With Father’s day being near I decided to share a quite raw and somewhat brutal piece I wrote about My father about 8 months ago…It’s harsh, it’s rough but it’s hopeful.  I know I have written about him before but I have just felt led that this is what I was supposed to post tonight.  Please try to understand the hope in this piece…

New Balance

Dead-beat waste of life, uneducated, hopeless, withering soul, substance absorbing seed donor.  You see my papa was a rolling stone.  With no high school diploma he successfully had four children with two different women.  Typical black man, right?  The man loves that white meat, he preys on their insecurities.  His once found confidence was to die for, but was backed with nothing.  To resist his dark skin and alluringly wicked charm was hard to do, his words were convincing but riddle with shame and misfortune.  He has a love for music and has an unlimited catalog of musical knowledge.  A dreamer with no dreams he strikes rhythms to hopefully go somewhere.  That somewhere took him to years of swallowing, inhaling and absorbing into the hole in his chest.  The man did this to himself.  Now I have to live life scared to the point of shakes that I will inherit these addictions.  Whispering promises is something he has been wonderful at, but if he shouted his promises he would be liable to let down more than just his children.  Waiting by the door looking out the window for his arrival that never came are some of my best memories of him.  The butterflies I would stomach when he would say, “I’m on my way to see you” are ones that will never return, for they are forever stuck in their chrysalis that is so hard to break through from years of disappointment.  Perhaps I should try to remember something better, like the walks we would go on together to the liquor store when he would get himself a tall boy of Budweiser and buy me a little bottle of Sunkist and a bag of cheese doodles.  My pulse stops when remembering the sound of his staggered footsteps and the look of his new balance sneakers when the sun would strike the reflector on the N in the middle of the sneaker as he would drink the tallboy wrapped in the wrinkled brown-bag on the walk back home.  The stale smoke and grilled cheese scent of my short stayed childhood home is one that haunts my memory, but whenever I have visited that place I still felt at home.  I would wonder if he loved the “boy down the street” more than me as he would push me to play drum beats that were too difficult for my 4 year-old frame.  With a can in his hand he would threaten me to the “whoopin’ chair” if I couldn’t play as good as he.  That is when he was there.

I remember looking to the sidelines of my soccer games seeing proud fathers cheering their children to victory, as my mother tried hard to fill that role.  I now fear that is the reason why I hated competitive sports as a child and teenager.  When I watch my New York Giants, I am stunned with shameful thoughts of wondering, “Maybe that coulda’ been me.”  The knowledge I lacked in my younger years about professional sports, are to be completely blamed on him.  I wish we were able to watch football like most of the boys in my neighborhood did on Sundays with their fathers.  I loved our discussions of Michael Jordan, that were never face-to-face, but always over the phone, I remember when the phone calls stopped, I was a teenager.  In my most vulnerable moldable years he was stomping the streets of brick city forgetting his past, as I was trying so hard to learn to be a man and foresee my future.  My heart was hardened to fathers.  The idea of the strength of a man was far from home to me.  Being surrounded by women is something that I had to cling to.  Years went by with close to no contact with my father, the man who watched me spring out of my mother’s womb, gone.  I am the man’s only son, how can one let go of that.  When I think of all his let downs the biggest one is that I have learned nothing from him.

All of these things I say to destroy his already small statured reputation are now the things that bring me joy to who this man is.  You see I had a self-realization moment a few years ago around the brink of me deciding I wanted to get married.  How can I be a husband or a good father with no contact with my own?  How can I have kids and them not have any clue who there Grandfather is or where their roots dwell?  My heart broke at the reality of this idea.  I needed to have this relationship, I needed to tell him about my needs, cares, and how our future didn’t need to be but was going to be.  This conversation was a pivotal moment in our relationship.  It was a bit of a shocker for him, catching him off guard with the words that his boy (who is now a man) loaded in his shotgun of love and aimed straight at his chest.  His defeated demeanor and shaky voice was riddled with something I needed from him, Hope.  Hope of a future.  Hope of a relationship.  Hope of a father.  Hope for a son.  I wasn’t looking for instant gratification, not just an “I love you and care for you” then to go back to the way it was.  I needed his concern, and to hear the sound of his voice more often than what I was hearing.  I needed him to try.

