Sniffing out the work of God in the world…
Emeril would be proud. None of this South Beach, Atkins diet stuff here. This is the Guacamole diet: lots of avocados, tomatoes, serrano peppers, and onions. Plus chips, of course. It’s what Jesus ate. Or would have eaten had he come to Guadalajara rather than Capernaum.
By popular demand, today let’s do salsa recipes. Even the anti-guac crowd can participate.
All right. It’s time to put my blog space where my mouth is.
Favorite guacamole recipes. That’s right: submit them here through comments. (I’ve allowed anonymous comments today for those who are ashamed of their avocado addictions or who are afraid that people will think guacamole can’t be eaten without a margarita on the side.) Bring ‘em on. I’ll drop mine in later. Too much to do this morning (speak to MOPS, Spanish, worship planning, and hospital–all before noon).
I think some doubters out there have just been turned off by that goop that some quickie restaurants pass off as guacamole.
Today, let’s focus on God’s gift of the avocado.
I’m not a reviewer. But take this tip (those of you in Abilene): go see “Barefoot in the Park” at ACU. It’s on this weekend and the next two weekends. Kate Eason and Eric Harrell were incredible. (Kate reminded me of Mary Tyler Moore as Laura Petrie.) Both were perfect as the newlyweds trying to deal with the early days of marriage.
But it was Adam and Donna Hester, my dear friends, who sent me over the edge laughing so hard Diane had to find the spare inhaler for me. Go see it and you’ll understand. Something about Adam flirting with his (real) wife in that schmoozy French accent–well, just the memory of it makes me have to stop typing this morning to laugh hard again.
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For those who don’t get the whole Parrothead thing, check out this article from the Chicago Sun-Times.
I can’t believe it, but Megan would have been 20 today. She was born August 26, 1984 in Wilmington, NC, and died on November 21, 1994.
These words are taken from a piece written by our friend Thom Lemmons called “Limping Along in the Lord’s Army”:
“One of our friends once characterized Megan as a minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and, the more I reflect on that description, the more apt it becomes. Megan was a living proclamation; not, like her father, by means of artful words and powerful phrases nor, like her mother, in visions and a spirit of discernment and prayer. Rather, Megan proclaimed her message in her life. She was a walking icon of Christ’s admonition to take no thought for tomorrow, but simply, in faith, to let each day unfold on its own. I doubt it ever occurred to Megan to make long-range plans or to fear what the next five minutes might bring. Megan, like the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, trusted in the Creator, through his human agents, to supply whatever requirements she might have. She knew no other way to live. And in that respect, she sits in judgment on us all, and leads us toward a more primitive and perfect trust. Megan was a flesh-and-blood display of the topsy-turvey economy of the kingdom of heaven. She was one of the least of us, yet she occupied the apex of our care, absorbing all the loving service we could offer, and able to absorb still more. Without any ‘thank you,’ without any false reticence, without even seeming to notice, she took all that we could give her, and still we were left with the sense that it was not enough. And yet, to anyone who held her down for a breathing treatment, or marched with her through the church parking lot, singing ‘I’m in the Lord’s Ar-my, Yes, Sir!’, or changed her soiled undergarments, or tried in vain to rescue some semi-edible artifact from her unbelievably quick hands, or held her as she gasped for breath–to anyone who ever poured a minute’s worth of love down the bottomless pit that was Megan, the blessing which followed beggared any other reward. Megan taught us all the difference in value between receiving and giving. We only wished we could have done more: there was no question of doing less. And all the while, we were the ones being made over by her innocent carelessness and her shattering need into a closer imitation of the one who poured out his life as a ransom for many.”
Happy birthday, Meg. You are deeply, deeply missed.
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CEO/PRESIDENT/BOSS/HEAD HONCHO OF BARNES AND NOBLE:
Dear Mr. Barnes or Mrs. Noble or To Whom It May Concern:
I’m groveling. Do hear me? Groveling. Begging you to come to Abilene, TX.
Please don’t judge us based on your first trip to town. As you drive in, look past the abandoned ranch and oil equipment, the adult bookstores, and all the billboards saying, “I’m more conservative than he is, so vote for me” or “huh-uh, I’m WAY more conservative than he is, so vote for me.”
You need to be in Abilene. There are 10,000 university students in this town. Plus their faculties. Plus lots of other people who read.
And at the moment we are at the mercy of Hastings. God love ‘em, they provide a good service to the community. You want a CD? Hastings. DVD? Ditto. Spiderman posters? Yep. But books? Please, please don’t make me go back to the young woman who helped me last time. I asked if they had any books on Uganda. She replied, “Is that like a country or something?” I restrained myself from responding, “It’s not just LIKE a country, it actually is one!” It was like a scene from that Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks movie (not “Sleepless in Seattle” — the other one).
They have 2000 copies of several books that don’t interest me. There are also the local Christian bookstores that have a billion copies of the latest “Left Behind” books or some theological tome on the faith of Oliver North, but no one has heard of William Willimon. We’re talking about the guy who has the whole Methodist Church (and a bunch of the rest of us) ready to cry, “uncle!” and no one has heard of him.
I don’t want to be snooty here. I’ve been known to read my share of Grisham novels. All right, frankly, I read them all a month after they come out.
