In a couple of hours we travel to the backside of God's Rockies for a week of vacation. Along with our kids and grankids, I don't plan to post anything. Actually, I'm not sure, where we will be, that I will even have access to email. I do my most of my writing, not at the keyboard, but while I am driving or walking. I suspect that as I try my hand at fly fishing I will have plenty of time to write several blogs. I might even write another book.
From Colorado I travel to Ukraine. Somewhere in-between I will touch base.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Be Slow To Speak
We all know that words can be emotionally and intellectually compelling. A phrase, a sentence, an intentional pause meant to capture the attention of the audience before unloading a specific point, represents the power of verbal communication. This past week, listening to testimonies of newly appointed missionaries, two stand out.
“I fell in love with Panama…after the eighth day,” said one young woman recounting her two-week fact finding trip to Central America. The weather was hot and humid when she first arrived, but she obviously adjusted and in the remaining six days, allowing her to fall in love with the country she and her husband were called to serve. After six months on the field, with the humidity a constant reality, the foreign language that will be the enemy before it becomes a friend, the realization that going home is more than a week away, time will tell if they will still be in love with their adopted country of service.
“I hated Mexico,” another woman confessed. “I hated it so much that I actually prayed that God would do something to remove me from the field. I even prayed, I embarrassed to admit, that God would give me cancer so I could come off the field.” That was over ten years ago, and now this lady, who really does love the field she has worked in, is battling ovarian cancer. She and her husband will return to Mexico City in a few weeks, to spend as much time there before her health deteriorates to the place that she must come home.
We all say things that years later we wish we would we could retract. I guess that is why the scriptures reminds us "to be slow to speak."
“I fell in love with Panama…after the eighth day,” said one young woman recounting her two-week fact finding trip to Central America. The weather was hot and humid when she first arrived, but she obviously adjusted and in the remaining six days, allowing her to fall in love with the country she and her husband were called to serve. After six months on the field, with the humidity a constant reality, the foreign language that will be the enemy before it becomes a friend, the realization that going home is more than a week away, time will tell if they will still be in love with their adopted country of service.
“I hated Mexico,” another woman confessed. “I hated it so much that I actually prayed that God would do something to remove me from the field. I even prayed, I embarrassed to admit, that God would give me cancer so I could come off the field.” That was over ten years ago, and now this lady, who really does love the field she has worked in, is battling ovarian cancer. She and her husband will return to Mexico City in a few weeks, to spend as much time there before her health deteriorates to the place that she must come home.
We all say things that years later we wish we would we could retract. I guess that is why the scriptures reminds us "to be slow to speak."
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Book Release
For years people have been asking me to write a book. I’ve joked that if I did it would be entitled, “A Case Study On How NOT To Do Missions,” or “The Top 1000 Mistakes I’ve Made in Ministry.” I’ve compromised and have written a book that is a mission guide called, The Journey of a Post-Modern Missionary: finding one’s niche in cross-cultural ministry.The Journey Of A Post-Modern Missionary
The success of one living overseas is finding job satisfaction. The importance of occupational contentment is true with any person anywhere in the world, but it is particularly true with missionaries. This book demonstrates that finding one's niche is a process. Happy is the person who discovers their niche early in life. The discovery of giftedness, for many of us, however, is usually long and uncertain.
Though this book is autobiographical, at the conclusion of each chapter are journey niche notes, which are practical applications of lessons learned. Niche notes also answer some of the common questions I’ve received from over thirty years in training and coaching missionaries in over twenty countries.
There are three ways you can order this book. (1) A signed copy through our website, (2) Through our publisher, Xulon Press and Amazon.com,(3) Through our office mailing address.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
I See Dead People
How many movies can you identify from a phrase?
“Truth, you want truth? You can’t handle the truth.”
“Look up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s ….!
“I am the patron saint of mediocrity?
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
I was reminded of great movie lines from listening to sermon this past week when the pastor said, “I see dead people. I see them all the time.”
Of course that line was from the movie the “Sixth Sense,” the little boy who saw the dead walking around, and who helped Bruce Willis understand that he, indeed, was dead.
The pastor made a wonderful application using that phrase, suggesting that it would be a great to have a t-shirt with the words printed on it, “I see dead people.” It certainly would be a conversation starter. I’m not big on T-shirt evangelism, but that is one that I might embrace, if I was a visiting professor at a secular university.
