Here in Ohio we have trash stalkers, at least that is what I call them. Trash stalkers are people who spend their evenings/nights stealthily cruising through neighborhoods on the eve of trash day in hopes of finding treasure in someone else’s curbside junk. On more than one occasion, I have personally spoken to one of these stalkers because there must be an unwritten rule that if they get caught digging through your trash, they must ask for permission to assume ownership of it. They typically say something like, “Is it okay with you if I take this?” Since I have an insatiable desire for sarcasm, I am tempted to respond by saying, “No you can’t. That tricycle with only one wheel is going to be used for a lawn ornament.” In reality though, I usually panic when they stop at my house thinking that I possibly chucked something of unrecognizable value or maybe the mirror I am tossing out contains an original copy of the Declaration of Independence behind the glass. I really do not want to end up in national headlines as the idiot who threw away thousands of dollars in his trash because he was blind to an item’s true value.

After spending more than a decade investing in the lives of others, I’m convinced that many people are guilty of throwing away things which they no longer view as valuable, even though it still holds great value; although, I do realize that some repair may be needed to restore full value to certain things. Most of the time, something which was once valuable only became trash because of improper care.

When my wife made an appointment for me at the doctor, I just pictured a brief visit which would end with me receiving a prescription for some medication. Since last Friday I have felt a little under the weather so I decided that it was time for me to get checked out, especially when I considered that I’d be traveling out of the country next week. Upon my doctor’s arrival in the room he did all the regular actions such as look in my ears and throat as well as ask me questions about my symptoms. After the examination was complete he gave me the verdict – some kind of a sinus infection. “No problem,” I thought. “Just give me the meds and I’ll be on my way.” Then without warning I heard him use the word “shot.” The rest of his instructions got lost following the ultimate doctor curse word. Even the mention of a needle sends cold chills throughout my body.

After my doctor left the room, a nurse appeared in the doorway with what I swear was the world’s longest and pointiest needle. I had already taken my jacket off to give her quick access to my arm because I believed this would expedite the process. “Which hip do you want it in?” she asked with a smile on her face. “Excuse me,” I thought in my mind. Did she just say “in the hip”? I cautiously stood to my feet but she must have noticed the apprehension in my eyes so she said, “This one doesn’t hurt.” Yeah, right! Anytime sharp objects are punched into someone’s skin it hurts! I don’t care what they told you in nursing school! Oh, and by the way, that wasn’t my hip because my parents didn’t spank my hip! I went to the doctor expecting to get help, not to be put through more agony.

When a person seeks help, that individual doesn’t expect to experience pain in the process; however, the destination of healing is often traveled by way of the path of pain.

When I was young, I loved building tunnels and forts in the living room of my house. Typically, I would attach cardboard boxes together (end to end) along with some tables and chairs with blankets draped over them. After creating this monstrosity, my two brothers and I would spend hours crawling through our carefully constructed tunnels and hiding out in our impenetrable fort…or so we thought it was impenetrable. When I arrived home from work yesterday, my two children had built one of these huge forts in the middle of our living room using the kitchen table, an end table, sheets from their bed, and pillows from our couch. All night they peeked in and out of the fort taking pride in the security and sense of protection the bed sheet walls provided. I remember those days. Life was easy, carefree, and lived without fear, except for the monsters under my bed.

I’m not sure where the shift occurred in my own life, but at some point the simple things formerly providing security and a sense of protection were forgotten and lost with each passing day. Instead of feeling safe, I often feel vulnerable. Rather than feeling protected, I feel exposed. Ever been in that place before? These words are for you…the vulnerable, the exposed, and the insecure.

God is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, Even though the earth be removed, And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though its waters roar and be troubled, Though the mountains shake with its swelling (Psalm 46:1-3).

