The Kingdom, The Kids, & the Cowboys

I’m driving down to Henrietta, Texas this Sunday afternoon for an area youth rally thing — they call it “Sunday Night Live! — at the Henrietta Church of Christ. I don’t know anybody at the Henrietta Church of Christ other than two really good, really old friends.

Brad Yurcho and I played football together at Dallas Christian High School. And we both wanted Brad Sham’s job calling Cowboys games on KRLD. Yurcho and I would sometimes sit on the very top row of the bleachers at DC during Junior High and, later, JV football games and do the play-by-play. Out loud. To each other. With each other. Seems strange now. But we both thought we were pretty good and, someday, would make a pretty good broadcast team.

Scott Williams and I were Delta brothers at Oklahoma Christian. We made road trips together. We cruised the streets of Edmond together. We went shopping for pumpkins together during the holidays. We went on disciplinary probation together at OC. Ah, yes; great times.

Scott and Brad and their families are in Henrietta now, good friends themselves, working with the young people there, teaching and mentoring and passing on the faith to those coming up after us. It’s really quite special. I hadn’t seen Scott in years when he walked up to me a couple of months ago here at Central, just minutes before our Sunday morning assembly was to begin. I remember thinking, “Man, if he’s come to confess sin, we’re going to be here a while.” What a terrific surprise! Brad called me the very next morning and made the invitation to speak at their church official. And I’m really looking forward to Sunday.

I love speaking to young people. I love being with teenagers. When you’re in a room full of teens, you’re surrounded by unlimited potential. The possibilities are countless. It’s unimaginable all the wonderful things these young men and women are going to do in God’s Kingdom. They’re all so talented and passionate, so full of life and energy, so emotional and “all-in” to whatever they’re doing.

And they all love to learn brand new things. They want to be taught. They want to be shown something they’ve never seen before. They want to know something new. They all want to experiment. They want to push the envelope. They’re bold. They want to do something for Christ that’s never been done before. They want to be a real part of something bigger than themselves. They don’t have a whole lot of patience for doing church; they want to be church. And I love that.

And most of us say, yeah, that’s just the way young people are. They’re teenagers. They won’t always be that way. They’ll grow out of it.

Most of us say that because most of us have grown out of it.

And that’s a shame.

Scripture says, inwardly, we are being renewed day by day. We’re being refreshed by God’s Holy Spirit. We’re being revived every day, re-energized, re-booted, re-newed day by day. That means we’re all in the youth group! Yes, you! You’re in the youth group at your church. Everybody’s in the youth group!

Isn’t that fantastic news? All of us are being made younger and fresher and newer every day. All of us should be acting like our teenagers. I should be more bold and imaginative. You should be more passionate and hungry for new truths about our Lord and his plans for your life. We all should be pushing the envelope when it comes to sacrificial service in the name and manner of Jesus. We all should be so brakes-off, no-looking-back, full-steam-ahead in our discipleship to our Christ. We should sing louder, laugh harder, dance wilder, love more, try different; we should stop hesitating, stop flinching, stop negotiating, stop settling. Our young people are on to something!

Jesus says you’ve got to be a little kid to inherit his Kingdom.

You’re being renewed every day. By God’s grace and the transforming power of his Spirit, you’re getting younger, not older! You’re in the youth group.

So go get a two-liter of Mountain Dew and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. I’ll see you at the lock-in!

Peace,

Allan

I hadn’t been preaching at Legacy very long, only a couple of months I think, when I first met The Drake. Chris Drake. “Rob’s Dad.” As I recall, he said something to me like, “Hey, I can tell; you’re trying to move us somewhere. You’re trying to change us. You’re trying to get us out of our seats in here and really following Jesus out there. I can tell. And you’re doing it the right way. Just a little bit at a time. Slowly, but surely. One yard at a time. Just keep matriculating the ball down the field. That’s the right way. One yard at a time…”

And I stopped him.

“Matriculating the ball down the field???”

That’s Hank Stram’s line from Super Bowl IV. That’s old NFL Films lingo. Are you kidding me?

We wound up talking for ten minutes or so about Hank Stram and the old AFL and our great love for NFL Films: the grainy footage, the mud and the antiquated graphics, the authoritative voice of John Facenda. And we became friends.

