I would be weeping

Today, for the second day of a three day party marathon, we celebrated our son Ben's 22nd birthday. As an adult with Williams Syndrome, a genetic deletion that makes many aspects of daily living a challenge, Ben can at times stretch his father's patience and stamina.

But Ben is a beautiful human being. He is the friendliest guy you'll ever meet. His smile is amazing. His empathy is deep. His ability to remember you is nearly unmatched. He sees you as a friend, instantly and forever. He is a lover of people. 

I am so proud of Ben: all he has accomplished in his 22 years, the hearts he has softened, what he has learned, how he has grown, the dreams he has for his life.


As I've scrolled through headlines today, I have been struck by a pretty simple question: How do the parents of our current political leaders see their children, these white men in power, making decisions to further disenfranchise the poor, to obscure the rights of so many people, to dictate life choices for women and LGBTQ friends, to recklessly destroy our environment, to pursue wealth at the expense of others, to threaten our world through state-sanctioned bullying, and to disregard the health needs of millions of Americans.

If these were my sons, I would be weeping.

As a father I am humbled to have an eldest son (and two other kids as well) that understands the most important aspects of life: to love, to share, to look out for one another, to smile, to remember, to befriend, to care.

I would be weeping; but when I see my child, all I can do is smile.

What an old Honda Civic taught me about how I think about people

I am the proud owner of this 1992 Honda Civic hatchback. It's the simplest modern car a person can own, with a tiny engine and a simple interior. Our one non-negotiable when we purchased it new was air conditioning to combat the midwest humidity. We were especially glad we made that choice when we took it to southern California. It's a five speed manual, and the clutch is original (more on that later).

It's been used gently over its 24 years. There are just over 170,000 miles on it, and for a Honda of this vintage, there is only negligible rust on it. The interior has some tears in the driver's seat, the door locks, having frozen and then broken during harsh Chicago winters, only operate with the key, and the rear window hatch needs to be propped open with a stick,

For its age and life experience it still gets over 30 miles/gallon around town and would probably do better if I felt the need to take it on the tollway. I don't.

At least twice a year somebody comes up to me in a parking lot, stops at my driveway, or rolls down their window next to me at a stoplight and says, "Hey, man! Interested in selling that?" My answer used to be "no." Now I usually give them a ridiculous number (like $6000.00) and then explain to them that it isn't possible to put a value on this little workhorse that, with regular maintenance and necessary repairs, just keeps doing its job.

This week was one of those "necessary repairs" weeks. The starter went out and left my wife sitting at work. I'm not patient enough to make the repair myself, and don't really know too much how to do it, although I'm sure I could figure it out. Instead, I put my AAA membership to work and had it towed down to my trusted guys at Kellenberger Auto. They expertly took care of the starter and it's back on the road. It will need a clutch soon, too, a more expensive proposition, and that got me to thinking.....

When and how do we decide to keep something or to replace it instead?

Jack and Larry at Kellenberger like to say that, with cars these days, the choice is between a monthly payment or the expenses of fixing an older car on a regular basis. Either way there's cost involved in ownership. Cars have to be one of the most resource-exhausting tools in our lives. Often it comes down to fix or replace.

Sometimes we treat people the same way.

Our culture is becoming a disposable one. Lots of things we purchase these days aren't able to be fixed, or the out-of-pocket cost of fixing them outpaces the cost to replace them. I just threw away my toaster oven and got a new one. When something can't be fixed, or is cheaper to replace than repair, we simply throw it away. I tend to think that manufacturers understand this phenomena, and strategically design items in a way that requires consumers to buy more of their products more often. Cynical, I know, but still....

I see this happening to people, too. When they can't be fixed, or their value seems to be outweighed by the challenges they pose, then we get rid of them. This disposition happens in businesses. It happens in families. It happens in churches.

Another spin on the throw-away approach relates to my Honda Civic. Because sometimes it requires a significant amount of effort to repair (a head gasket, for instance), it would be easy to decide to get rid of it rather than repair it. The time and money required to solve the problem overwhelms us and our reaction is to give up and start over with something new(er). There are days, like when it needs a new head gasket or the original clutch is finally giving out, that I feel exactly this way about my Honda Civic. But I also know that with the proper attention that little engine will run for many more years. I know precisely what I'm dealing with. Oh, and I love that little car.

