i bet God would like to smack His children, sometimes

The following post is written by Sarah.  You've heard of her, no?  If not, you have never had a conversation with me, read my blog, or surveyed my tweets.

something i've noticed as a parent is that Jakob loves to test me. he will go to do something he knows is wrong, and he will give me this sly look and a smile, as if to say "i know i shouldn't be doing this, but i know my big brown eyes and smile are my get-out-of-jail-free card".

puppy eyes

there is a metal tray [with 2 handles, on short legs <-- important details c:] on our end table which has 3 decorative balls, a metal cross, a red wooden plate, and a small vase on it. oh, and a small handful of black rocks. most of which, i've put elsewhere because someone likes to put said rocks into his mouth. ahh, teething. what Jakob views as a sanction to put the ok, the bad, and the ugly into his mouth.

alas.

anyway. i also am currently stashing a few writing utensils, gum, and a small pad of chartreuse, lined sticky notes in this tray - things that i used to keep in my purse. things he loves to play with, and is familiar with, since one of his proficiencies is rifling through my purse and throwing my pursey things on the floor. now, he doesn't know the difference, and i feel bad that there iS a difference, but the things on this metal tray are off limits. so i don't want him to throw these things onto the floor, and most likely, behind the couch. so when he goes to play with these things, i get after him. i sternly tell him no. many times. telling him no. giving him light swats on the leg. swats that, with the absence of my stern voice, have no effect on him. referring to the aforementioned sly look and smile, he knows that what he's doing is wrong for him; something he knows i do not want him to do. but why does he do it. not because he wants to get in trouble. not because he likes to be gotten after. not because he doesn't know any better. but because he can't fight the temptation. don't misunderstand. i'm not implying that my son is willfully sinning in front [or behind] me. but after 3 "no"s from mama to stop doing something he knows is something i don't want him to do, he is disobeying me. now, not in regards to the tray, of course, but he does not currently know that some of what he adventures to do, could hurt him. he does not yet understand danger. one of the freakiest parts of parenthood. he does not understand why i get after him, but he knows that he's in trouble. he knows that he shouldn't be doing whatever. but he can't resist.

i bet it totally frustrates God that we keep doing the same dumb things. that He tells us no, time after time, and sometimes has to smack us across the face [mind you, i do NOT, and never will do that to Jakob]. but the things we love the most, sometimes, are the things that can hurt us the most. the things that we fall into are the things that satan opens up and puts in front of us - knowing we'll jump right in. knowing that we'll go after it, time after time, even after our Father gets after us for it, for our own good.

but, really. you must understand it's so hard to punish ^ these ^ eyes.

our first i love you

"Never tell a girl you love her unless you intend to marry her." That was a piece of unsolicited advice my dad gave me when I was still too afraid of girls to even ask one on a date.  It is solid advice, too.  I hear a lot of "I love you's" exchanged by young couples - or at least, "I love him/her" - and although I believe the intention is good, I'm sure it is not the best thing to be saying.  To many, saying those words is the only way to verbally describe their affection for their boyfriend/girlfriend.    Then you see on facebook that this person went from being in a relationship to single, no longer with the one they loved with their whole heart, but do not lose hope, because in a week, their status will change back.  They'll have a new bf/gf, and they will love that person with all of their heart, too.  Apparently love is on clearance and worth less than it used to be.  It seems to be nothing more than cheap words offered anytime one might lack anything else to say.  And though saying, "I love you," to someone can be an easy, meaningless expression of your like, it often means a lot more to the person receiving the faux affection.  When you say it without meaning it and withdraw the statement at a later date, it hurts (so I hear.  I've never been dumped, because no one wanted to date weird old me until Sarah).  That is why my dad said it.  I vaguely remember him following this with a threat related to if we ever broke a girl's heart.  He meant it.

