Fasting...

"I don't want to be living tomorrows and missing todays. Ain't going to be making treasures out of things that fade away. No I'd rather be living every second, living every minute, of every single day. Just soak it up, every little bit I can. Enjoy all my days before all my days end. And whatever I get, I'll always let that be enough. And never forget to soak it up." -Soak It Up, Warren Barfield

"If blood's flowing through my veins, and there's air to breathe, and life to live, then I've got a song to sing on this normal day, September 22." -September 22, Nathan Angelo

"Jesus said to them, 'I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.'" -John 6:35

By the time Lent rolls around every year, I've usually got a pretty good idea of what I'd like to give up. One year it was my cell phone. One year it was social media (that's actually been a couple years.) One year it was profanity. One year I tried to say only nice things about others (hey, at least I tried.)

There's always been some kind of circumstance that has inspired me to give something up. Some aspect of my life that I needed to let go of for a while. But this year was different. I had no idea what to give up, no idea what to fast from.

So Ash Wednesday arrived and I still had nothing. I wanted to find something that would be significant to me. And then it hit me. Maybe I didn't need to find something to fast from. Maybe I just needed to fast.

I had never really practiced fasting before Lent. I didn't completely get the point if I can be honest. I knew it was a neat thing to do, and that it seemed important. But it had never been something that I needed to do.

So that's what I decided to do. For the weeks of Lent, I didn't eat anything from sunrise to sunset. (Disclaimer: not eating during the day while marathon training is NOT a wise strategy.) I didn't completely know what I was getting into, but it just felt right.

There were lots of days when my stomach ached and turned. Sometimes it made funny sounds. And about 3:00 every afternoon I started to get really hungry.

It was also the most special Lent practice I've ever participated in. Every time my stomach nudged for a quick bite or cried out in hunger, I'd stop for a second and say a quick prayer. Every time I felt my taste buds salivate just a little bit, I'd ask God to satisfy my hunger.

Here's what I learned: when we spend time disrupting our days to stop and pray, to acknowledge God's presence in the mundane and ordinary and tedious, we begin to recognize the ways that God is active and moving in those places. When we stop for just a second to look for God's fingerprints, we'll find them everywhere. We're usually just too busy to stop.

But I learned something else during those six and a half weeks. I learned that I would survive if my hunger wasn't satisfied immediately. I began to see the depth of the promise Jesus made to the woman at the well that whoever drinks of the water he offers would not be thirsty again. I learned the difference between want and need.

I focus so often on what I don't have. How often do we do that? We look in the mirror and see the muscles we don't have or our face that isn't perfect. We see our job and think about the job we don't have. We look at others and critique what they aren't instead of celebrating and encouraging all of the things they are.

We are a people of scarcity. We focus on the limitations we face and the resources we wish we had.

But God is not a god of scarcity. God is a god of abundance!

God showers us with grace upon grace and mercy upon mercy. God's love is breaking the levees and flowing into every crevice of creation. We are filled with gifts and skills and personalities to enrich the lives of others and make the world a better place. We are rich simply by the fact of our existence.

How would our marriages and relationships shine if we learned to love the depths of our partners instead of focusing on what they lack and on what that other guy/girl has? How would our communities and businesses grow if we focused on the gifts and assets of our coworkers/neighbors/friends instead of getting stuck on the resources we lack? How would our dreams for our own lives expand and take flight if we recognized God's handiwork in our beings instead of remaining trapped by the things we're not? How would our families grow in love if we saw the blessings of our homes and our beds and our full pantries and loved ones instead of driving through the next neighborhood over imagining what life must be for the better half?

We have more than we could ever need. We have blood flowing through our veins and air to breathe. We have friends and family and neighbors. We have jobs and cars and food. We have God's love filling our ever pore.

Fasting during Lent helped remind me of this. I don't remember every day. That's why I still fast. To disrupt my monotony. To disrupt my complacency and discontent. To remind me of the depths of God's blessing. God is not a god of scarcity. God is a god of overflowing abundance. Now it's our turn to start to recognize that abundance and celebrate it!

