Back in My Day, Sonny...

I've become an "Old Fogey" before my time.

Admittedly, I've often joked that I was born in the wrong generation, even though I know that God has purposed me to be here "for such a time as this." In many ways, it's an exciting time to be alive. But I find myself increasingly frustrated as I try to live out my values in a postmodern society where anything goes. Stand up for values that are clearly based on scripture, and you're called intolerant, or worse yet - you're unfairly labeled a hater. I can tell a teen or a 20-something that the sky is blue, and they'll argue that it's red, because red makes them happier. Truth can be whatever makes them content... truth can be whatever they want it to be. Two plus two can equal five, as long as that's what you want. Wouldn't want to offend you by insisting that the answer is really four.

I long to escape to a simpler time. My man-cave is my sanctuary, filled with old radios, a Victrola, Edison Amberola, and reminders of a bygone day when values meant something. I long for an era that passed by before I was born! The raciest thing on the air was Jack Benny. It was the time when Lucy couldn't say "pregnant" on her television show. Not only can you now say it on TV, they'll show you the steps it takes to get that way.

But I know I can't escape permanently. Nor should I. James 1:2 says, "Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy." (NLT). What a strange way of thinking. But the Bible always has turned conventional wisdom of the 21st Century upside down while giving it a good shake. If Christ suffered for his faith and for standing up for what's right, then I can give 1/1000,000th of what he did. The fact is, Christians have a job to do, and we can't run or back down from truth. In our "can't we all get along?" world we have to own up to the fact that no, we're not all going to get along. Not as long as there is sin and deception running rampant. But we can respond to a deceived and broken world as Christ did... with the truth, and in love.

As long as I have my man cave to run home to, I'll be fine.

The Symphony of Autism

This morning I'm reminded of a favorite line spoken by Richard Dreyfuss in Mr. Holland's Opus. As his wife massaged his back following a long day at work he said, "This is definitely not my gig, Iris." After only his first day on the job as a music teacher he was exhausted, discouraged, and beyond hope that he could ever teach a classroom of High School kids anything worthwhile. In short, it was not what he had signed up for.

I hear ya, Mr. Holland. Loud and clear. I hear you every morning that my 14-year old son wakes us up in the middle of the night because he can't sleep more than a few hours at a time. I hear you when my wife and I pass each other in the hallway with barely a mumble because we're too tired to communicate. I hear you when my son is stomping and screaming because he wants a car ride, it's 5 minutes before the school bus is going to arrive, and he has no other way to communicate his frustration. I hear you when I'm changing his pants because my teenager isn't potty trained, and may never be. In the movie, the Hollands raised a son with a hearing disability. And every time I watch the scene where Mrs. Holland screams, "I don't care what it costs, I don't care what some dumb doctor says, I want to talk to my son!" I cry in frustration. I get it.

Raising a child with autism isn't what I signed up for. An hour ago, I was sound asleep... but Zachary wanted breakfast. This just happened to be my day to get out of bed. As exhausted as I am from the weekend, my wife is just as tired. We had a good weekend; a healthy weekend both personally and professionally. But there's no time to celebrate; we have a job to do. We have a son that demands our attention 24/7.

It's funny the things that pop into your head this early in the morning (or late at night, take your pick). Call it God-inspired, or just my head working overtime, but I never made the connection before between Mr. Holland and the poem that has brought me through this incredible journey with autism so many times. It was written by Emily Perl Kingsley and it's called, interestingly enough, "Welcome to Holland." Emily, you nailed it.

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Happy Valentine's Day, Zachary. I love you, kiddo.

5 Days That Changed My Life

This is not shameless self-promotion. On the contrary, today's post is about some friends of mine thousands of miles from home.

It has only been four months since I spent 5 days at Mission of Hope just outside of Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, but it seems like a lifetime. I miss the people terribly. It's still hard to comprehend how a few short days left such a mark on my life. That's my personality, I suppose. I promised my wife long before I left for the missions trip that I wouldn't allow Haiti, and especially the children "get to me." Well, I've shattered that promise to bits through no intentional fault of my own. I can't get rid of the images of hungry kids, grieving mothers, lines of desperate folks clamoring for a bag of rice, and hard-working people who only want an opportunity... a chance at normalcy. I still feel the sting of tears when I recall the beautiful sounds of children praising Jesus at Church of Hope in a language I didn't understand, yet it sang to my heart like no song I've heard before.

And so I long to go back. I long to dirty my hands and build a home. I long to hug a kid, and pray for them. I want to see how my friend Argon is doing in his new house. I want to know if Monica's baby lived. I want to share another laugh with the man whose prized possession was the machete he used to keep his tent village free of nasty weeds. But it's all in God's good timing.

For now, there is something I can do. There is something you can do. I've made a commitment to support Mission of Hope through sales of my book, "God Could You Turn Up the Volume?" I don't keep a penny... every cent of profit after paying off the publisher goes directly to Mission of Hope. We used the book for a three-month study in our Christian Education classes. It makes for a good small group study book. You won't find deep theological truths... but you will find hope and gain a better understanding of what it means to slow down, take a breath, and listen to God speak into your life. I believe you'll be a stronger Christian for having read the book. I believe in it, because I believe God gave me the opportunity to put down the words.

So click on the picture on your right. Get a copy. Get several. Not for me, but for my friends.

They need us.

What I Did This Winter

Okay, so my last post was the least popular to date. I think I'll lighten up and stop complaining about the world, at least for a while.

So. We're into the second week of the second month. Cabin fever has set in a little too early for me this year. I'm a couple weeks ahead of schedule. Trouble is, there's no place in Michigan where I can run to get away from the ice and snow. I sure can't afford to go any further south. So here I sit, waiting for Opening Day of the Loons baseball season in April. Fortunately, I have my seats reserved. Here's hoping I can fit back into my jersey by then.