This line of thinking and upbringing had a direct effect on my dating relationship with Sarah.  No one threatened her about breaking my heart.  Therefore, she told me that she loved me not too long into our dating relationship.  It was on a Sunday afternoon, and we had only been dating for about a month.  We were at church, before service started, hanging out with our friends in the auditorium.  Yes, we were that cool and social.  I don't remember what instigated it, but Sarah looked right at me and said, "I love you."  Instincts told me to say, "I love you, too."  I wanted to say it.  My emotions told me it was okay, but my brain was in control at the moment.  It had been trained, and it was in control of what would be said if I opened my mouth.  It all went by so quickly, but it felt like an eternity of analysis and internal debate.  I had to hurry up and respond.  I couldn't just leave her hanging, so I blurted out my reply: "Thank you."  All of our friends heard it.  A hush swept over the crowd.  It was the single most rude exchange they had witnessed.  Would she slap me in the face?  Run out crying?  Break up with me on the spot?  I had considered all of those reactions during my internal debate, but I could not get myself to say what I should not say.  And guess what!  She was totally cool with it, albeit slightly confused and amused.

I have told Sarah many times since then that I love her.  I have meant it every time, and it is special every time.  You never get a redo on your firsts, though, and our first "I love you," was one-sided and met only with sincere gratitude.

howie hepter

My dad is a funny guy.  His humor can sometimes be inappropriate.  Therefore, I blame him for anything funny I've ever said that offends you.  I've inherited it.  My mom hasn't always been impressed with his jokes, and one could hardly blame her.  She left her full time job when my brother Steve was born to work full time as a stay at home mom.  She would spend 8 hours teaching us the right way to behave, and when Dad got home, he undid all of her hard work.  I anticipate frustrating Sarah in much the same way.

You might have picked up the fact that I am of Jewish heritage.  I get that from my mom's side.  My dad is primarily of German heritage, but not fully German, leaving me mostly Jewish.  This is a great combination and has lent itself to many inappropriate jokes on my dad's behalf.  I think all of his favorite jokes are anti-Semitic in nature, not because he doesn't love Jews, but because he loves hassling my mom just about more than anything in the whole world.  Mom just ignores him.  Although Mom is not offended, she is neither impressed nor amused by his jokes.

One of Dad's shining moments happened when my brother Dan and I were toddlers.  He thought it would be a good idea to teach us to throw our hand up in Nazi salute and say, "Heil Hitler!"  I was a family embarrassment.  At the age of 2, I could not get the words right.  I tried my best.  My hand would go up, but all that would come out of my mouth was, "Howie Hepter!"  I was a real let down, not for lack of effort.  Dan, however, had it down.  This might be the only arena in which he ever showed an advanced nature.  That's probably not true, but most of our childhood fights came from comments like this, so for old times sake, I must insinuate that I am smart and he is not.  He may punch me in the face when I see him next month as a result.  Anyway, Dan had it down.  As any child, he would randomly stand up and do what he knew was funny, seeking laughter of approval from onlooking adults.  What he knew was funny, though, wasn't funny in every situation...or neighborhood.

One day, my mom decided to pick up some delicious kosher treats from a Jewish delicatessen.  I know for sure that Dan was there.  I don't know if I was.  I would have been too young to remember the awesomeness that was about to occur.  So they are walking through the store, Dan sitting up in the front of the cart, when Dan decided it was time to invoke laughter from the adults.  He stood up in the cart, threw his hand in the air, and with perfect clarity shouted, "Heil Hitler!"  My mom immediately grabbed him and ran, crying, from the store.  As many times as I've heard the story, I've never heard anything about any of the Jewish people laughing.  And I thought we were supposed to be a people with a great sense of humor.

The story stands as one of my dad's crowning achievements.  He probably wasn't allowed to think it was funny for a while, but at this point, time and space have added to its level of funny.  Everyone in the family laughs at the story.  You know who is only hesitantly amused, though?  Sarah.  She's only hesitantly amused, because it's funny that it happened back then, but it won't be funny if it happens with her son in the next couple of years.  I mean, he already throws a wave that looks like a heil five, and that amuses both of us, but if he ever says those words, it will cease to amuse her.  I think he'll be okay with "howie hepter," since no one ever really knew what I was saying, but he can't say the mother of all HH salutes.

to Florida and back: a hobbit-ish guy's tale

We just returned from Jacksonville, FL, a place we have not visiting since moving away two years ago.  We lived there for four years, and I think I was too busy to realize how great it is there.  We saw a lot of friends we've missed, experienced some firsts for Jakob, melted a little bit in the heat, and visited our old church.   All in all, we had a great time.  I will merely give you the highlights, because the trip was a long one, full of great stuff, and I hardly remember it all.  It was a blur.

