the reluctant leader

Our 1989 Christmas Eve Disaster

’Twas the night before Christmas, and the scene of the crime was Savannah, Georgia. The year was 1989. William, was three and a half. James was one and a half. Jonathan was still inside trying to kick his way out. 

This was the year William realized that Christmas meant gifts. He knew that at my in-laws’ house, the gifts are divided into piles. All gifts that say “To William” are put in a pile together. All the “To James”  are put together. Once all the gifts have been put in the right pile, they are opened one at a time beginning with the youngest and continuing to the oldest. This meant that James was first, then William, then older cousins, uncles and aunts, then Mom, Dad, and finally, grandparents.

We had attempted to teach our boys the true meaning of Christmas. We had recited the story of the incarnation over and over. We didn’t expect much from an eighteen month old, but we assumed that William understood the Christmas spirit. You know, God so loved the world that He gave His Son . . . That’s the spirit of Christmas - giving.

What happened that night let us know that our children had completely missed the point, and that we had to adjust the way we would celebrate Christmas in the future.

All William wanted for Christmas that year was a bow and arrow. His little mind was made up. He knew what he wanted and he would not be denied. He prayed to God for it, and just to be sure, he begged us for it.

One day, to make sure I understood his request, he said, “Daddy, I want real arrows.”

“Real arrows?” I asked, wondering what kind of damage a three-year old could do with real arrows.

“Yeah, you know the kind with the red rubber things on the end. Real ones, not just toys.” He was serious about this. 

“You mean the kind that stick to windows if you lick ’em before shooting?” I responded, hoping I knew what he meant by real arrows.

“Yeah! Like in Toys-R-Us.”

Back to the Christmas Eve crime scene in Georgia.  Here’s what happened. James was first to open his gifts. Like all eighteen month olds, he was more impressed with the colorful boxes and ribbons than with the contents.

Then came William's turn. As James continued to play with bows and boxes, William anxiously ripped through his first gift in world-record time. He completely ignored the contents and immediately tore into the next one. (At least James played with the boxes.) He only got the wrapping paper half way off this one before tossing it aside and grabbing the next one.

Deborah and I discerned that something was wrong here. “William, maybe you should say thanks and at least act like you appreciate these gifts. What’s wrong with you?”

On the verge of tears, he said, “I thought I would get a bow and arrow, with real arrows. That’s all I wanted, and I didn’t get it. I got all this other stuff instead.”

He did get a bow with real (rubber-tipped) arrows, but it was buried under a mountain of shredded green and red wrapping paper.

That was quite a memorable and frustrating Christmas for us. We knew something was wrong and we had to fix it.

The first step in fixing it was to admit that we were part of the problem. In 1989, we asked William what he wanted to get for Christmas. He wanted to get a bow with real arrows. Christmas Eve came around. It was William’s turn to open gifts. He was totally oblivious to what others were getting and to what others had given. He was upset because he thought he didn’t get a bow with real arrows.

The root of the problem is in the word get. His focus was on what he would get. We will always have a problem when we focus on what we get. Christmas (and life) is all about giving, not getting. The greatest joy in fulfillment comes as we give.We had helped him miss the whole point.

Here's how we fixed the problem. From then on, rather than asking our children what they want to get, we started asking them what they want to give to their brothers, their relatives, and friends. For weeks building up to Christmas, our children now focused on what they would give rather than what they would get.

Now, when gift opening time comes at the Murrell house, we put all William’s gifts in a pile, all James’ in a pile, all Jonathan’s in a pile. We separate Mom’s and Dad’s into piles of their own.

In William’s pile are all the gifts that say “From William” on the tag. In James’s pile are all those that say “From James.” The “From Jonathan” gifts are in another pile, as are the “From Mom” and the “From Dad.”

Once all the gifts are in the piles, each person can now take his turn to give gifts. This way, the focus is on giving rather than getting. Over the next few years our boys learned to be just as excited about giving as getting.

They discovered that it really is more blessed to give than to receive.

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This blog was originally written for Evangelicals Today magazine about twenty years ago. Since then it has occasionally been re-posted in December. I thought some of you, especially those with small children or grandchildren, might find it helpful this time of year.

Never Allow Your Staff to Attack a Leader

Another US presidential election is over. Unlike post-election reality in many nations, the opposition is not dead and not in jail. I am grateful for the rule of law.

