Farewell Blue Bomber, High Gas Costs

     Hail the size of tennis balls pounded the Town a Prosper a month ago. The storm hit just after midnight, and as we huddled in the laundry room, it sounded like an arial bombardment.
     My 8-year-old daughter still gets sketched out every time the weather calls for thunderstorms.
     In the morning, we counted 10 shattered windows on the west side of the house and total roof damage. Both of our vehicles looked like they were parked in the middle of a golfball driving range.
     The Keffers came out on top in this one, though. As you may or may not know, we are living with my wife's parents until October or November, when our new house build is finished. Any house damage from the storm was a slight inconvenience for me, but not as stressful as it was for my parents-in-law and other homeowners in Prosper.
     The upside for us is that the storm totaled "The Blue Bomber" -- a 1999 Chevrolet Suburban that had 129,000 and sucked down a gallon of gasoline every 11 or 12 miles. It's not that I did not appreciate the Bomber for years of service and good memories, but I will not miss the gasoline costs.
     Also, we were able to use the insurance money to buy a used 2001 Volkswagen Jetta with relatively low miles. This puppy gets 22 miles to the gallon.
     My 2005 Ford F-150 was not totaled, but sustained a lot of damage. The truck has been in the body shop for three weeks now, and I am so looking forward to having it back. The first thing I am going to do -- at least this is the plan -- is to put it on Craig's List to sell. I like what happened with the Suburban-Jetta swap-out, and I am now focused on eliminating another car payment and simplifying our lives with a car that I can pay cash for.
     I don't expect to find a vehicle that seats six AND gets good gas mileage, but we'll see what happens.
     I'm not sure why I am blogging about hail storms and vehicles. I guess I am just excited that we were given the opportunity to make some much-needed changes in our vehicle situation.
     I never imagined a severe hail storm would make this possible, but I'll take a good break when it comes my way.

Daily Prayer: A Simple Enough Concept

     Daily prayer is such a simple concept.
     We awaken each day, and the Spirit leads us out of bed and onto our knees, to praise God and ask for God's mercies throughout the coming day.
     We stop our workday for lunch, and we give thanks to God, not merely "for this food and the hands that have prepared it," but for the ways we have seen God at work in the first working hours of the day.  
     And then at evening, we thank God again, intercede for others, and pray whatever else the Spirit leads us to pray.
     It all looks good on paper, doesn't it? But when each day comes, we get pushed and pulled by all types of "more important" things.
     In the morning, we need our coffee first. The dog has to go for a walk and take a pee. The kids wake up and want breakfast. The newspaper looks more interesting.
     At lunch, we tell ourselves we are too busy to pause for prayer because of the demands of the day. We have to get back to the office.
     And in the evening, of course, are children's events, night meetings at church, or a game or new episode on TV.
     There are all types of things that complicate the very simple concept of daily prayer. It happens in my life, and maybe for some of you.
     I have found two things helpful.
     The first is the concept of "Praying the Hours" -- a Jewish tradition that Jesus and his disciples embraced. It is also Christian monastic tradition, a tradition that Protestant Reformers observed, and a discipline we can still use today.
     There are any ways of dividing up each day into Hours of Prayer, but I have found Morning, Midday, and Evening Prayers to be an attainable and helpful format. It is not the only one, of course, but it gives a little structure that I need. And if my definition of "morning" prayer time is invaded by dogs, kids, and headlines, then I may need to awaken 30 minutes earlier, or ask the Spirit to nudge me and awaken me 30 minutes earlier.
     The second helpful practice is starting 15-minute prayer services at your church or with other believers. Make a covenant with "two or more" believers to meet once a week (Wednesday?), or even more, for one of these prayer times. At these services, read a Psalm and a second Scripture lesson together. Sing a hymn or song of praise together. Pray together. It takes only 15 minutes. I promise.
     I have found that accountability and encouragement from other worshipers helps me to honor at least one of these prayer times each week. One prayer times builds on the next, and soon I have more courage and inspiration to pray more diligently each day when I am alone.
     For what it's worth.

