2018 Stories & Thoughts
We Got Ben's Bike Back! 12.31.2018
We Found Ben’s Bike!
Last Thursday night Ben came in the house, “Dad, dad, I found my bike!”
“You found your bike?! Where?!” I asked.
“It’s chained to a street sign down by Eastchester Avenue!” Ben said excitedly, his voice raised, with a bit of a pant escaping between words, like he had just been running. “Dad, let’s get a saw and go cut off the chain and get the bike back!”
“Uh, Ben, let’s go take a look, but I’m not too comfortable with cutting someone else’s chain to get your bike back,” I said cautiously. “Are you sure it’s your bike?”
“Yes, I know it’s mine!” Ben stated emphatically. “It’s got those green paint spots on the handlebars, remember?”
We got in the car and drove four blocks to Adee and Eastchester and there, wonder of wonders, was Ben’s Trek bike, chained to a No Parking sign along with a cart full of stuff that looked like it may belong to a homeless guy. A group of 5-6 guys were out there on the sidewalk talking by a car, so I walked over and asked if any of them knew the guy who owns that chain, “Because that’s my son’s bike chained to the pole.”
“Nah, man, we don’t know whose chain that is. We already told your son we don’t know who’s chain that is. You just moved in?” Asked one guy who introduced himself as Eee.
“Yeah, we moved from Brooklyn,” I told them. “We live up on Corsa, and unfortunately we didn’t chain our bikes right at first, so this one was taken.” I didn’t tell them about the red Huffy 18 speed that was also taken, since that bike was not anything too special anyway. The Trek, on the other hand, was a good little bike.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,“ Eee said, as he gave me a fist bump. Another guy said “Nice talking to you,” and turned to keep talking to his friends.
We went in and spoke to Mohammed, the deli operator, and he told us “Oh, that’s probably Joey’s, but he doesn’t have a cell phone. Give me your number and I’ll ask Joey about it when I see him.” He then told us that if we know it’s our bike and get a bolt-cutter, he will cut the chain for us. We gave him my cell phone number, but I wasn’t quite ready to leave the bike there, so I called 911 to report that my son’s bike was stolen and we had found it chained to a street sign. The 911 operator said an officer will be dispatched and on his way shortly. 30 cold minutes later I called back, and another 911 operator said that it’s in the system but she could not give an ETA. A coffee in hand, Ben and I sat in the car to warm up but we decided to leave at 9:00 p.m., probably 45 minutes after I had placed my first call. No calls came from anybody regarding my 911 report, so I really don’t think any police officers showed up to the address that I reported.
A day passed, and I was taking an early morning prayer walk through the park when I saw a police vehicle parked there. I had been thinking of stopping by at the Precinct on Laconia Avenue to ask them why they had never come to respond to my stolen bike 911 call. I walked up and told the police officers my dilemma. “Well, do you know the serial number of your bike?” They asked. I told them we bought the bike used about two years ago, so no, we do not have a receipt. But I know it's his bike, because it has Bontrager tires and a few green spots of paint on the handlebars. So the one officer called back to the station and spoke to the commanding officer. He hung up the phone and said “If you know it’s yours, just go cut the chain and take it.”
“Really,” I asked somewhat dumfounded. What if some guy calls the police on us, will you back me up?
“Sure, just tell them Officer Sanchez and Officer Perez from the 47th Precinct told you that you can cut the chain,” was his response.
About 30 minutes later, armed with a bolt-cutter just purchased at Home Depot, I arrived at Adee Avenue and saw the bike still there, chained to the No Parking sign. An elderly homeless man was standing about a dozen yards away, so I told him my predicament and that the police told me to cut the chain and take my son's bike.
“Oh, I know the guy who has that, and he just went up the street. Wait a bit, he’ll come back and let you have it.” This guy seemed sure we could get the bike back without cutting the chain.
Within less than five minutes, a guy came riding a red Huffy 18 speed bike down the street. I’m reasonably certain it is the other bike of ours that was taken, but the seat was changed. Anyway, I said hello to this newcomer and told him that’s my son’s bike chained to the No Parking sign, and the police said I can cut the chain. “But if you have a key, I’d rather not cut your chain.”
“Sure, I’ll open it for you,” He said. “I found this bike on the street with a flat tire and thought I would fix it.” He opened the chain and gave me the bike.
The weird thing is that Ben and I are both sure that neither tire was flat Thursday evening. Now the back tire is flat. We wondered later if Mohammed talked to the guy and he disabled the back tire to create a story.
After I got the Trek back I told the guy that his red bike is ours, too.
“Nah, I bought that bike,” He said without a lot of conviction.
“Well, the only thing that would make me slightly hesitate is that the seat is changed. Everything else about that red 18 speed Huffy you have there is exactly the same as the one we had, down to the tires and the lettering. Anyway, you can have it,” I told him. “What’s your name?”
He told me his name if Face, and we shook hands, and I left with Ben's bike.
I took back the bolt-cutter to the Home Depot, so no financial outlay there.
I’m thinking there may be more opportunities to interact with Face, Joey, and Mohammed in the future, and I’m hoping we can turn this “coincidence” into a divine appointment. Well actually, I've long dismissed the notion of "coincidence," so let's just say this was a divine appointment.
It's good to have Ben’s bike back.
Rich
Last Thursday night Ben came in the house, “Dad, dad, I found my bike!”
“You found your bike?! Where?!” I asked.
“It’s chained to a street sign down by Eastchester Avenue!” Ben said excitedly, his voice raised, with a bit of a pant escaping between words, like he had just been running. “Dad, let’s get a saw and go cut off the chain and get the bike back!”
“Uh, Ben, let’s go take a look, but I’m not too comfortable with cutting someone else’s chain to get your bike back,” I said cautiously. “Are you sure it’s your bike?”
“Yes, I know it’s mine!” Ben stated emphatically. “It’s got those green paint spots on the handlebars, remember?”
We got in the car and drove four blocks to Adee and Eastchester and there, wonder of wonders, was Ben’s Trek bike, chained to a No Parking sign along with a cart full of stuff that looked like it may belong to a homeless guy. A group of 5-6 guys were out there on the sidewalk talking by a car, so I walked over and asked if any of them knew the guy who owns that chain, “Because that’s my son’s bike chained to the pole.”
“Nah, man, we don’t know whose chain that is. We already told your son we don’t know who’s chain that is. You just moved in?” Asked one guy who introduced himself as Eee.
“Yeah, we moved from Brooklyn,” I told them. “We live up on Corsa, and unfortunately we didn’t chain our bikes right at first, so this one was taken.” I didn’t tell them about the red Huffy 18 speed that was also taken, since that bike was not anything too special anyway. The Trek, on the other hand, was a good little bike.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,“ Eee said, as he gave me a fist bump. Another guy said “Nice talking to you,” and turned to keep talking to his friends.
We went in and spoke to Mohammed, the deli operator, and he told us “Oh, that’s probably Joey’s, but he doesn’t have a cell phone. Give me your number and I’ll ask Joey about it when I see him.” He then told us that if we know it’s our bike and get a bolt-cutter, he will cut the chain for us. We gave him my cell phone number, but I wasn’t quite ready to leave the bike there, so I called 911 to report that my son’s bike was stolen and we had found it chained to a street sign. The 911 operator said an officer will be dispatched and on his way shortly. 30 cold minutes later I called back, and another 911 operator said that it’s in the system but she could not give an ETA. A coffee in hand, Ben and I sat in the car to warm up but we decided to leave at 9:00 p.m., probably 45 minutes after I had placed my first call. No calls came from anybody regarding my 911 report, so I really don’t think any police officers showed up to the address that I reported.
A day passed, and I was taking an early morning prayer walk through the park when I saw a police vehicle parked there. I had been thinking of stopping by at the Precinct on Laconia Avenue to ask them why they had never come to respond to my stolen bike 911 call. I walked up and told the police officers my dilemma. “Well, do you know the serial number of your bike?” They asked. I told them we bought the bike used about two years ago, so no, we do not have a receipt. But I know it's his bike, because it has Bontrager tires and a few green spots of paint on the handlebars. So the one officer called back to the station and spoke to the commanding officer. He hung up the phone and said “If you know it’s yours, just go cut the chain and take it.”
“Really,” I asked somewhat dumfounded. What if some guy calls the police on us, will you back me up?
“Sure, just tell them Officer Sanchez and Officer Perez from the 47th Precinct told you that you can cut the chain,” was his response.
About 30 minutes later, armed with a bolt-cutter just purchased at Home Depot, I arrived at Adee Avenue and saw the bike still there, chained to the No Parking sign. An elderly homeless man was standing about a dozen yards away, so I told him my predicament and that the police told me to cut the chain and take my son's bike.
“Oh, I know the guy who has that, and he just went up the street. Wait a bit, he’ll come back and let you have it.” This guy seemed sure we could get the bike back without cutting the chain.
Within less than five minutes, a guy came riding a red Huffy 18 speed bike down the street. I’m reasonably certain it is the other bike of ours that was taken, but the seat was changed. Anyway, I said hello to this newcomer and told him that’s my son’s bike chained to the No Parking sign, and the police said I can cut the chain. “But if you have a key, I’d rather not cut your chain.”
“Sure, I’ll open it for you,” He said. “I found this bike on the street with a flat tire and thought I would fix it.” He opened the chain and gave me the bike.
The weird thing is that Ben and I are both sure that neither tire was flat Thursday evening. Now the back tire is flat. We wondered later if Mohammed talked to the guy and he disabled the back tire to create a story.
After I got the Trek back I told the guy that his red bike is ours, too.
“Nah, I bought that bike,” He said without a lot of conviction.
“Well, the only thing that would make me slightly hesitate is that the seat is changed. Everything else about that red 18 speed Huffy you have there is exactly the same as the one we had, down to the tires and the lettering. Anyway, you can have it,” I told him. “What’s your name?”
He told me his name if Face, and we shook hands, and I left with Ben's bike.
I took back the bolt-cutter to the Home Depot, so no financial outlay there.
I’m thinking there may be more opportunities to interact with Face, Joey, and Mohammed in the future, and I’m hoping we can turn this “coincidence” into a divine appointment. Well actually, I've long dismissed the notion of "coincidence," so let's just say this was a divine appointment.
It's good to have Ben’s bike back.
Rich
My Desires... 12.19.2018
Or, shall more accurately say, my desire is that the following desires bubble up to the top of my desires:
1. Love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength
2. Love my wife Sandy, and dwell with her in an understanding way. Love her as Christ loved the church.
3. Care for my children as I bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord
4. Be a fisher of men. Point people to Jesus. See them become born again. Nurture them to become disciples who make disciples of Jesus.
5. Participate in the healing that the Holy Spirit longs to bring to people.
6. BE an active, growing, student of the Word of God.
7. Pray. In season and out of season. Pray.
8. Write. Glorify God and move people as I write.
Rich
1. Love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength
2. Love my wife Sandy, and dwell with her in an understanding way. Love her as Christ loved the church.
3. Care for my children as I bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord
4. Be a fisher of men. Point people to Jesus. See them become born again. Nurture them to become disciples who make disciples of Jesus.
5. Participate in the healing that the Holy Spirit longs to bring to people.
6. BE an active, growing, student of the Word of God.
7. Pray. In season and out of season. Pray.
8. Write. Glorify God and move people as I write.
Rich
B3-Banners By Bri
Brianna Raquel Schwartz, our nineteen year old daughter, is planning to go to Myanmar (formerly Burma) from January 9 to July 9, 2019. She will be helping a family there. If you are interested in further details about that you can contact her or us.
So in the past several years, Brianna has developed an artistic bent towards creative banners and signs. A few of the banners she created in the last month or so are shown on our facebook 11/27/2018 post. If you are interested in ordering a custom-made, one-word fabric banner from Bri, message us and I’ll let her know. You can choose the word, the size, and a font color of either black, gold, or bronze. For you ladies who have a husband whose birthday is in December, I’m sure you want to order a 6’ x 8’ banner that says “Amazing” on it and hang it in front of your bathroom for him or something. Hah! No, actually a word like “Sing” or “Simplify” or “Coolness” or “Eggshells” could really startle visitors. Maybe you would do better though to choose an action word like “Pray” or “Love” or a noun like “Joy” or “Grace” or “Hope” or “Faith”
You choose the word, you choose the size and the font color, and Bri will aim to get something to you.
Pricing for the banners is a suggested donation of $30-$50, depending on the size of the banner and your available resources.
Also in the FB photos are some sample 8 ½” x 11” cardstock verses and quotes that Brianna has made. You can order basically anything you want her to write on an 8 ½” x 11” cardstock, and she will aim to get it done and mail it to you. Suggested donations for those 8 ½” x 11” cardstock creations is $6-$10.
So in the past several years, Brianna has developed an artistic bent towards creative banners and signs. A few of the banners she created in the last month or so are shown on our facebook 11/27/2018 post. If you are interested in ordering a custom-made, one-word fabric banner from Bri, message us and I’ll let her know. You can choose the word, the size, and a font color of either black, gold, or bronze. For you ladies who have a husband whose birthday is in December, I’m sure you want to order a 6’ x 8’ banner that says “Amazing” on it and hang it in front of your bathroom for him or something. Hah! No, actually a word like “Sing” or “Simplify” or “Coolness” or “Eggshells” could really startle visitors. Maybe you would do better though to choose an action word like “Pray” or “Love” or a noun like “Joy” or “Grace” or “Hope” or “Faith”
You choose the word, you choose the size and the font color, and Bri will aim to get something to you.
Pricing for the banners is a suggested donation of $30-$50, depending on the size of the banner and your available resources.
Also in the FB photos are some sample 8 ½” x 11” cardstock verses and quotes that Brianna has made. You can order basically anything you want her to write on an 8 ½” x 11” cardstock, and she will aim to get it done and mail it to you. Suggested donations for those 8 ½” x 11” cardstock creations is $6-$10.
Jesus is Coming Soon, My Wife is "Dope" and other thoughts
11.11.2018
A lot has happened in the past few weeks, really. We moved to The Baychester/Pelham Gardens area of northeast Bronx on October 20, 2018. That moving experience was by itself such a tremendous blessing to us, since we counted nearly 40 people who helped us in some way that day, starting with two families coming in around 8:00 a.m. to set up a table with breakfast and coffee (and a candle) for the moving party that would soon commence. We slept at our house that Saturday evening, and in the past 22 days we have done a few more improvements, little by little.
Sandy and I thought it would be a good idea back in June of 2018 to schedule a trip to Colorado in October 2018, since we have been married 20 years, and she was invited to speak at a Women of God conference in Canon City, Colorado. The timing ended up being a little strange, since 4 days after moving in we spent a week in Colorado. The children all went to different homes in Brooklyn, and Sandy and I had a great time in Colorado. A couple highlights of that time involved hiking in the beauty that is Colorado, spending quantity and quality time with Nevin & Elizabeth and Arlin & Racine, and just spending time together. We considered that a gift. We were gifted two nights at The Glen Eyrie Castle (Navigators HQ) in Colorado Springs. An exceptionally delightful place, let me tell you. We went to a Steven Curtis Chapman Concert with friends. Wow.
