My youngest son, Benjamin, was born on Thanksgiving day, 2002. He celebrated his birthday that year on the road. Today is his birthday. He’s nine years old. We celebrated as a family with bowling and lunch at Red Robin where Ben loves the mac and cheese. Last Sunday we had an early Thanksgiving at my Dad’s house as we celebrated his 81st birthday.

This is the time of year in Southern California when snowbirds come to Palm Springs and we remember why we live here. Moderate weather and clear skies in November are something to be thankful for.

I would like to develop an attitude of Thanksgiving that I can carry with me every day. I don’t mean I want to eat left-over turkey and cranberry sandwiches every day. I want to learn to be grateful for the daily blessings that come our way, the things that money can’t buy, love for my family and love for my God. In some ways this “learning” hasn’t been that easy this year. But each day brings a new lesson.

With feel-good gurus urging us to find the secret and live in the moment, I want to learn to get rid of anxiety through an attitude of prayerfulness and thanksgiving. It seems like I am making this one of my New Year’s resolutions. I frequently remind my clients that they can survive their financial and other legal troubles.

Give To KidCare

My friend, Larry Kapchinsky, runs a great relief organization, KidCare International. From one of his newsletters: “For many families, celebrating the holidays… will be an extraordinary challenge…Locally, (in San Bernardino and Riverside County, California) many poor children depend on KidCare International’s educational enrichment, food, shelter, and clothing, but there are thousands of children in South Africa, Haiti, Tanzania, Russia, and Sri Lanka that would have little or no hope without the help of humanitarian agencies like KidCare International. Thousands of children die each year in these countries from a lack of the most basic human needs—food, shelter, clean water and sanitation.” If you are looking for a worthy non-profit for a year-end charitable gift, I highly recommend KidCare.

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July 2

What is the anniversary of your “dependence?” For the United States of America the official independence day is July 2, 1776.

From the History News Network article, Top 5 Myths about the 4th of July:

America’s independence was actually declared by the Continental Congress on July 2, 1776. The night of the second the Pennsylvania Evening Post published the statement:”This day the Continental Congress declared the United Colonies Free and Independent States.”

So what happened on the Glorious Fourth? The document justifying the act of Congress-you know it as Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence-was adopted on the fourth, as is indicated on the document itself, which is, one supposes, the cause for all the confusion. As one scholar has observed, what has happened is that the document announcing the event has overshadowed the event itself.

When did Americans first celebrate independence? Congress waited until July 8, when Philadelphia threw a big party, including a parade and the firing of guns. The army under George Washington, then camped near New York City, heard the new July 9 and celebrated then. Georgia got the word August 10. And when did the British in London finally get wind of the declaration? August 30.

John Adams, writing a letter home to his beloved wife Abigail the day after independence was declared (i.e. July 3), predicted that from then on”the Second of July, 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America. I am apt to believe it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival.” A scholar coming across this document in the nineteenth century quietly” corrected” the document, Adams predicting the festival would take place not on the second but the fourth.

How the United States came to celebrate the Fourth of July is an interesting and involved story, as is the means by which the Declaration of Independence was signed and published. But these interesting historical facts are not what I am writing about on this July 2. The question I am asking is simply, “Are you free?”

For those of us who are followers of Jesus, especially those who were raised in a church, it might not be possible to declare the exact date and time that we began our journey as his follower. Even more difficult, for those of us who have been raised in the cocoon of fundamentalist legalism, is the concept of freedom. I was raised in a group that believed that the following activities were sins: dancing, drinking alcohol, drinking caffeine, attending movies, playing cards (using real cards!), engaging in work on the sabbath day, eating unclean meats, getting divorced, and so the list goes on. These are only the “don’ts.” There were a lot of “do’s” as well. It was hard to keep all of these rules. It was also hard to feel free. I have the same problem today. The religious part of me wants to constantly sit in judgment of my behavior. And when I am “keeping the rules,” that is the list I currently adhere to, I feel pretty good. And when I fail, I can feel pretty bad. Rule-keeping in this group was the path to heaven.

