The Kingdom, The Kids, & The Cowboys

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Category: Legacy Church Family (Page 4 of 37)

God Bless the Duprees

July 7, 2012 / / 4 Comments

Sunday, April 25, 2010. The date means a lot to me. I’ll never forget it. That was the day Don Dupree came up to me following our morning assembly at Legacy, shook my hand, looked me in the eye, and said, “Allan, you are my brother; and you are my preacher.”

Don was a crusty old dude. Very opinionated. Always friendly. But he could be loud and, sometimes, very blunt. He always smiled; he always asked me how I was doing; he was always very pleasant and warm. But I felt like he kept me at arm’s length. I don’t think Don trusted me. He had a lot of old school CofC in him. He was very “rules” oriented. He was very concerned about the “pattern.”

In 2008, Don’s son and daughter-in-law, Rick and Vicki, migrated to our small group. And we loved them. I think our mutual love for all things Van Halen is where Rick and I first connected. And, initially, that was about it. Rick has super long hair, he rides a Harley, he goes to heavy metal concerts, and he doesn’t care at all what anybody thinks. Vicki’s the same way. They don’t exactly fit in with the Legacy church scene. They always felt like outsiders. But I’ve never met a more generous pair. Vicki wouldn’t sing; but she showed up early to small groups and she stayed late washing dishes, cleaning up the kitchen, putting up chairs. Rick wouldn’t lead a discussion; but he read and prayed and sang with everything he had. They cooked for us all the time. They brought our girls gifts all the time. They hosted our small group at their home all the time. The best catfish I’ve ever eaten are at the hole-in-the-wall joints in Fort Worth that Rick and Vicki know best.

Rick and Vicki Dupree needed our small group. And our small group needed Rick and Vicki. They caused us to reconsider what a Christian looks like. They forced us to re-evaluate our judgments, to see the Kingdom of God in bigger ways than we ever had, to pay more attention to people than to patterns of predictability.

In the meantime, Don was still in the minority at Legacy who was holding out on small groups. He kept going faithfully to the little assemblies at the building on Sunday nights. Small groups in people’s homes was new to Don. It didn’t fit with his experience or with his idea of church. So, I think he eyed us with suspicion. He was grateful for what we were doing to help Rick and Vicki get back into church. He was glad Rick and Vicki were worshiping God and serving others with some Christian friends. But he still wasn’t completely sold on me or on our small groups.

In August of that same year, Don baptized Rick & Vicki’s son, Dustin. In November, their daughter Whitney had a baby without a husband. We were all there together at HEB hospital when Mariah was born. In December, our small group hosted a shower for Whitney and Mariah at our house. And then, two weeks later, another one at the Legacy church building.

It was during this time that Don became too sick and too stiff in his bones to get to the church building on Sunday nights. Rick and Vicki were not willing to miss our small group assemblies to get him to Legacy and back. In fact, Rick and Vicki were not willing to miss our small group for anything in the world. So they dragged Don to our house.

And he loved it.

It took some time. But he grew to love it. He’d sit there in our living room with that huge Bible propped up on his lap and in that really, really, really long drawn out drawl, he’d read and he’d talk and he’d pray. He held hands with us when we sang. He shared the bread and the cup when we communed. He laughed when the kids were being funny. And he cried when we all needed to cry.

He loved it.

He loved it when I baptized Whitney, his granddaughter on Sunday February 1, 2009.

We loved Don. We took care of Don. We fixed his plate and snuck him that second dessert. We helped Rick & Vicki get him in and out of the car. We made sure to always sing a song or two that he would enjoy. And he grew to love us. We had to explain to him why we shared communion every Sunday night; we argued occasionally about “patterns” and “decency and order;” we always disagreed about worship styles and women’s roles. But we loved Don. And he loved us.

On April 25, 2010 I preached a sermon from Mark 2:23 – 3:6 called “Which is Lawful?” It was based on Jesus’ question to the religious leaders in the synagogue who were criticizing him for healing on the Sabbath. I pointed out that Jesus didn’t do away with all the rules and regulations of religion, he didn’t throw everything out the window. Rules and regulations will always be a vital facet of life in God’s Kingdom. Our Lord boldly presented two ways of following God’s rules and regulations. “Which is lawful on the Sabbath, to good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” Jesus says there are two ways to follow the rules. One is good and one is evil. One way gives life to people and one way kills people. One way frees people from burdens and one way places more burdens. One way liberates people from their chains and one way locks people up in prisons.