Sandy and I thought it would be a good idea back in June of 2018 to schedule a trip to Colorado in October 2018, since we have been married 20 years, and she was invited to speak at a Women of God conference in Canon City, Colorado. The timing ended up being a little strange, since 4 days after moving in we spent a week in Colorado. The children all went to different homes in Brooklyn, and Sandy and I had a great time in Colorado. A couple highlights of that time involved hiking in the beauty that is Colorado, spending quantity and quality time with Nevin & Elizabeth and Arlin & Racine, and just spending time together. We considered that a gift. We were gifted two nights at The Glen Eyrie Castle (Navigators HQ) in Colorado Springs. An exceptionally delightful place, let me tell you. We went to a Steven Curtis Chapman Concert with friends. Wow.
We had our first Sunday service in the Bronx on Sunday, November 4, 2018. We were hosted at the Umeadi residence, and it was a really good meeting. With the three families and two other people joining us, we had a total of 20 people.
So Wednesday had some twists to it. Ben and Avery went to play basketball in the park. One of the young men told Ben “I bet you’re rich.” Ben said no, he is not rich. The guy then said “I bet you have a bunch of Jordans.” Ben said, “Actually, I don’t have any Jordans.” Stereotypes are hard to break, I guess. Another guy that was playing basketball with Ben was apparently high, because one guy passed the ball to him and the guy said “Follow me into the dark side of the forest” with an eerie smile. Strange twists, I’m telling you.
Sandy, for another strange twist, had a good conversation with a young man at the park and ended up praying with the young man. The man said that he had just been talking with his friend about spiritual things, so this meeting was “not a coincidence.” Sandy mentioned something about living in the hood, and the man gave her high five and said "Man, you are dope.” She had a chance to pray for this young man at the end of her conversation. That day, Sandy was on a high, excited about being called “dope” by a young man in the hood. Funny how this works, because our children think the story it is rather cringe-worthy. Strange twists.
Last week, my two oldest sons were talking about how they like using the half bathroom on the middle floor because there is warm water in the tank. This sounded suspicious to me, so I investigated it. Would you believe it, we have owned this house for a month and a half and I just discovered that whichever person the previous owner used to set up the half bath hooked up a hot water line to the toilet bowl. Every time we flush, 1.7 gallons of water go down, and the tank gets filled with hot water. We had a few discussions on what to do, with one child suggesting we lock the door and put “out of order” on it, another child suggesting we find that “If its yellow let it mellow, when its brown flush it down” sign that we’ve seen around. The two oldest asked if they could use the toilet at least once a week for a forty-five minute warming session.
Picked up a basketball hoop in Connecticut on craigslist yesterday morning. I was surprised to hit the Connecticut line in less than 15 minutes. The woman said she has two children at college, and her high-school aged son is in boarding school because it really hit him when his Dad left the family. We talked about how divorce is so hard on the children while we were putting sand from the base in garbage bags. Ben was with me and he was operating the shovel while she held the garbage bags. “Ben, you do such a good job, like a surgeon.” Ben and I kept straight faces, but we compared notes later and thought that perhaps being a surgeon is a little harder than shoveling sand into garbage bags. Anyway, as we were getting ready to leave, I told Susie that I’m a follower of Jesus, and asked if I could pray for her. She readily agreed, and after I was finished she was standing there, tears streaming down her face. My heart went out to this woman living with her dog, her children all out of the house and her husband gone.
Sandy took some items back to the hardware store on Boston Road yesterday afternoon. That was her first time in the store. The cashier asked “Are you Rich’s wife?” Sandy was surprised, and asked “How did you know?” “You look like Rich,” was the response. I learned about pheromones in a psychology class in college. We breathe in each other’s pheromones as they emanate from our skin and gradually we begin to look like each other. Anecdotal evidence recently (yesterday) has bolstered this theory.
Last night, I met with a man I had spoken with once before. We met in White Castle, and had a really good talk. At the end, he said that he really wants to be a good father, and told me that he has a five-year-old son. He is not living with his son, and he never had a father in his life. We are planning to meet again next Saturday at 5:00 p.m.
Ike and Stan and I met for prayer this morning at Stan’s house. In the course of our prayer time, Ike reminded us that Jesus is coming soon. Redeemed Church of The Bronx is having our second Sunday service in the Bronx again, this time meeting at our house this afternoon at 3:00 p.m.
God is good, and He is on the move. Jesus is coming soon!
Rich
So Wednesday had some twists to it. Ben and Avery went to play basketball in the park. One of the young men told Ben “I bet you’re rich.” Ben said no, he is not rich. The guy then said “I bet you have a bunch of Jordans.” Ben said, “Actually, I don’t have any Jordans.” Stereotypes are hard to break, I guess. Another guy that was playing basketball with Ben was apparently high, because one guy passed the ball to him and the guy said “Follow me into the dark side of the forest” with an eerie smile. Strange twists, I’m telling you.
Sandy, for another strange twist, had a good conversation with a young man at the park and ended up praying with the young man. The man said that he had just been talking with his friend about spiritual things, so this meeting was “not a coincidence.” Sandy mentioned something about living in the hood, and the man gave her high five and said "Man, you are dope.” She had a chance to pray for this young man at the end of her conversation. That day, Sandy was on a high, excited about being called “dope” by a young man in the hood. Funny how this works, because our children think the story it is rather cringe-worthy. Strange twists.
Last week, my two oldest sons were talking about how they like using the half bathroom on the middle floor because there is warm water in the tank. This sounded suspicious to me, so I investigated it. Would you believe it, we have owned this house for a month and a half and I just discovered that whichever person the previous owner used to set up the half bath hooked up a hot water line to the toilet bowl. Every time we flush, 1.7 gallons of water go down, and the tank gets filled with hot water. We had a few discussions on what to do, with one child suggesting we lock the door and put “out of order” on it, another child suggesting we find that “If its yellow let it mellow, when its brown flush it down” sign that we’ve seen around. The two oldest asked if they could use the toilet at least once a week for a forty-five minute warming session.
Picked up a basketball hoop in Connecticut on craigslist yesterday morning. I was surprised to hit the Connecticut line in less than 15 minutes. The woman said she has two children at college, and her high-school aged son is in boarding school because it really hit him when his Dad left the family. We talked about how divorce is so hard on the children while we were putting sand from the base in garbage bags. Ben was with me and he was operating the shovel while she held the garbage bags. “Ben, you do such a good job, like a surgeon.” Ben and I kept straight faces, but we compared notes later and thought that perhaps being a surgeon is a little harder than shoveling sand into garbage bags. Anyway, as we were getting ready to leave, I told Susie that I’m a follower of Jesus, and asked if I could pray for her. She readily agreed, and after I was finished she was standing there, tears streaming down her face. My heart went out to this woman living with her dog, her children all out of the house and her husband gone.
Sandy took some items back to the hardware store on Boston Road yesterday afternoon. That was her first time in the store. The cashier asked “Are you Rich’s wife?” Sandy was surprised, and asked “How did you know?” “You look like Rich,” was the response. I learned about pheromones in a psychology class in college. We breathe in each other’s pheromones as they emanate from our skin and gradually we begin to look like each other. Anecdotal evidence recently (yesterday) has bolstered this theory.
Last night, I met with a man I had spoken with once before. We met in White Castle, and had a really good talk. At the end, he said that he really wants to be a good father, and told me that he has a five-year-old son. He is not living with his son, and he never had a father in his life. We are planning to meet again next Saturday at 5:00 p.m.
Ike and Stan and I met for prayer this morning at Stan’s house. In the course of our prayer time, Ike reminded us that Jesus is coming soon. Redeemed Church of The Bronx is having our second Sunday service in the Bronx again, this time meeting at our house this afternoon at 3:00 p.m.
God is good, and He is on the move. Jesus is coming soon!
Rich
Working at our new house, or shall we say working at God's house on loan to us... 9.22.2018
9/11/2018
An Ode to Marcus
Marcus died today. Dwight told me the shocking news this afternoon. The landlord called Dwight's wife and said that they found Marcus in his room, unresponsive. He was later confirmed dead. At first this information jolted me. Then, waves of sadness came, undulating with the memories of this quirky man that I had seen on the streets, talked with in his occasional visits to church, spoken with when he visited at Dwight’s house, and known for more than twenty years.
My first memories of Marcus are from Vacation Bible School, 1995 edition. I was coming back from the first day, walking along Jamaica Avenue with a group of children, when this eccentric-looking man came bobbing and weaving back and forth in front of us, running up close and then running away. The kids were terrified of his antics, and my friend Marvin stepped into his self-appointed security guard role to gently but firmly walk towards Marcus and lead him, gently but firmly, away from the vacation Bible school group. Throughout those two weeks, we prayed for Marcus on most days, and developed strategies of dealing with his erratic behavior to keep him from terrorizing the children.
There were times when Marcus would carry a coherent conversation and give a window into what he may look like as a whole person. But there were plenty of times when the topic would bounce around enough, complete with waving of hands and bobbing and weaving gesticulations. When we prayed for Marcus to be healed and to become whole, we knew we were praying for a miracle. I guess that’s kind of a weak statement, because anyone who is in bondage to sin and in need of repentance is in need of a miracle. In that sense, Marcus was no different than me or you.
My friend Dwight, his wife, and their three children have extended warm, compassionate love towards Marcus better than anyone I know in this community. Tonight I thought of that verse in Psalms that says “God sets the lonely in families” (Psalm 68:6). For all of his quirkiness and eccentricity, Marcus was a lonely man. And God gave him the Nisly family. I should ask Dwight to give me an estimate of how many times a week Marcus would stop in at their place—probably 4-5 times a week, and sometimes he would stay the entire evening.
Just last night we had men’s prayer at the Nisly house. Eight of us were praying there in the living room when the doorbell rang. I smelled him when Dwight opened the door, even though that was 12 feet away and down the hall. A cloud of stale cigarette smoke, with an oldish tinge of stale alcohol and other assorted smells came down the hall, and there was Marcus, walking into the living room. Ronald asked him how we could pray for him, and Marcus launched into something about nature and getting rid of bacteria—eventually one of the brothers took some time to pray for Marcus. As we were praying for him, I remember feeling grateful that Marcus had stopped by and joined us. I don’t know if he knew ahead of time that we would be praying.
So the news today that Marcus is no longer alive hits me. We are here today, but we’ll be gone tomorrow. As of last night, none of us were aware of any commitment made by Marcus to Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. We can hope that he called out the Jesus, and we know that everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. If he died without Christ, he has no hope of eternal life. This is a tragic sadness that grips me.
It made me think of another friend whom I have not seen for a few weeks. I tried to contact him to see how he is doing, and I could not get in touch with him. Marcus had basically been admitting to Dwight in the past few weeks that he is an alcoholic.
I don’t know for sure what caused his death. All I know is that Marcus, who was alive yesterday, is now dead.
And I know that I am still alive. Life is a gift, and love is meant to be shared, to be given away. I didn’t tell my family about the passing of Marcus until we sat at the dinner table. I asked a leading question: “If you love someone and care for them, spend time with them for twenty years, and then they die but have never changed, is there ever a chance that you could have wasted your time?” One of the answers was “It’s never a waste of time to love,” another answer was “If we are called to love, how can we not love?” Then I told them about Marcus, and how he died today.
This has been a time of reflection for me. Bigger is not always better. Faith, hope, and love abide. But the greatest of these is love. Sure, we can (and sometimes should) pray that God would bless us and that he would “enlarge my territory” as Jabez prayed. Sure, we can see a vision to be fruitful in ministry and to partner with the Holy Spirit to expand the work of the Kingdom. But tonight I am reminded that bigger is not always better. "Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these," said Jesus, "you have done it unto me."
Christ in the believer, Christ the hope of glory, fills the believer with love. It's a love that doesn't have strings attached. It's a love that loves without expecting something in return.
Yes, the greatest of these is love.
Lord, teach us to love. And bless the Nisly family tonight. They have loved real well.
Rich
My first memories of Marcus are from Vacation Bible School, 1995 edition. I was coming back from the first day, walking along Jamaica Avenue with a group of children, when this eccentric-looking man came bobbing and weaving back and forth in front of us, running up close and then running away. The kids were terrified of his antics, and my friend Marvin stepped into his self-appointed security guard role to gently but firmly walk towards Marcus and lead him, gently but firmly, away from the vacation Bible school group. Throughout those two weeks, we prayed for Marcus on most days, and developed strategies of dealing with his erratic behavior to keep him from terrorizing the children.
There were times when Marcus would carry a coherent conversation and give a window into what he may look like as a whole person. But there were plenty of times when the topic would bounce around enough, complete with waving of hands and bobbing and weaving gesticulations. When we prayed for Marcus to be healed and to become whole, we knew we were praying for a miracle. I guess that’s kind of a weak statement, because anyone who is in bondage to sin and in need of repentance is in need of a miracle. In that sense, Marcus was no different than me or you.
My friend Dwight, his wife, and their three children have extended warm, compassionate love towards Marcus better than anyone I know in this community. Tonight I thought of that verse in Psalms that says “God sets the lonely in families” (Psalm 68:6). For all of his quirkiness and eccentricity, Marcus was a lonely man. And God gave him the Nisly family. I should ask Dwight to give me an estimate of how many times a week Marcus would stop in at their place—probably 4-5 times a week, and sometimes he would stay the entire evening.
Just last night we had men’s prayer at the Nisly house. Eight of us were praying there in the living room when the doorbell rang. I smelled him when Dwight opened the door, even though that was 12 feet away and down the hall. A cloud of stale cigarette smoke, with an oldish tinge of stale alcohol and other assorted smells came down the hall, and there was Marcus, walking into the living room. Ronald asked him how we could pray for him, and Marcus launched into something about nature and getting rid of bacteria—eventually one of the brothers took some time to pray for Marcus. As we were praying for him, I remember feeling grateful that Marcus had stopped by and joined us. I don’t know if he knew ahead of time that we would be praying.
So the news today that Marcus is no longer alive hits me. We are here today, but we’ll be gone tomorrow. As of last night, none of us were aware of any commitment made by Marcus to Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. We can hope that he called out the Jesus, and we know that everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. If he died without Christ, he has no hope of eternal life. This is a tragic sadness that grips me.
It made me think of another friend whom I have not seen for a few weeks. I tried to contact him to see how he is doing, and I could not get in touch with him. Marcus had basically been admitting to Dwight in the past few weeks that he is an alcoholic.
I don’t know for sure what caused his death. All I know is that Marcus, who was alive yesterday, is now dead.