I've fasted since Easter, and I plan to continue going forward, because in giving up food I've found God satisfying my soul in bigger ways than I could ever fathom. May you know the bread of life in new ways every day.

forever unfinished...

4:23:34...

"Is the fruit worth the squeeze?" -The Girl Next Door

"Go through it. You ain't gonna die. At the end of pain is success. You're not going to die because you're feeling a little pain." -Oz Pinoy, Pain is Temporary

"I have fought the hard fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith"-2 Timothy 4:7

A month and a half ago I finished my first marathon. I know lots of people finish marathons these days, but I want to tell you about mine.

You see, after three knee surgeries in five years, I've had to ratchet back my high-impact exercise by leaps and bounds. I can't play as much ultimate frisbee or basketball. I can't run like I used to. But I wanted to finish a marathon. It was kind of a bucket list item. If my knees weren't ever going to be "perfect" anymore, I wanted to cross one of those finish lines.

So last September I started training. And I was feeling good. I ran a half marathon to see how it felt, and it felt good. I was cruising. The winter months started to come and the temperature started to fall, but I kept right along with my training program.

As the race approached, the weight of all of the training started to take its toll. Months of waking up before 6 coupled with a full-time job and being a full-time student has a way of wearing you down. But my training was going great and my body felt ready to go. I was finally going to cross off this accomplishment.

And then it happened: an ice storm. In Texas. On the week of the race. And just like that, all the training was for nothing. The course couldn't be melted and cleared by the time the race was supposed to start, so the Cowtown Marathon was cancelled.

But I wasn't going to let that discourage me. I'd spent five months training after all. So I started scouring the lists of races all around the region for one that would be close, and one that might be cheap. And then I found it: the Big D Marathon in Dallas a month away.

But that month was not as easy as I thought it would be. For one, it was an extra month of running on legs that were already pretty completely worn out. Additionally, I spent Lent (which just happened to overlap that month) fasting during the week, which I can confirm is not compatible with marathon training. On top of that it was a busy season at work and I was going through what can best be described as the most exhausting semester I've had at Brite.

The day of the race finally arrived and the weather was much better. Dad and Little Brother drove down to support me along the way. My friend Larry, a veteran marathoner, had offered to be there to cheer and help me finish the last few miles if I needed a pick-me-up. And my legs felt decent.

But three miles in, I knew it wasn't going to be my day. I set out on the pace I'd set for the Cowtown, and kept it for 14 miles, but it all started to fall apart quickly thereafter. My knees started tightening and firing on and off. My body, worn out from the wear and tear of the past couple months, simply didn't have anything left.

At mile 18, I found Dad, Thomas, and Larry waiting for me to spur me on. I thought about quitting right there. My knees were squeezing every quarter mile forcing me to sit and stretch. But Larry pulled onto the track to start his part of the race with me. So I kept going.

He quickly realized the predicament I was in. Every mile or so I thought about quitting. Every quarter mile I had to stop to walk because me knees got too tight to stride. My body was giving up. But Larry kept pushing, and I kept going.

4 hours, 23 minutes, and 34 seconds after I started the race (45 minutes after I'd planned to finish) I crossed the finish line.

And there wasn't an ounce of me that was disappointed. I wasn't mad I'd run slower. I wasn't upset I'd met the "wall" miles before I'd planned. I wasn't let down because I'd had to walk.

I finished.

It wasn't perfect. But I finished.

And isn't that how life works? After all, when has something always gone exactly according to plan? Nothing worth finishing comes without some kind of obstacles. Nothing worth anything comes without some kind of pain. And sometimes the result we celebrate isn't even the goal we set out to reach.

I was sure I was going to run a marathon in under 3 hours and 40 minutes. I was sure I was going to blast through it and finish with a smile on my face. But I didn't.

And that was just a part of my journey. It had twists and turns, disappointments and successes. It had smiles and tears (no really, lots of both!) When I crossed the finish line, it wasn't at all what I thought it would feel like. When I set out to run a marathon in September, I had a much different picture in my head of what it would look like.

