Thoughts and Musings

Pastors standing in the surf of change

It's around 11am, and our family is at the beach. It rained the first few days here, but now the sun is shining bright and the place is packed.  We've carved out a few square feet of sand for our two folding chairs.  We won't need much room, though, because the majority of the Lindsleys will be out in the water, out in the waves. I've always loved the body surfing/boogie-boarding thing, and I'm proud to have passed that same love on to my sons.

It's different being out there as a father, though.  It's a bit of a juggling act between satisfying your own desires to enjoy the waves while owning up to your parental obligations.   I have to shelve my desire to plunge headfirst into the oncoming wave to make sure my kids are safe.  And "safe" in the ocean is always a tricky thing - that huge wave that doesn't materialize until its right on you, undercurrents and rip currents, and all the unforeseen marine life that - as I've had personal experience with - can cause, ahem, severe complications.

What makes it even more of a challenge is the difference between my two boys.  My oldest shares my tendency to throw himself into something with reckless abandon.  I want to go out to the big waves, he tells me.   We can't, the lifeguard says there are rip currents out there, I answer.  What does he know, he's way back there in the lifeguard chair!  And so it goes.  My younger son, though, is much more tentative.  Or "smart," as his mother would say.  He may want to follow his Dad and older brother, but for him, the threat overrides the potential thrill.  But he's not going to sit up in the beach chair, either.  So in his mind he's determined the parameters of how far he'll go into the surf, and he's not about to exceed it. 

It's a lot to manage.  In fact, it actually feels a lot like being a pastor.

The waves of change are swirling around the church in a big way these days, and in many ways it's been going on for years.  Much of this change - all of it, perhaps - has come from the outside: civil rights movement, women's liberation, postmodernism, gay marriage and stances on homosexuality, the equalizing of the human experience via mass technology and social media.  I could go on and on.

The point is, the church is facing change whether we like it or not. And we differ greatly on how we respond to and cultivate that change, even within a single congregation.

Some folks are like my older son, feeling the urge to plunge head-first into the waves of change.  Why delay the inevitable?  Things like the emergent church, contemporary worship, congregations that look and feel more like coffee houses, and even NEXTChurch in my denomination are all signs that some recognize the wave is coming - so why not go and meet it?  We know we can't "change the change" any more than my son or I can alter the direction of the wave that's heading straight for us - as my friend and fellow songster David Lamotte sings, "The water's gonna win."  As does change.  Why fight something that is going to happen with you or without you?

Hold on, say people like my younger son.  For these, change - like the waves - are not just a sign of something different, but the essence of the difference itself.  And the very fact that "it" can't be stopped elicits fear - or, as writer Diana Butler Bass suggests in her recent book, grief over the loss of what was familiar and comfortable.  There are degrees to this category of folks.  Some remain stubbornly on the shore, plopped down in the beach chair and observing the change from a safe distance.  Others, like my younger son, may wade in the surf, but only up to a point.  They engage change in the church with conditions and qualifiers: contemporary music... but only at the early service.  Women in positions of leadership... but not the lead pastor.  Acceptance of gays and lesbians for church membership... but not for ordination.

And there's the pastor in the middle of it all.  They're standing in the surf, calling out to one group of folks to come back, not so fast, wait up for everyone else.  And they're calling out to others: come on in, it's not so bad, you'll be alright.  They're well aware of the threats that can be seen - all those undercurrents and rip currents swirling around them - as well as the threats no one can see yet.  They're trying to care for people and help them meet their needs, while also caring for the church and meeting God's needs.

Like I said, a lot to manage.

I got to thinking about this while scanning my Facebook feed this morning and coming upon this from The 70 Sent Project:

The church is a paradoxical mixture between the desire to transform a world that clings to old forms and prejudices, and the desire to find stability and peace in a world that is changing too rapidly. Often this paradox is found within the same person.  The role of the church leader is to stand in the middle of this paradox, facilitating the flow of the Holy Spirit between the transforming and stabilizing impulses. (emphasis mine)

That's the huge task facing pastors and all church leaders in today's church: not trying to be everything to everyone, a common misconception (and the cause of clergy burnout for anyone who tries it).  No, the task of those in ministry in the 21st century is trying to bring everyone together into some sense of cohesion and mission when people are different (thanks be to God for that, by the way) and when people respond to change differently.  That along with facing the fact that the change, like that big wave, is coming.  In fact, in a sense it's already here.

It's a challenge, to be sure. But it's also a wonderful opportunity and privilege, to stand there.  Change means that God is in the midst of doing some pretty amazing stuff. Here's hoping that, wherever we are standing in the surf - right at the breaking point or a little further up shore - that we all eventually get swept up in the wave of God's change together.

In other words, time to get our sea legs under us.

