Category: Family

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Family Ties: Somewhere Between “Too Much” & “Not Enough”

Families shape individual identity, provide a safe and secure environment for growth, and help nurture faith. Unfortunately, families can also disfigure an individual’s identity through a distorted reality by exposing members to dangerous environments which destroy faith. Where the family is supposed to be a haven, sometimes the best and safest move is step away from that family. Saul’s son, Jonathan, pivoted away from his family and by doing so, stepped into righteousness.

The first King of Israel was Saul, and his son, Jonathan, was heir to the throne. This man was gifted, godly and full of goodness. We remember Jonathan for two events that defined his character. First, he was loyal to David, defending his honor even before his father (1 Sam. 20:32-34). Not only was he willing to protect David, but he was just as free to sacrifice his future spot on the throne to serve under David’s rule (1 Sam. 23:17). Secondly, Jonathan ate honey against his father’s commands (1 Sam.  14:24-30). Not only had Jonathan violated the king’s edict, but he called out his father’s own foolishness for the imposed mandate (1 Sam. 14:29-30).

Jonathan demonstrated an ability to differentiate himself from his family or his father, exercising a skill many people lack.

Psychologists tell us that most family dynamics hold the extremes. On one side families are enmeshed with each other by living in the “too much.” The unit is so tightly woven that individuals lose their own identity to the larger family. No one is allowed to make their own decisions or to speak with their own voice. If a child is sick, then everyone has to be present for support. Your business is everyone’s business.

On the other side families are disengaged with each other by living in the “not enough.” They don’t have enough time for each other. Long dry spells where members fail to speak to each other occur. When they do speak, it quickly escalates into shouting matches. Decisions are made without consideration for the larger family. If someone in the family unit is sick, no one else will know about it. And even if people did know, they don’t care about the family enough to show concern. Everyone is on their own.

Somewhere in the middle, between this “too much” and “not enough,” is the person and/or family that is able to differentiate between enmeshment and disengagement. They fit into the family unit without sacrificing their individual identity. They understand their place in the family without infringing on their own vision and dreams for themselves. As time changes and people mature, so is the willingness to allow roles in the family to grow and develop as well.

While it’s nearly impossible to impose psychology on people or families in the Bible – we usually don’t have enough information – it’s clear that Jonathan was anything but enmeshed with his father. He was able to separate himself from the paternal negative influence, while seemingly able to maintain a healthy relationship with him. While he never burned his bridges to Saul, he never blindly followed because he was the King or his father. Where he needed to, he challenged his father in his motive with David or in endangering the men around him in battle.

Jonathan models something for us in our families and in our church families. Healthy relationships means we can lean on each other and know that we have the physical, emotional and spiritual support needed to survive a difficult world. We also have the confidence to be ourselves by choosing what is right.

Most families and church families struggle to reach that balance. A lack of trust leads to control issues, rule-making and discouraging any form of free thinking because it’s viewed as a threat. Or in the other extreme boundaries are violated on a regular basis so as no one is emotionally invested in anyone anymore. Neither places are healthy for families or for church families.

Maybe we should take our cues from God and Jesus. Look at the relationship between the two and the freedom with the connection they held together. Then look at the way they related to humanity. They care enough to call and chase after humanity, even pleading for us to come back them. But they never use guilt, coercion or manipulation to dictate the relationship. They always allowed free choice to drive the relationship. Always. It’s harder. It’s messier. But it lies somewhere between “too much” and “not enough.”

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Parenting from the Pew

Watching your children sleeping, seeing their faces light up when they open Christmas presents, and being the recipient of their unconditional love only touches the hem of joy a parent experiences. Cleaning up after a sick child, teaching them boundaries and correcting behavior tends to elevate the stress and the blood pressure in a parent’s life. Where we’d like to say that church attendance falls under the first category, the truth is it manages to fall under the latter category. 

The worship service promises an uplifting experience; the saved are gathered, they commune at the Supper, songs fill the building with hope, and friends call each other “brother” and “sister.” Still, we rarely check our problems and struggles at the door. The burdens from the work-week are carried over into church. The loved one is still sick. COVID hovers over everything like a black cloud. The family arguments do not magically dissolve in the parking-lot. And children will challenge parental authority, even at church (e.g., try explaining to a two or three-year-old why they cannot have the “cracker” mommy and daddy are eating). Thus, the promise of an uplifting experience often dissipates into a frustrating, painful hour. 

