At around 9:30 tonight the last of the students left the youth house, and my job at Faith Presbyterian Church as youth pastor came to an official end. It was an evening filled with fun. There was the game of Ultimate (a tradition of sorts), table tennis, Catch Phrase, an impromptu "Joe Beck Trivia" by Rory Brown, and the usual pictures, cards, hugs, and goodbyes that usually accompany a moment like this. At a couple of points I tried to express sentimentality only to fail miserably (I'm good at being vulnerable until it comes to my emotions), and everyone left smiling and satisfied.
After the last of the students left the building I laid on one of the couches and read the card that the students had signed. It reminded me of my high school yearbooks, which makes me happy in the sense that I felt like these students and I really had relationships. After going over a few of the messages again, I laid there looking up at the ceiling, saddened that, for me, this is the end of an era. In reality, these students will have a much longer lasting impact on me than I ever will on them. Whereas they'll all have other youth directors who will impart valuable things to them, they will forever be my first youth group that God placed under my watch care.
I look around the room and see the rows of chairs. I always set out about twice as many as we needed, half hoping that more students would miraculously show up, and half doing it to send a message to the students that we should be looking for more people to witness to. I see the big-screen tv that was always used for powerpoint, and observe all the items around the old house that I rarely ever cared for before. This large, hollowed out room holds so many memories for me.
There's all the different sermon series we went through. The series on JI Packer's Knowing God was the first time I felt like I really did something well. There's the conversations. Outside the kitchen is where Allen Porter came to the Lord. Inside there are all the conversations with the students, specifically the ones of trying to make Nathan laugh, or trying to make Natalie see God's beauty inside of herself, or trying to reel in "The Five," as they've always been in my mind, and to which Allen became a part, making it more than just "The Four."
Thinking of all the students that were there tonight makes me smile bittersweetly. There's memories with each one, jokes with each one, expectations, hopes, love, prayers. I know them much better than they realize, and, sadly, I feel as if I've gone the past two and a half years very guarded. I hope that they have intuition into me as I have had into them.
As I realize I've been daydreaming, I decide to hop up from the couch and get home to my wife, who is probably fast asleep by now. I shut out all the lights for the last time as youth director and leave the house behind, no longer employed by my first job in ministry. It was a good run, and I'm proud of much. Allen is outside waiting for a ride. It's stuff like that about this job that I love. I make a point to tell him that he means much to me, and we don't say much else. His mom shows up, and I tell her that if I don't see her again that it was nice to have met her. I feel sincerely about this, as she has allowed me an extensive amount of freedom in the life of her son. I then realize how much freedom I earned in the lives of all of these students, and how much trust was given and earned from their parents. I hope this means that I was doing something right.
To the youth group at Faith Presbyterian Church: You are to me a group of special, wonderful young men and women. I'm sorry I've been so hard on you and so intentionally distant. I think of you in the same way as I do my wife and daughter in this sense: it is impossible for me to know if you truly are wonderful and special or if you just seem that way to me, because I cannot separate my love for you all from my view of you. To me, you will always be special and I will always see Christ in you.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Tragedy Of Potential
Potential. It's one of those words that can convey so many different things depending on who it's being said to. For the one who is just breaking through the ranks of a business or as an athlete, his or her potential becomes a selling point to greatness ("We are excited by his potential"). For the one in the middle or at the end of a career, the word "potential" becomes the scarlet letter of he who could have known greatness but never really did ("He had so much potential!"). At other times, of course, we use the term "potential" to describe those who had their greatness interrupted by tragedy, but this entry is not directed at those moments. Instead, we'll talk about potential in terms of what the individual can realize through his own efforts and through his God-given abilities and talents.
To use atheletes as examples, two different people come to mind who represent the positive and negative of potential. On the positive side, there's Blake Griffin, the number one pick in this year's NBA draft. NBA teams fawned over his physical giftings and basketball IQ. It was also his work ethic that impressed. His "potential" was seen in his ability plus his ability to learn. There is little doubt that he's going to excell at the next level. Others who fit into this category were Lebron James when he first came through, Albert Pujols in the minors, and Tim Lincecum.
On the negative side, I think of Vince Carter. It's not that Vince Carter is a bad player, because he's certainly not. It's that he could've been one of the all-time greats, but simply didn't want it bad enough. Any analyst who watches him play realizes he could be so much better, which is a wild thought. Instead, he seems very content to simply be good and have everyone know how good he could really be. This was true of several players in the late 1990s and early 2000s, which is what I believe led to the USA basketball team not winning the gold in the 2004 Olympics.
So, I turn my attention away from the potential of athletes and turn it to myself. If I reflect honestly upon my life, I'd have to say that I'm more like Vince Carter than I am like Blake Griffin. It's not that I've done poorly, but rather that I've not done as well as I could. Things in life, for the most part, have always come easy to me. I think of all the things I'm servicable at and realize if I had picked one and worked really hard I could be great at something, instead of simply decent at many things. Please don't mistake saying I'm decent at lots of things as arrogance; really, it's a tragedy that I've never excelled at any and a point of shame.
