the view from my window

On Monday morning I looked out my office window and thought I saw a deer. When I looked carefully, however, there was no sight of him. Sometimes, when you are looking for something, you think you see what is not there. What you thought was antlers are actually the branches of a tree.

About an hour later I looked out the window again and there was a six-point buck staring back at me. He was about 100 feet from me. I called my daughter, who works in the preschool office downstairs, and said, “Come up to the office! Right now!” A few moments later she came running into the office saying, “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

I told her to look out the window and when she did, she said, “I don’t see anything.” I told her to look again and after a few seconds she said, “OH WOW! He is gorgeous!”

I spent the next hour staring out my window at this magnificent creature. He was lying in the snow just kind of taking it easy. It felt to me like a sacred moment, a holy experience. It was the same feeling when I see a beautiful sunset, the Grand Canyon, or Niagara Falls.

I could have watched him all day but alas, I had work to do so I turned back to my desk. The next time I looked out the window, he was gone. The next day when I got to the office, I looked for him again but could not see him. About an hour later I looked again and there he was! Almost in the exact same place, only this time he was standing, and I had a much better view. He was standing in the sunshine instead of the shadows. That is when I snapped the picture above.

Since then, I have wondered, “How often has this deer been outside my window and I just did not notice him?” Likewise, how often do we miss the presence of God because we are not paying attention? If we look for Him, we will find Him. He is always there.

Santas dragon

Last week a ferocious windstorm blew through my neighborhood. It came just a few days after I finished decorating the exterior of our house for the holidays. I’m sorry to say that the storm killed my Santa dragon.

I was at home when this murder took place. I could hear the wind howling and was wondering if I should take shelter. The trash cans wound up in the neighbor’s yard and when I retrieved them, I noticed my dragon was no longer in the front yard.

My wife bought this thing two years ago at the end of the Christmas season. Last year we proudly displayed him for the first time. He looked a lot like the dragon above. At the end of last year’s Christmas season, I noticed he sustained some damage. The loops used to stake him into the ground were all torn.

Santa’s dragon looked a little sickly this year, but we were able to make do. I found that if I tied ropes around Santa’s neck, the dragon’s tail and one of his arms, I could make him stand up straight. He was listing to starboard a little, but it was something I could live with.

And then came the big storm. Apparently, he took to flight and sailed over the roof before landing in the back yard. It took me awhile to find him, and when I did, he didn’t look so good. I dragged him back to the front yard and plugged him into the extension cord to blow him up. But alas, his injuries were terminal. His motor was no longer working.

Even as I write, the dragon lies in our front yard. I have not had time to bury him yet. His body lies lifeless, deflated, and torn. Come to think of it, I feel kind of deflated and torn myself. Mostly from putting up Christmas decorations. Christmas has a way of doing that to you. Many of us get to the end of the season and feel a little beat up.

So, beware my friends. Don’t let the hectic season blow you away. Remember that the Christ child will still get himself born, even if we don’t find the perfect gift for Aunt Margaret. Santa dragons can be replaced… or they can be buried and forgotten. I vote for the latter.

I’ve never lived this long before

A few weeks ago, I discovered a song by the Statler Brothers called “I’ve Never Lived This Long Before” The lyrics, in part, go like this: I′ve met all my heroes and shook all the hands, of all that I wanted to meet I've kissed all the women that once were the girls, I dreamed about falling asleep. I′ve looked up the bullies from grade and high school & gave them a piece of my mind I've even looked up some old teachers I had and 'pologized for being unkind. I′ve talked to my mama and told her I knew; I had not done all that I could She just smiled and kissed me and said after all, prayers answered late are still good. There's nothing I've done that I wish I′d done less but there′s a few I wish I'd done more And the thing I find hardest to believe is I′m here, 'cause I′ve never lived this long before. My favorite part of the song is the line that says, “Prayers answered late are still good.” I’ve been thinking about that line a lot in the past week as I’ve prepared my sermons for Advent. Traditionally, the second Sunday of Advent focuses on John the Baptist and how he was conceived in his parents’ old age. They had been praying for a child a long time, and just when it seemed like the answer was “no,” God gave them John. Like the song says, “Prayers answered late are still good.” Homer Hammersley, one of our long-time members, used to say that “God answers prayer in three ways: Sometimes he says “yes,” sometimes he says “no,” and sometimes he says “wait.”

no talking in heaven

Last week, while I was sharing a Bible story with our preschoolers, I mentioned something about people talking to one another in heaven. I no longer remember exactly what I was talking about or the point I was trying to make. But while I was talking, one little girl said, “Pastor Bart, there’s no talking in heaven.” She said it with an air of authority, but this was something I had never heard before.