Just another youth group recording in the studio.

If you're looking for something crazy and insane to do this summer, how about this:

First, write a theme song for the summer youth conference you're leading music for.

Then, go into the studio to record that song, inviting some good musical friends/former bandmates to join in the fun.  Totally overestimate your own ability on instruments you really don't know how to play (read: mandolin and accordion). Learn the hard way that "faking live" and "faking in the studio" are two very different things.

Next, come up with an idea that, at first, sounds simple enough: since the song is written to be sung in a large group setting, why not ask your entire church youth group to travel down to Winston-Salem one weekday evening and record the choruses in the studio?  And while you're at it, coax your wife and boys to tag along.

After that, schedule a run-through the night before that doesn't even last an hour. Meet in the youth house, sit on couches, play the demo on your ipod. Do crazy stuff like asking them to split into guy parts and girl parts on the middle eight.

And then, to top it all off, ask your DCE to pile them in the church van and a member's minivan and drive them all to the studio.  Which, in this case, is the bottom floor of a two-story garage behind your buddy's house.  He's fixed it up extremely nice as a band room, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine 20+ middle and high schoolers cramming in there around a condensor mic. Much less a 15-passenger church van parked out in front of his house.  Hand out three headsets and keep one for yourself, and ask these non-professionals to sing to a track the vast majority of them will never hear.  Wave your arms wildly in the air to bring them in and out and keep them in time.

Oh, and sweat profusely, since the A/C unit has to be turned off during the recording, lest the sensitive mic pic it up and transform it into the sound of a gushing wind.

Ask these kids to be totally silent until the moment they start singing, and then totally silent when they're done.  Ask them to cut their "s's" off at the same time so it doesn't sound like a snake pit.  Ask the young middle school boys to do their best impression of a grown man's deep voice, and ask two of the girls to sing the women's part an octave higher than the others - but not too loudly.

Did I mention the sweating profusely thing?

And then, when it's all said and done, tell them what an incredible job they did and how proud you are of them, because that's exactly what they did, and that's exactly how you feel.

If you can swing that, my friends, then it's already a pretty awesome summer.

 

My son and I are Ukuleleists. Or Ukeists. Or Uke players. Or Ukers.

It'd be nice if they had a standard name for it.  They do for all the others: Guitarist.  Pianist.  Drummer.  Cellist. Mandolin player. That last one is a little clumsy, if not consistent.

But for that four-stringed Hawaiian wonder that seems to be making a comeback of sorts these days, there's no one name.  So take your pick. Me?  I'm going with Uker.  Short and to the point, and it sounds cooler.

My boy got his uke a few weeks ago after pressing me to get him one. I found it for a steal.  He's going to take lessons this summer from George, a fellow Mayberry musician who teaches most anything with strings on it. I wound up getting one myself soon after, and may try to incorporate it into my acoustic gig at Round Peak Vineyards this weekend.  He's already written two tunes that use the same three chords he made up, just switching the order. Oh, and he's tackling Bohemian Rhapsody. Not kidding.

It's a fun little instrument - easy to hold and play, easy on the fingers. I dig the sound that comes from a well-crafted uke - bright when you pluck, percussive when you strum.  The biggest challenge are the chords - they bear a striking resemblance to guitar chords, but it's in a different tuning, so it plays with your mind a bit. A "D" is actually a "G" and an "A" is really a "D". We're working on it.

I don't know what qualifies one to be an expert Uker, but I'm nowhere near that. I'm just meandering around in a new musical arena, like taking a hike on a beautiful mountain trail I've never been on before. I've engaged in this exercise before, with varying results (note to self: there is no way to just "pick up" playing the fiddle).  This time around, I'm going to enjoy the journey and have some fun along the way.

And it's nice to have some company as well.

 

Love you! Learn stuff!

Every weekday morning, depending on my wife's substitute teaching schedule, I engage in one of my favorite morning rituals: dropping the boys off at school.  My ten year-old son goes to one school, and he's long past the days of his Dad walking him in.  So we pull up in the circle; he opens the door and steps out, and I tell him the same thing every single morning: Love you! Learn stuff!

I take my eight year-old son to school next because his is closer to the church. Thankfully, he still enjoys his Dad walking him in.  So I park the car and we get out, and he grabs my hand before I reach for his.  I know this will change some day, but you can bet I'm enjoying it now.  I walk him into the lobby area - we used to go all the way to the classroom, but that was years ago.  For this second grader, the lobby is the established point of departure.  The handshake transforms into a brief hug and I say what I've always said to him since his very first day of preschool: Love you! Learn stuff!