Jesus came to set captives free. I think he was referring to captives of religion. He didn’t see much value in the religious practices that were considered of great value among the institutional leaders of his day. Ostentatious performance of good works was its own reward as far as Jesus was concerned. He declared that he was the embodiment of truth, and that the “truth shall set you free.”

I believe that Jesus also encouraged a lifestyle that was less connected to the material things of this world, you know, the things that we worry so much about. His words:

“That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

“And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?

“So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?’ These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.

“So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today. — Matthew 6: 25-34 NLT via BibleGateway.com

In that way, following Jesus, depending on God as your life source, if one can truly get into the Jesus mindset, means being free from worry, free to live a life of love. The more I think about it, the more I believe that this is the essence of good news. So why not declare today as your “Dependence Day?” The day when you say for the first time, or say it again, I am a follower of Jesus and I will depend on him. I am setting aside the chains of captivity to religion. I am setting aside the chains of worry about the material things I need. Today I am declaring my freedom as a follower of Jesus!

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I’m not a big sleeper under any circumstances. It seems that with five or six hours of sleep I will be awake and ready to start another day of “fun and frivolity.” Sometimes my sleep gets disturbed with concern about a project or appointment that I have on the agenda for the next day. I suppose some might say I have sleep “issues.” However, I don’t see them as a problem, unless I miss an entire night of sleep or only get a couple of hours of sleep. Then I know that the next day is going to be tough and that I will be needing a place to curl up for a nap in the afternoon or early evening.

So, why was I up watching Law and Order Los Angeles at 2 in the morning, you ask? As I was beginning to nod off in the first segment it dawned on me that I had a cup of coffee at St. Arbucks around 5 p.m. yesterday. And I had it with an extra shot of espresso. I didn’t think about it at all at the time, you know, that I was going to drug myself and be up half the night. I just ordered a familiar drink and enjoyed it along with some of my son’s leftover bagel.

When it dawned on me that I had taken an anti-sleeping pill and was living with the consequences I quieted the annoying complaint that was going on in my mind about my inability to fall asleep. I mean what do I expect? The drink I ordered has a nickname among Starbucks associates, “The Red Eye.” If I had thought it though a little more I might have stuck with lemonade!

It’s a simple example, but a true one: Our choices have consequences. And our lives are an accumulation of those choices and their consequences. A natural human tendency is to judge the consequences, but not the choices, unless we are in a particularly introspective or therapeutic mode. My advice: Give up judging. It only leads to self-loathing or worse, to loud complaining about how difficult life is. Let’s just recognize the facts: Life is! Why complain about it?

I met a man yesterday who is now a client. He is 88. He is a World War II veteran. He was married to his wife for 63 years before she died. He worked for a major company doing something he greatly enjoyed through his retirement. He had a strong faith and had been kind and helpful to others. He wanted to make some changes in his financial instructions in the event of his death. He’s thinking quite a bit about it because he has been in the emergency room three times in the last three weeks. He was smiling! A lot! He seemed satisfied and content with the life he had led. He did not want to change anything about it even though he did want to change his after-death arrangements he didn’t seem unhappy about it.

This man is part of generation that is passing from the scene. They fought. The live and loved and raised their families. They worked in stable jobs for stable companies. Divorce and broken families was not the normal occurrence. Layoffs and downsizing and restructuring did not occupy their thoughts. They had been raised as children of the depression and had great appreciation for hardship and hard work. What a legacy!

I appreciated this man for his lack of complaints and the absence of regret from his conversation. He signed my retainer check with his own hand and with sound mind. And so I resolve that today, running on only four or five hours of sleep that I will attempt to restrain my complaints and approach the day with “joy” in my heart and no regrets. By the way, note to self: “No Red-Eyes after noon, Charlie.”

—

Charlie Wear

Charlie Wear is the publisher of Next-Wave. He and his wife Loretta and son Benjamin live in Moreno Valley, CA. He recently published his first work on Amazon Kindle, simple church planting: No One Turns Down the Blessing.

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No One Turns Down the Blessing

Last Sunday I got to feed Jesus. A bunch of my co-workers were having a party at my friend’s warehouse. We were BBQing Tri-Tip. We were eating chips and salsa. We were making sandwiches, beans and we had a little cole slaw. Someone got some cookies. We were getting ready to feed Jesus and we were having a lot of fun together.