And I know that I am still alive. Life is a gift, and love is meant to be shared, to be given away. I didn’t tell my family about the passing of Marcus until we sat at the dinner table. I asked a leading question: “If you love someone and care for them, spend time with them for twenty years, and then they die but have never changed, is there ever a chance that you could have wasted your time?” One of the answers was “It’s never a waste of time to love,” another answer was “If we are called to love, how can we not love?” Then I told them about Marcus, and how he died today.
This has been a time of reflection for me. Bigger is not always better. Faith, hope, and love abide. But the greatest of these is love. Sure, we can (and sometimes should) pray that God would bless us and that he would “enlarge my territory” as Jabez prayed. Sure, we can see a vision to be fruitful in ministry and to partner with the Holy Spirit to expand the work of the Kingdom. But tonight I am reminded that bigger is not always better. "Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these," said Jesus, "you have done it unto me."
Christ in the believer, Christ the hope of glory, fills the believer with love. It's a love that doesn't have strings attached. It's a love that loves without expecting something in return.
Yes, the greatest of these is love.
Lord, teach us to love. And bless the Nisly family tonight. They have loved real well.
Rich
If Your Eyes are Good 9.9.2018
Over the past three-four weeks, I have had two separate bouts of soreness, puffiness, scratchiness, and discomfort with my right eye. The latest four-day bout has intensified the pain factor, so I’m thinking I need to go see the eye doctor this week to check it out. This morning that right eye doesn’t hurt so much, but it’s blurry.
This has me thinking about the value of an eye. How much would I be willing to pay per month to keep this eye for the next 30 years, if God give me that much life? If I’d pay $1,000/month, that would come to $360,000. Sure, that’s a lot of money, but this eye is worth a lot to me. What about both eyes? $2,000/month? $3,000/month?
Jesus says in Matthew 6 that the lamp of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye is good (single) your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in you is darkness, how great is that darkness!
Jesus teachings there about the eye come just after he speaks about laying up treasures in heaven and the gives the teaching “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Then, just after he says this about the eye needing to be good (single) so the body can be full of light, Jesus launches into another teaching about money and possessions, ending with “You cannot serve God and money.”
Light affects humans in proportion to their sight. Eyes that see well bring in all the light and its surrounding details. Eyes that see less well bring in less light. Eyes that don’t see may be able to distinguish haziness from blackness, but do not do much more in reference to light.
The whole person is affected by what is desired. If the desire and the pursuit of a person is for God, then light opens up and enters the body, soul, and spirit. If the desire and pursuit of money and possessions is the controlling mechanism that dictates life’s goals, choices, and motivations, then the light of God is being blocked out, and darkness remains in the body, soul, and spirit.
As much as this right eye is important to me, this little lesson God gave me this morning on “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” and “You cannot serve God and money” has reminded me of the foremost passion I need to cultivate. I desire the love of God, the goodness of God, the truth of God, the glory of God, the honor of God, and the infilling presence of the Spirit of God. This is my one desire. This is the most important light to pursue.
But I do think I’ll take a trip to the eye doctor this week to check out this scratchy right eye.
Rich
This has me thinking about the value of an eye. How much would I be willing to pay per month to keep this eye for the next 30 years, if God give me that much life? If I’d pay $1,000/month, that would come to $360,000. Sure, that’s a lot of money, but this eye is worth a lot to me. What about both eyes? $2,000/month? $3,000/month?
Jesus says in Matthew 6 that the lamp of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye is good (single) your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in you is darkness, how great is that darkness!
Jesus teachings there about the eye come just after he speaks about laying up treasures in heaven and the gives the teaching “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Then, just after he says this about the eye needing to be good (single) so the body can be full of light, Jesus launches into another teaching about money and possessions, ending with “You cannot serve God and money.”
Light affects humans in proportion to their sight. Eyes that see well bring in all the light and its surrounding details. Eyes that see less well bring in less light. Eyes that don’t see may be able to distinguish haziness from blackness, but do not do much more in reference to light.
The whole person is affected by what is desired. If the desire and the pursuit of a person is for God, then light opens up and enters the body, soul, and spirit. If the desire and pursuit of money and possessions is the controlling mechanism that dictates life’s goals, choices, and motivations, then the light of God is being blocked out, and darkness remains in the body, soul, and spirit.
As much as this right eye is important to me, this little lesson God gave me this morning on “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” and “You cannot serve God and money” has reminded me of the foremost passion I need to cultivate. I desire the love of God, the goodness of God, the truth of God, the glory of God, the honor of God, and the infilling presence of the Spirit of God. This is my one desire. This is the most important light to pursue.
But I do think I’ll take a trip to the eye doctor this week to check out this scratchy right eye.
Rich
Getting Closer 8.11.2018
A rousing, God-breathed time of prayer in the national cemetery this morning has me so grateful for the opportunity to come boldly before the throne of God and receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. It was raining hard, so nobody was around, but in that concrete pavilion, I was able to call out to our gracious Father, loudly and intently.
The picture I got this morning was that of a long hall, probably bigger than the size of a football field, with a ceiling so high it can barely be seen up there. At the end of that long hall is a huge throne, and God is sitting on that throne. Too often in the past year, I have entered through the huge hall doors and stood just inside the throne room, spoken with my Father across that great expanse for a time, then turned and walked out into life. Today, it seemed God was reminding me that I can and should approach the throne. Don’t just stand on the perimeter of his presence. Walk in. Press in. Keep walking towards him. Bring your family, your friends, your hopes, your dreams, your fears, your longings, your passions and desires all with you—approach the throne of grace with confidence that you may receive mercy and find grace to help you in your time of need.
Wow, I gotta say, Psalm 16 comes to life in moments like these. It is not just an exercise or a Bible verse. It is a tangible, undeniable reality that in the presence of God is fullness of joy. At his right hand there are pleasures forevermore.
The real rain has really come down in the last few days. Sometimes it messes with my plans and alters my schedule. It’s probably kind of the same with the spiritual rain of the Spirit of God. This showering rain of the Holy Spirit messes with my plans and alters my schedule, too, but it is always in a good way.
Thank God for His goodness today. Having food and clothing, let us be content with that. And just think of it, we have SO MUCH MORE than just food or clothing. So let us be UBER grateful—this is not a copyright infringement. UBER meant “excessive, above, greater than usual” before it became an app-based cab service. Uber-grateful is a good condition in which to be.
We are in contract on a house in the Bronx, hoping to close yet this month. If, God willing, we are able to close on the house, we will share our new address with our friends and family.
Here is a short narrative of the wide river of God’s love. It takes many twists and turns, this river of God’s love, but it is the best place to ride in our lifeboat, to be sure. We were disappointed in early July when we discovered that a house on Herring Street with an accepted offer which we all liked would not be a good option because of some serious structural problems. It took a day or so for me to stop thinking about it, but that Saturday I asked Sandy if she and I could go up to the Williamsbridge section of The Bronx and walk around that neighborhood, praying for people and talking with people. We turned onto the block of our destination only to see an Open House sign. Sandy wrote down the address of the Open House, which was on Corsa Street actually about 0.6 miles up the street. I recognized the location and told Sandy I don’t think it will work. We went anyway. The realtor had her two daughters helping her. She was pregnant, but very friendly and helpful. We went in, walked around, looked at each other, and took some time to walk up to Boston Road to pray. We got to Boston Road, and a woman came up and asked “Can I help you find what you are looking for?” We told this woman that we are looking to (hopefully) buy a house, got to talking, exchanged information, and prayed for her. I don’t remember anytime in NYC before having a person come up and ask “Can I help you find what you are looking for?”
We went back, made an offer on the house, and our offer was accepted. We are now in contract on that house. Last night at cell group meeting, our realtor sent a text “Can you pray for me?” I said “Sure! Do you have details?” She sent a response text “I just lost my 21 week old son.” Sandy stepped out, called her, and prayed for her over the phone. We hope to visit her and her family tomorrow and bring them a meal.
The river of God’s love is wide and deep. It takes many twists and turns, this river of God’s love, but it is the best place to ride in our lifeboat, to be sure.
In closing, I found this picture of Mom, probably from back in 1995 when my two younger brothers and Mom and Dad first visited me in NYC. She looks good here, my Mom. Looking at this picture brings back good memories. I’m sharing this picture for two reasons: 1. To share good memories; 2. To see if the rabbit picture stops showing up when I link to this website.
Grace and Peace,
Rich for the Schwartz family
The picture I got this morning was that of a long hall, probably bigger than the size of a football field, with a ceiling so high it can barely be seen up there. At the end of that long hall is a huge throne, and God is sitting on that throne. Too often in the past year, I have entered through the huge hall doors and stood just inside the throne room, spoken with my Father across that great expanse for a time, then turned and walked out into life. Today, it seemed God was reminding me that I can and should approach the throne. Don’t just stand on the perimeter of his presence. Walk in. Press in. Keep walking towards him. Bring your family, your friends, your hopes, your dreams, your fears, your longings, your passions and desires all with you—approach the throne of grace with confidence that you may receive mercy and find grace to help you in your time of need.
Wow, I gotta say, Psalm 16 comes to life in moments like these. It is not just an exercise or a Bible verse. It is a tangible, undeniable reality that in the presence of God is fullness of joy. At his right hand there are pleasures forevermore.
The real rain has really come down in the last few days. Sometimes it messes with my plans and alters my schedule. It’s probably kind of the same with the spiritual rain of the Spirit of God. This showering rain of the Holy Spirit messes with my plans and alters my schedule, too, but it is always in a good way.
Thank God for His goodness today. Having food and clothing, let us be content with that. And just think of it, we have SO MUCH MORE than just food or clothing. So let us be UBER grateful—this is not a copyright infringement. UBER meant “excessive, above, greater than usual” before it became an app-based cab service. Uber-grateful is a good condition in which to be.
We are in contract on a house in the Bronx, hoping to close yet this month. If, God willing, we are able to close on the house, we will share our new address with our friends and family.
Here is a short narrative of the wide river of God’s love. It takes many twists and turns, this river of God’s love, but it is the best place to ride in our lifeboat, to be sure. We were disappointed in early July when we discovered that a house on Herring Street with an accepted offer which we all liked would not be a good option because of some serious structural problems. It took a day or so for me to stop thinking about it, but that Saturday I asked Sandy if she and I could go up to the Williamsbridge section of The Bronx and walk around that neighborhood, praying for people and talking with people. We turned onto the block of our destination only to see an Open House sign. Sandy wrote down the address of the Open House, which was on Corsa Street actually about 0.6 miles up the street. I recognized the location and told Sandy I don’t think it will work. We went anyway. The realtor had her two daughters helping her. She was pregnant, but very friendly and helpful. We went in, walked around, looked at each other, and took some time to walk up to Boston Road to pray. We got to Boston Road, and a woman came up and asked “Can I help you find what you are looking for?” We told this woman that we are looking to (hopefully) buy a house, got to talking, exchanged information, and prayed for her. I don’t remember anytime in NYC before having a person come up and ask “Can I help you find what you are looking for?”
We went back, made an offer on the house, and our offer was accepted. We are now in contract on that house. Last night at cell group meeting, our realtor sent a text “Can you pray for me?” I said “Sure! Do you have details?” She sent a response text “I just lost my 21 week old son.” Sandy stepped out, called her, and prayed for her over the phone. We hope to visit her and her family tomorrow and bring them a meal.
The river of God’s love is wide and deep. It takes many twists and turns, this river of God’s love, but it is the best place to ride in our lifeboat, to be sure.
In closing, I found this picture of Mom, probably from back in 1995 when my two younger brothers and Mom and Dad first visited me in NYC. She looks good here, my Mom. Looking at this picture brings back good memories. I’m sharing this picture for two reasons: 1. To share good memories; 2. To see if the rabbit picture stops showing up when I link to this website.
Grace and Peace,
Rich for the Schwartz family
I don't Believe in Coincidence 7.01.2018
While meeting with some Christian brothers for a Saturday morning prayer time, I noted that I do not believe in coincidences, and cited some of the events and circumstances happening in our Bronx venture that are beyond coincidental. One of the brothers noted that Corrie Ten Boom once told someone who doubted that prayer changes things, and thought it was just coincidental: "Well, I've noticed that when I pray, coincidences happen. But when I don't pray, coincidences don't happen." That's a neat response. We have been praying, and things have been happening. I really don't believe in coincidences.
On Tuesday, June 19, we had our first meeting in the basement of our friend’s house on E. 224th Street near Boston Road in the Bronx. This is owned by a friend whom we have known for almost ten years who lives with his family in Long Island, and he purchased this house three years ago before we ever even knew we were moving to the Bronx. This place is where we plan to meet together for at least the first part of our time there. Through a series of unplanned but God-orchestrated events, our friends from Pittsburgh were at a funeral on June 18 and drove east to visit us. They are hoping to move in June of 2019 into the area of the Bronx we aim to be living. Other friends from Mississippi who hope to join us this fall/winter were here as well, so both families met with our family and with our Nigerian brother and his two children. The walls reverberated with songs of praise, we prayed for each other, we had a meal together, and a few other things happened.
So as I mentioned above, this meeting was not planned by us, it just kind of happened and voila! We met. But then logistics got snarled. Sandy’s mother’s flight out of La Guardia got canceled at 5:00 p.m. that evening (for the second night in a row, because of Chicago (Windy City) weather)--so we needed to go pick her up at the airport. Our church brother in the Bronx heard from his wife that she was in an auto accident, so he needed to go over and provide care and counsel and help her get the car back. Later that evening, one of the younger children peed herself and needed to be changed, so a trip to a house to change was in order. A park (Pelham Bay Park) we planned to go to after supper actually closes at 8:00 p.m., a fact we discovered AFTER we arrived at the park’s parking lot. These things all made the evening’s schedule a little bumpy. I had considered earlier in the day mapping out a planned schedule, but as I considered the series of events that led to this meeting, I thought that we should just pray at the beginning of the meeting and ask the Spirit of God to direct us. It’s just as well that we didn’t plan, since the evening took on a life of its own. I know that the Spirit of God has his hand on us. Our friends surprised us with an anniversary cake that evening, since Sandy and I were to celebrate our 20th Anniversary the next day (June 20th).
As for our house hunt, we have been seriously looking, pre-approval in place, for 17 days now, and have seen some options that would have worked for us. We gave an offer on a fixer-upper, and our offer was higher than the owner had received from anyone else in the six months it has been listed, but I guess he is tired of people not reaching as high as his listing price is, so he got huffy and pulled the house off the market. That was an up-and-down event for us, since the potential of that house was big but the work needed was also big. We are currently considering two houses that both need some work, and trying to evaluate our options for what we can offer for those houses.
