This story tugged at my heart strings, and I just had to get the word out.
I had the privilege of talking with Matthew Thomas, who is in the fight of his life to do what he can to save that of his mother. Lisa Thomas is a lively, encompassing 48-yr-young lady that has the most beautiful southern twang you will ever hear. She has a great family and dutiful friends.
In most aspects, she is no very different from you or I. Well, except for the incredible fortitude and courage that comes from needing life-saving surgery.
Lisa Thomas needs a kidney.
She has been battling this unique condition since she was 8. Because of the unique nature of her blood type, she needs a special person to donate a kidney for her. Her friends and family jumped at the opportunity, but are not viable donors.
Here is an opportunity for us, as a worldwide community, to get the word out. Tweet about it. Talk about it on FaceBook and MySpace.
Most importantly, if you can, shoot out an email to welovelisat atyahoo.com. Tell them you are keeping Lisa in your prayers. Or, if you feel God is leading you, find out how you can get tested for compatibility.
Remember, there is Someone who gave so much more...
I always knew that my junk mail folders seemed perpetually full, but this was mind-boggling. Most electronic email traffic is useless, unwanted solicitations for money, porn and free pills that promise to extend life and specific body parts.
Junk mail provides the promise of free degrees, medical miracles, adult classifieds, free alcohol and even instant ordinations. In other words, the stuff should be trashed. Quickly.
The problem is that email filters are almost too good. A lot of folks know that regularly sifting through junk mail is necessary to save gems from getting tossed. A lot of times, an important email can be caught in the filters.
It can be likened to the information that passes through our senses on a daily basis. Do we filter EVERYTHING out, including potentially valuable morsels?
In a sign of the times, Fox shows that a keen sense of financial self-sustenance is important, even during dire happenings like layoffs. Apparently, the programming gurus there have come up with the idea of a reality show based on the layoffs occurring in small businesses.
The idea is to have employees decide who gets the pink slip.
It made me think... in a church setting, who would be the first to go if there were budget cuts? Who is most expendable?
Sadly, in today's economy, this is not far-fetched at all.
I have decided that I am way to mellow and soft spoken as a coach. Time to really get crazy:
Sadly, this type of behavior is becoming (scratch that: has long since become) a part of youth soccer. Parents, coaches, even the players themselves in some cases get caught acting in ways that don't reflect sportsmanship.
Then we wonder why we have some self-indulgent adult athletes...
Youth referees are the gaskets of sports. You really don't hear or think much about them when things are going your way. It is the epitome of thankless jobs.
Next time you see a zebra at a sporting event, shake their hands. Trust me, they don't get that a lot.
Now that I have the unstudly admission out of my system, I can move on. Don't judge me. We all have ugly secrets.
I remember the first time I sang a medley of the songs from that movie with my wife present. I can't remember if I did it before or after my Grease performance, but I distinctly remember being grateful that I had already married her prior to the performance.
Look... I don't know what it is about that flick that makes me overcome the knowledge of my horrendous singing that usually keeps folks safe from my voice. I can't help it. Edelweiss always brings tears to my eyes. And I don't even have to be singing it for that to happen.
Of course, the video above was an instant hit... it was posted by a CB friend. I have always been fascinated with flash mobs, but this one truly seemed to spread goodwill. Towards the end, you really can't tell who was who; everyone seemed to get caught up in performance, and I am guessing they left the folks present happier than they were before it started.
This, along with the earlier post about the poor lady dying alone, got me wondering about what we, the church, are doing to infect our communities. Are we conduits for joy and the positive. Do we light up night and help dispense faith and hope? It so easy to become the opposite... a symbol of condemnation or a bastion for the holier-than-thous'.
It takes a little bit more than simple lip service. I think it takes a change of consciousness. It takes a real effort to liken oneself to the best Model of all.
At the end of the day, the success of any ministry can be measured in any number of ways, but one that we must really be concerned with is the change in the lives of the people in our cities. Praise God
On Sunday, our pastor was talking about visiting the site of the future new Branch Family Church building (the plot had just recently been graded). He laughingly mentioned seeing something that warmed his heart: someone had created an impromptu marker by etching "BFC" in a slab of concrete. The person(s) garnished the top with a small branch. Derek made fun of the fact that there was no grass or greenery on the branch whatsoever.
Enter Mr Genius Landscaper, the Defender of all that could be lush (moi). I drove the family there, and spruced up the monument, using plucked grass and foliage from a nearby tree to create the facade of green.
As the family looked on in shame and confusion, I persevered and worked on my piggybacked masterpiece. I flirted with the idea of etching my name in the concrete base, but in the end, I figured that further "borrowing" of this intellectual property would be too shameful.
