Hail to the...er...what do we call you now?

"Seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you...Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper." Jeremiah 29:7, NIV

"Shalom means wholeness, the dynamic, vibrating health of a society that pulses with divinely directed purpose and surges with life-transforming love. Seek the shalom and pray for it. Throw yourselves into the place in which you find yourself, but not on its terms, on God's terms. Pray. Search for that center in which God's will is being worked out (which is what we do when we pray) and work from that center."  Run with the Horses: The Quest for Life at Its Best by Eugene H. Peterson

For most of you who regularly read this blog this will be old news by now but last Tuesday, April 5, I was elected mayor of the City of Chetek. Of the 673 citizens who voted, 481 voted for me which adds up to about 75% of the cast votes. Whether that translates into a mandate or not you decide but one thing is for certain: I now have an office at city hall.

Following my primary win in February, I determined that before this was through I would visit every home in Chetek. In the eight days prior to the election, every night after track practice until dark as well as on the Saturday and Sunday before, I went door-to-door handing out my home-made fliers through the four wards of the city. That in itself was an education. Not everybody was home, of course, and there were a few homes that their dog looked ornery enough that I chose to pass but during that peripatetic week before the election I passed out nearly 900 fliers.

This was one of them

My spiel was brief: “Hi, my name is Jeff and I'm running for mayor. We have an election next week and I'd appreciate your consideration.” Most took my flier, wished me luck, said 'thank-you' and the like. Several smiled at me and said they were going to be out of town on Tuesday but they had already cast their absentee ballot in my favor. After handing out my flyer to the lady of the house at one home, her husband chased me down and offered to help me in my canvassing. On the cold days, I would be offered a cup of hot coffee or hot chocolate. And a few invited me in and were curious to learn my position on certain matters.

In fact, of all the homes I stopped at only three refused my hand-out: one because she informed me that she wasn't voting for me, one because she informed me that she made it a habit to never vote and one because...well, she didn't give me an answer. Otherwise people were generally friendly and encouraging which made this experience more fun than I ever expected it would be.

There are a few moments during my travels I will remember for a long time to come, however:

■ On Saturday afternoon, after walking for hours, I needed a break. As I looked at the ward map I noticed that a mile or more out of town at the end of a dead-end road sandwiched against the interstate was a house that though surrounded by the Town of Prairie Lake was actually in the city limits. I drove out there for a look-see. I had run out there several times before and knew that there was a house there but I wasn't aware that it inhabited. But when I pulled up, a man came out to meet me. His name is Chuck and he lives all by himself at the end of this dead-end road. “No one ever comes out this way,” he remarked to me. I introduced myself and told him why I was there. He then asked me a question about his water bill to which I had no answer. “Why don't you call Carmen?” I suggested (Carmen is the city clerk and the real person in charge in these here parts). “Good idea,” he replied. “You've got my vote.” That five minute conversation was worth the drive.

■ On Monday evening, I was reminded of the fact that more and more people in town don't really use their front door (neither do the Martins, for that matter). After knocking on a front door and surmising that it was more or less decoration, I heard the lady of the house speaking on her phone through an open window. As I moved to the back door, in the interim she had concluded her phone call and presumably moved to the front door but now I was banging on her back door. As she was coming to the door she remarked, “Make up your damm mind,” and then turned a shade of pink when she realized who it was. “Pastor, I'm so sorry. Please come in.” I quickly put her at ease – after all, I'm the one who provoked her – and she had me sit at her dining room table so she could learn who I was running against. After we conferred a bit she looked at me and said, “Pastor, you're a good man, an honest man and you have a good reputation in town. So, you have my vote. And I'm sorry for swearing.”