But our stories always get interrupted. They always demand alteration and re-imagining. Our stories are always bumpy and imperfect. There was no character in the Bible whose life was worth telling about that didn't experience disappointment or pain. But their stories were worthwhile because of those struggles. We tell their stories today, centuries later, because God took their lives, even with all of the imperfections, and wrote something beautiful with them.

So may you run your marathon. May you face your challenges head on. May you find people willing to help pull you to the finish line when you don't think you can get there yourself. May you always remain open to the possibility that your future is yet unwritten. And whether everything goes according to plan or nothing goes as it ought, may you learn to recognize God's fingerprints in your story as it moves along as it will towards whatever finish line may be awaiting you.

forever unfinished...

Grayson...

"Mr. Rayburn used to always say, 'A jack@$% can kick a barn down. It takes a carpenter to build one.'" -Rep. Paul Driskell

"'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'" -John 8:11

I've got a friend named Grayson. Grayson just turned two years old, and yes, he does love Jake and the Neverland Pirates.

Grayson's grandmother is Brenda, our youth assistant. So every once in a while, Grayson will come to play in the office. Needless to say, those days he's in the office are hardly productive.

A little over a year ago, Grayson was in town for a whole week while his mom and dad got their first post-baby vacation. He hung out with us at the office a couple of days that week, and they were the best I've had in my time at FUMC. Throughout the day there were moments of reading books, playing with balls, naps on a cushion, doodling on an iPhone and so much more.

Maybe Grayson's favorite activity during the week was stacking some plastic blue cups into a pyramid. It was a heck of a feat for a 1 and a half year old (although he did have some help from older friends!)

But the building of the pyramid was hardly the best part of the game for Grayson. Like most toddlers, the construction part of the activity wasn't nearly as fun as the destruction part!

Once the stack had gotten too tall, Grayson took it upon himself to become a human tornado and crash through the tower with arms, legs, and really any body part available to him. Cups flung everywhere!

Grayson's only response? A gigantic smile filled with a triumphant "WOW!"

Sometimes I think we're becoming more like Grayson every day. We've gotten really good at tearing things down. We've gotten really good at finding the flaws in things and forgetting to see anything redemptive. We've learned to focus on and point out the negatives and neglect the positives. I know I have.

Not sure what I'm talking about? Just listen to the conversations we have every day. How many of them are complaints about co-workers or classmates? How many times do we point out the flaws in others? How often do we point out the wrong thing someone else did or said?

Just listen to a second of political news. No one has solutions anymore. They're all too busy noting how wrong the other side is to focus on fixing anything. Or just take a look at our Facebook walls or our Twitter feeds. They're cluttered with complaints and problems. They're full of people finding all the things wrong with the world.

A friend of mine captured this perfectly recently in a chat we were having. "It's easy to critique," Marlon said. "It's way harder to create."

I suppose it's no coincidence Jesus was raised and trained as a carpenter. He was a builder, a builder of lives. When a woman was dragged into the town square, caught in adultery, the crowd had already condemned her. They had pointed out all her flaws and torn her apart. They were ready to stone her and kick her to the curb. When Jesus was asked by the leaders what to do, he knelt down and drew with his finger in the sand. After a few short moments, he rose, looked to the crowd, and uttered those memorable words, "Let he who is without blame cast the first stone."

One by one they left until it was just Jesus and the woman. And this woman, naked and exposed, trembling and frightened, torn down and beat up, looked up and I can't imagine the expression on her face. She must have been so ashamed and embarrassed and afraid. But Jesus didn't see a life wasted. He saw a life waiting to be lived. He saw a life ready to be built back up into something more beautiful than it was before.

So he spoke to her in what I imagine was just more than a whisper, "I do not condemn you. Now go and leave your life of sin."

Jesus could've joined the crowd and torn her down. I probably would have I suppose. Because that's easier. It's easier to point out the darkness than it is to become the light.

But nothing gets better when he do nothing more than deconstruct. There's no hope in that work. Sure, sometimes things need to break down for rebirth to begin. But too often our words aren't spoken to nurture rebirth. Too often we settle for standing in the crowd, too busy pointing out the flaws in others, too scared to invest in the work of restoration God has already begun. Too often I settle for that path.