A slight change-up this morning.  As we get to the lobby, I ask if I can take him all the way to his class.  Without hesitation he says yes.  But he lets go of my hand - an unspoken compromise, I'm guessing, for my special request.  That is fine.  We walk down the hallway and I playfully grab for his head, and he jukes me in the same way he's accustomed to doing with me on the basketball court at home.  When we get to his classroom, I give him a quick hug, I say my thing, and watch him take his seat before turning and heading to the parking lot.

Maybe he knows the reason I asked to walk him to his class was because somewhere in Boston today, there is a father who wasn't able to do the same thing with his eight year-old son.  Maybe he doesn't.  If I had to guess, I imagine he's aware at some level; because kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for, and because my wife and I made the decision after Newtown that our boys were old enough to know, that trying to shield them from stuff like what happened in Boston yesterday was futile in an age when our kids are almost as electronically-plugged in as we are.  As long as they know we can talk about our fears and concerns as a family, and that we're all in this together.

God, I'm tired of the sick, numbing ritual our society seems to be engaging in more and more these days: the sudden, out-of-nowhere "breaking news," the multi-tasking of watching cable news and scanning Facebook and Twitter feeds, trying to piece together a puzzle whose final picture we already know we won't want to see; the increasing injury and death counts, the names and pictures and faces and personal stories of ended lives, and the inevitable movie/music star benefit concert televised live on a Friday night with the 888 number scrolling at the bottom of the screen.  I'm tired of the ritual of having one more location stripped of its innocence, a mental checklist we keep and remember: elementary schools, movie theaters, houses of worship, college campuses, summer youth camps, and now marathon finish lines.  I'm tired of the thought that runs circles in my head after the initial shock wears off, when I can momentarily pull my thoughts away from the television screen and the website: Here we go again.  It's a ritual that I hate and despise; and sadly, one that is feeling more and more familiar.

Which is why I so desperately need the other rituals.  The ritual of going to work, of dinner with my family, of running three miles in the morning, of listening to and performing music, of checking in on a homebound church member, of writing a sermon, of a lunch date with my wife, of gathering with the body of Christ on Sunday mornings, of dropping my sons off at school and saying Love you! Learn stuff!  These rituals are the important ones, if for no other reason than they're the very ones those who planted the bombs in Boston want most to disrupt.  They want me to be afraid of going to schools and movie theaters and houses of worship and college campuses and summer youth camps and marathon finish lines and the next unknown place where some unspeakable tragedy will happen.  They want me to live in fear.

I'm not going to give them that pleasure.  It's nerve-racking dropping my boys off at school where they will be somewhere I am not, but I am going to refuse to cave in to the fear they so desperately want me to drown in.  I'm just not going to do it.  I'm going to refuse for me and my family, for my church and community, for a father in Boston who will never be able to drop his son off at school again.  I'm going to keep doing what I do, and I'm going to do it out of love. Which is always greater than fear. Always.

And you better believe I'm going to hold his hand as long as he'll let me.

Life is short. Use extra vowels.

Uh, okay. I mean, if it were me, I would've gone with just two E's. But what the heck. Life is short. Knock yourself out.

Unrefined thoughts in uncertain times

I'm one of those bloggers who tends to meticulously pore over my drafts before hitting the green "Publish" button - much the same way I do with my sermons.  Wanting to make sure every sentence, phrase, words is in its proper place.

But not this time.  I'm just going to type it and post.  Because sometimes, you won't be able to find the perfect set of words no matter how much refining you do.

I've been a parent for over ten years now, and I've never been so frightened.  Tuning in to the news networks throughout the day has been like uncovering a wound that you didn't think was as bad at first, only to slowly learn how deep it goes.  As of this post: 30 people dead at the elementary school in Connecticut; roughly 20 of which are children between the ages of 5 and 10.

The shooter has a name.  There's a back story developing; something about how his mother was a teacher there and how she was killed, along with a number of her kintergarden students.  No doubt we'll learn more about him and that back story; no doubt we'll see his face plastered on our television screens and newspapers and websites many more times than we care to - as we do every time this happens and it sure seems to be happening a whole lot more often these days.

I'm scared to death.  Not about guns or the warped people who use them to act out, but scared about all the things I can't control when it comes to my life and the life of my family.  Every day I kiss my wife as she heads out the door to work - at, of all places, an elementary school.  Every day I drop my boys off at their respective schools and hardly give it a thought.  As I said in a Facebook post earlier today, this sure is one of those "hug-your-kids-a-little-tighter" kinda days today.  Or, as someone commented, "a lot tighter."

And with Christmas approaching, of all things!  Where is the peace and hope we're supposed to seek?  Where is the promise fulfilled, the Good News??  To which I remind myself that Jesus was not born into a world of peace and hope, but came to make that possible.  The circumstances around his birth were anything but peaceful, hopeful.  Roman rule and oppression.  A young unmarried mother.  Traveling way out of town.  No room at the inn.  It was chaotic, crazy, out of control.  Like today.