I see this happening to people, too. When it seems easier to replace than repair the person or the relationship we have with them, we get rid of them. This disposition happens in businesses. It happens in families. It happens in churches.

I recently helped my 18 year old son buy his first car. It's a 2014 version of the Ford Fiesta, a stylish and spunky little car. It, like my Honda Civic, gets great gas mileage and comes with strong ratings. With any luck he'll own it for 24 years. But it did get me thinking. Well, maybe not thinking. More like coveting, desiring the hands-free bluetooth connections, the 1.6L ecoboost engine with 197 horsepower, the racing interior, and sports suspension.

We're often enticed by our desire for something new. Marketers understand this, and prey on it. Our consumer economy counts on it. In order for us to have a growing economy, our desire for the new, even when the old still works, must prevail. While the old may still be good and solid, it does not have the appeal of the new, and so out with the old and in with the new.

I see this happening with people, too. When someone new and more exciting comes along, we are enticed and "phase out" the ones who are already here. This phasing out happens in businesses. It happens in families. It happens in churches.

Our relationship between the old and the new is complex. It's one thing to think of inanimate products, consumer goods if you will, and how we covet, care for, and dispose of them (and these things are important to consider!). It should be something quite different, though, when we think about people and the relationships we invest in.

Unfortunately, it seems that there is "consumer creep" in our approach to people. People become a commodity. They become disposable. We treat them as replaceable. They're not.

I understand that it's complicated. I have cut people out of my life for "good" reasons. I have contemplated throwing away lifelong commitments in favor of "newer and better" opportunities. I have fired people from jobs that I knew they needed.

I'm glad I got my Honda Civic fixed again. Today it will get my wife to work and then to the doctor. This evening it will get me to the grocery story and a meeting. Tonight it will sit familiarly in the driveway next to an under-used 2006 Starcraft pop-up camper and a shiny orange Ford Fiesta ST. The family vehicle, a 2006 Honda Pilot, will rest in the garage.

In the morning I'll get up and settle myself into the slightly ripped driver's seat of my old Honda Civic and be glad that I haven't thrown away a quality piece of my life.

I'll be glad that you're still here, too.

On Kindness

Today an envelope with no return address arrived in our mailbox. This is not unusual since many marketing firms use this tactic to draw you into their message. Typically we toss those envelopes aside and maybe, but only maybe, open them days or weeks later.

But for some reason this one seemed a bit more legit. Maybe it was the full salutation to me, my wife and family that seemed a little more personalized. I opened it.

Wow! Inside was this brief note and some cash. As I read the note out loud to Kim, both of our eyes teared up. An unexpected act of anonymous kindness. What a blessing! Our spirits indeed were lifted.

So now I'm thinking about kindness.

There really is a lot of kindness in the world. This article about Rosa's Pizza Shop, where the hungry and homeless can get a pre-paid pizza slice, is an inspiring example of how one person's kindness gave a store owner an opportunity to serve and generous patrons an opportunity to share. All it took was a post-it note or two or a thousand!

This morning while exiting a local coffee shop, someone held the door open for me and my family. There was a second door; we returned the favor. Kindness.

It seems to me that there are different types of kindness. If we pay attention to those around us we can both recognize those acts and offer them ourselves.

One form of kindness is the incidental form of respect we offer to one another as we interact around daily routines. Holding the door, saying "please" and "thank-you," offering our umbrella, speaking gently to one another, and so on, are the moment-by-moment things of kindness.

A second type of kindness seeks to inject some surprise and goodness into a stranger's life. Perhaps this form of kindness is best exhibited in the drive-through phenomena whereby I pay for the order of the person behind me in line. I likely don't know them, will never meet them, and can only imagine the smile it brings to their face (unless of course I'm lingering to watch in my rearview mirror). The drive-through employee actually gets to witness the confusion-followed-by-smile when the customer realizes that they don't need to pay for their order. Often they choose to pass it on to the next customer.

