The Fairy Tale that didn't get rained out

When I woke up at 3:58 in the morning last Saturday, I knew there was no way I was getting back to sleep.  I was confident of this unfortunate reality not only because the nervous energy resulting from the realization that I’d be getting married in just over 12 hours had already started coursing through my body but also because I couldn’t stop watching the periodic lighting strikes which, though a long way away, were already lighting up the early morning darkness.  

Our ceremony took place in a ravine (aka “the clearing”) at the far end of my parents’ farm.  Sarah chose that place not only for the natural beauty but also because it was there, on the back of a four-wheeler, that I first told Sarah I loved her.  As we watched the photographer posing Sarah on a bridge over ravine’s creek, my sister turned to me and stated, “she looks like a fairy and I mean that in a good way.”  It was at that moment that Sarah’s “vision” (as she kept referring to it) for our wedding ceremony finally made sense in my mind.  The arch, decorations, dress and even the wreath crown she was wearing all worked in unison to create a fairy-tale like aura to our ceremony.  The vision came together despite the fact that just a few hours earlier, we were quite concerned it was never going to happen.

In order to get back to “the clearing”, one must drive across a freshly plowed field.  After just a bit of rain, this field becomes impassable to anything heavier than a four-wheeler.  Eventually, the lightning which I had been watching at four in the morning brought along a downpour lasting almost an hour.  At 6:07 AM, my dad declared “the clearing” dead.  It appeared we’d be relocating the ceremony to the back-up spot, a shaded area on the bank of our farm pond.  While the back-up spot was an idyllic farm setting, it didn’t quite have the ambiance Sarah was going for.  By 6:08 AM, it seemed the only question we had left was whether the four-wheeler would be able to get through the mud and back to “the clearing” so we could pick up the arch frame we’d left there the night before.  

As my dad was driving back to “the clearing” to answer that question, he noticed the ground becoming less muddy, even turning to dust, as he drove further from the house and closer to “the clearing”.  In a surprising turn of events, “the clearing” had been resuscitated.  While we’d received over half an inch of rain at the house, “the clearing” (about a half mile away) had gotten just enough rain to settle the dust, which is the exact amount my dad had been hoping for (despite that “just enough to settle the dust” was usually a derogatory description of a rain shower when used by a famer).  As the ceremony began at about 4:45 PM, with the line of cars that had driven through the field parked along the top of the ravine, the weather was a perfect 82 degrees, partly sunny and with a gentle breeze.  While that breeze would eventually blow in a near tornado just as we were wrapping up the post-ceremony meal we’d shared back up at the house, at the moment our ceremony began, I was giddy with how we’d managed to pull off the perfect weather for an outdoor wedding.  

After a processional consisting of our elder niece carrying our younger niece, our daughter as a flower girl and our oldest son picking up and carrying our youngest son after he couldn’t convince him to walk, Sarah hugged her dad just as the medley playing in the background changed to “Bless the Broken Road.”  At that moment, my giddiness was overcome by tears of joy.  The real-time image of this beautiful woman, reddish-brown hair falling down onto a stunning white dress while flashing a smile lighting up everything in its sight, walking down the aisle with the intent of becoming my bride was, in my mind, juxtaposed along with the images of the “broken road” that had brought us to this point.  For a few minutes, the emotion was a bit too intense to keep inside, so it found an escape route through my tear ducts.  

Really, that “broken road” has been a large theme of my writing on this blog over the past couple of years.  Similarly, the theme of the homily given by my friend who officiated the wedding was “beauty from ashes.”  The time I spent in Breakthrough, four years ago this month as well as the therapist sessions before and after that intense month of counseling were, in a large part, focused on helping me acquire what I found formalized on my wedding day, a primary relationship that is healthy, fulfilling and mutually complimentary.   When I started that journey toward a healthy relationship, I had no idea what was coming at me.  On the other side of that journey, though I’m so thankful for how the pain of the past has contributed to the joy of the present.  Of course, now real life with Sarah (kids, bills, careers, annoying each other) begins continues.  I know enough about myself and my wife to know that this new journey, while not always easy, is going to be successful and fun and maybe even provide a few more moments which bring tears to my eyes.

In one of those weird twists to a story, two of my best friends who were both supposed to be groomsmen in my first wedding 19 years ago but, for various reasons, were unable to be in attendance, ended up being a part of this wedding celebration.  Michael, mentioned above, drove from California to Iowa to officiate the ceremony.  While I can’t state how grateful I am that he made it a priority to be a part of the wedding, I’m not quite convinced that his long drive gave him the right to declare “that’s enough” as I was enjoying kissing my new bride.  My other friend, Jason, came down from Omaha for the “before they say I do” party Sarah’s parents threw for us back in May.  Now that I’ve ensured that all my long-time friends have been able to participate in either my first or second wedding, I’m officially retiring from the wedding business… and continuing my life with one of the most beautiful and intelligent women this world has ever seen.  

Back in Kansas City

Months.  I’ve been meaning to write this blog post for months.  We’ve been back in Kansas City since mid-December, living one block north of Independence Avenue and just around the corner from Grace Church of the Nazarene.  I’ve written this blog post many times in my head and even twice on paper but it’s past time to actually post this update.  I’ll give an update on a few different areas to show what life has been like since moving back to Kansas City, USA.

