Even A Little Light Breaks The Darkness

It's dark in my house at night. Even though we live in the city, with streetlights, porch lights and occasional cars during the wee hours, the combination of blinds and sunscreens make it dark enough to stub a toe or trip over a piece of furniture. Except for that one. tiny. nightlight.

Our nightlight shines 24/7, but it's hardly noticeable during the day. It's the darkness that makes it appear to light up with a rare brilliance. That one, small beacon casts its glow to the entire house. It provides just enough lumens to let us move around at night in relative safety. Believe me, I notice when we go to bed and the bulb has burned out. And I get up immediately to screw in a new bulb.

The darker it is, the more a little light shines. What's true in my home is true in our world. Joel, an Old Testament writer rivets us with the description of the spiritual darkness in his generation. If all we get from his writing is the pain of that dark time, it would be a most depressing book! That leads to the question, "Is there ANY light available when spiritual darkness settles in upon us? Is there a way out?"

Thankfully, Joel didn't leave his people (or us) trapped in the mess. He offered a "survival guide" to get through it and come out better for it. We will find out this weekend how to turn on the light. If you can't get to Stone Ridge Church, catch the podcast on iTunes under "Stone Ridge Sermons."

 

Posted with Blogsy

The "M Word"

It was a different time; a different season in our cultural life. It was an era when one listened to local radio, watched whatever was on the few TV channels available and read books, magazines and news on something called paper. Many people still sat on their large front porches in the evenings and visited with their neighbors. Kids played outside with their friends and many -- if not most -- families sat down to dinner together almost every evening. During that era, schools had only a few sports teams. Sports for the kids existed of little league baseball and, perhaps, Pop Warner football.

It was the same season in our national life when certain times of the week were sacrosanct. Sundays were when families went to church, then spent significant time together. Many activities also avoided Wednesday night, another evening devoted to church involvement. Even in high school, I can recall the difficulty of finding friends to hang out with on Sunday afternoon. That was "nap time" in our home and I was free to find something else to do, but most of my friends were with their families on Sunday.

I recall my surprise when I discovered that schools and kids' sports leagues no longer avoided Wednesday night practices and games. I was doubly shocked when that attitude spilled over to Sunday afternoon and evening. Our church faced the reality that we needed to change our scheduling because the majority of our young families were becoming busy with extra activities almost every day of the week. Even though church life had once been the center of their social schedule, that era was over.

All of this plays in the background of my mind as I reflect on several recent conversations among our church leaders. Those convos have centered around the "M Word": Membership. Becoming a church member has gone the way of things like setting one's weekly schedule around church activities. Like many others, our church has seen increasing numbers in attendance and a decline in people who take the membership class, leading us to ask, "Why?". The discussion has elicited several observations:

• Membership has become something you pay for, in places like warehouse clubs and gyms.
• Membership often denotes something you do for your personal benefit.
• Membership is a term that seems to have lost much of its potency in the area of commitment. The church I pastor has many military families, most of them Marines. You won't hear them say, "I'm a member of the U.S. Marine Corps," but simply, "I'm a Marine (Semper Fi)!" Similarly, athletes at one of our local high schools don't typically say, "I'm a member of the football team." Instead, it's "I play football for..." In both cases, deep levels of commitment are implied and the word "member" isn't the normal term to describe it.

What shall we do to reclaim the idea that membership means something? Thom Rainer (@ThomRainer) has written a book about it, which might help steer the conversation another direction. Could it be, though, that this will be a case in which the linguistic cultural pressure can best be met by a change in terminology? Our language is skewed with words that no longer mean what they once did and our response has been to find other ways of saying what we mean.

These thoughts are simmering with us at Stone Ridge. What do you think? If you want to contribute to the conversation and grab Rainer's book (I haven't read it), tell us what you think about it. Just this morning Thom Schultz (@ThomSchultz) posted an insightful page that relates directly to the conversation; I recommend it.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Creator's Rights

I was typing a long email recently when I needed to leave the mail app I use in my iPad and go to something else. When I returned, I somehow lost the email I was working on. It wasn't in a "drafts" folder or the trash. I hadn't inadvertently sent it. I was just...gone! I had to start over from the beginning. I wasn't happy that I had carefully worded several lengthy paragraphs only to have my tablet computer snuff them out. They were MY words and the iPad had no right to treat them that way! (I learned from the experience; I'm typing this in a different app that isn't prone to deleting my work.)

I have a completely different attitude about it when I delete my own words, sentences or paragraphs. I will frequently read back over something I wrote and decide to wipe it out and restate it. The very fact that I do this is something that you would expect. I write the words so I get to choose whether I keep them or not.

All of this leads to a question I have for you and it's this: "Since God created us, does He have the right to do with us whatever He pleases?" That's a question we must ask and answer to fully grasp the words of the prophet Joel. Find out more this weekend at Stone Ridge. If you miss it live, be sure to catch us via podcast either at our website on on iTunes under Stone Ridge Sermons.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Recalling what was; facing what is.

