Welcome home, Stanley

Jonah and I traveled to Detroit today with my buddy Fred to hang out at Hart Plaza celebrating the Red Wing's Stanley Cup victory. It was a blast! The day started with us hanging out at the Joe watching players arrive for the parade. Fred was able to get a great shot of Chris Draper hoisting the cup just a few feet away in the Joe Louis players' parking lot. Then we headed to Hart for the big rally. There were gazillions of people there. (Crowd estimates were several hundred thousand).

My favorite moment of the day, though, was when Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick took the stage to offer his congratulations to the Wings. When I first saw him on the state, I leaned over and told Fred, "The question isn't if they will boo the mayor, the question is: will they stop?"

The answer is "no."

From the moment Kwame was introduced, the crowd screamed their boos and cat-calls, and didn't stop until he left the podium. I was only fifty yards from the stage, directly in front of the speakers, and I couldn't hear a word of what he was saying.

It's time for the mayor to get a clue and move on.

Sole custody of the maple tree

My buddy Mike told me about a guy he knows whose wife recently separated from him. Despite their marital difficulties the husband remained hopeful they might work through it. Then his wife hired a team of people to come to their home and dig up the hosta plants and azalea bushes she had planted. Shortly thereafter a giant tree mover rolled in and extracted the twenty foot tall maple from the front lawn and carted it away leaving a gaping hole in front of the house.

Mike's assessment: this thing ain't gonna blow over.

Seems like there is a metaphor for divorce somewhere in that maple tree's roots, eh Kjergaard?

More from Dave Ramsey

Mrs. Frankly and I went to lunch today at bd's Mongolian Barbecue. Very tasty! Since our birthdays are only fifteen hours apart, and since bd's offers free lunch on your birthday, we were able to eat for only the cost of our two soda pops and the tip.

While there, I engaged our server, Jonathon, in conversation. I mentioned that I am preaching about Jonathon this Sunday. He asked what church I preach at and, when I told him South Lansing Christian Church on Aurelius Road, he knew it right away. "I drive past there on my way to work in Ionia every day," he told me.

"What are you doing driving to Ionia?" I asked.

"I manage a Walgreen's there."

"Then what are you doing waiting tables here?"

His response: "This is my Dave Ramsey job."

Tracy and I looked at each other and cracked up. We went on to talk about FPU and the recent car repair he had that cleaned out his emergency fund. He told me that he bought life insurance recently and, when the salesman tried to sell him whole life, he insisted on term. The insurance salesman pressed him to get whole but when Jonathon stayed true to FPU the guy said, "Wait a minute. You're in that class aren't you?"

"What class?"

"The one with that radio guy."

"You mean Dave Ramsey?"

"Yeah that's the one. You're not going to buy this policy are you?"

"Nope."

Way to go Jonathon. And way to go Dave. Thanks for helping Tracy and I work through our financial challenges. So far, we've paid off over $4,000 in debt and have about $500 in our emergency fund. We're on week seven and moving along strong. I've got my own "Dave Ramsey job," too, and we're looking to become debt free - to live like no one else so we can give like no one else.

WWDRD?

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer is reporting that a Milwaukee farmer found $1700 in dry-rotted depression era cash stuffed in a rusted metal box in a shed he was tearing down on his farm. Apparently, rumors of the cash have floated around for years. Dan Deming, the farm's owner, began searching around the farm about three years ago when he received a metal detector for his birthday.

Hmmmmmm. Cash stuffed in a box in an old shed back in 1935. What would Dave Ramsey do? Well, $1700 invested in a decent mutual fund in 1935, with interest compounded would now be worth $342,424 today. Guess that farmer blew that one, huh.

Thanks, Dave . . .

Breitbart carried a story today about a woman who lived for 58 years in an "iron lung" machine. Stricken by polio at age 3, she lived to the age of 61 when, earlier today, she passed away due to a power failure and her family's inability to start up their backup generator.

She graduated High School, received an honorary college degree, and wrote a children's book, all in her confined condition. Amazing.

People shaping people

I am beginning a new sermon series, Making David, this Sunday at South Lansing Christian Church.

Imagine Michelangelo walking around the stone that would become David. The six-foot high slab of marble awaits his chisel. Blow by blow, bit by bit, this master artisan shapes the shapeless into a masterpiece. Surrounded by shards of stone, he lays down his tools and stares in wonder at the form that has emerged. It is finished, perfect, a work for the ages.

God shapes us into who he wants us to be, too. The artist’s medium is stone or maybe clay; God works in flesh and blood. The artist uses his hands, a mallet, chisels of various shape and size; God uses people in our lives to make us into who he wants us to be. Our relationships – both those that are good and those that are bad – shape us and mold us. It is unlikely that David would have become “a man after God’s own heart” without the people he experienced – and in some cases endured.

I think of some of the people who have helped shape me into the person I am today. I remember being fired from one of my first jobs. I baled hay for my uncle Miles. He told me to be at the farm at 10 AM but, because of problems with the baler, the first load didn't arrive until well after lunch. When it came time to settle up, I complained about not being paid for the time I wasted waiting. Big mistake. Uncle Miles never called me to bale again. The lesson: choose very carefully when and if you plan to confront the boss.

I remember the encouragement of Pearl Gerner and Mary Pearson in my early years and Lloyd Mealer in more recent years. They helped me to find and follow my calling. I am grateful for friends like Fred and Mike and Mike and countless others who stand beside me whether they've been next door or in the next state.