■ But maybe the crème de la crème for me was the gift from our neighbor John. John describes himself as an avowed atheist. As far as I know he has been so his whole adult life. Though something of a recluse from time to time over the years he has taken me to task for sponsoring prayer events on school grounds and has threatened to turn me into the A.C.L.U. (even though none of these events have ever occurred while school has been in session). That's not to say we've been on bad terms. Most summers he hires me to cut his lawn. And many of the things that grow perennially in our yard come from his, gifts he has brought us over the years. But on the Saturday before the election he placed a book in our back door entryway with this inscription in his spidery handwriting:

GIFT TO JEFF MARTIN

CHETEK, WISCONSIN

“BEST OF HEALTH”

BEST OF LUCK – SEEKING PUBLIC OFFICE

MAYOR – CITY OF CHETEK, WISCONSIN

It's about a close as an endorsement as I'm gonna get. Even if I never read it, I will hold on to that book for a long time to come as I so appreciate the gesture it represents.

So now I'm in for the next two years. It's a part-time job and traditionally the hours are set by the mayor himself. He or she can be as busy as they want to be. What do I do? Among other things, I will be responsible to facilitate the monthly council meetings and serve on other committees as well as appoint others to serve on such. I'll represent the city, and, along with the council, provide oversight to the police department. Beyond that, it will be a work in progress. As my father-in-law has already forewarned me I will find out what I'm supposed to do as I fail to do certain things and then I'll be duly informed of what I should have done. All that aside, I'm really looking forward to my OJT.

In the nearly 25 years we have lived here, all the mayors have been retirees. I will be the first in recent memory who is still working his craft (I will continue to pastor Refuge and coach HS CC as well as MS track). What's more, as far as I can tell, I am the first pastor who has ever been elected mayor of our fine city. What this will look like I can't say yet but I think it could be a very good thing. I certainly hope it will.

When this journey began back in December, I posted at this site my reasons for running for elected office. What I stated in that post remains the same (Why I'm running for office). I have no agenda whatsoever except to do what the Lord exhorted the exiles to do while they lived in Babylon:

 “Make yourselves at home there and work for the country’s welfare. Pray for Babylon’s well-being. If things go well for Babylon, things will go well for you.” (Jeremiah 29:7, The Message). 

Most of us know that the word “well-being” (elsewhere translated “peace” or “welfare”) is the best English equivalent of the Hebrew word “shalom”. “Shalom” means way more than you or I just putting up a “peace sign.” It means wholeness, health, justice, and being at peace with one another. That's what I have been after as a pastor in the City of Chetek. That's what I'll be after as mayor of the City of Chetek, working for the well-being of our entire community.

This whole thing has been fun for so many people in town. As one of my friends remarked to me several weeks ago, “You're the non-establishment candidate in this race.” I'm pretty sure his comparison with me to Trump ended right there but my candidacy seemed to energize a whole lot of people. Kids at Roselawn, kids at the middle and high school, people in the neighborhood, seniors at the nursing home. In fact, the operative question this past week has been, “What do we call you now? Mayor-Pastor or Pastor-Mayor?” A friend from Refuge suggested MASTOR (you know, Mayor and pASTOR). A Children's Pastor serving in Eau Claire who grew up at Refuge suggested, GAPO – Great and Powerful Oz – but when I mentioned that to a friend at the fitness center yesterday he said, “Nah, you don't want to be the man behind the curtain. You want to be the one in front of it.” So, I guess in the end people will call me what they want – I'll answer to most.

The City Clerk will swear me in today at City Hall at lunch time (or, as she remarked laughingly, swear at me). It will be Carmen, Linda and I and Dilly Bars all around as it should be for the pastor of the fellowship that's right behind the Dairy Queen.

Near death on the river (or the story some of you have been waiting for)

The view from here

Last Thursday, my daughter, Emma, and I had a scrape with mortality. The good news is that we lived to tell of it and now will have a story to share for years to come.

Thursday was a beautiful late spring day promising to be perfect for canoeing. Since 2008 I have made it my goal to canoe the Red Cedar in its entirety and since 2009 Emma has been my partner in this endeavor. So, a couple of times a summer since then we have canoed various sections of the river. On Thursday, we set out to cover the section between the landing below Colfax on Highway 170 and Lamb's Creek Park north of Menomonie.

