People Watching and 1 John 2:16

People Watching 101. Don't stare. Eye contact is fine, but immediately go into a smile if you do find yourself in direct eye-to-eye contact. Guys, don't fall into lust and women, same goes for you. Get a few of the basic rules down and you can spend hours at a time having fun in popular, over-crowded and loud places.

I love the airport for people watching. I don't get there often but it is a great place to watch people in every mode imaginable. I like the rushers, they are either late to catch their plane or they are just always trying to be somewhere quickly. It's funny to see them right next to you after they rushed by with a wake of stress rolling over everyone behind them minutes earlier.

Kids are a big people pleaser for me, I love watching them in just about every age bracket. It is especially funny when a little kid walks up to you and just stares at you (a kids form of people watching) and the babies who look over mom's shoulder and start laughing at you as you make faces. 

Kids also say things in public that can be quite awkward for the parents and anyone nearby. I had a kid recently, randomly, start explaining that his mom and dad are separated and that his mom threw something at his dad. The story was about to go on when mom whisked him away.

Recently my wife and a group of women went to a Beth Moore conference. Moore is a dynamic Christian speaker and is absolutely amazing. She (my wife) and the other ladies she was with sat on the front couple rows where they could see every detail of the stage and Moore's presence. Her first comment to me when we finally talked about the conference was, "she had the cutest hair. She is so pretty, her shoes were so cute. I was distracted for the whole first hour by just how cute she was." I laugh each time I think of that.

Apparently women look each other over pretty hard. Guys for the most part don't think that way. I do, on occasion, notice a good looking guy and a nice suit even more. Not the same as the girls and the thoughts are fleeting especially if a nice truck drives buy or a server carrying a big hamburger catches my eye, I love a good burger.

The bible talks about people watching, or at least about the hazards, pitfalls and dangers. 1 John 2:16 says,” For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world.” For me, today, I have to be keenly aware of the things that distract me from my walk with God. I have to be careful not to feed into distractions and they can come from every direction. 

God has created some amazingly beautiful people and if you're in public you will encounter them. You have to be so careful not to fall into Satan's grasp here and obsess or stare past a point of personal distraction. This is probably the place a lot of folks are wounded or wound others.

Wikipedia even defines the art of people watching and it appears it is quite the sport. "People watching or crowd watching is the act of observing people and their interactions, usually without their knowledge. This differs from voyeurism in that it does not relate to sex or sexual gratification. Eavesdropping may accompany the activity, though is not required. Though often a casual hobby, it can be used formally as a means for sociological, anthropological or psychological research. Naturalistic observation is a more formal way of describing people watching in an academic sense. Writers also take up this act as means of reference or inspiration for things such as character construction and social interactions."

All the fun aside, I do have times when I see someone with a need. God does this too me every once in a while to see if I am really listening or watching. I once saw a guy working the parking lot at the grocery store. He wasn't an employee he was a homeless guy from what I concluded, asking people if they would give him money. I sat watching as he strategically confronted people walking to their cars. I was comfortably waiting in mine when I saw him hone in on an older woman. I could see that she became confused and fearful. I parked, got out of my truck and quickly made my way over to her.  I told the panhandler he had two minutes to get out of the parking lot as I helped the woman with her groceries. I don't remember her saying anything special back to me but then, I wasn't doing it for a thank you.

Watching God's plan play out in front of you can be fun and amazing. Participating in His plan can be even better. If you see me at Starbucks I am most likely doing some naturalistic observation while writing. Sometimes I get distracted and slip into wasting my time away on Facebook, ugh, make me stop if I am, coffee is on me.

Annabelli Mushrooms and Great Americans

Dennis Annabelli is an amazing guy. He is one of those people with whom I can sit and talk for hours on end. Lots of times when I drop by his office we get into trouble because time flies by and we aren't paying much attention. I have always loved the stories of hard working Americans who make it in life, and Dennis is one of those folks.