All of us as parents have experienced such frustrations. They seem to begin before leaving home as we try to feed, dress, and get the children ready for church; no doubt, the new outfit will have a spill on it before walking out the door. The worship hour seems ill-spent as the time is consumed keeping the children silent, still, and satisfied. Walking through the church doors is often filled with discouraging thoughts, wondering what was accomplished. And who experiences a meaningful time at the Lord’s Supper while trying to keep the children calm and subdued? 

Sometimes we need to be reminded of the good we’re doing as parents. Perspective can help us view the situation differently or at least positively. But offering advice is like the young minister without children preaching a sermon entitled The 10 Commandments for Parenting. When he and his wife started a family, he changed the sermon to The 10 Suggestions for Parenting. And when his children reached the teenage years, he threw the sermon into the trash. Raising children is hard work with plenty of setbacks. With no manual in hand, easy answers do not exist.

Find peace in God’s grace. Few children will be the twelve year-old Jesus lost in Jerusalem only to be found at the temple. Actually most will push for their own identity while pressing the boundaries parents have set. It’s normal. Remember, if God were the “parent” for Adam and Eve, even he struggled to keep his “children” in line. So we continue shaping and molding their character by pointing them to Jesus.

Connect the dots between church and home. What happens at church needs further teaching, discussion and reinforcement at home. Both what they studied in Bible class and what the preacher talked about in the sermon are easy points of spiritual engagement, even for children. Parents and children praying together with reading or sharing a Bible story creates a spiritual bond. Frame life’s teaching moments as living for God, much like in Deuteronomy 6:7-9. Possibly the two worst approaches are parents saying nothing about God or church in the home, and the parents who say disparaging words in front of the children about church. Both are spiritual killers.

Children spot the hypocrisy. It doesn’t take long for them to see how much or how little Christ means to their parents. A child was once sitting next to his father during the sermon, having an epiphany, turned to him and said, “Hey Dad! He’s talking about you.” All parents have that moment. The child spots the inconsistency and innocently draws attention to the parents’ flaw. The real question is, what happens next?

“People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.’’ (Mk. 10:13-14)

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Come Back Home

Come Back Home where your feelings are sheltered and secure. A place where danger is kept at arm’s length and safety is maintained for the freedom to express yourself and to be yourself. A place where you belong.

Come Back Home where the food always tastes better than a Martha Stewart meal. A place where the fellowship is always sweeter than an apple pie. A place where fond memories feel like they are relived all over again, just as new ones are being created.

Come Back Home where the void in one’s life is filled by kinfolk and comrades. A place where the line between family and friends is blurred, and that’s a good thing. A place where the water of baptism is thicker than the blood running through our veins. A place where scars and wounds begin to heal. A place where belonging is a piece to the puzzle so that the individual helps create the entire picture.

Come Back Home where home feels right because home is right. A place where your lounging chair is ready for your return, and your bed is made, and your place at the table is always left empty for you to fill.

Come Back Home where the Father’s heart is longing to be mended from the harsh words spoken as his son left the house. A place where he stands at the door, waiting and gazing into the horizon for a hopeful glimpse of his son’s return.

Come Back Home where the prodigal realizes that life away from the “confines” of home is really the liberty to live. A place where the Father not only, no longer holds the past against the son, but is also willing to accept the shame and humiliation his son has brought upon the family name to have his son with him in his presence. A place where the fattened calf is prepared and where robes and rings are fitted once again. A place where the son is willing to be a servant to earn his father’s forgiveness, only for the father to reiterate the role of “son-ship.”

Come Back Home where the “dutiful” son has forgotten his duty. A place where the Father risks more humiliation to plead for his son to join the party. A place where reconciliation is sought as his “prodigal” son is also the “dutiful” son’s brother.

Come Back Home where truth is found in a world filled with lies. A place where negative messaging that turns to despair is replaced by messages underscoring hope. A place where God continues to shape our character and strengthen our faith. A place where God’s Word reorients our lives to true North.

Come Back Home because we’re not just saved from hell, we’re saved for heaven. A place where the waters of baptism not only douse the devil’s flames, but purifies the sickness of sin’s stain. A place where we not only experience the victory of being ripped from Satan’s hateful grasp, but feel the comforting embrace of a loving Father.