Creating is harder than critiquing. It requires a prophetic imagination. It imagines seeing beyond what is to what can be. And it requires getting our hands dirty and often becoming unpopular.

But it's also the only work that makes anything better. It may be easier to point out the flaws, but as long as we remain onlookers to the imperfections of others, we are merely allowing others to see the insecurities and imperfections we hold so tightly in ourselves.

The work of creating is hard and burdensome. It is often unpopular and lonely. But it's the only way things get better. Until we are prepared to fix things, to enter into brokenness and help redeem it, we have no permission to critique it. Until we're ready to be a part of the solution, we have no authority to complain about the problem.

So may we use our words to build up instead of tear down. May we orient our lives to the breath of life filling our lungs that calls us to a deep "Yes" instead of lingering in the discontent of "No." May we direct our lives towards making this world a better place for those around us and those to come behind us instead. May we get our hands dirty in the work of reconciliation instead of perpetuating the problems of complacency with complaints. And may we participate in the work of resurrection into which our God has invited us instead of pointing to the places where hell remains.

forever unfinished...

Weddings...

"There are moments you wonder if you'll ever forget. Events that sear themselves on your conscience. That moment was one of those for me." -Rob Bell, Sex God

"Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh." -Genesis 2:24

This blog is about a smile.

I love weddings. For those who know me, this should not come as a surprise. I'm a romantic kind of guy and love dancing. What's not to love?

Two weekends ago I flew back to celebrate the wedding of my Texas big sister Casey. Working for Casey for two years, I'd gotten to see a few guys come and go and disappointments arrive on occasion. And then a year and a half ago, we were having lunch at Chimy's and she told me about a guy from Nashville she's reconnected with. Sixteen months later, that was the guy waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

You should know, Casey is known to occasionally be a crier. By occasionally, I mean on many occasions.

On her wedding day, I expected her to be crying the whole way through. But that was not what I found.

There was a smile on her face from ear to ear. People often smile on their wedding days. In fact, if they don't, that's probably not a good sign.

But Casey's smile was different. From the moment the doors opened and her dad started to walk her down the aisle, there was something more in her smile. And it didn't go away.

From that moment until the moment she and Michael ran through a line of maraca-shaking friends and family on the way to their hotel, that smile never left. It never diminished. It never faded. That smile was on her face for every second of her wedding and her reception.

It was a picture of pure joy. In all honesty, I'm not sure I've ever seen a person happier than Casey was that day. I wanted to tell her about it the whole week she was gone, because she needed to know how happy she looked. It never occurred to me that she might know how happy she was. After all, she was the one smiling.

It was the smile of someone who was starting a new chapter, a new life, together with the person she loved more than anyone else. There wasn't a glimpse of hesitation or fear in it. It was the smile of someone who was in exactly the right place with exactly the right person. It was the smile of pure and perfect love.

It was the type of smile that others notice and forget whatever else may be going on in their lives.

Life isn't always perfect. In fact, it is often times quite hard. And many times, the weight of all of the bad seems overwhelming. The news is full of reports of ISIS and pain. There are moments of disappointment and tragedy. Our lives can be burdened with pressures and loss. Things are not always as we'd hope they'd be.

But Casey's smile was a reminder that hope always remains and love is always the source of that hope. Not in a hokey romantic sense. But deep, abiding love. Rob Bell puts it this way, "Maybe this is why we always notice great marriages. When their love is growing, it inspires us. Their life together gives us life."

This is why I love weddings. This is why I loved Casey's wedding, and why I had to tell her about her smile. They provide us with hope. They remind us that there are always great things that are being made new every day. They remind us that God is always writing new stories in our midst.

But it also taught me that this hope isn't something for us to share alone. Casey is like me, having moved to Texas not knowing anyone. We could be self-sufficient. We didn't need someone else to get along.