Millard the monkey, that fountain of wisdom from Jungle Jam and Friends the radio show, used to sing a song with his friend Solly: “It’s seems to me, it seems to me, the more you have, the more you have, the more you have to have to take care of the things you have.” This tune rumbled in my memory last week as we were looking for a house. It is an exciting season of our lives, but it’s actually kind of a draining season as well.
On a positive cardiovascular note, the month of June was the best month in recent memory for my running. My perspective improves when I can sweat out negativity on a run and come back, shower, and face life with a grin. Next up? Turning my one-pack into a six-pack. Well, maybe not. Only photoshop could do that, I think, and since I am no fan of glossy fake photos, don’t look for that anytime soon. Limiting my intake of sugary drinks and turning up my nose at Sandy’s amazing desserts would help improve my physique, I’m sure.
Avery & Brianna are heading back home after visiting friends in West Virginia this past weekend. Ben has been in Minnesota the past three weeks, fishing and painting and hunting and sail-boating and doing all kinds of cool things with Grandpa Rhodes. It sounds like he is having the time of his life up there.
So there you have it, folks. A little window into our lives at 221 Ridgewood Avenue. Who knows what this next week will hold? God knows. And HE is our faithful provider, our Jehovah-Jireh, King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Rich for the Schwartz family
On Tuesday, June 19, we had our first meeting in the basement of our friend’s house on E. 224th Street near Boston Road in the Bronx. This is owned by a friend whom we have known for almost ten years who lives with his family in Long Island, and he purchased this house three years ago before we ever even knew we were moving to the Bronx. This place is where we plan to meet together for at least the first part of our time there. Through a series of unplanned but God-orchestrated events, our friends from Pittsburgh were at a funeral on June 18 and drove east to visit us. They are hoping to move in June of 2019 into the area of the Bronx we aim to be living. Other friends from Mississippi who hope to join us this fall/winter were here as well, so both families met with our family and with our Nigerian brother and his two children. The walls reverberated with songs of praise, we prayed for each other, we had a meal together, and a few other things happened.
So as I mentioned above, this meeting was not planned by us, it just kind of happened and voila! We met. But then logistics got snarled. Sandy’s mother’s flight out of La Guardia got canceled at 5:00 p.m. that evening (for the second night in a row, because of Chicago (Windy City) weather)--so we needed to go pick her up at the airport. Our church brother in the Bronx heard from his wife that she was in an auto accident, so he needed to go over and provide care and counsel and help her get the car back. Later that evening, one of the younger children peed herself and needed to be changed, so a trip to a house to change was in order. A park (Pelham Bay Park) we planned to go to after supper actually closes at 8:00 p.m., a fact we discovered AFTER we arrived at the park’s parking lot. These things all made the evening’s schedule a little bumpy. I had considered earlier in the day mapping out a planned schedule, but as I considered the series of events that led to this meeting, I thought that we should just pray at the beginning of the meeting and ask the Spirit of God to direct us. It’s just as well that we didn’t plan, since the evening took on a life of its own. I know that the Spirit of God has his hand on us. Our friends surprised us with an anniversary cake that evening, since Sandy and I were to celebrate our 20th Anniversary the next day (June 20th).
As for our house hunt, we have been seriously looking, pre-approval in place, for 17 days now, and have seen some options that would have worked for us. We gave an offer on a fixer-upper, and our offer was higher than the owner had received from anyone else in the six months it has been listed, but I guess he is tired of people not reaching as high as his listing price is, so he got huffy and pulled the house off the market. That was an up-and-down event for us, since the potential of that house was big but the work needed was also big. We are currently considering two houses that both need some work, and trying to evaluate our options for what we can offer for those houses.
Millard the monkey, that fountain of wisdom from Jungle Jam and Friends the radio show, used to sing a song with his friend Solly: “It’s seems to me, it seems to me, the more you have, the more you have, the more you have to have to take care of the things you have.” This tune rumbled in my memory last week as we were looking for a house. It is an exciting season of our lives, but it’s actually kind of a draining season as well.
On a positive cardiovascular note, the month of June was the best month in recent memory for my running. My perspective improves when I can sweat out negativity on a run and come back, shower, and face life with a grin. Next up? Turning my one-pack into a six-pack. Well, maybe not. Only photoshop could do that, I think, and since I am no fan of glossy fake photos, don’t look for that anytime soon. Limiting my intake of sugary drinks and turning up my nose at Sandy’s amazing desserts would help improve my physique, I’m sure.
Avery & Brianna are heading back home after visiting friends in West Virginia this past weekend. Ben has been in Minnesota the past three weeks, fishing and painting and hunting and sail-boating and doing all kinds of cool things with Grandpa Rhodes. It sounds like he is having the time of his life up there.
So there you have it, folks. A little window into our lives at 221 Ridgewood Avenue. Who knows what this next week will hold? God knows. And HE is our faithful provider, our Jehovah-Jireh, King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Rich for the Schwartz family
Moving Forward 06.14.2018
We are able to begin looking for a house in the Bronx, with hopes to purchase. We have received a pre-approval that would hopefully allow us to purchase a one-family house in the area to which we are moving. Thank you for your prayers for us during this season.
For those of you who have given us money or loaned us money, thank you, thank you, thank you. We do not deserve such generous friends and family members, but we say it again. Thank you!
Please pray for us as we search for a house that fits the place we need, that provides the space we hope for, and that fits the budget we have. Further updates are available in our "churchfunding" corner. Rich
For those of you who have given us money or loaned us money, thank you, thank you, thank you. We do not deserve such generous friends and family members, but we say it again. Thank you!
Please pray for us as we search for a house that fits the place we need, that provides the space we hope for, and that fits the budget we have. Further updates are available in our "churchfunding" corner. Rich
Further up and further in (6.4.2018)
I should give C. S. Lewis credit for the title of this post. In one of the Narnia books, they get to the "heaven" that is the end goal, and they keep going "further up and further in." It's a good picture of expectant hope running into awesome reality and loving every minute of it.
We spent a few hours with some friends Saturday afternoon, and had the opportunity to pray together at the end of that time. God is at work in the hearts of His people. Random report on the ongoing need for God to move in the hearts of EVERYONE...a friend was recently punched in the forehead because he told a man he couldn't give him money. Yes God, please move in our hearts.
The month of May was good, although it has gone by like the wind. Here on the fourth day of June, I take some time to think about life, about asking God for direction, and about walking with the Spirit of God in the next season of our journey. Our housing is not yet confirmed for our move to The Bronx. I was in contact with a realtor and it may work to look at a 4 bedroom apartment tomorrow night that will be $2700/month—that feels a little steep. Unless something changes in the next week regarding our House Fund, we will need to turn our eyes towards renting an apartment in The Bronx this summer, and may need to wait until next spring or summer (2019) to purchase a house in The Bronx. To summarize the house purchase option, the gap between what we have for a down payment and what we can obtain from a conventional bank loan is still between $40,000-$80,000, depending on the price of the house that we eventually purchase. More on that later.
With the exception of a four-month sabbatical spent in South Carolina in 2016, Sandy and I have lived in New York City since we married on June 20, 1998. We have lived in the Cypress Hills area of Brooklyn since September of 2000, with six of those years having me serve as principal or teacher of Followers of Jesus School. Other years I have served as associate pastor and eventually lead pastor at FJMC, while Sandy has been an active pastor’s wife, home-maker, home-school Mom, cheerleader, chef, counselor, and worshiper. When I agreed to assume the role of lead pastor at FJMC in May of 2008, I asked to have this role reviewed within three years. We had been prepared to be a part of a church plant in 2007 with another couple from Followers of Jesus Mennonite Church, but I become more involved in the leadership of the church in 2008.
During my time as associate pastor, and then over the course of the next years as lead pastor, I discovered it was not easy to “send off” church planters willing to LEAD. There were a number of interested persons willing to go and serve in a church plant, but none who came forward willing to lead a group. In May of 2014, with the consent of the leadership team and our overseer, Brother James Kurtz, I asked the church for the opportunity to be released as lead pastor sometime within the next three years so that our family could pursue church planting. I thought we would probably move to Chicago, Illinois, for a pioneering church plant endeavor. The reasons for Chicago were as follows: 1. We would be within about 8 hours of Sandy’s parents in Minnesota and maybe 6 hours from my parents in Ohio; 2. Cheaper place to live while still living in an urban center; 3. Few other Anabaptist churches are currently based in Chicago.
Well, multiple visits to Chicago by our family, a visit to Detroit, and a visit to Cleveland, Ohio, never really clicked with us. I guess there is only one New York City. Sandy and I met with a counselor together a number of times while we were in South Carolina in 2016 for our sabbatical, and we re-committed ourselves to walking this journey together. The longer story is that while I served as lead pastor and Sandy served as a pastor’s wife, we did go through some difficult experiences in our church community that caused us to try to protect the other from the junk of self—we had learned to hold back from each other in an effort to protect the other. It may have even started back in 2005, when my Mom died of cancer. Sandy had not wanted to say or do anything that may take me down, so she had kind of held back from me some of her true feelings. I think I had been the one walking ahead, expecting Sandy and the children to follow. I thought we should be leaving NYC, none of the older children or Sandy felt that way. We reached a settled compromise in late 2016—yes, we will participate in a church plant, but it will be just north to The Bronx. This will enable us to retain connections and relationships with our dear brothers and sisters at Followers of Jesus, and with our neighbors in Cypress Hills, Brooklyn, NY.
New York City does have a high cost of living. This is not lost on me—in fact, it was one of the reasons I looked at moving to another city in 2014. But I have a settled peace that God is calling us to move to The Bronx, so we are trusting Him to equip us as He calls us, and to provide.
Regarding a purchase of a house, that option had really not even entered our minds as a plausible option until we were in The Bronx in October of 2017 with a family that is interested in joining us. During that visit, there was an open house for a one family house in very good condition with a garage and a finished basement for $450,000. Our friends were very interested in exploring the option of buying this house. Sandy and I have rented apartments all our married lives, and we are prepared to do that again, if necessary, but over the past seven months we have decided that purchasing a home will be the best option for us to pursue, moving forward. It would give us more space as a family, it would hopefully give us more freedom to host small groups in the first stages of our church plant, and it could potentially give our children a chance to have a small shop to help them develop some hands-on skills.
In December of 2017 I noted on Facebook that we are looking at purchasing a house in The Bronx, and we are wondering what “Churchfunding” could look like for us. A few friends commented on the post, then a few weeks later friends from another state sent us $1,500. What?!? This was a surprise, because we had not officially “launched” a churchfunding option. God has really poured out his showers of blessings on us this year! Last year was the first year in our married lives we had actually accrued $10,000 in savings. Now this year, 2018, we have been given nearly $35,000 from friends and family, and have received loans and/or pledged loans of an additional $40,500. What in the world is God up to? It is humbling, very humbling. And it’s exciting, too. The received and pledged loans are on a maximum 15-year arrangement that is only 10% straight interest, not compounded. Another longer background story is that I come from a family background that NEVER asks people for anything. In my family background, we are self-sufficient. We give, but we don’t receive well. This year has been a kind of painful exercise of peeling back layers of pride that go back generations, and it’s still not over. The onion is still being exposed.
Add to this mix the up-and-down reports from loan officers, and the year has had its share of surprises. In January I was advised that the bank would look at the income from the past two years and give a loan based on that and their verbal “commitment” was that we could likely get a loan for $325,000 to $350,000, but then they said they cannot count my previous income as a pastor, and I have only been approved of a conventional loan in the amount of $275,000. I have applied through two different mortgage companies, with little change in the outcome.
So during the month of May, we were praying that God would provide us alternative lending options to secure the purchase of a house. We said that if funding for a house purchase was not finalized by May 31, we were prepared to pursue renting an apartment in The Bronx for a one-year lease as we continued pursuing the option of purchasing a house.
Under the “Churchfunding” heading of our website, we provide updates on the gifts and loans received for our house fund, to date.
Wherever you are, live fully alive. No, that quote is not original with me, but it speaks to our circumstances. Here in Brooklyn, we want to extend ourselves fully for the work of the Kingdom. After we move to The Bronx, we aim to move forward, onwards and upwards as citizens in the Kingdom of Heaven.
Further up and further in!
Rich
We spent a few hours with some friends Saturday afternoon, and had the opportunity to pray together at the end of that time. God is at work in the hearts of His people. Random report on the ongoing need for God to move in the hearts of EVERYONE...a friend was recently punched in the forehead because he told a man he couldn't give him money. Yes God, please move in our hearts.
The month of May was good, although it has gone by like the wind. Here on the fourth day of June, I take some time to think about life, about asking God for direction, and about walking with the Spirit of God in the next season of our journey. Our housing is not yet confirmed for our move to The Bronx. I was in contact with a realtor and it may work to look at a 4 bedroom apartment tomorrow night that will be $2700/month—that feels a little steep. Unless something changes in the next week regarding our House Fund, we will need to turn our eyes towards renting an apartment in The Bronx this summer, and may need to wait until next spring or summer (2019) to purchase a house in The Bronx. To summarize the house purchase option, the gap between what we have for a down payment and what we can obtain from a conventional bank loan is still between $40,000-$80,000, depending on the price of the house that we eventually purchase. More on that later.
With the exception of a four-month sabbatical spent in South Carolina in 2016, Sandy and I have lived in New York City since we married on June 20, 1998. We have lived in the Cypress Hills area of Brooklyn since September of 2000, with six of those years having me serve as principal or teacher of Followers of Jesus School. Other years I have served as associate pastor and eventually lead pastor at FJMC, while Sandy has been an active pastor’s wife, home-maker, home-school Mom, cheerleader, chef, counselor, and worshiper. When I agreed to assume the role of lead pastor at FJMC in May of 2008, I asked to have this role reviewed within three years. We had been prepared to be a part of a church plant in 2007 with another couple from Followers of Jesus Mennonite Church, but I become more involved in the leadership of the church in 2008.
During my time as associate pastor, and then over the course of the next years as lead pastor, I discovered it was not easy to “send off” church planters willing to LEAD. There were a number of interested persons willing to go and serve in a church plant, but none who came forward willing to lead a group. In May of 2014, with the consent of the leadership team and our overseer, Brother James Kurtz, I asked the church for the opportunity to be released as lead pastor sometime within the next three years so that our family could pursue church planting. I thought we would probably move to Chicago, Illinois, for a pioneering church plant endeavor. The reasons for Chicago were as follows: 1. We would be within about 8 hours of Sandy’s parents in Minnesota and maybe 6 hours from my parents in Ohio; 2. Cheaper place to live while still living in an urban center; 3. Few other Anabaptist churches are currently based in Chicago.