One of the couples are the assistant managers at a senior low-income mobile home park. They told us that Jesus lived there. We thought, let’s take some tri-tip sandwiches and cookies and go there and feed Jesus. There wasn’t an elaborate plan and we didn’t have a big team. Just four of us. I hadn’t ever done this in quite this way but I was pretty excited.

As we got to the park our assistant manager guides went to their home. They have been warned that they could get in trouble if they feed Jesus. They did have this advice. Start with space 155, they need what you have.

And so we were walking down the street almost to its end. I was asking the Holy Spirit, “How do we do this?” The reply: Go to the first door and knock. From years of sales training I had learned that when you are a stranger knocking on the front door, it is important to step way back after you knock. Don’t knock in a timid way. Give the door a good rap! And so I did. “Hello,” I said, “Anybody home?” No answer. And so I knocked again. My team waited patiently near the front of the mobile home, and then there he was: Jesus in the form of Yvonne.

“Hi, Yvonne, my name is Charlie and the Boss sent me with a gift for you.” She had a smile on her face and looked at me quizzically. “The boss?” she replied. The Team answered for me, “God sent us.” “I have the best tri-tip sandwich in the Central Coast, prepared by the famous chef, Roberto Ostini, how many sandwiches would you like?” “We have four people here.” Okay, here you go, and here are some cookies.

So far, this was going pretty well, I thought. And then a flash of inspiration: “May I bless you?” I took her hand and prayed: “In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit, I bless you. May the peace of God be on this house in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” A big smile was on Yvonne’s face and so we moved to the next house.

House after house person after person we gave away BBQ sandwiches and cookies and the blessings. We were invited into a home to pray for a woman who had surgery on her back a couple of days before. I prayed for her healing. Tears filled her eyes. She said thank you. Blessing upon blessing was given. Smile after smile as we fed Jesus.

It came to me then. If we only had a minister we could come back next week and invite people to join us for a sandwich. We could read from the Boss’ manual, maybe our co-worker Paul’s first letter to Corinth, chapter 13. The one about love. We could share some bread and remember what Jesus did for us in his life and on the cross.

When we left, we left the blessing. We had spread the love of Christ with Tri-Tip. I was happy.

—

Charlie Wear is the publisher of Next-Wave. He and his wife Loretta and son Benjamin live in Moreno Valley, CA. He recently published his first work on Amazon Kindle, simple church planting: No One Turns Down the Blessing.

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Who am I?

I am in the middle of an existential crisis, maybe a nervous breakdown, although I have been calling it a nervous “breakthrough.” Over forty-five years of bottling up anger and pain can do that to you, I guess. The crisis started on December 2 when I awoke in the middle of the night with the idea that I should write a book based on the John Wimber saying, “I want to grow up before I grow old.”

I don’t remember Wimber unpacking that saying very much. I think he was talking about the signposts of a mature Christian life, peace in marital relationships, honesty and integrity in financial dealings, that kind of thing.

And so I began to wake up in the middle of the night and write. I have written myself right into a number of changes on every front of my life. I have changed my work situation. I am starting a couple of new business ventures. I am starting a church. Naturally all of this self-realization has spilled over into my family life and my wife and I are trying to figure out how to survive what has turned into a roaring crisis.

In the midst of these changes I think I may have gotten some insight into a universal condition that I was experiencing and struggling to resolve.

Many of us don’t know who we are. We got here honestly, for sure. Our parents, teachers, churches and society at large have conspired to repress our true identities. There are after all, social conventions of behavior, proper career choices, and processes that lead us to maturity. Church teaches us what to believe and how to be good boys and girls. School teaches us what we need to know and how we need to learn it. Mom and dad raise us to be respectful and respectable. When we interact with our peers they let us know when we have strayed beyond the social norms. When we start to form relationships with members of the opposite sex, these relationships are clouded by all we have learned up to that point. And our hearts get broken, and this teaches us even more lessons.