President Obama will be in the White House for four more years. Some of my American friends are happy about that, others are threatening to move to Canada, but not until spring when the great white north thaws a bit. 

I am bothered about the disrespect some pastors show toward the highest office in our land. You may not like the person, party, or policy - but you must respect the office. Respect for the office is an important leadership principle taught throughout the Bible.

Enough about American politics. I am also concerned about the disrespect many Christians show towards authority in general - especially authority in the home, the church, and the Bible.

If you are a leader, I hope you are also a follower. If you have authority, I hope you are also under authority. And, if you are a leader with a following/staff/team and you sometimes get frustrated with the leaders you are supposed to follow, please read this verse and learn from David.

"David rebuked his men and DID NOT ALLOW THEM TO ATTACK SAUL." (1 Samuel 24:7)

Saul was a difficult leader to honor. But David still honored him. And David expected his men to honor Saul as long as he was their king.

It was not enough that David refused to dishonor Saul. He took it a step further. David did not allow his men to dishonor Saul by attacking when Saul was in a vulnerable position. David rebuked his men for even hinting at an attack.

Maybe Saul deserved to be attacked, but it was not their place to decide that.

If David had allowed the attack and dishonor to go unchallenged, then it would not be long until someone decided that David deserved to be attacked.

Wise leaders do not allow their staff to attack other leaders, no matter how poorly those leaders are currently leading.

Leadership lesson: if you ever hear your team attacking a leader, shut it down immediately and permanently.

Here's a blog I posted a few years ago on a similar topic: The Lost Art of Honor & Respect.

5 Tips for Finishing Strong in Life & Ministry

I do not understand young leaders who do more talking than listening when around ministry veterans. Far too many act as if they already have it all figured out. There is absolutely no way they can learn anything from a ministry dinosaur who owns a suit, shaves daily and can't spell UFC. 

Maybe it was the way my generation was raised, but I have always had deep respect for ministry elders and spiritual fathers, even if they are pitiful at self-promotion and totally unimpressed with their own accomplishments. When around these spiritual heroes I try to ask a lot of questions and listen aggressively.

Pastor Jack Hayford is one of those elders we can all learn much from. Ed Stetzer (Mr Ed) included the following Jack Hayford gem in his blog today. (Pastor Jack's words are in bold italics. My comments follow.)

In this my 77th year, I am still privileged to speak to thousands of pastors annually. Their most asked question: "What is the secret to an abiding fruitfulness in ministry." To answer, I acknowledge the essential touchpoints:

1. Fidelity to God's Eternal Word. (The Bible is always a good answer, no matter what the question is.)

2. Faithful devotion to one's wife and family. ( As Vito Corleone once said to his worthless son, Sonny: "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man." And a pastor who does not prioritize family...)

3. Personal purity and self-discipline in all things. (This is not a side issue or a afterthought, but a daily and lifetime conviction and passion.)

4. Love Christ's people, humbly and respectfully acknowledging the worth of all who honor Christ, though they differ from my theology. (There is so much we can learn from other movements and denominations, as long as we don't assume our group has all the answers.)

5. Keep a life of personal worship and intimate prayer fellowship with Jesus. (So simple, yet so powerful. Probably the key to all of the above.)

 

Happy Father's Day to The Man Who Survived His Own Death

The older I get, the wiser my father seems. Sure would be good to have him around to talk to my adult sons about long-term investing. That was his hobby and his passion. I wish I had recorded some of our money conversations over the years to play back to my sons.

Here's a blog I have been reposting every Father's Day for ten years...

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"THANKS DAD, SEE YOU IN HEAVEN"

On January 28, 2002 at 9 PM, my dad breathed his last breath and slipped from time into eternity. He was seventy-four years old. His tired lungs just stopped working.

He died peacefully because he finally was at peace with God -- after a lifetime of resisting the gospel and running from God.

His journey to God hit warp speed when he flat-lined while in the ER on October 11, 2001. The doctors were able to revive him, but more importantly, the Lord visited him.

While laying on his back in the emergency room, he came face to face with the God of eternity and lived to tell about it. He told my youngest brother that when his heart stopped he had a vision that God was giving him one last chance. In the vision, as he watched the doctors frantically trying to revive him, he suddenly saw a whiskey bottle, a pack of cigarettes, a handgun, and a Bible floating around his lifeless body in the emergency room.