Well, multiple visits to Chicago by our family, a visit to Detroit, and a visit to Cleveland, Ohio, never really clicked with us. I guess there is only one New York City. Sandy and I met with a counselor together a number of times while we were in South Carolina in 2016 for our sabbatical, and we re-committed ourselves to walking this journey together. The longer story is that while I served as lead pastor and Sandy served as a pastor’s wife, we did go through some difficult experiences in our church community that caused us to try to protect the other from the junk of self—we had learned to hold back from each other in an effort to protect the other. It may have even started back in 2005, when my Mom died of cancer. Sandy had not wanted to say or do anything that may take me down, so she had kind of held back from me some of her true feelings. I think I had been the one walking ahead, expecting Sandy and the children to follow. I thought we should be leaving NYC, none of the older children or Sandy felt that way. We reached a settled compromise in late 2016—yes, we will participate in a church plant, but it will be just north to The Bronx. This will enable us to retain connections and relationships with our dear brothers and sisters at Followers of Jesus, and with our neighbors in Cypress Hills, Brooklyn, NY.
New York City does have a high cost of living. This is not lost on me—in fact, it was one of the reasons I looked at moving to another city in 2014. But I have a settled peace that God is calling us to move to The Bronx, so we are trusting Him to equip us as He calls us, and to provide.
Regarding a purchase of a house, that option had really not even entered our minds as a plausible option until we were in The Bronx in October of 2017 with a family that is interested in joining us. During that visit, there was an open house for a one family house in very good condition with a garage and a finished basement for $450,000. Our friends were very interested in exploring the option of buying this house. Sandy and I have rented apartments all our married lives, and we are prepared to do that again, if necessary, but over the past seven months we have decided that purchasing a home will be the best option for us to pursue, moving forward. It would give us more space as a family, it would hopefully give us more freedom to host small groups in the first stages of our church plant, and it could potentially give our children a chance to have a small shop to help them develop some hands-on skills.
In December of 2017 I noted on Facebook that we are looking at purchasing a house in The Bronx, and we are wondering what “Churchfunding” could look like for us. A few friends commented on the post, then a few weeks later friends from another state sent us $1,500. What?!? This was a surprise, because we had not officially “launched” a churchfunding option. God has really poured out his showers of blessings on us this year! Last year was the first year in our married lives we had actually accrued $10,000 in savings. Now this year, 2018, we have been given nearly $35,000 from friends and family, and have received loans and/or pledged loans of an additional $40,500. What in the world is God up to? It is humbling, very humbling. And it’s exciting, too. The received and pledged loans are on a maximum 15-year arrangement that is only 10% straight interest, not compounded. Another longer background story is that I come from a family background that NEVER asks people for anything. In my family background, we are self-sufficient. We give, but we don’t receive well. This year has been a kind of painful exercise of peeling back layers of pride that go back generations, and it’s still not over. The onion is still being exposed.
Add to this mix the up-and-down reports from loan officers, and the year has had its share of surprises. In January I was advised that the bank would look at the income from the past two years and give a loan based on that and their verbal “commitment” was that we could likely get a loan for $325,000 to $350,000, but then they said they cannot count my previous income as a pastor, and I have only been approved of a conventional loan in the amount of $275,000. I have applied through two different mortgage companies, with little change in the outcome.
So during the month of May, we were praying that God would provide us alternative lending options to secure the purchase of a house. We said that if funding for a house purchase was not finalized by May 31, we were prepared to pursue renting an apartment in The Bronx for a one-year lease as we continued pursuing the option of purchasing a house.
Under the “Churchfunding” heading of our website, we provide updates on the gifts and loans received for our house fund, to date.
Wherever you are, live fully alive. No, that quote is not original with me, but it speaks to our circumstances. Here in Brooklyn, we want to extend ourselves fully for the work of the Kingdom. After we move to The Bronx, we aim to move forward, onwards and upwards as citizens in the Kingdom of Heaven.
Further up and further in!
Rich
Rabbits at 221 Ridgewood Avenue (5.5.2018)
Sandy texted from her sister Cindy’s house in Pennsylvania. “What do you think of bringing a 9 week old bunny home for the kids?”
I like my children, and I like my wife, but I wasn’t feeling this “Bring home a bunny” idea, so I asked “And when they grow up to become vampire bunnies, then what?”
“We will send them far away,” was her positive spin to this dark cloud of future possibilities.
She called a few hours later and asked me directly about the bunny, only this time the proposal had doubled in number. “Hon, there are two of the cutest bunnies here. What do you think if I bring them home for the kids?”
“Sure, why not,” was my somewhat cynical reply. “Bring two. Bring ten. Bring seventeen! Why not?” I checked in with our friend Dwight to see if he had an extra portable rabbit cage, but his was in use, housing the seven chicks that recently hatched at the school. I had visions of creating a rabbit cage and seeing these cute little bunnies grow up to become adult-biting fiends posing as rabbits.
Our history of rabbits is spotty at best. Daisy was brought all the way from Minnesota years ago. Daisy was stung by a bee in our backyard and went crazy, jumping around the yard until she broke her neck, poor lady. Hers was a traumatic death and devastated Brianna and Avery. Flopsy was the next rabbit. A good little bunny, as bunnies go, was Flopsy. But then Flopsy got on my bad side by eating all the bark around the bottom of our Japanese dogwood. The tree died, and my heart hardened towards this little-turned-big rabbit.
While we had Flopsy, our neighbors had a rabbit in the house right beside us, and Shane would sometimes bring his rabbit out. That rabbit would go head-to-head with Flopsy and we would need to rescue Flopsy from this feisty rabbit owned by our neighbors. Avery declares that one time he had the rabbit in a corner and was ready to catch him for Shane to take back to his house when “The rabbit growled at me, Dad.” “Seriously Dad, that rabbit growled at me! I was shook!” Ask Avery to tell the story, and you’ll probably get even more details.
I forget what happened to Flopsy eventually. I do recall telling the children that I will take him to Upper Highland Park as a contribution to the red-tailed hawk population in Cypress Hills, but they continually shot that idea down. I don’t remember if he died of old age or if we gave him away to somebody.
They really are cute, these two little bunnies that Sandy brought back. I hope we can enjoy them while they are little, because in a month or two we will probably be thinking they would look better in someone else’s space. I came up with some creative names for them, but none of my children have validated my creative choices. The one I am calling TLC and the other one MT. TLC (Tastes Like Chicken) is a white and black active type of bunny. MT (Meal Ticket) is a brown and white cute little docile rabbit who is easy to hold.
I may forget to update you on the lives and times of MT and TLC, but as I sharpen my butcher knife these domesticated creatures have stolen the hearts of my children. It looks like I won’t be eating rabbit meat anytime soon. Rich
I like my children, and I like my wife, but I wasn’t feeling this “Bring home a bunny” idea, so I asked “And when they grow up to become vampire bunnies, then what?”
“We will send them far away,” was her positive spin to this dark cloud of future possibilities.
She called a few hours later and asked me directly about the bunny, only this time the proposal had doubled in number. “Hon, there are two of the cutest bunnies here. What do you think if I bring them home for the kids?”
“Sure, why not,” was my somewhat cynical reply. “Bring two. Bring ten. Bring seventeen! Why not?” I checked in with our friend Dwight to see if he had an extra portable rabbit cage, but his was in use, housing the seven chicks that recently hatched at the school. I had visions of creating a rabbit cage and seeing these cute little bunnies grow up to become adult-biting fiends posing as rabbits.
Our history of rabbits is spotty at best. Daisy was brought all the way from Minnesota years ago. Daisy was stung by a bee in our backyard and went crazy, jumping around the yard until she broke her neck, poor lady. Hers was a traumatic death and devastated Brianna and Avery. Flopsy was the next rabbit. A good little bunny, as bunnies go, was Flopsy. But then Flopsy got on my bad side by eating all the bark around the bottom of our Japanese dogwood. The tree died, and my heart hardened towards this little-turned-big rabbit.
While we had Flopsy, our neighbors had a rabbit in the house right beside us, and Shane would sometimes bring his rabbit out. That rabbit would go head-to-head with Flopsy and we would need to rescue Flopsy from this feisty rabbit owned by our neighbors. Avery declares that one time he had the rabbit in a corner and was ready to catch him for Shane to take back to his house when “The rabbit growled at me, Dad.” “Seriously Dad, that rabbit growled at me! I was shook!” Ask Avery to tell the story, and you’ll probably get even more details.
I forget what happened to Flopsy eventually. I do recall telling the children that I will take him to Upper Highland Park as a contribution to the red-tailed hawk population in Cypress Hills, but they continually shot that idea down. I don’t remember if he died of old age or if we gave him away to somebody.
They really are cute, these two little bunnies that Sandy brought back. I hope we can enjoy them while they are little, because in a month or two we will probably be thinking they would look better in someone else’s space. I came up with some creative names for them, but none of my children have validated my creative choices. The one I am calling TLC and the other one MT. TLC (Tastes Like Chicken) is a white and black active type of bunny. MT (Meal Ticket) is a brown and white cute little docile rabbit who is easy to hold.
I may forget to update you on the lives and times of MT and TLC, but as I sharpen my butcher knife these domesticated creatures have stolen the hearts of my children. It looks like I won’t be eating rabbit meat anytime soon. Rich
Broken Things, Patience, and that elusive Perfect Work (4.12.2018)
Last night I parked our van along Jamaica Avenue by the National Cemetery, across from the Gulf station by Highland Place. This morning, Sandy and Caleb walked out to the van to go pick up Avery to take him for his last appointment in getting off his braces (insert “Woohoo!”). Caleb called to Sandy once they got to the van, “Mom, Mom, look!” When Sandy came over to look, Caleb showed her that the front passenger’s side wheel was turned hard to the right. I guess our four year-old thought that was unusual, but Sandy thought “This was Rich parking and not me, he usually doesn’t leave the van with the wheel turned like that.” She got in the van to pull out and the steering didn’t work. Wheels wouldn’t turn.
I got the message after English Comp class that Sandy was borrowing Cheryl’s car because she couldn’t get the van steering to work. Since street sweeping was going to start in 30 minutes and I didn’t want a $55 ticket for being on the wrong side of the street, I walked the four blocks to check out the van. Crazy. It was hit on the front wheel and scuffed along the body on the driver’s side, and something had broken underneath. A vehicle hit and run, and now I get to pay for it. Not good.
The wheels were at a crazy angle. I took out my phone to take a picture, but my camera didn’t work. Oh well, this is the day of broken things.
AAA came out in less than 30 minutes, and there was some drama of blocking that intersection for a while as the tow truck maneuvered in to lift the front of the van up and drove 10 mph to the shop at Euclid and Jamaica. I started directly traffic and the tow truck operator said “Stop, don’t try directing traffic. They won’t listen to you anyway and you might get hurt.” Yes, sir. Jamaica Avenue was clogged for several long minutes. I was gone from school for over an hour by the time it was said and done.
The spring to my step slowed down a bit on the walk back to school as I mentally enumerated the times we’ve had vandalism or theft or damages to the van that ended up being my responsibility to repair:
In everything give thanks. That was my thought, but I couldn’t really wrap my mind around it. It’s not fair when people hit your vehicle and drive away. It’s not fair when they break your windshield and walk away. It’s not fair when they steal your stereo and walk away. It’s not fair. Sure, I can give thanks, but this is just not fair!
Count it all joy. The trying of your faith works patience. Let patience have her perfect work, so that you can become perfect and complete, wanting nothing.
Fat chance. Perfect? Me? My walk was real slow by this point. No hint of a spring. As I neared the school I decided to join the students for ping-pong over lunch break, to get some cardio and movement. It helped a bit.
The afternoon was fine. We had parent/teacher conferences scheduled from 3:30 to about 7:30 p.m. I was a little surprised to get a call from the mechanic around 4:00 p.m., saying he finished the van and I can come pick it up and pay for it—he is open until 6:00 p.m. I was coordinating conferences, plus Sandy and I were meeting with teachers of our children, when the mechanic called me at about 5:55 p.m. wondering where I was. Ooops! I did the math of the distance in my head and told him I would be there in 8 minutes, and he said he would wait for me. I started out running, and by the time I got there I counted 11 blocks. More cardio.
The steering is back and functional, but it handles a little strange, like a sideways bronco that cost $250. I think I’ll take it for a front-end alignment, as suggested by the mechanic. I got in the van to take it back to the school, and the radio was playing a speech from someone who was talking about the holocaust. As I drove I was riveted by the message and the language of the speech. It seemed to be a president, and probably sometime not too long after World War II. Then I heard him address Eli Wiesel and thought maybe it was in the 70’s. Just before the speech ended I memorized a line from the speech and googled it. It was Ronald Reagan, April 11, 1983, “Remarks to the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors” It was probably written by Peggy Noonan, but I give former President Reagan credit for a moving speech.
It’s all about perspective. Imagine what the Jewish community went through in the aftermath of the Holocaust. Think about all the pain and immense trauma that came out of this terrible season in their lives. Think about what this trouble and suffering and pain did to their collective psyche. Think of some of the amazingly resourceful initiatives spearheaded by the holocaust survivors in the following decades. They looked this awful adversity in the face, and many of them seemed to rise to the challenge of stepping up and doing the next best thing.
Some people pay $250 to get inspired by a speech or a rah-rah rally to pump them up.
Me? I just paid $250 to get my van fixed so I could later drive at a time I would normally not be in the van, so I could listen to a speech that served as a kind of rah-rah rally for me. I was given the chance to reflect on the cathartic treasure found in trials. I hope I can rise to the occasion. Let patience have her perfect work, that I may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.
Rich
I got the message after English Comp class that Sandy was borrowing Cheryl’s car because she couldn’t get the van steering to work. Since street sweeping was going to start in 30 minutes and I didn’t want a $55 ticket for being on the wrong side of the street, I walked the four blocks to check out the van. Crazy. It was hit on the front wheel and scuffed along the body on the driver’s side, and something had broken underneath. A vehicle hit and run, and now I get to pay for it. Not good.
The wheels were at a crazy angle. I took out my phone to take a picture, but my camera didn’t work. Oh well, this is the day of broken things.
AAA came out in less than 30 minutes, and there was some drama of blocking that intersection for a while as the tow truck maneuvered in to lift the front of the van up and drove 10 mph to the shop at Euclid and Jamaica. I started directly traffic and the tow truck operator said “Stop, don’t try directing traffic. They won’t listen to you anyway and you might get hurt.” Yes, sir. Jamaica Avenue was clogged for several long minutes. I was gone from school for over an hour by the time it was said and done.
