Three years ago today

Not long from the moment as I write this, Amanda and I got a phone call three years ago we'll never forget.
The loss of Chris, Leah, Miller and Mallory Walls still remains in our hearts. We think about them often and miss them. Though we don't understand why at this stage in our lives the reasons why they're gone, we know their lives are valued and cherished by those they left behind. Their legacies of faith in Christ will do the same.
I've not been home a little more than 90 minutes from a reception following a memorial service for a co-worker who passed away unexpectedly within the last 10 days.
Today's events with our co-worker made me think about Chris and Leah even more. It's refreshing and comforting to trust we'll see them all - even my co-worker - again some day.

Ten years ago today

Blogger’s note: I’ve struggled for weeks whether to post this, but in the end, I believe it’s the right thing to do – for closure, healing and maybe, to help others. This is our story, and it is copyrighted to this blogger, with the obvious exception of the excerpt from Oswald Chambers.

Ten years ago today, my life changed in a way that will continue to impact me for as long as I live.
About 16 months before, it changed in a profound matter too in that I met my future wife on the Internet. I moved to Pennsylvania and we pursued our courtship. In late 1997, I asked Amanda to marry me.

The bed

In the weeks leading up to the early part of September 1998, my mother got hold of an old cast iron bed and called us up one day and asked us what color we wanted it. We told her, and she commenced to transforming it into a deep, forest green. It became a wedding present to us. She even paid for a mattress to fit it.
I asked her how we were supposed to get it from Montgomery, Ala. to metro Harrisburg, Pa.
She told me we were coming to Montgomery to retrieve it.
So Amanda and I arranged for a four-day weekend over the Labor Day holiday to drive down to Alabama and retrieve the bed, then drive back with it in time to return to work on the following Tuesday. In exchange, we were going to leave some furniture with her to store.
On the Tuesday before, I’d talked to her and had a good conversation. I don’t recall today what we talked about, but it was without turmoil or discord, for which I remain grateful.
Beginning two days later, I started calling Mom to have one final review of things before we headed down the highway.
I left answering machine messages for her to call me on a number of occasions. The fact she hadn’t followed up immediately wasn’t unusual, so it didn’t bother me in the first few hours after having not reached her.
For the first time in several weeks, I got to take some time and do a devotional in the morning before we left on the trip. I use Oswald Chambers’ “My Utmost for His Highest” on a regular basis.
The day was Sept. 4, and though I was probably reading an older version, here is the link to Sept. 4’s entry in the modern adaptation of the devotional book:
http://www.rbc.org/devotionals/my-utmost-for-his-highest/09/04/devotion.aspx?year=2008
In hindsight not long after, I realized this key sentence was one of preparation for what we would discover: “Our Lord makes His disciple His very own possession, becoming responsible for him.” Though for periods of time, out of rebellion and anger, I have not lived as if this is true, I’m reminded as I write this that it is absolute truth.
Though my life is not I as I would like it to be – said the pot to the potter – the Lord has blessed us immeasurably. Sometimes, we’ve responded that it wasn’t enough. Lord, please forgive me for my ingratitude.
You have been responsible for us, though we haven’t always been responsible in kind.
Help us to change this. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Departure

In the weeks leading up to our trip, we’d had some discussion back and forth with Mom about who should get wedding invitations and who should get announcements. Amanda decided the visit would be a good time to sort it out, so she took her wedding invitation database in a print-out so she and Mom could review it.

The keys

Not long before we walked out the door, I had a sense I would need the keys to the house. I was one of the few who had any.
I’m still trusting to this day it was the Lord.
So, I grabbed the chain which bore the keys to Mom’s house and we rolled down Interstate 81, still having hadn’t heard from her.
I carried my cell phone with me in hopes I could reach Mom from the road. We still hadn’t heard from her when we arrived at Amanda’s parents’ house in northeast Tennessee. They’d just moved there from Pennsylvania two weeks before.
So when we got to Amanda’s folks’ house, we called someone who was a family friend and who worked with Mom on a regular basis to see if he’d heard anything from her.
Nothing.
So our concern grew but we still didn’t have solid evidence anything was wrong.
Boy, it was nerve-racking.
We got up the next day and continued south on I-81. Over the course of our journey, we tried to call her again several times.
Still no response.
In about mid-afternoon, we reached one of the exits of Interstate 65 outside Clanton, Ala., about 45 minutes’ drive time north of Montgomery.
I went to a pay phone and tried home again.
This time, I sensed in my heart what we would find would not be good.
Keep in mind this would have been Amanda’s second time to see my Mom in person.