This conversation was over 2 yeas ago.  I can’t say that he is the best father ever, or the most amazing male figure in my life, but I can say he is trying.  Although it is likely he may never be either one of those things, I still find an overwhelming amount of joy that I hear from him every week or two since then.  His effort is what makes me understand now why I love him.   I would think to myself in earlier years why I love this man so much, I think it is just that God-given love mechanism that we have that makes us love our family whether we like them or not.  I burst with a prideful scream now that I actually have a reason to love him.  Understanding why I actually love my father is a new feeling that is very hard for me to express, instead of thinking of all his horrible traits and terrible habits, I instantly think, the man is trying.  I also have come to grips that I hate the term “Typical Black Man.”  I have many friends of many different races and back rounds and I can only claim two or three of them with fathers that are better off than my own.  So perhaps we should say “Typical Man?”  If so I refuse to take refuge in that title, I will not be that man.  I’ve learned too much from my father to end up that way.

This brings me to realize that I have learned things from my father.  I have learned what it is that I should not do when dealing with my wife and my children.  I have learned that I must lean on higher powers instead of substances.  My favorite lesson so far is that I have learned to maintain hope, and that people can be resilient, he is showing me much resilience in his reparation of our relationship.  I pray this will or is leaking over to my siblings, if not I hope they can have the conversation that they need to have with our father for it has been much more of a blessing than a curse.  I realize I have inherited things from him.  I am a drummer like he, my love for music is almost as large as my love for my life, my favorite sneaker is New Balance, and I as well have a heart to be resilient in my relationship with him.  They may not be deep or very monumental but I still find that these things are far from coincidental.

Do you think God intended some children to have relationships with their parents like this?  Do you see beauty is repaired relationships although there was a lot of years of hurt?  Could you respect a parent in the way God wants you too if you are or could have been in a similar situation?  Thoughts, cares, concerns and discussion are appreciated…

“You would have opened the door if I was a white man” the man shouted.  I looked at him like he was a ghost.  I humbly stated “What do you mean sir?”  He looks at me like I am nothing and says, “If I was a white man you would have opened that door for me.”  I froze for a moment thinking.  It’s currently 9:00am which is corporate allowed time to open the door of the place that I work.  I am in no means racist I am just following protocol.  How dare he say that when he knows nothing about me.  Should I say anything back, or should I just say something dumb like “No, Sir” or “Not at all” either way, I started to get really upset.  Then I thought about what I stand for and where I’m from.  I thought about my father, who is a black man.  I thought about my mother who is a white woman who told me to stand up for what I believe in.  I couldn’t remain silent, so I started softly explaining myself…”Sir I believe you are a child of God, and that I should treat you as I would want to be treated.  I would never open the door two minutes early for you, a white man, a chinese man, an indian man, or any other ethnicity or culture.  I don’t open the door early because in my job description I am told open the door at a specific time and close the door at a specific time.  Lastly, I am very hurt that you would tell me what I would do as if you know who I am.  My father whom I love dearly is a black man like you, so yes I am a black man like you as well, and even if my father was at the door I wouldn’t have opened it till 9am.  So please next time you want to accuse someone of racial profiling or racism, be sure it’s 100%.”  He was silent, he paid his bill and walked out of the store, slowly and silent as if he wanted to apologize.