What has my barrier been to overachieving and success? I believe it comes down to fear of expectations and an inconsistent work ethic. Once you have achieved greatness, it defines you from thence forward. People expect great things out of the great. This expectation is terrifying to most, and is a shame in the lives of those who intentionally avoid greatness to avoid the expectations. There are many who work hard who would love to have the opportunities of those to whom things come easy. To run from greatness is a slap in the face of those who would do all to achieve it and never catch the break.
An inconsistent work ethic has also plagued me. It's not that i've never worked hard, but rather that I do not sustain my efforts over the long haul. In the words of one man who recently called me out, I'm either all in or all out. This amounts to not enough. It's time that I'm honest about that.
As I'm writing this I realize how similar this post is to my last post. I'm assuming from that that God is trying to tell me something. So to that end, I'm going to set three goals for myself to help improve my work ethic.
First of all, I'm going to commit to reading my Bible everyday as part of a plan. My reading is sporadic in frequency and in direction. That needs to change. Secondly, I'm going to do cardiovascular exercise and weight training six days a week. Once again, it's not that I'm terribly out of shape, just not in as good a shape as a perfectly healthy young man should be. Thirdly, I'm going to knock out at least two house projects every single week. This week it will be scrubbing down and clearing out the screened-in back porch and, out of necessity, pulling out the weight equipment and making a spot for it in the bonus room.
For accountability's sake, I'll post my results each week, good or bad. I hope this spurs you on to do all of what you are capable of.
To use atheletes as examples, two different people come to mind who represent the positive and negative of potential. On the positive side, there's Blake Griffin, the number one pick in this year's NBA draft. NBA teams fawned over his physical giftings and basketball IQ. It was also his work ethic that impressed. His "potential" was seen in his ability plus his ability to learn. There is little doubt that he's going to excell at the next level. Others who fit into this category were Lebron James when he first came through, Albert Pujols in the minors, and Tim Lincecum.
On the negative side, I think of Vince Carter. It's not that Vince Carter is a bad player, because he's certainly not. It's that he could've been one of the all-time greats, but simply didn't want it bad enough. Any analyst who watches him play realizes he could be so much better, which is a wild thought. Instead, he seems very content to simply be good and have everyone know how good he could really be. This was true of several players in the late 1990s and early 2000s, which is what I believe led to the USA basketball team not winning the gold in the 2004 Olympics.
So, I turn my attention away from the potential of athletes and turn it to myself. If I reflect honestly upon my life, I'd have to say that I'm more like Vince Carter than I am like Blake Griffin. It's not that I've done poorly, but rather that I've not done as well as I could. Things in life, for the most part, have always come easy to me. I think of all the things I'm servicable at and realize if I had picked one and worked really hard I could be great at something, instead of simply decent at many things. Please don't mistake saying I'm decent at lots of things as arrogance; really, it's a tragedy that I've never excelled at any and a point of shame.
What has my barrier been to overachieving and success? I believe it comes down to fear of expectations and an inconsistent work ethic. Once you have achieved greatness, it defines you from thence forward. People expect great things out of the great. This expectation is terrifying to most, and is a shame in the lives of those who intentionally avoid greatness to avoid the expectations. There are many who work hard who would love to have the opportunities of those to whom things come easy. To run from greatness is a slap in the face of those who would do all to achieve it and never catch the break.
An inconsistent work ethic has also plagued me. It's not that i've never worked hard, but rather that I do not sustain my efforts over the long haul. In the words of one man who recently called me out, I'm either all in or all out. This amounts to not enough. It's time that I'm honest about that.
As I'm writing this I realize how similar this post is to my last post. I'm assuming from that that God is trying to tell me something. So to that end, I'm going to set three goals for myself to help improve my work ethic.
First of all, I'm going to commit to reading my Bible everyday as part of a plan. My reading is sporadic in frequency and in direction. That needs to change. Secondly, I'm going to do cardiovascular exercise and weight training six days a week. Once again, it's not that I'm terribly out of shape, just not in as good a shape as a perfectly healthy young man should be. Thirdly, I'm going to knock out at least two house projects every single week. This week it will be scrubbing down and clearing out the screened-in back porch and, out of necessity, pulling out the weight equipment and making a spot for it in the bonus room.
For accountability's sake, I'll post my results each week, good or bad. I hope this spurs you on to do all of what you are capable of.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The other night I was flipping through the channels and came across the movie The Rookie starring Dennis Quaid as 37-year old rookie relief pitcher Jim Morris, who was the oldest rookie ever to play in the MLB. It's a decent movie that I saw in the theater and have watched a few times since.