Our Neighborhood
We’re now living in a hundred plus year old house in the “Historic Northeast,” as residents proudly refer to our neighborhood.  It’s a fascinatingly diverse neighborhood.  The houses range from castle-like mansions to boarded up drug houses.  When people immigrate to Kansas City, they usually end up in the Northeast.  For this reason, there are approximately 55 different nationalities represented in our neighborhood.  The different cultures are prominently on display all over the Northeast.  When I subbed at East High School, I heard five different languages being spoken in the hallway before hearing English.  While the Northeast isn’t the roughest part of the city, it still has high crime and poverty rates.  The sirens never stop.  We hear drive-by shootings quite frequently.  While subbing at Northeast Middle School, the kids fearfully told me about white vans that will abduct unsuspecting kids.  Anything left on our front porch is likely to be stolen and many corners are occupied by ladies selling their bodies.  While I’m not scared, I’m often uneasy.  I’m always however, entertained by the colorful characters on Independence Avenue.  While it might seem strange, I’m actually experiencing more culture shock living in Northeast KC than I did living in Palaiseau, France. Our old home in Gardner is about 40 minutes away by car but might as well be across the globe. 

Our Church
We are a part of Grace Church of the Nazarene.  The 90 year old Nazarene congregation is comprised of just a handful of people.  The building however, is used by five other congregations from various places from across the globe.  I enjoy surprising members of the Congolese Congregation by speaking to them in French. 

We haven’t really established a role within the congregation yet, other than being present on Sunday mornings.  I’m not sure what our role will eventually be, but for the time being, we’re trying to support the pastoral family, Joey and Tammy Condon.  Dawson has also become good friends with the Condon’s youngest son. 

We are also a part of a mentoring community from Lees Summit New Beginnings.  It’s a support and training group for people trying to live missionally in their communities.  We have the intention of doing that within our neighborhood, but we haven’t really started it yet. 

Real Estate
After several years of considering it, as a result of hearing of other pastors doing the same thing, I’ve now earned my Real Estate license and have started working out of the Reece Nichols office on the Plaza.  I’m still in the very early stages, but I have signed my first client and held my first couple of Open Houses.  I’m giving Real Estate a shot because the flexibility will allow me to earn some money while doing the ministry things I really enjoy (but don’t get paid for). 

Teaching
When I left Melcher Elementary in the fall of 2011, I had no idea I’d eventually be back in the school.  It was just one day, but when the opportunity to sub in that school arose, I took the one day job.  The day was a disaster, just like all my other days at Melcher, but it was a bit freeing to be able to go back to the place where I’d experienced my one (and hopefully only) nervous breakdown.  I also had the privilege of catching up with some of the wonderful people who work there.

My first actual day of subbing however, was at Satchel Paige Elementary (or Satchel Rage, as another teacher calls it) a school as out-of-control and impoverished as George Melcher.  In fact, I walked into the front office and saw the nameplate of the same lady who had been my principal at Melcher.  I was horrified at the coincidence of running into her on my first day back.  I fully expected her to give me a cold reception, but I actually received the opposite.  I will say though, that it’s very disappointing that they keep shuffling around such an incompetent principal.  It seems like the poor kids in these inner-city schools aren’t worthy of having someone who knows what they’re doing running their schools.  The principal has recently been fired, though, in the middle of the school year.

In fact, Erin is now doing a long-term sub at that school.  She is a second teacher in a room of 30 unruly and disrespectful third graders.  In another interesting coincidence, the teacher she’s working for is actually a Teach For America Corps Member finishing up her first year.  Erin says she does a great job controlling the class, which allows Erin the opportunity to model skills in giving lessons.  The current principal has come out of retirement to lead the school and appears to be doing a great job.  A good principal really can turn around a chaotic school, as evidenced by another rough school in the district, King-Weeks Elementary.

As I’ve subbed around the KC area (several different districts) I’ve been able to observe first-hand all the different schools in the area; high schools, alternative schools, middle schools and elementary schools.  Center School District is, by far, the best public school district in the city.  It’s so great to see poor African-American kids being able to benefit from a good school district.  It sure would be nice if the other districts could follow Central’s example. 

I’ve also had the chance to catch up with former Melcher teachers who are at different schools in the district.  It’s helped me heal some of those old wounds.  Yes, that experience still kind of stings.  What also still strikes a discordant note every time I experience it is seeing the line of kids entering their schools through  a metal detector.   I understand the need, but if you stop and think about how much schools and prisons resemble each other, it’s quite disturbing.  I’ve also been able to catch up with Melcher kids who are now 8^th graders scattered across the district.  I’ll eventually write a full post on what that’s been like. 

Our Future
I’m not sure how everything will develop with this new experience of living in inner-city Kansas City.  We’ve both had some good opportunities come our way and it’s just a matter of sifting through them.  We haven’t started doing much ministry or community involvement yet, but things are starting to open up.  We’re just finishing the process of getting our feet underneath us, as we’ve just landed back in the US, but we’re also beginning to look toward the future.  It should be an interesting journey.

Grandpa Tyler's Eulogy

Last Saturday, I had the incredible privilege of eulogizing my Grandpa.  I'm thankful to my aunts and uncles for giving me the opportunity and thankful to God for helping me bring together the right words.  I'm also thankful to my Grandpa for being colorful and Christ-centered enough to provide the material for an interesting and edifying eulogy.  Granpa was a character; a godly and loving character, but certainly a character.  I'm so glad that his faith has finally become sight, but I sure do miss him.  Below is a  video I showed on Saturday, followed by my eulogy (at least as best as I could remember what I actually said yesterday).

http://youtu.be/cNND0Aj2iyw

"Donnie, I know what Jesus done for me."  That refrain, more than any other, epitomized the life of my Grandpa.  Jo Ann liked to tell me that Pastor Borger had told her that he'd never seen a more dramatic conversion than that of my Grandpa.  Now, I didn't know the pre-conversion, hell-raising, rebel-rousing Glen Tyler, but I did know the post-conversion, hell-raising, rebel-rousing Glen Tyler.  And if his conversion was the most dramatic Fred Borger had ever seen, than I can only imagine what Grandpa had been like before giving his life to Christ. 