Ultimately many of us come to the point where we have hidden our true selves in so many ways that we don’t really know how to answer the question, “Who am I?” There is a nagging fear that is underlying our condition, “If you really knew the real me, you would reject me and have nothing to do with me.” And so every day is a new episode in the reality show we call “Real Life.” What role are we playing today? Is the camera crew standing by? This will probably be some good stuff. Okay….Action!

If we don’t know who we are, we can’t stand up for ourselves. If we don’t know who we are, we can’t possibly know how to be happy. If we don’t know who we are we can’t possibly understand where we fit in the cosmic scheme.
And so, I am working on finding the answer to the first question that is the foundation of growing up: Who am I? Let me ask you, “Who are you?”

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Charlie Wear

I am in the middle of an existential crisis, maybe a nervous breakdown, although I have been calling it a nervous “breakthrough.” Over forty-five years of bottling up anger and pain can do that to you, I guess. The crisis started on December 2 when I awoke in the middle of the night with the idea that I should write a book based on the John Wimber saying, “I want to grow up before I grow old.”
I don’t remember Wimber unpacking that saying very much. I think he was talking about the signposts of a mature Christian life, peace in marital relationships, honesty and integrity in financial dealings, that kind of thing.
And so I began to wake up in the middle of the night and write. I have written myself right into a number of changes on every front of my life. I have changed my work situation. I am starting a couple of new business ventures. I am starting a church. Naturally all of this self-realization has spilled over into my family life and my wife and I are trying to figure out how to survive what has turned into a roaring crisis.
In the midst of these changes I think I may have gotten some insight into a universal condition that I was experiencing and struggling to resolve.
Many of us don’t know who we are. We got here honestly, for sure. Our parents, teachers, churches and society at large have conspired to repress our true identities. There are after all, social conventions of behavior, proper career choices, and processes that lead us to maturity. Church teaches us what to believe and how to be good boys and girls. School teaches us what we need to know and how we need to learn it. Mom and dad raise us to be respectful and respectable. When we interact with our peers they let us know when we have strayed beyond the social norms. When we start to form relationships with members of the opposite sex, these relationships are clouded by all we have learned up to that point. And our hearts get broken, and this teaches us even more lessons.
Ultimately many of us come to the point where we have hidden our true selves in so many ways that we don’t really know how to answer the question, “Who am I?” There is a nagging fear that is underlying our condition, “If you really knew the real me, you would reject me and have nothing to do with me.” And so every day is a new episode in the reality show we call “Real Life.” What role are we playing today? Is the camera crew standing by? This will probably be some good stuff. Okay….Action!
If we don’t know who we are, we can’t stand up for ourselves. If we don’t know who we are, we can’t possibly know how to be happy. If we don’t know who we are we can’t possibly understand where we fit in the cosmic scheme.
And so, I am working on finding the answer to the first question that is the foundation of growing up: Who am I? Let me ask you, “Who are you?”

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Who's driving?

I have a long-time friend and business associate who is a follower of eastern religion. I think he may be a buddhist, but I am not sure. He likes to compare the human ability to control one’s own destiny to the ability that drivers at the Disneyland attraction, Autopia, have to control the direction and length of their drive. We all know that the steering wheels of the Autopia vehicles are not connected to any steering mechanism and that the vehicles travel on a predetermined path guided by a rail constructed by the attraction designers.

I’ve lived long enough to understand the truth of this metaphor. Putting it in the simplest terms, my life hasn’t turned out the way I expected it to. When I reflect on the twists and turns and the ups and downs of my roller coaster ride, I can see that what seems to be serendipity and chance have been the main players explaining how I have arrived at my current way-station. This explains why I have abandoned any model of church life that involves the word “driven.” Baseball diamond illustrations and membership covenants are no longer a part of my thinking.

Although I have committed to following Jesus, discovered more about my spiritual gifts and talents than anyone would want to know, served faithfully in several ministry positions and been on mission for many years, I have not experienced a straight-line sense of progress. While many have been playing baseball I seem to have been caught in some sort of cross between badminton and soccer where every once in a while I get hit with a racket or kicked in the head!