In reality, we are all dead-men walking. No one knows the time of our demise, but each day we not only live, but we are in the process of dying. Today the cancer (or heart disease, diabetes, etc.) may not yet be detected in my body, but somewhere, sometime, the inevitable will be revealed. Of course, there are other dynamics in this world that may determine my end, like war, accident or maybe the pandemic bird flu. Morbid, I agree, but reality, nevertheless.
If you feel good physically and don’t know you’re sick you’re probably feeling pretty good. We go out to dinner, make plans for weekend fun and even plan toward retirement. Yeah, we know we will die some day, but the doctor has given us a clean bill of health so we’re not thinking about the reality that each second we go further into physical decay, one second closer to eternity.
Beyond than physical, I see the spiritually dead. People, young and old, of every nation are physically able but spiritually dead. Like their physical condition, people may be moral, even religious. They are not murderers, thieves and they even try to help people in their community. Some go to the temple or church everyday to pray, they may even give money to the poor. And yet, with all that seemingly healthy spirituality (the new term today…"I'm not religious, but I am spiritual") they are in reality dead.
“There is a way that seems right to man,” the ancient preacher said, “but his way leads to death.” Most people think that that way they are following, from a religion to good works, will lead them to God, but not all roads lead to heaven. For the followers of Christ we were dead, yet we are alive.
Why do I do what I do, living overseas away from family to teach others how to present the message of Christ and salvation? It’s because I see dead people. I see them all the time.
“Truth, you want truth? You can’t handle the truth.”
“Look up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s ….!
“I am the patron saint of mediocrity?
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
I was reminded of great movie lines from listening to sermon this past week when the pastor said, “I see dead people. I see them all the time.”
Of course that line was from the movie the “Sixth Sense,” the little boy who saw the dead walking around, and who helped Bruce Willis understand that he, indeed, was dead.
The pastor made a wonderful application using that phrase, suggesting that it would be a great to have a t-shirt with the words printed on it, “I see dead people.” It certainly would be a conversation starter. I’m not big on T-shirt evangelism, but that is one that I might embrace, if I was a visiting professor at a secular university.
In reality, we are all dead-men walking. No one knows the time of our demise, but each day we not only live, but we are in the process of dying. Today the cancer (or heart disease, diabetes, etc.) may not yet be detected in my body, but somewhere, sometime, the inevitable will be revealed. Of course, there are other dynamics in this world that may determine my end, like war, accident or maybe the pandemic bird flu. Morbid, I agree, but reality, nevertheless.
If you feel good physically and don’t know you’re sick you’re probably feeling pretty good. We go out to dinner, make plans for weekend fun and even plan toward retirement. Yeah, we know we will die some day, but the doctor has given us a clean bill of health so we’re not thinking about the reality that each second we go further into physical decay, one second closer to eternity.
Beyond than physical, I see the spiritually dead. People, young and old, of every nation are physically able but spiritually dead. Like their physical condition, people may be moral, even religious. They are not murderers, thieves and they even try to help people in their community. Some go to the temple or church everyday to pray, they may even give money to the poor. And yet, with all that seemingly healthy spirituality (the new term today…"I'm not religious, but I am spiritual") they are in reality dead.
“There is a way that seems right to man,” the ancient preacher said, “but his way leads to death.” Most people think that that way they are following, from a religion to good works, will lead them to God, but not all roads lead to heaven. For the followers of Christ we were dead, yet we are alive.
Why do I do what I do, living overseas away from family to teach others how to present the message of Christ and salvation? It’s because I see dead people. I see them all the time.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Intellectual Transformation
In one of my classes I talk about the importance of epistemology, which is a branch of philosophy in the study of knowledge. My question before the students is, “How did you come to know what you know, and how do you know what you know is right?”
I contend that most of a person’s personality is determined at birth, i.e. the culture in which we are born with all its implications (race, gender, socio-economics, ethnicity, religion etc.), and therefore accounts for most of how we come to know what we know. Somewhere between eight and ten years of age, at least in my case, we begin to think more about what we were taught and slowly move toward independent thought and eventually our philosophy of life. I maintain that the epistemology of most humans is extremely narrow and what we know is both limited and limiting. It’s an interesting study to think about, how do we come to know what we know.
