Don’t Waste Your Wait

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Tom Petty once sang that “the waiting is the hardest part.” Have truer words ever been spoken?

We don’t like waiting. We use microwaves. We take alternate routes to avoid traffic. We waste five minutes trying to find the shortest checkout line. As I write this, Kelli and I are waiting for our second son to arrive literally any day and the wait is just painful at this point (quite literally for her). Waiting really is the hardest part.

In case you missed it, we got our first ever up-close images of Pluto this week. Far more fascinating to me than the images themselves is the story behind those images. In 2006 NASA launched its New Horizon spacecraft to capture the images of Pluto. Nearly ten years later, New Horizon reached its destination, snapped a few pictures, and called it a day decade. In case you missed that, let me reiterate. Ten. Years. Later. No lengthy layovers. No breakdowns. No leisurely Sunday afternoon drive—at times New Horizon topped out at over 30,000 miles per hour. Just a three-billion mile direct flight. And it took ten years to get there. (Side note: Is anyone else blown away by the vastness of God’s creation?)

For ten years NASA has waited for these images. How many people forgot about New Horizon in those ten years? How many people simply lost interest or gave up? How many people got tired of waiting? I’m certainly not pointing fingers–I give up in frustration when my wifi connection is slow. But on the flip-side, how rewarding were the images for those who have been waiting for the last decade? Can you imagine finally experiencing the fruit of something you invested your life in ten years ago? (I suppose many veteran parents are saying “yes” right now, but hang with me.)

There’s something redemptive about waiting. I’m not wise enough to know what it is, but there’s something to it. There’s a reason that God encourages us to “be still” (Ps. 46:10). There’s a reason that patience is included as a fruit of the Spirit. There’s a reason Jeremiah wrote, “The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” (Lam. 3:25-26)

As much as it hurts to type, I think waiting might be good for us.

But we don’t like waiting, do we? So we sit in the waiting room trying to pass the time with smartphones and outdated magazines, meanwhile God is begging for our attention! Could it be that he’s trying to speak to us in our waiting? I don’t know. Maybe.

It seems natural to ask you “what are you waiting for?” But could it be that a better question would be “what is your waiting for?”

If we really believe that “for those who love God all things work together for good” God has you (and me) waiting for a reason.

Don’t waste your wait.

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Awesome Stuff in 2015

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In case you missed it, 2015 is half-over. Crazy, huh? It seems like just yesterday that we were all making resolutions we knew we wouldn’t keep. Oh, nostalgia.

Anyways, I think 2015 has been pretty awesome so far. With that in mind, I thought I’d share some of the aforementioned awesome things from the first half of 2015. Yes, they’re random. But hey, a wannabe writer has to write something during this summer lull. So without further adieu, here are some awesome things from 2015:

  • The Manday Tradition. Over the last couple of months, Owen and I have established a tradition affectionately known as Manday. We just spend time together. No real agenda. No women allowed. Just manly things like eating donuts, paying bills, running errands, playing at the playground, etc. It’s also inspired me to put together a father-son to-do list. Maybe I’ll share that sometime too.
  • It’s a boy! Speaking of creating a father-son to-do list, I’ll soon have two boys to corrupt. We found out back in March that baby number 2 would be another boy. We’ll be welcoming Henry Allen Larkin into the world any day now. Two boys two years apart. This is why we won’t have nice things.
  • I’m still alive. In all fairness, this should probably top the list. Kind of sets the tone for everything else, you know?
  • I started shaving like my grandpa. Before this turns weird quickly, I stole that last sentence from an article on Art of Manliness. A few months ago I started shaving with an old-school double-edge razor. It’s pretty fantastic. Yes, growing a beard would be way more manly, but Patches here isn’t quite able to complete the full beard, so shaving in a manly way seemed like the next best option.
  • Three-goggles. Saving the best for last, Kelli and I celebrated three years of marriage in June. She’s a beautiful, patient, gracious, loving woman, ya’ll. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface. The way she simultaneously loves me, loves Owen, carries Henry, takes care of our home, keeps us fed, holds down a job, serves her church and more without dropping the ball is baffling to me. She wears a lot of hats. Which is convenient, because she looks good in hats.

What about you? What made the first half of your year awesome? What are you looking forward to in the second half of 2015? What are some things you would recommend to make the second half of 2015 awesome for me?