This really happened to me, and I was very upset by what he said.  Now being an apathetic person I thought harder about it after he had left.  Maybe this man’s whole life, in many different situations, he had been treated poorly because of his skin.  In that case I can kind of understand where he is coming from, but yet I still believe he should really be sure of what he is saying to certain people.  I do understand why some people are sensitive to race issues, I for one have been poked fun at, or have had joked been tossed at me because I am bi-racial.  I know as I get older they bug me more and more, and as I stand up and say something I know that people are a little perturbed that I ask them not to make these jokes.  Should they be?  Should that man have had the right to say what he has said to me?  I think that as children of God a lot of us have lost the sensation of understanding.  We don’t understand other cultures because we surround ourselves with our own.  I do not think this is what God intended, do you?  If I were to challenge you to mix it up with another culture this week could you do it?  Let’s try…

So what is it that you really want?  I know, not an appropriate question to ask during Lent, particularly at the beginning of Holy Week, when we liturgical Christians are all about fasting and penitence and identifying with the cross of Christ.  Putting aside what we want, giving up chocolate or coffee or trips to the mall, focusing on what we should want instead of what we really want.

But what is it that you really want?  I have a hunch that most of us have trouble getting down to the root of that question – and that when we do get down to what we really want, we find a deep part of ourselves and a place where we meet up with God.  Remember when Jesus said that it is harder for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle?   Well, I wonder if that isn’t because the more we are able to get what we want on the surface of things (chocolate, vacations, new clothes, big houses) – the easier it is to keep that question on the surface and never really get down underneath those surface “wants” to what we really want.

Sometimes when you’re not getting what you want, you have to dig a little deeper.  You want some new clothes?  That’s not a bad thing.  If you can just go out and get some, then that’s that and it’s taken care of.  You feel better.  But when you’re out of money and can’t just go get some, you have to sit for awhile with what you want.  What is it that you want?  Why do you want new clothes?  To feel better about yourself?  To celebrate Spring?  Aaaah … now we’re getting somewhere.

If you want to feel better about yourself, then let’s dig a little deeper yet … what might go even farther than new clothes, is learning how to love yourself, believing that you are loved by the Creator … and that may take a little more work than a trip to the mall.  Maybe you’ve never really believed you are worthy of love, or maybe you’ve worked hard to hide some nasty parts of yourself rather than face them and love them into the light.  You may need help, a guide or companion on the journey.  It may take courage to form new healthy relationships.  And who knows, along the way you may find that your old clothes feel new.  Or that you find more pizazz in the thrift stores than you did before, now that you’re taking a little more of yourself through the door.  But whatever happens with the clothes, I bet you are a little more sustained by getting down to what you really wanted and meeting God and yourself there.  Maybe that’s a little of what the Kingdom of God is.

You have a yearning to celebrate Spring?  Now that you’ve named it, find a way to do it if you can’t buy new clothes – & it will hold more meaning, not than buying clothes, but more meaning simply because of having named the desire.  Buy the new clothes if you can!  Celebrate Spring!  And having named your desire to celebrate the amazing gift of the natural cycle of seasons … you may do more than buy new clothes.  You may build more “nature time” into your week, you may join the Nature Conservancy, you might help plant a community garden in a poor neighborhood to bring a little more natural beauty to some corner of the world.  Maybe that, too, is a little of what the Kingdom of God is.

So try to ask yourself throughout the day and throughout the week — what do I want?  Make a list.  Big things, little things.  Don’t try to do anything about them yet, just notice them.  Then, before you do a thing about them, sit with that question a little longer.  Don’t let yourself go get what you want when you want it.  Ponder it.  What is it that I  really want?  Sometimes you really just want some chocolate.  Part of who you are is your physical body with all its needs and desires.  So note that you want some chocolate and either get some or don’t.  You’ve acknowledged a bit of who you are in the process.

But don’t stop there.  Keep sitting with the question.

What is it that you want?  You may or may not get it, but chances are you will get something that you need.  And that, too, will help usher the Kingdom of God into your life and probably into a bit of the world around you.

Take a chance and say what it is you want.

“May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other and for everyone else, just as ours does for you.” — 1 Thessalonians 3:12

This past week I was afforded an opportunity to experience quite an adventure in the great city of Chicago.  A team of 46 from our church community here in Tulsa spent spring break serving through a partnership with the great folks at Center for Student Missions (CSM) in Chicago (http://www.csm.org/chicago.php.).

