Mike Howerton

The MAGIC of Bing (and pure imagination!)

Mike Howerton — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 20:44:48 +0000

So many of you have been following the story of our adoption, and the journey of the Howerton clan embracing, and being embraced, by Duzi. I thought I’d share another moment of PURE MAGIC (giggle).

After traveling for 26 hours, we were delayed on the tarmac in Atlanta, waiting for the final leg to Seattle to begin. Duzi had a window seat, I was in the middle, and sitting next to me was a really friendly Microsoft Employee named Brian. He asked me some questions about our adoption process, and was insightful, articulate, and kind. When I mentioned that our faith was a major motivator for us, he was respectful and affirming, even though he indicated that faith normally wasn’t his thing (I forget how he phrased this exactly, but he was cool.) He asked me if I had shown Duzi anything on Bing Maps.

Uh, no. I hadn’t. In the whirlwind adoption process, searching Bing Maps hadn't made the priority list.

So he hit BING and pulled up Seattle. It was in a 3d, Birdseye view, which I thought was pretty cool. We tried to find Duzi’s hometown, but it was slow to load, and when it did, it was 2d Arial view. Just like Google Maps. Then we looked at my home…2d Arial view. By this time, Duzi was bored, so I put on Clone Wars on my computer for him. Brian looked up the Washington Monument, but Duzi was glassy-eyed with travel by then. I was a bit glassy-eyed myself, and as I fell asleep, with my son’s sleeping head on my lap, I noticed Brian looking up additional locations on Bing Maps, and I was honestly glad that he was excited about where he worked.

As we were descending, Duzi and I woke, and prepared to deplane. Brian and I shared a few more pleasantries…I believe we both wished one another well. All in all, a great plane buddy. NOW, check out the story from HIS perspective…I had no idea the pure MAGIC that was unfolding. The following I have left in Brian’s own words…apparently it was a pretty powerful flight for him. My comments are in parenthesis. PLEASE enjoy:

“Hi everyone,

“After telling this story to a few people in the office, it was suggested I write it up and send it out to the group. On my flight home from MGX last Saturday, a little boy and his father came to sit next to me and I overheard the father talk about the boy’s “new home in Seattle.” I quickly found out that this little boy was a South African orphan being adopted by a family from Redmond. The husband and wife already had an 11 year old girl and 8 year old boy but found it in their hearts to have a 5-year old orphan of a different race and background join their family. (Brian really was a nice guy).

“Halfway into the flight, the father and I got into a discussion about job and then about how the boy really didn’t know where he was going, how far he was moving from his old home, and what opportunities he now has. At the risk of being too forward, I asked the father if I could switch to the middle seat and provide the boy his first experience with a computer, first experience with the internet, first experience with maps, and his first opportunity to see his new country and new home. Providing all these firsts is an extremely rare opportunity these days and I was lucky enough to be on a flight with WiFi, and get a “yes” to my question! (NO chance in HELL that I would give an eager techie unrestrained access to my NEW, adopted son who was ALREADY in culture shock. This guy obviously doesn’t have kids.)

“I first showed him how far he was traveling and where his old and new homes were located. The boy, Doozier, originates from Durban which is on the East Coast of South Africa and the Southeast Corner of Africa. The fluid Silverlight navigation into his old orphanage and then out to South Africa, Africa, and then the World lit up Doozier’s eyes, and I got some amazement from the father too. (Only amazement that it didn't happen this way.)

“Then we explored his journey, which took him from Durban to OR Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg to Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta which is a city in the Peach State. After a six hour layover, he was now on the last leg of his journey to Redmond, Washington. His new home is a really beautiful house in Overlake. The father was floored and Doozier reached over me to give his father a huge hug when he saw his house. Father and son already had super big smiles but we weren’t done yet. (Does this read like emotional porn to anybody else?)

“I let Doozier take control for a few minutes and watched as he scrolled in and out to random places all over the world. I had to teach him typing and mouse movement a little bit, but kids pick up technology so fast and once he seemed comfortable I gave him a directed tour around the US and the world. (Now we have loosed all semblance of reality and have embraced the flight into pure imagination).