And therein lies the tension that existed in Grandpa's life.  On one hand, there was the man who had had his life dramatically changed when he gave his life to Christ in his 30's; his commitment to the church, his generosity, and his commitment to telling other people about Jesus. On the other hand was the fact that some areas of Grandpa's life remained unconverted.  Now, none of us ever reach perfection in this life, but for one reason or another there were areas of Grandpa's life that seemed to remain untouched by the grace of God.  I'm not sure why that was.  I do know that Grandpa had a difficult life and it seems that there were some deep wounds that remained unhealed.  As they always do in our relationships, those unhealed wounds negatively impacted his relationships with those closest to him. 

An example of how I tried to navigate that tension in Grandpa's life was how I approached our conversations.  My goal was always to keep the conversation going, to avoid any lull in the conversation.  As we know, if there was any awkward silence in the conversation, Grandpa would fall back to his default topics; what is wrong with the Democrats and this week's reason for why the world was going to end next week.  But if we could keep Grandpa talking about the good things, he was so pleasant to be around.  I loved listening to the war stories, no matter how many times I'd heard them.  And I knew the names of all the guys he's whipped in the bars (or been whipped by) but had later lead in "the sinner's prayer."  I enjoyed the stories of his childhood, how he started a business or his stories of my mom's childhood.  Of course, nothing was better than hearing about how he'd been dramatically saved in a Church of the Nazarene.  Occasionally, however our conversation would reach a lull but on those occassions, the silence would be wonderful as Grandpa would relish the silence, just sitting next to me with that goofy smile on his face.  I can remember his visits to our house, as he sat in my dad's recliner in the living room, smiling at us, happy to just be in the presence of his daughter and two of his grandkids.  

You've been able to sense it in what others have said today, the fact that Grandpa fiercely loved the people in his life.  We also know, and Grandpa would even admit to the fact that during the last ten years of his life he learned to better love his family.  I never doubted that Grandpa loved me and that Grandpa was proud of me.  It's such a privilege to be able to speak today because Grandpa loved to hear me preach.  He and Jo Ann would sit on the second row and Grandpa would beam up at me, so proud to have a preacher in the family.  I did notice however, that Grandpa smiled less after getting stronger hearing aids.  Afterwards, Grandpa would always tell me what I should've said but he would also offer words of encouragement, extolling me to "preach that Jesus is coming back."  

We all know what a great gift the last week of his life was to all of us.  I'd joked with several people that had Grandpa been as relaxed and easy going throughout his life in the way he was that last week, he would've been so much easier to live with.  I don't know for sure, but I wonder if Grandpa was able to relax that last week because he was finally able to relinquish control of the world to the One who truly is in control.  Maybe when Grandpa realized that he would be leaving this world for good, he was finally able to realize that the King of the Universe, not Glen Tyler, really is in charge.  Whatever that reason, that last week Grandpa did none of his usual preaching but rather simply went on and on about how good God has been to him while also showering love upon all of those who came to visit him.  And a lot of people visited, too.  I had the privilege of spending some time with him last Saturday and I saw how his face lit up whenever someone new entered the room.  If Grandpa was able to love more and manipulate less that last week due to a deeper realization of God's sovereignty, then imagine how much greater that realization must be for him now, as he has actually seen first-hand the throne room of our God. 

Grandpa also gave me a wonderful gift last Saturday; one final blessing.  I went over to Grandpa's chair, knelt down and pretty much put my head in his lap and then started crying.  Grandpa knew what I was doing, he knew I was telling him goodbye.  So Grandpa put his hand on my head saying, "Donnie, let's pray."  He then started with, "Lord, I pray for Donnie," then mumbling in a slightly embarassed tone " and I pray for... Dendphfgag.... names escape me right now."  While he may have not been able to recall Erin and Dawson's names, I knew he was seeing their faces and I knew how much he cared for all of us. 

After he prayed for me, I told Grandpa what I'd always planned to tell him the last time I would see him.  Since I was never sure what time really would be the last, I'd actually told him this several other times before.  Despite that fact, however I told him one more time.  I said, "Grandpa, when I get to heaven, you're the first person I'm going to look up."

I certainly don't mean any offense to the other family members I hope to see in heaven again and I'm not sure why I've had that desire for so long.  Maybe it's just because I liked Grandpa so much.  It might be however, because of the fact that part of the reason I want to see Grandpa right when I get to heaven is that I might not have a relationship with God were it not for my Grandpa's faith.  Both of my Grandparent's were first generation Christians.  In the best way he knew how, Grandpa taught his family about the love of Christ.  I'm so thankful that my Grandpa gave his life to Christ, that he took his family to church, that he sent my mom to church camp where she met my dad.  Both of my parents taught me about God and now my wife and I get to teach our son about God.  I am so thankful to my Grandpa for loving Jesus.

When I was a sophomore in High School, I wrote a short paper on the person I respected most and that person was my Grandpa.  I have to say that as I've gotten older, I've actually idolized my Grandpa less.  But I've also loved him even more.  I mean this in every sense of the word; I am eternally grateful that he was my Grandpa. 

Some Things I'm Learning... or Trying to Learn

As I've shared earlier this year, 2012 is a year in which I'm patiently waiting on God.  It's been a struggle to wait and pray.  I go back and forth by chastising myself for being impatient or chastising myself for being lazy.  I'm not sure what the answer is, but I'm trying to avoid any self-induced pressure at least throughout 2012.