Part of CSM’s model for short-term missions is sending teams out on an “urban immersion” during their trip.  My group of students had the privilege of going into the Lakeview/North Halstead community with the following scenario: experience the area as if you were a runaway youth.  While doing this, we were also given the task of getting to know as many people there as possible through conversation and asking a variety of questions. (What is like to live in the neighborhood?  What do you like and dislike?  How does the city attempt to help people?  The Church?  Etc.)

One thing I have yet to mention about this community is that it is also know as “Boystown” and is recognized as the first official gay village in the United States.

Before we disembarked one of the famous “L” trains for Lakeview, we talked amongst ourselves about what it would be like to be a runaway youth in our community, South Tulsa.  Initially my students talked about how much easier it would likely be to find assistance in Tulsa versus Chicago, but once we began meeting some of the fine folks in the “Boystown” area, they quickly began to sing a different tune.  What we discovered was a community of people that take great pride in caring for their neighborhood.  They were incredibly kind and eager to help.  The streets, shops, restaurants, etc. were immaculate and quite inviting.  At one point, my students commented that they would rather struggle through the challenges of being a runaway youth in Lakeview Chicago as opposed to the church-saturated community of South Tulsa.  OUCH!

The sad truth is that many well-intended Christians see the homosexual community as a disease to be avoided at all costs or something to fear on the same level as an impoverished neighborhood consumed by violent street gangs.  I am not speaking here on what the Bible says about homosexuality.  What I am speaking on is what the Bible has to say about how we are to love and treat people, regardless of how they live their lives.  Something is horribly wrong with the Church when the world at times is doing a better job of loving people than the body of Christ!

So what is your Lakeview?

Maybe you already do a good job of loving homosexual people.  However, if you’re like me, there is someone or some group that is incredibly difficult for you to love.  The answer here does not lie solely in trying harder but rather being willing and open to opportunities when they arise and seeking God’s love and peace, not just to benefit ourselves but ultimately to give away to those in need!

“Love is not just a word.  It is a measurable expression of one’s unconditional behaviors towards another.” – Andrew Marin (http://www.themarinfoundation.org/index001.htm)

Now that I have run the word motivation into the ground, I thought I would come back and talk about the very root that “should” motivate us. In fact, watching “The Grammy’s” the other night they mentioned this word a lot. It flashed on the screen above the singers more than a dozen times, and each person talking about Haiti mentioned it in their speeches. Although, I don’t know if the word really stuck or if their definition was correct. As most of you probably have guessed this word is “LOVE”.

Love is a word that gets thrown around a lot, but I am not sure we understand the implications it holds. When I was a young stud wooing the ladies (kidding of course), I threw this word out quite a bit. You know the awkward times of getting off the phone and the words “I Love You” usually spew out when you are not thinking, or you get caught in a trap by her spewing the same words first. Merely listening to the radio or musical artists we see love used excessively. “Love Will Build a Bridge,” “What’s Love Got To Do With It?” and my all time favorite by DC Talk, “Luv (notice spelling) is a Verb”. You know DC Talk may have gotten it right more than we think. Listen to these words: “Because love is a word that requires some action.” So what is love without action?

Of course, when speaking of love my mind automatically goes to I Corinthians 13. Most of you might be familiar with what it says in I Corinthians 13:4-8. “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.” Man, what a great passage right? I believe this gives us a great look at love, and we can even compare ourselves to it as sort of a measurement. Am I patient? Do I insist on my way? And so on. The part we often over look is captured by Paul in verses 1-3. Paul gives us an idea of what this motivator is all about. “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”

If it is not eloquent words, knowledge (which we put so much stock into now days), or faith and not even ultimate surrender than what is love? Share some stories that you have seen that describe this ultimate motivator, and give some ideas of what you think love truly is. And if that is what you believe then do you posses that kind of love?