“First, he searched for Washington, DC – the capital of his new country, and my home! The left-panel gave him a brief history of the city and we opened up the Wikipedia page to have him learn more. Then I had him search for the Washington Monument, learn about that, and then go Streetside so he could take a virtual fieldtrip to one of my favorite places to visit. At this point, I wished a camera magically appeared and took a snapshot of Doozier’s face. It was pure amazement, excitement, and happiness. (Or maybe just a hint of drool on his sleeping chin. Really...aren't ALL 5 year olds excited to read more Wikipedia pages on our nations capital?)

“The father patted me on the back and I could see he was on the verge of tears as it hit him just how big of an impact he is making on this boy’s life. We say it and we hear it – but this…this was proof of the Magic of Software. (PUKE.)

“We spent around 30 more minutes doing tours like this - the Empire State Building, Ayer's Rock in Australia, the Taj Mahal, Mount Everest, and a few others. It was one of the most special experiences I’ve had and proves that anyone can make an impact, anytime, with just a little bit of technology. I’m thrilled to be a part of this team and hope this story was inspiring. Thanks for reading!

“Sincerely,

Brian”

This is Mike again, and I’ve got a few thoughts:

Seriously? I’ve seen God move mountains, I’ve seen Jesus save, I know that the Lord puts the lonely in families, I’ve traveled around the world and invested blood, sweat, tears, and resources into adoption, Jodie and I have been to the brink of despair stuck in bureaucracy and we’ve felt the deliverance of God’s Spirit…we live in joy because we trust Jesus for everything, including our amazing son…and a 3d image on a Bing Map search is supposed to have some kind of emotional impact?

I like Brian a lot. I'm glad the ride with us was a special experience for you. But please. You need to set your sights a little higher.

Adoption is a bit larger than looking at pictures. The REAL world is full of amazing stories and wonderful people and all sorts of significant needs that you can be involved in filling. There really isn't much more to say about this. SO MUCH LIFE is there to be experienced when you lift your eyes up from the computer screen. LIVE it.

Now a word to my friends in ministry:

I know we’re all tempted to stretch the truth just a bit when we tell stories, analogies, illustrations…we want to make the biggest impact possible to move people to Jesus. We don’t just want people to get fired up about software (excuse me…the MAGIC of software), we want people to know peace through God’s love, we want them to know hope through Jesus…our desire for hearts impacts eternity. But still. Whenever we take flights of fancy in telling peoples stories (like Brian did), we render illegitimate the very truth we are so passionate about.

The truth has nothing to hide.

It’s the truth that sets us free.

The Father is looking for worshippers who will worship in spirit and in truth.

So Brian, if you read this…I love you. I’m not mad at you. It’s a forgivable lie. I’ve been known to use a kernel of truth to create a whole meal of emotional fluff too…and I thank you for the reminder to keep it clean.

And if you Microsoft guys ever make a commercial about this story that is loosely based on actual events, then just remember to get the royalties to Duzi. Spelled D-U-Z-I. Thanks.

The Book of Eli Makes the Cut

Mike Howerton — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 00:58:11 +0000

Last week, I took my wife away for an afternoon date. We watched the Book of Eli. After the movie, I spent the drive home trying to gather my thoughts about the whirlwind that is Denzel Washington, as Eli, on the big screen, a man of violence who longs for peace, a man who doesn’t “want any trouble,” but who brings trouble on all sorts of violent men, a man of simple faith in a world where nothing is simple, and faith isn’t even a memory. I spent some time processing why I was moved by this film.

Without seeking to be a spoiler, I want to mention two scenes that I think might be on my all-time favorite list:

1. There is a scene where Eli prays over a meal. In normal circumstances, this sounds completely mundane, and unworthy of screen time. But in the ultra-barren landscape of a post-apocalyptic desert, both spiritually and verdantly, this scene almost brought me to tears. There was something so completely holy about a man, a man of violence and faith, teach a young girl, entirely post-christian, completely post-faith, how to pray to God. The prayer is one of astounding simplicity and gratitude. My own mealtime prayer carried greater weight that evening.

2. There is one scene when Eli recites Scripture. He quotes Psalm 23 in it’s entirety. You know it, probably by heart. But you’ve not heard it in the dusty, desperate, Mad-Maxian world Eli inhabits. The hope it provides is palpable.

There were additional scenes that touched my heart…times when Eli stood honorably and un-tempted by his appetites, times when he listened to the Spirit of God leading him. He’s different, and everyone knows it.

Rarely does Hollywood produce a film that honors the Bible, rarely does it portray a man of simple faith and profound conviction. The whole movie was an incredible reminder of the POWER of the Words of God…an incredible valuing of the memorization of the Word, and reading the Word, and living the Word. In the movie Eil poured over the words of God. “I read it everyday.” Eli says simply.

