Happy Thanksgiving!

You should know what you're thankful for, especially when celebrating a particular day of the year that has been set aside specifically for giving thanks. This morning at church, Pastor Seth asked for some volunteers to share their favorite Thanksgiving memories. The first thing to pop into my head (which is logical because wrestling season has just started) was several years of going without mass quantities of food on this holiday.

It was a self-imposed, single-serving, no gravy, not-even-dreaming-of-pie kind of sacrifice. I was simply moderating my intake -- and by "moderating," I mean nearly Spartan. I'd burned plenty of calories at practice that morning and then the day after I'd be able to burn off however many calories I'd picked up from the night before. I just wanted to make sure that I didn't have to start the season very far above my targeted weight class.

I had to shoot straight with myself, especially after hearing the stories told by members of the congregation. One gentleman talked about traveling great distances to see relatives he hadn't seen in years, and one woman talked about driving from California to Oklahoma with her father, who had just returned home from serving in WWII, to see her grandfather, who had feared he wouldn't live to see his son and granddaughter come home to their Oklahoma.

I then remembered the Thanksgiving my freshman year in college when I helped serve dinner at the Lawrence Homeless Shelter. It had been a requirement for a class that I perform some community service, but I had no idea how much this experience would strike me. I'm going to keep this short of becoming a sermon about philanthropy and obligation to serve, and I'll keep that topic for another day.

The question of my own true sacrifice and the things for which I was truly thankful hadn't been a pressing issue until the last few years. It took some maturing, but I began to see things much more clearly. What about those who have no choice in going without? What about those who had lost their closest loved ones or those whose husbands, sons, and brothers were overseas?

I think the purpose of Thanksgiving is to remind us all not to take everything in our lives for granted. For a holiday like this one, certain preparations need to be made in order for it to go well. It seems as though all the emphasis is placed on the location of the meal, the quality of the menu, and the relatives who make (and don't make) the guest list. There are all sorts of "priorities," such as making it to the airport on time, watching whichever football game, spending x-number of hours with such-and-such relative, and so on. The sad thing is that words of thanks and prayer are few and far between with some families.

I've come to notice that frustration becomes a dominant emotion around Thanksgiving. People begin to ask themselves pointless questions such as, "Why did I put forth so much effort?" "Why do I have to do all the work?" "Why does my family have to be the ones to travel so far?" Well, to put it simply, you don't have to do anything on these days. Host the dinner, make the food, travel the great distance because of love and the true reason for this holiday: to remind you of what's important and of the things in your life for which you should truly be thankful.

These thoughts were bouncing around in my head when Pastor Seth brought our attention to the story of Martha and Mary from book of Luke. These two women hosted Jesus for supper; Martha slaved over the preparations as a good hostess and Mary sat attentively and listened to every word from Jesus' mouth. In this scripture, He indicates that Mary had made the right choice and that Martha should not be upset at her sister. He's only a guest and will not be there very long, and she's hearing His word while she still can. Time is finite and life goes on. Hospitality is important, but one mustn't let it impede the truly important things.

Similarly, I realized, time with family is limited. We should make do with what time we do have together. We will never know for sure when will be the next time we all sit down together as a family. We would be missing the point of the holiday if we were to let trivial matters distract us.

In our lives, do we end up tending to take the road of Martha when we should be taking the road of Mary? In the little picture, Mary is in the wrong and Martha is doing the right thing in prepping for dinner. One is shirking her obligations and taking the Tom Sawyer route while the other is toiling and remaining true to her duties.

In the bigger picture, however, Mary is right.

I'm not trying to say that Martha had it all wrong; on the contrary, she does have the rare gift of hospitality, which is often neglected, uncultivated, and under-appreciated. She put all her efforts into the preparations for their guest, which was to be expected. After all, the ancient Greeks believed firmly in the law of hospitality as being one of Zeus's chief concerns. The tale of Baucis and Philemon tells us of the potential for extreme punishment should one be negligent of hospitality, and who would want to risk their homeland being flooded by two vengeful gods?