He knew he had a choice to make. He decided in that moment to choose the Bible rather than the things that were destroying his life.

Three months later, he would face God again, this time forever. This time, he was ready.

While on the plane trying to get to Mississippi to see Dad one last time, I wrote what would be my last words to him. I read them at his funeral a few days later. Here’s what I wrote:

Thanks, Dad, for never missing a baseball game, basketball game, football game, track meet, birthday party, or anything else that mattered as I was growing up.

Thanks for being there for me,
- every time I crossed the finish line at a high school track meet,
- when I fell through the frozen lake while duck hunting when I was nine,
- when Mike Croswell’s easy grounder rolled under my glove at second base, costing us the Little League championship.

You were always there for me, and I’m glad the Lord allowed me to be there when you crossed your final finish line.

Thanks for trusting me, accepting me, and supporting me especially when I,
- grew long hair in the ’70s,
- quit the football team in tenth grade,
- became a pastor rather than your business partner,
- moved to the other side of the world to be a missionary.

Thanks for teaching me,
- to ride a bike and drive a car,
- to throw a baseball and hit a golf ball,
- to fly fish and quail hunt,
- to work hard and save money,
- to write a check and pick a mutual fund
- to be a real boy and a real man,
- to be a good son and a good father.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you and will see you in a few years.

"Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." -Exodus 20:12

Our Christmas Eve Disaster

This was originally written for Evangelicals Today magazine, about 19 yrs ago. Since then it has been hidden deep in my archive file (random thoughts), along with piles of other ancient smurrell.com documents and occasionally re-posted around Christmas time. Thought some of you, especially those with small children, might find it helpful this time of the year...

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’Twas the night before Christmas, and the scene of the crime was Savannah, Georgia. The year was 1989. William was three and a half. James was one and a half. Jonathan was still inside trying to kick his way out.

This was the year William realized that Christmas meant gifts. He knew that at my in-laws’ house, the gifts are divided into piles. All those that say “To William” are put in a pile together. All the “To James” gifts are put together. Once all the gifts have been put in the right pile, they are opened one at a time beginning with the youngest and continuing to the oldest. This meant that James was first, then William, then older cousins, uncles and aunts, then Mom, Dad, and finally, grandparents.

We had attempted to teach our boys the true meaning of Christmas. We had recited the story of the incarnation over and over. We didn’t expect much from James, but we assumed that William understood that it was better to give than to receive. After all, Jesus was born because God so loved the world that He gave . . . That’s what Christmas is all about—giving.

What happened that night let us know that our children had completely missed the point, and that we had to adjust the way we would celebrate Christmas in the future.

All William wanted for Christmas that year was a bow and arrow. His little mind was made up. He knew what he wanted and he would not be denied. He prayed to God for it, and just to be sure, he pleaded to us for it.

One day, to make sure I understood his request, he said, “Daddy, I want real arrows.”

“Real arrows?” I asked, wondering what kind of damage a three-year old would do with real arrows.

“Yeah, you know the kind with the red rubber things on the end. Real ones, not just toys.” He was serious about this. “You mean the kind that sticks to windows if you lick ’em before shooting?” I responded, hoping I knew what he meant by real ones.

“Yeah! Like in Toys-R-Us.”

Back to the Christmas Eve crime scene in Georgia.  Here’s what happened. James was first to open his gifts. Like all 18 month olds, he was more impressed with the colorful boxes and ribbons than with the contents.

Then came William's turn. As James continued to play with bows and boxes, William anxiously ripped through his first gift in world-record time. He completely ignored the contents and immediately tore into the next one. (At least James played with the boxes.) He only got the wrapping paper half way off this one before tossing it aside and grabbing the next one.

Deborah and I discerned that something was wrong here. “William, maybe you should say thanks and at least act like you appreciate these gifts. What’s wrong with you?”

On the verge of tears, he said, “I thought I would get a bow and arrow, with real arrows. That’s all I wanted, and I didn’t get it. I got all this other stuff instead.”

He did get a bow with real (rubber-tipped) arrows, but it was buried under a mountain of shredded green and red wrapping paper.

That was quite a memorable and frustrating Christmas for us. We knew something was wrong, but we weren’t sure just how to fix it.