The house

It is no longer a secret, but for much of my life as a teenager, my mother required me to be selective about the friends I brought home and ask them not to tell about the condition of the house.
If there’s an actual name for what Mom did, I don’t know what it would be.
It wasn’t hoarding. It wasn’t out of greed. It wasn’t exactly the work of a Depression-era packrat. I still have no idea really why she did it.
But, beginning around 1978, she began to collect and stack newspapers and magazines around the house in piles. The piles grew over time and, one by one, rooms became useless because these stacks made them impassable and non-functional. These piles did not include household garbage, though she did hang on to canned or refrigerated foodstuffs for longer than necessary as well.
Sometimes, as an act of defiance, I would walk through portions of the house in a straight-forward fashion, instead of side-stepping so as to navigate the piles and or stacks of other things such as furniture.
However, this should not be my mother’s enduring legacy.
It should be the countless times she helped me out of a jam – with money, or a term paper, or math problems or … you almost name it and she was there to help.
The exception was … “Mom, how do you spell ________?”
The answer was often: “Look it up,” which I do almost on cue even today.
Mom’s willingness to help didn’t stop with me. I remember a time she helped out a friend of mine just because she wanted to and didn’t ask my friend for anything in return.
It must be pointed out that Mom had our bed ready and waiting on us.
She was robust, intelligent, funny, often witty, often undeterred, gutsy and just a great lady who also possessed a strong business sense.

Arrival

After getting into Montgomery, we made several stops to see if she might have been out and about doing some stuff. She wasn’t at any of those places.
With all possibilities on her location eliminated, we drove to the house.
I knew instantly something was wrong, because an orange recycling bag – left by city workers in exchange for a bag filled with recyclables – still hung from a tree branch.
It was Saturday.
We pulled up in front and exited the truck.
We dug my keys out of a bag.
We opened the mailbox and it was stuffed full.
Of course, I’d warned Amanda about what we would encounter when we entered the house.
No amount of preparation about the house would have given her needed insight for what she would soon face.
I opened the back door.
We entered.
Though I’d been in Pennsylvania for a year, I instinctively knew the paths I would follow to reach my mother’s bedroom.
I raced through the maze of stacks and stopped just inside the doorframe to her room.
I have no idea how long I looked at her – I’m sure it wasn’t more than 30 seconds.
But what I saw is still etched in my mind.
I did not see the often generous, active woman I described earlier.
She was gone.
What remained – at least what I saw – was a face containing a smattering of light and dark patches as it decayed.
What little I saw was enough. It still is.
We guess she’d been dead since sometime around Thursday.
This was Sept. 5, 1998, the official end of my mother’s life on Earth.
The death certificate says she died of an arteriosclerotic cardiovascular catastrophe, or a heart attack or stroke brought on by hardening of the arteries.
We found her 15 days shy of her 71st birthday.
Fortunately, word of the condition of the house didn’t become a news story, as others who lived in conditions outside the norm have. Fortunately, I am telling about this and not someone else.
I couldn’t remember the name of the funeral home where Mom made pre-arrangements, which, we found out later, she’d just paid off about six months earlier, but I did remember we would have to turn by the “black” cemetery, known at the time as such because of its condition and the race of its occupants.
Amanda grew up in an area where dead folks weren’t segregated and no such prefixes exist for places of burial.
This was Amanda’s first significant trip to the Deep South.
Welcome to Montgomery.
Our four-day weekend jaunt turned in to a week-long stay, which included funeral planning and preparation and a variety of interaction with friends and family.
Mom already had arranged for us to stay overnight at a bed and breakfast. We stayed there for the allotted time, then a friend’s house, then one more time at the B&B.
Instead of using it to clarify the wedding invitation list, the database print-out gave us the information needed to contact friends and relatives about Mom’s death.