There have been a couple of Nathans in my life, too - people who've lovingly but firmly confronted me when I messed up. I once planned a church-wide, month-long prayer emphasis while the Senior Minister was out of town. He returned from vacation to find out his Associate Minister had committed him to preach on prayer for the next few weeks. Gary was really cool about it, but he made it clear that I needed to communicate better.

All of us have people in our lives who have helped shape us. Who has helped shape you?

Way down in Kokomo

Headed back to central Indiana on Sunday to preach at the Judson Road Christian Church. Tracy and I were really blessed to begin full-time ministry with the gold folks at Kokomo Church of Christ, as they were then known. Dr. Gary Carpenter was my "boss," mentor, and encourager. Gary is still preaching at Judson Road. He is, quite simply, one of my favorite preachers. Gary is away on a well-deserved sabbatical.

Tracy and I are looking forward to seeing the McCartys, the Russells, the Snows, the Kuhns, the Baers, and regular Frankly Speaking reader "Bruce," and dozens of other people who played a huge role in our early ministry years. We might even cruise through Highland Park to see "Old Ben." It oughta be a great time!

He touched me . . .

Since switching to the Mac, I've struggled to find a PDA that played nice with the Apple. Finally, with the acquisition of an iPod Touch, I've landed on a solution. The Touch is basically and iPhone without the phone or the camera. It keeps my contacts, my email and my calendar. the early review: I love it!

The best part of the deal is we were able to do so without costing the church any bucks - thanks to the creativity of Wally Lowman. We sold the old PDA on eBay and transfered the phone service from the Treo to the Razor. Chad gets the Treo, Frank gets the iPod, and Wally gets a big wet kiss.

Truth versus falsity

Spoke today from 1 John 4:1-6 about how we as believers can know the truth from falsehood. Had a bit of a technical problem with the video I planned to show. So, for all you Southies, here is what you missed:

Every time I think I've seen it all . . .

Read tonight that some dude is selling Gideon's Bibles on Craigslist. Bibles that he freely admits he took over the years. In all fairness, he's willing to sell them at a discount . . . if the bidder is a Gideon.

Only $50 for 67 King James Bibles. Hurry while they're still available.

Click here for the listing.

UPDATE
I emailed the seller of the Bibles yesterday to ask him how he could, in good conscience, sell Gideon Bibles. That he stole . . . er, received . . . for free from the hotels where he lodged. Here is his reply:

Hey there Frank, thanks for your interest in those bibles. Their a good deal as you can tell.

Let me know when you can come pick them up. I can't let my ex wife know about the sale cause I owe her some money and don't want her to get any of this, you know where I'm coming from.

The bibles are in her basement so we would have to go over when she is at work. My car is in the shop so I can't bring them to my house.
Let me know when you can meet me there.

You can't make this stuff up . . .

Back on the market . . .

Our family just returned from Butler, Indiana. We spent the day cleaning our old home at 205 W. Oak St. We sold it late last year to a young couple. They purchased the house on land contract but, sadly, they moved out recently. Consequently, we find ourselves needing to sell the home again.

It is a real beauty, and priced to move. If you know someone who is looking for a nice home on a quiet street in a great little town, please send them my way. You can email me by clicking on the link to the right.

You can also click here to see our Craig's List listing.

An olfactory buffet

Went for a jog tonight. The spring colors were amazing. Pink and lavender crabapple trees in full bloom lined Degroff Street. Purple lilacs are blossoming. The tulips are hanging on, as are the few forsythias that haven't turned green. Even the magnolia trees seem unready to cast their blooms just yet.

The most amazing thing about the run, though, was the plethora of smells. At every turn there was some new sweet scent wafting across the humid evening breeze.

Absolutely beautiful. . .

True Identity

This morning I am preaching about our identity in Jesus Christ. 1 John makes it clear that we are children of God.

Yesterday my son got his United States Passport in the mail. He intends to put his first stamp in it on a mission trip to Mexico this June. He is a documented United States citizen now. He has certain rights and privileges. He can live and work here. He can freely cross our nation's international borders. He can run for President when he is thirty-five and try to clean up the messes that this year's candidates are likely to leave when they walk away from the Oval Office.

As believers in Jesus Christ, we have rights and privileges, too. John wrote that, "he who has the Son has life." Our belief in Jesus provides us with a passport, so to speak, that enables us to cross far greater borders than are here on earth. With Christ, we cross over from death to life!

A man's gotta do . . .

Several have asked aloud why my posts to Frankly Speaking have been less frequent of late. The simple truth of the matter is this: I've taken on a temporary part-time job.

Tracy and I are participating in our church's Financial Peace University class. Many are familiar with this great money management class that is taught by Dave Ramsey. In it, he teaches students to take "baby steps." Baby step one is simple: get $1000 in an emergency fund. So, when the opportunity arose for me to take on a three week gig grading standardized tests for a company named Pearson, I jumped at it. The job will enable me to bank about $750 in three weeks and will put me well on my way to starting a healthy emergency fund.

Regrettably, the job is five days a week from 6-10 PM. This has been less than ideal for me and my family.

Still, I can't help but feel a little like Pa Ingalls heading off to the rock quary to find work after the failed wheat harvest. (For those of you in the You Tube generation, that was a Little House on the Prairie reference.) There are times in life when a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and going the extra mile to ensure my family's financial peace is one of those times.