The myth from the Greeks exists as an intriguing antithesis to the moral of the story of these two women. What is it that makes the memory of a special visit from important guests? What is it that makes a holiday like Thanksgiving so meaningful to us? It isn't always the turkey or pumpkin pie, but oftentimes it is the people with whom we share the meal(s). It's the variety of loved ones, and not just the variety of delicious dishes. There are so many wonderful things that make up this holiday, and we all could do well by making room in our hearts for all of the diversity.

When I really think about my own memories of Thanksgiving, particularly those from my high school days, I don't remember how much actually I went without. Sure, at the time it was as though I were eating as little as an impoverished person, but I've long since made up for it. I now have seven years of eating two Thanksgiving dinners instead of one.

That's two families to enjoy, and two families with the same incredible kind of diversity presented by the holiday menus. Two families' worth of brothers and fathers who are always willing to impart their wisdom; sisters and mothers who thrive at organizing and executing great family dinners; and plenty of children who are the metaphorical whipped cream atop the slice of pumpkin pie.

It's a funny thing: in the rush to get something written and posted up on my blog, I went and committed the very faux pas I was trying to warn against. Forgetting to mention the two most important things in my life, I went and wrote something that omitted direct mention of my wife and son.

I guess it just goes to show that we're all guilty of taking things for granted. We want the small things to be so perfect -- a meal for some, an article for me -- that we don't see the bigger picture. I'm never going to be one who claims to have achieved perfection, whether it's in my writing, my daily "goodness," or my teaching or coaching. But I do recognize and I am truly thankful for the perfect feeling of happiness I get from my wife Emily and son Brody.

There's so much for which I am thankful, but the important things that mean the most aren't material possessions, trivial matters pertaining to work, or abstract memories of the good ol' days. They are my family. Emily and Brody, I love you with all my heart!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Escaping from the Crib

This past weekend, the last thing I expected to see at 1:00 in the morning was Brody walking toward me, crying, and holding his arms out for me to pick him up, yet when I was dragged from a deep sleep by the sound of distant crying, that's exactly what I saw. It turns out that the distant sound of his cry was due only to the depth of my sleep state, and not the actual distance between his room and mine.

I picked him up and set him down on the bed. Emily, who'd been sleeping just as deeply, had this look of confusion on her face. It was the look that clearly said, "I have no idea what's going on!" I didn't have any clue, either. I stumbled downstairs to see what I could find out. I must have still been asleep, because one of the first thoughts I had was that I was slightly annoyed because someone had let my toddler out of his "kennel" (honestly, we do have him sleeping in a crib, not a kennel). Then, when my consciousness began to surface and I realized that it was son, not a dog, I went to make sure that there hadn't been a malfunction with the side of the crib or that he hadn't broken it with his massive toddler strength.

I found nothing. He simply stretched one leg up over the edge, slid over, and fell to his feet below. Climbing out of his crib last night must have taken some serious goal-setting and determination. I'm proud of the little fella; his daring escape from his crib was much like the escape of the Count of Monte Cristo or the escape of Andy Dufresne, except without the unjust imprisonment.

The next morning, after trying to figure out whether or not it had been a dream to wake up and find that Brody had climbed out of his crib and up the stairs to our bedroom, I found myself sitting in church hearing a sermon about goals. It seemed to be a fine coincidence. Our pastor addressed the idea of goals and how everyone should have them. Goals are the things that provide motivation for us in our daily lives. Life is truly made of dreams, for without dreams or goals, what is the point of it all?

Our pastor based his sermon on Paul's epistle to the Phillipians (3:12-14). In this letter, Paul writes of how he is always pressing forward in his pursuit of "perfection." As Christians, we are all constantly pursuing the same goal of a relationship with Christ. Each of us may get closer and closer at various points in our lives, but none can truly achieve our goals. The question isn't so much of can we, but should we ever be able to reach our goal of a relationship with Christ? What would we then do, once that ultimate goal of all goals had been attained?

