Life + Love = Change

A letter from a father's heart.

2010-12-28T18:32:00.001-08:00

My sweet baby girl,

I hope you are reading this on a beach somewhere as the sand holds your feet in it's grip and you feel the sea wash away the day's work and worries. I hope tears fill your eyes as you hear my voice whisper these words into your ear and you look up to see my smile in the setting sun as it paints you with it's fading glory.

You see, I saw you today for the first time. Your black and white "nest" on the monitor in front of me made you seem close yet a million miles away. As your mommy lay on that bed, hope for your future filled my heart. I knew you weren't just a picture but a somebody and not just a somebody but my daughter. You always will be. I will always be your daddy.

I will be the happiest man to hand you over to the man who will one day hand you over to our creator as you pass from this life to the next. I hope I am a good dad. My fulfillment will never be in you telling me so, but seeing some of my attributes in you shine through. It will be more than trophies or plaques on the wall for you to come in and say, "Daddy, will you dance with me?"

I write this letter with one purpose: To tell you that God exists. Even more than Him existing, He loves you. Look up for a second and watch the sun set into the sea. He did that because He loves you. The picture He is panting now is telling you a story. A story of old, that man rebelled against Him and separated man and God. God solved this separation by sending His son, Jesus into the world. Jesus died on a sinner's cross and beat death three days later. This is the reason for my letter.

God the Father loves you more than I ever could. He is singing a song over you as you read this now. Whether I am here with you or if I've passed on I want you to know, I love you. If your life was asked of you, I would beg to lay my life down in your place. If you were lost, I would search the deepest sea. If you were cold, I would wrap the summer around you. If you were lonely, I would sit by you and breathe. I love you my sweet princess.

From the heart of your father...

"I dont know what to tell them..."

2010-12-06T14:39:00.000-08:00

That's what my dad said about 3 weeks ago. We had a pretty important conversation about the Gospel on the phone. A conversation that I will hold dear to my heart for years to come. I was telling him about my passion to preach and teach the gospel. He was not impressed but encouraged.

I'll let you in on a little bit of our conversation.

"It's all I think about." I breathe and it makes me think about the gospel."

"That's good, son." "I'm excited for you." It's the only story worth telling."

PAUSE

"Sometimes I think...what else can I say?" What else can I tell them?" " I teach and preach and try to make it as easy to understand for them but they continue to live their lives with such mediocrity." "Like Jesus never opened the mouth of the grave."

"Wow. I wish I knew how to counsel you or encourage you."

"I don't expect you to." "I expect you to preach." "Until cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without people, and the land is a desolate waste." (Isaiah 6) "Preach even when no one listens..."

This confirms everything I've experienced in the last year. I am going to take up the cross my dad carried and hope my sons do the same.

Our conversation was over as quickly as it started. It usually ends with questions about my family and how work is going. Not this time. It ended with two simple phrases.

"I just don't know what to say." "I don't know what to tell them..."

The old days

2010-06-21T20:24:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of my Dad. I am proud to be his son. I NEVER thought I would say that. I just felt like he never understood me. Now, I know he does. He did all the while. I think I've been thinking about him a lot lately (see last post) because, as terrible as this sounds, I think his time here with us is slowly fading. I know none of us know the time of our passing from glory to glory but he talks about it a lot, so I'm ok with it. Maybe this is a way for me to cope for after he leaves. The thing that gives me hope is that I will see him again. I will get to worship with him. I will enjoy Jesus with him, forever.

I think back to when I was a kid and remember when my dad would hold me and rock me to sleep in an old wooden rocking chair that sat in our living room. He would pat my back and sing an old spanish lullaby that I sing to my boys to this very day. I remember that when I was scared or couldn't sleep, he would grab his old, withered Bible, sit next to my bed and read from the Psalms and comb my hair with his fingers until I fell asleep. I remember the times he would take us on dates, my sister and I. He would ask about school, friends and share wisdom, whether we wanted to hear it or not.

I miss these days. I know my Dad is still alive but this is what I want for my children. I can honestly say, I will never be like my Dad. I will try, but success will be out of reach. He loves my Mom. I think, if his life was asked in place of hers, he would gladly lay it down. I only hope I can fill his proverbial shoes one day.

The thing I will miss most about him is his preaching. This, I hold dear to my heart. Outside of the Bible, my dad is my spiritual hero. He led me to Jesus. He taught me about Jesus and he knows and loves me like no other man could. This post echos my last, that my parents were godly, holy examples and I would not want it any other way. The fights we had, times of trial and silence are places I look back to and think of their patience with me and the hope they had in a gospel that would change me one day.

I love my Dad. I want to mirror him in every way. In that mirror, I see Jesus, one who understands, feels what I feel, has seen the world through my eyes and loves me, despite who I am. When I stand before Jesus, I am going to thank Him for giving me my Dad. Then, my Dad and I will step aside and make way for the King...

The hopes and fears of father preacher

2010-05-02T08:33:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. His hands shake and he is now slouching a bit in his old age. His memory is fleeing him but his head is adorned with wisdom and grey hair. If you didn't know, my dad is a preacher. I would have never, ever expected to think that I would follow in his footsteps. In fact, I remember thinking how I never wanted to go into ministry. Not just because of the beat downs my dad received but it just didn't interest me in the least. I would watch my dad preach on Sundays and at times I would be filled with hope and on other, with much conviction over sin. On some Sundays, his sermons filled me with much fear and trembling as he would talk about hell and what awaited for those who were not in relationship with Jesus.

