Tag: remember

OFFICIALLY LAUNCHED! “Dog in the Gap” book

the Wait is Over!

You can  buy the book! (and it’s cheap too)

Here’s the BONUS EDITION (It contains TWICE the awesomeness. For Super fans or underdogs only!)

Doug and I thank you.

Please remember that purchases will also benefit 2 non-profit organizations that care for dogs in need.

Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. If you are reading this, you’ll be able to read the book too. Download the Kindle App for free here. http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?ie=UTF8&docId=1000493771

 

BONUS EDITION

Or learn more at the splash page where you can read reviews and get the…um scoop. (Not THAT kind of scoop)

Reduce Me to Love: Jesus scrubs feet

Servant Leadership!

I’ve snagged another bit of classroom notes from my esteemed professor Dr Tim Valentino.

How about this for leadership studies!
(more on the program here)

It was simply too good to not share. Tim’s blog is here, if you’d like to read more from Tim. (You’ll enjoy that too!)

 

cropped-Washing-Feet1.jpg

 Enter Tim:

“So he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” (John 13:4-5)

 

A powerful picture of authentic, servant leadership, which we considered last week.

 

But why does Jesus do such a humble, menial task? I think we have a hint in Luke’s account of the same event. In Luke 22 we learn that the Twelve come to this dinner arguing about who’s the greatest among them. It’s not the first time they’ve had this quarrel, but they sense that something big is going to happen this weekend, so the debate is re-opened.

 

“The kingdom of God is going to come,” they reason, “and Jesus is going to be the king. But who’s going to be his co-regent? Who’s going to be his secretary of state?” They argue about it. James and John had their mother weigh in on the matter months ago. Remember Salome? “Lord, grant that my sons will get to sit at your right and left in the kingdom.”

 

John says, “Hey, why not? I am, after all, the disciple whom Jesus loves.” Peter fumes and says, “Hold on, dude, who do you think Jesus gave the keys of the kingdom to? Me! Remember?” (O.k., that’s a paraphrase, but use your sanctified imagination to re-create the tussle!)

 

These guys aren’t wearing halos yet, and they’re certainly not ready for the stain-glass window. They fight, they argue, and they pick at each other. They can be carnal and fleshly like anybody else. And here in the upper room there’s real tension. But Jesus doesn’t scold them. He redirects them.

 

  • You want to be great in my kingdom? Then you have to serve.
  • You want to be first? Then you have to be last.
  • You want to be highest? Then you have to be lowest.
  • You want to be the most? Then you have to be the least.

 

And while they’re sitting there at that sacred feast, arguing about who’s the greatest, Jesus shows them what true greatness and true leadership look like.

 

In those days people wore open sandals—much like our flip flops. They didn’t wear socks. Most of the roads were not paved, so they walked on the hot dirt roads under the blazing Mideast sun—roads used by people and animals. Their feet would become hot, sweaty, sore, and covered in mud—maybe even animal dung, too.

 

Most people in our culture—even with a daily shower and “Fast-Actin’ Tinactin”— have nasty feet. The last thing anybody wants to do is clean somebody else’s. That was even truer in the first century.

 

At the low, U-shaped table where Jesus’ disciples recline, there are 24 dirty feet pin-wheeling out from the center—each one revealing a self-centered heart. (It’s not just their feet that are soiled.) Jesus takes off his outer garment. Bare-chested now, he wraps himself with a towel, just as a slave would do. And, grabbing the water jug and basin over by the door, God-in-human-flesh kneels down, takes the feet of the men he created, and begins to scrub them. He takes the dirt and dung off the feet of his own creatures.

 

Some kingdom.

 

Even Judas gets his feet washed—which is way over the top, don’t you think? If you knew that tonight was your last night, that tomorrow you were going to be executed, and that the guy setting it all up was in your cohort, would you have asked him to come over for dinner tonight? Would you have loved him, fed him, treated him with dignity, and then washed his crummy feet?

 

It’s hard to put ourselves into that scene. It’s one thing to be kind to our friends, but to be kind to our enemies—now, that’s a whole other level of kindness! How many of us would have poured the water over Judas’ head, and then whacked him in the face with the basin? (Thank God I’m not Jesus!)

 

But why does Jesus do it? Is Judas ever going to change? Is he ever going to repent? Is he ever going to love God in return? No! So why wash his feet? It’s not going to make a bit of difference. Pragmatically speaking, it’s not going to “work.”

 

So why do it? Jesus washes Judas’ feet because that’s what God is like.

 

God is slow to anger, abounding in love. God is patient and kind. God is scandalous in grace. And so is his Son, who has come to reveal the Father. So there in that upper room, Jesus washes the feet of the one who will betray him tonight, and arrange for his murder tomorrow.

 

It’s as if Jesus is saying, “I’m not scrubbing Judas’ feet for Judas; I’m scrubbing Judas’ feet for my Father. Judas may never appreciate this, but my Father does. Judas may never deserve this, but my Father does. I do this not because it will be successful or get noticed. I do this not because it will be a good investment of my time, energy, and emotions. I do this because God does feet. I do this because I lead by serving. I do this because I lead by loving.”

 

That’s the kingdom. And that’s our king. Amazing.

 

What can I do in response to such a scene but pray, “Jesus, reduce me to love.”

