Prop 8 - A Fairness Issue?

There has been a lot of talk about Proposition 8 and its relevance to "separation of church and state." Let me first begin with the history of that famous phrase.

Separation of Church and State is not in the U.S. Constitution. The phrase, "wall of separation between church and state" was first written by Thomas Jefferson in a letter to the Danbury Baptist Association in 1802. The phrase was never quoted again until the U.S. Supreme Court mentioned it in 1878, a long time after the Constitution was written, and they didn’t consider how it “applied” until 1947.

That being said, the Church (us) is called to show the love of Christ to all, including homosexuals, drunkards, prostitutes, addicts, etc. This does not mean we condone nor support their actions that God would deem sinful. However, there is a much bigger picture at work here. The “people have spoken” on this issue more than once and have stated with their vote that marriage is to be between one man and one woman. Even so, the government is now telling us that voting is pointless because it can all be simply washed away with the stroke of one judge’s pen. Is that the almighty democracy by which our country is known? Obviously not.

This is simply a stepping stone to the next step of arresting pastors under the charge of “hate speech” for teaching Romans, chapter one (as an example), wherein God clearly mandates that homosexual behavior is not acceptable. This type of arrest is already taking place in other countries.

Folks, I didn’t write the Book. There are plenty of things in there that I wish weren’t. But I have placed my trust and faith in the One who DID write it because He has an amazing track record of being right, being gracious, being loving… and being fair.

To ask the people to vote on an issue only to erase the results does not equate fairness in even the simplest form of the word.

Lastly, let us not forget that we are not to ever place our trust in a God-dishonoring government, but rather the true God of the universe who loves us so much that He sent His Son to pay a penalty that we could not pay. For us to mock Him for doing so by living a lifestyle and/or condoning behavior that is contrary to His word is definitely not… fair.

An Auto-Pilot Christmas

With Christmas just around the corner, I wanted to take a moment to reiterate a good old fashioned cliche: Jesus is the Reason for the Season! Yes, I know that we hear this phrase every year and see it on every church marquee, but here's the thing... it's true!

How often do we switch on our auto-pilot during the worship phase of church on Sundays? Sure, we're singing along and maybe even have our eyes closed, but our minds are often somewhere else. I find that the Christmas season is a lot like this. Sure, we know it's a celebration of the birth of Jesus and all, but we're so caught up with shopping, planning, traveling, wrapping, eating... that we switch on our auto-pilot and simply go through the motions.

Take a moment today to reflect on the miracle of Christ's birth and the incredible example of love, grace and mercy that marked His life.

In Jesus,

jb

Colossians 1:13

Saturday Mornings with Mom (My Own Personal School of Rock)

Most kids in the nineteen seventies and eighties woke up on Saturday mornings to the sounds, sights, and scents of the average American home, complete with a white picket fence and the obligatory two point five children. They scrambled down the stairs in their pajamas, yawning, stretching, hearing the sounds of cartoons and smelling the scent of bacon and eggs encompassing the house - not to mention the hint of a freshly mowed lawn creeping through the open kitchen window. Norman Rockwell would have been proud.
However, that was the not the scene at my house on Saturday mornings. No, my Saturday mornings were much different. For starters, mom and dad were divorced. So, it was just the two of us. No obligatory one point five sibling. Instead of bacon and eggs, there were pancakes made with powdered milk - both provided by our wonderful government in wonderfully bland, unmarked boxes. The peanut butter used as spread (a family staple), along with a few other ingredients, were provided by the church and sat quietly in the refrigerator alongside the cheese. Yes, the cheese that you hear about in songs and comedy routines. The cheese provided by, you guessed it, our wonderful government. To say that we were financially challenged would be an understatement. Oblivious at such a young age, I often commented to her how busy the church must be since they delivered groceries to everyone each week. She didn't have the heart to tell me that we were their only stop on the route.
Oh, but there was music! Yes, there was music of every kind and every genre. I was the only child in my neighborhood that could expound for hours on the heartfelt lyrics of Dylan and Croce while performing my best Michael Jackson moonwalk. From the Beatles to the Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin to Barbara Streisand, Stevie Wonder to the Rolling Stones. You name it, my mom owned it on beautiful vinyl, sleeve and all. Scratchy record after scratchy record was played at the loudest decibel our little Hitachi record player would allow. My Mom and I would sing and dance around the house, each doing our chores for the day. It was common to find myself dusting to Simon and Garfunkel, vacuuming to Elton John, sweeping to Loggins and Messina, and scrubbing the bathtub to the velevet, silky crooning of Marvin Gaye. While my friends were listening to whatever pretty boy happened to be the radio darling of the week, I was listening to raw recordings of Smokey Robinson. Barry Gordy would have been proud.
It's been over twenty-four years since my Mom surrendered to her battle with cancer and I still can't help but think of her each Saturday morning as my two precious inspirations dance about the house, contributing to the household chores, and singing to Grandma's old record collection. Mom would have been proud.