So, I said, “No talking in heaven? Why not?”

She looked at me with exasperation on her face and said, “Because they are all dead!” It cracked me up, and I’ve been telling this story to anyone who will listen ever since. Apparently, I was absent from my Systematic Theology class when they discussed the no talking in heaven rule.

I’m not sure if I agree with her theology, but her statement got me thinking. How will we communicate in heaven? Will we speak words in English? Will everyone in heaven be able to understand each other in their own language, like they did in the 2nd chapter of Acts? Will we have to learn a universal language? Or will we be able to understand each other without using language, like reading one another’s minds?

I’m not sure about how we will communicate, but I do believe that we will NOT be dead. And I believe that whatever heaven might be, it will be different.

This incident reminds me of a conversation Jesus had with the Sadducees in Mark 12. They spoke of a woman who was married seven times and asked whose wife she would be in the resurrection. Jesus replied that there would be no marriage in heaven.

That doesn’t mean that we will not know our spouses in eternity, or that we will not love them. But I think what Jesus means is that our relationships will be different. Wonderful? Yes! Marvelous? Absolutely! Will we get there and want to turn back? Not a chance! But everything will be different.

I look forward to having the opportunity to experience the heavenly realm. I just need to remember that there is no talking.

BGAV

Last week my wife and I attended the 201st meeting of the Baptist General Association of Virginia (BGAV). The meeting was held at First Baptist Church of Alexandria. Pictured here is Wayne Faison, the Executive Director of the BGAV, delivering the closing sermon.

It was 40 years ago this month that I attended my first annual meeting while I was on staff at Chestnut Hill Baptist Church in Lynchburg. That meeting was held at the Virginia Beach Convention Center. Over the years we have met in Roanoke, Richmond, Williamsburg, Woodbridge, Salem, Virginia Beach, and Hampton. This was the first year we’ve met in Alexandria since I have been attending.

I have always loved going to the annual meeting. Messengers from participating churches across the commonwealth meet to elect officers, vote on resolutions, hear reports from the various agencies of the association, and worship.

I have fond memories of seeing friends from college and seminary, catching up with former church members, and going out for dinner after the business of the day. I loved touching base with Alden Hicks, the pastor at Chestnut Hill where I was his associate pastor. I loved seeing Kirk Lashley, my campus minister when I was at Averett College. I loved watching Bill Cumbie, Executive Director of Mount Vernon Baptist Association, acting as moderator for the business sessions.

I have to say, this year’s meeting was different. I didn’t recognize as many faces as I used to. Almost all of my college and seminary friends have retired. Alden, Kirk, and Bill are all deceased. It used to be that you would use a book of ballots to vote on motions. Now, you vote through an app that is on your phone. In the old days, every worship service included the old familiar hymns. This year, several of the worship experiences featured songs I had never heard before.

Every year, there is a memorial service on the last day of the meeting to honor those from the association who have passed away in the last year. I was a little shaken to see the photos of colleagues I did not know had died.

So, this was an emotional meeting for me. Things aren’t like they used to be. But that doesn’t mean it was not a good meeting! I learned a little about the new organizational structure of the association. I was introduced to new people, I listened to some excellent speakers, and I experienced awesome worship.

I’m not sure how many more of these annual meetings I will be attending. Retirement is on the horizon in the next few years. But I am glad I had the opportunity to add this meeting to my collection of memories. I hope you will join me in praying for the work of the BGAV.

functioning

I saw this picture on the internet a few weeks ago. The caption read, “When you ask me how I’m doing and I say, ‘I’m functioning,’ this is what I mean.” Several people have asked me lately how I’m doing. It might not be as bad as the picture indicates, but I am indeed functioning.

