Words from Pastor ANdrew
Busy People
Recently, we were driving to drop our kids off at school in the morning, and out of nowhere—totally disconnected from what everyone else in the car was talking about—one of our kids said, “What if there were 3-D t-shirts?”
Well…technically, t-shirts are already 3-D…but I get the question.
This is completely normal in our home, and I’m guessing in most of our lives. One of the people in our family will just throw out a completely off-the-wall or bizarre thought that doesn’t seem to be rooted in anything the rest of us are talking about. I’m likely the most guilty of this in our home…Sarah can attest. I am sure you don’t do this…but you likely know someone who does, right?
Regularly, most of us are in our own thoughts instead of being fully present. We’re thinking something and, for some reason, we assume everyone else is thinking about the same thing or at least on the same page of curiosity as us or cares deeply about that seemingly random thing.
We are busy people with busy minds. And this scattered way of living isn’t just in our brains. We have busy and tired lives. We are constantly getting hit with an onslaught of information and misinformation, opinions and responses, push notifications, alerts, posts—the list goes on—that keep us from ever slowing our bodies and our minds down.
How in the world, will we ever be able to hear from Jesus if we never stop?
Following
Recently, my youngest son lost one of his last baby teeth at school. On the drive home, we started talking about what happens to all those teeth the tooth fairy collects. Let me just say, the variety of suggestions on that ride ranged from, “The tooth fairy uses them in her own mouth, like a shark tooth situation,” to “Santa moonlights as the tooth fairy to help pay the bills in the off-season.”
Of course, you’re asking, But wouldn’t that cost Santa money instead of making money?
Well, naturally, he then profits by selling the teeth on the black market.
I have never laughed so hard at such a ridiculous conversation.
In that moment, I realized: our kids are becoming like us, and even adopting our humor.
They’re taking on our ways as they grow into adulthood.
Faithfulness
When May hits, Sarah and I find ourselves absolutely wiped out. Life, work, church, a dog… I feel like I’m forgetting something… oh yeah, raising our kids. It’s like running a marathon where every step is good, every step matters, but every step also drains you. You’re further down the road, but something’s been poured out. Even elite ultra-runners eventually hit a wall where they just can’t keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Then summer hits.
The first few days of summer feel like stepping into a completely different world. We’re no longer waking up before sunrise, no longer sprinting from school to after-school activities to homework to that never-ending evening routine. No more late night cramming in extra work, replying to emails, prepping for Bible study, and collapsing into bed just so we can do it all again the next day. Suddenly, those days are gone.
For a few brief moments, summer feels like slower mornings, no strict schedule, no hustle.
But then… late July arrives.
21 Years Ago
21 years ago this week, I traveled up to the St. Louis area from my summer job to hang out with Sarah and her family for the Fourth of July. At that point, Sarah and I had only been on one date at the start of the summer… then she promptly left town for four weeks. (She actually went to the Emerald Coast, which felt a bit personal. I didn’t think our date went that badly—but apparently, she needed a month and a coastline to recover.)
13 Years Ago
Thirteen years ago, Sarah was nine months pregnant in a high-risk pregnancy with our son, Foster. We didn’t know the gender and hadn’t picked a name yet, so we just referred to the baby as… well, “Baby.”
Our friends were convinced we should name him “Steven Danger Beard.” (We did not.)
We had been trying to have a child for over five years, and only later discovered that Sarah had some health issues that made pregnancy especially difficult. Doctors told us the baby would undoubtedly come early. So, we were on high alert—weekly appointments, bags packed, life in a holding pattern, anxiously waiting.
Revisionist History
21 years ago, I was helping out this college girl everyone called “Welker” with a music event. She sang. I played guitar and sang badly. After rehearsal, we decided to check out this musician on campus for the May Day celebration.
We wandered over and listened to Howie Day sing Collide. Less than a month later, I awkwardly asked Welker if she wanted to grab coffee. I said, “I’ll pay”—which I figured was obviously code for this is a date…but apparently, she didn’t get the memo.
Worth It.
I love a good story. I love great film and television. I’m a terrible reader when it comes to fiction, but I love the beautiful narrative of biographies and non-fiction. Try to imagine something…and I struggle, but real people in real history, I’m hooked.
Most of us find that we love a good story. We always have. This is why people sat around fires sharing stories of the past, why we love when older family members tell the tales of when they were young, why we are often drawn to incredible stories based on actual events, why we love to get together with old friends and retell that time that one thing happened.
We love a good story.
Again?
Sometime over the past year or so, I’ve spoken about a bird ending up in The Chapel and me desperately trying to capture said bird and release it back into the “wild.”