What have I accomplished so far this winter? Very, very little. We kept Christmas in the closet this year. No tree, decorations, or gifts. It was actually very relaxing and stress-free, just enjoying dinner with the family. Well, that part is never entirely stress-free. But it was tolerable. We had our own little annual New Year's Eve party for two with pigs in a blanket and sparkling grape juice at midnight. Broke my 40 day coffee fast at 12:00:30 a.m. Slept through the Super Bowl and didn't care. Let's see... I got bored and spray painted "free snow" on the 7 foot pile at the end of my driveway. So far, no takers.

And that's about it. Is it any wonder cabin fever has set in? At least when summer comes around, I can relax in the backyard swing with a cold iced tea and watch the grass grow.

That is, unless the sun burns it all away.

E.T. Phone Home... Now!

It's official... I've become an alien on my own planet.

It's no surprise, really. The Bible says we are aliens and strangers in this world. I just didn't think that the truth of it all would hit me as hard as it did this morning. As I was getting ready for work, I watched in disgust as the Today Show promoted the newest hot song among young people, called "F--- You." Yes, they promoted it. There's a stark difference between reporting and outright promotion. The so-called singer of this monster hit said he allows his ten-year old to listen to the song, but he's not allowed to say the word. Please spare me. If it's not okay for the kid, why is it okay for Dad? There's no shame there. What a double standard.

I don't understand a world that promotes and celebrates that kind of garbage. I don't understand a world that thinks the Faith Hill Superbowl commercial was even remotely funny. I don't understand why it's offensive to air a commercial that might cause someone to open a Bible and hear a truth. I just don't understand the world I live in anymore. Sure, some back in the 1950's were offended by the music of Elvis. I get that. But there's a stark difference between Elvis Presley singing, "I Love You, I Need You, I Want You," and Kid Rock or Eminem giving us the disgusting details.

I guess that's why John wrote, "We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one" (I John 5:19). I, for one need that assurance that God is still in control, and He will still have the final word.

And I won't be ashamed to listen to it.

Time Passages

I once asked a co-worker how long it would take before I'm no longer considered a "Flatlander." That's the nickname those of us who live in northern Michigan tag on the thousands of tourists who invade God's country on the weekends. She said that in order to be a true northerner, you have to live up here as long as you lived down there.

Phooey. I'm calling it good right now. Next month marks exactly 20 years since my wife and I took a giant leap of faith and left southeast Michigan for the great northeast. I think I can safely say I've made my mark on my new home. Better yet, northern Michigan has made its mark on me. Yeah, it's been an interesting ride. Twenty years ago, I began a news department at a small, 3,000 watt radio station in the middle of nowhere, and within two years won "Station of the Year" from the Associated Press. Our son was born here. I played Santa Claus in the downtown Christmas Parade for ten years running, until I turned my life around and lost 135 pounds. As part of a great morning radio team, we raised money for fireworks, cancer prevention, and local little league teams. I served four years on the local school board, two of them as Vice-President. I tutored underprivileged kids, served several years on the local Arts Council, joined the Optimists Club and taught 4-H. I was part of the broadcast team that called the game as our local football team won its first state championship at the Pontiac Silverdome. My wife and I were privileged to be invited by our State Representative to sit on the House floor during Governor Engler's final State of the State address. I've mentored young people as a job coach and later as a Youth Pastor. I called it quits on my radio career after 25 years and began serving God after graduating from Bible School. When God called us to take an even bigger leap of faith and help to rescue a failing church, we found the true calling; the reason He ordained us to be here in the first place. Next week, my wife will be honored as our fellowship's "2011 Michigan Sunday School Teacher of the Year." What a ride. I'm not bragging... we've been blessed. Very blessed.

I shudder to think of the people we never would have met, the adventures we never would have had if we hadn't made that decision two decades ago to pack up and move. Sure, part of my heart will always be back downstate. That's natural. I grew up there. But the truth is, I matured up here.

In the months after we first moved, I would roll down my window while swerving to avoid deer and yell loudly at the passing motorists heading back downstate on Sunday afternoons, "Enjoy the ride. I get to stay here!" I'm more convinced than ever it's for good. I love the north country.

I'm home.

It's a Blizzaster!

It's days like this that I am especially glad I gave up on my radio career. Normally, I would have been in my driveway digging out at 4 a.m. from the foot-high drifts in order to drive like a maniac through the snow to tell people they need to stay off the roads. Never mind the constant ringing of the telephone from parents and kids calling in to find out if they have school at the same time I'm on the air reading the school closings.

But as I watched news coverage of the "Blizzard of Twenty Eleven" this morning, I was more than just amused at the coverage. I was appalled, even embarrassed by the sheer idiocy of the reporting. Here are just a few examples:

Reporter: "It's a blizzaster!"

Reporter: "AAA says that everyone should stay off the roads today." 15 seconds later, the camera cut to a shot of the same reporter driving down the road with someone from AAA in the passenger seat describing how bad the roads are.

Reporter to driver: "How's the roads?"
Driver to reporter: "Slippery"
Reporter: "There you have it!"

Reporter to caller: We have a Mrs. Bugg on the phone, who tried to get out this morning. Mrs. Bugg, are you there? Mrs. Bugg? (Silence) Well, Mrs. Bugg was telling me earlier that she got stuck. If Mrs. Bugg is staying home, you should too.

And my personal favorite of the day (I swear this is true). Posted as a crawl along the bottom of the screen: "This just in to the newsroom: roads are slippery!"