I learned early on in our friendship about their son, Rob. Chris talked to me openly about the pain he and his wife, Vanessa, endured while they struggled with Rob’s addiction to drugs. They had moved to Aledo, away from all their family and friends, away from school and church, while Rob went through rehab and cleaned up and got straight. Vanessa learned to quilt. She sewed and quilted during every spare moment she had during those dark days, every moment she wasn’t begging God to heal her son and fix their family. No, that’s not entirely true. She prayed while she quilted, too. Chris worked. And worked. He worked a lot. Working through the guilt he was feeling over things he might possibly have done to contribute to his son’s addictions. But all of that was secondary to doing what had to be done to help Rob. They went with Rob everywhere he went. They never left his side. They had been gone for a little more than two years. But now Rob was good — praise God! — and the Drakes were back. Some scars remained. There were some hurts that were going to take a lot more time to heal. But Chris and Vanessa were eager to serve, ready to help other parents deal with those same kinds of struggles, equipped to comfort other parents in their trials with their kids. And they had a new perspective. A much bigger picture of God and his Kingdom and his people. They were overflowing with gratitude to God. And very strong in faith.

After a few more months and a few more sermons, Drake approached me again. “You’re in for some tough sledding,” he said. “You’re calling people out of their comfort zones. You’re telling people that following Christ is more than just showing up on Sunday. You’re telling us that just going through the motions at church isn’t enough. You’re calling us to get involved with each other and with the lost world out there. And that’s hard. People aren’t going to like it.”

And then the Drake told me, “I’m going to be your Daryl Johnston. I’m your “Moose.” I’m going to be your lead blocker out on the sweeps. If anybody gets in your way, I’m going to take ‘em out. What you’re doing is right. What you’re doing is exactly what we need. And if anybody discourages you or tries to stop you, I’m going to take care of ‘em.”

I didn’t quite know how to take it. Drake is a former Marine. An Aggie. He’s pretty hard-core. Determined. Stubborn. Even aggressive. But he was telling me he had my back. He believed in me and he was going to support me and stand by me no matter what. Love the Drake!

He began signing his emails to me with “#48.” He started addressing me as “Leonard” after the great Len Dawson, the quarterback Hank Stram coached and encouraged and exhorted down the field one yard at a time. I’d be in the middle of a sermon series, building toward something, bringing the church to what I hoped would be an “a-ha!” moment that would change our lives, and Drake would come up to me and say, “You’re about to drop the 65 Toss Power Trap, aren’t you?” That was the play Stram called for the game winning touchdown in those old Super Bowl IV clips. Sometimes Chris would be tracking with a particular theme of mine and say, “I think it’s time for the old 65 Toss Power Trap.” It was time to go for it. It was time to score.

Drake could tell when I got discouraged. He knew when I was struggling. He would text me or send me emails that said, “I’m turning the corner and I’m looking for contact!” And I would text him back. “No, no. It’s cool. I’m good. Everything’s fine.” I was never quite certain he wouldn’t go after some complaining member or some disagreeable elder if I let on for a split-second that I thought that might be OK. Love the Drake.

Drake gave me the book, “Made to Stick,” that compelled me to keep using personal stories, keep using little handouts and big visuals, keep using group participation in my sermons. He always asked me “Why?” Why does the church act like this? Why do preachers talk like that? Why do small groups function this way? Why do elders think like this? Why? Why? Why? He responded to every answer I gave, without exception, with another “Why?” until I had my own “a-ha!” moment. “Oh! That’s why!” Love the Drake.

None of this is to say Drake and I didn’t occasionally disagree. We had our arguments. I recall a conversation or two at IHOP regarding church politics and programs. I still think he says some things just to get me to jump offsides, just to get a reaction. He likes to stir stuff up, whether it’s at a Tuesday morning Bible study or a Sunday morning class. Like me, his timing is not always perfect. He claims he’s not really a member at Legacy because he’s an Episcopalian. That’s a copout for his not becoming more involved with the more difficult and sometimes ugly part of congregational life. Some church leaders use that same copout — Chris isn’t a real member — in order to ignore him. It’s much easier to ignore him than to pay attention to the challenging way he talks about real sacrificial discipleship.

