The Foo Fighters sing,

it’s times like these you learn to live again
it’s times like these you give and give again
it’s times like these you learn to love again
it’s times like these time and time again.

When we began this program, we entered with anxiety and expectation.  We all, without doubt, wanted to improve ourselves, to further our education, and to prepare ourselves for seeking and finding new opportunities.  Little did we know how much this preparation involved learning to live, to give, and to love.

Remember when, early in our first course together, our professor was just learning our names and referred to several of us by our careers.  There was “Blood Man,” “Tire Man,” “IT Guy,” and “Beer Man” to name a few.  We came to appreciate her way of capturing concepts in pictures.  Often, when we would struggle with a new idea, she would stop, think, and then tell us a story from her life that illustrated the concept.

And then we have learned from each other’s lives.  One of the values of this program is that we learned from each other’s experiences and perspectives.  Even the academic concepts of business ethics and worldviews changed the way we approach situations in life.  We learned to look beyond our own interests to consider the interests of others.

We learned by experiencing life together.  The economy was not just a learning concept contrived by our favorite text book author, Griffin (2008, p. 86).  No, it was a reality that impacted our lives; impacting some of us more than others.  Although we saw and felt the economy’s negative affects on each other’s lives, we also saw a dream become reality.  We saw a man elected President of the United States that brought hope to a discouraged and tired nation.  We experienced life together and we learned.

You see, it’s times like these you learn to live again.

Learning involves giving.  The first night of class our professor asked us to make a list of our expectations for the program we were entering.  After we worked at it for a few minutes she asked, “Is anyone still thinking about themselves?”  From the very beginning we discovered that learning is not about what we can take away, it is about what we can give away.  She lived what she preached.  When we offered our perspectives, she used our thoughts to build on her teaching points.  She valued our input, not as if “yes, that’s a good idea,” but as if she was actually learning from us.

In the end we gave much more than our opinions to this class, we gave of ourselves.  When I first considered our eulogy exercise, I felt it would be very difficult to stand before the class and tell you what to remember about me.  The experience was quite different.  You see, in the end, our eulogies taught us about each other; masks were off, pretenses were set aside; we saw each other as we are.  The emphasis went from “giving MY eulogy” to “GIVING my eulogy.”  That night, we gave something of ourselves away.

You see, it’s times like these you give and give again.

For 15 months we have spent every Tuesday evening together.  We have laughed and we have cried; we have argued and we have agreed.  We have asked questions about what is the greatest good for the greatest number of people and we have learned to appreciate diversity in food, culture, and thought. As individuals created in the image of God, a God who not only loves but is Love itself, we now understand our responsibility to reflect this love in our relationships with the community, the environment and with each other.  We have listened to each other, encouraged each other, and prayed for each other.  After our 15 months of Tuesdays, the realization that we may never spend another evening together brings sadness, yet we realize that each of us is a better person from having spent time with each other.

You see, it’s times like these you learn to love again.

Often I have wondered why we are born with no knowledge, learn throughout our lives, and then die, leaving it all behind.  At first glance it seems like a waste.  But then I realized that part of the answer is found in the process.  Learning does not take place in isolation.  When I learn something new, it must be shared.  Our class has been proof that learning is a participative process.

Sometimes learning can be planned, as has been done with this program.  But sometimes learning is spontaneous.  In either case, learning must be intentional.  Always be on the lookout for a teaching moment.  Find those moments with your children, your co-workers, your friends.  It may be when you are sitting around in a teepee smoking big cigars with your friends or making snow globes with your grandchildren (one of which is named Veronica), or playing catch with your children, or riding in your car on the way to the doctor’s office.  Learning is less about knowledge than it is about understanding.

So I encourage you to take what you have learned over the past 15 months and make it your own.  Each of us has a unique personality, a unique set of people we influence, and a unique perspective on life.  This means that we can make a difference in the lives of those around us.  It is the relationships we have with our bosses, our co-workers, our customers, our family members, our friends where purpose is found.  Don’t sell yourselves short in whatever you do.  Remember that you are created in the image of a God who loves, a God who desires to live in relationship with you, and a God who desires to work through you.  He will open doors for living, for giving, and for loving.

You see, it’s times like these time and time again.

My niece gave me a book to read by Shane Claiborne titled, “The Irresistible Revolution.”  Shane obviously likes to stir the pot and, in doing so, he gives the Church much to think about.  In a world where pop Christian theology seems to look forward to leaving this world behind, this book offers another view of the Kingdom of God.

