A Baby Dedication

I have performed parent/child dedications throughout my twenty plus years of ministry. Usually such events happen on Mother’s Day and occasionally Father’s Day, and sometimes on Sundays closer to a child’s birth. The parent/child dedication I participated in today had quite a unique twist.

First, it wasn’t on Sunday, it was Tuesday. Second, it wasn’t in a church. It took place in a meeting room in a very nice restaurant. Third, a congregation had not gathered. Instead, about a dozen family members came together for this festive event.

But there’s more. Perhaps telling the story more fully will help. When I pastored a church in Prestonsburg my wife and I became close to several families with whom we have kept contact on one level or another throughout the years. This particular family, at the time I served there, had two boys in the youth group. Our families spent time together and enjoyed the friendship that developed.

I received a call from the mother recently that their youngest son had joined the National Guard and his unit was to be deployed following the holidays. She explained that he and his wife had just celebrated the arrival of their first child and wanted to dedicate the baby before he left on his deployment. They wanted me to perform the dedication. Of course, I was honored to be part of this family’s special day and appreciated the opportunity to continue my ministry with them.

We worked out the dates and other arrangements and gathered for the small, informal ceremony that proved to be quite meaningful and worshipful. The baby was adorable, the parents proud, and the grandparents were glowing. As I held this nearly six-month old in my arms and sought God’s blessings and peace on his life I thought of the many ways this baby would need God in the years ahead. As I asked his parents and grandparents to commit to sharing with him the story of God’s love I marveled at the wonderful privilege and responsibility this is.

The ceremony itself was brief. Afterwards we shared a wonderful meal and great conversation, catching up on the time that had passed since we had last met.

I spoke privately with the young man who was soon to be deployed—he hadn’t changed much from the way I remember him as a youth. I inquired as to how he felt for his safety while deployed. He told me that his unit’s assignment was actually among the most dangerous. He is scheduled to be away for one year.

During that time his son will learn to walk, begin to talk, and go on adventures without his dad. And his dad, and his family, will face some daunting challenges—fear, loneliness, discouragement, and the absence of family.

I am grateful for all those who make a sacrifice many of us cannot imagine. Whether we agree with the deployment of troops or not, they certainly deserve our prayers and support as they faithfully serve our country.

Before I left I pledged my prayers for him and his family. And I realized we had done more than dedicate a child. We had helped a family prepare for a husband, father, and son to leave. I hope to hear of his safe return this time next year.

Ordination

Our church, Lexington Avenue Baptist, recently ordained one of our own to the gospel ministry. She spent her adolescent years growing and learning from the caring ministers and members of this nurturing community of faith. She opened her life and her spirit to voice of God calling her into ministry. And she responded affirmatively and confidently to that call.

She is a God-gifted young person who possesses a compassion for those who are hurting and is able to convey the love of Christ through her ministry and her service. I am grateful that she was willing to hear and respond to God’s call upon her life.

I am also grateful to a church that nurtured that calling in her life. That’s part of the work and the mission of the church—to find ways to help others to hear God’s voice in the midst of their lives. That certainly happens in churches everywhere. It requires sometimes that people like you and me open our hearts and our lives in such a way that we can hear—but it can and does happen.

Ministry is about giving your life in service to God and to others. It can be draining and exhausting at times. There are days as a minister when you realize that the work of ministry is never really finished. There can also be days when you wonder if you have what it takes to be of service to others.

Yet ministry is at the same time very rewarding and fulfilling. It brings meaning and purpose to life. And ministry is a reminder that this, whatever this is, is never about you—it is always about God and what God is doing in and through you and others.

Katie Lay-Anderson is and will be a wonderful minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am honored that we had the chance to be part of what God is doing in and through her. Thanks be to God!

Tenth Anniversary at LABC

I recently celebrated my tenth anniversary as pastor of the Lexington Avenue Baptist Church. This wonderful church recognized me and my family with special guests from previous churches I have served and with a very generous gift. It may sound like a cliché, but it really is hard to believe it has been ten years.