So why have people been asking me this question? Is it the dark circles under my eyes? Is it the dark countenance? Or perhaps the haggard appearance, irritability, stooped shoulders, or tendency to groan loudly when I get up from my chair.

Life can be stressful sometimes, can’t it? When the car won’t start, and your daughter comes down with Covid, and someone breaks into the church, and a preschooler sneezes in your face, and especially when the new building (which was supposed to be finished last year) has not even started construction yet.

One of our former church members was Mr. James Purdham. Mr. Purdham has long since gone to his eternal reward, but I remember many times asking him how he was doing. Whenever I asked, he would smile and say, “Well, I’m hanging in there.” It didn’t matter what was going on in his life. When his brother died, when his wife passed away, when his health began to decline, and when he left his home to spend his final days in the nursing home, it was always, “Well, I’m hanging in there.”

I remember one visit in particular where Mr. Purdham was telling me about his World War II experiences. He served under General George Patton and was one of the troops who liberated prisoners from the Jewish Extermination Camps. He spoke of the emaciated bodies, the horrendous conditions, and the prisoners who kissed his boots when he set them free. It had been 60 years since the events he told me of that day, but there were tears in his eyes when he spoke of them.

I look at the above picture and I’m reminded of Mr. Purdham. He had seen and experienced great suffering, but he was still hanging in there. As we observe Veterans Day this coming Monday, let’s be mindful of the Jim Purdhams of our world. The real deal heroes who stood against tyranny, were broken in the process, and continued to function. How am I doing? I’ve really got nothing compared to that.

trail or treat

This past Sunday, Virginia Hills participated in the “Trail or Treat” at Franconia District Park. Our church, along with Rising Hope Mission Church, Hope United Church of Christ, Franconia United Methodist Church, and Kingstowne Communion Church sponsored this event.

We began with an interdenominational worship service at the Franconia District amphitheater that included 210 participants.

We then moved to the trail or treat along the Chessie’s Trail at Franconia Park. Families were invited to participate by bringing a food donation to restock the pantry at Rising Hope. Over 800 pounds of food and $385 were collected. Just under 1200 people walked the trail.

Among the 37 stations handing out candy was the “Jurassic Park” table sponsored by Virginia Hills Church and Learning Center. Pictured above is Dr. John Hammond, CEO and founder of Jurassic Park, along with his T-Rex, who is confined behind an electric fence, which is perfectly safe. (unless something happens to the computer system) Special thanks to all from Virginia Hills who made this a special day.

The whole event was a reminder to me of the importance of working together. There was a time when each individual church would do their own thing. But we live in a different world now, and we can accomplish so much more and make more of an impact working together than we can on our own. This is part of our vision for the new Virginia Hills Church: to be a place where multiple churches and organizations can join together to make a difference in our community.

bob

The fellow pictured above is my good friend, Bob. Bob makes it down from the attic every October to help us celebrate Halloween. I’m not sure when he started his annual appearance, but I think it was about 15 years ago. Bob is looking a little worse for wear this year. His right arm is missing so he won’t be able to hand out candy to trick or treaters.

Most years Bob is somewhere in our front yard. Sometimes he hangs from the flagpole next to the front door. Sometimes he’s waving from the front window. This year he is sitting in a camp chair in front of his tent.

I’ve noticed a lot of Bobs in our neighborhood this year. Some of them are ten feet tall. Some are little bitty and there are a dozen of them in the trees. There’s one that appears to be pole dancing. (I don’t think my Bob is old enough to go to that house.)

Bob is just one of the decorations we have had through the years. Before they all burned out, we had a large collection of orange lights. At one point we had a little remote-controlled broom. It came with a little dish to put the candy in, and we could guide it down the sidewalk to deliver candy to the neighbors. I worked really well until one kid stepped on it and broke it. One of my all-time favorites was the little miniature Bob who was locked in a cage. It came with a motion sensor so that when someone came near, Bob would start screaming “Let me out of here!”

Some people don’t care for the whole Halloween thing. Some believe the day undermines the Christian faith. I’ll leave that for the theologians to debate. For me Halloween is day to dress up, go out with friends, and collect your favorite candies. Bob will be on duty Halloween night until about 8:30, when he has to go to bed. Hope you can come by!

pat fischer

Last week, long time Washington Football fans were saddened to learn of the death of Pat Fischer. Pat was the Washington corner back from 1968-1978. He is remembered for his toughness and tenacity, despite being only 5’9” and 165 pounds. My dad used to call him “pound for pound,” because pound for pound he was the toughest player in the league.

