Aj Schwanz

Apparently they do for me. Yesterday we had a gathering of folks to discuss Cool Church Jive - I donít really know what to call it: itís kind of the ìemerging conversationî, itís kind of ìthe state of the churchî, but mostly it was a group of people with a concern that weíre missing the mark in the church world, so what are we called to do about it?

Things I noticed:

ñ That the Holy Spirit *does* actually work and isnít some defunct lofty idea that had power in the NT but doesnít relate to today. Folks shared in the room their concern and compassion for our lives and culture - some voiced a restless aching, others wanted to hear more, a few were dragged in by their wives. But so many similarities - themes - strains - ideas - words - thoughts were the same: you could almost physically see the Spirit drawing a line from heart to heart and words to words, connecting our concerns while bringing out the individual flavor and strength of each unique experience.

ñ That itís an intergenerational thing going on. The reason I got into this whole ìsomethingís wrong with church, Iím gonna google it to deathî search was because my friends no longer attend church - itís not that theyíre not spiritual, but theyíre turning to other means to try and satisfy that God-placed ache. So I figured it was just my generation - we were dissatisfied because of the way we were raised or because of our generational experience. But folks from *all* ages were present, and affirming that things need to change! What depth of wisdom and experience that brings! And I shouldnít try to box people in according to their age: some of the most challenging, not-satisfied-with-the-current-status words came from folks older than me.

ñ That Iím a crier, and though I hate it, itís part of who I am. Gregg asked me to share some of my story, and though Iíve told it a couple of times and thought about it a lot, something touched me, and I ended up blubbering through most of the story. Crying, in front of all these people I really respect or people who donít know me: I *hate* doing that. I blamed it on being on pain meds (any meds lower my emotional tolerance level - me on non-drowsy meds for a couple of days is an ugly, ugly beast). But my wonderful friend Steve ìelderedî me, saying I need to stop negating my emotions - theyíre not bad, theyíre the way God has wired me! Itís gonna take some work - Iím used to being around folks who shut down when a flood of emotions are shown, but with the Spiritís help, I hope to come to terms with and embrace the way Godís created me.

ñ That none of us seem to have ìThe Answerî, but that weíre willing to offer up our piece of the puzzle. So how do we create more opportunities where thatís available?

ñ That more people read my blog than I know, so a) I probably should stop telling poop stories about my son (poor kid) and 2) Iím really encouraged that my writings arenít just for me! If you have any thoughts, please feel free to leave comments - this is me throwing out my puzzle pieces: Iíd be honored if you felt called to do the same here.

Right now seems like the lofty, idealistic stage. If things progress, tension will be created; some people might be called to go - will we bestow or withhold blessings? How willing am I to follow my call? How willing are you?

You wouldnít think those two things go together, now, would you? But it is possible to glean parenting wisdom while having a tooth extracted - though I wouldnít suggest it for everyone.

Itís been quite a week - sick cats and uncontainable excrement (check my Xanga for further details - it wasnít mine ) and exploding food and such. And itís all been colored by having an aching jaw as one of my ìthird molarsî decided to be pissy. My mouth is so large (really - quite enormous, and itís coupled with my ability to be profusely loud and boisterous - wonder where my son gets it? ) that I thought Iíd be immune to the ìwisdom teeth removalî experience of which most the world partakes. But it finally caught up with me, and the time came to get at least one crabby one removed.

I was quite nervous - it all happened so quickly. I called to make an appointment for a while down the road, and ended up in the dental chair two hours later. Mental preparation was lacking: I didnít have time to prepare myself for drills and other nasty things going into my mouth.

But enter the best oral surgeon in the world. He had been recommended to me a) by my former boss (my favorite former boss) and 2) my new and beloved dentist who I wish I could slip him in my pocket and take him everywhere with me - except I donít have pockets that big, and his kids would probably miss him. I mentioned to the surgeon that my former boss referred me, and they apparently know each other from church: the surgeon was my bossís Sunday School teacher for the young marriedís class. He didnít say anything, but Iím sure he could tell by the wary, glazed look in my eye that I wasnít necessarily at my best, so he started talking about two things that are central points in my life and could properly distract my attention: spirituality and parenting.

He began by talking about Proverbs 22:6 - Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it. He said that itís one of the most mis-interpreted verses in the Bible (you know, thereís a lot of those, Iím finding). Folks take it to mean that a morally-raised child will party as an adult and eventually find his/her way back to the ìright life.î The surgeon said itís actually means to raise your child up in his/her particular bent - to be intentional in discovering the unique facets of their personality and help those to mature. His oldest child is an artist, so heís surrounded by different experiences that help him engage his creative side. His youngest son is a ìman of Issacar, who understood the times and knew what Israel should doî (I Chronicles 12:32). Each week he takes his son out to breakfast, and as they pour over a newspaper, they talk about world events and what that means. Wow!

When each of his sons started into puberty, rather than sitting down and giving them the dreaded ìsex talkî, he wrote up a sort of curriculum on what it means to come of age - to be a man, to be financially responsible, to be a boyfriend or husband, to be a part of the church, to be a part of society, etc. He took them for a week-long vacation of their choosing - one went fishing, the other went on a cruise. What a grand idea - rather than having the awkward ìgoing into puberty means I can tell you what you already know but probably shouldnít about sexî talk, he presented it as a holistic sort of change which other cultures seem to do well, but not so much in the grand US of A.

This man obviously takes utter delight in his role as a parent, reaching and stretching to help equip his kids to be the Children of God that they are. It took time, he said: folks ask if itís quality or quantity of time, and he says itís both - you have to put in the quantity to catch those five minutes of quality, and if youíre not paying attention, youíll miss the window of opportunity.

Needless to say, it was the most pleasant, mind-engaging painful experience Iíve ever been through.