Blogger's Block

During the past three weeks, it has been difficult to find the time to sit down and write a decent post. I can mostly blame my continual computer problems. My laptop starting breaking down in mid-August and we decided about two weeks ago to buy a new laptop. Our second in about a year. So, I have transferred files from one computer to another twice in the last month. It has been frustrating.

In the past two weeks, it seems like everytime I sit down to try and write... I can't really think of anything to write about. Then, those rare times that I think of something to write about... I'm not anywhere near a computer... or I'm not in a position to write.

I'm thinking that I'll get a legitimate post on here over the weekend... I've got a few ideas and I will have the time tomorrow night to finally sit down and write. Check back soon!

Here is a quick picture of Emily... who is getting proficient at getting on the internet and playing games on PBSKIDS.COM

Growing Up With A Legend...

I think it was the 1990 U.S. Open at Flushing Meadows, New York. I was about 12 or 13 years old. I had watched tennis on T.V. before, but I had never understood it or even cared to understand it. I was a baseball kid through and through... so the desire was never there for any other sport.

But I remember this particular day well. I was at my Grandma Miller's house when she lived out beyond Milan. I was sitting downstairs flipping through channels when, upon my screen, flashed the green U.S. Open tennis court... and playing on this tennis court was the only reason why I ever cared to pick up a tennis racquet: Andre Agassi.

He was playing and beating Boris Becker in the semi-finals. Agassi was probably 19 or 20 at the time. He had long, wild hair and had on flashy Nike clothes and 'Agassi' Nike Air shoes. His game was as flashy as his wardrobe: he hit the ball HARD. Really hard. He went for winners alot... most of the time, he got them. I loved the way he controlled the groundstoke game... he didn't have a huge serve, he never really went to the net, he wasn't even all that fast at the time... he just hit the ball hard: He used a two-handed backhand and absolutely crushed the ball. He forehand was even bigger. Maybe even more flashy than his game was his personality. Hollywood type material. As a 13 year old fat nerd watching this 19 year old cool guy play tennis... he was everything I wanted to be.



As I said before, I immediately wanted to play tennis. I remember my first opponent was my Grandpa Sands. He had a couple of old racquets that we used... and I remember we would go to a park near his house to play. Just like my hero, Agassi, I started using a two-handed backhand stroke. I tried to serve just like Agassi... I even bought his shoes... which killed my parents because, at the time, buying a pair of tennis shoes for over $100.00 bucks just wasn't the first thing they wanted to do. My first racquet was bought by my Grandma and Grandpa Sands... a pink racquet that I loved and was embarrassed of all at the same time...

Eventually, I started playing other people... mostly from church. There was a guy named Lyle Sears... who took me under his wing and gave me a few lessons. He helped me with footwork, he helped me understand side spin on a serve, he helped me understand nice low slice shots as a defensive shot. He greatly influenced the way I continued to play the game.

I sort of got off-track... this post is really supposed to be about Agassi. I remember watching him win his first grandslam at Wimbledon. It was during the late morning service at Heritage. I skipped out on the service and went up to one of the balcony classrooms that picked up local channels and I watched him win right during church. He started bawling right on the court. I was cheering so hard for him. He had finally won that elusive first grand slam title.

This might sound weird: but Agassi and I kind of 'grew up' together. I loved him as a teenager because he was a cool guy. He was a rebel. He was unlike any tennis player to ever play the game. I loved him in college because he went through a really tough spell when he dropped to 141 in the world... and battled all the way back to the number one spot. He showed tenacity, character, and kind of 'matured' during that time: something that I finally did in my college years. I love him now, as a 28 year old with a family... because despite the fact that he's a very 'old' (in tennis years) 35, he still works hard, he still loves the game, he draws motivation from his wife and kids, he still desires to win, and he can still run the 20 somethings around the court so much... they might as well be running a marathon rather than playing tennis. Every stage of life that I went through... he became exactly the type of tennis player and athlete that I wanted to root for. I don't know if that will make much sense to most of you. But it has been significant for me.



There has never been (and there probably never will be) another tennis player that I actually root hard for. Watching one of his matches is as emotionally draining to me as watching a Cardinal baseball game or a Notre Dame football game. I get nervous for him. I cheer and clap for him. When he wins the big break points, I love it and am willing to cheer out loud for him. When he loses, I feel it emotionally.

Last Sunday, I watched him play his stinkin' heart out, only to lose to arguably the best tennis player the world has ever seen, Roger Federer. Agassi was up a break in the third set and could have pulled ahead of Federer two sets to one. Federer picked up his game in a huge way... Agassi just sort of faded away. As I watched the awards ceremony, I had a really hard time watching him accept the second place award. It was like one of my good friends had just lost. I was really sad for him.