Come, Immanuel, Come.  Never have those words meant more to me than now.  I just want Jesus to get here, and get here quick.  To bring that peace and hope we obviously are in such desperate need of.  To give us some good news for a change.

In the meantime, we'll pray for all the families in Connecticut tonight who are having to face the unthinkable.  We'll pray for teachers and schools across the country.  We'll pray for all of us.  We'll just pray.

Our Disney Trip in tweets, 2.0.

When our family took our first trip to Disney World back in May 2010, I honored my wife's request to not post our adventures in the social media world while away from home.  But I took good notes - well, tweets - and shared them en masse upon our return. 

It seemed to work well, so why not try it again?  Here's our most recent family foray into the world of Mickey.  Enjoy.

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DAY 1 - TRAVEL DAY #1, PALM COAST

Just realized I won't open my laptop for a whole week. I'm so okay with that.

Disney, here we come! Driving this time, though. Pricey plane tickets. First stop: Palm Coast, FL. Nine-hour drive. Nearly double our longest family car ride. Prayers appreciated.

"Dad, he tried to bite me!" #eldersonspeaks #arewethereyet

Holy crap, this is a long drive.

Finally arrivee in Palm Coast, FL after ten hours in the car. Dinner at a place on the beach. Two old guys who look like Jethro Tull rejects playing acoustic & flute.

OMG. They actually play Jethro Tull.  Who would've thought...

My ten-year old is asking the Jethro Tull duo to play something from Aqualung. What the heck...?

Tom Petty's "Last Dance With Mary Jane" with a flute. Alrighty then...

Flute guy is now playing sax on The Stones' "Brown Sugar." Should I tell him at break that I've played with the actual Stones sax player? #bragging

Bed. Aaaaaahhhh......

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DAY 2 - TRAVEL DAY #2, ANIMAL KINGDOM

Dear hotel management: your AC works. Very well. Too well. #FrozenChosen

Two-hour drive left to Disney. Hope this isnt a cold I feel coming on. Coffee, stat.

Drove by the Trinity Broadcasting Network campus in Orlando right next to I-4. Fake gold is as plentiful on the outside of building as it is on inside.

On the last leg of the trip: "Hey Dad, can you put in some Peal Jam?" #youngersonspeaks #proudpapa

All checked in at the Disney All Star Music resort. Rock section. Don't tell me you're surprised.

Animal Kingdom - it begins!  Fast Pass for Expedition Everest acquired. Now on to Kali River rapids.

For the record, the Disney mobile app is awesome for checking wait times.

Slightly damp, thanks to River Rapids ride. Heading to Kilomanjaro Safari.  Hungry, but our sit-down lunch isn't until 2:30.

Good lord. 1:49 and SO hungry. I could seriously eat whatever it was they were feeding that gazelle back at the safari.

Lunch, finally! Shrimp pasta. Some huge ice cream thing with brownies called the Volcano.

So I think I have either a cold or a sinus infection. Which, if true, kinda sucks.

Disney has people walking around with iPad devices whose sole job is to gather demographic info from you. Always planning their next move.

Mickey family pic: score!

William H. Macy's doppelgänger just walked by. Now that was weird!

Back at the hotel and out at the pool. Boys are swimming in this awesome Florida September weather. Still don't feel good. Grrrr...

Pool was close suddenly due to "unscheduled maintenance." Which apparently is the Disney way of saying "poo in the pool."

The best part? My eldest was the very last one out. In there for minutes with the lifeguard trying to get his attention. Just laying there. And no, he wasn't "that one"

Okay, enough of this. Heading to the nearest doc-in-a-box. Cue the "Steve gets sick on family trips" jokes...

Great. Apparently the best Mickey has to offer is an urgent care that closes at 8pm or a doc who will visit your room for $350. Will try to sleep it off. #DisneyFail

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DAY 3 - MAGIC KINGDOM

Early start to the day. We've got an 8:30am breakfast at the Crystal Palace in the Magic Kingdom. Upward & onward!

Piglet just took my coffee order and I got my picture taken with Tigger. Now I can die happy.

Health update: feeling okay. Sore throat. Stocked with Halls cough drops for the long haul. I know you were just dying to know.

Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin score: 39,600. Feeling pretty good about myself.

Space Mountain. The high-techie-ness of this ride was a pretty big deal when it was built in the 70's. Now it's a retro high-techie-ness.

Every ride exit leads straight to a gift shop with a theme consistent with said ride. I think I'm seeing a pattern here...

Random observation: there are a lot of Italians here. Or at least people speaking fluent Italian.