The spring to my step slowed down a bit on the walk back to school as I mentally enumerated the times we’ve had vandalism or theft or damages to the van that ended up being my responsibility to repair:
- Honda Civic back windshield broken on Force Tube Avenue, probably 1997
- Honda Civic car stereo stolen, probably 1999
- Mazda MPV both front door locks jimmied by a screwdriver or something on Shepherd Avenue in the middle of the day, costing us nearly $400 to replace the locks… the crackhead got a handful of change. This was probably 2001
- Mazda MPV car stereo stolen, separate incident (Force Tube Avenue also, I think)
- Chrysler Town & Country back window broken
- Chrysler Town & Country passenger side window broken while parked on Jamaica Avenue… the crackhead probably walked away with $3 in change
- Ford E-150 side window behind driver’s side cracks all around it while Sandy is merging onto Belt Parkway. (2013?) The repair technicians who replace window saw the hole in the middle of the window, with the cracks emanating in all directions, and told Sandy that it was a bullet. If it was a bullet, probably a BB gun or pellet gun. Caleb was in the car seat near that window. Nobody hurt.
- Ford E-150 covered in graffiti one morning when I came out to the van (2013?) Paid the car wash $20 to take it off with their “good stuff.”
- Ford E-150 hit on Jamaica Avenue, taking out our steering capacity (2018)
In everything give thanks. That was my thought, but I couldn’t really wrap my mind around it. It’s not fair when people hit your vehicle and drive away. It’s not fair when they break your windshield and walk away. It’s not fair when they steal your stereo and walk away. It’s not fair. Sure, I can give thanks, but this is just not fair!
Count it all joy. The trying of your faith works patience. Let patience have her perfect work, so that you can become perfect and complete, wanting nothing.
Fat chance. Perfect? Me? My walk was real slow by this point. No hint of a spring. As I neared the school I decided to join the students for ping-pong over lunch break, to get some cardio and movement. It helped a bit.
The afternoon was fine. We had parent/teacher conferences scheduled from 3:30 to about 7:30 p.m. I was a little surprised to get a call from the mechanic around 4:00 p.m., saying he finished the van and I can come pick it up and pay for it—he is open until 6:00 p.m. I was coordinating conferences, plus Sandy and I were meeting with teachers of our children, when the mechanic called me at about 5:55 p.m. wondering where I was. Ooops! I did the math of the distance in my head and told him I would be there in 8 minutes, and he said he would wait for me. I started out running, and by the time I got there I counted 11 blocks. More cardio.
The steering is back and functional, but it handles a little strange, like a sideways bronco that cost $250. I think I’ll take it for a front-end alignment, as suggested by the mechanic. I got in the van to take it back to the school, and the radio was playing a speech from someone who was talking about the holocaust. As I drove I was riveted by the message and the language of the speech. It seemed to be a president, and probably sometime not too long after World War II. Then I heard him address Eli Wiesel and thought maybe it was in the 70’s. Just before the speech ended I memorized a line from the speech and googled it. It was Ronald Reagan, April 11, 1983, “Remarks to the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors” It was probably written by Peggy Noonan, but I give former President Reagan credit for a moving speech.
It’s all about perspective. Imagine what the Jewish community went through in the aftermath of the Holocaust. Think about all the pain and immense trauma that came out of this terrible season in their lives. Think about what this trouble and suffering and pain did to their collective psyche. Think of some of the amazingly resourceful initiatives spearheaded by the holocaust survivors in the following decades. They looked this awful adversity in the face, and many of them seemed to rise to the challenge of stepping up and doing the next best thing.
Some people pay $250 to get inspired by a speech or a rah-rah rally to pump them up.
Me? I just paid $250 to get my van fixed so I could later drive at a time I would normally not be in the van, so I could listen to a speech that served as a kind of rah-rah rally for me. I was given the chance to reflect on the cathartic treasure found in trials. I hope I can rise to the occasion. Let patience have her perfect work, that I may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.
Rich
We plan to move (4.7.2018)
Some of the changes facing us look big. New church family, new neighbors, new location, new stores, new parks. A lot of new. We've been thinking about this upcoming move, and looking at the options of buying a house. As noted previously in other writings, the house purchase idea makes sense when we consider that our rent could increase 30% while our available space would probably decrease. We have been renting a first floor and basement here in Brooklyn these past four years, which has given us some extra space. If we rent in The Bronx, it would likely mean going back to a 3 bedroom (or maybe 4 bedroom?) apartment. This would make hosting a church gathering more difficult (not impossible, just more difficult). Since we have been thinking more of a house church model for the first several years, it has made sense to look for ways to have a home that is big enough to host small group meetings in and "church" services at least as we get started.
The search and the considerations for home ownership have been exhilarating and exhausting. Sometimes it looks like it may actually work, other times it looks like it is some crazy option that can never come together. Emotions can enter in as the up and down occurs--there have been times when we've had to do heart-checks and recognize (again) that praise needs to rule the day.
No matter what we see, He is able.
No matter what we hear, He is Lord.
No matter what happens, we worship God and God alone.
The search and the considerations for home ownership have been exhilarating and exhausting. Sometimes it looks like it may actually work, other times it looks like it is some crazy option that can never come together. Emotions can enter in as the up and down occurs--there have been times when we've had to do heart-checks and recognize (again) that praise needs to rule the day.
No matter what we see, He is able.
No matter what we hear, He is Lord.
No matter what happens, we worship God and God alone.
Reflections from Joshua, Chapter 1 (3.11.2018)
“Moses, my servant is dead.”
We cannot ignore reality. We must face it in all its possible grief and terror, in all its potential joy and blessing. Moses had led Israel for forty years, with Joshua as his assistant. Was Joshua up to the task of leading this people? We are given no indication of any previous spirit of insurrection coming from Joshua. When I read the Pentateuch, I get the sense that Joshua was pleased to be a helper to Moses. He does not appear to be chafing to be the head honcho. In all likelihood, Joshua was devastated by Moses’ death—probably terrified.
After Moses’ death, the children of Israel wept for thirty days. Joshua is described in that context as being “full of the spirit of wisdom, for Moses had laid his hands on him, so the children of Israel heeded him and did as the Lord had commanded Moses.”
So Joshua had a mandate from God and from Moses, and the people were ready to follow.
Thirty days passed. A lot of tissues, eh? A lot of tears under the bridge.
Then God speaks with Joshua. Joshua, here’s the deal. Moses is dead. Rise up! Go over the Jordan, you and all this people, to the land which I am giving to the children of Israel. Every place on which you walk I have given you, as I said to Moses. Did you hear that, Joshua? Every place on which you walk I have given you! Listen to me, Joshua. No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you nor forsake you.
I think you are afraid, Joshua. Be strong and of good courage. Before this is all over, you are going to hear those words a lot, so let me let them sink in. Be strong and very courageous. Do not be afraid. Do not be discouraged.
Then Joshua gave his commands:
The more I dig into Joshua chapter 1 this year, the more I see how God gave me this passage for this year of transition for us as we consider our plans to move to the Bronx. Today, I am thinking about “Every place on which you walk I have given you.” I am not one to claim everything that God told Joshua as a timeless promise to each of God’s children through the ages. So I am not ready to fly to Israel and say “I claim this land as mine” because God told Joshua “every place” will be his. But consider this from a spiritual point of view. I am excited about the prospect of claiming land, places, regions, for the glory of God! Surely this should involve witnessing to people, sharing the gospel, loving the poor and the disadvantaged, speaking the truth with love, and all the other things that Jesus’ followers do. But this should include prayer walking, right? As I am reading Joshua 1 today, I have a vision to map out a region in the Williamsbridge section of the Bronx to “claim” for the glory of God through (at least) monthly prayer walks. I am sure that our family could cover 20-40 blocks and prayer walk that once (or more) a month. 15 minutes a few mornings, or 10 minutes after supper, or maybe an hour on Saturday? Just think what kind of “Every place for Jesus” work we could do in the regions in which we live!
Potential Prayer walk locations:
From White Plains Road on the West, E. 233rd Street on the North, Thomas E. Brown Avenue on the East, E. 214th Street on the South, and Boston Road diagonally up from there.
That’s about 120 blocks. With the help of friends, we could do this!
We cannot ignore reality. We must face it in all its possible grief and terror, in all its potential joy and blessing. Moses had led Israel for forty years, with Joshua as his assistant. Was Joshua up to the task of leading this people? We are given no indication of any previous spirit of insurrection coming from Joshua. When I read the Pentateuch, I get the sense that Joshua was pleased to be a helper to Moses. He does not appear to be chafing to be the head honcho. In all likelihood, Joshua was devastated by Moses’ death—probably terrified.
After Moses’ death, the children of Israel wept for thirty days. Joshua is described in that context as being “full of the spirit of wisdom, for Moses had laid his hands on him, so the children of Israel heeded him and did as the Lord had commanded Moses.”
So Joshua had a mandate from God and from Moses, and the people were ready to follow.
Thirty days passed. A lot of tissues, eh? A lot of tears under the bridge.
Then God speaks with Joshua. Joshua, here’s the deal. Moses is dead. Rise up! Go over the Jordan, you and all this people, to the land which I am giving to the children of Israel. Every place on which you walk I have given you, as I said to Moses. Did you hear that, Joshua? Every place on which you walk I have given you! Listen to me, Joshua. No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you nor forsake you.
I think you are afraid, Joshua. Be strong and of good courage. Before this is all over, you are going to hear those words a lot, so let me let them sink in. Be strong and very courageous. Do not be afraid. Do not be discouraged.
Then Joshua gave his commands:
- Prepare
- Remember
- Help your brethren
- Return
- Enjoy the land
The more I dig into Joshua chapter 1 this year, the more I see how God gave me this passage for this year of transition for us as we consider our plans to move to the Bronx. Today, I am thinking about “Every place on which you walk I have given you.” I am not one to claim everything that God told Joshua as a timeless promise to each of God’s children through the ages. So I am not ready to fly to Israel and say “I claim this land as mine” because God told Joshua “every place” will be his. But consider this from a spiritual point of view. I am excited about the prospect of claiming land, places, regions, for the glory of God! Surely this should involve witnessing to people, sharing the gospel, loving the poor and the disadvantaged, speaking the truth with love, and all the other things that Jesus’ followers do. But this should include prayer walking, right? As I am reading Joshua 1 today, I have a vision to map out a region in the Williamsbridge section of the Bronx to “claim” for the glory of God through (at least) monthly prayer walks. I am sure that our family could cover 20-40 blocks and prayer walk that once (or more) a month. 15 minutes a few mornings, or 10 minutes after supper, or maybe an hour on Saturday? Just think what kind of “Every place for Jesus” work we could do in the regions in which we live!
Potential Prayer walk locations:
From White Plains Road on the West, E. 233rd Street on the North, Thomas E. Brown Avenue on the East, E. 214th Street on the South, and Boston Road diagonally up from there.
That’s about 120 blocks. With the help of friends, we could do this!
Know the Voice of the Good Shepherd 2.4.18
Take a look at the mind. Even Christians, children of the heavenly Father, give over a lot of power and control to the enemy of our souls by dwelling on thoughts that are not of God, by taking in images that are ungodly, or by believing lies from the enemy that are JUST NOT TRUE! If that is true of followers of Jesus, that our minds can take us down the wrong path, how much more is it true of those who have not known the transforming power of the Spirit?
Consider the train of negative thoughts that can pick up speed and take a person into depression and loneliness and self-pity and every form of bitter envy and selfish ambition. That train does not usually rush in and grab a person captive against his/her will and “spirit” him away into a voidless region of no return. Usually, the person starts small. Let’s check the train’s schedule. Let’s see how much the ticket costs. Let’s “happen” to be at the station when the train pulls up and the call is made to get on board. Let’s just take one or two steps to get on the train. “Oh no, I am hurtling towards depression or loneliness or self-pity or every form of bitter envy and selfish ambition! What shall I do!”
The good thing about that last question is that whoever asks the question realizes there is a problem.
So how do we deal with the problem?
Sometimes we deal with the problem backwards, and it gets our minds deeper in a funk. I thought of that this week while discussing this with one of my co-workers at school. So if you or I have entered into a phase of negative thinking, getting down and out, and feeling a cloud of heaviness descending upon you, give me some ideas from the Word that could perhaps help us get out of this “cloud”
Possibilities:
Do those above steps change my circumstances? No.
Do those steps resolve my issues? Not usually.
Is this a form of unhealthy denial? I don’t know. Tell me more.
What I mean is, is this “Positive thinking” train just a feel-good, self-help mechanism to get our minds off the negative so that we function well and contribute as productive citizens?
Sure, there is a danger at times in avoiding legitimate, God-permitted grief, sadness, godly sorrow, repentance, mourning, etc. When it comes to legitimate grief, sadness, godly sorrow, repentance, mourning, there is a place to walk towards the sunset of pain and sorrow and experience it, all the while listening to the voice of the Good Shepherd. But I think our human tendency is to wallow in stinking thinking and think that "joyful living" is fake.
When you feel down, what is the first question you ask?
There is a place for the first question, I am sure. I am sure that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, wants us to be whole people who understand and experience life in all of its fullness, complete with the joy and the pain. So there is a place for the first question. However, I submit that, most of the time, our heavenly Father’s voice will gently lead us to the second response.
As a man thinks in His heart, so is He.
Consider Ezekiel 34. These shepherds (leaders) did little to care for the sheep (people) of Israel. It is an opposite picture of what Jesus gives in John 10, as the Good Shepherd.
Let's camp out a bit on this thing of bad shepherds, because it affects us in the church. Harboring bitterness or resentment or ill-will towards a previous church is a bitter pill that only YOU, the one harboring this, is swallowing. It’s nasty, it is unhealthy, and it destroys the spirit of a person in the end. I have coined a term for this that I call Severe Reactionary Previous Church Disorder--the acronym is SRPCD. The checklist for diagnosing SRPCD is rather short:
SRPCD. Severe Reactionary Previous Church Disorder.
Sadly, many people are hurt in churches. Again sadly, the reality is that most of the “hurts” are picked up by minds that listen to the voice of the enemy, not the voice of the Good Shepherd. People “feel” hurt, begin to believe the lie that the other person purposely hurt them, begin to harbor resentment or bitterness, and do not go and approach the person who “hurt” them and lovingly pursue restoration.
This discussion on SRPCD does not discount the reality that there have been people who were really affected by what is termed "spiritual abuse" by spiritual leaders who misused their position to wound the people they serve.
Consider the train of negative thoughts that can pick up speed and take a person into depression and loneliness and self-pity and every form of bitter envy and selfish ambition. That train does not usually rush in and grab a person captive against his/her will and “spirit” him away into a voidless region of no return. Usually, the person starts small. Let’s check the train’s schedule. Let’s see how much the ticket costs. Let’s “happen” to be at the station when the train pulls up and the call is made to get on board. Let’s just take one or two steps to get on the train. “Oh no, I am hurtling towards depression or loneliness or self-pity or every form of bitter envy and selfish ambition! What shall I do!”
The good thing about that last question is that whoever asks the question realizes there is a problem.
So how do we deal with the problem?