I actually don’t think The Book of Eli will do well in the box-office, because it’s a paradox. While it doesn’t go completely over the Tarantino/Kill Bill line, my guess is that it’s too violent for the typical Christian movie-goer. (I anticipate some negative feedback from this post.) I want to warn you, if you thought Braveheart was too graphic, you need to skip this one. However, it’s also far too Christian for the typical agnostic, sci-fi, movie buff who went to see some standard negative-utopia film.

Friends, in all fairness, I must tell you that my wife hated this movie (not a good date choice). But I am smitten.

And here is why: I’ve got eight Bibles on my shelf in my church office. I’ve got three that I work from at my home office. I’m a guy who values the Word, who reads it daily, and who memorizes it periodically. But, the sheer value of Scripture that Eli carries. Is. Emotionally. Stirring.

And I want to value God’s Word that much.

Angel

Mike Howerton — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 16:51:47 +0000

I saw an angel this morning.

Maybe it was our conversation last night at dinner. My daughter Alex was convinced that as she watched the trees swaying in the wind, she also saw an angel, waving at her, bringing her peace.

There has been a lot of un-rest and non-peace in the world lately. I’m like many, I’m sure…watching the news from Haiti, emotionally wrapped up in it. My brother’s family is adopting from Haiti, and his wife Kristen was over there visiting with her eight month-old baby, Karis, when the quake struck. She was evacuated safely with Karis, but the little boy they’re trying to adopt remains there…and it’s breaking my heart.

It’s more than just hearing of the numbering of the dead. It’s the story of a mom, lifting a blanket and discovering that the still form is indeed her son. It’s the story of a young girl being rescued from the rubble, only to die from wounds too serious to be treated at a makeshift hospital. It’s the plea for help on the computer or television screen. I was running my dog this morning, and processing it all with God. He was patient with me.

Then, on my run, I passed Little Bit, a Therapeutic Riding Center in Woodinville. It’s a place where tiny kiddos who wrestle with physical or mental challenges get to ride gentle horses as a form of therapy. I saw up ahead on the trail, a little girl dressed in pink, with a riding helmet covering her blond hair. She was riding a brown horse, and hi-fiving her caregivers…six adults who walked next to the horse, for safety, support, and encouragement. As I jogged close to her, she turned towards me and took in Scout and I.

It was like the sunshine came out. Her smile was heavenly. Her face shone with delight, and she raised both her itty-bitty arms above her head, squealing, “Oh…wow!” She beamed like Christmas morning. I’ve never been celebrated so richly in my life.

I smiled big at her, at her caregivers. I passed her on the trail. And as I ran past, I burst into tears, making some weird, half-laugh, half-sob, I’m-out-of-breath-from-this-run kind of heaving noise.

My heart was pierced with joy and beauty and ache, with the sun-breaks of holiness in the midst of a broken, fallen world. All is not well, not now…but even surrounded by heartache, there is much to celebrate. And she WAS celebrating! A man running with his dog! Oh…WOW! A chance to ride this beautiful horse! Oh…Wow! Being surrounded by people who love me! OH…WOW! She was an angel. I’m convinced of it.

There are wonders all around us. I truly pray for the eyes to see them.

I didn’t look back, mostly because I was convinced she was an angel, and I didn’t want to be proved wrong. But then I was thinking, maybe there ARE angels all around. The Bible tells us to be kind to strangers, because by doing so we might entertain angels unaware.

Angels are messangers. They bring messages of peace. Messages of hope. Messages of joy. Messages of healing. Messages of help.

Maybe that’s what the relief workers are in Haiti. Maybe that’s what peacekeepers are. Maybe that’s what her caregivers are. Maybe that’s what you and I are called to be today.

Be an angel to someone. Go on. Celebrate!

I Pray for Miley

Mike Howerton — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 18:57:16 +0000

Today, in honor of her Concert at the Tacoma Dome, I confess that I listened to Miley Cyrus on my wife’s ipod. Through my daughter, Miley, or Hannah Montana, has invaded our home, via Disney TV, cd’s played in our car, and merchandise like cups, nightlights, and toothbrushes. Miley is a big deal around here. So I thought I’d write Miley a quick note. You are welcome to read it, too.

