Wreck Me

Wreck Me

Recently I listened to a sermon on Vimeo from a church in Eastern PA (called the Journey Church in Limerick/Schwenksville) area that really convicted me. I've never been to that church, but I so enjoyed the sermon, I felt compelled to write this.

You can listen to the sermon here: http://www.vimeo.com/24992648

Wreck me

Lord I cry out to you to wreck me

Wreck me to know my purpose

Wreck me to know love

Wreck me to love like you, to love like no other

Wreck me God to understand your word

Wreck me lord to have a perfect and thorough compassion

Wreck me to be the husband, father and friend that I should be

Wreck me God to know my strengths, to know my weaknesses

Wreck me to use my gifts to help your children

Wreck me lord to know the intimate needs of my brothers

Wreck me lord to see the need of my fellow man, to respond to that need

Wreck me lord to let go my own selfish desires

Wreck me lord to know what's right

Wreck me lord to do what's right

Wreck me lord to discover new empathies

Wreck me to not abandon you

Wreck me to remain firm in my resolve, steadfast in the path you have set before me

Wreck me God to recognize the need for salvation, to pave the way for salvation, to lead others to salvation

Wreck lord, just wreck me.

Wreck me so that I can start over, so that I can rebuild myself

Wreck me lord to be the person you want me to be

Wreck me lord know your will, to bend to your will

Wreck me lord to become more like you

Wreck me to fill me with joy

wreck me to be ever mindful of the grave, of the sacrifice

Wreck me to overwhelm me with grace

Wreck me to teach me grace

Wreck me so that I learn to give a perfect grace

Wreck me to know my enemies, but to love them like a friend

Wreck me so that I may know, so that I may understand, so that I may walk in the ways that are right

Wreck me God, just wreck me

So, you're not perfect, that's OK Maybe you have sins in your past that I can't even imagine, that's OK. I may not know you, but I pray this for you too. I may not know you, but I love you just the same. I pray for you, for me, for all of us that God will wreck us, that God will rebuild us, that we will be the people that God desires us to be.

Closet cleaning

It started off as a mission to rid the closet of excess clothes while simultaneously clothing the poor. It turned into a journey of self discovery, a size line of my existence. Before all was said and done, I was content in the realization that we would have the best dressed homeless population in the whole of the world. I wondered what they would do with my designer suits and I must confess a few interesting scenarios caused me to burst out laughing. I wondered if I should include some cuff links and tie clips.

Now mind you, I am not a neat freak, but messes, I don’t like either. The truth is, stuffing the clothes in was really starting to get to me. I swear one time, I heard the closet roar, or maybe it was growl, I don’t know. At just this time, our church announced a clothing drive. They wanted our old clothes! Perfect I thought. We could clean out our closets and help others in need. We talked about it for weeks before we did anything. I am an optimist, no doubt, but even my optimism didn’t cause the closet to clean itself. Knowing that we had to get started, my wife and I got to work.

The first step would be to remove the clothes that no longer fit. I pulled out some pants that I once wore. I knew better than to try those on, just threw them on the floor. So I continued for a while, moving up in sizes until I got to ones that might fit. Then I started to try them on. The first pair of pants, I should have known better than to try on, but alas, I didn’t. So try them on I did. As I struggled to get my first leg in, I concluded these would never fit. If I couldn’t even get the thigh of the pants past my calf, I needed to stop. In disgust, I added to the growing pile. And so this went on for over an hour.

Once, in a fit of optimism, I purchased my own tuxedo. Though I did accidently wear it to a business meeting one time when I got dressed in the dark so as to not disturb my sleeping wife, it never really did get the use that the cost would have justified. At the outset of the meeting the customer casually noted ‘my, aren’t we quite formal today’. I just smiled wondering what he meant. It was around mid day when I understood the genesis of his opening comment. I stood in the bathroom, my attire staring back at me from the mirror. It was then that I discovered that a tuxedo has a sense of humor as it smugly laughed at me the whole while I stood there in shock, mocking my out of place appearance with each cackle. As I stood there stunned, not knowing what to do at that point, I considered my options. Perhaps I should add a cummerbund or just take off the jacket. Choosing the latter, I attempted to explain to my customer how I ended up in a tux, but it just sounded stupid as I stumbled to find the right words. Quickly I decided to just move on, there was nothing to say, like when you lose bladder control and pee yourself.