Exciting Stuff

We made the 18 hour drive down to Florida in 21 hours, with only 4 minutes of fussing from Jakob.  Not too shabby for an 11-month old baby on his first long car ride.

It was great living with Chadwick and Sarah (or as Jakob shall call them, "Uncle Chadcakes and Aunt Sarah") for the week.  It's been just over a year since we saw them last.  They put us up in the World Golf Village and stayed there, as well.

We spent our anniversary with many from our old youth group.  That was awesome and weird at the same time.  The senior high is entering college and the junior high have grown up so much.  Most that were shorter than me when I left have surpassed me.  One remains shorter than me.  They were locked in time in my brain, not having grown up at all, but reality hit me when we saw them.

When we lived in Florida, I had a shadow.  His name is Jackson.  He was in our youth group, a student at the school attached to the church, and at everything we ever organized.  That means I saw him more than I saw Sarah.  It seems we went everywhere together, always with me driving.  He just got a truck, though, so he gave me a ride to Wal-Mart, just like the good old days, just with the roles reversed.

Sarah and I got to have lunch with Shane and Karen.  I spent much of my work week with them while I was there, so it was awesome for me.  Shane came and visited us for his birthday last year, when we lived in Ohio.

Sarah bought me a new pair of Vans from the Vans outlet store.  I don't skate, but I select my shoes based on two criteria: I like the way they look, and they are wide enough for my wide feet.

We went to Gator's for all you can eat wings with the Lockleys and the Hotts, except the service was so slow that all I could eat was down from 30 to only 15.

Our last night there, we went to Moon River Pizza with the Lockleys, our good friends the Maynards, Daniel Spell (perhaps the most fun person ever to hassle), Bora and Lynn.  They have the best pizza I've ever had (sorry, Chris!).

Jakob's firsts

It was Jakob's first long car trip and first time in Florida.

He tried Chik-Fil-A and southern barbecue for the first time.  He's a big fan.

He had a song composed and performed (many times) for him by his Aunt Sarah.  I think it's called, "Best Friends."

Jakob's been saying," hi," and waving for about a month now.  He had not waved goodbye or said it before Friday morning.  Uncle Chadwick waved to him and said, "goodbye," and Jakob waved back.  As we were driving away to start our trek home, he was still waving and saying, "ba-ba.  ba-ba."

Scary Moments

I had two scary moments, both while driving, and both while Sarah was sleeping.  One happened on the way down, and one on the way up.  First, the scary moment on the way down.

I was on 77-S, in South Carolina, about 15 minutes from merging onto 26-E.  I was coming up on a semi, but I noticed him swerving a lot, so I stayed back some.  He was consistently drifting right, hitting the rumble strip, and then coming back.  Sometimes he would ride the rumble strip for several seconds at a time.  His driving was quite erratic, and I suspect he was drifting in and out of sleep.  I can't say for sure, but I kept my distance to be safe.  He got so close to the guard rail so many times, and I was worried about his losing control.  Being 2 AM, my theory seemed conceivable.  This wasn't as scary as the moment that happened on the way home, though.