I've trained myself to be independent. To follow the wind wherever it may lead, whether from California to Tennessee to South Carolina to Texas. To be able to do it all myself. But Casey's smile taught me something, something I didn't realize how deeply I wanted: even if we can do it alone, even if we're capable of getting along just fine, it's always better to have a partner. It's better to have someone to share the biggest moments of our lives with.

I feel like Adam a lot. After all, Adam didn't think he needed a helper. He was able to name the animals and tend the garden alone. I'm sure he and God walked along and had fine chats. I'm sure he and the dogs in the garden played great fetch. He assumed he was doing just fine by himself.

But something was missing, even if he didn't know what it was, even if he didn't know how to describe it. He was lonely. He didn't have a companion. And God looked down and must've said something like, "This is close, but not quite right." So God put Adam to sleep and made Eve. And I imagine when Adam woke up and saw his partner, his smile looked something like Casey's. I imagine his face was beaming from ear to ear.

I love weddings. They give me hope in the midst of whatever may be going on in the world that faith, hope, and love are never overshadowed. They give me hope that we can believe that the future will be bright. They give me hope that God is still making things new in our midst, writing new stories.

That's what I loved about Casey's wedding. That's what I loved about her smile. That's why I stopped in her office the morning she got back to tell her how happy she was. Her smile reminded me exactly what pure joy looked like. And it taught me that no matter how capable we are, it's always better to share that joy with a companion. Because then you'll see your smile staring back at you.

Congratulations Casey and Michael! May your love continue to bloom and be made new every day. May you grow through challenges and celebrations. And may your love remind the world that God's love is transforming us every day.

forever unfinished...

My Mom...

"You showed me when I was young just how to grow. You showed me everything that I should know. You showed me just how to walk without your hands. Cause Mom you always were the perfect hand." -The Perfect Fan, Backstreet Boys

"So I take the time to thank you now. Hold my head high to make you proud as I walk on through these doors into my life." -Path Beneath My Feet, Laura Spaw

I've known my mom as long as I've been alive. No, literally. I've known her longer than anyone. And she's known me longer than anyone.

I've always thought I was more like my dad. I probably am. I think I got his stubbornness and his pride. I may have gotten his "sometimes" lack of patience. I'm pretty sure I got his hairline, too.

But I know what I got from my mom without any question: her every affection and love.

On Mother's Day this weekend, people around the world will write something online to let their friends, acquaintances, family, and that guy they had a biology project with in freshman year know a secret: their mom is the world's best. And they're probably right.

But I'd like to share why my mom is the best mom I could've ever had.

Not everyone gets the opportunity to say their mom loved them with their whole heart. Some don't get to say their mother loved them with any of their heart. We all have moms after all, the women who nurtured us to birth and then saw us breathe our first breaths. Unfortunately, sometimes that's where the affection ends for some.

I'm blessed every day to say that I have a mom who took it upon herself to define herself first and foremost by the love she showered on her two boys and her husband. I'm blessed every day to say I have a mom who nurtured me every day of my childhood and is still nurturing me today as a 26-year-old. I'm blessed every day to say I have a mom who took care of me every day I was in her house and then pushed me out to write my own life and has taken care of me every day I've been gone.

My mom always wanted a girl. Until I came out wearing a blue bib, I was Margaret. Really! Martin wasn't even on the radar because I was supposed to be a girl. So they tried again, sure that the second time Mom would get her daughter to teach to paint her nails and shop with. And yet, out came Thomas, just as boy as his older brother. At the risk of a third boy, they decided to cut bait and give up the quest for a Maggie. Not to worry, Thomas and I were enough for any set of parents.

Now that doesn't mean that Mom has failed to surrounded herself with girls. Or at least she's tried her best to. Rare has been the day over the past 26 years that she has not inquired about her oldest son's adventures (and often misadventures) in love. And just in case I'm not looking hard enough, she's usually around with names of eligible young ladies she's met at any which place.

I used to think that my mom wanted me to get married as fast as I could so she could have a grandchild to play with. Talk about pressure!