I love driving along Arizona Highway 260 between Payson and Show Low. For years, it was the easiest route from our home in Phoenix to my hometown in New Mexico. That highway, which climbs from 5,000 feet elevation in Payson, tops out at about 7,500 feet. The drive to the top of the rim is one of the most scenic in the state. Right after you hit the top, you are greeted by a marshy area that is teeming with wildlife and greenery, but which freezes to a huge block of ice in the winter. It's hard to believe that you were in the desert only an hour or so before.

For the past several years, one part of that drive has been marred by the destruction of a massive forest fire which went through there. Young saplings are growing everywhere, but they are still obscured by the surrounding charred remains of once great trees. I would think that people who live in that region felt as if their world was was blowing away in the heat and smoke. Now they must live year after year among the rubble. Every day some of them recall what was as they face what is.

The prophet Joel spoke of a time like that. He saw it coming upon God's land and God's people in their near future. They would no longer see beauty, but ashes. They would no longer have food, but be hungry. Their joy would be replaced by sorrow and hardship. Is there any hope in such a prediction? Can new saplings grow when everything seems dead? Those are the questions we will take up this weekend at Stone Ridge Church. If you can't be here, catch the podcast on iTunes under "Stone Ridge Sermons."

 

Posted with Blogsy

Crying For Relief

Last Thanksgiving I discovered something much more powerful than a huge turkey dinner. Cathy and I returned to Yuma from Phoenix that morning. It was ten days after my surgery for prostate cancer. We had looked forward to this homecoming and to Thanksgiving dinner with some of our closest friends. My appetite was just returning following surgery and I couldn't wait to awaken my taste buds with succulent turkey...dressing...potatoes...and pumpkin pie. (You get the picture!)

​On the road home I was struck with intense pain as I went to the bathroom. Thinking it was something that would pass, we got back on the highway to Yuma. Instead of diminishing, the pain kept getting worse. By the time we got home, I was crying out in agony. We ended up spending Thanksgiving afternoon and evening in the ER and I DIDN'T CARE! Finding some way to deal with that pain meant far more to me than a mouth-watering dinner.

​We never found out the exact source of my agony. One friend suggested that it might have been a kidney stone. I have never had one of those, but I have watched friends walk through the experience and it makes sense. Regardless of the source, I will never forget that the idea of a great meal (and I LOVE good food!) pales when the body is screaming for relief.

When things get dark enough, we will be willing to do just about anything for a little light. But, is there anything we CAN do? Join us this weekend to find out. If you can't be there, find the podcast here or at iTunes under "Stone Ridge Sermons."

 

Posted with Blogsy

Unexpected Challenges

This is another in a series of posts about my journey through prostate cancer. The series begins here if you would like to read more.

The lady who cuts my hair told me a story about having surgery several years ago. "Six weeks!" That's how long her doctor said she must wait before doing any heavy lifting or strenuous exercise. "I didn't feel like doing anything for the first three weeks," she told me, "but about the fourth week, I was feeling really good. I was taking a walk along the canal bank one morning when I felt so good that I decided to run. Big mistake! Something broke loose, I had to rush to the doctor, have some surgical repair and start the recuperation period over from scratch." "Will you believe me this time?" the doctor asked. She did and finally got well.

Her story and others like it convinced me that I was ready to be a good boy. I wanted this surgery and, if possible, this cancer...in my rear view mirror. The road turned out bumpier than I could have imagined.

I was released from the hospital on a Wednesday afternoon, two days after my prostatectomy. I could feel strength returning and my pain was so mild that Extra-Strength Tylenol took care of it. Cathy and I rented a privately-owned condominium about two miles from the hospital, preparing to stay a week post-surgery; our doctor suggested this. We received a few visitors who live in the Phoenix area. We were encouraged and our spirits were high. It looked like smooth sailing...until Friday.

Sometime Thursday night I started feeling like I was coming down with the Flu. I was aching and ping-ponging between chills and fever. I didn't have other Flu symptoms so I asked a follow-up nurse what to do. She gave me some simple advice and suggested I call the doctor on call in my physician's urology group. We watched my temperature for the next day or so and finally were told to go to the Emergency Room for some tests. Fever can be a sign of infection and we needed to know. That Saturday even in the ER, I was trembling with chills and feeling weak and yucky. The various tests, though, showed no infection. By the next day I was feeling much better and thought we were on the way to a speedy recovery. Another challenge was ahead.

On Wednesday the following week, my catheter was removed and we were given permission to come home to Yuma the next day, Thanksgiving. We awoke early, packed the car and headed down the Interstate toward home. About an hour later we made our first stop and I went to the bathroom. I experienced such significant pain that I couldn't stand up straight for several moments. Thinking it was something I had eaten, I told Cathy that we should drive on. The next stop, another hour along, and the same thing happened, but this time it was worse. By then, we were only an hour or so from home and were both anxious to get there. We were Thanksgiving guests at the home of some of our dearest friends and felt that surely Cathy could go even if I needed to stay home.

