I’m a Baby Boomer. My cohort grew up with the Vietnam War, Haight Ashbury, Janice Joplin, and free love. We are a huge group of people with incredible power and appetites.

Maybe that is one of the reasons that our children are asking for something different. Relationships instead of cocooning. Community service and compassion rather than the “me generation.” And ancient practices rather than the often shallow entertainment inclination we have.

One of the terms that is used to describe the younger generation is “postmodern.” When this generation was growing up it learned that the promises of modernism were often shallow and unreached. Science, politics, and humanism were incapable of doing what they promised.

Someone defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results.” Churches, businesses, schools and other institutions that are effective today, realize that new approaches are called for in this new world. Otherwise they doom themselves to escalating failure as they attempt to impose “modern” methods on a postmodern world. Insanity.

You can see some neat things if you’re observant. Today I noticed an elderly man sitting by himself in a local business. He was reading a newspaper and minding his own business.

I got a table for myself and set up shop. Then a middle-aged man came in, and the elderly man greeted him. The middle-aged man joined him at a table, and they began to talk. A bit later a woman came in.

I loved the conversation that occurred. It was loud enough that those sitting around could hear it without evesdropping. The three talked about food and life. Mostly, the two younger people laughed, talked, asked questions, and listened.

I guessed that they were his children because the conversation flowed like warm honey. They finally finished their coffee and left.

I think that the reason I paid so much attention to the conversation is that the old man reminded me of my father. My dad walked like him, told stories like him, and enjoyed just being around his children.

I left the coffee shop wishing I could call my father and have a cuppa with him.

We arrived at the retreat location about 1 PM. I can’t tell you the location because I’d have to kill you.

There were nearly 20 of us that spent 28 hours together. The retreat began with a road race. This was a neat opportunity to test our team building skills.

Our facilitator made the retreat interesting with lots of interactive exercises. She was a college dean with wonderful insights and skills to share.

Sometimes people say, “Couldn’t we do the retreat in our hometown and go every night to our homes?” The answer is always, “not if you want to accomplish the same level of awareness and experience.” Not having the distraction of family, traffic, phones, and television is important to the retreat experience.

We started the retreat with polite handshakes. When we separated on Sunday, there were hugs all around. I’d say it was an extremely valuable experience.

I can’t express how dear my friends are to me. I just got off the phone with a particularly good friend of mine. He’s the sort of person your can pour out your joys and frustrations to without fear.

When you have a friend like that you don’t have to worry about anything being repeated. You can feel completely free and unafraid. Words that are unrefined or negative are lovingly taken and put through a filter.

I can’t say that is true of everyone I know. Sometimes words have to be guarded because they will be repeated or distorted. These are not true friends and cannot be trusted.

I think that the primary difference between a friend and anybody else is that your friend knows you from the inside out. Acquaintenances only know you from the outside and can never be expected to know you any better. This tremendously limits their ability to relate to you in any meaningful way.

I pulled the little cardboard tag out of my post office box that said, “You have a package,” and I went happily to the counter. I expected it would either be the pens I had ordered or the cellophane bags.

We ordered the pens and the bags for the purpose of advertising, and I’ve eagerly awaited the opportunity to spread the word. So I opened the box and grabbed a pen to look at the imprint. No! It had a misspelling. 500 pens with the wrong information on them.

I couldn’t wait to check my e-mail order to see if it was my fault. I typed out the information on an imaginary keyboard. How could I type an “i” instead of a “u” I wondered. http://www.lifespringchirch.com would never work.

I found the order. Relief! It was not my fault. I could call the company and request a corrected order. They were very polite and helpful. “The new delivery date is January 19,” she said.

But what am I going to do with the misprinted pens? The lady told me I could give them away or donate them to an agency. It is my choice.

Now that I’ve got the mystery solved, I’m struck with the humor or sadness of this. If I give these away, 500 people will be frustrated by the fact that the web address printed on the pens leads them to a dead end.