One Sunday morning Chris was leading our communion thoughts at the Lord’s Table. He used a couple of Ticket references — Ticket Schtick — in his comments. And that upset me. How inappropriate. How wrong. He just said those things to get me riled up. He began comparing the sacrifice of our crucified Lord and Savior to a perfectly turned double play by Ian Kinsler and Michael Young. Are you kidding me? And I stewed in my pew. We’ll never get him to do this again. This is a farce. And then Chris began crying. As he talked about God’s perfect timing and Jesus’ great sacrifice in order to save all of us sinners around that table, Drake choked up. Huge tears. Thin voice. And I saw The Drake’s heart. He revealed his heart to us that morning. His gratitude. His brokenness. His passion. His love for our God and his Church. He laid it out that morning at Christ’s Meal. Love the Drake.

Two years ago he gave me a replica Len Dawson AFL Kansas City Chiefs jersey for Christmas. Best gift anybody from church ever gave me. It spoke to his support of me and my preaching. It reminded of his pledge to block for me, to run interference while I carried the ball one yard at a time. It was personal. It meant a ton. I cherish that jersey. I’ll wear it on Super Bowl Sunday afternoon when I play in Central’s annual Toilet Bowl touch football game between the teenagers and the church staff.

We spent one of our last nights in North Richland Hills last summer before moving here to Amarillo with the Drakes at their house. Chris grilled some marvelous steaks. We talked and cried and prayed. So proud of Rob and what God is doing in his life now. We had been through Chris’ job loss together. Been through some rough times with Vanessa in the hospital. Going through a fairly difficult time with church stuff. And Vanessa gave us a quilt that night. A big, beautiful, hand-made quilt with bluebonnets and wildflowers; one of the first quilts she had made during one of the darkest trials of her life. It was personal. It meant a ton.

Rob’s Dad still emails me regularly. We still text each other during Cowboys and Rangers games. We both think Terrence Newman is a horrible tackler and that Ian Kinsler is a disaster on the basepaths. We both love Jason Witten and Dirk Nowitski. We texted each other through the Game Six loss. He writes on this blog every week. He still encourages me to keep matriculating the ball down the field, he still tries to draw me offsides with random comments about “White Jesus,” and he still signs off with “#48.”

But, Chris, here’s the deal right now: I feel like I’m in a totally different ball game. Right now, here at Central, I see open field in front of me. It’s like a quarterback throwback or something, some trick play that’s been drawn up and executed to perfection, and there’s nothing or nobody between me and the goal line. I’ve got all these blockers out front, and there doesn’t appear to be anybody to mow over. And it’s strange. Wonderful, yes, oh my word! But strange. I feel like Bill Cosby in his “Hofstra” routine:

“I looked up and there… was… a… hole. And I’d never seen a hole playing for Temple. But there was a hole. A big hole right in the middle of the line. And I thought, ‘My God. A hole.’ I turned to the people in the stands and I said, ‘Look at this! A hole! Do you see this?” And they said, ‘Yeah! Hurry! Run!” And I said, ‘Wait a minute; it could be a mirage.’”

Of course, it’s also like seeing my wide receiver open at the five yard line and all the defensive backs have tripped and fallen down. I’m sometimes afraid that he’s so wide open I’m going to short arm the pass and blow it. Pray for me, Chris, that I don’t blow it.

I could write just as much about dozens and dozens of people in my life who have gone out of their way to encourage me, to take care of me, to love me. I’ve been blessed by our God with countless friends who have pushed me and challenged me, stood by me in hard times and defended me to others. But “Rob’s Dad” is special. Somehow we connected. We couldn’t be more different — me and an Aggie Marine TicketHead from West Texas?!? But we clicked. He committed to me, really committed to me. And I needed it. Boy, did I need it. I’m so grateful to our Father that he used Chris to keep me going.

Thanks, Chris. Thank you. God bless you and Nessa and Rob.

Peace,

Leonard

“Be careful what you ask for…”

You’ve heard that before, right? Maybe you’ve even said it before. “Be careful what you ask for…”

Why?

“…because you just might get it.”

If my understanding of salvation is correct, God’s Holy Spirit is transforming us, changing us into the image of Christ. “Christ in us” is our hope of glory. We are being transformed “into the image of Christ with ever increasing glory.” Paul calls this “being saved.” It’s a process. It’s a journey. It’s a gradual becoming.

And it involves suffering.

Jesus made it plain: “All men will hate you because of me” (Matthew 10:22).

“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first” (John 15:18).

Paul knew it, too: “Every one who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Timothy 3:12).