I know better now. My mom has wanted me to find someone for the past 26 years because she wants me to be the happiest that I can be. She wants my life to know the deepest love I can know, the kind of love she gets to share with my dad and with us. With her family! When I've been in love (and there have been precious few occasions) she's been the biggest cheerleader. She's encouraged and supported and challenged. And when my heart's been broken, hers has broken as well. Not because I failed, but because her baby boy was broken.

I've kept in touch with one of those ex's. And it was one Mom liked. This particular friend and I actually spent a couple hours catching up on the comings and goings of the past year a few days ago via Skype. As the conversation went on, it turned to her new significant other. Apparently as they were talking, she'd been asked, "Where did you learn to love so well?" In quite possibly the most humbling compliment I've ever been paid, she told me, "They asked where I learned to love and I told them by the way you loved me."

It was the most honored I've ever felt (particularly in light of all the ways I've screwed up loving people over the years.) However, she misplaced the blame. What she meant to say was, "I learned to love from your mom."

That's because everything I know about love, I learned from my mom and my dad. I learned from the ways that they sacrificed so much every day to make my life and Thomas' a little bit better. I learned from the ways that they hugged us when we were low and celebrated with us when we were high. I learned from the ways Mom always made us feel like we were the most important people in the world! I want to be a great husband and father one day because I want to do my best to love someone like my mom has loved me.

When I was a freshman at Furman I made a decision, and at Easter that year I let my mom in the secret. I was going to drop out. Nothing I was learning was worthwhile, and I was going to go to Africa and end world hunger. That's right! Me. Hunger. It was on, and it was way more worthy of my time than sitting in class.

We were sitting in our rec room watching A Walk to Remember after Easter Brunch. It was her choice of movie, but I figured that was OK since it was one of the few days of the year I got to spend with my parents while I was at school in South Carolina. And who are we kidding, I love a good chick flick too.

Casually, and with so much fear my toes were curled up in my socks, I muttered, "Mom, I'm dropping out. This college thing isn't for me."

She didn't cry. She didn't yell. She didn't argue. She asked.

"What makes you say that?"

"Has something happened?"

"Is everything ok?"

And I told her about my plot. And she smiled. She said we'd talk about it later.

When I got back to campus two days later there was a two-page letter waiting for me in my campus mailbox from home. My mom had written me a letter. And in two pages she explained why I couldn't drop out. No, it wasn't because I'd be throwing away my future. It wasn't because there was so much invested in it. It was because there was something for me to learn there. And there was something that others needed to learn from me.

My mom taught me to soak up every experience I could. She taught me there was some lesson to learn from every interaction I had. And she taught me that no matter where I was, no matter how menial or how challenging or how far, there was something for me to offer the world in that place. She taught me that my presence mattered. And she knew that that was the case for me at Furman.

My mom is the most courageous person I know. A month before Christmas, when I was off at college, I found out Mom had been laid off by the Tennessean. The death of print news has been devastating to many, but it was particularly hard for my mom. Not just because she lost her job. But the thing she loved most, writing and reporting the news, was dying.

I've never been fired or let go, but I know it killed my mom. Her passion, the thing she loved to do, got taken away from her.

But she taught Thomas and I from our earliest memories to chase our dreams. She told Thomas and I we could be the President of the United States if we wanted to be. And then she taught us by chasing her own dreams. She took most of our savings (with Dad's blessing, of course) and started the Brentwood Homepage, an online newspaper for our suburb, with friend and business partner Kelly.

It was risky. It was scary. It had no real reason for optimism other than a whimsical dream. But she went for it. She worked longer hours than I could possibly imagine, with little return. The staff was never big enough to do all the things they wanted and the revenue was never what they dreamed.

But she kept fighting. And she kept writing. And she kept following her dreams. And after five years and two additional Homepages, the dream was standing on its own two feet and she decided she had given it all she had and decided to walk away.

But don't mistake walking away for failing. She built something with her own two hands and taught her two sons to fight for what we believe in. She taught us to dream impossible dreams and not to give up when the impossibilities stack up high. She followed her passion to the very end and made it the best she could make it.

My parents always tell me they have no idea how I turned out the way that I have. They can't imagine that between the two of them they would have produced a youth minister who is living in Texas. They can't imagine that their son would be two years into a seminary degree.

