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Andrew Peterson – “Dancing in the Minefields” [video]

I can’t say enough good things about Andrew Peterson. The song “Dancing in the Minefields” from his latest album is another gem. This is the perfect song and video for Valentines Day.

(watch)

Andrew Peterson’s metaphor for marriage as “dancing in the minefields” is so potent. In addition to the challenge of being two imperfect human beings bound together for life in marriage, there are the additional challenges we face as we walk through life together. Andrew Peterson - Counting StarsLife is indeed a minefield – a road with hazards buried beneath it.

And yet, we walk the road in faith, trusting in God’s promise to bring us to perfection and to purify us as we seek him in faith. Because we trust in him we can not only walk a road filled with hazards – we can dance our way down the road.

Because we trust in him as master of the wind and the water, we can go sailing in the storms of life and still expect to reach our destination.This is the beautiful reality of Christian marriage and I want to embrace it every day – and especially this Valentines weekend.

The song has particular significance for my wife and me since I was 19 and she was 21 the year we got married and that was 15 years ago last year.

I hope you enjoyed the video and the song. I’ll be showing this in our worship services this weekend. Here are the lyrics:

Well I was 19 you were 21
The year we got engaged
Everyone said we were much to young
But we did it anyway
We got the rings for 40 each from a pawnshop down the road
We said our vows and took the leap now 15 years ago

Chorus:
We went dancing in the minefields
We went sailing in the storm
And it was harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise is for

Well ‘I do’ are the two most famous last words
The beginning of the end
But to lose your life for another I’ve heard is a good place to begin
Cause the only way to find your life is to lay your own life down
And I believe it’s an easy price for the life that we have found

Chorus:

Bridge:
So when I lose my way, find me
When I lose loves chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith
to the end of all my days
when I forget my name, remind me

Cause we bear the light of the son of man
So there’s nothing left to fear
So I’ll walk with you in the shadow lands
Till the shadows disappear
Cause he promised not to leave us
And his promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos baby
I can dance with you

Chorus:
So lets go dancing in the minefields
Lets go sailing in the storms
Oh lets go dancing in the minefields
And kicking down the doors
Oh lets go dancing in the minefields
And sailing in the storms
Oh this is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise is for
That’s what the promise is for

And I Thought I Was Original…

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5 Things About My Dad (4) – Having 1000+ Books is Normal. Right?!?!

I’ve written about my dad before and someday, when it’s time to write my memoirs, there will be a lot more. Here’s the 4th of 5 of my favorite things about my dad.

My dad taught me that it was normal to have 1000 books and be reading all the time. I still think it’s normal.

I grew up around books. Books in the bathroom, books in the kitchen, books in the living room – floor to ceiling shelves of books.

Dad and I treat each other’s libraries as our own. We buy each other books, lend each other books, and generally don’t worry too much about returning them on time – if ever. After all, someday all of his books will be mine – unless I die first I guess. (If that sounds morbid or insensitive to you, you should know that it doesn’t to either of us, although our wives are not big fans of that conversation.)

There are some books I don’t like – I call these “anti-books” and I wrote about them earlier this year in a post called “Naysaying and the Naysaying Naysayers Who Naysay“.

To answer the question I get every time people see my library: no, I haven’t read every book in my library in its entirety. I have read parts of every one and I’ve read many all the way through.

I think of books as knowledge containers to which I add value by reading, noting, highlighting, underlining, and dog-earing. A book is not a conquest or a to-do item. Some books aren’t worth reading all the way through but have a few excellent chapters.

Dad and I made a pact a couple of years ago to preach each other’s funerals. It didn’t dawn on us until later that day that only one of us will be able to do it.

I do love books, and I mention them often.. like here and here.

Other posts in this series:
1 – The Value of Acting Like a Child
2 – Do-it-yourself-edness Is Next to Godliness
3 – Pick Up Your Things or Have Them Destroyed – Your Choice!

5 Things About My Dad (3) – Pick Up Your Things or Have Them Destroyed – Your Choice!

I’ve written about my dad before and someday, when it’s time to write my memoirs, there will be a lot more. Here’s the third of 5 of my favorite things about my dad.