Fischer was a three-time pro bowler who had 56 interceptions in his career. Ironically, the first of these interceptions was against Washington quarterback Sonny Jurgenson when Pat was playing for the Cardinals.

George Allen, the former Washington coach, said that “Pat was not the biggest or fastest player on the team, but he never missed a practice, never missed a game, played smart, and played hard.” As a kid, watching the games on TV, I was amazed by his skill at tackling players much bigger than himself.

Some of his most memorable matchups were against Harold Carmichael of the Philadelphia Eagles. Carmichael was a foot taller than Fischer and outweighed him by 50 pounds. But Fischer more than held his own against the receiver. He believed in himself and was confident in his abilities. He didn’t always win, but he always made an impression.

The Bible has a thing or two to say about small guys going up against Giants. When David faced Goliath, he understood that victory doesn’t always go to the biggest or the strongest or the fastest. Sometimes it goes to the guy who has more heart, grit, and determination.

We all face giants from time to time. Sometimes they are named Goliath, and sometimes they are named Carmichael. We may not always win against these giants, but with hard work and fearless determination, we will always make our mark. Thanks for the memories, Pat! You were an inspiration.

tax guy

Several years ago, my financial advisor recommended someone to do my taxes. For years I had done my own taxes using the Turbo Tax software. As our lives got more complicated, and our finances became more complex, I began to wonder if I was really doing them right. I followed all of the directions on Turbo Tax, but I really didn’t understand all of the details. What if I had been missing something? So, I asked my financial advisor if he could recommend someone.

He put me in touch with my “tax guy.” That’s not his name or title, but after I shared his name with my brother, he was from that moment on known as “the tax guy.” “Have you taken your stuff to the tax guy? Has the tax guy finished your taxes?”

Last March, my brother and I met at the guy’s office, dropped off our W-2s, etc. and then went to lunch, secure that our taxes would be done right. By April 13th I had not heard anything, so I called his office. There was no answer, so I left a message.

My brother, who is a lot pushier than me, decided to drive down to his office to see what was up. He found a sign on the door saying, “We regret to inform you of the sudden death of “The Tax Guy.” Apparently the guy suffered a major heart attack a few days before. I’m pretty sure it was the taxes that killed him.

So, what does one do when it’s April 15th and your tax guy is deceased? I would have gone ahead and done them myself, except all my tax related paperwork was in a file locked away in the guy’s office.

Eventually I learned that his staff filed an extension for all the clients whose taxes had not yet been completed. Which meant that we had until October 15th to get them done. My brother and I both elected to let the Tax Guy’s staff complete what had been started. I promptly forgot all about it until the other day, when I realized that the 15th is next week! My annual mid-April panic over taxes became my October panic. Panicking twice in one year is too much.

Yesterday I picked up my finally finished taxes. The whole experience was a reminder of our tendency to put things off. We want to try that new restaurant, but we put it off until another day. We put off buying that new shirt because it’s so expensive. We put off spending time with family because we are too busy. We put off going to church until the new building is completed.

Life is short, friends., Go to that restaurant, buy that shirt, spend time with family and worship with us at Mount Vernon United Methodist this Sunday at 11:00.

worry stone

Many years ago, I was called to the home of a church member who had passed away. I sat with the family, and we planned the funeral service. In the course of the visit, I noticed the husband of the deceased holding a stone in his hand. It looked a little like the one in the picture above.

When I asked about it, the husband explained that it was a “worry stone.” A worry stone is a smooth, polished stone used to relieve stress or anxiety. They are typically oval shaped and have a thumb sized indentation. To use a worry stone, you typically hold it between your thumb and index finger and move your thumb across the indentation. The idea is that this action absorbs fidgeting and sends calming messages to the brain.

The husband handed it to me, and for the rest of the visit I rubbed my thumb across the stone. As I was leaving, I went to hand it back to the husband and he said, “Pastor, I think you should keep it. You have been wearing it out ever since I handed it to you. I think you need it more than I do.”