Recently one Saturday just before lunch I dropped by to see him at his office. We started chatting about life in general and what was going on with both of us. As the conversation went on he began telling me stories of when he was a young boy and his work in the family mushroom business. This was a story I had never heard.

He told how his father would rouse them early in the morning and they would work all day cutting mushrooms. All day was 12 or 14 hours with a short break for a sandwich, then right back at it. Three rows running the length of the barns, hundreds of feet long. The first row on your knees, the second bending over and the third off a ladder. Working side by side with the migrant workers and never letting up.

He would miss three days of school during each harvest session and when he showed back up and his teachers would ask him where he was, he said he would show them his thumb. The dirt from the work would stain their thumbs black for days after. The teachers knew that the farm boys were working, and that was that.

The family mushroom business thrived for years. The chores and the hard work were never questioned; when dad said to get something done you just did it. Eventually his father went to work for one of the big soup companies, and the mushroom chores were done. 

Today many kids have no idea what a family-owned farm or business takes to run. Many would have a hard time just telling you what their parent does for a living. The hard work that came with the mushroom business would be out of the question for most young people today.

David M. Kauppi, president Mid Market Capital, says historically less than 13 percent of third generation kids raised in a family business will stay in the business. When business founders were asked why they were successful, many say it is the long days -- up at 3 a.m. and down late -- that kept them from spending the money and thus the capital to stay successful. Today the lifestyle and a taste of the good life many of the founders’ kids enjoy keep them from sharing the passion and commitment of the business founder. They like the perks but lack the drive. Sounds familiar to lots of parents. I suspect.

The Bible tells us to work hard. 2 Thessalonians 3:10-12, “For even when we were with you, we would give you this command: If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat. For we hear that some among you walk in idleness, not busy at work, but busybodies. Now such persons we command and encourage in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living.” And Pope Paul VI agreed, "All life demands struggle. Those who have everything given to them become lazy, selfish and insensitive to the real values of life. The very striving and hard work that we so constantly try to avoid is the major building block in the person we are today." 

Some say the introduction of the air conditioner to the American public in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s is when Americans began to forget how to work hard. Many blame the introduction of the computer and television as the end.

Hard work is seldom something anyone wants to do day-in and day-out. For many it is just what they do. You get up, get the job done, then you do it again the next day. We are gifted by God to be in a country where if we do get up, work hard, strive and push, we can be successful and enjoy the fruits of our labor. Many lives have been given to afford us this the gift that is America -- a place where anyone who is willing to work hard and stay out of trouble can do mighty things.

My buddy, Dennis, was raised old school and has never considered not working hard and providing for his family. He is not alone. I was moved by his story of the mushroom farm because he was so matter of fact, so sincere, and the descriptions of the hard work were profound. 

"When my dad said something, we just did it. We never complained or questioned whether we had to do it -- we just did it," Annabelli explained. In his eyes you can see a sense of love for family and a deep respect for his father. The hard days as a child are now filtered by time, and the memories are empowering and joyful.

When we looked up there were two employees standing by his door waiting to talk to him, his phone had rang twice and his iPhone beeped once with a text message. Dang it, we did it again. We got carried away in conversation. I love that.

Mountain Top Spartan's Journal Page

How do you describe a "mountaintop" experience? You can tell people about it, you can describe in great detail each element. You can show them your scars or pictures. Some folks will be drawn into the storyline or experience with you; some may think you’re cool or weird. But when the sun sets, when the calendar changes, it is only you, maybe a group of folks who were there with you, who really get to log the experience into their life journal. 

A "mountaintop" experience to me is one that changes you from the inside. I have never experienced one that was not a spiritual event when I had them. They change how I think, how I treat others, how I spend my time. But the point is they change you in a deep way. I have had a small handful of MT experiences in the last five or so years, the most recent one was with my youngest son, and it was amazing. 