Come Back Home where God is the center-piece of our relationship. A place where singing and praying is both praising him and encouraging us. A place where a table is present, Jesus sits at its head and we break bread together. A place, even in the midst of a pandemic separation, we can step into each other’s lives again. A place where tears are felt and laughter is heard. A place where the circle will never be broken.

Come Back Home where the sinner is restored to a saint. A place where the wrongs of our past are made right again. A place where confession and repentance is the norm, as we expose our own sinful secrets. A place where forgiveness is as common as the air we breathe.

Come Back Home.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Leap of Faith

Choosing the ideal place for a pickup game of football can be a challenge for any sixth grade boy. Then again, they can turn a living room into a practice field on a count of “three.”

Being raised in Portland, Oregon, given the amount of daily rain accumulating allowed for great football games in the mud. However, getting all filthy during school hours was frowned upon, if not discouraged. So what are a group of boys, in recess on a drizzly day with a football going to do?

My elementary school offered two options for boys to play on a paved surface for a friendly game of touch football. The first was a long but narrow strip in the front of the school. It just wasn’t wide enough for football. The other was the patio in front of the building, where we played foursquare, jump rope and tag. It was wide enough but not very deep. Windows nearby were a potential problem as well as getting the ball stuck up on the patio roof, about eight feet tall.

As fate would have it, a group of sixth grade boys – Rodney, Brooks, Leon, Monte, Waylon – were playing a pickup game of football in a drizzly, wet day, when the ball somehow got booted up on the patio roof and wasn’t coming down. Game over. Ideas were thrown about how to retrieve the ball, including asking the janitor, Mr. Dodds. But he was elderly and wasn’t about to go up there. The best idea was to lift someone to the roof, but they needed someone small, wiry and light weight.

That’s where I enter the story. I was a first grader who fit the bill and just happened to be walking by (probably returning from the bathroom). The boys called out to me, asking me to help them out, to which I was more than eager to lend my service. They hoisted me to the roof where I easily retrieved the football and saved their game. For a moment, I was the hero. But then I had to come down, and that’s where I froze. Time was of the essence and suddenly I was flagged for “delay of game,” and must have become the villain.

From an eye-point vantage, getting up is easy because you’re visually near the target. But coming down looks like your peering into the Grand Canyon. I had two options. First, slide down on my belly to give me more control over the “fall,” but risk pulling the gutters off the building. We rejected that option. Better yet, jump into the arms of the biggest boy in the group. I knew these boys. They were good guys who hung out with my brothers. But they were sixth graders. And the biggest boy was Leon who couldn’t catch COVID-19 even if an infected person sneezed on him.  

So there I was, standing between two choices I refused to make. The boys were calling for me to jump. They reached out their arms. They made their promises. They guaranteed I’d be caught. They wanted me to take a leap of faith, but I wasn’t gonna budge.

Such moments make me appreciate the disciples when they saw Jesus walking on the water (Mt. 14:22-36). They not only had to process the unbelievable: Jesus making strides on the waves as if it was laminate flooring. But they also had to decide how safe it was to step out of the boat, all in a matter of moments. They froze. At least eleven of them did. Peter accepts the challenge until committed, he sees the waves, and then he freezes. But ultimately, that’s what we call faith. Beyond the fear, and before the pride, you trust that the person telling you to jump will catch you. Or you trust the one calling you from the sea that if you focus on him, you can walk on water. And if he’s Jesus, you know you won’t slip through his fingers.

My oldest brother, Steve, walked by and saw the scene. He was a seventh grader and was changing classes. The boys informed him of the situation, how I was stuck up on the roof and wouldn’t come down. He came over, looked me in the eyes, extended his arms and said, “Jump, Jon. I’ll catch you.” Without even hesitating, I leaped safely into his arms. I realized, maybe not then but certainly now, that choosing who to trust in your “leap of faith” is the game-changer for you to live by faith.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)

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24: A Chance for Equality

My childhood backyard basketball court provided an area for some great but challenging hoops moments. In the early 70’s my dad mounted the backboard to the roof of an extended part of the house directly underneath the patio roof (and as of this article, still stands there today). The goal was over eight feet tall which meant two realities. One, we could dunk the ball in high school. Two, we had no arch for our outside shots. Because of the position of the goal, the court was far from symmetrical, opening up the left wing while bunching up the right side (when the ball touched the house, it was out of bounds). The closed-in quarters was perfect for up to two-on-two games.