In that time my children have grown. We came to Danville with a preschooler and an infant. We celebrated our tenth anniversary with a teenager and a pre-teen. All that is to say that I have aged as well. But that’s another matter!!

In those ten years I have grown as a person and as a minister. I would like to say that I am wiser and perhaps in some ways I am. I have certainly learned to do things I had not previously done.

My ten years have been enriched by a wonderful group of folks with whom I minister. Our church staff is tremendous—and I don’t say that lightly. They are a gifted and called group of individuals. Each of them helps me to be a better minister. And each of them helps our church to be a better church.

Ten years can seem like a very long time. It can also be a time that passes very quickly. But more than anything else these ten years have given me a wealth of memories and stories that I will treasure for years to come.

Thanks be to God for those ten years!

Remembering

Today, October 12th, marks the 27th anniversary of my brother’s death. He was 21 when he died as the result of a car accident. I was 17. That event left me and my family changed in ways we could not immediately see. We continued to live life fully and in time we rediscovered the joy that life brings. David’s life, though short in years, was lived fully and touched the lives of others.

There are those events in life that serve as road markers in this journey. They are not what define us as individuals. Our lives are more the culmination of such markers. Rather, those road markers serve as reference points that help us to better understand who we have become and, perhaps, why we have become who we are. At times, those road markers become the points at which we choose one path over another. At other times those same markers become the points at which a certain path is thrust upon us.

David’s death was all that for me. As I look back over the years I can see the ways in which David’s death and life, and what I learned from that experience, have influenced my life.

I have learned that though we lose loved ones in death, there is much life yet to be lived, and live it we must. I have found great joy and blessings in the continuing journey of life—a wonderful wife, two beautiful children, moments filled with laughter and tears. All of this is a reminder that life is a gift.

There are many road markers in my life’s journey. Each one has had its own unique impact on me. But on this day I pause to remember David’s life and the times we shared together. For that remembrance, I give God thanks.

My Top Five Burgers

I had lunch today with some friends and in the process decided on my top five burgers. And so, in no particular order my top five burgers.

I begin with Billy Ray’s Playhouse Burger. A Prestonsburg favorite. I had this burger often during my five years in that wonderful town. Billy Ray was a real person—I knew both him and his mother. The playhouse was actually a pool room in an earlier time. Some of the old-timers in town could remember that earlier time. There were pictures of various community figures and locations on the walls. Included were the pictures of the school students killed when a school bus went off the road into a flooded creek during the 50s. The burgers are hand patted and grilled.

Second, burgers from Five Guys Burgers and Fries. I ran onto this place while on a family vacation in Washington, D.C. It has become one of my favorites. They recently opened a restaurant in Lexington near where I live. The fries are deep-fried in peanut oil. Great burgers and a great place.

Third, the Dream Catcher Burger from Stan’s Fish Sandwich. I know what you’re thinking. A great burger in a fish joint? It’s true! I had it just today. It is 100% grass-fed angus beef. Seasoned wonderfully. Topped with Swiss cheese, it makes for a great lunch!!

Fourth, Old Bridge Golf Club Grill Cheeseburger. I could eat this burger every week. Just the thought of it makes my mouth water. May have to go to Old Bridge tomorrow!!

Fifth, Jennifer’s hand-patted angus burgers with special fillings. Don’t know what all the special fillings are but onions are part of it. Throw them on the grill and these are great.

Obviously I like hamburgers. American cheese or swiss cheese is a must. Douse them with ketchup, mayonnaise, and sometimes mustard. Add a large glass of southern-style sweet tea and that’s a perfect lunch.

I think I’ll start dreaming now about tomorrow’s lunch

Fall is Here

The signs are clear—fall is in the air. Leaves are beginning to fall off some trees. The weather is cooler—at least where I live. Football games fill the weekend. Plans are in the making for fall festivals, trips to the pumpkin patch, and hayrides. Favorite chili recipes are being shared.