June 8th

It was and still is the most surreal moment that I've ever experienced in my life. I can't remember what the nurse behind me was saying. I can't remember each detail of the hospital room. I can't remember whether or not my doctor was present in the room with us. I can't even remember if I was adorned in the usual hospital garb that I had worn so many times prior to this fateful night. However, there are a few significant details that I can still remember as clearly as if the event had just taken place mere hours ago. As my father and I stood together, we gazed out the window and waited. We just waited. The silence seemed to scream out all that I was feeling inside my thirteen year old body. As we patiently waited to hear that all-important sound humming in our eardrums, I couldn't help but internally weigh the gravity of the situation. 
On the bright side, I was getting a brand new lease on life. The shortness of breath, the feelings of weakness, of inadequacy, the sudden need to rest, the sense that everyone felt pity for me, the zombie-like paleness of skin, and the ridiculous amount of weight loss were all about to become a thing of the past. No more dialysis. No more days lost to "sleeping off" the devastating effects of a dialysis session. I should be happy. These were all reasons to be happy. Good reasons. I was gaining a whole new lifestyle! But, it all paled in comparison to what I was giving up in the process. I was giving up the one person who had never given up on me.
We could hear it. Faint and distant as it was, we could definitely hear it. The familiar drone of the helicopter grew louder and louder as it drew near until it was so loud that we could barely hear ourselves speak. As the helicopter touched down, we fixed our eyes upon the young man who jumped out of the chopper with an Igloo. It wasn't the kind of igloo that conjures images of eskimos and a fancy hotel in Canada. He carried an Igloo ice chest like the ones construction workers use to house their lunch. Amidst the noise of the rapidly turning helicopter blades, her voice broke through like a baseball shattering a window. It was my nurse and, as long as I live, I will never forget her words. "There it is, Justin... there's your kidney." But, I had yet to accept it. In my heart, that was still my mother's kidney.
The doctors had given my mother six months to live and here she was, still fighting five years later. No cancer, not even brain cancer, was going to beat her. Her hospital bed at Stanford Medical Center lay less than four hundred miles from mine at UCLA. She may as well have been on Mars as far as I was concerned. The fact that we weren't in the same room still haunts me to this day. 

The hallways of the hospital seemed strangely still and quiet. Long gone was the piercing sound of the whipping helicopter blades. The day's hustle and bustle had given way to the tranquility of the night. Calm and subdued are the adjectives that would accurately describe those around me. Not me. No one could see that it felt like a circus was parading through my insides, complete with crashing cymbals and the stomping of elephant feet on my heart. I could hear whispers of, "Look at him... He's so brave... He's not scared at all..." I decided to live up to their marvel. Little did they know how much I wanted to jump up and run. I just wanted to run as fast as I could - away from the hospital, away from the impending life waiting for me. I wanted so badly to catch that helicopter and ride back to Stanford, back to my old life, back to my best friend. They couldn't see that I was simply a scared, thirteen year old boy who just wanted his mommy. 

The walls of a hospital hallway look very different when they're quickly passing you by. I lay on the gurney and mustered what little courage I had left as they rolled me into the operating room. If the room where I had stood moments ago with my father could be described as warm and inviting, the operating room could be described as its antithesis. Sterile is the word. Sterile and drab. Sterile, drab, and scary. The doctors and nurses all look like characters from a Twilight Zone episode and they talk about you as if you're not laying directly in front of them, as if you're not there at all. From behind me comes a smooth, soothing voice. "Hey, buddy. You doing okay?" I looked up and locked eyes with the smiling Dr. Feelgood himself: the anesthesiologist. Don't let anyone fool you. The anesthesiologist is every surgery patient's best friend. He's the one who slips you the all-important round-trip ticket to La-La Land. After his rehearsed spiel about the risks of being rendered unconscious, I had only one question for him. "Have you sampled any of your goods today?" Smiling, he replied that he hadn't, to which I responded with a smile of my own that seemed to relax my fears a little. Funny the things we remember. I wouldn't recognize that man today if he passed me on the street, yet he played such an important role in the events of that life-altering night. 