Holy cow. Ran into one of Eldest's best friends in his class at school & his family. It really is a small world after all.

How is it possible that I'm hungry again? Oh, that's right - it's Disney & you're walking non-stop. Plus the smell of food is everywhere.

Walking around the park, speakers are hidden everywhere playing theme music appropriate for that part of the park. It's the little things that count.

Dear dude walking around with your t-shirt hiked up above your pecs: please, for the love of all that is good and Disney, stop.

There's a guy riding the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad roller coaster with his camera out taking pics. He will officially lose that camera in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.....

In the middle of Its A Small World: "Daddy, they play this song too much." #youngersonspeaks

Is it bad that, on the slow rides that run through indoor air-conditioned spaces, my attention is drawn to crevices off to the side that I could curl up in & take a nap? #tired

Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin again Younger's score: 300,100. Not feeling so good about my score earlier in the day.

The Peoplemover. Alladin's carpets. The riverboat. Ten straight hours & counting.  All the rides are starting to blend together now.

Twelve hours after arriving, Younger & I are heading back. He doesn't like fireworks. I wanna hit the bed. Tonight, at least, we make a good team. Wife & Elder will be troopers & see it through to the end.

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DAY 4 - LAZY DAY, CHEF MICKEY'S, SCI-FI DINE IN THEATER

Temp back home in Mount Airy as kids go to school & parents to work: 45 degrees. Temp in Disney World as Lindsleys ease in to another Disney day: 73 degrees. Yesssssss.

"Man, that was the largest washcloth I'd ever seen!" #eldersonspeaks as he holds up a very damp hotel bathmat. Oh boy....

Family of 4-year old quintuplet girls & one younger brother waiting for brunch at Chef Mickey's. Girls are all made up in Mickey ears & bows. Mom looks pregnant. Dad looks tired.

Well, whadya know - more Mount Airy people! Good to catch up with Joey, Sally, Paxton & Kinley on their way out of Chef Mickey's!

Brunch consumed. Characters now visiting. Cool to see how my boys still get in to this.

The Dad at the table next to us is SO creeping on Minnie. Dude, control yourself.

Goofy just gave me a fist-bump. Dawg.

Realizing something today that I had picked up on when we were here last: there is absolutely no gum for sale anywhere in Disney, at any theme park. None. At all.

We are at Disney World, and what do the boys want to do on our free afternoon? Go to the cheesy hotel arcade. Sheesh.

Picked up some "Happy Anniversary" buttons for the wife & I at the front desk. It's a week away. The guy at the desk said the window was "anytime this year." I'll take that.

Oh my gosh. SO funny. Every Disney employee everywhere is wishing us a Happy Anniversary. Even some regular folks are joining in.

Sci Fi Dine-In Dinner theater at Hollywood Studios, where you sit in 50's cars and eat dinner while watching black & white Sci-Fi movies on the big screen. Awesome.

My favorite Sci-Fi movie title thus far: "Attack Of The 50-Foot Woman." This was an actual Hollywood movie, people. I need to find it.

On the bus ride back to the hotel, Younger falls asleep. At the moment, living vicariously through my boy.

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DAY 5 - EPCOT

I like Epcot, if for no other reason than the foods from all the countries.

Words of wisdom from my wife, who has done her share of Disney research: walk to the left when you enter the park. Most people walk to the right.

Standing in line for the Nemo ride, the boys are harmonizing on Green Day's "American idiot." Censored version, of course. #proudpapa

Love it in the "Turtle Talk With Crush" show that the sign language person signs "dude" and "righteous."

Had something called a "Spanish coffee" with dessert at lunch. Thought it was just straight-up coffee. Believe me, there was a lot more in it other than jo. Not sure if this will help the rest of my day or hurt it.

Soarin' is so cool, we're gonna do it again. Rockin' the Fast Pass!

Mission: Space. Flight to Mars. The more-intense version. So, lots of spins & G-force. Wife is sitting this one out in the gift shop.

Agent P's World Showcase Adventure, where kids get a phone-like device & have to find clues all over the place. Last time we did this it was Kim Possible. Not a fan. This time it's better, as are most things with a platypus.

Malestrom Norway ride = 30 minutes of my life that ill never get back. Lame.

All the Disney employees in China are Asian, except one - the Mulan Disney character everyone's getting pictures with. #DisneyFail

Overheard in Japan: "Wait, this isn't Germany?" What, was it the chopsticks that gave it away?

Walking through these Epcot countries, one might be led to think that all countries are nothing more than an endless series of thematic gift shops.

Ran into church members in France. Again, a small world!

And now the long line to get pics with the characters. But hey, they're showing cartoons!

Bus ride home was so packed I was standing & nearly fell back into some old lady's lap. That would've been a wild ending to the day!

