Last Friday 17-year-old Sarah Hammering died in a church bus accident in Atlanta, GA. on her way to a mission trip. As I watched the video clip of her mother Karen read Sarah’s journal for reporters, I was tremendously moved. … Continue reading
In April when my girl-mom friend Lisa told me the graduation announcements had been delivered, I got that boy-mom gut-panic feelin’ again. Considering the fact that one has to possess the translation skills of a CIA operative to decode snippets … Continue reading
Originally posted on CBFblog:
April 13, 2017 By Jeff Huett and Aaron Weaver Marv Knox DECATUR, Ga. – A preeminent Baptist journalist and thought leader in Texas who has covered the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship from its inception will join the…
Fifteen years ago today my father passed away. He was irrefutable evidence of the axiom that the nicest people in the world get cancer. Per his request, after he died, he was cremated. Now his soul is in Heaven while … Continue reading
Right behind abdominal cramps and losing a six-pound bass inches from the boat come photo shoots on Jack’s list of beat-downs. Despite his disdain for taking pictures at least he smiles on que now. Nice to have gotten past the “stare in the opposite direction of everyone in the picture” phase. He would be bodily present in the picture but made you regret forcing the issue.
Jack has made significant strides in modeling. I gotta give him his due. But after 2 hours of Senior pictures we look up and notice Jack is striking the mother of all Harlequinn Romance Novel Cover poses. Pearl snap buttons unsnapped and face seriously funny. There is something so primal about humor. It is the language of choice in our family and Jack is a master linguist at it.
Here’s to the class of 2017. How entertained we are by our Senior.
So many of you have asked about just how I managed to become a wood shop cliché, I felt the need to clear the sawdust and explain the tale of the table saw. For starters, some have suggested that I … Continue reading
“Ascesis then is awakening from the sleepwalking of daily life. It enables The Word to clear the silt away in the depth of the soul, freeing the spring of living waters. The Word can restore to its original brightness the tarnished image of God in us, the silver coin that has rolled in the dust, but remains stamped with the king’s likeness (Luke 15: 8-10). It is the Word who acts, but we have to cooperate with him, not so much by exertion of willpower as by loving attentiveness” – Oliver Clement
It’s time to rise,
With strongest will,
And resolve to be,
We need not conjure,
It takes the empty,
To house The Great.
“The definition of insanity is posting the same opinions over and over again on social media and expecting a different result.” -jh
There’s a better way through these choppy waters than the anonymous slacktivism which is social media. Facebook, Twitter and Instagram are the grown-up (yet infantile) reincarnations of the Slam Books which were circulated at Fondren Middle School in the 80’s. In the crisp blue-lined 3-hole-punched kingdom, anything went; cloaked in anonymity, any hateful thought or demeaning comment one had, one felt free to let fly.
The unspoken observations of the masses became clear to the unsuspecting individuals through this medium. The profuseless perspirers from gym and the innocent 7th grader who got blamed for slamming the science door on Mr. Bloxom’s pointer finger and de-digitizing him became aware of their sub-humanness this way. We clothed ourselves in starched polos and ribbon belts but what terrible judgements lurked just beneath the surface. These took voice in the hidden world of slam books.
I know it sounds incredulous now since we are all grown up but in Middle School we only wanted to surround ourselves with people exactly like us. Then again we were mired in insecurity and had not established our identities on anything other than who our parents were and how hot our boy / girlfriend was. We were so silly. The substance of our character was no where nearly as vital as which jeans we wore or how perfectly our wings could be swooped back with our enormous combs.
The king of the hill in middle school was the one with the sharpest come backs, ” Oooh, burn! ” would echo down the hall as we all clamored to hear the insult. And the offended? Usually laughter followed by a wince of pain or a threat of retaliation. Public humiliation of others was a commodity and if one was gifted in that art, friends and fans followed. The most popular kids were the ones with the greatest gifts of verbal insult.
But enough about the 7th grade, let’s talk about our country. I am so refreshed when I venture onto social media and see respectful dissent and peaceful disagreement about our nation. What matters most to us seems to be one another and not our iron-clad opinions which people either completely agree with or are idiots. Nice that there is that lush grassland of humility where other’s differing opinions do not bring hatred like a virus which we may catch if our ears civilly listen to an entire thought which fails to match up with our own.
Aren’t you so thankful when you consider how far we have come since middle school?
Olinda is a mother, grandmother and spiritual giant. Like so often when humble people just keep moving in faith through brutal storms and arrive safely on the other side, one would never know the entirety of their struggle. That is where the power of story comes in. I love the map of hope which God reveals through the stories of other people. It awakens empathy for the individual but more than that a holy confidence in God.
New Orleans was Olinda’s birthplace. She had few resources, many siblings, a parent with a quick temper and a neighbor who brought her to church. She grew up, worked, married and began a family. She kept the faith and instilled love for God and others to her children. One day, her adult son was tragically killed at an ATM machine in The Big Easy. A few years later her daughter died. Just days after losing her daughter, Hurricane Katrina wiped out her neighborhood. She lost everything. In the profound devastation of the flood, she never even had a memorial service for Arneker Denise.
John interviewed Olinda and one Sunday played the video for our congregation. He is doing his Doctoral Thesis on the power of story within faith communities. That morning as The transplant’s account unfolded, the tears flowed. Not from the teller so much but rather from those of us hearing this for the first time. As if reading from a script, she recounted matter-of-factly the major events of her life. The compounded loss was just unthinkable to me. We remained quiet as the video came to completion. A holy hush of surreality descended upon the chapel. Against all odds and in the face of grief of Biblical proportion, Olinda still loved God. I was completely astounded.
When The Spirit moves, amazing things happen. Ralph, an Elder in our church, was touched by Olinda’s story and approached John about having a long-awaited memorial service for Arneker Denise. What a brilliant idea. That service is happening tonight. This evening we honor someone most of us never knew who died more than a decade ago in a city at the opposite end of our state. We memorialize this child and stand amazed at her mother whose story has impacted us all. She is a flesh and bone example that God can enable a soul to enlarge when all circumstances would dictate it shrivel and disappear. That’s faith. That’s love. That’s one amazing story.
Christmas Day is over. Praise Santa. My fun, fabulous Fall culminated in a Birthday trip to New York and a Church Open House 2 days after our return. Everything looks like a Saks Fifth Avenue Window in my imagination when … Continue reading