Dear Miley,
I pray for you. I invite others to pray for you as well. I bet that might come across sounding hard, or meanspirited, but that’s not my heart. It is offered with compassion and grace. Here’s what I mean:

Miley, you have achieved the kind of stardom and wealth that very, very few people ever achieve. I’m talking Solomon-like wealth. Flipping through an issue of Time, I read that last year, your merchandise net alone brought in 1.3 billion dollars. Bring in the way Disney has packaged your TV personality into a product. Add in the CD sales and your 3-D concert movie. Remember that you can sell out a stadium concert faster than anyone ever has. There’s a lot of gravy flowing, and Billy Ray’s little girl is riding that train at breakneck speed. Since wealth is power, I pray that you’ll steward yours well.

As far as I know, Miley, you are like 16 years old. I can remember how chaotic and circus-like my life was at 16. There was friend drama, the weeks that circled around our Friday night football games, the invites to parties, the time I crashed my car, and of course the pinnacles and heartbreaks swirling around the quest for a girlfriend. And if life was crazy for me at 16, I can’t imagine how crazy it would be for a person who is an uber-gazillionaire. In America, celebrity is royalty, and Miley, you are the current reigning princess. That has to mess with your head. So I pray that it doesn’t.

Not only that, but I remember making some pretty dumb moves as a 16 year old. And the thought of having every bonehead move photographed and splashed on the front page of a gossip rag is just shameful. I mean that literally…it produces shame. To know that everything you do, every boy you go out with, every fight you have with your dad will be news…I imagine that produces an overwhelming amount of pressure. So I pray for you.

I ran to the punk-pop-beat of your songs today, and I was admiring them. The come across like fun Go-Go’s tunes (I cut my chops on the 80’s) filled with energy, and a bubble-gum-smack voice that cracks at just the right time, like Cosette from my Les Mis Broadway Soundtrack (I am hoping this is a compliment to you both). But here is why I truly like them…the Lyrics. Wholesome, filled with themes of love, of falling in love, and of empowerment. You sing a song to your deceased grandfather called I Miss You, and it’s touching. You have a song with a chorus that says, “Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not strong enough.” And when I see my daughter belting those words out with all that she’s got, I get this crazy lump in my throat. There are so many negative and hurtful messages in the songs of our culture, and I celebrate the ones that are joyful or quality. And so I pray for yours.

In fact, the biggest reason that I pray for you, Miley is my daughter, Alex. My daughter is 9 years old. She wears glasses and plays soccer. She has the most beautiful, innocent, compassionate soul that I’ve ever seen. She befriends everyone, especially the kids that don’t have a ton of other friends. Once her teacher brought in a new student, mid-year, who didn’t speak much English. Alex moved her seat to sit next to her, and stayed with her all day showing her around school, and introduced her to all her friends. The only reason I know this is because her teacher emailed the story to us, and both my wife and I teared up when we read it. I’m tearing up right now as I try to figure out how to communicate the absolute golden nature of this beautiful child of God who has Jesus in her heart and Hannah Montana on her wall. For one reason or another, Alex has placed a portion of her heart in your hands. Miley, what you say matters to Alex. How you live matters. The lyrics in your songs matter, and the choices that you make…I just want you to know, they matter.

They don’t matter to the paparazzi who want to exploit you for a buck. They don’t matter to your PR folks who can figure out how to spin your life in an interesting way and sell the story to VH1. They don’t matter to handlers and managers, because the wild exploits of celebrities are what keep them in business. But they matter to little girls who have never had a hero before, and who have decided that you’re it. Life is going to try to knock those stars out of her eyes soon enough, and so I’m hoping…I’m begging…I am praying for you. I’m praying that you would please handle her heart with care.

And as I pray for you, I’d love to remind you that at the end of the day, this voice, this honor, this wealth, this ride, and this life that you’ve been given…you’ve been given it all by God. He loves you just because you’re you, I know you know that. And the greatest thing you can do, is to offer it all back to Him as a gift.

I’m praying for you.

Sincerely,

Alex’s Daddy

Rainbow Sandals (Theologically Observed)

Mike Howerton — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 22:47:02 +0000

Most surfers and California beach-wear aficionados know what Rainbow Sandals are. They are a light-wear, leather sandal that forms to your foot, virtually indestructible; rather like wearing twin slices of heaven on your feet.

I like to think of them as the sandals Jesus wore.