Marrying and moving

Early on in that week, it was apparent we would need to move to Montgomery to deal with the aftermath of Mom’s death.
Our wedding was six weeks away.
We moved ahead with our already-arranged plans to marry and went on our honeymoon through Pennsylvania, upstate New York and Vermont.
We returned to what would have been the start of our new life together in Pennsylvania, only to pack up and haul our stuff to Alabama.
It took us about five and a half years to take care of a number of tasks associated with settling her affairs and going through her possessions.
We got to this end of it with the Lord’s help. Whether we’ve always acknowledged it or not, unfortunately, is a different story.
Our first year of marriage was quite the uphill climb – almost exclusively because of the challenge we had to tackle directly and with force.
Criminal activity compounded the situation beginning Christmas Eve 1998, when the first of seven break-ins took place at Mom’s house over the course of about two weeks.
Law enforcement officials got close to but never quite caught those responsible for unlawfully entering Mom’s house before we could (We’d made other living arrangements due the condition of the house.).

Ups and downs

There were some aspects of dealing with the house which were positive – mainly the response of some very kind and generous friends who volunteered their time, usually on weekends, to sort Mom’s belongings. A number of these people remain close friends.
Amanda’s parents also spent many days with us in the early going to help us get a grip on things.
We also struggled with infertility – a subject very few people are willing to broach because of its unsettling nature – while we were in Montgomery.
Eventually, we finished the tasks needed to move on with our lives and leave Montgomery.
We are certainly different people for having lived through those days in Montgomery. Whether we are better is up for the Lord to decide.
I look back, I see what’s missing is my Mom, who didn’t get to see her first grandchild come into the world, or send us articles on the best way to do this or that as a parent.
My Dad, who died of a heart attack nearly 15 years before Mom, isn’t here to offer some grain of wisdom or to hear me tell him how proud I am of him for his service as a soldier in the 84th Infantry Division during World War II.
He earned two Bronze Stars (They didn’t give them out for teaching classes back in his day.) in the months following D-Day and was wounded in action. He was also in the Army Specialized Training Program, which placed soldiers in colleges across the United States during WWII.
Dad was a bright, industrious man who held down a full-time job and maintained other business interests, including his role as the founding treasurer of a credit union. He expressed his concern for people in tangible ways, such as having refreshments ready at the end of the trail after a Boy Scouts’ hike.
He was a skilled woodworker and mechanic – he did much of the work on our vehicles.
When Mom died, so did my connection to Dad.
I wish they were both here.
But then we wouldn’t have gone through what we did, spent time with people we’d have never met or been given many other opportunities we’d have never had.
The Lord did his part. He’s been responsible in his care of us, having blessed us with a beautiful daughter, dashing our doubts about whether or not he actually listened or paid attention as we waited – sometimes impatiently – through our first painful bout with infertility.
We’re now learning to trust his hand in a new uncertainty as to whether we’ll have another child.
We have no idea what awaits us what the next 10 years, but I hope we will grow in our ability to listen to the Lord in new, finely-tuned ways.
I hope we’ll teach our child – or children – to do the same.
And, we still have the bed!

Keeping it real, Part III

Blogger’s note: This is the third and possibly final installment on the subject of being real. It is in response to posts by my friend Kim. Her blog is: Innocent Lamb.

'Connection - In an isolating age'

As I began to think about how to craft this post, I found myself embarking on a journey through what felt like a maze of narrow rows of thorns. No matter which way I turned or shifted, I risked getting cut – offending or, even worse, alienating one group or another. I also tried to weigh how much I needed to explain about my positions on the things which made this navigation tricky. Of course, that too could make the trip more difficult.
Ultimately, I am trying to look at how we turn our efforts to connect and be real with those outside the church, especially those seen as outcasts.
So I’ve come up with what I see is the best way to address these issues, both with the following disclaimer and a moderate amount of explanation along the way.
This post is neither an endorsement of the behaviors described or depicted below, nor is it intended as a condemnation of those who would engage in these behaviors. It is certainly not intended to violate the copyrights of the late Jonathan Larson or others who now hold these rights.