We were headed back a different way that we came.  At about 4:30 PM, we were on 75-N, driving through Forsyth, GA.  The speed limit was 65.  I was in no hurry to get to Atlanta during rush hour, so I wasn't going much more than that.  Obviously, I stayed out of the left lane, because smart people do not drive in the left lane at slower speeds (5 over is a slower speed, in case you were wondering).  The lady in the Kia Sorento behind me didn't like that fact, so she tailgated me for a few miles.  She finally decided she should pass me, but she didn't check her blind spot.  As she was getting over to the right, a BMW was coming up her side.  He swerved to the next lane - the far right lane - to avoid contact with her.  Unfortunately, there was a semi there, and he didn't have time to stop.  He ended up going off the road into the grass, and then he disappeared.  He went down a grass hill and was gone.  I couldn't get over there, but others did and stopped to help.  I was watching him and the Kia driver the whole time.  She seemed to be aware of what she had done, based on the look on her face and her breaking when the guy went off the highway.  She had indecision on her face.  She didn't know what to do.  Then she decided to floor it.  Having a strong sense of justice, I called 911 and took off after her.  I got on her tail to get her tag.  She went to the next exit and got off, so I followed her.  I didn't want her slipping away.  She got on a road that ran parallel to 75 and had a 60 MPH speed limit.  She's very tricksy, but I was determined.  I stayed on her tail while talking to 911 operators.  After a 20-minute excursion, they found where we were and pulled her over.  You know what the worst part was?  A county cop pulled her over, but he's not from the county she committed her infraction in.  He couldn't do anything, but he did tell me he'd give her a talking to.  The other county will be coming for her, though.  I don't doubt that.  I guess his not doing anything saved me hours of talking at the time, so we could get home.  That whole experience shook me up.  I don't think the guy died or even got hurt too severely, based on the conversations I heard in the background while I was on the phone with 911.  He could have, though, and that had me pretty freaked out for a bit.

Food tour

We had a list of places we needed to eat at while we were there.  Here's the list (and we hit them all):

• Chik-Fil-A


• Sonny's


• Whataburger


• Chik-Fil-A


• Gator's Dockside


• Moon River Pizza


• Publix (it's a grocery story, but they have the best subs in their deli and Sarah's favorite bakery)


• Chik-Fil-A

All in all, it was the best trip we've taken.  It's the first vacation we've taken since 2003.  We had used all of our vacation time coming home, seeing everyone we're related to and some we are not over the last several years.  We were always more tired when we got back.  It's nice seeing family, but I much prefer seeing them all the time and vacationing somewhere else when we get the chance.  Sarah took a ton of pictures.  If you're her friend on facebook, you can see them, since she's uploaded them already.

why I'm not Baptist

I've thought about posting this for a while.  I guess I've thought about posting this from the time I started my blog, since by then, I had already turned in my membership card, forfeited my decoder ring, and started speaking in tongues.  Okay, maybe not the last one, but I definitely don't have my decoder ring anymore.  I have been asked by some over the last two years why.  Some are interested in hearing my story, others are asking in a "What happened to you?," sort of way, because to some, you're either Baptist or you're wrong (used to be part of that exact some).  Either way, I gladly answer.  It doesn't matter too much to me.  All of my favorite Baptists still love me, and that's good enough for me.  If you are Baptist, and you don't still love me as you read this, then you can turn in your membership card to the "Jeff's favorite Baptists" club.

Before I tell you why I'm not a Baptist anymore, I'll give you my background.  I was raised in a Baptist home.  From the time my parents came to Christ, they have been a part of that denomination.  I was part of that denomination from birth, or for those who think I'm hinting at covenant theology, you can say I was a part of it since I was baptized at the age of 10.  I went to the same Baptist church from the time I was 8 until I was 22 (retaining membership, as many Bible college students do, through my college years).  I moved to Jacksonville, FL, where I attended two separate Baptist colleges/seminaries, where I received my Bachelor's degree.   My first pastoral job was in an overtly Baptist church (I just went there for the first time since leaving this week), and my second was in a secretly Baptist church.  As Paul was a Pharisee of Pharisees, I was a Baptist of Baptists.  My Baptist street cred had no reason to be called into question.

So what happened?  How could I just abandon the only thing I had ever known?  Well, one day - I'm not sure the exact date, because I didn't throw a gold star on the calendar - I realized something: this isn't me.  I'd tried for 26 years to worship God in a way that He did not create me, and it wasn't working.  I struggled with it for a long time before it finally occurred to me.  I looked like a good Baptist on the outside, but on the inside, there was turmoil.  I didn't know there was something different and good out there, so for years, I embraced the good and downplayed the things I didn't care for.  I even struggled as a teenager, worrying about the differences between a typical Baptist youth pastor (as I saw it) and who I was.  There was a great divide.  The two weren't lining up, and by the time I was 26, I realized they never would.

