Wow. What a whirlwind.

It’s now been two months since I worked as a staff member at West Ridge. Now I’m an upstart Worship “Pastor” (still trying to get my brain around that) with barely a clue of how to get upstarted.

Since Memorial Day, we have moved into a rental house in Charleston (South Carolina), rented out our home in Paulding County (Georgia), taken two or three trips back and forth to get (most) of our flammable possessions, celebrated Caia’s second birthday, recognized Jack’s 6-month birthday, scheduled back surgery for Annette…and that’s only the first 5% of what’s taken up our time.

I say “flammable possessions” because there is no more honest time to realize just how meaningless stuff is than moving day(s). It’s all gonna burn. (a lot of it I wish would burn, quite honestly.)

The biggest percentage of my time has been consumed by freelance web-design. It’s been productive…but exhausting. And for the most part, the number of projects has dried up. The economy is hitting small businesses’ web budgets hard. This is a bad thing and a good thing for me. In bad light, funds are very tight. Tighter than ever before. But in good light Annette and I are realizing how important it is that we quickly transition into a fully support-based posture as it relates to my income.

Web-design work is very inconsistent. Feast or famine in the truest sense. A web-designer-friend and I were talking about it this morning. We go weeks with little work coming in, and then a long project list comes in all at once with very little room to breathe. It compromises our ability to deliver a quality product, and breaks down the rhythm of our families.

From Tuesday night until Thursday at 5pm this week, I literally didn’t even step outside the door of our house. Not even to check the mail. All for clicking and tapping my way to healthy web code.

Brutal.

So Annette and I have prayed and talked about how to transition the focus of my time from web-design more clearly to River Church. Not to say I won’t ever do a web project here and there. (Current or recently quoted clients, please take note! I’m still here!) But depending on it solely is wearing us thin already.

I’m thankful for God to show us this so soon and so clearly. I’m excited as heck about it to be honest. There are so many relationships I’m already forming with artists here in Charleston…and there is so much in general to be done to get this church on its legs. The remaining percentage of my time that has been given to River Church has been far to small. It won’t be tough at all to fill my time with things that fulfill the reason God moved us here to begin with.

We all need margin. Leftovers. Wasted time. Doggonit…we need to burn our leftover stuff and some of our time. Enough open time to walk or bike to our destination. Or for a ride on the slow boat. Sustainable pace, people. It’s critical.

Here’s a thought… Pacing yourself and creating margin in your life is a required ingredient for living by Faith. It’s how you tell your list, your family, your Father that you really do believe that you can do It without doing it all.

All that to say, in a nutshell, we’re hoping the storm will soon pass. We’re gonna give it a little nudge, even. It’s time to hit a stride and begin making headway. Gotta get the grease off the soles of my shoes.

Let’s go stay at my parents’ house! WIN
Ran out of gas in 99° heat. Father in Law had to rescue us…on Father’s Day. FAIL
We then get 15 miles from home when I realize I’ve left one of our bags at home. FAIL
So we do lunch (at 2:30pm) in the car. Drop the fam off at FIL’s house to say thanks for the rescue and hangout while I go back home. NO SWEAT
Drive back to FIL’s, then 1-1/2 hours to dinner for my dad. Caia spills iced tea on Kenni and my mom. FAIL
Otherwise a nice but chaotic dinner. WIN
Drive to their house…but not without accidentally jumping a curb and smashing up the bottom of my truck’s chassis. FAIL
Unloading, I get a stinkin’ moth under my bottom eyelid. FAIL
Annette has to literally pin me down to dig it out with a paper towel. FAIL
She loves me enough to pin me down and dig out a bug with a paper towel. WIN
Still hurts. FAIL

That’s all I remember.

I think my mind has blocked most of the memories to save me from going into shock.

For a higher quality version, click here.

So my little patch of green hasn’t seen a weed since 2006.

My neighbors? Not so much. The folks across from us have beautiful shrubs, flowers, and nicely fluffed pine beds…and about 4000 18-inch tall dandelion flowers. The folks to our left? Well, let’s just say you can tell where our two patches of green meet.

It’s tough to not feel a little proud.

The irony? Um, that would be the fact that Georgia has been plagued by a severe drought since last summer. While I haven’t seen any weeds pop up, I’ve barely seen the first green blade of grass in as much time.

But that has ended, perhaps. At least for now.

Hurricane/tropical storm/depression Fay has smiled on our .5 acres and dumped quite a bit of liquid gold on us the last couple of days. And now, my neatly trimmed sod is actually…dare a say it?…growing! And it’s also turning an odd color. I think they call it “green.”

I’ve waited two years for this. Too bad it’s almost SEPTEMBER and it won’t be long before my patch of green becomes my patch of blonde.