I have always liked the fall season. It ranks as one of my favorites. I don’t have anything against the other seasons. Nor do I have any specific reason for choosing the fall as my favorite. Perhaps the memories associated with the fall have something to do with it.

Those memories include homecoming parades, school festivals, cutting and splitting fire-wood, Friday night high school football games. Sweaters and sweat-shirts are taken off the closet shelf and out of summer storage.

The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us that “there is a time for everything.” (Eccl. 3:1 NIV) Perhaps what I like about Fall is that it reminds me to slow down life’s pace; to take time to reflect and to grow. I don’t have any particular plans for this season; a lot of hopes perhaps but no firm plans. A trip to the mountains as the vibrant colors begin to set in would be nice. A Saturday afternoon drive would be nice. A trip to the pumpkin patch would create great memories, even though my kids are getting past the age of enjoying such a trip. A weekend get-away with my wife would be great. But no such plans are set yet. Spontaneity may a good thing this year.

This season won’t last. It will give way to winter and winter to spring. Life will continue its ebb and flow. But for now I will soak in all that this Fall has to offer. I will, as I seek to do each season, enjoy the good times Fall brings and learn from the difficult lessons that may come in this seasons journey. I pray that the good days far outweigh the more difficult days.

Fall is here. I welcome its return like an old friend.

Of Blackberries and Summer

Let’s be clear from the start. I love blackberries. I know love is an over-used word. But in this case it expresses well my sentiment. At a restaurant, when others ask for grape jelly for their biscuits, I want blackberry jelly. Don’t even offer me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich unless it’s made with blackberry jelly. Peach cobbler is not even in the running with blackberry cobbler. The only thing more American than baseball are blackberries

My love for blackberries goes back to my childhood when I would pick blackberries at my grandparents. Those blackberries were the wild sort, mind you. Meaning they were difficult to get to, had thorns on them, and were infested with chiggers. A day spent picking blackberries usually ended with a bath with Mama’s homemade Lye soap to kill the chiggers, iodine to heal the scratches, and Calamine lotion to ease the itching. In spite of all that there simply was nothing quite like picking those berries. I still recall with fondness my Mama cooking the berries up into a juice and my Papa squeezing the juice out of the berries through a cheese-cloth. The blackberry jelly I would enjoy the rest of the year has yet to be matched. It made breakfast a truly delicious meal.

The blackberries in my back yard today are the tame sort. No thorns, easy to get to, and chiggers do not find me as easily as they once did. But my yellow lab, Casey, loves to pull the berries off, ripe or not, as we pick them. It is quite the challenge to keep him out of the patch.

We don’t grow enough to make blackberry jelly, but we get enough for Jennifer’s fabulous blackberry pie! There is nothing quite like it either. Add some home made ice cream—blackberry pie a la mode--and summer remains one of those special joys in life.

The berries are just now beginning to ripen and my senses are already anxious for the pie soon to come!! Think I’ll go check the blackberry patch now and taste a berry or two. By the way, did I mention that I love blackberries?!

The Burdensome Joy of Preaching

There’s a phrase that’s been on my mind lately. It’s not original to me. It is from the title of a book by James Earl Massey--The Burdensome Joy of Preaching. (Abingdon Press, 1998) There is obviously a twofold aspect to this wonderful phrase that we preachers are keenly aware of. To say that preaching is a burden is to acknowledge the way in which preparing and delivering a specific sermon for a specific group of people with so many unique needs weighs upon the preacher each week.

Preaching is a joy, though, because of its divine purpose. We preachers sense deeply a calling by God to proclaim God’s love to others through the preaching event. It is a joy as well because, though we don’t always see, we know the redemptive effects that preaching has in and through the lives of individuals and congregations. That effect is not the result of the preacher but rather the result of God’s Holy Spirit working through the entirety of the preaching event and touching both the proclaimer and the listener.