The Uneasiness of Independence Day

There’s something about Independence Day that makes me slightly uneasy. Before you dismiss me and mumble something like, “If you don’t like it here, then go somewhere else,” let me ease your aggression and tell you that it has very little to do with America herself.

It goes without saying that the United States of America is an incredible place to live. I am aware that I get to experience the freedom and liberty that billions around the world long for. I’m grateful for that. Furthermore, I don’t quite know how to properly express my gratitude for the men, women, and families that have sacrificed so much for us to enjoy such liberties. This freedom that so many of us experience daily is most certainly an act of God’s grace.

With that in mind, let me try to express my uneasiness.

This weekend, church-goers all around the country will gather for worship. My discomfort lies in the concern that many of us will be worshiping the wrong thing.

As I’ve read or heard somewhere before, worship is attributing ultimate worth to something or someone. This weekend, the church should gather to exalt and attribute ultimate worth to Christ; however, many will likely gather this weekend to exalt and attribute ultimate worth to America. The cross and Christ crucified will take a backseat to Ol’ Glory.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I believe that God is the giver of every good and perfect gift. I believe that being a citizen of the United States of America is one of those gifts. And I believe that God the Father delights in seeing His children celebrate the gifts He’s given them. All I’m saying is let’s be careful about celebrating the gift more than the Giver.

So by all means, let’s celebrate our freedoms and liberties in our gatherings this weekend, but let’s reserve our actual worship for that which is “of first importance” (1 Cor. 15:3)—the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

What I’ve Learned in Three Years of Ministry

This weekend marks my third year in full-time vocational ministry. Fully acknowledging that I’m still a ministry newbie, here’s a few things I’ve learned thus far:

Nothing prepares you for ministry.

In seminary I learned about finding Jesus in the Old Testament. I learned about church history and how denominations were established. I learned about multiple methods for crafting a sermon. What I did not learn in seminary was how time consuming ministry can be for a family. I did not learn what to say to a student whose parents had kicked them out of the house. I did not learn what to do when you get a call on your day off informing you that a parent had committed suicide. I’m not dismissing seminary—I gained valuable knowledge during my formal ministry training, but having a seminary degree doesn’t mean you’re prepared for ministry (like I naively thought it would).

People > Programs

I’m still figuring this out. It’s my biggest struggle in ministry. I am naturally drawn to content, creativity, methodologies, mission statements, systems, etc. I think it’s a mixture of a semi-creative mind and a business school background, though I’m not completely sure. To be certain, I think those things are really important—content matters, our creativity is a reflection of God’s creativity, systems are necessary—but those things are secondary. Jesus didn’t die for a teaching series, slick visual graphics, or the aesthetics of a building—Jesus died for people. I am constantly having to ask God to reorient my focus to the people He loves and died for.

I can’t imagine doing anything else.

Despite the ups, the downs, the complaints, the frustrations, the wins, the losses, the mistakes, the feelings of inadequacy, the early mornings and the late nights, I can’t imagine doing anything other than ministry. My hope and prayer is that by God’s grace I’ll have a long and fruitful tenure in full-time vocational ministry. I can’t imagine doing anything else.

Thanks Dad

Dad,

First of all, thank you for being present. I thought it was normal to have a loving dad at home all the time. I have since learned that I was likely in the minority. Because of my assumption, I overlooked the value of having you involved in my life. I wish I had paid more attention at times. I wish I had asked more questions. I wish I hadn’t slept so much in the passenger seat of your truck while we traveled up and down I-75. Thankfully, your presence in my life is not a matter of past-tense. I am grateful to have you just a phone call or short drive away.

Thanks for not living vicariously through us kids. I’ve seen so many dads put an incredible amount of pressure on their children to perform or excel at certain activities. You never did that. You always let us have the freedom to choose what activities, hobbies, interests, and sports we wanted to pursue. When I didn’t make the basketball team in middle school you weren’t disappointed. In fact, you wrote me a letter of encouragement (didn’t think I’d remember that, did you?). When I wanted to be a teenager instead of being at the racetrack on a given weekend, you were fine with that. Thank you.

Thank you for practicing what you preached. I vividly remember watching an episode of “Dirty Jobs” one night. The job at hand was cleaning out port-a-potties. One of us boys made a comment about how we’d never do that job and I remember you replying with something along the lines of, “You’ll do whatever you have to do to provide for your family.” Fast-forward several years and you lived out those words. The economy turned south, business slowed down, and you picked up a second job to provide for your family. That spoke volumes to your sons who were learning what it meant to be men.