My brother, David, and I played many games on that court, and he probably won most of them. He was three years older than me and that court played to his advantage. When he pressured the ball, I might have been able to get a step around him for a layup. When he backed off the ball, it forced me to shoot an outside shot, and with very little arch to the shot, he’d block it. His offensive approach was to back me down where he could sky-hook the ball into the hoops.

It wasn’t that David was a better ball player than me, it was that he was a bigger boy than me.

One day he came to me with a proposition that was an “out of the box” kind of idea. While some might remedy the imbalance by simply spotting me x-points to start the game, David thought differently.

Inspired by the NBA’s twenty-four second shot clock rule, he proposed that we play like there are twenty-four seconds left in the game and we have a five second shot clock. We’d be forced to speed up our play. He couldn’t back me down quickly and use his size and strength over me. The game gave me a fighting chance for equality by balancing the power. If I remember right, his idea worked and it executed the equality needed for our games.

David stumbled onto something theologically rich, especially when looking at what happened at the cross. By eliminating the disadvantages and grip sin has on our lives and by giving us the Holy Spirit, God creates a chance for equality in the fight against sin. Instead of losing every battle with sin, we’re given the power to stand against it, as John says, “Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world” (1 Jn. 4:4). Where we once faced defeat, we now can face victory.

But the call for equality stretches beyond the individual and works its way throughout the church. The church was set up as an equalizer among the people. Because we all belong to Jesus, we no longer view people in terms of status or strength (Gal. 3:28-29). I’m not a better Christian because of family connections, wealth, race, education, age, place of origin and/or using any earthly position as an advantage stands against Jesus’ work at the cross.

No clearer picture of the church’s equalizer appears than when we gather around the Table as one. As Paul points out, the one loaf (or one cup) represents the unity, oneness and equality found at the cross (1 Cor. 10:17). We’re all in this together and no one has a size advantage, either against sin or in a relationship with God.

My brother and I played many games under the “24” format, but it never translated to another venue. Open spaces was its own equalizers. No other place offers a chance for equality than when the church sits around the Table in need of Jesus.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)

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The Writing’s On the Wall Or the Lipstick Is On the Door’s Framing Edge

Mom’s stash of Avon sample lipstick was stored in the top drawer to the right of the sink in the only bathroom of my childhood home. Various shades were available, all in the classic white casing. I don’t remember who her dealer was or how she amassed such a collection. I do remember the drawer held a gazillion of these little lipsticks. 

On this day I was about eight years old. We were leaving for vacation to spend the week with our best friends on the Oregon Coast. Plenty of adventures awaited us and I was making the last trip to the bathroom before going to the car where dad was patiently waiting for us.

As I hovered around the sink I saw the opened drawer filled with the Avon lipsticks. They never called to me before, but they did that day. Their cry was loud and clear, motivating me to reach into the draw to remove one. Opening the lid, I stared at the reddish-pink color of ink before me. As if caught up in a trance, I opened the white cabinet door behind me. I took the lipstick and marked a squiggly line down the door’s framing edge. Standing back to admire my work, the reddish-pink color on the white background popped. It was almost like Christmas lights sparkling in the snow. I put the lid back on the lipstick and returned it to the drawer, then headed out to the car where I awaited the next adventure.

I didn’t have to wait long.

I was sitting next to my sister behind the driver’s seat when mom came and got into the car. Her face was fiery red with smoke fuming from her ears; she was about to blow and someone was gonna “get it.” It just wasn’t going to be me.

With the precision of a laser guided missile, she zeroed in on my sister and unloaded her payload for the sin I committed. Deanna did her best at denial by claiming innocence and ignorance.

Mom turned a deaf ear.

I remained silent and stayed clear of the fallout.

The more Deanna denied guilt, the stronger mom accused her of wrongdoing. Mom’s final argument was more than a simple shot across the bow, “Do you think one of your brothers would do this?”

I turned my head, raised my eyebrows and look out the window.

I’ve had some forty-five years to reflect on that incident. I wouldn’t say I feel a lot of guilt from what I did, in part because I was a child. Children do things they either regret or laugh about as adult. Deanna and I have laughed about this many times.

