But I digress. Flashback Friday is a new feature for newer readers. If you’ve just been around these parts for a short time, there are nearly 600 archived posts sitting around collecting dust. I say blow off the dust and bring ‘em out of the mothballs. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? You’d tell me that I’m losing my edge, getting lazy, and recycling content?

Oh. Well, I guess there’s that.

Our first Flashback Friday deals with a current series that we’re working through as a church. Pastor J.D. is reaching new depths (get it?) with Castaway, a group of messages out of the book of Jonah. The following post was written a few years back, but is just as applicable to me today. Here’s a sample:

So picture it: it’s Saturday night, 10 PM.  I’m sitting in my bedroom on the phone, listening to horrible on-hold music as I wait for the people from Dish Network to stop fixing other people’s problems so they can fix mine, and I have the cartoony fume lines coming out of my head at a rather rapid pace, and I am muttering Yosemite Sam style cuss words under my breath (“Bracken frackin racken varmits…”), and I am absolutely furious that I was the recipient of a random good deed, and…and…and…

…God spoke.

Check out the entire post here. And tune in next week for Microwave Popcorn Monday. Or maybe Tie-Dye Tuesday. You never know.

• Singapore Airport’s extraordinary customer service (thanks to Brad O’Brien for the link)
• To Do Lists Don’t Work. No, no, NO. Say it ain’t so! (and after you say it ain’t so, let me know so I can cross it off my list.)
• The Secret to Honoring Your Wife. A great post by my friend Matt Pearson.

Editor’s note: You keep referencing this move. Are you ever going to address the move itself, like how you drove what was possibly the first U-Haul truck to roll off the assembly line in 1925, or how you broke a window roughly 42 minutes after you signed the lease on the rental, or how you ventured into the attic to breathe in so much asbestos you could actually feel the mesothelioma growing in your lungs or whatever it is mesothelioma does?

Um, no. At least not today. Nope, today I need to wax eloquently about the electrical outlets in this house. And by “wax eloquently,” I mean complain that these are the most freakishly annoying conglomerations of plastic and wire that have ever graced God’s green earth.

This house was built in the 1960′s, which means it has what I can only assume are 1960′s outlets. I don’t know which government official decided somewhere along the way that receptacles should be a different size than the things they are…um…receptacling, but we are facing the constant issue of trying to plug something in, only to walk four feet away and hear “WHONK…”

Receptacled Device: “WHONK.”

Me: [plugs Receptacled Device back in]

Receptacled Device: “WHONK.”

Me: [plugs Receptacled Device back in with a little more force this time]

Receptacled Device (pauses for dramatic effect and lets me get eight feet away this time): ”WHONK.”

Merriem (from the other room): “What IS that?”

Me: [Yosemite Sam-style cuss words that are not fit for your kids to read.]

It all comes down to the fact that the recaptacled devices’ plugs are not as wide as the little holes in the receptacles. And when I say, “Not as wide,” I’m not talking about .0001 of a millimeter’s difference. Nope, this is like trying to cram a kiwi into a basketball hoop.

(To my wife who’s not a big fan of fruit: a kiwi is a very, very small fruity thing that would easily fit into a basketball hoop, with room for a few dozen of it’s kiwi friends. That’s why that was a funny sentence. Go back and read it again and laugh this time.)

Receptacled Device hangs on for dear life

The larger receptacles means that it’s really hard to successfully plug in my phone or other receptacled devices on the first try. Usually it’s a several-minute process which involves a prayer asking God not to allow it to thunder, or a truck to drive by, or a butterfly to flap it’s wings on the other side of the globe.

And speaking of butterflies, should we blame the little creatures that are painted on some of the receptacles in the house? I also have faux brass receptacle plates, if you need them.

I don’t want to be too overdramatic about this [Editor's note: too late], but this has changed the fabric of our family. When I became a father almost sixteen years ago, I would never have been able to envision a day when I’d yell out, “Stop walking so heavily! THIS POT OF COFFEE HAS TO FINISH BREWING!”

So, smarty-pants readers, how do I fix this? Is this the ultimate purpose of electrical tape? Do I reinstall all of our receptacle plates into the floor so that gravity works with me and the WHONK is not so pronounced? Do I just sit back and forget about the receptacled devices for a moment and worry instead about my impending bout with mesothelioma?

And most importantly, do you have fights with inanimate objects like I do? Comment below.