My co-pilot

The Red Cedar is what you might call a “family-friendly” waterway – it usually meanders slowly south ambling its way toward the Chippewa. During the “dog-days”, one of the favorite past-times of people in these parts is to float the river due to its laggardly current and relative shallow depth. This is no Wolf or Colorado with their Class III or IV rapids. But we had a lot of snow this past winter and what's more, we had quite a bit of rain of late and so when we arrived at the landing it was very clear that the water was up and the current unusually strong.

We lathered up with sunscreen and bug spray, donned our preservers and put in. Immediately we were greeted by an eagle making his way downstream. Humorously Emma assumed her best First Nations accent and remarked, “Father, it must be a good omen.” We were moving along at a brisk pace and as I am wont to do, after a few strokes I would take a moment to squeeze off a picture – a picturesque sandstone bank here, a massive eagle nest there. In my backpack at my feet, among my other gear, were my palm-size video recorder, my digital camera as well as Emma's phone, my wallet and the keys to the van. Just like I've always done, as the fancy hit me, I would pause from my paddling, reach into my back pack for my camera, take my picture and then return it to its place and resume my paddling.

Beaching the canoe for lunch

Snags are frequent at times

We couldn't have been more than ten minutes into our journey when attempting to detour around a snag as we came around a bend, we suddenly capsized and just like that we were in the water. However deep it was at that point, we were in over our heads. The canoe temporarily lodged under an overhanging tree branch that we both vainly tried to hold on to but the river was relentless. Emma let go and the current took her quickly downriver. Somehow or other she managed to hold on to both paddles and our bike helmets (we had stashed our bikes at the take-out so that we could bike back to our van) but the backpack got away from her. Meanwhile, I managed to pull myself up onto the south bank holding on to the canoe which was half submerged. About 40 yards downriver Emma was able to get out on the north bank. Thankfully, we were emerged fairly unscathed but now about 30 yards of fast moving water stood between us – she on one side with the paddles and me on the other with the canoe. What to do?

Just like that

(I couldn't figure out how to embed Google map into this blog but if you follow this link you can see just where our canoe upended At the bend in the river)

Behind me was nothing but woods but about a 100 yards behind Emma was a farmhouse and so I shouted to her to go for help. Perhaps someone would give her a ride to my side of the river so we could at least get paddles and canoe together? I saw her walk off while I stood on the bank of the river fishing my smart phone out of the pocket of my shorts. My new phone of only two months had been duly baptized. Amazingly, it came to life – and I had signal! But not wanting to scare my wife, Linda, unnecessarily I turned it off. Even if I had chosen to call her what would I have said that wouldn't have made her worry anyway? About ten minutes later, Emma returned to the north bank with the woman who apparently lived in the house. I asked her if there was a road behind me somewhere and if there was could she be so kind to bring Emma to me? She informed me that she would be happy to help but I would have to make my way back up river about a quarter of a mile or more to where a road neared the river. While they drove off, I started walking the bank walking through tall river grass that I couldn't help notice had a fair share of what appeared to be poison ivy in it.

Near the place where our canoe was swamped, the bank is steep so I had to climb about 50 feet or so to the top and make my way east adjacent to the river. Within 15 minutes or so here came the lady in her van with Emma riding shotgun. Her name was Candy and she handed me a little piece of paper with her phone number on it in case we ran into any more trouble. We thanked her again for her kindness and with that she drove off and Emma and I proceeded due west through scrub pine and underbrush back toward the canoe. After passing through a few barbed-wire fences and meandering through more river grass we made it back and put our 17 foot fiberglass canoe back in the river. Our hope now was that the backpack got caught up in another snag somewhere downriver. I figured my cameras were lost but my wallet, Emma's phone (in a zip-lock bag) and especially my van keys perhaps could be recovered.