Also, over the past year or so, I’ve talked about my pizza oven and making a foolish error where I singed some of my eyebrows and eyelashes.
I’m not sure what my deep theological point was in either of those stories… but I’m sure they were meaningful. Likely life-changing.
You won’t believe it…
Last week I was using my pizza oven to roast some carrots. I was flambéing them to get a nice finishing char with a delightful caramelized sauce. And lo and behold, flames shot out of the oven—and I singed my eyebrows and eyelashes again.
I didn’t want to let Sarah know… because I figured she would determine I’m not “responsible enough to play with fire…” So I did the mature thing and didn’t tell her.
Turns out, the fire also singed the hair on my head. I know. My luscious locks.
She immediately noticed.
Then, just this past week—a bird wandered into The Chapel, and I had to catch and release it. Two days in a row.
I don’t know if this bird is trying to draw closer to God, or wants to see the beauty of the space, or if he’s just foolish—but he keeps wandering in, getting caught, and being carried back out.
I’ve now done this three times. Twice this week alone.
And every time—I still get this wild rush trying to catch the bird.
My heart races. I get unusually hot and sweaty. The adrenaline pumps.
I feel like Steve Irwin or Dog the Bounty Hunter…
But instead of crocodiles or criminals on the run… it’s a tiny bird.
Serious Question
Last night at dinner, we had a very serious theological conversation.
Should any food ever touch the palm of your hand?
Weird question, I know—but watch a little kid eat, and you’ll see every food group being palmed like it’s a basketball. Personally, I find that gross…but I’m also not a child, and I’m a recovering germaphobe, so maybe that’s just me.
Adults, on the other hand, tend to keep their food at the fingertips—unless it’s popcorn, nuts, or candy. Those get a pass. Otherwise, palm-to-food contact? No thank you.
Sarah and I made our case. It was clear, logical, and morally superior (obviously). No palm-to-food contact—except for small snacks. Case closed. I even triumphantly challenged the table:
“Name one food that should touch the palm of your hand.”
Keating didn’t miss a beat. “Banana,” he said.
Banana?!
Anybody Else?
I love the sun setting later. I love longer and brighter evenings. I love the lengthening of days and the feeling that spring is inching forward with Summer in the not too distant future.
While at the same time…I hated the way I felt this morning.
Anybody else?
I mean, I travel a bit, my wake up time and bed time adjust regularly, but this morning, was terrible.
Again, anybody else?
Busy People
Recently, we were driving to drop our kids off at school in the morning, and out of nowhere—totally disconnected from what everyone else in the car was talking about—one of our kids said, “What if there were 3-D t-shirts?”
Well…technically, t-shirts are already 3-D…but I get the question.
This is completely normal in our home, and I’m guessing in most of our lives. One of the people in our family will just throw out a completely off-the-wall or bizarre thought that doesn’t seem to be rooted in anything the rest of us are talking about. I’m likely the most guilty of this in our home…Sarah can attest. I am sure you don’t do this…but you likely know someone who does, right?
Regularly, most of us are in our own thoughts instead of being fully present. We’re thinking something and, for some reason, we assume everyone else is thinking about the same thing or at least on the same page of curiosity as us or cares deeply about that seemingly random thing.
We are busy people with busy minds. And this scattered way of living isn’t just in our brains. We have busy and tired lives. We are constantly getting hit with an onslaught of information and misinformation, opinions and responses, push notifications, alerts, posts—the list goes on—that keep us from ever slowing our bodies and our minds down.
How in the world, will we ever be able to hear from Jesus if we never stop?
Following
Recently, my youngest son lost one of his last baby teeth at school. On the drive home, we started talking about what happens to all those teeth the tooth fairy collects. Let me just say, the variety of suggestions on that ride ranged from, “The tooth fairy uses them in her own mouth, like a shark tooth situation,” to “Santa moonlights as the tooth fairy to help pay the bills in the off-season.”
Of course, you’re asking, But wouldn’t that cost Santa money instead of making money?
Well, naturally, he then profits by selling the teeth on the black market.
I have never laughed so hard at such a ridiculous conversation.
In that moment, I realized: our kids are becoming like us, and even adopting our humor.
They’re taking on our ways as they grow into adulthood.
Faithfulness
When May hits, Sarah and I find ourselves absolutely wiped out. Life, work, church, a dog… I feel like I’m forgetting something… oh yeah, raising our kids. It’s like running a marathon where every step is good, every step matters, but every step also drains you. You’re further down the road, but something’s been poured out. Even elite ultra-runners eventually hit a wall where they just can’t keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Then summer hits.