The morning air was cool at 6 a.m. The sun was threatening to light the horizon as we loaded into the truck to make the drive. My youngest, Jon-Michael (JM-14), his friend Ethan (15), Jeff and me. Jeff and I were the oldies in the truck; he is early 40s and I am 53. We were all signed up and have been planning to race in the Spartan Race, a grueling obstacle race of around six miles through the Hill Country of Texas. Climbing walls, running, climbing more walls, carrying or dragging concrete blocks, crawling through narrow pipes, rolling under barbed wire through the mud, scaling more walls and the list went on. Brutal. 

Why do you choose to do something like this? Why does anyone want to do something so hard, so grueling? Because you want to prove something to yourself, because you have been challenged, because everyone else is doing it? I can't speak for my teammates. I think each of us were there for different reasons. For me, I wanted to prove I could do it, all of it, without skipping an obstacle, without giving up, to push myself into a zone I had rarely experienced.

 

The purpose of military seal training is to make sure those guys will push through whatever they are confronted with at anytime for any reason. They are trained mentally, emotionally, physically to be more than they ever expected they could be. I am not comparing myself to one of those beasts, but it was one of the reasons I had to do this. To know I could push through the wall that keeps me at one level, that I was capable at 53 to "do hard things." 

I was also there because I wanted to see Ethan, one of the most committed young athletes I have ever known, kick the big boys’ butts. I wanted to have another page in my life journal with my dear friend Jeff and one that only the four of us would understand fully. But moreso, it was to do it with my son, Jon-Michael.

At 14 years old, boys tend to push back from family. They test the limits and boundaries. It's not unusual or unhealthy, it's just boys. For a while JM and I have struggled to find a connection. He has become bored with the things we used to do together. I struggle with it, and I know it is not just him. I have failed or dropped the ball so many times. But on this day, this event, I was calling for God to pull us together and create a connection, if not for just a day.

The first couple miles of the race were flat out running. The pace was a bit faster than my usual, so I had to push myself. JM is skinny and runs like a deer. He would appear and drop back, dash past and disappear again. There were a couple hundred running, and I was trying to find my pace and focus on me, but he taunted me with a smile and dust from his shoes as he jetted past. At about the middle of the course was an obstacle that included huge concrete blocks connected to a rope that ran up through a pulley. The objective was to pull the block all the way to the top before you could proceed. We arrived at the blocks at the same time. He was lighter than the block, and he struggled to get it to the top. I wanted to help him so badly, but I couldn't. I waited a few minutes after I was done then took off with him still struggling to complete the task. A few minutes later he showed up at the pipe crawl. A long crawl through a pipe where the only thing that got you to the end were your elbows dragging your body. That was the last I saw of him. He blew through the pipe and up the steep hill top before he was gone.

I think for the first half he was watching out for me. He has not said anything and I have not asked, but I think he was making sure the old man was not going to fall on his face, my heart explode from the strain or just not be able to get through it. When he saw I was not going to give up, he took off. When I finally reached the finish he was already there, cuts, scrapes, bruises, blood, sprained wrist and all. 

Proverbs 2: My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding — indeed, if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure,
then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God. For the Lord gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. He holds success in store for the upright, he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless, for he guards the course of the just and protects the way of his faithful ones.

Then you will understand what is right and just and fair—every good path. For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul. Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you. 

Again I am holding back the tears as I consider all that happened that day, personally, physically, but mostly between my son and me. If only for a fleeting time, if only for now, we have written a page together in our life journals. It was hard, it was a test, it was amazing, it was perfect in so many ways and it can never be taken away. 

Seek the mountaintop, push through the valleys and ascend the other side. You can do it. You can do hard things. God will show you the way. He will hold you up. The true loving Father never, ever leaves His child behind. 

Today is just a few days after the race, but today I am anew, I am a Spartan. I will eat meat from the grill, I will drink ice tea from a large cup, I will plan the next mountaintop, I will take more Motrin because this Spartan is a sore Spartan.