In the few years when I pastored a Vineyard church a worship song with a catchy tune became a favorite in our congregation, it’s lyrics:

You are my shepherd
I have no needs
You lead by peaceful streams
And You refresh my life

You hold my hand
And You guide my steps
I could walk through the valley of death
And I won’t be afraid

Because You are in control
You are in control

You cause everything to work together
You truly have a sovereign plan
And You know who I am
And You made who I am
And You love who I am

Because You are in control
You are in control

To be fair, even though I sang the song with gusto, and it certainly seems Biblical, it sure can seem at times that if God is control, he sure is jerking me around a lot! I suppose that more than anything, this song is a prayer and a petition. We are afraid and at times feel very needy and out of control. Yet we pray for peace, contentment and a sense of divine guidance.

Around that same time I heard about the bus. You know, the one you can hop on if you want to go where the a particular church or denomination is going. I guess that bus turned out to have a lot of stops where pastors and churches and members who had signed up either got off the bus or were “gently” escorted.

The classic film, Forest Gump, poses the question with subtle nuance: Is life the result of destiny or serendipity? At the end of the film, as the feather floats up from the childhood book where it has remained for oh so many years the viewer is left to ponder the answer.

I know I love the illusion of control, thinking my hands are on the steering wheel of my life. Each year when I make a very short list of resolutions I exhibit my love for this idea by setting those goals. At the end of the year I can look back and realize that twists and turns and life’s ups and downs may have had more to do with what happened than my goals and aspirations.

This year I’ve decided to try to do more and more of the things that I really love doing. I am going to stop concerning myself quite so much with where I am going and sit back and enjoy the ride. I’ll let you know how that works out for me!

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He couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted anything fresh, having made the trash-can cuisine of the city’s restaurant row his main fare over the last several weeks.

It was hard to tell his age. As he stood in the shadows he watched the holiday shoppers going in and out of Bill’s brightly-lit shop carrying out brimming-bags of bagels. The warm air from inside the shop would burst into the cold night air, providing a welcome break from the chill. It had been so long since he had felt truly “warm.” Life on the streets is cold.

Home was a distant dream. Mom was only a memory. The pain of his last beating at the hands of his mom’s boyfriend was still a dull ache on his cheeks and ribs. He’d never made it to the emergency room to have his bruised and battered body examined. He ran out of the house that night and hitchhiked and walked the hundred miles into the big city.

It was only a few weeks since that final night of terror, yet it seemed like it had been forever since he had tasted a home-cooked meal or felt the warmth of the sheets of his own bed. Shadow-filled alleys and cardboard boxes had been his “shelter” for what seemed like an eternity measured only by the harsh looks and hungry nights on the city streets. Sometimes he just walked from all-night business to all-night business, going inside until someone threw him out once more into the cold, enjoying for those moments an oasis of warmth from the ever-increasing cold of the bitter winter. Newspaper headlines told of the dropping “record-low” temperatures, and the beginning of a sick-feeling in his chest told him that his numbness would soon be invaded by pain and fever.

And so he stood, gazing through the brightly-bedecked window. Bill Smathers looked down from his living room window and saw the young man in the reflection of the street light off the store-front pane. He liked to try and guess the age of the young men and women who inhabited the city streets and came out of the shadows in their night-time wanderings. Many of these children sold their bodies for enough money to buy a bagel and a cup of coffee. They would stealthily enter his shop in the early hours of the morning, waking his all-night clerk for a moment, hoping for a moment of courteous treatment and standing in the front-room of his shop as long as possible before returning to the inhospitable streets of the city.

He wondered to himself, “Is this the one?” as he looked down from his over-the-shop apartment. Once upon a time, in Bill’s distant past he had hitchhiked and walked to the city. Lost and alone he had wandered the streets until the kindness of a stranger had changed his life. His angel had been named Minerva. A social worker for city services she had seen him gazing into a restaurant window one Christmas eve 25 years ago. She had reached out in kindness and turned his life around.

For fifteen years now, in memory of Minerva, he had made it a holiday tradition to pick out one of the teen-age denizens of the night to befriend with a meal, a warm bed and hope for the future.