The first few days of summer feel like stepping into a completely different world. We’re no longer waking up before sunrise, no longer sprinting from school to after-school activities to homework to that never-ending evening routine. No more late night cramming in extra work, replying to emails, prepping for Bible study, and collapsing into bed just so we can do it all again the next day. Suddenly, those days are gone.
For a few brief moments, summer feels like slower mornings, no strict schedule, no hustle.
But then… late July arrives.
21 Years Ago
21 years ago this week, I traveled up to the St. Louis area from my summer job to hang out with Sarah and her family for the Fourth of July. At that point, Sarah and I had only been on one date at the start of the summer… then she promptly left town for four weeks. (She actually went to the Emerald Coast, which felt a bit personal. I didn’t think our date went that badly—but apparently, she needed a month and a coastline to recover.)
13 Years Ago
Thirteen years ago, Sarah was nine months pregnant in a high-risk pregnancy with our son, Foster. We didn’t know the gender and hadn’t picked a name yet, so we just referred to the baby as… well, “Baby.”
Our friends were convinced we should name him “Steven Danger Beard.” (We did not.)
We had been trying to have a child for over five years, and only later discovered that Sarah had some health issues that made pregnancy especially difficult. Doctors told us the baby would undoubtedly come early. So, we were on high alert—weekly appointments, bags packed, life in a holding pattern, anxiously waiting.
Revisionist History
21 years ago, I was helping out this college girl everyone called “Welker” with a music event. She sang. I played guitar and sang badly. After rehearsal, we decided to check out this musician on campus for the May Day celebration.
We wandered over and listened to Howie Day sing Collide. Less than a month later, I awkwardly asked Welker if she wanted to grab coffee. I said, “I’ll pay”—which I figured was obviously code for this is a date…but apparently, she didn’t get the memo.
Worth It.
I love a good story. I love great film and television. I’m a terrible reader when it comes to fiction, but I love the beautiful narrative of biographies and non-fiction. Try to imagine something…and I struggle, but real people in real history, I’m hooked.
Most of us find that we love a good story. We always have. This is why people sat around fires sharing stories of the past, why we love when older family members tell the tales of when they were young, why we are often drawn to incredible stories based on actual events, why we love to get together with old friends and retell that time that one thing happened.
We love a good story.
Again?
Sometime over the past year or so, I’ve spoken about a bird ending up in The Chapel and me desperately trying to capture said bird and release it back into the “wild.”
Also, over the past year or so, I’ve talked about my pizza oven and making a foolish error where I singed some of my eyebrows and eyelashes.
I’m not sure what my deep theological point was in either of those stories… but I’m sure they were meaningful. Likely life-changing.
You won’t believe it…
Last week I was using my pizza oven to roast some carrots. I was flambéing them to get a nice finishing char with a delightful caramelized sauce. And lo and behold, flames shot out of the oven—and I singed my eyebrows and eyelashes again.
I didn’t want to let Sarah know… because I figured she would determine I’m not “responsible enough to play with fire…” So I did the mature thing and didn’t tell her.
Turns out, the fire also singed the hair on my head. I know. My luscious locks.
She immediately noticed.
Then, just this past week—a bird wandered into The Chapel, and I had to catch and release it. Two days in a row.
I don’t know if this bird is trying to draw closer to God, or wants to see the beauty of the space, or if he’s just foolish—but he keeps wandering in, getting caught, and being carried back out.
I’ve now done this three times. Twice this week alone.
And every time—I still get this wild rush trying to catch the bird.
My heart races. I get unusually hot and sweaty. The adrenaline pumps.
I feel like Steve Irwin or Dog the Bounty Hunter…
But instead of crocodiles or criminals on the run… it’s a tiny bird.
Serious Question
Last night at dinner, we had a very serious theological conversation.
Should any food ever touch the palm of your hand?
Weird question, I know—but watch a little kid eat, and you’ll see every food group being palmed like it’s a basketball. Personally, I find that gross…but I’m also not a child, and I’m a recovering germaphobe, so maybe that’s just me.
Adults, on the other hand, tend to keep their food at the fingertips—unless it’s popcorn, nuts, or candy. Those get a pass. Otherwise, palm-to-food contact? No thank you.
Sarah and I made our case. It was clear, logical, and morally superior (obviously). No palm-to-food contact—except for small snacks. Case closed. I even triumphantly challenged the table:
“Name one food that should touch the palm of your hand.”
Keating didn’t miss a beat. “Banana,” he said.
Banana?!
Anybody Else?
I love the sun setting later. I love longer and brighter evenings. I love the lengthening of days and the feeling that spring is inching forward with Summer in the not too distant future.
While at the same time…I hated the way I felt this morning.
Anybody else?
I mean, I travel a bit, my wake up time and bed time adjust regularly, but this morning, was terrible.
Again, anybody else?