I want them to thrive.

I'm not a big fan of kids. In fact, the little booger eaters frighten me. Even after 6 years of marriage bliss, the thought of having children makes me squeamish. I'm just not ready to trade my life of late nights out with friends, traveling the world, and generally doing whatever I want for one of constantly cleaning fecal matter and pretending to ignore cries more shrill than a screaming pterodactyl.

I always refused to hold babies, but Matt made me hold Reed.

Yet even against my loudest objections, some of my closest and most beloved friends have begun to have kids of their own. At first I thought they had simply failed to take the necessary precautionary measures, but to my horror I learned they are procreating voluntarily. While I am still bewildered by their motivations, I'm surprised to admit I've come to love their little ankle biters. Much to my chagrin, one of my new favorite pastimes is magically turning a cardboard box into a fighter jet that I help 2-year-old Reed pilot at Mach 2 throughout his house until his mom grounds us out of fear for her toddler's life. To make matters worse, I also have a church family that I cherish and care deeply about, and it's riddled with rugrats - and even scarier, teenagers! However, without fully knowing why, I've developed a strong desire to see these kids   succeed. And not just the cheap, get-a-decent-job-a-house-a-nice-car-and-a-moderate-amount-of-credit-card-debt kind of success, either. I'm talking about the changing-the-world kind of success. On the long list of things I want, seeing the children of my friends and my church absolutely thrive is right at the top. Yet I'm still wrestling with what the means for me, a childless guy in his late twenties whose biggest hobbies are pipes, firearms, whiskey, and extremely hoppy ales. Not exactly the recipe for a youth pastor.

Reed now at age 2

My friend Joe told me about a book he read recently titled Sticky Faith. The authors of the book did a study of the youth who grow up in the church in America, and got some shocking results. Of the kids who grew up active in church - going to church every Sunday, learning Bible lessons in Sunday School, memorizing verses at VBS in the summer, going to youth group, praying before every single meal with their families, doing all of that "Christian" stuff - 65% left the faith after graduating from high school. So if you have 3 kids and you're doing everything right, teaching them spiritual truths and leading by example as a humble servant of God, guess what - chances are only one of them will ever darken the door of a church again after getting their diploma. Something has gone horribly wrong - our model is broken.

The good news is 35% do stay in the church after turning 18, and those 35%'ers have something in common: they're all terribly boring...just kidding. Actually, the Sticky Faith study showed that the kids in the 35% each had 7 Christian adults involved in their life. Not co-parenting in their family and disciplining them, just involved in their life. When Joe was telling me this, I immediately started thinking about my already packed schedule, and how many kids I see every week sprinting feverishly around our church like squirrels on cocaine. "It's impossible" I told him, "there's no way we can get 7 adults for every 1 kid." "I don't care about possible - it's necessary" he responded.

While I struggled with how in the world we'd get 7 adults to be involved in the life of each kid, I started to remember all of the amazing adults who invested in me when I was growing up. Nelson Scott helped teach me how to play guitar, was always ready for a jam session at full volume, took me to concerts in Virginia Beach, and even convinced me to start playing in front of the church. Dave Faith was a postman who was also a roller coaster fanatic and could've been the third Blues Brother. In the summers during middle school, he used to pick me up and take me to Busch Gardens to ride coasters all night. On one particularly slow evening, we rode Drachen Fire 12 times in a row without ever getting out of our seat. (I'll never forget the first time he invited me after church one Sunday. When I started writing down my address so he'd know where to pick me up, he said "No need to do that - mailmen know where you live." I always loved his wit). Dave Hileman is one of the deepest thinkers I've ever met, and he always challenged me with what I believed. He didn't just answer the questions I had - he actually gave me more questions to wrestle with! I know that sounds counterintuitive for the man who baptized me, but for Dave, sowing seeds along the path was not an option - he would only use the finest soil, even if it required conflict along the way. I still think of him every time I read CS Lewis or Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The truth is, I didn't have 7 adults closely involved in my life - I had closer to 20. They were all men who had careers, packed schedules, families and children of their own. Yet for some reason they all believed I was an investment worthy of their time, and for that I am extremely grateful.

I was having lunch with a coworker recently, and she told me the reason 65% of kids leave the church after graduating is because their parents had just brainwashed them, and once they got to college and got an actual education, they realized it was just a bunch of nonsense. While I appreciate my colleague's candor, I certainly don't think I was brainwashed (I know, I know, that's exactly what someone who was brainwashed would say, but hear me out). These men never proselytized me. Heck, they hardly ever even talked about God unless I brought it up. No, what they gave me was something far greater - a front row seat to their lives. I saw their faith in action - in the way they treated their wives, in the way they raised their children, in the way they handled disagreements. I saw it in the way they worked, the way they dealt with their vices, and the way they used their resources. And that gave me more perspective on a life of following Jesus than any other Sunday school class or church activity. In them, I saw true greatness, I saw adventure, and I saw them thrive.