I've never understood what was so hard to believe. In his first letter in the New Testament, John wrote that God is love. It's a pretty radical statement really. God is so much bigger than we could possibly get our heads around, and yet here is John identifying God in a single word.

Well if God is love, then my parents have given me such a clear picture of what God is like that I can't fathom being caught up in any other story. If God is love, then I have my mom to blame for the ways that God has captured my heart and the ways God has drawn me to love others. If God is love, my mom has exemplified that picture better than any son could ask for. If God is love, then my mom has soaked me in God's grace in wave after wave for 26 years.

Over Thanksgiving my mom and I went through hours worth of old pictures from my childhood. What I saw over and over again were pictures of Mom with her two boys smiling from ear to ear. What I saw was Mom holding us while we cried or smiling with us while we jumped. What I saw was love. What I saw were the fingerprints of God.

My mom goes by many titles. Susan. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Aunt. Boss. Friend. Editor (she'll probably edit this blog in fact.) Writer. Entrepreneur. Social media consultant. Williamson County Impact Award winner (yeah, she's kind of a big deal!)

But today, the only title I care about is Mom. It's the most important one to me. And it's the one she's best at. It's the one she's poured the most into. It's the one that has made my life what it is today. And it's the one I thank God for every day!

They say we don't need a celebration like Mother's Day because moms should be celebrated every day. They're absolutely right. But they're not. It's probably because the work of being a mom is the most selfless, sacrificial expression of love the world's ever known. There's no thanks in picking up a gaggle of boys from baseball practice. There's no thanks in washing a cut through the neosporin-induced screams of a toddler. There's no thanks in hugging a son after he didn't make the cut and telling him she still loves him. There's no thanks in prepping a dinner after she's worked harder all day than anyone else in the house. There's no thanks in letting a son follow a call to Texas even if it means he'll be further away.

These are just a handful of the innumerable things I need to thank my mom for. These are the things she's done for 26 years. These are the things I've taken for granted for almost all of those 9,584 days I've known her. And these are the reasons she's irreplaceable. These are the reasons that, even if just for one day, I remember just how perfect my mother is. I love you Mom, today and every day!

forever unfinished...

Clark Kent...

"You will give the people of Earth an ideal to strive towards. They will race behind you. They will stumble. They will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun. In time, you will help them accomplish wonders." -Man of Steel

"I'm more than a bird. I'm more than a plane. I'm more than some pretty face beside the train. And it's not easy being me." -Five for Fighting, Superman (It's Not Easy)

"Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this." -Esther 4:14

When I was a kid, I loved superheroes. Batman? Loved him. Spiderman? Loved him. Superman? Loved him.

Truthfully, I was really a Batman kid more than anything. I would get home every day and watch Power Rangers and then the Batman Animated Series. And it wasn't so much that I loved Batman as much as it was that I loved the bad guys. I loved the adventures of the Joker. And the Riddler. And Two-Face. And Mr. Freeze. Who didn't love supervillians?

I also remember having the coolest Superman shoes in the world. This was probably when I was about six years old, but I'm telling you they were the slickest shoes I've ever owned. On the sides they had a picture of Superman flying and getting ready to punch the bad guy. There was so much action in those shoes that I thought I could lift off at any moment and be called back to Krypton to help Superman save the universe.

There's a story in the bible about a woman named Hadassah. She was a Jewish exile in the Persian capital city of Susa living with her uncle Mordecai. After dismissing his queen because she failed to appear before him, the Persian king Ahasuerus ordered young women from all over the city be brought to him so that he could pick his favorite to become his new queen. Hadassah was one of those picked.

But Mordecai warned her not to let the king know who she was and where she came from. She even used another, more common, Persian name to conceal her identity: Esther.

Well, after some time the king had all of the women brought to him, and wouldn't you know, Esther was the one he desired the most. Esther was made Ahasuerus' queen, the most important woman in Persia.