See, we don’t normally think this way. We preach and teach, we believe and confess that if the whole world acted more like Jesus everybody would love everybody. If we thought and behaved more like our Lord, people would love us and be attracted to us. The Scriptural truth and the ultimate reality is that if we become more like Jesus, people will actually hate us. It’s unavoidable. If you want a safe, untroubled, comfortable life free from danger, then stay away from Jesus! The danger and risk and exposure to suffering increases in proportion to the depth of our relationship with the Christ.

Maybe this is why we sit back and settle for a casual relationship with Christ and just routine religion in the church. It’s safe at most churches. And, the way most of us do it, it’s actually pretty popular to be a Christian and go to church. As long as we’re pursuing the same goals and values and uphold the same ideals as everybody else in the world, even if we put a Christian label on it, the world’s cool with us. As long as our Christianity looks like the American Dream, we’re not going to have many problems.

But Jesus says, “Everyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher” (Luke 6:40).

Our Teacher was mocked and beaten and ridiculed and persecuted and betrayed and murdered. He suffered and sacrificed and bled and died. Do we really want to be like him?

“It has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him but also to suffer for him” (Philippians 1:29).

Peter says we shouldn’t be surprised when it happens. Paul says we should consider it a joy. Scripture upholds that suffering is a gift. Christ gives us a gift — suffering. It’s a blessing. It’s a grace. It’s transformational. It’s life; eternal life. It’s discipleship; being like Jesus. Sanctification; being changed. Salvation; being saved.

Make me a servant; Lord, make me like you.

Be careful what you ask for.

Peace,

Allan

Our Little Middle turns fifteen years old today.

Fifteen?!?

No. I’m in serious denial here. Fifteen sounds so big. It sounds *gulp* kinda grown up. And she’s not. No way. She’s little Valerie.

She’s my little newborn baby with those huge beautiful eyes, taking everything in, surveying her surroundings, sizing up the other infants in that nursery at South Austin Medical Center. She’s my tiny toddler with the saggy diaper, waddling around the house with that pink sippy cup, constantly calling out in that deep, funny baritone drawl, “I want mo’ milk.” Valerie is my little middle, the blondie who sits sideways in the car with her face almost stuck to the glass so she doesn’t miss a single thing as it goes by. “What’s that?” Or more like, “Whaaaat’s thaa-yat?” She’s my little dress up girl with the Barbies and doll houses. She’s my picky eater who never met a vegetable she didn’t hate. She’s my little elementary school cutie with the snaggle-toothed grin who wants me to tuck her in every night, “papoose style.”

Yeah, she’s all those things. She always will be all those things to me. I can’t help but see all those things — still — in her.

But she’s also turning fifteen today. She is.

She likes drinking coffee now. She had a big cup of it on the way out the door this morning. Stinks up our whole house. She’s into Justin Bieber (Lord, where did I mess that up?) and listens to him and Taylor Swift and some guy named Bruno Mars or something in her room, in the bathroom, in the car, everywhere. She’s got that iTouch on and those ear plugs in all the time. She’s very, very fashion conscious: belts and fingernails, socks and hair bands, name brand jeans with the bling on the booty, and some kind of shoe called Sperry’s that look almost exactly like the topsiders we wore in the ’80s. She’s really in to zebra stripes right now; black and white and pink zebra stripes on everything. She can be kinda sarcastic. She sings in the high school choir. She’s acting at Amarillo Little Theater. She babysits. She’s slightly sarcastic. She laughs at things that make adults laugh. She takes off for hours at a time with friends who already have their drivers licenses. She’s learning how to drive now herself. She spends as much effort and energy talking to boys as she does girls. She’s a little sarcastic. And she eats those two or three bites of broccoli now with just a slight sulk instead of a full-on-knock-down-drag-out fight-to-the-death.

And she’s just absolutely beautiful. Stunning.

She’s about grown up. She’s almost there.

And she loves her Lord — our Lord — and his people. She’s given her life to him and he’s making full use of it. Our God uses our Val-Pal all the time to show his love and grace and acceptance and mercy to other people. Nothing makes her happier than to spend time with somebody who doesn’t always feel love, somebody who doesn’t always experience acceptance. She cares a great deal about the needs of others. Our Father has put that in her. His Spirit lives in her and moves her to do sacrificial things that benefit other people. It’s quite spectacular, really, when your prayers for your children are answered almost every day right in front of your eyes. She reflects God’s glory. And I love it.

Happy Birthday, Valerie. “Her’s a big girl!”

I love you. And I’m so proud of you.

Dad