Another form of kindness is also extended to a stranger, but as an act of charity. This type of kindness is the story of Rosa's Pizza Shop. A gift is given with the expectation that someone in need, someone we do not know but who is coming up short in some aspect of life, will benefit from it.

The kindness we received through the mail today is different still. It is intentional anonymous kindness. This kindness is offered when there is specific knowledge of a need of someone we know and we reach out to help meet that need without letting the recipient know who we are. Today's gift came from someone who is aware that both Kim and I have been unemployed. We are so grateful they blessed us in this way. They chose to do so anonymously, but they did so knowingly and as friends.

Some kindnesses are offered in ways that cultivate deeper friendship. These kindnesses are those which we share openly and directly. When a friend delivers a meal post-surgery, that is a kindness which further strengthens the bonds of friendship. When someone offers to keep your kids so you can get out for a mommy/daddy date, or just get some grocery shopping done in peace, that is kindness that further builds a friendship. When your buddy spends a week on your roof helping you re-shingle, that is kindness that cements a relationship.

What other forms of kindness can you think of?

The rhetoric of today's world is often fear, separation, and hatred. But the rhetoric is not the reality. I suppose it is possible to allow the hard rhetoric of division to suck us in, but I prefer to believe that there is more power through simple acts of kindness.

Where have you witnessed kindness today? What kindness have you received today? How have you been kind today?

Thank you to our intentional, anonymous friends! Indeed our spirits have been lifted. And your simple act of kindness has encouraged me to think about how I, too, can be more kind.

Imagine how beautiful our world will be when everyone is infected by kindness and celebrating acts of generosity!

Our Counseling Culture: Saving us or ruining us?

I had been seeing a really awesome counselor for over a year. He helped me work through a bunch of pretty intense and painful things. But then I left my job, and my insurance changed, thus ending my bi-weekly visits. A few months out and I've been reflecting on the role of a counselor in my life, and the role of counselors in our society. Here I'll wonder out loud:

Is our counseling culture saving us or ruining us?

Saving us: why we need these companions on the way

1.  Counselors help us work through some really tough stuff. They may not have seen and heard it all before, but they've seen and heard enough to sit there and take anything we can dish out. Deep grief? There beside you. Burning anger? Got it. Huge questions? Go ahead. Weighty depression? Understood. These trained professionals won't shy away when our going gets rough. In fact, they'll lean in and help us find a way through it, as much as they can.

2.  Counselors are safe. We know that when we share something with a counselor it won't come back to haunt us. It won't be shown sympathy today and then used as ammunition tomorrow. They won't collect our stories and then broadcast them to others. They're not a part of the gossip network. We can say what we need to say, and they will protect it.

3.  Counselors are, as stated in point #1, professionals. At least the ones that I'm talking about are. They are trained and continually monitored to ensure that they are doing good and not causing harm. There is not a lot of room with a professional for "good intentions." They have particular knowledge about how to listen and support their clients, and then know when they're in over their head and need to suggest different help for us.

4.  Counselors keep the focus on us. They make sure that we're doing work on the things that we can work on. Ourselves. There's no dodging our own crap, or ignoring our own goodness. We're constantly redirected to the next level of self-understanding, whether it's encouraging or hard.

5.  Counselors want us to get "better." They really do. I believe they have our best interests in mind. The counselors that I have known have an inherent belief that humans are good, and that even when broken, damaged, or failed, our human calling is to health and well-being. That health looks different for each of us, but our counselor never gives up on us.

Ruining us: why we should think more critically about our companions

1.  By saying that counselors are our "only" safe space, we are failing to cultivate the types of vulnerability required for intimate relationships. Why can't, and shouldn't, we have friendships that are equally safe? What does it take to have friends and communities of people that allow for such vulnerability? Why we are satisfied with and/or resigned to professionalizing our spaces of vulnerability?

2.  If we depend too much on our counselor, then we become lazy. We can get away with not asking ourselves the questions because we expect the counselor to ask the questions. We can stop thinking on our own because our professional will think for us. Yes, it can happen.

3. Counselors keep the focus on us. Here the downside is that we are reinforced in our already-present narcissism. The problems are about me. The struggle is about me. The solutions are about me. But very few if any things are ever so exclusively about me. Of course good counselors help us understand our systems, but they're always our systems.