The reason I am not Baptist has little to nothing to do with discontentment.  I was as content as I knew how to be with being a Baptist, because it was all I knew.  My being discontent with the way things were operated at my first church do not reflect my feelings about the entire denomination.

I am not Baptist, because that is not how God created me to worship Him.  I believe it is how God created some to worship Him, and it's a fine denomination for some, but not me.  I ultimately believe mostly the same way on the major doctrines, but I seem to disagree on a lot of the small stuff (and some pastors make a really big deal about the small stuff).  To me, the small stuff is big stuff, because I wasn't comfortable working for a church where I could not fully embrace all of the teaching.  I felt like I was a hypocrite for taking a check while disagreeing with what was taught and how things were done.  I know guys that do that, and I don't want to be that guy.  I have a derogatory term for those guys, but I'm not going to tell you what it is, in case you are one.

I just want to be in a place where I can worship God fully, in a way that fits who I am, while glorifying Him.  That place is KCC.  We're non-denominational, or as I was trained to say as a young, up-and-coming Baptist, undecided.  We've decided, though.  As my boss put it in my very first interview: we major on the majors, and we minor on the minors.

That's not as sensational as you were hoping for.  Is it?

good thing it doesn't work that way

I do not believe in a works-based salvation.  Neither did Paul.  Ephesians 2:8-9 says, "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, ⁹ not a result of works, so that no one may boast." (ESV)  I think that's pretty clear, and I think it's probably a pretty good thing.

If salvation was works based, how many of us would end up in Hell?  That question is probably hard to answer.  The reality is that if we believed that we had to work for our salvation, we'd probably do more than we do.  We wouldn't be so lazy about our faith.  Why, then, are we so lazy now?  God has made it easy on us, because He loves us, and we return the favor by taking advantage of His love.  I find it strange the way we react to our God's love, especially given the way other religions actively engage in their religion.

Many young Mormons dedicate two years of their lives to the mission field before pursuing whatever career path they feel led to do.  Shawn Bradley even resisted going into the NBA for two years to fulfill this.  You would not be considered a dedicated Mormon if you weren't willing to do this.

Muslims observe Ramadan.  They kind of fast for an entire month, eating "breakfast" when they get up in the morning, and then not eating from sunrise to sunset.  I've heard pastors mock the practice, as though this would not be difficult, but the belt of the pastors I've heard saying this were not visible due to their suffering from Dunlap's disease.  I'll fully admit that not eating while the Sun is up for a full month would cause the most horrible month of my life.  On top of the fasting rituals, they are encouraged to read the entire Qur'an during that month.  It's not a short book.  Not observing Ramadan would disqualify you from being a serious Muslim.

Orthodox Jews live everyday inside a prison of rules and regulations.  One rule they observe is no driving a car on the Sabbath, but they must attend a Shabbos service.  When we lived in Florida, we would see families walking down the road, a mile from the Temple, wearing all black, heading to a Shabbos service.  That act alone shows more dedication than most people I know (me included).  Then there are the dietary laws, which include no bacon, no ham, no pork chops, no pulled pork, etc.  Seriously?  Yikes.  You have your orthodox Jews, and then you have your not so serious Jews.  Some call them Reformed Jews.  No one calls them dedicated.

So what does it take to be considered a serious, dedicated Christian?  Well, as best as I can tell, you have to go to church on Sunday, which equates to an hour of your week (or 4 hours, if you add in getting ready, traveling, and eating lunch afterward (a required part of church going)).  Some heighten the requirement by adding Sunday school, Sunday night, and Wednesday night to the requirements.  Some add reading the Bible and praying.  But what about doing?  Reading your Bible, praying, and going to church fill you up.  Those activities prepare you to serve God.  Does one become a good Christian by hoarding the grace of God in their own cup and never pouring out God's goodness to others?  Is that the standard?

James 214-26 says, "¹⁴What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? ¹⁵ If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, ¹⁶ and one of you says to them, "Go in peace, be warmed and filled," without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? ¹⁷So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.