With that out of the way, let me introduce to you the following people:

Mark is a struggling filmmaker who has awkward interactions with his ex-girlfriend - a performance artist named Maureen - and her new significant other, Joanne.
Roger is a frustrated songwriter who is afraid to get involved with a stripper and IV drug user named Mimi.
(Tom) Collins is a technical genius who develops a relationship with Angel, a transvestite street performer who helped Collins in his time of need.
Collins, Angel, Mimi and Roger are all HIV positive.
These are the majority of the central characters in “Rent,” a dynamic, challenging, fantastic rock opera – now both in stage and screen versions - written by Larson.
Here are some of the questions they ask or realizations they reach:

From “Rent:”
How can you connect in an age
Where strangers, landlords, lovers
Your own blood cells betray
What binds the fabric together
When the raging, shifting winds of change
Keep ripping away

From “What You Own:”

Connection - In an isolating age;
For once the shadows gave way to light …
For once I didn't disengage

From “Finale B:”

Will I Lose My Dignity
Will Someone Care
Will I Wake Tomorrow
From This Nightmare
There's Only Now
There's Only Here
Give In To Love
Or Live In Fear
No Other Path
No Other Way
No Day But Today

Here's a key example of what I'm talking about from "Rent."

"Rent" is an amazing work I simply don't think we should dismiss because of its content.

On the subject of connectivity, to quote a work referenced in one of Kim’s posts, “Sacred Companions: The Gift of Spiritual Friendship & Direction” by David G. Benner:

“The hunger for connection is one of the most fundamental desires of the human heart. We are like immigrants in a new land, with no family or friends and no sense of place. We seem to have lost our mooring. Or perhaps we have lost some part of ourselves. Like pieces of a puzzle seeking their adjoining pieces, we long for connections that will assure us that we belong.”
Without giving away critical plot details in case you have never seen “Rent” and want to, these six outcasts from both the church and the culture at large form an inseparable bond that at one point is referenced as a “family.”
In talking over this post with Amanda, she made a very valid point: Sometimes those outside the church are better at creating community than those inside it.
Why is that when we are supposed to be work and exist as a body and inherent in that is connection? I don’t have an immediate, safe answer. I do know that I don’t think much of what we do in American Christianity is what we’re meant to do. Again, I’m not sure I have a formula or strategy as to how to get us to a modern form of the authentic church, but I do think it’s something to which we should strive.
How do we make Christ and his church attractive to people like the central characters in “Rent” without compromising the values we find in scripture? Does it really matter if we compromise dogma for the sake of “leaving behind the 99 to save the one?”
How can we make the church relevant to people who wind up finding family and connection in their own ways, seemingly making the church irrelevant?
How do we meet what I see is the standard, which is preaching Christ and him crucified and meeting the standard of Matthew 25:34-40 - helping those seen as the least.
How do we interact with those outside the church, who, by virtue of Christ’s commission, we are directed to reach, especially in today’s culture of fragmentation and often isolation?
I think we have to use Christ as the standard.
In scripture, we are directed to be in the world, but not of it. Somehow there is a balance to being relevant to and interactive with the world we find ourselves in and yet distanced from attitudes and behaviors contrary to Christ’s example.
If you’ll recall, Christ is seen by some as associating with the wrong crowds, something of which most of us in the modern church could never stand accused.

So how do we do this – interact with those would be seen as outcasts by the church and yet not follow their habits and patterns? It’s a perplexing question I think will take a lifetime to answer.