My dad once ‘accidentally’ drove over my soccer ball with the riding mower. I never left a ball lying around after that.

This is a really good way of teaching responsibility. I actually believed at the time (I was 10) that he had done this accidentally – but I had my suspicions. Oh, did I have my suspicions.

I use this same strategy with my own kids and it’s still effective. I set the tone a few years ago when they were taking way too long to clean the basement. “Get it done or I’m coming down with a garbage bag,” I said. They didn’t believe me. You should have heard the weeping and wailing when I followed through.

They still sometimes don’t clean up the basement as quickly as they should. “Do I need to come down there with a garbage bag?” usually accelerates the process.

Other posts in this series:
1 – The Value of Acting Like a Child
2 – Do-it-yourself-edness Is Next to Godliness

5 Things About My Dad (2) – Do-it-yourself-edness is Next to Godliness

I’ve written about my dad before and someday, when it’s time to write my memoirs, there will be a lot more. Here’s the second of 5 of my favorite things about my dad.

Cool fact about my dad: he had some ‘age spots’. Solution: sand paper and a utility knife.

True story. His reasoning: “Why should the doctor have to do all the work?” This is not the first time he’s used unconventional methods to accomplish a task. He once used my mom’s cheese grater to rid his heels of excess buildup.

I have to say, the results are quite good.

Other posts in this series:
1 – The Value of Acting Like a Child

Domestic Dispute in Progress

My neighbors are having a domestic dispute. Lots of yelling, accusations, going in, going out, more yelling, more accusations. He’s holding a beer and going in and out of the house. She’s holding a cigarette and keeps walking a short way up the street and coming back.

He’s distraught; he walks into the house and crumples on the floor before the door is completely closed, screaming “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??!?”

She goes in; she comes back out again. In the middle of all this yelling, he asks almost politely for a cigarette. She’s says no; he takes this as more evidence that she doesn’t care.

This is kind of surreal – in between skirmishes, she’s edging the lawn with a butcher knife. The possibilities this opens up are frightening, obviously. I suspect one or both of them are intoxicated and possibly on cocaine or something else. He just yelled at her about “shooting junk.” (That’s needle injections of heroin for those of you unfamiliar with the term.)

Drug use is ugly, especially when it gets into the harder drugs like cocaine and heroin. I have a friend who struggles with cocaine addiction. When he’s on it, he gets into all kinds of crazy trouble; when he’s not, he’s a gentle, humorous, intelligent guy who’s great to talk to.

Now male neighbor is walking away, and she’s begging him to come back. The love/hate dynamic is certainly at play here.

There are at east two kids in the house – one is about three and the other is younger. I have no idea if the kids are his or not.

They both walk away at one point but he comes back because he knows the kids can’t be left alone. The 3-yr-old girl is playing in the front yard like nothing is wrong. This situation obviously doesn’t strike as somehow abnormal.

The man of the family that shares the other side of the semi with this couple came out tell them they need to stay off his half of the front yard or he’ll call the cops.

That’s the scene in my neighborhood right now.

The police have arrived. She’s edging the lawn. The male officer wisely keeps his distance until she puts the butcher knife down. Another police officer arrives, a woman. They all go inside and then the female officer comes out with the male.

Various configurations of people, officers and combatants, are coming and going, in and out of the house.

Male neighbor is having a beer now. Surely this will make things better. Other male neighbor, the one who called the police, is talking to the officer, and is also having a beer.

These two involved in the dispute just moved in a short while ago and I haven’t taken the time to go over and meet them. I haven’t been avoiding it; I just haven’t been intentional enough. I did say hello to her earlier this afternoon but she was already holding the butcher knife then and looked a little wired, and I had my kids with me.

“I just want it to stop!” she sobs. She’s hysterical.

The police are sitting and talking with, counseling my neighbors. I should have been there; I should know them by now. Maybe it wouldn’t have prevented this meltdown, but at least they should know by now that someone in the neighborhood cares.

The grandparents were called and they show up. They look neither distraught nor surprised; this is likely not the first time they’ve been part of this scenario.

