The [New] Way to my Heart

I've discovered that Joanna isn't the only one experiencing a shift in body composition as she becomes 28 weeks pregnant; I've discovered that the myths are true: sympathy weight gain in husbands is as real as a tight pair of pants.

The last few weeks have been hectic.  Hosting a graduation ceremony for 60 families, wrapping up a paper that has taken 2 years to write (another story), sending a team to Africa and life have been keeping us busy.  Our routine of regular exercise has taken a hit as Jo is more limited in what she can do, and I find myself preferring to hang with her (fun and easy!) instead.

I was a runner for years.  5k's, 10k's, 15k's, a half marathon up the side of Pikes Peak - three times, and a road race up the side of Mt Evans - twice!  I was the captain of the cross country team my senior year in high school after running 3 seasons prior.  2 mile records, an ORU Fun Run victory and such.  I was and have been 'that' guy.  There are traces of interest still left.  I could still run a full marathon someday, and I would still love to climb all 55 of Colorado's 14-ers.  That's really just a matter of time.

But cycling.  Cycling offers not only the chance to get in shape (if you're diligent), but also to see [more of] the world around you, feel a 100 year-old continuous feat of engineering beneath your feet, strut proudly in the tightest of spandex, and boast of 40 and 50 mile rides!  And it's different.

Conveniently, in the midst of this inertia embracing season, my birthday happens to be - today.  Yes, I'm a year older, and I can truly say that 27 feels lovely after about 5 conscious hours of it.  But along with the loving embrace and celebration of family, cake and hot dogs; today I'll enjoy gifts.  And this year, Joanna and my parents were especially generous.

My new [to me] 2010 Bianchi ViaNirone.  Fast.

At just the moment I needed a little help in sparking my personal fitness, Joanna agreed to the most extravagant present I'm likely to see for a decade.   I've considered this sport switch for a number of years - and today - I inaugurate it.

And as I do - I've remembered something important: To do things that make me come alive.  The list is fairly long.  Adventures, dates with Joanna, skydiving, leading worship, writing and reading... Cycling is just one more piece of it all.

In the hustle of life, it's easy to let your schedule dominate you.  There will always be demands, even when things seem slow.  If you're addicted to motion and action, you can always find things to do.  The trick is doing your part to keep the fires burning on the inside.  Find whatever that is for you, and schedule it, if you have to.

As the New Life School of Worship takes a break for the summer, as the other two thirds of the staff are in Africa, as I celebrate the passing of one year and the beginning of another and as we enjoy the brief lull before our first baby comes - I'm taking time to enjoy it.  I don't feel guilty for an instant - for I know the time I spend will greater invest itself into my future.

May those moments of coming alive (as John Eldredge might say it) come as often as possible.

Our New Governmental System

Of course by government, I mean the ruling policies that give structure to my own upstart of a nuclear family.  If you recall, George, Joanna and I have some company on the way that we're expecting to drop by in the later parts of August...

As part of the process, several weeks ago Jo and I had our "Half-way Appointment" with her doctor.  It was time for another ultrasound.  Seeing for the first time what actually looked like a baby; kicking, squirming, and very much alive, we experienced a new revelation of all we'd gotten ourselves into!  Classically, this is the ultrasound where you find out if you're having a boy or girl - but we had a unique thought in mind - and looked away when the tech told us she was heading in the down there direction.

The next day we returned home after the final performance of the Thorn in Colorado Springs.  Jo's parents were in town, and we all headed over to my parents home for a party of epic proportions.  Up until that point, we knew we were pregnant, but hadn't seen the baby in months.  Our viewing several months prior had looked something like a gummy bear.  As you can imagine, this left us expectant for something more defined - hoping that we'd see little hands and feet, and something that was more... human!

We did indeed!  "It" was healthy, with spine, bones, toes, even a nose (that bears striking resemblance to Joanna's) and yes (the tech could tell), a something (or lack thereof).

We delivered the result to the local Whole Foods Bakery, who made us ten delicious canolli's filled with either Raspberries or Blueberries for a girl or boy, respectively.  They messed up our order a bit, but you can read about that here.  That night my Grandma picked the number between 1 and 20, and took the first bite. 

RASPBERRIES.

In the words of Neo from the Matrix, "Whoa."

It wasn't that I expected a boy, but somehow I didn't expect a girl!  It was a rough first few days as I let go of fears that she wouldn't be shaped by our personalities, wouldn't be affected by my love of the outdoors, and wouldn't even want to play with her boring old Dad!  Thanks to Jo for her patient and enthusiastic approach to walking me through this I've arrived at a place where now I can't wait to meet this little wonderkid, can't wait to love her as best I can.

Her little life has taken on whole new meaning.  All the names we had thought were cute, we had to rethink - after all, this is an immortal soul!  This little girl will want to dance on my toes, play with dolls, and who knows what else!  Although I had a sister - it's not like I paid attention to all that stuff!  Raspberries meant that certainly, I would someday clean a shotgun in front of some punk kid who thinks he's got what it takes to date her, that one day I'd walk her down the aisle to give her to someone else... and that someday far, far away, she may bring over a little youngin' to bounce on my knee.

