Yesterday it hit my like a ton of bricks: My wardrobe is all wrong.
1/3 of my closet contains a collection of what I call my "chaperone shirts". Each is a shirt from a youth trip that I have chaperoned. I can no longer count how many trips I have chaperoned in the last 17 years, but add them all up and it works out to over 6 months on the road.
Before each trip I count up the days, anticipate the work, ponder which young people were on which trip, double check the fit and then pack by bag with chaperone shirts for the trip.
My first chaperone trip was AMAZING, a mountain top experience. 40,000 teens descending on Atlanta for a national youth Gathering. I had pictures of the bus, pictures of the lines, pictures of the crowds, pictures of 40,000 people singing the same song, pictures of the speakers. I had pictures of all of the cool and amazing things. I got home, excited to show my bride and the world all of my exciting pictures....and no one cared. You haven't taken a camera on a trip since.
But, that collection of T-shirts is something of a postcard collection for me. I can look back over the years by looking in my closet. And I can feel good about doing my part to help an entire generation of young people find their way in the world as I earned each of those shirts.
But, yesterday it hit me: My wardrobe is all wrong. There are sooo many important projects going on in this world and my choice of wardrobe does absolutely nothing to expose the young adults that I am working with to these projects.
To Write Love On Her Arms // Clothe Your Neighbor As Yourself // Polaris Project // ......
Imagine the conversation I would have over breakfast on day 1 of a trip if I was boldly wearing a bold shirt. And, I don't mean "I <3 Boobies" (Which is fine if you are a lady, or are a guy who truly is into the cause....but comm'on guys at least get honest about why you are wearing the shirt) Then a second bold shirt on day 2. By day 3 the young adults would be asking what my shirt was about. By the end of a week I would have had something like 50 conversations about how young adults can become engaged in the world for justice.
Then, instead of wearing postcards about where I have traveled, I begin to create a road map of where they could travel.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Censorship
I live in a fine country, one that tends not to censor what I say or what the press can report about. Well, at least on the surface anyhow.
There is another kind of censorship, an inner censorship, that pops up most frequently in my social media interactions. At one level I put a lot of myself out there via FaceBook and much more so via Twitter, at another level I hold so much back....out of my perception of what would be fair to those around me.
It wouldn't be wise to post certain things about an employer or supervisor.
It doesn't seem like it would be fair to my wife to Tweet about our fights. Word would get back to her, or to my bio-teens and that would be hurtful to them.
It doesn't seem like it would be fair to my bio-teens to Tweet about the road bumps they hit in life. Too many of their friends follow my Tweets.
It doesn't seem fair to the young adults who so richly bless my life to Tweet about them and their issues. Too many of their friends follow my Tweets.
So here I sit. Putting a lot out there, but also keeping so much back. FaceBook and Tweeting (and blogging) let me vent so much, and let me express emotions and inner turmoil in ways that I never used to before. And, yet, there is soooo much more that I would like to put out there but is of a confidential nature.
I don't know what to do with this inner struggle of what to post and what to hold back. It is a continuous tug-of-war in my mind. Daily. Hourly. Each time I post.
There is another kind of censorship, an inner censorship, that pops up most frequently in my social media interactions. At one level I put a lot of myself out there via FaceBook and much more so via Twitter, at another level I hold so much back....out of my perception of what would be fair to those around me.
It wouldn't be wise to post certain things about an employer or supervisor.
It doesn't seem like it would be fair to my wife to Tweet about our fights. Word would get back to her, or to my bio-teens and that would be hurtful to them.
It doesn't seem like it would be fair to my bio-teens to Tweet about the road bumps they hit in life. Too many of their friends follow my Tweets.
It doesn't seem fair to the young adults who so richly bless my life to Tweet about them and their issues. Too many of their friends follow my Tweets.
So here I sit. Putting a lot out there, but also keeping so much back. FaceBook and Tweeting (and blogging) let me vent so much, and let me express emotions and inner turmoil in ways that I never used to before. And, yet, there is soooo much more that I would like to put out there but is of a confidential nature.
I don't know what to do with this inner struggle of what to post and what to hold back. It is a continuous tug-of-war in my mind. Daily. Hourly. Each time I post.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Reading the red letters
Some years ago I came across an inspirational fellow named Tony Campolo. I have heard him speak twice, and from each speech I am left with words that will likely be part of my psyche until the day that I die.
The first time I heard him speak was about 15 years ago at a National Youth Gathering. He talked of visiting Cuba, and the poverty that he saw. He talked of being approached by a pimp on the way to his hotel, with the offer of of the use of 2 pre-teen girls for the night for $20. He walked away in disgust. But, then he went back to the pimp, paid the $20 and rented the girls. He took them to his suite, ordered kid food off the room service menu and let them watch movies in his bed while he slept on the floor. He couldn't liberate those girls from their hell, but he could give them one night of being treated like decent human beings.
The second time I heard him speak was at Concordia, perhaps 5 or 7 years ago. He spoke of happening into a local restaurant of a major US City that was frequented by working girls. The working girls would come in for some food before turning their next trick. He showed up for a few days and the young ladies got to know him a little bit. After a couple of weeks he heard that one of the hookers birthday was coming up, so he went out and got her a cake. On her big day he presented the cake. She said: "Hey, I thought you were a preacher, what kind of preacher are you?" He said: "The kind of preacher who would buy a hooker a birthday cake." It was the first birthday cake she had ever received.
Tony Campolo talks of being a "Red Letter Christian". Some older bible translations have the words of the Great JC written in red, with every thing else written in black. When he talks of being a Red Letter Christian he is talking about following the words of the Great JC. Not the words of my mother, nor my wife, nor my mother-in-law, nor my preacher, nor the blue haired lady in the church choir. Not the TV evangelist nor societies view of what a Christian "should" be. But, trying, as closely as possible, to follow the words of the Great JC.
