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It’s 5am. I’m up--reading my Bible, journaling—Starbucks--speak Holy Spirit. Too many decisions to make. Too many issues. Too little time. I am not nearly enough--broken, impatient, energized, fragile, intense, harsh, gentle, stout, tired, firm, enduring, fruitful--how is it I can feel all those things at once. Your Word speaks--hope is always there, along with conviction, instruction, encouragement, and lots of direction. Personal worship--a discipline--at one time maybe--but now, a necessity--a life-source connection. It’s now inconceivable that I could have lived without this for so long.
6am. OK, time to hit the street. Shoes tied, stretching done, headphones on--MP3 loud--start me with something soft--oh yeah . . . this is good. I pass the tall skinny guy--kinky hair, somewhat bent over--exchange waves. Limbering up. First 15 minutes getting into a groove. Second 15 minutes, pass our church . . . now I’m thinking a lot. Focus on one thing, let that oxygen in your brain focus just on one problem, one thing--think it all the way through. I’m amazed how much clarity I get while I’m running. Focusing on one thing. Oh, there’s the guy struggling through a divorce—Father, give him hope. Old lady walking, no hair on her head—cancer--she smiles and waves. Father, touch her body. Barking, I hear it through these headphones. If that big German shepherd ever gets out, I’m dead meat!!!!! Better talk nice dog talk just in case one day, “Hey boy, hey fella, nice dog, good dog, hey buddy. ” Doesn’t seem to help! Nothing like running to Newsboys, Van Halen, ZZ Top, EuroDance, Planet Shakers, Roccin’ Moroccan’s . . .Back to that one thing. Why didn’t I think of this sooner-- this will work. Passed my park--I see the roofline on my house, 3 more minutes. 58 have passed, too slow, gotta go faster. Jakarta, Cairo, Hanoi, Sydney, Nairobi, Kandahar, Dubai, Port Dickson, Katmandu . . . I’ve run in all of them and many more--but nothing looks as good as that roofline! Almost there. No more butter! No more Blue Bell! No more fried foods!! Sugar is NOT our friend!
My study, my street, my neighbors, my friends, my house . . . Your world. From this hill be glorified in this life and this family. From this hill, may I touch my community, my country, and Your world. May nations be engaged--from this spot, an unlikely spot with …

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Today, May 17, is a very significant, celebratory--even holy day. Nikki and I have been married 25 years today. Sounds like a long time--but hasn’t seemed it. Sometimes, I find it hard to believe I am doing what I do, living where I live, experiencing life as I do. I graduated from Baylor University in Waco, Texas Friday night, May 16, then drove to Lindale, Texas. The next morning had a brunch and rehearsal in Lindale, then we were married at 2pm in the afternoon. It was fast--and it has remained fast. I see no end of that in sight. 20 years ago, Nikki and I started NorthWood. 30 years ago, I asked her to marry me. We’ve had an awesome journey.
I remember the first time she got on a plane. She flew with me to Chicago for a meeting. I hadn’t been flying much at that point. We went through a bad storm and the turbulence was incredible. I acted like it was normal — even though it wasn’t! Now, she flies around the world without me at times--pity the customs agent who tries to go through her purse!!!!
I remember our first argument — 1am, the night of our wedding — driving in San Antonio trying to find the hotel. My first encounter with manhood — refusing to stop to get directions as to where we were going — the stars would suffice! But they didn’t!
I remember my first stupid act. As a joke, I poured ice water on Nikki in bed to wake her up. It was very, very stupid, and I paid very, very dearly. I haven’t done that again.
I remember the birth of Ben & Jill. I wept both times. The beauty of emerging life-- how can that ever be described. The responsibility of a little bundle of flesh that is so incredibly dependent on you for everything. Now, having to learn to let go--a part of my life that I enjoyed more than any other time.
I remember when I said “I do.” It wasn’t at the ceremony--but 5 years later after we’d had a session of “creative communication.” I wanted to end it--so did Nikki--it wouldn’t be the last time for either of us--but it was the moment we said “for better or worse.” Easy to say “yes” with romance …

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For the past couple weeks I’ve been in Indonesia trying to help with development work. The relief work has now shifted to development. You will hear less and less about Banda Aceh as time goes on. It’s not the top story on the nightly news now and hasn’t been for a few weeks. However, most people there still suffer dramatically in every dimension and will for years to come. The media and current events must not drive our action — it must be our love and eternal perspective — everything else falls short. Now that it’s into development, it falls into that endless pit of “just another place on the map” where people have it hard.
The tsunami broke all our hearts and people came from every part of the world and every ideology to serve regardless of their perspective because people were hurting. That’s good. But please don’t forget — thousands die daily from starvation, lack of pure water, war, famine — and there is no one to grieve over them. When I’m in an undeveloped or developing nation, and see human carnage and often dead bodies on the side of the road, my heart breaks that they’re left like a dog hit in the road. It gives a few yelps, dies, and then cars just drive around it until someone pushes it out of the way or it desintegrates right where it died over time.
I took a stroll in hell the other day. It was Gehenna, the place Jesus talked about that you don’t want to go to when you die. I literally saw garbage piled for miles, hundreds of feet into the air. Paper, furniture, rotting left over food, all kinds of waste — even dead bodies slowly smoldering — couldn’t tell if they were human or animal. The stench was over-powering. Fires were everywhere to burn and condense — it burned your eyes and the smoke got deep in your clothes. This was every bit as bad — if not worse — than Banda Aceh. In the haze of the smoke and humidity I could make out people like sticks — bending over with baskets on their backs. These were treasure hunters — filling their baskets with metal to be sold, half-eaten food, to be taken home, used sanitary napkins to be taken home, washed out, and used again. I want …

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