Coaching is About the Joy

     I always wondered what it was that kept my old basketball coaches returning year after year to work with us on the court.
     Was it the money?
     No. Some of my high school coaches earned some extra bucks, no doubt, but I can't imagine the hourly rate was worth it.
     Was it the prestige?
     Hardly. Most of my teams -- with the exception of my old CYO teams at Corpus Christi Catholic Church -- stunk.
     Was it because dads wanted to coach their sons' teams, to spend time with Junior or even to make sure Junior makes the starting team?
     This is plausible. I've done this as a coach (at least the first part), and spending time with your son or daughter is definitely a good reason to coach, at least in my opinion. I want my kids to remember that I was involved in their lives, and I want to share a piece of me with them as they grow up.
     But I have discovered a new reason to coach, in recent months. I have identified why I think (and hope) many adults coach youth athletics.
     It brings me joy.
     It brought me joy this year to teach basketball fundamentals, and little life lessons along the way, to a bunch of junior high and elementary school kids (I coached my son MT's fourth-grade team and my son Ben's sixth-grade team). It brings me great joy on gamedays to see the kids compete, and occasionally (rarely in our case) eek out a win. It brings me joy to see them finally "get it," whether it is seeing them use a bounce pass instead of a chest pass, or seeing them slide their feed on defense instead of reaching in for a foul.
     And this year, my joy has gone to a whole new level. I coach my daughter's first- and second-grade volleyball team.
     Now, I only know the basics of volleyball -- what I learned in high school gym class and what I learned at the mandatory 2-hour coaches clinic this year.
     But what joy it brings me to work with these little girls, and see them finally hit the ball over the net on a serve or see one of them return a serve.
     I am in coaching because I want my daughter to know that she is athletic, that girls sports are just as important as her brothers' sports, to spend time with her, etc... But at the core, I coach because it brings me joy.
     I know I am not alone.

Hospitality is a Gift

     My son Max and I are on an incredible spring break adventure in sunny Sarasota, FL. Our family lives on a pastor's salary, so out of necessity we are taking this trip "on a shoestring," relying on the hospitality of friends and even strangers.
     We could not have made a better decision, even if we had the money to stay in nice hotels on the beach.
     If we had not decided to lean on the gift of hospitality, we would not have been able to reconnect with the Lovelady's, a family that meant so much to my wife and I when we attended college.
     We would not have met Richard and Veronica, a British couple that opened their home to us in Sarasota. We had never even met "Rich and Veron" before this trip. Our stay with them was arranged by a friend-of-a-friend, but it made no difference. They took us in like family and I ended up sipping red wine with Richard last night and watching his favorite soccer team, Manchester United, defeat Marseilles on television.
     And we would not be reconnecting with old friends from my hometown in Pennsylvania. It will be so much fun to reconnect with Rob and Melissa in St. Petersburg, and for my 14-year-old son meet their teenaged daughter who used to play in the church nursery with him when he was a toddler.
     Hospitality is a gift of God, and we are enjoying the fruits of this gift on this special trip.
     We could have holed up in a La Quinta or Quality Inn for the whole trip, but I know we have made the right decision in leaning on friends and the spirit of hospitality to provide for a fun, less-expensive, and much more meaningful trip.
     Thanks be to God.

The Power of the Brown, Paper Lunch Sack

     It doesn't happen often, but this morning, for some reason, I was inspired to make our kids' lunches for school.
     Two plain peanut butter sandwiches on whole wheat bread.
     Check.
     Two peanut butter and raspberry jelly sandwiches on whole wheat.
     Check.
     1-oz. bags of Cheetos, Doritos, Chips-a-Hoy cookies, 'Nilla Wafers tossed indiscriminately into each kid's brown paper lunch sack.
     Check.
     Clusters of grapes parceled in plastic Baggies, just to keep the kids honest.
     Check.
     It was an absolutely exhausting way to start my morning. Thank you, Honey, for taking care of this chore every other morning.
     But it wasn't but 15 minutes later than I found myself in the food pantry reaching for a brown, paper sack of my own. Maybe my large, 6-6 frame could get by on smaller portions of food today? Maybe I, too, could eat only what I could fit comfortably in a brown paper sack.
     I just went with this crazy impulse. Usually I reach for leftovers in the fridge, which can give me the gargantuan quantities that I consume for lunch. But maybe for today I could return to the simpler days when I ate only what Mom packed in a small, brown paper lunch sack.
     Here's what I was able to fit inside, and still have room to roll the bag shut:
     1 chicken deli-meat sandwich (with lettuce and mustard)
     1-oz. bag of Cool Ranch Doritos
     2 Double-stuff Oreo cookies
     1 banana.
     Can it be done? Can I make it through today with such simple quantities of food? And if I do make it through today on such meager portions, will I be ravenous at the dinner table tonight and cancel out any gains I made in portion control through the day.
     I have my doubts, but I am giving it a go. I tipped the scales at 258 this morning. This is 23 more pounds than when I arrived in North Texas in August.
     Now, I don't pretend that Oreos and Doritos are going to get me to where I need to be, but maybe portion control is a start.
     Thanks, brown paper bag, for a new beginning today.