If you come, I’ll do what I can to make it work. I’ll pay the extra couple bucks and buy my Grisham books from you. And would it help if I put a free promo line on the front page of the bulletin at our church? Maybe I could sneak it into my sermons. Product placement, you know.
Please, please . . . come to Abilene. And by the way, in Ft. Worth, there is a Pappasito’s restaurant just half a mile from you. Would it be too much to request that you bring them with you?
Mike Cope
Underprotection and overprotection. Children fall victim to both.
There are so many children around us — so many in the school where Diane teaches — who have little shelter (I mean this figuratively, but last year she had two children who were at various times homeless), little protection. No one there to assure them that they’ll be taken care of. No one making sure homework gets done, making sure meals are balanced (as balanced as kids will eat!), making sure that they’re safe.
But there is also that other challenge that parents have: not to be overprotective. I see it all the time. Families where the children are filled with a sense of entitlement and infallibility. If they aren’t selected for the all-star team, then ALL THE COACHES HAD IT OUT FOR THEM. Unfair! If they didn’t receive the best grade in the class, THEN THE TEACHER IS INEPT. These are the families where decisions are always made by the children.
A good prayer for parents would be: Lord, help us to be protective, but not overprotective, just as we have learned from you, our Father.
My second year of Spanish at ACU begins this morning; my freshman Bible class begins this afternoon. I’m looking forward to both.
The Olympics need to end so I can get a life back. Chris and I have found ourselves watching swimming, gymnastics, trampoline, beach volleyball, and almost anything else on. Why do we watch things we wouldn’t watch at any other time for four years? Because it’s the Olympics!! And now the GOOD STUFF (for me) begins. Did you see the women’s marathon? Nothing quite like going 26.2 miles in 100 degrees!
Matt’s former teammate at Abilene High, Jonathon Johnson, runs the 800 this week.
We’re in one of those years where it matters whether the kids’ discount is “12-and-under” or “under-12.” Today after church we ate at a buffet that is “12-and-under” for $2.95. As I watched my new middle-schooler go back . . . and back . . . and back, I thought, “Today I’ve made money.”
I wonder: how many people feel secretly inadequate? Inside they are afraid that others will find out that they don’t know nearly as much as people think.
Happens to me all the time. I mentioned yesterday all those wonderful teachers. Well, most of them go here! They listen to me preach. I always feel like I don’t know enough about the New Homiletic, about advances in exegesis, about ministry skills, etc. Despite all I read, I feel like I’m a decade behind in my reading. And my audience includes lots of M. Div. students who are getting training I’d kill to receive.
An inner voice whispers: they know more than you!! (And it’s true. All of my old school colleagues will tell you: we learned almost NOTHING about ministry in seven years–4 undergrad and 3 grad. I learned almost nothing useful or insightful about evangelism, discipling, mentoring, leading, resolving conflicts, working with elders, or counseling. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. I did have wonderful teaching in basic homiletics, Greek, Hebrew, Restoration history, and exegesis. What does that tell you?)
Preaching in Abilene may be like being a 48-year-old family doctor in Houston. You have two med schools around you, a world-class medical complex, some of the brightest minds in the medical field. And you’re saying, “Stick out your tongue and cough.” Hey, someone has to do it. Dr. DeBakey doesn’t do sore throats.
I think I’m the guy that says, “Stick out your tongue and cough.”
One blessing I have (that others in similar situations haven’t enjoyed) is that most of these “experts” are very encouraging. Many of them have been there in local ministry. They know what it’s like to plug along year-after-year. (My 14th year just began.)
My guess is that this inner voice isn’t very healthy or helpful. Maybe at times it’s good for humility. But too often it comes from a desire to impress and wow. It worries too much about comparisons.
I like the idea of playing to an audience of one (God). But that’s easier to say than do . . . don’t you think?
Today was my car pool day. The line-up is Chris, Zach, Zach, Kirk, and Dylan. All kids I’ve coached. There’s nothing quite like the lively chatter (”hey” . . . “hey” . . . “hey, dude” . . . “hey”) of five sixth grade boys early in the morning! (I’m wondering: how different would a car pool be with five sixth grade girls?)
Yesterday I was at a luncheon at ACU, eating with nine incoming freshmen. Four of them were ministry majors whom I’ll have next semester when I co-teach with Randy Harris. But I found myself a bit envious of them. What a great time to be a Bible/ministry major at ACU! The college that Jack Reese, the dean, has put together is incredible. They can study preaching from Mark Love, Jack Reese, Tim Sensing, Stephen Johnson, and James Thompson. They can take John Willis and Mark Hamilton for OT. They’ll wind up with several classes by Randy Harris and Fred Aquino. And I’d like to take a whole year off just to take every Jeff Childers class that is offered. Plus, people who take David Wray’s classes (especially on spiritual formation) describe them as life-changing. And I hate to even begin a list like this, because it could keep going on: Jeanene, Ken, Doug, Marsha, Rodney, Tony, Jerry . . . .
I did a bit of reminiscing recently about the Harding years. So . . . here is a glimpse from the 70s (fall of ‘77, I think) of me with my beloved.