A few months later, I read a book that described the scene you just read about, only it was happening in another city to another family with small kids. It was sure comforting to know that our experience was not unique. Right now, I can’t seem to remember the name of the book or the author. Anyway, this guy in the book not only had the same problem, but he had identified the root of the problem and had come up with the solution. It was so simple. It opened our eyes and changed the way we have approached Christmas since the disaster of ’89.

On that fateful Christmas Eve I described above, William was upset (and a bit ungrateful) because he thought he didn’t get a bow with real arrows. The root of the problem is in the word “get.” His focus was on what he would get. We will always have a problem when we focus on what we get. Christmas (and life) is all about giving, not getting. The greatest joy in fulfillment comes as we give.

The guy in the book solved the problem by putting the emphasis on what each child was to give, not on what they were to get. We adopted that idea, and it has served us well.  In 1989, we asked William what he wanted to get for Christmas. He wanted to get a bow with real arrows. Christmas Eve came around. It was William’s turn to open gifts. All he could think about was what he would get. He was totally oblivious to what others were getting and to what others had given. We had helped him miss the whole point.

From then on, rather than asking our children what they want to get, we ask them what they want to give - their brothers, their relatives, and friends. For the weeks building up to Christmas, our children are focused on what they will give rather than what they will get.

Now, when gift opening time comes at the Murrell house, we put all William’s gifts in a pile, all James’ in a pile, all Jonathan’s in a pile. We separate Mom’s and Dad’s into piles of their own.

In William’s pile are all the gifts that say “From William” on the tag. In James’s pile are all those that say “From James.” The “From Jonathan” gifts are in another pile, as are the “From Mom” and the “From Dad.”

Once all the gifts are in the piles, each person can now take his turn to give all his gifts. This way, the focus is on giving rather than getting. Over the next few years our boys learned to be just as excited about giving as getting.

They have discovered that it really can be more blessed to give than to receive.

My Favorite Thanksgiving Ever

I read a Thanksgiving fb post this morning written by a good friend, an American who lives in Singapore. My friend also happens to be Native American, from the Hopi tribe. That fb post brought back a flood of good memories.

Our favorite Thanksgiving ever was the year our "Indian" friend from Singapore happened to be in Manila on Thanksgiving Day. My family will never forget the Indian stories our friend told his pale-faced hosts, stories that had been passed down from generation to generation. The meaning of Thanksgiving came to life to our three young sons as they sat mesmerized listening to a "real Indian" tell story after story about his ancestors and their encounters with the white man and his God.

After reading my friend's post, I read President Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation (below) and Stephen Mansfield's Thanksgiving blog. Both inspired, convicted and challenged me. My conclusion, in the words of the legendary missionary to Mexico, Brother Ignacio "Nacho": "My life is good. Really good. Be grateful..."

Like Nacho, I have much to be thankful for. My wife. My sons. My friends. My church. My job. And most of all, my Lord and Savior. Yes, MY LIFE IS GOOD!

For those interested, here is Lincoln's speech calling Americans back to God for a day of thanksgiving. Sounds more like a sermon than a presidential proclamation.

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By the President of the United States of America.

A Proclamation.

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God.

In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People.

I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.

And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the City of Washington, this Third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the Unites States the Eighty-eighth.

By the President: Abraham Lincoln

William H. Seward,
Secretary of State

A Thanksgiving Blog: Where Are the Other Nine?

You know the story. Luke 17. Jesus meets 10 lepers. Leprosy in the Bible times was an incurable disease, dooming its victims to a life of poverty, rejection and hopelessness.

According to Jewish Levitical law and cultural tradition, any time lepers were around normal people they were supposed to broadcast their problem by shouting "unclean, unclean."  But the 10 lepers in Luke 17 broke the rules, and rather than shouting their problem, they shouted the answer. 

And, Jesus healed them. He didn't heal all lepers, but he healed the 10 who broke the religious rules and shouted the answer. 

Here's the strange, but sadly familiar part of the story. Only 1 of 10 returned to say "thanks."

Only one. 1. Uno. Isa. Satu. Une. Eins. Een. واحد. ένας. אחד. один. एक. 하나. ひとつ. หนึ่ง. ONE! 