It's taken over 10 years of maturing to fully appreciate what these men did for me and there are some I still need to call and thank profusely. In addition to that, I want my gratitude to shine through my actions - I want to be one of the 7 for a few of the kids in our church. I'm still struggling with how to do that, but my friends are helping me figure it out. My buddy Justin has the spiritual gift of basketball. He used to play for the almost-upset-Baylor South Dakota State Jack Rabbits, and every Tuesday, he shoots hoops with a few of the high schoolers at our church. I tried doing that, but found out I play basketball about as well as a politician   cuts the deficit - I can flail my arms around, but nothing ever actually happens. Instead, God has granted me the spiritual gift of a love for Taco Bell. Last week, I took a few of the guys who were as disinterested in basketball as I was to try the new Doritos Locos Taco, and great conversation abounded. No, I didn't follow some formula to proselytize them, I just encouraged them to thrive. Still, I hope, and I believe, Kiere and Alejandro will be in the 35%.

What I'm listening to during this post: "The Fighter" by The Fray

We like to party.

Last Saturday night was legendary. 70 of the most beautiful and amazing people in all of Atlanta gathered in our humble townhouse for an early St. Patrick's Day party, and it was astonishingly fun. Green cupcakes were baked, bread bowls filled with delicious spinach dip were cut to look like shamrocks, and plenty of U2 songs were added to the playlist. Kegs were tapped, bottles were uncorked, unique cocktails were shaken, and fine cigars were lit. Eventually, our entire neighborhood was lined with cars, and every common area was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Many people there didn't know each other beforehand, and countless friendships were started that night. The smiles were wide, the laughs were hearty, and the welcomes were warm.

My friends and I throw a lot of parties. I guess we just have so much to be joyful about, and we enjoy sharing that joy with others. So we do that the best way we know how - we open up the doors to our homes, we invite others to join us for meals, and we celebrate the beauty of living life to the full. The notion that the Christian life is one filled with rules, regulations, and boring rituals is a complete farce. Jesus said he came so that we "may have life, and have it to the full" (John 10).  In fact, he spent so much time eating and drinking with people that the religious leaders of the day accused him of being a glutton and a drunkard! (Matthew 11) I think Jesus would've had a blast hanging out with all of the wonderful people at our parties.

Brittany passes out some green cocktails

I like the way Robert Hotchkins, a theologian at the University of Chicago, put it: "Christians ought to be celebrating constantly. We ought to be preoccupied with parties, banquets, feasts, and merriment. We ought to give ourselves over to veritable orgies of joy because we have been liberated from the fear of life and the fear of death. We ought to attract people to the church quite literally by the fun there is in being a Christian." What grabs me most in that statement is "liberated from the fear of life and the fear of death" - because I think that's the source of our joy, and it's what we find in Christ. 

In reality, my friends and I don't have it all figured out. We've been beat up, burnt out, and dragged down. We've been laid off, cussed out, and turned away. But in Christ, we've traded in a life of keeping up with the Joneses for one of freedom and purpose. We're not naive, we know there is pain in this world - that's why we spent the day after the party fixing up a local school, and spent the previous Saturday cooking and serving dinner at a local homeless shelter. Yet even in the midst of that pain, our joy perseveres because we know this life is not the end of the story. And that is why we party.

What I'm listening to during this post: "I love this" by Jamie Cullum

I went to the red light district.

Amsterdam's red light district, known as De Wallen, is one of the strangest spectacles I've ever seen. While most cities' red light districts are filled with violent crime, broken glass lining the sidewalks, run-down motels that charge by the hour, and prostitutes who look nothing like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, De Wallen is actually quite charming. White swans gently paddle on the canal that cuts through the middle of the street, picturesque brick buildings share the same quaint architecture as the rest of the city, vendors sell sweet stroopwafels (my favorite Dutch treat), and the prostitutes - well, some of them actually do look more like Julia Roberts. They pose behind floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in provocative lingerie, and tap on the glass to get your attention, then ask you to join them inside.

De Wallen at night

Yet this comparatively peaceful image of the world's oldest profession is deceiving, and one of the greatest fallacies of Amsterdam is that since prostitution is legal, all of the working girls are there by their own volition. In reality, authorities estimate that between 50% and 90% of window prostitutes in Amsterdam are there against their will (source article). Many of them are trafficked from eastern Europe and sold into sex slavery, while others haven fallen into the "loverboy" trap - they fall in love with a man who gets them into debt, then convinces them that prostitution (with him as their pimp, of course) is their only way out. In one interview I read, a prostitute said she did it simply because she had "problems" and the money is good. Knowing all of this, I went to De Wallen to pray. I prayed for the girls in the windows - that they may be freed from the bonds of slavery, that they may know they are valuable and loved by God, and that they may be able to utilize the wonderful talents God gave them to find a fulfilling career that has nothing to do with pleasuring gross old men.