My dad never exchanged truth to make anyone feel good. He had a graceful way of telling you that he cared through his harsh and horrifically true analogies. I remember in one particular instance, my dad was preaching a "revival" at a church in the Dallas area. The church was full and the majority were people who only came to big events. My dad came out of a meeting with the Pastor and some of the deacons ready to preach. Something was different about his "readiness". There was a fire in his eye and passion in his words as he challenged and charged the church with the truth of Revelation 2. He warned them of losing their Pastor because they had lost their first love (Jesus). People wept and flooded the alter that night. They embraced their Pastor after that day. My dad did not walk on egg shells that night. He smashed any proverbial ice in the room with a warning: "Jesus will come and close these doors. For He is the one who starts churches and He is the one who closes them!".

I would over hear my parents talk at night after my sister and I went to bed. I would creep to the edge of their room and sit and listen awhile. They would unpack the day, talk about their love for us and the love for the ministry. My dad would share stories about people in the church who would come and try to start fights or ask questions about the sermon on Sundays and he never seemed to bat an eye. It was part of his calling. His hopes and fears for the flock he was shepherding were of great joy to him and my mom. He saw that people were growing, asking questions, being offended by the truth of God's word, and that excited him.

I am writing this filled with 2 great hopes. One being that God chose me and called me into salvation and into the ministry. The second being that my parents loved me so much that they never did give up on me. They saw through all the pain and misery I brought as a child and teenager knowing that God would use me as His own one day. I don't think my dad ever expected me to follow in his footsteps, he just wanted to see me in heaven one day. I knew that he prayed for me. I would hear him late at night or early mornings in the living room laboring in prayer for my sister and me and the people of the church. At times you would hear him weeping over the lost of the city. My dad cared. He cared more than I ever could. He still cares. He cares for people.

I want to be like my dad. My heart is slowly changing into the heart of a Pastor. I want to Pastor people. Struggle with people. Show people folly and weep with them as they repent of sin. My dad's ministry might never be noticed by anyone "important". I don't think he cares about that. My dad didn't give his life to a call of being noticed. He gave his life to a murdered and resurrected savior. One that loved him so much that he laid down his life for him. This fills me with much hope that I may one day be like my dad. Giving my life to a purpose that might not get me noticed on earth, but that I may receive a crown in heaven.

I long for the day when we join the hosts of heaven and the myriads of angels and cry out to the lamb that was slain. As our eyes see the King, God almighty seated on His throne. I long for the day that He will call the faithful forward and they will lay down their crowns at His feet and worship Him. I know I will see my dad in that crowd. As Jesus takes my dad's face in his nail-scarred hands, looks deep into his eyes and says, "You did great. Welcome home.".

Christ crucified, Christ glorified,

- rg

"I told you so!"

2009-11-17T19:28:00.000-08:00

So...I'm writing this blog with red cheeks (embarrassment) and excitement in my heart. I'm going to give a little back story so if you didn't know why I am writing this blog, you will be in the loop.

This past August Kallie, the boys and I loaded up our stuff and moved in with my parents here in Taylor, Texas (east of Austin). We have been here since August 20 something. We are so indebted to my parents for them allowing us to invade their space for a few months. To make a long story short, central Texas is not for the Garzon family. It definitely has it's perks but we love and miss Amarillo.

We came down here with a mission to help plant a church north of San Antonio. We have high hopes for the church and know they will do great because they have great leadership in place. Church planting, like central Texas, is not for the Garzon family either. We have some financial responsibilities that we felt would be irresponsible to ask people to pay for with their financial support, so we backed out.

With all this said, WE ARE MOVING BACK TO AMARILLO. We miss our house, we miss our friends, we miss our church. We miss it all. This will be the 3rd time we will be moving back to Amarillo and the last. It is where our children will come visit us when we are old. We will make Amarillo our home for many years to come.

Do me a favor if you are reading this and you live in Amarillo. Next time you see me, punch me in the gut and say "I told you so!"

See you all soon! We hope to be back by the middle of December.

-the garzon's

Update on my book.

2009-05-25T14:12:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone. I hope you haven't been holding your breath for an update on my book. I suck at updating. I have started writing again and am almost finished with the entirety of this massive project. If you need a reminder the book is titled, well, for now, "Confessions of a Pastor's kid: A view from the front pew."

I am going to post a excerpt on here for you to read. Please feel free to comment.

-much love

At the height of the charismatic movement our church (the church my dad pastor-ed) was moving right along. We were seeing people saved and lives changed. I was only ten or eleven so my memory is vague. My dad was so excited to have his best friend from seminary come and preach a time of revival at our church. His best friend was a protégé as an evangelist and a mere follower in his faith. Little did we know that the time our church had as a whole was short and the clock was ticking.

Excitement was in the air and the smell of Clorox filled our church. You see, when you serve at a Hispanic Baptist church, clean time means Clorox time. The people of our church, all with busy hands and altered minds, had been in deep thought and prayer for this weekend of revival. The banner outside our church read, “Revival Services. Friday through Sunday. 6 P.M. Juan de la Garza preaching.”, or something like that. Just look at any revival banner at any Baptist church and it usually reads that way. Fliers were sent and the people of our church were living, breathing billboards for this one weekend. The night had finally arrived and people filled the building being welcomed and ushered in not knowing that they would be a part of something life changing, at least for me. The pews were full and the nursery bursting at the seams. This was an exciting time at our church and with numbers comes revival, or so we thought. You could hear all of the wood pews creak and crack as every body in the house sat down simultaneously and all of our heads shifted from the piano to the pulpit in unison. “I’m honored for all of you to meet my best friend, Juan de la Garza.” My dad’s excitement read by the tears in his eyes and the joy on his face. The pulpit was cleared and a few seconds of silence reassured us that we were doing the right thing.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes into hours. The words “Holy Spirit” were translated as “genie in a bottle” that night and this salesman had come to sell his product. (I’m just now realizing how hard this is to write without getting emotional.) Pressured conviction lay heavy in the room and tears were now flowing steadily. It was a weird phenomenon that night, one I could never describe as people dropped like flies to the floor. One after the other someone would fall, lay on the floor, vulnerable and full of emotion after sense entered their mind. It was hard for my mind to conceive what was happening. The conversation of “the charismatic movement” dominated the prior weeks at our house and now it was happening before our eyes.