I figured that with this selfless offering, our church family would name the gymnasium after me. Now that I have destroyed any chance of running a viable landscaping buisness, I present the "BFC Land marker Reimagined with a touch of Tre."
I'll accept a small shrub being named after me. Or a fence post. Please?
I am reluctantly posting this disclaimer: my wife wants it to be clear that though she was present, she had nothing to do with the crazy idea, and wants The Branch family to know what she goes through on a daily basis. Praise God.
In this scary, sad story, we hear about the account of a reclusive widow who died and wasn't discovered for a year and a half.
There is so much that can be said about this. The 72-yr-old lady was a long-time resident, had lived alone since her husband died in 1985, and tragically, no one noticed her absence for the 18 months that preceded the discovery of her and her dog's remains. Her house was even auctioned off with the body inside.
The easy thing to do is to wonder aloud as to how her neighbors did not notice her absence. I mean, really? In this day and age?
And then it hits you. It is all about this day and age. Even worse, when I look in the mirror, how much better am I?
When God spoke about neighborly, I don't think He was very unclear. The whole love requirement was simple and all-encompassing. Yet, when I spent the time to examine myself in the light of the story above, I admittedly fall flat. Would I really go out of the way to be a true neighbor, or do I make up the excuse of not being "nosy" to help be justify avoiding interaction? Am I accessible to my fellow man?
What about the homeless guy down the street? My brother or sister in Life Group? The parent of a player I coach? My wife?
There are so many arguments out there... it's a different time, the internet, privacy issues.... you name it. Should they matter?
Honestly, when I put myself on the scale that compares the love for myself with my love for my neighbors, one side is woefully short.
I think that is something we all need to look at intimately, as individuals and/or church workers. We should strive to ensure no one slips through the cracks.
The report references folks who were trying to remember what the lady looked like.
Every now and then, I hear of something that makes me take pause.
This is one of them...
Twitter Pal and fellow Alltopper Ron Edmondson, who pastors Grace Community Church in Clarcksville, TN, recently asked his staff to evaluate him.
No... he wasn't high (off earthly substances, at least). So, why would a pastor willingly remove the cloak of infallibility by subjecting himself to review by his own staff?
The humility shown here is golden. Your staff see the communication goes both ways. You have an opportunity to gauge your own performance. You can see show you adhere to the same ideals you hold them to... the pluses are endless.
Of course, the ego has to be turned off, which, is probably the biggest advantage of all.
The other day, I took my son to get his haircut for the first time.
Prior to leaving, my wife mentioned that he might be tired and cranky, as his haircut would conflict with his usual nap time.
"Honey, I don't play that," I sanctimoniously stated. " Sleepy or not, I am the law. He WILL behave."
She looked at me with true pity.
I gave myself a few minutes to allow my puffed-out chest to deflate, and my son and I departed for the barbershop.
My plan was simple. I did what every dad does when faced with a potential discipline problem. I offered a bribe.
"Hey X... If you behave, and sit in the chair like a big boy, Daddy'll get you a donut!"
His eyes lit up. "Donuts?" (His automatic use of the plural was admirable).
"Yep... donuts! Daddy loves you."
With the bribe in place, as expected, the event went very well. My son acted in exemplary fashion, and made me proud.
For all but the last two minutes, anyway.
Not one to hold grudge, I decided to get him his donut. After running some errands, I fired up my BlackBerry TeleNav software and GPS puck and searched for "donuts." I was pleased to find out that there was a heretofore undiscovered Krispy Kreme location not far from where we lived. Every other "real" donut place was a significant distance away.
You see, not any donut shop would do for me... I mean, my son. Top of the line only. No gas stations; no grocery stores. Only KK or DD would do.
We drove with glee. The location seemed weird... it was in an industrial area, but we were unperturbed. I smiled with relief when I saw the small sign and vehicles.
My son was wide-eyed in wondrous amazement. "Donut trucks," he whispered in awe.
However, something just didn't feel right. There weren't any people with actual confectionaries. No workers. No drive-thru. No cops. And, unless they were cultivating the flour they used in the production process on-site, the humongous warehouse was serious overkill.
The security guard threw me for a loop. Who was making these donuts? What was in them? Was Willy Wonka on the loose in Charlotte?
I walked up to the security guard and asked where I could purchase donuts. He looked confused.
"We don't sell donuts. Not to individuals."
My son and I were dejected. We had driven to a bulk distributor.
Half an hour later, we were eating donuts from a grocery store. And my son couldn't be happier.
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