Focusing on the closet, I had devised a strategy. I would first attack the pants and then move onto the shirts, suits and jackets. By the time I had finished the pants, I realized that there were many phases to getting larger. Apparently, you get fat in stages. You start off skinny, gain a little weight, moving up a size. Continuing, you move up again and perhaps even again. Reluctantly, you find the size that you think wont split open if you have to squat. As you continue to move up in sizes you reach a point where the pant starts to offer you options.

The first option you are awarded with is the ‘regular’ fit option. I remember clearly the very moment I made the transition from the athletic fit to the ‘regular’ fit. I was being measured for a suit. The shopkeeper asked me if I wanted an athletic fit. I said yes. Chuckling he gurgled “I don’t think so”. I can still remember the smell of those words as they slithered out of his foul, filthy mouth. Why did you ask I naturally wondered, realizing deep down that he relished that part of his job. He seemed to love that part, the part where he could destroy you with just a few words. He instantly called into question my whole life. Not only did he challenge my opinion of myself, carelessly dashing any hope that I might still have; the damage continued as the weight of the remarks still wafted through me. Ruthlessly he crushed my dreams, perhaps I couldn’t play in the NFL. The carnage didn’t stop there; my whole diet had been called into question. I ate too much, I made poor choices, maybe I should have picked the flavorless non-fat milk and spread the plastic on my toast instead of the delicious goodness that came straight from the utters of God’s perfect blessing, mother cow.

Yes, that man was wielding the paper tape measure like a machete and had cut right to the center of my existence, smiling the entire time. I wanted to fight back. Maybe I wasn’t all that athletic anymore, but he was disgustingly skinny. He was so skinny, he couldn’t even wear a belt, he had to use suspenders, I wore my suspenders by choice. I envisioned this shell of a man walking by the back of a room fan and getting stuck as he was sucked into it. “Are those pants you’re wearing or is that a pencil case?” I nearly said. If you turn sideways, we’ll have to issue a missing persons report. Clearly a heavy smoker I surmised that most of his weight was tar. I thought- If they sucked the nicotine out of your body, your skin would collapse. If you laid flat on the ground, people would think you were a tar pit. I almost offered, “Your one dimensional personality matches your one dimensional body”. I thought about attacking his man hood too. I mean really, how big could it be when he turned sideways and had no profile. Felling sorry for his wife, I thought better of it. Instead, I just kept my mouth shut and accepted his thoughtful suggestion of the ‘regular fit’ suit.

Once you have consumed the regular fit, you find some solace in the relaxed fit. I mean, I didn’t really need them, except by the highly inflexible standards of our culture. I had devised my own solution for relaxed fit pants. I learned soon enough that it wasn’t acceptable to go out in public with your top button undone and your pants a little “loose”. OK, maybe it was a bad idea, but did that little girl have to run through the store yelling pervert? I mean really, I didn’t do anything. So, back to the store we went. This time, relaxed fit was on the menu. I devoured them quickly and moved up in size, discovering more options along the way.

Option three was a surprise to me. Who knew you could combine the comfort of the sweatpants’ with dress pants? The pants said they were made by Haggar, but secretly I wondered if they were made by Champion. I mean really, stretchy waistband? This was great, I didn’t have to size up, just keep the same size with the elastic waistband option. This was marvel of cloth engineering. They hid the stretchiness as pleats. Content that I could continue to believe that I hadn’t moved up another size, I eagerly shelled out the necessary cash.

Eventually the waistband reached its maximum stretchiness and the pleats disappeared into straight expanses of fabric. It was then that I learned the scientific wonders hadn’t stopped. The clothing geniuses had created another surprise option for me. Somehow they had managed to sew two pants together so it looked like one pair. No-one had to know except you and your dry cleaner. When you exceeded the first pair, you could release the hidden pair of pants inside. With just a few quick release buttons the pants grow instantly to your new size. Adding wonder to the genius, all this was possible without having to concede the next size up. Miracle pants, that’s what they should be called.

Looking at the piles of clothes strewn about the floor, I was embarrassed and ashamed all at once. Did we really have that many extra clothes? I had to laugh, knowing two things were true. We were incredibly lucky to have been blessed with all the resources to buy those clothes and we ate too much. Yup, it’s one thing to pontificate on the subject over a Big Mac and a super-size french fry lunch, and another all together to see the truth staring right at you as a mountain of clothes.