Then again, when I think of the sacrifices that mothers and fathers all over the globe make for their children every day - going without food, working twelve hour days every day, serving in the military far away from home, giving up their lives - my working an extra shift for three weeks seems like nothing. The more I think about it, in fact, the more grateful I am that God gave me the opportunity.

So much for the Charles Ingalls analogy . . .

Full auto . . .

So the governor of Kansas recently signed a bill into law that permits Kansans to own machine guns, silencers, sawed off shotguns and other fully automatic weapons.

Now I'm a second amendment guy. Although I don't have the bumper sticker, and have never sent a dime to the NRA, I pretty much think I should have the right to own my great-great grandfather's twelve-gauge Meridan shotgun. And my deer rifle. And .22 caliber rimfire. And the Remingron 870 that I used to not kill a deer last fall. Someday I plan to buy a handgun so I can go to the range with Tim and Dr. Joe and shoot up a paper target or two. Hey, I even think Charlton Heston and his, "from my cold dead hand" thing bit was pretty cool - even if it was ill-timed coming, as it did, on the heels of the Columbine shootings.

But, for the life of Smith and Wesson, I can't figure out why anyone needs to own a machine gun.

The AP story reporting the events in the Sunflower State quotes a politician explaining that the bill is attempting to benefit collectors who want to make, say an M14, part of their collection. Their collection of what - military grade killing tools? Do they plan to display their burp gun on the shelf next to their harmless bazooka and for-show-only claymore mine?

Kansans ought to just do what Michigan rednecks have been doing for decades - filing down the sears on their Model 7400s and attaching drum magazines to their glocks. Or, if they're more well to do, buying a conversion kit on the internet. Of course, we don't install them, we just put them on the shelf. For our collection.

Detour . . . south

I preached from Numbers 21 today about life's detours. My son Caleb and I are headed south to Mexico in June for Caleb's first mission trip. As we make our plans we're finding that we, too, are going to experience a detour. Our original plan called for us to travel to the Yucatan Peninsula, but our original travel dates conflict with a wedding that I have committed to performing.

As a result, Caleb and I will be traveling with a group from the Butler Church of Christ to Baja California. We'll be building a house in Tecate - the home of a large cervezaria.

Our trip will cost us $2484. So far, we've raised approximately $1750, so if any of you Frankly Speaking readers would like to contribute, we'll gladly put your offering to good use building a home for a needy Mexican family. You can do so by Paypal. Just go to your account and send money to frank@southlansingcc.og.

Thanks!

Random stuff . . .

The dove out my window...
I spoke from Matthew 10 this week talking about being wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove. As it happened, I spotted a mourning dove outside my window today. Doves are cool. When they walk, their heads rock back forward and back. They look a little goofy, but I learned that they do so because they cannot walk and focus their eyes at the same time.

Move, focus, move, focus, move focus . . . People are the same, I think. Its hard for me to focus when I am moving, too. When I stop, though . . .

Andrew Lloyd Weber...
My daughter and I watched Phantom of the Opera last night. I've never seen it before. Loved it. Abby said, "Andrew Lloyd Weber is a genius." She's right. She sang along with Christine, and I sang along with Raoul and the Phantom.

Schmuck is a bad word...
Mentioned on Sunday that some people see naive Christians and think, "What a bunch of schmucks." Turns out that is a bad word in Yiddish. Didn't know that. Bad on me.

2 Samuel. . .
Read this in my quiet time this morning and it brought me great hope: "All of us must die eventually. Our lives are like water spilled out on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. But God does not just sweep life away; instead, he devises ways to bring us back when we have been separated from him." (2 Samuel 14:14, NLT)

GI Joe - Big game hunter!

My buddy Scott sent me this hilarious photo. Some people have too much time on their hands!

Beloved and "Belonged"

My friend Rick sent me a sappy picture montage of babies and their pets. The juxtaposition of a Bull Mastiff and an infant is striking. The older Rick gets the softer he becomes, methinks.

At the bottom of his email was this: "Within the heart of every stray lies the singular desire to be loved." He's right, I think. The desire is deeper, though. More than just to be loved, I think there is the desire within this "strays" heart to belong. We want to be adopted into God's family. We need to know that we're His.

When Paul writes about my adoption as God's son, my pulse accelerates a couple of beats. I am His! I belong to the Family!

"How great is the love of the Father that we should be called sons of God, and that is what we are!"

A Farewell to Arm

Showed this photo at church yesterday while making the point that Satan can seem pretty innocuous . . . right up until the time his jaw snaps shut on me:
The photo comes from a National Geographic story with the lead, "Armed and dangerous." No, I'm not making that up.

Worry redirected

I was lying in bed last night worrying about our family finances. God and I have been having an ongoing conversation about money ever since we've become two-house homeowners. Even after selling one on land contract, I continue to fret while we dig out of the hole that dual ownership has left us in. Our chat went something like this:

Frank: "I know I need to trust you God."
God: "Uh-huh."

"I've already seen several ways that you're taking care of me this week. Unexpected income. A not-too-disastrous tax return."

"Not too disastrous? I thought you'd appreciate it a bit more."

"Oh, I do, I do. It's just that . . ."

"Just that what?"

"Just that, well, I never seem to have enough."