We have to get our own houses in order and make sure we are walking with Christ and are living out the things we say we believe among those closest to us first if at all possible. It’s a tall but necessary order. I used to think it was a “once and done” thing, but it’s really a daily process. However, we shouldn’t let fear of something being discovered being out of order in our own homes as an excuse not to follow Christ and his leadership in our daily lives as we engage the world outside.
As we proceed to look and act externally, we can start by looking at how Christ dealt with people seen as “sinners” and compare them with how he handled the religious elite of the day.
An example of the former can be found in John 4:7-26 – the story of the woman at the well.
It’s safe to say that while he was direct and truthful with “sinners,” he was not overly harsh or abrasive toward them.
He was a whole other person with those who thought of themselves as holy and righteous, but yet permitted unholy activity in sacred places, as seen in Matthew 21:12-16.
In response to these two passages, I think we should continue to study the character and nature of Christ and follow his example, treating people by the Golden Rule (treat others as you would want to be treated) and tackling the things with which Christ would take issue.
So then, at minimum, people seen as outcasts from society and the church would least have a chance to interact with the church, and possibly, learn to love Christ and his teachings. I pray the Lord will lead all of us who read this post to come to this conclusion and that people like those who live like the folks in “Rent” will somehow learn to have hope for more than just today, though today is all we have for the moment.
To borrow words from “Rent:” for once, maybe none of us will disengage.

Keeping it real, Part II

Blogger’s note: This is the second installment of what will likely be three posts on the subject of being real. It is in response to posts by my friend Kim. Her blog is: Innocent Lamb. Also, there is one reference below which is of a graphic nature. As you read you'll hopefully understand why I included it. Just a heads-up.

Being real - obstacles, challenges and boundaries

To examine some of the reasons why being real is so difficult, I want to pick through the cultural challenges, starting with the broader scope.

The culture as a whole - A strange gumbo of superficiality and reality

In today’s American culture, we see a strange gumbo of superficiality and reality. We get limited glimpses of those we hold up as celebrities, and for some reason, the ones who appear more vain and vapid tend to rise to the top. Yet, there are television shows such as “How to Look Good Naked” and “Celebrity Rehab.”
The first show helps real women feel good about themselves by helping them see the good in what they see in the mirror. This public service can help other women erase years of self-doubt and even pain about what they perceived as a weakness.
The second gives us a glimpse into the world of drug rehabilitation and everything that goes with trying to kick the habit. It lays out all the dysfunction and destructive patterns which lead people down the path of addictive behavior, all the traps which create obstacles for those trying to get clean and gives a clear picture of just how tough but necessary it is.
So in what we see and read in our culture, this strange mixture of sobering reality and gagging superficiality can leave us wondering just where the markers are.
How much truth can and should we stomach – about ourselves, about others – and yet how to do we live so we are genuine human beings who are real and yet are following Christ and attempting to help others do the same?

The culture in the church – “I don’t believe I’d have told that!”

The late, great Southern humorist Lewis Grizzard once told a story about a church leader – possibly conducting a revival – encouraging those in the congregation to “tell it all, brother, tell it all.”
I don’t recall what the first few instances were, but I do remember the third one – Someone confessed to an act of bestiality.
The leader responded, “I don’t believe I’d have told that!”
Of course, I believe that confessing our shortcomings and sin can lead to healing and reconciliation with God and other human beings, but should something as (rightfully) taboo and illegal as bestiality be shared in public? My tendency is to say no, but I do not think that we should hold the attitude of “tell it all,” then be shocked when someone takes us up on it.
We’ve been taught, either directly or indirectly, that putting on a mask and being someone we may not be naturally is the right thing to do – in general public and in the church setting.
Revealing things about ourselves can be troubling, misleading or even off-putting, or it can draw unnecessary attention to ourselves when we should be trying to bring attention to Christ. Yet, there are times when we share something openly, someone else can relate and realize they are not alone. Often, that is where our enemy tries to ensnare us – he makes us think we’re the only ones with a particular problem, so we are beyond help and repair, even beyond the grasp of God. Sharing something openly can also bring healing to ourselves and others.
Generally speaking, I believe that as we grow in fellowship with other believers, we should have safe places and safe people in our lives where no matter what the issue may be, we can safely share a hurt or pain and extend a hand to a friend who’s hurting.
Instances of open, public sharing should be with the leading of the Holy Spirit and, when possible, the support of those close to us.
Is there a hard and fast rule about what to share and when? No, I don’t think so.
But it is my firm belief that the church should be last place where we find judgmental stares, snickers underneath the breath, backbiting and complaining. I speak as one who has participated in my share, and asks the Lord for his forgiveness, but one who believes that if the church is to fulfill its role, it needs learn how to love people where they are, because that’s exactly what Christ did when we first came to know him. How can we treat others any differently?
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." John 13:34-35.
And we can’t just love those who love us. That’s easy and our natural inclination. We need to learn to move beyond this by his grace.
"If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' love those who love them. … But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” Luke 6:32, 35 (NIV).
I think in scripture there’s no mandate that we make every contact intimate, yet we still need to allow the Holy Spirit to do what he needs to do to touch a life, even one we would not ordinarily want to touch.

