It was a year ago today.
In one sense, as my Dad said yesterday, it has flown by. In another, it felt like a thousand years.
But if one thing has emerged from the past 365 days, it’s that when people or Bible writers talk about the “God of All Comfort,” I can say “Amen” and turn the pages with credibility.
But it didn’t start – or end – with the events surrounding my mother’s sudden death. In fact, the biggest lesson of all was that healing of the heart is a journey through time.
Translation: Don’t tell me how much comfort or encouragement you’re feeling in the funeral home. You have no clue yet about comfort. You’re still being buoyed and insulated by kind people and the truths of your faith.
Comfort – the real kind – comes later.
In the last year, I have been blessed to live what I have preached for years – that the words we use about a Heavenly Father who is who is able to empathize with our weaknesses and invites us to boldly approach a throne of grace are all true. And believe me, other than the promise of eternal life, I can’t think of a promise that is more vital.
How does He do it? If you’re the one just leaving the cemetery or the courthouse or the hospital, what can you expect? How does the Lord put the pieces back together? While every experience of loss – whether it is through death, rejection, forced job termination, or the death of a dream – is unique, I think I have found some common elements in the way our Heavenly Father brings about His healing. [click to continue…]
He outran them all.
From the woods and swamps around his home in Millry, Alabama to the grass turf at Wildcat Hill, where the Millry Wildcats play their home games…
From a stint in the postwar United States Navy to the gridiron at the Mississippi Southern College…
From the sidelines and dugouts in the rural South to a legacy of influence that will long outlive him…
Nobody ever outran Morris Brown.
Nobody.
And he’d be the first to tell you.
In college they called him “Lightning.” But the people whose lives were most impacted by his teaching, motivation, and personal influence to this day simply call him, “Coach.” [click to continue…]
What comes to mind when you hear the name “Solomon?”
Yeah, that. Wisdom. Too bad he lived long enough to throw his life into reverse.
Solomon was a piece of work. He went from healthy, wealthy and wise to hedonistic, weird and wicked. Finally, toward the end of his reign, the Lord had seen enough. He spoke to Solomon and told him he was going to tear away all but one tribe from his son (1 Kings 11:13).
Okay. But why not clean house? Why not do a clean sweep? He’d done it before with Israel’s first king. And may I just say… Saul may have gone from compromiser to crazy, but compared to Solomon, Saul was a saint.
So what gives with God? [click to continue…]
Ask most any Christ follower who or what the ultimate model for leadership is, and they’ll point you to Jesus Christ.
Ask that same Christ follower what the ultimate standard for leadership is, and they’ll probably land on servanthood. “Jesus was a servant leader,” they will opine, “and He called His followers to lead by serving.”
Okay, so far, so good. One more question.
Ask that same believer to name somebody from among the most successful ministries or institutions who actually practices servant leadership across the board…
…and watch their pupils widen. The headlights just caught the deer.
In spite of all our claims to servant leadership, the honest truth is that leadership on a grand scale means knowing what to do with opportunity, influence, power, and public image. Can a leader have all of that and remain a servant?
Yes.
But will he?
Camels and the eye of the needle come to mind. [click to continue…]
December 16, 1983. I walked across a stage in Ft. Worth, Texas to receive my Get-out-of-Jail degree. The moving vans had already left town, and when we drove into the parking lot to get my cap and gown, the car was loaded with luggage. This would be the day I put Texas – and school – in the rearview mirror. I was sick of both.
But my weariness and frustrations blinded me to some lessons I began to learn as the boxes were put away in our new home in Jackson, Alabama. I learned that in all my learning, I loved to learn. And through the years in youth ministry and pastoral leadership, I loved to teach.
That said, I made a shocking discovery recently. Counting the classes I’m engaged with now, I have taught 54 courses and nearly 775 students on a Master’s, Bachelor’s , or Extension level.
Oh… and I’ve lived in Texas for the last 14 years.
Recently somebody asked me to write out my philosophy of teaching. I was pleasantly surprised to learn I actually had one. Here is what I wrote: [click to continue…]
It’s a little hard to feel sorry for Mo, even when at times in his childhood you would have been tempted to. He was a sickly child, and his short, thin physique was no match for the other boys who were good at sports.
Mo was no geek, either. Something of a slacker in school, the truth was, book learning was way past hard for him.
But he had his looks, right?
Uh, no. Sitting atop his bony, wiry frame was a giant schnoz. The dude was seven shades of ugly. [click to continue…]
Leadership is generational
Every great or good leader I have studied or known all had one thing in common: Somebody saw their potential and called them out. They had an authority figure or a prophet, an “evangelist” or a teacher/coach who handed them the reigns one day, or encouraged them to go out and find their own place of influence.
There comes a point at which every leader must see past his or her own headlights. [click to continue…]
One of the dogwood trees my grandmother and I planted about 35 years ago.
The Leader of the Band is tired, and his eyes are growing old,
But his blood runs through my instrument, and his song is in my soul
My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man
I’m just a living legacy to the Leader of the Band.
-Dan Fogelberg
Alison had that look in her eye. Half smile, half dead-serious, she walked up and to me and said, “Some of us have been talking. And we’d like to ask you a favor.”
“What’s that?” I asked cautiously – bracing myself for, well, anything.
“We don’t know either of these people, and we don’t think they knew Grandmother all that well. We were wondering if you would say something – you know, more personal – in the service.”
Alison is my cousin, and she’d just asked the unthinkable – to stand up in front of a couple hundred family and friends and eulogize a family legend.
I’d done plenty of funerals before, but this one was different. This was family. And not just any family member. It was Grandmother, for cryin’ out loud. [click to continue…]
An important part of creating a compelling future has to do with remembering. That’s why lately I’ve been visiting some museums on a fairly regular basis.
I’m not referring to anything with the words, “Smithsonian,” “Historical,” or “National” in it. The museums I’m talking about are in my head, some really old computer files, and my journals.
Lately I’ve been visiting the Dream Museum. I suggest you do the same.
The idea for this little excursion was planted in my heart last August at a men’s retreat, where my friend Mickey asked a compelling question:
What dreams have you had either stolen or detained, to the point you have given up on them? Maybe the Lord is telling you to pick that dream back up again.
That really registered with me. “Electrified” may be a better term.
(Pause. Are you entering your dream museum yet? Visiting what’s in mine may help me, but it won’t do much for you. So let me ask you what Mickey asked all of us: What dreams have YOU had that were either stolen or detained, to the point you have given up on them?)
I didn’t have an immediate answer to the question, other than some unfulfilled physical dreams that I believe were prophetic. But I couldn’t get over the gut feeling that some long-ago dream had been shelved to the point that I had forgotten about it, but the Lord hadn’t. [click to continue…]
You never knew Lillie Edwards. I hardly did either, except for a brief two-week period years ago. But Lillie will always be a significant figure in my life and memory.
When I met Lillie Edwards, she was dying. I was green-green-green as a young pastor, serving in my first church in a senior role.
Lillie Edwards would be my first funeral service. But she taught me some things about living, and about dying, before our paths parted. [click to continue…]
It was a year ago today. 