God’s law is never about the pattern; it’s about people. God’s Church is never about the institution; it’s about people. The priority of human need always outweighs the need for human conformity to rituals. And if we’re partnering with God and his plan to redeem the world, we take care of people first!

It was a tough sermon. It addressed head-on some of the problems we were having at Legacy. It confronted some of the issues that were being debated and it criticized those who were doing the judging and debating. And afterward, as I greeted people in the foyer, here came Don Dupree. I wasn’t sure which way this was going to go. But he grabbed my hand and said, “Allan, you are my brother; and you are my preacher. Thank you!”

I like to think that it wasn’t the sermon that one Sunday morning in the worship center; it was the small group over a whole bunch of Sunday nights in our living rooms and around our dining room tables. It wasn’t the gospel preacher; it was the community of faith. Words didn’t mean nearly as much to Don, I like to think, as our actions with and for one another in our homes. Wasn’t it Francis of Assisi who said, “Preach the Gospel; use words if you must.” Don’s outlook was changed by the way our small group embraced him and his family. His whole attitude was changed forever.

I knew his words to me that day were significant. Those words meant something coming from Don. I wrote them down in my calendar and in my journal. I kept them on my desk where I could see them, rewriting them every month in a different place, a constant reminder that our lives and our actions mean so much more than our sermons and assemblies. And that the toughest hearts can be softened in a loving community of faith.

I got the call from Rick this past Monday night at 6:00. Don had died. Rick’s sister Lisa, the calmer of the Dupree kids who did Carrie-Anne’s and the girls’ hair and nails for four years, had found him on the floor of his house. A blood clot in his leg had gotten to him, possibly a result of a knee replacement surgery he had endured a couple of weeks before. Rick and Vicki were driving in from a vacation in Galveston, and he was a wreck. Carrie-Anne called Lisa.

I love Rick and Vicki Dupree. And I love Don. The Duprees are an eternal part of so many wonderful things that happened for my family while we were at Legacy. I can’t think about those four-plus years without thinking about the Duprees. Three years ago I cringed every time I saw Don approaching me. When we left Legacy to move to Amarillo, I wanted to take Don and his whole family with me. As I’m writing this post, the Legacy church is celebrating his life together and praising God. They are comforting Rick and Vicki, Dustin and Whitney and Mariah and Lisa. And I wish I were there with them.

God bless the Duprees.

Allan

Warrior Dash 2012

April 23, 2012 / / 6 Comments

My thighs are still burning today with every step, I’ve pulled something in my right shoulder blade area that I’m still feeling with every breath, and I’m still wiping mud out of the corners of my eyes and coughing up dirt balls. But Warrior Dash was an absolute blast. And we can’t wait for next year’s.

It was mainly the same crew from Legacy that ran last year’s event down in Roanoke, a couple of blocks east of the Texas Motor Speedway. Twenty of our dearest friends, ranging in age from 15 to… well… let’s say around 50… and ranging in degrees of fitness from superstar athletes like Hudson and Jordan to out-of-shape desk jockeys and preachers like me. It’s a 5K (a little over three miles), through an obstacle course, in the mud. And, yes, even though this crazy event appeals much more to people half my age and who drink much more than just Diet Dr Pepper, we always have a great day at Warrior Dash. And this year was no different.

  

Valerie had a couple of buddies her own age show up to run with her this time, although I”m not sure Samantha and Shannon really understood what they were getting into. As race officials were herding us all into the line for our 10:30 am start, Samantha got a first look at the huge video monitor showing highlights from last year’s Warrior Dash and started flipping out. We tried to assure her that, while it may look lethal, she probably wouldn’t die.

 

We donned our complimentary warrior helmets and took all the obligatory pre-dash pictures and then decided, probably a little too late, we needed to stretch. Yeah, for most of us it was way too late for that. Before we knew what was happening, we were counting down from ten and then running under a couple of fire-belching cannons on top of the starting gate. We were off!