Who is My Neighbor?

     The last of our boxes and cargo are loaded up in a 10x30, climate-controlled box in North Texas. Our move from Beaumont is complete. No more mortgage. No more home-ownership and all of the stress that goes with this privilege. As I said before, I am going to enjoy the next few months. I look forward to some financial breathing room and a break from the headaches of home improvement.
     Thank you, God, for your provision and faithfulness.
     And thank you, God, for good neighbors.
     We could not have loaded up our stuff without the support of neighbors like "Ron," my gruff, retired, ex-Marine of a neighbor. When I was trying to hoist my concrete-filled basketball pole out of the ground and the disks in my back were just about to pop out of place, Ron came out with his ladder, channel locks, sledge hammer, and other tools and helped remove the monster from the ground. And when I was called inside to help my wife take down curtain rods and other moving-day projects, he stayed there - cigarette dangling out of his mouth - until the job was done.
     Bless you, Ron.
     Russ and Laura, our neighbors across the street, cleaned out our freezer and fridge.
     Need I say more?
     They also let our daughter spend the night with their daughter for two nights, so Kim and I could get work done, and they even bought our family pizza and welcomed us into their home.
     Stacy and Andy, great friends who live down the street, took in two of our sons for the day (and one of them overnight), so we could get work done. There were other neighbors there in our time of need, and others who would have helped if we had asked.
     The point is that there are few simpler pleasures in life than neighbors coming together to help other neighbors. Honestly, I do not know if I would have been as kind if I had seen my neighbors in need.
I would have been too "busy" to stop and serve. I would have assumed "somebody else" would help them.
     At any rate, I am humbled by the simple acts of love and service by my neighbors.
     Their help was unsolicited and unexpected. They are more than people I happened to live beside for three years. They were truly my neighbors.

It's Moving Day

     Tomorrow the Keffer family loads up the pickup and heads South to Beaumont to load up our "stuff" and finalize our move to North Texas.

     On Tuesday, we sign on the dotted line and finalize the sale of our house. We will officially be homeless, or at least not on the hook for a mortgage payment or utilities bills for a few months.

     Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

     It is hard to believe we have finally arrived at this point.

     What is the next step? I just can't say. We will put all of our belongs in storage and when the smoke clears in a month or two, we will consider the options of buying or building. Renting makes no financial sense for our family.

     We are thankful that we have family to live with, so we can have a temporary cushion and make a smart choice with our next home purchase.

     In the meantime, I will enjoy living mortgage-free for as long as it lasts and get our "house" in order.

Cargo Cult Alive and Well Today

     Many of us participate in a Cargo Cult in one way or another.

     Our next-door neighbor comes home with a new purchase (new car, new riding mower, new fishing rod, new patio furniture, new whatever) and we go native, much like the South Pacific islanders mentioned in my previous blog.

     We pray the consumer gods will send to us a cargo container from across the sea. 

     We imagine how life for us would be better, if we too had a newer family vehicle, a larger house, a faster computer, nicer clothing, better power tools, greener grass.

     And before we know it, we start to shape our life around this burning desire to acquire. 

     It starts with a little surfing the Web, checking out the best prices for this or that, mostly to convince ourselves that we have been responsible consumers.

     It continues with a visit to the car showroom, the shopping mall, or the home improvement store, "just to look." And the deal is sealed when we scan the credit cards in our wallet and begin to consider the financing options.

     We may tell ourselves "no" at some point in the hunt, just to feel good about ourselves. But it is of no use. Our desire is too much. The current is too strong. And eventually, we know in our heart of hearts, the cargo container will be ours, one way or another. 

     This is the way it goes with consumer desire, or lust and covetousness of any sort. Once we see something we want and become convinced "it was meant to be," there is no stopping us, even if we don't have the money.

     We will have whatever causes our consumer hearts to burn.

     It is cult-like behavior to be sure. It is a religion in itself, complete with a god (self-fulfillment), sacraments (credit card and loan applications), sanctification (improving credit card scores), justification (acquisition), and salvation (consumption).