I still have that worry stone and it is one of the prized possessions of my ministry at Virginia Hills. I keep it in my office with the dachshund shaped foot scraper that Gerald Strickler gave me, the walking stick that Homer Hammersley gave me, and the “golden” railroad spike that Don Shamblin gave me.

After 37 years of ministry, I have quite a collection of this kind of stuff. I have a clock that the church gave me on my fifth anniversary as pastor, the little plastic dinosaur that a preschooler slipped into my pocket one year, and the tiny toy excavator that Jody Faig gave me at the last service in the old building.

I keep these things as a reminder of how much I love being the pastor at Virginia Hills, and the wonderful people that have made my ministry a such a joy. As we look to a new chapter in the life of our church, I look forward to more ministry and more wonderful people. God has more in store for us than we could ever imagine!

haircut

I was helping with the preschool before-care program last week when one of our kids came in sporting a new haircut. His teacher commented on how nice he looked, and all the other kids agreed that it was a most excellent haircut. A couple of the kids suggested it was about time for them to get haircuts too.

I looked at one of them and said, “Do you think I need to get a haircut too?” She laughed and said, “Don’t be silly, Pastor Bart, you don’t have any hair to cut!” I laughed too, but inside I was thinking, “Smart-Alec kid.”

I do still go to the barbershop, but these days it’s mostly to get my eyebrows and ear hair trimmed. When they ask how I want my hair cut I usually say, “Just a little off the top,” and they look confused, not knowing if I’m joking, or need to be institutionalized.

Hard as it may be to believe, I used to have plenty of hair. There was a time when it was so thick I could barely get a comb through it. It was thick and curly and not at all the “cool,” straight hair that was popular in the 1970’s. I always wished I could have straight hair, until it started falling out when I was in college. Now I figure any hair is better than none at all.

When I was little, my mom would take me to a barbershop in Springfield. So, when I came home from college one summer and needed a haircut, that’s where I went. A man that I did not recognize called me to his chair and started cutting. After a while I heard him say, “You know, Bart, I remember when you were little, and your mother brought you in. Your hair was so soft and wavy and thick.” I didn’t realize it when I sat down, but this guy had been cutting my hair all my life. I didn’t know him, but he knew me, and called me by name.

I no longer remember that barber’s name, and I’m sure he has since passed away. I have transitioned to a barbershop closer to home and have not been to the one in Springfield for over 40 years. But as I hear of preschooler’s haircuts, I’m reminded of a day long ago when I wandered into a semi-familiar place and was served by a man who remembered me before I was old enough to remember anything.

In Jeremiah 5:1, the Lord tells the prophet, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart.” Like a barber from long ago, the Lord knows me and calls me by name. In a world that is chaotic and changing, I am comforted by that fact.

hip replacement

About 25 years ago I became aware of a problem with my hip. After a season of church league softball, my leg was hurting, so I did the typical male thing and ignored it. But after several weeks it was not getting better, so I broke down and made an appointment with my doctor. He twisted and turned my leg and said, “You have a sprain.” He treated me for my “sprain” for a couple of months before saying, “Oh, sorry. It’s not a sprain. You have damaged a ligament.” He treated my ligament for a few months and then decided to get an x-ray and see an orthopedics doctor.

When the doc threw the x-ray up on the screen, he knew exactly what the problem was. “No wonder your leg hurts. You had Perthes Disease when you were a kid.” This was news to me, but apparently when I was about five years old this disease attacked my right hip. It caused the ball that fits into the hip socket to get mushy. The doctor showed me how the ball, which is usually round, was more egg shaped. That made one leg longer than the other and put pressure on my left leg. He recommended that I wear a lift in my right shoe, but that I would probably need hip surgery before I was 50.

Well, I’m 65 now and still waiting for that hip replacement. Most of the time the hip doesn’t bother me, but as I get older it seems to ache a little more. As I was getting out of the chair a few weeks ago, my moans and groans prompted my wife to say, “Is it time to get that hip replacement?”

I thought it very well might be, so I made an appointment with an orthopedic specialist. I was a bit surprised when I was told I don’t need surgery…yet. The hip looks good, there is little evidence of arthritis, and I may not need surgery at all. He did diagnose a small tear in the cartilage surrounding the hip socket. He gave me some exercises to try and sent me on my way.