Last year I had tried to keep up with Hudson, which lasted about half a mile. This time I was going to be in a better situation. Steve, Keith, Mike, Tracy, Kevin, and I had planned beforehand to run/jog this thing together. My only concern was besting my time from a year ago (43:42) and finishing without injury. Early on, neither of those goals appeared to be realistic. The recent rains in DFW made the course wetter and slicker and grosser than the year before. Just a little over a hundred yards in, Tracy bit it. Big time. I think he might have been wearing his yard work shoes. You know, the old tennis shoes, grass stains on the toe and the sides, missing that first crucial layer of sole? Tracy went down hard on his right side, almost taking Mike and me down with him. But, thankfully, he popped back up, only to discover he was now carrying about 40-pounds of extra weight in mud caked to his right leg and arm. We were all a little more careful after that.

About halfway through the course our party of six broke up a bit. Kevin and Mike kept running/jogging while Tracy and I found ourselves increasingly jogging/walking. At one point along the course, a huge sign meant to encourage participants screamed at us, “Are You A Warrior?!?” To which Tracy replied out loud, “Do warriors walk?” We were definitely walking in spots. But at least we were ahead of Steve and Keith. (We’d better be; Keith’s still recovering from a hip replacement surgery.)

So we crawled through the pits, scaled the cargo net walls, climbed the rope which had a couple too few knots in it, manuevered under all the barbed wire, walked/swam through the chest-high water/sludge/sewage, slid down the poles, and climbed more hills than I remember from last year. In fact, they put up a huge hill and and that massive Warrior Wall thing to climb back-to-back right before the fire jump. Now, the flames are only about knee high. But as I approached the double fire jump I was thinking, man, my legs are too tired. I’m not sure I can do this.

The final obstacle is the famous mud pit. It’s right at the finish line, right where hundreds and hundreds of spectators gather to cheer and jeer and take pictures, and right where a participant is the most tired and most unwilling to put up with any nonsense. So, of course, that’s the best place to watch.

   

Nothing like crawling through the mud and the slime, concentrating on staying low so as not to snag the seat of my britches on the barbed wire, and hearing Whitney and Carrie-Anne laughing. And Carl Ball. Thank you. The most impossible part of the whole course was getting out of that mud pit. It was so slippery and gross and I was so tired (and gross) I almost didn’t make it. I think I lost ten seconds clinging with three fingernails to a tiny root of a little dandelion on the side of that hill, praying that I wouldn’t slide backwards back into the gunk.

   

Tracy finished about ten seconds ahead of me. As usual, Hudson and Jordan had already showered and were prefectly clean and groomed, hair gel and everything, by the time I got out. Jerks. Steve and Keith were a couple of minutes back. Valerie and her crew of girls were another ten minutes or so. And then the ladies entertained us all with their fantastic finish about an hour after we began.

 

We took all the “after” pictures together, froze half to death in the barely adequate Warrior Wash, rode the shuttles back to the cars, and then gathered at Mooyah Burgers for a late lunch where we could get all our stories straight. Sandy maybe really actually broke a rib on that very first obstacle, the balance beam thing that teeters up and down about ten feet off the ground. I should hear about that before the day’s over. Everybody else though, as far as I know, is suffering mainly from scratches on our knees, sore legs, and a few stretched muscles. I would say, too, we all feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment. And we’re all already making plans to do it again next year. Carley will be old enough to participate next year. And Carrie-Anne’s already said that if Carley does it, she will, too.

 

While checking my official time in the results tent, I ran into Bradley Bledsoe, one of our good brothers here at Central. We were both very surprised to see each other there; it’s so out of context for both of us. I asked him, “Man, what are you doing here?” He answered, “The same thing you’re doing; trying to act way younger than you really are.”

Allright, who’s going to take the lead and get a Central team up and ready for Warrior Dash 2013? Adam? Olen? Borger? Who’s going to put this thing together?

The time to beat is 43:11!

Peace,

Allan

And When You Go To Church

April 20, 2012 / / 0 Comments

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children.” ~Deuteronomy 6:5-7

This Sunday is the fourth Sunday of the month. Here at Central, that means we will not be dismissing the youngest of our children from our main assembly for their own worship time in their own room. It means it will be a little louder in our worship center. It means our younger parents and those sitting around them will be a little more distracted. It means a little more crying, a little more fidgeting, a little more talking and giggling.