     

     

The Cult of Cargo

     Ever heard of a Cargo Cult?
     Me neither, until I read about them recently in the Thomas Merton book Love and Living.
     Apparently, during early stages of western colonization in the South Pacific, the islanders were captivated by large cargo (kago) containers that would "magically" appear on shore via the white man. These containers -- sent by supply boats from England, France, or wherever -- would contain food, medicine, alcohol, tobacco, clothing, and all of the basic things a person or a village might want or need.
     Soon, the arrival of these containers led to a Messianic mindset and myth-making on the part of the islanders. Merton writes, "... Kago came to have a very important meaning for the native: the coming of a good time, when one would be like the whites and enjoy what the whites enjoyed -- the coming of the millennium." The islanders, who lived a rather miserable standard of living when compared to the white man, wanted to have kago of their own. They wanted to be on par with the white man, who got to sit on his front porch and never do much work.
     And since the Bible that the white man handed the islanders did not explain how to get kago, Merton writes, and because the natives never saw a factory or an industrial plant in England where these products were manufactured and processed, the natives started to develop mythical explanations. Was it the white man's ancestors, sending kago from across the sea? Did the natives have distant ancestors who would do the same?
     You can imagine where all of this would go. Rituals and customs emerged. In one instance, Merton writes, the natives saw how the white people liked to put flowers in front of their houses. Was it the flowers that summoned their ancestors to send kago? The islanders followed suit and soon had the whole island covered with flowers, thinking this to be a ritualistic act that would bring about kago for them.
     So what does this have to do with us today? Why would I blog about Cargo Cults of the South Pacific?
     Well, Merton goes on to make a powerful connection to our consumer culture today. We might laugh about this primitive behavior of the islanders, he writes, but we consumer-minded westerners have created Cargo Cults of our own that are every bit as "primitive" as the islanders.
     You will have to follow up with my blog later this week to read more about what Merton, writing in the 1960s, has to speak to us today. And of course, you may already see the connections yourself.

Fighting for Our Heart's Desire

     It could be the six inches of snow on the ground and four days with ice-covered roads, but today as I read Psalm 37:3-4, I find myself reminiscing about a college spring break trip to Florida, WAY back in the 1990s.
     Some friends and I were putting through an upscale marina in Miami in a flat-bottomed aluminum boat, on our way to a snorkeling adventure that never really panned out. While trolling through the marina, I remember dropping my jaw in disbelief at the sight of these mammoth yachts, each with fun, personalized names painted on the back.
     One of these yachts, named "Heart's Desire," sticks in my memory.
     The yacht was owned, I later learned, by a wealthy Christian family in Miami known by one of my friends. The name they chose for their yacht (and the message that it sent to a baby Christian like myself) made a lasting impression. It was something like, "Faithful Christian discipleship equals yacht," or maybe, "Honor Jesus and He will give you cool stuff."
     Today I know this message to be the false message of the Prosperity Gospel. The Prosperity Gospel mistakingly assures us that if we believe and follow Jesus, God will give us our "heart's desire" (insert yacht, fishing boat, big house, nice car, better golf clubs, or whatever material thing your heart desires).
    We know not to store up for ourselves "treasures on earth ... but treasures in heaven." (Mt. 6:19)
    We know not to worry about what we eat, or what we wear, or what we drive, or where we live, or what toys we play with, but to trust in God's provision of the things we need." (Mt. 6:25)
    We know not to seek after the "things that will be added to us," but to "seek first the kingdom of God." (Mt. 6.33)
     But man, it ain't easy!
     I confess that I struggle to keep these Scripture passages in the right order.
     The point of "Seek first the kingdom" is really about the Kingdom, and not about the material stuff tacked on to me as a result of my belief.
     The point of Psalm 37:3-4 ("Take delight in the Lord, and he will give to you the desires of your heart") is about taking delight in the Lord, and not taking delight in the stuff we want or think we need.
     To use theological terms, Jesus and the Kingdom of God that he announces is the substance of these passages; the "stuff" that we get is the accident.
     Sounds good.
     So what do I do about that house my wife and I are eying up in our hearts and minds? How do I keep from taking more delight in my iPhone and my new "Daily Devotional" app, rather than the quiet moments I spend in prayer in the presence of God.
     It ain't easy.
     When it comes down to it, I am no better than the dude with the fancy yacht. He is just more honest than me.
     It takes work, daily walking, to keep the kingdom first and the other stuff in second place.
     It takes diligence and constant reminders to keep God as our true delight and heart's desire.