Let me warn you now that I’m the king of cheesy analogies. But it’s how God teaches me, so I make no apologies.

I’ve had a very discouraging couple of weeks. It’s hit from all sides. And one of the more discouraging things happened to day. It had nothing to do with my job, my finances, or the unity of my family. It was just ‘one of those things’ that probably wouldn’t have knocked so much of the wind out of me if I weren’t so prone to a bit of melancholy. But if today’s discouragement were a storm, it would have been one of those long, soaking rains that doesn’t stir up a lot of trouble… It’s just enough to make you want to stay in the house and hope there’s not a leak in the roof you didn’t know about. Just enough to get you a little depressed. (Maybe that’s why they call the leftovers of these storms “depressions.”)

Like our little state down here in the south, I’ve been a bit of a drought the last couple of years. Not the kind that leaves you parched…but the kind that just barely keeps the grass alive. You know…where you don’t HAVE to cut the grass every week unless you just want the exercise.

It’s been tough to follow-through consistently, but I feel like I’ve been hearing God say through all this time, “Stick with me. We’re still moving forward. The rain is coming.” I’ve complained about the heat plenty. And I’ve sure as heck let myself get dehydrated from time to time. But He’s been faithful to me. He always is. I’ve tried to keep praying without ceasing, even when I’m being smacked around. And I’ve tried to keep asking the tough questions and looking to Him for the answers. It’s been kind of like fertilizer during the drought. It’s tough to see what good it’s really done. But now that there’s been some rain the last couple of weeks, I’m thinking I may start to see a little something happen. I’m hoping to find out that the rain has made me grow and that He may be shaking things up a bit.

I don’t want to miss this lesson: To keep our Christianity alive and ready to grow at a moment’s notice, we need to keep ourselves spiritually disciplined. It is TOUGH. But the fruit it bears in season is juicy, ripe, and plentiful. God honors OUR faithfulness to HIM with HIS faithfulness to US. And His faithfulness obviously exceeds the breadth of ours exponentially.

Pray even when He doesn’t tell you He’s listening. Give even when you don’t know where it’s coming from. Encourage others even when you feel like all of your own hope is gone. Seek Truth even when you wonder if there really is any. And believe His word even when the text is blurred by your own tears.

He WILL redeem what has been broken for His sake. He always has, without fail.

…

And then there’s the issue that once the grass starts growing, you’ve got to keep it cut down to size. That’s an entirely different spiritual lesson for another day. I don’t want to think about that right now. ( :

We’ll miss you, Skip.

The bulk of my week was spent hanging with my Worship Arts gang at the lake for three days. A good time was had by all. Good talks, good fun, and lots of visioneering.

Had a great Father’s Day, too. More on that when I catch up.

Later, y’all!

And then tonight I spent a solid 3 hours with my dearest friends in the world…the guys in my Journey Group. We laughed, poked fun at each other, and talked Johnny’s Pizza shut. Parenting, husbanding, Jesus-ing, following, leading… Our wives were calling wondering if we were okay. We were better than okay. It was probably one of the most raw, honest times we’ve ever spent together.

Who are the mentors in your life? Who are your teammates? Who tells you when you’re being arrogant or self-conscious? Who helps you clarify what you’re hearing from God, or tells you your spiritual ears must be full of wax? If you can’t think of names, keep thinking. They’re there…you just may not be prioritizing the time together.

Do it. Soon.

There was a man at the counter as I was getting ready to check out. He was an older gentleman with Santa-white hair and a neatly groomed beard, and he wore a short-sleeved plaid shirt tucked neatly into Duck Head khakis.

He handed the cashier two copies of the same magazine.

She took them, paused, and then asked. “Sir, did you know you had two copies?”

He smiled and said, “I like to read things twice.”

She grinned and chuckled that awkward chuckle that comes out when you’re a little confused and afraid you just embarrassed someone.

The transaction continued as he thumbed through his wallet.

The cashier laid one copy of the magazine in front of the gentleman as she quoted the total. He paused, dropped his hands and wallet down to the countertop and said, “You just charged me for one of them.”

Clumsy moment not yet averted: “Oh, um. I’m sorry. I thought…”

“No, I really did want both copies,” he said politely.

“I’m…I’m sorry.” Pause. “I’m so confused! I’m sorry.” She rang up and began to pass him the second magazine as he passed her a twenty-dollar bill.

The cashier made change as the man thumbed through one of the magazines. She passed him his change and receipt and thanked him for his purchase. As she turned her head up to smile at him, he finally redeemed the moment by trying to explain.

He said it ever so humbly (which explained the joke that started the confusion), “That’s me.” He held his finger to something—I didn’t catch what—on a page in the magazine.

The cashier sighed, relieved that he wasn’t crazy and that she hadn’t really embarrassed him. “Aahhhh! It makes so much sense now!”