It means an opportunity to rejoice in the fact that our God has blessed us with five full generations of people within our church family. It means another chance to interact with the most precious and innocent among us. It means another moment to pass on to our children the faith that has been handed to us. It means another reminder that we are not running this race alone.

“Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. And when you go to church.” ~Deuteronomy 6:7

OK, I cheated. I added that last part myself: “…and when you go to church.”

Here at Central we believe very strongly that if our people are always with their own age group, always with their own peers and demographics every single time we come together, it does more harm than good. It’s vital — it’s critical! — to this holy task of passing on the faith that our children regularly worship and read, sing and study, listen and pray, commune and laugh and cry and learn with the entire corporate Body of Christ.

Don’t tell me the children don’t get anything out of it. Of course, they get plenty out of it. If they didn’t, or couldn’t, then why in the world do you read them bedtime stories every night? Why were you singing Jesus Loves Me to them before they could crawl? Why bother kissing them as infants or telling them you love them before they even know what love is? Because it matters. It’s important. They do get something out of it.

And don’t tell me you can’t get anything out of church when you’re wrestling with your kids in the pew. First, it’s not about you and your personal worship experience. It’s about all of God’s people coming together in one place at the same time as a family and the mutual responsibilities with which we’ve been graced by our Father. You get plenty out of it. You’re blessed to be able to view the magnificence of the Christian assembly through the eyes of a child. You’re privileged to partner with God as he draws your child to him and his Kingdom. You’re being shaped and transformed as you actively pursue what God has ordained you as a parent to do.

This coming Sunday I urge you to pay attention to your young children during our assembly. Don’t simply pacify them with an iPad or a plastic tub of Cheerios. Engage them. Interact with them. Sing with them. Read the Bible with them. Explain to them something you hear in a prayer. Talk with them about the bread and the cup. Be as fully present with them as you are at the park and at the dinner table. Don’t abandon your parenting during this most critical time. If anything, step it up!

And if you’re sitting around some of these younger parents with their small children, this goes for you, too. For all of us. Engage. Interact. Teach and encourage. We are all under a tremendous obligation by our God to teach our children and lead them toward him. Let’s approach these fourth Sundays with anticipation and excitement. Let’s also come to these fourth Sundays in reverent fear of our Creator that we would not neglect this great responsibility.

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Carrie-Anne and I were so blessed to participate in the CareNet Pregnancy Center’s annual banquet last night at the Amarillo Civic Center. More than 1,200 wonderful people gathered to praise God and to raise money for this most important of Christian ministries in our town.

I was impressed by author Gary Thomas’ speech. I was inspired by Amy Spears’ song. I was moved by the videos. But I was completely blown away by Candy Gibbs, CareNet’s Executive Director. She speaks like Eugene Peterson writes. Her speech was amazing. She’s careful, very deliberate, with her words. She preached to us, she preached with us last night. And. It. Was. Powerful. (You can read the transcript of Candy’s speech on her blog by clicking here.)

I’m impressed with CareNet because last year 103 pregnant young ladies went there to talk about their planned abortions and 100 of them were moved by prayer and counseling to decide against it. I’m impressed because CareNet counselors in Amarillo made 9,868 client visits last year to encourage and equip, to strengthen and heal. I’m impressed because in 2011, through the efforts of CareNet and by the grace and power of our God, 187 young women and men submitted to the Lordship of our risen King.

But here’s what’s most important about CareNet: they have rejected the ways of the world and embraced the ways of our Lord. This is not an organization that’s out there waving flags and signing petitions and lobbying congress and pressuring law makers and threatening litigation and marching in the streets. No. They’re not pushing for legislation to outlaw abortion. They’re actually telling dozens and dozens of young ladies every month why abortion is against the plans of our Heavenly Father, and making promises to these young ladies to walk with them through their difficult journeys. They mentor these young ladies and their new babies. They counsel with them. They provide education for them. They meet with them and pray with them. They become friends and family with them. They love them with the compassion and grace and mercy of Jesus. They walk with them for years after they’ve made the decision to have these babies. It’s really quite beautiful. And very counter cultural. Very Scriptural. Very like our Christ. They’re doing it differently. And it’s working. Just like Jesus promised us it would.

I can really get behind a deal like this. I’d suggest you look a little more into it, too.

