glove should be wrapped and crushed by Bibles – to increase the chance of miracles (kidding). I had never heard of baking a ball glove.

** Halved grapes in a microwave are startling. A mini July Fourth. The microwave is pretty impressive tool…

So I went to our most reliable source, Google, and discovered a whole new perspective. An ESPN.com article explained how many Major League ball players break in their new glove with the microwave (check it out). First they soak the glove, next zap it for less than a minute, then head out and start playing catch…

So who do we trust. The manufacturer or the professionals??

Unfortunately I am not rich enough to run tests (as I said the glove market is a racket). So that leaves my gut. And my gut says the manufacturer is right. If MLB players over cook a glove, who cares, because they can get a new one. Plus the glove does not need to last into the future (they get a new one every year).

Here is our dilemma. Of course I could prove or disprove the microwave theory. But there are some things in life that we can not prove. Some things that are gut decisions – or heart decisions.

And these choices are the most important.