I’ve had several conversations with people this week who are hurting. As a pastor, I’m constantly hearing stories of people who are experiencing health problems, marital problems, financial problems, parenting problems, addiction problems, and all kinds of other problems. From time to time, I am able to offer a comforting word to those who are broken because I’m familiar with the circumstance, but more often than not, I have nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m supposed to say things such as “I’ll pray for you” or “God knows what you are going through” but I always feel like I should have more answers for the individual; after all, aren’t those who represent God privy to His ways?

If I am honest, hearing about some of the trials people are experiencing creates questions in my mind also. Why would God allow this person to die? Why would God permit this to happen in a person’s marriage? Why didn’t God put a stop to this atrocity before it happened? You see, Pastors are human beings too. We struggle with the same questions and doubts as you do. Please don’t misunderstand what I am saying. I don’t doubt God. I just don’t always understand His ways.

Previous Posts:
Why I’m Against Killing Ants
One Pastor’s Struggle
A Not So Friendly Encounter

I cried. I admit that it’s been a while since I’ve let the tears flow, but I just could not hold them back. What was it that caused this grown man cry? Kris Allen winning American Idol provoked emotions in me which I had not felt in some time. Before I continue, I know what you’re thinking…what a wimp! Yeah, you’re right. I would be a wimp, but I am lying. I didn’t cry when Kris Allen won American Idol, but I did shed a few tears when I was in the shower the other day and shampoo got in my eyes. I’m not even sure how it occurred, considering I wash my hair every day, but I must have haphazardly slapped the shampoo on my hair causing it to seep into my eyes. Oh my word! I forgot how much it hurts to get that stuff in your eyes. For a brief second I thought about rushing to the emergency care center near our house so they could flush my eyes out with something, anything…but I figured they would just laugh at my expense. For the rest of the day my eyes were stinging and watering, but the irritation eventually subsided. Who in the world invented such potent shampoo and shouldn’t there be a massive warning label plastered on the front saying, “WARNING: May Burn Eyes Out of Head!”?

A little later in the day I remembered an incident last year when we had run out of the “tear free” shampoo for the kids and I had to make them use “big boy and big girl” shampoo. I thought my presentation about the shampoo being something big kids would use would convince them to use it. I was right. Inevitably, they both got shampoo in their eyes and made a big drama out of it. I remember saying to each of them, “It doesn’t hurt that bad. Quit being a baby!”

I find it very easy to judge someone whenever I haven’t experienced what they’re experiencing or when I’ve forgotten how it feels to be in their predicament. Saying things such as, “Forget about it” or “Get over it” or “Just move on” or “You’re acting immature” are unfair statements, especially when you haven’t attempted to identify with their feelings. A good rule to remember is this: If you can empathize (know by experience), share your story; if you can only sympathize (know by knowledge), keep your mouth shut and just listen.

What was I writing one year ago? Click here to read an old-school post.

Or, see what you’ve missed this week.
Monday – No Hamster Dance for Us!
Tuesday – The Intruder in Our House

I was in a staff meeting at the church when we received an emergency phone call. On the line was the wife of one of our pastors. She was explaining that an airplane had crashed into the side of one of the twin towers in New York City. As she was trying to make sense of what had happened, another plane slammed into the other tower. We listened as she told us what she was hearing from the news reporters – we are under attack. Our entire leadership staff rushed to a television only to be horrified by the repeated replays of both airplanes crashing into the buildings and just a few minutes later as both towers came crashing to the ground. Over the next few days I stayed glued to the news to find out all the details of what had happened. During the countless hours of television viewing I listened to stories of people and discovered the selfless acts of heroism in everyday citizens. It is hard to believe that was seven years ago. Today I pulled up some old news coverage on YouTube and relived the emotions of what I felt that day. Images of innocent people jumping from the burning buildings and falling to their death are something I cannot seem to erase from my mind. I was scared, angry, and fearful of what the future held. In the days and months following these horrific attacks, our nation came together as I have never seen in my lifetime. Everyone seemed like they cared about their neighbor and the person across the street. For the first time in my life, the well-being of others was so much more important than me. I miss those days. It is kind of weird how tragedy brings us together, but then time begins to pull us apart…shame on me for forgetting.