In the midst of the waiting, then here are three things I'm learning trying to learn.

1) To Stay Awake This is motivated by my reading of this book, quoted here.  I have a yellow post-it note stuck on my computer monitor that reminds me to "stay awake."  I'm trying, quite unsuccessfully I might add, to bring my thoughts back to the presence of God throughout my day.  While I'm not very consistent in that discipline, I am growing in another disciple; loving difficult people.  

2) Living out the Love of Jesus With my job as an adjustor for nonstandard (high risk) auto insurance, I work with some very difficult customers.  When I find myself wanting to reach through the phone line and strangle them, I've instead been picking up another post-it note and reading this quote from Mother Teresa, "Dearest Lord, may I seen you today and everyday... though you hide yourself behind the unattractive disguise of the irritable, the exacting, the unreasonable, may I still recognize you and say, 'Jesus, my patient, how sweet it is to serve you.'"

As soon as I read that quote, my heart rate slows, my voice softens and my desire to speak my mind diminishes.  I actually sense the patient love of Jesus flow through my being.  I've been praying for months for opportunities to share the love of Jesus at my workplace; a difficult thing to do in the sterile, cubicle-ed corporate environment in which serious talk is frowned upon.  While I'm still not sure how to live out a Kingdom life among my coworkers (amongst times I'm swearing under my breath), I've been growing in my patience and love toward our difficult customer base.


3) To Stop Seeking Significance through my Work  This is a very timely and a very difficult lesson.  The difficult part of this lesson is that for or a couple months, it seemed like my 2012 waiting period was going to end halfway through the year as I was a top candidate for a great job at a local university.  This position was a perfect match for my skill set and I thought I'd finally made the difficult entrance into higher education.  Toward the end of the drawn-out hiring process, however I ended up finding myself on the wrong end of some unethical nepotism.  While I'd impressed my potential dean, my potential direct boss decided to hire a friend who didn't even meet the minimum requirements of the position.  I'm still sick to my stomach about the missed opportunity.

The timely part of this lesson is that I'm struggling at my insurance job.  Our reviews, pay raises, bonuses, etc. are based upon a numerical review system.  While I'm above average in some areas, I'm slightly below average in others (though my scores in my areas of struggle appear to be about average compared to the other people hired at the same time as myself).  I'm a part of a 7 person team, however that usually scores among the top of our the group of about 50 teams.  This means my supervisor is not too keen upon my average new-hire scores bringing down the rest of the team.  As a result, I'm on a minor probation period; it's nothing serious as I think it's just to wake me up.  It is however, extremely demeaning.  Very demeaning.  It just seems that I'm gifted in such a way that I've got more to offer the world than being written up by my supervisor for failing to ask the first car of a three car pile-up whether there was any pre-existing damage on the back car of the pile-up.  But that's where I'm at.

Which leads to the fourth thing I'm learning...

4) To Turn Complaints into Thanksgiving  I'll admit it, at times I can be a serious whiner.  The other day, when venting frustration over a pointless procedure to my supervisor (who was patiently listening), I stopped and observed, "it's pointless, but I am getting paid."  Whenever a complaint slips out of my mouth, I try to immediately follow it up with a thanksgiving.  Sometimes it's a stretch but usually there is a bright side to the frustration.  Either way, I'm working to build in myself a good habit.  I've unsuccessfully tried to simply eliminate the habit of complaining.  This approach however, is at least helping to redeem a bad habit and cultivate something positive in myself.  

There it is - a blog post about one month in the making.  I'm not sure when I'll write again, though I am working on some other articles for another blog myself and some friends are about to launch.

Stay tuned.... Or at least don't unsubscribe to me.

Living in the Present

I’ve been known to ruminate over the past (going over and over past mistakes) and to obsess over the future (plotting out every possible future scenario).  As I’ve written about before, though 2012 is a year of waiting on God, a year of giving up my need to prove my worth by what I can accomplish.  2011 saw the ending of two great endeavors meant to make this world a better place; one had a slow and painful death and one crashed-and-burned, but they both ended.  It’s so tempting to want to jump right back into another world-changing endeavor.  And while I am serving in a couple different ways, church and inner city while also thinking and praying over some future possibilities, most of my energy is focused upon enjoying the moment and finding my identity as God’s child rather than God’s servant.  This is not easy for me to do, but unless I want to drive myself crazy, I have no option but to learn that lesson during this time of waiting.  

With that backdrop, check out the quote I just read from Greg Boyd’s book, “Present Perfect: Finding God in the Now.”  

“How much of your thought life is spent in the past or future, and what is the purpose for this nonpresent thinking? You may be so accustomed to living in the past and future that you find it difficult to notice how much of your thought life is spent there, let alone why you spend so much of your thought life there. But if you are completely honest with yourself, you’ll probably find that most of your past and future orientated thoughts revolve around you and are centered on your attempts to feel worthwhile and significant.

When we live perpetually hungry in the flesh, we spend a great deal of our thought life savoring past experiences or possible future experiences that make us feel worthwhile and significant. We also spend a great deal of time ruminating over past experiences that make us feel less worthwhile and significant. All the while we are strategizing over how to position ourselves to have more of the worth-giving experiences and how to better avoid the worth-detracting experiences.



Most of us are so accustomed to being hungry for Life and living in the past and future that we don’t realize this is what we’re doing. It’s hard for a fish to notice the water it swims in. But the fact of the matter is that we are rarely in the present moment when we’re hungry and chasing after false gods. This is yet another aspect of the grand illusion that entraps us. The very process of trying to acquire Life on our own forces us to miss most of life, for real life is always in the present moment. When we live as though we can acquire Life from things other than God, we inevitably live as though reality wasn’t always in the present moment.