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DAY 6 - HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS

It is quite obvious from watching TV while getting ready for the day that Florida is a swing state in the upcoming presidential election. #politicalads

"Come on in, Prince Charming!" says the Disney employee lady at the gate when Younger walks through. Big smile follows.

I gotta admit, I'm a little bummed neither of my boys want to do Jedi Training this time. #livingvicarioulsythroughymykids

Boys now playing in "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" playground. Which is cool, except last time we were here it was "Honey, I LOST the kids!"

Great. Honey I lost the kids. Again.

Honestly, I think they made HISTK to make parents look like complete idiots, running around trying to find their children.

Out with a head count of four. Thank God.

Dear dude standing in line: I'm pretty sure repeatedly dropping the "F" bomb is not part of the Disney experience.

Vomit alert in the Star Tours ride. Not from one of my boys, but on one of them. Eeew. Need a bathroom, stat.

Elder says he's not absolutely sure girl threw up on his leg & that it may have just been his sunscreen. Either way, we wash vigorously.

There are a lot of people in Disney sporting very bad tattoos. My fav was dude with a pic of some woman who looked nothing like the girl whose hand he was holding.

Eating lunch at a retro-50's place designed to look like grandma's kitchen. If the green beans taste like hers, we'll be in business.

Aerosmith's Rockin' Roller Coaster. A family affair. Zero to 60 in 2.6 seconds. That was some serious fun, and my favorite Disney picture by far!

My suggestion for Disney's next money-sucking venture: iPhone charging stations. Rates could increase in the afternoon. Would be more lucrative than overpriced food & gift shops.

About fell asleep in the Muppets show. This Dad is zonked. Miles to go before I sleep.

Toy Story Midway Mania. Where I give thanks to the good lord for Fast Passes that prevent a 75-minute wait.

And now, ladies & gents, the hour-long wait in line to get our family picture with Woody & Buzz, whoo-hoo!

This Woody/Buzz line is seriously starting to remind me of the line to see Santa in "A Christmas Story."

Kids in this line are dropping like flies. One little boy right in front of us is sobbing over & over again to his parents, "Take me out, PLEASE!" They're apparently not.

Honestly, Disney could have a beer stand in this line & make a killing. I'd personally shell out $10 for a Mich Ultra right now.

Kid in front of us is getting physical now. Dad is either giving him a drink of water or injecting him with a sedative. Can't quite tell.

Half an hour into things. More kids screaming. I fear a mutiny is upon us.

Okay, I'd pay $20 for that beer.

Getting close. Very close. Kid in front is showing hints of a smile. Maybe we'll get out of this alive!

Woody/Buzz family pic acquired! Now on to Pizza Planet for food and - you guessed it - an ice cold Yuelgling!

"This is freakin expensive," #eldersonspeaks, as he quickly burns through $5 in quarters in the Pizza Planet arcade.

Home. Bed. Another magical day in the books.

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DAY 7 - ONE LAST HURRAH AT MAGIC KINGDOM

Up early & packing. Boooooo

Disney thinks of everything. They even slightly deflate the toy balls in their gift shops so kids can't bounce them around. This truly fascinates me.

Incidentally, I am not fond of gift shops on the last day of Disney. They sap away your remaining time. Just call me Grumpy.

Hunter scored over 900,000 this time on Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger. Sweet Lord, shouldn't that win us an extra night's stay or something?

After much field study, it's a close call, but Aerosmith's Rockin' Roller Coaster > Space Mountain.

There's a big ugly black crane sticking up behind the castle where they're building the next phase of the theme park. Kind of a bummer for classic photo ops.

Let it be known: I will never get tired of the Haunted Mansion. Never. Ever.

Flashback from riding Splash Mountain circa 1976: I couldn't make up my mind if the inside part was supposed to be funny or scary. Loved it anyway. Still do.

Whoa! An egret just snatched Elder's burger right off his plate & flew away. Now that's one very hungry & very brave bird! And one bummed-out boy.

Dang. Time is slipping away. The bewitching hour is fast approaching. Gotta make the most of what's left here.

Not sure I understand my younger son's fascination with the PeopleMover. Maybe it's because there are no loud booming sounds. Whatever the case, here we go again....

Pirates of the Caribbean. Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Something with Mickey. Making every minute count!

The big gift shop on Main Street. This one I like. Searching for the perfect t-shirt before we hit the road.

So long, Disney. You've been great to the Lindsleys once again!

"Hunger Games" and other rites of passage

So our son started reading The Hunger Games a few days ago.  After some pretty heavy lobbying on his part, his Mom and I gave our approval. He'd just finished his fifth or sixth Diary of a Wimpy Kid book.  No signs of injury from the whiplash effect.