Being a coach sitting in church listen to a sports-minded pastor, I has an easy job understanding the exact metaphor he was giving us. Pastor used baseball as the basis of his comparison, but with baseball being a sport with which I'm not all that familiar, I find myself able to discuss it in terms of wrestling. I can't take credit for the originality of this metaphor; it's just my personal take on an incredibly pertinent sermon.

Essentially, there are three types of wrestlers: those that make it happen, those that watch it happen, and those that wonder what the heck just happened. The first group are those who set goals and pursue them passionately. The second group are those who may have some talent and may have seen some success, but mostly, they have seen a lot of luck. The third group are those who are simply utterly clueless; perhaps they don't care about their participation that much.

All three groups co-exist in any sport, but the common thread between them is not necessarily just their respective sport, but more importantly the presence of a coach.

In the same way athletes make errors in matches, we make errors in life, but it is Christ who allows us to recover. It doesn't matter if we're the type of person who makes things happen, watch things happen, or wonder what just happened; Christ loves us all and acts as the coach to whom we all should listen.

To further adapt the Pastor's metaphor, life is like a wrestling dual -- one team against another. Most people think of wrestling as being an individual sport, but once a person becomes involved in wrestling, it is clear how strong the team element really is. In this metaphor, there are three things to remember:

1) We're all on a team, so each of us needs to be a team player. Whereas life isn't an individual effort, we all do our individual parts to win the competition. Each move in each period of each match contributes to the overall team score.

2) We have a coach, so we need to listen to him. The Pastor asked a great rhetorical question: "Why call him 'coach' if we're not going to listen?" It's when my wrestlers stop listening to me and they begin doing their own thing that things typically fall apart -- technique wanes, frustrations soar, and strategy goes right out the window, along with the probability of winning the match.

3) We may get hurt in the match, but we need to get over it. The idea is to hop up and shake it off, and we must know the difference between an "injury" and an "ouchie," to quote Coach Kit Harris. Pain is as much a necessary element to the sport as is the mat, the shoes, the singlets, and the headgear. The same goes with life.

These comparisons between life as a Christian and being an athlete serve to remind us of our humanity, as well as our intended purpose in life. Sure, there will be errors along the way; we won't always be team players, at times we'll fail to listen to our Coach, and we will frequently feel the sting of injury.

The Apostle Paul discusses the pursuit of perfection. In setting this goal, he steps forward on a journey of growth and shows us all how one should seek atonement with Christ.

It's easy for me, as a coach, to understand this message from the Bible, especially with how clearly the pastor has conveyed it. However, it's not always going to be that clear to me, and it's not always going to make sense to my son Brody, especially in his early years. The other night, he achieved his previously-set goal of escaping from his crib. He had no team to consider or to cheer him on, he had no one coaching him along the way, and surely he must have felt something painful when he landed, yet he met his goal (and put his parents in a panic to find him a suitable toddler bed).

Goal-setting is as much a part of life as is breathing, eating, and sleeping. We have been programmed to do this from the very beginning. Christ enables us to start off enjoying the game on our own, but sooner or later, we all have to discover the rules of the game. We can go through life wondering what happened -- that is, why we achieve some goals and why we fall short of others. We can also set our goals at a minimum level, hoping that our low bar is easily overcome. Or we could set our goals high and do what it takes to achieve them.

In order to fully achieve our earthly goals, and to then be able to set focus on our goal of perfect relationships with Christ, we must work together, heed our coaches, and bounce back from whatever adversity tries to keep us from our dreams, whether it's escaping from the crib or finding true happiness in life.

Caves, Brothers, and Brick Walls

The story never ends when the curtain falls, when the credits roll, or when the final page is turned. This is something I often think about with my favorite stories, whether it's a film that especially moved me or a book that kept me entranced from cover to cover. Whatever happens after that final scene or page, however, we can only trust to our imaginations.