Where do we go from here?

As with so many things in life and as a Christian, there is a balance. We must not say or do things which will inflict long-term harm to a person or a relationship. Yet, we must be wise and sensitive to share things to another person and about ourselves to be of benefit to the other person, even if what is said or done isn’t pretty or fun. And we should be willing to be open and truthful with people about ourselves in a way that is pleasing to the Lord and of value to others.

Keeping it real, Part I

Blogger’s note: My friend Kim recently started a series of posts about being real. I was so struck by her initial post that I thought I would develop my own responses in the blog world. This is the first of at least three intended posts on the subject.
Kim’s blog is: Innocent Lamb.

A ‘Band of Brothers’

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother." – William Shakespeare from “Henry V”

One of my favorite projects developed for mass consumption is the HBO miniseries “Band of Brothers.” It’s an insightful, detailed and graphic look at the men of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, who fought in some of the critical battles of the European Theater in World War II. I personally think every one should see it. One of the beauties of living in a relatively free society is that we aren’t required to do everything, but I think seeing what these men did will help us appreciate the freedom we do enjoy.
The miniseries is based on the book by the same name by the late historian Stephen Ambrose. Its title, from what I can tell, has its origins in the Shakespeare quote above.
While a majority of the miniseries consists of a dramatic retelling of the stories of Easy Company, several of these real men who experienced both the horror and kinship of warfare share their experiences and feelings openly for our benefit.

Here are some excerpts from what some of the men said above:
Dick Winters – “It’s a very unusual bonding.”
Carwood Lipton – “We knew we could depend on each other, and so we were a close-knit group.”
Donald Malarkey – “Just brave, so brave it was unbelievable.”
Bill Guarnere – “I’m just one part of the big war, that’s all - one little part. And I’m proud to be a part of it. Sometimes it makes me cry.”
Babe Heffron – “The real men, the real heroes are the fellows that are still buried over there and those that come home to be buried.”
Shifty Powers – “Seems like you figured that you thought you could do just about anything. And after the war was over, and you came back out, why, you lost a lot of that, or at least I did. I lost all that confidence.”
John Martin – “Well, you was hoping to stay alive, that’s all.”
Dick Winters (in quoting a letter from a fellow soldier) – “Grandpa? Were you a hero in the war? Grandpa said ‘No, but I served with a company of heroes.’”
Confidence. Bravery. Staying alive. Selflessness. Humility. Unbreakable bonding.
I believe these things have their application for us as believers in the context of a group of believers whose lives are forged together by following Christ’s lead and interacting with each other.
This following video goes to the core of what Kim refers to in her first post about a “band of brothers” as referenced by John Eldredge.