Side note…I’ve avoided telling this story on this blog for a few reasons, the primary one being that if you found out how much fun short term trips at the Summit really are, then you’ll want to go on the next one, and then you’ll probably sit next to me on the plane, and then instead of me zoning out and tossing on my noise canceling earphones and watching Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Anticlimactic Movie Franchise on the four-inch screen, I’ll feel obliged to talk to you for eleven hours. So it’s probably best that you don’t know about the fun side of these trips.

But I digress. This trip’s “free day” topped all the other free days in the history of free days. This was not the run of the mill shopping experience in a third-culture tourist trap. Nor was it an archaeological tour of a pile of rocks that the Apostle Paul may or may not have driven his donkey by. Nope, this free day was music to this guest-services guy’s heart.

We found out mid-week that our safari experience would be two days (rather than the one we originally thought). And instead of leaving our retreat center in the morning and coming back that evening, we’d be spending the night in the bush. THE BUSH, people. As in, a tent. With lots of nature. That I would sleep in.

And so, I steeled myself to be a big boy and not complain like a whiny germophobic American. And for five hours I rode in a cramped van with no air conditioning on Kenyan roads with potholes so deep you felt like you might be driving in Dante’s outer level of hell and roads so rough that sometimes the driver just swerved onto the shoulder because it was a smoother surface. The last twenty or so miles was on a dirt road that kicked up dust and poured it into our windows so that by the time we arrived it felt like someone had knitted tiny sweaters for my teeth. Not my idea of a fun day.

But then we arrived at the campsite for the safari. And as we left the vans and walked into this…this oasis, I realized we’d hit the jackpot. There were Kenyan ladies with baskets of hot washcloths, there for us to wash the dust off of our faces. There were fresh-squeezed fruit juices to wet our parched dusty throats. There was a five-star restaurant with some of the best food I’ve eaten in my life.

And then there was the tent.

The only thing tent like about this structure was the canvas walls and the zippered doors. Everything else…well, I can’t explain it. I can just show you:

That’s right. You’re looking in a tent, and you’re seeing tile floors, a hot shower, terry cloth robes, and one of the most comfortable beds ever. It was – in short – paradise. I stayed in some of the nicest accommodations I’ve ever been in, and I was in a TENT.

But the greatest surprise was yet to come. After a safari that afternoon and a meal that threatened to make me have to buy a second seat on the plane, I went back to my presidential suite – um, tent, and crawled into bed, only to realize that OH GOOD HEAVENS WHAT IS THAT IN THE FOOT OF THE BED IS THAT AN ANACONDA IT’S AN ANACONDA ISN’T IT AND IT’S GOING TO SWALLOW ME WHOLE WELL MAYBE NOT “WHOLE” BECAUSE I JUST PUT ON 48 POUNDS AT THE RESTAURANT BUT AIEEEEEE WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT WHAT IS IT?!?

Seriously, that’s what went through my mind. Only it wasn’t an anaconda. Nope, it was a hot water bottle that the camp folks had slid under the sheets while I was at dinner. Since it can get chilly on the savannah, they wanted to make sure my toes were comfy-cozy. And boy, were they ever.

The reason that ranks as the greatest surprise is because it wasn’t expected. It was an unseen detail. It was something that – had it been left undone – I would never have noticed.

But my hosts noticed. And they made sure that every single need – creature comfort or otherwise – was provided for.

What are the hot water bottles in your ministry? What are those things that you can do…and maybe should do…but because nobody notices their absence, you don’t do?

My hot water bottle wasn’t a necessity, but it created a much-appreciated impression. I believe that churches can small, inexpensive, non-necessary touches to create the same effect.

So help me dream: what are the “hot water bottles” that are accessible to us? Comment below.

Yesterday I realized that our family has a daughter because her biological parents chose life. She was conceived out of wedlock, born into poverty, and could have easily become a statistic. Mainstream society wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if they had chosen to abort rather than to bring a child into an unsure situation.

Thank God they didn’t pick that option.

A few months after our daughter was born – when they realized that they could no longer care for her physically or financially – they selflessly allowed her to be adopted. They chose her needs over their wants and gave her a second chance at life.

Thank God they did.

Last night I read my sweet Haven a bedtime story, I prayed over her, and I held her for a moment longer than usual in my arms. The full weight of reality sunk in – I was able to put my daughter to bed because her birth parents refused to take the easy route. She was in my arms because they released her from theirs.