I had avoided filtering through my closet for years. My closet was packed, I had expanded into the guest bedroom, and even into the attic. Running out of room, we stored additional clothing in the attic. We tested the skills of the carpenter that put our dressers together by cramming in things when there was no more room. But when I had to start wearing thong underwear because I couldn’t fit a pair of boxers in my drawers anymore, it should have been a sign that it was time to purge. There was no clear way to put away your clothes and forget about what lay underneath or behind, you had to pick from the top. Lord knows I didn’t want to disrupt the clothes underneath, I couldn’t muster the necessary g-force to pack the clothes back in again; they could not be disturbed.

Finishing the pants, it was time to move onto the shirts. I found a shirt that I hadn’t wore in ages. I loved this shirt, so of course I had to make sure it would fit. I got one arm in, but hit a snag when I attempted to push the second arm in. My arms thrust backwards, straight out from my back. My right shoulder cried out in pain. Believing that I had dislocated my shoulder, I had no choice but to go Mel Gibson on the bedroom wall, popping my shoulder back into place. I was going to have to let that shirt go. I tried on a few other shirts, stress testing the buttons and feeling quite proud of the quality I had purchased, then tossed them onto the growing piles.

When we were done with our closet purge, we had amassed thirteen 55 gallon garbage bags of clothes to donate to the needy. I was so embarrassed that I declared that we would have to leave very early in the morning so we could be first to the collection point. I didn’t want anyone to see the back of our van stuffed to the roof with excess clothes. Despite her need for sleep, she agreed and cheerfully arose the next morning before the sun so we could make our donation in peace and quiet.

I am still embarrassed that I grew through that many clothes, but I am also grateful to have had the opportunity to help some of our needy brothers and sisters. I am reminded of the flowing instruction:

(Deu 15:6) For the LORD your God will bless you, as he promised you, and you shall lend to many nations…...

(Deu 15:7) "If among you, one of your brothers should become poor, in any of your towns within your land that the LORD your God is giving you, you shall not harden your heart or shut your hand against your poor brother,

(Deu 15:8) but you shall open your hand to him and lend him sufficient for his need, whatever it may be.

Now as I drive around the streets of Pottstown, Pennsylvania, I will be looking for the sharply dressed homeless man without the cuff links and cummerbund for he is my brother.

Death is ugly

Eight years ago I lost my mom. It was an unexpected death that took us all by surprise. As she lay in a coma, the family posted at her side, each of consumed with independent thoughts, we hoped and prayed for what looked like a miracle. As it became increasingly obvious that we would not likely find a medical miracle, we discussed her life, the quality of it and if we should continue keeping her alive solely through medical equipment.

To me, the choice was simple, almost unemotional. I could not continue to look at my mom like this. With all the hoses and instruments erupting from her, a machine to control every essential function of life, could we even call this alive? Is this even living? It struck me that there was an in between time, where we are not alive, but our loved ones are not ready for us to be dead.

Medical technology has made it possible for us to appear to be alive, doing all the heavy lifting of our essential functions, but in reality, there is no life there. The miracle we prayed for never came, eventually, even with the technology and watchful care of the medical professionals, there was nothing left. She passed on her own.

The image of my mom lying there, heaving in and out with the rhythmic timing of an appliance, but otherwise motionless, is etched in the permanent archives of my mind. During that time, I jotted down my thoughts in a ‘poem’, which I have never really shared with anyone. But here it is, online for anyone to read.

Death’s putrid odor washed across the room
It was agonizingly slow and thorough in its attack
The walls were systematically stained with the dark purplish blood that had once coursed through her veins
The dimple marks on the wall filled in one by one, there was nothing we could do
We were grasped by deaths ugly hands

Please let us escape from this nightmare
There must be some mistake

She was too young
Too alert
She had so much more to do
She was not ready

I had so much more to say to her
I did not tell her that I loved her enough, how will she know?