By comparison, the rest of our trip was uneventful. We made it to Tainter Lake without further incident but unfortunately without any sign of the backpack. Our languorous paddle across the rather placid lake was only interrupted once by the appearance of some long-ish fish (perhaps Dog Fish?) sunning themselves and one who decided to give the water a mighty thwack of his tail just as we reached him giving Emma an unexpected scare. At that moment I couldn't resist quoting Roy Scheider's infamous ad-lib from Jaws, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

We eventually found the spot where the Red Cedar emptied out of Tainter Lake and completed the rest of our float to the take-out at Lamb's Creek without incident. Soon after I discovered that my Android phone made by Caterpillar that was supposed to survive up to 30 minutes underwater had essentially drowned after only two. So there we were without wallet, van keys or phone. We walked across the Highway G bridge to the Pioneer Grill and Saloon on Highway D north of Menomonie and I told the bartender, "I've got troubles. I lost my phone, my wallet and my van keys not to mention both my cameras and so I was wondering if I could use your phone." She very kindly allowed me to call Linda at work and inform her of our dilemma. I figured at this point this was a better place to be picked up than ride our bikes the ten miles or so back to the put-in below Colfax. Besides, here we were on a main road while there we would be in a mosquito-infested park waiting for perhaps an hour before Linda would arrive.

This from our passage of Rice Lake a few years ago

Good food found here

After I hung up, one of the patrons at the bar walked up to me and handed me a twenty dollar bill. "You're gonna be here for awhile and you can't hang out in a bar without money," he quipped. I thanked him for his kindness and Emma and I promptly ordered a few burgers for lunch. Following our satisfying meal, we checked on the canoe and then found a place outside the saloon to lounge until the cavalry arrived with the spare van key. After Linda got us back to the van, Emma and I had to drive back to the take-out to pick up the canoe and the bikes. We pulled in the drive-way at home just in time to clean-up a bit before dinner.

So it had been an adventure. We nearly died (well, let's just say we had a few terrifying moments), lost most of our gear but due to the kindness of a few strangers and Linda's boss who let her leave work early, we made it home and weren't late for dinner. Our phones have already been replaced. I had to cancel my debit and credit card in my wallet and will have to replace my Driver's License as well but as Emma concluded, "Well, at least we have a story to tell now" and Linda added, "and a sermon illustration." They both are right. Since I made the incident my status on Facebook on Friday morning, I have been asked about our harrowing tale by a number of my friends (fortunately, my mom isn't on Facebook yet) and at the Justice Center on Friday and at Refuge on Sunday, that story showed up as Linda predicted in my messages there.

And what's the moral? Easy. Life happens. It can be a fine spring day with the world as your oyster and just like that you can be in the water hanging on for dear life. A friend of mine presided at a funeral this week of a fine young man from their congregation who had just got engaged. While driving down a four-lane highway unexpectedly here came a car heading the wrong way. It was a head-on collision and both drivers were killed instantly. Two years ago on another fine spring day, Steve, a guy from Refuge, got on his Harley for a late afternoon ride when a deer ran into him. Just like that he and his family's life turned on a dime. So the fact that we emerged from the river camera-and-phone-poor but otherwise unscathed leaves us a lot to be thankful for.

Yes, life happens but God is good.  In Steve's case, that he hit a deer is not too unusual but it's where his long skid came to an end that is - within shouting distance of an off-duty EMT's driveway. That little detail is part of the reason his life was spared that day. The stretch of the river we were on is thinly populated between Colfax and the entrance to Tainter Lake but we upended essentially in someone's backyard. As Candy informed Emma, "It's a good thing you came to my house as everyone else around here is old. What's more, I'm usually not at home at this time." The long and short of it is we made it and emerged on the other end with a story of God's faithfulness that even came with a burger and fries.

Be back out there soon

This is my story

 ...that the vision [of Jesus on the Damascus road] was real, Saul could never doubt. It was the most real event in his life, it changed his whole career, it has altered the course of all history and affected the entire world. The full comprehension of this great and marvelous event is fundamental in the Christian life. The more one ponders over it and the better one understands it, the more real is one grasp of the true nature of religion and of the true relation between God and humanity. Sir William Ramsay in St Paul: The Traveler and Roman Citizen 

As far as I see it, the single-most important conversation of my life so far happened in a kitchen in a home located on Madison's Cottage Grove Road, just a few miles east from where my parents live today. It was a Friday night in the spring of my senior year in high school just a month or so from graduation. A girl from my homeroom and I had gone out on a friendly date of dinner and a movie and as I was dropping her off she invited me in to meet her folks. In a few moments I was sitting at a small kitchen table in their modest home on Madison's east side getting acquainted with Barb and Bill McIntosh. At the time, Barb was an engineer for Oscar Mayer and Bill a commercial plumber. Their family had moved to Madison from Iowa the summer before and I immediately warmed to their friendly, laid-back manner. Bill nursed a cup of coffee as we spoke together.