How did I get this tear in the cartilage? No clue. I don’t remember hurting myself, but at my age I get hurt climbing out of bed. For now, I’m grateful that I can put off the hip surgery until another time.

Jacob had a different kind of hip surgery in Genesis 32. While on his way to meet his brother Esau, he encountered an “angel” with whom he wrestled. The result was a dislocated hip and a new name, for from that time on his name was Israel. He also became a different person. He was a much nicer guy after his “hip surgery.”

Very often, the pain in our lives changes us. It gives us a chance to realize what is really important, to get our priorities in order, to humble us. Sometimes our suffering is arbitrary. It just hurts. But sometimes, God uses it to mold us into a better person.

who will roll away the stone

In Mark’s gospel we read about how the women went to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body. As they were walking, they asked themselves, “Who will roll away the stone for us?” The heavy stone was in place to keep wild animals out, and to keep the scent of death in. It usually took a couple of big, beefy guys to roll the stone away. The women knew the stone would be too heavy for them to move by themselves. Who would help them?

When they arrived at the tomb, however, they discovered that the stone had already been moved. Who done it? Well, God done it! As is often the case, God does things that we cannot do ourselves.

For months now we have been waiting to get our building permits from the county so we can begin construction on our new building. Every week someone asks me how our building project is going, and every week I tell them “We are waiting for the permits.” It is exasperating.

I am one of those people who carries way too much responsibility. If something goes wrong, I feel it’s my responsibility to fix it. If Mrs. “Jones” can’t hear on Sunday morning, I have to do something about the sound system. If Mrs. “Smith” says the sound is too loud, it’s my problem. If Mrs. “Magillicuddy” sees that her name is spelled wrong in the church directory, I need to take care of it (even though she’s the one with the unspellable name).

So, when we go for months waiting for our building permits, my natural inclination is to want to fix it. I need to do something about this. Who can I get to move this building permit stone? Who do I call? Who can I email? Whose cage do I need to rattle to expedite the process?

This morning, as I was doing my devotion, I was reading from the 16th chapter of Mark. When I came to the bit in verse 3 about “who will roll away the stone?” the words seemed to jump off the page at me.

And then I read verse 4, which tell us that when the women arrived, the stone was already moved. They didn’t have to do a thing. The problem was already solved. I think what God is telling me is that the building permits are not my problem. They are way too big for me to move. I need Him to take care of it. And he will! But first I have to let go.

Now if I can just figure out what to do about Mrs. McGillicuddy.

entrepreneur

The other day I was driving home from the office when I saw a kid riding his bicycle. He looked like he was about 12 years old and behind his bike he was pulling a cart. On that cart I saw a leaf blower, Weed Wacker, hedge trimmer, and loppers.

While I had no way to be sure, I imagined he was on his way to one of his customers to do some yard work. Instead of going home after school and staring at his cell phone, this guy was willing to put in the effort to make a few extra dollars.

When I was his age, I had a neighborhood friend who did the same thing. He started off borrowing his dad’s lawn mower and cutting a few lawns in his neighborhood. When he saved enough money, he bought his own lawn mower and expanded his business. He did all this while I was watching TV. (I did not have his entrepreneurial spirit)

This neighborhood friend is still cutting grass, though he has graduated from a push mower to a riding mower. I see him in the summertime caring for the lawns of a rather large clientele. I can only imagine the amount of money he has deposited in the bank thanks to his hustle and hard work.

I’m reminded of a passage from the 6th chapter of Proverbs:

Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise!

It has no commander, no overseer or ruler,

Yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest.

How long will you lie there, you sluggard? When will you get up from your sleep?

A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest,

And poverty will come on you like a thief and scarcity like and armed man.

I looked at the kid on the bike and thought, “This guy is an ant. He’s most definitely not a sluggard. This kid is going to go far.

First day of school

Do you remember your first day of school? When I was growing up there was no kindergarten in the public schools. Unless you went to a private kindergarten your first school experience was the first grade.

I remember well the day I started attending Bush Hill Elementary School. It was awful! I remember the fear, separation anxiety, and the feeling in my stomach like I was about to barf. I hated it.