Bill made his way down the stairs to the front door of his shop and gently walked into the cold night air. “Hey,” he growled in a low-pitched voice, “What are you doing standing over there in the shadows, why don’t you come on in here?” He gestured with his outstretched arm for the young man to enter the foyer of the bakery. Tentatively, cowering ever-so-slightly, the young man stepped gingerly into the shop. He avoided the force field of Bill’s presence as he moved into the warmth of the bagel-fragranced room.

And then, the young man’s mouth-watering fantasies were fulfilled. Bill, in his warmly-gruff manner, plied him with bagels and questions: “What’s your name?”; “Where do you live?”; “What are you doing here in the city?”; “How old are you?” If Bill hadn’t been so gruff, the young man would have thought he was one of those men who approached him in the early hours of the morning with seductive words and offers of money for a few moments with him. He hadn’t given in to the lure of the money…….yet. But hunger and cold were weighing on his mind and he knew it was only a matter of time. Gulping down what seemed like mountains of bagels and sipping the warm coffee, filled with real cream and sugar, he couldn’t help but pour out his life, in one-word bursts between hurried bites. “Jesse;”; “Here ‘n there;” “Not much”; “16.” And then when it seemed that his stomach would burst, he began to breathe a little more deeply and he asked Bill, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Bill told him the story of Minerva, that good Christian woman who had taken him in that Christmas eve so many years ago. How she had eventually given him a regular bed to sleep in and had helped him get a job in a bakery. How she had guided him through night school and helped him get the loan for his first street cart. How she had walked him into church every week and prayed for him every night. For ten years Minerva had been his guardian angel, until the cancer had claimed her. And how every year now, in the spirit of the season, and in memory of Minerva, he chose one young man or young woman for a meal of bagels and coffee on Christmas eve.

“Say, Jesse, would you mind helping me out tonight?” Bill asked. “What do I have to do?” Jesse said, a wary tone coloring his words. “I need someone to be my night watchman tonight,” Bill growled with just the hint of a smile on his lips. “Through that door is a storeroom with a cot. I need someone to sleep in there and if my night-clerk calls them, to help,” Bill paused, “Do you think you could handle that?” Warm tears filled Jesse’s eyes as the thought of a night’s sleep in a warm place flashed through his imagination. “Sure, I’ll do it.”

Bill Smathers showed Jesse to the room, pointed out the towels and soap, clean clothes and shower, and paused at the door. “Feel free to use that shower and put on those old clothes before you start your shift,” Bill said, “And Jesse, remember Minerva.”

A huge smile cracked the facade of Bill’s face as he made his way up the stairs to his living room. He sat down at his piano and began to plunk out a familiar tune. In the room below, as Jesse stepped from the first warm shower since he came to the city, he heard a rumbly, low voice singing the familiar words from what seemed like a long time ago, “Joy to the world……..”

[this parable was first published on Next-Wave in Dec. 1999]

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Broken Skateboards at the foot of the Cross at the Ranch

[This article was first published in Next-Wave in November, 2003]

In 1989 I was burnt out, I was also a church drop out. Because a denominational church pastor was innovating and planting a contemporary church, I was invited, and attended the new church. As a result I was renewed in my faith and became an active lay minister in the new church. A lawyer by trade, I was inspired to read every book I could get my hands on about the subject of “church growth” and “church planting.” Eventually, I served as the executive pastor of that church for a number of years culminating with a building program at a new location.

In the midst of this journey, God gave me a mission: “To support, encourage, and nurture the planting of churches targeted to reach teens-to-twenty-somethings and their parents.” When I took over as the interim pastor of a local Vineyard church, I thought, “I’m finally on the way to my mission!” God had a lesson to teach me in pastoral ministry: “You don’t know everything.”

During the three years pastoring the church, everything that I had learned about church growth and leading a church stopped working. As a person who believed that cause and effect were a predictable process, this was a hard lesson to learn. I also found out, that like Charlie Brown, “I love mankind, it’s people I can’t stand.”

I had every possible kind of bad experience, from church splits, to church rebellions, to gossip and slander. I was kind of cheered up when I read a book on pastoral burnout and realized that I hadn’t ended up on the floor of my bathroom in a fetal position, like the author of the book. Eventually, the church had “grown” from about 125 to 30. It was time to call it a day, and start over.

Here is where the story gets interesting

Catching air, land safely!

