Dear friend Sue always talks about “bucket-fillers”. These are the people that bless and encourage you. You leave them with a smile and a bounce in your step. Sue is one of them. I thank God for those wonderful folks. Then there are the opposites. The dreaded “bucket-drainers” who seem to derive their joy by dipping out cupfuls of your joy. I have a confession to make. I have spent too much time recently allowing the bucket drainers to practice their sad gift in my life. I grew discouraged that I try to be transparent and write from my heart only to get smacked down by legalists who seem to miss the point entirely. I know that goes with the territory. I know that I am trying to communicate grace and that some fear that message with a passion that astounds me. I simply grew tired of the beat down from the spiritual hall monitors. If I might paraphrase the comment from the E-Trade baby to
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Today you will see why I keep “Confessions of a Bad Christian” as my blog title. Recently the movie Bull Durham was on a cable channel and I watched it again. Hard to believe it has been over 20 years since it was released. In this article I am going to draw some spiritual applications from an R-rated movie. Gasp. In my early church experience real Christians didn’t watch any movie and most assuredly not an R-rated one. The really godly people did not drink or dance. The really, really godly people did not have televisions. They were a laugh a minute. If any of those folks were to read today’s post they would no doubt remove me from their fellowship that I used to call “The First Church Of Misery Loves Company But We Probably Won’t Love You”.  Despite that risk of censure I press on. No baseball movie that I have seen comes closer to capturing the unique culture of baseball like Bull Durham. It has some
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A new movie is opening called Big Fan. It is about a guy who lives and dies with the New York Giants football team. I don’t think I was ever quite that extreme but I confess that I have taken my teams way too seriously over the years. My mood for the week was often dependent on how the Browns and Buckeyes did that past weekend. I have fantasized about my arrival at the Pearly Gates. Saint Peter: Welcome Dave. Tell me about your sports teams. Me: I am a fan of the Cleveland Browns, Texas Rangers and Baylor Bears football. Saint Peter: Hey Job! We have one for your group! The Rangers and Bears may be ending some of the suffering in the very near future but it has been a tough road. Recently another one of my teams has contributed to my malaise. The Ohio State Buckeyes have not been on a real good roll when it comes to big games. That is an understatement along
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Today there were thirty-five obituaries in the Dallas Morning News. One of them was my friend. I am amazed at the number of incredible saints that God has brought into my life. Perhaps God knows that I desperately need their courageous examples. Becky Matthews was one of those saints that inspired me. She died Saturday night, September 5th. The obituary accurately portrays her courage and attitude. Her faith in Christ allowed her to persevere through a seventeen year battle with cancer, never complaining and always encouraging others. Think about that. Seventeen years. I never heard her complain. I never heard her question her fate. She fought with courage and dignity until the fight was clearly lost. And then she simply accepted that she would go ahead and wait for the family reunion to come. I am so humbled by Becky’s example. I remember her smiling when I knew she was suffering. Encouraging when she was the one who could have expected
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Today’s humble ramblings comes from the a song that was released when I was three years old. Fifty-three years after The Platters released the song the group appeared randomly on the trusty iPod during a morning stroll with dog friend Hannah. The song is written about a guy pretending to be happy when his love interest has left him. The lyrics to The Great Pretender led me to think again about one of my pet peeves in the churches of America. I get angry, frustrated and sad when followers of Jesus go to church and pretend to be something we know we are not. That we are okay all of the time. I lived those lyrics out Sunday after Sunday for too many years. Oh yes I’m the great pretender Pretending I’m doing well My need is such I pretend too muchI’m lonely but no one can tell We go to a place where honesty should be encouraged. Where shortcomings ought to be accepted. Church should be the place
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I am afraid I need to polish up my descriptive words in order to compete in this world. If I describe myself (accurately) as Christian and conservative I find that I am immediately stereotyped and dismissed by the free-thinkers and progressives. See how much cooler their words are? Because I have chosen to follow Christ and believe in God I can’t possible be a free-thinker. And since I have conservative values I am not progressive. Bummer. But I am prepared to struggle through with my cro-magnon worldview. The topic was revived this week by a story in the Dallas Morning News. A camp for agnostic kids recently wrapped up in the Dallas area. The parents described a place where clear thinking and good questions can be encouraged. While they may be free-thinkers I fear they are not always clear thinkers. For example, one high school student had kept his atheism a secret because his fellow students would likely avoid him if they knew. But
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I have watched with bemusement as the NY Times scrambles to apologize to all of us simple folk who live in Flyover Country. The Grey Lady has had to remember her manners and ask for forgiveness over a recent review in the paper. The aptly named column “The Critical Shopper” recently reviewed the arrival of American icon J.C. Penney in upscale Midtown Manhattan. The author of the piece is not a fan of J.C. Penney. That is okay. She is not a fan of their merchandise. Again, that is okay. But her tone in dismissing those who might shop there was instructive of how those big city folks view us simple Midlanders just now learning how to walk upright and use utensils. Here is a part of the column. Why would this dowdy Middle American entity waddle into Midtown in its big old shorts and flip-flops without even bothering to update its ancient Helvetica Light logo, which for anyone who grew up with the company is
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