The kids are leaving with them. I’m sure this is not the end of the story.

***

This is one of the reasons I wanted to move into this neighborhood, to move away from the privilege and affluence and comfort we enjoyed in our previous neighborhood and live in a lower income area of town.

So here we are, and we have to do a better job of carrying out the mission.

5 Things About My Dad (1) – The Value of Acting Like a Child

It was a pretty long weekend for me. I ended up working seven hours on Saturday and I was the song leader on Sunday so there was another five hours. We had three social engagements scheduled for the afternoon – screen-shot-2009-09-09-at-123511-pm.pngall ones I was looking forward to.

As often happens, the adrenaline wears off on Sunday afternoons shortly after lunch and I crash.

Yesterday I found myself lying in the shade at my sister’s house with my whole family (mom, dad, sister’s family, my family) within earshot. The combination put me in a reflective mood. Since it was Father’s Day I engaged my mind in the pursuit of some memories about my dad and figured I might as well share them with my Twitter and Facebook friends. Now I need to add some detail because sometimes 140 characters just isn’t enough.

I’ve written about my dad before and someday, when it’s time to write my memoirs, there will be a lot more. Here’s the first of 5 of my favorite things about my dad.

1. Watching my dad frolic with my kids in the kiddie pool. Awesome.

Dad was hilarious yesterday, splashing around in a pool that was 2 feet deep like he was 2 feet tall. The sight of a grown man clowning around and five grandkids between 4 and 7-yrs-old in a state of constant laughter is a beautiful, beautiful site. The best part is that it reminds me of my own childhood and the way my dad often made me laugh.

For example – when I was about 5 I begged my dad to take us for a run around the block. Living in the country this would probably have been at least a 5k hike. After a long period of incessant begging, dad sent us all inside to get ready and with great excitement we did.

You can imagine how excited my mom must have been about the prospect of setting out on a 5k hike with a 5-yrd-old and an 8-yr-old, one of which she would probably have to carry for the second 2.5k after reality set in and ambition died. 

But as for me, I had visions of running on the sides of roads I’d only ever seen from the safety of a car window, waving to people as they drove by in their cars. Suckers! This was really going to be something!

We got ready, got pumped, then dad led the charge. Out we ran, following dad, who had placed a concrete block in the middle of our yard.

We ran around that block, and then stopped. Mission accomplished.

I didn’t find it very funny at the time. Now I think it’s hilarious.

Dad taught me that a mark of a real man is the ability to act like a child at the right time in the right place.  If you’ve ever wondered why I can be a bit of a clown, look at the picture of the man above – I get it from him.

Tomorrow: Cool fact about my dad: he had some ‘age spots’.  Solution: sand paper and a utility knife.

God Bless the Offended Legalist (3) – How to Offend a Legalist and Not Sin

Part 1 - My Story
Part 2 - A Biblical Theology of Offending Your Brother
Part 3 – How to Offend a Legalist and Not Sin

Part 3 – How to Offend a Legalist and Not Sin

This is the part we’re bound to struggle with since it can too easily turn into the wrong kind of offense. You have to do the work of discernment before stepping into the water. You need to make sure you’re in the presence of a genuine legalist. A genuine legalist is someone who wants to exercise control for no other reason than to have power over another believer.

You should feel free to offend a genuine legalist in any way your conscience allows. In fact the opposite (playing by your legalist friend’s rules) give tacit approval to his faulty formula for salvation (Faith in Jesus + [NOT doing this or that] = salvation). Once you’ve approved the formula by which it’s determined who is and isn’t a Christian, watch out –  more plus (+) signs are sure to follow.

How much light could this have brought to the small-church, selectively legalistic bubble I was living in? Plenty.

1. I could have had a much less burdened conscience.
I had to live with head knowledge of truth and a conscience that was trained to deny that truth in some ways. Some things we did weren’t wrong but we were counseled not to do them anyway on the grounds that some people found them to be a “stumbling block.”

2. I could have done a lot less second-guessing.
Was the way I was dressing and cutting (on not cutting) my hair really offending people or did they just want me to be a slave to their preferences? I battled this constantly. In retrospect I don’t think there was a single person who was genuinely, biblically offended.