There's no manual to let parents know when their kids are ready for stuff like this. For better or for worse, the primary barometer we used was simply what other kids his age were doing.  It's funny how quickly that barometer can change.  Last year I proctored a non-EOG test for a fourth-grade class at my son's school; and when the kids finished nearly all of them, in one fluid motion, put their pencils down and reached into their desk to pull out some permutation of the Suzanne Collins series. Standing at the front of the classroom, it was like looking at a huge mosaic of Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay book covers.  I watched in fascination and thought, wow, how cool they're reading some thought-provoking stuff there.  Some day my son will be ready for that. Some day.

That was April.  This is August.  Four short months.  And suddenly my son is in the fourth grade. 

Sure, it's pretty heavy material, beyond just the violence.  Trying to digest the rudiments of a dystopian society, an unjust world with little redemption, and a ruthless dictator takes a certain level of sophistication.  But I'd rather have my son deal with these issues in the context of a good fictional book; and with me and his mother ready to engage him in conversation and open discussion (which, if you know my son, is certainly forthcoming).

And yeah, I know, it's just the beginning.  The taboo book was merely a launching pad into a slew of pre-adolescent rites of passage. Already he's asked about Facebook and a cell phone.  My wife and I are discussing the parameters for an allowance.  Again, no manual.  Parents are left to their own devices to feel their way through all of this - a parental rite of passage of its own, I'm quickly learning.

It's just so surreal, how fast it's all happening. And the reminders extend beyond my own flesh and blood. Last night we were enjoying a lazy evening at the swimming pool and I went to get a snack.  I rounded the clubhouse and came upon one of my son's classmates; a cool kid with a bubbly personality who always makes me smile.  Except she wasn't standing there in flip-flops sucking on a freeze pop with a Mickey Mouse towel draped over her shoulders, like she was just yesterday.  Or maybe that was three years ago.  No, there she was, driving a golf cart, decked out in spiked shoes and collared shirt. Presumably taking a soda to her father on the back nine, but still.

Every now and then I have this recurring daydream.  It's one where my sons and I sit around the TV on a Sunday afternoon and digest the Panthers pass protection and talk about how many years Cam Newton has left.  Or we check out the latest super hero movie - Avengers 6, we'll call it - and laugh at how it was just like all the others.  Or the four of us feel the collective surge of adrenaline in the arena at a U2 or Green Day or Switchfoot concert.  Or my wife and I suffer through six agonizing summer days without as much as a text or phone call from the boys as they relish in their newfound independence with the youth group at a week-long Montreat Youth Conference.  Or brochures for institutions of higher education start showing up in our mailbox, and they're not addressed to me.

It all seems so incredibly far off, until I realize: it's so much closer than I could possibly imagine. 

Sweet Jesus, what I'd give for that manual.

Kickin' back at the Wild Goose

Here's the first thing you need to know about the Wild Goose Festival: it's hot. As in temperature-hot. This is to be expected when you host an event in the heart of North Carolina at the end of June. It's going to be steamy.

Here's the second thing you need to know about the Wild Goose festival: it's a Christian festival, but not that kind of Christian festival. Taking its name from a Celtic symbol for unpredictability, beauty and grace, the Wild Goose Festival describes itself on its website as "a community creating a festival at the intersection of justice, spirituality and art."   Think Woodstock for Christian hippies without the drug use and with clothing.

And here's the third thing you need to know about the Wild Goose Festival, as stated by one of the organizer in their welcome Thursday (and I'm paraphrasing here): "If you are here because you know the truth and you want to make sure everyone else knows the same truth you do, then we want to encourage you to use this festival as your own personal retreat of solitude and silence." This was met, incidentally, with wild applause.  At the Wild Goose Festval, you learn quickly that personal agendas and soapboxes are left at the Shakori Hills entrance, and open dialogue and mutual respect and love take their place.

I had heard about the Wild Goose Festival from some family friends who went last year and absolutely loved it.  A few months ago I was asked to play music for one of the noon "Sacred Space" worship services at the festival, and the family decided to tag along.  We camped out one night and enjoyed a solid 24+ hours of the Wild Goose experience - more than enough to whet our appetite for next year.

So, what goes on at the Wild Goose?  A number of things.  Great music, everywhere, all the time.  On stage (David Lamotte and Derek Webb were two that I saw) and all around Shakori Hills under the shade of trees, people jamming away.  Wonderful speakers; folks whose books I'd been reading for years.  Brian McLaren, Phyllis Tickle, Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis - just to name a very few. Booths all over the grounds for everything from seminaries and colleges and book publishers to the group against torture, the organization promoting clean water (very appropriate given our state's current flirtation with fracking), racial equality, world missions - you pretty much name it, it was there.  All while camping with the family under the shade of a cluster of trees, and with some former Mount Airy friends we hadn't hung out with in years.