A few weeks ago in church, our pastor asked us to consider the story of the Prodigal Son from the book of Luke. It ends with the father rebuking his elder son for being upset at the celebration for the younger son's return. The father urges him to embrace his brother because he was once dead to them but now is alive. The question I have is, did the older brother ultimately accept his father's decision? Whatever jealousies or grudges remained after that point, we don't know; we can only wonder. Pastor asked us, what if the prodigal son had met his older brother on the road home?

The older brother erred in that he was being judgmental; the younger brother had sloughed off responsibility, loyalty, and sacrifice in order to live a hedonistic lifestyle. When the money ran out, and along with it the fickle friends that come with money, he had nowhere to go but home. He truly had been lost and now is found, but the older brother judges him for his choices. The father asks him not to question his warm welcome of the prodigal son, but to accept that his younger brother has returned and is safe. Too many Christians act like the older brother in this parable. They judge. Some people make their mistakes and lead lives that are apart from Christ. Who are we to question them when they finally do find Christ? The important thing is that they have found Christ.

Many people get their only exposure to Christ when they spend a small part of their Sundays in church. What good does it do for them to enter hostile territory? If they want into the sanctuary to face a crowd of people who feel superior to them, it truly becomes hostile territory. I know how I feel when I’ve missed church for a few weeks; I feel nervous, guilty that I hadn’t been there. I know that I won’t be judged by my church family -- because they are my family and they know me. We wouldn’t want to scare away new members, new brothers and sisters, by judging them on their attendance.

As a church, it should be our goal to help these people find Christ outside of church. Pastor talked about various people with their spiritual gifts. He quoted the famous Southern Baptist leader Adrian Rogers: "Spiritual gifts are not toys but tools, not for your enjoyment but for your employment." This is a comment that brought me to a point where I was sitting in church remembering a certain piece of literature from my college days.

When I think about the story of the Prodigal Son and about the idea of spiritual gifts, my mind immediately darts to the beginning of Book VII of Plato's The Republic ‑‑ the famous "Allegory of the Cave." I remember reading about the men and women who live in the cave, the few who escape and see the true forms of reality, and the idea of the philosopher king. Something has to occur in order for the prisoners to escape the cave, yet we rarely know what that thing actually is. Once Plato’s philosopher king does escape the cave, where does the story go from there? Plato tells us how he is obligated to return, but one could easily understand him remaining outside to bask in the sunlight. In Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, Guy Montag says, "Maybe books can get us half out of the cave." It is books in Bradbury’s fictional world and it is the love of Christ in our world that bring us into the light of salvation. There’s now the question of who chooses to answer the calling of Christ and then there’s the question of when they should answer it. Some people have embraced Christ from an early age, while others have do so in their later years, and even still others have found Him, rejected Him, and then rediscovered him. People leave the cave at a young age, and they leave at an old age. They leave the cave, return half-way, leave again, and engage in a yo-yo cave experience.

What if one person spends his whole life making sacrifices so that he may lead a Christian life while another person leads a life of sin only to find Christ much later than the first one found Him? Would it not be fair? Well, as my old Pappy used to say, “Life’s not fair.” I don’t think that Christ was ever about fairness. All too often, fairness involves blanket considerations for a mass of people. Fairness negates the worth of the individual. When love is involved, rarely should fairness come into play. It's not up to us to make judgment on those who have chosen to follow Him. The important thing is that they have found Christ in their lives.

