Lately it seems as if Karen and I are just on the run all the time. We move kids from here to there, between my meetings and her meetings, and throw in practices on top of all of that. It becomes easy to see that we spend a lot of time in the car.
We are first-time football parents. At ten years old, my son is now playing the most popular sport in Centerville, Ohio, and from all accounts he is doing well. He loves it. He loves his teammates, he loves hitting, he loves the speed of the game.
It was just over a week ago that five churches came together at Riverscape Metropark to worship for unity and to supply backpacks for students returning to school throughout the Miami Valley.I wrote in my last blog that I was expecting a miracle, and truthfully I was. I was expecting so many people and so many backpacks that it would be standing room only. I stood around on that muggy Sunday evening and I began to watch the people come in. People from all over the Miami Valley shuffled underneath the pavilion anxiously awaiting our worship to begin. I stood there and watched, and then something crazy happened: people stopped coming.
This Sunday evening at Riverscape Metropark, I’m expecting a miracle. Have you ever done that before? Have you ever been a part of something that feels so amazing that the only way to describe the event is miraculous?
Those words might be some of the scariest in the English language. I’m not sure anything can upset the delicate balance of nature quite like changing service times. For some it feels like an earthquake, for others it is a declaration of war. Changing service times is a difficult task even for the most seasoned churchgoer.
I have been a baseball fan for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, there was nothing more meaningful to me than watching, talking, or playing baseball with my dad. One year we even went on an epic road trip, and the climax of that trip was watching the Reds (my favorite team) versus the Cubs at legendary Wrigley Field.
I have been grieving a lot lately. People dying always hurt my heart, and when it seems so tragic it hurts even more. I’ve also been grieving the reaction of so many people passionately defending their positions.
In our last blog we talked about the idea of when to inform the masses. (You can read about it here). In that blog, we didn’t let our kids know that there was a tornado warning till the next morning after the entire event was over. Interestingly enough, when I did tell them their response was, “So what?” The entire incident led me to a place of wondering: When should we be informing the masses, and when should we be waiting?
Recently, the area where we live endured some pretty serious storms. It was straight-line winds, fierce lighting, and thunder that made the whole house shake. Karen and I were immediately awakened by the noise and in minutes we were watching the storm unfold. In that moment, we learned that there was a tornado warning for the area immediately to the south of us, and the powers that be advised that we seek cover. I happened to be watching the radar at the moment of the notification and I couldn’t see the need for cover. I kept watching, and then Karen & I wrestled with the big question: Should we wake the kids?
My wife recently sent me this picture of my oldest son. The string represents his height at the beginning of the school year. Needless to say, he has grown three and half inches in nine months!