Shane provides a picture of hope.  He writes of the Church, the body of Christ, serving the poor as Jesus did.  But it is not just about mission projects or giving money to the mission fund.  In an environment where evangelism has been politicized and Christian living is about doing things right, Shane tells of a Church movement that is at work doing the right things. [1]   He provides a hope that this world can, through the body of Christ, be transformed by God.

Key to imitating Jesus, Shane believes that if we have two coats, one belongs to us and the other belongs to the poor.  If we have an unused bedroom in our house, we have a place for the homeless.  Living in community with the poor, Shane practices what he preaches.  I’m not sure, but it seems as if Shane might believe that all Christians should live as he does.  That’s a discussion for another time, but for now he provides a message that Christians need to hear.  The following are a few of his thoughts that are speaking to me and I offer them for contemplation (the titles are my comments):

More than fire insurance:

“Few people are interested in a religion that has nothing to say to the world and offers them only life after death, when what people are really wondering is whether there is life before death.”

To know you is to love you:

“…the great tragedy in the church is not that rich Christians do not care about the poor but that rich Christians do not know the poor.”

More than pity; I am, I said:

“It is a beautiful thing when folks in poverty are no longer just a mission project but become genuine friends and family with whom we laugh, cry, dream, and struggle.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

“The person who loves their dream of community will destroy community, but the person who loves those around them will create community.”

I find these thoughts convicting and I’m not sure how they are to play out in my life.  This I know: God’s plan for His kingdom is not merely to do a work in and for the individual, it is to work through us to transform His creation. [2]   As a member of the body of Christ, this speaks deeply to me.  How will this affect how I serve Him?

[1] A twist on a Peter Drucker statement on leadership.
[2] A thought paraphrased from N. T. Wright’s book, “Surprised by Hope.”

When I think of my Dad, there is a picture that often comes to mind.  As a child I remember looking up at him working in the yard, his sleeves rolled up and sweat on his brow.  And I thought: no one was as strong, no one was as tall, and no one was as noble as he.

My Dad was my lifeline.  As a child, I feared the loss of my parents and that I would be left to face this world alone: no experience, no wisdom, no security.  When I became a young adult and moved out of the house, I kept that lifeline within reach.  Once my wife and I were married and started a family of our own, I knew I could reach out to that lifeline if I needed to.  And when Mom passed away, I still had Dad: my lifeline.

For the past several years, Dad and I have spent a great deal of time together; time I would not trade for anything in this world.  You see, in many ways my Dad was still my lifeline, and in many ways I was his.  Whenever I was troubled, I could talk with him and he would advise me and pray with me.  When I was ill, he would sit by my side.  When he became dependent on me for certain tasks and he would tell me, “Tom, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I still looked to him for his consistency in faith and love; he was still my lifeline.

That last Monday night I sat on his bed at his side and we discussed what we had many times.  “Dad, I need to know, between you and me.  If your heart and/or your lungs stop functioning, what do you want me to do?”  With resolve, he looked into my eyes and said, “Tom, I’m ready to go.”  So when the moment came and the room filled with medical staff and all eyes were on me for a decision, I realized that I had to let go.  By holding on to the lifeline, I would be holding him back.  So I took hold of his hand, told him I loved him and let go of the lifeline.

He was my example, my mentor, my friend, my father and he is still the tallest and most noble man I have ever had the privilege of knowing; and I get to call him my Dad.

… Tom

Father’s Day was Sunday and we didn’t even give my Dad a card or buy his lunch.  I wanted to, but I couldn’t.  You see, Sunday was my first Father’s Day without my Dad.  And I thought of him throughout the day.

He was a man of simple needs and simple means, yet a man of unwavering faith.  When faced with a crisis, he would make a choice and then move on with life.  He wouldn’t look back and regret; instead he would look forward and grow.

He was a good father because he chose to be.  In spite of the fact that growing up he didn’t have a father example, he became an example father to many.

He was a good father because he loved his children and their mother.  When we were in need, he was there – quietly, consistently, faithfully.  He would sit with us, listen with us, enjoy life with us, share sorrows with us, and pray with us … he was my hero.

And there is so much more to say …

… Tom

My friend Jesse says that “ice cream is the only dessert; all other sweets are merely substitutes.”  I happen to be in total agreement.

