Chicago Thrift Store Party 06

And another reason I love these students and our staff: they aren't afraid to hang out in Chicago's loop wearing the most ridiculous outfits you've ever seen.

Proud Papa

So the day has come when the "first email" is added to the proud lists of other "firsts" in a kid's life. While in Chicago this week, Eliza sent me her first email, typed all by herself (with just a little spell-check help from Mom):

Der daddy I miss you and I Love you.Ella rolled over today.
Love
Eliza and Lexi

Do It Again!

After months of preparations, a 10 hour journey north, and visions of never-ending cornfields dancing in our heads, today we finally returned to our ministry's "Second City" and the friendly confines of Garfield Park on Chicago's west side.

Today was the 1st day of our service sites and it was a busy, but great first day. It's great to see the park looking better than we remember it being last year (maybe all that trash pick-up did make a difference...) and more importantly, to see how God has blessed the early days of Armitage Church Garfield, as Jamie and the church are now know and respected by many of the people we encountered on the streets today. They are truly "earning the right to be heard" in this community, and it's exciting to get to come alongside them and expand their reach this week.

I spent a good chunk of my time today in the park with a table full of twenty-somethings, hearing them chat and laugh and joke about a world far removed from my own. One had a precious little girl, JaMaya, who came to the day camp. Her energy and smile reminded me of my own little girls at that age, as well as her passion to play with the "Bo-bles" as she called them. "Yeah!" and "again" she said over and over. I finally succumbed and sat down with her in the grass to watch and play and laugh at the never-ending wonder of a two-year-old with bubbles in her hand on a sunny day.

If you think it's funny that a 30-year old guy would blow bubbles with a 2-year old for 15 minutes, let the words of G.K. Chesterton remind you how holy a moment like that truly is:

"Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again;" and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough...It is possible that God says every morning "Do it again," to the sun; and every evening, "do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daises alike: it may be that God makes every daisy seperately, but has never gotten tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we."

Fire v. Ashes

As we're preparing for our annual mission adventure to inner-city Chicago, I came across the following words by A.W. Tozer, "the 20th century prophet" who for 31 years pastored the Southside Alliance Church there:

"In the early Church they met together on Solomon's porch, and so great was the sense of God's presence that "no one dared joined them" (Acts 5:13). The world saw fire in that bush and stood back in fear; but no one is afraid of ashes. Today they come as close as they please. They even slap the professed bride of Christ on the back and get coarsely familiar. If we ever again impress unsaved men with a wholesome fear of the supernatural we must have once more the dignity of the Holy Spirit; we must know again that awe-inspiring mystery which comes upon men and churches when they are full of the power of God." - Path to Power, p. 11

I pray for the fullness of the power of God to go before us, surround us, and lead us - not just for this journey but for the future of the Church.

Ouch!

So this past week was my "last camp" as a student minister. And in 11 years of camps and retreats, I've probably been to the ER about 20 times: stitches, allergic reactions to bee stings, broken bones...a concussion from an accidental blow with a putt-putt golf club to face, for heaven's sake! So I begged and pleaded with the students at orientation on Monday: let's a fun, but safe (and ER free!) week.

Fast forward to Wednesday night. We have "family night" that included a picture-perfect baptism service in the lake, as the bright orange sun set right behind us. 8 baptisms; 8 powerful testimonies of changed lives. It was incredible! And then we're washing off our feet at a water spicket as we head in for our evening worship experience, and I'm thinking, "I've got to hurry and get these 8 kids back to their cabins" so they can get cleaned up and back for worship. So instead of waiting I decide to "duck" under the sign attached to the pole; unfortuantely I misjudged the depth of the sharp, metal sign and I slice my head. I'm thinking "no big deal," until a girl looks at the amount of blood flowing from my freshly peeled scalp and shouts:

"It looks like a horror movie!"

So I get a little light-headed. The camp nurse rushes out. Word slowly spreads (and the story gets a little bigger than it needed to) through the worship center that "Jay is hurt and hurt bad" and kids hold a prayer vigil for me in the back of the room. My staff comes out and places bets on how many stitches it will take to put me back together. And the nurse tells me it's official: I'm going to the ER. After I made the big deal about no ER visits. In the middle of nowhere Alabama. The doc implants seven staples into my cranium with no shot to numb; I swear it looked like a staple gun from Home Depot. And my nurse nearly forgets to give me the tetanus shot, telling me "oh, that's what happens when I try to talk and work at the same time: I furget stuff."

Lessons from my little misadventure: Don't ever be in too big a hurry, you never know what you might miss. And don't be looking down when you should be looking up. And don't ever end up in the ER in Alabama.