Bill and me from 1980 or 1981

I tell this story a lot but looking back from a vantage point of (now) thirty-three years I don't really remember all the things we talked about during that hour long conversation but I'm sure much of it was simply them getting acquainted with me. Somewhere along the way I had shared that I was the president of my youth group and was very much excited about that. I think it was about then that Bill asked me the first of two questions that night that forced me to look into the mirror. The first happened rather innocuously, in stride with my description of my involvement in my church: "Jeff, if you were to die tonight would you go to heaven?" (When I tell this story I always have to stress that this question was in the flow of our discussion that night, that Bill did not suddenly jump me attempting to sell me salvation.) I thought about it for a moment and replied, "Yes. Yes I would." 

But it was his second question that sent my world reeling. As a follow-up to my answer of believing I was heaven-bound, he asked, "Jeff, if you were to die tonight and you were to stand before the gates of heaven and God asked you, 'Why should I let you in?', how would you answer?" That caught me up short. I started trying out responses like a man grasping for straws - "I go to church", "I try and be a good person", "I'm president of my youth group" but all the while it felt like I was treading water just trying to stay afloat. All these years later I still remember that feeling as if I had talked with Bill last night. None of the answers I offered satisfied me. None seemed adequate enough to such an important question. 

I honestly don't remember how our conversation ended. I don't remember any "come-to-Jesus" wrap up point. I don't even remember saying good-night to their beautiful daughter. All I remember is that while driving home I was struck with a realization that up until that moment I thought I knew God. But I had just met a man who knew Him and recognized that I only knew about Him. So, I prayed a prayer like this, "God, I want to know You like that man knows You." That was it. A week or so later I prayed what used to be referred to as "the sinner's prayer" that was printed in a gospel tract Bill's daughter had given me to read. And while that moment was real to me, too, in retrospect my journey with Jesus had already begun in that one sentence prayer I had offered on my drive home the Friday before.

Of Paul's vision of Jesus outside of Damascus, Sir Ramsay says this: "It was the most real event in his life, it changed his whole career, it has altered the course of history and affected the entire world." Apart from comparing myself to the Apostle Paul, in some ways I feel the same way about my conversation with Bill. What happened in that home on Cottage Grove Road on a Friday night late in April in 1980 in some ways changed the world - certainly it changed mine. I'll leave it to others to draw their own conclusions of how my life has influenced theirs but for certain my life went on a different trajectory from that moment on. A few years later I enrolled in Bible college feeling God's call on my life. And now I have just completed 22 years of pastoral ministry in Chetek (see Further along the trail). Certainly there have been other conversations along the way that have also been life-changing - like, the first one I had with the young woman who in time became my wife of 27 and a half years - but none as significant as my talk with Barb and Bill. I know they would never say it themselves but their hospitality extended to a 17-year-old boy changed my life and the lives of those I have come in contact since that time. If I wasn't a person of faith, I'd say I was lucky to meet them. But I know better - as do they.

So fortunate to meet these two

For the love of Margaret

This girl can preach and pray

“This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.” 1 John 3:16, NIV

Last week at Focus (the youth fellowship that meets at Refuge on Wednesday nights), Sarah shared a message God had laid on her heart from 1 John 3. Sarah is an eighth-grader whose dad pastors Chetek Alliance Church here in town and the Holy Spirit moves mightily in her. While her entire text arose from 1 John 3:11-24, the thing that spoke to me most in her speak is her statement: “real love is sacrifice.” About a month ago, another youth fellowship in our area (AMP, made up of Jesus-loving kids like Sarah and a few others from Focus), sponsored a lock-in at YWAM-Northwoods just outside of town. Lots of kids from school showed up to, among other things, be challenged by a Christian rapper who is a member of the International House of Prayer faith-community in Kansas City. The following Wednesday at Focus the kids who had gone to the lock-in were justifiably jazzed as they shared about all the fun they had had and all of their fellow-classmates who had made professions of faith at that event. Curiously, however, not one of the “newbies” were at group that night (nor, after some discussion, to the best of our collective knowledge at any other youth group in town.) Somehow the thought of establishing a connection with one of these kids didn't naturally come to mind unless it was the assumption that someone else would see to that. Sarah, who had been there that night but is home-schooled, had something to say about this.