But there may be a couple of insights worth noting about this “writing on the wall.” First, never remain silent when you’re called to speak. We witness someone being bullied and turn away. We see the injured and refuse to help. We watch the poor and turn a blind eye. We know someone is making bad life decisions but choose not to intervene. While history’s voice is filled with the silence of those watching the unjust act, Scripture reminds us otherwise.

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy (Prov. 31:8-9).

Secondly, never allow the innocent to be punished for the actions of the guilty. Time and time again stories emerge where the people know who committed the crime or the sin, but remain silent. Maybe they fear those in power or maybe they fear the majority. Maybe apathy has choked their voice. Either way, justice is perverted. Truth is lost. The guilty, going unpunished, thrive without anyone to challenge them.

I should have owned up to my deed. I ought to have said, “Mom, I vandalized the cabinet,” and then accepted the consequences.

While the writing may not always be on the wall, the sound of our silence will be loud and clear to God. I’m pretty sure that we’ll encounter a moment when someone’s voice needs to speak and be heard in the silence. Let’s make sure it’s ours.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)

By the way, if you still feel bad for my sister about taking the punishment for my sin and silence, then ask her about the cantaloupe.

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Go Greyhound! Unless It’s a Knight

I must have been about eight or nine years old. Dad had worked some 16 years for the company he loved, Greyhound Bus Lines, when they updated their logo to a colorful and patriotic red, white, and blue wave behind the famed dog (their new logo may have been influenced by the nation’s bicentennial celebration). That same Christmas, Deanna, David and I were given Greyhound t-shirts with the oversized logo, and printed across the front were bold words, “Go Greyhound.”  It was a touch of old and new. The logo was newly revised, but the tag line maintained the campaign started in the 1950’s, “Go Greyhound, and Leave the Driving to Us.”  

The t-shirt quickly became one of my favorites, rivalling wearing time with my Cincinnati Reds t-shirt of “Mr. Red Legs” running through the wishbone “C,” a shirt I have packed away in a box. I wore my Greyhound shirt proudly, partly because my dad worked for the company, and partly because my dad gave me the shirt. So it was no surprise that when the first opportunity to wear the shirt publically presented itself, I jumped at the chance to wear it. 

Steve and Tim were playing a high school basketball game, in which hundreds (?) of people were certain to show up for the game. Our gym was always packed, loud, and exciting. We were the Knights and our colors were black and white. I should have worn black and white. Mom had crocheted me a granny-squared, black and white vest that I usually wore to the games to show my support (yes, it’s in the same box as the Reds t-shirt). But that night, I wanted to show everyone my new, cool t-shirt.  So I put it on and planned on going to the game. Instead, I was told in no uncertain terms to change my shirt. Mom, Steve, and Tim, in very strong words of warning, telling me I was not to wear that t-shirt to this game. 

I was a little shocked. I didn’t understand why, but I thought I knew better. I went upstairs and grabbed my heavy coat. I put it on, zipped it up, and thought that when I got to the game, I could take my coat off and parade around in my new colors.  With mom running the scoreboard and my brothers playing in the games, I was free to do as I pleased. And I did exactly that. I paraded my shirt with the bold lettering, “Go Greyhound,” written across my chest. Within five minutes, all my friends were laughing at me and the adults who knew better were smirking. Suddenly, mom and my wiser brothers’ warning came clear. They weren’t against me wearing the shirt to a ballgame, they were against me wearing the shirt to that ballgame: we were playing the Gaston Greyhounds, and my shirt in bold lettering was cheering, “Go Greyhound(s).” I went to the bathroom to turn my shirt inside out, and then hid the rest of the night under the bleachers. 

We might expect an eight year old to mistakenly wear the wrong shirt in support of the wrong team. But in your walk of faith, have you ever wore a shirt that ended up supporting Satan and his cause? Yes, you’re loyal to Jesus, but your actions deceives your heart. Greed, lust, slander, hate, bitterness, anger, unforgiving, apathy, and divisiveness are all actions that betray your loyalty to Jesus.  Paul might say it like this, “We died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?” (Rom. 6:2b). 

I no longer have the Greyhound t-shirt, though I do wish it was packed away in a box of mementos. I think about that shirt every now and then, and even more so about the man who gave it to me. Even more important is that Jesus gave us something to wear (Col. 3:12), are we wearing it or choosing to wear his enemies colors?                                                                                                              

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)