4.  Counselors rely on our sickness to maintain their financial wellness. This reality is not meant to imply that counselors would keep a client on in ways that are not necessary, or that counselors are money-grubbers. At this point professionalism (and insurance companies!) step up for some checks and balances. But admit it: there is a whole, huge, economic system built on people's pain and fragility. Should our suffering and struggles be an industry?


5.  Counselors provide an excuse to divest from others. When confronted with the anguish and struggle of those around us, we can get away from it by asking, "have you seen a counselor? Maybe you should." Too often I hear this statement as code for "I don't want to deal with you and your stuff" or "I just don't have the time." Come back after you've worked it out with your counselor, and I'll see if I can work you back into my life.


I don't really believe that counseling and counselors are saving us or ruining us. I do know that mine has been a tremendous help to me, and I know lots of people who swear by their counselor. I also know a few people that I think should go see a counselor. In the end I support that counselors can and do play an important role in mental health.

But I also earnestly wonder what the impact is for our culture when it relies so heavily on professionals to help us address our emotional condition.

Maybe I'll ask my counselor. I just got approval from my insurance provider to go see him again.

The myth of "self care"

For decades, well-meaning people have told me to take care of myself. Often it's the common, innocuous parting wish, simply stated "take care." When I am not well, it's offered as a more immediate concern, "take care of yourself," meaning "do what you can to become well again." Other times it has been offered as a philosophical admonition to participate in ongoing activities which signify self care: eat right, exercise, rest, love, participate in life-giving activities, pray, etc.

This latter instruction has actually become a nauseating mantra, popularized I think by the baby boomers, but readily adopted by most generations. Not surprisingly, it has also been adopted by the church.

Perhaps the most frequent refrain that is repeated to pastors is "take care of yourself." The line of thinking goes something like this: you have to be responsible for your own well-being, ALL aspects of your well-being. If you are responsible and take care of yourself, you will be a good pastor; if you don't, most likely you'll end up a burnt out, failed, or fallen pastor.

Same mantra goes for parents. "Take care of yourself" so that you can support your spouse better and be fully present in your children's lives. And it goes for us as employees as well. "Take care of yourself" so that you can be at your best when the pressure is on in the workplace.

I believe this sentiment. We need to have self-responsibility. We need to take action in our own lives to support our own well-being.

But I also don't agree with a word of it. Nothing I do is ever isolated enough to consist solely of self-care. If self care were to be true, I wouldn't be married, wouldn't have kids, couldn't be part of a church, couldn't pursue gainful employment, and couldn't enjoy avocations. Unless of course I'm an entirely narcissistic person, which no-one who ever tells me to practice self care would endorse.

The truth is that I get to make very few choices based exclusively on the need for self care. When I make food choices, because I share meals with my family on a daily basis, they are actually family decisions. When I choose to go for a run, I do so with a keen understanding that this choice will affect the daily rhythm of my family's life. When I say I need rest, someone, somewhere is not getting time or attention that they need equally significantly. If I go on retreat, I am shifting the burden of daily responsibility to others.

As the father of a special needs child, now young adult, the idea of self-care is almost laughable. When I run out of energy to deal with Ben, I can't just "turn him off" and go on a retreat. At best my wife and I can secure a respite caregiver to spend a few hours or even a few days without him, but during that time we'll receive at least 50 phone calls from him and live with the lingering fear that something will go dramatically awry. When it does go awry, there is no choice but to deal with it, irrespective of my need to "take care."

As I said earlier, the church repeats this mantra to its leaders all the time. It's one of the cardinal rules of pastoral ministry and church leadership. "Take care of yourself." What I've seen most often, however, is that the church's needs almost always supercede any effort a leader makes at "self care."