The night continued on and the floor of the church mirrored the last day of the civil war. My dad had put me in charge of the projector, the old school kind, so I was hard at work as we sang song after song. Finally, the smoke arose, figuratively speaking and the salesman exited the room. Division set in and my family was left to pick up the pieces. News of this happening spread like wildfire around the local Baptist community and my dad’s job hung in the balance. The night everything went down, (excuse my slang) I remember riding home with my mom. Her jaw clinched tight and her silence communicated that my sister and I were only to speak when spoken to. The light of the golden arches filled the car and my mom ordered our supper quickly and in just one breath. The ten mile ride home seemed like an eternity as I watched the stripes on the road fly by and become one. Confusion and questions collided in my head as my mom and dad talked very loudly in the living room. For some reason that night my mom asked my sister and I to sleep in their room. I stared at the light that seeped under the door and watched their shadows pace through the living room. I listened to the soft rhythmic inhale and exhale of my sister echo next to me. “I’ll take the kids if I have to because I can’t stand for this.” My mom said firmly. “Mosito, (my dads pet name for my mom) you know I love you. I don’t know what to do. The church will fall apart. “ My dad responded. My Mom ended the conversation by saying, “it’s me or this church, Ricardo, choose one. “

Jesus is my girlfriend.

2009-05-17T22:33:00.001-07:00

Catchy way to start this blog. I hope I have your attention. My other thought for a title was "the repercussions of K-love radio and a dangerous mind" but that seems way too arrogant.

I spent the last week listening to 2 different christian radio stations here in town. One I hear all the time at work. Mainly because we are forced. I haven't see any super-natural life changes happen over a plate of rice and an egg roll yet because of this station. Eh, doesn't bother me too bad. Anyway, I made myself listen to these 2 stations as kind of a...let's say...experiment. It wasn't painful or anything. It was a change from my usual, Glenn Beck and Michael Savage stuff on AM radio.

Some songs I knew and some I didn't. Some were catchy and some were just...bad. Don't get me wrong, I like some christian music. Heck, I consider myself a worship leader so I have to like a majority of it. I'm just tired of the songs that have nothing to say. I'm not one to judge an artist by their art but, come on. I literally changed the station several times because I could not listen to the garbage they were playing.

At times it wasn't even the songs but the things the DJ's were saying. For instance, they talked about how we needed to give money for the station to stay afloat and things of that nature, which makes sense but not 2 minutes later they have a Hollywood approved nutritionist on to tell us how to eat. Tangent but relevant.

Now for the songs themselves, the majority of them were "Jesus is my girlfriend" songs. Feel good about myself and really over positive type songs that just made me sick. Sounds like christian "artists" are never sad or never struggle with anything. That's the song I would like to hear on K-love. "I struggle with porn and my wife hates me." Honesty might not work in the christian music industry. I think it's gone too far now. Past artists have set a pace or paved a path for others that honesty or truth seems too far out of reach.

Disclaimer: I like some worship songs. God deserves praise and how else will the world hear it without some songs the church sings? I know this. My reason for writing this is to question the heart of an artist. Why make pointless art or like Paul said in Corinthians, "a clanging gong"? Are we writing songs to make a buck or are we writing songs that have something to say?

-much love

The power of the narrative.

2009-01-12T20:28:00.000-08:00

My boys make sense.

Let me unpack that statement. I watch my boys play, either together or apart and the things they do make sense. Kyle, our youngest is still a little too young for this but our oldest, Elijah does what this blog will be about so well.

I've noticed that when Elijah plays he has a grand imagination. The way he captures me and his mommy as his audience goes to show that he does not imagine for the recognition or any kind of glory but simply because he himself is captivated by story.

When I watch him play with his "super heros", which the majority are bad guys or VEDOM, (Venom from Spiderman) he carries the story so well. To be completely honest with you he's hardly ever violent either. These are some of the things I witness when he plays...

That's just an example and one of the better pictures I have of him playing but you get the drift.

I only wish I could be inside his head as he plays. To see the story that drives his play. To see who he will rescue and why he does it. To see the outcome from his eyes. This is the power of the narrative. The power of story. We need to keep our kids dreaming. We need to challenge them with math but remind them to be mystics. To keep wonder as close as a whisper. Imagination can be a beautiful thing but when suffocated our children no longer are our children, they are our co-workers, our pastors, our teachers and yes, even our Presidents.

The power of story reminds us of who we are and what we were meant to do. To tell a story. A true story about a God who loved a people who were so lost. A story about a cross and an empty grave. A story about a King and a Kingdom. A story about struggle, about pain and about hope for those people. A story that makes sense.

Get involved with story. Tell a story. Imagine with me. Appreciate beauty because it is soon followed by wonder...

The Scorpion Part 3

2008-12-11T21:12:00.000-08:00

In Sterling City lived a man named Martin. Martin loved his family but was having a tough time getting along with his wife who he loved dearly. They spent most of their time fighting and arguing, mainly about money and some of the past things Martin had done. Martin's sins hung heavy over his head but this one day in particular, Martin was having the toughest time.

After a quiet dinner, not in the nice kind of quiet but the kind where there is deep tension and no resolve, Martin stepped outside to smoke his evening cigar. Martin lit the cigar and took a long inhale holding the smoke in for a few seconds. "God, if you're listening to me, why did you make me? I guess you always make those people that just bother people and I guess that's me." Martin said as he exhaled the smoke in his mouth and lungs. He flicked his cigar and continued, "You shouldn't have wasted your time."