Last week our wives decided to go away for the evening, celebrating a birthday or something, so Jesse and I decided to drown our loneliness in ice cream.  Not just any ice cream, mind you!  We remembered from our youth of an old fashioned ice cream parlor that had an ice cream feast: enough for two but often consumed by one.

So we set the GPS and headed for our destination 90 miles away.  “What are we going to do if we get there and the ice cream parlor is no longer in business?”  “It’s the process, not the destination that matters,” we determined.

We each had one of the “Belly Busters,” he had the old time cutie and I had the trough fit for a pig.  Each had six scoops of ice cream along with various other frills.  When we finished the waitress stopped by, dropped her jaw and said, “You ate it all!”  “Yes,” we replied, reflecting the tone of “DUH!”  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

The next thing we knew the siren was sounding and out came our waitress banging on a big drum and announcing that she wanted everyone’s attention.  Calling on us to stand, she then proceeded to detail for the whole restaurant each of the ingredients we had consumed.  She then had us push up our snouts and repeat a piggish confession of gluttony.  She awarded us with ribbons that said something like, “I made a pig of myself at Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor.”  Sometimes the line between humiliation and pride is thin.

(Note: The part that bothers me is not the fact that I ate all of it.  No, it was the fact that I didn’t have to force down one bite; it all went down so smoothly!)

Now Jesse and I have been friends since 1981 and in the past few years haven’t spent much time together.  It was time we did.  We talked about families, jobs, retirement, cars, sports, commuting, technology, beliefs, friendship and who we are becoming.  Our conversation covered much more territory than the 180 miles we drove that day.  That evening as we parted, we gripped each other’s hand and said, “We’ll have to do this again … soon.”

You see, it really was about the process; the ice cream was just topping on the cake.

… Tom

I guess I’m a little odd.  Each morning as I leave for the office I look toward the east hoping to catch the sunrise.  This morning I was captivated.  The clouds lay across the east as a blanket lies across the foot of a bed: long, red-orange rolls of clouds with sections of deep turquoise sky peeking through.  Below the clouds, the mountain range was a silhouette; arising above and over my head spread the midnight blue of a cloudless night sky not yet painted with the colors of morning.  And I wondered at the beauty.

A few miles later with the view of sunrise in my mirrors, I approached two multistory glass-front buildings.  The windows were glowing with the orange sunrise; man’s creation reflecting God’s creation.  This is where I got a little odd; I cried.

Of course, this isn’t the only time I could be accused of being odd.  I’ve been know to grab people and drag them (not literally) outside or up the elevator to the 10th floor just to see a rainbow, a sunset, or snow capped mountains.  You see, I think that our ability to wonder is as much a gift from God as the beauty of His creation.  How can one stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon or at the brink of Niagara Falls and not experience wonder?

“The heavens declare God’s glory; the sky displays his handiwork.”  (Psalm 19:1)

Stop.  Look.  Listen.  Touch.  Smell.  Feel.  Wonder.  Have you ever wondered?

Come to think of it, I’ve been misspelling a word.  You see, when it comes to wondering at creation, I guess I am a little awed.

… Tom

On my way to work one day this week, I heard a news report about a landscaper who killed his boss with a shovel.  The reason?  The boss had made critical comments about the employee’s work.  What is going on in this person’s life that he would make this choice in the heat of the moment?

Just then an SUV, making a triple lane change across my rear bumper, reminds me of instances of road rage that have ended with similar results.  A driver cuts us off and we take it personally.  Some drivers choose to just let it go; others choose to act out in rage.  What causes a person to become so angry?

How many times have I been in a situation where I had to make an instant choice and I ended up making a good one?  There have been times when I realized how easily I could have made a bad choice.  That’s a scary thought!  Although I made a good decision, the wrong thing to do was just a choice away.

When we have time to think through our decisions, our choices are based on the information we’ve gathered and the resources we have at hand.  But when faced with a situation where a choice must be made in an instant, what resources do we pull from?

I learned as a child that what we put in our hearts and minds is what spills out when we are shaken.  Jesus said that “the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart….”  Could it be that what I spend my days thinking, reading, watching, playing and listening become the resources I use when I need to make an instant choice?  Could it be that, in those moments of passion, the resources we use to make choices are not in our hands but in our hearts?

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is worthy of respect, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if something is excellent or praiseworthy, think about these things.”  — Paul, Philippians 4:8 (New English Translation).