Here's to you kiddo.  Got a couple things: promise you'll ride on my shoulders on hikes, let me teach you how to play with legos, and fly a kite with me every so often?  Maybe we can play catch some too, watch fun Disney movies I've saved up, and play house with your Mom?  And even though I have two left feet - let me dance with you in the hallway with PJ's on, and waltz with you in my tux the day you wear your big white dress?  Figured I'd at least ask.  :)

"...Well George, it's becoming more of a democracy than I think we saw coming, guys gotta stick together..."

Attachment

Yesterday afternoon I had coffee with a student from the New Life School of Worship, a program based out of my church that trains people how to biblically, and lovingly lead others in worship of their God.  It's a program I have directed for the last 18 months.  As we talked about his new job at a church in Pennsylvania, and his impending move away from Colorado, something started to feel strange in my heart.  I began to experience a certain heaviness, a sense that a piece of my life was leaving, or at least that somehow something wasn't right.

Later I discovered the truth, having analyzed the complex amalgam of emotion; I realized it boiled down to sadness.

It seemed just yesterday I was talking in my office with this young guy and his Mom, trying to help him decide if the NLSW was even the place for him to come and spend a year of his life.  Now, having come, he is preparing to leave - to another fresh start, a place of service.  He is going off to do "in real life" what he spent a year learning to do here.  It's a success for him, and for the program!  We accomplished what we hoped to do; he experienced what I hoped he would.  Now he's got a date of departure.  And that's SAD!

I've been thinking about my position over the last few weeks and months, and observing the true oddness of it.  From a pastoral point of view, it's a unique and surprisingly taxing situation.  It's as if I pastor a congregation of 60 people that I handpick, invest my life into, and send away every 9 months having already begun the process again with a new batch of hopefuls.  Then I take 3 months off and bask in the Colorado sunshine (no, not exactly) only to begin the process again the next fall.

Weird.

And he's not the only one.  This year we've been blessed to have a truly stellar group of 1st and 2nd year students.  They come from all walks of life, with generational differences and various goals for this next season.  But as I watch them leave, something is clicking in me in a way it hasn't in years past (sorry previous NLSW classes!).  I'm attached.  And weird though it may be, it's something I think I should begin to get used to - with a baby girl on the way.  Parenthood.  Aside from a killer show on NBC, it's something that I'm realizing will slowly take away pieces of me - and this before my first child is even born!

To say I see this year of graduates as my children would be both incomplete and impossible.  Many of them are my elders, and I eclipse the youngest by 10 years at most!  But certainly, this year has helped me understand a wonderful part of life - in parenting and otherwise.  Despite the discomfort and unnatural feeling of their immanent departure, I'm experiencing a taste of what it means to have invested myself in something and see the dividend going to another cause.  Someone else will be the beneficiary.

Sheesh it's weird.  And actually it does feel quite right somehow.

Students - just promise to call every so often!

Like a Thorn in my _________ !

This is the third year that I have been a soloist for The Thorn, New Life's 700-member Easter production.  The show doesn't change much from year to year, which speaks to the excellence of the script and screenplay (Thanks Rob and John).  But having performed these same songs for several years, and having heard them since I was in grade school, it's easy to let this passion play become a routine, or worse - a show.

On one level or another, it begins this way like clockwork every year.  Word comes around that rehearsals are starting, that the martial arts team has already been at work for months in the gym perfecting angel sized muscles, and that the set is making it's way from ideas on paper to massive constructions of wood and steel.

My first year, it was easy to be swept up in the hype of the production, being involved on any level felt like an amazing privilege, and I was just blessed to play any part at all.  The second year, it became easy to be a little complacent and feel almost... entitled.  Believe it or not come year three, it can even feel like an obligation.

Honest, yes - but my intent is to expose the gunk that nearly crept in.

This is a time in my life when establishing boundaries and time management habits is crucial.  With a baby on the way, and our young marriage still on the front burner of my mind, drawing clear lines between what I do and who I am has never been more important or difficult.  The irony is that I was drawn to ministry not only for the significance it would add to my life, but because I wanted to raise a family in it.  But I'll keep that discussion for another time - it deserves it.

I'm realizing the Thorn is a type of marker for me.  Each year as I participate, and a huge burden is placed on my time and energy for a brief season, it's all too easy to become cynical and jaded.  In fact, that is the natural result!  But that's the greatest danger of all.  I've learned that my innocence of heart is worth protecting at all costs.  And it's not just the Thorn; all ministry threatens to blur the lines of work and family, counseling and recreation.  As this two week season of non-stop nightly rehearsals in both Colorado Springs and Denver beats down - if I'm not vigilant - the joy of the performance can vanish, and the joy of ministry become tarnished.

I'm a part of a quartet that sings "The Glory of the Blood" during the moments immediately after the crucifixion.  Watching the drama of Jesus reach it's zenith, I'm blessed each time to relive the wonder of the greatest miracle ever.  The sinless death that made a way, the doubt the disciples must have felt in the darkest days afterward, and the hope that held them together (Matthew 20:19) in the midst of apparent total defeat become real again.  And it's that moment that continues to refresh my soul - that helps me remember the reason for everything I'm doing - and gives glorious context to the fatigue I happen to be feeling at the moment.

(C) Ted Mehl, Thorn 2010

Thank God for his blood, shed for me - and his resurrection that made a way for life abundant.  These are the days I realize anew the truth that I'm bound to this man Jesus and what he did for me - and spreading that truth with all I am and do.