This morning I listened to the teaching of an old Bible teacher that I have been listening to, off and on, for at least forty years. As a child growing up in Los Angeles my Mom would regularly listen to Dr. J. Vernon McGee and his mid-day Thru The Bible broadcast (www.ttb.org). Dr. McGee has an unusual voice, which he described as a bit like Andy Griffith (an American television personality with a deep southern accent.), which can either be captivating because of his folksy presentation, or hokey and a bit grating to the ears. Perhaps it’s due to my southern roots that I find his tone engaging.
The two main reasons I have listened to McGee all these years is because, first, the program is built on a five-year verse-by-verse study of the Scriptures. Though topical sermons are helpful, they lack the holistic hermeneutics that expository teaching provides. I prefer learning what God has to say about finances, prayer, Divine intervention and prophecy through a holistic approach rather than picking one passage of Scripture in which to build a doctrine.
Secondly, Dr. McGee is a great storyteller. As I remind my students, context gives meaning and presenting real life applications, as illustrations, are the most effective way to teach any subject. Jesus was a great storyteller. J. Vernon’s teaching comes alive with his stories and illustration (granted, some of them are dated and a bit corny, but they are still interesting).
Over the years I have come to disagree with Dr. McGee and his interpretation on some doctrinal issues. He is from a Reformed tradition that makes him more of a determinists than I am. I’m pretty sure he would be less tolerant of a postmodernist that I have become. I confess, however, that Dr. J. Vernon McGee has shaped and influenced a part of my epistemology. I have come to know what I know about God through many influences, but none that has been more consistent than the teachings of a man from Texas who gave his life to teach Thru The Bible.
How do you come to know what you know? Who are the teachers who have guided you? What books have you read that have shaped your present day thinking? Happy is the person who learns from many and finds those few can guide them in consistently in their intellectual growth.
I contend that most of a person’s personality is determined at birth, i.e. the culture in which we are born with all its implications (race, gender, socio-economics, ethnicity, religion etc.), and therefore accounts for most of how we come to know what we know. Somewhere between eight and ten years of age, at least in my case, we begin to think more about what we were taught and slowly move toward independent thought and eventually our philosophy of life. I maintain that the epistemology of most humans is extremely narrow and what we know is both limited and limiting. It’s an interesting study to think about, how do we come to know what we know.
This morning I listened to the teaching of an old Bible teacher that I have been listening to, off and on, for at least forty years. As a child growing up in Los Angeles my Mom would regularly listen to Dr. J. Vernon McGee and his mid-day Thru The Bible broadcast (www.ttb.org). Dr. McGee has an unusual voice, which he described as a bit like Andy Griffith (an American television personality with a deep southern accent.), which can either be captivating because of his folksy presentation, or hokey and a bit grating to the ears. Perhaps it’s due to my southern roots that I find his tone engaging.
The two main reasons I have listened to McGee all these years is because, first, the program is built on a five-year verse-by-verse study of the Scriptures. Though topical sermons are helpful, they lack the holistic hermeneutics that expository teaching provides. I prefer learning what God has to say about finances, prayer, Divine intervention and prophecy through a holistic approach rather than picking one passage of Scripture in which to build a doctrine.
Secondly, Dr. McGee is a great storyteller. As I remind my students, context gives meaning and presenting real life applications, as illustrations, are the most effective way to teach any subject. Jesus was a great storyteller. J. Vernon’s teaching comes alive with his stories and illustration (granted, some of them are dated and a bit corny, but they are still interesting).
Over the years I have come to disagree with Dr. McGee and his interpretation on some doctrinal issues. He is from a Reformed tradition that makes him more of a determinists than I am. I’m pretty sure he would be less tolerant of a postmodernist that I have become. I confess, however, that Dr. J. Vernon McGee has shaped and influenced a part of my epistemology. I have come to know what I know about God through many influences, but none that has been more consistent than the teachings of a man from Texas who gave his life to teach Thru The Bible.
How do you come to know what you know? Who are the teachers who have guided you? What books have you read that have shaped your present day thinking? Happy is the person who learns from many and finds those few can guide them in consistently in their intellectual growth.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
The Agony Of International Travel
Jetlag is more than a bit inconvenient; it’s painful.
