Welcome Home Sinner

Oh my, another Christian leader has fallen into sin. Doug Phillips of Vision Forum admitted to an inappropriate relationship with a woman not his wife. Many tongues are wagging, especially since Doug was a champion of some very fundamental traditional values.

With the sin in my own life and the sins of my family, I’m the last who can judge. Doug posted a lengthy apology on his website. He declared his wife and kids forgive him. He’s going to retreat a bit and rebuild his life.

Sounds good. But those of us who are champion sinners know it’s never that easy. The wounds of betrayal run deep. I know, I’ve been the betrayer and the betrayed.

It’s easy for me to ignore my own indiscretions. To judge other’s who struggle with a sin that doesn’t trip me up. And if I’m honest, the better “behaved” I think I am, the more I think God is pleased with me.

But, the older I get, the more I realize the hardest person to live with is myself. And any cheap shot that will help burn off the edge of all those sins I’ve committed, gets easier and easier to take.

What if I could really grasp the truth that none of it matters. That it all comes down to the cross. That nothing I do can change my position with God. How would that revelation affect how I respond to men like Doug Phillips. Or any other Christian who has fallen from grace.

Maybe what Christ gave us on the cross was the freedom to not have to judge even ourselves. Maybe I don’t need a lengthy set of requirements fulfilled before I believe in the sincerity of others people’s repentance.

Or like in Michael Cheshire’s great article Going to Hell with Ted Haggard, maybe “We are called to leave the 99 to go after the one.” Maybe, “We are supposed to be numbered with the outcasts. After all, we are the ones that believe in resurrection.”

For in the story of the great shepherd, the lost sheep was, at one time, inside the fold. He just got sidetrack along the way. All he needed was the Good Shepherd to come find him and bring him back.

Often, I too get sidetracked. And when I do, the thing I need most, is for my Savior to came after me and lead me home. I don’t need my sin analyzed. Or my level of repentance evaluated. I just need the other sheep to welcome me back.

Belonging

Now that my family is scattered, and Tim is gone, I really treasure all those old family pictures. In the 70’s and 80’s, Tim and I did what most families did; we dressed ourselves up and gathered in front of a pull down backdrop at an Olan Mills Studio. The backdrop selection was so slim, it wasn’t uncommon to go in your neighbor’s house and see a large framed photo of their family, arranged just like yours, in front of the same backdrop.

As our kids got older and moved away, it got harder to get them all together at the same time. And that was especially true during the 5 ½ years Daniel was in prison.

Every prison has an assigned photographer who, for a small fee from the inmates commissary fund, will snap a quick Polaroid. But Kelly and Dan lived out of state. And inmates tend to wear funky clothes. So those pictures weren’t usually the hanging on the wall type.

But all during Daniel’s time in prison, Tim and I were determined to do whatever it took to make sure he still felt like a part of the family. So we attached those awkward prison photos to our Christmas card and we moved on.

But by the forth year of Daniel’s sentence, I really wanted a family photo where Daniel didn’t stick out. Where we could look as natural as possible, so I came up with a plan.

Kelly and Dan were home for Thanksgiving, and after a bit of convincing, I got everyone to agree to my scheme. Dan was the most apprehensive. Especially since my plan involved all of us dressing in “prison blues.”

So, on a chilly November day, the four of us went through the usual pat down. Stunned, all Daniel could seem to say was, “This is so cool.” When we marched to the photo station we arranged the chairs as if we were in our own living room. Then we smiled from ear to ear. I went back to our seat with my Christmas card worthy picture tightly in
my hand.

We all have a need to feel we belong. And families are the greatest place to have that need met. As we head into this holiday season, as parents, we have the opportunity to lead our loved ones in extending the grace necessary to build bridges.

Jesus did it for us on the cross, so the least we can do is pass that grace on to those we love.

Betty White

I seem to be one of the few women my age who’s not the least bit impressed with Betty White. Maybe I’m an old soul, but I like the idea of older women and men acting their age. Kind of the way my grandparents did.

In this picture my grandfather is in his sixties. Thirty years younger than Betty White and around the same age Mick Jagger is now.

About four years ago, I sat with a group of friends watching The Who perform their 60’s hit, Pinball Wizard, at the Super Bowel half time show. All I could think of was what if my grandfather was up on that stage prancing around.

Having been an eyewitness to the sixties, even as a kid, I wondered what the rock stars would do when they got old. I wondered if Paul McCartney would join an orchestra. Or Mick Jagger a choir. I never imagined they’d still be up on a stage strutting their stuff.

But watching Betty White spew out a stream of sexual innuendo unsettles me. Watching her hang all over men a forth her age really gets on my last nerve. She’s over 90 years old. Is that all she has to offer?