Whenever we are back in San Clemente, Ca., we stop by the factory to pick up a pair or six. This last visit, the chief architect running the construction of the sandal manufacturing empire gave us a tour, and it was absolutely fascinating. Fashioning the leather straps, cutting the layers of rubber sole, applying the patented glue…you could tell this guy LOVED making Rainbows. Each one was special to him. And like Jelly Bellies, whose factory we also visited, even the flops were items of love and care. (Try purchasing bags of belly-flops the next time you’re passing through Fairfield, Ca.)

Which brings me to my own experience with Rainbows. I have owned, through the years, multiple pairs. They each have different purpose. My nice ones, I wear to work, or to important meetings, like with my elders, or the Mayor. My “Used to be Nice” pair has started to become worn and faded, and so they are my Lake Pair, or Surf Pair…whenever I’m heading to the beach, wherever they will potentially get soaked, or left out in the sun for hours…this is the pair that is good to go, rough and ready…my adventure pair. Then, I have my “Yardwork” set…my oldest and most cherished pair, I’ve loved them for more than a decade, but due to age, and rough wear, they are…what is the word I am looking for…shot. The rubber sole is worn thin, and the leather is worn completely through where my toe lands when I walk, and they stink, but let’s not dwell on that fact. What you need to know is that, if I were to send them back to the Rainbow factory, they would restore every worn part of the sandal and return them to me good as new, because that is their guarantee. But I am not eager to do that, because I love them exactly as they are.

In other words, I have some Rainbows that I use for noble purpose, some for ignoble purpose, but all of my Rainbows do I love dearly.

Now, I’m no Karl Barth, but I am certain that God loves you more than I love my Rainbow Sandals. The next time you read a difficult passage in the Scripture, like Romans 9:21, never forget that our God is the Lord of Love. And just like the factory in San Clemente, when we return to Him, He restores us and makes us good as new…

That’s His guarantee.

Divine Justice

Mike Howerton — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 16:49:23 +0000

For vacation this year, I traveled over to the Big Island with my family. We were set to stay in my Parents time share, plane tics were buddy miles, and we were humbly aware that without the generosity of others we wouldn’t be able to rent a car, enjoy a place, or get fare over to the Island. So when we realized that our plane seats were the very last ones on the plane, you know, the ones that don’t recline right next to the bathrooms, it wasn’t a big shocker to us. We’re just happy to be on the plane.

When we landed, and the plane halted at the gate, the stewardess made an unusual announcement…for some reason, we would de-plane from the rear. Being in the last row, we would be first to set foot on Hawaiian soil. (Cue Monty Python voice: A blessing! A blessing from the Lord!) I thought, amused, this is at least one parable of how sometimes the last shall be first.

As we were all standing in the aisle, waiting for the rear door to be opened, a lady pushed past us. Since we were all holding our carry on bags, the aisle was crowded, and she fairly shoved her way through my family in her haste to get to absolute rear of the plane, so that she would be the first off. Several people that she had pushed past were frowning and grumbling. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, like maybe she was late for a heart transplant, or really needed to pee. But, I won’t lie, it was still an exercise in patience for me.

So now, we were no longer going to be first to de-plane, she was. She had shoved herself forward and was now waiting, as we all were, for the plane doors to open.

And then another announcement. It turns out that, for whatever reason, the forward door in the plane would be our exit, after all. I noticed distinctly that smiles lit up on all the faces that this woman had shoved past in her haste to be first off. And now, since she was truly in the very rear, not only would she NOT be first: She would be dead last. It was as if a Hallelujah Choir began singing from the Heavens. God is real, even in the mundane.

The doors then opened, and people began to move towards the exit. But I couldn’t help noticing a leisure-ness about the process. People moved relaxed, languid. It seemed that there was a collective response against the pressure to hurry. The aloha spirit was already in full force. At least, I might have deplaned a bit slower than normal.

Mostly to help the lady behind me practice patience.

I’m a pastor. It’s my job.

Arranged Unions

Mike Howerton — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 01:31:40 +0000

My daughter Alex and I were at a wedding last week. I performed a portion of the ceremony, which Alex watched from the back. When my bit was done, I turned it over to the Father of the Bride, who was also a pastor, and he officiated the vows while I took my seat.

Suddenly I discovered Alex has slipped into the seat next to me, because she carefully took my hand, and kissed it. “I love you, Booger,” I whispered. “I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered back. Then I look back up to watch the ceremony, where the Father of the Bride is choking up a bit as he recounts his personal joy over his daughter, and her choice of a husband.