I didn’t think a whole lot more about it until that night when nearly 60 skateboarders showed up! At one point there were more people participating in the skateboarding and watching what was happening in the parking lot, than were inside the building for the things I had planned for the launch of our new church.

I have learned from the scripture and from experience that you have to keep your eyes open to see what God is doing, and then to act on it! God was doing something with skateboarders! One of my fellow church members, Marv Schuler, jumped in that night, picked up a microphone and began to run a skateboard contest. He and his wife, Karen, were called that night to reach out and to minister to these kids.

The re-launched church became a small group that met on Sunday evenings.

The Schulers’ own 10 acres in Moreno Valley, California, a place we affectionately learned to call “The Ranch.” We poured some concrete and built some ramps and the group began to meet most every Thursday night for skating, snacks and to hear the gospel around the fire pit.

When we held the first Christmas party, Karen prepared and served a dinner, and desserts consisting of several pies. A professional skateboarder came and shared the gospel. The Christian punk band, CIP (Christ in Progress) played. And over 100 kids showed up on a winter night!

I told Karen that night, that God was going to save some of these kids with mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. That’s the only gospel presentation they were ever going to need. When I told her that, she said she just wants to see the kids get saved! Marv spent 4 months constructing a half-pipe for the skaters. Over the years Karen and Marv have taken some of the kids who need a place to stay into their home.

Going at the speed of money….

This doesn't look easy!

At one point we prayed that God would send us workers, specifically some young men who could identify with the skaters and minister to them. A couple of days later, Hunter Chapman came, with dreams of a camp to reach skateboarders and plans for the half-pipe. He also brought donated lumber. We watched as the first kids tried out the half-pipe that Marv had built. It took four months to complete, we were going at the speed of our money. Today Hunter runs an after-school program for junior high students and has formed his own nonprofit corporation to fulfill the vision that God has sparked in him, to create safe places for kids.

The dreams of a camp, with bunkhouses and shower rooms, basketball courts and swimming pools to go with the skateboard ramps and skateboard runs, with playing all day and the gospel being presented at night, did not materialized. Marv and I used to joke with each other that we daren’t tell anyone that we are doing this outreach. We already had more kids than we could minister to effectively.

What was happening at the Ranch was not normal church, but the kids (mostly teenage boys, with a few girls who like to be around the boys) were experiencing the gospel through presence evangelism (the skate ramps and food were presented as a gift from God); through personal evangelism (there was plenty of opportunity to talk with the kids one-on-one); and through proclamation evangelism (the kids heard the gospel around the fire pit every week).

This was not your normal youth group, most of the kids had no church affiliation and did not come from homes where God was an active presence. But God did something great. We were given the opportunity to pray for healing for parents…and for broken ankles!

A lot of raw material…

I was not sure at the time if we would ever get a church out of what we were doing at the Ranch. I did know that we had a lot of raw material to work with. It was fun to be in on the ground floor of something that God was doing. It was also fun to be part of an adventure, especially when we didn’t know how it was going to turn out.

Eventually the small group got smaller…

The small group which was hanging out at the beginning of The Ranch skateboard ministry consisted of the Schulers’, my wife and I, two couples of the former parishioners of my church and my former worship leader. Our early conversations concerned whether we would allow the skaters to smoke cigarettes or not, and whether we would resist allowing the skate ministry to be turned over to the children of Christians. Eventually my wife and the two couples stopped coming to our weekly meetings.

Somehow the mission grew larger…

For years Karen’s dream had been for the Spirit to fall on Moreno Valley and for the Valley to be saved! The Ranch played its part in fulfilling that dream. In the early weeks I gave “altar calls” at the fire pit. I never saw much fruit from this sowing of the gospel. Marv spoke every week and told the kids: “This is a God thing.” “God is building these ramps, God is building the Ranch.”

We never made a conscious decision to live in community, but…

We never made a conscious decision to live in community, but about one year after we started the skate ministry my wife and I separated and I rented a room from the Schuler’s. Tom Chapman, the former worship leader at our church, bought an RV and parked it at the Ranch. So there we were, the four of us living in community! We encouraged one another, ministered to one another, and made all of the ministry decisions effecting our mission.