I could feel the tingling sensation overcome me as the anesthetics began to kick in. I was aware of the room, yet unable to speak. I became strangely resigned and, as I closed my eyes, my thoughts drifted to my mother. I thought of her Godly character. I thought of the life lessons she had instilled in me. To say that she was a special person would be an incredible understatement. She was the beauty queen who actually had brains. While fellow divorcees tried desperately to find a husband, she happily poured all of her time and energy into her only child. While men tossed admiring glances her way, she spent her free time at work reading a dictionary. While others her age were hitting the singles scene, she was tucking me in bed with Bible stories. While other women inherited wrinkles from living it up, hers were a result of incessant smiling. Yes, she was special, indeed.

It felt like mere moments had passed when I awoke in the recovery room. I looked around the room and met my father's eyes. A slow smile crept across his face as he leaned in closer. A nurse came in to check my vitals and as she did so, my father continued to simply stare at me with that smile. As she made her exit, I noticed for the first time that my father's eyes seemed moist and red. His words seemed to struggle to come out. It was clear he had something to say and it wasn't idle chat about the weather. Before I could ask how the surgery went, he blurted out, "Son, your mom has gone to heaven." I've often heard people claim that time stood still for them. I now know what they mean. I'll never forget the special moment that followed. My father was a man of contrasts. He was considered a deadbeat dad by some, yet always came to my games. He struggled with personal issues, yet managed to become one of the most prolific black belt fighters of his time. He struggled privately, yet was heralded in the sports world for winning the World Championships a record eight times. He never showed me preferential treatment at his karate school, yet coached me to world championships. This man of contrasts whom I loved so dearly never left me with any doubt that he was crazy about me. This man who was considered deadly with his skills... laid his head on my chest and wept. Together, in a solitary room of a hospital, we wept. Finally, at that moment, I knew I would be okay.

BIGGEST LOSER

A retired couple decided that they should walk two miles a day to stay in shape. They chose to walk a mile out on a lonely country road so they would have no choice but to walk back. At the one-mile mark on their first venture, the man asked his wife, "Do you think you can make it back all right, or are you too tired?" "Oh, no," she said. "I'm not tired. I can make it back fine." "Good," he replied. "I'll wait here. You go back, get the car and come get me."

-Joyce Redding in Reader's Digest, February 1980

I know exactly how that retired gentleman feels. =)

My wife and I are avid followers of the TV show, Biggest Loser. Not only have we learned a lot about health and fitness, it's just really good TV! The stories are inspiring and they motivate me to keep going. In my endeavors to become fit and healthy, I've become aware of how easy it is to begin focusing more and more on our bodies and less and less on the things of God. I'm reminded of the words of the apostle Paul, "For bodily exercise profits a little, but godliness is profitable for all things, having promise of the life that now is and of that which is to come."

As a Christian, I know what it truly means to be the Biggest Loser: "For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for MY sake will find it." -Matthew 16:25

My wife and I covet your prayers as we link arms together and work toward our goal to be fit and healthy, but more importantly, our goal to be better followers of Jesus Christ.

In Jesus,

jb

Philippians 2:14

My Champ!

It's February 10th, 2009, and that means it's my Champ's 4th birthday. Yep, little Noah is getting to be not-so-little anymore. He and I stayed up a little too late last night playing, so he was still sleeping when I left for work this morning. All machismo aside, I have to admit that while I watched him sleep, I teared up a little bit. 

You see, most couples make plans to have kids and then... they have them! Simple. Normal. It was a little different, however, for me and Andrea. Being a cancer survivor and having two kidney transplants, my doctors told me that I would never have kids. My mistake was believing them. Somehow, I forgot about the God I love and serve. Somehow, I forgot just how incredibly big and wonderful and gracious He really is to me. Somehow, it slipped my mind that He loves me and is absolutely crazy about me. 

Doctors are wonderful and I praise the Lord that He placed me in the hands of some of the best in the world. But, Jesus is the ultimate and great physician. God always has the final word. 

It wasn't doctors that miraculously healed me of cancer. It was Jesus. It wasn't doctors that allowed my mother to live five years longer than she was supposed to. It was Jesus. Finally, it wasn't doctors that blessed me with not one, but two incredibly beautiful, healthy, and happy kids. It was Jesus. So, you see, my Champ and my Princess were never supposed to exist. But, God doesn't play by our rules, does He? I thank Him for that.

Happy Birthday, Champ! You truly are a walking miracle and Daddy loves you BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY!!

In Jesus,

jb

1 Corinthians 9:24