This was complicated by the fact that many of my classmates were old hands at the school thing. They had attended kindergartens like the one offered by Virginia Hills Baptist Church. (In fact, one my classmates in the first grade was a graduate of the VHBC program. He is still a good friend today) Many of the kids in my class had learned socialization skills, the alphabet, and their numbers. I had not.

So, this shy, introverted kid, was behind everyone else at the beginning. It didn’t help that I had a teacher who resembled the wicked witch of the west. For the first three years I hated school. I was never happier than when the school bell rang on Friday afternoon. And I was never unhappier than Sunday nights when I had to go to bed, knowing that the next day I would have to return to that scary place.

It wasn’t until the fourth grade that I started to catch up, enjoy learning, and feel comfortable. I share all of this because this is the first week of our church’s preschool. Some kids come in all smiles, ready for the new school year. Others must be pried away from their parents. The halls are filled today with the sound of crying.

I empathize with the criers. I can relate. Change is hard, especially when it involves separating from what is familiar and comfortable. When I hit the first grade, I was no longer able to watch cartoons all day. And mom wasn’t around to pick me up when I fell. And I certainly didn’t want that old lady kissing my boo boos.

But think of what I would have missed if I hadn’t started school. I would have missed making friends with my VHBC kindergarten graduate. (A friendship that is now in its 58th year) I would have missed the joy of learning to read, playing kickball at recess, and falling in love for the first time with Susie Beth Mellencamp. (Or whatever her name was)

We are in a season of change at Virginia Hills. And it is hard! Just like going to school for the first time, we are experiencing the loss of that which is familiar and comfortable. The future is uncertain as we look to a building that is different from what we are used to. As I listen to the cries of my preschool friends, I am reminded of Jesus’ words in John 16:33, “In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Scratches

Some of you may recall that we have a cat named Mozzie at our house. Mozzie fancies himself the official alarm clock of the Purdy household. When he decides it is time to get up his meowing would wake the dead.

This morning, Mozzie decided it was time to get up at 3:00 AM. I was about to throw him out of the room and go back to bed when he jumped on my face, leaving the scratch you see in the picture above. I’m sure he was just playing but his claws made a mess of my face.

At that point, going back to sleep was no longer an option. So, I washed the scratch, applied some antiseptic, and put on the coffee pot. Moz took his normal position on the armrest of my chair while I did some reading. He had a condescending look on his face that seemed to say, “Why did you put your face in the way of my claws?”

At this point the wound has stopped bleeding, it no longer hurts, and I’ve moved on with my day. I pretty much forget about it until someone looks at me. Some people are too polite to mention it, but I can see the wheels turning. They are wondering if they should call Adult Protective Services. Others look at me and say, “Oh my goodness! What happened to your face?” I received a lot of sympathy today.

Life is like that sometimes. We get nicked up a little. Scrapes and scratches are a part of life. Some of our injuries send us to the ER, but most of the time they are a minor inconvenience. I look at myself in the mirror and I think, “It could have been a lot worse.” Two inches to the north and Mozzie could have blinded me. I didn’t get any blood on the sheets, and my wife slept through the whole thing. I call that a win.

In 2 Corinthians 12, Paul speaks of his “thorn in the flesh.” We are not sure what it was, but when Paul prayed that God would remove it, the Lord said, “No.” Apparently, it was not life threatening, just inconvenient. Paul discovered that’s God’s strength was made perfect in weakness. I don’t like getting scratched on the face, but that inconvenience pales in comparison to the many blessings of each day.

unstoppale

I’m unstoppable, I’m a Porsche with no brakes

I’m invincible. Yeah, I win every single game

I’m so powerful, I don’t need batteries to play

I’m so confident. Yeah, I’m unstoppable today

The above lyrics are from a song by Australian singer-songwriter, Sia. Written by Sia and Christopher Braide, it was recorded in 2016. It has become popular in the US in recent years due to its use in commercials and TikTok.

I’m not sure how I became aware of this song. The “electro-pop” genre is not really my style. I’m more inclined to listen to Perry Como, Eddy Arnold, or Ray Price. But the catchy refrain struck a nerve with me. It came at a time of frustration in our new church building project.