The strength of prayer and the dedication to Christ contains a certain parallel to things I’ve seen during wrestling practice. A regular drill I employ at practice is having the wrestlers do push‑ups to failure. I don’t count for them, it’s not on my call that they go up or down, and I don’t walk around making them re-do poorly executed push-ups. Some kids do ten push‑ups over the span of a minute while others do push‑ups for ten minutes straight. Some yell and grunt loudly, while others can only be heard making the slightest noises as they exhale or inhale sharply. As a coach, could I possibly compare little Johnny with little Jimmy? No, I cannot, but things do balance out in the long run. One boy may be strong enough to do push‑ups galore while another may be swift and well-conditioned and thereby excel at running sprints. The dedicated athlete will recognize where he is strong and capitalize on it. He will also work to improve on his weaknesses. The dedicated Christian will do likewise. He will recognize his weaknesses and seek to improve them while at the same time he will seek to make use of his strengths.

James 3:6 reads, "The tongue is also a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body." A snarky or judgmental comment can breed a host of hateful or hurt feelings. For a coach to compare two athletes, he would only be setting the boys up for failure. He wouldn’t be looking at the bigger picture, nor would he be respecting the athletes as individuals with merit. For a Christian to judge a fellow Christian is to start a fire with his tongue. It begets a fire that consumes and chars and melts away the hope and love that Christ has given us. The older brother could have drastically changed things had he encountered his younger brother on the road home. Had he been able to speak freely, and without censure from the father, who knows what would have happened with the Prodigal Son. The philosopher king of Plato's allegory could have failed miserably by remaining out in the sun, basking in all of the reality he had previously been denied, but it was his moral duty to re-enter the cave and “partake of [the prisoners’] labors and honors, whether they are worth having or not”. Essentially, he needs to re‑enter the cave to employ, rather than enjoy, his spiritual gifts.

Pastor illustrated his point by talking about Christians being like bricks. A brick by itself can be kicked around; a stack of bricks can be knocked over; a wall of bricks sealed with mortar is strong. But what provides this mortar? It could be the father’s joy at seeing his once-lost son returned, or it could be the moral obligation of the philosopher king to return to his brethren, or it could simply be the love and trust we put into one another.

A Prayer for Hope

Several years ago, it came as quite a shock when I realized that my students were now too young to remember what happened in Littleton, Colorado, on April 20, 1999. I fear the day when my students enter my room unable to remember what happened in NYC, a field in Pennsylvania, and Washington, DC, on September 11, 2001.

Sure, the kids know that something happened at Columbine that spring day, but they don't remember the lessons learned, nor do they remember the pain and heartache felt by the entire nation.

We must do all we can to continue to commemorate the mass loss of human life on September 11. Knowing that the lives of thousands of men and women of all faiths, nationalities, and cultures had been stripped from them by Islamic radicals, we cannot forget the lessons we learned that day. It is sinful for any one of us to fail to pass on what we learned. Remember the pain and fear that drove us to rise above our petty quarrels and disagreements? Remember the anger that ironically helped us realize our love for one another and brought us together in brother- and sisterhood?

This morning, Alan Jackson's "Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)" came on the radio. Whenever I hear this song, I always listen to it, and oftentimes I sing along. This morning, Alan Jackson's song left me speechless, unable to utter the words even in a whisper. This morning, it brought tears to my eyes.

I pray that we never have to endure another mass attack on American soil or another act of terrorism with such incredible loss of life. Those who don't pray, what do they do? I pray that down the road, my son Brody never becomes used to these events. Hopefully, when he's old enough, he'll only be able to ask me if I remembered where I was during just a few of these calamities.

I was sitting in my 9th grade Economics class in Mr. Hedberg's room when I heard about the Oklahoma City bombing. I was sitting in the television room at the SigEp house after class my freshman year in college when I heard about the Columbine shootings. I was getting ready for an early morning education class my senior year when Scott Hughes told me about the attacks on the World Trade Center.

I don't want to have to remember where I was or what I was doing on any other calamitous days. I pray for peace, for the strength and wisdom to do what I can in the name of God. I pray for an end to the ridiculousness that leads us to such horrors. What do you pray for? And for those of you who don't pray, where will you find your hope, strength, and wisdom?

I trust in God to protect His children, not just in this great nation, but all of His children. May God bless you all, especially on this remarkable day, and me He bring us all hope.