Martin continued to smoke his cigar all the way to the end as he leaned against the side of his house and watched the sun set over the river that has no end. Martin threw the butt of his fading cigar onto the ground and smashed it making sure to extinguish the embers that glowed on the cement. He felt some type of resolve after talking to this God he had only called upon when he was in a hard place or needed help on a test in grade school. Martin decided to take a walk and talk to this God. Maybe God needed to hear what Martin had to say. Maybe whatever Martin said would change the way God felt about him. Maybe those TV preachers were right. Maybe Martin needed to be saved. Whatever that meant.

Martin peeked in the back door and told his wife, "I'm going on a walk. Be back soon.". He shut the door, slipped his hands in his jeans and started towards the front. Martin walked with his head down, defeated but with a purpose. He needed to go somewhere where this God that seemed to be listening would speak to him. Martin walked on down a few blocks and past the post office. He came to a lonely dirt road that looked like it led to the river that has no end. He followed it and came to it's banks. Martin sat down and watched the water rush by. The water didn't move quickly but something about the way it was moving flowed with vigor.

Martin sat in the quiet and kept his head down as the sun set over the Sterling City. Martin spoke directly to the ground hoping that God was still listening. "So if you're into this saving stuff, how does it work?" he said. Martin plucked a blade of grass and continued, "If you are a loving God, why didn't you save me a long time ago? Am I that bad of a person?" Martin said as he plucked a few more pieces of grass and tossed one by one. "You know what? I think I'm wasting my time. I don't think you truly love me. If you did, you would say something back..." as Martin finished his statement he saw a ruckus to the right of him on the bank of the river that has no end.

Martin saw an older woman down on one knee sticking her hand in a small branch that was caught on the bank and every time she stuck it in she would quickly pull it out as if something was stinging her. She didn't look crazy or like she had escaped the old folk's home, she just looked like a regular old woman. Martin stood from his sitting place and walked over to the woman. He could now see that her hand was swollen and stung all over by a scorpion that was caught in the branch. Martin grabbed her by the shoulder and said, "Ma'am, no offense but are you crazy? That thing just keeps stinging you every time you stick your hand in there. Why are you doing that? Just let it die!".

Ann grabbed her hand that was now numb from the stinging and tried to wipe the tears running down her face. She held her hand tight to her chest and whimpered for a few seconds before responding to Martin. She looked at Martin and said, "Why would I deny this scorpion a chance at life when it's nature is to sting and my nature is to save?"

The Scorpion Part 2

2008-12-11T13:30:00.000-08:00

Ann kneeled next to the branch that was caught on the bank of the river that has no end and watched the small scorpion struggle to gain it's freedom. It struggled and tried to maneuver it's way out but to no avail. The scorpion seemed tired and sat with it's body half in the water and the other half on the bank caught in the branch.

After watching it struggle for a few seconds, Ann reached down and broke a few limbs off of the branch so she could get to the small and tired scorpion. There was nothing special about this scorpion but Ann had a feeling deep inside her that she needed to save this scorpion from it's impending death in the river that has no end. Ann slowly made her way with her hand down to the scorpion itself. As she put her hand near the scorpion she felt it's stinger poke her between her thumb and index finger ever so quickly that it took her a few seconds to gather what had happened. Ann lifted her hand to her face and saw where the scorpion had penetrated her skin. A small drop of blood fell from the wound. Surprisingly there was no burning feeling. Ann thought that all scorpions were poisonous, but maybe not this one.

Ann had an overwhelming feeling that the scorpion still needed to be saved from the river that has no end. Her hand throbbed with pain but without even thinking she reached down to try and save the scorpion again. Without even seeing the stinger poke her, she watched the scorpion pull it's stinger out of her hand. She leapt up and grabbed her hand. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at the scorpion with a love she could not understand. Ann thought to herself, "Why won't you let me save you?".

Again, with a love for the life of the scorpion that would not stop, Ann reached down again and again was stung by the drowning scorpion. Ann continued and with every try the scorpion would not relent and with every try Ann would tear her hand back and whimper in pain. Ann did not quit. She was sure that she looked foolish and was grateful that there were no onlookers.

Between stings Ann looked at her hand and cried out in agony. The pain had subsided but her hand looked horrific. It was purple and swollen and now becoming numb. Ann would not quit and the scorpion mirrored her efforts.

The Scorpion. Part 1

2008-12-09T22:35:00.000-08:00

In the town of Sterling City, on the 5th block east of the river that has no end, there lived a lady named Ann. Ann loved to take walks right before the sun set every night. She had ample time to do this as her husband had passed in the great war and her 2 beautiful children were now married and had children and lives of their own.

On one particular night, Ann went through her daily routines. She cooked her small portioned dinner, ate it ever so slowly on the back porch, washed and cleaned what was dirty and laced up her white, dingy walking shoes.

Ann loved this time because Ann always talked to God. She would ignore the looks she received from some of the passersby because she knew God was listening. Sometimes God would talk back. She would talk and talk to her heart's content then after awhile she would always say, "Listen to me, I've taken up all of our time with crazy talk, now it's your turn...".

Most of the time, the talks were one ended. But after her spiel, Ann would just listen. Now Ann was a creature of habit and she would walk the same path every evening. There were times Ann would walk and see her footsteps from the day before and think, "maybe I should walk another path to the river that has no end.". It was too far from familiar for her so she stuck to the same path, night after night.

She timed her walk just right so when she reached the river that has no end, almost right on time, the sun would slowly set. Every time Ann had a new feeling come over her. A small tear would come to her eye and a smile would form on her lips. Ann always had the same thing to say, but every evening the "thank you" she said meant something different.