Which is like a lot of other “information” that is handed out today. Dead end.

I’ve been told that church planting is an occupation with extreme highs and lows, and I am coming to believe it. But I’m not complaining.

I’d much rather put up with the occasional low point than monotony. Monotony in an emotional lobotomy. Everything becomes a level plain. Monotony makes everything predictable and familiar, but it also removes the exhileration that comes when you experience the heights.

The emotional lows make the mountaintops all the more scenic and exciting. I’ve seen the truth of that in the past few days. Today a man pulled up a chair next to me and asked, without prompting, “what do you do for a living?” I felt a rush as I gave him an “ask” brochure that invites participation in our plant.

Later in the afternoon I got a post from a community contact I had been praying about. I now have an appointment with him in a few weeks.

I don’t know what the result of all this will be, however, I believe that this is headed in a direction that God has set. That’s an experience you can’t have on the prarie. It only occurs in the mountain heights.

This reminds me of what the grandmother says in Parenthood. She said she’d rather ride the roller coaster than the ferris wheel because of the monotony of the ferris wheel. Amen.

A friend of mine used to talk about the fog in California. I visualized it as the fog I had experienced growing up in Arkansas. A bit here. A bit there. Always very localized. I thought that was what she was talking about.

She said that sometimes the California fog lasted for days and that some people suffered depression because of it. California fog is like a blanket that covers the land and blacks out the light. It sometimes causes multi-car wrecks.

Tonight, in the comfort of our neighborhood, we crept home in the fog. I turned on the wrong street because I couldn’t see our own street. The fog blocked the light, covered the signs, and created confusion. The fog made the light and warmth of our home comfortable and pleasant.

I most hate the fog that fills the mind. Fog that comes from being tired, or unprepared, or indifferent. That fog only leaves when the light of truth shines on it.

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

“My wife really likes that drink.” That’s what I said as an icebreaker to the person sitting near me in a local coffee shop.

We talked for nearly an hour about life, church, art, travel, and children. I found out a lot about this person in that short while, and it makes me feel like I’ve touched something holy.

Being allowed to step into somone’s life in that way is an incredible experience. One moment she was a complete stranger to me and the next I knew her name and a bit about her life. What a gift that is!

It was a delightful hour, and she was bright and interesting. But she said that at a young age she was diagnosed as being retarded. She’s not! It reconfirmed for me how dangerous it is to make snap judgments about people. You may be wrong.

I got a cryptic e-mail several weeks ago inviting me to establish contact with a cousin I’ve never met. I sent back a vague response and asked for proof.

You can never be too safe these days. I get all sorts of e-mail invitations to receive huge sums of money from persons with no relatives and to send in personal identification in order to restore lost credit information.

I decided that my “cousin” really wasn’t my cousin. Otherwise he would have responded to my inquiry.

But today I answered the phone and the person on the other end acted very familiar in his greeting. “Who is this?” I asked. It was the person who sent the e-mail, and he really is my cousin.

He was not aware my father had died. He asked about my aunts. He told me that I had cousins all over this part of California. And he told me about some family characteristics.

I was amazed at his persistence. Finding my e-mail address, putting up with my caution, and finally getting my phone number proved to me that this was a person with a great sense of family and heritage. He didn’t realize it, but he gave me a big gift.

Ever been to worship at a church that was so folksy and “contemporary” that it felt more like a local service club meeting than a service of worship to God?

Sometimes churches want to put their message within reach of everyone who comes into their gatherings. This produces a possible conflict, however. Worship that is too common and familiar can become vulgar or disrespectful.

It is refreshing to see a new generation of people arising who see value in the great ideas, hymns, and practices of the past. This is not to say that they want to blindly imitate their parent’s generation. Rather, they are using the best of the past to inform the present.

This may sound like a celebration for the return of the past. It is not. Instead, it is a celebration that the future promises to be a thoughtful reuse of past in new and reverent ways. It is going to be interesting and thrilling to see what new life is breathed into ancient practices to give them a contemporary application.