For the briefest instant, I saw myself in that role (a blubbering mess) and I saw my baby girl standing with joyful pride next to her man. In that moment, I prayed silently the same prayer that I’ve prayed hundreds of times: That God would guide my daughter and protect her, that He would ground her in wisdom, courage, and graceful strength; that He would carry her to that day when she leaves my care and enters the adventure of covenant. And I pray for that special, God-favored man, that he is growing even now in wisdom tempered by grace, strength tempered by gentleness, great joy tempered by great responsibility. Most of all, I pray that He knows God and pursues Him with all his heart.

I realized as I was praying that my daughter probably didn’t know as an eight year old that her mommy and her daddy were praying for the man that she would someday wed. So I decided to tell her. “Baby,” I lean down and quietly whisper, “I want you to know that your mommy and I are already praying for the man that you’re going to marry.”

She leaned her head forward and eyed me from over her glasses. Her expression was curiously skeptical, serious, and I could tell in this matter, she didn’t completely trust my judgment.

Deadpan, she asked, “Who is it?”
Even at eight, arranged marriages don’t land on receptive soil.

On the other hand, my son Caleb informed us last night that he has found the girl he’s going to marry. “She’s everything I ever wanted,” my six year old tells us. “She’s blond and she knows God.” Cool, bud. So that’s done.

A Well-Scrubbed Version of ME

Mike Howerton — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 23:32:07 +0000

In today’s world, technology offers us a unique view of one another. I’ve recently been wrestling with this. I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I seek to live my life consistent with the beliefs that I hold from Scripture. There are times when I live incredibly empowered by God’s Spirit. There are times that I stumble and fail. I try to keep short accounts with my wife, short accounts with my brothers, and short accounts with Jesus.

None of this is really where the rub is, hopefully none of this should land as a surprise. Here’s where I’ve been wrestling lately. On my Blog, on my Facebook pages, in my messages, I’ve been offering the “well scrubbed version of me.” So, while I believe that today’s technology offers a clearer view of KNOWING one another from a distance than has ever been possible before, I also recognize the potential for hypocrisy that exists. That’s why I’m calling it out. And because confession is good for the soul.

Here are a few ways that I scrub myself: PHOTOS.
The photos I post are typically selected from whole rolls of less exciting photos, and rolls and rolls of photos that picture me in an combination of unflattering, confused, and rather typical expressions. I try to scrub the boring out, so that a viewer might think, “It must be an amazing adventure to be a part of that clan!” It is and adventure, but not nearly as exciting as pics might suggest. I also choose to post pics of myself that make me look confident, strong, or handsome (Theses pics are more of a challenge to find).

I share a ton of family STORIES.
Those are typically the stories that make my kids sound like theologians, my wife sound like a patient genius, and that make me sound like a great dad, a great husband, and an all around great guy. They are all true. But what is also true are the stories where my kids fight like kids, where my wife is tired and short, and where I live closer to dolt-ness than to great-ness. I scrub the counter-balance, and so opinion is naturally prone to tip towards a too-favorable view.

Even my FAILURES are scrubbed. For example, I might share a time when Jodie was looking for help cleaning the house in preparation for the arrival of guests, while I was upstairs playing Galaga (yes, we have the old arcade version of Galaga, and yes, I am the MAN at it)…and I pretended that I couldn’t hear her calling. And that “confession” might actually make me sound more holy…like, oh look, even Mike gets a bit selfish sometimes. But I’ve scrubbed out the other times during the same weekend that I was already acting selfishly, and how frustrated that must make my wife, and how selfishness is something that I consistently battle to my great chagrin. (This paragraph is intentionally hypothetical, but I’m hoping you get the point. A small, safe confession scrubs me too clean.)

Here’s the last truth: I’m not changing the tactic of scrubbing. I truly don’t think Blogs or Status Updates are the best place to do deep soul-work, nor the best places for gut-level confession. I don’t suggest that to you, nor will I walk that road. But I do want you to be aware of the scrub.
Just knowing brings us closer to Jesus. And I guess the challenge is, for me and you both, to live more and more like the scrubbed versions of ourselves…

The truth shall set you free.
I’d love to hear how YOU scrub…

Grace City

Mike Howerton — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 21:04:52 +0000

This morning I hit the trails with Scout (my shelter-mutt), and just about every part of my body froze. It was oddly beautiful, however, this frosty winter morn, listening to inspiring songs of praise to our vast, creative God, and I forgot my discomfort almost entirely (or simply became numb, I couldn’t tell which).