Jesus ends the Luke 17 story with a question: Where are the other nine? We are not told where they were, but we can speculate. One was busy at work. Another was at his kid's soccer game. Some were on the testimony circuit, telling everyone what Jesus did for them. But only 1 made time to return to Jesus and give him praise and say thanks.

Like the 10 lepers, I was a hopeless case, until Jesus made me clean and whole. But too often I am more like the 9 than the 1. I am too busy to return and say thanks. I get so busy telling the world what he did for me, that I have no time to daily return to Him and say thanks. Does this sound like you? Not good.

In America this week is a holiday we call Thanksgiving, a day to overeat and watch American football. And hopefully a day to say THANKS to God for all He has done for us.

Final thought. Be the 1. Not the 9. Not just on Thanksgiving. Every day.

 

"I Wish I Was A Better Father"

A couple of weeks ago while reading the latest on-line sports news, I clicked on a link to Dennis Rodman's NBA Hall of Fame acceptance speech. That 12 minute speech answered a lot of questions about the enigmatic basketball star. After viewing the video twice, I tweeted that Rodman's speech was "sad, heart-breaking & refreshingly honest." Here's a quote from speech that many can relate to:

"I have one regret: I wish I was a better father." --Dennis Rodman

Inspired by Rodman's gut-wrenching honesty and by Psalm 127, last Sunday I preached a sermon about NO REGRET PARENTING.

My basic premise: if we see children the right way, we will treat them the right way. And seeing them the right way is seeing them as the Bible describes them. The last 3 verses in Psalm 127 give us a proper, but uncommon, picture of how we should view children.

1. HERITAGE. "sons are a heritage from the Lord" (Ps 127:3) That word "heritage" comes from the same root word as inheritance - something valuable given to us by another. 

I am a watch collector. While preaching Sunday I was wearing my most valuable watch. Not my most expensive (because i didn't pay for it), but definitely my most valuable. It was a 1959 stainless steel Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust. You can find a similar pre-owned Rolex Datejust on eBay for $3000. But I would not take $30,000 for mine. Why? Because of WHO gave it to me. That watch was made in 1959, the same year I was born. My Dad wore it every day of my life. He wore it to work and to coach my Little League games. He wore it when we went hunting and fishing. He wore it to my wedding. He left it to me when he died nine years ago. Maybe it is not that valuable to anyone else, but to me it is priceless - because my dad gave it to me as an inheritance. Kids are like that, times 1000. They are a "HERITAGE FROM THE LORD." Valuable. Priceless. Irreplaceable. Given to us by God.

2. REWARD. "...children are a reward from Him" (Ps 127:3) Do you see your kids as rewards, or as accidents? Did your parents see you as a reward, or as a distraction? 

3. ARROWS. "Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in ones youth" (Ps 127: 4) Arrows are point & shoot, not remotely guided smart bombs. If we point arrows (kids) in the right direction, they will hit the target. But after pointing them in the right direction, we must let go, take our hands off. Some parents never take their hands off, so their kids never hit the target. Some parents take their hands off too soon. Other parents obsess over trivial details rather than direction. When we realize children are lilke arrows, we will be concerned with DIRECTION not with PERFECTION. 

I don't know how you see your kids, or how your parents saw you. But I do know that while we will never be perfect parents with perfect kids, we can avoid major regret if we learn to see kids from a bible perspective.

You can listen to this & other sermons on the Bethel-Franklin podcast page

 

 

Why Me?

Here's another Father's Day message from the archive. I originally wrote this for Evangelicals Today magazine about 20 years ago. More old blogs here. 

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I had just said the last “amen,” dismissing the second morning worship service. People were still crowding the altar. Some requested prayer for healing, some for salvation. Others just needed a little encouragement. As usual, I was directing traffic, referring this one to the youth pastor, that one to a small group leader.

Finally, when it looked like everyone’s needs were covered, my wife tapped me on the shoulder: “Honey, he wants you to pray for him.”

He wanted me to pray for him. He wouldn’t settle for one of the other pastors or staff. It had to be me.

While I’d known him for six years, I’d never seen him so serious. I motioned for him to sit down with me on the steps right in front of the pulpit. I put my arm around his shoulder and asked, “So, what do you want me to pray for?”

After nervously studying his feet for a few minutes, he said: “. . . Um, I just want to be closer to Jesus.”