"That is because you keeping looking at your need instead of looking at your provision."

"You're right. I know that these circumstances are more about teaching me - teaching me humility. Teaching me responsibility. Teaching me discipline."

"And to trust."

"Right. Trust."

Still I continued to fret and stew. Then, and I'm not exactly sure why, I determined to set aside "my needs" and begin praying about other people and their needs. I prayed for my sons, that they would do well in school today. I prayed that God would make them better men than their old man. I prayed that He would make them into giants in the Kingdom, used for His glory and purposes.

I prayed for Tracy and Abby and the work that they're doing in Haiti. I prayed that they would be safe and protected from the evil one. I prayed that the lessons they're learning will stick with them and change their lives. I prayed for South Lansing Christian Church. I prayed for marriages that are hurting. Kids that are struggling. People who need healing.

I'm not really sure when I stopped praying, to be honest, because I drifted off to sleep. It was the best night of sleep that I've had in a long time.

When I awoke this morning, my financial woes are still there. I have to make a couple hard choices today. I think my credit rating will take a beating either way. Nevertheless, there is a sense of assurance that was lacking yesterday. A sense of hope. I don't know where all the answers are going to come from, and maybe that is the point. If I had all the answers, I wouldn't have to rely on the Father so much.

Self-reliance is a hard habit to break. Eventually, though, there is freedom in abandoning it.

Or so I am told.

Easter Reflections

Sunday was a great day at South Lansing Christian Church. The worship was inspiring. The crowd was big (684) and we took up a good offering (10% of which will go to bless All Nations Christian Church). Sunday was a great day for other churches, too.

Here in Lansing, Trinity Church baptized 33 new believers in their service on Sunday. South Church immersed several, too.

Northwest Haiti Christian Mission, where my wife and daughter enjoyed Easter Sunday, hosted 1400 adults and over 1000 children for their Easter dinner. That's Mrs. Frankly in the photo serving beverages to the Haitians.

Not everyone was blessed Sunday, though. I received this email from one hurting preacher:

Sunday came and went. With all the crap Satan has heaped around this church and the unwillingness of the leaders to shovel it away... I can honestly say that Easter fell short spiritually. People were whispering in corners...politicking...huddled in groups and would suddenly change topics as others came near. Church felt more like a country club annual meeting rather than celebrating ressurection Sunday. The early service was well attended...78 (one of my members wanted to speak in this service to allow me and my family to enjoy) and the second had 54. A good turnout for our church.

Tell me, Frankly readers, what was your Easter Sunday like?

Estrogen Free-Zone

Mrs. Frankly and the oldest of the three Franklies are in Haiti this week working with Northwest Haiti Christian Mission leaving the boys and I to fend for ourselves in Grand Ledge. Hopefully we'll survive our feminine free two weeks.

I received word late this evening that they arrived and are safe. You can view pictures of their team by clicking here. Here is a photo of Tracy and Abby along with Waldens, a little boy that Tracy sponsors. She is showing him a painting that Elvius, a Haitian artist painted for Tracy to bring home when she returns.

Moo Shoe Pork

The New SLCC Website

South Lansing Christian Church is rolling out a new website on Easter Sunday.

Frankly Speaking readers have the first opportunity for a sneak peek by clicking here. Do us a favor and root around in the site and then report back. Is it helpful? How can we improve it? Are there any "broken links" that need repaired?

Our goal with the new site is to provide great information, both for Southies, and for those who might be searching for a church. Thanks!

Praying for Pat . . .

Someone asked to pray for Pat Bisher yesterday at church. A member of our church, Pat is a sailor who is training to become a Navy Seal. Join in praying for Pat. And, in his honor, here is the first verse of the the Navy Hymn, Eternal Father Strong to Save.

Even the rocks cry out . . .

Yesterday I passed along something I learned from a Rob Bell sermon. There was a belief among the Jews in the first century that at some point a savior would come and would raise from the dead all the good Jews that had previously died. These righteous Jews would then follow him into Jerusalem where the city would become a place of peace, joy and prosperity that would spread to the ends of the earth.

Believing that Messiah would come from the east, down the Mt. of Olives, it became a favorite burying place for the Jews. [The photo on the right is a picture of the modern day Mt. of Olives. Notice the gravestones.] They called it, “the place of the great resurrection.” With their tombs so conveniently located, they could join Messiah's procession into Zion.

On the day of Jesus' triumphal entry into the holy city, Jesus was confronted by the Pharisees telling him to hush his disciples. He replied, “if my followers were to remain silent, even the rocks will cry out.” We read that and think, "Oh, isn't that nice, the rocks will start talking." The Jews to whom Jesus was speaking, however, would have understood Jesus to be making a backhanded claim to be Messiah - that indeed the tombs would open and the righteous, resurrected Jews would proclaim His praises.

What I didn't pass along in my sermon were Matthew's words in Matthew 27. Writing about Jesus' death, Matthew records,

Then Jesus shouted out again, and he gave up his spirit. At that moment the curtain in the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart, and tombs opened. The bodies of many godly men and women who had died were raised from the dead after Jesus' resurrection. They left the cemetery, went into the holy city of Jerusalem, and appeared to many people. (Matthew 27:50-53, NLT, italics my emphasis.)

Wow! Jesus is Messiah!