We arrived back in the states Monday night after a grueling thirty-six hour journey. Most of the trip was sitting in airports (Delhi, Milan, Toronto, Atlanta) waiting for the next flight. After sitting on a plane for eight hours or more, it’s wonderful to stretch your legs and walk around the airport terminal. However, one can only look in the gifts-shops so long and you begin to wonder what you are going to do with the next two hours of the layover. Airport seating is rarely comfortable and all the time the body just wants to lie down. I passed my time looking at people, thanking God that I’m not the mother who has to corral three unruly kids, or grateful that I’m not (yet) the old man who is in the wheelchair and needs assistance to get on the plane.
In air travel there is a hierarchy of people I would prefer not sitting around me. The first is crying babies. I feel sorry for the tiny ones because their little eardrums hurt because of the cabin pressure or they are stuck in a portable crib. It’s not their fault the only way they can express their unhappiness is through crying…non-stop. Though I do feel for them, I don’t want to share their pain by listening to their misery throughout the flight.
The second group I don’t want in my seating area are teen-agers. They are actually louder than babies and much more unruly, ranging from irritating to rude. I realize I sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but it’s just embarrassing to see the ranging hormones of adolescents as they try to impress the person of the opposite sex through giggles, punches and horse-like sounds that is meant to be human laughter. With babies all you can do is plug your ears; with teen-agers I want to say, “Hey, shut-up…I’m trying to sleep!”
Ah, the joy of the first night to actually lie down on a bed. The mattress is what I might imagine floating on a cloud would be like. My body sinks into the mattress, not merely resting on top. My legs whisper a “thank you” that it can stretch without the weight of the rest of my body. My tush is so grateful that I can rest on my side or stomach through the night. I wake up in my new surroundings refreshed, ready to seize the day, my first day back in my home country.
By three o’clock in the afternoon my body begins to run out of steam and by four I’m stopped by the side of the road completely out of gas. I try to stay awake, but can’t and fall into stage number five REM, just slightly above comatose. Now it’s Wednesday, 2 a.m. and I’m wide awake. I will continue this pattern for another three days. Though painful I realize it’s the price I must pay in world travel. I figure the reason God created Wal-Mart was so I would have some place to walk around when my body is in the U.S., but my time clock is eleven and half hours on the other side of the world.
We arrived back in the states Monday night after a grueling thirty-six hour journey. Most of the trip was sitting in airports (Delhi, Milan, Toronto, Atlanta) waiting for the next flight. After sitting on a plane for eight hours or more, it’s wonderful to stretch your legs and walk around the airport terminal. However, one can only look in the gifts-shops so long and you begin to wonder what you are going to do with the next two hours of the layover. Airport seating is rarely comfortable and all the time the body just wants to lie down. I passed my time looking at people, thanking God that I’m not the mother who has to corral three unruly kids, or grateful that I’m not (yet) the old man who is in the wheelchair and needs assistance to get on the plane.
In air travel there is a hierarchy of people I would prefer not sitting around me. The first is crying babies. I feel sorry for the tiny ones because their little eardrums hurt because of the cabin pressure or they are stuck in a portable crib. It’s not their fault the only way they can express their unhappiness is through crying…non-stop. Though I do feel for them, I don’t want to share their pain by listening to their misery throughout the flight.
The second group I don’t want in my seating area are teen-agers. They are actually louder than babies and much more unruly, ranging from irritating to rude. I realize I sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but it’s just embarrassing to see the ranging hormones of adolescents as they try to impress the person of the opposite sex through giggles, punches and horse-like sounds that is meant to be human laughter. With babies all you can do is plug your ears; with teen-agers I want to say, “Hey, shut-up…I’m trying to sleep!”
Ah, the joy of the first night to actually lie down on a bed. The mattress is what I might imagine floating on a cloud would be like. My body sinks into the mattress, not merely resting on top. My legs whisper a “thank you” that it can stretch without the weight of the rest of my body. My tush is so grateful that I can rest on my side or stomach through the night. I wake up in my new surroundings refreshed, ready to seize the day, my first day back in my home country.
By three o’clock in the afternoon my body begins to run out of steam and by four I’m stopped by the side of the road completely out of gas. I try to stay awake, but can’t and fall into stage number five REM, just slightly above comatose. Now it’s Wednesday, 2 a.m. and I’m wide awake. I will continue this pattern for another three days. Though painful I realize it’s the price I must pay in world travel. I figure the reason God created Wal-Mart was so I would have some place to walk around when my body is in the U.S., but my time clock is eleven and half hours on the other side of the world.