I don't follow Tony Campolo, I am not a Camoloian. I don't follow Rob Bell, I am not a RobBellian. I follow the words of the Great JC. I am a Christian, and a red letter Christian at that.
I don't go out of my way to upset the apple cart, that just isn't a good way to get along with other people. But, when I have to choose between what some old woman at church would have me do vs what the Great JC would have me do, then there is no contest.
That kind of behavior gets me in trouble all of the time. There are those who would have me stop flipping pancakes on days when there are church fundraisers. There are those who hide doughnut balls from small children, and get upset with me when I give doughnut balls to 4 year olds. There are those who get upset when I leave my hat on to pray. But, when they asked the Great JC: "Dude, teach us to pray!" He didn't start out with "take off your hat, fold your hands, close your eyes, bow your head and assume an attitude of prayer." Instead he said "Our father...."
If that kind of praying was good enough for the Great JC, it is good enough for me.
The first time I heard him speak was about 15 years ago at a National Youth Gathering. He talked of visiting Cuba, and the poverty that he saw. He talked of being approached by a pimp on the way to his hotel, with the offer of of the use of 2 pre-teen girls for the night for $20. He walked away in disgust. But, then he went back to the pimp, paid the $20 and rented the girls. He took them to his suite, ordered kid food off the room service menu and let them watch movies in his bed while he slept on the floor. He couldn't liberate those girls from their hell, but he could give them one night of being treated like decent human beings.
The second time I heard him speak was at Concordia, perhaps 5 or 7 years ago. He spoke of happening into a local restaurant of a major US City that was frequented by working girls. The working girls would come in for some food before turning their next trick. He showed up for a few days and the young ladies got to know him a little bit. After a couple of weeks he heard that one of the hookers birthday was coming up, so he went out and got her a cake. On her big day he presented the cake. She said: "Hey, I thought you were a preacher, what kind of preacher are you?" He said: "The kind of preacher who would buy a hooker a birthday cake." It was the first birthday cake she had ever received.
Tony Campolo talks of being a "Red Letter Christian". Some older bible translations have the words of the Great JC written in red, with every thing else written in black. When he talks of being a Red Letter Christian he is talking about following the words of the Great JC. Not the words of my mother, nor my wife, nor my mother-in-law, nor my preacher, nor the blue haired lady in the church choir. Not the TV evangelist nor societies view of what a Christian "should" be. But, trying, as closely as possible, to follow the words of the Great JC.
I don't follow Tony Campolo, I am not a Camoloian. I don't follow Rob Bell, I am not a RobBellian. I follow the words of the Great JC. I am a Christian, and a red letter Christian at that.
I don't go out of my way to upset the apple cart, that just isn't a good way to get along with other people. But, when I have to choose between what some old woman at church would have me do vs what the Great JC would have me do, then there is no contest.
That kind of behavior gets me in trouble all of the time. There are those who would have me stop flipping pancakes on days when there are church fundraisers. There are those who hide doughnut balls from small children, and get upset with me when I give doughnut balls to 4 year olds. There are those who get upset when I leave my hat on to pray. But, when they asked the Great JC: "Dude, teach us to pray!" He didn't start out with "take off your hat, fold your hands, close your eyes, bow your head and assume an attitude of prayer." Instead he said "Our father...."
If that kind of praying was good enough for the Great JC, it is good enough for me.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
I'm back
I'm back.
I created a few blog posts a few years ago, and got into some trouble with a relative who read my writings. At that point I simply gave in. I gave up. I quit blogging. I quit being honest with the world via this space about what was rolling around inside my head.
Now, 2 years later, after 'blogging' rants via Twitter, a young man asked me if I blog. My initial answer was "well, I used to but I don't any more." But, the reason I quit blogging has been bugging me since he asked that simple question.
I quit blogging because a relative couldn't handle what I was blogging about. I didn't figure that my blogging was worth a broken relationship with someone who has the capacity to make my life a living hell (select relatives have that capacity...it's part of the role). It didn't seem fair to my kids, to have my blogging be some kind of wedge between their relationship with the relative.
Relationships are funny things. Power is a funny thing. Power in relationships is like some kind of funny thing squared. Weather I blog of not, I suspect that I will never been a good enough Christian in some people's eyes. But, at the end of the day, when I look myself in the mirror, I am very comfortable with the kind of Christian that I am.
So, if people wanna read my blog then good on them.
If people don't wanna read my blog then good on them.
If people wanna throw crap in my face about my blogging, then they can go to hell.
I created a few blog posts a few years ago, and got into some trouble with a relative who read my writings. At that point I simply gave in. I gave up. I quit blogging. I quit being honest with the world via this space about what was rolling around inside my head.
Now, 2 years later, after 'blogging' rants via Twitter, a young man asked me if I blog. My initial answer was "well, I used to but I don't any more." But, the reason I quit blogging has been bugging me since he asked that simple question.
I quit blogging because a relative couldn't handle what I was blogging about. I didn't figure that my blogging was worth a broken relationship with someone who has the capacity to make my life a living hell (select relatives have that capacity...it's part of the role). It didn't seem fair to my kids, to have my blogging be some kind of wedge between their relationship with the relative.
Relationships are funny things. Power is a funny thing. Power in relationships is like some kind of funny thing squared. Weather I blog of not, I suspect that I will never been a good enough Christian in some people's eyes. But, at the end of the day, when I look myself in the mirror, I am very comfortable with the kind of Christian that I am.
So, if people wanna read my blog then good on them.
If people don't wanna read my blog then good on them.
If people wanna throw crap in my face about my blogging, then they can go to hell.
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