Only a person who is no longer driven by insatiable hunger can consistently live in the present moment, and only a person who has learned how to find Life in the present moment is no longer driven by this insatiable hunger.”

Ruthless Trust

After my teaching stint ended, I received a Facebook message from a high school friend who is also a teacher and who shares my passion for nonviolence and kingdom-equality. She said something about how now that I'm experiencing the disillusionment of failing in an attempt to change the world, I needed to read Brennan Manning's book, Ruthless Trust. Now that I've finished the book, I am deeply grateful that the friend recommended the book. Here is a quote very appropriate to my situation.

"We formulate plans to fulfill what we perceive to be the purpose of our lives
(inevitably limited), and when the locomotive of our longings gets derailed, we
deem ourselves failures... Our disappointments arise from presuming to know
the outcome of a particular endeavor."

Yes. Nothing is wasted by God but things rarely happen the way we think they should. The same was true of Trinity Family; things didn't all happen the way I thought they should but God brought about beautiful things I never even thought to expect.

Anger

The other day, my Dad and I were grilling some meat for Dawson's third birthday party
when we noticed some cigarette butts sitting in a flower pot on my back deck. Knowing those cigarette butts were put there by an extended family member, we talked some about how insanely addictive nicotine is and how close my dad came to getting hooked on nicotine when he was in high school.

While grilling FDA approved cheap hamburgers and talking about the terrible effects of cigarettes, something awful dawned on me. I realized that the government is so careful about regulating some things while looking the other way when it comes to other things. The FDA (thankfully) keeps a close eye on the quality of meat put in our grocery stores but those same grocery stores sell cigarettes full of carcinogens wrapped up in the hardest-to-break addiction - nicotine. This realization caused me to go into a mini-tirade about how lobbyists can convince our elected officials to put the financial interests of a fiscal bottom line above the health interests
of our citizens.

After I came back down from my rant, as he often does, my dad just said, "I know. I know. It's
wrong but nothing is going to change it." This time, however, my dad added an extra bit of wisdom, an insight that has likely come from listening to many other similar rants. My dad warned, "Son, you're going to have to let some of that stuff go, the things you can't change, because if not, it's going to eat you alive."

I have to agree, he's right. It will eat me alive. But as I told my dad later, I don't think
I can let that stuff go, because I have a sense that the anger arising in my soul from injustices in our world is something God can work through to help make this world a slightly more just place.

A couple weeks later, while reading a book by a former NTS professor, Dan Boone entitled,
"Seven Deadly Sins: The Uncomfortable Truth," I read these words:

"Could it be that anger, yielded to God, shaped and directed by God, becomes the passion for
redeeming the world? Could it be that redeemed anger is the energy we need to do something
about a world gone wrong?

It makes me wonder if when we figure out what's in our craw, when we figoure out what makes
us angry, if we wouldn't be on the verge of discovering the passion for redemptive action. If
maybe our calling is connected to our anger.

If there was more redeemed anger in the world, there would be less poverty, less discrimination,
less character assination, less abuse, less divorce, less pain. If there was more redeemed
anger, there would be fewer battered wives, neglected children, religious frauds, power games,
liars and cheats.

Christians are too nice. We swallow our anger too often. It's time we took it to God and
figured out what to do with it. No need to waste things that can be recycles. Be angry -
don't sin."

A Car Wreck

I'm now working as an auto insurance adjuster. I do all of my work from the office,so if there are any injuries resulting from the accident, the claim automatically gets reassigned to an adjuster in the field. There are some serious injuries, obviously, but even if there is the possibility of a minor injury, the claim still gets sent to a field adjuster. If a person has just a small pain in their neck, there still needs to be an investigation because while that pain could end up going away in a day it could also turn into a chronic neck injury. So no matter the extent of the injury, an investigation is always required. We also keep a record of where each person is sitting in the vehicle. A curious reality of car accidents is that one person may walk away from an accident relatively unscathed while another person sitting in different part of the vehicle could suffer a serious injury. As long as the injuries and passengers are put in the file at the time the claim is filed, future treatments may be covered by the insurance company. Another curious thing about injuries is that they may not present themselves until months after the accident.

A few days ago, I had the privilege of having breakfast with one of my college mentors, Dr. Sondra Cave. In addition to being a mentor, she was also my "mom" while I was in college; letting me cry in her office after Erin dumped me (thankfully she eventually wised up) and later serving as Erin's wedding coordinator. Despite all she had done for our university and even despite being named alumnus of the year, a year ago Sondra was laid off from our alma matter. To put it mildly, it was a painful experience for her and she's still working through some of the effects of that betrayal. On the positive side, however her consulting business has taken off now that she's been forced to market her incredible gifts.

That morning, Sondra and I swapped stories about the hellish despair we've both gone through lately. I told Sondra some of the emotional breakdowns my short stint in the Kansas City Missouri School District had caused me, some of which I'm still not comfortable sharing on this blog. We also talked about how we've both come a long way in our recovery Physically, I'm back to normal but I'm pretty sure I'm not yet fully recovered emotionally.

While I've been given some great opportunities to use some of my teaching and leadership gifts withing Indian Creek Gardner, I'm intentionally holding back somewhat; being hesitant to commit to some things that I know I could do and working to protect my time with my family and my time to myself. I've also had some discussions about potential full-time ministry opportunities but I'm very hesitant about those, too. Right now, it's wonderful to work my 40 hours, leaving the job at the office and to come home to a night of playing with Dawson, jogging on the treadmill, reading a book or working on a sermon for Indian Creek.