Sometimes we deal with the problem backwards, and it gets our minds deeper in a funk. I thought of that this week while discussing this with one of my co-workers at school. So if you or I have entered into a phase of negative thinking, getting down and out, and feeling a cloud of heaviness descending upon you, give me some ideas from the Word that could perhaps help us get out of this “cloud”
Possibilities:
- Praise the Lord
- List items and people for which/whom you are thankful
- Pray that God would bless the people on your mind
- Thank God for trials and struggles
- Ask others to pray
- Wash you mind by listening to the Word or reading the word
- Sing songs of worship, or listen to songs of worship
- Thank God that even if your feelings don't change, He still loves you
Do those above steps change my circumstances? No.
Do those steps resolve my issues? Not usually.
Is this a form of unhealthy denial? I don’t know. Tell me more.
What I mean is, is this “Positive thinking” train just a feel-good, self-help mechanism to get our minds off the negative so that we function well and contribute as productive citizens?
Sure, there is a danger at times in avoiding legitimate, God-permitted grief, sadness, godly sorrow, repentance, mourning, etc. When it comes to legitimate grief, sadness, godly sorrow, repentance, mourning, there is a place to walk towards the sunset of pain and sorrow and experience it, all the while listening to the voice of the Good Shepherd. But I think our human tendency is to wallow in stinking thinking and think that "joyful living" is fake.
When you feel down, what is the first question you ask?
- What has triggered this? Let me take stock of all the negative things I have experienced so that I can understand why I am down.
- Or, “Wow, why am I forgetting to be thankful and to praise? Look at all the good things I have and think of all that God has done for me!”
There is a place for the first question, I am sure. I am sure that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, wants us to be whole people who understand and experience life in all of its fullness, complete with the joy and the pain. So there is a place for the first question. However, I submit that, most of the time, our heavenly Father’s voice will gently lead us to the second response.
As a man thinks in His heart, so is He.
Consider Ezekiel 34. These shepherds (leaders) did little to care for the sheep (people) of Israel. It is an opposite picture of what Jesus gives in John 10, as the Good Shepherd.
Let's camp out a bit on this thing of bad shepherds, because it affects us in the church. Harboring bitterness or resentment or ill-will towards a previous church is a bitter pill that only YOU, the one harboring this, is swallowing. It’s nasty, it is unhealthy, and it destroys the spirit of a person in the end. I have coined a term for this that I call Severe Reactionary Previous Church Disorder--the acronym is SRPCD. The checklist for diagnosing SRPCD is rather short:
- You had a previous church experience that was bad and causes reactions in your spirit even today.
- You have not been able to be released from these experiences in a way that enables you to move forward now in loving service for the Kingdom.
- You have brought the unresolved circumstances/feelings from the previous church experience into the new church you attend, and are viewing that church through reactionary lenses.
SRPCD. Severe Reactionary Previous Church Disorder.
Sadly, many people are hurt in churches. Again sadly, the reality is that most of the “hurts” are picked up by minds that listen to the voice of the enemy, not the voice of the Good Shepherd. People “feel” hurt, begin to believe the lie that the other person purposely hurt them, begin to harbor resentment or bitterness, and do not go and approach the person who “hurt” them and lovingly pursue restoration.
This discussion on SRPCD does not discount the reality that there have been people who were really affected by what is termed "spiritual abuse" by spiritual leaders who misused their position to wound the people they serve.
I Saw
(A glimpse of football through the lens of Isaiah 6)
I saw Tom Brady/Nick Foles seated on a stool.
Human.
So human.
The look of terror in his eyes filled his face with fear.
And the beer-drinking fans around him were yelling “Go! Go! Go!” and “You can do it!” and
“You’re the best, especially when you win!”
And this quarterback turned to me and said
“Who shall play for my team? And who will be my fan?”
So I said, “Here I am. I’ll be your fan!”
And he said “Pour your time and energy into football. Pay close attention to my every move. Cheer for my team. Discuss my games. Eat, sleep, and drink football. That will bring me life and make me feel significant.”
And I woke up with a feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach competing with a pounding headache.
What have I become?
Human.
So human.
The look of terror in his eyes filled his face with fear.
And the beer-drinking fans around him were yelling “Go! Go! Go!” and “You can do it!” and
“You’re the best, especially when you win!”
And this quarterback turned to me and said
“Who shall play for my team? And who will be my fan?”
So I said, “Here I am. I’ll be your fan!”
And he said “Pour your time and energy into football. Pay close attention to my every move. Cheer for my team. Discuss my games. Eat, sleep, and drink football. That will bring me life and make me feel significant.”
And I woke up with a feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach competing with a pounding headache.
What have I become?
You
In the morning, You.
When I breathe, You.
When I think , You.
All my dreams start with You.
Where I go, You are.
When I stay, You are.
You.
That's the great life goal, Father.
Only You.
Help me to reach out to You!
All we need to do is to reach out and
You are there!
When I breathe, You.
When I think , You.
All my dreams start with You.
Where I go, You are.
When I stay, You are.
You.
That's the great life goal, Father.
Only You.
Help me to reach out to You!
All we need to do is to reach out and
You are there!
I am my beloved's, and his desire is for me. Song of Solomon 3:10
January 25, 2018
Men’s Sunday School class at Followers of Jesus Mennonite Church has been out-of-the-box the past several months. Song of Solomon is a fascinating book. We have studied some good lyrical content to aid in romancing your spouse, some good allegorical perspective that can lead one to think of God’s deep love for His children, and some graphic content that came close to making some of the young men blush last Sunday.
The take-away for me was this verse above. I am my beloved’s, and his desire is towards me. What would the state of marriage and the family be like in the church today if each wife would know, really know, that she is her beloved’s? What would happen if every married woman would wake and sleep to the thought that she knows, really knows, that she is her husband’s cherished treasure?
I walked home from church thanking God that my desire is towards my wife. There are many women, but there is only one Sandy. There are many females in the world, but there is only one sweet babe of a wife that is mine, and my desire is for her. She is mine, and I am hers. I am privileged, more than I can speak or imagine, to have Sandy Renee as my wife, my partner, my faithful companion, my true friend.
Rich
Men’s Sunday School class at Followers of Jesus Mennonite Church has been out-of-the-box the past several months. Song of Solomon is a fascinating book. We have studied some good lyrical content to aid in romancing your spouse, some good allegorical perspective that can lead one to think of God’s deep love for His children, and some graphic content that came close to making some of the young men blush last Sunday.
The take-away for me was this verse above. I am my beloved’s, and his desire is towards me. What would the state of marriage and the family be like in the church today if each wife would know, really know, that she is her beloved’s? What would happen if every married woman would wake and sleep to the thought that she knows, really knows, that she is her husband’s cherished treasure?
I walked home from church thanking God that my desire is towards my wife. There are many women, but there is only one Sandy. There are many females in the world, but there is only one sweet babe of a wife that is mine, and my desire is for her. She is mine, and I am hers. I am privileged, more than I can speak or imagine, to have Sandy Renee as my wife, my partner, my faithful companion, my true friend.
Rich
Free Food 01/20/2018
Dear Michelle Obama:
I’ve been meaning to write you a quick thank you for all this good food that comes my way. You probably never considered the unintended consequences of your much-ballyhooed national effort to change the public school’s meal selections to a “more healthy” food line-up that nutritionists recommend but kids dislike. But nobody really considers unintended consequences, do they? That’s why we call them “unintended.”
I have friends who work in the NYC public school cafeterias, and they are dismayed by all the food that gets thrown away. Much of this food is in unopened packages, and it is definitely not out of date, but if the students don’t like it, it gets thrown away. My friends come by and give our family this food—bags of it. Packaged cereals, packaged apples, packaged yogurt parfaits, packaged muffins. All “healthy” stuff. There are even organic options. I feel like such a cool, millennial hipster.
So thanks, Mrs. Obama. You probably never dreamed that a 42 year old white male would be one of the beneficiaries of your “more healthy” food push. Just thought you may want to know.
All the best,
Rich
I’ve been meaning to write you a quick thank you for all this good food that comes my way. You probably never considered the unintended consequences of your much-ballyhooed national effort to change the public school’s meal selections to a “more healthy” food line-up that nutritionists recommend but kids dislike. But nobody really considers unintended consequences, do they? That’s why we call them “unintended.”
I have friends who work in the NYC public school cafeterias, and they are dismayed by all the food that gets thrown away. Much of this food is in unopened packages, and it is definitely not out of date, but if the students don’t like it, it gets thrown away. My friends come by and give our family this food—bags of it. Packaged cereals, packaged apples, packaged yogurt parfaits, packaged muffins. All “healthy” stuff. There are even organic options. I feel like such a cool, millennial hipster.
So thanks, Mrs. Obama. You probably never dreamed that a 42 year old white male would be one of the beneficiaries of your “more healthy” food push. Just thought you may want to know.
All the best,
Rich
Speech & Repentance
January 14, 2018
“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” Matthew 7:1-2
“For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?” I Peter 4:17
Last week I posted on Facebook some thoughts about disparaging, insensitive, and crude remarks made by President Trump. In my post, I tried to remind people they have the capacity for positive influence in this season of a back-and-forth boiling cauldron of racial disagreements.
In the course of the past few days, my outward finger-pointing has begun to look inward. It is fairly easy for me to see (or think I see) the problems and issues in others, and even to analyze and diagnose the issues. On Friday at the dinner table, I talked with Sandy and the children about our tongues, and I confessed that I have not been giving a proper example of speaking well of others. If we are speaking of someone and they surprise us by walking in the room during our speech, we should not get a “Oh shoot, I wish he/she hadn’t heard what I just said,” feeling, right? If we would not want the other person to hear what we say, we probably should not say it, right?
On and off on Saturday, I kind of monitored the back-and-forth of comments coming within my FB post, and then we had a cell group meeting last night, part of which discussed Matthew 5:17-26. Later that evening, my mind went to I John 2:9-11, then on to James 3. It came to me that I need to repent of not having a guard on my tongue. At 42 years old, having been a follower of Jesus for years and years, I should have a better capacity to speak only words that edify, build up, encourage, or if necessary provide godly rebuke or warning. No gossip, slander, or cutting words should have any place in my heart, which would then mean these words would not slip out of my tongue.
So there it is. Yes, Thursday’s remarks by the leader of the United States of America were wrong. I still believe that. Yes, it is important to care for and extend grace and dignity to other ethnicities. I still believe that. But I also believe that the greatest good can be accomplished by asking the Spirit of God to search my heart, to try me and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. I have no platform to personally rebuke, face-to-face, our President for his language—but I do have the capacity to allow the Spirit of God to turn on His searchlight of love in my heart and cleanse me of any wickedness. To let my words be few, but full of meaning and life.
It is time for judgment to begin with the house of God. Let it begin with me, as I fall on the mercy of Christ. Mercy triumphs over judgment.
Rich
“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” Matthew 7:1-2
“For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?” I Peter 4:17
Last week I posted on Facebook some thoughts about disparaging, insensitive, and crude remarks made by President Trump. In my post, I tried to remind people they have the capacity for positive influence in this season of a back-and-forth boiling cauldron of racial disagreements.
In the course of the past few days, my outward finger-pointing has begun to look inward. It is fairly easy for me to see (or think I see) the problems and issues in others, and even to analyze and diagnose the issues. On Friday at the dinner table, I talked with Sandy and the children about our tongues, and I confessed that I have not been giving a proper example of speaking well of others. If we are speaking of someone and they surprise us by walking in the room during our speech, we should not get a “Oh shoot, I wish he/she hadn’t heard what I just said,” feeling, right? If we would not want the other person to hear what we say, we probably should not say it, right?
On and off on Saturday, I kind of monitored the back-and-forth of comments coming within my FB post, and then we had a cell group meeting last night, part of which discussed Matthew 5:17-26. Later that evening, my mind went to I John 2:9-11, then on to James 3. It came to me that I need to repent of not having a guard on my tongue. At 42 years old, having been a follower of Jesus for years and years, I should have a better capacity to speak only words that edify, build up, encourage, or if necessary provide godly rebuke or warning. No gossip, slander, or cutting words should have any place in my heart, which would then mean these words would not slip out of my tongue.
So there it is. Yes, Thursday’s remarks by the leader of the United States of America were wrong. I still believe that. Yes, it is important to care for and extend grace and dignity to other ethnicities. I still believe that. But I also believe that the greatest good can be accomplished by asking the Spirit of God to search my heart, to try me and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. I have no platform to personally rebuke, face-to-face, our President for his language—but I do have the capacity to allow the Spirit of God to turn on His searchlight of love in my heart and cleanse me of any wickedness. To let my words be few, but full of meaning and life.
It is time for judgment to begin with the house of God. Let it begin with me, as I fall on the mercy of Christ. Mercy triumphs over judgment.
Rich
Kitchen helper, snooze button, and family dinner
January 9, 2018
I tried to be a helpful husband yesterday. When I realized Sandy was still at the doctor’s office with Avery, I thought I could get a jump start on dinner preparations, so I called Sandy to ask what I could do to help. She gave detailed instructions, first noting that there is an open cookbook on the freezer with an asterisk beside the recipe we will use. While on the phone with Sandy, I confirmed that I had found the recipe, and confirmed that I heard about the extra tomato soup under the sink in the basement. Soon after hanging up the phone with her, I called back to see if the meat thawing in the sink was one pound or two pounds, because the recipe was to be doubled. Her advice? “Just tell yourself it’s two pounds, and it will be two pounds.” Now there is an optimist at her finest, I thought to myself. Probably trying to stretch the meat.
The idea was that I would get the main course started and then get the broccoli of the fridge to steam. Knowing my multi-tasking prowess in the kitchen is limited, I decided not to tackle the broccoli, just making sure I get the main course. Several lines down in the recipe it called for 3 tablespoons of corn oil. I found canola oil and corn syrup in the cupboard—even though I was pretty sure that canola oil would work better than corn syrup (hey, it uses “corn” in the title), I called Sandy back to confirm that I should use canola oil, NOT corn syrup. “Are you serious, hon?” She asked with concern. “Please do not use the corn syrup. Use the canola oil.” I hung up the phone and laughed out loud. I could just picture her, moving quickly so she could rush back before I destroy dinner. This was fun, helping my wife, even if I knew she was getting a little scared.
I proceeded with the recipe, going downstairs for the tomato sauce, and finding noodles in the cupboard for the stroganoff. A few items were missing, but not to worry.
Sandy came home and noticed the noodles she had picked out for the stroganoff lying on the freezer right beside the recipe book. “Why didn’t you use these noodles? I told you to use these noodles.” Oh, I don’t remember hearing about those noodles, I said slowly. The noodles I had used were not the texture or style of what the recipe called for, but it was all I could find in the cupboard. She graciously forgave that one. Sandy then asked if I used the half can of tomato soup in the fridge. Oh, I don’t remember hearing about the half can of tomato soup in the fridge, I said slowly. I had opened two cans, so now we had two half cans for the refrigerator. “And why do you have the stroganoff on a skillet? I usually put it in a kettle with a lid on it.” I pointed out that the recipe doesn’t call for a kettle, and she never mentioned a kettle on the phone when we talked, now did she? A teensy weensy bit defensive at that point, this falteringly helpful husband. She forgave it all. She then showed me the broccoli and I got it out to start getting it ready for steaming. I put water in the kettle and put the broccoli on to steam.