Concrete Bridges and Pickles

The thick concrete bridge holds hundreds of thousands of cars, trucks, busses and other vehicles each week as they pass through the center of the city. Many of the drivers are listening to the radio, talking on their phones, conversing with other passengers or adrift in thought. To most of those passing by the bridge is unnoticed, except maybe the slight bump when it starts and when it finishes. But it is under that very bridge that the miracles happen, some subtle, some life changing right then and there.  

Brother Duane was the Spirit lead leader of the drifting and seemingly unwanted crowd that gathered here. He came to this spot in the cool mornings of spring, the sweltering days of summer, the freezing winters, rain or shine. He was called to the people here. Where a father goes so goes his family and Duane 's wife and kids often came along. They prayed with the lonely, they handed out sandwiches, they sang and cried, laughed and listened. It was an amazing time.

Then came the day Duane heard a new calling and moved his family to the country. It was a drastic change but exciting and it seemed a much needed time for rest and rejuvenation. His fifth child on the way and ideas for spending time with the little ones in a new, still, quiet place seemed perfect.

There was still lingering business and needs in the big city and trips back and forth were just a requirement. One day after completing the city tasks, Duane was driving back to the country when something went wrong. He was killed in a single vehicle accident.

The oldest of the five is precious Esalem. A petite, small blond girl with a infinite smile. She is energetic to a fault and like most young girls has more words to share than can be released in a day. Her father had been talking to her about the things that made living in the country fun. One of the ideas was hunting. He had promised to take her soon and as a young girl she build a world around the expectation and time to come with her daddy. They would never be able to take the adventure together.

I met Esalem just a few weeks after her daddy died. Her mom had heard of KOZ (Kids Outdoor Zone) and that we had a hunting trip for girls planned soon. Esalem was added to the list and was waiting on our porch early as we loaded the gear for the hunt. All the girls were excited as we made our way to the ranch. Esalem's mom had warned me to not allow her to only eat pickles, that she would if we let her, and during the drive we decided that would be her nickname, Pickles.

Each night, after the hunting, hiking, shooting and fun there were still quiet moments when I talked with the girls. Broken dreams, broken families and wounded hearts poured out in the safe confines of the ranch house. Pickles shared her heart. She told how just weeks before her daddy had promised to take her hunting and she would never get to go with him. Another girl shared with Pickles that she too had lost her dad in a similar way and how she makes it, sometimes, day by day. 

It's been several years now since that first outing and  Pickles has become a dear addition to our growing girls ministry. A couple weeks ago we went back for our third annual trip to the ranch where we spent that first weekend. Again, her heart was tender and open. We talked long into the night about how she felt and how sometimes, lots of times, it still hurts. She was especially emotional this trip. My heart cried.

Not far from the concrete bridge where Pickles daddy once shared the kindness of our loving Father is a small ministry coffee shop that is open to anyone who needs a break, rest, prayer or a meal.  Some of the same people who had gathered under the bridge frequent the coffee shop. On Easter I was invited there to serve ice cream and food for a few hours. Pickles was there. I watch in amazement as she moved about the volunteers and itinerant. She told me stories about some of the homeless who were there, their character traits, joyful and scary antics and quirks. She knew the people, the place was comfortable to her. The Spirit about her was one of joy.

We are blessed to mentor a lot of kids in our ministry. So many kids today are considered unwanted burdens. The crisis of  the fatherless is growing each day and those without the adult male role model are fighting odds that are not in their favor. Dropping out of school, pregnancy, jail, drugs and more are almost inevitable when there is no father or male mentor in the lives of a child. The temporary or live-in boyfriends make things worse. 

Even though Pickles daddy wasn't there in body at the coffee house on Easter, I could see him clear as day. His legacy in his precious towheaded daughter brought joy and happiness to those she interacted with. His work ethic, his love of the Lord and his ear for the Holy Spirit when He is present are gifts Pickles has embraced and understands at a level beyond her years. 