She's that kind of girl

After reading 1 John 3:16 (“This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers” NIV) she made the statement I quoted her making in the paragraph above: “Love is sacrifice.” She then went on to share from her own life that when we position ourselves to obey his command to love others and we walk across the hall and attempt to establish a connection with someone we normally wouldn't talk to, the love of God will fill our hearts and our love for this person will grow from “a size of a germ to the size of Jupiter.” What a wonderful turn of a phrase.

Sarah is one of those kids who is all in – there is no guile or hidden agenda in her. What you see is what you get. Her love for Jesus she wears on her sleeve (and on her blouse and pants, too.) Troy, one of our elders who helps oversee Focus, likes to challenge us to live “out loud.” Sarah needs no coaching in this department. She assumes that if you profess love for Jesus than you are earnestly seeking to live loudly for him. And when she prays or shares a testimony at group it is good to gently remind her that others would like a chance to share as well. She's that kind of kid. But how right she is. And as she shared her story it made me think again of a story that I've been a part of reaching all the way back to high school days. It's a story I've shared at Focus before. It's the story about Margaret.

I rarely look for new material

Margaret was a girl I went to school with and how I remember it is that she usually sat by herself in the cafeteria in the morning before class began and she always looked forlorn. Now, maybe she wasn't a morning person. Maybe she wasn't fully awake yet but as I would come around the bend from E-Wing and pass through the lunch room buzzing with conversation I would notice her sitting sadly by herself. We must have already known each other from class because I took to stopping at her table and sat across from her and did the only thing I knew to do: I would tell her a joke (and, of course, it was a stupid one; they were the only ones I knew.) While none of my material was gut-slapping funny I usually got her to smile and after that I would feel like my mission was accomplished and I would move on to whatever was my next stop. At least, this is how I remember it.

In any case, after high school, I didn't see nor hear from Margaret again (how did we all stay in touch before the invention of email, the internet and social media?) Five years went by and in the summer of 1985 our fifth year reunion was held. Linda and I had recently become engaged and I was excited to introduce her to my former classmates. I don't remember where it was held but I do remember one thing that happened that night. Sometime during the evening a fairly attractive woman emerged out of the crowd and nearly tackled me with a bear hug (and if memory is correct, Linda was standing right next to me with a very curious look on her face.) For the record, I was just as surprised as she was. “It's me,” she said. “Margaret.” I didn't recognize her. After high school apparently she had joined the army and lost a lot of weight. But the biggest shock I got that night was what she told me next: “You told me a joke every day our senior year and you always made me feel special. Thanks for that.” That was it. I don't remember the rest of our conversation. It probably was the stuff typical of reuions – catching up and filling in. She was in the army and I was heading into my final year of Bible college. After that night, I didn't see her again until my ordination day ten years later.

Yeah...now this is the kind of stuff I tell

By October 1995, I had been serving as the pastor of Chetek Full Gospel (now Refuge) for four years and my pastor felt it was time that I was ordained. So we were back in Madison at Lake City Church (now City Church), the fellowship we were both from. It was a fairly large fellowship, perhaps at the time over a thousand attendees, and the late service was full as it usually was. Following the gathering I was on the main floor of the sanctuary receiving lots of “atta-boys” and congratulations from family, friends and a plethora of well-wishers. And then I noticed someone in the far left balcony waving and pointing toward me and gesturing that I was to stay put and not move. It was a woman flanked by (I assumed) her husband and a few kids and she was leading them to the staircase that led down into the sanctuary. It was Margaret. Since the last time we had met she had gotten married and had a few kids. She also had come to know Jesus and had begun to attend LCC. And this is how she introduced me to her husband: “This guy – he told me a joke every morning before school and always made me feel so special.”