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Valerie and I are gearing up for the Warrior Dash tomorrow down in Roanoke. It’s a 5K run with thousands of crazy people through an obstacle course in the mud. Of course, events like this are targeted to people half my age who drink a lot more than just Dr Pepper. But we ran it last year with several of our great friends from Legacy and just had an absolute blast. We’ll hook up in the morning with most of the same crowd: John & Suzanne, the Cliftons and Engers, Josh Penn. Tracy and Samantha are running it with us this year and I think Steve & Sandy will also be there.

It’ll be crazy. It looks like a lot of the obstacles are different from last year. There seems to be a couple more water obstacles and the climbing obstacles look to be a little more difficult. But Valerie and I are committed. We’ve signed the waivers that promise we won’t sue anybody even if we suffer horrible injury, we’ve packed our grubby shorts and T-shirts and shoes we don’t mind losing, and our warrior attitudes are primed.

I hope you’re doing something really cool this weekend, too.

Peace,

Allan

Can You Hear the Prayers?

March 11, 2012 / / 1 Comment

We were so blessed to have four crazy Legacy kids crash at our house last night as they swung through town on their way to snowboard in Colorado. Payton, Chris, Landon, and Paul arrived in time to share a full Carrie-Anne cooked Mexican food dinner complete with sopapilla cheesecake and ice cream and a couple of college basketball games on TV. I’m pleased to report that Chris has lost his lip ring; but Landon showed up with two huge honkin’ earrings! It’s always good to have Payton around because he makes me feel so young. Seriously. He acts older than my dad! And Paul was able to refresh me on my very limited Russian vocabulary. (Remind me to call David Nelson soon. Apparently, the word Nelson taught me to say as “Thank you” while we were in Kharkov is actually “Delicious!” It’s a wonder I didn’t get arrested over there! Somebody’s messing with me.)

We teased each other mercilessly into the night. We reminded one another about goldfish in the back of my pickup, glow sticks in the front yard, apple trees on the front porch, and living room furniture in the lawn. And we talked about Quincy and praying together and serving the homeless and ministering to the outcast in the name of our King. These are the prayingest young men I’ve ever known. And sacrificial. Servant hearted. What a blessing to have them as friends. What a blessing to be able to worship with these great kids this morning at Central.

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“About noon the following day as they were on their journey and approaching the city, Peter went up on the roof to pray.” ~Acts 10:9

I love the way this one verse ties two stories together. This one verse takes two men and their two different stories and eternally connects them into one unforgettable reminder of God’s mission and his power to accomplish it. Cornelius’ men had left Caeasarea to find Peter in Joppa. Peter goes up on the roof to pray, not knowing he’s already part of a story that began the day before. Peter is the answer to the prayer of a guy he’s never met. Cornelius’ men are on their way to get Peter and Peter doesn’t even know he’s got an appointment. He just thinks it’s lunch.

The angel of the Lord has already told Cornelius that his prayers have been heard by God and are being honored. His prayers are being answered. Peter is that answer. Peter is the one who will open up the truth of salvation from the crucified and risen Christ Jesus to Cornelius.

See how that works?

I wish we could hear the world praying.

“God, I don’t know where else to turn; I don’t know what to do. God, who’s going to take care of me?”

“Father, I’m at the end of my rope; I’m desperate. Please help me, God; please help me.”

Lord, I want to know you. Please show yourself to me. Please reveal your will to me. I want to belong to you, God.”

“Holy God, please provide someone to help me. Please, God, send somebody to help me.”

I wish we could hear the prayers of everybody at the apartment complex on Washington Avenue. I wish we could hear the prayers of all the kids at Bivins Elementary. I wish we could hear the prayers of the guys living under the bridge at Paramount and I-40. I wish we could hear the prayers of the man across the street in his $200,000 house. I wish we could hear the prayers of the single mom around the corner and the widowed lady who greets us at Wal-Mart and the waiter at The Burger Bar. I wish we could hear their prayers because I bet a bunch of them are praying for us. They’re praying for our hearts and our minds and our attitudes and our mission. They’re praying for God to shake us out of our comfort zones and get us moving in a reconciliation direction.

Can you hear your own prayers? How do you pray? What do you pray? If every single one of your prayers from last week were answered, would the whole world change? Or just your world? Seriously, how do you pray?

God, help us. May God give us minds and dreams and prayers big enough to imagine what he’s going to have us do next.