Pleasing Papa

And now, O Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you? He requires only that you fear the LORD your God, and live in a way that pleases him, and love him and serve him with all your heart and soul. And you must always obey the Lord's commands and decrees . . . for your own good.

Deuteronomy 10:12-13 (NLT)

There is a difference, I think, between trying to please my father and merely trying not to disappoint him. I grew up with a great dad. He invested his time in his family. While other dads were bowling or going to the Lion's Club, my dad was with us. Other dads drank the weekends away. My dad worked at the factory in Ft. Wayne, and then came home to farm - an activity which he did with me at his side.

He was also incredibly encouraging to me. Countless times dad told me he was proud of me. He rebuked me from time to time, yet he was never insulting or sarcastic. He disciplined me, but rarely ever raised his hand - even though he should have at times, perhaps.

I grew up not wanting to disappoint him.

Once, right after Christmas break, I was walking out of school on my way to the school bus. I had received a new fountain pen in my Christmas stocking. A girl in my class, who was generally disliked only for having had the misfortune of being born with a cleft palate, was walking ahead of me wearing a brand new white coat that she had received that Christmas. I flicked my fountain pen at her coat leaving a speckled trail of blue ink from hem to collar. Funny at the time? Sure. But not so much at 10 P.M. that night. I couldn't sleep until I told my dad what I had done. He made me call the girl's mother and make it right. Why the pains of a guilty conscience? Not as much over what I had done to the girl and her coat, but more because I didn't want to disappoint my dad.

There is some merit to approaching God that way. Certainly I don't want to disappoint Papa. Nevertheless, the obedience that he desires goes well beyond the negative reinforcement of wanting to avoid angering or even disappointing God. God wants us to please Him.

My friend, Greg Stauffer, once told me that he pictures his relationship with God this way: God in Heaven looks down on his child Greg, and every so often He says, "Look at Greg! Isn't that just the cutest thing he's doing?" Or, "Look at Greg, I am so proud of the way he handled that situation!" "Check out Greg mucking out the horse stalls. It cracks me up when he wrinkles up his nose at the smell!"

That is pleasing Papa.

No, I do not want to disappoint God. But I'm finding that, if not disappointing Him is my only motivation, it is often insufficient to deter me from the sin that I so frequently set my heart on committing. There must be, for me at least, some further motivation.

I think I am learning that the motivation is to please Him as well.

National Preaching Summit

Just returned from the National Preaching Summit. What a great couple of days to be encouraged and to build my skills in preaching. Six great preachers taught us over the course of two days. Here are a couple of gems (taken out of context, of course):

“Some people brighten up a room just by leaving it.” - Jeff Walling

“Do people love to bask in the glow of your absence?” - Jeff Walling

“Build your cabin in the woods and then build a road to get there.” – Fred Craddock

“Do our churches look like the Amish? You love to take pictures of the Amish, but you don’t want to move in with them.” - Jeff Walling

“What seeker sensitive is to the church, global warming is to politics.” - Bob Russell

Breaking 5,000

Today's deer picture, brought to you by . . .

Jif. Choosy moms choose Jif. Did I mention that the adults are inching closer to the students in our battle for peanut butter supremacy at South Lansing Christian Church? The tally is:

Students: 2707 Adults: 1712

Oh yeah, the picture. Taken outside my window yesterday afternoon, just twenty yards away . . .

Peanut Butter Meets Tim Lahaye?

Received this contribution today during the great peanut butter drive of 2008:

PS - The tally, as of 2:30 PM today is STUDENTS: 2371 ADULTS: 1371

Monday morning update

The story in the Lansing State Journal elicited amazing community support in our peanut butter drive. Even today people are calling to find out when and where they can drop of peanut butter to send to Haiti. And, yesterday, one of my own strategies was used against me. As I was welcoming the assembly to worship a procession of students came walking up the center aisle bringing with them over 1000 containers of peanut butter, including a LOT of single serving containers. It looks like the whole SLCC staff is going to take pies in their faces next Sunday morning.

I'll gladly wear a little whipped cream for the sake of hungry Haitian children. Here is the toteboard:

Sunday update - before church

Friday night peanut butter update

Thursday afternoon update

The forecast for today: peanut butter. The jars keep rolling in. Here is the count:

Peanut Butter Update

John Schneider's column in the Lansing State Journal highlighted our peanut butter battle. We've been getting phone calls and visits all morning! One nice older gentlemen from Okemos called to say he bought a jar, but was reluctant to drive in to the city, so could we send someone to pick it up. We sure will! Here are the totals as of 11:46 AM today.

Peanut Butter Challenge Update

Southies (the folks who attend South Lansing Christian Church) have been involved in our first ever peanut butter challenge. The goal: to collect a truckload of peanut butter for the children of Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. The reward: hungry kids get some badly needed nutrients and one or more SLCC staff people get a peanut butter pie in their face(s).

Here's the deal. The youth and children are squaring off against the adults. If the kids collect the most peanut butter, yours truly gets the pie. If the adults collect the most, the rest of the staff all get the pie.

This competition has really got some Southies fired up. I've heard talk of conspiratorial whisperings in hallways after elders' meetings. I've seen people eyeballing the growing piles of PB on Sunday mornings and talking about switching jars from one pile to the other. (Good luck with that, by the way, we labeled them to prevent such trickery.) I've even heard someone is planning to bring in a palate - that's right - a palate of peanut butter just before the March 9 deadline. Not to worry.