As I crested a large hill, I ran beside some wide open horse meadows, and suddenly I could see the whole of Seattle in the distance. Downtown standing official and industrious, an emerald skyline, with the Space needle off by itself looking smallish, and rather left out of the party.

And the image that came to my mind was one used by my friend Judd to describe the city he lives in and loves, Las Vegas. Instead of Sin City, Judd refers to Vegas as Grace City. The biblical truth being thus: where sin abounds, grace abounds more. Since most of my body was experiencing some form of frostbite at this moment, this image of God’s grace was entirely unexpected.

With the whole of the city spread out before me, I found my heart filled with a crazy love for Seattle, a kind of holistic, Daddy-loves-his-kiddos, emotionally charged love for the people of the most beautiful city I know. And it made me remember again that Jesus loves Seattle. He loves it all. He loves you, Freemont! He loves you, Downtown! He loves you, Kent! He loves you, Mill Creek! He even loves you, Renton! Not only does He love it all, but Jesus came for Seattle.

And as a Pastor, I want to make sure that my ministry is motivated by the same love that Jesus has. Of course, there is sin…it abounds in this fallen city, certainly. But that’s not the final word, nor the amazing part of the story. The final word is grace. The amazing part of the story is that the unlovely is offered unfailing love by a God who is unlimited love.

Today I stand knee-deep in grace.
Today I pray God’s grace on a beautiful city in desperate need of it.
Today I pray grace for you as well.

May His grace find you in an unexpected moment, and may He receive your praise for it.

Losing my Religion AND Loving God’s Church

Mike Howerton — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 20:33:16 +0000

I just read another article about how the church is missing it. Last week I read a book about how the church is failing. There are quite a few blogs (in the hundreds of thousands) that carry the same sentiment. (Inhale deeply). Since my Blogs are consistently titled “Killing Churchianity” or “Losing my Religion,” you’d think I’d be thrilled.

But I’m not. In fact, I’m done for a while.
Reading blogs, books, and articles about how the church is missing it, I mean. I’ve had my fill, at least for a bit. Maybe it’s because I’m a Pastor, and I love my church. Wow. There it is. I love my church. I said it out loud. I love my church. It feels like I’ve come out of some kind of theological closet. I LOVE my church.

Now, I don’t love her in a completely unqualified way. I don’t love everything about her. But I’m trying to love her in a completely unconditional way. In other words, I’m trying to love this Bride of Jesus like I imagine Jesus loves his bride.

And maybe that’s really at the core of this. The church is the Bride of Christ. The picture given to us by Scripture is that of a Bride. She’s not perfect. But Jesus himself loves her, Jesus himself is washing her, growing her, perfecting her, and loving her in His gentle, persistent, washing-dirty-feet kind of way.

So. Let’s place it in human terms. If my best friend is getting married, and suddenly: books, blogs, and articles are written about how fat his bride appears, how dumb his bride seems, how irrelevant his bride dresses, or how hypocritical his bride acts…I might find myself in more than a few fist-fights. HE loves her, and that’s really all that matters.

People who are a whole lot smarter than I am (minds I truly respect, and friends I honestly love) are skilled at voicing frustrations with the Church, and attacking with precision her myriad shortcomings. But you would NEVER treat your wife with that kind of disdain. If you did, I’d conclude you hate her.

Maybe your argument is that since we ARE the church, we can be self-critical. And certainly the Apostle Paul is a case study in this (feel free to start in Corinthians and work your way through). But I would argue that if ALL of our self-talk is critical, then we have a problem with self-loathing. And we’ve again missed the heart of Jesus for His bride.

So let’s bring a little love to the discussion.
There is incredible loveliness and victory to be found in the Church, all over this nation, and all over the world. There is noble sacrifice and generosity. There are sincere people struggling toward pure hearts and holy living. As Giglio says, “The Church is KILLING it all over the globe!” There is also a good deal of mess, because the Church is full of messy, broken people. But that’s not the Headline in this fallen world, that’s just the Setting. The REAL story is that Jesus loves her, anyway.

Can I get a witness? Anybody else want to come out of the closet and love their church?