While I was waiting at the gate to catch my flight to Amsterdam, I was happily surprised to see that my colleague, Lourdes, was on the same flight. Lourdes is someone who I greatly respect and admire. She grew up in Peru, where she eventually became a professional bull fighter. Later, she got into the mining business, one of the most male-dominated industries in the world, and worked her way up through the company, overcoming numerous cases of discrimination along the way, to become a highly acclaimed executive. She's smart, she's tough, she's beautiful, she drinks tequila straight up while remaining as sober as a nun, and she's a master of the bossa nova on the dance floor. If Dos Equis were ever to do an ad campaign featuring "the most interesting woman in the world," they would have to cast Lourdes for the part.

Yet when Lourdes approached me that evening, she shared some somber news - her father had passed away the previous week. She had flown back from the funeral in Peru that same day, and was about to get on yet another long, arduous flight. To make matters worse, the gate agent had just announced that our flight would be delayed by at least an hour, meaning we wouldn't leave Atlanta until after midnight. So I asked Lourdes if she'd like to join me for a drink in the lounge, and she accepted. I, too, know the pain of losing a father, so I wanted to give her the opportunity to tell me about her memories of her father - that was always the best grieving medicine for me.

Lourdes told me that her father grew up very poor. As a teenager, he went to live in the jungles of Peru. The government was building new roads there, and he worked on the construction crew. Yet he knew his talents extended beyond construction labor, so he took accounting classes through the mail. After long, grueling days of working with pitch black tar in the scorching heat of the jungle, he would diligently read about the thrilling topics of assets, liabilities, and owner equity, and complete his assignments. He eventually started his own accounting firm, and became very wealthy.

Lourdes said her dad always had a gift for working with numbers, and just needed to nourish it with those accounting courses. She went on to claim: "I think God is fair - He gives us all gifts, we just have to use them." Lourdes told me that her gift was business intuition - she's able to envision how business deals with play out in the long term, and she uses that information to make more wise decisions. She doesn't know where it comes from - it's just a gift. And while she didn't have to take correspondence courses to develop her gift, she had her own set of struggles - constantly having to prove herself and fight prejudices every step of the way.

As I strolled down the streets of De Wallen and prayed for the spiritual gifts of the prostitutes, I thought of Lourdes, her father, and myself. I thought of how many gifts I have been given by God that I should nourish, but haven't because I am too lazy to take the correspondence courses or fight the prejudices. Instead of pursuing the things I could be truly great at, I settle for the mediocre skills I'm comfortable with, simply because they pay more. In short, I'm just like the hookers behind the red lights - tapping on the glass and selling myself out to whomever will finance the debt of my earthly desires.

In Matthew, Jesus tells a parable about a wealthy man who is going away on a long trip. He has three servants, and he entrusts each of them with a sum of money to look after while he is away. He gives one servant 5 bags of gold, 2 to another servant, and the final servant gets 1 bag. The servants who received 5 and 2 bags, respectively, each invested the money so that by the time their master had returned, the principal had doubled. Yet the servant who received 1 bag was scared to use it, so he dug a hole and buried it. When the master returned, he was very pleased with the first two servants, and gave them even greater responsibilities in his household, but was furious with the third for being lazy and not using the talent he was given.

Too often, I see a lot of myself in that last servant. I'm intimidated when I see others around me have more natural gifts than I do, wondering why they have 5 or 2 bags while I only have 1. I'm afraid to take risks or really send my talents to the crucible for refining out of fear of what the heat may do to my comfort level. And it's not just limited to what I do for my occupation, either - it spreads to my ministry, too.

In his book The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning writes something about this parable that really convicted me: "The third, who prudently wraps his money and buries it, typifies the Christian who deposits his faith in an hermetic container and seals the lid shut. He or she limps through life on childhood memories of Sunday school and resolutely refuses the challenge of growth and spiritual maturity. Unwilling to take risks, this person loses the talent entrusted to him or her. 'The master wanted his servants to take risks. He wanted them to gamble with his money.'"

I can't stand to be the third servant anymore - I'm ready to gamble. I'm closing down my window on De Wallen, and I'm following Lourdes's lead. I'm going to utilize my talents to serve the Lord, even if it takes a few correspondence courses and fights with prejudice along the way.