Life proceeded, dinner preparations commenced, the table was set, and a kind of burnt smell came from the broccoli. Oops. I had not put enough water in, so it kind of burnt, but we all agreed it tasted good nonetheless (the latter is a parenthetical statement inserted with a slight defensive posture).
So we sat down for dinner, most of which tasted fair, in my opinion. We proceeded around the table with children and parents giving their highs and lows of the day. When an older child mentioned a low was “I pushed the snooze button twice,” Abby (our six year old) said “Ewww, don’t say that at the table. I don’t want to hear that again.”
We explored with Abby why she didn’t want to hear about that at the table. She explained by wrinkling her nose, turning around and pointing to her bottom, and then pinching her nose with her fingers.
“Oh, you thought that the low was “I needed to push the snooze butt twice! No Abby, it was push the snooze button twice.”
Caleb (our four year old), looking back and forth at his siblings and his parents, weighed in at this point. “I would just say ‘Push the round thing-a-mah-jing.”
Wow. We keep on going. Helpful husband still wants to be helpful. Wise wife still keeps graciously forgiving.
And we all hope to push the snooze button less tomorrow.
I tried to be a helpful husband yesterday. When I realized Sandy was still at the doctor’s office with Avery, I thought I could get a jump start on dinner preparations, so I called Sandy to ask what I could do to help. She gave detailed instructions, first noting that there is an open cookbook on the freezer with an asterisk beside the recipe we will use. While on the phone with Sandy, I confirmed that I had found the recipe, and confirmed that I heard about the extra tomato soup under the sink in the basement. Soon after hanging up the phone with her, I called back to see if the meat thawing in the sink was one pound or two pounds, because the recipe was to be doubled. Her advice? “Just tell yourself it’s two pounds, and it will be two pounds.” Now there is an optimist at her finest, I thought to myself. Probably trying to stretch the meat.
The idea was that I would get the main course started and then get the broccoli of the fridge to steam. Knowing my multi-tasking prowess in the kitchen is limited, I decided not to tackle the broccoli, just making sure I get the main course. Several lines down in the recipe it called for 3 tablespoons of corn oil. I found canola oil and corn syrup in the cupboard—even though I was pretty sure that canola oil would work better than corn syrup (hey, it uses “corn” in the title), I called Sandy back to confirm that I should use canola oil, NOT corn syrup. “Are you serious, hon?” She asked with concern. “Please do not use the corn syrup. Use the canola oil.” I hung up the phone and laughed out loud. I could just picture her, moving quickly so she could rush back before I destroy dinner. This was fun, helping my wife, even if I knew she was getting a little scared.
I proceeded with the recipe, going downstairs for the tomato sauce, and finding noodles in the cupboard for the stroganoff. A few items were missing, but not to worry.
Sandy came home and noticed the noodles she had picked out for the stroganoff lying on the freezer right beside the recipe book. “Why didn’t you use these noodles? I told you to use these noodles.” Oh, I don’t remember hearing about those noodles, I said slowly. The noodles I had used were not the texture or style of what the recipe called for, but it was all I could find in the cupboard. She graciously forgave that one. Sandy then asked if I used the half can of tomato soup in the fridge. Oh, I don’t remember hearing about the half can of tomato soup in the fridge, I said slowly. I had opened two cans, so now we had two half cans for the refrigerator. “And why do you have the stroganoff on a skillet? I usually put it in a kettle with a lid on it.” I pointed out that the recipe doesn’t call for a kettle, and she never mentioned a kettle on the phone when we talked, now did she? A teensy weensy bit defensive at that point, this falteringly helpful husband. She forgave it all. She then showed me the broccoli and I got it out to start getting it ready for steaming. I put water in the kettle and put the broccoli on to steam.
Life proceeded, dinner preparations commenced, the table was set, and a kind of burnt smell came from the broccoli. Oops. I had not put enough water in, so it kind of burnt, but we all agreed it tasted good nonetheless (the latter is a parenthetical statement inserted with a slight defensive posture).
So we sat down for dinner, most of which tasted fair, in my opinion. We proceeded around the table with children and parents giving their highs and lows of the day. When an older child mentioned a low was “I pushed the snooze button twice,” Abby (our six year old) said “Ewww, don’t say that at the table. I don’t want to hear that again.”
We explored with Abby why she didn’t want to hear about that at the table. She explained by wrinkling her nose, turning around and pointing to her bottom, and then pinching her nose with her fingers.
“Oh, you thought that the low was “I needed to push the snooze butt twice! No Abby, it was push the snooze button twice.”
Caleb (our four year old), looking back and forth at his siblings and his parents, weighed in at this point. “I would just say ‘Push the round thing-a-mah-jing.”
Wow. We keep on going. Helpful husband still wants to be helpful. Wise wife still keeps graciously forgiving.
And we all hope to push the snooze button less tomorrow.
Praying for Amanda 01/10/2018
We had a family meeting last night, an idea that was suggested to us. Sandy and I met with our three oldest, all of them now teenagers, to provide a forum for expression if there are any issues or questions or problems. It went reasonably well for the first meeting of its kind, although one of the participants kept noting that homework was calling his name. A takeaway from the meeting was that one of our children thinks we spend less time with our neighbors and people outside of the church in the past six months, since I do more with Followers of Jesus School in this season.
I dreamt that I was having some kind of subway preaching experience, and I was going through Isaiah 55 and preaching it on the subway, and it was invigorating and powerful. It was a kind of semi-conscious dream-state. Anyway, I fully awakened the next morning, and prayed that God would keep my eyes open for the person or persons to whom He would have me minister that day.
A woman called the church/school at about 1:00 p.m. or so, distraught and upset on the phone. She explained that she lives in New Jersey, but is in Brooklyn and needs a way back to New Jersey. She said she had called our number because she wondered if we could help her get on the subway to get back to New Jersey. She was about four blocks away, so I told her how to get to the church/school. I was meeting with a teacher when she arrived at the school, so I asked if she could sit on a guest chair until I was finished with my meeting.
Amanda was her name. She said she was thirty-one years old. She had brownish-blonde hair, a face lined with care beyond her years, and as she walked with me towards the subway she pulled out a cigarette and began smoking. Fidgeting, you could say. I asked Amanda to tell me her story. She said that a guy had picked her up in New Jersey and took her to his place here in Brooklyn, but he was “very rude to me,” so she left the house and decided to get back to New Jersey. Amanda told me that she had five different children from five different men. Every time she became pregnant, the man would leave her. The children were with her Mom in New Jersey. I stopped on the sidewalk and looked at her. She looked at me, kind of puzzled. “Wow, Amanda,” I said slowly, looking her in the eyes, “You really are looking for love, aren’t you?” She began crying right there, and I started talking to her about how much God loves me and how much he loved the world. She did not know the Bible much, didn’t seem to recognize John 3:16 “For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”
We slowly kept on walking, and as I walked I told her that she doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist or some great person to pray to God. Verses from Psalm 139 came to me, words that Lowell Herschberger had shared in our chapel that morning and asked us to pray them to God. “Amanda, you can just pray search me, oh God, and know my heart. Try me, and know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
The closer we got to the train, the more I wondered if I should introduce Amanda to Sandy. I asked her if we could stop and I could call my wife Sandy, and she agreed. Sandy was praying with a friend at the time I called, and a young woman was planning to come by for a Bible study in 30 minutes so it wouldn't work to bring Amanda to the house. But Sandy took time to pray for Amanda over the phone, using my phone that Amanda held against her ear. There we were on Fulton Street, Amanda was nodding her head as she listened to Sandy's prayer on the phone, tears streaming down her face, and I was thanking God that he brought someone into my life today to whom I could show the love of the Father.
I prayed with Amanda before she got on the train. I don’t know how the encounter will impact her, but I know it strengthened my faith in Almighty God, and it renewed my belief that God really does love everyone, no matter who they are. Make us instruments of your peace, Lord.
Rich
I dreamt that I was having some kind of subway preaching experience, and I was going through Isaiah 55 and preaching it on the subway, and it was invigorating and powerful. It was a kind of semi-conscious dream-state. Anyway, I fully awakened the next morning, and prayed that God would keep my eyes open for the person or persons to whom He would have me minister that day.
A woman called the church/school at about 1:00 p.m. or so, distraught and upset on the phone. She explained that she lives in New Jersey, but is in Brooklyn and needs a way back to New Jersey. She said she had called our number because she wondered if we could help her get on the subway to get back to New Jersey. She was about four blocks away, so I told her how to get to the church/school. I was meeting with a teacher when she arrived at the school, so I asked if she could sit on a guest chair until I was finished with my meeting.
Amanda was her name. She said she was thirty-one years old. She had brownish-blonde hair, a face lined with care beyond her years, and as she walked with me towards the subway she pulled out a cigarette and began smoking. Fidgeting, you could say. I asked Amanda to tell me her story. She said that a guy had picked her up in New Jersey and took her to his place here in Brooklyn, but he was “very rude to me,” so she left the house and decided to get back to New Jersey. Amanda told me that she had five different children from five different men. Every time she became pregnant, the man would leave her. The children were with her Mom in New Jersey. I stopped on the sidewalk and looked at her. She looked at me, kind of puzzled. “Wow, Amanda,” I said slowly, looking her in the eyes, “You really are looking for love, aren’t you?” She began crying right there, and I started talking to her about how much God loves me and how much he loved the world. She did not know the Bible much, didn’t seem to recognize John 3:16 “For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”
We slowly kept on walking, and as I walked I told her that she doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist or some great person to pray to God. Verses from Psalm 139 came to me, words that Lowell Herschberger had shared in our chapel that morning and asked us to pray them to God. “Amanda, you can just pray search me, oh God, and know my heart. Try me, and know my anxious thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
The closer we got to the train, the more I wondered if I should introduce Amanda to Sandy. I asked her if we could stop and I could call my wife Sandy, and she agreed. Sandy was praying with a friend at the time I called, and a young woman was planning to come by for a Bible study in 30 minutes so it wouldn't work to bring Amanda to the house. But Sandy took time to pray for Amanda over the phone, using my phone that Amanda held against her ear. There we were on Fulton Street, Amanda was nodding her head as she listened to Sandy's prayer on the phone, tears streaming down her face, and I was thanking God that he brought someone into my life today to whom I could show the love of the Father.
I prayed with Amanda before she got on the train. I don’t know how the encounter will impact her, but I know it strengthened my faith in Almighty God, and it renewed my belief that God really does love everyone, no matter who they are. Make us instruments of your peace, Lord.
Rich
From One Blood 01/12/2018
There is a verse in the Bible, Acts 17:26, which tells us “God has made of one blood all nations of men to live on the face of the earth.” (KJV). The news cycle of the past 24 hours has centered on President Trump’s disparaging remarks made yesterday about immigrants from Africa, El Salvador, Haiti, etc. I won't repeat the remarks, but the substance was demeaning, degrading, and undignified. Racist. In November 2016, after the election, I said that America has strained out a gnat, and swallowed a camel. I still pray for our President, but recently as I pondered my post-election observation I thought, "If only it was a camel."
On the Statue of Liberty is this memo: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free." That theme of open, caring, acceptance of people from all walks of life is losing its place here it seems. But don't give up. You and I are persons of influence who have the capacity to make a huge difference in the little sphere in which we live. How is it in your heart and mine? Are you and I willing to extend dignity and grace to people from every ethnicity?
Along with the NYC public school system, our little school here in Brooklyn, Followers of Jesus School, takes off Monday to celebrate and commemorate the life and work of Martin Luther King, Jr., a man who dedicated his life to helping downtrodden and underserved people in his communities find a voice through nonviolent, peaceful activism. MLK, Jr. accomplished much. Let us remember that every person is created in the image of God, and each person, no matter their skin color, economic status, or ethnicity deserves to be treated with dignity.
I hope our family and our local church body can learn each day, by the grace of God, to care for and love each individual, regardless of ethnicity, skin color, economic status, and background. Since God has given us so much, we are privileged to love others!
Trillia Newbell writes convincingly of the need to be colorsmart, not colorblind, when it comes to different skin colors. Here are some of her thoughts for believers in Jesus, found in the Fall/Winter Eternal Perspectives newsletter of Randy Alcorn:
"We shouldn't be colorblind, because God doesn't erase these distinctions in Scripture, and because they endure into eternity. Revelation 5 shows us a beautiful picture of every color, tribe, tongue, and nation worshiping together around the throne. The Lord's mission is to reconcile all things--us to Himself, then us to one another. We will spend eternity in a new creation filled--gloriously! --with people of all backgrounds and colors."
If that is how eternity for the follower of Jesus will look like, we have great opportunities right now, with our neighbors, friends, and even random strangers, to extend dignity, grace and love to others, no matter how different they may be.
May God help us. Every one.
Rich
On the Statue of Liberty is this memo: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free." That theme of open, caring, acceptance of people from all walks of life is losing its place here it seems. But don't give up. You and I are persons of influence who have the capacity to make a huge difference in the little sphere in which we live. How is it in your heart and mine? Are you and I willing to extend dignity and grace to people from every ethnicity?
Along with the NYC public school system, our little school here in Brooklyn, Followers of Jesus School, takes off Monday to celebrate and commemorate the life and work of Martin Luther King, Jr., a man who dedicated his life to helping downtrodden and underserved people in his communities find a voice through nonviolent, peaceful activism. MLK, Jr. accomplished much. Let us remember that every person is created in the image of God, and each person, no matter their skin color, economic status, or ethnicity deserves to be treated with dignity.
I hope our family and our local church body can learn each day, by the grace of God, to care for and love each individual, regardless of ethnicity, skin color, economic status, and background. Since God has given us so much, we are privileged to love others!
Trillia Newbell writes convincingly of the need to be colorsmart, not colorblind, when it comes to different skin colors. Here are some of her thoughts for believers in Jesus, found in the Fall/Winter Eternal Perspectives newsletter of Randy Alcorn:
"We shouldn't be colorblind, because God doesn't erase these distinctions in Scripture, and because they endure into eternity. Revelation 5 shows us a beautiful picture of every color, tribe, tongue, and nation worshiping together around the throne. The Lord's mission is to reconcile all things--us to Himself, then us to one another. We will spend eternity in a new creation filled--gloriously! --with people of all backgrounds and colors."
If that is how eternity for the follower of Jesus will look like, we have great opportunities right now, with our neighbors, friends, and even random strangers, to extend dignity, grace and love to others, no matter how different they may be.
May God help us. Every one.
Rich