What do I mean? Let me count the ways. Financially. Take care of yourself, but we will pay you only what we can, not what you need. Time. Take the time you need for yourself, but only after you have met our needs, and only until we need something else from you (pastors "on call" during vacation). Family. Make sure your spousal relationship is strong, but don't forget you're married to the church. Don't neglect your children, but don't forget they're in the spotlight right alongside you. Spiritual life. Pray, read scripture, retreat, but mostly when it's convenient for us and in the end for our benefit. Behave. Always maintain composure and professionalism, even though the church will protect people who behave atrociously toward you. Play nicely. You must "take care" so that you can function transformatively in an organization that refuses to deal with its own shortcomings, pathologies, and sin.

I'm sure there are more.

I recently wrote a blog post about care. You can read it here if you haven't already. But it's not self care. It's community care. It's friend care. It's the grace-filled care of God.

We DO need to find better ways to take care, to take care of each other. Instead of a congregation telling it's pastor to use his/her vacation, how about building a strategy with the pastor so that the vacation is actually refreshing. Give them extra money to spend. Make sure there are alternative pastoral coverage people in place. Ask them to turn off their cell phone, and covenant not to leave urgent messages. Plan to complete work that needs to be done while they're away, not just put if off to double the load when they return. Mow their lawn and feed their pets. Stock their refrigerator for when they return.



What ways does your church care for its pastor/s? What other ways can you think of? I know some churches are working hard at shared care already. What can we learn from you?

Like I said, my beef with self care is not intended to get us off the hook for making better choices and following through. But I do think we need to examine how our ideas of self care are embedded in our culture's selfish and self-serving defaults, and how self care is at odds with a Christian perspective on relationships. Rather than a call to abandon self care, there's an opportunity for us to pick up shared care. There are lots of words for these alternatives to self care: compassion, friendship, covenant, mutuality, community, love.


It's a very rare day or hour that I feel capable and privileged enough to practice self care. The rest of the time, the vast majority of the time, I absolutely cannot do it alone. I wish we could stop pretending that we can take care of ourselves. I pray that we will stop putting the pressure on one another to take care of ourselves. Instead, let's take care of one another, extending grace and caring support so that together we might be well.

Maybe, just maybe....

Last evening my lovely wife had her gall bladder removed. After four days of pain and an equal number of sleepless nights, it became clear that her discomfort wasn't simply a recurrence of acid reflux. An early Thursday morning trip to urgent care proved inconclusive and unhelpful, as the diagnosis was noncommittal and there was confusion about insurance coverage (a whole other post!).

After suffering through another pain-filled morning, an afternoon visit to her outstanding primary care physician ended with a drive over to the E.R. to further explore the cause of her symptoms. Twelve hours after beginning her journey of seeking relief, she entered the O.R. with an excellent surgeon, one who had helped her two previous times. The result was the successful removal of a greatly enlarged and infected gall bladder and very large stone.

This morning, the first of her recovery, she is already feeling the improvement. From her previous seven surgical experiences, we know that Kim is a quick healer with a high tolerance for the pain that comes with that re-growth process.

It is pretty easy for me to support the pain of healing; it was brutal to see her in the pain of illness, especially when the cause was yet to be pinpointed.

We all are faced with accompanying someone on their journey of pain. Pain is a part of life. Physical, emotional, spiritual, relational pain sometimes seem to seek us out and taunt us. Sometimes we can move around pain, acting blissfully unaware of it, or pretending that we are unaffected by it. Bearing one another's pain is hard. Just hard. So we only do it as much as we absolutely have to.

There is a lot of pain in the world today. I won't run down any lists, but you've already started making your own in your head. This pain soaks deep into our soul and psyche, and it also sits like an oily skin on the surface of our lives. The pain is private and public, personal and communal. It is a real and unavoidable element of life.

Some of you will know more acutely how hard pain is to deal with. Those of you with chronic health conditions suffer in ways that those of us who are healthier cannot understand. Those of you who struggle financially experience pain in ways that those of us with more resources don't. Those of you with broken relationships and deep loneliness know pain in a way that those of us with strong friendships and intimate companionship don't. Those of you who are discounted and ostracized just because of who you are (skin tone, sexuality, age, gender, education, economics, etc......) know a pain that guys like me who sit comfortably in all the privileged categories will never know.