Protected: Discernment Series: Fasting, Lent, and Discernment, part II

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Protected: Discernment Series: Techniques & Traps

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SHOCK & BAWL: A Tale of Jeep Rage

Boston I-93 Tunnel

Creative Commons License Rene Schwietzke via Compfight

Somedays you need to read uplifting or humorous posts to soothe yourself. I GET THAT. Friday seems two weeks away. You and I both know that sometimes we must find a way to laugh so we don’t freak out on someone, or weep uncontrollably into our Dunkin’ Donuts napkin.

This is probably not going to do that for you. But, you can read it, and shoot up a quick prayer thanking God that you aren’t my spouse. So, that’s a pick-me-up. You’re welcome.

True Story:

Once I made a horrible driving error. I’m pretty sure it was the one and only time, but I completely cut someone off on the Interstate.

So, I swing into the passing lane and make a guy in a jeep brake and swerve. Panicked, and intolerably stupid, I flee the scene…by intricately weaving through traffic, no less. Maybe if I’m out of sight I can be out of mind too, I think. No, it’s actually more of a pure flight-or-fight response. I was about 7 year old at the time, and my frontal lobe was under-developed. 

Indeed, it’s all a crescendoing avalanche of foolishness. Incited, a second motorist blows his horn and starts to tail me in a move of solidarity against vehicular injustice. Things are getting totally nuts. No doubt he’s readying a tall finger for my witness. My NASCAR lane changing moves soon best him, or maybe he realizes a highway fatality is too high a price just to send a hackneyed message.

As I flee I see the victim in my mirror. He’s frothing and out of his mind with rage. He’s waving limbs around in wild fury, gassing it. He’s in hot pursuit. It’s a Jeep thing, maybe.

Now, I’m terrified. I taste the bile in my mouth.

My heart pounding, I realize this all could end very poorly. And soon.

That blaze of glory stuff is an awesome idea until you start thinking about the minutia of funeral arrangements, or wreckage in general. Yes. The poor man swerved to avoid a smash style killing of both of us. It could have been a horrid pileup too. We truly had eluded death by narrow margins. 14 guardian angels later file grievances. 3 others walk off the job immediately in complete frustration.

Jeep guy was quite good at swerving, actually, and keeps up the swerving through interstate congestion to reach me. Maybe for seconds. Maybe for kilometers. Things are getting weird. A few truckers start honking, to support me, I assume. (They probably notice my professional driving acumen. What 7 year old can draft and weave with such precision? I’m a prodigy. Surely they recognize that. It’s a rush to have their approval. They’re pros after all and they know motoring prowess when they see it.)

At this point I realize Mr Jeep guy is going to try to pull some kind of payback stunt. He’s all in.

Battle of the Stupid Driving Stunts is the theme of the afternoon, but who can blame him? At this point, he’s jacked up pretty good. I’m in a subcompact. How bad will this get? Does he have a gun? Or, will he keep it simple and just run me off the road with a triumphant fist pump? Will I be late for Girl Scouts?

How is this going to end?

I do some quick thinking. Finally. Thoughts not just reactions. I mentally pat myself on the back as my synapses fire two or maybe three times…in a row with no problems!

Actually, I stopped breathing for 8 minutes.

They say necessity is the mother of invention, right? Well, it is. I am inventing a solution with  an unfettered brain buzz that comes just before you die or you nearly die. I’ve scene this in the movies: It’s always in slow motion.

I do the only thing I think will hit the reset button. (Yes. I know there’s no real reset button. Curse you, Staples! Or Vanilla Sky…)

I decide on the element of SURPRISE!

Of course, I had just surprised him quite a bit a moment earlier by nearly snuffing out his life. “Surprise, dude!”

Yet, this is precisely why he will never see a second surprise coming. Really, I had him right were I wanted him.

(If only the roaring terror in my brain had let me enjoy that precious moment. Alas, no. Not at all.)

I enact my own creative SEAL 6 black ops tactic I now call:

Operation Boo-hoo.

It’s go time!

I burst into tears.

I cry.

Sob, really.
Or, I pretend to.

Who has the time to form actual tears at such a high rate of speed and in heavy traffic–before they’re about to be murdered in an act of heedless revenge? Me neither.

Armed with a fistful of tissues I wipe my eyes and feign bawling. A lot. He approaches in haste (of course, because he’s ready to kill me).

From me: Zero eye contact. (Like he’s not even there. A genius move. Remember that for later in your own travels.)

Peripherally, I see him. He edges up to my blind spot. Hovering. Ready to pounce.

He’s poised. He peers. He notices me. He witnesses total hysteria. …and then…mercifully… eases off. (Perhaps I turned out to be a 3 gallon bucket of mess and he only has a 2 gallon bucket that day.)

Yes, I counted on his attitude changing once he thought something else was going on with me. Something mental. Something suicidal or wickedly moronic–barely thwarted by his quick reflexes.

Or, just something too crazy to understand.

Shock and bawl.

I was going for, “Wha….?” 
Is it Grief? remorse? madness? sorrow? a lost puppy? What. is. the. deal?
Whatever…let me just say it worked. Perfectly.

Later, I rewarded myself with a new box of Kleenex…with aloe.
I’m not sure why I wasn’t armed with aloe tissues in the first place. But, never again.
Because that would be crazy.

If that was you in the Jeep, thanks.

I wasn’t paying attention and I didn’t see you. We both avoided certain doom.

P.S. (I might have not been 7 years old at the time.)