The cool thing about the Wild Goose Festival is that everyone just kind of hangs out with each other, including the speakers and musicians.  There are no walls separating the "names" from the masses, and that's exactly the point.  So it was nothing to see Brian McLaren "emerge" from his tent just a few campspots away from yours, or Phyllis Tickle chatting it up over a cup of cool lemonade with a young couple holding their two-year old daughter, or Derek Webb discussing favorite bands with the guy at the seminary booth.  It's what community should be about.

You never know what might happen when you throw a bunch of free-thinking spiritual types together in a confined space for five scorching days (did I mention it was hot?), but everyone behaved and was kind and courteous.  Just in the small taste my family and I got of it, there was an air of excitement and engagement over what God was doing there - a sense that Christianity does not have to be so narrowly defined by a certain segment of society that wants to describe it in negative terms and make it about a single set of issues.  I think that's what attracted me to it the most - a freedom to embrace a more comprehensive and complete view of the faith.  It's the kind of Christianity I wish others could see more often.

Here's a few pictures I took of the event, just to give you a taste of what my family's experience was like.  The video that follows will cast the net a little wider.  You should make plans to go next year.  I'm pretty sure we'll be there again.

Wildgoose West August 31-September 2, 2012 from Wild Goose on Vimeo.

I'm Thankful (the newly-lit back porch edition)

So I just finished installing some pretty sweet lights on our back porch. Listening to an old R.E.M. album and staring at an empty blog post screen.  I know I gave myself permission to not feel obligated to blog as frequently, but I have this feeling that something's percolating.  For some reason I feel compelled to blog about what I'm thankful for, which is strange because I already did the same sort of thing a few Thanksgivings back.  But this will be different. 

I'm thankful for porches.  Even it it's on the back of the house and not on the front, like they used to be.  You ever notice that?  Check out homes built before the 50's - porches on the front.  That's because porches were the primary place of social interaction, long before phones and television and a little thing called Facebook.  You sat out there and talked to people as they walked by - or talked to people beside you and across the street as they sat on their front porches.  Around the 60's, though, in the midst of suburbia flight, porches found their way to the back of the home, and yards became fenced in, as privacy and solitude took precedence over chatting it up with the neighbors.  I guess I'm a front-porch guy at heart.  But I'm still thankful for porches of all kinds. And it helps if they have cool new lights.

I'm thankful that my youngest son loves sports.  I guess he really got into it a few months ago, for some reason, right around the NBA playoffs. I've never been a huge fan myself, but I do love talking sports.  Now, finally, I have someone to talk to.  Every day he'll wake up and want to check last night's score, and who scored how many points.  Just now, in fact, he came out on the porch to give me an update on the Heat-Celtics score.  It's 24-16 Heat, but by the time you read this it'll be something different.  And if you ask my youngest, he'll be happy to tell you what it is.

I'm thankful that my oldest son does what he loves doing.  This is his second year taking dance lessons, for example.  He had his dance recital last weekend.  They all did a great job, of course, but I couldn't help being biased about my son.  What can I say, I'm his father.  I think what impressed me most is that, out of a hundred kids or so, he was the only boy in the bunch.  The only one.  Friends, that takes guts that I sure didn't have when I was 9.

I'm thankful for my wife.  For one thing, she was the one who came up with the genius idea about the porch lights.  I still had to install them, but the idea had to come first.  She also made breakfast for dinner, which was pretty awesome.  She's also a phenomenal parent, especially with my crazy schedule and all.  Exceedingly patient.  I hope our boys realize one day what an exceptional mother they have in her.  I know I do.

I'm thankful for Words With Friends. Except when it's the end of the game and I get stuck with a "Q" or "Z" I can't use.  That stinks.

I'm thankful for good long runs.  Well, "long" is relative, I guess.  I'm not like those crazies that can knock out 15 miles on a lunch break.  I'm thankful that I can run what for me is a long way. 

I'm thankful for "Fall On Me" off R.E.M,'s "Life's Rich Pageant.  Phenomenal tune. 

I'm thankful for June evenings when it's past 9pm and there's still a faint light in the sky.  And then the sun rises before six in the morning. Long days are the best.

I'm thankful for people who, in their own special way, remind me of life's priorities, and what is most important, and how I tend to over-inflate the importance of things that are not.  And how they remind me of all of this without even trying.  You know people like that?  They're good to keep close at your side.

I'm thankful for cool summer evenings on my newly-lit back porch, eating a late dinner with my oldest son who just got home from "Seussical" practice, hearing yet another update on the Heat-Celtics game from my youngest son. Yep, life on the newly-lit porch is not bad.  Not bad at all.