This thing is dragging out. For all the work we have put into it we have nothing to show for it. We are still waiting for building permits. Still waiting for construction to begin.

But the song reminded me that this project is unstoppable. God will get it done in spite of the obstacles. In the meantime, our job is to sit tight, be patient, and wait on the Lord.

The Olympics

The first Olympic Games that I was aware of was in 1968. Our elementary school gym teacher, Mr. Neff, gave us an assignment to give a report on the Olympics. Every four years I think of Mr. Neff and give thanks that he introduced me to this sporting event that has given me so many memories.

That was the year the games were held in Mexico City. It was the year Bob Beamon broke the world record in the long jump by almost two feet. A record that would stand for 33 years.

I remember the 1972 games in Munich. Dave Wottle had an incredible come from behind victory to win the gold medal in the 800 meter track event. That was also the year we were introduced to Mark Spitz, the swimmer who won seven gold medals. And Olga Korbut, the gymnast from the Soviet Union, who won the hearts of Americans in spite of the Cold War.

There was Nadia Comaneci, who earned a perfect score in gymnastics in Montreal, the boycotted games of 1980, which were held in Moscow. The Los Angeles Games of 1984 and the fall of Mary Decker Slaney in the 3,000 meters, and the four gold medals won by Carl Lewis.

I remember the flaming arrow that ignited the Olympic flame in Barcelona in 1992, the Atlanta games and the bombing that killed two and injured dozens, the Athens, Beijing, London, and Rio De Janeiro games in which Michael Phelps won a total of 23 gold medals, the Tokyo games of 2021 that were postponed because of Covid.

This year, the games are being held in Paris, and Simone Biles and Katie Ledecky have added their names to the list of greatest Olympians of all time. Even as I write these words, other athletes are providing memories that will last a lifetime.

One thing I love about the Olympics is that all of these athletes gather in the spirit of peace. They are able to set aside differences, conflicts, and wars, in the spirit of competition. Israel is there, but so is Palestine. South Korea is there, but so are North Korea athletes.

As our country looks ahead to our presidential election in November, we are a deeply divided nation. But we can learn a thing or two from our Olympic athletes. They remind us that love is stronger than hate, that courage is stronger than fear, peace is stronger than war, and light is stronger than darkness.

What’s the big idea

I have a young friend in our preschool named CJ. He is a sweet kid with an easy smile and a joyful demeanor. He loves to read, color, and play with blocks. He also has a game he likes to play with the pastor.

One day last year he snuck up behind me during the before-care program. He tapped me on the shoulder and then hid behind my chair when I turned around. Apparently, it’s a load of fun fooling Pastor Bart. As I called his name and said things like “where did he go?” CJ would laugh hysterically before tapping me again and then hiding behind the chair. I believe this kid could play that game all day long.

When he finally came out from behind the chair I said, “Hey, what’s the big idea?” The phrase stuck in his little mind and became a part of his daily communication. Now, whenever he sees me, he says, “What’s the big idea?” It’s adorable!

That phrase, “What’s the big idea?” became a part of my vocabulary many years ago. So long ago, in fact, that I couldn’t remember where I heard it. The other day I looked up the phrase to see if I could find its origin.

I discovered it was a catchphrase that came into use in the early part of the 20th century. According to the internet, it was used to convey a sense of annoyance with those given to tomfoolery.

As I read about the phrase, I discovered where I must have heard it. It was commonly used by The Three Stooges and Daffy Duck, some of the great theologians of the 20th century. Mickey runs into Donald, Moe runs into Curley, Curley runs into Larry, and the common response is “What’s the big idea?” It’s another way of saying, “What do you think you’re doing?”

I wonder if God ever uses those words when he looks at his church. When we are a member of a local congregation but are absent for months at a time. When we have plenty to say about how the money is spent, but never give any of our own. When we approach church ministries with a “Meh, good enough,” mentality, instead of bringing excellence to the table. When things don’t go to suit us, so we abandon our church and join one that better “meets our needs.” When we complain about the demolition of a building that we haven’t set foot in for 40 years. When we are “too tired” to worship but have plenty of energy to go to the local casino. And most of all, when our relationship with Christ is superficial, instead of the central theme of our lives.

Hey church! What’s the big idea?