… Tom

Why is it that we associate certain attributes with certain names?  For example, why is it that Jack is proficient in all trades but not Jerome?  Why is Dan so Dapper, but not Donald?  Maybe it has something to do with the way it sounds.  For instance, Billy Bear sounds okay, but Teddy Goat just doesn’t come across right.  Some names are very strong, diligent and courageous: Victor or Will!  And some are not so vigorous such as what I’m about to do: Peter-out.

But to be Frank, I think that the Toms of this world always come up a quart low on the dip stick of life.  Let’s face it, a Tom Cat is a horn-dog and a Peeping Tom is a pervert.  Every “Tom, Dick and Harry” is about as common as you can get (sorry Dick and Harry, but notice who is listed first).  Even the Bible comes after us Toms by giving us the skeptical nickname; I think that an alliterative Doubting Douglas has a better ring to it, don’t you agree?

I wanted to demonstrate that I’m able to overcome all these derogatory nicknames, so I thought I’d conclude with the – at least the somewhat – valiant slogan, “I think I can, I think I can,” but then discovered that it was “The Little Engine that Could” and not Thomas the Tank Engine that made that quote famous.  So, I guess I’ll just retire to my den and beat on my Tom-Tom.

… Tom

The old tall man shuffled his way up the church aisle followed by an old, much shorter, man.  Living in a nearby residential care facility, the two of them had recently started attending our church.  A few weeks later I saw the tall one return a stack of books to our church library.  “He borrows several books each week,” I was told, “reads them and returns them the next Sunday.”  I must admit I was a bit skeptical about his reading them; it would take me a couple months to read what he claimed he read in a week.  Lesson number one: don’t judge a book by its cover.

Since John didn’t have a car, he would often take a bus.  I don’t remember how it happened, but my wife began to take him places when the bus schedules weren’t convenient.  He provided an intellectual respite from a mother’s world filled with hairy puppets singing “Letter ‘B’” songs.  Lesson number two: a true friendship is when you can’t tell who is doing who a favor.

John became a true friend.  He taught me more than I could hope to describe.  He moved me to a new level of thinking and showed me that I could keep up.  He was our adopted father and our children’s adopted grandpa.  He was the same age as our dads and we celebrated their milestone birthdays together, the three old codgers, at 75, 80 and finally 85 years old.  Lesson number three: good friends are like family.

John was an intellect.  A graduate of Wheaton College and Princeton Theological Seminary, he was a friend of well known and influential people.  John was never rich or famous, but he, too, was influential.  All of us who spent time with him were never the same; you should have heard the chorus of voices at his memorial service.

As his 87th birthday approached, he was very ill.  “I just want to make it to my birthday,” he told us one time we were visiting.  My wife arranged a birthday party for him at the convalescent center.  He waited in the gathering room and friends began to appear one at a time.  And they stayed and talked and honored John.  He moved from one to another: talking, sharing and laughing.  He beamed with satisfaction.  And after all had left and as I was helping him back into bed, John looked at me square in the eyes.  The words he said were “thank you” and the tone was one of finality as if he was saying, “it is finished.”  A few days later, John was in eternity.

My friend John came to mind today; I miss him so.

There was a time, when I was a young father, that I was so enjoying my children that I thought, “This is the best age!  I wish they could stay this age forever.”  It was the “cute” stage where they were still learning to pronounce their words correctly.  For example, on a drive through the back roads of Chino they might say, “What’s it ‘mell like, Daddy?” or “Can we watch Mag-a-num PI when we get home?”  But time does not stand still….

And then they reached the “questioning” age.  This is such a great time for parents because then you get to make up all these creative answers and see what you can get away with.  “Why is the sky blue, Daddy?”  “It’s because there’s this big blue ball around our world, like the ball your hamster runs around in.”  I don’t know about your children, but mine never accepted my first answers.  “Come on, Daddy, what’s the real reason?”  And then I would remember my previous thought when they were younger and I’d think to myself, “No, this is the best age!  I wish they could stay this age forever.”

The thought of a child becoming a teenager sometimes strikes fear in the heart of a parent.  But when we reached that point, I so enjoyed the time we spent together.  I saw my children struggling to become the independent people we were raising them to be.  And truly, at this point, I once again thought to myself, “No, this is the best age!”

And now my children are adults and we relate to each other on a totally different level.  They have developed their own understanding of the world around them.  They have taken ownership of their lives.  They have made their Faith their own.

And once again I find myself thinking, “No, this is the best age!”

… Tom