¹⁸But someone will say, "You have faith and I have works." Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works. ¹⁹ You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder! ²⁰Do you want to be shown, you foolish person, that faith apart from works is useless? ²¹ Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered up his son Isaac on the altar? ²²You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by his works; ²³and the Scripture was fulfilled that says,"Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness"—and he was called a friend of God. ²⁴You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. ²⁵And in the same way was not also Rahab the prostitute justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out by another way? ²⁶For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead.

I really do believe that most of us would be in a lot of trouble if doing good works for God is what got us into Heaven.  Good thing it doesn't work that way.

God help us.

she still cares

I broke my hand last Sunday.  How?  I was jumping and dancing to We Stand during children's ministry, getting an older kid who's too old for CM involved in worship, when I came down and hit my hand on a foosball table.  I knew right away that something had happened.  My hand went numb, as did my wrist, and the bottom part of my arm  right up to the bottom of the tattoo on my left forearm.  I played it cool, of course, and kept jumping with the student, trying not to grimace from the pain.  I didn't do anything with my hand until that afternoon, when I started applying mass quantities of Icy Hot to it.  That did nothing.  It was very swollen when I went to sleep, but I thought it would probably feel better by morning.

After I got up, I found that my hand was worse off.  The injured spot was swollen to twice its normal size.  I tried being cool with it still, but after changing Jakob, I realized I was not as cool as I was pretending to be.  I debated going to the doctor, but I already knew it was broken, where it was broken, and what they would do for it.  So, I had to wake Sarah up.  I had her tape and wrap my hand up really well.  When she finished, I went to pull my hand away, but she stopped it gently, pulled it toward her face, and kissed me softly on the back of the hand.  She told me she was sad, because she was praying it would be better by morning.  For the last week, she has put up with my being a wimp, never complaining about my inability to do some things around our place one handed, including changing Jakob, and she has wrapped my hand up for me at least twice a day.

We've been married for nine years today, and she still cares enough about me to kiss my hand, to be sad about my pain, and to take care of me when I am in or out of need.  I love her.

I love you, Sarah.  Happy anniversary.  Thank you for being my wife.

Also, happy birthday, Grandpa, and happy spiritual birthday to me.

taking things personally

Have you ever read a facebook status or a blog post and thought, "Wait, are they talking about me?"  I haven't much, but every so often, I combine my knowledge of someone's disdain for me with their status and wonder.  That, of course, begs the question: if I know they have disdain for me, why are they on my friend list on facebook?  Well, not only did Christ die for some people that annoy the living smell (sp) out of me, but He seems to think it's a good idea to put those people near me, sometimes in very close proximity.  Sometimes I get to be friends with those people.  Sometimes I have emotional, moody, passive aggressive friends, and if they will make a status about someone else we know, then they could surely take an indirect swipe on me.

But why would I ever think that someone is talking about me?  Usually, it's because I can see truth in what they say about me, whether they are directing it towards me or not.  Sometimes a person's comment could be in regards to someone else, but the Holy Spirit pressed on my heart.  He says very nice things, like, "Whoa!  Whoever they are talking about sounds like a real jerk.  Sounds like you a bit, too."  It's not a good feeling.

I have sat through sermons, read blog posts, read entire chapters of some books, and scanned through many facebook statuses that make me think I'm being talked to directly.  Sometimes I am, but more often than not, I am not, but still my heart is pricked.  I take it personally.  And when someone says something, and the Holy Spirit pricks my heart, and I begin to take it personally, I have one of two options: being angrily offended or being mournfully convicted.  Most people take the, "how dare he..." offended approach.  I certainly have, but I try to get myself into the convicted stage quickly.