Several times over the past week, I have wondered why it is that watching a guy lose in tennis could almost bring me to tears. Maybe it's because this great 35 year old legend battled and scratched his way through the two week U.S. Open draw with a firm resolve that he would not give up even if he was a set or two down... or even if he was losing to a kid that was hitting the manure of the ball. (James Blake in the Quarterfinals) Maybe it's because I saw in this year's U.S. Open that his game is as 'big' as it has always been... that he's quicker, a better server, and a better volleyer now then he ever was before he was 30. Maybe it's because I value the way he plays the game... from the baseline with incredibly clean shot making from both wings. Maybe it's because he was part of the greatest generation of American male tennis players: Sampras, Chang, Courier, Wheaton, Martin... and against anyone's prediction, he outlasted them all. Maybe it's because I like the way he gives credit to the game of tennis and to the fans. Maybe it's because I respect him as a human being... who loves his wife and kids and who gives generously to charities. Maybe it's because I watched this guy grow up in the midst of growing up myself... from a cool punk, to deadbeat, to number one in the world, to deadbeat again, to number one in the world again, to a re-dedicated, over 30, 'steady Eddie' who is always ready to play. Maybe it's because Andre Agassi was the reason why I ever picked up a tennis racquet in the first place.

Regardless of why I admire him and root for him so much... I do know one thing: When Andre Agassi retires, watching professional tennis will never be the same for me again. Period. I know something else: I will never stop playing the game because I have grown to love it. I have grown to love it because one fateful day in 1990, Andre Agassi gave me a reason to actually try it...

Here's hoping that this great athelete is still playing in the pro circuit for many years to come...

Annoying People In Heaven?

Shortly after I began full time ministry in Kalamazoo, I found out a harsh truth: Not everybody would like me. I found out another harsh truth soon after: Not everyone would have a good reason for not liking me. Ouch. Double ouch.

I grew up in a very positive home… and I attended a very positive church. My dad served as the Vice-chairman of the Local Board of Administration for years… as well as the Lay Leader. I’m sure that he shielded me from the negative politics that sometimes happen in a church. My parents always modeled to me what I thought all parishioners were like: Very loyal and very concerned about their pastor. I don’t ever remember either of my parents saying a negative thing about Pastor John while I lived under their roof.

So, you can imagine how naïve I was going in to my first ministry position. And you can imagine how hurt I was when I found out that someone was upset at me, or annoyed at me, or questioning a decision I made with everyone else EXCEPT me! Ouch. Double ouch.

Now, I should probably say this right here and now: About 98% of the people at Kalamazoo were exactly like my parents: They loved their pastors. They lavished encouragement and gifts upon their pastors. They respected their pastors. They took care of their pastors. My opening thoughts are not meant to be a condemnation of KWC… because I loved every minute of the four years I was there. This is meant to illustrate the ‘culture shock’ I encountered once I actually became a pastor and realized that there were a few people that just didn’t like me… and how frustrating it was for me to look back to the things I had said or done in their presence to cause such animosity… and not see anything that should cause this much tension.

Then I moved to St. Peters. I confess that I have not encountered so much personal animosity here. I think part of the reason is that I didn’t follow anyone into the same position… the last full time person here at SPWC was a youth pastor. They hired me for an entirely different role. (And, in practice, I am actually fulfilling an entirely different set of responsibilities than which they hired me for!) Even though I have not experienced quite the same sensations here… I have had to deal with the same types of issues.

In the six short years that I have been involved with ministry, I have encountered several ‘controversial’ issues that I never would have guessed to be ‘controversial’ before I became a pastor. These include worship styles, song selection, Christmas hymn selection, instrument selection, worship band scheduling, movement on stage during pastoral prayer, Bible translations, church bus issues, building maintenance, parsonage maintenance, church lawn maintenance, carpet coloring, etc, etc, etc.

The list could carry on for awhile… these are just a few examples of pettiness found in churches. There are days when it gets so bad, I just want to throw up my hands and explore other options of employment. I get angry. I get self-righteous. I get indignant. I start thinking crazy things like: If heaven is going to be a perfect place… then surely some of these people won’t be there, right? I ask God and anybody else who listens: Will there be annoying people in heaven?

Then I remember some of the petty things that I argue over… situations come to my mind of when I’ve gotten defensive over something silly… God gently reminds me of some of the things that I constantly get mad about… and He firmly answers my question: If there won’t be any annoying people in heaven… then you won’t be there either. Ouch. Double Ouch.

I am thankful that I serve a patient God. I am thankful that I have been redeemed by a God that loves me, regardless of what I look like… of who I might annoy… of how I act when I’m mad… of what I’ve done in the past. I’m thankful that He is willing to forgive me in my ‘not so proud’ moments when I get mad at people for being mad at the same petty things that I sometimes get mad at. I am thankful that He offers me the strength to be a loving and compassionate pastor to people who might be hard for me to love… because I could never love them on my own strength. I am glad to know that heaven will be crammed full of annoying people who have been forgiven, redeemed, and purified by the grace and blood of Jesus Christ…


“For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect.” (I Corinthians 15:9-10)