Power Outage Was Just a Dream

     As my wife and I lay in bed this morning (our 8-year-old daughter snuggled between us), an alarming thing happened.
     The lights went out. The ceiling fan rotated slowly to a halt. It was a power outage and we, along with thousands of others around the Dallas Metroplex, would be "trapped" for one more day indoors because of an ice storm and frigid temps.
     The first thing that entered my mind was my laptop and cell phone, and how much battery power I had left for the day. I thought about wireless access, and how a lack of it would mean no connection to e-mail, work, and the outside world ALL DAY LONG!
     I thought about how tragic this was for my children, that their poor souls would have no XBox, no Internet computer games, no television, and only limited battery life on their iTouch devices.
The stories they can tell their children one day.
     I thought that we might spend an afternoon like the Waltons, or maybe the Swiss Family Robinson. We would play Scrabble or charades, or work on my 12-year-old son's Rube Goldberg project for science class. Maybe we would even read books or other primitive activities.
     And then I awoke from the dream. The ceiling fan and lights came back on. The television and Xbox weren't that far behind. And of course I am back-and-running on the Internet.
     It's back to life as usual in the Keffer household.
     And there was such potential for something different in our lives today.

Thank You for City League Athletics

     It started when we moved from Upstate New York to Texas in 2004.

     Our boys had played Little League Baseball in Weedsport, NY, and naturally wanted to sign up for a Little League team when we moved. But when we arrived at the first practices, I soon learned this wasn't the Little League I had grown up with. 

     First of all, in Texas they play a fall season as well as a spring season, which I think is pretty cool.

     Each boy brings his own glove, hat, batting gloves, and bat. Nothing unusual. This is the way we did it when I was a kid, except the league provided all of the bats and gear (which the coach lugged to the field in a green, canvas, drawn-string sack with balls and extra gloves at the bottom).

     But these kids did not have your ordinary bats. These were $200 bats with "pop" in them, and they were stored in personal, $80 baseball bags that contained extra gloves, bats, and sometimes personal catcher's gear. It would be nothing to drop $500 at Academy Sports to fit out one kid for baseball season, if you went all the way. 

     Practices were held mostly at the ball fields, but sometimes they were held in the backyard of one of the kids on the team. You see, it wasn't unusual for a dad to buy and install a pitching machine and a 30- to 40-foot nylon-netted hitting cage right in the backyard. 

     And if you really wanted to be a competitor on this team, you needed to play simultaneously on a second team, called a Select Team. You pay $1,000 to $2,000 per season, and your kid gets to travel several weekends a month to play in tournaments against other Select Teams.

     Now, I am not knocking Texas. The baseball story here is the same as in many other parts of the country. And I don't mean to judge kids or parents who choose to play on Select teams. Families who go the Select route spend meaningful time together when they travel to these tournaments. My nieces, in fact, play on Select soccer teams in north Dallas and have done remarkably well. I am very proud of them.

     To be honest, I am probably even a little jealous that I cannot afford to sign each of my kids up for a Select baseball or football team, or that as a pastor I do not have the freedom to "take off" on Sundays and support my kids at the ball field.

     I simply want to say thank you to city leagues that still offer opportunities for kids to play at the "amateur" level. As a Dad with a finite source of income, I say thank you for $75 registration fees that include a team shirt, a team hat, and a field to play on. I say thank you that my kids can play games that take me no more than 15 from my front door on weeknights and Saturdays, and that never play on Sundays.

     I don't know if my kids will be the next Manny Ramirez or Albert Pujols, but I am thankful that they can still enjoy a great sport and dream of great things like the rest of them.

     Let's play ball!

Still Here, Still Waiting for Bread

    It has been over three months since my last blog entry.
    I apologize. I was doing missionary work in the Congo and had no access to a computer.
    Just kidding.
    Actually, I have been alive and well in Plano, Texas, and have just been neglectful and, well, uninspired.
    The overriding content for my blog is on simple living. I plan to do my final doctor of ministry project on "Living More Simply in a Consumer Culture." It will be an 18-month journey, once I get approval this summer.
    But for the last four months I have been swept away by an elective project on the Daily Prayer Service. This project -- along with my transition to pastoral ministry at Grace Presbyterian and our family's move to North Texas -- has occupied all of my energy. I feel as if I have had zero time to reflect upon simple living projects in my own life.
    So alas, I am trying to get back on track with my simple living blog. It will contain reflections on how I am trying to embrace in my life what Thomas Merton calls "Living Well."
    I will share my thoughts and reflections about the consumer culture we live in, and the unique challenges facing Christian disciples who find themselves living in this culture. I will share reflections on my own daily living. And of course, the blog will contain personal ramblings.
    I make no promises about what I will write about or how often I will post, but I endeavor to be more faithful and regular in my reflections and postings.
    As I embark on this journey, my family continues to wait for our house to sell. Also, my wife continues to seek a fulfilling vocation that can add to our family income.
    If you are a praying person, I ask you to pray for our family, as we continue Waiting for Bread (just as we were in my last post in early October).
    Peace to you. Mark