One sign of mission is opposition

Early on the next door neighbor made it clear that she didn’t like what we were doing at The Ranch. She hired a private investigator to videotape our preaching time and file investigative reports. She filed complaints with the City of Moreno Valley. She called the police. We went to court in that first year and won our case, we weren’t operating a church illegally, nor were we disturbing the peace. A few months later, the neighbor sued Marv and Karen for nuisance. At that point we had been cussed out, hauled into court, Marv had been punched in the face and cited for assault!

My new ministry position was defense attorney. We settled the suit out of court and agreed to move the skate ramps over 150 feet away from the neighbor’s property line. We had already been asking what God’s will was in the midst of the opposition. We were convinced that he wanted us to continue to serve the skaters and preach the gospel. When we moved the concrete slab and the ramps we made the area bigger. Soon an evangelist and a teacher joined us and they began sharing regularly. Ministry was opened five days a week. The “altar calls” began to yield more fruit. Over a 12 month period we gave away 3000 New Testaments to young people who responded to the messages of Mark, the evangelist, and Matt, the teacher.

I wish I could report that the opposition decreased. While we thought the police calls would end, they continued. The code-compliance complaints continued. Eventually the neighbor got the ear of two city councilmembers and the City brought their full weight and authority to bear to close the Ranch.

Living in community has ebbs and flows…

My job took me to another geographic location. The code complaints made it impossible for Tom to continue living in his RV. We moved away from the Ranch, but others took our place. Tom would always be the businessman who funded much of the early construction. I continued to be the defense attorney. I defended the Ranch before the City Council and before a Superior Court judge.

Others have come alongside Marv and Karen and have ministered to the skaters. A loophole in the temporary injunction against the Ranch allowed it to operate for over a year. A final order making the temporary injunction permanent was delayed, but eventually it was served and the skateboard ministry at The Ranch was closed on Thanksgiving, 2004.

We have seen God work…

As Marv says, there are many stories of how God has worked in the lives of the skaters. I know he has worked through the prophetic, in evangelism, healing, dreams and visions over the last five years. He has poured out financial blessings. While there has been opposition, there has also been favor. As we have tried to obey what God has asked of us, he has been faithful in spite of our lack of faith.

Being missional…

We didn’t set out to have a mission to skaters. That was God’s idea, and we saw what he wanted, listened to his voice, and obeyed. A few people can accomplish a lot when they are on a mission from God. We didn’t set out to live in community, it just turned out that way. I know my life has been changed for the better because of that experience. We didn’t start out with a lot of faith, but our faith has grown as we have seen God move, with resources and fruitfulness.

When I first wrote about these experiences in 1999 I wasn’t sure if we would “get a church” out of the raw material of The Ranch. As I wrote this in 2003, I can say for certain that the missional community called The Ranch was the church.

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Now the most popular page on Next-Wave is the “404″ page! One of my other discoveries is that a website named sodahead has been using an image I posted years ago of waffles. Unfortunately for them, the link they have been using is outdated. Sorry about that Sodahead!

I also lost about one year of articles (from September 2003 to October 2004) from the active archive files. Over the next year or so I will probably be able to retrieve those and get them reposted. For now, serious historians can browse those articles on the Wayback Machine under the-next-wave.org.

So, you ask, “Why all of the ‘inside baseball’ info about Next-Wave?” I wish I had a good answer to that question. I’m one of those people who believes that God talks to his people today, not just through scripture and nature, but by whispers and nudgings from the Holy Spirit and occasionally with prophetic “words” from other inspired people. In the Summer of 1998 God whispered and I started Next-Wave. About a year later, or so, he spoke again and confirmed that Next-Wave is a “God-thing.” A lot of water has gone under the bridge in my life since that time, but through the thick and thin of those years I have been publishing Next-Wave.

So, in spite of the broken links, we will carry forward. One of the fun things about this change is that I have been adding content from the “legacy” archives (which can be found by searching the past issues page and the Next-Wave Issue Listing page. No longer are we using the “monthly magazine” format. But we will have plenty of material every month!

Okay, that’s enough of all of that. Thanks for listening and continuing to read Next-Wave!

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