On this evening Ann made her regular walk, past the post office, onto the dirt road that led to the river that has no end. She looked at her watch as she made it to the banks of the river and said "ah, right on time". The sun began it's descent and Ann took a deep breath, closed her eyes and said, "thank you.". She opened her eyes to take a look at the setting sun that had painted her with it's rays and suddenly something out of the right corner of her eye caught her attention.

There was a small branch that had floated down stream and snagged on the bank of the river that has no end and something was moving inside of it. There was a struggle. It seemed to be a small creature that had it's legs caught in the branch. Ann stepped over to it, knelt down next to it and could now see that it was a small scorpion.

The Gospel.

2008-12-08T22:22:00.000-08:00

So... I realize I haven't posted in awhile. Hopefully all of my readers haven't got too discouraged and gone off to some other blog site that talks about cookies and eggnog. Ummm, eggnog. Anyway, I am going to post a series of FICTIONAL posts. It might be like 2 or 3. It's from the view point of 2 people. You might have seen my other fictional posts that you can read here and here.

These next 2 posts are going to be more "theological". Now please note, I know many of you don't agree with me or some of my Theology. That's ok. I just wanted to share this with you. I would really like to discuss it after the fact with some of you. Tastefully discuss.

Christ crucified, Christ glorified. Amen.

Check back for these stories soon...

Love has no enemies.

2008-10-13T14:26:00.000-07:00

The last few weeks have been hell on our economy and also on the average American's wallet. (An average American is still being decided upon so if you make more than $250k, don't read this.) I stay up to date with the news and try to filter through what is a scare tactic to keep us in check or what is truth.

As most of you know, I am not a Bush fan. Scroll down a few blogs and you will see which ticket I will be checking come early November. That's besides the point. I am writing this to make a confession. I have been a horrible follower of Jesus as far as this goes (the whole not liking Bush thing). I have my reasons to disagree with Bush and I think he really screwed some things up in Washington. But I have asked myself some questions...

1. How does my "not liking Bush as a person" glorify God?

2. If I speak of love all the time, why can't I love him as well?

3. What kind of example am I to my sons about love when I speak so badly of him?

4. What kind of example am I to the world when I speak of him in a negative way?

This all rose out of questions I have been asking myself about Christianity over the last few months. Bush spoke on CNN a few days ago and I looked past what he has done, said and what he was saying at the moment. I looked into his eyes and saw someone that has needs just like I do. Someone that needs grace just like I do. It was truly a beautiful moment. I am going to do my best to not speak ill of President Bush. He is a man just like me in need of a Savior just like me. If I (one of the most out spoken people that disliked Bush) can renounce my dislike for him and learn to love him despite the things he has done, what can the world or our sons or our co-workers learn from a love that has no enemies?

Note: This is also a response to some of my favorite authors who have taken it upon themselves to use their celebrity status in the kingdom (if there is celeb. status) to go on campaigns for Barack Obama. I do not speak for them but this "campaigning" really upsets me. The gospel must be preached, not a politician's promises.

"Justice is what love looks like in public."

2008-10-01T22:15:00.000-07:00

Call+Response is a must see. I found the trailer on the apple website in their movie trailer section. This movie is a response to the millions of slaves around the world. Sex slaves, work slaves or I guess we could just call them modern day slaves. What is our response as Christians to this injustice? How long will we have to wait until the church rises to the occasion of defending the poor, pleading the case of the widow and the orphan? During this time of election it should be on the fore front of the questions we ask the white house. What will you do to end modern day slavery?

Teenagers like Zach Hunter and Sally Rymer (both 17) are beating us to the punch. This generation is tired of what we did not do. I'm including myself. This generation is standing up and actually being pro-active in the long awaited day to the end of poverty and oppression. This is what inspires me to believe in our future generations. Barack Obama was quoted to say, "We can't leave a mountain of debt to the future generations" and with this being true, I don't see it happening. We will leave a mountain of debt for our future generations but it's kids like these that give me hope for my own boys that they can rise above this and look beyond what we destroyed.

Every night I speak, over my sons as they sleep, these few words. "I believe in you. You are a world-changer and a peace-maker. I love you."

What can we do to make a change?

Awesome.

2008-10-01T09:26:00.001-07:00

Answered Prayers.

2008-09-30T12:53:00.000-07:00

To be completely honest with you, this whole bailout thing is exactly what the American people need. It is what I need. I label myself as the problem in the economy. I have debt. None of it bad debt but debt is debt. Seeing that the U.S. Government wants to bail these rich guys out that made a mess at Wall Street does not surprise me nor does it make me ask, "Well why don't they bail me out?" However it does make me ask the question, is God answering our prayers? Scary thought.

For the longest time now we (American Christians) have asked God to come back to our land. We have begged him in song and in prayers and in liturgies that we sense His absence here so we want Him to come back. The thing is, we expect Him to fall in line with the American way. I know, I know, here I go again talking about God not being an American or doing what we say. But seriously, we have prayed for Him to do His will and He might just be doing that.

With the fail of the passing of the $700 billion bail-out or "rescue plan" flat out scares me. But what scares me even more is God actually answering our prayers. His way is the best way, I know that. But God doesn't have an agenda that looks like ours. His "bail-out" plan might look a lot like us not getting into debt and a lot of people at Wall street going bankrupt. It might even mean us getting a little uncomfortable.

So I wonder, is God answering our prayers?