I know this place I'm in isn't long term but it's a really nice place to be; a fact that actually scares me. I'm scared of being complacent and missing something great God may have for me because I'm too busy enjoying my comfort to sense his nudge. Which makes that conversation with Sondra so timely.

Sondra expressed my 15 weeks of Teach for America/ KCMSD as a car crash; a short but intense experience that launched with huge hopes and dreams before violently crashing into a reality of guilt and shattered dreams. The grief and guilt of which is compounded by the grief of Trinity Family Gardner ending the day before I was accepted into TFA. The thing about a car crash, Sondra reminded me, is that it may take months for all the injuries to appear and even years for those injuries to recover.

So just take it slow, she advised, allow yourself time to recover and trust that God won't let you fall asleep in complacency.

A Celebration and Reunion 96 years in the Making

Yesterday morning, I had the incredible privilege of preaching my Grandma's funeral. Grandma lived a long and godly life. She was the physical matriarch to a clan of about 100 and a spiritual matriarch to, well, a number that will be revealed in the next life.

As usually happens with funerals, this one was a great reunion. For the first time in years, all of my cousins were in the same place. And as we all recognized with a melancholy acceptance, it was probably also the last time that will ever happen. There were some great pictures taken and great pictures shared from my Grandma's long life and if I ever get access to them, I will share them.

Below is the message I shared.


If I were somehow able to talk with Grandma after the service today, she would say, “you did a great job, Tim. I mean… Dean. No, Eric. Danny. No, Donnie.” Even though she couldn’t get my name right, there were some things she always got right for me. When I was little, whenever I sat in a pew with her, usually right around there, she always had saltine crackers for me and a blue motorcycle. Sometimes they were a bit stale from being in her purse for a long time, but she always had them for me. When I got older, she saved the Sunday comics for me. She always had a stack for me to read. And from the time I was little, up till the last couple of years, if Grandma knew I was coming over she always made me mashed potatoes and gravy and had a peanut butter cookie with a Hershey kiss in the center.
She was there when I preached my first sermon. Dad said she cried through the whole thing. It was pretty bad. She endured one Ft. Madison football game and several Denmark Elementary Christmas concerts. We hadn’t been married long when my wife, Erin got in a wreck and totaled the car. A few days later, Grandma sent me a letter. In addition to the usual update on the weather and Uncle Henry’s activity in the garden, was a check for $100. Dad about fell over from shock when I told him. “Your Grandma is tighter than bark on a tree.” Grandma just wrote, “I felt like I should send this to you.”
All of those things, especially the cookie, were ways Grandma let me know she loved me. We could all tell stories of the ways she let us know she loved each one of us. Knowing that, think of how big her heart must’ve been – to be able to share so much love with so many of us. No wonder she couldn’t remember my name. I was one of a jillion. A group of kids. Bunch of Grandkids. Platoon of great and great-great grandkids. And for good measure, add the stepkids, step grandkids and step great-grandkids. Oh yea, two husbands that she loved. And we loved her back. Especially both husbands. Those who visited Mildred at the Hospice House know of all the loving ways Henry took care of her. Patting her arm, holding her hand. Being with her till 3 AM. Henry, we offer you our deepest sympathy. Grandma had such a big heart. A huge love. An incredible legacy.
Legacy is one of the two words we could use today, in our celebration of Mildred’s life. Is there a much better word than legacy? All 5 of her children-in-laws are still married to her children. Think of all the different things her grandchildren have done. All the different ways we have served God, other people, our families. I couldn’t remember the exact year of all my cousin’s weddings. But my best estimates are that we have collectively been married for 225 years. Those 225 years of marriage have produced a lot of great grandchildren. Mostly from the Ortons.
There is a passage of scripture that thoroughly summarizes Mildred’s life and her legacy. She lived this out. Proverbs 31:10-31. Vs 28 – we could all rise and call Mildred blessed
Grandma ran a tight ship. The hard-working farm wife and mother. Took care of Roy. While helping on the farm. While taking care of her other kids. While cooking for the farm-hands, paid and unpaid. She was a multi-tasker way before that term was in use.
Her kids remember her working in the basement, sorting and casing eggs, doing laundry and praying all at the same time. She would share at church that the time in the basement was her opportunity to talk with God. Pray for her kids. Grandma wanted other people to know God’s love.
One day she was talking with me about the church I was pastoring at the time. She asked, “are people being saved?” When I told her yes, she smiled and tears welled up in her eyes. In that tearful smile, I could see years of prayer. Layers and layers of love for her family. And an incredible desire to help other people know the love of Jesus. Grandma didn’t have to talk a lot about a God-honoring life. She just lived it. For decades. It was her legacy.
It’s her relationship with God that brings about the other word that is appropriate for today. It’s the word “reunion.” When Grandma was in the hospice house, she went back and forth between the present and the past. During visits with her, eventually she would have a moment in which she looked at you and really knew you. You could see the recognition in her eyes. “You are my son. You are my granddaughter.” Recognizing her living legacy.
At other times she would ask, “Who is taking care of Roy? Grandma knew that Danny was too young to take care of Roy. But when she was told that Jesus is taking care of Roy, she was calmed.
Mildred would also say, “I want to see Levi.”
On Monday morning, for the first time in decades, she got to see Roy. She got to hug Levi. And the past Grandma had been slipping into actually became her present reality. Her present reality right now.
But it wasn’t the only reunion Mildred had on Monday morning. She also got to see, face-to-face, the Savior that she and Levi first met years ago. Years ago, when Levi and Mildred were living down the lane in the house at the other place, Levi’s brother Wes invited them to a Sunday night service at this church. They attended several Sunday nights. Even attended a revival. One Sunday morning, when they got to the end of the lane, Levi and Mildred asked their kids whether they should turn right to their usual church on Sunday morning or left to the church of the Nazarene. The kids stated, “left.”
And here at the Fort Madison Church of the Nazarene, my Grandma and Grandpa came to know Jesus Christ in a personal way. They came to know for themselves, in a real and life-transforming way, these two verses. John 3:16 and 1 John 1:9
Levi and Mildred came to know that it isn’t just about living a decent life and attending a good church. But that the life God wants for us, created us for, involves a turning. A 180 turn from a life that is going in our own direction, to a life that is lived in God’s direction. A life in which sin and self-centeredness are exchanged for a life dedicated to the pursuit of God. What the Apostle Paul called being a “new creation” in Christ Jesus.
Grandma and Grandpa made that decision to live for Jesus, in this church, years and years ago. And then they lived it out – the rest of their lives.