3. When someone is offended by everything, inevitably there are things you allow yourself to do that are genuinely offensive.
It may not be a completely conscience decision, but a heart that is told too often that it’s doing wrong starts to feel like it can’t do anything right anyway, so why not do something really wrong? (Not claiming victim status here, BTW)

4. Offense as a tool was never offered as an option.
That we could have – as Carson describes – wisely used offense as a tool AGAINST legalism would have spared the turmoil of the above three points and probably kept us a bit more “on the path” at times when we were feeling the frustration of point #3 above. When you give people too many things to rebel against they’ll act accordingly.

(I’ve always thought my dad was very wise in this through my teenage years, eben though he was in the unenviable position of being the pastor of the church AND the father of the kid that made a habit of “offending” people. He set boundaries for me but only when needed – and not so many that I couldn’t step out of the house without breaking one. Love ya, Dad!)

So in the end, as long as you’ve done the work of discernment and are sure you’re not offending for the sake of your own pride and ego, you should be able to go forward, with much prayer, and make this your slogan:

“Hard-core legalists.

May God bless ‘em as I offend ‘em.”

The Prodigal Son – The Father’s Perspective

We’ve all probably read the story of the prodigal son. This video shows us the Father’s perspective as he pleads for his son to “come home” and gives us a glimpse of the anxiety our Father has over His children…

(HT: LayGuy)

Pastor and PK (Pastor’s Kid)

screen-shot-2009-09-09-at-113747-am.pngOne “drawback” (if it can be called that) of my new job as a Pastor is that there is infinite work to do, and it is almost all enjoyable work. This is the opposite of my 15 years at my previous job in a factory – there really wasn’t that much to do and what there was to do, well, it really wasn’t of much benefit to me or anyone else. But here at the church things are different. The weight of responsibility is great and the potential for calamity ever present, but the frequency of reward is almost constant.

I think I have moved through the honeymoon period rather quickly. You see, I came into this with my eyes more open than most. My dad was a Pastor, which means I was what we in the industry call a “PK” – a Pastor’s Kid. This is a position in life so special that it has its own two-letter descriptor.  For many PKs, being one is an inherently negative experience. There is a lot of church to attend, a lot of behaving to do, and a lot of “dad being too stressed to be a dad” to experience. My childhood was marked with a bit of all those things, but my dad was really great about it. I rarely felt the pressure from him to “behave” externally; he was more interested in the condition of my soul than the condition of my apparel (my mom and sister made up for his lack of concern in that department).

There was this one time when I was about 16, during a congregational discussion at which I was present, when a man in the church said that my dad was unqualified to lead the church because, looking at me, it was obvious that he wasn’t in control of his own family. That hurt, but dad didn’t take the bait. It couldn’t have been easy for him. He could have agreed with the man (which would have been lying) and destroyed his relationship with me.  He could have told the man he was an idiot and created division in the church.

To be honest, I don’t remember how he handled it but I remember, on that day and many others, being proud to be his son. I remember feeling loved and protected.

screen-shot-2009-09-09-at-123511-pm.pngAt times I was (and probably still am) a challenge. I was not a rebel in conventional ways; dad never had to have a talk with me about parties, alcohol, or drugs, but in a rather conservative church, the Pastor’s son listened to very loud, very fast music, wore a chain wallet, baggy cords, and plaid shirts. He had a goatee and and buzz-cut scalp (back in the day when those things were considered “edgy”).  And dad didn’t talk to me about that stuff very much at all. He didn’t like some of the music I listened to, especially when I would kill the ignition in the car with the stereo on 10, only for him to start it up in the morning and receive a heart-attack inducing assault of speed metal at full volume. (sorry dad)

And so now, as a Pastor myself, I seek to emulate his grace for me in extending it to my own kids by not expecting them to be “better” than other kids by not doing things that PKs aren’t supposed to do.

There was another time, during another congregational discussion at which I was present, that a man spoke up and said that he had seen some kids in the mall that looked like me, and for the first time, because he knew me, he didn’t assume that they were bad kids.