Preacher Frank has a trick or two up his sleeve, too.

Here's the count so far, in case you're wondering:

Cheat once . . . get a new job. Cheat twice . . . get $750,000

Sampson is out at IU. The whole thing turns my stomach.

One of our own, Dan Dakich, will be leading the Hoosiers the rest of this season. As one of Coach Knight's players, I can't imagine Dakich disgracing the Hoosier Hoops program the way Sampson has done.

As my dad, Larry, would say, "let's analyze this." Myles Brand fires coach Knight because he puts his hands on some players (one was his own son) and later a smart-alack student. Should Knight have choked Neil? No. Was he in the wrong? Yes. But Knight didn't cheat. Ever.

Brand and his toadie Greenspan cut coach Knight loose. Then who does Greenspan hire? A cheater. A one-time loser who promises to go straight but doesn't deliver. Great call, Greenspan. Super legacy Myles.

I heard Isaiah Thomas is available. And he promises not to hit on the gals in the front office.

I'm sure there is another anonymous donor to pony up a half million dollars when the next cheater Greenspan hires has to leave town. As for the other quarter mil that Sampson gets in his settlement, ESPN is reporting that the money is coming from "university funds." Translation: Indiana tax-dollars. Since IU is a state college, it appears that the hard earned of Indiana citizens is being used to pay off a cheater who should never have been hired in the first place.

I know, I know, I sound bitter. You have to be an Indiana boy to really understand my outrage. Trust me, my little tirade is bland compared to the vitriol they're hearing in the Hoosier state right now. And rightfully so.

Even a broken clock is right twice a day . . .

Our youth minister, James, emailed me today to find out if he could write a purchase order for the t-shirt you see pictured here. I'm pretty sure he was kidding.

Theologically, though, the shirt isn't that far off. Paul wrote about the nature of the church, which he compared to a human body in 1 Corintians:

But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.

The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don't need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don't need you!" On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. (1 Corinthians 12:18-25, NIV)

I doubt that the makers of this t-shirt had this passage in mind. I suspect the folks at The Church You Know website are bloviating about the state of the church in America (or their perception of it, at least). In any event, it's pretty satirical stuff. They even have a Wally the Worship Leader android for sale.

Gamble Chocolate

I came home tonight to find a heart-shaped box of chocolates lying open on the table. They had all been cut in half and otherwise eviscerated to reveal their innards. The kitchen resembled a chocolate slaughter house.

I asked the boys what happened, and they told me about "gamble chocolate." Gamble chocolate is the stuff that comes in the box every Valentine's Day. While Whitmans Samplers come with a little card that shows what the chocolates are, gamble chocolate does not. Its the stuff about which Forest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're going to get."

Anyway, it turns out that Mrs. Frankly performed a little surgery - okay a lot of surgery - looking for a particular piece of candy. She's never been a big fan of the stuff with the fruit flavored fillings. Coconut is definately out! Its usually caramel covered chocolates for her. Funny thing is, they all look the same on the outside. You've got to get to the center to see what they're really all about.

Kind of like people . . .

From Myles Brand to Kelvin Sampson: The decline of Hoosier hoops.

Twenty-two years ago my buddy Jason and I sneaked off our conservative Christian college campus and broke curfew to go sit in the bar at the Sheraton Inn down the road. Why would two Bible college students risk reprimand and possible expulsion? To meet Bobby Knight, of course.

Someone told us that the Hoosiers stayed at the Sheraton when they were in town to play Michigan State's Spartans, and we wanted a chance to meet the man all us Hoosier boys simply called, "Coach." The team was in a meeting for most of the evening and, by the time they got out we were nearly drifting off in sleep. We looked up just in time to see coach disappearing into an elevator. Disappointed that we missed him, I left a note for Coach at the front desk asking for an autograph. Sure enough, the man who everyone said was a notorious hard case mailed me his signature the next day.

Growing up in Indiana, meant being immersed in the culture of crimson and cream (aside from a few miscreants who preferred the black and gold). Every basketball player I knew dreamed of wearing the red and white striped warm-up pants before sell out crowds at Assembly Hall. A trip to the barber shop meant seeing the new calendar that Indiana printed every year with head shots of each of the players and coaches. Every boy I knew dreamed of playing for Coach. His tantrums were legendary. He would strip the hide off his best player if he missed a back screen, or if he was careless with the ball. It wasn't unusual for him to park his most productive scorer on the bench if they didn't hustle on defense.

Moms shook their heads when they watched Coach. Dads simply nodded their silent approval. I heard more than one say, "I wouldn't mind my boy playin' for him." Sure he was hard. Yes, he was tough, but by golly he graduated his players and paid attention to the rules. Oh, and he won national championships along the way, too.

When Coach got fired several years back for violating Myles Brands, "no tolerance policy" the namby-pambies got what they wanted. Coach was out. Foreigner Myles Brand was rewarded with a coronation to the throne of the NCAA, and Mike Davis, a talented but star-struck young coach inherited a team that made a deep run in the NCAA tournament.

The kinder, gentler Mike Davis lasted just long enough for Hoosiers to figure out he wasn't Coach. He was a nice guy. Like Knight, Davis gave a lot of money away, but unlike Coach, we couldn't get it done in the "W" column. Davis was out.