Thanks for making us work. Once we were old enough to enter the workforce we didn’t spend summers sleeping in and playing video games. We were up at 7:58am for work at 8am (side note: thanks for living so close to the shop). Even before that you had us mowing the yard, washing trucks, and so on. You taught us that work is a good thing. Also, thanks for not bringing work home. I am still amazed at your ability to leave the stress and weight of owning a business in your office instead of bringing it to our living room.

This might sound odd, but thanks for crying. You showed us that real men can and do cry. I’ve seen your eyes fill with tears of sadness and sorrow at the death of a loved one. I’ve watched you choke back tears of gratitude as the family gathered for Thanksgiving dinner. I recall hearing your voice waver as you apologized to us for the time a campaign took up much of your family time. And I’ve seen tears of joy as you held your grandchildren for the first time. Tears are powerful. Thanks for not holding them back.

I could go on and on and thank you for many more things—but instead I want to finish with the words of the great Urban philosopher (first name, Keith) who sang the words that I think every father wants to hear:

I only hope when I have my own family
that everyday I see
a little more of my father in me.

I love you, Dad.

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Why I Prefer A Physical Bible Over A Digital Bible

Earlier this week I finished reading through the Bible. It’s something I’ve done a few times now, and while each time has been a different format or reading plan, one thing has remained consistent—reading from a physical Bible.

I love technology. I try to take advantage of it as much as possible, but the whole digital reading movement has left me in the dust. I just like books. I like highlighting. I like writing in the margins. I prefer turning pages over swiping a screen.

My wedding gift from my wife was a ridiculously nice wide-margin ESV Bible. Ever since unwrapping it, I’ve been reading it (almost) every day. I underline and circle words. I highlight verses. I make notes and reminders for myself in the margins. I record important dates on blank pages—like our wedding day, the day my son was born, and the day my grandpa died. I try to make note of significant moments when I’m needing God’s direction or thanking him for his provision.

And one day, I plan to give it away.

Why? Because there’s more that goes into reading my physical Bible than preference over the digital version. For me, it comes down to legacy.

Spurgeon once said that, “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” My hope is that one day when I’m gone my children will be handed a worn-out, marked-up, and tattered Bible that’s falling apart at the seams—the same oversized Bible that they can remember their dad reading from most days. I hope that through years of notes, confessions, and scribbles squeezed into the margins they’ll discover that their dad was far from a perfect man, but he desperately clung to the Word that pointed him to a perfect Savior.

Just so you know, I’m not anti-digital Bible. I have multiple Bible apps readily available across my various devices. But when it’s all said and done, I just don’t think my children will say, “You know, I’m really glad dad left us with his YouVersion app.”

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Living Backwards

Recent studies show that one out of every one persons will die at some point in their lifetime.

With that being said, we all have a day coming where family, friends and other random people who assumed they were our friends will gather to reflect and (hopefully) celebrate our lives. My question to you is simply this:

How do you want to be remembered?

I’m not talking about the generic, “Oh, he was such a good man” or “She was such a sweet lady”—you and I both know that people will say that regardless of whether you live like hell or not.

But what do you want your legacy to be? What is it that you want people to know about you before the preacher stands up to try to remind (or persuade) them?

It’s a tough question, isn’t it? This is the question that was brought up in our life group a few weeks ago. It’s the question I’ve thought about fairly often since then. It’s the question that I’ve set aside a page in my Moleskine journal for. It’s the question that sparked an hour-ish long discussion over our dinner table last week.

When we think about legacy, it’s so easy to think long-term. But legacies are not made in the long-term. Legacies are built brick-by-brick in the day-to-day grind of life. Our legacies are forged a little more with each setting of the sun.

Want to be remembered as a loving spouse? Love your spouse today. Want to be remembered as a beloved parent? Be intentional with your kids today. Want to be remembered for your generosity? Start giving today. Want to be remembered for your faith? Walk with Jesus today. If you want your legacy to be remembered tomorrow, get started on it today.

So what do you want your legacy to be? I think that’s a question you should ask yourself. Not just in passing—really ask yourself. Make some notes. Do some reflecting. And then once you decide what you want to be known for, try living each day with the end in mind. Live backwards.