The most moving scene in the movie, for me, is when Morris learns he's being called up from AAA Durham to meet the Tampa Bay Rays team in Arlington for a game against the Rangers. Quaid's facials and voice really sell the importance of the moment and sum up well the accomplishment of a life-long dream. While watching it again over the weekend, I realized that I've never felt that sense of accomplishment. The feeling that Dennis Quaid was emoting through his acting was a foreign one to me, as it came to me that my trouble with relating to the moment came from my never having experienced an instance of great achievment and recognition. The real-life Jim Morris must have felt a sense of disbelief, even as he knew that moment was nothing more than the equation of a summary of actions. "Living his dream" occured as a result of killing the dream and using the sacrifice as a catalyst to create the reality.
So where is my sense of achievment? Where are the moments where my dreams met reality? One could say, with validity, that at 25 I'm still young and that my best days are ahead of me. I sure hope this is true. For many, though, dreams have already died by age 25. Life can beat you down in a hurry. I've met many people who had quit dreaming by their teenage years, subjecting their minds and hearts to a sort of gross existentiallism that they cannot put their fingers on. This often happens for those who grow up in an environment where dreams had also died early for their caregivers. It is a shame to me to think about children who have no desire to make more of themselves then what they are.
On the flip side, there are people who, by 25, are already living out their dreams. Athletes immediately come to mind. Lebron James is a year younger than me. Artists come to mind. Taylor Swift was considered a prolific songwriter at 17 in a music genre that rarely allows artists to write their own material. Mechanics come to mind. Carpenters come to mind. Contractors come to mind, as well as architects, business owners, etc.
So where do I fit in the grand scheme of things? On one side, I have never quit dreaming. On the other side, I have never put in the hard work and dedication to live out my dreams. I think my never feeling a sense of accomplishment attests more to a lack of dedication to get the job done than it does to a string of bad luck or bad nurturing. My parents never killed my dreams and never tried to. I got a free ride education on my way to a bachelor's degree. I've never had too much trouble finding work and finding my wife was an obvious choice for me. So much has come easy that I've never strived for my life to be over the edge.
I believe this applies to my relationship with God, as well. Those who seek godliness will suffer, and it's not the godliness that scares me off, but rather the suffering. It's the work.
Do you have what it takes to live a life that is beyond simply functional? I believe boredom, especially for the priviledged, is a self-inflicted misery. As for me, I will pursue the things that are hard, because from those things comes the moment of disbelief where I realize that everything I went through was worth it.
The most moving scene in the movie, for me, is when Morris learns he's being called up from AAA Durham to meet the Tampa Bay Rays team in Arlington for a game against the Rangers. Quaid's facials and voice really sell the importance of the moment and sum up well the accomplishment of a life-long dream. While watching it again over the weekend, I realized that I've never felt that sense of accomplishment. The feeling that Dennis Quaid was emoting through his acting was a foreign one to me, as it came to me that my trouble with relating to the moment came from my never having experienced an instance of great achievment and recognition. The real-life Jim Morris must have felt a sense of disbelief, even as he knew that moment was nothing more than the equation of a summary of actions. "Living his dream" occured as a result of killing the dream and using the sacrifice as a catalyst to create the reality.
So where is my sense of achievment? Where are the moments where my dreams met reality? One could say, with validity, that at 25 I'm still young and that my best days are ahead of me. I sure hope this is true. For many, though, dreams have already died by age 25. Life can beat you down in a hurry. I've met many people who had quit dreaming by their teenage years, subjecting their minds and hearts to a sort of gross existentiallism that they cannot put their fingers on. This often happens for those who grow up in an environment where dreams had also died early for their caregivers. It is a shame to me to think about children who have no desire to make more of themselves then what they are.
On the flip side, there are people who, by 25, are already living out their dreams. Athletes immediately come to mind. Lebron James is a year younger than me. Artists come to mind. Taylor Swift was considered a prolific songwriter at 17 in a music genre that rarely allows artists to write their own material. Mechanics come to mind. Carpenters come to mind. Contractors come to mind, as well as architects, business owners, etc.
So where do I fit in the grand scheme of things? On one side, I have never quit dreaming. On the other side, I have never put in the hard work and dedication to live out my dreams. I think my never feeling a sense of accomplishment attests more to a lack of dedication to get the job done than it does to a string of bad luck or bad nurturing. My parents never killed my dreams and never tried to. I got a free ride education on my way to a bachelor's degree. I've never had too much trouble finding work and finding my wife was an obvious choice for me. So much has come easy that I've never strived for my life to be over the edge.
I believe this applies to my relationship with God, as well. Those who seek godliness will suffer, and it's not the godliness that scares me off, but rather the suffering. It's the work.
Do you have what it takes to live a life that is beyond simply functional? I believe boredom, especially for the priviledged, is a self-inflicted misery. As for me, I will pursue the things that are hard, because from those things comes the moment of disbelief where I realize that everything I went through was worth it.
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