In the gospel of Matthew, there is a record of a parable Jesus told to his followers. The story of a rich man, a venture-capitalist, who entrusted some of his money to various servants and then left for a long journey. When the rich man got back, he called a meeting with his servants to find out what they’d done with the money he’d loaned them. One servant wimped out, just buried the bag of silver. No return on the money. This rich man was not happy. But the other two servants were able to give their boss more bags of silver than they had originally been given. They were faithful with what their boss had given them. The boss responded by saying, Matthew 25:23.
Imagine Mildred standing before Jesus on Monday morning. Surrounded, in heaven and on earth, by people who came to know Jesus because of missionaries Mildred supported. Or Vacation Bible Schools she helped with. Or kids and grandkids she prayed for. And imagine, because we can know it happened, Jesus saying to Grandma Matthew 25:23
And imagine Mildred, her son, the father of her children, and her sister all celebrating before the throne of God in their now perfect and eternal bodies. No dementia. No heart problems. No mental handicap. Healthy. Whole. Beyond the curse of death. Forever.
Last Monday, Mildred and Henry celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary. After everyone else left, my mom and Aunt Karen were taking care of Grandma. Grandma asked mom, “will I get better in this life?” To which my mom answered, “no.” Mom then asked whether Grandma was ready to see Jesus. She just answered, “yes.” Then fell asleep.
The next Monday, Grandma fell asleep for the final time in this life. The day that Mildred went home to be with Jesus, Uncle Pete summed it up pretty well. He said, “Now, we can celebrate.”
And that’s exactly what we get to do today. We get to celebrate a reunion. We get to celebrate a legacy. A legacy that will bring about more heavenly reunions, when someday we get to stand in the same place Grandma is standing right now.

America = Needs Farmers

Check out this great video from Kinnick Stadium last Saturday night. Most of the video is during the national anthem, but after the anthem, the cards are reversed displaying "America Needs Farmers" spelled out on one sideline and "Go Hawks" on the other side. There is a round ANF symbol in the endzone, too.

Ever since Hayden Fry put the ANF on the helmets in the 80's, that sticker has been my dad's favorite part of Hawkeye football.

And due to the fact that the 2011 Iowa Football Team is in the midst of a mediocre season, no shot at an undefeated season or Big Ten Title, they actually beat Northwestern. Imagine that...

7 Weeks and an Apology - Part II

Friday was an amazing day for me. My last day teaching in KC,MO brought the return of some things I had taken for granted. During lunch, I found that I was actually hungry. The stress of my job robbed me of my appetite, causing me to lose 20 pounds. On Friday night, I hung out with some friends and felt like a normal human being. I was told by said friends that it is good to have Donnie back with us. Finally, on Friday night, I laughed for the first time in a long time. I watched Dumb and Dumber and laughed almost as hard as the first time I watched the movie. My job was literally taking away my life.

Dawson's biological Grandma, Kim, told me that she was watching me whither away. I was whithering away not only physically but emotionally as well. She said that she was watching helplessly as I was emotionally withdrawn from my family. I didn't do so on purpose, but I had nothing to give my family during the few hours each week I was able to be with them. For that reason, I had to break my commitment and walk away from the mission I had joined.

Really though, I had made that decision years ago at a Promise Keepers convention I attended just before leaving for college. At that convention in Indianapolis, I made the commitment to never put ministry before my family. A former pastor would often share his own similar commitment, asking us "what is the point if I save everyone else's kids but lose my own?" And that is where I finally came down in this most agonizing decision I've ever faced.

I have been miserable since I left for training on June 26th. My heart was torn apart as I watched Erin and Dawson walk away at the airport. While the two free days and the single week of normal working hours that I enjoyed upon returning home were wonderful, they weren't enough. With the exception of that one weekend, I have been emotionally and physically detached from my family since June 26th. And while I'm not working now, I'm still pretty detached. I've got to work through the depression and PTSD while rebuilding a healthy and balanced relationship with my wife and son. I have a counseling appointment on Friday to start the healing and rebuilding process.

I spent the past three weeks seeking guidance from a large number of friends and family members. The overwhelming consensus was "this is too much and you need to put your family first." One notable exception however, were my superiors at Teach For America although I'm not sure whether I'll share the ways they tried to influence my decision. So I did it. I walked out on my classroom because I couldn't be the teacher I was expected to be while also being the father my son needs me to be. With that said, Teach for America is a wonderful organization that is working to keep our nation from becoming an apartheid state. But I have learned the hard way that there is a reason TFA recruits young and single people. The demands of TFA are not sustainable for a parent living in the suburbs. I greatly regret that I wasn't aware of that before I signed up.