Given the Choice

Given the choice nearly eighteen years ago, I decided against placing my money in the collection plate at church. I was 12 years old, had just received my $3 allowance for the week, and had accompanied my mother to church (a rare occasion for me then). My eyes were set on some obscure G.I. Joe toy, and although I spent the minutes that passed between the start of the offertory and when the plate came my way with my billfold out and my hand removing and replacing the bills inside, I ultimately chose the toy I'd had in mind.

I was reminded of this during church this morning as one of the deacons handed me the plate and I sent it on to Emily, who placed in it a check with our name on it and sent it down the pew to the end. As an adult with a wife and son, given the choice, I make a different choice. Instead of choosing to hold on to a few meager bills, which were being saved for an obscure toy, it was an easy matter of writing a check and choosing to make room in the budget for our church.

Today's scripture was the popular and well-known John 3:16: "For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." The pastor said that this was an oft-memorized verse for many Christians. For me, it wasn't well known -- not yet, at least -- but it is one that intrigues me. One key element of this scripture's meaning is the concept of choice. The pastor elaborated on the significance of this part of John and then went on to relate the main points of his sermon: God humbling Himself, showing His children great love, and achieving victory over death. He spoke of Christ's pains on the cross: physical pain, the pain of loneliness, the pain of being misunderstood, and the pain of sin. He told us that in turning our problems over to God, we can be victorious over all the problems we find ourselves up against. We only have to choose to turn them over.

The pastor stopped his sermon to relate a story to us. It was the story of a woman who was a missionary in India. At one point in her mission, she found herself having to walk through a certain intersection in the village. The first day, a man stood on the corner holding a rock. As she walked by, he threw the rock as hard as he could at her. It hit her in the head, and it hurt like she couldn't believe, but she walked on. She was bleeding, but she chose to continue on her way. The next day, she took the same route. The same man, this time looking out the window of his house, saw her coming and ran outside to grab an even bigger rock. Again he hit her with the rock and again she chose not to retaliate. This same event happened again the next two days.

On the fifth day, she approached the intersection, saw the same man coming at her, and finally allowed her instinctive response to take over. She crouched down and cowered, covering her head with her arms. Instead of the pain caused by a rock being thrown at her, she felt the strong hands of the man lift her to her feet and embrace her. In broken English, she heard him say the following words:

"Tell me about the God who allowed you to be nice to me when I hurt you." What a powerful statement!

Although the moral of the pastor's story stuck with me for just a few minutes, I thought it poignant enough to make a note in the margins of my Bible in the Book of John. It wasn't long before my mind had moved on to other, more pressing matters.

To me now, it seems like one of those odd twists that you only see in movies or read in books. There's this ironic element that is obvious to the audience, yet totally unclear to the protagonist. Then, the moral suddenly becomes clear to him and it's this great "a-ha!" moment. This happened to me twice today. I felt like I was tested twice, and each time I wonder how close I came to failing.

There was the "friend" who made a snide posting on Facebook aimed toward me. He never had the fortitude to directly address me as the target of his cynical drivel, but like Bob Dylan said, "You don't need a weatherman to tell which way the wind blows." I wanted so badly to retort to this person, and I let it get to me, but I never followed through. I promised myself that I would not return the derision and negativity toward him. If he ever reads this blog, which I doubt he would after his comment, he'll know this is about him.

Then, as I was driving to the T-Mobile store with my wife, my son, and my mother-in-law, some kid in a white Toyota came a little too close to hitting us. He was in so much of a hurry that he tried to pass me as I turned into an empty space. Between the squealing of tires, honking of horns, and revving of engines (his way of expressing contempt at my right of way), the near conflict ended with me calmly pulling into the stall, his girlfriend (I assume) yelling at him, and him peeling out and tearing off. Any other time and I may have reacted more explosively.