He wished her a nice day, and walked toward the door.

As I stepped toward the counter, I followed one of the magazines with my eyes, trying to catch the title. They were swinging with his arms, so all I could register was a light blue cover and a photo of something. A triangle. Pale white. But that’s all I could see.

He turned the corner and was out the door.

—

As I walked away with Annette’s very expensive, thoughtful, and envy-inducing gift, curiosity got the best of me. I had to find out what this guy had written or done that earned him the recognition. I scanned the racks of magazines, instinctively ignoring the racks holding mags that focused on fashion or celebrity gossip. Something told me not to look there. Where could it be? Hobbies, maybe? Yes, hobbies. He seemed like an artist of some sort, but not really a painter or photographer. Definitely not a decorator. Gardening? No. His hair didn’t fit any of those. His hair looked like the hair of someone who enjoyed the beach. So what kind of artist who doesn’t paint or photograph would be at the…

And there it was. There were 3 copies left. A sailboat. That was the triangle. A light blue sky, steel blue water, and a sailboat. I read the title. Yes, he was an artist.

He built sailboats.

Something in me leapt for joy twice. The first leap was for this man’s moment… How excited he must have been to see his name in that magazine. I flipped through the pages looking for a photo, but I didn’t see anyone who resembled him. Maybe he had written something. Or maybe someone had mentioned him in an article. Who knows? But it was something worthy of two copies. One to read, and one to keep. Maybe to pass on to grandchildren?

But there was the second leap. That’s the one that got me. The second leap was for the man himself. It was the realization that the man—someway, somehow—had fulfilled a dream. Had he worked decades in a mediocre job only to be fortunate enough to live to see retirement and hit the finish line with enough cash to build a sailboat? Something told me no. Something told me this man had built many boats. It may have started when he was a child watching his dad build boats, or while cheering on skippers as they flew their schooners across a lake.

The first boat he built might have sunk. If not, the second or third may have. But at some point, he found the right combination of wood, rope, and ingenuity that made every boat a success.

The man with the Santa-white hair and the well-kept beard was a dreamer. But beyond that, his name in print proved that he was also a doer. Even as a child, he could see a goal in his imagination, but wasn’t satisfied to let it stay there. He was built to build the boat.

The obvious question that made me dizzy as I set the magazine back on the rack and walked toward the door was, “What did I want to be before I grew up?”

Before taking comfort instead of chances… Before jumping with only a partial view of the ground, and content to tighten the straps on the way down. Before thinking I had to wait for someone to give me permission to be brave.

What was it?

Geez… What was it?

Something is telling me I need to remember. I’ll let you know what I come up with.

That’s me right now.

I’d let out a cleansing yell, but there’s no way I could find the energy.

I need a vacation.

I have no clue what it’s like to be driven so hard to accomplish something so remarkable. These people seem so familiar and almost ordinary. But there’s nothing ordinary about people who can discipline themselves so and push that hard towards a goal. They knew the risks when they set their minds to attempt the climb. Several of them are missing all of their fingers.

I’ve done a few things in my life that took some serious drafts of courage. I went skydiving right after I graduated from college. That was absolutely amazing. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it weren’t so dang expensive.

I went rock climbing in Oklahoma (or was it Kansas?) several years ago with some friends who knew a lot more about climbing than I did. I believe at the peak we were a little under 1000 feet off the ground. I still get a little woozy thinking about it.

Marriage isn’t quite as physically risky, but it’s definitely an intense journey that you have to commit to much like you would a climb up Everest. Annette and I have a drive to climb together for the long haul. We get jazzed about what it will be like to look back on our life together years from now seeing how God has redeemed all the difficult times that we went through together.

Parenting? I probably don’t even have to explain that. It don’t matter how you got yourself into this gig… By plan or by accident…you’re on the ride. I guess it’s more like the storm these climbers got slapped by. 29,035 feet up, in the dark, and the wind hits. You know it has to get easier at some point, but there’s no way to forecast that. You’re tripping over rocks, eyelids freezing together, and no matter what advice people yell in your ear, their voice will never be louder than the wind. Hold on to one another, and just keep heading in the general direction of base camp, if you even think you know where it might be.

The more I learn about life, the more I realize that EVERYTHING carries risk. And ANYTHING worth spending these precious days of life doing takes a lasting, enduring commitment. I am in awe of people who can pull out unspeakable strength to move THROUGH great difficulty rather than allow themselves to lay down and die in it. These climbers literally had to shout out loud to themselves, “DON’T SLEEP! Stay awake! Stay awake!” One man forced himself to try to do dance moves while laying in the cold, cyclonic wind just to keep his body producing heat.

What has been the fight of your life? What is that storm you’ve been through or journey you’ve committed to that took or is taking unspeakable strength?