This guy was serious. He really wanted to know God! A year ago, I had invited him to attend a showing of the “Jesus Film” at our student center in Manila’s University-Belt. That night, he received Jesus as his Lord and Savior, but this was different. God was doing a deeper work in his heart, and he was responding.

Of all the people in the congregation, he was the last one I expected to request prayer that morning. Actually, I was a little surprised to find out he even listened to my sermon. He never took notes or even looked up the Scriptures I read from. Nevertheless, the Holy Spirit had gotten through to him. I led him in a prayer of dedication and consecration.

After we both said “amen,” he looked up at me. His serious look had been replaced with a shy grin. His eyes glowed with a peace that only comes from knowing the Lord. God answered our prayer that day. He’s closer to Jesus now than ever before. That’s what church is all about, people getting closer to Jesus.

Now, why did this guy insist that I pray for him? Why not one of the other pastors? Why me?

Was it because I am the “senior pastor”? I don’t think it had anything to do with my title or position in the church. It wouldn’t have made any difference to the guy if I were the senior pastor or the lobby janitor. But why did it have to be me? Was it because I’d just preached the message that touched his heart? I don’t think so.

This wasn’t the first time I’d prayed for him. He comes to me every time he has a spiritual question. In fact, he comes to me with all kinds of questions. He’s convinced I have all the answers. But why?

Maybe it’s because I’m the first person who ever told him about Jesus. Maybe it’s because he hears me tell him Bible stories before bedtime every night. Perhaps it is because he knows his mother and I have one all-consuming passion in life and that is to know and serve God.

You see, my son didn’t need a preacher or pastor to lead him close to Jesus that morning. He needed a parent.

He needed his Dad.

Dads and Moms, maybe you are not called and gifted to be preachers or prophets. You are, however, called and gifted to be parents. You are called to be sensitive to your children’s spiritual condition and to be available when the Holy Spirit begins to do a work in their hearts. For better or for worse, children learn much more from their parents than from their pastors. They learn more at home than at church.

It’s never too early to lead your children to Jesus, but sometimes it can be too late.

Thanks Dad

I repost this blog about this time every year. Since I'm such a traditional guy, here it is again.

On January 28, 2002 at 9 PM, my dad breathed his last breath and slipped from time into eternity. He was seventy-four years old. He had been in and out of the hospital several times since August of 2001. His tired lungs just stopped working.

He died peacefully because he finally was at peace with God, after a lifetime of resisting the gospel.

His journey to God hit warp speed when his heart stopped on October 11, 2001. The doctors were able to revive him, but more importantly, the Lord visited him. While laying on his back in the emergency room, he came face to face with the God of eternity and lived to tell about it. In fact, he later told my younger brother that when his heart stopped, he had a vision that God was giving him one last chance. In the vision, as he watched the doctors frantically trying to revive him, he suddenly saw a whiskey bottle, a pack of cigarettes, a handgun, and a Bible floating around his lifeless body in the emergency room. He knew he had a choice to make. He told my brother he decided in that moment to choose the Bible rather than the things that were destroying his life.

Three months later, he would face God again, this time forever. But this time, he was ready.

Providentially, I happened to be in New York City ministering in our new church when my brother called saying that I better get on the next plane to Mississippi if I wanted to see Dad alive. While on the plane, I wrote what would be my last words to Dad. I read them at his funeral a few days later.

Here’s what I wrote:

Thanks, Dad, for never missing a baseball game, basketball game, football game, track meet, birthday party, or anything else that mattered as I was growing up.

Thanks for being there for me...
every time I crossed the finish line at a high school track meet,
when I fell through the frozen lake while duck hunting when I was nine,
when Mike Croswell’s easy grounder rolled under my glove at second base, costing us the Little League championship.
You were always there for me, and I’m glad the Lord allowed me to be there when you crossed your final finish line.

Thanks for trusting me, accepting me, and supporting me especially when I...
grew long hair in the ’70s,
quit the football team in tenth grade,
became a pastor rather than your business partner,
moved to the other side of the world to be a missionary.

Thanks for teaching me...
to ride a bike and drive a car,
to throw a baseball and hit a golf ball,
to fly fish and quail hunt,
to work hard and save money,
to write a check and pick a mutual fund,
to be a good boy and a real man,
to be an grateful son and a dedicated father.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you and will see you in a few years.

"Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." (Exodus 20:12)