Had they chosen the road that “made sense,” my family would have been robbed of one of our greatest joys. I wouldn’t be able to hold her when her fever hit 104° from a bout with pneumonia. I wouldn’t be able to experience the sheer bliss of messy kisses from Cheerio-coated lips. I wouldn’t come home to a beautiful brown-eyed baby girl reaching up with chubby hands and excitedly calling out “Daddy!”

There will be those who would criticize this post. There will be detractors who would argue that a termination of an unplanned pregnancy was the wisest choice. There will be people who will say that for every story involving a “Haven,” there are hundreds of other children that won’t be put up for adoption but also can’t or won’t be cared for by their birth parents.

And to those critics, I will say that I do not have all the answers. I am neither an expert ethicist nor an astute apologist. But I do believe in life. I do believe that every child conceived has the right to live. I do believe that the Bible is mankind’s highest authority, and while we may not always agree with it, we must always submit to it. I do believe in the sovereignty of God, and I do not believe that any pregnancy – planned or unplanned – is a mistake.

As I type, my mind is filled with images of families throughout our church who have children because the birth parents chose not to terminate the pregnancy.

I think of parents of special needs children – children with severe mental and physical deformities that were detected in utero – and the parents’ refusal to abort because it was “easier.”

I think of dear friends that I’ve prayed for this weekend who have been told that their unborn son will have no viability outside the womb, and yet they are letting the pregnancy go to term because they know that they are not the authors of their child’s life, but they serve and fear a God who is.

I think of childless couples in our church who have saved for adoption and completed home studies and and ready, willing, and able to help a child – any child – regardless of age, race, gender, disability, or need.

I think of couples that I’ve met with who have experienced the aftermath of abortion firsthand. The decision that once “made sense” is one that now haunts them. And while God freely and generously offers forgiveness, grace, and mercy to those who run to him, they still struggle greatly with that painful part of their past.

This year more than ever, I’m grateful for life. I’m grateful for two selfless parents that gave my little girl a chance to live. And I’m more committed than ever that Christ’s church must stand in the gap to defend those who cannot defend themselves.

Maranatha!

That’s right: I’m talking about what we affectionately refer to as Crisco Sunday (a term I just now affectionately made up), when we have to affectionately grease people up to get them all in the building.

This weekend, we’ll see 1000 more people attend the Summit’s campuses than last weekend. At the Brier Creek campus, we have extra chairs stacked and ready. We have volunteers standing by with a plan in their back pocket. And we’ll have me standing by, muttering near-unintelligible things about what seminary didn’t prepare me for.

But how can you be prepared? Easy. Follow these steps:

• Go somewhere else. Seriously. We love you. But consider making room for our guests for the next six weeks. If you go to Brier Creek North, check out our South Venue at 9 or 11. If you’re extra-awesome, go to Brier Creek Saturday at 4 or 6.
• Don’t go somewhere else, but arrive early. Again, seriously. Don’t show up late. Don’t show up “on time.” Show up 15-30 minutes early.
• Do what you’re told. Those guys in the orange vests? They ain’t eye candy. They want to help you find parking. Park on the Summit side of Presidential Drive to make room for our friends at World Overcomers across the street.
• Front and center. This ain’t the weekend for elbow room. Go to the front. Scoot to the center. Get cozy. Those chairs in Brier Creek North are extra-wide, so consider making room for a new friend.

Want more? Check out one of my favorite posts from this time last year (but don’t get confused, some of that info is dated). Building Cool Points at Church.

Here we go…some of the good stuff I’ve stumbled on this week:

Is A Laborer Deserving of His Wages? A great article on why bad tipping promotes a cheap gospel.

Fifty Rules for Dads of Daughters. If you can read this without getting a little misty-eyed, you have no soul.

Can Mountain Dew Really Dissolve a Mouse Carcass? ’nuff said.

But believe it or don’t, pastors burn out. They take on too much. They have more plates spinning and more irons in the fire and more noses to the wheel and more analogies in a sentence than you can shake a stick at.

I’m as guilty of it as any. I don’t like to say “no” (unless the question is, “Would you like to drop a Jeremiah commentary on the other foot?”). I like to produce. I like to commit, to feel like I’m worth something because of what I do.

And sadly, that’s a recipe for disaster.

