With My Own Eyes

Very much enjoyed collaborating with these gentlemen over the weekend on the subject of Revival.

Lamentations 3:21–23

[21] But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
[22] The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
[23] they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness. (ESV)

“Other people think the ship is sinking. The apostle thinks the ship is becoming a submarine.”

Jones, Peyton. Church Zero: Raising 1st Century Churches out of the Ashes of the 21st Century Church (p. 85). David C Cook. Kindle Edition.

So in the interest of equality, I am now all in regarding this National Kid thing.  So, here’s a picture of my son Josh from back in the day (at least the back of him):

We live in the woods. It looks like Fall. It smells like Fall. It feels like Fall. So, why must my wife buy decorations reminding us that it is indeed–Fall?

I have the privilege of investing in the lives of 6 other pastors twice a month.  They are scattered to the north as far as Marquette, MI in the Upper Peninsula and to the south in Detroit. The beauty is that we don’t leave our offices but collaborate via Zoom video conferencing.  This could never be a substitute for biblical community, but we really are able to cover a lot of breadth and depth in a short period of time together.  I look forward to connecting with them in the flesh next month.  In the meantime, I am exceedingly thankful for the technology that makes our virtual meetings possible.

Part of my childhood dies today.  That may sound a bit overly dramatic, and perhaps it is, but Marty Brennaman, the voice of Cincinnati Reds baseball, retires today after 46 years.  It’s the same voice that would put me to sleep while growing up in Northwest Ohio.  It’s the same voice I would attempt to decipher through the static of my AM radio when living in Northern Michigan.  And it’s the same voice I would hear clearly through the internet while living in Southern California. I have never known a summer without the voice of Marty Brennaman.  Lord willing, there will be many more summers of Reds baseball, but they won’t be quite the same.  Thanks Marty for being the soundtrack of so many summer nights.