I agree with and embrace the concepts I hear Eldredge relay in this video and in other materials I’ve seen or read of his.
I dare say that this “band of brothers” referred to in the Eldredge video can and should include the fairer sex in the appropriate context.
During a period of time when Amanda and I attended a home church environment, I learned a great deal from a particular female friend of ours who shared her feelings openly with the larger group. Fortunately, this friend continues to teach and challenge me in a positive way when I get to spend time with her.
Knowing that I would have missed out on learning from her that first few times in a larger environment, I long to create and protect the development of such collective sharing.
I certainly understand that there are times when men and women should gather together within gender boundaries to learn from the Lord in a safe environment where hurts, pains and other issues can be addressed on a deep level without any influence from the opposite sex.
But I also know that the Lord can use all of us in a collective environment where we all gather together and help each other walk through life, where men learn from women and women learn from men. I’m not talking about starting a cult or anything crazy like that – just a legitimate, organic collective of people – who honestly may not be friends at first but would eventually be impossible to separate with a crowbar over time – who love the Lord and commit to love each other in spite of each other’s many flaws.
I’ve been privileged to have been in several environments where this kind of sharing between the genders happens and is of no threat to anyone’s marriage, but we are not currently part of anything like this.
I long to return to an environment like this and go even deeper, where two or three couples interact and share with each other on a deep level.
Intimate friendship in the Christian context has its roots in the relationship between Jesus and John, who is referred to as “the disciple whom Jesus loved” on more than one occasion in scripture.
I think this sort of interaction – both at the intimate, four- to six-person level and the creation of a larger group environment - where we can all share and work together openly - will go a long way toward living up to Christ’s words from John 13:34-35:
"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”
Of course, this idea is not to exclude those who are not married, but as with the interaction between married couples, the interaction among singles on the deep level must also be such as not to create inappropriate relationships across the genders.
OK, so where does the reality come into all this?
To go deep, we must be real. To be real, we must feel safe to do so. Confidentiality is a necessary and non-negotiable aspect to this. So is checking a judgmental attitude at the door and letting a person share what is on his or her heart without fear of backlash or ridicule.
Amanda and I recently met a couple who’d walked a very hard road to have a child. We had just talked to them for the first time beyond the introductory level, yet they were so refreshingly open and honest about their circumstances. It was so incredible to meet people who were so real without even being prompted. We both felt magnetically drawn to them.
We know that not everybody operates like this but it just reminded me that I long to be in fellowship with people who don’t give it a second thought to share openly and freely with each other without fear of alienating those with whom we are in contact.
In many cases, this takes time and patience and that’s OK.
I pray the Lord draws together those of us who want to see this kind of “band of brothers” develop and be a permanent structure within our lives.
I envision Christians living in a community – not a physical compound – but a collective gathering of people whose love for each other mirrors that of the natural family but goes beyond that in supporting each other in growing in our faith and living our lives more closely to what Christ envisioned.
To relate these concepts back to the overarching theme of the miniseries and the origin of the term “band of brothers,” it is because of Christ’s shed blood that we even have the foundation for such a collective of believers. And, this fellowship can and should produce the result Christ speaks of in John 15:13-14:
“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command.”

In memory of Chris, Leah, Miller and Mallory Walls

Details on this post may be disturbing to some readers:
Chris, Leah, Miller and Mallory Walls died in a two-vehicle accident around 4:15 p.m. MDT Friday, June 16 in metro Phoenix, Ariz.
According to various media reports, the family was on its way to a church service at Desert Life Church in Scottsdale, Ariz. They were stopped at an intersection in their Mazda MPV when a Chrysler Pacifica, driven by Haluk Kandas, 29, of Phoenix left an exit ramp going 65-70 mph and rear-ended the van. The vehicle eventually caught fire.
It is unclear exactly how the family died.
Chris and Leah were 36 and 34 respectively. Miller and Mallory were each approximately 7 and 5 respectively.
Chris had a wonderful entrepreneurial spirit and Leah was an amazing artist. They loved their children immensely and desired to serve Jesus Christ with their lives and talents.
We knew them from our days at Christ Community Church in Montgomery, Ala. and continued to stay in contact with them after they relocated to metro Nashville, Tenn. several years ago. They moved to Phoenix within the last 18 months. We last saw them in May 2004.
Those who wish may contact me via e-mail for further details. We hope to know more about funeral arrangements in the near future. I hope someone is able to post their works for the world to see. We pray that in their deaths and through their amazing gifts people will come to know Christ.