In talking with my wife before going to bed, I mentioned the "friend" of mine from Facebook. I couldn't stop thinking about that post, and I also kept thinking about the jerk in the car. She then reminded me of the story we'd heard in church today.

I thought about it and came to this conclusion: God speaks to us ever day of our lives. For me on this day, it was through our pastor and through a particular scripture. It's not just on Sundays or even on those Sundays we actually find ourselves in church; God continually places tests in front of us. Either we do or do not learn from these tests. It is our choice in that we consciously decide how to act. We do not necessarily know that we're being tested, however.

I know that there will be people who scoff at any moral or lesson taught by religion. They will laugh it off as a small-minded fool lending his faith to a belief system that -- to them -- cannot be empirically proven. That is their choice to feel and believe that way. Somewhere along the line, they were turned away from or repelled by matters of faith. Somewhere down the line, either they will open their hearts and embrace Him into their lives or they will choose to continue with their lives devoid of God.

No matter how one looks at the events of my day, however, it seems simple. Whether someone on the outside believes in God or not, there is no question about it. In choosing to be nice in situations where I may be tempted to fight, I become a better human being because of my choice. It is a lesson I've learned through my faith.

I can't help but think about how sad it is for the atheists and non-believers out there. Where do they learn such lessons? How do they learn to turn the other cheek -- to be nice when one throws rocks at them?

Given the choice even five years ago, I would have thrown a rock back at whomever first lobbed one at me. Given the choice today, by the grace of God, I will make the right choice instead.

Seashells and Starfish

I view my church attendance as if it was an academic class in my spiritual education. I'm a student of Christ, a scholar of the Bible, a pupil in God's lecture hall. I like sermons and I like lectures. I have a much more mature mindset now than I ever had when I was a real student, however. I take notes (yes, during church), I listen closely to the pastor, and I make as many connections with the sermon as possible. My Bible is highlighted in pink and yellow and its margins annotated with black ink scribbles. Pastors who enjoy talking enthrall me, but the hymns and videos aren't quite my cup of tea. The pastor if my family's church tells stories about hunting, fishing, and sports, and he has the audacity to deliver well-timed and delivered jokes; he references various books of the Bible as he preaches instead of limiting himself to just one passage. He gives practical advice in his sermons and makes the purposes of scripture attainable for us. I can leave each sermon with a slew of connections in my mind and heart.

During church, I'm actually rather quiet and reserved. I don't like to talk and I only sing when it's a familiar song. Church is an emotional experience for me each week. I can't explain why, but standing at prayer, hearing the pastor or the deacon or whomever speak aloud to God opens my heart. I get into this strange mood where if I were to try to talk I might be overcome with tears. I feel my own connection to God. I accept Him. I search for His forgiveness. Many times, however, I don't think I can find it. I feel like my hands are still to busy grasping at seashells on the beach.

This morning, the associate pastor made an analogy connecting our neglect of the sabbath with people collecting seashells on the beach. These people had their hands so full of shells that when they came across a starfish -- a discovery so much more prized than the shells -- one said to the other, "Quick, let's get that starfish before it washes out with the tide." The other told the first, "I can't -- my hands are too full with the shells."

I feel like my hands are filled with too many shells as I pursue that starfish God has placed in front of me. I feel like I'm so busy in life that I can't break from other commitments and obligations in order to stop and grasp at something unique and magnificent. There's school, wrestling, and the new house. There are the countless issues arising from each of these, as well as the unrelated problems (an injured hand, a dog with an ear infection, or an overdue library book).

The moral of the associate pastor's story was to illustrate the paradox of his sermon: saying "no" so that we can say "yes." I wonder how much of a choice it really is to say "yes" or "no" to the obligations of everyday life. Obligations are the endless hordes and masses banging down the doors in our lives. Time is as valuable as gold, and as rare. The pastor says to just grab a couple shells -- the prettiest, the most unique, the ones closest to our hearts -- so that when we come across that starfish, we have the ability to say no to the other shells we come across and can take the time to say yes to that starfish.