 As Jesus was preparing His disciples for His departure He told them in John 14: 25-27, “All this I have spoken while still with you. ²⁶ But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. ²⁷ Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." 

So many kids never get the blessing of a Godly father's legacy. Although it is going to be tough, Pickles daddy left her gifts beyond measure here on earth. She is a good kid. No, she is an amazing kid and I am blessed by her every time I get to come alongside her and hear her heart, laugh with her, pray with her, teach her about hunting and fishing. I have probably let her eat to many pickles and talk me into letting her stay up just a tad bit later at the camps. The other day I let her order the Extra Long Chili Cheese Dog at Dairy Queen, it was almost as big as she is tall. She ate every bite of it and ice cream to boot. A joyful indulgence for one of God' s lambs and my little angels. Reach out - change a life, help someone else, love on your family. Email Carla at Packed for Life to help at the coffee shop, info on Church Under The Bridge or donate. info@packedforlife.org

Lost Boys and Cold Rain

It was cold out that night and the wind was steady from the north. The last ride dropped the two boys off about a mile back at the overpass that took him home. There was nothing around this exit of the interstate, so the only option they had was to get back to the road and start hitchhiking again. Few cars traveled past as the midnight hour came and left. They walked on. The dark morning crept along, and they were tired and hungry walking alone in silence. Then the rain came, a slow drizzle but steady.

It was just another adventure for the boys. I use the word “adventure” because in written form it seems so exciting. Traveling the country, not a worry in the world, no one to tell you what to do or when to do it. It seemed a Huckleberry holiday for the boys when it started, but the excitement was short-lived.

Most boys at 14 and 16 would be in bed on a Tuesday night resting before the next day of school. Many would have had dinner, maybe dessert and some TV. Maybe the other boys would be tired from a baseball game or a night at church youth group. These two boys left just days before after the first day of school; neither was registered there anyway. The youngest of the two walked the hall of the school that first day not knowing where to go or what to do; no one registered him. For most kids the first day of high school is an amazing, scary journey. For him, it was just another day of confusion, disappointment and anger.

Recently I found myself walking a back creek into the woods to a camp site built between the fallen walls of an old barn. I was searching for a boy who had run away a few weeks before. He was seen in the backwoods here, and I wanted a chance to talk with him before the police did.
The makeshift camp had tarps covering two sides of the dilapidated barn. A pair of tents was erected under the rusting tin roof and debris that included burnt wood, broken glass, bike parts and canned foods scattered about. Shuffling around the camp was a thin, short woman who seemed busy. As I began to ask about the boy I was searching for. She responded with a soft crackly voice, “Yes, I know him. He comes here every once in a while. I have not seen him in a few days, though.”

She shared with me that she had cared for him and fed him. She told me how she counseled him to get back to school, to go home because if not he would turn out like her -- 33 and living in a tent in the woods. Amazingly she told me how she had walked the same trails and did the same things he was doing 18 years earlier. Skipping from the same school, confused, rebellious, lost right there in those same woods.

She had made this her home for now, and she cared for the lost boy I was looking for. I was amazed, sad and concerned all at the same time. Why would this boy choose the woods in the cold, rain and dirt over home just blocks away? Why would she choose the same?

In the book of James, 1:27, Christ tells us to care for the widows and the orphans. As a matter of fact I think that the No. 1 thing mentioned in the Bible, over and over, is caring for the widows and orphans. I think that translates to lost kids and homeless, the weaker vessels, the hurting.
I lived a life lost once. I was the young boy who left school that day, my first day of high school. My parents had split, and I refused to go with either one. I was a trouble boy. My father fought alcohol, and my mom was just trying to care for my little brothers and sisters. It is a story so many can tell.

That day as we walked that dark interstate I remember looking across a huge open pasture and seeing a small farmhouse with the porch light on in the distance. I dreamed of going to the house, knocking on the door and being taken in and cared for. I dreamed of a loving, caring family, a warm place to stay, a safe place. I had to decide then and there if I was going to breakdown and cry or stuff away the feelings I was having into a place they would not take me out. I decided to go hard. To this day I struggle allowing the emotions to surface.