"I believe in the American people. I believe we can do without a lot of what we have. I believe we can say no to credit. I believe we can live on very little. I believe in the American people." - Glenn Beck

Running from what I know. (Part 2)

2008-09-27T21:25:00.000-07:00

The sound the floor made as Chloe stepped off the last step into her living room reminded her that her children were still sleeping. She slowed her pace as the wooden floor seemed to grow louder with every step as she thought, "this next step won't creak as loud". She stopped upon entering into the kitchen to listen for the cry of a baby she had just laid to rest after a morning feeding. No sound. Only the sound that the coffee pot made as it started it's early morning routine of brewing the eye-opening Italian roast that Jonah and her drank quietly every morning as she read from the Psalms and as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and allowed the words to sink deep along with his Italian roast. Chloe was reminded of Jonah's absence as she listened for his footsteps that followed her every morning into the kitchen but she heard only the sound silence makes. This silence was different. It seemed louder than normal. She longed to hear the statement he made every morning come from his mouth. He would wrap his arms around her, kiss her on the cheek and say, "I love you to the moon." She mouthed it as if to fill some kind of void in the empty and silent kitchen.

Chloe watched the coffee maker brew the coffee in anticipation of the first drink that often burned her tongue but was too good to pull away and often brought tears to her eyes. As it finished it's duties, she poured herself a cup in the mug that Jonah usually used, the one that said, "World's best dad". Jonah would use that cup every morning and after he drank two or three cups, he would go through his routine of washing it out and leaving it in the one place Chloe hated, the window sill that sat above the sink. There were water stains from the many times he would leave his cup upside down to dry in the morning sunlight. Chloe made her way out to the porch that wrapped itself around their house like a pair of arms that held the house tight and secure. The sun poked it's light from the east and painted the many houses on their block. The morning dew that had fallen seemed to look like a million diamonds catching the sun light and sending it in thousands of directions. The symphony of light blinded Chloe for a moment as she sat in the porch swing that hung from the ceiling that loomed over her. "Lord, I really need You right now. I feel like I'm losing him" she said as a small tear escaped from her eye and ran down her cheek and onto the wooden floor. She wrapped her hand around the chain that held the swing wishing that it would respond to her pain. Chloe gathered herself and continued to pray, "This is all he knows, Lord. Give me an answer, please, I need to hear Your voice".

The sun was now warm on Chloe's face and seemed to give her some kind of comfort but made the reality of what she was facing cold in the same moment. "God, make me believe because my heart is not in it right now." she said before she finished the last few sips of her coffee. Mr. Williams from two houses down drove by and Chloe tried to make herself invisible by wiping the trails that the tears had made just a few moments earlier. She kept her head down and her eyes fixed on something small and red that had blown onto the porch. The sound of Mr. Williams car was now past Chloe as she quickly looked up hoping he hadn't pulled into the driveway wanting to know if she was ok. She saw his tail lights glow red as he stopped at the stop sign that sat on the corner where the neighborhood kids waited for the school bus. The sound of his engine revving as he mashed the gas pedal was the last thing Chloe heard before the silence that followed her in the house out onto the porch broke with a voice that said, "In whatever you do, he is yours, you are his and you both are Mine." Chloe kept her head down and said, "Yes, Lord." Tears were now falling steadily from her eyes, ran down her chin and with each one that fell it seemed to give her some kind of relief. Some kind of closure. The voice was gentle and warmed her to the core. Deeper than her Italian roast could. Deeper than the smile of their newborn baby girl. Deeper than her own husband. She tried with all she could to remember exactly what the voice said. She tried her best to compare it to any voices she knew and none of them came close.

Chloe wiped the tears from her eyes and looked to the edge of the porch where she had fixed her gaze when Mr. Williams drove by. The thing that had caught her eye in those earlier moments blew towards her. As it neared her feet she could now see that it was a small red feather. She picked it up and as she held it the comfort continued, the comfort that she remembered feeling when she heard the voice speak. Chloe stood and walked into the house that was now stirring with sounds from the upstairs. She took the feather and stuck it in the last place her and Jonah had read in her old, desperate bible. She placed it near the middle knowing that when Jonah came home they would once again read from the Psalms...

I'm coming out of the closet...

2008-09-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

This is a post that might send some of my friends to jump-ship as soon as they finish reading it. No, I'm not pulling a Ray Boltz and saying that God made me gay. Relax, I'm straight and love my wife in a very sexual way. Wink, wink. Anyway, this post is going to be political.

Now that I've lost half of my audience, let me tell you what is on my mind.

I am going to vote for Barack Obama in November. I have read many blogs of people that I really look up to and some that I don't agree with and have come to this conclusion on my own. I support Barack and what he is trying to do. I have issues with the Republican party and because I am a christian it doesn't mean I have to be a Republican. There are so many things that are broken in both parties, that is obvious. The thing that I like about Barack, over my extensive research, is that he stands for people. Not just the average American but for people who are suffering all over the world. It's time for us to take a stand and fight for a cause that is greater than ourselves. John McCain actually said that. (He's a neat guy to and I respect him greatly. Kudos on the woman VP nominee as well.)

There are so many ideas running through my head at this moment on what kind of responses I will receive for this post. The thing is, you don't have to agree with me. It's ok that we disagree on political issues.

Here is one thing you can't disagree with. (I guess you can if you want.) I believe Jesus would be crucified faster today than He was back in times of old. I say that because Jesus came and challenged everything they (we) knew with truth. Please don't think I am calling Barack Obama Jesus or "the savior" or anything like that, but I am saying that he does challenge what I think a President should be like or look like. It almost makes me uncomfortable because he is black and has a "scary" name. But I like it.

These are not the only reasons I am voting for him. I have my reasons. You don't have to vote for him and next time you see me I promise I won't be wearing a "Vote for Change" shirt. I'm not going to try to talk you into anything but it feels damn good to get this off my chest. Thanks for listening....