Will I ever see her again?
What will she look like?
How can I talk to her?
I am not through yet
I am not ready for her to die

She lay there

A pile of flesh, swollen with the remains of life periodically pouring out her nose into a hospital bag

There was no escape from deaths lethal grasp

Decomposing before our eyes, bile pouring out, blood vessels rupturing
The once organized composition of life had collapsed and was rotting as we watched

Was she even alive? Was it just a vessel that remained? Why did we hook her up to all the machinery, heaving her lungs in and out, giving you a shred of hope that she might once again do that on her own?

It is so ugly, so shocking and horrific that you cannot stand to witness it. But neither can you look away.

Give to God what is God’s.
Sounds simple, but hope springs eternal.
Please God give me back my mother


As I read this, it reminds me of how dark that time was in my life. It’s something that all of us will eventually experience, and yet for each of us, it’s a unique experience. I wish I could say that after eight years, I feel better about it, but I don’t. I still don’t understand, but I have quit asking why. As I said in the poem, give to God what is God’s. In the end, we are all his children, and a death here on earth, is only here on earth. We are not dead to God. We are very much alive. The question of why is not one that I can answer, so I had to let it go. The question that remains for all of us is where we are at that time. Where will you spend your eternity?

I saw a man crap his pants

I saw a man crap his pants

He was my friend, my best friend. I really don’t think there is anything that can permanently alter a friendship that quickly or resolutely. It kind of leaves you speechless, which in my case is quite unexpected. Usually words flow out my mouth like the water rushing through a gorge after a long heavy rain. But, not this time, I was speechless.

I wasn’t really sure where to go from there. Could I counter with, ‘So, How ‘bout dem Bears?’ No, I don’t think so. The sounds were undisguisable, and the aroma left no doubt what had just happened. There was a slightly awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say. There is no doubt that this ranks among one of the most uncomfortable situations to recover from with grace and dignity. Surely that’s true for him, his lunch just escaped unannounced. It was also uncomfortable for me too. The reality was that I had just witnessed something no man ever wants his friends to see.

I briefly thought about making a quick escape with, “All right, well I gotta run” and making a hasty retreat for the nearest opening I could fit through. Finding the right words at a time like that is touchy at best. I couldn’t use the word ‘run’ for sure and on the spot my built in thesaurus failed me. “I gotta go’ was also out, given that he just had. I could think of no alternate word that would fill the gap in that sentence. Besides, deep down, I knew that I couldn’t leave at that exact moment. I had made no mention of needing to be anywhere else and the timing of such an announcement now would immediately be suspect. No, leaving right then was wrong in to many ways, I had to stay.

Realizing that, many moments of awkward silence surrounded us like an omnipresence cloud, both literally and figuratively. Both of us, I am sure, searching for words that were appropriate. Many thoughts ran through my head. I have always preferred a direct approach; cuts out all the nonsense, removes the ambiguity and gets right to the point.

I mean, really, we could try to outwait the smell and pretend it didn’t happen, but too many diaper changes haunted my past and made it clear to me that wasn’t a valid option. No, something had to be done. Still preferring the direct approach, I prepared myself to say “Well, it’s obvious you crapped yourself, so we are going to have to do something about this”. Finally the words I had been searching for appeared out of the cluttered mess of what would otherwise be organized thoughts. I asked him with my most understanding and caring voice, “Should I go get a nurse to help us out here?”. To which he, clearly embarrassed, apologized and said, “Yes, that would be a good idea”.

I left the hospital room that day with a gut wrenching realization; I was witnessing my best friend dying. This was the first of many such occasions in the months before his death. It was hard to take, I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew that he was dying. Knowing its true doesn’t stop you from hanging onto any little piece of hope that this might change. After all, it was only a little scratch that landed him in the hospital, yes, it had turned into an infection, but really could this be the end? The finality of it was looming in my mind, though it would be nothing I would talk about except with my wife. I didn’t want to acknowledge publicly that a once great man was diminishing right before my eyes. Admitting that meant the end of more than a friendship, it meant the end of an incredible person.

He was a man that had taught me so much. He taught me about politics, people, creative thinking, optimism, hope and life in general. There was connection between us that sort of transcended words. We just became friends; there was no decision, no pretense and no effort. It just happened.

Prior to his death he had been my best friend for years. I trusted him more than any single person I know outside of my father and wife. Still though, I was not a good friend to him. That I knew.