Now, a man named Haman became the head of all of the king's officials and demanded that all in the king's court bow down, but Mordecai would not. Some people asked him why, but he would not say. So they told Haman. And when Haman discovered that Mordecai was a Jew, he demanded revenge. He had the king order that all Jews be annihilated, and the order was sent to all the corners of the kingdom with the king's stamp of approval.

When Mordecai heard this, he sent a message to Esther demanding help. If anyone could change the king's mind, it must be the queen. But Esther was hesitant. "Don't you know I could be killed for going in to see the king, even as the queen!? You're the one who told me not to let them know I am a Jew after all!" But Mordecai was undeterred. "Perhaps," he replied, "it was for just this moment that you were made queen!"

So Esther went. And she threw two banquets for the king and Haman together. With some cunning she convinced the king to honor Mordecai, an honor which burned within Haman. And then when the king was pleased, with more courage than I can imagine, Esther turned to the king and pled for her people to be spared from destruction. And the king ordered that Haman be hanged and that all Jews be saved from the massacre.

Esther was an outsider in the court of the Persians. Her people had been ordered to death, and if anyone had discovered who she was, she may well have been killed as well. But in spite of that danger, and with the fate of her people hanging in the balance, Esther found a courage of immeasurable magnitude. In the face of death, she took off her mask and fought for her people. She had been Esther for too long. She had to be Hadassah again.

Do you remember what Superman's costume looks like? You know, the blue spandex and the red underwear outside his pants? The red cape? The red boots? The yellow belt? The red and yellow "S" on his chest?

Yes, Superman wears these things. But they aren't his costume.

Superman has a similar story to Esther's. The original Superman comic was created by a couple of teenagers named Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.

Jerry and Joe were the children of Jewish immigrants hoping to find a safer home in America than they'd had in Europe in the first half of the 20th century. Jerry's family had immigrated from Lithuania. Joe's had come from different parts of eastern Europe. But even in America, their families were met with discrimination and were labeled as "outsiders." Their very existence was a challenge.

So with their love of comics, Jerry and Joe created a new superhero, Superman, an alien from a foreign world Krypton who was an outsider on Earth. He had superpowers. He was more powerful than a locomotive. He could leap tall buildings in a single bound. He could save anyone and beat any villain. He was a hero. He was their hero.

But he didn't fit in. He was a stranger here, an outsider. He was an alien. Just like Jerry and Joe. So to fit in, Superman disguised himself in a costume: Clark Kent, a mild-mannered reporter for the Daily Planet dressed in a suit and tie and glasses. Superman, the greatest superhero of all, wanted to fit in. He needed to put a costume over his real identity. So he put on a disguise.

We do the same thing every day don't we? We put on masks to hide who we really are. We change for different people so we won't ever feel insecure or out of place. We yearn to be insiders instead of outsiders. We crave acceptance, and rarely do we have the courage to rock the boat for fear our shipmates might throw us overboard when they find out we're different somehow.

I bet this must've been what Esther felt like. She must've been terrified. She knew if she approached the king it could mean her death. She'd be done. Finished. The ultimate outsider.

But she took off her mask. She found a courage I don't know I could've found. She found her Superman and left behind her Clark Kent.

That's our call: to take off the glasses and the suit and tie and the masks we wear every day. The world needs a superhero willing to stand out from the crowd and show it the light. The world is yearning for something to stand behind and show it that it can be better than it is. Our cities are looking for this. Our schools are looking for this. Our offices and our homes are looking for this. Our friends and our spouses and our boyfriends and our girlfriends and our children are looking for this. Our enemies are looking for this. We are looking for this.

The world is looking for a love so radical in its breadth and its depth and with boundaries so impossibly wide that it can't help but take notice and follow. So may you take off your costumes and your disguises and let the light in you shine for all of those around. May you let the gifts and beauty God placed in you at your birth shine God's light so brightly in this world that others can't help but notice and be drawn in. May the fruit of Jesus' love in you be so evident that people want to grab hold. And may you find your Superman while you let go of your Clark Kent.

The world needs your Superman, not your Clark Kent.

forever unfinished...

(Much of this blog is drawn from a sermon titled "Esther" by David McNitzky at Alamo Heights UMC in San Antonio on August 3.)