Maybe I’m wrong, but I think a lot of young men and women today are longing for the baby boomers to grow up. I even hesitate to type those words. But I think it’s true.

In the past few months several young women have asked me to write this. They told me how they long for good role models. They want to pick our brains for advice on staying married, raising teenagers, and getting old.

But they also said, the baby boomers are still too busy. Still in pursuit of “me” time. That we’re still trying to rock and roll.

We can’t stop it. We’re getting old. But it doesn’t mean our lives diminish. God still has big things for us to do. But He did tell us to put away the childish things.

Now don’t get me wrong, I want to stay young at heart. I want to continue to do many of the things I’ve always done. But I also want to mature. I want to act and dress my age. Must our pursuit of eternal youth so obsesses us that we leave young women and men behind?

Maybe it is time for the baby boomers to get off the stage. Maybe it’s time for us to take our seat in the audience, and just enjoy the show.

A Fact I Can Grow Old With

The day after I wrote this post, while out riding in North Carolina, I over shot a turn, ran off the road and fell off my motorcycle. Now, I didn’t crash the bike, I came to a stop across an uphill incline and couldn’t hold it up.

Rattled and frustrated, I wiggled myself out from underneath the massive machine. My fellow riders, scared out of their wits, pulled over. After they lifted up my bike and checked to see if I was okay, they stared at me. I felt I’d ruined everyone’s day.

But even with a sprained ankle and twisted knee, all I wanted to do was get back on and finish the ride. Despite a loss of confidence, I managed some of the toughest twists and turns of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Confession: I did cry when I called Daniel during lunch

Over the last two weeks, in slow motion, I’ve relived every moment of my fall. I started to question my need to wrestle fear to the ground. I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t retreat to a rocking chair and take up some gentler hobbies.

For some reason, I’m wired to push the boundaries of my physical capacities. I hate to be left behind. I hate to miss out on what everyone else is doing. And I never want to come in last.

Some of the roads we traveled

But maybe it’s time to reevaluate some things.

So after some serious introspection, I’ve come to the following conclusions:

1. I need to better understand what I’m able to do. So maybe I ride motorcycles, but I put in more riding time before conquering roads like the Blue Ridge Parkway. And when I do attempt those roads again, I allow myself the permission to fall back from the crowd. I don’t always have to keep up.

I made all 290 of those turns

2. Fear is my biggest enemy. Knowing that tends to cause me to ignore fears I should pay attention to. I can allow myself to forego an adventure if I’m afraid. It’s not a testimony to a weakness if I just say, “I’m scared.” People will still like me even if I don’t go along.

3. I’m too focused on being a burden to others. I underestimate my family and friends devotion to me. Just because I stumble, or fall down, doesn’t mean I ruin everyone’s day. My loved ones adore me even when I come up short. And that’s a fact I can grow old with.

Crossing Mountains

It’s interesting the things I’ve learned about myself these past couple years. For instance, as much as I complained about Tim’s do-it-yourself obsession, I now find myself searching the Internet for instructions on how to fix things myself. I’ve discovered there’s a YouTube video to show you how to do just about everything. And I’m proud to say, if I carefully follow the directions, I can do just about anything.

My greatest achievement so far has been learning to ride a motorcycle. Of all the things Tim and I did together, riding was something we both passionately loved. So after taking a short riding course, I had my license.

At first I only took few short trips close to home. Then I got enough nerve to venture out with our friends on the flat, mostly straight roads in and around Orlando. But apprehension overcame me at the thought of joining those friends on their annual trip to the North Carolina Mountains.

Determined to live well regardless of my circumstances, I chose to not let fear hold me back.

But staring out the window as we towed the bikes up those last few miles of mountain roads to our destination, I began to second-guess my decision. Every twist and turn of the road became an obstacle course I couldn’t see myself surviving.

After a restless nights sleep, with my heart pounding, I sat down on the bike. The wet road and falling leaves added on another obstacle.

But when I pressed the start key and the rumble of my engine joined the chorus of the others, I felt a thrill. A new level of determination burned inside me. There was no way I was going to let fear stop me from doing what I love.

I whispered a quick prayer, “God keep me focused, smart, and alert.” Then I eased out the clutch and pulled into the middle of the line of riders.

Now, I wouldn’t call myself a great motorcycle rider. And I’ll never know how slow the guys took those turns for me. But I do know this; I crossed two types of mountains that day. And the one I crossed inside will carry me over many more ahead.

So much has to be rebuilt when we lose a loved one. And sometimes we have to overcome a physical fear to convince ourselves we can overcome the emotional ones. I’ve crossed both of mine on a motorcycle. And in an odd sort of way, I felt Tim was along for the ride.