Better informed Hoosiers than this old boy wagged a knowing finger when Oklahoma coach Kelvin Sampson made the move to Bloomington. A rule breaker in the house that Bobby built? How could it be? Now it looks like Sampson is going to be canned for repeated recruiting violations - something that would never have occurred in the Knight years.

Two yeas ago I got to meet and visit with Hoosier legend Kent Benson. As part of the Hoosier's undefeated national championship team, Benson is a minor god in Indiana. When Kent Benson speaks about Indiana basketball, people listen. I'm told that Benson said recently that he would not attend another Indiana basketball game as long as Sampson is on the bench. Looks like he may be back at Assembly Hall pretty soon.

The two questions that occupy the minds of the Hoosier faithful this week are, with Sampson almost assuredly out, who will be directing traffic courtside? And, can the tarnish be wiped off a program with a pristine past?

God+Prayer=Power for LIFE

John Smith from Pastor Care passed this along to me in his weekly prayer email. It is so inspiring that I wanted to share it with all of you:

Steve Seaberg and I are connected because his son Aaron is married to my daughter Sarah. On Friday 2-8-08 Steve woke up with chest pains. A friend drove him to the hospital and Steve had a heart attack in the car on the way to the hospital. He was pronounced Dead on Arrival at Saint Mary’s Hospital in Grand Rapids.

When Aaron and his sister Amy arrived at the hospital they were informed that their Dad had died. While Aaron and Amy were saying their goodbyes, Aaron poked his Dad. One of the attendants asked why he did that, and he said, “I don’t know. I just want to make sure he isn’t messing with us.” A few minutes later Steve began breathing again and there was a pulse. Aaron and Amy were asked to leave the room immediately while the attendants began to work on Steve. His vital signs came back and they were able to stabilize him. When the blood rushed back into his brain it spiked a very high fever. They had to begin a full body cooling procedure that will take at least 24 hours. They were in the room with him when 24 minutes later, Steve began breathing again and his pulse returned.

Steve never regained consciousness during that time and he was not responsive to anything. But the doctor’s and nurses did a wonderful job of caring for him and maintaining his vital signs as they cooled down his body to reduce swelling in the brain and then warmed him back up again.

Steve’s family and friends never gave up on him. They continued to tell him they loved him and they were there with him. We had no way of knowing if there was any brain activity because the numerous complications would have rendered any of the tests inconclusive, so they didn’t run them.

We continued to hope and pray, while preparing our hearts for the truth and reality we preferred not to accept. The weight of being the one who would have to make the very difficult choices was resting squarely on Aaron’s shoulders. I listened to Aaron talk about it for quite awhile while I was at the hospital Wednesday afternoon 2-13-08.

Then I had to leave to meet with a pastor in Rockford. While I was meeting with this pastor a call came through on my cell phone from my wife – so I took the call. Sarah had just called her with the most amazing news! Steve opened his eyes and called Aaron by name, called his daughter Amy by name, and called his sister Chris by name. He was surprised that Chris was there because she lives in Texas.

There in the ICU of Saint Mary’s hospital, the Seaberg family witnessed an absolutely amazing miracle! And we want to give You all the praise and the glory!!!!!!

Thank You Father!

Praise You Jesus!

Bless You Holy Spirit!

Perhaps an appropriate response might be to leave a prayer in the "comment" section. I'll pass along to the Seaberg family that Frankly readers are praying for Steve.

I'm too sexy for my church . . .

Pastor Paul Wirth at Relevant Church in Tampa Bay, Florida says Christians are not having enough sex. That's why he has challenged the married members of his congregation to have sex every day for thirty days. In other news, church attendance by men increases dramatically.

Seriously, though, Wirth and his church are making an attempt to restore sex to its rightful place. Along with his challenge to married couples, Wirth is urging single members to abstain from sexual contact for thirty days, too.

I've asked the Southies to pray every day for thirty days. I recently urged them to begin tithing, if they're not already doing so. Am I missing something? Is this the next logical step for South Lansing Christian Church?

Lightning rod or lightning God?

The giant statue of Jesus that overlooks Rio de Janeiro, Brazil was struck by lightning during a storm on Sunday. What does it mean? Our more superstitious Christian brothers and sisters the world over speculate it is an omen. They're trying to discern hidden meanings. They suspect a deeper reality is at work here.

Me? I suspect that this means the steel-reinforced concrete statue is . . . really, really tall.

Restoration Movement . . .what's that?

I get that good people disagree on the subject of baptism. I understand that.

For the record, I believe that the Bible teaches the following about baptism, as experienced in the first century:

• It is by immersion. No serious Bible scholar believes otherwise.
• It is of a believer. Infants were not immersed in the early church.
• It is for the remission of sin and the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38)
• It is the time and place where we die, are buried, and raised to new life in Christ (Romans 6:1-8)
• When we are baptized, we are clothed with Christ, and identified with His body, the church. (Galatians 3:27ff)
  
• It is the point at which we are saved. (1 Peter 3:21)

I realize that there is a significant segment of the Christian community that disagrees with that last point. For as long as I can recall the debate about the timing of baptism in the salvation experience has raged. Are we saved and then baptized, or are we baptized and then saved? I get all that.

I even get that some people, having experienced four years of a Christian college education at a "Restoration Movement" institution of higher learning will disagree with that position. Our best schools have never turned out mind-numbed Christians cut with an Alexander Campbell shaped cookie cutter.