I was angry for years that my friends got to be at home, go to school, live a normal life. It wasn’t until just a few years ago I realized that the ministry I now lead, thrive in, live for is the direct result of all that “training” I did on the streets and in those cold, lonely places. I know about not feeling a part of, not understanding why I did something and how much it means to have someone believe in you. I believe we can use our hardships, trials and pains to live out God’s ministry in our lives. Each of us has the authority to tell our story with all the ugliness and beauty because it is our story.

Today, I offer the old farmhouse light to wounded and wandering kids, and it feels right, safe, like God’s plan. What is your story? For what has God trained you? Into whose life are you to speak? If a young woman living in the woods can speak into the life of a lost boy, share her wisdom, her insight, her pain and knowledge, can’t we all?

A Steel Wheeled Skateoard and an Elderly Couple

There are many times in my life I wish I had done something differently. I know hindsight is 20/20, but some things just haunt me. I am not talking about the things we do just about every day, foot-in-mouth slip ups, although those can be regretful as well. I am speaking of life-changing things that stay with us.

Once when I was young, I was visiting my mom in Birmingham, Ala. Her home was at the bottom of a tall hill, and the street on which she lived curved from top to bottom past her drive. It was a rough asphalt street with scattered rock and loose gravel. I was much younger, maybe 15 or 16. I found, somewhere around her house, an old skateboard with steel wheels on a small wooden board.

The idea was to get some real speed going as I gracefully cut back and forth across the street. I had rarely ridden a skateboard to that point, but I was young, invincible and, after all, how hard could it be? The ride part was short lived. I don’t think I made it more than a third of the way when I took a dive into the asphalt. I slid across the surface, and it was not pretty. This was a pretty dumb thing to do.

When I first started driving, I lived in Houston, and I got a job as a delivery driver. The traffic back then seemed just as bad as it is today. I remember one day as I crept along in bumper-to-bumper, slow moving traffic when I looked to my right and saw a lady begin to scream. She began to wave her arms around and scream louder. I could only see from a certain angle down into her car through the back window, but I could see the driver, an elderly man, using a stiffened arm to pull on the right side of the steering wheel and they crept over and up into a driveway just next to them.

The older gentleman must have been experiencing a heart attack, and his wife was frightened and didn’t know what to do. In his valor he was trying to maneuver the car off the road. I don’t know what happened after that; the traffic started to move, and I went with it.

To this very day I regret not stopping to help that couple. I replay the video over and over. That was 30 or 40 years ago, and it still bothers me.

The list of things I wish I had done differently is long, but it doesn’t include things like the skateboard wreck; that was just a dumb idea. It is the things from the heart, the things that have been buried there. It is the life-changing moments, many when I could have stepped up and helped, stepped up and made a difference.

So often today you see news or video stories where a hurt person on a sidewalk or street side was ignored. It is not uncommon for you to see people walking past, talking on their cell phones looking the other way as they go by the person in need.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is exactly what I am talking about. Jesus tells us about a man robbed, beaten and lying on the side of the road. Many walk by him, crossing to the other side of the road to avoid the hassle. The man robbed and beaten was a different race or nationality; stopping would have disturbed their personal schedule and maybe cost them something. But there was the Samaritan, the one who took care of him, paid for additional care and a little extra while he was laid up. Jesus tells us that the Samaritan is whom we should model our lives after. That is the model I want to live by, the one where I make decisions like that every time.

Yep, it can be a hassle and inconvenient to help someone or do something out of your comfort zone. The scabs and imbedded gravel in my palms was painful, but I laugh about it now. That day sitting in traffic could have been nothing more than an aggravated old lady yelling at her husband for not being a good driver or maybe she wanted a shake at the Jack in the Box; I don’t think so but maybe.