Our staff counselor Brad Hambrick wisely walked us through our commitments, helping us to realize that we all have the same number of hours, and we serve a fair God. He’s not going to require one more hour of time than what we currently have in a week. And there are times when we may have more capacity than others to take on certain tasks.

If you’re a stay at home mom with stay at home kids, your capacity to run the children’s ministry at your church may be diminished.

If you’re a retiree who spends the day deciding who would make a great replacement for Regis, your capacity to put down the remote and reach out to your neighbors is huge.

If you’re an 80 hour a week exec who also has a family, your capacity to be a capable mom or dad is always going to be challenged by the time depletion you face at work.

There are seasons in my life when I have a greater capacity to say “yes” than others. Conversely, there are seasons where I have to be very careful of what fills my calendar. There will always be opportunities to speak, to teach, to train, to officiate weddings, to pray at the 6 AM Men’s Pancake Breakfast and Water Polo Tournament, but saying “yes” to those things I can do always means a “no” to something I must do.

So what is your capacity? What are you giving time to that you shouldn’t? What needs the time that you have to give?

In Thursday Three For All (or T34A, as my imaginary marketing department just came up with), I’ll hand-pick three links that might be of interest to you. It might be other folks’ blog posts, interesting news articles, or pictures of cats wearing funny sweaters. Heck, it might even be a picture of a person wearing a cat as a furry sweater.

[Brief pause while I wait on the lawsuit from PETA.]

The idea for this can be traced back to a few months ago when I wrote a post about Sharing Your Platform. Uber-blogger Trevin Wax has taken the idea of platform-sharing to an art form, and he’s allowed many folks to get exposure that may otherwise go unknown. For good or for bad, there are a lot of folks that check this site daily. I’d love to connect you to some of the other things I’m reading.

Church Without A Steeple. The News and Observer / Cary News had this piece in yesterday’s edition, featuring the Summit’s newest campus.

Resist “Swish & Spit” Devotions. In light of a post earlier this week, how are you doing on your Bible study resolution?

No, no, no, no. NOOOOO! Every guy’s worst nightmare. Staged or not, this makes me cringe.

Got an idea for a future T34A? Email me on the “Make Contact” tab above.

From time to time, I have the privilege of consulting with other churches on how they make that happen…small churches, big churches, in-between churches. And by “consulting,” I mean “telling other churches how it should work if it were an ideal world with no budget, no volunteer shortages, and no angry deacon whose last customer service experience was when he called up the Pony Express to complain about late mail delivery.”

But I digress. There are a few non-negotiables that easily transfer regardless of church size…things such as organic hospitality, having a plan for guests, and consistent follow up after their visit.

However, there are other issues – maybe even sub-issues within the above issues – that rise and fall according to context. Perhaps your church doesn’t need a first time guest tent. Maybe your follow up plan looks more like an in-home visit and less like a phone call. It could be that instead of a once-per-month newcomer’s event, you need to have it once a week. Or maybe just once a year.

Smaller churches can’t always maintain the momentum that larger churches can. On the flip side, larger churches can’t be as nimble and quick to change as a smaller church plant could pull off.

In my mind, there are a few points that drive your particular context when it comes to guest services:

1. Need. If you’ve identified that your church averages six new guests per year, you may not need a full time Pastor of New Guests (is that even a thing? How could I get one of those gigs?). You may need to get out and meet people in your community. Or it may be that your follow up process doesn’t need work, but your preliminary outreach process might.
2. Cost. We hand out gift bags to all of our first time guests. When I share that cost-per-bag-x-number-of-guests scenario with smaller churches, their eyes bug out and they start loaning me their copies of Radical. But when I explain that it’s an infinitesimally small number compared to our overall budget, and that they can do the same bags for far less cost because they have far less guests, they’re able to pick their jaws up off the floor and move on.
3. Community. Don’t overlook your backyard when it comes to determining guest needs. I grew up in a town where – when you visited a church – you simply expected a pastor to show up at your house the next night. (I knew one pastor who made it his practice to be in their driveway before they got home from Sunday lunch…that may not be as much caring as it is creepy.) But in Raleigh-Durham, we are in a city of gated communities and long commutes. We’ve found that when people arrive home, they want to be home, and they don’t want guests unless they’re summoned. Whatever category of community you find yourself in will drive your context.

So what did I miss? What are other areas that determine your context for how you serve your guests? Comment below.