I saw the reality of this phrase in its fullness at the preaching camp for the Academy for Preachers. Young preachers were preaching 4 sermons over a period of 5 days. That doesn’t sound like much. But consider the message that is being proclaimed, the work needed to be prepared, and the challenge of delivering both the Word and words and one can quickly see that their task could be an exhausting one.

Massey quotes Gardner C. Taylor as saying that preacher’s experience is “the sweet torture of Sunday morning.” After 20 plus years of preaching experience I can attest that preaching is indeed a burdensome joy. But would I do anything other than preach? There are times I have considered it. But the divine pull keeps me hooked. I have learned to live in and with that tension—the sweet torture of Sunday morning that is the burdensome joy of preaching.

A Preaching Coach

This week I am a preaching coach. I have helped to coach soccer and baseball—meaning that I watched the kids on the sidelines, picked up the bats and kept up with the batting rotation. Being a preaching coach is a bit different. The Academy of Preachers is holding its first preaching camp at a wonderful Christian retreat center in southern Indiana. There are twelve young preachers, women and men, ranging in age from about 16-28. Some have never attended a seminary. Some have recently graduated from divinity school.

They come from a myriad of denominations—Catholic, Presbyterian, Methodist, Baptist, Nazarene, and non-denominational. They have all gathered with a common purpose—to improve their preaching skills. During their time here they will be preaching a 6-8 minute sermon each day.

My job as coach is to review those sermons on video with four of the young preachers assigned to me. I am also to offer assistance as they prepare for the next day’s sermon. I am learning to pull from my years of pastoral experience and my coach training to help these young preachers in the short time we are together. I am encouraged by their enthusiasm for communicating the Good News of the Gospel to our world. They desire to be relevant and they yearn to make a difference in the lives of individuals and churches. Already I have heard some very good sermons and I’m sure I can look forward to hearing more in the days ahead. I am amazed at the energy these young people have for a vocation that is no longer given the respect that it once knew and does not find itself in the top lists of ways to make a living. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised because God has always worked in ways that leave us amazed.

Now that I think about it coaching young preachers is not that different from coaching a T-ball team. They both dream of hitting a home run—one with a bat the other with words; they both feel a bit of uncertainty as they step up to the plate; and, they both wouldn’t choose to do or be anything else because they simply love it. Seeing all that adds a certain sense of reward to my job as a coach.

I know that I won’t be a preacher forever. I have been preaching for over twenty years now. I look forward to many years of preaching yet. But one day, though I will continue to share God’s love with others, I may not be doing so from a pulpit. It’s good to know that these young people sense God’s call to step in and continue the preaching ministry that has communicated God’s love to countless numbers of people throughout the ages.

The Parenting Journey

My role as a parent changes constantly. We assume that will be the case when our children are born. But I’m not sure the concept sinks in until those changes are upon us and we become cognizant of them. So we travel along this parenting journey not always seeing what lies just around the bend ahead, not always noticing that little dip in the road, and not prepared to avoid the hole in the road before us. We are travelers nonetheless and we enjoy this parenting journey, even on the difficult days. Along the journey change most certainly comes and typically requires something of us as parents. Sometimes that change is obvious and requires significant adjustments on our part. At other times that change is subtle and not so demanding.

This week I experienced some of the subtle changes of this parenting journey. I decided to give my son some of the responsibility for mowing our yard. A simple change so it seems. But to me, yielding to our thirteen-year-old the control of my Cub Cadet, with the capacity to run over and shred the small trees and blackberries in our yard, was a change I had missed on the horizon of my parenting journey. His mother encouraged the opportunity. Mother’s always have a hand in this father/son plot and tug-of-war that I have yet to fully comprehend and appreciate.