Note: I do realize there is a HUGE issue with the "homosexual" and "abortion" topics. These have been beat to death in my opinion. The democratic party and my reasons to join them does not come down to two controversial issues. Feel free to leave comments but please, do not be argumentative and ugly. Thanks. -ricky g

Running from what I know. (Part 1)

2008-09-18T21:35:00.000-07:00

"You realize the more and more you think of this the more of a reality it could become?" Jonah thought as he rubbed his arms and crossed them across his chest to shield himself from the the crisp breeze that seemed to blow in some type of rhythm. He stared out into the dark campsite that sat silent and contemplated going to bed but he hated the thought of moving from this spot that had given him comfort for the moment. Not that that this spot was special, because it was just a patch of cold, dry grass that lay on it's side from a long, dry winter, but because it brought some type of solace and when things around you do that, they become part of you, at least for the moment. "This is all you've ever known. What else would you do?" Jonah told himself trying to remind himself of a reality that was waiting for him when he arrived home from this minister retreat he was on but the moment in which he found himself seemed too real and it seemed like someone else was planting these thoughts in his mind and they were taking bloom one after the other. "I can quit and find another job pretty easily, at least I think I can find another job." The time Jonah had spent in church ministry had proved fruitful and successful but seemed to be taking it's water from another source.

He thought of his wife and could see her face as he replayed the last conversation he had with her on his cell phone before he lost reception. "This will take her by surprise. I need to talk to her first." Jonah said out loud. He could now see his breath as the wind caught his words and lifted them as they danced, taunting him as if they had recorded his voice. "Get out while you can. At what cost is all the success worth, Jonah?" a voice whispered from behind him. Jonah slowly turned only to see the trees wrestling with the the rhythmic wind. He slowly lowered his head and said, "Lord? Is that you?" He sat still for a few short seconds that seemed like an hour and tried his best to listen for the voice to speak again. He shortened his breath and tried his best not to drown out the voice if it decided to speak again. Nothing. He questioned whether he had heard the voice or not. "Surely it was just in my head because I'm trying to convince myself of quitting." Jonah stood to his feet and grabbed his aging Bible that sat next to him like an old friend, comforting him through this process of emotion and decision. The night was cold but something about the moon brought warmth. Maybe because it was bright and seemed to light up the campsite like a summer night. Jonah could see about 25 yards in front of where had sat but the rest of the path to the campsite was clothed in the night. As he walked to his tent he could see a little better by the light that glowed from the inside of one his minister's friends tents. "What would Gabe think if I told him what I was thinking?" he asked himself as he stood next to Gabe's tent. "Would it make any kind of sense to him?" he thought. Jonah walked on to his tent that awaited to swallow him and keep him warm for the night.

Jonah crawled into his tent and zipped the door behind himself. He slowly turned the key to his lantern as it lit the fire inside and seemed to warm his soul as he watched the fire glow and flicker inside the glass. As he prepared himself for bed, Jonah's mind rand wild with what his Pastor, who was also his boss would say. He thought about what his friends would say and more than that what his dad would say. Jonah hated to disappoint people but he knew that his thought process was taking him to that point. After taking his shoes off and putting a hoodie on, Jonah slid into his sleeping bag that was cold from his absence.

He laid in his tent and watched the lantern he had lit swing slowly from the wind that pressed outside. His eyes began to droop and coax him into a sleep he had awaited as he began to think of the scripture he had read before the sun set that night. Jonah began to recite the beginning to himself, " he who dwells in the shelter of the Most High..." "Where was that?" he asked himself as the sleep was now too heavy on his mind for him to think of the scripture he had read. Those few words ran from the front to the back of his mind like an annoying ball that would not stop rolling on the deck of a ship at sea. Jonah opened his eyes to find the light of his lantern fading. "I have got to find where that was." Jonah sat up and began to search his Bible. As he neared the middle from flicking from Revelation, he saw something from the top of his bible that distracted him. It seemed to move slowly with the small breeze that his page turning had created. He moved the top of his bible towards what was left of the light as his mind conceived what was holding his attention. It was a small red feather. He quickly turned to the page it was on knowing that he had not stuck a red feather in the middle of his bible. His mind raced thinking that this feather had some sort of connection to the voice he had heard earlier. As he got to the page the black letters said, " A prayer of Moses, a man of God." He looked to where the feather was lying and it rested on the words he had read earlier in the evening. "Psalm 91." Jonah said. He read on a few verses from what he remembered and got to one that sent a small chill up his spine, "he will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge..."

2 things...

2008-07-15T20:26:00.000-07:00

I am afraid of the future of the church. (The American church)

2 things happened today that assure me of the fate of the American church.

1. An ignorant email was sent via our church community of emailers that spoke of our ignorance and hate for people who are different than us. This certain email was nothing but an opinionated pile of garbage about muslims, Israel and those running for office. Things like "Obomination" and "he will hand us over to the muslims" were stated and this is what assures me of our certain impending doom as a community here in America. It scares me because anything that challenges what we believe or looks different than us or that doesn't wear what we wear is the devil in disguise. This is why I am certain that if Jesus came as man once more to earth, we would crucify Him within minutes. He didn't do what we thought He should do and fulfilled prophecies that were "dangerous". This makes us nervous so we start finding scripture that supports our ignorance. Or maybe we make it say something different. That scares me. When will we begin to look at the world like Jesus did and weep over our communities and long to take them in under our wings and more than that, have a deep compassion that would draw us into a relationship that is deeper than our concerns of homosexuality and politicians that are black? This is what scares me...