About 6 or 8 months before he landed in the hospital, I became upset with him. In retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal, but he had been in a foul mood and wasn’t treating me with the respect I felt I deserved. I left that day and decided I didn’t need to spend time with people like that and I never called or visited him again prior to him calling me from his hospital bed.

Receiving that call shook me to my core. I knew I had been a bad friend, that I had let an elevated sense of self importance destroy a relationship. Deep down I knew that he wasn’t perfect and even though I am not either, I was not able to overlook his imperfection. I had cut him out of my life because he had a bad day.

The moment he called me is etched in my mind. I was out of town on business, sitting in a hotel room in New York City. It had been a long day, and I was still finishing up some work that I needed to have ready for the next day at the office. I hardly ever answer my phone at that time of the day, but for some reason I felt compelled to. I was very surprised by the voice at the end of the line. He seemed fine, but told me in short order that he had been hospitalized with a staff infection from a scratch on his leg, he should be out of the hospital by the weekend.

I don’t know why, but I instantly knew that he wouldn’t be. I knew that this was somehow more urgent and simultaneously, I knew that I had been an awful friend. With a combination of guilt, remorse, concern and genuine love, I knew I had to go visit him.

I put my work down the rest of the night and I reflected on my lack of acceptance of him. It’s one of those personal insights that is very disturbing. You don’t really want to know that about yourself, that you are that shallow. That you feel you are so important, that you are so self righteous that you can’t even accept others for who they are. How many times in my life had I been forgiven? How many times had I come forth, head hanging, shamefully expecting others to overlook my imperfections? Yet, I did not extend that same grace to someone I truly cared about.

Despite the title, this post really isn’t about a man crapping himself. It’s about so much more. It’s about friendship, forgiveness; it’s about hope, love and caring. It’s about a man I knew at his height of greatness and also at his lowest. It’s about being able to accept people, it’s about being accepted. But above all, it’s about the love, forgiveness and acceptance that is given to each of us every day by our heavenly father. How much more can we expect when we give so much less?

What the ?#*%?

I have had enough. Thats it, I said it. Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do about it. What's going on with this world, how can we possibly explain or justify it?

A few days ago I got word that my friends 22 year daughter has fallen to cancer. I knew she was ill, and I knew that she was getting worse, but somehow I just never thought that she wouldn't survive.

I was refueling my car the other day and I saw a van back into another car. The guy got out of the van and was clearly distraught. All I could think of was this poor guy is just trying to do his job, he is working, trying to survive, to support his family. Why does he need this in his life?

Forget about the news. People are bombing other people. People are raping people, she doesn't count for some reason because she is a prostitute.

People are losing jobs, losing homes, losing dignity, losing self-respect.

When you look around, you have to say what the ?#*%?

How can God take away my friends daughter? For Gods sake, she didn't even have a chance.

How can God let children die? How can God let his people kill his people?

I just don't get it.

How can God let people suffer like this?

I don't know. All I can say is What the ?#*%?

What happened after the fatted calf was eaten?

Any one that has been a Christian for a year or more has certainly heard the parable of the prodigal son. Even if you are not a Christian, you probably have heard of it and may even understand the story.

What I wonder is what happened when they were done cleaning up and putting the dishes away. What happened when party was over, how did they settle back into life again? What happened with the music stopped, when the last guest left?

Throughout anyone’s life, there is disappointment. The disappointment comes in many forms and most notably from those you love, or should love, the most. The stories are all around us. You hear about the child that was verbally or physically abused, neglected or just not nurtured. You hear about the parent that was so consumed with alcohol or career that they left the family behind. You hear about the cheating spouse, the child that broke the law or the friend that stole from another.

Disappointment surrounds us, and this parable gives us a prescription for addressing the forgiveness warranted to those you care about. What do you do when the forgiveness is complete, how do you go on from there?

To me this question is an important question because it goes right to the heart our daily lives. When someone you care about disappoints, after they have made their amends, just how much do you trust them? Can the relationship return to the pre-disappointment state? Do you trust them as if nothing ever happened? Do you re-divide the inheritance and give another third again, or has that bridge been crossed?

Just how do we continue when the fatted calf is now gone?

What if your life sucked?

We all hear people say their life sucks, or stinks or something like that, but what if it was true? We’ll get back to that in a minute.