Since I was pressed for time and the yard needed to be mowed and trimmed before the rains came, I surrendered the driver’s seat. I made a few rounds to mark out the boundaries. Our thirteen-year-old, who it seems only yesterday wasn’t heavy enough to hold the seat down so the tractor didn’t automatically shut off, assumed the controls. After learning what buttons did what and which pedal was forward and which was backward, off he was. He insisted, thank God, that I walk along beside him at first. I patiently—thank God for patience—gave directions. After it appeared he had this mowing thing down, I preceded to my task of trimming.

With an ever watchful eye—knowing his mother would want to know that I was keeping a close watch on her baby boy taking on such a dangerous task and anticipating that I might happen to witness the shredding of my blackberry vines—I kept vigil.

It was difficult not to point out that some of the corners were turned to close and as a result some of the grass was not cut. Obviously a more experienced hand—his father’s specifically—would not have made such a miscue. I gently pointed it out and suggested how he could avoid it. When I finished trimming I fought the urge to say, “Let me finish.” “It will be quicker if I do it,” was my reasoning. But I knew his mother was watching and deep down I knew he had to learn somehow. So I watched and pointed with my walking stick. I had to have control on some level, right?!!

At one point he came to me and said, “Hey, Dad!! I think I just ran over the little pine tree!!” The very pine tree I had trimmed around, pointed out to him, and even put a large stake beside so he could see it. “Yeah, Dad, that pine tree.” I took a deep breath. It wasn’t going to make it anyway. In case you’re wondering, the pine tree survived.

Father and son finally finished the task he needed to learn and the change I needed to navigate. He parked the tractor and shut it off and we walked inside.

I don’t remember how old I was when my dad taught me how to mow the yard. I do remember that there were paths of grass that I missed, small trees I cut down, and times I failed to put the oil plug back in after checking the oil. I remember the time I backed the lawn mower over my grandfathers fence and the time I got in stuck in a ditch, the very ditch my dad had pointed out to me, the very ditch he had told me not to get too close to—that ditch. I remember that it was my mom who came to the rescue that time.

All this reminds me, that for ages, parents have been successfully navigating the changing currents of this parenting journey. There will be more changes; some subtle and some not so subtle. That change is a sign of growth both for son and for dad. Thanks be to God!

Tommy

The Journey

It was on March 25th, 1989, Easter Sunday, that my journey began. On that day that I began serving as a pastor. Twenty years and three churches later that journey continues. I remember some very special days through those twenty years. I recall first Sundays in each of the three churches and the last Sundays in two of them along with countless other special memories simply too numerous to mention. While it’s impossible to write of each of those experiences, some come to mind worth sharing.

During my 5 and ½ years in my first pastorate, Mill Creek in Bardstown, Ky, I recall an Easter Sunday when we baptized seven people. Then there was the 200th Anniversary celebration when a pastor who was there during the 1930’s came back for the special occasion. At First Baptist (Irene Cole Memorial) in Prestonsburg, Ky, where I served for 5 years, I remember the morning a call came from the preschool—a rat was in the toilet (they didn’t teach me about this in seminary!) There was also a surprise birthday party given for me by the church one Sunday evening and some fabulous summer fellowships in the shady parking lot (the fried cod fish was out of this world!) Prestonsburg was our home when both our children were born and dedicated.

The journey continued to Lexington Avenue Baptist in Danville, Ky. That Sunday morning when I preached a trial sermon was one to remember—our three year old son was sick with a high fever and our six month old daughter woke up in the hotel room before 5:00 a.m. At that point there was no question but that all was in God’s hands not mine. I remember the Sunday mornings my children made their professions of faith and were later baptized. With fondness and grateful appreciation I remember the way the church family embraced me following the deaths of each of my parents.

What comes to mind more than anything else through this twenty year journey is not a specific day or event, but specific people. I remember by name people who have made this journey of ministry meaningful and fulfilling; who have been patient with me and have helped me to grow; those who have taken the time to nurture me and pray with me. There names are etched on my heart--Hughley and Inath, Woodrow and Narcie, Mike and Rebecca, Connie and John, Randy and Carolyn. They, and others like them, have enriched this journey in ways that I will not soon forget. Even as I write their names my mind is flooded with memories.

