And that’s all I have to say about that ...

A hat-tip of gratitude to all who've visited my little corner of greater blogdom.
It’s been my privilege.

Marathon

We were the dreamers, the boys on the wild frontier, new believers with nothing in the world to fear.

We had discovered the treasure of the love and the grace of God, and it burned like fire in our hearts and we would ...

Throw back our heads and run with passion through the fields of forgiveness and grace.

We carried the eternal flame with an undying hope, and a blazing conviction of truth that would never fade.

We were glowing in the dark, children of the burning heart. 

~ Steven Curtis Chapman, Children of the Burning Heart

My best friend from high school, Patrick Thomas Prowse, recommended that I give this song a listen. He says it reminds him of us when we were teenagers.

Originally, we were three in number, a triumvirate of adrenaline and chaos. Chapman’s lyric is an apt description of our “stumbling heaven-ward” zeal. We made a ton of mistakes, but we learned together – iron sharpening iron – and challenged, encouraged, and supported each other through thick and thin.

And, between the three of us, managed to keep at least one of our battered cars in marginal running condition – not necessarily the same car, week by week. We were also legendary for our love of (a) Resurrection Band and (b) deaf-defying stereo volume (especially windows-down on an open highway).

By naming Patrick, but not our third co-conspirator, you can probably guess where this is going. And you’d be correct: only two-thirds of our madcap troika self-identify as Jesus-followers today.

We’ve each experienced our fair share of butt-kicking, confidence-shaking, faith-rattling challenges. And really, who hasn’t? Life in a fallen world can go sideways at times. And when it does, faith can become either a lifeline or a casualty.

In fact, if this was a poker game, and I a betting man, I’d wager that everyone who’s read this far has felt a twinge of grief over a friend or loved one who’ve cashed in their Jesus chips … if that’s not taking the poker metaphor too far.

I find the apostle Paul a great source of encouragement here. His ministry path vacillated between incredible highs and dismal lows. His “resumé of pain” is, frankly, far worse than anything I’ve experienced: beaten, imprisoned, flogged multiple times, shipwrecked at least twice, hunted by wannabe assassins, and so on. The short version is found in 2 Corinthians 11:24–27. Reading it usually gives me perspective.

And yet near the end of his life, Paul sums up everything – the good, the bad, and the ugly – like this: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith (2 Timothy 4:7).”

He didn’t bask in the glow of his many accomplishments as a missionary and church-planter (and writer of Scripture, although he probably didn’t know it at the time). Nor did he bemoan his painful experiences (although he wrote candidly about them).

He fought.

He finished.

And he kept the faith.

In life’s faith marathon, my hope is to be able to say the same.

Weathered

Few things reveal time’s impact more eloquently than the look of weathered wood. Weathering showcases the passage of years, of many seasons under the sun, in ways that mere words are incapable of capturing.

When the original letters on this sign were removed, the full extent of years of weathering was revealed for all to see. With little difficulty, you can still read (most of) what this sign originally said.

I remember when the sign was brand new (the letters were a rich red color). I was present at the sod-turning ceremony before construction even started. And at 16 years of age, I worked on the roof many weekends, driving in four-inch spikes with a sledgehammer. I was there when the original cornerstone from the old church downtown was split in two and re-installed at the new location, one half reading “1928” and the other “1978.”

Fast forward to 2012:

A church merger has resulted in the congregation relocating elsewhere in the city. The building at 2501 Eaglesfield Drive has been sold. In a short while, the name Brant Bible Church will be meaningful only to a certain generation.

When I look at these pictures of the church’s interior, I’m astonished by the multitude of memories and emotions that come flooding back. It feels like it was just yesterday. It also feels like it was a million years ago.

I was baptized here when I was 17.

Five years later, this is where I met George Mercado; I later did my seminary internship under his leadership.

The carpet-on-concrete foyer would be the site of many life-changing encounters with God through the youth ministry.

When I was 27, Wendy and I stood together on the platform with our daughter Jordan in our arms, experiencing our very first child dedication as parents.

And no matter where we lived after that (Hamilton, Kitchener, Victoria, Winnipeg, Los Angeles, Tijuana, and now Kelowna), whenever we returned to visit family, this was the church we’d attend together.

When all is said and done, of course, it’s just a building. Seriously. The Kingdom of God goes on quite well with or without it. But looking at these images as I write, I’m amazed at the storehouse of memories they awake.

It’s the goodness of God and the memories of people that are the true treasure, but never underestimate the power of a weathered 34-year-old sign to remind you of it.