If you know me, you might not call me an introvert, but if you know me well, you probably would.

My goal when I travel by airplane is to not sit next to anyone, but if I do have to, to absolutely not speak with them. I consider it to have been a successful flight when I arrive at my destination and I haven’t said a single word to the person(s) seated near me. Yeah, I know, it’s not a laudable goal, but it’s what I do.

Strange in a way, since I really do like people, actually, I love people. But, I don’t feel like engaging in conversation with a complete stranger that I will probably never see again. I prefer to speak to people that I will interact with regularly. In fact, the sad truth is that I have no friends or relationships with people that I don’t have some reason to. I don’t converse with a single friend from high school, college, prior jobs or from any activities that I might have met them. Not something that I am proud of, but I just don’t nourish those relationships.

So, you can imagine my dismay when I sat next to chatty Cathy on a flight from Philadelphia to Fort Lauderdale Florida recently. It all went wrong when I had to excuse myself as I tried to plop my over-sized derriere into the middle seat. You know that’s the worst seat, your chances of vocal contact just increased by fifty percent with a possible attack from both sides. As it turned out, the odds had just tipped against me.

She opened with a line that I couldn’t ignore as she stated “My life Sucks”. I have to admit that I was struggling for ways to pretend I didn’t hear it, ‘cause I knew that was a verbal volley that required a return. While I instantly calculated the odds of her believing I had suffered severe hearing loss at some point earlier in my life, I realized it was over. I was never good at acting, and thus would never be able to play a deaf character believably for two and half hours.

So, I was faced with a decision. Do I tell her that I don’t care how bad her life sucks? I could say something like, “That’s nice, mine is great, glad I am not you”, but apparently Jesus had made the trip with me. He shut that down pretty quick. I realized that I couldn’t pretend to be a Christian on Sunday, and then completely shut down one of God’s children on Monday. Nope, that wasn’t the right thing and truthfully, I really do care about people, so I couldn’t do that anyway despite my deep seeded need to rest my vocals.

So, I offered the only response that I felt was acceptable as I volleyed back “Really, Why is that?” I prepared myself for the onslaught, half expecting to hear complaints about material things or unimportant details that we so often consume ourselves with. She started to weave her tale.

It started about 18 years ago, I was instantly gratified that this wasn’t a transcontinental or transatlantic flight. She was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it for a few years, and won the battle. During her struggle, her husband left her, which ruined her financially as he didn’t ever pay her a single cent of child support.

After she beat the cancer, she lost her job. A few years later she was headed for a vacation with her daughter; a cruise to take them away from the pain and struggles of the years, even if only for a little while. On the way to the airport, they were involved in a car accident, which took her only daughters life. The car accident also left her unable to walk for three years. As she was recovering from that, she was diagnosed with cancer again, this time in the uterus. She went into treatment for a few years and beat that. By now, I was totally blown away, but she had more.

After beating that cancer, she settled into a normal life for a few years, and then started to feel something was wrong. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. This went on for a year or so until a huge mass was discovered in her uterus again. This time they said there was nothing they could do because the cancer had become entwined in too many organs. She could try to be treated with chemotherapy, but the odds of success we not in her favor. She tried, but has not responded to treatment. The doctors have given her less than a year to live.

She decided to give it all up, to say the heck with it and spend the rest of her time on earth enjoying what she could. She was on her way to take a 30 day cruise, then when she gets done with that, a visit to the doctor to see what he says. Depending on what he says, she is planning a 100 day cruise, on which she wants to die.

I was just about in tears. What an awful story. Here I was sitting right next to this poor soul, wishing I could find a way to not even say hello. I might be one of her last ‘real’ encounters on earth and I was about to waste it on my selfish desires for peace and quiet.

My question too all you is, what if your life sucked? I mean, what if it REALLY sucked? What would you do? What would you expect from others?

I am truly blessed in so many ways, but what do I do for others that aren’t? Play deaf? Pretend I can’t hear them, speak another language, and walk by them without so much as a look or a nod of affirmation? Not even say hello, give a sense of hope, of love, of care, concern or empathy? Is that what I do?

O dear lord, please help me not to be that way to your children. Please lord, make me always realize that every living, breathing person is deserving of your mercy, of my human love. Make me new in my ways; help me to show that I am Christian through my actions, words and deeds.