The haunting question though, is whether or not putting family first is really biblical. Yes, it's very Focus on the Family-esque and North American Christianity-esque but is it biblical? The call to the gospel put forth by Jesus and Paul is much more radical than what our North American Christian culture would lead us to believe. Sure we find ways to explain it away or ignore it, but Jesus did say "“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple."

And Paul was always letting the churches know about the trials he was facing. From 2 Corinthians 11, "24 Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. 25 Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was pelted with stones, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea, 26 I have been constantly on the move. I have been in danger from rivers, in danger from bandits, in danger from my fellow Jews, in danger from Gentiles; in danger in the city, in danger in the country, in danger at sea; and in danger from false believers. 27 I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked. 28 Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches. 29 Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?"

And Philippians 3, "10 I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11 and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead."

But what about the boy I chose to adopt? What about being able to have friends, laugh and serve in my local church?

It is quite possible I made a bad decision and put my own desires above God's plan to use me up and break me for his Kingdom's sake. It's also possible that this is finally God's answer to my almost 3 year long prayer of, "if you don't want me to leave full-time pastoral ministry, please stop me."


I don't have a lot of answers right now. I know that while I have some leads and some savings, I really need a job. I'm quite sure that 10 years from now I will have some regret for all of this but that I won't regret stopping the 14 weeks I missed out on being a dad from turning into 2 years. I also know that if I am walking away from what God has for me right now that doesn't mean he won't open up another door in the future. I also know that having my family taken away from me has awakened me to the need to love them in a better way.

7 weeks and an Apology - Part I

I have an apology to share with everyone who reads this. I'm not apologizing for the fact that I haven't blogged in 5 weeks. Nope. I'm apologizing for the fact that I'm done. Last Friday was my final day at George Melcher Elementary.

I'm not exactly sure how to go about sharing the pressure all the teachers are under. In my last post, I shared the emotional pressure of trying to manage kids with so many issues. But what broke me was all the other expectations placed upon us by the school district. The collapse of the KCMSD has been all over the news lately. First the Superintendent bails, then the state of Missouri strips KCMSD of its accreditation. All of this just adds to the air of desperation around the district, though "desperation" doesn't begin to describe the atmosphere.

The veteran teachers at Melcher said that teaching was always difficult, but the last few years the district has piled more and more work upon the teachers in the hope that the district could climb out of their hole. These teachers, teachers who work 12-14 hour days, stated it is simply impossible to do everything that is asked of them. Two or three times a week, we would get emails from our principal with long lists of things we were supposed to do; things that we were given very little, if any, training on, things that would take a lot of work to complete and that sometimes contradicted what we had just been doing.

Some examples: 1) The schedule changed about every two weeks. Even Kindergartners would have to figure out their new rooms, teachers and schedule. On my last day it was also the last day I would've been with the group with which I started the school year.
2) We were expected to do a six hour online training module for FEMA. Seriously. In order to pass the training, we had to take a detailed test regarding the organization of the National Incident Management System.
3) Due to student violence, we were expected to have a minute-by-minute behavior plan for about half of our students. Before we could send a student to the office, we had to go through a 5 step, several day long process that concluded with a parent's meeting. I often didn't even have the phone numbers for student's parents.
4) One of the other TFA teachers had 3 fights in his room last Friday. He worked until 12:15 that night, was back at school the next morning at 5:15 and still didn't get all of his work done. He was greeted that morning by a lecture from the principal for not getting enough work done and a chewing out by a parent for having an unsafe classroom. Seriously.

It's rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, but at a life-destroying pace.

It seems like there are people sitting in office chairs in the KCMSD central office making impossible demands of over-worked teachers and getting paid quite well to do it. And how suffers? Of course, it's the kids. The kids who are doomed to a life of poverty simply because they were born into a school district vacated by the rich who could change things but can also afford private school and run by people who find ways to sneak an extra $20 million into a contract to help out a friend (allegedly).

What finally broke me was the requirements for Master's Degree I was expected to finish by the end of these two years. When I saw my first syllabus, I had a nervous breakdown. I've never had anything happen to me like what happened to me the past two weeks. I'm a bit too proud to share all the details but my wife was quite worried for my health. And last Sunday afternoon, while planning for the next week, we came to the conclusion that while it might be physically possible to continue the cost to our family's health would be too great. So last Friday, Sept. 30th was my last day.

Every single teacher at my school who had kids advised me to put my family first. Some of them stated, "if I could afford to do something else, I would, because I only see my kids one hour a day."

Most of my students were pretty upset. As I shared in my last blog post, I was determined not to be "that guy", yet another male walking out on them. I wish they all had dads who would put them first, but it simply isn't the case. When talking with a group of 5 students, here is what I learned about their dads: 1) My dad was shot in the head 2) My dad is in prison 3) My dad just got out of prison after 8 years 4) My dad is in Mexico. Ultimately, I had to shut of my emotions, let go of those kids and do what I believed to be the best thing for my family and my overall health. Which is why I was able to read through a heart-felt letter from a girl who asked why I had to leave like all the other teachers. Of course, Friday was my last day having her in class anyway, since the administration changed up our classes for the 4th time since the start of the school year.

While I'm certainly not responsible for creating this terrible system, I am responsible for breaking my commitment. I'll have to work through that guilt but I know it is possible. This was not the most noble moment in my life but the decision might have been the lesser of two evils.

I wanted to confront the powers but the powers ended up destroying me. I wanted to be a part of the solution but I was only a part of the problem. There will however, be other problems I can address and other solutions I can embody. This was a terrible and frustrating chapter in my life but it's not the end of the story. Neither is it the end of my blog posts on this subject. I've got a lot more to share and now that I'm unemployed, I've got the time to do so.