Our arrival at our house gave me the chance to go to the bathroom once again. This time the pain was so acute that I cried out in agony. We called the on-call doc back in Phoenix and he said I needed to get to the ER to find out what was wrong. Their original diagnosis was a urinary tract infection, but the lab results later ruled that out. We never found out the cause of that pain that someone said was like a kidney stone (which they also never found). For the next two days or so I was on heavy pain meds. Then, for a couple of weeks, I woke up every 1.5 hours or so and had to to potty.

Fast forward to this Spring when yet another problem cropped up. A prostatectomy is accompanied by two major risks: incontinence and sexual dysfunction. One prostate cancer survivor I know simply told me, "I was one for two." In my case, I sailed through both of these problems without severe challenge. However, I discovered that 1 in 10 prostatectomy patients have a different problem: scar tissue. You see, the prostatectomy involves disconnecting and reconnecting some of your plumbing. Your urethra must be disconnected from your bladder, then reconnected after the prostate is out of the way. Scar tissue can develop at that connection, closing off the opening through which the urine leaves the bladder. I discovered that it can become a painful situation.

My discovery took place as I was preparing for my 3-month checkup. My urine flow had been slowing down for the previous few weeks. Not understanding the problem, I chose to simply talk about it when I was at the checkup. Big mistake! My checkup showed no detectable cancer: "Yes!" However, my doc took a quick look at what I was dealing with and ordered me to surgery the next morning. The last 18 hours before that surgery were some of the most uncomfortable of my life. I constantly needed to "go", yet hardly anything came out. The doctor told us after surgery that I had but a pinhole of an opening left and he almost couldn't find it.

It turns out that stretching the urethra is relatively common in a case like mine, but it often has to be done more than once. I have had the procedure done a second time already and am scheduled for surgery number three. As a Christian, I believe that God can and does heal people physically. I have seen it. In fact, we are seeing it more and more where we live. Thus, we are praying that He does this stretching without another surgery, but we are at peace if the surgery is required. I have a few weeks to see what happens.

I sat in an examining room at my family physician's office yesterday. He and I are friends and I enjoyed a moment to reflect during my my twice-yearly checkup. I am in amazingly good health for this season in my life. Cathy and I enjoy significant energy and try to care for our bodies with proper diet, exercise and rest. We have so much for which to be thankful. These days, every time I see something in the press about cancer survivors, it hits me: "I'm one of those!" For years I thought of cancer as "the big C." It's actually pretty small in the grand scheme of things.

The Big "C" is Christ and He is massive!

 

Posted with Blogsy

Why I LOVE The Morning

When Cathy and I started dating, we were POOR college students. I'm not saying that we were poor students...at least Cathy wasn't. I'm saying that we were financially challenged. That meant that our early dates consisted of things we could do for free; things like take walks or play ping pong at our college's student center. Finally, though, the day came when we decided to attend a movie. It was springtime, beautiful in Phoenix and perfect weather for a drive-in. We got there, picked up some snacks at the snack bar and watched the intense drama. At least I watched the intense drama; Cathy fell asleep. Forty years later and the one thing we can remember about our lone "date-that-costs-money" is that the girl I loved fell asleep!

I discovered early in our relationship that Cathy and I seemed to be wired differently. She was a "morning person" and I was...well, I WASN'T a morning person! The reason for her movie slumber was that she awoke that morning at 4 a.m. to study for a test. I discovered, in fact, that 4 a.m. was the most common time for her to study. In her own words, "It was quiet then because no one else in the dorm was awake." For me, 4 a.m. was near the beginning of my sleep cycle. Who in their right mind would want to wake up at that hour?! (Yes, Cathy is in her right mind. Some friends told her that the only insane decision she ever made was to marry me. "It will never work," they said.)

After all these years, I would like to think that I influenced at least one or two positive changes in my bride. One thing I haven't been able to do, though, is to train her to be a "night person." She still gets up early almost every day. In fact, sleep pattern is one of the biggest areas where I have changed. Somehow my entire view of sleep has changed over the years. Most mornings I am up quite early...which means that I now fall asleep during intense dramas.

And I learned to LOVE the morning!

I came to love the morning for at least two reasons. First, I cherish those early hours when the neighborhood is mostly quiet and I can enjoy the solitude of a walk or a jog. Second, and far more important is this: I love the morning because it's the end of the night!

I discovered following my recent surgery how long and uncomfortable the night can be. The darkness seemed to intensify the normal physical discomfort of recuperation. That hardship is small, though, compared to the disquiet of nighttime spiritual warfare. Those experiences of attack by an enemy who knows me far too well and who creatively utilizes my emotional fatigue actually intensify the darkness. After such nights, I doubly LOVE the morning!

A long time ago, a man named Joel lived in the Middle East. He heard God speak to his heart and he saw things that he had to write down. He saw the darkness of his own generation, but he also saw much greater darkness in the future. God not only showed him darkness, but seasons of light. At the end of it all, he saw a vision of a brightness that was coming which would never end. His heart leapt toward that vision and Joel exclaimed, "Alas for the day!" (Joel 1:15) Joel couldn't wait for the Morning!

We will study Joel's writings beginning this week at Stone Ridge. It's our Summer Sermon Series and you will get the blessing of hearing messages from God's word from a variety of voices. If you miss a week, catch the podcast!

 

Posted with Blogsy