Peace,

Allan

Just Go

November 4, 2011 / / 0 Comments

There are approximately 6,785,000,000 people living together on this planet. The most liberal estimates claim that one-third of these people are Christian, including all those who identify themselves as Christians religiously, socially, or politically. That leaves 4.5-billion people who, if the Gospel is true, at this very moment are separated from God in their sins and, assuming nothing changes, will spend an eternity in hell.

4.5-billion people. And most of them live outside the United States.

That’s why we’re told to go. And that’s why we obey that command. Go tell the Good News of salvation from God in Christ. Go share the Gospel. Go teach people what God has done in Jesus. Go show people what it looks like to receive the gift of a righteous relationship with the holy Creator of heaven and earth. Go.

And we do. We’re very, very good at going.

The Legacy Church just finished hosting the Global Missions Conference. Dozens and dozens of missionaries from all over the planet shared their stories, showed their slides, and gave glory to God for the great work he has started and is bringing to completion in their ministries. Church leaders from all over this country gathered to be encouraged and challenged to keep going and keep sending until our Christ returns.

I was so encouraged to open up my Christian Chronicle this morning and see this huge picture of the Legacy worship center during the Global Missions Conference. They could have picked a more attractive person than Mark Hooper to feature in their picture — any other person, actually! But I was so pleased. So grateful.

When we were in discussions about hosting the GMC at Legacy we prayed and planned, strategized and hoped, that the conference would benefit Legacy in giving us a big picture view of what God is doing in his world. We prayed that it would broaden our understanding of God’s eternal Kingdom, that it would cause us to see Christ’s Church as so much bigger than just what’s happening in Tarrant County or the United States. It would mature us. It would stretch us. And it would motivate us to just go.

Just go take a Let’s Start Talking trip to China. Just go help a church plant in Kharkov, Ukraine for a couple of weeks. Just go lead a Bible discussion in Australia. Just go knock doors in Africa.

Just go invite your neighbor to church. Just go volunteer at a shelter for abused women or neglected children. Just go ask your co-worker if they have a relationship with God in Christ. Just go spreading the Good News wherever you can. Just go.

Legacy has a heart for missions. And I love that. My heart for missions was strengthened at Legacy. Foreign missions is one of the very best things God does through Legacy. And our experiences together there taught me a lot about God’s purposes in the world. All indications are that the Global Missions Conference last week was a tremendous success. Of course. We knew it would be. Congratulations to the Legacy shepherds and ministers and staff and tireless volunteers who pulled it off. I keep hearing how much our Lord did to bless each of you last week. I praise God. And I’m so glad.

Central, too, has a great heart for missions. As the founding church of Continent of Great Cities, there’s a heritage here of placing great value and importance on what God is doing everywhere else. And supporting those efforts with prayer and money and trips and hard work. And I love that.

May we be reminded that we are all missionaries. When our God decided to bring his salvation to you and me, he did not send gold or silver. He didn’t write a check or click in the numbers to a debit card. He sent himself. He came to this earth and took on our skin, our sufferings, our sin. He made himself vulnerable to death. And he endured it for us, for our eternal glory.

You, too, must go and do likewise. You don’t have to cross the ocean. God may be calling you to cross the street. He may need you to cross the break room at work or the sidelines at your kid’s soccer game this weekend.

Yes, please write your check to that foreign missionary. They need it. But then, go. Just go. Go somewhere and tell somebody that they can be saved by a loving God who created them and who wants nothing more than to spend eternity with them in his holy presence.

Peace,

Allan

Saving a Seat for Paul

September 16, 2011 / / 8 Comments

Going into our shepherds meeting this past Wednesday, I wasn’t really sure who would be praying with me at 8:00 Sunday morning. I assumed I would invite all of our shepherds and ministers to join me in the chapel early Sunday morning so we could pray together for the day and that several of them would commit to showing up.

That’s always been my habit.

Since my earliest days as a minister in Marble Falls, 8:00 on Sunday morning has been a sacred time for me. Jim Gardner and Jimmy Mitchell and I prayed together in Jim’s office at 8:00 every Sunday. Jim would have his Red Bull, Jimmy would have his Muscle Milk (gross!) and I’d be working on my second or third Diet Dr Pepper. And we would pray together. For one another. For God’s Church. For the day.