2. My beautiful sister called me today. (Damn this going to be hard.) I could hear the pain in her voice. It happened again. If you are a PK you will understand, if you are not, have some grace. My dad got yelled at for something he said. He didn't mean anything by it, just an innocent comment but for some reason he forgot to be perfect today. This certain lady has caused a lot of strife in my parents life and also in the life of their church. My sister asked me, "When is enough, enough?". Good question but no response. So when do you say something to these kinds of people? Maybe that's why it's so hard to follow Jesus. Maybe it's because He means what He says. To love our enemies and take the back row when our qualifications sit us at the front.

This is what scares me for the American church. Different people have no business being loved by us and the church is only a place to fight. I really don't know if I can do this anymore. This whole christian thing. I have doubts and the church tells me that's not ok. So what is ok? This is what scares me...

Jay Bakker is my hero.

2008-06-24T14:12:00.000-07:00

Watch this. I just started recording the episodes on Sundance. PK's unite!

You can watch 5 or 6 podcasts on youtube. Tell me what you think of this PK...

Confessions of a teenage Pastor's kid...(but really I'm 27)

2008-06-08T15:09:00.000-07:00

So, I didn't know if most of you knew I was writing a book. Tatadada...I'm writing a book.

It's mainly about my life as a PK or Pastor's kid for the laymen. It's really coming along. When I started it about a year ago, I just bought a small notebook for a dollar at Wal-Mart and planned on writing some poetry. But I had a story to tell. I really don't know if anyone will care or buy it when it gets published (notice my positive outlook) but I know that there are hundreds if not thousands of PK's who are starving for a story they can identify with.

Hopefully this will be the answer to that. The thing that may be cool about it is that there are so many PK's who grew up in a home like mine, with a regular dad as a pastor at a small church in a small community. I'm hoping that this will be fresh and revealing kind of the way Blue Like Jazz opened my eyes.

I will post updates on how my book is coming along. As of now I am writing a proposal for a large publishing company and I hope they say, "Man, this guy is awesome. Let's pay him millions to write more. We need more!" Ha.

What I'm reading right now: Bird by Bird. Some instructions on Writing and life. By Anne Lamott

Writing your life. By Lou Stanek

The Autobiography of Martin Luther King Jr. (Great read)

What I'm listening to right now: Coldplay/Parachutes, Bebo Norman/Between the dreaming and coming true, Sigur Ros/() (the nothing album)

What I'm watching right now: Heima/Sigur Ros

What about you? What are you up to?

Love people.

-ricky g

Salvageable.

2008-05-13T11:44:00.000-07:00

Clothes are awesome. I love clothes. The trendier the better. I'm not talking about trendy like you see on MTV where skinny super models wear fishnet stockings on their heads and garbage bags around their legs and call it fashion. Not at all. American Eagle is one that I love. When I go to my local mall, that's usually the first place I go.

The signs they have are beautiful. The people on the posters look so happy as they swing on tire swings and squirt water at each other. I want that life. My feet usually lead me to the sale rack and I think, 'Wow, this still isn't cheap.". As much a I love this store and the clothes that sleeps inside of it, I can't wear it anymore.

Just a few years ago it was cool or "vintage" to buy your clothes at a Goodwill store. Trust me, I was one of the first ones in line to buy some of that clothes. Now the cool thing is to "go green". I will tell you, I am a true convert of this lifestyle. The road is long for my family and I on this going green thing but we love it so far. We recycle our plastics, glass and things of that nature. There's not always light on in our house and the water won't dare drip where we live.

So if I'm going to make this a lifestyle, why not make it clothes as well? I usually don't care what I look like because my $60 jeans from AE have holes and patches in them like goodwill clothes mimics. Or wait, maybe AE is mimicing them. Anyway, I am making a new vow. There is plenty of clothes out there for all of us. We just need to get over the fact that someone else wore them. (Make sure and get passed the smell of moth balls and feet as well.)

So my new shopping place is Goodwill. Not because it's cool, but because it's there. If we all started buying our clothes from Goodwill, the major corporations like AE and Hollister couldn't monopolize the market anymore. You know why? They wouldn't have anyone to make clothes for...

Peace from the mean streets of "the 'rillo".

PS - Tell me what you think.
-ricky g

Jeffery.

2008-05-07T21:51:00.000-07:00

He was beautiful. His need was real and honest. He walked into our building, head lowered as he removed his work-worn hat that shaded his head from the sun that held him as slave for the day. "I'm not from here. I have nowhere else to go." This was Jeffery. Jeffery walked into our church building tonight and asked us for help. "My wife is dying of cancer and she needs insulin for her diabetes." Tears filled his eyes as he took a moment to gather himself into what seemed to be a vast wave of emotion that enveloped him to a point of suffocation. "I really need your help...I have nowhere else to go."

I took Jeffery to the local Wal-Mart and as we walked in he looked at the grand-lit letters "WAL-MART" that looked down on him with much disgust only to find that the pharmacy had closed 13 minutes prior to our arrival. His world was crushed and the feeling of failure rushed through his head to his cement covered boots. Without much movement, Jeffery took a step in front of me and began to rub his balding-blonde head as he walked out to my car.

I've never felt this helpless. I've never felt this hopeless. There was not one thing I could do for him. My attempts at telling him that there was hope and that there was a God that loved him were futile. There may have been a seed planted but this seemed so much more grand than any christianese anicdote my training had prepared me for.

We live in a fallen world. Nothing makes sense to me after tonight. I will go to bed in my warm bed, kiss my boys and my wife goodnight and dream dreams of safety and freshly mowed lawns. I am so unworthy of the things I have. Jeffery deserves better than this.

Jesus said, "the poor will always be among you..." does that mean the rich and comfortable will be too? This is way beyond what they taught me in Sunday School. There is a disconnect. Is there hope?

PS - Don't try and cheer me up. I swear, if there are any posts with cheesy sayings or anything of that nature, you will hear from me...