Revitalize Your Church

The following excerpt is adapted from my first book, Filled Up, Poured Out: How God’s Spirit Can Revive Your Passion and Purpose: ------------ Driving down Main Street, several years ago with my little girl in the back seat, I glanced in the rearview mirror, and caught her aiming a finger gun at unsuspecting pedestrians. “Pow! Pow! Pow!” “Hannah, cut that out!” I scolded, “It’s not nice. We don’t shoot people; we bless them.” After riding in silence for a few minutes, she started up again—this time with two fingers, “Pow! Pow! Pow!” “Hannah, didn’t I tell you to stop shooting people?” “But Daddy,” she replied, “this time, I’m shooting blessings!” Shooting blessings requires a few essentials. Positive Energy Some folks run on positive juice, and others run on negative. We bring blessing with the positive. Encouraging Words Everyone’s imperfect, but we must look for the good rather than finding fault. Building up others is called edification, and this begins at hom...

Two men were climbing a steep hill on a bicycle built for two. When they finally made it to the top, the first man said, "Whew! That was a stiff climb. I think it was the hardest hill I've ever been on.""It certainly was," his companion replied, "and if I hadn't kept the brake on, we would have slid down backwards!" When we worry, it's like pedaling uphill with the brakes on. Anxious thoughts make life ten times harder. Unfortunately, our natural human tendency is to worry about our situations. Is there anybody on this earth who is not familiar with the uncomfortable gnawing of worry in the belly? I seriously doubt it. Yet, although worry is familiar to us all, we don't have to treat it like a welcomed guest. In fact, we have every right in the world to kick it out! "No Vacancy" -- There's no place for anxious thinking here! How can we evict worry from our lives? Let me offer a few suggestions: 1. Talk ...

A poem I wrote a few years ago in honor of Hayward's Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival   Amid cheers of loved ones, out-of-towners, and smatterings of locals  congregated on Main Street's crowded side,   The vast Bicycle Armada glides.  Two thousand five hundred, did I hear?  Sailing furiously down Main Street  Into wooded wilderness.  Two thousand five hundred look-alikes  On fat tired bikes.  But they, themselves seem neither fat nor tired (yet!)  Hunched over handlebars, determined  The helmeted hopefuls fly  In wild-eyed animation.  Wave after wave, the countless waves go by  inspiring awe, and even tears from sidewalk sentimentalists  who with wave and cheer, race on with them -- vicariously.  Two thousand five hundred souls hodgepodged,  Cobbled together from different ilk.  Following the clarion call. . .  From Minnesota and Montana  Texas and Kentucky.  From urban spraw...

J. D. Greear shared a great article recently: How I Dumped the Megachurch Model and Found Something Bigger     Excellent food for thought.  Multiplication is higher math.

Today, I was privileged to give the invocation for the Field of Honor, a tribute to veterans, sponsored by the Boys and Girls Club of the LCO Ojibwe Reservation.  A couple hundred people gathered to honor the veterans in a heartwarming ceremony. We started at the Bingo Hall and then went in silent procession to the field of flags, a few hundred yards away.   I have never been asked to pray at the Bingo Hall before -- but there is a first for everything. I decided to share "When You are a Soldier" by Steven Curtis Chapman.  Sometimes, a prayer is expressing our heart to our Creator.  Sometimes, it is the other way around:  our Creator expressing His heart to us.  The invocation I chose is the second type. Steven Curtis Chapman -- When You Are a Soldier When you are a soldier I will be your shield I will go with you into the battlefield And when the arrows start to fly take my hand and hold on tight I will be your shield, 'cause I know ...

Pinky was a little slave girl -- only nine years old when her mother died. To lose your mother at such a young age is terrible -- but being a slave child made it even worse. Pinky would not go to the home of loving relatives. Neither she nor her loved ones had any voice in her future whatsovever. She was considered "property". Pinky's owner decided to sell her on the slave market. He figured he might get up to $900 for her. It just so happened that Henry Ward Beecher, a pastor from New York was visiting in town and heard of Pinky's plight. He approached the slave owner and asked if, perhaps, he could take Pinky back home with him. "I'm sure the kind people of Plymouth Church would be happy to provide a loving home for her.", he said. "Not on your life!" declared Pinky's owner. "I could get $900 for this girl! I'll tell you what, give me the $900 and she's yours." Rev. Beecher did not have $900 -- but her persuaded the ow...