It continued at Legacy. First, with the worship leaders, Howard and Gordon, during my transition months between Austin Grad and moving to NRH. On my first official day there, every single one of the shepherds showed up. Then after that, six or seven guys committed to praying with me in the church library every Sunday morning. That lasted a few months. And then it began to dwindle. Four guys. Then three. Two for a while. And then there was one.

Paul Brightwell.

Every single Sunday morning. 8:00. Paul would walk into my study. “What’s going on?” And we would shake hands, small talk while we strolled into the library, and then pray. Every single Sunday morning. 8:00. Paul and me. For four years. Praying.

We prayed together for the people at Legacy. We prayed in anticipation of the events of the day. We asked God to bless our assembly, to be present in every interaction among his people, to encourage those who were looking for a word of grace and to convict those who needed a push. We asked God to work on us, to change us more into the image of his Son. We prayed our thanksgivings and our laments together. We prayed through the health problems of Paul’s parents and, eventually, through the death of Paul’s dad. We prayed together through my struggles and triumphs as Legacy’s preacher, all the ups and downs of life in congregational ministry. Paul knew when I was nervous or worried about that day’s message. And we prayed about it. He knew instinctively when I was really excited about what God was going to say through me that day. And we praised God for it. We prayed about our kids and our wives. We thanked God for our friendship.

Sometimes we prayed for ten minutes; sometimes we were in there together for nearly an hour. Sometimes I’d be running around like crazy — updating some sermon slides on the S Drive, re-printing some Small Groups Church study guides, moving some chairs around in a classroom — and Paul would find me. “Stop!” he would say. “Stop! Let’s pray.” And I’d drop whatever I was doing, wherever we happened to be, we’d put our arms around each other, and Paul would pray for God to calm me down, to get me focused, and to use me to his eternal glory in the next couple of hours.

I’m going to need a Paul Brightwell here at Central.

So, Wednesday night, heading into our elders meeting, I’m ready to invite the shepherds and ministers to pray with me at 8:00 Sunday morning. But everything got away from me. Man, when Tim decides the meeting’s over, it’s over! Boom! We went from the middle of a fairly important discussion to a beautiful conclusion with assigned action items to our closing prayer before I even knew what was happening. And the meeting was over. I hadn’t offered my invitation for Sunday morning prayer. I figured I would just have to send out an email the next day. I’m not going to pray alone at 8:00 Sunday morning.

So I got in my truck. Pulled out onto 14th Street on my way home and checked my phone. Two missed calls. From Paul Brightwell. One voice mail. “Call me.”

I’ve only talked to Paul once since we moved. So I called.

“Hey,” he says. “What are you doing at 8:00 Sunday morning?”

“I’m going to be praying in the Central chapel,” I answered him. “It’s Central’s original worship center, a stunning 82-year-old chapel that’s right next to my office here. I’ll be praying in there, hopefully, with a bunch of our shepherds and ministers.”

And Paul says, “Save me a seat.”

He and Andrea are coming up Saturday night. Paul wants to pray with me on my first official day at Central. At 8:00 Sunday morning.

And I am humbled. And I’m typing through tears even now, at 9:00 Friday morning, thinking about it. I praise God for the people he’s put in my life, people like Paul Brightwell, who have given themselves to encouraging me in my ministry. To praying for me and with me. To paying attention to me and lifting me up when I’m down and bringing me down a few notches when I get too high. For knowing me. And caring.

Thank you, God, for Paul Brightwell.

And, thank you, Paul.

Our Sunday mornings together in prayer have, more times than you know, gotten me through the day. You have always said the exact right thing to me at the exact right time. I believe that God pushed you directly into my path to speak through you to me, to help me do what God has called me to do. Those Sunday mornings with you are precious to me. Thank you for allowing our Father to use you in that way. Thank you for the selfless way you gave yourself to God, to me, and to our church on those Sunday mornings.

God will give me a Sunday morning prayer partner here at Central. He knows how badly I need it. It may happen this month or it may take a while. I have no idea who it’s going to be; but God’s going to make sure I’m not praying alone on Sundays. This Sunday, I’ll be in a group of elders and ministers, these church leaders who are going to become some of my very best friends. There may be twenty of us in that chapel day after tomorrow.

But I’m saving a seat for Paul.

Peace,

Allan

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