I’m not sure I could have imagined, much less guessed, where this journey would lead that Easter Sunday twenty years ago. The journey has not always been easy—but then again, that’s part of the nature of the journey, isn’t it? But what the journey has been is blessed by the presence of God each day. Sometimes I knew it keenly, other days I seemed to be barely aware. But in reflection, God’s presence was indeed there every day of those twenty years. I wonder . . . is that what Abram felt when God told him to leave the land of his fathers and go to a new land, a land God would show him. I don’t know. But I do know the journey continues and only God knows what lies yet before me.

Tommy

She's Ten Years Old

On Wednesday, February 25th, our daughter, Kate, will turn 10. She has informed her mother and me that being in the “double digits” is a big deal. We have no reason to doubt her nor a desire to calm her enthusiasm. Being 10 is indeed a big deal. I am within 6 months of having been in my current pastorate for 10 years. Ten years is a decade. I have lived four decades plus. My wife and I have been married two decades plus (obviously my wife was very young when we married).

So our daughter, our baby girl is 10. I recall the day we dedicated her in our church in Prestonsburg, Kentucky. I have a picture of her being held by the girl for whom we named our daughter. I treasure that picture as I do hundreds of others we have taken through the years. The picture above was taken the day she was baptized; a birthday of another sort if you will.

I have a picture on my desk, and in my mind as well, of her older brother holding her for the first time in the hospital room. Then there’s the picture that I will treasure of her waving as she is riding the old red tractor with her Papa. She was afraid of the tractor until that day when she agreed to ride with Papa.

There are many more pictures etched in my memory in, what has been for me, ten short years. There are lessons as well that I have learned in these years. I can’t fix her hair quite like her mother can, though I can put it in a pretty neat ponytail. I can’t fix poached eggs like her Papa did or play checkers using Mama’s rules. But I can tickle her nearly as good as I could when she was an infant and I still get a chuckle from the whole affair.
I have learned that little girls look at themselves in mirrors differently than dads look at themselves in the mirrors.

This weekend we will celebrate with a girls night at the movies—popcorn, red carpet, sodas, and friends. It will be a special evening. I suspect my major role will be to hold the door, fix the popcorn, keep big brother out of the way and generally do whatever else I may be asked. But that will be OK. I’ll be with her and will remember wonderful times throughout those ten years.

Then in a quiet moment of my own, I will thank God for the gift I call Kate.

She is ten years old and has a lifetime yet to look forward to.

Tommy

He's a Teenager

On January 18th our son, David, turned 13. It was a milestone marked by a party with friends while two anxious parents patiently bided our time upstairs. To our credit, I think, we interrupted only once to remind 8 teenage boys that sometimes parents really do still know best.

It was marked the next day by a gathering with family—grandparents, aunt, and cousins. And, of course, more gifts. The celebration continued the next morning as Mom and Dad and sister gave gifts on the birthday morning.

I want to say that as parent I survived the weekend. But looking back it wasn’t’ all that bad. There is a sense that reaching 13 is rite of passage. At 13 you no longer qualify for the kids menu at restaurants or discounts at amusement parks. You are considered a teenager, not a child. Though for me sometimes it’s still hard to make that distinction. Ah, but the reality is sinking in—I am the father of a teenager. The challenges ahead for both my teenager and his parents seem staggering at times. But with grace, patience, understanding, and perhaps time I feel confident we will successfully navigate these teenage waters.

13 years seems like a long time on one hand. But on the other hand it seems it was only yesterday. My mind has been flooded with memories of that day thirteen years ago when David was born—seeing him for the first time, feeling his face against mine, holding him gently against my chest, walking into our home for the first time with our new bundle of joy.

I have developed a new mantra for my role as father. Being a parent is a both a gift and a grand adventure and I am intent on experiencing that adventure to its fullest. So far that adventure has been all I hoped it would be and more.

Tommy