But just because we don't know firsthand the pain doesn't mean we can ignore it. Our privilege does not give us the luxury of brushing aside the pain and suffering of those around us. Kim's agony made me uncomfortable, but I was not going to walk away. I could not take it from her. I could not feel it with her. I could not understand what pain of 10 on the 10 scale meant for her.

But I also could not avoid it, and I would not avoid her. All I could do was stay at her side, hold her hand, advocate for her care, tuck in her sheet, pray for her, and assure her that I would remain right there at her side.


This posture toward pain is not obligation, duty, or a strategy. It is compassion.

Our world is in pain. We know it in our families. We live it in our church. We fear it in our politics. It is right beside us each and every day, seemingly ready to overtake us. Often we can't fix it. Mostly we don't understand it. Usually we try to avoid it.

But maybe, just maybe, we could start by meeting the pain with more compassion. And then maybe, just maybe, we'd wake up on a Friday morning with a different kind of pain, the pain that tells us we're finally starting to heal.

Where love is

Our son Ben is 21. He is a joy-filled, loving, social young man. His heart is as big as an ocean. He wants to help people. He wants to serve.

For the last two years he has been looking forward to a week-long volunteer workcamp. In 2015 he registered to attend, but the camp was cancelled due to low enrollment. This year he and I and my dad spent a week at Camp Mardela in Maryland, working alongside other participants in this intergenerational activity to get the camp ready for its summer ministry to kids.

Three generations working together

Ben was in his glory. He helped us split wood.

Ben and his grandpa!

He raked leaves.

Ben loves to rake leaves!

He helped clear trails, paint buildings, and deep clean the kitchen. He participated in food preparation and cleanup. He prayed for a meal and read scripture for devotions one evening.

And Ben did what he does best: he made new friends. Ben is more than just outgoing. He is socially uninhibited, a trait consistent with his genetic makeup known as Williams Syndrome.

Ben also got tired and somewhat ornery. By Friday afternoon, the fifth full day of the camp, his self-control was out the window, and my relatively small attempt at setting healthy limits and redirecting Ben quickly devolved into an angry tirade by our usually joy-filled Ben.

Ben's outbursts are not unprecedented. Because the area affected by his genetic deletion typically provides self-regulation, he doesn't have all the tools he needs to use good judgement, make logical decisions, and connect behavior to consequences, especially future outcomes. When he encounters such a situation, sometimes his frustration boils over, and it's not pretty. While not frequent, such violent scenes repeat with periodic regularity.

When his anger peaks, Ben reveals a very colorful and hurtful vocabulary, no doubt picked up in high school hallways. He becomes physically aggressive, kicking, punching, scratching, and throwing anything he can get his hands on. He is strong and persistent. These are scary moments.

As Ben's parent, these tirades can be extremely disconcerting and threatening. The amount of energy required to stick with Ben through one of these instances is immense. On the last day of a physically strenuous workcamp, my energy was already depleted. Since we were at a camp, my strategy to deal with Ben's rising anger was to get him outside and move safely away from him until he could escalate to his breaking point and ultimately return to what typically follows - a contrite, compassionate young man.

There were six other youth ages 13-17 attending the workcamp, five from one youth group and the youngest from another church. At the beginning of the week I had briefly introduced them to Ben's tendencies and spoke about Williams Syndrome. They were friendly and welcoming to Ben, and Ben has never met a human being he didn't want to be friends with!

I was unprepared, however, for the level of maturity and caring from these young people. I know good kids; my wife and I have a teenage son and daughter in addition to Ben. But I also know that kids can be unpredictable. These kids were both those things: good and unpredictable.

As Ben sat alone at a picnic table working through his anger, first one, then another, and then finally the whole group of youth gathered around him and "loved on" him.

I was overcome by tears. These amazing youth surrounded Ben with patient support and caring. In those ten or so beautiful minutes, they demonstrated everything anyone ever needs to know about Christ-like love and compassion. Their simple act of friendship lifted Ben, and broke me.

This is what welcome looks like. This is inclusion. These are simple acts of kindness done toward the least of these. This moment is a human triumph. Here there are no "special needs," only a friend in need.

Thanks, kids, for relieving a weary dad, and for being a friend to Ben! Thanks for sharing the love.

Maybe the rest of us can go and do likewise.