I'm a big fan of social media (specifically, facebook). I think it's one of many ways of staying connected and/or getting reconnected with friends from the different eras of our lives. And I love that little search engine box because ever so once in awhile I'll think of someone from days gone by and type in their name and see if I get any hits. That's how I found Margaret again. I think it was in 2008 (but it could have been after this) when I searched her name and up she came. And so I messaged her wondering how she was and how life had been treating her. According to her in the follow-up message she sent to me, my note had come at just the right time. Between 1995 when I had seen her last and the day my message arrived, life had taken some downturns for her. Her marriage had ended, she had some issues with her kids and she was struggling to hold on to her faith in God. She no longer attended LCC but had returned to the Catholic church she had been raised in and found comfort there. But on the day my message arrived electronically she had been (or so she told me) praying for a sign that God was with her. While I don't recall her relaying she was suicidal my note had apparently come in the nick of time.

Now, I find this funny

When I share that story from time to time I usually say, “All I did was tell a joke.” And it's true (amazing mileage those stupid jokes from the 70s has got!; if only I could remember a single one I'd pass them on to my son, Ed, who is a master of the sharing of the stupid joke himself.) But what I really did was I saw Margaret. We do not fully realize that in high school how much the sun rises and sets on ourselves, how we're feeling, and how we are being perceived by others. We are, at that moment in our life, profoundly self-centered. And it is the nature of that mindset to stay within our trajectory that we follow through a normal high school day – locker, class, the people we hobnob with, eat lunch and practice with. They are in our glide path and unless they careen out of orbit into ours, we don't usually notice those other “satellites” occupying the same space as ourselves. But for some reason I saw Margaret that day, slowed down to notice her and then continued to notice her throughout the remaining months in high school. I'm profoundly grateful that I did.

Yes, this is a little edgy...

Last spring, a girl from our middle school committed suicide. On Friday, she had gone home happy (or so everyone thought) and by Sunday night cyberspace was full of the news: she had shot herself while staying at her grandparents' house. In the emotional week that followed, I shared "the Margaret story" at Focus reminding the kids of their need as disciples of Christ to “see” their fellow classmates and not assume that someone else is checking in with that person. I would say the same goes for these kids from the lock-in recently who professed faith in Christ. It may not be their job to “disciple” them but it is their responsibility to attempt befriending them if only to welcome them into the family. I realize that this is asking a lot but as Sarah reminded us all the other night at Focus, love really is sacrifice. And for most kids still in high school, that sacrifice amounts to eating at another lunch table from time to time or risking a little awkwardness when leaving their normal glide path to attempt to establish relationship. I don't really know any good jokes any more but I do know a guy who can get you some. Who knows how much mileage you may get out of them?

Note: Margaret, as a friend of mine on Facebook. I don't know if you'll see this or not or even care to read it but just in case you do I want you to know that the story I told within this post are the events as I remember them. I have not consciously tried to embellish them. However, memory being subjective and fickle as it is, you may recall certain events differently. I want you to know that if you see the need you are free to send me corrections to set the record straight. Either way I think you and I are in agreement that like Sarah says referencing the love of Christ Jesus, “real love is sacrifice.” 

Postscript late Monday night: Margaret not only saw this post but read it and was good enough to send some comments my way. I'll include one I think would be appropriate to share publicly:
 "As I read the story again. I could have been anyone. Yes, you did stop by my table every morning. You have affected my life by just doing that small thing like telling a joke to lift a spirit. That one little thing is like the old saying of a ripple on the water. You are one of my ripples, and I love you for that. 

Once again, thank you again for kind words and if needed, keep using my story, hopefully it will encourage another to just stop by someones table in the morning to tell a joke. This weekend the 'family' will be getting together. I am going to print this story. Not as 'my' story of the low parts in my life, but to show others that it really is the least thing you can do by offering a joke or something of yourself. You just never know what the other person is doing or thinking and may just need you."