I feel I know what was happening that day, and I wish I had helped. I am motivated by that today to not let it happen again. Our past experiences are our ministry. You are uniquely qualified to help others because of the lessons, regrets, pains and accomplishments of your past. I can assure you, I know for a fact, that it is a bad idea to get on a steel wheeled skateboard pointed downhill on an asphalt, gravel-covered road for any reason. I am an expert on that topic. I pray that on that day, many years ago, a Samaritan was passing and helped an elderly woman and her husband. I have to rest on that and God’s grace today, and I do.

Politics and Kids

Just a few weeks ago my daughter text me and asked what I thought was a pretty important question about a person in politics. She followed that with a line of other questions that immediately had my guard up, I text her back, “what are you hearing, who is talking about this stuff.” She text back that she was in class and it was her teacher. I asked who the teacher was and told her I would get back to her.

Politics are almost painful today. The average American does not trust a politician and it doesn’t matter which political preference you choose, folks just don’t believe most of the things they say or do.

I fear for the kids today who are not taught the art of rhetoric and rarely learn to think from an informed position and not just a sense of entitlement or emotion. We all fall into the trap, making a judgment call on something or someone when we are really, truthfully, uninformed. I have looked at how someone is dressed and disqualified them plenty of times. When you present yourself a certain way you are going to have to expect that. I try to give people the benefit of doubt and God has slapped me around plenty in this area.

Recently I was invited to the Texas State Capital building and the Youth & Government state conference. Youth and Government is a national program of the YMCA that involves thousands of teens nationwide in state-organized model-government programs.

The students write then present bill ideas to a panel of volunteer judges. The bills the students proposed this year were everything from gay marriage to an open carry firearm law. I sat in on the open carry bill and I was very impressed with the debate that followed the introduction of the bill. Kids with, mostly, informed questions came forward and talked about their concerns or convictions regarding the bill. It was eventually passed to a round of applause, wow, cool.

Devon Dollahon, a participant, had invited me to the event. His family has always been interested in the politics and his grandfather was a great man and a lawyer. He was there with hundreds of others kids from public, private and home schooling class rooms. The students inside the capital had on suites with ties worn in the proper manner, girls with conservative dresses. They were all polite, seemed quite well informed and understood the political system. At one point as I looked out over the house floor from the balcony I was choked up, I was so proud of these kids.

Some of these kids will eventually be the politicians that will govern our country. I pray they have an experience with the Lord before they do and that they understand biblical principles and history. Those all combined are what makes for good governing of a free people.

I got on the phone that day immediately after my daughter gave me the name of her teacher. “I can’t believe you called him, I was sitting there, right in his class, uggg,” she exclaimed unhappily. I began to ask a list of questions on the materials, the purpose and the sources. I disagreed with some of his information, other parts made sense after he explained his approach. But all in all, I think his personal political emotions drive his lesson plans.

My daughter and I continue to talk and I rebuke, share and teach her other points and thoughts on the things that her teacher says to the class. It has been great for us and I enjoy the conversation with her. I worry for the kids who don’t get to see both sides of the debate. Most will be forever lost in a one sided and murky ocean that is apparently rising from global warming, entrepreneurial greed and moral judgments they don’t want to hear.

When Jesus said “give unto Cesar what is Cesar’s“ he did not mean to allow the government to do almost all of what it does today, He just meant don’t break the law by not paying taxes. Jesus is clear about our moral, social, personal behavior and character. He spells it out clearly and it is not emotional rhetoric.

This country needs real prayer and some leadership that is going to remove a lot of the grey areas. It needs kids who say yes mam’ and yes sir while looking the adult in the eye with a firm handshake. The boys need to open the doors for the girls, the girls need to say thank you. The kids need to learn what to do as the next generation in life and politics. It matters.

Devon, good job pal, I am proud of you, your dad is proud of you and I bet your grandpa is looking down from heaven, he is proud too, maybe the most.