What I don't get, though, is how a graduate from one of "our" colleges can write to me, as one recently did when applying for the youth ministry position at our church:

I am unfamiliar with the Independent Christian Church. I will have to do some research. Obviously, I didn't learn anything about it at [Nameless West Coast Christian College]. With all the different denominations represented there, I figured the school was non-denominational.

Okaaaay. He was concerned about our church's view of baptism. I told him, essentially, what I wrote above. His response:

Thank you for taking the time to share with me a little bit about your church. However, I will respectfully withdraw my resume from consideration for your youth ministry position. Although I do respect your belief about baptism, I believe the way forward for the future of the Church is to side step dogmatic theology and make room for everyone who accepts Jesus as Lord and Savior of the world in spite of our theological differences as long as they maintain the basic tenants of the historical faith.

Again, I understand that we might disagree. What I cannot fathom, though, is how this young man could graduate from [Nameless West Coast Christian College] and not understand that, for Independent Christian Churches, "the way forward" is all about finding the way back to our New Testament roots.

I am thankful that a person cannot matriculate from my alma mater without understanding this concept. Do my fellow alums always agree with it? No. But they do learn it and understand it. I realize that this young man does not represent the majority of Independent Christian Church college graduates. Perhaps he doesn't even represent his own alma mater fairly. But if he does, if I'm wrong and today's graduates believe that baptism is just another dogmatic doctrine to be side-stepped on the road to an I'd-like-to-teach-the-world-to-sing-in-perfect-harmony sort of theology, in the words of one old professor of mine, "I fear for the brotherhood."

Rules for Raising Children

I came across Susannah Wesley’s Rules For Raising Children today during my sermon preparation for Sunday. The mother of nineteen children, Wesley has often been called the "Mother of Methodism" because of the influence she had on her sons, John and Charles Wesley.

If every parent took these six rules to heart, I suspect all our children would be better off:

1. Subdue self-will in a child and thus work together with God to save his soul.
2. Teach him/her to pray as soon as he can speak.
3. Give him nothing he cries for and only what is good for him if he asks for it politely.
4. To prevent lying, punish no fault which is freely confessed, but never allow a rebellious, sinful act to go unnoticed.
5. Commend and reward good behavior.
6. Strictly observe all promises you have make to your child.

Sin is expensive

I'm slogging through Leviticus again this year, two months into a reading schedule that will see Jesus returning about Christmastime. I'm reading the New Living Translation (thank you very much, Mike Kjergaard), and am being blessed in spite of all that grossness and gore.

Every sin demands a sacrifice. Cheat on your neighbor, gotta kill something. Refuse to testify in court, somethings gotta die. Commit an accidental sin? Nope, you still gotta slit some poor critter's throat (unless it is a bird, in which case you ring its neck - a nastier reality as far as I'm concerned.)

Its a good think I didn't travel with Moses. Methinks that my flock - I was a shepherd back in high school you know - would have steadily dwindled. Sin was a pretty expensive
proposition back then, but then I guess that is the point. God wanted His children to know that sin is not consequence free. I'm guessing He also wanted his sons and daughters to develop an aversion to sin. Once you've slaughter your kids' pet goat, I suspect that when you get back from the tabernacle and look your children in the eyes, their faces muddied with tears and dirt, you begin to get a more godly perspective on sin - and probably also the desire to avoid it in the future.

Sin is still expensive. According to a Forbes magazine report, Americans spent $14 billion on porn in 2001. By comparison, we spent $18 billion on generic drugs just three years later. One wonders if some of those weren't antibiotics. Billions more were spent on illegal drugs, fast-food binging and boozing it up.

But the cost of sin isn't demonstrated in just dollars and cents. I see it every day. Sin cost Tammy and Dave their marriage (not their real names, of course). Unsatisfied with his marriage, Dave "fell in love" with a woman he met on the internet. The cost to their children was immense. Their marriage dissolved, and their family fractured.

Jim meets with me regularly. He is addicted to internet porn. It's too soon to know if he'll be able to save his marriage, but already the cost has been high.

Melanie is a drunk. The cost of her dissipation has ran into the thousands of dollars. Her sons stand on the sidelines and watch their parents slog through a messy divorce. Who will get the house? Where will the kids live? And those are just the easy questions. The harder ones: Will anyone want me now that I am divorced? Can God forgive me? Can I forgive myself? Those questions stare back at them from their bedroom ceiling each night as they wonder if their lives will ever stop spinning like the $300 Hunter-Douglas they just installed in the house that one of them will have to move out of.

Yes, sin is expensive. Always has been.

Moses and the Israelites paid for sin with the blood of sheep and goats. God paid for sin with the blood of His Son, Jesus. Because of Jesus' sacrifice, I can be forgiven. But that doesn't mean there isn't a tab to pay in the here and now. There is. There always will be. And although we may not have to carry a yearling on our shoulders to the tabernacle, we do well not to forget that sin costs, nevertheless.

New, from K-Sell Records

Need your help . . .

Hey Frankly readers! I am leading a book discussion next month on the topic of building healthy relationships. The suggested book to read is John Maxwell's Be a People Person. Frankly, the guys in the group are "John Maxwelled" out. Can you suggest another book that will challenge them to develop godly relationships?

I had considered Hybels' Just Walk Across the Room, but I already have an "evangelism" title upcoming this year. What suggestions can you give?

Thanks!