Here's a tip for you, from someone who has praught (Sarah's made up word for the teach-to-taught equivalent for the word preach), someone who has written blog posts, and someone who has eaten a lot of ice cream in his life: we're not talking about you intentionally.  If we do well, we preach what God tells us to preach, write what God inspires us to write, and eat the biggest bowl we can find.  If you take it personally, it's probably the Holy Spirit telling you to.  You might want to consider getting over yourself and getting convicted.

don't fear writing

Most of my blogging friends make me laugh.  The same ones that make me laugh also make me think a lot.  They make me share in their frustration with their words.  They seem very free with their words.  I haven't noticed many of them shying away from being candid for fear of negative comments.  I have, though.  I have held back on writing my heart, not because what I want to say is questionable or untrue, but because I am weary of being nitpicked.  It has kept me from writing when I have wanted to write.  I have unfinished drafts that I just saved and walked away from, because I worry they will be controversial.  I have thoughts that I want to express that are stuck in my head or in an e-mail to myself as a reminder for later, because I worry someone will take it too personally.  All left undone, because I made the mistake of fearing negative comments.  The reality is that I don't get a lot of comments, positive or negative, but nearly 100% of the ones I have received are positive and affirming.  So my fear is misguided.

Hopefully this means I will be writing more.  I hope that as God puts thoughts in my head, I will express them on my blog without worry.  Finally, I hope spiteful people would go away, but knowing that they won't, I hope I listen to the majority, not the angry minority.

patty cake

Jakob loves playing Patty Cake.  As you will see, it makes him laugh.  If you try to stop playing, he will take your hands and clap them together.  He's so cute.  I'm posting this today, because it's my mom's birthday, and she loves playing patty cake with Jakob.  She was the one that first noticed that he'll grab your hands if you try to quit.

Happy birthday, Mom!  I love you!

who do I listen to?

The first time I preached at New Hope, one of my friends - who I actually met for the first time that day - came up and told me that I should be New Hope's new lead pastor.  She even filled out a card and put it in the offering box saying so.  I thought that was pretty cool, so I told Charles, the recently announced resigning lead pastor of NH.  He probably said the smartest thing he's ever said (not counting the times he's complimented me, because you know, that's just plain smart, too).  He said, "That's cool, but she sounds like a fan.  You should never listen to your fans or your critics, because they will always view what you do based on how they view you."  I was a little let down, because I was hoping he'd say, "Yeah, she's right," but just saying what I wanted to hear has never been a part of our friendship.  I never wanted to be the lead pastor there, either.  I was just proud of the compliment I had received.  He was right, though, and I've tried to be mindful of that ever since.

**You're probably dismayed at the thought of a pastor having fans.  The truth is that everyone has fans and critics (definition 2, obviously).  It doesn't speak to the value of the object of one's affection or hatred.  It's more a reflection on the person doing the loving or hating.**

I'm always quicker to recognize, or at least acknowledge, when someone is just a constant critic than when someone is a "fan."  I think most people are, because we want to believe that the people who compliment us know what they're talking about, and it's quite satisfying to realize that the person that's always insulting you isn't worth listening to.  But it's important, especially for me, to realize both right away and put their comments in proper perspective.  Here's why:

• Fans will love everything you do without question.  Critics will hate everything you do before you even do it.  Neither properly weigh the pros and cons of anything you do.


• Listening to fans can lead to arrogance or complacency.  Listening to critics can lead to deflation.  Both lead to below average performance.


• Fans can just be really good, nice people who don't like to see the negative in anyone.  Critics are usually just bitter, unhappy people, and they take those emotions out on others.  Neither will be very constructive, and if you want to be always improving, you need constructive comments.


• If one believes everything a fan tells him, he will likely be so happy with his performance that he won't take time to critique it.  On the other hand, critics will just make him angry, and his focus can be too much on disliking the critic.  Both could cause him to miss out on valuable opportunities to improve himself.

I could go on, but you get the point, and you'd probably stop reading if I beat a dead horse.  By the way, where did that saying come from?  Who in history beat a dead horse, giving us this odd idiom?

If I try to please fans, I will succeed every time.  If I try to please critics, I will fail every time.  So who do I listen to?  Well, I believe that true success is found in moving the people in the middle.  They aren't totally vested in one side or the other.  They won't see victory in a loss, and they won't insist on a loss when there was a victory.  Those are the people who can help me succeed, because their opinions are more likely to be weighed before delivered.  Those are the people who can graciously offer me constructive criticism, as opposed to loaded insults.  They are also the people who can give a well reasoned compliment, as opposed to stroking my ego.  They are who I want to listen to.

Okay, I kind of like listening to fans, too, but I try to shy away from it.